After reading a few other fics from different universes and platforms, I've realised that I haven't inserted the default line that states I do not own this story, which I find completely odd, since everyone from the people reading this to the person writing this author's note knows - without a shadow of a doubt - that I very obviously don't own Dark Souls. Why would I be writing this story if I did, ya' know? Eh, for the sake of what little damn I give, let me insert it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls. The company, From Software does. I just have a hand in creating this particular plot-line that people are reading.
There(*exhales with a smile), wasn't so bad after all…
"I think you're shrinking on us."
"I am not."
"Come on, don't sound so moody. Is it really a bad thing?"
"It is if you are going to continue teasing me about it."
"You know I only do it out of affection for my one and only friend."
"Argon… you do know I'm standing right here, mate."
"My one and only goddess-friend-person, then."
"Was that really the best you could come up with?"
"I suppose so, yes…"
The bearded pyromancer, the Chosen Undead and the cross breed goddess walked in silence for a comfortable few moments, along the blackened cobblestones of the Undead Parish before Laurentius risked a peek at the tailed member of the trio.
"He's right, my lady… I think you are getting shorter."
"Ha! I told you so."
"Not you as well!" Priscilla groaned, hiding her face behind her pale fingers, peeking out through the gaps so she could at least watch where she was going.
"It's really not that bad." Argon began for the umpteenth time that day, which only made the goddess glare at him - looking more like a cute pout since she didn't have a mean bone in her body.
"Look at it this way: when you and I met, you dwarfed me in size. It was only natural at the time because you are the offspring of the Queen of Sunlight, making you a goddess yourself."
"That much is obvious. The question is why am I, a goddess, beginning to shrink in the first place?" She questioned, running a hand down the ruffled fabric of her gown and staring at the bunched up amount at her feet. She was beginning to worry immensely, it was a nice gown to ruin just because of height difference.
"That's what I'm trying to say, we all know that the god's and various other important figures of Lordran, unfortunately, stand at twice the size of the tallest human. However, I've been playing a theory in my head as to why exactly you are being affected. My main focus centering on the Painted World of Ariamis."
"You think it's due to the Painting's corruption that Priscilla is the way she is now?" The swamp-born asked, a frown marring his otherwise peaceful features.
"Not the corruption it held, exactly, but more on the lines of the enchantment of the Painter himself."
Both companions stopped and stared at the chosen undead as he skipped up a flight of stairs, holding a black bow and watching out for any hollows. The ashes that fell from the burning piles of bodies from behind the gate they had passed burst into puffs of grey power as it landed on the brigand armour he wore, toned muscles peeking out from the sides like silvery fish underwater. Priscilla had felt bad that the Knight armour he had worn before was still left at the Firelink bonfire to dry completely, but she certainly didn't mind the small showcase he offered now in those strips of leather and plates of metal. Was it just her or had his chest grown bigger and more muscled?
"Ariamis had created that world to house the insane or imprison others by order of Gwyn," his masked gaze turned to Priscilla briefly as he spoke, "while Ariamis had the power to prevent people from entering the Painted World, how exactly did he have the power to keep people in?"
"He would have to use a type of magic that bordered both person's in and out of the Painting from leaving and entering, respectfully. The only thing I can think about is the cleric miracle, Force." Laurentius replied, hand on his chin in thought.
After Argon had gotten over his anger of being eaten alive by the well-spoken snake, both him and Priscilla had deemed it necessary to explain everything of what they had learned to the Pyromancer of the Great Swamp. It was the sensible thing to do after he had befriended the goddess and announced that he would be accompanying them until they reached Izalith. It was also partly due to how close Argon and Laurentius seemed to be to the cross breed. Saving someone had that affect on people, she was proof of it. A Pyromancer in their party was extremely useful in battle, it meant they had a teammate with medium and close ranged fighting capabilities. Besides that, however, one of their stops was the ruined civilization itself and the more there were on such a perilous journey, the merrier it was in between fighting for your life.
