Queen's Notice Board: No way! More than a hundred reviews! Aw, you guys…!
Here! Longest chapter yet as my form of sincere thanks. Word of warning, this whole chapter is a day-to-day recap of the quiet, boring life Bob and Stacy shared before their adventure. It'll be full of subtle characterization, realistic dialog, and smarmy introspective's on the human condition of catharsis and acceptance.
DARK(ISH) SOULS
Seath the Scaleless exploded into the room like a white immortal harbinger of death. He didn't even bother roaring dramatically with his entrance; immediately, mercilessly blasting the first column of Giants with a wide swathe of its crystal breath attack. The first line didn't bring their towering shields up in time and were hit flush with the devastating beam as it rent right through their golden armor; crystallizing on contact before shattering their bodies apart from the sheer force of the brutal sweep. The second row of Giants quickly clustered together into a wall of shields as the front row literally collapsed in a shower of glinting death.
Bob could feel the cold, crystal doom from where he stood, yelping in pain as mere flecks of it brushed his exposed face under his helmet, prompting him to clamp his visor down.
'Oh fuck.' He breathed, but remained steady. Solaire said nothing, mirroring the group of Silver Knights still standing in perfect formation despite the carnage unfolding.
Seath didn't let up for a fucking second. The moment the first arc of his crystal breath finished, he roared and fired another blistering volley like a deadly one-two combination.
The frontline of Giants blocked what they could, but their shields took about a second of pure crystal artillery before spastically folding underneath the barrage; crumbling inwards like a house of cards smashed with any icy hurricane.
The Giants held their line, still standing even with their shields wrecked and painful spires of crystal jutting out from their bodies, some even sticking out of the holes in their helmets.
Again, Seath just kept blasting, only this time he dipped his head low; signalling a dead-straight salvo right through their lines.
Bob saw it, clenching his gauntlets in furious terror. There was no time or space to move.
'Artillery! Focus fire!'
Even over the horrifying din of Seath's monstrous roars, Gwyndolin's voice broke through. The sudden shunt of movement in Bob's allies was incredible. Just as Seath was about to cut his beam down the middle of their formation, a ridiculous fusillade of blue hellfire from every sorcerer in the cathedral whipped through the air with deadly precision and quite literally blasted Seath's head apart as it all connected at once. The stupendously well-timed salvo of every type of Soul Arrow had caught Seath flush in the face, catching him mid-beam and effectively bursting his own attack before it had torn out of its throat. A glistening torrent of scaleless flesh and pearl-white teeth had splattered the entire width of the hole Seath had made with his entrance.
But blowing Seath's head off was just the start. Right on cue, every Silver Knight in the room let loose with a follow-up volley of Dragonslayer Arrows that plunged right into Seath's bony chest. Since Seath was already reeling from having his face obliterated, the momentum of being pinchushioned by a wall of flying spears was enough to throw his whole body back violently.
Bob fought back the urge to cheer prematurely, as just as Seath was thrown back outside the main gate, a veritable swarm of Darkwraiths and giant skeletons surged through the gaps that appeared at his sides. As if that wasn't enough, Seath's head was already growing back; morphing and pulsating his features back into place in a disgusting display of reverse decomposition.
Gwyndolin's voice became present again; his thunderous, commanding voice keeping Bob in the battle at hand.
'Artillery! Concentrate on the door! Ground forces support the Giants!'
It was glorious to behold. Every projectile that their forces wielding just created an absolute maelstrom of endless destruction at the gate, a crucial bottleneck. Wave after wave of Darkwraiths, Skeletons and assorted monsters were hammered to a standstill and pulverized before they even set foot into the cathedral. But their numbers were expectedly overwhelming. As just as many managed to push through past the scattering remains of their allies, fearlessly charging towards the Giant's defensive line.
Bob could see the basic, but still highly effective strategy that Stacy was using. The Giants were an excellent bulwark, but they suffered at close range against the nimble Darkwraiths. When the Giant's brought down their massive golden halberds in a crushing, synchronized attack that outright flattened an entire line of Wraiths into black paste, several more of the monsters tried slicing in during the brief moment of vulnerability.
And that was Bob's time to shine. As expected, another wave rushed in to try and overwhelm the Giant phalanx but instead of standing there to try and block them, they raised their massive shields like opening a floodgate that released divine murder. A storm of Silver Knight's and Darkmoons jumped in through the small gaps between their line of Giant defenders, slicing, stabbing, and in Bob's case, brutally bashing every sneaky bastard that tried to cut through. Some strange kind of skeleton that bounded along on all-fours tried to bite and claw its way past Bob but his newly-minted skills kicked into overdrive. He stopped the thing dead with a swift hook that shattered its lower jaw into white dust, which caused the whole thing to collapse into a pile of useless bones that were immediately trampled by more attackers.
Bob had nothing to worry about though. In the few precious seconds that he'd fought back, the Giant's had already lifted their halberds back into the air and absolutely demolished another line of monsters. Again, the pattern repeated with the enemy trying to fruitlessly push through only to be consumed in a perfectly coordinated death-vacuum of Silver and Darkmoon. Bob and Solaire faced down a pair of charging Darkwraiths next. One of them rushed in with a swirling wall of dark magic in its hand like a shield, but Solaire was pulling out all the stops. He'd enchanted his sword with the Sunlight Blade Miracle and sliced diagonally through the Wraith like cutting air; Dark Hand shield and all. Bob wasn't as graceful with his target. As it lunged at him with a running stab, Bob countered by punching the tip of its blunt sword as it cut towards him. The momentum caused the sword to literally implode in the Wraith's hand and run its head straight into Bob's waiting fist, impaling itself through its skeletal face. Solaire was there to assist him by ramming his shield into the impaled Darkwraith's midsection, throwing it clean off of Bob's fist and sending its broken body tumbling backwards just as the Giant's slammed their shield wall into place and brutally crushed another wave in tandem.
