Fade.6
theseeker64- Creepy messages are gone. We no longer require this as a place to put down our small announcements. Lol
Holsh- Thank you sir. I noticed that too. I'll try to fix that when I have extra time.
Everyone else thank you.
Humanity, despite all my research has always confounded me. In every way, shape, and form they're shaped like us. Far smaller and far weaker, but like us in so many ways. They lack our strength and intelligence, yet they make up for it in sheer willpower.
Never have I seen a species have so much ferocity as whole. It's frightening really. Although I must raise the question:
Was our kind so different in our birth?
I too remember the weakness we all possessed. The weakness that put us far below the strength of the Everlasting Dragons. When we emerged out of the fire, I remember each and everyone of us struggled as we crawled forward. Our finding of The Lord Souls ascended us to godhood. The unchallenged masters of Lordran.
Could humanity too achieve the greatness that we achieved? Lord Gywn and his knight Artorias believe so. Both of them always do say that one day, humanity shall take our place. The Allfather would embark on a violent rampage of he ever heard those two speak of something like that. Idealist of both of them, especially for someone like the Abysswalker.
I am greatly disturbed however...
Where did they come from? No details on their origins. Nothing at all. Not a trace of anything. I have driven myself mad on trying to unmask this mystery. Not even the Great Archives possess anything on them.
They only shortly emerged after the advent of The Age of Fire. They certainly weren't present when we emerged out of the flames light and they weren't present in the war against the dragons.
What created them though?
Upon close inspection of their bodies, I found that their bodies are an exact replica of ours. Smaller and by far inferior, but still shocking nevertheless. That isn't the most concerning however.
Upon closer inspection of their souls, I found it to be completely black. I've never seen anything so dark. I ordered one of my assistants to touch it, but upon contact the black sprite corroded his arm clean off. The amount of darkness in humans is appalling. It's so...corrosive.
What does this mean though? In our species, our souls are different and varies in colors. Yet in a human they're all the same. No difference in appearance except for size and the memories they contain. I don't like this. It's like they were created artificially.
I continuously plead that Lord Gywn exterminate them. They're existence is far to dangerous. Too many unknowns and with First Flame's power waning, we can't take our chances with unknowns.
My pleas fall on deaf ears though. Lord Gywn refuses to commit and "unjust genocide" without a reasonable cause. This is absolute madness! Noble of him, but also foolish.
Lord Gywn has ordered me to research further into the black sprites in humans. I will continue to investigate it, perhaps we could find something of use out of it?
-Unknown document regarding humanity.
Found in Ooliciale.
Knight Artorias walked alone in the dark halls of the ruins of New Londo, his heavy silver armor clanking with each step he took. On his back, his sword glowed a faint blue and gave off a small barely visible light source.
Usually the glow didn't start until he was in combat, but the dark nature of his current surrounding were activating the divine power in the blade. The blade itself was made from the strongest and finest materials known, the Blacksmith God himself forged it. The sword was nearly unbreakable, never losing its edge and never rusting. It was unmatched and even The Lord of Sunlight's own sword was not on the same quality as his own.
The power was blessed by Lord Gywn himself and the Allfather Lloyd. The divine power of both deity's warded off the darkness and allowed him to do actual damage on unholy beings. The sword radiated holy energy, Artorias could constantly feel it.
Two sword were forged by the Blacksmith God, one for Artorias and another was later forged for the Great Wolf Sif. Both blades had the same properties and strengths.
Yet there was a third sword that only Artorias knew about. A sword formed from the Abyss itself when he agreed to form a covenant with the creatures inside the Abyss.
An exact replica of his own sword, except it was completely black. The handle, the hilt, and the blade completely pitch black. It lacked the holy properties that his own sword had, but made up for it in its raw physical strength. Five times more durable than his regular sword. According to Kaathe it was formed from the souls of humans. That shocked and disgusted him, were humans that durable?
Artorias shook himself from that thought and focused on the hall in front of him. At the vary end of the hall was a room. Two heavy iron doors were at the entrance, a small seal placed in the center. The seal let out a faint white glow, barely visible from a distance but up close it was bright.
He placed his hand on the seal and focused his energy into it. A click was heard and slowly the door rumbled as it opened. Artorias entered the room, armor still clanking with every move he made. Silently he closed the door and as his hand left the door, the seal reactivated. The room he was in was large and circular, illuminated by glowing blue torches adorned on the gray stone walls. He could see a faint golden ow on the wall, part of the barrier.
In the middle of the room was a pit with no definite bottom, but a ladder was on one of the sides. Slowly Artorias walked up to the edge of the put and looked down.
'Let's get this over with.' He thought to himself in defeat.
He let out a sigh and jumped down the pit. A faint azure blue blur spead downward.
