The Pilgrim's eyes snapped open and he sat upright, breathing heavily. It took him a moment to get his bearings. He was sitting next to a bonfire... What had happened to him? The hollow with the well maintained armor lay nearby! He had just stabbed him! Or was that a long time ago? He felt as if a fog were encompassing his mind...
He looked down at his skin, finding it dried and scarred like the rest of the hollows. He pounded his fist on the ground in anger. Had that hollow killed him? Looking down he saw a hole in the breastplate he wore, far larger than the hollow's sword could have made. Then that hollow couldn't have been why he died, but what had caused this hole? He threw a rock in frustration, which clattered off the gate that led outside.
He bit back a curse at the telltale noise and drew his blade, waiting for an attack. When none came, he exhaled slowly and sheathed his sword once more. He chided himself for the stupidity of his actions. What possessed him to do something like that? He kept himself calm, breathing steadily. Why was he having so much trouble keeping himself under control?
Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and moved outside the gatehouse. The sun had gone down, how long had he been out? A few hollows were stumbling about in the courtyard below, nothing like the numbers he had encountered earlier. The bridge leading to the other tower was covered in bodies; he chose not to go that way as he was unsure what had killed them. Most appeared to be burnt and he feared the drake may have had something to do with it as there were burn marks all over the bridge. He opted to sneak past the hollows below, feeling too sluggish to fight unless necessary. If only he were human...
It wasn't difficult to sneak past them in the darkness, though he was extra careful not to kick anything in the gloom. The night was lit by the moon, for which he was pleased. It allowed him enough light to see two hollows standing at the top level of another tower, which led down. He figured he'd be able to take them, so he snuck up on them. The two of them seemed to be squabbling, trying to get down the stairs first.
As they shoved one another, the Pilgrim drew his sword and closed to striking distance. He kicked out at one of them, sending it tumbling down the stairs, and slashed the other with his blade. The blow was shallow and the hollow spun, grabbing onto him. The Pilgrim struggled to free himself, but its grip was like iron. The hollow tackled him to the ground, pinning his sword, and began smashing his head against the ground. Though his own semi-hollow state dulled the pain, he still saw stars from the force of the blows.
The Pilgrim heaved his body, sending the hollow tumbling forward off of him. He stood and quickly turned, piercing the hollow with his blade. As he withdrew it, he felt another hand grab the back of his armor and toss him toward the stairs. He sailed through open air for a moment, seeing the other hollow as it threw him past it. He'd given it ample time to recover and failed to watch his back. Sloppy... He landed on the back of his neck, tumbling painfully down the other half of the staircase.
The Pilgrim rose shakily to his feet before promptly being bowled into by the hollow, who had tripped and fallen down the stairs in chase, knocking him flat once again. The Pilgrim growled with rage, standing and raining sword blows upon the stunned hollow. He continued to slash at it even after it was surely dead. The haze covering his vision slowly lifted, and he realized exactly what he was doing.
He dropped his sword in horror, reeling from the bloody mess on the floor. What had come over him? He had never been driven to do things like this before! He was acting... Inhuman, he realized with shock. He had been hollow once before, but he'd never lost his humanity. Could the sprite have really been that literal? It was difficult to wrap his mind around, especially in his current state. He gave up on the thought, instead endeavoring to press on and maintain control of himself.
The Pilgrim sheathed his sword and got a better look at the bottom of the stairs. He was in a small room. It appeared to be some sort of makeshift bedroom that soldiers could have used on extended watch in the tower while another stood guard up top. The only features were a very deteriorated bookshelf and a bed that had long since collapsed. The tower continued down and away from the bridge, and therefore the church. He began to walk back up the stairs when he stopped. He thought for sure he'd heard a hollow in the room. He walked over toward the bed, sure of it now. He listened for another hushed, yet ragged breath that had given it away.
...There! It was behind the bookshelf! He went to move the bookshelf, but as he stepped towards it the bookshelf suddenly broke into pieces. A hollow came running at him, the bookshelf hadn't slowed it. The Pilgrim was caught off guard, half raising his shield and trying to draw his sword. He completed neither of the actions, instead the hollow's broken sword cut deep into his side and he was knocked to the floor by a flailing fist that followed it.
The Pilgrim rolled to the side as the hollow jumped at the spot he had just been laying, stabbing its broken blade into the stones of the floor. It stabbed the ground in blind fury a few times, evidently unaware or unconcerned that it had missed its target. The Pilgrim kicked at the confused creature, knocking it flat. With one fluid movement the Pilgrim stood and slew the hollow, who screamed with outrage until its breath left it.