As far as he knew, there weren't many spells or incantations that could really do such a thing as box in an opponent. Of course, there were an entire archive of old magic's and enchantments that did everything; from mending wounds, to providing a sense of direction when lost, to even conjuring a sprite temporarily that could distract foe's. What there wasn't, was a spell so offensive it could affect an entire city of people. There just weren't enough people that had the capacity to formulate a spell that vast, and even if more than a group of sorcerer's managed to create it, keeping it stable and active for over a few moments would drain them completely of whatever energy and power they held, never mind entire centuries.
"Force would be something along those lines but it's used more for pushing people away in a burst of pressure rather than boxing them in." Argon countered, knocking and arrow into the bow and killing a balder soldier that just noticed the trio from inside the decayed cathedral. He turned back to them, drawing another arrow from behind his back.
"What I'm taking about is a powerful illusion, strong enough to keep inhabitants in and interlopers out."
"You think an illusion can be powerful enough to do that?" Laurentius scratched his head he spoke, conjuring a large fireball and throwing it through the doors of the church and closing the double doors as the flames grew and climbed up the pillars.
"He made that painting when all the god's were still staying in Anor Londo. He could have had help from an assortment of god's, Grandfather Gwyn, included." Priscilla said, nodding her head slightly in agreement.
"Gwyn, Velka, Nito, the Izalith Witch, heck, even Gwyn's banished first born could have had a hand in helping," Argon counted down with his fingers as he explained, "with that many god's and people like Seath and Havel at his disposal, he could keep that illusion going for as long as the world stayed kicking."
His two companions mulled over his words as they walked, Argon waiting a few more moments before opening the church doors and letting the now extinguished flames billow out black smoke from the entrance. Argon coughed and waved a hand to clear it away, eventually making out the forms of two other balder knight's burned to a crisp before they burst into a mass of souls that flooded into the trio equally.
As they entered and walked in between the pews, Priscilla frowned, realising what the undead was insinuating.
"Your theory is that my height is an illusion?"
"Precisely."
A tick mark appeared on her forehead as he replied as nonchalantly as ever, putting away his bow and clenching his fist as a Velkian rapier materialised from it. Elegant and dripping with a cold aura of occultic magic. He was feeling a bit malevolent today anyways. The goddess watched silently as he and Laurentius swerved right, down another flight of stairs and dispatched three hollow's with ease. As she followed with a sigh she heard the pyromancer mutter about the fumes from before clouding Argon's thoughts. At least she wasn't the only one not believing the absurdity of his statement.
"While I agree that Ariamis did hold a strong magic over his creation," she began, swiping her scythe downwards at a hollow that jumped towards her, splitting his body cleanly in two.
"I doubt that it was the reason my height is being affected. I am a goddess, it's only natural that I dwarf the both of you. You yourself had even said that my mother was over five times the size of myself when she gifted you with the Lordvessel."
Laurentius' eye's bugged out of his head at the statement as Argon simply flicked blood from his blade and sheathed it before leading them down yet another flight of stairs. Where were they going anyway?
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Laurentius asked, face dazed and words slurred as he tried to imagine the sight of a massive, curvaceous goddess.
"The illusion of your mother." Argon corrected, ignoring the pyromancer.
"Is it that difficult to believe that god's are much larger in size as compared to the human race?" She asked slightly frustrated. She wasn't one to get technical but this wasn't doing anything to her self-esteem at the moment. Which woman - goddess or not - wanted to hear that she was shrinking out of all things? On a different note, did he not realise that she was having a panick-attack at the news? Laurentius had noticed it, how could he not when her face was paler than usual? At least he had the manners not to say much about it. Why couldn't the ambiguous undead be the same? She mentally groaned, secretly knowing that she didn't want to change a single thing about the man, but refusing to admit it.
Her eye's stared a hole into the back of the masked undead's head as he descended the stairway in front of her. Maybe he did notice but was acting like typical Argon, as usual. It wasn't difficult to imagine, the man had a knack for keeping up the suspense.
