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After snapping his claymore's safety latch closed Leontius stood before his slowly dying fireplace, the weak flame casting its light upon his fully equipped and prepared ensemble. He was wearing the Silver Knight set and hooded mantle once more, the armor reflecting orange light all about his small cabin as he knelt down, fireplace poker in hand.

He poked and prodded at the sputtering flame, turning over ashes and snuffing it out in full before standing tall once again, taking glances about his home to ensure everything was in its place. Finding it to be so, he left his cabin and began his trek across the snowfield towards the slowly waking town of Snowdin, thoughts churning about in his head the whole way.

He was still concerned about the encounter he had with Frisk and Characas in the other timeline the handful of hours before. He'd managed to calm himself a good while ago, but other issues still weighed on him. He still had no clue what exactly had become of Frisk, and in some ways, he was fine with that. He found that the less he thought on that timeline and its ravaged Underground, the better. But of course, there was still one burning question he doubted he'd get an answer to.

Why had that odd man changed the orb the way he did? Did he want the boys to face an invader? Did he want them dead and gone? Which one was his concern, if not both?

'He did seem pleased with whatever changes he made to the orb, so he must have known what he was doing. Perhaps it was no accident that I was pulled into that strange warp in reality of his.'

Ultimately he decided to put the issues behind himself for the time being and focus less on the prior day's oddities and more on its positives. He had much to look forward to now. All he had to do was climb a mountain, patch up a hole, then he'd be back with Toriel planning for their next date, and perhaps learning some unarmed fighting techniques from Charly later if he still had time at the end of all that.

Just climb a mountain again. A quite large mountain. Of course, he'd made preparations to get that done in a timely manner. Returning to the surface in any capacity meant he would have to be prepared for any other possible threats he may have inadvertently led to the mountain, but he decided to do so in a manner that wouldn't make his task of climbing overly time-consuming.

He'd eschewed wearing the heavy and bulky Vanguard armor in favor of the lighter and less encumbering Silver Knight's set. Havel's Ring may let him wear and move in such oversized armors like the Vanguard set with relative ease, but gravity cares little about that when one is hanging from the side of a sheer rock face with many pounds of steel encouraging a fall or slip-up. He had yet to get around to reinforcing the Silver Knight's set with titanite, but he reasoned its default sturdiness would stand up to most potential threats that could present themselves.

He came to the end of the snowfield and walked around to the front of Toriel's home. He stood before it near his bonfire, gaze locked onto the house. A light came on in one of the upper windows but was shut off shortly after. Leontius briefly smiled at the sight. Toriel was fine, of course.

He looked down to the dead bonfire at his feet. His Estus flasks had enough charges left over from his last use of it, and he rather liked the idea of just using a Homeward Bone to return here the moment his task above was complete. It would certainly save him time not having to make a climb back down. With one last glance at the dark upper floor window, he left the unlit bonfire be and began his journey to New Home once more, this time at a brisk jogging pace with liberal use of all the opened shortcuts between him and his destination.

vvv

Asgore held his gaze on the retreating vine-covered form of the construction foreman as he left the throne room, then shifted it to the dimensional box of repair supplies he'd left behind. He picked up the small instructional paper atop it and stared at it, not really reading it. His mind was elsewhere.

Things had certainly gotten interesting recently. Alphys and Undyne reported to him that hostile surfacers had entered the Underground, but were stopped by Leontius. The details on that were… disturbing. The now-resident undead had killed one of the intruders and pocketed his soul, but not before that same intruder left the Ruins in a state much more befitting of the area's name.

Alphys had also finally given him a report on her experiments, which had apparently totally failed to bring about a vessel capable of breaking the barrier. He figured that was for the best, but the tests had also resulted in the sick subjects being melded together. She quite shakily told him over the phone that she would be joining him for tomorrow's monthly address to tell the people and the subjects' families of the results.

Asgore let out a sigh as he hung his head lower, dropping the instructions atop the box as he did so. The monthly address. He was dreading that. He'd already spoken with his advisors on how to go about the speech, but not even they knew the full gravity of the situation yet. He decided to keep it under wraps until tomorrow, he didn't want anything leaking out with missing details and causing a panic.

A few others like Undyne and Alphys knew that the surface was dangerous, and of course, he ordered the Royal Guard to be more prepared than ever, but he could only go so far with even that. As far as he knew, it was just he himself, Toriel, Leontius, and Asriel that knew the full extent of what'd taken place with the souls.

Asriel. If there was a silver lining to be found in all this, it was that his son had been brought back, after so long. Asgore felt like he'd been pulled into a dream, seeing him alive and in Toriel's arms once again. But it was real, and he was alive and well. And growing quite quickly, from the looks of things. He'd gotten quite the surprise yesterday when Undyne showed up on his doorstep in full Captain's gear with Asriel beside her, the young boss monster looking a good bit taller than he was when he left for Snowdin.

And he wouldn't soon forget what seemed to have Asriel the most excited of all, the fact that his horns were growing in. They were of an odd coloration and seemed to be planning on angling quite sharply backward, but they were a definite sign that he was indeed growing and in good health.