'You're doing marvellously, my friend!' Solaire managed to cheer in between another successful routing of monsters that survived the Giant's bulwark smash. 'And to think Fair Stacy would be such a tyrannically gifted Warlord!'
'Thanks, Sol! I just hope Stace has a plan for that.'
Bob motioned towards the almost-regenerated Seath in between decapitating a Darkwraith with a haymaker. Seath was too huge to enter the cathedral proper, and it probably wouldn't use its breath attack whilst its allies were pouring in through the gate, but Bob was unnerved by the last surviving dragon all the same.
'Hang on…the hell is it doing?!' Bob yelled out when Seath lurched out with its arms and tentacles and began scaling the outer wall of the cathedral; disappearing above the upper frame of the gate. It was hard to guess what it was doing at first, as Bob still had to fight off endless waves of monsters, but when a resounding, splitting quake of an impact caused a small torrent of dust and debris to detach from the ceiling, he quickly realized what was happening with a sickening churn of fear in his gut. Seath was going to punch a hole in the ceiling, right above their forces, and most likely rain down crystal destruction in a horrifying pincer attack. The Darkmoon sorcerers and Silver Knight archers would have to rout him again, but in doing so would stunt their current artillery barrage at the main gate, probably letting in an insurmountable level of monsters to surge inside.
'Aw, dammit! Sol!'
'I'm aware!' Solaire replied as he charged a Great Lightning Spear in his right hand and hurled it forward, piercing four Wraiths in line into a kebab before the spear itself exploded gloriously. 'You must have faith!'
=][=
'Fucking dragon!' Stacy cursed as the Seath card on the desk started to smugly crawl over the ensuing battle below, floating about a foot in mid-air. 'Should've figured that piece of shit wouldn't play fair.'
Gwyndolin looked more furious than ever, practically bleeding a dark blue aura of menace as he continued to roar out orders to his forces in accordance to Stacy's card movements.
'Oh man…' Stacy was wilting a little, her hands already a blur under the growing pressure of repelling the endless decks of enemy cards storming the gate. 'Maybe if I move Quelaag…no Seath is too fucking big. How many gargoyles do we have left…wait, they're over—shit! Gwynie! Is there anything in reserve to deal with Seath?!'
Gwyndolin winced at that question, almost like he'd expected it.
'There is but using it is tantamount to heresy!'
Another bone-shaking impact rattled the pillars in the room accompanied by more clouds of dust falling from the ceiling. Stacy brushed it out of her hair and donned her hood.
'Are you insane?! We need EVERYTHING to win!'
Gwyndolin cursed aloud and threw a single card onto the desk, realizing there really wasn't any time to argue.
'May Gwyn have mercy on us all…'
Stacy quickly peered at the new card on the field and felt her jaw drop in ridiculous disbelief. It was heresy all right, but at that point, nothing was taboo anymore.
'Eat shit, Seath!' She screamed as she put the card into play.
=][=
The immortal dragon pummelled the roof of the Anor Londo cathedral, each successive strike breaking and weakening the structure enough from him to soon blast right through it with his crystal breath.
A sudden radiance of golden light stopped him just he raised another punch. It formed at the other end of the roof, encapsulating into itself in a holy furor of incredible magic power. The light finally took form, framing a pair of arms, two legs, and one beautiful cleavage.
Gwynevere, Princess of Sunlight stood proud and firm before Seath the Scaleless, her arms outstretched as her golden light illuminated nearly all of Anor Londo in its splendour. She wore the same placid, relaxed look, save for the crackling golden surge of energy emitting from her eyes.
Seath was hesitant at first, seemingly uncertain of what to make of it, but Gwynevere answered that query by exploding off the mark and burying her knuckles deep into Seath's face. Bones crunched and scales tore as her fist neatly cleaved through and tore Seath's lower jaw off. The force of such a giant being moving at that speed released a burst of raw energy that sphered out and caused nearly every building expect the cathedral itself to break out into cracks and crumble into towering pillars of dust.
As Seath's head recoiled from that attack, Gwynevere violently took hold of his neck, reared her own head back, and slammed her dome into its face. One, two, three times. Each consecutive hit further turning the Scaleless' face into an imploded mess.
However, Seath was born blind, and managed to find a home for his own fist to wrap around the Princess' jaw, releasing her grip on his neck and throwing her huge, robed form to the other side of the cathedral roof.
Gwynevere recovered quickly, bounding into a roll and back to her feet, facing Seath down once again.
=][=
Arcadia had hoped Gwyndolin would find an excuse not to launch Project Sunlight, but once the Darkmoon Talisman fit snugly in her helmet relayed that Seath had begun to try and punch a hole through the cathedral itself, she knew that'd be an inevitable outcome. She hadn't expected such an ungodly amount of power from it though, and even had to plunge her sword into a wall to steady herself from falling into the blackness below.
Project Sunlight was too volatile, just as likely to destroy them as any enemy. But it was the only thing capable of inflicting enough damage to Seath to at least put him out of commission long enough to affect the battle.
There was another unexpected outcome of its appearance; the wide frame of light it produced. It quickly brought to attention the force of Darkwraiths and Crystal Golems trying to sneak over the narrow walkway in the cover of the previous darkness that had enshrouded them.
