DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dark Souls or any of its related works. I do, however, own the fanart used as the cover; as I drew that myself.

WARNING: This fic assumes you've played through Dark Souls 3 and achieved the Usurpation of Fire ending! If you haven't done so, then you WILL be confused!

EDIT: I accidentally wrote "Lothric Knights" when it should've been "Londor Knights"... whoops!

Chapter 4: On the Other Sides of the World.

"Blast."

A man, clad head-to-toe in red tabarded steel armor, stands before a disturbingly still river, the stone bridge that used to waylay passage now broken. He could walk down the forested hilltop, try and follow the river's edge to find another way across; but that would take countless hours, and the motionless water was growing larger with every minute. He could try jumping across the dilapidated stonework, but that could easily end in his demise.

The imposing woods weren't helping his mood, either.

Nervous, the man thumbs the medallion at his waist; his steel-coated hand worrying the engraved image of the Sun. The snowy border of the frozen land of Londor is visible, far off in the distance from the hilltop; but the man just can't see any other way to get there, at least not as fast as this way would be.

"Perhaps I could… hmm…"

The sound of heavy footsteps and clanking metal draws his attention downwards, towards the base of the hill. In an instant, the man's longspear (a weapon as long as he is tall) is gripped tight and readied one-handed; his off-hand ripping free a priest's chime from his waist, whilst his red cape flows around him.

Yet, something about what he sees calms his nerves.

The new man approaching him is huge, clad similarly from top-to-bottom in steel; but the blue tabarded armor is significantly more round in appearance, not too unlike that of a Catarina Knight's. A massive halberd is held easy in one of their hands; and a small shield, a treasured antique with large blossom design, is held reverently in the other.

A divine chime, achingly familiar to the first man, hangs from the new man's waist; covered in crystalline growths.

"Hold, friend!" The initial man cries, relaxing his battle stance. "I recognize a fellow Lothric Knight when I see one!"

"Explain." The Winged Knight, confused, mutters; refusing to relax his own guard.

"Only the greatest of our order are permitted to wield Sorcerer's Bane." The Lothric Knight states, gesturing to the Winged Knight's holy shield. "Rest easy, I am not some wayward vagabond seeking to steal our holiest relics."

"A Lothric Knight, all the way out here." The Winged Knight thinks. "Does... does he not know about the Civil War?"

"Tell me, Sorcerer's Bane, for I have been away a long time. Has Prince Lorian been crowned yet?" The Red Knight asks, missing how the Blue Knight's grip tightens harder on his poleblade. "I was sent away before he led the march against the Demons."

"The Princes are dead. Lothric is in ruins."

The longspear drops from the first man's fingers, clattering against the dirt road as he falls to his knees.

"A younger brother… I didn't even know…" The Red Knight of Lothric mumbles, defeated. "…I have returned too late…"

The Blue Knight of Lothric is at an impasse. The man before him, clearly an enemy of the Angelic Faith, most likely doesn't even know it exists. Then there's the strange way he talks… a lone Lothric Knight being sent away?

Only one person fits that description… and the Winged Knight hopes the man he's talking to is not that person.

"The world is sinking." The Winged Knight says, stabbing his halberd in the ground and offering his hand. "Harsh it might seem, but you must grieve later."

"You… you are right…" The Lothric Knight mumbles, taking the hand up. "They will be grieved when we can afford it."

"May I know your name, Sir Knight?"

"Ah yes, I am Bradley."

A cold stab of fear shoots up the Winged Knight's spine. Bradley, more commonly known nowadays as Bradley of the Old Guard, was the closest thing to an Undead Lord that Lothric had. One of the greatest Lothric Knights ever known, Bradley had one other title; one that scared any and all enemies of Lothric.

Bradley, the Last Dragonslayer; an Undead warrior that had managed the impossible feat of slaying one of the last pureblooded Dragons. Not a Wyvern, or a Drake, but an actual Dragon!

In an instant the Winged Knight can see it, his divine improvements allowing him to witness the power of Sunlight made manifest as lightning; sparking subtly throughout Bradley's body. Even with Sorcerer's Bane… the Blue Knight of Lothric is sure fighting this legend would only end in his death.

"I… am Vogel…" The Angelic Worshiper says, letting some semblance of calm infect his body again. "I seek a way to Londor."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to seek elsewhere." Bradley claims, kicking his spear into the air and effortlessly catching it. "The bridge is broken."

"You need only think outside the box." Vogel retorts, walking to the nearest tree and clipping his sacred shield to his waist, next to the chime.

Large hands grip and dig into the wood's bark, strained grunts expelling from the Winged Knight's mouth. Roots and limbs give way to Vogel's strength, tearing the tree from the ground with only moderate effort. Thunderous stomps shake the ground as the Winged Knight approaches the broken stone bridge, before he slams the uprooted tree downwards, wedging it into the framework.