He forgot about the ladder.
The Lord's Blade Ciaran silently stalked Artorias. Beneath her dark blue robes, her midnight black armor felt utterly cold to touch. She had never been to New Londo before it was destroyed and it was off limits for anyone other than Artorias to visit the ruins. He was the only one who could deal with any Abyss remnants. No use anyone else getting infected. She wasn't even supposed to be here. Yet she followed him anyway.
'Forgive me Artorias' she silently apologized.
She knew why Artorias came back to the city. It was fairly obvious. He was looking for any relations on the Abyss outbreak in Ooliacile.
As one of his few close friends, she understood that Artorias spent considerable amounts of time looking for ways to combat the Abyss. Hours upon hours she watched him struggle to create new miracles to combat it. Sometimes she would find him in his personal chambers collapsed on the floor after over exerting himself while working on a way to counter the dark powers of the Abyss. He constantly exhausted himself.
The fading of the First Flame put even more stress on him. As the world's stability loosened, the Abyss found more ways to escape and small groups of people would come under its influence. Those tainted would secretly try to spread it. As a member of Lord Gywn's inner circle, she knew that Artorias would spend weeks at a time hunting down the tainted. In some cases he would have to "cleanse" an entire community to do so.
A fact that weighed heavily on him.
'So much weight on your shoulders Artorias, when will you get a rest' she thought to herself sadly.
Suddenly she saw Artorias approach a door, a small seal placed in the center. He placed his hand on it and it opened.
'A seal? This must be it...be safe Artorias..'
As soon a the door closed she stepped into a shadow at the end of the hall, her form completely hidden. Behind her white porcelain mask she frowned. She didn't like the ruins atmosphere, it felt so lifeless, so dead. It was worrisome.
Ciaran was an assassin and lifelessness and death were two things she dealt with regularly. She didn't like how quiet it was. There was no crowds to blend into, no sound to muffle a scream or hide a footstep. It got on her nerves. It was dark though. She could work with that.
Suddenly she heard a sound. A small splashing noise, like water hitting the ground as it fell from something. A dripping noise was more of what it was, followed by a small clank associated with heavy armor.
She rested her hands on her tracers, both warm to touch. Then she saw them. Skull faces and armor shaped like bones. The Darkwraiths. The traitors legions. She felt a small rage form inside her chest at the sight of them.
They were spread out, swords drawn and ready. At least a couple dozen moving about. They appeared to be looking for something, but what?
'No... They've come for Artorias haven't they..' She thought to herself grimly.
She couldn't allow that to happen. To her left, there was a passageway leading to a rectangle room with giant pillars holding it up. It was dark an offered a larger area for her to combat them.
She got up to her feet and ran towards the passageway, deliberately making noise as she ran. She arrived in the room and hid behind a pillar while keeping her eyes to the entrance.
Her plan worked. The Darkwraiths followed her down and spread out into two man teams sweeping the room. She could see their white masks underneath their black hoods. They looked like floating white skulls in the darkness.
Ciaran grasped her signature weapons; The Golden and Silver Tracer. A golden curved sword that left bright gold streaks as it cut through the air and a silver dagger coating with poison and sharp spikes adorning the edges of the blade.
She spotted her first two targets, two of the traitor knights standing in front of her with their eyes turned. She dashed toward them without making a sound and then plunged her Silver Tracer into ones head. Killing it. The other turned to her and swung it's sword only to connect with nothing. Ciaran was gone.
Silently she jumped out of the moonlight and back into the shadows behind the traitor. Her golden began vibrating softly as she swung it into the other Darkwraiths back. Golden streaks met with bright crimson blood as it sliced through it's armor.
While it was recovering from her sudden attack she jumped on it's back, moving her arms around it's neck and twisted. She was rewarded with an audible snap and the bodily slumped to the floor with a thump.
Beneath her mask she smirked, her eyes hidden beneath the narrow eye slits of her porcelain white mask held a barely contained glee. The rush of getting the kill was always exciting.
She could hear the other Darkwraiths rushing towards her position, seemingly aware of their comrades sudden deaths. They held their sword in a defensive position as they rushed forward.
On the far side of the room, a window brought in the ghostly white moonlight. Ciaran stood in the moonlight watching as the Darkwraiths made a semi circle around her. They stood in absolute silence, neither side moving.
Finally one of the traitors broke formation and charged her. The Darkwraith's sword descended in a downward slash, completely missing as she sidestepped the blow.
As it's arm came down she brought up her Golden Tracer in an upward slash. The golden blade vibrated as it sliced right through the armor and cut the thing arm off completely. It fell to it's knees clutching it's arm. It let out an ear piercing shriek as it fell.
