The Prodigal
Millicent approached the town at the end of the earth. Phantom flames flickered in the few towers that overlooked its streets. The buildings were caked in ice and snow, preserved by the cold. A few bodies were strewn about, their blood painted onto the ground beside them. A few Albinaurics. A couple of assassins clad in ebony cloaks. Someone had already been through here.
She passed by the frozen buildings, up the slick stairs, towards a glowing gateway. The snow to her left compacted in a familiar pattern. Footsteps. Millicent lashed out with her blade. There was the reverb of impact, a moments hesitation, and then a crimson stream flowed down its length. A Black Knife fell to the ground, making its own gruesome display in the snow. A straggler, perhaps? She had no shortage of opportunities to practice her lethal craft on the journey north. What was once a dull edge had sharpened into a deadly weapon.
Millicent appraised the gateway. It swirled ominously with teal energy. She took a breath. There was no return from this point onward. She had not made it this far to lose her nerve now. She stepped into it.
The air fluctuated with sloshing vibrations, as the chill left her body. She could sense movement, but her limbs were locked still. Gradually, the world returned in piecemeal. Sensation, then hearing, then vision. The sight she was greeted with nearly sent her tumbling.
Millicent stood on a massive tree branch, tangled with vegetation and fungus. Everywhere she looked there were other branches, all of them snaking and spiraling through the air in chaotic displays. Pollen wafted on the breeze. The ground was so far away as to be indecipherable. It took time for her to make sense of the chaos, but she traced the branches back to a gargantuan tree. It was ringed with a fortress near its base. The Haligtree. The citadel of Malenia.
The wind carried a foul scent, one that was eerily familiar. It told Millicent of decay. The noise of trumpets met her ears. There were rotund oracles playing their golden instruments, heralding the birth of a new god. There was a magnificence to it all, even if it was tinged with a tide of ruin. Ruin was all Millicent had known. The prospect of beauty emerging from it all the same was to be celebrated.
She found her bearings and headed down the branch, towards the body of the tree. Her march was interrupted by the appearance of large ants, which crawled across the branches, carrying out foreign tasks. Their bodies were coated with the pollen and a few of them had growths of fungus sprouting from their torsos and heads.
One of the ants blocked her path. Millicent approached slowly, hoping to pass unnoticed. The ant gave no indication it saw her. Only when she reached its right flank did the creature's antennae twitch. Its mandibles snapped at her. Millicent blocked with her prosthetic arm. The impact pushed her back, one of her heels meeting the curve of the branch, as it turned to the open air. Before she could draw her blade, the ant lunged once more. Its weight sent Millicent off the edge, as the creature lost its grip and plummeted as well. She shot out her arm and grabbed a strand of vine that was dangling from the branch.
The ant's death had not gone unnoticed by its comrades, nor had its target. A group of them was forming above Millicent. She could see one walking along the underside of the limb of the tree, headed straight for her. Scanning the tangle of branches below her, Millicent saw that the nearest one was below her, across an unpleasantly large gap. The gathering horde granted her no time to consider her options.
She swung her legs and lower body vigorously, gaining momentum. She could hear the ants clacking their mandibles together. The form in her peripheral vision got larger and larger. Her muscles strained as she kept up her exertions, the vine holding just enough. At the apex of her arc, Millicent let go and took to the air.
The branch below arrive much faster than anticipated. Millicent almost rolled off the other side. There was no time to catch her breath. More ants noticed her. One of the members from the previous branch sprayed a red liquid at her, its drops searing into the bark wherever it landed. Millicent drew her sword and ran down the branch. She hacked and fought her way down towards the trunk. The ants were relentless, spurred on by an invisible war cry. Even the oracles rained their magic upon her, the golden orbs of sound striking like artillery.
By the time she reached any measure of safety, Millicent was exhausted. Her limbs were slick with the blood of ants, her lungs choked by the pollen. The Scarlet Rot ebbed closer to the surface here, even with the protection of the needle. This was not the sanctuary that the stories about it spoke of. She tilted her head up to see the way forward was teeming with feral Misbegotten and all manner of fetid creatures. She took a deep breath and pressed forth.
Millicent sat slumped against the wall deep within the brace of the Haligtree. Resting here had become a matter of necessity with how spent her body was after the previous ordeal. She had fought for hours, making her way out of the canopy and into the citadel proper.
They called it Elphael. It was to be a paradise for all those unloved by the golden rays of the Erdtree. The Albinaurics, the Misbegotten, and the Omens. That dream was dying, poisoned by the same curse that blighted all of Caelid. That which birthed and chained Millicent. She looked at the needle, embedded in her flesh. The rot still writhed around the wound, but it would spread no more. It would return with a vengeance should the needle ever be removed.
There was a hum. It permeated the edge of her perception, tracing along the contours of her mind. Millicent had first detected the hum when she reached the Consecrated Snowfield. There it was an infrequent pulse, an indicator of her path. Here, in the heart of the Haligtree, it was a constant tone. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could almost see the outline of the one she sought, somewhere down in the gnarled roots. There was no guarantee that Malenia held answers, but Millicent knew she had to stand before her. They were kin in one way or another.
