Eclipse 3 – The Fading Light
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No matter how fast they ran, the screams of the dead and dying followed. The heralds fled through alley after narrow alley, decrepit buildings arching overhead, as if the village itself was closing in on them. Verna wanted to collapse, to submit to the crushing despair, but Marth's relentless grip kept her moving. He dragged her onward, taking up the rear as Lendrey and Calvert marched ahead, protecting Cliope from both sides. The priestess was still drenched in her sister's blood. She hugged her chime with trembling hands, causing it to jangle erratically. Her lips formed the words of prayer, though she barely made a whisper.
No one spoke as they ran aimlessly down meandering paths, trying to retrace their footsteps. Every sharp corner or shadowed doorframe set them on guard. With each passing moment, they expected to be overrun by hollows, but the frenzied horde had at last subsided. Their howls were now distant echoes, mingling with the clash of steel and the cackling of crows. This did nothing to ease the clergymen's terror, and thus they remained vigilant for any sign of danger.
However, when they rounded the next bend, they were fully unprepared for the quiet nightmare that greeted them.
One by one, the heralds went still as they beheld the black sun. That terrible sight hung high above sanguine clouds, casting an ominous pall across the land. Strands of liquid dark oozed from it like a gaping wound in the sky itself, ringed by a halo of crimson and gold, as if sunlight yet struggled to escape the void. They all recognized the horror for what it was, even as their minds refused to accept it.
The Darksign. Their benevolent idol had become their greatest fear manifest.
It was Cliope who broke their trance. She pitched forward on her knees as a single, hopeless wail clawed its way from her throat. The heralds stared at the broken priestess, paralyzed by her grief. Only Marth had the will to act. No sooner had her cry resounded through the village than he clasped a hand over her mouth, struggling to subdue to weeping woman.
"Stop," he said. There was no panic in his voice, no frustration, no authority. It was not a command, nor a plea, but a simple request. "Stop, Cliope. Stop..." As she met the warrior's stoic gaze, the priestess choked back her sobs, until her body merely quivered in silent woe. The other heralds watched helplessly, but Marth paid them no mind. Instead, he stared past his comrades to the dim alley from which they came, face taut with apprehension.
A door groaned on rusted hinges. An emaciated hollow emerged from the shack, slack-jawed, eyes gleaming red, a crescent sickle clutched in its bony fist. As it turned hungrily towards its prey, another door creaked open, then another. Over a dozen soul-starved wretches ambled from their dwellings, drawn to the sound of sorrow.
With the cliffside at their backs, the heralds were cornered. Calvert and Lendrey readied their shields and halberds, faces pale. Verna lifted her blade as well, though it wavered visibly. Her vision was still blurred by tears, sweat, and blood. Marth joined their side, bearing only his shield, and formed a wall around their priestess.
"Remember our oath," he said. "We swore to protect the mission at all cost. We are their sword and shield against any and all dangers. As long as Cliope lives, as long as we still stand, so does our mission. Understood?"
"Aye," Calvert hissed through grit teeth. Lendrey gave a solemn nod, and Verna steadied her sword with both hands. Together, they stood fast against their adversaries.
The hollows swarmed as one, throwing themselves upon pointed steel without fear of pain or death. The heralds could not even strike before the mob surged straight into their polearms, impaled by the force of those pushing behind. Calvert tried to wrench his weapon free, but it was lodged uselessly in a thrashing corpse. Beside him, Verna fared slightly better, her short blade slicing through the villagers without rest. It was all she could do to keep her fellow warrior from being overrun.
Lendrey dug in as he lifted his halberd with both hands, a gaunt peasant squirming on its tip. With a mighty heave, he flung the hollow aside and immediately swung back into the fray, cleaving another's head in two. A cleaver bore down on him, but Marth deflected it with his shield before caving the wretch's face in with a gloved fist. Even without his spear, he fought savagely. He caught a pitchfork that glanced off his breastplate, then snapped the haft with his shield before before driving its points through the hollow's eyes. The bodies and limbs began to mount, yet still the hollows pushed their assault. They hacked and stabbed, even through their fallen neighbors, consumed by their thirst for blood.
There was a rush of wind as something leapt into the throng. Suddenly, the hollows erupted in viscera and gore as a massive greatsword swept through them like a whirlwind, cutting the hapless peasants down without mercy. The heralds stepped back as the last of them fell, and a lone legionnaire emerged from the massacre, dripping helm to boots in blackened blood. Inflamed eyes turned upon them, and Verna felt ice flood her veins.
However, the legionnaire simply stood there, glaring. "I thought I told you to run," she finally rasped.
Verna released her breath in disbelief. It was the same Watcher who had protected them from the Legion's commander. Somehow the woman survived, even as muscle and bone lay exposed beneath her hideous wounds.
"We lost our way," Marth replied guardedly.
"Then perhaps you deserve to die."
"What difference is it to you?" Lendrey spoke up. "We're grateful for the help, but we never asked for it."
"Indeed," Marth agreed. "Why are you helping us?"