The Pilgrim sat down in the middle of the floor, checking the wound in his side. His armor was ragged by now, torn and cut in a dozen places from all the combat he'd faced. He pulled the flask from his belt and inhaled the healing Estus. He sighed as his flesh knitted back together, a feeling he wasn't quite sure he'd ever get used to, and stood up to return to the bonfire.
Heading back to the stairs he heard something that made him stop once more. "Looks like he's leaving Yulia. Won't trouble us any, eh? Nee hee hee hee hee."
He turned toward the voice. It was coming from outside the tower. He headed toward the large doorway, and walked out onto the balcony.
A slight man outside, clearly undead, scrambled away from the doorway. "Ah, he's here to kill us! Don't worry Yulia, I'll protect you!" He cried, fumbling to draw the strangely shaped sword he carried.
The Pilgrim put his hands out in front of him. "I bear you no ill will."
The man eyed him carefully. "Well now... You seem to have your wits about you, hmm?" He mumbled, returning the sword to his side. He continued to stare at him as he took a seat in the middle of the balcony. The Pilgrim merely nodded. "Then you are a welcome customer!" He shouted, causing the Pilgrim to scan the area for any hollows that may have heard.
The Pilgrim ground his teeth to keep from lashing out at the deranged man. "I have no money, so I should be going." He said, not wanting to be near him any longer.
The man grinned. "Not very bright, is he Yulia? I trade for souls. Everything is for sale! Nee hee hee hee hee!" He said, gesturing to the assorted junk behind him and cackling maniacally.
The Pilgrim sneered at the insult, and saw nothing among the man's junk he wished to purchase. "Just who are you talking to, this woman seems to be in your head alone." He retorted.
The man turned to him with a befuddled look. "Who? I'm not talking to..." he stopped suddenly, a look of realization coming over his face. He put his hand on the sword at his side. "Ah, this one?" He asked, caressing the blade. "Her name is Yulia. She's plumb in love with me. You'd never leave my side, now would you, Yulia?" He cooed, stroking the sheathe with his thumb.
The Pilgrim slowly moved to draw his blade, fearing the insane man would strike at any moment. The undead merchant noticed his movement, and moved his hand to his blade as well. "Seeking to strike me down and take her for yourself, eh? Ah, you can forget it. I'm the only one she needs." He said, a smile playing at his face. Suddenly he acted as if he were keeping the sword from leaping out of its sheath. The Pilgrim drew his sword, but made no other move as he was entirely unsure what was happening. He continued to back away as the man called to him. "Careful, she'll bite your little fingers off." This comment seemed to send him into a new fight for restraint of his sword. "Be kind, Yulia, be kind! Nee hee hee hee hee!"
The Pilgrim reached the doorway, ready to fight or flee if he had to. The merchant seemed to notice that he was making his escape for the first time. He ceased "fighting" for control of the blade and called out to the Pilgrim as he retreated through the door. "Not buying anything? Hmph. What a waste of time. Go fall off a cliff!"
The merchant made no attempt to follow the Pilgrim, instead sitting back in his chosen spot on the platform, mumbling to the sword at his waist. The Pilgrim ignored him and decided to return to the bonfire. Heading back toward the stairs, he stopped when something on the hollow that had been behind the shelf caught his eye. Movement, something flitted out of view. He walked over to the body, examining it more closely. There it was again, hidden under the hollow's ragged clothing. Pulling back the ripped garment that passed as the hollow's shirt, the Pilgrim gasped as a black sprite flew out from underneath and hovered near him. That must have been what the hollows at the top of the stairs were fighting for. He reached out to it, but it made no attempt to fly away.
He held his hand out, watching as the humanity floated above it. He wrapped his hand around it, compelled to crush it and feel the rush that it would bring. He gave in to the urge, inhaling sharply as it merged with his being. A wide grin spread over his face, and he raced back to the bonfire.
No hollows stood in his way and he easily made it back to the gatehouse. He struggled to remember the words that the crestfallen warrior had taught him, having only heard them one time. Finally recalling the ritual, he recited the ancient words and was thrilled by the rush of warmth that coursed through him. He watched as the skin on his hand flowed from the arm down, turning from the burnt, scarred skin of a hollow to the normal skin of a human.