A/N: Here I am with another chapter of this (finally), nothing like a conga line of bastard meta PvPers and trying to come up with ideas for a project with Soufflé to get me in the mood. I really want to write this up as a long epic, I have many ideas in store. Since last chapter, there are a few amendments I would like to make (credit where it is due, you know who you are):
Ocelotte the Dragon Child: This was my fuckup. You see, I interpreted "Ocelotte" as being imaginary, and that the "Child of Dragons" was Oceiros, who fever-dreamed this dragon child up and projected himself onto, since he was unable to become a true moonlight dragon in his quest to be Super-king McAwesome. Essentially, I saw Ocelotte to be a bastardization of "Oceiros", and the tragedy was that the king no longer recognized himself.
I was wrong. Ocelotte (With an L, not an R, I had the subtitles off and honestly I heard it with an R. Since it's a Japanese game, I thought it was just a case of Engrish and went with it) is absolutely real, the Divine Blessing confirms as much. So now I have a super important character I need to make a place in the story for. Fuck me, right?
Champion Gundyr's backstory: Well, I guess me and Souffle are even now (jokes on you, I only had to revise the end of ONE chapter, ha!). The Prisoner's Chain gave me the entire idea that Gundyr became sheathe against his will, and that he was in reality a prisoner the entire time, who went down fighting for what he believed in, as the ring said.
Well, the Champion Soul directly contradicts the idea he was forced to become the sheathe of the Coiled Sword. He was made a prisoner before he got to Firelink, and CHOSE to become the sheathe completely of his own volition once he got out of imprisonment.
I would say exactly what my thoughts are, but that would be very redundant since it's all going to be explained in the actual story.
As for my aborted excuse for dialogue… I just suck, but that's okay because I have the power of the almighty delete button.
That about covers it. Also, "All Drums Go to Hell" fits Gundyr's fighting style very well for some reason.
The light shown dim in the bedchamber adorning the very top of the castle of Lothric, filtering through the high, stained blue window above the bed and cascading through the dusty windows along the wall. The tattered red carpet sprawling past the pillars, shattered chairs and furniture piled in disuse, was the only streak of color in the otherwise depressingly grey room, like the interior was situated beneath a raincloud.
Lothric shifted uncomfortably on his pale blue bedsheet, his sores aching as he did so, his coarse robes rubbing on his skin while the layers of grime were left untended, making Lothric's skin feel chilled and itchy in the gloom. He hadn't been bathed properly in awhile, and that was to say nothing of getting to his chamber pot. All his servants had been absent, even Emma, his chief caretaker who usually attended to such matters, was missing.
At first, he believed it was his people simply abandoning him for his refusal to burn for the gods who'd cursed him so, then he started to think the Ashen One of legend had come for him, tearing his way through the castle, but he didn't arrive. It was only after a few days of insufferable silence he was visited by his faithful Black Hand, who'd told him the news.
The Boreal Valley had laid siege to Irithyll, and all the strength Lothric had to give was dedicated to holding them off. Prince Lothric scoffed then, certain his holy knights would be able to competently protect him, but he thought wrong. The visits to check on him became fewer and fewer, until it was certain they hadn't a moment to tend to their Prince.
Lothric set his gaze to the divine figure overlooking the hall at his feet, staring with the intensity of a falcon, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of distress. Lorian sat on his knees, as he usually did, supporting himself by his pointed greatsword, the fissures in the layered steel exuding jets of flame that scorched the floor where the tip connected, his black-dyed armor granting him the semblance of a dark spirit as it reflected the flames of Chaos.
At least the Prince knew his dear brother was there. Even if every last one of the foolish denizens of his kingdom fell and every demon of the Boreal Velley set upon him, his faithful sword would protect him from harm.
It was moments of discomfort like this Lothric wished his beloved elder brother still had his voice, to tell Lothric it was going to be alright, to soothe him, but that was too much to ask of the malign gods. His presence was enough, though.
The front door creaked open, a pale ray of unfiltered sunlight creeping into Lothric's chamber, the prince tensing a moment, his emaciated hands grasping his bedsheets. Lorian raised himself higher, but rested as the familiar hunter strode in, his broad hat and black cloak framing him as he closed the door again, latching the bolts and striding towards the prince. His swords glinted at his side as he took a knee, his cloak in tatters and partially burned from his battles.