Another Darkwraith broke formation and rushed forward to help it's comrade. It brought its sword in a stabbing motion, aiming for Ciaran. She saw the attack coming and picked up the wounded traitor by it's hood and used its face to block the sword. The shrieking stopped as it its face caved in from the sword. Blood splattered all over the floor.
The attacking Darkwraith was stunned from it's failed attack and Ciaran used that to her advantage. She charged, bringing her Silver Tracer up and jumped. Her feet connected with its chest while her arm clasped the traitors neck. She brought her Silver Tracer up and stabbed downward multiple time, breaking its mask while destroying the brain. She jumped off and landed on her feet.
Two Darkwraiths dead. The surrounding Darkwraiths stood watching in amusement. Silently they were excited. They would enjoy the struggle of killing the woman in front of them.
Behind her white porcelain mask, Lord's Blade Ciaran smiled. She too would enjoy the killing.
Without a word and without breaking her gaze upon the traitors in front of her, she silently stepped out of the moonlight and into the shadows.
'Time to get to work' she thought to herself in excitement.
Knight Artorias was surrounded by utter blackness. The area around him had no floor, walls, ceiling, or even any sort of dimensions at all. He was was walking on nothing. This was the Abyss.
'Look...'
'Foolish...'
'Him... Filthy'
'Traitor...'
'The Abysswalker'
'...Slit his throat!'
'...Tear it open!'
'Slay him! Kill him! Maim him! Taint him!'
'He's ours now! Embrace the darkness completely! Give in!'
Artorias could hear voices surrounding him, yet they sounded distant. Murmurs from an invisible crowd it seemed to him. Memories of those he's slain and now reside in the Abyss. He couldn't tell.
"Artorias you have come. I presume you're here for information, hmm?" A voice called out to him in the darkness.
Without bothering to hide his disdain for the creature behind him, Artorias turned and kneeled. His head was bent low and knee raised while his arm rested on it. He purposely avoided the creatures red eyes.
Artorias replied, "You know exactly why i'm here! I thought we had a de-"
"Do not presume that it was I who was responsible for it Abysswalker. I never broke our agreement." The creature scolded him harshly.
Artorias kneeled in silence. His mind working to figure out the serpent's motives. He tilted his head up and studied the creature.
"Then who did? To my knowledge only you're the only one able to unleash something on that magnitude.
"Ooliacile themselves brought the Abyss upon themselves. How? I do not know."
More silence. Artorias did not like what he was hearing. The creature in front of him was a crafty one, their motives never clear. A Primordial Serpent. Officially titled Darkstalker Kaathe looked down on him. A black serpents head that resembled a snake, rose from the darkness and looked down upon him. Before him was the corrupter of the Four Kings and the leader of the traitor legions, The Darkwraiths.
"I'm assuming Gywn has given you orders to combat this new threat?" Kaathe asked.
"I am to deploy my legions in the coming days."
"Good. I will add on to your orders. Destroy everything. Leave no survivors."
Artorias's fist tightened and he clenched his mouth shut.
Taking a deep breath he finally replied, "It will be done. I take it we still have our agreement?"
"I will prevent any large outbreaks until the First Flame crisis is resolved. That should will give your precious kingdom more time. You have my word."
"Then we are done here." Artorias declared and turned to leave.
He had enough of this place.
"Artorias." Kaathe called out from behind him.
The Abysswalker stopped walking and turned his head.
"Remember as long as this deal lasts, you belong to the dark. I was the one who granted you the power of Abysswalking. All those tails that they sing of you in Anor Londo are false, even your willpower was not enough to save you. You serve me and me alone. Do not fail me when I say to wipe out the entire city." Kaathe ordered, while his red eyes stared at Artorias.
Artorias simply nodded and turned away. He was simmering in rage.
'Another massacre, forgive me. I do this for the greater good.' Knight Artorias told himself.
Darkstalker Kaathe watched Artorias leave. His order had been given and he knew the Abysswalker would follow them, even if he disagreed.
"You have the Abysswalker as your puppet. But tell me, why don't we allow the Abyss to spread now." Another serpent spoke behind Kaathe.
"You know why Frampt, we still need a lord to lead us. Humanity is not strong enough yet. We will bide our time until then." Kaathe replied.
"I see. You're sending Artorias to clean up our mess in Ooliciale." Frampt asked.
"He is the only one who can do it without causing suspicion to ourselves. I still can't believe those councilors believed our lies, they were only supposed to gain a little power."
"Yet they bring the entire might of the Abyss upon them. I am troubled on how they managed to do that."
"I suggest you continue you talking to Gywn. Misdirect him from our goals."
"That is my plan."
Both Primordial Serpents stopped talking. Their conversation was over. Silently they both slithered through the darkness. They had work to do.