Something Asgore did find strange about all of that, however, was the fact that he himself felt no different. He recalled exactly the day Asriel was born, and the day he died, in vivid detail. He knew all too well the feeling of aging and giving up his soul power to his son, but that feeling seemed entirely absent now…

He hummed lowly to himself as he thought about it. 'Perhaps it has to do with him not having a monster soul anymore, I believe he is the first case of a piece of a human soul inhabiting a monster all on its own. Well, he likely does not notice a difference, he seems to be sleeping and eating just fine. I wonder if instead of me and Tori, he is drawing from Leontius…?'

A rhythmic metallic echoing caught his attention, derailing his train of thought. He looked to the entryway of his throne room, expecting whoever his visitor was thanks to their rather loud footfalls. Undyne was quite fond of tromping about like that, but she had no reason to return this early.

Asgore got his answer as to who it was when he saw the familiar tall figure of Leontius slow from a jog just inside the doorway and calmly walk in, going around the edge of the room so as to not trample all over the flowers with his boots. The undead was wearing a suit of armor he'd never seen, and he had to say it looked quite nice and knightly, much brighter than what some of the Royal Guards wore.

Leontius approached Asgore, looking to be considerably more awake and lively than the king felt. He eyed the dimensional box in front of Asgore for a moment before addressing him. "These are the supplies I will be using, correct?"

Asgore couldn't stop a brow from raising. 'Not even a greeting…? Seems like he is in a hurry.' "Good morning, Leontius. And yes, these are what you'll be needing." He picked up the instructional paper once again and handed it to the man. "These are the instructions to using everything in there. The size of the hole was never specified, so I think they gave you as many materials as they could fit in a dimensional box. Rather smart of them, I think… but how will you carry-"

He was rendered silent as Leontius took a small box from the back of his belt and put both the instructions and the dimensional box into it. "...Ah. Well, that solves that. So you will be climbing… in full armor?"

Leontius looked entirely unperturbed by the question, putting the box back on his belt as he answered. "Yes, this is actually a good bit lighter than what I was wearing when I first made the climb. I am hoping to get this done as fast as possible."

Asgore began walking to the Barrier, and Leontius followed behind. "I see. That is understandable, we do not want any more dangerous people making their way down here, like those two I heard you put a stop to. Thank you for that, who knows what damage they could have caused…"

Neither of them dwelled on that last thought for long, so the two ended up just walking in quiet through the pulsating path of the Barrier, eventually coming to its end. The surrounding walls and floor of the end still pulsed in a pattern of solid white, black, and gray in-betweens, but there seemed to be a single, door-sized section of bright and foggy white light serving as the way out.

Leontius stepped forward and lightly rested a gauntleted hand against it. The foggy section of the Barrier responded immediately and became permeable, allowing him to traverse it. He turned his head towards Asgore for a moment as if to say something, but seemed to decide against it. He then walked forward through the fog, a loud grating noise sounding out as he passed through, the whole Barrier seeming to respond to the strength of his soul.

Asgore nervously looked about as the Barrier pulsed quicker and slightly vibrated, but it passed once Leontius was completely through. He looked back to the calmed fog door, thoughts taking him to the distant past. Leontius was the third person to pass through the barrier, and the second human to do so. Coincidental that both who had done so were not alive, Characas only going through after he passed away and Leontius being an undead.

Asgore let out a melancholy sigh. One of his children would never be brought back, but Asriel had been. A smile came to him, chasing the sadness away. 'He will likely be waking up soon. I should prepare him some breakfast…' With that, he turned away and began the walk back home, inwardly wishing the undead luck in his task on the surface.

vvv

Once he was through the Barrier's fog door, Leontius found himself in a dark cave of some sorts, only lit by the wall of light behind him. He glanced about, finding that it was a tunnel more or less similarly-sized to the Barrier path, but there was just one problem. There was a solid wall of stone that abruptly ended the tunnel. He approached and brushed a hand against it, eyes narrowing. His gaze fell to the edges of the wall near the floor and sides, and he caught a familiar, if hard to notice, detail.

Seams. There were slight, barely noticeable seams all around the edges of the wall before him. He cocked his arm back and punched the wall full force, and…

Nothing. It had also somewhat hurt his hand as well. Confusion overcame him. 'What…? I was certain it would have been…' He reeled back again and laid another punch into it. This time the wall vanished and he stumbled forward through it, revealing that it was indeed an illusory wall. He regained his composure and examined where the wall had been, now on the other side. A few moments later it reappeared exactly where it was previously.

'An illusory wall, but one hardier than they typically come. Interesting.'

Leontius turned around and saw that the exit was just ahead, light spilling through the mouth of the cave. He stepped out of the cave and found himself on a small outcropping situated close to the bottom of the mountain. What looked to be a footpath led down to the valley at the mountain's base. Glancing up the mountain slopes he saw the climb ahead of him, the Sun framing Ebott's peak.

After a quick check to make sure everything was securely attached to him, he got to climbing.

vvv

Leontius reached a hand up, gripping the edge of a level section just above him, testing the potential handhold. Finding it to be satisfactory, he hauled himself up and onto the flat area, dusting himself off once he was away from the precarious edge. He was about halfway up the mountain now, and that last bit of the climb was particularly intensive on his endurance, featuring plenty of free-hanging rock climbing. He roughly flexed his hands, cracking and loosening his fingers up as he looked all around at the world below him.