"My intimidation at your race's size aside, just bear with me here; Gwynevere was the size of a house in her brother's illusion of her, but as far as we know, she could just be slightly taller than a Silver Knight. You wouldn't know the difference since you were still too small to notice and because virtually everyone in Anor Londo were taller than a mansion's double door's at the time."
"That's a good evaluation but how do you know Lady Gwynevere wasn't the same size as the illusion you saw?" Laurentius asked as they entered a smaller, crumbling church and followed Argon down another flight of stairs. Priscilla grumbled under her breath. This was getting tedious and her bare feet were sore. She wanted to rest them so badly.
"Gwyndolin," the undead replied.
"He was my first clue. He stood at a fair height of nearly thrice my size, like a certain cross breed, however what really got my attention was the illusion of snakes at his feet that he dissipated when speaking to me. From there it lead me to think of the old books I had read that detailed the appearance of the Sunlight Bringer, as well as his correct height.
"In the text it said that he 'rose to twice and a half the height of man' - meaning he was basically just taller than his loyal Knight's. Which made sense when comparing his feminine son to him, as well as the false claim that Gwynevere was the size she was depicted by the many bards and perverts out there in the human world. If my theory is correct, the Sunlight Goddess was slightly taller than the average height of a human, also proving why it is that our Priscilla is shrinking the way she is; the illusion that made her seem malevolent and menacing in the Painted World as a deterrent for any lucky intruder's is wearing off. She's simply reforming to the same height as her mother."
They stopped as they finally reached a bonfire and rested, leaning against the walls of the square room as Laurentius and Priscilla processed the information they had just received. It wasn't absurd to ponder on, he made a sound argument. Priscilla would have admitted defeat if not for one thing that still raised questions in her head.
"If what you are saying is true," Argon and Laurentius turned to her as she spoke, the pyromancer pulling out a flask from his side and taking a large gulp of whatever lay inside.
"Then how could it have been possible for my mother and Seath to conceive?"
The pyromancer sprayed clear water from his mouth, coughing hard and slapping his chest as he atremtped to erase the image of an albino dragon and a buxom goddess being intimate with one another. Argon for the most part, tapped a finger against his boot in mild agitation as he turned his drenched head toward the cross breed, taking off his mask and laying it down next to the fire to dry.
"Well, if you must know," he began, sending a glare the coughing man's way before taking off his gloves and leaving them to dry as well.
"Certain dragons have been known to possess the ability to change their form's with a specialized type of magic. Seath was no different in that regard, being the only everlasting dragon to possess a greater magical prowess due to his birth as an scaleless dragon."
Priscilla blinked and chewed her lip thoughtfully, finally resigning to her fate that she was indeed shrinking and nodded to the dark-haired man.
"I suppose it does make sense, when you put it that way."
"Yea… guess you're theory might prove right, friend." Laurentius said, taking another drink of water from his flask.
"It's still disturbing though."
"What is?" Asked Priscilla.
"Imagining how a dragon of titanic proportions could manage to even fit inside of Gwynevere even after shrinking to an acceptable size."
The undead received another shower of water to the face as Laurentius choked again, gasping for what little air he could get in while an extremely flustered Priscilla busied herself on gently patting the back of her companion, not daring to meet Argon's gaze for even a second, least her heart explode in her chest from how erratically it was beating.
He just wasn't all that tactful with his words sometimes.
After an hour of rest, an apology from Laurentius and after the awkwardness between Argon and Priscilla had faded, the trio had made their way down the last flight of stairs in the smaller Church, their eyes finding the source of the rhythmic sound of metal against metal that they had been hearing since reaching the bonfire.
Priscilla didn't have to bend down that much to walk and saw Argon and Laurentius give a bark of laughter before running towards the corner of the room.
"Ah, so you two are well, I see." An old voice croaked out as she descended the last stair to see a hunched over old man sitting behind an anvil, a steel hammer in his hand that he was using to beat an estoc back into shape.