The Lords Blade Ciaran selected her next target, the last traitor standing. All around them the room was littered with corpses of Darkwraiths. Deep gouges and stab marks all over their bodies. Crimson blood was visible in the moonlight.
She watched her target from the shadows. He lost his sword and was standing unarmed. Ciaran took her chance and ran toward him, both tracers in an attack position. She would finish him now.
The Darkwraith heard her approach and faced her. Suddenly its hand began to glow a dark red.
She ran right into it. The Darkwraith activated its art of life drain. She was desperately trying to get away. Finally she regained her composer and used her Gold Tracer to slice the things head off. It rolled to the floor and the body hit the ground with a loud thump.
Ciaran fell to her knees, her body was in massive pain. Suddenly she heard a footstep behind her. She began to turn, but a blow to the head knocked her unconscious.
Knight Artorias stood over the unconscious form of Lord's Blade Ciaran.
'I'm sorry my friend.' He apologized to her silently.
Beneath his azure hood a frown formed. He had just attacked a comrade. Granted she wasn't supposed to be here, he still felt guilt creeping up on his conscious. He couldn't let her know about his affiliations with the Abyss though. It was necessary.
He knelt down and picked her up, putting her over his shoulder. She was extremely lightweight, her small body almost weighed nothing when compared to his own huge body.
'Almost human' he thought comparing her size.
Finally he stood up and began running, carefully making sure she was secure over his shoulder. He needed to be back at Anor Londo before sunrise.
Augustus Leon along with the rest of his fellow soldiers watched black smoke ascend into the rainy night sky from their outpost. For the last few hours they watched uneasily as gray ash fell from the sky, coating the stone walls.
Around him, sixty men in heavy steel armor talked inside the walls of the guard tower. They were giants of men, their hulking figures towed over any regular man. That was expected of anyone from Berenike though. They laid their sword, shields, and pikes next to them as them as they watched the smoke.
"What do you think is going on down there?" Someone called out.
"No idea, we just have to wait for those scouts to return, maybe they can enlighten us." a voice replied.
"If anything, it's probably just a fire. Lighting probably hit a tree or some poor farmers field."
"Are you an idiot? No way a fire could start in this rain. Someone must be burning something and it got out of control."
"Heh I doubt that, unless you think someone was fast enough to set that many areas on fire at once."
"Shit, we're the closest outpost. I bet you we're going to have to be the ones to have to sort out whatever mess is down there."
All around him Augustus could hear his fellow troops arguing. It didn't concern him, he was just focusing on the smoke. For years he served the Empire of Berenike, one of the first human empire's. For the last two centuries Berenike had been expanding from their home cradle.
For five years he was stationed in this outpost and this was the most exciting thing he has seen during his time here.
His unit was charged with overlooking the surrounding settlements. A fairly boring job. They spent most of their time patrolling the region and practicing combat drills.
The outpost was situated on a large hill with large stone wall surrounding it. In the center of the outpost were the barracks, mess halls, and other various buildings the soldier set up during their free time. It housed a little over a thousand troops. Two cohorts consisting of four hundred and eighty men, plus a three hundred guard unit for the outpost itself. A cohort would entail eight groups of sixty men for smaller operations, while the guard unit would operate in groups of a hundred. A hundred units for all three sides of the wall.
Suddenly he saw something moving up the hills. A small figure running up the hill. Behind the small figure was a group of large figures. He could hear a faint scream emanating from the direction of the figures. He couldn't make out details, the heavy rain cutting off his vision. He had to tell everyone else.
"I spot movement! A group running up the hillside!" He shouted while pointing.
The rest of his comrades stopped bickering and looked where he was pointing.
It was a little girl. A little girl being chased by a large group of running undead. She was screaming whole she ran. Suddenly he heard the gate commander shouting orders.
"Open the gate!" He barked, then he pointed to Augustus's group, "Get into formation, protect the civilian!"
All sixty men descended the stairs leading up to the guard tower and formed right behind the gate. The gate open and Augustus found himself charging out in a square formation. He was the first one in his row. There was six rows, each one had about ten soldiers in each one. Sixty soldier in each small unit.
The plan was simple: the first line of soldier would take the brunt of the enemy attacks while thinning the enemies ranks with their pikes, until the unit's commander would order the next line to move up and the first line would move to the back. That way they could keep each man refreshed and ready for the next fight.
Augustus's unit stood in a defensive formation right outside the gate, forming a wall of great shields.
"First line, make sure that child is able to get through!" Augustus heard his sergeant shout.
The first line made a small gap in their shields, just enough so the little girl could get through.
She charged though the gap, hysterically screaming and sobbing. She couldn't have been any older than seven or eight. He felt a stab of pity for her, she must have been traumatized. It reminded him of his own daughter.