The legionnaire stared at them with deadened eyes. "Does it matter?" When the heralds showed no sign of moving, she gave a rattling sigh. "That woman you followed, she claimed the curse had not yet touched you. Did she speak true? Are you really alive?"
"Yes!" Calvert spoke up eagerly. "We are not undead! None of us bear the mark, I swear it!"
"Not entirely," Marth muttered, drawing everyone's eyes, though his remained locked on the mysterious woman. "You can tell what I am, can you not? I bear the Darksign, but only me. I swear the rest are alive, and I intend to keep them that way."
The legionnaire did not respond for some time. When she did, a semblance of emotion seeped through her words. "Then you are the first of your kind I've ever met. In all my travels, of all the kingdoms I've watched fall to ruin, the curse was always there, waiting for us. I'd thought the living to be no more, that only..." For a moment, she faltered, then left the thought unfinished. "You are a dying breed. I know this much. And unless you wish to squander your blessings, I suggest we stop wasting our breath."
After a moment, Marth said, "We used a service lift to reach the village. It's in that tower, just beyond the ridge. Can you get us there?"
The Watcher hoisted her greatsword onto her shoulder. "I can try."
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They continued along the vacant cliffside, finally within sight of their destination. The tower rose far in the distance, yet close enough that they could hear the deep beating of the giant's bowstring. Reaching their goal, however, would be another matter.
Lendrey tugged uselessly on the locked gate, cursing their poor luck. "No use trying to break it down," he growled. "We'll draw the whole bloody town to us."
"What now?" Calvert asked, instinctively turning to Marth, but it was the Watcher who answered him.
"We take the long way," she stated. "Circle around the cliffside. There must be another path through the graveyard ahead." She paused, the asked, "That must be where you entered from, is it not?"
Marth shook his head. "I'm not sure anymore. I don't recognize this part of town at all."
"It wasn't here before."
Everyone turned in surprise. It was the first time Verna had spoken since the attack. "What do you mean?" Calvert asked her.
"This fissure. It wasn't here. Neither was that ridge." She pointed to the graveyard ahead. "We passed that cemetery on our right, but... the road is no longer there. The world..." she paused, as if suddenly realizing what she was saying. "The world is breaking."
A rising dread filled the silence that followed, until the Watcher shattered it. "Nothing to be done about it now. We lot can't put the world back together, so think no more of it." Without waiting, she continued on, and Marth motioned for the rest to follow.
As they marched, Calvert put a hand on his companion's arm. "Hey, Marth... I had no idea about the... you know. I never realized."
"You can say it, Cal. I'm dead."
"Well, no," Lendrey cut in. "You're not dead. You're undead."
"Honestly, it feels the same to me."
"We might all end up dead," Lendrey continued solemnly. "Living, dead, undead, makes no difference now. The whole damn world is ending. What matters is that we have each other's backs. We're brothers and sisters in arms, just as we always have been. Bollocks to the rest."
"Aye," Calvert and Marth agreed as one.
Having found her voice again, Verna reached out tentatively to Cliope. "Sister," she began, but the priestess quickly withdrew from her touch, eyes locked on some unseen horror. As much as it pained her to see the maiden like this, Verna did not want to trigger another outburst, so she let the woman be. Instead, she turned to the Watcher.
"You never told us your name."
The legionnaire hesitated before replying, "Ingrid."
"I'm Verna."
"Let's save the introductions 'til after we survive, yes?"
The herald winced. "Fair enough. I only wished to thank you for saving us. I cannot imagine... fighting against your fellow warriors..."
"Heed those words, girl. You may yet learn how it feels."
Verna shivered, her thoughts still dwelling on Percelle's last moments of torment. "Does it not afflict you at all? You've slain your own kind, yet you show no remorse, no guilt. How do you bear it?"
Ingrid glared at her with bloodshot eyes. "Because that is what we do. We are Watchers of the Abyss. We stare into the face of oblivion, and we do not flinch. We wage a hopeless war, yet we do not falter. We do not lay down arms at the prospect of doom. Nay, we welcome it. We are Farron's Legion, and we will not go gently into the Age of Dark."
Verna's blood ran cold. "Apologies... I meant no disrespect."
"You disrespect none but yourself with your weakness," the Watcher admonished, her tone harsh, though somehow without judgement. "You will fight and overcome your fears, or be devoured by them. Whether you fear for your life, or those of your comrades, you favor no one by dwelling on the dead. Be mindful of the living. That is all."
There was no reply. Verna echoed these words in her mind until they drowned out her terrible visions.
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The graveyard was quiet, save for a gathering of crows perched atop the headstones. The scavengers cackled to each other as they peered sideways at the newcomers, wondering who would become their next meal. Verna ignored the blackened gazes and focused on the wandering hollows ahead. They were few, hardly a threat, but the heralds advanced cautiously all the same. Who knew how many more lurked behind the hills, or worse, beneath their very feet. Soon, the undead spotted them and shambled forward, rusted tools in hand.
"Here we go again," sighed Calvert.
There was a distant thud, and the crows took flight. Despite the approaching danger, Verna glanced after them, distracted by their abrupt departure. Her eyes went wide as she spotted a dark object framed against the crimson sky.
"Look out!"