"Your Highness," he spoke in his measured, eastern tone, "The Boreal Valley has broken through the gates. We are rallying at every point, and our dragons feast on their flesh. But, that may not be enough, a group of them will be arriving very soon."
Prince Lothric scowled,
"Have you any good news, Kamui?"
"None that I can say, my Prince. We are trying our best. I apologize for the inconvenience." He added politely, "I have left the front lines to aide you personally, sire. On my honor as a Black-"
"Why? Do you believe my brother is not enough to protect me?"
"Of course not, Sire."
"Then begone. I want to be left alone."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that." Kamui said, tilting his hat up, revealing the intense, narrow eyes set on his pointed features as he faced his Prince, "The second pillar of rule has been cast out for their treachery, but the First and Third Pillars have convened. I am sorry, but you no longer hold power over Lothric."
"I am Lothric!" The Prince snapped, "I don't care if you voted on the matter or not, I am your Prince."
"Yes, your majesty. But, you are not the king, not yet." He said, "The Pillars and noble houses have gathered all they can spare, and chosen to exercise their rights. They have formally declared war on Irithyll. As Lothric has no king, the senate council is the supreme authority."
"Yes, I suppose they are." Lothric growled, "You have been ordered to defend me personally?"
"To the last, sire." Kamui replied politely, bowing his head, "We will defend you with everything we have, in whatever manner deemed proper and necessary."
The Prince sighed heavily. No matter how high he rose, Emma refused to stop meddling in his affairs.
Sounds of struggle started to drum up outside, Kamui facing the doors with the same cold ferocity as Lorian, never wavering as they drew close to the keep, until it was just outside the door, the skirmish going silent.
Kamui drew his blades; first his great katana, then his more subtle, but equally sharp, wakizashi, holding them to his sides, his bow and arrows resting on his back, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. There was a bang, then a second crash, before something burst the locks, the door swinging open.
The trespassing knight strode in, his footsteps echoing in the halls, as he wore a solid suit of cast iron which hammered the ground with each step, a great halberd clasped in one hand.
Even from here, Lothric could see how he dwarfed the Black Hand before him, though Kamui didn't flinch.
"Gundyr?" He exclaimed, "What are you doing out of the Graves?"
"Gundyr has been made to fight for Lothric." Emma answered for him, her voice echoing in the bedchamber as she stepped past the Belated Champion, "His services will repay his past debt. The nobility is already prepared to depart," She looked up to the Prince, "We are fleeing the castle."
Lothric was aghast.
"But-"
"I will hear none of it!" Emma snapped, silencing the prince, "We are leaving, immediately."
"Very well." Prince Lothric said, dejected, "But, my brother will carry me." On hearing this, Lorian looked over his shoulder, leaning back as Lothric drug himself up from his covers, pulling himself to his elder brother and climbing to his back, wrapping his frail arms firmly around him and nuzzling his neck for support.
His dear brother vanished, Lothric feeling himself displaced as he was brought to the ground floor, Lorian's sword cracking the stone as he used it to limp along, Kamui close to his side.
The Prince regarded the towering Gundyr as they passed,
"I can't understand why Lady Emma would choose a failed knight to protect me."
"Watch your mouth." Gundyr growled, Lothric flinching at the unexpected hostility, "I was crushing the skulls of Lords under my heel before your mother was conceived."
"Gundyr may have failed to link the First Flame," Emma added, trying to cover for him, as she always did for people that caused insult, "But he was an adversary to the Dark Lords once, and has great experience in fighting them."
Lothric didn't say anything else, though he still found it laughable a legendary failure would be their last hope. Still, he needn't worry too much, so long as Lorian was by his side, he had nothing to fear.
As they left the chamber, into the midday sun, Lothric tightly grasped Lorian's brass armor as he squinted his eyes closed. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw the sky, let alone was brought into the open, the fresh air cycling through his lungs as the warm sunlight burned his face.
It wasn't all unpleasant, but he couldn't say he liked it.
When his eyes started to clear up, he could see numerous foreign knights strewn over the pathway, killed off by Lothric's guardians. He could tell which ones belonged to Gundyr, as some of the bodies were sliced cleanly, while others were smashed to pieces, their armor caved in and torsos gored by the massive halberd trailing at Gundyr's side, his off-hand as bloody as his weapon.
The period of unrest that spawned him was long before the Prince's time, but he'd heard of the Belated Champion in old stories. It seemed the descriptions of his great strength were not so exaggerated afterall.
Whether that would avail anything or not remained to be seen as they began their journey.