'Focus! Now is not the time', Augustus chastised himself.
The undead were about to reach the first line. Suddenly he felt something slam on his shield. It was an undead woman, the smaller dagger in her hand uselessly swinging against his shield. Her clothes were torn in various places and her gray skin was rotting. Patches of her skin was torn off, it was repulsive. Her hair had fallen of in clumps and her now was completely missing. Just two blood covered slits.
All around him, the fist line was plagued by similar problems. A wave of corpses were slamming against the wall of shields. At least fifty undead creatures assailed the formation.
They were howling like rabid animals. Like a rabid animal, they needed to be put down.
Suddenly the first line attacked, heavy pikes emerged out of the formation at the same time. Augustus's pike pierced the woman's eye and then through back of her skull, before he pulled out. Her body hit the ground.
Then he heard the unit commander shout, " Second line move up! First line back!"
Augustus moved to the back of his row. For ten whole minutes the process continued until all the corpses lay on the grass dead again.
"Stack the abominations in a pile, then burn them in a pyre. I don't want these filth to rise back up." Augustus heard his commander shout.
How the hell do you burn bodies in such heavy rain? It was pouring, thick heavy droplets pelting his heavy steel armor.
"Sir, how the hell do you expect us burn them in this rain? We won't be able to get a fire to last long enough." Augustus answered.
"Then decapitat-" his sergeant was about to reply, but a voice interrupted them.
"We have a horseman coming up the road!" A soldier shouted.
They could hear a horse galloping and see the faint glow of a lantern attached to it's side.
The sixty unit group move into a square formation again, blocking the gate. Great shields slammed into the mud and long pikes came out just above the shields. Along the stone wall, more soldiers came with bows and arrows.
Behind the formation, General Hadrian, the outpost's commander stood behind Augustus's formations observing. He had short gray hair, a messy gray goatee, and a face adorned with wrinkles. His helmet was held by his arm, while his free arm was hanging to his side just above his mace.
Augustus stood in the front line again. He was able to make out there was more than one horseman. A group of about eight rode in two separate rows behind the one in lead. Four in each row.
"I spot eight others trailing behind the main one!" Augustus shouted out.
They were getting closer, the front became tense. The sound of the horses hooves hitting the mud ringing in their ears. The horsemen were only a few minutes away.
Finally they arrived. They were fellow Berenike's. The lead one had a red scarf over his shoulder signaling that he was a messenger. The lack of shoulder pauldrons and smaller chest plate also denoted his identity also.
The man on the lead horse stared down at them.
"I come bearing a message from Regional Overlord Antonius , where is General Hadrian?" The messenger declared, his voice crisp and had a faint trace of someone born from aristocracy.
Augustus didn't like the sound of that. A Regional Overlord was a government official assigned to command an entire region under Berenike's control. They oversaw and directed all major activities in a region and had command over any military presence in the area. Every one of them was well educated and well paid.
"I am General Hadrian, where is this message?" The general said, moving his way through his troops.
The messenger got off his horse and knelt in front of the general. He reached inside the bag he kept by his side and pulled a letter out.
"Here it is milord." The messenger said, not leaving his kneeling position.
"What a kiss ass. Damn messenger is just trying to look good." Someone whispered behind Augustus.
Behind him, Augustus could hear some of the other troops laughing quietly. In his head he was also suppressing the urge to laugh.
General Hadrian took the letter and began reading it. As he was reading it, a grimace was slowly forming on his face. After about a few minutes Hadrian stuffed the letter in his satchel on his side and turned to the messenger who was still kneeling.
"Rise. Tell Antonius I will have my troops deployed in the hour. We will link up with the other forces. Now go." General Hadrian ordered the messenger.
The messenger bowed and swiftly got on his horse and rode away in the rain. Eight other riders trailed behind him.
The general turned to everyone else, his face was hard and grim. Augustus could feel everyone tensing up around him. They didn't like it and neither did he. General Hadrian made his way to the center of the crowd, all eyes following him.
"Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that we are currently at war." Hadrian declared shocking everyone with his announcement.
Murmurs swept through the crowd of steel clad Berenike soldiers. Everyone was looking at General Hadrian waiting for more information.
General Hadrian then looked at everyone and said "I have received word that only hours ago, the undead legions of Nito have risen from their graves and have begun a viscous attack on the settlements down below. There has been no survivors except for that child. Nito himself is leading his army personally."
Murmurs turned to cries of shock. The Berenike's looked at each other in alarm, heavy steel armor clanked as they shifted in it.
"The motives to this attack is currently unknown, but by orders of the Regional Overlord and our duty to defend Berenike from all threats, we will have to stand against Death. Our orders are to hold Nito's army off until we receive reinforcements."