His grey beard drooped down to his belly button and his chest was bare, brandishing the expanse of muscles that shone a light brown in the musky room. There was a small armoury of swords, shields, spears and axes propped up against the wall behind him and against the opposite side of the room, where the stairway lowered was a tall table that had an array of tools and cloths resting neatly on top of it. He noticed her and gave her a warm smile.
"And you've brought a friend. Is she a new arrival?" He asked, gloved hand scratching the messy grey locks on his head.
He didn't seem to be startled by her appearance and size in the slightest, and she scrutinized him as he swung his hammer down a few more times on the rested blade before placing the tool down and wiping his forehead of sweat. He seemed to know Argon and Laurentius quite well, however, as he stood to embrace the pair in a bone crushing hug and laughing in delight at the prospect of company.
"She's actually been here longer than us," Argon spoke after gaining breath back into his lungs. "her name's Priscilla."
He didn't give any more detail and the broad shouldered man didn't ask as he released the two undead. She looked at the masked undead, slitted eye's focusing on him as he leaned against the wall. He was attempting to prevent people from realizing who she really was, and it seemed the pyromancer was also in on it too. She was grateful, news of a goddess accompanying the pair of undead on their journey would surely raise unnecessary trouble they didn't need. It was best they avoided any and all discussion about her. Maybe it was a good thing she was shrinking? It would at least lessen the burden of the obvious elephant in the room.
"Well, it's nice to meet you Priscilla." the blacksmith said, nodding to her and sitting back down with a huff. She blinked and smiled kindly to him.
"I am Andre, of Astora. If you need any help with mending any armour, or that scythe of yours," he gestured to the weapon on her back with his hammer, "be sure to come to me, I'll bring it back to pristine condition again."
"Thank you, sir Andre. I am grateful for your kindness." She replied, smiling gently.
"He he he he, I'm surprised a lady with such manners is able to join your company, eh Argon?" He laughed in amusement that sounded more like a wheezy cough. It seemed he hadn't had the pleasure of laughter in quite some time.
"What did the two of you do, swear her to be your personal help after rescuing her or something? Hah hah he he he!"
"Come now, you old hunchback," Argon retorted, "you think we would really do that to any woman we see wandering around Lordran?" His tone was mildly annoyed but good natured.
"Not at all, It's just a shock to see she hasn't already run away when faced with your table manners!" He laughed again, clutching his sides for air.
"Aw, come on Andre!" Argon whinned.
"He is right, you know?"
"Not you too, Laurentius!?" He gasped in shock.
"Well you are quite a perplexing man to talk to… and you don't have the best tact when it comes to confronting delicate situations."
"When have I not handled a delicate situation with care?"
"Over an hour ago?"
"I'll have you kn-" he stopped abruptly and turned to Priscilla for a moment. After a few seconds he sighed and slouched his shoulder's.
"I suppose you're partly right on that…"
The blacksmith laughed again ad slapped a hand on his muscled thigh before clearing his throat.
"So, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I've heard both Bells of Awakening being rung already, and I take it you've journeyed to Anor Londo too, haven't you?"
Argon nodded, and drew an old greatsword from his bottomless box before resting it, point down in front of him. The silver steel was stained with black as if it had suffered burn marks and the edges were nicked and dented. The only usable part of the sword was the point that had managed to maintain it's sharpness. Upon the hilt rested a small crest of what looked like a wolf engraved into what once was a beautiful weapon.
The blacksmith's eye's almost seemed to sparkle as he reached out and grasped the greatsword from the hilt.
"My… this is the greatsword of Artorias."
Priscilla and Laurentius turned their heads to stare at Argon and then the blade in awe, bewildered looks on their faces.
"It's not the same blade it once was but I can still feel some of the ancient magic within it."
"Can you fix it?"
"I can do what I can but I would need at least three shards of Demon Titanite to reforge what's left."
"That much, huh?" Argon muttered and reached into a pouch on his hip. Priscilla and Laurentius watched as he pulled out a small box, no bigger than his palm, shaped to resemble a miniature chest.