'Unleash hell…' Arcadia said calmly as she raised her hand, the 40 Dragonslayer Bow wielding Knights framing the narrow ledge raising the pointed tips of their massive arrows as one. Without any hesitation or mercy she gave the signal to fire.
On that little walkway, without walls or railings of any kind, the approaching enemy was completely exposed to the triangulated storm of Dragonslayer arrows.
Each arrow that thunked into place in a Wraith's chest drove the impure monsters off the walkway completely; hissing in pain and humiliation as they were swallowed by the darkness they seemed to want so much. The Golems fared no better. Though their sloped, crystalline shells managed to deflect the arrows themselves, the force of each impact was like a literal punch to the face, throwing them off-balance enough for them to stumble and fall spectacularly, at times even lashing out wildly with their stubby arms and knocking off several of their own allies down to the depths with them.
'Clumsy beasts…' Arcadia couldn't help but mutter. The monsters kept coming despite the tremendous losses they were incurring, but that didn't bother her at all. Holding that small walkway was crucial to overcoming the enemies' most likely huge numerical advantage. The forces of Anor Londo could ill afford to fight on two even fronts.
The Darkwraiths, though taking heavy losses, managed to gain some reprieve from the Dragonslayer onslaught by taking cover behind the small pylon about halfway across the narrow walkway. They were going to group up there as best as they could for a another push, Arcadia gathered calmly.
'You can't hide from your sins.' She murmured, giving off a brief glint of her Darkmoon Blade miracle; a signal for another method of attack.
A cluster of Darkwraiths was gathering along the wall of the pylon, biding their time for an inevitable opening before they charged ahead. They seethed and hissed in guttural non-speak as they brandished their Darkswords in preparation, but a large, previously unseen mass flared into being above them. Chaos Witch Quelaag teetered above them, sticking to the wall and offering them the most sadistic sultry smile she could manage before having her lower spider half abruptly puke a literal magmafall of flesh-melting death down on them.
The carnage was as brutal as it was effective. Several dozens were suddenly drenched in the searing liquid that immediately churned through their Dark Armor like dry paper. They roared and hissed in agony and disbelief as they tripped and feel twenty at a time, shooting into the blackness like screaming fireballs. The ones that managed to scamper away from Quelaag's magma puke only served to meet an arguably less painful end when they stepped out from the wall of the pylon only to be rag dolled by a hellstorm of Dragonslayer arrows waiting for them to break cover.
Arcadia watched it unfold with a cold, indifferent gaze. There was no point of showing mercy to those things, after all. She almost let herself become complacent until Gwyndolin's voice abruptly rang inside her helm.
'Arcadia! BELOW!'
She heeded his words immediately and dropped her gaze for the first time since the start of the battle. What she saw made her breath cut short for a heart stopping moment, but she yelled out the first command that screamed in her mind.
'DRAW SWORDS!'
The order proved fruitless, as the twisting forest of branches that had crept up on them from below their field of vision suddenly sprung its merciless ambush. Countless branching tentacles shot upwards before most of the Knights could switch weapons. Several of them were impaled with enough devastating force to drive their bodies into the walls, even more were snatched by the tentacles and thrown aside carelessly or simply crushed into a metal-shrieking mess in the span of a single hopeless second.
Arcadia silently thanked the gods that her rapier was already in her hand, or else she wouldn't have been able to cut down the swarm of branches that had knifed towards her in unison. She took in her surroundings in an instant, taking in the abject horror of her defensive line being torn to metal ribbons before her very eyes. She even managed a split-second glance below, confirming her growing fears. The Bed of Chaos had snuck up on them, having climbed from the very bottom of the Earth no less. She'd thought the monster immobile, but watching it drive its flaming "wings" of chaos into the wall to hoist itself up quickly disproved that notion. It's featureless mass of twisting rotwood branches was already ballooning in size as it clambered closer, and again Arcadia had no time but to relay the very first order she could.
'Withdraw! Back to the corridor! We're completely exposed!'
She hoped to Gwyn that whatever remained of her force had heard her, as she simply spun on her heel and bolted for all her worth back to the small balcony on the left side below that led into the innards of the Londo Cathedral. Even as she ran a mess of the Bed's tentacles were already sprouting along every inch of the cliff, dangerously close to cutting her off completely. No doubt, with the Bed of Chaos destroying their ranks, the attacking force of Darkwraiths were already charging across the walkway unimpeded.
Arcadia hopped down and landed hard but immediately broke into a run when she reached the balcony and the sanctuary of indoors. She knew there was a bonfire through the door on the left but it would probably be useless with so many monsters around. When she felt she was far enough, Arcadia turned around and braced for the inevitable attack that would no doubt come surging through the passage to the balcony that she had just taken.
A pang of worry managed to rattle her normally unshakeable confidence when of her entire force of Silver Knights, only nine had managed to follow her. They stood at her sides, facing the passageway as they drew their bows again. They were devoid of fear, but Arcadia knew it would not be enough to stem the tide of what would soon come pouring through that passage.
But then, a lone warrior stepped forth ahead of her. It was not a Knight of Silver, but a Berenike. Black Iron Tarkus.
He strode purposefully towards the open passageway; armor and Greatsword glinting wickedly in the torch fire, and waited silently as the oncoming chatter of the Darkwraiths gradually poisoned the air.