Augustus looked at his fellow soldiers. Their faces were filled with grim resolve. They would have to stand against a god.
Then suddenly someone behind Augustus shouted, "This...this is heresy! To defy one of the gods is an unforgivable sin! We mustn't do so!
Everyone turned to the offender. It was a young recruit, his shaved blonde hair being pelted by heavy rain as his helmet was off. A manic look took his eyes and frantically they tried to make eye contact with everyone. He must have been raised from one the highly religious families, one of more wealth but lacking far more courage when compared to his fellows.
General Hadrian glared at the boy. It was taking his every fiber of his being not smash his skull open with his mace. An open attack on Berenike's citizens meant war, even if the attackers where gods. Berenike would bow down, but never would they submit their pride.
Instead he walked up to the soldier, his body towering over the recruit. Cold gray eyes seemed to pierce the recruits souls as he stared down.
"So you refuse to do your duty?" Hadrian asked.
The recruit gulped. Sweat and rain moved down his face as he spoke, "Sir I refuse to take arms against a god. I will be damned to onto Velka's book of damnation if I do sir."
General Hadrian and all the surrounding troops were openly glaring at the man. Cowardice. Coward had no place in Berenike's proud army. They fought and died as a single, cohesive unit. Cowardice was punishable by death. This man was only trying to save his own skin.
"I cannot believe I am hearing this. A man brought up by Berenike acts like this...? Tell me one last time then. Do you refuse to stand by your comrades?" Hadrian asked, his voice taking a soft and low tone.
"I refuse to damn my soul to something like that sir." The recruit declared, his voice shaking.
Silence fell over the crowd of soldiers. They knew what the recruit had just done. He had just signed his own death warrant.
General Hadrian donned his helmet and made a hand gesture to two soldiers standing nearby, his hand pointing towards the recruit. Both soldier grabbed him, securing his tightly by the arms and dragging him to his knees.
"You have betrayed your fellow soldiers of our proud empire by your blatant cowardice. A stain on our proud record that must be eradicated. I, General Marc Hadrian of the Berenike Army hereby strip you of your arms, armor, and pride as a soldier of our glorious empire. The punishment for your crime of cowardice may only be absolved through death. You are to be executed immediately." General Hadrian proclaimed in a harsh tone.
The recruit turned white, his skin pale with shock. Two soldiers striped the recruit of his armor and weapons, throwing them on the ground. They landed in the brown mud.
General Hadrian then turned to Augustus. Both of their eyes met. A silent acknowledgment.
Augustus knew what it meant. Silent he walked in front of the recruit and from his back he drew his greatsword. It was a heavy mass of steel and iron that not many could use, but to the average soldier of Berenike, it was the prefer weapon. A weapon they were trained to use the very second they turned nine years of age.
He glared at the recruit. The crowd of soldiers watched in silence as rain pelted their skin and armor.
Without a word, Augustus lifted his sword while his gaze never left the recruits trembling eyes. Then he brought is down on the boy's chest, the tip cleaving the ribcage apart. The steel blade emerged out of the kid's neck, killing him instantly. Crimson red blood stained the dirt beneath them. The body hit the ground with a loud smack as Augustus's blade withdrew itself from the body.
Two giant Berenike soldiers picked up the corpse and threw it into the pile of dead bodies from the last assault. Augustus stood and nodded to General Hadrian in acknowledgment.
General Hadrian of the Empire of Berenike stood in the rain with his troops. He looked at all of them and couldn't help but feel pride swell in his chest. He was part of the greatest fighting force humanity had produced thus far.
He commanded soldiers with iron wills and unmatched discipline . Each soldier of Berenike was extremely well armed and clad in the best armor. Each soldier had a great shield, steel pike, steel great sword, a mace, and a small hidden dagger. That was the basic equipment each soldier was issued.
The people of Berenike were unusually big for humans also, some of the could match a Silver Knight of Anor Londo in size. All of it rock hard muscles.
General Hadrian watched the two cohorts in front of him assemble and turn to face him. He stood above the gate they were about to depart. A hushed silence fell over the two cohorts as he raised his arm, signaling he wanted to speak.
"Never before has a situation like this occurred to us. Never before die we ever think we would have to face a god in the glory of battle. As all of you know by now, The Lord of Death himself leads an army numbering in the millions, cutting our people down like wheat. We must protect our people. Our duty as Berenike's demands it. Currently messengers are making their way to the capital to deliver word to the Emperor himself of this act of aggression towards our people. I can guarantee all of you that in the following weeks, the full might of the Berenike war machine will arrive here and join us in pushing back the undead!"
The soldier beneath him shouted, "For Berenike! For the Emperor! For our people!"
General Hadrian smiled as the gates opened and his army marched out. Marched out to their doom.