It likely would have been quite the view, if only the world stretching out before him wasn't a dead and gray wasteland. Hills that would have been covered in long, waving grass were drearily still, a distant forest at the end of the valley at Ebott's base was brown and leafless, its trees reaching their skeletal limbs every which direction. Much further than that was the Ruined Kingdom, and a long distance off to the Southeast was the vague shape of the city of Locille, nestled between a gap in the distant mountain ranges.

Leontius' stamina had returned in full, and he was about to turn away from the view and get back to climbing when something caught his eye, near the edge of the dead forest at the valley's end.

Movement. Lots of it. Nondescript, distant shapes moving out of the trees with glints of what looked like metal flashing and reflecting in the light of the setting Sun. Slowly, Leontius reached a hand behind himself and popped open his box. He rummaged around in it for a bit, finding what he was looking for. He pulled out a pair of brass binoculars and brought them up to his eyes.

What he saw made him grit his teeth so hard they strained and nearly cracked. It was hollows. An insane amount of them, all moving out of the forest and heading into the valley towards the mountain. At first, it seemed like it was only poorly-equipped ones wearing tattered civilian clothing and wielding makeshift weapons, but soon a wide variety of hollowed soldiers began to appear after them, followed up by rusty-armored knights wielding polearms and anti-armor weapons. In total, it was an outright undead army, its individuals beyond number.

Leontius lowered the binoculars and just stared at the advancing legion of hollows as they marched into the valley. 'No... no! No! Why are they here?!' He gripped the binoculars tightly in his gauntleted hands but eased up as he got a hold of himself. He was done with the surface and simply wanted to move on, but it was becoming more and more apparent that the surface wasn't done with him. This was another threat to the Underground, to his new home. He needed to act now. He would have to face them alone and repel them, or the Underground would be overrun.

Leontius dropped the binoculars back into his box and began removing the hooded mantle from his armor, then put that in the box as well. Out of the box, he retrieved the Grass Crest shield and a part of the Silver Knight set he'd yet to wear, that being the set's winged barbute helmet. After putting the helmet on and strapping the shield to his arm, he unsheathed his claymore and lit his pyromancy flame in his left glove.

He needed to get down there quickly, and he had an idea of how to pull it off. He casted a Fall Control spell then backed up as far as he could on the small flat rocky area, and with a running start leaped off the mountain into the air. He aimed his pyromancy behind himself as he fell and released a powerful cloud of Black Flame, the pyromancy's recoil rocketing him forward and down at the valley.

He heavily landed a good distance away from the horde of hollows, claymore and armor glinting brightly through the dust he'd kicked up from the impact. He jogged forward through the cloud towards the army, blade held low and out at his side. As he went he got a look at the forces before him.

The front lines consisted of the weakest and worst equipped hollows, known as 'zombies' by most sane undead. The lowest of the low. Behind them were the stronger regular soldiers and mercenaries who were kitted out in poorly maintained but still effective gear. Certainly much better off than the zombies. Behind the soldiers were the strongest, the knights. They were hanging back near the forest from the looks of it, their tactical skills likely still mostly intact thanks to their fewer deaths than the soldiers and zombies. Among the knights seemed to be some clerics, mages, and wizards as well, their atypical garb making them quite easy to spot now that he was at their level.

Leontius came to a halt, now about two-thirds of the way through the valley. His enemies had taken note of him well before that, an army's worth of empty black eyes locked onto him as they marched. This was easily the most foes he'd ever faced in a single battle. The most hollows he'd fought at once before was somewhere around a dozen or so, this was a whole new level. As the throng closed in, he took notice of something beyond just their numbers and composition, something he recognized.

Their faces. Despite their uniform looking sunken reddened flesh, pitch black eyes, and lack of hair, he recognized all these similar faces uniquely. Each and every one of them. These hollows were all once his fellow countryfolk from all walks of life. They were once farmers, laborers, craftsmen, soldiers, guards, noble knights, scholarly mages, and holy clerics. Sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers. However, he only knew them to be those things thanks to the remnants of their past lives still clinging to their wiry hollowed frames, how he truly recognized them was different altogether.

Leontius had killed most, if not all, of these hollows countless times before across the numerous timelines. A collage of familiar faces burned into his mind as he gazed upon them. These hollows presented a grave threat to his home, but he found himself loosening his aggressive stance somewhat. He could not level anger at them. Without his human form, he looked just like the countless humanity-deprived people staring back at him, and he knew all too well what they were feeling right now, the empty, piercing, all-consuming hunger. Something had drawn them here, and they were compelled by their base instincts to pursue it, like moths to a flame.

And just like moths fluttering into a flame, Leontius would prove to be deadly, if it was indeed him that they were after. He gripped his claymore tighter once more, renewed purpose overtaking his moment of sympathy. His foes were close now, the zombies beginning to speed up into unbalanced, manic running straight for him.

He met the wave of zombies with quick and decisively measured cuts, felling them with single flowing sweeps using just enough force to end them, no more, no less. They were just too weak and slow to match him, and their weapons lacked the length to outrange his whirling greatsword and the punch to even hurt him through his armor. He didn't want to expend any of his magical focus on the weak mob either. Numerous as they were, he decided he would save it for the more vigorous hollowed soldiers and knights behind them.

