A Dark Soul & A Painter Within Remnant II
Author Note: Hello! A pleasure to be of your acquaintance! This is the remaster of A Dark Soul & A Painter Within Remnant II, which is an improvement from its predecessor. I hope this story will be as awesome as the other, considering how well-received it was.
Also: There was a weird formatting thing occurring earlier, which I noticed as did another person, bless your soul. I think it's fixed now.
I hope you enjoy!
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The sound of snow being crunched beneath armored boots were all that could be heard within the snowy vastness of an open field covered in a blanket of white, untouched snow. In the distance, a large chapel with a wooden, worn look about it is seen the distance. The bell-tower ringing above; someone doing it with great haste too.
The armored figure tried getting closer to their intended destination yet stumbled on the way. Their hands and knees falling to the crusty snow that wasn't forgiving at all. Its cold bite of winter ate away at his bones and skin. A whistle of cold breeze made itself known as the only source of noise in the lonely landscape.
Taking a closer glimpse onto the snow itself, one could make out the indents of countless faces and bodies buried beneath the surface.
Moonlight above showered upon the scene, showcasing more corpses and weapons scattered around the open field.
Making a more determined effort, this armored figure desperately stood back up, limping towards the chapel.
He only made it three meters before hearing a loud screech in the distance; guttural and angry. A low rumble of a bipedal creature stomping to his direction made getting to the destination more important.
Getting more closer, it got louder. The bell-tower didn't help in adding more noise.
"You will stand at the pristine city in the sky, without really knowing why." An amalgamation of voices combined with an elderly woman, a little girl, a deep-voiced man, and a scared boy said inside his mind.
"Most have succumbed to the curse or the ash; others gave up in pursuance of power or cowardice. Not one of them stood here as you do now."
He made it to the edge of the cliffside where the dilapidated chapel made its home. Checking the door, it was locked. The armored warrior ignored the voice and tried making it to the side to see if there were any other openings. He ran his hand against the white wooden planks that made up the chapel; blood smearing on it in a rugged, uneven line.
The screech got closer behind him and he took a glance to see a horrible abomination on multiple limbs and bodies stitched together, racing to ensnare and mutilate the only living thing standing in its path.
Limping to the side of the chapel and towards the edge of the cliff, he was greeted with a dark blue frozen sea and the moon itself shattered beyond all repair. Heavy snowflakes proceeded to fall upon the blanket of winter.
Slowly gazing to his left, the lone armored warrior spotted a woman.
This new womanly figure who also stood at its edge gazed at him. Charred and bloody armor clinging to the remnants of skin this individual once had.
"Please." The voice asked; amalgamation tuning in with the woman's dulcet tone. "Come back to us. We need you. He needs you!"
The armored knight stepped back before the cliff's edge gave way and allowed him to plunge into the freezing depths of the frozen ocean, only to awaken somewhere else.
His dark-grey eyes opened from underneath his leather hood and mask; they scanned the area before returning onto a familiar steel ladder.
A dream? I haven't dreamt in a long time…
He sighed in relief to see Ariandel Chapel still in one piece; fire still cracked beneath where Friede's corpse now lays, though it didn't bother him anymore. Nothing did.
The dream must be coming from this.
Lifting the leather pouch that probably started all this madness in this first place was brought to his viewing. The armored right gauntlet was already corroding with the decay and death that the Dark Soul emanated.
Faint whispers could be heard after given enough time; time he didn't have to waste.
It's almost over. I can end this. The cycle will end, and I can finally finish this. Juliane… I'm almost there. The face of a woman with beautiful chocolate-colored locks of hair and a charming smile entered his mind; he smiled at the thought of it.
He ignored the constant whispering of starting a new age; instead he started climbing the ladder leading to The Painter's room. Even after all this time, the paintings of Friede, if they can be called that, still bother him somehow. Her little chair is still there too, as well as the candle. It's as if a part of her refuses to leave the place she inhabited.
"Return from whenst thou camst." She would always say.
Ending the final step, he arrived at The Painter's abode, his boots making the wooden floor creak with each stride.
The moonlight that attempts to gain entry though the circular window behind the Painter still looms beside her.
There she was, still gazing at the blank canvas with small splotches of paint riddled around her grey robe and shawl. That beret hanging loosely on her head as she looked back to see the only one left to converse with.
"Ashen One, you've returned. I sense that thou hast recovered the pigment? The pigment colored like the Dark Soul of Man? May I see it?" She held out her hands to receive the one thing that emanates madness; he, in turn, slowly passed it into her cold palms.
"My thanks, Ashen One. With this I will paint a new world. Please tell me thy name. I would name this painting after thee."
His name? Gods… It had been so long since he last used his name. Not since he had been with Juliane… His love.
He opened his mouth, slowly forming words and feeling the cold air come forth into his lungs.