A few more Silver Knights with their elegant spears moved in from the rooms behind Arcadia and formed another defensive line just in front of their long-range compatriots. Then came another handful of Darkmoon squads with their widely assorted armor and weapons, with those that could use sorceries and miracles taking the rear with the Dragonslayers.
'We have to hold here.' Arcadia told her paltry defence, somewhat unnecessarily. 'I refuse to report failure to Gwyndolin. Darkmoons…punish the guilty.'
As if in time with her words the first group of monsters dropped down in the balcony, immediately being torn to black shreds by their artillery force. But the onrushing numbers of Darkwraiths only increased by the second, and they soon muscled through the long range attacks and brought their Dark Hands up to block what they could.
Tarkus was already there to meet them. He swung his giant blade in huge, one-handed arcs that cleaved the air from wall-to-wall. It was like the Darkwraiths were walking into a Black Iron wall of destruction. Their shields and bodies just collapsed inwards as Tarkus' blade broke into them, not slowing, not catching, never-ending. Even the odd Crystal Golem that lumbered towards him fared no better. Tarkus just struck them with his shield as he charged, using their wide bodies to his advantage to successfully use them as a crystal battering ram; clearing out an entire line of attackers by forcing them back to the balcony and smashing them all clear to their doom.
Arcadia wasn't easily impressed, but she was in clear awe of Black Iron Tarkus. He was a one-man army, effectively defending the flank almost by himself. The stories of his invincibility suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched at that point.
And then the Bed of Chaos appeared. The Mother of Demons thrust one of its hands through the passage, fanning its numerous tentacle branches outwards in every forward direction. All at once it was hit by another barrage of sorcery and arrows but that didn't even slow it down. Tarkus tried to cut down its appendages in a furious dance of lunging blows, but every branch his Greatsword sliced through regenerated completely before he even completed his swing.
Then, with a sickenly sudden jolt, the tentacles wrapped themselves around his arms and legs and yanked his whole body out of the corridor.
'Tarkus!' Arcadia yelled out, not even managing to take a single step to his aid when the passageway immediately began to overflow with another wave of monsters.
Arcadia cursed loudly and re-enchanted her sword as the skeletal grins of the Darkwraiths filled her vision.
'Come at me, sinners…'
=][=
The Bed of Chaos was plunged into the side of the Great Cathedral, its many tendrils and tentacles sprouting along its once-pristine walls like a branching disease. Up above, Seath the Scaleless and the Illusory Goddess were smashing the immortality out of each other. Each of their crushing hits threatened to crumble the very mountains that surrounded the city. They formed a perfect centre as the battle raged all around them, with the ceaseless lines of monsters bleeding into the light of the Lost City from two main fronts.
Tarkus was constricted in the Bed's massive hand as it wasted no time trying to crush the puny being into a mess of metal and fleshy sinew. The Black Iron Warrior did what he could to break free, thrashing his sword out of its twisting constraints but being quickly swarmed with the newly grown branches that endlessly twisted and squeezed his body.
The Bed was clearly agitated at the man's insistence to not dying right away, and with a monstrous howl applied its other hand to crushing the human.
The force was too much. Tarkus froze, bucking under the ungodly strain, fixing the Bed with a stare so chilling with its silent vengeance that any lesser demon would have let go out of sheer terror.
The Mother of Demons did not hesitate, rending further pressure to its hands. Tarkus' armor began to bend inwards…
Quelaag suddenly crashed into the Bed's "face", forcing it to reel back in shock and pain as she followed with a gout of searing magma at point blank range. The Bed shrieked as the magma set its form ablaze, its wooden body catching spectacularly well in a storm of immolation. Quelaag latched on for dear life as the Bed flailed about in blind panic, but she persisted in bathing the arch demon in magma and carving deep slices into its body with her Furysword. She hacked away faster and faster, rending the branches apart as she dug deeper into its chest area, sending flaming cinders of charred wood all around her. Her sword abruptly caught in the air as she readied another slice, the Bed having somehow recovered enough to snare her weapon and arm in its twisting tendrils.
The slack in her furious attack was a critical failure as already the Bed was regenerating all the damage she had done trying to cut her way inside it. Another larger tentacle whipped around the mouth of her spider half; clamping it shut so hard that some its eyes bugged out and burst from the pressure. Quelaag didn't even have time to struggle as every part of her body just disappeared under a vortex of demonic branches. But just before her face was covered, she managed a furious, yet silent yell. Right before the Bed simply squashed her form into mush, a massive shunt of inertia almost tore the entire monstrosity from the wall. It hung there with only one of its fiery claws supporting it.
And there, having literally appeared from the same depths that the Bed had, was its worst nightmare.
'GuuUUOOOOOO!'
The pathetic, almost sombre howl of Ceaseless Discharge droned out the Bed's tinny shrieks of surprise. With repeated shouts of pain and despair the disfigured giant of magma climbed the torso of the Bed like it was oversized rope, its mere touch burrowing into its body with the unrelenting heat it exuded.
There was nothing the Bed of Chaos could do to throw it off. It tried slamming Discharge with repeated open palms and spearing it with every branch and tentacle it could throw at it, but everything that connected erupted into its own flames that burnt towards its centre like a lit fuse.
Something was driving Discharge, a long-lost emotion fuelling it into a rampage of flaming madness. With another pained shout it speared the Bed's body with its own flaming tentacles, pinning it helplessly to the wall it clung to. It then punched its hands inside of it before clawing its brittle torso open, skewing it open so far the whole thing almost tore in half. And there, in the Bed's very core, clinging to mattress of dirt and twigs, was a puny maggot-grey insect. It shrieked hysterically as it willed all of its power to regrow its body, but Discharge was already rearing back its gigantic fist for the killing blow—
-and then it slipped. Discharge hollered in dismay as it plunged downwards and barely managed to snag a loose tentacle to keep from completely plummeting into the darkness. Its own body began to work against it as the one hand that had temporarily saved it was melting the tentacle it clung to helplessly.
