Author's Note: Hello dear readers,

I'm going to be honest here, I haven't watched a great deal of RWBY in my life, but I have read a sickening amount of crossovers concerning it, so hopefully I'm able to do well.

Now, onwards!

--

At the edge of madness, Kindled Ash found respite.

He cast his gaze outwards, his feet pressed against the precipice by which he stood. It was only a slight lean that let him pierce the veil of decay and view the writhing depths that lay below. His only response was to sigh. Leaning down, he breathed out a spluttering cough of flame that set the ground alight. It only lasted for a few seconds before it was snuffed out and he could feel the rumbling displeasure of it through his soles.

He remembered when the cliff towered high over the murky waters. Now, it was only a small ledge, if it was even worthy of being called that. Permeable at many points by the encroaching flood, it was soon to be eaten whole. It would have been already, if he did not watch. Not unlike a certain wolven legion of yore, he thought, but his fleeting nostalgia choked on darkness and died before he could even begin to enjoy such thoughts. Thoughts of a past long forgotten.

So he watched and watched and watched, even as mire licked at his feet and ravenous insects feasted upon his flesh, he watched. They did not last long before they were roasted by angry embers, but as he was a stalwart wall, they were a darkness that would not be held back for long.

--

A time passed before something disturbed the silence. It was the sloshing of water and the slashing of a blade that woke him. He was now up to his knees, and his feet and the armor adorning them were shredded by now, but it did little to impede his movement. Pivoting as deft as he was able, he spied the whispering traces of purple that rent the blackness apart in brief bursts. Curious, he briefly let go of his blade and lifted an arm back, letting loose a scorching orb of flame that ripped back the curtain of dark. Flying a small distance, it exploded mightily and the screech of some tentacled monstrosity now alight brought a tiny smile to his face, but it also briefly lent clarity to the one who approached him.

A sable black dress, two like katanas, and dull silver hair.

Could it be…? A memory danced through his recollection, sparking dull recognition.

He moved for the first time in what felt like ages, trudging forwards. With each step, blood leaked from his ravaged legs before setting alight, leaving a small trail of fire in his wake. It was only a moment before he felt two blades pierce his chest. Tilting his head, he smiled unseen and cast an orb of warmth forward. It caressed him gently, mending his wounds as the blades exited his body and it was only then that he could view the wielder.

The pulsating flame granted her a warm aura, despite the filth about them, and despite who it was, his smile stayed fixed.

"By Kaathe… I thought thee a shambling abomination, kin to those abound this place. What art thou doing here, good hollow, wallowing in filth…?" and yet, after a few moments, a recognition was born in her eyes. "Nay… thou'rt… I knew my senses were yet true… Thief of Cinders."

His voice was harsh like a rusted blade when it finally made its way out of his beaten throat. "Hail, Blade of Londor." It was foreign to him in the way of an unfamiliar sword in an untrained hand, and yet it gifted him a strange comfort, to hear himself speak. "You are a long way from home."

"As thou art," she intoned. "Little didst I think to find thee here, though I am not yet surprised. T'was the only place hath left to behold - but, why didst thou come? Perhaps to stand guard like Farron's Legion? Thy great flame would surely frighten this madness abound."

"Indeed," he said simply. "I watch."

"Hmph. Thy breast wast aflame with ambition last I battled thee… on the night of thy great folly. How curious," Yuria responded, though she asked another only a hesitant moment after. "...Anoth'r Saint of the Deep, art thee?"

He shook his head. "Never."

She showed no sign of acknowledgement, but she did let her blades drift back to her sides. Soon, the flame began to fade out, and they were bereft of light if only for the burning blood at his feet and the faint glow of her right blade. Only then, did he deign to speak.

"Do you mean to slay me?" he asked quietly, as the tiny monsters bit at his feet.

"Nay."

Surely that is a lie as well as my own. "For what purpose would you have sought me out then to reclaim that which you meant to steal?"

"...Hardly doest 't matter anymore. All that remains art Ash and Hollows. Perhaps, long ago didst I depart to find thee, but time shall put us both to our graves, and with it, thy precious flame. No action be needeth from me."

"...The flame still smolders," he replied glibly, dragging both of his blades through the putrid muck and to his sides. "Do you deny this?"

"And a wyrm taketh flight still in the darkest of skies, but little power doth either bear. – " her voice adopted a slight shakiness at that, but she continued still. He didn't try to stop her. " – …this deep; it will consume us all. It is beyond us, beyond even thee, unless thou meaneth to… - " She paused curiously, her head tilting before she started once more " - Upon the fields of ash did I tread when I felt it first; the hunger. Kin of the yawning Abyss, yet… it is this rotting, dead thing."

He exhaled softly, his hands slacking leaving his blades stuck in the mire. Soon, a tired flame smoldered within both of his palms and two orbs of faded orange light rose up to illuminate the sky.

All he could see was murky blackness. And then, Yuria, and behind her just a distance, a broken Cathedral, or at least, what remained of one sat shattered on a weak precipice. Grave stones jutted out of the ground abound, monuments to those of ages past, their recipients finally slumbering peacefully. Beyond even that lay a pire long since quieted at the base of the old Cleansing Chapel, surrounded by the hollow armor of all those who had come in search of flame or deep waters, put to the sword by his few faithful followers. Flame bless their souls. They were sleeping peacefully too, now. He had made sure of it.

Gazing down, he saw himself. His sprawling dress cut short, soaked clean with fluids of all sorts hung limply by the waters edge. It connected at the waist with a ruined armor, adorned with gold-embroidered fabrics, stained and torn such that they no longer retained their old prestige. He could feel the damp veil against his head, the silk suffocated with grime. It saddened him that the old garment was desecrated so. Its previous owner would never have allowed it to reach such a state.