"D-Dajorn. My name… It's Dajorn."
"My thanks, Dajorn." She smiled as she still bore her eyes into the painting, eager to paint. "I will paint a world of that name. Twill be a cold, dark, and very gentle place. And one day, it will make a goodly home."
She looked back to Dajorn, checking behind him to see someone. "Where is Uncle Gael, Dajorn? I hear that he also went to retrieve the pigment." Her eyes scanned the area, in hopes of finding the man. Dajorn's silence all but confirmed what his fate was.
"I…" The Painter paused, taking in the thought of her only caretaker being not of this world anymore. "I see… Thou hath been kind to grant him his release. His death shall not be in vain."
If only he could comfort her, but how could he? There was nothing to be said about a man who had succumbed to madness.
TING. TING. TANG. TANG. TONG.
Dajorn's eyes hardened. He recognized that noise anywhere. He had all but forgotten about damnable Red Spirits and Darkwraith.
It must be the Pigment.
His left hand tingled with familiarity. It called out to a former comrade, though he cannot call those abominations comrades anymore.
He heard the ladder being climbed; three figures slowly climbing up and possibly ready to fight.
The first…
Dajorn's hand shook for a slight bit for seeing the old face of one assassin he hadn't seen in years.
Next was a woman, a rather lithe and pale one who wore robes and a wizard hat tipped in deep blue. A sorceress.
Finally, a man clad in scraps of armor. A large flame begging to be released in his right hand. A pyromancer.
CREAK. CREAK. CREAK.
Dajorn slowly stood between them and The Painter. They all thought the same and proceeded to get into a combat stance. The Pyromancer in the middle; Assassin on the left, and the Sorceress taking the right.
Some may call it a sad stake of odds, but the old warrior thought it best. Far better than taking an abyss-corrupted dragon beneath the depths of The Ringed City.
"I see the Dark Soul of Man has made its way in this sad dreg heap of a painting. A shame, I must say." The Assassin spoke in a deep, calculating voice. Each word spoke of power and vileness.
"No answer? Not even for an old friend? Not from the Hand of Kaathe himself?"
Dajorn quickly unsheathed his battered silver-longsword and Aqua-marine dagger, his footing rooting themselves in a position ready to dodge. He'd guess that the sorceress would cover for the two as they quickly cut him down. He'd never let that happen.
"There's nothing to converse about with you, Alric." Dajorn quickly answered, his glare wasn't seen behind his leather mask. "Leave now, I wish to not shed blood in this abode."
The now-named Alric chuckled, it was a half-hearted one at best as he looked around the sad excuse of a painting room. "You're telling me that you wish to protect that? She's a lost cause. This," He gestured to the whole room, "is a lost cause, old friend. As I said earlier, it's a waste. The Dark Soul can be used for so much more. Just give it to us. It will be in better hands." Alric held out his hand in a receiving manner and stared at Dajorn and then onto The Painter.
The two behind him are slowly getting closer. He's plotting something.
Dajorn looked above them to the ceiling, it was a gamble.
This will take a lot out of me.
His left hand tingled with the sensation of warmth as he readied up a pyromancy; Chaos Storm, a deadly spell to use in here. But it would buy him time to get rid of the pyromancer.
"I won't be handing anything over." Dajorn said as plunged his fist into the floorboards.
SLAM! CRACK! His fist connected with the wooden planks below, each one splintering and giving way to his strength.
Bursts of flames and magma spewed out and created a large curtain for him to perform a quick shove to the pyromancer. Dajorn ran and made for a tackle towards the poorly armored pyromancer.
The fool didn't notice until it was too late as he was pushed into the plummeting death that awaited him. He first hit his head on one of the ladders' steps and then the wall before finally reaching the ground floor.
SPLAT!
That was one!
Dajorn quickly turned on his heel and deflected a barbed dagger attempting to slash at his jugular.
SWISH!
Backstepping, he looked between the two now concerned Dark wraith; one in anger of loosing a pawn and the other trying to summon up some soul-based sorcery. It was something Dajorn couldn't allow as he tried dodging Alric's swift dagger and short sword.
"I'm quite disappointed in you, that was a very useful pawn that you just killed." Alric chuckled, "Well, I wouldn't say useful anymore if he died before the battle even began."
CRACKLE. SIZZLE. CRACKLE.
The blazing Chaos Storm behind Dajorn continued to burn, he only hoped that the Painter could infer that he's buying her time. Time that was ending; not much longer and there wouldn't be enough focus to sustain it much further.
"You're worried about her of all things? Don't you have more important matters to tend to?" He twirled like a dancer and performed a whirlwind slash.
SLASH! TING! PANG!
Dajorn parried the first two, but the damnable sorceress got in a Soul Dart on him.