The smells of home drifted in through the window. A smell that made the old thief's nose curl in revulsion.
Living men, woman, and children burning.
It was a stench that absolutely sickened him. Perhaps what made it worse was that, instead of being down below at home, it was up here, where the corruption of the Deep Cathedral didn't reach. Greirat sat against the wall of his cell, listening to the screaming. He wanted so badly to just get out, run back home, if there was a home to run back to.
Sounds of struggling came down the steps, a solider of Lothric tumbling down into the dungeon chamber. He drew a flask of Estus, taking a deep swig, the intense bleeding on his side slowing a little as he backed himself away from the stairwell where heavy footsteps echoed down, the Knight pointing his sword to the unseen enemy up the stairs.
Greirat's timid heart went racing like a mouse being chased by a cat. He knew the Knights of the Cathedral, how bloodthirsty and hedonistic they were, under the scripture of Aldrich.
"Please, let me out!" Greirat yelled, the words slipping, "Don't leave me in here!"
"Quiet you rotten thief!" The knight yelled over his shoulder, though he sounded just as scared as Greirat as the looming assailant thundered down the steps, his expressionless bucket helm spattered with blood as he sprinted after the Lothric knight, his greatshield and enormous mace trailing at his side.
The Lothric knight put his shield up, catching the stroke from the mace, only to cry out as the massive weight nearly toppled him, the Deep knight possessing vigor even greater than the Lothric knights who used miracles to raise their vitality, the holy knight attempting to lash out himself, only for the stroke to get blocked by the greatshield, the steel making a dull thud as the longsword bounced off, the knight narrowly escaping the Deep knight's shield bash.
The Knight tried to strafe, assuming a fighting stance as he backed himself away, finely lunging with a shout, the deep knight stepping to the side and throwing his weight into a great swing in a smooth motion, the tired knight unable to react before his breastplate caved under the blow of the horizontal sweep, the soldier falling back against Greirat's cell.
He leaned up, trying to get his Estus as a shadow fell over him. He had one moment to look up from the ground as the Lothric knight pulled his visor open to take a drink before the head of the mace came down, the sack over Greirat's face getting splattered with blood as the knight's head and most of his collarbone was caved into his stomach, the Deep knight cackling as he wrenched the mace from the twisted, bloodied metal.
Greirat, seeing his chance, seized the shining key from the Lothric knight's back pocket, skittering away from the bars as the Deep knight regarded him, his helm pointing at the keys in Greirat's hand.
"You want out, little thrall?" He boomed, Greirat nodding, unable to think of anything else he could do. The Knight stood to the side, motioning Greirat on, cooing at him like a small dog. "Go ahead, come on."
Greirat crept across the cell as the Knight egged him on, a psychotic edge to his voice as the thief slipped his hand through the bar, unlocked his cell, and opened it, Greirat shaking like a leaf in a stiff breeze with panic as he stepped out.
He knew what was about to happen as he stepped past the knight, his senses acute as they had ever been as he walked by, hearing the clink of metal plates folding over eachother, seeing the shadow of the mace being raised, Greirat's fingers flexing, counting out the seconds, measuring the distance, the speed-
The Thief ducked, the mace soaring over his head, his feet placed so he could roll past the second hit as the knight brought his mace back around, missing by a safe margin. Greirat turned around, staying low, the shield expanding in his vision as the knight went to bash him, the thief backstepping out of reach.
The knight grunted in frustration as he ran forward, bringing his mace down on bare stone as Greirat leapt to the side, turning and running, jumping three steps at a time as the Knight tried to catch up with him.
Greirat leapt over crates and barrels and vaulted tables, throwing everything he could between him and his attacker, the knight tripping up on all the falling objects as Greirat wove through the crowded storerooms like a breath of wind.
He was no good at fighting, so he just got very, very good at running away, Greirat's toned legs, hardened after climbing the wall of Lothric countless times, finding footing on the smallest obstacle as he completely outran the Cathedral Knight, sunlight filtering through a doorway as he leapt to freedom from the dungeon-
Right into another knight. Greirat dug his heels in, he and knight glancing at eachother the instant before Greirat careened into him.
It was the knight that reacted faster, backhanding Greirat off his feet, the thief stumbling over the ledge.
Greirat's stomach dropped as he went into freefall, flailing his arms until he hit the ground below, bouncing off the cobblestone, the sickening sound of breaking bones filling the air. The Knight far above looked over the ledge to see Greirat crumpled on the ground, before leaning back out of sight.