Augustus Leon stood in the front line of his row, his great shield in front of him. An hour ago they met up with the other local forces in the region. Now they had a force of a couple thousand men. Enough to put up a fight against Nito's army.
Silently the formation observers the plain around them. Towns burned like red infernos as cold rain descended down from the sky. Heavy wind picked up some of the smoke and spread it across the air. It seemed hell to Augustus. He felt nothing but cold rage as he saw those towns burn.
Augustus could feel himself shaking. Kilometer in front of him stood Nito himself surrounded by his army of a million corpse's. He could see bodies of the deceases and skeletons crawling into Nito's huge form. Skull faces adorned The Lord of Deaths body, seemingly laughing in amusement at the army in front of them.
It seemed ethereal to Augustus. The god towered over the humans. They could tell even from the distance. Augustus then tightened his grip in his weapon, remembering he was a proud Berenike.
Berenike would never fall so easily.
Heavy rain struck the mountain of corpses that consisted of Gravelord Nito's body. The Lord of Death sat observing the surrounding grassy plains. Each individual skeleton that made his form chattered quietly among themselves, empty eye socket monitoring the landscape. Some of them seemed to be laughing as they watched the chaos unfold around them.
For miles all around him, smoke rose up from the surrounding human towns in large black pillars in the rain. Gray ash fell with the white rain, mixing with soil and littering the wet ground with masses of gray dirt. Human fortifications fell and burnt under the combined might of the dead.
An army of millions layed waste to the surrounding region. Millions of corpse slaughtering the living as they desperately tried to defend themselves. An ever growing army expanding outward spreading death and disease wherever they went.
From his mind, The Lord of Death controlled the army. He could see out of the eyes of each and every one of his soldiers. Nito coordinated their movements and actions all from his mind. Each undead soldier was an extension of his will, completely mindless and following orders without question. They were the proof that death would find you. No matter how far you ran or how well you hid.
His intentions where to end the threat of the Abyss in Ooliacile, to wipe the city off the face of the earth of he had to. The Abyss posed a threat to his existence and he could not allow that to happen. Nothing would be allowed to defy Death. Velka was right, the darkness did pose a threat to him.
Human settlements burnt as they came in between him and his warpath. They would have to die too. So far only humanity could be tainted by the Abyss. If he was to stay in power he would have to begin exterminating them. A genocide campaign to keep his power. He was doing them a favor though, they were better off being taken by death rather than the Abyss itself.
In the distance a human army formed in defiance against The Lord of Death. Thousands of human soldier stood in square formations in the cold rain. Encased in gray steel armor, the humans stood tall with great shields and weapons at their sides. They didn't flinch as even as Death set his icy gaze upon them.
The Lord of Death recognized the human soldiers. They were soldier from the small kingdom of Berenike. The largest human country followed by the smaller nation of Balder, the only two human nations at the moment. By human standards they were superpowers in a sense, yet when compared to Anor Londo and Izalith, they were nothing but specks on the global scale.
They were still growing and learning. However they made up for it in boldness, following in the gods footsteps. Bravely trying to match their figures of worship in strength.
The Empire of Berenike controlled a vast amount of territory. Their capital city was located in the at the base of the mountains overlooking Lordran and from there they expanded outward to the coastline and into the forests south of Lordran.
Balder also was also beginning to expand from their capital region located on grass plains outside of Lordran. They expanded eastward, just below the mountains separating Lordran from the Eastern Lands. Balder did not have the same power that Berenike wielded, but within the decades they would be extremely strong and able to match Berenike in strength.
The Lord of Death knew much about their kingdoms. He always looked into the memories of the deceased and studied their cultures, economy, government, and military might.
The army in front of him did not impress him, they would be no match. Below him he could hear his army of corpse's shift in excitement. They could sense the prey in front of them. Millions of bodies raised their weapons high in the air, bones clattering non stop.
The soldiers from Berenike were not intimidated. Far from it. The burning towns and villages around them filled them with rage. A rage kept in control by their superior discipline.
Berenike put an emphasis on tight controlled phalanx formations and heavily armored infantry. The men had to learn to work together and keep themselves coordinated to be effective during battle. They fought as one unit. Their heavy armor slowed them and made them highly vulnerable to archers. The phalanx formation counter that weakness. They still suffered the weakness in formation, however their heavy steel armor made up for that. Most of the time they would be able to tank there way to their target.
Their formations would not save them from The Lord of Death.
Raising his arm, Nito silenced his army. All movement and sound ceased and the corpse army stood absolutely motionless. The battlefield was quiet with the exception of the rainfall pelting the ground and the occasional cracks of thunder. In the darkness of the night, faint ghostly white glow could be seen from the eyes sockets of Nito's troops.