The ashes of the defeated began to pile up around him, he absorbed the meager amounts of soul energy they released upon death, and as he fought on he would flick his gaze to the line of soldiers occasionally. Like the knights, they elected to stay back and remain in formation, though they seemed to be shifting their positions in line about slowly. He couldn't quite see what they were doing for a good while but began to understand when projectiles began coming in, hitting members of the hollowed horde that surrounded him. Arrows and bolts pelted the zombies near him, and rare thunderous gunshots heralded them being maimed by speeding balls of lead that tore through the crowd, often getting much too close to him for comfort.

Leontius realized he would have to be quick about disrupting the soldiers' reorganization of their lines, or they would eventually start hitting him once his cover of zombies thinned out. They had been traveling in disorderly groups and were only just now getting into effective lines, thankfully rather slowly thanks to their lack of verbal communication and stunted logic. A shooting line of bowmen, crossbowmen, and the rarer gunmen wielding powerful long guns was beginning to take shape, backed up by an irregular mix of spearmen and pikemen who were pointing their long pole weapons over the shoulders of their ranged allies.

As Leontius formulated his plan he slowed his attacks on the zombies so as to not expose himself to the incoming projectiles quicker. Some hollows managed to actually strike him as a result, but their poor weaponry meant their attacks did nothing aside from marring the silvery surface of his armor.

Eventually, he knew what he would do. He would create a sizable gap in the line of soldiers from range with magic, push through the zombies, then hold the gap open by placing himself within it. He'd be safe from the enemy's shooting line of projectiles, and the essentially harmless zombies should follow doggedly behind him and keep the soldiers from repositioning effectively. There was an issue, however. Between the zombies and soldiers was open ground, where the rangers would have nothing to disrupt their aim except his speed. He would have to be fast about closing in, or he would be quickly shot down.

'Time to put it into action then.' Leontius still had his pyromancy flame active from earlier, so he was quick to prepare his chosen attacks. The powerful red flames of chaos began to manifest within his gauntlet, and when he flung his hand forward a Great Chaos Fireball erupted forth, sailing over the zombies' heads and into the closest part of the soldiers' line. The ball of chaotic fire burst upon them and spread roiling magma in every which direction, instantly turning a good number of them to ash. Seeing that the area of effect was working, he lobbed two more identical fireballs to the left and right of the original impact, removing the ranged soldiers, spear wielders, and a few regular soldiers behind them.

He'd created his opening, now he needed to capitalize on it. Leontius adjusted his grip on the claymore so that its talisman was between his hand and the handle, allowing him to quickly cast miracles. The trio of fireballs had depleted the majority of his focus, but there was just enough left to allow him to easily break through the crowd of zombies.

In mere seconds, a powerful orb of Force was prepared and exploded outward from him, sending zombies into the air every which direction away from him. He began running forward towards the soldiers, plowing through the scattered zombies with his shield up and releasing more Force explosions when he came upon particularly thick concentrations of hollows impeding his progress. Soon he was out of the horde of zombies and onto the open ground between them and the soldiers. He sprinted across the distance as quickly as he could, knowing he was most exposed at that very moment.

And while he was fast, he was nowhere near fast enough to outrun the aim of the rangers on either side of the gap in the soldier line. He was pelted by all manner of projectiles. Numerous arrows impacted against him with one penetrating the mail voider protecting his right armpit, bodkin-pointed bolts pierced the thinner sides of his cuirass in three separate places below the protection of his raised shield, and a gunman's lead ball tore through him just above the right side of his pelvis but failed to exit out the other side, ending up stuck in him.

The wounds inflicted upon the running undead warrior would have been more than enough to drop a normal man, but Leontius continued charging forward, his vitality far beyond the typical bounds of mortality. He made his way into the gap he'd created, using his claymore to bat aside the readied pike of a repositioning soldier as he did so, then thrust the greatsword cleanly through the hollow's chest, his brigandine armor entirely unable to stop the deadly titanite-reinforced and enchanted blade.

As Leontius pulled the claymore free of the disintegrating soldier, he raised his shield to block any ranged attacks from the soldiers on his left side, his attention focused more on his right. There was a crossbowman at the edge of the gap desperately trying to span his heavy crossbow with its windlass, so he pointed his claymore at him and released a standard soul arrow with the last of his focus, the magical projectile speeding into the hollow's head and easily killing him.

With no immediate threats currently about to do him harm, Leontius set his greatsword between his right arm and body to free up a hand to heal up with. He dislodged the arrow hanging through his armpit's mail, then yanked out the bolts stuck in him, tossing them down in a bundle. There was nothing he could do about the lead ball stuck in him, so he quickly drank from both of his Estus flasks to top off his vitality and focus, taking stock of the situation around him as he did so.

The soldiers were closing in from the left, right, and center, with the rangers being replaced by close melee combatants who made up the new front line coming towards him. What few spear wielders that weren't near the front lines were following behind them, intent on using their long reach from safety.

He finished drinking the healing Estus he would need. 'Started with nine doses, now at eight.'

A glance behind himself revealed that his prediction about the zombies following behind him had indeed come to pass, their mass of bodies already disrupting the soldiers' attempts to wrap around and surround him from behind.

He finished up with his Ashen Estus as well. 'Started with ten doses, now at eight.'

