Chapter 2:
Not even you can become Elden Lord.
Gideon lay in the blood and refuse, the sting of salt seeping into his wound and drifted. His thoughts stung as deeply as the salt that crusted his wounds. A shadow passed over him, and for an instant he considered letting go, falling back into grace to be reborn yet again.
Even as the darkness of death beckoned like Gideon's old friend had once beckoned to him he almost desired to reach out and clutch at such an offering. Death. Gideon wavered, reluctant and desiring in one, death was so close, oblivion reaching with soft hands. He had fallen, once before, yet grace had seen fit to bring him back, somehow.
High hopes.
Yet, when would the light of grace fade? Unlike many of the Tarnished, Gideon had always worked toward an ascension as Elden Lord, and so Queen Marika had never rescinded her grace. He could fight and die as often as the sands on the beach, as often as the Lord of Blood's fell invaders which sought to arrest such a noble purpose. Many assassins had failed, but now, when he knew the truth, he had defeated himself.
Again, the thought resonated around his mind, how could a man kill a god?
A warm hand grasped at Gideon, jolting him from the thoughts that percolated in his mind, swirling like the flames of madness. Gideon groaned in long-forgotten pain, armored fingers closing around the hand that just closed around his own gauntlet, pulling him free from the water.
"My God, my God!" The sorceress seemed on the edge of hysteria, "You made Leviathan run! Did you see? Did you see, he just turned and went!"
Gideon clutched at his belt, fingers searching for the Crimson Tears, even though he knew his search would come up empty. His other hand clutched to his side, deep red blood, almost black, oozing out from between the seams of his breastplate. Ah, a mortal wound, Gideon thought idly, the pain not even intense enough to reach one such as the All-Knowing. He had plenty of time, health was just one incantation away.
Would the grace of the Erdtree bless him, heal this vessel? Of course, the knowledge in him responded, but yet the doubt remained, a burr in his side. He stayed his hand, even though his will and might were enough that he could turn the amber of the cosmos to his will, even without a focus. The pain helped to focus his mind, and that in turn brought clarity to his thoughts.
An age he'd spent, in both first life, and the second. Pain had loosened its hold with every year passed beneath the Erdtree as one of the undying. Gideon was no stranger to mortal injury, the same as many Tarnished before him, only the more malevolent curses persisted beyond a single death unless with one death too many a Tarnished surrendered grace and cursed themselves to the embrace of death or madness.
"Stifle your hysteria, now is not the hour for such inanity," Gideon snapped, irritated by the sorceress's asinine prattle. The sorceress, Gideon had almost forgotten her name, ceased her jubilance, her grin fading away toward a frown. Blue eyes stared into his own, shadowed beneath the sorcerous darkness of his own helm. What use was a mask that covered just her eyes?
Still, Gideon was not so heartless, not in the face of such new-found hero worship, "I imagine you shall have plenty of time for blathering, in the future. Find my scepter, and we shall lay this wretched animal to rest."
"On it!" the sorceress grinned, giving him some kind of salute. Gideon didn't even bother attempting to return it, instead turning toward the blooming Aeonia. The wilting Aeonia, rather. Yet, Rot did not make it any less potent. As the Aeonia aged, horror would follow, as the denizens of wretched Caelid had discovered to their detriment.
Running water could be enough until the bloom swelled, then even the water would turn putrid, and the rot would spontaneously germinate until it was more flesh than liquid.
Why does it matter? The witless Tarnished will burn the Erdtree. All shall fall to the Frenzied Flame.
Gideon looked out past the water, at the city around him. At the destroyed streets, shattered glass, wrecked armaments, at least that was what he thought the great metal poles were that stretched into the sky down the street, almost exactly every forty feet.
"That attack, what did it do to Leviathan?" another voice called, a man's, full of life and vigor, and Gideon turned away from where he was contemplating the nascent bloom.
Ah. Gideon acknowledged in his own mind, the man in armor.
Blue armor, form-fitting, almost artisanal in its artistry, at least how else could it be justified to have proportions so elegantly formed? The blue lines on the silver metal dimly reminded Gideon of the Carian knights, at least the enchantments woven into the armor to make it glow with a blue luster. A noble of renown. A warrior at least, and Gideon maintained his frown, one such as this should know better than to speak with such brusqueness.
Gideon grunted, irritated, "I shall forgive some discourtesy, knight. The flight of the beast has no doubt lessened thy courtesy afforded to a fellow."
The knight's bearded face twisted beneath his armored helmet. Gideon, in turn, continued to grimace beneath his helmet, gaze moving away to the polearm in the other knight's hand, but it was the gauntlet that drew his interest. A grey haze flickered around the dagger in the knight's armored hand. Gideon's eyes flickered to it for a moment, before he dismissed it.