A silhouette threatened to breach the chamber of respite. Unsteady fingers curled around her blade. She would have to manage. Her grip relaxed when the figure entered fully. It was the Tarnished. He appeared to be bleeding from countless small cuts, his hand steadying himself on the doorway. She had seen him once more after their encounter in the Windmill Village. They had briefly crossed paths in the frigid valleys of the Mountaintop of the Giants.
"Again we meet," she said.
"Indeed we do," he replied.
Millicent began to stand, but he gestured for her to stay seated. He took a few stuttering steps forward and opened his hand to a glint of gold. A site of grace formed between them.
"I hadn't noticed that was there. It must be remarkable, to see the grace of gold."
"Clearly you've managed just fine without it," the Tarnished said.
The cuts sealed. He sat a little straighter. She could feel a heat coming off him, one that wasn't present in their previous encounters. His blue eyes appeared to have glints of gold dance within them. Her skin shivered at his gaze.
"I would ask what brings you to such an inhospitable place, but I surmise our purposes are aligned," Millicent said.
He gave a slight nod.
"I should explain myself. Malenia and I… are of the same blood. I do not know whether I am sister, daughter or offshoot, but there is a kinship I am certain."
The Tarnished's full attention was on Millicent. His eyes pierced into hers.
"I do not aim to thwart your mission. But, there is something that I must return to Malenia. Her dignity, her sense of self, that allowed her to resist the Scarlet Rot. The pride she abandoned to meet Radahn's measure."
"I hope you don't mean what I think you do," he said, pointing to her arm. "To remove the needle would mean death."
She remained silent, her gaze on the floor.
"You would sacrifice your life for Malenia? For the prospect of helping the being that damned you with that curse in the first place?"
"I would," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That's madness."
Millicent glared at him.
"You think it a waste to save the very soul of Malenia? An Empyrean? One of the greatest of the demigods. Have you no sense of duty to something greater than yourself?"
The Tarnished grew silent. Millicent saw his eyes retreat for the first time.
"That's it. You can't contemplate self-sacrifice. You won't. There's only your quest for the throne," Millicent said.
"I can't fail now. Too many have sacrificed for me," he murmured.
The Tarnished could not return her gaze.
"Others have given their lives for you. Is there really no one you would give your life for?"
He did not answer. Millicent stood. She went to the far doorway.
"I spoke true beforehand. I will not bar your path. But I have to finish my journey. I wish you luck in completing yours, lonely one that it is."
Downward, Millicent descended into the rotting ruin of the once great tree. She warred against the warped inhabitants of this sickly paradise. Against the soldiers that stood firm, committed to their absent liege, the benevolent Miquella. Against the cleanrot knights, their pride the only thing keeping them on their feet as their bodies pulsated with Scarlet Rot. Against the Kindred who tended to the cancerous growths. The hum expanded as she continued to the depths. It became a symphony of energy, a current that carried her forth, towards the goddess below.
The pain in her stump rose in its intensity. That which had been tamed by the needle woke again, its fury at being subdued made clear in the molten slices that ran up and down her flank. Pain was a familiar friend, however, and Millicent carried on under the increasing pressure.
She reached an enormous, open pit, a drainage channel of sorts. It was clogged with the miasmatic soup of rot that flowed through the veins of the Haligtree. Roots tunneled through the walls, creating makeshift bridges across the abyss. Millicent crossed the narrow pathway, cutting down any Kindred that dared meet her approach.
Her advance was halted by the sight of a small body of land, across the pit. Something about it was calling to her. The hum shifted to pull her towards this island of roots and rot. Millicent crossed a precarious tangle of roots and leapt to the other side. She approached the island, its pools of Scarlet Rot bubbling and foaming viciously.
The hum rose to a fevered pitch, her temples feeling compressed by the din. A body emerged from the red murk, then another, then two more. They wore clothes similar to Millicent's, their heads topped by the identical red manes. Their faces were marked by the spiral of veins that Millicent saw in her own reflection, glanced at in streams and ponds on her travels. They each had at least one eye covered by ragged cloth.
"Sisters?"
The four women turned in unison and walked towards Millicent. Their eyes gleamed yellow. She finally noticed the weapons in their hands. They carried a spear, a scythe, two flowing blades and a crooked dagger.
"You must know that I am your kin! I am here to help Malenia. To set her free."
Millicent's cries found no purchase. The four scarlet sisters raised their weapons. They split into three groups, two going left, one right and one down the middle.
Millicent hastily deflected a strike from the center, and turned her metal arm to take the brunt of a slash with a scythe. Her leg screamed with pain from a slash on her left. Millicent threw out a series of rapid slashes, forcing them back. She attempted to exploit an opening on one of them, but the other interfered.
The fight continued with that tempo. Millicent was being worn down by their assault, unable to truly get an upper hand. They were too coordinated and too fast. She was stronger, but their combined ability was too great. Every salvo of blows left her bleeding, her stamina sapping away.
Millicent took a chance to bring down a savage cut onto the sister with the dagger. She struck true and cleaved into the sister's shoulder. The dagger fell into the muck, as the sister screeched. Her success was short lived as she felt the scythe rake across her back. Millicent tried to step back, but she could see the curved blades darting in out of the corner of her eye.