The little bug at the core of the Bed chittered a mocking laugh of sorts as it eyed the monster that had come so close to ending its existence. It cricked a sigh of relief as the branches that protected it regrew swiftly around its form.
An explosion of power suddenly caused one of its hands to blast apart. The bug screamed and darted its beady eyes to the stump where its hand had been—only to see a gauntlet of Black Iron already plunging its way through the brittle mess of branches that separated it from the world.
It screamed again in a last desperate screech in an attempt to shut the hand out.
Too late. Its body managed to close around the arm to try and sever it, but the cold metallic grip had already reached it; closing its fingers around its fat maggoty body.
'Hrgh…' Tarkus grunted, feeling the core of the Bed of Chaos pop in his hands like a chunky water balloon. Immediately, he felt himself fall as the body of the archdemon crumbled away in a stone-grey shower of scattering branches and dust. Ceaseless Discharge dropped with him, but was eerily unperturbed; the death of the Bed seemingly his lone priority. Quelaag cut away the now-fragile tentacles that had trapped her and used her relatively nimble agility to lunge at the nearby wall and cling to it before gravity pulled her down with it. She looked downwards just in time to see Tarkus and Discharge swallowed by the abyss, with neither of them all too concerned about the grim fact.
Quelaag locked eyes with Discharge, her eyes frantic and apologetic. Though she was ravaged with cuts and injuries from the Bed's thorns, she scampered downwards along the wall after it.
=][=
'Fuck you!' Bob yelled as he tagged the leg of a giant skeleton with a snapping jab. The hit knee-capped the monster and it tumbled forward before it could swing its huge Falchion at him. Bob promptly decapitated it with a swift uppercut. By then, Bob was riding on a ludicrous wave of exhilaration and terror. The fear was still there, that mind-numbing worry of a possibly horrible death, but the more he fought, the more he belied his own weak mentality and limited strength, the more that crippling emotion dulled deeper and deeper until he simply stopped giving a fuck about it.
Was that what it felt like to be a warrior like Solaire? To fight and destroy the enemy using fear as a mentality for not dying?
It was an incredible feeling, no doubt. Even as a herd of rampaging dog skeletons barrelled at his defensive line, Bob didn't freeze, didn't hesitate. He dropped the closest one to him by ducking under its wild swipe and countering with a left hook as Solaire followed with a well-timed dropkick to the stunned beast.
The Giant Phalanx moved in after them, breaking the next wave of attackers like an indestructible floodgate. Bob did start to tire by that point, but Stacy's coordination was astounding. A nearby Darkmoon officer ordered him and Solaire to pull back briefly so they could catch their breath while their previous positions were filled by reserve forces. Some Darkmoons acting in support roles hurriedly passed around shot glasses of Estus for quick consumption to those with injuries, and for people like Bob, a quick oral application of a disgusting Green Blossom was in rapid order.
Bob gagged as the bitter herb stung like acidic coffee down his throat, but the effect of the plant as it entered his system was just terrific. He felt like he could run a marathon backwards…on his hands…on fire. His skin prickled and tingled with the unnatural energy spike and just like that he was itching to get back into the fight.
'Be at ease, my friend!' Solaire calmed him, though he had to yell the assurance out because of the unbelievable amount of noise. 'Do not tempt the fates with such enthusiasm!'
'Sorry, Sol!' Bob steadied his rapid breathing. 'It just…this feeling! I don't know how to describe it!'
'Tis the high of combat, Young Bob! Channel it, but don't let it consume your will to remain in this world!'
'Right!' Bob did what Solaire suggested, keeping that frenzied instinct of battle in his nerves, but taking several deep breaths to calm it somewhat. He tapped his Caestus together in anticipation, waiting for the call to replace the front line.
'ARTILLERY! WATCH THE SIDES!'
Gwyndolin's voice again, the panic and fury in his tone rattled the walls in its intensity. Bob wondered for a short moment what the issue could be; the enemy hadn't even broken through the main gate…how could…?
'Oh you bastards.'
It was a phantasmal pincer attack. Everywhere along the upper catwalks on both sides, a ghastly ambush literally phased out of the walls. The Darkmoon sorcerers and Silver Knights didn't even have the time to turn around before their numbers fell to the daggers piercing through the walls and into their exposed backs.
An army of New Londo Ghosts had appeared without warning, howling with despair as they hacked and stabbed their way right through the defensive lines on the upper floors. Some of the Darkmoons and Silver's recovered as best they could from the ambush, but trying to repel them proved completely useless. Swords, spears, and magic just passed right through their ropy ethereal bodies, and to make matters even worse, the ghosts daggers heartlessly ignored the shields raised against them; puncturing several warriors as they crumbled and fell in disbelief.
Bob watched in horror as the battle tipped horribly in the enemies favour before his eyes. The ghost ambush cut the stream of projectiles blanketing the main gate short, and in merciless tandem the numbers pouring through the gate grew monstrously in size and ferocity. The Darkwraiths leaped at the Giants, swarming them as they slashed and stabbed at their exposed legs. The first line of Darkmoons and Knights moved in to try and counter them, but the tide of monsters was already pushing them back, cutting the Giants off from their support. One after the other, their gleaming gold forms disappeared a midst the swirling wraith violence, just as their skeleton forces pushed through and attacked the support units directly.
