AN:
atchoum: SURPRISE! You get a little bit more than that.
themaskedswordsman: Don't give me evil ideas like that. Poor Thomas has enough on his plate. You'll see.
snat: I'm flattered. Really, I am. Hope I can keep it up to par
Pokemonever1994: You'd run. I'd run. We'd all run. Though I imagine would try and turn things in his favor with a well placed Force spell or two.
Ahhh: Well, you see... You'll understand, in time.
Nolose262: No hablo español, pero me alegro de que te haya gustado. Gracias por la crítica. Y sí, esto fue traducido de Google, por lo que me disculpo si algo sale mal. (For English readers: "I don't speak spanish, but I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for the review. And yes, this was google translated, so I apologize if something comes out wrong.")
17
Familial Clusterfucks
As Thomas entered the arena, he noticed that there was already someone in there. A blue specter, a Darkmoon Blade, had somehow entered the boss arena, and was engaged with someone wearing a set of dark rags, concealing their body. Wielding dual scimitars with an apparently effortless grace, this combatant engaged with the sword and shielding Darkmoon suddenly swept out a leg, kicking the Blade in the fork of the legs. Thomas' own groin winced in sympathy as the Blade fell to his knees, and the combatant swiftly relieved the warrior of their head. Thomas watched as the specter faded into nothingness, the victor giving their blades a twirl, the blood flying off their weapons, as they then were sheathed at their hips. Turning, Thomas got his first look at the warrior. Sort of. There was a hole in their cowl for their face, but it was wrapped in shadow. But from the depths of the hood, six red eyes glowed. "Hey, Griggs," Thomas asked. "Is this the warrior you mentioned?" The Spook from Vinheim nodded. "Right," Thomas said. "Stand down, guys. I'm going solo."
While everyone stood, and looked on, sheathing weapons, Thomas walked forward, the hooded figure's eyes staring right at him. "The resemblence is there," the figure spoke, unmistakably female. "But you don't seem like the one we've waited for. You're... weaker, for one." A hand raised, and started to stroke a hidden chin. "Hmm... And yet... Your potential remains. I can see it."
"Not that this isn't a fascinating exchange," Thomas cut in, "But who are you, and what is your relation to Izalith?" At this point, the hooded figure's eyes got a glint to them. Reaching for her robes, she suddenly flung them away. Underneath, her torso was covered by what appeared to be a chitin armor fashioned similar to a one-piece swimsuit, leaving her arms and legs bare, and thus her flexibility undaunted.
"Such information must be earned, prophet!" It was at this point that music started playing in Thomas' head, and the bottom of his vision was taken up by a red bar with a name. Lol'th, First Princess of Chaos
Great, Thomas thought. I'm facing roya- wait a second, First Princess? Lol'th? As in the Spider Queen from fucking DnD? And why is Bayonetta's Fly Me To The Moon playing as boss music? Thomas wasn't given more time to think about it, however, as Lol'th's dual scimitars swept from their sheaths, and swung towards him, with him having just enough time to roll backward.
Over at the entrance, Oscar, Solaire, and company prepared weapons, when Kirk raised a hand. "Hold. This is merely a test."
In the fight, Thomas was focusing on dodging where he could, and examination of Lol'th's moves. Whoever she was, she was trained well, giving swift, sweeping moves that made easily flowing combos. At least at first glance, at all times she was ready to switch between combos to mess with him, and had a very, very vast moveset. "I know what you're up to, little prophet," she said calmly, her red eyes glinting with amusement, her fangs bared in a playful smile. "Let's see how you fare against this move." Crouching low, she leaped forward, corkscrewing towards him as a drilling spear of blades.
Thomas rolled forward, and thanked whatever god sent him here that they didn't make him NOT have invincibility frames. As she sailed over him, Thomas pulled out his catalyst, and cracked a Soul Whip at her. The sorcerous tendril coiled around the Chaos Princess's leg, but as Thomas went to yank the whip to throw her to the dirt, she reached down, and cut the magic cord with her blade before it went taut, losing no momentum. "I call bullshit!" Thomas protested as his spell fizzled out.
"Oh, come on," bantered Lol'th. "You're telling me it was all right when Red Hood did it?"
"What?" An Under The Red Hood reference? That was enough to throw Thomas off. He expected many things from this girl. References of Earth movies was not one of them. Drawing his claymore and balder shield, Thomas went into the battle, dodging, blocking, and occasionally attacking. While he was able to ably defend himself well enough, he wasn't able to land any hits. He was in a losing battle, and he knew it. Then, it happened. From Lol'th's back, four giant, spidery arms suddenly sprouted, and impaled Thomas in his sides. "Yikes!" the prophet shouted, wincing in pain. "All right. Who gave you the ability to sprout limbs like fucking D'vorah?"
The fight was over. The boss bar and the music faded. "I can't help my heritage," Lol'th said, adding on another word in a language Thomas didn't recognize.
"Lol'th. Put him down." This voice came from the end of the hall. Quelaag sauntered in, her free hand gently caressing the head of the giant spider she had been fused to.
"But mooom," Lol'th pleaded.
"No buts." Grumbling, Lol'th sat Thomas down, who winced, taking a sip of estus as he did. "Thomas," Quelaag addressed. "I've been awaiting your arrival with much anticipation," she said. "We don't have much time. There is much you must know."
"Right," Thomas said. "I have a couple questions, though."
"They will be answered. Gwyndolin comes. We must be swift with my sister."
"Right."