Behind him, lay a damp, dark place, stretching forever into the blackness, endlessly deep and writhing with disgusting abominations. It was the rot of neglect, finally catching up with them. It was the final end. It was this world's grave.

"Bearer of the First Flame…" Yuria's voice cut through the oppressive dark, surprisingly reverent and with that familiar timbre he remembered from all that time ago. "I can feel them biting at me. I…

"...Knoweth thee of our future. Even the Thief that thou art, thou still shar'd thy warmth. Even Londor didst feel that quiet embrace reach."

She paused and the only thing that could be heard was the faint buzz of the unseen insects around them.

"For that, I thank thee. Perhaps t'is not within my bounds to inquire, however, I would ask thee for two gifts before my departure."

"You have come all this way now for… gifts," he croaked out with a hint of jest. "Ask and you shall receive, Blade of Londor."

He could almost make out the serpentine hood of her mask as her response met him.

"Despite the futility of it, I ask to be granted one, final duel."

The buzz inexplicably quieted. His chest came to a still and he tilted his head. "…And the second?"

"I shall tell thee upon the blade's descent."

The muddy excrement-mix moved sluggishly as he let himself drop into a stance he hadn't assumed for time untold. "Are those truly your wishes?"

"As true as the flame within thy breast."

Very well.

His leathered, torn hands reached around and grasped blindly about the hilt of his larger greatsword. They tightened firmly about it, slowly angling upwards until the sword rested perpendicular to his head.

The air was choked with blackness and he could hardly see a thing. But he could sense her, as sure as she could him. He did not bleed any longer. The viscous matter about him softened through embers enough that he could move without effort. He closed his eyes and he stilled.

And then, there was that sound that had once haunted him, that sound he had feared after his great deception was set in motion.

He moved. His blade shone with faded flame such that he saw it behind his eyelids and he felt as it met its mark.

When he heard a shudder, he opened his eyes to nothing but his sword. There was a moment of quiet before the darkness was peeled back by a quick succession of slashes, the undead swordswoman pushing towards him with a dash. His side ate the damage up as he shoulder checked her, his left hand wrenching his other sword out the ground. Instantly, there were two blades ripping through his throat and he reciprocated in kind, swinging his greatswords about with controlled precision, assuming a stance similar to that ambitious Pontiff of whom he had adopted so much.

They were bathed in moonlight and embers, both ancient, blue and orange. For the first time in forever, his swords sang the song of retaliation. Arcs of old moonlight and fire roared outward at his slashes, cutting back the darkness. Below him, the Deep rumbled like a beast awakened.

Yuria was not up to the task. Even as she evaded and parried his blows as best she could, the sheer weight behind his strikes beat her into the ground and as soon as it had started, it was over. But a quick victory it was not to be. Even with her right arm barely dangling by a thread, she tumbled back into a low crouch. Her arm fixed itself with a quiet snap of abyssal energy and she leapt at him again.

There was a certain battle rush he felt at the display. Growling in anticipation, he snapped forward instantly, intercepting her mid-air. Yuria flew back in a crumpled heap, her katanas splayed out awkwardly but again recovered before she hit the ground. Still airborne, he dove low, his shorter greatsword piercing the ground thunderously. It acted as a tool with which he used to spin himself around into a vicious slash. Her legs were cut out from under her even as she tried to dodge, and he capitalized on her weakness with a massive leap.

He twirled in the air, his larger greatsword igniting with the flame of a thousand ages before he brought it down and everything was fire.

--

"Yuria?"

"T-thief," she responded breathily, her throat choked with pain.

"Your second wish?"

"T-thief?"

He shifted slightly, breathing in the noxious air that had become so familiar. For some reason, he couldn't think. None of it made sense. It was almost akin to a dream. "Your… second wish. What is it?"

"Ah-h, yes. D-doth thee recall, my Sister's beloved Painting?"

"Of course."

"Doth thee… doth thee recall thy doings?"

"…I do."

"Tell me; Was't thy duty or thy nature?"

He exhaled. "What is your second wish, fell blade?"

"Wouldst thou do me a great kindness and burn it all away?"

It was so sudden. Like the wicked whip of a deacon. He blinked in non-recognition even as she continued.

"…That is my final wish. Thou'rt kind enough in spirit to see it through. I know this to be true."

"…"

"My Lord - " her voice broke softly in the dark, carrying with it a quiet resolve, one he had not heard since the days when he had travelled with that young astoran knight who, even when all hope appeared lost, charged into the howling dark, her sword and shield raised. That memory, that feeling stayed with him, even if he had since forgotten her name. Those good days when he was righteous in his duty, when the very gods were on his side, even lain low as they were.

But then his reverie was broken again by one last plea.

"Please. Do thy duty. Do not run from it anymore."

--

Short Author's Note at the end here - I wanted to clarify just a bit as to the nature of this story. While not technically an AU of Dark Souls, it does play on a future that was hinted at, but never came to pass - the Lord of Hollows ending. A lot of the lore and backstory for the DS characters in this story is based upon a twisted perversion of that ending, and as such, certain elements are going to be quite different than that of a "Canon" DS story.This gives me some leeway to play around with certain events and characters, but hopefully, things aren't too different for your liking.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story with me! With Elden Ring just having come out this year, I don't really expect much in regards to viewership, but for those who do end up tagging along, I welcome you aboard!

P.S - This title is just a fill in. If someone wants to help me come up with something better, hit me up! :)