"Th-there!" Vogel pants. "A couple more, and we'll have a solid way across!"

"Brilliant work!" Bradley cheers. "I've seen very few Undead wield strength like that!"

"Well, I have been blessed." The Blue Knight of Lothric says, gripping another tree. "Why do you seek Londor?"

"I heard tales of a Lord there. Originally, I was hoping to broker peace between Londor and Lothric because of that; but now I must follow my oaths of knighthood, to wield my weapons for the will of the Lords."

"He doesn't know." Vogel thinks. "He has no idea the Lord of Londor is a Champion of Ash! I feel sorry for whatever poor fool tells him, because I'm not stupid enough to do that."

"Well." Vogel mutters, placing the last tree and ripping his polearm from the ground. "Feel free to accompany me then, for I have business with the Lord of Londor."

"I shall not pry, Sorcerer's Bane. Lead on!"

A group of Londor Knights lie bleeding, their armor torn and their weapons broken. The last one still standing, blood heavily draining from their open wounds, swings their flaming greatblade—

And their foe, a Slave Knight with an enormous sword, tears right through them, severing their blade and their arm.

The Slave Knights, men and women destined to serve as fodder in the bleakest of battles, easily identifiable by their red cloth hoods. Those that still remain had their skin charred black and their bones twisted, permanently hunched over.

Yet they were never relieved of duty.

"When you all wake." Their sudden and overpowering foe says, the flame of pyromancy in his hand. "Tell your Lord that I, Masterless Glencour, am waiting for him; and if he ignores my summons, then I shall declare war on him."

Then he does something strange, punching the very air with his pyromantic fire; leaving a small, surprisingly warm flame behind.

"That fire shall heal you all." Glencour says, wielding his enormous sword—no, it was too big to be called a sword. Massive, thick, heavy, and far too rough. Indeed, it was a heap of raw iron.

A heap of raw iron that the Slave Knight stabs into the ground, one-handed.

"I shall wait no more than twenty-four hours."

A stone bunker, burrowed into the ground, sits along the long journey between Lothric and Londor. Four companions, brought together through varying circumstances, make home in the hidden away shelter. These four have been through much and have lived out their own adventures, but the curse of Hollowing saps away at their minds with every hour.

Rumors of a cure exist in Londor, so Londor has become their destination.

Ellie, a stubborn and fearless former soldier of Lothric, dressed in the common soldier's armor; shivers in the rising cold, too used to the warmth that used to reside in the bonfires. A pair of fistfighter weapons, made of thick straps of leather and studded with iron rivets, are affixed to her hips.

Ray, a bashful pyromancer freed from petrification, wearing the attire of traveling conjurators; curls around his shivering friend to share his comforting and pyromantic warmth. A pair of sheathed twinblade scimitars sit close by, popular amongst certain sellswords and deadly in his hands.

Schmidt, a once infamous hunter of men, donned in the soft leather armor of assassins; now watches over his sleeping companions, inspecting his ritual arrows and their Dark infusions. A reliable composite bow and shortsword combo rest within arm's reach, never too far from the former hunter.

And lastly Boyd, who hails from the ruined land of Astora, clothed in the steel armor of the Way of White Heralds; stands guard by the bunker's door, the only way in that could threaten his friends. A relic greatsword rests in his hands, one only bestowed upon the most elite of Astora Knights.

"She's getting sick." Schmidt calls. "I didn't know we could get sick."

"Ellie's strong." Boyd responds. "She'll make it."

"I don't think it's the cold getting to her. Something's happening with the water rising, the bonfires are getting weaker."

"All the more reason to get to Londor faster. They'll be able to help, I'm sure of it."

"How can you be so sure, Boyd? Londor's a ways away from the Flame, won't the bonfires be weaker there?"

Boyd's eyes tear free of the bunker entrance, his sight resting on his own gloved hands. A deep breath resounds through him; in and out, and Schmidt gets a swift reminder on just who Boyd is. Embered fires lick at the edges of his body, his armor, his cape; slowly running down his arm to light his greatblade ablaze, filling the room with warmth and light.

Ashen Knight Boyd, a Champion of Ash that turned away from his duties.

"I can feel it, Schmidt. Somewhere in Londor, there's another Champion there. They'll know how to help her, how to help all of us."

AN: A break away from the main cast, how exciting!

More characters have been revealed! Londor is their destination, each with varying reasons for traveling. Is this the last of them? Could more be on their way to Londor?

I had a huge burst of inspiration and quickly wrote this chapter up. It's shorter, but I feel it sets up a good amount of characters that I've been wanting to introduce.

If you enjoy my work feel free to leave a favorite, follow, review; all that jazz.

Stay safe!