Only, the thief got up, pulling himself upright from the lethal fall. He pulled off his hood, his face bruised heavily, one of his hazel eyes squinted closed from the impact as his vision flickered and darkened, the ringing in his head drowning out the sounds of the battle around him. He numbly kissed the ring on his right hand repeatedly, the brilliant blue gem glowing brightly as it soaked up the brunt of the fall.
Greirat keeled, moaning in pain from the movement after a moment, struggling to his feet and limping as fast as he could, assessing the damage through the haze. Broken forearm, severely dislocated shoulder, his breathing hurting greatly where he no doubt broke a few ribs, sprained ankle.
The powerful magic ring could suppress the trauma, but he had to find a place to hide, salvage some Estus.
He scurried into a building, the district already ruined, a few fires blazing. He found some Estus on a corpse, downing the entire bottle, the glow of the gem lightening as the heat of the Estus flowed through his body, broken bones dissolving and reforming, spilt blood evaporating off his skin while freash blood multiplied and filled his veins, his lung refilling as the ribs were pulled away and fixed themselves back into their rightful positions.
Greirat went to the basement, away from the acrid smoke, the sounds getting muffled as he found a corner to curl up in.
He'd survived before, he'd survive again. All that was left was to wait until everything ended.
It was lonely at the front. Somewhere back down the catacombs, Lothric's nobles were herded together like sheep, being lead along by the knights of Lothric, while Gundyr and a few of Lothric's elite and Black Hand Kamui pressed ahead, clearing the dangers long before they could harm the prince.
In truth, it still felt a little crowded, everyone standing in Gundyr's shadow as he thundered ahead of them. Before every swing of his halberd, he had to consider the knights surrounding them, mind every errant step. Each time he heard a footstep, he had to remember not to spin on the spot and strike them down, as he did long ago.
He vividly remembered the faces in the dark, how he would be struck from all directions. Again and again, he faced death from the shadows. Defending his back was one of many things he learned in his trials.
After spending so long as a lone warrior with a lone task, it felt disorienting to be responsible for so many close to him, especially since it was clear they were exhausted, ready to collapse at any moment.
But, as several forms continued to surge from the dank, dusty catacombs, weapons drawn, Gundyr found the one thing that never changed. He gripped his halberd, stamping his foot in front of him and surging forward with unstoppable resolve.
The Deep knights reeked of fear, unprepared to face something as strong as the Judge of Ash. Cowards, the lot of them, just like they always had been.
Gundyr's unbreakable halberd drove through the guard of the lead one's shield, knocking him off balance while Gundyr confidently transitioned into a horizontal slice over his shoulder, severing the Deep knight's head and driving the rest back. As the first fell, another took his flank, thinking the champion was off-balance, when really Gundyr was rocking to the side, steadying his feet with the momentum of his last attack. The knight failed to see the strike coming as Gundyr lunged to the side, his elbow burying itself in the sternum of the smaller knight, knocking him off his feet with the force of a battering ram.
Another knight on his side tried to get behind him, the minion of the dark assuming he was vulnerable, only for the champion to throw his weight into a spinning kick, the knight grunting as his head was knocked sideways, his neck cleanly broken.
A knight in front of him came screeching to a halt, Gundyr regarding him with a lunge forward, the knight hiding behind his greatshield. The champion's fist dented the steel face and drove the knight back. Before he could collect himself, the champion kicked his shield aside completely, his halberd burying itself in the knight's diaphragm, the champion pulling him off his feet, the deep minion grasping the haft, trying vainly to lift himself off as he was hung in the air like a macabre flag.
Gundyr vaulted his body at his comrades, the knight skipping over the rocks to their feet, sending everyone recoiling. The Champion righted himself, holding his bloodied halberd to the side as he marched forward, their voices pleasuring him as they had their runs realizing they were outmatched.
"What in Chaos is his strength!?"
"How can he move so fast in all that armor?"
"He's a demon!"
Those and more, Gundyr's booming voice filling the corridor as he boasted:
"Come on then, if pain is your desire, then step forward and face the Judge of Ash!"
They retreated away, one of them trying to rally his men,
"He's a failed knight from an old age! Just a sheath to the coiled sword, he is nothing before the might of the Deep!"