After resecuring his Estus Flasks, Leontius took up his claymore in time to use it to block an approaching soldier's mace swing that was coming straight for his head. He roughly kicked the soldier away into his compatriots, used his shield to block a pike thrust coming in from the left and grabbed it with the crook of his left arm before the weapon could be pulled back, then thrusted his greatsword over the raised roundshield of an axeman advancing from his right, simultaneously using the rotation of his body to rip the pike out of its wielder's grasp and bring its long shaft into the heads of a group of soldiers in front of him, then tossed it away.

Immediate incoming threats now dealt with, he retracted his greatsword from the dead hollow, the blade glowing as he prepared to use sorceries. He pointed it to his right while passively guarding his left side with his shield, releasing a Soul Stream straight through both an approaching group of soldiers and the line of rangers and spearmen who were stuck in place by the bustling zombies trying to get at him. The attack easily reduced the lot of them to ash, decimating that side of the front line.

Leontius turned to do the same to the left front line, the zombies now upon him, trying to damage and grab him as he did so. He ignored their attacks as they weakly deflected off his armor and threw off any of them latched onto him then repeated the exact same process from before, sending another powerful Soul Stream ripping through the last remaining troops of the old front line as well as anyone trying to approach him from that side.

With a good number of the long-ranged soldiers dealt with, Leontius turned to face the threat of the soldiers behind him once more, taking an axe hit to the helmet from one as he did so and getting slowed by yet more zombies grappling onto him, two managing to grab onto his shield and trying to leverage it off his arm.

With a low grunt at the pain from the axe attack, he used the last of his focus to invoke the Wrath of the Gods. The miracle blasted out just after two more soldiers got clean mace hits on his helmet and right pauldron, sending all the hollows near him careening through the air, disintegrating as they went.

He immediately strode forward towards the soldiers after opening up the space, getting away from the zombies who'd begun to discard their useless weapons in favor of trying to grab and restrain him. As he went he corrected his shield's orientation against his side then took two more doses from his Ashen flask and one from his normal flask for good measure, seeing as the jarring hits to his head were making him see stars and the one to his shoulder felt like it would debilitate his ability to effectively one-hand the claymore fast enough.

Thankfully the Silver Knight armor was holding up to the abuse relatively well so far, the helmet didn't feel too badly dented, the right pauldron was rather caved in yet functional, but the four inwardly-bent projectile holes in the cuirass were somewhat interfering with its complex articulation and irritatingly jabbing into him through the suit's arming doublet. Minor damage and annoyances that wouldn't inhibit him too much. Good news considering the fact that the battle was getting serious, the soldiers were quite capable of harming him.

He began moving and fighting at the same time, slowly cutting his way through the soldiers' ranks. It was considerably more intense than fighting the zombie horde, with potential threats all around him. The zombies were still pursuing him, a wall of outstretched hands grasping at the air behind him. Of course, it was a simple fact of the nature of the fight that he was taking hits quite quickly now, with the soldiers preparing attacks for when their comrades fell to Leontius in hopes of catching him off guard.

On more than one occasion, these attacks proved to be quite effective. While Leontius' attention was more to the soldiers on his left, one longsword-wielding soldier came from his right flank, two-handed sword held in a half-sworded thrust. He managed to aim the thrust for one of the overlapping plates of Leo's armor, getting the blade's point up through the gap and into the undead warrior's body.

The longswordsman's success was short-lived, as he was swiftly cut down when his target recovered from taking the blade through the body. Leontius pushed the sword out by its crossguard, released a Wrath of the Gods miracle to make some space, healed and refilled his focus, then continued on. After that point, he began speeding up his progress through the mass of soldiers by occasionally taking broad, horizontal sweeps with Soul Greatsword sorceries to augment his claymore's already fatal blade.

The fighting went on like this for longer than Leontius could really tell, all he could focus on was battling the soldiers and staying ahead of the horde of zombies behind him. He was succeeding at both, he was certainly wreaking havoc upon the soldiers and had a comfortable amount of space between him and the countless zombies trying to grapple him, but he feared this wasn't going to be a sustainable strategy from the beginning, and his dwindling Estus counts proved it to be true.

For the first time since the start of the battle, he managed to get a good enough view past the horde to glance at the edge of the woods where the knights and casters had been standing. He almost made a double take when he saw that all but the clerics weren't there anymore. He did his best to passively block any incoming attacks while he wheeled about, gazing about the sea of hollows to try to catch sight of where the knights and mages had gone. He spotted them almost directly behind himself, a good distance into the horde of zombies, pushing their way through towards him.

Leontius had allowed them to outflank him during his engagement with the soldiers. He turned back around and began cutting his way through the soldiers once more, redoubling his efforts. This was a bad situation to be made worse. The knights and magic-users were much more vigorous than the zombies and would be upon him quicker than he could make his way through the soldiers. He needed to do something to turn this around or he'd be surrounded on all sides by dangerous enemies that could hurt him, but he was critically low on resources to work with.

The constant ringing sound of soul absorption, which he'd long since tuned out, caught his ear. It gave him an idea.