A small explosion erupted in the upper balcony passage followed by a glut of dark blue smoke, and out of the haze came Arcadia and a small handful of assorted soldiers. They were in a state of disorganized panic as they jumped to the ground floor after the first staircase, and Bob realized what had just happened.
Their second front had fallen. As if the army of murderous spectre's wasn't bad enough, now they were going to be swarmed from two sides by the enemy. The way things were looking, it seemed there was no choice but to—
'FALL BACK! To the secondary chamber!'
Bob felt equal amounts of relief and shame at the order. But there was no time to question his own bravery as he turned his back to the front and retreated; clumsily running shoulder to shoulder as he and his allies squeezed through the smaller gateway to their last bastion of defence.
Immediately after entering he saw Gwyndolin standing at the edge of the balcony at the far end; his Crown of the Dark Sun shining maliciously. A small glimmer of confidence reinforced his will when he met Priscilla's eyes for a brief moment. She stood firm amongst her small army, with a much larger force of Anor Londo's reserves integrated with it. The upper catwalks were already brimming with the shining tips of arrows and glinting catalysts, ready to unleash every long range attack they had at the smaller chokepoint.
The lines parted to let Solaire, Bob and the bulk of the main forces through before closing around them; effectively forming their final bastion of defence. Bob was lucky enough to have Priscilla to his right, Solaire on the left, and Arcadia and the remains of her force forming a line in front of him. Their presence was a small comfort, but against the enemy already leaping and snarling up the small staircase, it wasn't enough to quell the raw shock of mortality that Bob was experiencing. He was seeing his life; his entire stupid and pointless life play out like a second-rate picture book in his muddled brain. It just made his situation even more insane. How had he come from literally the most boring and uneventful life someone could live to facing down the forces of darkness with a coalition of warriors from every spatial dimension?
Bob hadn't noticed at first, but he was hyperventilating, his hands trembling slightly beneath his Caeustus gauntlets. He hated that fear. That weakness. But Solaire's teachings quickly channelled through his form, morphing that fear, transforming it…
'YOU'RE ALREADY DEAD!'
…into rage.
The first of the enemies heads popped up as they climbed the staircase and was immediately disintegrate by a caustic convergence of physical might and magic. Like the endless torrent at the main gate they poured inside with unholy abandon, and just as before the rabbled lines at their front were torn and twisted apart by their artillery. Azure beams of soul arrows cut into them at such a furious frequency it was like a constant beam of focused destruction devouring every beast that set foot inside. It seemed almost ridiculous that they could push through the barrage, but they did so all the same; forcing through with their sheer malice and numbers.
'Hold them! Hold them or die!'
Gwyndolin's words of encouragement, though he did fire off a huge bulb of dark energy for emphasis. His own projectile tore down from the balcony and ripped through the monsters in a straight line before gutting into the meat of its force and exploding outward spectacularly.
The ghosts from earlier tried the same trick on their artillery, but Stacy was working her magic like clockwork. A line of Darkmoons covering the walls were already buzzing on Transient Curses, and so when the spectres peeled out to try and get the drop on them they were instead stabbed and torn to pieces as the varied cursed warriors ripped into their otherwise frail un-bodies.
Still, even with that, the Darkwraiths simply muscled through the mayhem to attack their lines directly. Their forces grew more varied as well, now backed by formations of Giant Skeletons firing arrows the size of harpoons up at their own artillery, engaging in a mortar free-for-all as the air was congested horribly by clashing projectiles.
There were no giants to stem the tide by then, so when the Darkwraiths pushed through Gwyndolin gave the order to engage them directly, resulting in a hurricane of bloody close-quarters melee.
Priscilla's army of hollow rejects more than proved their worth in the ensuing battle. The dreglings with mutated pus sacks for torsos leaped into the enemy by way of an improvised catapult with King Jeremiah's head. When they landed in the thick of the enemy, they were predictably ripped apart only for their skewered bodies to belch out a thick red toxic spray in every direction. The Darkwraiths shrieked and gagged as the toxin crippled their fighting ability, making easy prey for sword and spear as they staggered around uselessly.
Not to be undone, Priscilla's wheel skeletons rolled into the fray from both sides as the monsters tangled with the Darkmoons and Knights. They cackled in glee as their spiked wheels shredded into the Darkwraiths like an Iiato through Londo butter. Because they were so nimble, they could cleave a line through the enemy and swing back before the enemy had even raised their swords.
Bob did his part too as he moved forward to relieve the frontline. Already drunk on fear and Green Blossom, he swung his gauntlets out in a vicious flurry at every monster within his reach. Shouting and cursing wildly, he planted punch after punch into their faces, parrying their blows and ignoring the spike of pain every time a Giant Skeleton managed to throw him back with a lunging push kick. Sometimes he pushed forward too hard, and found himself overwhelmed only for Priscilla to bail him out with a graceful flourish of her Lifehunt; mutilating the surrounding enemies into paste and flying shards of bone. Solaire would step in after her, cutting down a few more monsters before pulling Bob back into their defensive formation.
'Calm yourself. You cannot win this battle alone!' He lectured sternly.
Bob didn't doubt that simple statement, especially then, when even the steady supply of Green Blossoms and Darkmoons casting the Soothing Sunlight miracle did little to alleviate the scathing amount of pain and exhaustion that his mind was failing to register properly.