"My apologies," the knight replied, almost seeming to speak through gritted teeth, "I am Armsmaster. What did you do to Leviathan?"
"The Scarlet Rot, it has been set in its flesh," Gideon decided to indulge the knight after a moment, since he seemed almost flat-footed, and as his senior some small discourtesy could be overlooked, "It is a cankerous affliction. The working, I suspect, of an Outer God. Heresy at most. Unorthodox, perhaps. Such an incantation is not without its uses."
"Incantation?" The newly named Armsmaster asked, and his tone just sounded almost dry, disbelieving, to Gideon's ears. Gideon's scowl refused to leave his lips.
"The more primitive might name them miracles, but such an appellation denies a truth," Gideon indulged, "It requires trite little but proper knowledge of the world, not an indulgence by the divine."
Armsmaster clenched his jaw, seeming to work his mouth, biting down some kind of response. Gideon the All-Knowing ignored the brute, now that he had a taste for the particular malaise the knight operated under. Perhaps the knight was a Fundamentalist of the Golden Order? Gideon cared little for such base affairs as politics, they were two sides of the same sword.
All paled amidst the true truth. Knowledge above all, to strip away the inequities of the world.
"Scarlet Rot?" Armsmaster asked, tone tight. Armsmaster's gauntlets groaned as they tightened around his halberd long pole-arm.
Gideon considered whether to respond, before with a grimace decided it would at most be a waste of time. This Armsmaster was not even a junior, not worth the waste of breath Gideon had so far wasted.
"Found it!" The sorceress screeched, her platform of stone, hefted by her gravity magic, seemed to almost skip over the knee-deep water. She thrust the scepter at Gideon's face and he released his hand from his bloodied side to grab it, staining the grey surface with dark red blood.
"The scepter!"
"Take me to this beast, let me end this mockery," Gideon growled, feeling already the dull thrum of the glintstone in his veins, alongside the warmth of the incantations. He didn't bother to thank the sorceress, no doubt she would rather see the beast vanquished than spend time with idle words.
The sorceress, Rune, stretched out her hand and Gideon grabbed it, letting her hoist him onto her gently floating platform.
"You're with the Empire?" Armsmaster asked before a dark look crossed over the lower half of his face, and he continued, "Leviathan made it out of Dragon's observational range thirteen seconds ago. Do you intend to pursue?"
Armsmaster's expression seemed to speak to what he thought of that idea, and Gideon narrowed his eyes, interesting. Something else stays his blade. This beast has laid waste to the city, yet he cautions hesitance. Craven?
Perhaps.
After all, once Gideon had been craven just the same until the grace of gold ignited like an eternal ember, burning everlastingly in his chest.
A small voice whispered, what grace of gold? How many lives do you think you have, err the end?
"It has fled then. Elected cowardice over defeat," Gideon noted, his tone carefully pensive. Again, the thought twirled in his thoughts, the beast was familiar to these denizens of the city, yet Gideon had never heard of its like in all the years of his long travels.
The Armsmaster gritted his teeth again, looking on as Gideon rose into the air alongside the sorceress, "You think you could actually defeat Leviathan? You-?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not, Armsmaster," Gideon replied stoically, his fingers closing around the fingered embellishments of his staff as he set the pommel against the rock of the floating platform.
Gideon continued after a moment, "The Scarlet Rot is within craven flesh. Now, it will rot."
A truth of the world.
Gideon started to turn away, to direct the sorceress to bring him to someone who had the authority to treat him when he happened to glance at the bloom of the Scarlet Rot once more, orange amidst the refuse and stagnant water.
What did such matter? Worthless wits.
"I can't believe you just told Armsmaster off like that! Say, you from out of town? I got some people you could meet, they'd appreciate the kind of thing you did." The sorcererss Rune responded, seeming quite pleased.
Gideon spared a glance toward her, before turning away with a grunt to stare out across the city. The buildings rose like twisted spires, steel skeletons eroded away over the stonework. A vast section of the city ebbed and flowed with the receding tide. Great ships of steel lay beached upon the docks of the great city, perched like dead whales.
What more would Rot matter, the city was already rotten.
"Keep your prattle to yourself, mageling," Gideon commanded, interrupting the sorceress yet again, "I would ask that you point me toward the lord of the city, and I shall have my recompense for driving the beast afield."
Gideon stared out over ruin, and all traces of redemption fled, for he had work to do.
Gideon considered, what new knowledge was there to wrest from the minds of the unwilling? For what purpose had Marika resurrected him one last time? Or had the witless Tarnished failed?
Sir Gideon Ofnir was here once more, by the Grace of Marika, to struggle unto eternity.