'Need to make some space. Plenty of it.' He finished off the soldiers in front of him and backed off, sword held before him, talisman still in his grasp. He poured focus into the talisman and released it as an overcharged Wrath of the Gods, instantly reducing the hollows around him to ashes that hung in the air, then allocated the last of his focus for a Dead Again hex. He released the hex in a black pulse that expanded outward from him, causing the ashes of the dead to glow bright purple and violently explode, clearing out a massive circular space in the hollows for him to work with.

He reached down to his Ashen Estus flask and downed the last two doses, then replaced it next to its similarly low regular counterpart, which only had one more dose left. He kept that last dose in mind, with what he was thinking of doing he was almost certain he would need it for later.

He began to recall the specifics of the magics he would need to make this particular idea work. It was a combination of three pyromancies, five hexes, and a sorcery, all of which were spells that were frowned upon because of how they functioned. As it was with all hexes, they were outright forbidden and loathed even after society fell, but such magic wasn't off the table in Leontius' mind if it meant saving his new home.

He readied four of the hexes with his talisman and claymore as their catalysts. 'Soul Thirst, Resonant Weapon, Resonant Flesh, Resonant Focus.' The first hex would increase the amount of soul energy he'd leech from the fallen hollows, and the other three would use some of that energy to increase his sword's power, heal him, and restore the focus necessary to channel all the magic he was casting.

He casted the hexes. His claymore was coated in dark gas-like energy, and the same energy surrounded his body, ejecting out of gaps in his armor.

Next, he prepared the pyromancies in his left hand. 'Power Within, Inner Beacon, Immolation.' Three specific flames appeared in his gauntlet, one hazy red, another bright gold, and the last a wild and hungry flame. The first would set his strength and speed into overdrive by consuming his vitality, the second would grant him unparalleled combat savagery at the cost of his mind, and the third would set him aflame to grant him a powerful radial burning effect to foes near him.

He slammed the flames to his chest, and he burned. He burned on the inside with a red haze surrounding him, he burned outwardly with a wild flame covering his armored form, and he burned in his mind. The pain was terrible, but it was a small price to pay if it meant defeating the army of hollows and defending the Underground; he was more than willing to burn.

Now for the sorcery to push everything even further. 'Unleash Magic.' His claymore briefly glowed bright blue. The flames and black gas were magnified, and the ground at his feet was scorched to bare dirt and glassed sand by the heat he was outputting. The pain was worsened to the point that it brought him to his knees, and he couldn't contain the tortured scream that worked its way up and escaped his lips, muffled and distorted by his helmet, deafening him with its volume.

'One… last… hex… Numbness!'

His claymore briefly flashed black beneath the cloud of gas surrounding it. The pain vanished entirely, and his vision narrowed into a black tunnel despite his eyelids being peeled back as far as they could go. His eyes locked on to the faces of the hollows slowly closing in around him, flicking from one to the next, and he found that they were no longer familiar. His mind was beginning to slip.

He was racked with involuntary twitching and shaking, claymore held in a white-knuckled grip as he unsteadily rose to his feet like a marionette puppet being controlled by a tremorous hand. His body wanted to act on its own and pounce on the targets, and with the last bit of control he had left, he gave his orders.

'Defend the Underground. Defend. Attack to defend. Attack. Kill to defend. Kill.'

With that, his conscious mind was sequestered in the depths of what he'd made, a killing machine, a thing that feeds on souls. It felt nothing, heard nothing, and saw only targets in its narrow field of vision. It crouched low, head wrenching from side to side as it released a horrendous cry, no longer a scream of pain, now an inhuman roar.

After that its head locked onto the nearest group of hollowed soldiers and its body shot forward in a dead sprint. It was upon them in seconds, dark-resonating greatsword slashing through them viciously and flames incinerating anything unable to withstand the heat. Within moments the hollows were naught but ash and the thing was upon the group behind them without hesitation, repeating the same process over again.

And so it fought on, never stopping or resting. With each swing that connected it only swung harder for the next. With each movement, its bones fractured and its muscles tore, only to be healed immediately using amounts of the soul energy it was eating up from its defeated foes. Skill, logic, strategy, and technique were completely lost on it. It was an uncontrollable flame made manifest, simply intent on violently consuming and destroying all around it until there was nothing left.

vvv

The top of the hill was just in sight now. It had been a long journey for Tybald, but the Silver Knight had faced much greater perils than following an army of hollows from a safe distance, and the well-used Dragonslayer Greatbow and quiver of greatarrows on his back attested to that. The army of hollows, like everyone else, had their attention directed squarely on the mountain beneath the setting Sun when they felt that strange wave of power pass over them. Unlike regular undead, the hollows found themselves compelled to pursue it, and Tybald was fairly certain he was the only undead brave enough to follow them.

And follow them he did, often with a good distance between him and them, but it was following nonetheless. The woods had provided good cover for him to get a bit closer to inspect their composition of units, but just as the army left the trees it ground to a collective halt. Seeing as things were getting interesting, Tybald gave the army a wide berth around their left flank to see what exactly had stopped them so soundly, and the hill he'd been ascending was the perfect spot to do just that. He'd been hearing distant sounds of battle as he climbed, punctuated by a pained scream and an ominous roar.

Tybald finally crested the hill, the wind catching his mantle and the ends of his long blonde hair that were peeking out of the edges of his barbute. He looked down the hill and what he saw made his jaw drop and his mind boggle. There in the valley between his hill and the one opposite to him, he saw what had stopped the army. It was a single individual tearing through the hollows at breakneck speed. The flames of pyromancy and the black gas of hexes covered them and their weapon, and beneath the obscuring magic, he caught sight of a familiar set of armor.