She had barely shouted when an enormous arrow slammed into the nearest hollows, erupting in a shower of earth and corpses. The clergymen were flung off their feet by the blast, though the legionnaire remained standing, anchoring herself with her heavy sword.
"Gods!" Lendrey spat dirt. "Isn't that oaf on our side?"
Ingrid turned to the tower, her back stiff. "Move!" she roared as the giant loosed another arrow, and this time, there was no mistaking its target. The heralds scrambled as the missile arced straight towards them, bearing down with deadly speed. They hardly ran a dozen paces when it struck, demolishing the cobbled path behind them. They felt the shockwave against their backs as they charged into the peasants, spearheaded by the Watcher.
She slid low beneath their cleavers and swung wide through their legs. Her blade was so thick, it did not cut so much as crush their kneecaps in two. The warrior and her greatsword skidded across the ground like a sidewinder, her movements uncanny, felling the hollows like trees. The heralds quickly dispatched those she left in her wake, but others moved in to flank them. Even more bodies were rising from between the gravestones, awoken from their torpor by the sounds of battle.
Verna ducked around a pitchfork and severed the villager's arms, then kicked him back into his brethren. She swung madly, trying to keep the mindless fiends at bay, when another arrow collided with the crowd, throwing undead in every direction. One of the corpses crashed into her, nearly knocking her down, but the heralds at her back kept her from falling. Verna glanced around in a panic, realizing that the closer the hollows came, the easier a target they all made.
"Spread out!" she tried to shout above the din. "We're too close!" Despite her efforts, the warning was drowned out by the clashing of steel.
"Aaagh!"
She spun around as Calvert screamed behind her. A hollow was grappling with him, kept at bay by the halberd's shaft. She wheeled about and rushed to his aid, cutting down another wretch who tried to stand in her way.
As she neared, Calvert finally shoved the peasant aside and lopped off its head. "Keep going!" he waved her back. "I'm–"
His words were cut short as a devastating blast threw them both to the ground. Dirt and debris rained down on Verna, filling her eyes and lungs. Someone was trying to help her up, but she fought back, reaching for Calvert amidst the dusty haze. As the cloud settled, she spotted the young herald pinned to the rocks, nearly split in two by the giant's arrow. He was staring straight back at her, though the light had already left his eyes.
She could hear the scream inside her head, but it never left her mouth. She turned away and kept running, even as another arrow crashed into the cliffside.
The survivors cut a swathe through the crowd as they bore right, past the familiar temple on the hill. They were nearly free. Verna could see the bridge leading to the lift, but to her dismay, the path was littered with foes. Undead peasants, skeletal hounds, and lumbering brutes armed with saws all trampled closer in a teeming mob. It was as if the entire village were descending upon them.
"We're finished," Lendrey muttered in disbelief. "We can't fight them all..."
"Go back!" Marth ordered, shoving the herald out of shock. "Head to the temple!"
"We'll be cornered!" Ingrid shouted, though she too was already retreating.
"Better than surrounded!"
To this, the Watcher had no retort. They hastened up the stairs towards the great temple, fending off the peasants and dogs close on their heels. As they reached the tall wooden doors, Marth grabbed its handles and heaved them open, while the others braced for the surge of undead.
Once more, the Watcher took point. She swatted enemies aside like flies, while the heralds finished off those that got past. With one hollow stuck on his halberd, Lendrey bowled another over with his shield, then crushed its skull with a hard stomp. A hound lunged and impaled itself on Verna's blade, snapping its bony jaws and squirming its maggot-ridden body. She struck back with her dagger, puncturing its jowls repeatedly, but her sword remained lodged in its ribs as even more villagers drew close.
To her surprise, Cliope stepped forward and threw out her hands, casting a translucent orb into the throng. It blasted the peasants aside like rags, sending them sprawling into those behind. The maiden then seized the dog's mangy fur with her bare hands, and together they ripped it from her sword.
"Cliope!" Verna shouted too late as a cleaver sliced through the priestess's back. She cried out and collapsed into the herald's grasp, even as Astora steel pierced her assailant's face. Her white robes blossomed red, laying bare the torn flesh and muscle beneath.
"Get in!" Marth bellowed, and Verna wasted no time dragging the priestess into the temple. The others filed in and slammed the doors shut, though it was a futile gesture. They retreated into an open courtyard as the villagers easily forced their way though, but those that entered approached lazily, as if sensing their prey was trapped. The undead flooded past the antechamber and swarmed into the arena, encircling the outnumbered heralds, only to leer and lash out threateningly from a distance. Even the dogs held back, pacing hungrily with lolling tongues.
"Why have they stopped?" Ingrid hissed, bloodshot eyes darting nervously across the sea of corpses. "Something's wrong..."
There was a sudden crash behind them, as if the walls were caving in. A great tree, which had grown right into the side of the courtyard, had begun uprooting itself without warning, tearing down the stonework along with it. Boulders shattered against the floor as the trunk dragged itself around on spindly limbs. It loomed over the heralds with quivering branches, glaring at the intruders, except it had no eyes nor face. Instead, there was only a dark, knotted hollow.