"Aye, so were your countrymen back there. You will have just as much fortune!" He voice echoed in the long halls, the knight's showing obvious hesitation in approaching him, their armor rattling as they literally quaked in their boots, their panting echoing in their helms. "Is there even a single one of you filthy cowards, hiding under the skirt of your black god, that can face me! I've fought naked women with only a stick to defend themselves with more fight in them with you!"
One of them finally charged, others following suit, Gundyr continuing his march. He batted the first one into the air with the shaft of his halberd, ramming his shoulder into his chestplate as he fell, knocking the wind right out of him, knocking a second one out with a high kick, his halberd following the sweeping move to chase away the others.
He moved like a machine, hacking, slashing, and sweeping his way through their ranks, the few stray blows that struck him barely flinching him as his thick mail reflected the blows like the hull of a galleon. They were sent into a full retreat, running as fast as they could, but the champion ran them down with frightening speed.
Gundyr stood a moment to collect his stamina, his breath growling from the t-shaped mouthpiece of his iron mask like a brazen bull, the shaft of his halberd stamped on the ground while he recovered. It was as though he'd spent a lifetime asleep, and was just now getting to stretch his legs again, his body tingling with new energy.
In his countless battles with the countless fledgling Lords of Cinder seeking Firelink, he always needed to temper himself, determining their claim to the sword and allowing them to pass, else driving them back until they hollowed or gave up, never truly intending to "win". It felt good to cut loose and drive forward with all he had for once.
"The title 'Champion' suits you greatly," Kamui said, he and Lothric's other defenders catching up, nearly all of them collapsing to the ground for a breather, "I'm surprised the king did not declare you a Black Hand. You move swiftly, for one of such brute strength."
"I'm flattered," Gundyr replied, keeping his eyes forward, "A King of Lothric from a long time ago did invite me to become his hand, once."
"And you refused?"
"I could have lived a cozy life with the King's men, leading his armies until I grew old and feeble. But, that was not the path I desired."
"So your task the past millennia was self-ascribed." Kamui mused, "Pardon my intrusion, but what made you choose the protection of the Coiled Sword alone over the protection of the land in which it resides? Pardon my offense, but I find that to be wasteful of your strength."
"I agree." Gundyr said, "A terrible waste, but that's the choice I made."
"But why?"
"I made a promise," Gundyr said simply, starting off, "If we stand around gabbing any longer, your men are going to fall asleep."
"On your feet!" Kamui snapped, the knights dragging themselves up, groaning with fatigue and indignation. One of them bitterly called towards Gundyr, using his sword to prop himself up,
"I hope all that strength isn't just for show!" He snapped, "I'd hate for you to tire yourself trying to impress us!"
"Showing off? I was just warming up." Gundyr called back, "Don't tell me that sorry excuse for swinging your blade around was you fighting, if it was, you're going to have your cripple Prince dragging you out by the end!"
He picked up his pace, Gundyr smirking at his indignation. All the better. Soldier's tended to put more effort into it when they were angry.
They proceeded down the corridor, Gundyr feeling a tingling in his chest. He put his arm out.
"Stop."
"You can't-"
"When I say stop, you damn well stop!"
Everyone complied reluctantly, Kamui joining Gundyr's side. The Champion felt shivers racing up and down his spine, something quivering in his chest.
"What vexes you?" The Black Hand asked,
"I don't know, but something's out there."
Kamui's eyes gained a predatory glint in the torchlight,
"Yes, I feel it too…" He said, drawing his bow from his back and nocking an arrow, "The unmistakable taint of an Oni soul."
"If 'Oni' if how you say 'Demon' back home, yes." Gundyr said, "I've fought monsters of the Abyss enough to know their ilk."
"That's ridiculous." One of the knights said, "No Demon can penetrate the High Wall,
"Yeah, I'll bet you said that about a goddamn invasion force to." Gundyr retorted, raising his Halberd, focusing on one point, "There."
The darkness ahead began to flicker, an unearthly portal appearing as black, frigid liquid of unknown type hissed on the ground, icy air seeping out as a shape slowly drug itself through. It was nearly as tall as Gundyr, even on all fours, with a thick, fat frame that would have dwarfed a bear. It gazed at its prey with two glowing blue eyes set on a wide face, his snout resembling a tortoise with wiry hairs sticking out on various points of his armor.
It used its giant mace like a crutch, propping himself up to howl at them.