Priscilla made her own concern known with an admonishing whip of Bob's flank using her tail. That sharp, exclusive pain snapped Bob out his drunk, furious haze, and he nodded dumbly in acknowledgement, finally falling back so that the reserve forces could relieve him temporarily. Solaire retreated with him; his armour dented and scratched all over, with a thick black ooze glazing almost every inch of his sword.
Bob took the brief downtime to stare in terrified disbelief at the carnage engulfing the front.
No way in hell was I just in that…He thought grimly as another wave of Giant Skeletons smashed into their defensive line of Silver Knights. Their size and numbers almost buckled the Knights with their initial charge, and no matter how many were mutilated by the storm of silver swords and spears, they just kept coming.
'How many are there…?' Bob murmured to himself, realizing that every Darkmoon and Silver that fell was a costly loss. Why were the Darkwraiths so numerous compared to themselves? Was it human nature to relish the act of invading dimensions; solely for the purpose of the gratification of senseless murder?
'Their numbers will dwindle. They must.' Solaire reassured him. Bob was honestly surprised he'd heard his concern over the unbelievable noise.
'Yeah…' Was his weak reply, unable to bring any false bravado to bear. Solaire didn't call him out on it. And out of everything happening in that crazed moment, Solaire's lack of a positive rebuttal worried him most.
=][=
'Something's wrong…' Stacy seethed, her wrists creaking from overuse as she danced the cards on the desk in an endless crescendo of barely-contained madness. It was pushing her mental limits to keep track of everything in that battle; Gwynevere slugging toe-to-toe with Seath the Immortal, Solaire, Bob and Arcadia duking it out on the frontlines, Gwyndolin flinging an insurmountable number of powerful spears of sorcery right into the gut of the enemy.
Those Giant Skeletons. Why were so many of those Giant fucking sk—
'Oh no. No, no, no, no, NO! Too soon!' She screamed.
The skeletons. They weren't just swarming in en masse, they were the same ones. Coming back again and again. Necromancers. Nito. NITO.
'Shit! Gwynie! Gravelords' already shown up! Are "they" ready? '
Gwyndolin didn't look up for a second in the midst of his own hellfire of projectiles, but nevertheless managed a coherent response.
'They're ready enough! Two minutes at best! If they fail, this battle's already lost!'
That was enough for Stacy. Without another word she put her last two trump cards into play. It was all or nothing then. Pretty soon, it wouldn't matter how she moved the cards. As much as she hated to admit it, the rest was in the hands of that merciless bitch, Fate.
Gwyndolin spared a second's glance at the cards Stacy put on the field, immediately roaring out the appropriate command.
'Gemini unit, GO!'
=][=
Right in tune with Gwyndolin's voice, a pair of pillars in the larger outer chamber broke out of their reinforced Chameleon spells; right in the thick of the surging Darkwraith forces. The monsters initially didn't know what to make of the pillars bursting apart in a gloopy golden mess to reveal a pair of coffins standing upright in their place.
The coffin's, easily larger than the Giants who had walked that chamber before, broke apart at the same time, revealing an instantly familiar duo. And even though the pair was completely surrounded, it didn't stop either of them of from unleashing hell.
Super Ornstein and Over Smough, crazed by their undeath, driven to an insane extreme through the will of the Dark Sun, instantly broke into the enemy lines with merciless abandon.
Ornstein wasn't complete; his armor still caked in his own blood and exuding an aura of dark blue energy, but nevertheless managed to cut a straight line into the enemy; stomping Darkwraith's into the ground with his taloned feet and blasting apart skeletons with swift swipes with his spear.
Smough looked even worse. His whole head was missing, spewing out an uncontrollable flare of the same energy consuming his compatriot out of the severed stump that was his chunky neck. That didn't stop him from lowering his hammer down and brutally bulldozing every creature that happened to exist in its general vicinity.
At first, their attacks seemed random. Destructive but random. But every horde of monsters they cut down and squashed into paste revealed a deadly pattern.
They were pushing through, only killing what had to be killed, and ignoring the stragglers that managed to plunge their Darkswords and Falchions into their already battered bodies.
And there, at the very back of the Darkwraith forces, was Nito. The clumsy pillar of bones death and disease was too caught up his own dance of the necromantic arts to notice the pair cutting a bee line towards him.
The Darkwraiths, seemingly sharing a hive mind of some sort, converged on the two with increased brutality; throwing their entire bodies at the two in every effort to curb their momentum.
Over Smough drove his whole, fat mass into the fray first, crushing an innumerable amount of the beasts under his hammer and stomping feet both, but a leaping force of Darkwraiths and Giant Skeletons consumed him like a hellish tornado. They stabbed and maimed at every exposed point of the cannibalistic knight, bringing him down in flourish of violence.
But that was all the opening Super Ornstein needed. Even as his own mutilated body was riddled by like a pincushion with Darkswords, the Dragonslayer Knight leapt onto the already-toppling corpse of his overweight ally, drawing whatever energy was left as he drove his feet into his body. The monsters swarmed him the second he flattened Smough's body, plunging their weapons into his body in a last ditch attempt to destroy him.
Ornstein roared maniacally, his supposedly ceremonial helmet coming to life as he reaped a chilling tear of a scream in the chamber.
Nito himself launched a Gravelord Sword into Ornstein that effectively skewered the Knight right down the middle; the ethereal orange blade bursting out of the nape of his neck.
That attack seemed to stop him, enough for Nito to let out a cackling screech of enjoyment.
Ornstein suddenly blazed to life for one last glorious moment. His Dragonslayer spear almost exploded in his remaining arm in a dazzling blast of electric energy before he hurled the whole weapon across the expanse of the chamber.
