"You must be of new blood, for you do not reek of madness."
Darkness purvaid his vision, eyes open but the void was all that he saw. Not even the pale moon could pierce this inky veil. On a cot made of something that was, in a past life, soft. He wriggled in his confines. A voice ripped through the air, it sounded old. Older than the city of Yharnam, older than dirt he walked on, older than the moon itself.
"Stop moving, before you hurt ya'self. That beast left me with quite a job fixen' ya up." He seemed to spit the word out as if it was toxic. The blinded man stopped moving, trying to speak his words came out like chokes and gasps. As if he was a babe trying to walk for the first time.
"Most of ya were torn to shreds, nothing but a pile of flesh when I found ya. Yet you were alive, so I brought you to the 'Healing Church'." He chuckled or what seemed like one before a fit of coughs racked his breath. After a minute he recovered and continued his speech.
"The old ways of healing were lost many centuries ago, fire was replaced with blood." That piqued the blinded man's interest and he attempted to tell the man to continue. Only for chokes of air to leave his mouth.
"I'm sure you are curious to know what that means and I won't waste either of our time. You have somewhere to be, Gehrman is waiting." Who was this Gehrman? Who is this man? Where am-
"You are filled with questions no doubt. The answers will come in due time, some by me and some by the gracious mon-I mean people of yharnam." A quick correction and a coughing fit was all he heard, the darkness still holding his sight.
"I am old. I have lived more than any man can claim. I was around before this city was born, before the first stone was set. I've seen the cities before this rise and fall. Hell, I was around before the moon hung in the sky. Before it's pale light forever permeated this world." A pause was taken, nothing dared to make a noise. Afraid of the consequences that may befall it.
"This world hasn't always been so hideous. Before this city and its wretched Blood Ministration. The 'Old Blood' they called it, from the old gods far beneath this city. I suppose they were not too far off in their description. I guess for you to really know how everything came to be I shall tell you the history of our world. Be a lad and just listen, let this tired man rabble of better times." The blinded man's curiosity ran wild, while his vision was black his mind painted incredible pictures of what could have been.
"For every light shone, shadows surround its edges. Waiting for the chance to swallow the light and leave nothing but the cold embrace of darkness. That is change and before change is where our story begins. Carved from the lifeless rock, great stone dragons ruled over this lightless world. Unchanging, nothing died but nothing was born. Then the first flame was alight, out of nothing came something." A pause was needed, coughing echoed around the room. It lasted twice as long as before.
"The flame created change in a world that had never known it. From the shadows the first flame gave off came hollows. Humans like creatures, not quite like you and me but very similar. Four great souls emerged from the horde of hollows. Gwyn, Nito, Izalith and the Pygmy, together they killed the Everlasting dragons. Killing the 'old gods' and becoming the new ones. Creating the Age of Fire. Gwyn was the strongest among the souls, and was proclaimed the 'Lord of Sunlight'. As long as the first flame burned he would rule. Unfortunately for Gwyn his time was running out." Even while blind, the bound man knew there was a sly grin on the aged man's face. The tone he spoke incited what seemed like happiness.
"For the flame had created disparities, for every flame, every bonfire was a shadow, waiting for its moment. For Gwyn that shadow was the Pygmy. He was given the Dark soul, unique among his fellow lords and Hollows. Instead of hoarding his strength he split it, creating humanity. He created the first human to fall upon this world." A simple silence took over, not as deathly still as before. A gentle breeze could be heard running outside the aged walls of the building.
"Oh the 'Lord of Sunlight' was terrified of the dark, of losing his power. The flame was all what made him strong, he would be damned if it was taken away!" A loud thump echoed around the room, there was a metallic ring. As if he slammed an armored hand.
"The Witch, Izialtih was determined to make a new flame. One created from her very soul. Her own hubris was to blame for what came next. She could not hope to control this new flame, from it spawned demons and chaos. Consuming her and the city she resided over. Nito retreated, away from Gwyn and his royale city. Down in the graves of the hollows that have died. He covered himself with bones and rotting flesh, gaining the moniker 'The Gravelord'. Gwyn was alone and afraid of the darkness that was to ensure. So as the respectable lord he was, he decided to trick the Pygmy!" True rage seeped into his tone, several objects seemed to hit the walls around him. A deep breath and the creaking of old wood seemed to end it.
"Gwyen had offered a corner of the world and his youngest daughter to the Pygmy. With the city built he had every fragment of humanity in one place. With the last vestiges of his strength he bound the dark souls, encasing them in a ring of fire. Preventing humanity to grow and blossom in an attempt to forever lock away the Age of Darkness. Warping humanity in unimaginable ways." A quick hack came from his aged throat.
"For fire to burn it needed fuel and the world was out. Right then Gwyn and his knights marched to the Kiln of the First Flame. The birthplace to the great fire that gave him his power. He sacrificed himself and his knights, using them as fuel to keep the flame alive. This cycle would continue for millennia, strong souls would link the flame. Using themselves as fuel to lock away the darkness burning themselves and the world around them to ash." A somber picture painted itself in the bound man's head. Great castles buried underneath the ocean of ash. Thrones with charred men atop them, nothing around them but piles of ash. A great choir of mournful voices sang in great harmony, immersing him in the vast pictures he painted in the void of darkness. Of course the thought of the man lying crossed his mind but deep in him he knew he wasn't.
"These souls came to be known as the Lords of Cinder, each one destined to continue the cycle but one prince stopped this madness. Refusing to burn the broken world around him any farther. In an attempt to save the First Flame, it resurrected four other Lords. Each, already linking the flame once but called upon one more time in a desperate attempt." What came next was said no louder than a whisper.
"And each one refused." A great cackle echoed around the room. Laughing at the failure of the last hope of a dying flame. Afraid of darkness that crept around it.