He lifted the box into the air before dropping it, and their eyes widened as the box grew into a massive chest that hit the ground with a great crash, rattling the swords and shields behind Andre in the process.
"Just how many items have you stored inside it?!" The pyromancer sputtered out in shock, "It's huge!"
"Meh."
"If you have any more Ember's in there, I'll gladly take them off your hands." Chimed in the blacksmith and Argon briefly turned to look at him before muttering and shaking his head, hands still digging for something inside the man-sized chest.
"What did you mean?" Priscilla asked the pyromancer in confusion. "Does the box vary in size?"
Laurentius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "These bottomless boxes adapt to how many items its owner stores inside of it. Depending on the frequency of each use, it changes both shape and size to make it easier on the owner of the box."
"While most people only visit their box at bonfire's - making them appear too large to cart around - Argon has adapted it to work at a moment's notice, thus altering it's size to something pocket sized and portable," the blacksmith continued, a hand stroking his beard as he began to catch the various pieces of what appeared to be black stone with the other. Argon seemed to be tossing them to him at different intervals.
"And yet the damn thing still weigh's a ton." Argon murmured and finally lifted the last piece of black obsidian from the chest, tossing it to Andre who caught it deftly in his gloved hands.
"However, I don't know what you're complaining for, Laurentius. Yours must be just as large as mine."
"You must think I'm bonkers if I'm going to cart that much junk around with me. They only thing I store in my box are my pyromancy tomes and a few other items like soul capsules and moss."
"And that is waste of good souls."
"If the two of your are quite done," Andre interrupted and placed the greatsword on top of the anvil before hammering one of the black stone shards into the metal, "do you mind telling me what exactly you need all this reinforced weaponry for?"
"Of course not," said Argon, pocketing the box once it shrunk down to size again, "we're going to kill a few Lord's and take their soul's."
The blacksmith grunted and placed another shard into the giant blade, holding it in place with a pair of large tongs as he brought the steel hammer down on it again and again, creating sparks that coated the blade and lit up the the space momentarily.
"Well then, you'll also be needing reinforced armour. It won't be cheap."
Argon snorted and produced a swirling white orb from a different pouch, holding it in his right hand as the souls within it writhed and danced in an intricate performance. Priscilla looked at the orb intently and sensed a presence from within. It was human, and felt almost like a warrior - no - a long forgotten knight, and a proud one at that. She watched him crush it without a second thought, slitted-emerald eye's observing the mass of white light being absorbed by the masked undead. Through his clothes, his arms, his legs, the smaller balls of energy within darted into him with a soft sigh before the light faded completely.
He turned back to the hunched over blacksmith and folded his arms.
"When is it ever cheap?" Andre simply laughed.
Argon took off his mask for a moment and scratched the black veins that were pooled at the side of his jaw. She watched him as his eyes furrowed at the feeling, as if the affected area were mildly sore, before combing a hand through his black hair and replacing the porcelain mask. She was slightly worried for him, if her uncle had said he was already infected by the Abyss they would need to find a cure for it quickly, or at least a method to delay it's spread.
"Hey old man," Argon spoke again as he passed a shield to Laurentius to try on, "I need new clothes for Priscilla, she's shrinking." He pointed a thumb in her direction and she flushed red. Could he not go the remainder of the day telling everyone of her predicament?
The blacksmith looked at him, then turned to her before going back to his work.
"I'm a blacksmith, not a tailor. Give her those baggy garments you seem to dislike to much."
The undead grumbled under his breath about cheeky old men before continuing to take out weapons, clothing and other item's to reinforce. The remainder of the day was spent doing just that as Priscilla resigned herself to rest next to the bonfire upstairs, dozing into a comfortable nap as the sun shone through the rafters, warming the decayed Church with it's rays.
She was woken an hour later by Laurentius and they waited for short while for Argon to pay the remainder of his fee to the old blacksmith before climbing the stair's.
"There," Andre spoke, a happy glint in his eye as he held up the reinforced greatsword for Argon to take back, "she's not at her prime but she's not another old bag either. The abyssal corruption that began to melt the metal has been stopped, too."