Gundyr braced himself, lining up on the beast as he readied a charge, the silver monstrosity waddling himself side to side on his stubby legs, before sprinting forward, dust falling from the ceiling as it was knocked loose. Gundyr met him head-on, surging forward, the frenzied outrider reaching ramming speed, only for his target to vanish from his sight.
The Champion plunged down from above, his leaping attack perfectly intercepting the Boreal Knight, Gundyr's Halberd burying itself behind the knight's helmet, severing his spine. As the beast collapsed to the ground, Gundyr's feet hit the floor, the monster dragging to a stop.
Gundyr pulled out his Halberd, admiring his handiwork, hesitating as he drew in the tainted soul.
Though he took in the entire soul, he still felt an immense presence near him. In fact, the presence that shook him earlier seemed to only be getting stronger. There was no way such a simple brute could shutter him that greatly. He looked around, jumping at the sound of fluids dripping on the ground from somewhere above.
A Lothric knight winced behind him, the black fluid burning him with its sheer, bitter cold. Before Gundyr could consider calling out to him, a shape dropped from above, the knight letting up a gurgling death wail as a giant blade coated in fire ran him through, pulling out with a swift jerk, the curved sword tracing a blinding line of fire in an arc around the figure, driving the knights back as sparks shot from the metal on contact.
Though it was just a mere slash, Gundyr could see the wound in the steel forming an orange line that continued to burn like phosphorous, the soldier's clutching at their chests and trying to pry their own armor off as it continued to burn and burn.
Gundyr took his chance to get a good look at the creature. Unlike the abomination lying dead at his back, she was still very recognizable as human, albeit with incredibly long, lanky limbs beyond what any normal human could have, icy mist seeping from everywhere on her body. Her scaly silver armor adhered to her skin so tightly it resembled actual flesh, while a blue veil trailed around her back like an aurora.
And she was staring right at him. Gundyr strafed to the side, the Dancer's head turning to follow him much like a cat, her face a set of vertical slits with only blackness behind them. Even hunched over, creeping on her folded legs, she was nearly as tall as Gundyr.
The Champion placed himself on guard as the lanky figure ignored the other knights and strode towards him, only faint, echoing breaths leaving her as she brought her burning sword to bear.
She lashed out with her blade, Gundyr blocking it, sparks flying as the warped blade ground across the iron shaft. While the metal was unscathed, the enchantment left a burn behind, Gundyr shifting tactics as he jumped back from another slash.
The Dancer threw out her free hand, grabbing for him, Gundyr smacking the limb away with the tip of his halberd, preparing to lunge, but as he shifted position, the Dancer ground her sword over the ground, forming an erupting crescent of fire, Gundyr feeling the heat through his helmet. He nearly missed her followup as the burning blade pierced the curtain of flame, Gundyr stepping around the thrusting sword on reflex, but unable to stop it from grazing his hip.
His side was struck with intense burning, an orange line of pure heat appearing on his thick mail. He had no time to assess his injury as the dancer readied another attack, but right as he thought he was beyond her reach as she brought her sword back, she sprung forward with her coiled legs, tumbling to the side.
This time, Gundyr took the attack directly, a great crescent of heat appearing on his chest, the Dancer catching herself by her hand and thrusting, the tip of her sword turning invisible as it flew between his eyes. Gundyr ducked his head to the side, the blade passing this temple by a hair, the Champion leaping to the side to keep it from brushing him as the Dancer drew her blade back.
Despite her appearance, she had an extreme level of coordination and poise, Gundyr feeling pressured for the first time in ages as the Dancer kept advancing on him, though the Champion was defending himself much better now.
She concealed her effective reach by keeping her thin, long limbs coiled, springing forward between her shorter attacks. That unpredictability would have killed him several times over without the enormous level of experience and raw reflexes he'd gained, but even then the Champion found himself backing away from the sweeping blade as she drunkenly, yet precisely kept the pressure on him.
Sporting a few more burning gashes on his stomach, Gundyr brought his halberd up in both hands, knocking the sword away and lunging, intent on goring her, but the Dancer proved too elusive, stepping out of reach and strafing to the side with surprising footwork, her body rolling to the side as she brought her blade around.
The Dancer lurched forward, crying out in pain as her attack hit the rock, Gundyr dodging the falling monster and glancing behind her, where Kamui sheathed his demon-slaying katana, her unarmored thighs slit open just above her sliver leggings.
He backflipped out of reach when she went to swat him, drawing his bow and firing from a crouch in a masterful motion, the arrow flying into the slit in her helmet as she turned her head, landing where he gauged her eye to be.