A deafening clang sounded out, but Millicent still drew breath. The blades were blocked by the malicious red sword of the Tarnished, who was at her side. He gave a vigorous grunt and shoved his opponent backwards, blocking off two of the sisters.
Millicent shifted her attrition back to the ones on her side. The injured sister was desperately searching for her blade, while the one with the scythe rained strikes on Millicent. She parried them, her arms burning with the effort. The hum had evolved into a shriek that pounded on the back of her head.
Her foot caught, as the injured sister gave up on her search and grabbed at Millicent's leg. The other one used the opportunity to dispense a nasty cut to her good arm. Millicent gasped, before ramming her blade into the backside of the sister at her legs. Her foe's body gave up.
Millicent stole a glance towards the Tarnished. He sent out walls of flame and bolts of lightning at his enemies, the sisters using their agility to stay on the edge of his reach. He was forced to bait out their attacks.
She hunted down the scythe-wielder. Millicent waited for her foe to slash, before catching the body of the scythe with her metal hand. She pulled hard, curving her blade outwards as the sister came crashing into it. The edge met flesh and forced a path through.
Millicent pivoted back towards the other side of the fight. The Tarnished was dueling with the sister of the curved blades. Where was the other one? As she scanned the area, movement to her left forced her to spin. The spear knocked her sword down, wielded as if it were a bludgeon. Her opponent flicked the tip across Millicent's chest, cutting her. She reached for her blade, but the sister crashed into her, knocking Millicent to the ground.
She splashed into the red mire. Millicent was dangerously close to the edge. She tried to sit up, but the sister put a boot on her chest, forcing her back down. It took all her effort to keep her face above the red liquid. The sister held the spear up high, her yellow eye boring into Millicent.
"You shall bloom," the sister shouted.
The spear plummeted.
Its tip met the Tarnished, running through his side. He let out a faint cry. His looked at Millicent, his breath ragged. She noticed he had dropped his sword in his mad dash to reach her. The other sister still approached them, her blades spinning malevolently.
"Make this count," he gasped, before pushing all his weight backwards towards the spear-wielder. The sister recoiled for a moment, before kicking him off her spear. The Tarnished tumbled forward, rolling off the lip of the island, into the void.
Millicent took her moment and ran her hands frantically through the rot. They touched steel and she retrieved her blade. Her two foes hungrily came closer, ready for the kill.
"You cannot deny it. This was your fate," said one.
"The goddess will bloom and you along with her," the other added.
Millicent readied her blade.. Her eyes closed. Her breaths steadied. She could see the way forward, the manner in which it flowed and turned. Her muscles coiled as tight as they could, to the point where release was inevitable. Her feet left the ground.
A storm of slashes filled the air around her as she sailed forth. There was no more thought. Only action. Her feet returned to the ground and she looked back.
Her sisters stood for a moment longer. The first one's head rolled off, making a hearty splash. The second one was split at the midsection.
Millicent dropped her sword. She looked down at her side. There was a deep cut that ran from her right flank, nearly all the way to where the needle sat on her stump. Her prosthesis fell off her.
"Oh."
She collapsed. This was what her sisters wanted, what all of those who orchestrated her journey desired. For her to die like this here and now, to become a creature of rot, a malformed being to inflict their wrath on the world. Millicent would have no part in that. With a trembling hand, she found the needle and plucked it from her skin. The writhing of her flesh poured back like a barely contained flood finally let loose. It submerged her in the agony. Her vision fluttered.
"Millicent?" called a familiar voice.
It repeated over and over, as footsteps sounded closer.
The Tarnished came hastily to her, falling to a knee. His side still wept blood. He removed his helmet. His face was smeared with blood and sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead. A bruise was being born on his left jaw.
"You lived?" she said.
"It takes more than a simple fall to kill me," he said with a pained smile.
He looked her over, his face turning pale.
"What have you done Millicent?"
"They would have me become something monstrous. I… I removed the needle. I would rather rot as I am, than flower into something else."
He lightly put his hand to her side.
"I could save you. Surely, I can."
Golden light coursed through his frame into Millicent. The pain eased, but the rot remained. She could feel it submerge her deeper and deeper in its embrace.
"No, no. That must work," the Tarnished said. Golden light continued to pour from him.
Millicent gave a faint smile. She reached her real hand to his face and clasped his cheek.
"It's no use. It will be okay. I'm in your debt. Because of you, I could live as my own person, if only for a little while."
There was little left for Millicent to cling to. The rot had nearly run its course.
She held out the needle.
"Take this. Do what I could not.
The Scarlet Rot writhes within, worse than ever before. Let me pass alone. I would not see you harmed by what I becom-," she said.
"No," the Tarnished said forcefully, "I will not leave you. I can't let you go alone."
His face was marked by tears. The Tarnished cradled Millicent tenderly. He hummed a song, one that carried her as she drifted off.
Millicent felt her life ebb further and further away. This time was different. It was not a cold, barren place she was going. She could feel the sun shine on her face, the smell of the ocean, a warm hand in her own.
Millicent did not live long. But she did live.