"URK." He grunted in pain as it slammed against his soul; tearing away a bit of his spirit and inner being.
"You've gotten so slow since we last met, old friend. Has fighting so much dulled your reactions? Hm?" He smirked as he made onto a further advance.
That was his specialty, taunting the foe. Killing alongside that murderous lunatic had its perks of knowing how he worked. Dajorn was anything but short-tempered.
Rolling to the left, Dajorn made way to the Sorceress; she knew of his idea and backed away further. She noticed that the wall of flames ended and quickly strode towards The Painter.
"Got you." Was all Dajorn whispered as he ducked under a swing by Alric and threw a kukri at the thin and undoubtedly weak woman. It lodged itself in her chest and she gasped for air.
THIP! THIP!
He threw another one and got her by the left thigh; she fell onto one knee and was bleeding severely. She was weak. By the look of her desperately trying to unhook an estus flash from her hip.
PLUNK! POOF!
He threw one of the five undead hunter charms at her, preventing healing of any sort.
She glared with murderous intent upon infliction.
This is it! Dajorn tried to finish off the opposing sorceress but was pulled back by an invisible force.
"I will not allow that, you blundering old buffoon!" Alric was using a talisman; an x-formed gesture of his arms confirmed it.
Dajorn was on his back, sweating and heart pounding faster than ever. He can't afford to lose now. After all this horrible fighting, he couldn't allow all those who sacrificed themselves to get him here end with death.
Alric leapt forward and jumped atop him, barbed blade ready to rend his throat of its flesh.
Dajorn grabbed Alric's arms with all his might; Alric doing the same as he was slowly inching it closer to his opponent's weak point.
"I…" Alric's eyes glinted with joy, "Will not…" His smile looked so sickly, "Lose!" Alric was so certain of winning that he didn't notice the anomaly occurring around them. Neither did Dajorn.
THWISH! THUM! THUM!
A strange light was enveloping them both, it had looked like a summoning by the looks of it. But to them? Why?
"YOU!" Alric assuming this was Dajorn's doing, tried to unsheathe one of his spare daggers on his hip, alas he was far too late. They both disappeared into the light. They didn't know that The Painter as well as the unconscious Sorceress were also succumbing to this strange anomaly.
Dajorn closed and then reopened his eyes to see that he was falling into an endless void full of darkness.
The Abyss? He thought, but it didn't have that same feeling of nothingness and despair. This was different. Like he had been summoned to help another spirit in need of assistance. Except there was no link between him and a spirit here. There wasn't any at all. His droning about where he was ended upon seeing The Painter also plummeting through the dark.
His instincts of helping kicked in as he tried to get into grasping distance of The Painter, but the entirety of his vision soon filled up with a blank white. That was all he saw was the young woman trying to hold out her own hand to him before he fell into a dream-like sleep.
The Painter's vision filled with a white blankness before trying to get to The Ashen one. But she too fell unconscious to this void.
Chirp! Chirp! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
She awoke after a while to a colorful blue sky with beautiful stars. Things that she had only witnessed before in books within the library that Friede locked her in.
CRUNCH.
Taking her first step felt wonderful; the grass beneath her feet was slightly cold and prickly, yet it was more preferable and soothing than the never-ending winter that was Ariandel. Another step was welcomed with a cold breeze brushing past her face; lock-locks of hair moving with the wind.
Breathing in through her nose, there wasn't a hint of decay or death here. Just the smell of… nature?
Moving once again in a long time, she began her stride around this forest which could rival the ancient forests of the Gods. Her draconic eyes gazed about, seeing the small leaves sometimes falling from their trees, the small detail of the branches swaying every now and then, and the hard barks of wood these trees possessed. Placing a hand on one of them, she could feel no impurity or corruption like that of Ariandel, which rotted with every turn of time.
However, behind this tree lay a familiar figure; battered and beaten with blood soaking the cloth beneath the tattered armor.
Ashen One…
She reached out to him, only to notice that he was unconscious. Her eyes looked above, the sunlight that shone on him would be perfect for a painting. Painting… That's right. She was supposed to paint a brand-new world. A cold, dark one that will make a good home for someone. Staring down to her waist was the pouch which held the pigment of the Dark Soul. Checking it still showed power emanating with an unnatural glow.
The Painter needed a canvas. A special one meant to hold enormous amounts of magical power like this. But where would she acquire one again? She can't even remember where the last one she was working with had come from.
If only Uncle Gael was here, he would know.
She looked up to towards the sky once more, only this time with an intrigued look and a question lingering on in her mind.
Where are we, Ashen One?
And that's the end of the first chapter! Thank you for reading this and sticking around for as long as you have! I'm so grateful to be of interest! This hollow is truly thankful.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, radical! If not, then darn.
Until we see each other again~
Don't go hollow!