The Dancer wailed, recoiling back and clutching her helmet in her hand, Kamui stowing his bow to draw both his swords, forming a beheading scissor with the crossed blades and leaping towards her throat.
He would have ended it right there, if not for the explosive blast of energy she unleashed as she stamped the ground, Kamui catching himself by his hand and flipping to his feet when he was knocked back, though scars from the magic energy now covered his front.
The eruption of black energy pouring from the ground around the wounded dancer formed a large pool, the Dancer plunging her hand into the rift and pulling a second blade, this one grey and shrouded with magic power, from its rest.
Kamui and Gundyr shared a brief glance, each one knowing to hold her flanks, since splitting her attention was the only thing they could do at this point.
She swung towards Kamui in a flurry of grey and orange, her swords leaving streaks in the air as the Easterner used all the speed he had to prevent being minced, Gundyr charging for her exposed rear, but the Dancer seemed to sense him coming, tilting her side to Gundyr and warding him off with a long sweep, her limbs stretching further as she kept her prey at a distance, stabbing for Gundyr with one, then the other blade, before sweeping to the side to chase away Kamui.
Even with the backs of her legs pouring blood, she was astonishingly agile, Gundyr himself feeling the burns forming on his chest starting to sap his strength, doing his best to keep away. If he could just get in close, he could smash her with his Halberd, but she was leaving no openings, her twin blades crisscrossing the narrow hall, glowing orange and blue streaks littering the rocks.
Even Kamui, holding his own remarkably well for being physically weaker than Gundyr, wasn't finding an opening, though he still harassed her with arrows as he kept rolling.
The opening was coming though, Gundyr could feel it. The Dancer was starting to slow; the immense level of bloodloss from the wounds on her legs, spurred by her constant movement, was catching up.
She spun towards Kamui, raising her arms over her head as she starting spinning like a top, propelling her movement with a flurry of dancing footsteps, chasing him down with amazing speed, the ground getting sawn up before her.
But, where Kamui saw certain death, Gundyr saw his moment, sprinting forward full speed. Because of her tilt, the blades where high off the ground behind her, if he could get in striking distance, he could slash her legs the rest of the way open and completely immobilize her.
Unfortunately, as he bore on her, she caught wind of him and redistributed her weight, going into a low, spinning sweep that completely encircled her, Gundyr nearly running into it as he ground to a halt. The Dancer focused on him, wincing when Kamui placed a few arrows in the bloodied backs of her legs, the abomination falling forwards, her breath getting more and more labored as she held her swords up.
Gundyr wasn't sure if the fact she was still on her feet was thanks to sheer determination, or animalistic drive at this point as she surged forward, sweeping her swords from the ground skyward, Gundyr stepping around the slowed attack, though the Champion himself was feeling drowsy as she caught herself on one knee, slashing for him with first a left, then a right.
She cried out again as Kamui's signature leaping struck true, the arteries on the backs of her legs completely gutted as the Easterner tumbled away, the Dancer nearly falling over as she slashed behind her, turning back on Gundyr-
The Champion's halberd buried itself in her stomach, tearing through the ceremonial armor with the momentum of his charge, the two enchanted blades clattering to the ground as Gundyr braced a foot on the stone and sunk the blade to her spine, raising her up slightly.
The Dancer's large hands grasped him, trying to pull herself off, but it was apparent to Gundyr she was done for as she started leaning heavily on the Champion, Gundyr shouldering her to the side, the Dancer making a dull thud as she hit the floor.
Her breathing grew heavy, her voice a dull wheeze as she ran out of blood, which was now forming a pool around her. Her head slowly turned towards Gundyr, who was already feeling her soul start to leave her body, drawn towards him. She coughed, a few spatters of blood spitting from her helm as she gathered her breath, her entire body shuttering with effort.
"Vordt- where are you? Please… say something… Anything…"
Gundyr pointed the tip of his Halberd towards the floor, raising it,
"Vordt…" She wheezed, sobbing faintly,
He brought his blade down on her neck, her death instant. She didn't feel a thing as her golden soul was drawn from its rest.
Gundyr sat himself down, sweat pouring down his face as he looked down at the faintly glowing marks on his armor, sure his chest was good and blistered from the heat seeping through. Kamui took his side, looking exhausted, but unharmed save a few new burns in his black cloak.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'll walk it off." Gundyr replied, "I've faced much worse in my time."