Argon grasped the silver hilt and hauled it up, muscles straining even though some of the weight in the blade had been lessened.
"She's enchanted now, with the ability to cut through ghosts without the need for transient souls." Argon turned his head to him and nodded, placing the blade back into storage and drawing his velkian rapier before walking away.
"Be careful out there," Andre said to him and the undead turned his head when he was halfway up the stairway.
"No one wants to see you go hollow."
He huffed and nodded, walking up to join his companions before grasping the hilt of the coiled sword at the bonfire and taking them away in swirl of flames and smoke.
Deep within the dark expanse of massive trees and cloaked ent's, who's wooden bodies creaked like the bones of an old man, sat a smiling Cheshire cat, comfortably nestled atop a stone-carved slit of what remained of an old watchtower. Her tail swished happily in the air as she lazily stared out through the cracks in the watchtower at Darkroot Garden. To passersby on the outskirts of the forest, they would all see nothing but thick trees and sodden soil that would do little more than dirty their boots should they enter it, a thought that drove many away from the quiet peak of nature perched precariously over a cliff.
But if one had to look beyond the pure dullness of the fact that it was a forest, however, and focus their gazes directly passed the now opened gates of the great open space, they would faintly notice the frame of a full-plated knight a few paces away from the broken staircase that descended toward the forest floor. At first glance one would think they were seeing things, at a second glance they would perceive that a ghost was standing guard over the entrance - but to the Cheshire cat, the knight was just an average garrison of the domain she was entrusted to protect. Alvina, she was called, a spirit of the Darkroot Garden that had lived during the days of the Lordran's prosperity, forever thrust with the charge to protect the forest from intruders and ensure it's tranquillity.
The cat stretched her chubby hind legs and mewled out a small yawn as she felt her large, blue-slitted eyes begin to droop from boredom. Or perhaps it was sheer laziness? She didn't know and she didn't quite care. She had done her job in dutifully protecting the forest, using the humans that had made a covenant with her as guards, soldiers and assassin's to dispatch any and all unwanted attention the garden might invite.
At least… that was her plan, and it would have gone on for another few generations uninterrupted, were it not for that masked undead that had wandered into the forest after breaking the seal on the very doors Artorias had enchanted and Sif had protected. Alvina's duty as the peacekeeper of the garden was to ensure that no one disturbed the resting place of the tomb of the great abysswalker. Indeed many had come and gone before her vigilant eyes, brandishing swords and axes to claim the rewards the Knight's grave was said to have held. Armies of a kingdom's best warriors had entered the forest before - no doubt using the crest that materialistic blacksmith had made - and fought their way through the assortment of knights, thieves, and brigand's just to reach the massive doors of the rested swordsman, only to be entirety slaughtered as the Knight's trusted pet and comrade had come from behind a ring of trees to protect what remained of his master's legacy.
Sif was one of the last great grey-wolves that survived the passage of time, and with his adoption by Artorias, had grown to become an adversary of quantative proportions - almost as unmatched in swordplay as his master. Though, that being said, it had been more of a shock to the plump cat when that masked undead had simply walked right into Artorias's gravesite and put down the titanic beast without even a mortal wound. What had shocked Alvina more than Sif's demise was the pained howl that had escaped his maw when encountering the small human, as if the grey wolf was mourning for the loss of a loved one. The cat had kept her gaze fixed on the two as they battled, however, never blinking as his greatsword screeched off of the undead's shield and armour.
The battle they fought was quick. Though the partner of Artorias was both fierce and deft in his attacks, the human was faster, more nimble, and in a matter of minutes he had brought Sif down to his haunches; bleeding heavily from gashes along his flank and underside as the human before him had casually flicked blood from his weapon, like the act of slaying a great beast was little more than fishing. Still, for a man that had mercilessly wounded the wolf, he had also shown hesitation and remorse during Sif's final moments, taking his time to pat the wolf on the maw to cease his whimpers before finally sheathing his blade into Sif's heart, forever silencing the last great grey-wolf that had ever lived.