The party was finally allowed by Kirk to rush forward, and they followed Quelaag to the inner chambers of her domain. Thomas nodded to various teammates, giving them brief instructions. To Solaire and Oscar, "Hold the door." To Laurentius and Griggs, "Ring the bell." To Rhea, "With me."
While they each scrambled to their tasks, Quelaag nodded approvingly. "You work well as a unit. Cohesive. Coherent. You command well."
"I try not to command," Thomas said. "Merely think tactically, and to have us be best prepared for the situations. My foresight merely makes me... Better qualified to do placements, I suppose."
"And yet, your leadership shows," Quelaag said, gently patting Thomas' shoulder. She glanced at Kirk and Lol'th. "See? Even in his youth, he was strong, and wise."
"Calling bullshit on that," Thomas said, knocking on the illusionary wall to reveal Quelaan. "I'm very, very far from wise." Inside, Yulva stood. Thomas could tell by the sealer robes. Her hood was removed, and her face was quite feminine. "Hello, Yulva."
"Lord Thomas," she bowed. "It is an honor."
"Whoa hold on," Thomas stopped everyone. "When did people address MY ass as lord?"
"No time," Quelaag interjected. "Yulva, give him the spells." As she did, Thomas looked at them, marveling at them as he read them. Because in addition to her Remedial Sorcery, she gave him spells he had never even heard of before;
Purging Chaos
A product of many lifetimes of work, this pyromancy, developed long ago by an ancient heretic in Oolacile, consumes Dark in a manner similar to how it originally engulfed Izalith. However, weaker creatures touched by this flame will be consumed utterly.
Fire has long been an opposite of Dark, but without understanding the balance between, they will ever be enemies.
Soul Rune
This arcane sorcery, developed over eons, was created by an ancient heretic in Oolacile. Placing an intricately written glyph upon the ground, the glyph will detonate with compressed soul energy, damaging enemies in an area.
It is rumoured that these arcane traps were created from the pain of the user's soul, violently expressing itself upon one's enemies.
Quick Magic Weapon
One does not often have the time to apply spells to weapons in combat. It was with speed in mind that this sorcery was created. While it's application speed is much faster than it's standard counterparts, the spell's duration and strength suffer as a result.
This sorcery would quickly become popular amongst certain warriors from the eventually founded land of Farron.
"Okay. That's a thing," Thomas muttered to himself. After lighting Queelan's bonfire, he then started looking at the Remedial spell, along with Great Heal, mentally analyzing them at a deeper level. He'd created spells by accident before, but this was his first attempt to form one deliberately. Think, Thomas. What do you know about Sorceries? What he knew was fairly straightforward. They were a logical discipline, using formulaic methods to create methodical results. But... Thomas looked closer at the formula, and how it modified the body, seeking impurities, and removing them. Now... What do we know about miracles? They were, essentially, pleas to divine beings. Tales of the deeds of gods and heroes, making excerpts that could be incanted with hope of recieving the god's blessing. And what was known of the Fair Lady was no less than truly heroic, a paragon of selflessness in an increasingly selfish world.
Subconsciously, Thomas started saying Queelan's tale, of how she drank the Blight Pus, taking it unto herself, in order to cure the polluted denizens of Blighttown. Much like sucking on a snakebite, she drew the poison from the wound, and into herself. Somewhere, a connection was made, and the formula, the belief required, started to form. A method of drawing out any poison. Thomas wrapped his talisman around the catalyst in his hand, and continued speaking, his own voice inaudible to him as he moved closer to Queelan. "Sister...?" Queelan asked weakly, "looking" at his direction. Gently, the sorcerer pressed the tip of his catalyst upon the shoulder of the Daughter of Chaos.
Thomas' vision then went black. When he awoke, he would see a bloodstain on the ground right next to him. "What happened?" he asked stupidly.
"You died," Oscar said simply. "The moment you touched her, she started glowing whitish yellow, like with your healing miracles. Only there was a sort of... beam between your faces, comprised of blue energy. At first, nothing seemed to be happening, until we noticed it was... Flowing? Like the magic was flowing from her, to you. And then..." Oscar shuddered, falling silent.
"The Blight Pus," Quelaag supplied. "Your spell reached deep within my sister, and started to draw the poison out from her. Much like her, you took it deep within yourself. It was... Not pleasant to watch, as the poison, contained by the field of your spell, flowed from her into you."
"At first it was little black drops," Yulva added on, "But soon, the entire stream of magic was filled with the stuff. We didn't dare touch you. Eventually, the stuff stopped coming, the both of you shuddered mightily, and collapsed. You died on the spot."
Thomas, understandably, found this rather interesting, in the "Holy crap that sounds horrifying" kind of way. "How's Queelan? And how long was I dead?"
"She seems stable," Yulva confirmed. "Though only time will truly tell."
"Time," Thomas scoffed. "The one thing that is never constant." Getting up, Thomas brushed off his pants. "All right, and my other question?"
"Thou returnd'st quickly," Rhea said. "Though thine betrothed expressed worry."
"My..." Thomas paused, and turned to Rhea. "Excuse me, my what now?"
"She did not stutter," Solaire chuckled. "Time is convoluted. Apparently, you are to travel to the past, and play the dashing prince who wins the young princess' heart."
"That's... not on the script," Thomas muttered.
"It was a lovely wedding," Queelag interjected. "And truly, Thomas. Did you not wonder where your children had came'st from?"
"My wHAT?! How did I even-?"
"So," another voice interjected, a glowing golden light forming behind Thomas. "I has't finally found thee."
Whirling, Thomas realized his questions would have to wait. Gwyndolin had decided to arrive.