"That was cold of you." Kamui remarked, regarding the corpse of the Dancer, "The Outrider Knights were human once. It seems she was thinking of her loved ones, did you not want to grant her peace before dispatching her?"
"I did grant her peace." Gundyr said, "Death is the greatest kindness you can give to someone who has lost everything."
"How can you know that?"
"You know," Gundyr said, pushing himself to his feet, "Has anyone ever told you you're a nosy little bastard when it comes to this honor stuff?"
"Pardon me." Kamui said, his beady eyes boring into Gundyr's, "I only want to know the kind of man I am to fight beside. A beast who fights only to kill is no company to keep."
"If you're satisfied," Gundyr interjected, "We should keep moving. Contrary to what you may think, I'm not made of iron, and we've a long road ahead of us."
Gundyr brought his halberd to his side, stomping off with Lothric's knights staring like slack-jawed maidens.
As he proceeded into the dark, however, that single image of the Dancer's unseen face was burned into the Champion's vision. Who was she? What was her purpose? He had no idea, but something in her voice was too much to bear.
He thought he'd feel relief at ending her suffering, but all he felt was a knot in his chest.
Sulyvahn knew. As soon as he felt a small part of him fade away and disperse, and tried to reach to her soul, he knew his Dancer was dead.
That meant that, with absolute certainty, Lothric was escaping through the underground, as he thought. That also meant the Dancer failed to prevent them from passing, and they were going to escape the high walls any moment now.
The Pontiff believed that was a perfectly reasonable outcome to expect, and wondered how he would feel if she were to fail at such a basic task, first killing Emma, then capturing Lothric with a troupe of soldiers to wear away all their men first to make it even easier.
Angry at her incompetence, pity a decent soldier was wasted, joy to be rid of her.
But, all The Pontiff felt now was overwhelming disappointment. Even with the Pontiff's training and weaponry, it seemed the incompetence of the royal line was truly infinite, and he found himself glad to be rid of her afterall.
The lineage of Gwyn was a superstitious lineage of failures, inbreeds, and imbeciles, it was a wonder even one still roamed the lands.
Sulyvahn disregarded the news, surveying the rows of bound knights and generals, now detained by his faithful knights among the ruins of the Castle interior, ravaged by the invaders after the remaining knights threw everything into a full counterattack, if only to buy their nobility a little more time.
His Lieutenant, Hugo, differentiated from the others by his face mask and full-metal armor, a Pontifical crown and many markings adorning him, strode in from deeper in the castle.
"We've cleaned the whole place out," He declared proudly, "All the remaining men, and all their holy artifacts too. This castle is ours."
"Never!" One of the bound generals yelled, though he was no threat to the presiding knights, "Lothric will never belong to traitors like you!"
He was silenced as Hugo bashed him in the back of the head with the handle of his axe, knocking him unconscious, the brash commander hitting his prone form a few more times,
"That's enough." Sulyvahn said dryly, Hugo ceasing. The Pontiff raised his voice, so all his commanders could hear, "The Prince has already fled, as have most of Lothric's nobility, likely with their most powerful relics. There is nothing for us here, so we will return to the Deep Cathedral and regroup, while I decide our next step."
His commanders bowed respectfully,
"Sir," A Silver Knight captain asked, taking a knee, "What shall we do with the prisoners? We cannot bring them to Irithyll with us, and I don't believe the Cathedral or any surrounding settlements could support so many on top of our forces."
Lothric's "faithful knights" let up cries to spare them, begging for mercy through tearful sobs. The Pontiff found this greatly aggravating him, almost disbelieving of their pitiful performance.
"Dispose of them, and be swift about it." He spat.
The Silver and Pontifical Knights drew their blades, the courtyard filling with the sounds of massacre as Sulyvahn strode away. Unlike most of Aldrich's followers, he took pleasure in the visions of the future, not the base indulgences of the moment.
He knew what lay ahead for him, after the success of his main expedition. Tending to that prize would be far more satisfying than wasting time slaying nameless, irrelevant faces.
Lothric's escape was certainly an inconvenience, but he never placed his hopes on the task at hand being that simple anyway. The Prince could run, and he could even hide among the rot at Farran, where not even Sulyvahn could reach, but unless they called on nothing short of divine intervention, all they could do was hunker down and wait for the inevitable.
Hopefully, they would at least provide a challenge. It would be woefully anticlimactic if they gave up too soon.