Alvina sighed out and closed her eyes, leaping down gracefully from her spot in the watchtower and padding softly outside to approach a heavy-set man in red armour, resting a murakumo on his shoulder. The warrior turned his helm-covered head in her direction after hearing her purr and, after nodding gently to her, set off with a faintly visible companion clad in black towards the entrance of the forest.
Even with the great wolf gone, there was still work to be done, and Alvina would be the one to complete it even if she was lazy at heart. Drakroot's defences were to be doubled, its protector's trained better, least another undead manage to wander through the gates and wreck the unwanted havoc the previous one hadn't. She thought of the same human again as she paced around the legs of a nearby brigand near a cliff before walking through the tall trees to his left, tail standing tall and curled at the end as it swayed from side-to-side.
The masked man had opened the sealed doors with the same crest of Artorias the other one's had used, but for some reason the usual garrison's placed in wait there hadn't found him in sight nor had the chance to react as he either killed them before they could turn or just passed them without even a whisper in his footsteps. When he had appeared through the doors of the watchtower and looked at her through those horizontal slits he had for eyeholes on his mask, she had felt no malicious intent. No signs of aggression, nothing. It was as if he was completely emotionless - that is until he decided to open his mouth.
His voice was annoying and loud, and his body language had changed immediately when he spoke, shifting from stoic to chipper in the space of a heartbeat. It had tugged at her interest and she hadn't thought twice before asking him to join in a covenant with her to protect the garden and it's inhabitants. He was certainly skilled if he could slay her men without a sound, and she would be lying if she said she didn't need an ally with both brawn and brains. It was even more intriguing when he had kindly declined her offer, stating that he was only here to collect something of great importance before giving her a curt bow and walking passed her, amber eyes glowing through the mask in the darkness the woods provided.
After he had slain Sif and re-entered the watchtower she had teleported back to, he had done nothing but gaze at her, nod again, and walk off without saying a word. She hadn't said anything in reply but had noticed the slump in his shoulder's as he put down another one of her guards before leaving the garden. She knew the pain in the steps he took as he ascended those stairs out of the enchanted entrance. It had seemed he had known the grey-wolf just as well as Sif had known him…
Alvina shook her head to rid herself of needless thoughts as she returned to the sinking watchtower, there was no time to reminisce about the past. The defences she had put in place had finally been broken down and whittled to less than half of her forces. She had lost big time when the wolf had died, and to add salt to injury the masked undead had also peppered her hydra full of grisly holes from a dragonslayer bow and severed five of it's head's. She would be hard pressed to find another like the ancient beast. They had also gone to near extinction for their scales, and the last she had heard of another being sighted in Lordran was in Ash Lake, a place she wouldn't travel to if it were the last safely unhabitabed sanctuary in the world.
She flicked her tail boredly and paced around in a circle. Even if she did find another monster to replace her lack of an army, she doubted she would be needing one now. What was worth monetary value in the forest was taken away with that masked undead, anyways, and even if more undead did end up coming to her domain, she doubted he would be amongst them. Darkroot garden had already left a scar in his soul that could never heal after killing Sif.
He wouldn't be coming back any time soon.
Just as Alvina was about to jump back onto her perch to drift back into that nap her body had called upon earlier, she stopped. The hair's on her tail stood on end and her heart sped up as an offending presence made itself known within the forest. In an instant, her guards came in through the watchtower entrance, weapons brandished in a protective ring around her as a black vortex opened up at the top of a broken set of stairs to their right.
"Abyssal fiends," she sneered and two sorcerer's readily prepared Homing Soulmass spells, orbs of azur flame emerging around the bodies of every warrior in the area, floating like ghost's in wait for prey to possess. "watch yourselves! If a Darkwraith appears stray from his grasp."
Her guards nodded and tensed as they all saw a black-armoured boot emerge from the vortex, stomping loudly on the step and disturbing the dust that layered the stone.