A standard Silver Knight set, the very same as the one he wore, though it was missing the hooded mantle. This mad hollow or undead was wearing a set of his fellow Knights' armor, and he was dead certain that they were no knight, whoever they were. No Silver Knight would use magic as low as pyromancy or as foul as hexes, nor would they do away with a key part of their uniform. His hollowed comrades would never even leave their posts at the castle, let alone stoop as low as whoever this individual was. They were also wielding weapons that were quite clearly not a Silver Knight's, those being some kind of medium shield and a greatsword, perhaps a claymore of some description.

Tybald had come to a decision. This manic undead was bringing dishonor upon his order by wearing that armor. He would put an end to them from range, and allow the army to continue on to whatever that strange power was that got their attention. He wanted to see just what had drawn so many hollows out of the kingdom, and the sight of the undead wearing his order's armor offended him to no end.

He took his disassembled Dragonslayer Greatbow from its attachment on his back and put it together, the process requiring the full strength of his body in order to string it up. He planted the massive bow's anchoring spike into the ground at his feet, and took out a single greatarrow from his quiver and nocked it. He tracked the sprinting undead to get a feel of how fast they were going, and they were certainly quick. Dragons were far quicker when on the wing, but not quite as erratic as this. Getting a bead on his target presented relatively little issue, however, and he began to draw his greatbow. The undead leaped onto and began to climb a rock with hollowed archers situated atop it. The undead's back was facing Tybald, and the Silver Knight knew that was the best shot he was going to get.

Tybald let the greatarrow fly, and the massive airborne spike flew towards its target. Tybald's aim proved to be true, and the undead was stopped soundly. They were pinned solidly to the rock they'd been trying to climb up by the huge metal arrow impaling them through their right shoulder, just barely missing their spine. They were entirely unmoving and still, limbs hanging limply, sword just barely in hand.

Tybald's eyes narrowed. While his target may have been rendered still, their foul magics were still certainly active, the gambeson-clad hollows atop the rock actively being scorched to cinders even after the undead was shot. Tybald reached for an arrow to finish the job, slowly at first, but quicker when he saw the imposter knight's head lift back up and swivel around as if in confusion, gaze seeming to fall on the arrow stuck through them. They then desperately tried to push away from the rock and off the arrow, slamming a hand into the rock just as Tybald got his arrow nocked and his greatbow drawn.

A number of massive flame pillars sprung up from the ground and rock around the undead hiding them from view, but Tybald still knew where his target was. He shot the arrow and quickly nocked another, his loosed arrow flying through the pillars of obscuring flame to where he'd last seen the undead. He held the arrow at the ready, waiting for the pillars of flame to die down.

The pillars eventually fell away, and Tybald caught sight of the undead at the base of the rock, pulling out and tossing the first greatarrow aside as they twitchily scanned about to find who'd shot them. While his second shot may have missed, Tybald wouldn't give them another chance. He loosed his third arrow, this one aimed squarely at the center of the undead's relatively still chest. To Tybald's surprise, the undead spun their greatsword in a quick circle just as the arrow came in, deflecting it and sending it careening off into the crowd of hollows to their right.

The undead's head snapped up to face Tybald in an instant, and their whole body began to shake more violently. They released an ungodly roar at him and began sprinting towards his hill at a frightening pace, roughly shoving aside, cutting down, or simply incinerating any hollow in their way. Tybald grit his teeth at the sight and drew his second to last greatarrow, loosing it at his target just as they got to the foot of the hill. Once again the undead deflected the shot, this time by batting it away with the shield strapped to their arm.

Tybald cursed under his breath, his target was now too low for him to shoot with his bow. He needed to prepare for the inevitable melee conflict. He ditched his greatbow, letting it fall to the ground as he backed away from the edge of the hill and quickly drew his rapier and buckler. He was almost certain his target's armor wasn't titanite reinforced like his, his greatarrow had passed cleanly through their plate with next to no resistance, even having enough force to penetrate stone after. That would make things easier for him, as his rapier, buckler, and armor were all about as reinforced as they could get.

As for his foe's weaponry, he was uncertain but figured they at least had some degree of reinforcement if they were able to effectively deflect his shots. The magic they were using would also complicate things. Tybald was certain his armor would withstand the aura of flame the undead seemed to be projecting, at minimum.

He could hear the undead's pounding footsteps now. Tybald held his rapier and buckler out, guard readied. The false Silver Knight appeared over the edge of the hill, not slowing for even a moment as they caught sight of Tybald. The undead thundered forth with their dark-imbued greatsword pointed forward, intent on running Tybald through.

As the undead closed in Tybald felt the sheer heat coming from them, but wasn't harmed much by it thanks to his armor. He easily sidestepped to the mad undead's right, parrying away the greatsword with his buckler and quickly draw-cutting at his enemy's right side with his rapier, the high-quality and reinforced blade easily cutting through the armor. The undead continued forward for a short distance and spun around to face Tybald, seeming entirely unphased by the counter-attack.