As his army stood motionless, The Lord of Death moved forward, his mountainous presence over shadowing everything below him.
The Berenike soldiers tensed, shields raised and pikes jutting out of the formation. All of them fixed their glares on Nito. The commanders of the formations were unsure how to proceed. How do you fight death itself?
The Lord of Death stood in front of the Berenike formation, millions of white skulls staring down at the human army. The formations tightened, shields moving even closer together. The air around the the soldiers became colder and chill went up their spines. Death was only a few meters away from them.
"Humans, you dare defy me? I am The Lord of Death, far beyond your comprehension. You dare challenge death itself in battle? Punishment for your defiance must be handed down." The Lord of Death declared in a thousand voices, off pitch but in perfect synchronization.
The Berenike formations began advancing quickly through the mud. Swords and spears raised behind heavy shields as they moved forward.
The Lord of Death watched them advance in amusement.
'How foolish...' He thought to himself.
Nito targeted the first formation, a cohort of four hundred and eighty men and raised his enormous arm. Skeletons and bone fragments fell out as his arm moved upward.
With them in his sights, The Lord of Death unleashed his power. A black energy formed at the tip of Nito's finger, a small cloud of darkness and decease. Suddenly it zipped towards the armored formation at high speeds, a high pitched scream emitted from Nito as he fired.
Skin began peeling off the Berenike knights faces as a dark energy surrounded all of them. The giants of men advance slowed as their skin was torn off their faces and muscles decaying. Many of them collapsed to the grounds, the bones now inhabiting their armor unable to hold its tremendous weight.
A few continued to advance only to fall to their knees using their weapons as crutches. Soon only a lone soldier was left resisting Nito's power. His skin had sunken in and small patches skin peeled off of him. His weapon and shield lay in the wet grass beside him. The man glared defiantly at the god.
"...What have we done to deserve this? We worshipped you, followed your wishes, and built temple in your names! You have betrayed our trust! The gods have betrayed us! You will all pay for this!" The soldier shouted, his voice was rasp and barely audible.
Nito could hear him perfectly though.
The Lord of Death stopped the pressure and picked the soldier up. The massive bone hand clutched the soldier from Berenike tightly. A small crack formed in the steel chest plate.
Using his power, The Lord of Death looked at the man's soul and saw it desperately clinging to the body. The Lord of Death pulled at it, black tendrils grasping the soul from all angles and pulling it gently toward Nito.
It resisted, clinging to the body tightly and not letting go. Nito pulled at it more, but it didn't detach itself.
'Such defiance...this must be crushed', he thought to himself slowly.
In rage, The Lord of Death pulled violently with a large amount of force.
The body exploded. Dark red blood raining on the ground below.
The skulls on Nito's body seemed to be grinning at the surrounding human army as they marched forward. The had him surrounded on all sides.
He would show them the power of a god. The power of death.
The Lord of Death raised both of his arms outward and channeled his vast amounts of his energy into the ground. His arms had a red aura to them as he prepared his next strike. This would kill all of them. Finally his entire body glowed a dark red. The Lord of Death raised his arms higher.
The earth shook and a deep rumbling was heard. The Berenike soldiers stopped their advance and took up a tighter defensive formation. That wouldn't save them though.
All around them burning red spikes emerged out of the soil underneath, violently impaling groups of the heavily armored soldiers. Formations fell apart and soldier were sent scrambling for any sort of protection against the crimson spikes.
The Lord of Death guided each spike to a target, ensuring not a single survivor was left.
All around him the once proud army was impaled high above the ground. The red spikes surrounded Nito for miles.
'This will serve as a reminder to the humans' Nito thought to himself as he observed the surrounding carnage.
Silently he turned his gaze to the direction of Ooliciale. Through his mind he commanded his army forward, to resume their march.
Nito lead them. Millions of corpse's silently followed him in the rainy night sky.
"Milord! The Stone Sentinels have been activated. The now serve us." A man in heavy plate mail armor declared.
"Good, set them into a defensive position around the woods." A man in heavy stone armor ordered.
"Yes milord!" the man in plate mail answered.
Bishop Havel watched the man depart into the rain. Beneath the heavy stone slabs serving as his nearly impenetrable armor, his body relaxed.
His scouts reported that the undead armies of Nito were moving toward Ooliacile. He didn't think The Lord of Death could mobilize his forces that fast. He would just have to hold out in the city until his forces were completely ready and when they could control the thing far below.
He would just bide his time until then. The Goddess of Sin gave him instructions hold the city, so he would. No matter the cost.
-TOKYO EXPRESS with help from my friends who in mockery of my pen name has decided go give herself and himself the pen name of CHINA BITCH and BEIJING TRAFFIC (I'm a bitch!)