"Returning to their thrones, ruling over ash was preferable to linking again. In their time they were great, proud and giving souls. Willing to do what needed to be done, their souls were nothing but kindling for the first flame. In returning they had lost their greatness to the ash, their bodies strong but their minds burnt away." A sombere pause was given, almost like a respect. To those who did their duty but were made into less because of it.
"Forgive me, in my haste I forgot an important detail. Not all who attempted to link the fire were successful. They were burnt to ash. Their souls were not strong enough to prevent their bodies from burning but when the bell rang signaling the Flame going out a single man had risen. The Ashen One, for he was the one who scoured the kingdoms. Fighting through the wasteland of Ash, to the Lords of Cinder. He fought through the sprawling cities that were stuck in the endless loop of the rekindling of flame. Each lord he slayed, taking their souls for his own and strengthening it. He saw what the world had become, crumbling around him at every step. Still he pressed on. After slaying the prince that refused to link the fire he made his way to the Kiln of the First Flame, where Gwyn had started it all." Light started to seep into the darkness, a warm glow was at the edges of his vision. The old man seemed to rattle on, not caring for the development.
"The Ashen One was tested, to prove his soul worthy of linking the flame he was forced to fight Lord Gwyn himself. The battle was arduous but the Ashen One had come out victorious! The first flame resting in his hand. He was given the choice, rekindle the flame, continue the cycle or let the flame die, ending the madness that surrounded him. He lifted the fire in the air, he would let the broken world decide. A gentle breeze rolled through the hallowed bones that littered the Kiln and for the first time the flame had gone out. Ushering in the Age of Darkness, the Age of Humanity." His restraints were released, but his vision had not returned. The man sat up, feeling around a little bit he propped himself up against the wall. He did not trust his voice, luckily his elder talked enough for the both of them.
"That age lasted for thousands of years till this city sprung up and messed with something that should have been left alone to rot for melania. I brushed over Gwyn and the first lords fighting the stone dragons, it was war and Gwyn had won but with the help of a wicked traitor." A savage smile could be seen on the everlasting man.
"Seath the Scaleless, he was born without the stone hide of his kind. He helped Gwyn kill off every single one of his kind, thus he was the last of the everlasting dragons. He was slain by a Lord of Cinder after Gwyn linked the flame but Seath was still blood of the everlasting dragons. His body did not decay or rot so he was buried, deep within a labyrinth. The Lord had hoped no soul would stumble upon it." The man could finally put the pieces together, the old blood was in fact old but not of ancient gods that the church thought. While he was putting the pieces of the puzzle together in his head, his vision started to return with hazy shapes coming to him.
"Seath's body may have not changed but his blood did, the first flame had brought change into the world and nothing was immune to it. Even a defected dragon. The blood was less than it was but more than it ever hoped to become. It spread like a disease, running rampant across the world. It was a paradox, an everlasting dragon mutating people into disfiguring monsters. Halting the Age of Darkness, the cycle of night and day ceased to exist. The Age of the Moon had begun and you were born right into the midst of it." The once blind man could see the hazy outline of the gnarled voice. He was an imposing figure even while sitting. He was cloaked in what seemed to be a red haze. Long gray hair pooled around his feet and a cracked sword was used as a cane.
"This world is trapped in a paradox created by itself. Creatures and beings beyond my comprehension have been created by merging two different fundamentals. I would fight but strength has left my body long ago. My body has waned since the first flames' downfall. Only the old souls of a past age have kept life in my breast. You are not the first I tell this story to but you will be the last." His vision cleared and he finally got a good look at the wizened man. He stood twice as tall as the mightiest human. The red haze was a ratty cloth that seemed to just hang to his rusted armor. Terrible schreechs of metal rubbing metal and dust poured from the man as he walked closer. In his hand seemed to be a dark flame, gently swaying in an unfeeling breeze. Kneeling in front of the younger man he spoke once more.
"This is the last fragment of the dark soul. The original form of the human soul, let it give you strength to fight off the disease of change." With impossible quickness the gloved hand crushed the small soul and washed over him. Filling him with strength he did not know was possible. While relishing the feeling he did not notice the giant walk toward the back of the room. His rough voice tore him out of his stupor. His eyes devoured the room until they found their prize.
"I have done what I can for this world. There is nothing more my body or soul can give. I entrust this reality to you. Save this world from itself, but I believe I have earned my rest in a world so perfect it had to be… painted." Then as if the walls around him didn't exist he stepped through a painting that stretched from the rotten floor to the broken ceiling. It rippled with his body merging into the painting and just for a moment the painting was still. Every color seemed to catch his eye, every brush stroke seemed to pull him further. That one moment of enthrallment stretched on forever and then, it ended. The vibrant color snapped to peeling layers of paint and a frame full of maggots
The once blind man rushed over to the tattered painting, looking for something, anything to let him join the ancient man in that reality. That world had seemed too perfect to be true, he clawed at the wall that rested behind the hole filled cloth…
Alas it seemed that it had room for just one man, sinking to his knees he silently wept. For he had seen Heaven and the door had been shut in front of his face. Cries and howls drew him out of his anguish. He felt madness fester at the edges of his mind, insanity would claim him too if he sat here and wept. Climbing to his feet and setting his resolve, the man walked toward the door while the sounds of Yharnam grew. Each step led to another cracked board, another crumbling brick, another failing truss. Once he placed a firm hand on the door he looked back one last time.
The old church seemed to be finally rotting away, the ceiling was starting to cave in but even in its regressed state, not even the dust seemed to touch the old painting. He tore his eyes away before could think about it any more. He would only look forward.
He had seen Heaven, now it was time to see Hell.
Just a one-shot of how the dark souls trilogy mixed into the bloodborne game. I hope y'all enjoyed it.