Nito had never been the most spry archfiend, and in that horrible moment it cost him more than ever.
Just as Ornstein was consumed by the Darkwraith forces, it did nothing to stop the flight of his spear as it cleared the length of the chamber in a split-second and impale itself right through the left eye socket of the Lord of the Undead.
Nito squirmed for a moment before the whole tower of bones and blackness that made up his body just blasted apart when Ornstein's' spear exploded from within its torso.
The skewed helm of Ornstein seemed to twist into a satisfied smirk before it disappeared amongst a staccato of frenzied blades.
But his spear wasn't the only thing to leave an impression. Soon after Nito had been reduced to a cloud of bonedust and scattered electricity, Ornstein's own body took its cue to detonate, followed immediately by Smough's.
In that crushing, blinding instant the entire chamber was alight with thunder and destruction. Ornstein and Smough took with them the entirety of the forces occupying the spacious room.
The blast was so fierce that it bled into the room the Darkwraiths were trying to break into; enveloping their lead forces to die screaming as their splattered remains spurted over the defensive lines of Anor Londo.
=][=
The shockwave from the blast hit Bob flush, nearly knocking him to the floor. But for once in his life he fought the nature of equilibrium and stayed on his feet. His ears were still ringing from the blast and when that passed he was met a with a merciful spell of silence.
The battle had stalled; the passage at the far end now nothing but a scorched hole choked up with black tatters of Darkwraith flesh and hefty piles of scattered bones. A thick smoke permeated the area beyond the passage, crackling with a diffuse of fading golden bolts.
'Don't drop your guard!' Gwyndolin yelled from his post, his unnecessarily magnified voice even more grating without the symphony of battle to dull it. 'Reform the lines and move in slowly!'
Bob had rested enough. He bounded forward and took his previous position at the front, with Solaire quickly joining him. Even from that position, he couldn't quite make out what was left in the main chamber, so he shuffled forward within a tight-knit unit of Darkmoons, with a phalanx of Silver Spears acting as a bulwark.
'We're going in there?' Bob couldn't stop from muttering, but didn't falter in his advance.
It was Arcadia who replied, having joined the unit bringing up the rear.
'We must destroy the enemy here.' She said humourlessly. 'Or did you want to simply wait for the sinners to regroup?'
Priscilla moved into place to the far right of Bob's position, surrounded by layers of her private army, with her faithful wheel skeletons slowly rolling along at her sides to match her pace. Bob felt his exhausted heart flutter painfully as he looked at her. Whilst everyone else was covered in oily Wraith blood, bonedust, and chunks of who-knows-what, Priscilla alone had managed to remain unmarred by the filth of bloody combat.
He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her and back to the front, just as their forces came to a stop at the foot of the staircase leading back to the main chamber.
The dust and debris was settling, revealing a horrendous mess of mutilated beasts splattered over every tile of the huge room. Two smoking craters were punched into the ground near the middle, the epicentre of the destruction.
They'd finally managed to break the enemies charge, Bob concluded with an exasperated sigh. The last wisps of smoke had cleared, reinforcing his thought. None of the enemy was left standing, or in one piece. And nothing was arriving into the chamber from either of the two entrances.
He noticed too that the deep rumbling that had accompanied the fight between Gwynevere and Seath was still present, albeit at a much lower volume. No doubt they had taken their battle elsewhere at some point during all the fighting Bob had been preoccupied with.
'The Chosen is still here.' Arcadia hissed abruptly, breaking Bob from his reverie. She strode hurriedly to the front of the line, standing on her own in front of their forces.
'Ms Arcadia, are you certain?' Solaire asked doubtfully but kept his shield up all the same.
She didn't answer him and walked further onwards by herself.
Bob thought to try and ease her worry with a quip about the Chosen disguising himself as a jar, but noticed something unsettling by pure chance.
There, far up in the top-left corner of the chamber something moved. A greyish, disfigured limb phasing into the wall soundlessly and disappearing. Bob blinked hard to focus his vision, detecting something even more worrying. The shadows, the darkness itself was shifting around them. It was subtle, appearing as a trick of the light because of the multitude of glowing sources of it.
It was moving. It was surrounding them.
Bob didn't pause to scream out.
'BACK! MOVE BACK! NOW!'
Everyone turned to him in surprise, not expecting him of all people to yell orders. Arcadia aided his blunt command with her own.
'He's right! GO!'
They fell back in a mad scramble up the steps, just as the shadows dancing in the torch and sorcery light suddenly twisted violently towards them.
A deep, thunderous howl filled Anor Londo as they managed to blitz back into the room they came from. Bob quickly turned back around to face the opening and see just what they'd escaped from.
He saw nothing. Literally nothing. An un-light so thick that it looked more like a physical wall of emptiness. It'd filled up the whole passageway, nearly trapping them inside.
But then, what light was left in their own sanctuary began to flicker out. Every torch along the walls flared a bright purple before extinguishing completely.
'Close ranks! Every side! It's them!'
Them. Bob knew what that meant. Who else could it be at that point?
His hands were trembling again, but not just from fear. The temperature in the room had plummeted. Bob could already see plumes of his frosty breath dance through the slits of his helmet visor.
More horrific howling's of the undead rang out through the chamber from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The cold dipped further, blanketing weapons and armor with icy slick.
The forces of Anor Londo huddled together, pointing their weapons in every direction.
The howling stopped, the cold reached its lowest point, but luckily a few orbs of light held against the abyss.
And then they waited.