The two held their distance out of step, Tybald with his buckler out and swordpoint presented, and the undead with their arms and weapons low, violently twitching and shaking all the while. At this distance, Tybald finally got a good look at his opponent. Their armor was releasing jets of flame and clouds of black gas all around it, particularly from the fresh cut in its side and what looked like holes from projectiles. They were surrounded by a red haze, and their face was entirely obscured by the flames practically pouring out of their helmet.

Tybald held his rapier just a bit tighter and adjusted his stance somewhat. He had a feeling his opponent was rather single-minded and would just charge him again, considering what he'd seen from them thus far.

With a burst of speed from his foe, Tybald was proven correct. The undead came in with a simple one-handed downward cut to Tybald's left shoulder, which the Silver Knight easily managed to parry away. Unfortunately for him, the undead was far too relentless to be riposted and used the force of the parry to bring the greatsword around for a cut to his body. Tybald just managed to catch the attack with his rapier, but his foe's leverage with the larger weapon was simply too great. The blade slid off his rapier and continued into his cuirass' right side, the dark imbued blade flashing and sparking as it badly dented Tybald's plate, just cutting through it in the deepest part of the dent.

Tybald was nearly knocked off his feet by the force of the blow but managed to back away and keep his guard up. He grimaced at the pain of the wrent armor's jagged edges making the impact trauma worse, but worked through it. His opponent rushed him once more, this time coming in at his right side with a horizontal slash to his midsection. Tybald was ready for the attack this time and managed to parry the blow with his rapier correctly, but could not capitalize due to the undead's speed in once more bringing the greatsword to bear. They continued the deadly dance of attacks, parries, and blocks, with Tybald being slowly walked backward by the crazed undead, titanite-reinforced steel flashing with each clash of their weapons.

With yet another parry from his rapier, Tybald gained the resolve to go for a solid attack. He managed to set aside the enemy's greatsword and close in past it, bringing his buckler up and bashing the front of the undead's helmeted head with the small shield's boss. A crunch of breaking cartilage sounded out and the undead staggered away from Tybald, regaining composure quickly but not immediately restarting their assault, just lowering their weapons then standing and staring twitchily once more.

Tybald kept his guard up, knowing his opponent could be upon him in a fraction of a second, and he was right to do so. The undead suddenly shot forward, however, they still had their weapons held low. Tybald hesitated, unsure what exactly the mad undead was about to do. His confusion was only furthered when the undead let go of the greatsword entirely, now bereft of a dedicated weapon. In his uncertainty Tybald braced himself and kept his point out, thinking the threat would keep the crazed undead at bay.

He was wrong.

The undead barreled into Tybald and wrapped their arms around his midsection, entirely uncaring that they'd been impaled upon the Silver Knight's sword. Tybald was taken to the ground in a full body tackle, with the undead now straddling him in a full mount before he could parse what'd just happened. His sword was no longer in his grasp, instead, it was still fully pierced to the hilt through the undead's left shoulder.

The undead began to beat Tybald about the head and shoulders with gauntleted hands in hammer-fisted strikes, laying into him less like a human and more like an enraged great ape would, occasionally using their shield entirely on accident as well. Tybald did his best to defend himself with his left forearm and buckler as his right hand scrambled about his midsection in a desperate bid to draw his dagger, the whole while the mad undead was letting out deafening roars and staring down at him with a hellish visage. At this proximity the knight saw past the flames of the helmet, catching glimpses of charred flesh, bared teeth, and wild eyes that stared unblinkingly as the undead assaulted him.

Tybald managed to finally draw his rondel dagger in an icepick grip and drove it anywhere he could. He'd neglected for far too long to reinforce the backup weapon so he could not simply pierce his attacker's armor with it, instead having to aim for gaps. He stabbed into the projectile holes in the undead's cuirass repeatedly, but got little response, if any. He shifted his attention up and stabbed at the undead's exposed throat, but all that seemed to do was turn their constant roars into strained gurgling, and they still did not relent their attack.

Tybald was about to pull the dagger from his foe when they smacked his hand aside with a shield bash and held it pinned to the ground, and his left arm was yanked down and restrained against his body by the undead's right leg. He struggled as hard as he could to get his arms free, bucking his hips, kicking his legs, and trying to pull his restrained limbs, but he was unable to match the undead's seemingly limitless strength.

The undead atop him lit a pyromancy flame in their right gauntlet and made to place it in the center of Tybald's chest. He struggled even more at the sight of the flame, but his efforts ended when the flame was held against him and he experienced the most intense heat he'd ever felt on his chest. He then screamed out as a fist-sized hole was exploded through his cuirass, the melting silver-coated steel burning through his arming doublet both exposing and searing his chest.

Tybald felt weak, and he looked up just in time to see the undead pull the dagger and rapier out of their body then toss them aside, the pyromancy flame dying out and a black-crimson aura of some kind coating the hand in its place afterward. Panic rose in him, but it was replaced once more by mind-rending pain as the undead plunged the darkened hand into his chest. He could only silently gape as he felt the undead's hand hungrily grab at his soul and let out a short and strangled yelp once it was finally wrested from him.

Tybald fell back against the ground limp as a discarded toy, the last thing he saw being a brief glimpse of his killer holding his soul up into the air in victory, then crushing and absorbing it. The darkness of death then swiftly overtook him after.

(30)