"Alvina." said a voice behind the cat and she turned to see the red-armoured warrior from before with his transparent companion in tow.
"We were summoned by your call. What's going on?" He asked in an eastern accent, lifting his hand to indicate a ring with a pearl set into it that seemed to emit a flickering light as if in warning.
"The Abyss, Shiva. The dying of the Flame has brought it to Darkroot…"
The warrior needed no further explanation as he drew his blade and ran toward the cluster of his comrades, his black-clad companion following silently drawing a blade of his own that was the length of his very body and stood in wait, poised to strike.
The vortex swirled ominously as another limb emerged from it's black mass, also clad in menacing charred armour. Soon the legs of the intruder were visible from the waist down, and before the figure had time to fully emerge it was struck by a volley of azur flames that burst apon impact. The sorcerer's that stood midguard wasted no time in chanting the next incantation, staff's swirling in a circle and forming a second wave of Homing Soulmass that erupted around the warrior's angrily.
Smoke and dust permeated the broken stairway as they waited in anticipation. Arms adjusting their grips on axes, swords and shield's. The few cleric's that were with the small cluster of warrior's briefly fished out talisman's from thier pouches and prayed scriptures of guidance and protection before the dust settled and the sound of another loud stomp echoed throughout the hollow structure. The vortex continued to swirl as they saw the tall frame of a man dressed in the armour of a Black Knight - save for his head. He wore an old mask of stained porcelain, carved into a visage of the sickening grin of a demented child. Around his body light sped vertically in swipes of green before disappearing in sparkles that blinked prettily in the dark, the only non-menacing sight about the intruder. In his hands rested a blood-stained greatsword that shone a cold charcoal in the dim light. The figure chuckled dryly as he noticed warriors positioned at the entrance of the structure he stood in.
"My, I didn't expect such a… warm welcome." His voice was playful, as if he were amused at the outcome his arrival had caused. The vortex behind him closed quietly as he finished speaking.
"Is that how you welcome all of the people that visit this dull greenery?"
"Attack!" Shiva screamed as the man lept from the staircase, sword raised above him as he fell through the air, blue flames bursting off his armour but not jarring him in the slightest as the warriors attempted to clear the way from his landing. Two weren't so lucky as they were impaled by the man's greatsword, the stone ground cracking loudly underneath and sending out a vast expanse of spidercracks that reached the outer ends of the watchtower's entrance. Around him, dust swirled and blanketed the further dilapidated structure of stone.
He raised his head to the warrior's beyond the watchtower and Alvina hissed angrily, sharp teeth bared as he pulled his sword from the ground with one hand, taking slow but intimidating steps forward as he approached the open area.
The swirling balls of soul energy wasted no time in hurtling towards their target, spinning in a circular motion as they all homed in on the figure. Altogether they came and the man did nothing but raise his sword, the offensive spells exploding against it but doing nothing to stop his pace as he continued to march forward. The two cleric's rushed in to meet the man as his vision was temporarily blinded by the attack. The first one slammed his morning star against his sword with a mighty swing that clanged against the blade, jarring the black figure's arm slightly as the second cleric sprinted to his exposed flank and slammed his smaller mace against it, his armour rattling at the impact.
The Darkwraith made an amused sound and flicked his wrist, his blade decapitating the second cleric in one swift motion, sending his headless body flying backwards before it hit the ground with a wet thud. The other cleric's eyes widened and raised his shield quickly as an almighty force struck it and flung him back a meter, making him tumble onto his back.
"Charge!" Someone amongst the group shouted and a guard dressed as a thief dashed forward, dagger pointed to score a slash between the Darkwraith's chainmail. He saw it coming, however, and almost lazily raised his boot that smashed into the theif's face, a sickening crunch resounding before he fell like a sack of potatoes, dead.
He turned his head towards one of the sorcerer's that was chanting a longer incantation and stomped forward, his other hand taking on a pure white hue as it grabbed the scholar by the throat and hoisted him into the air before anyone could blink. The cleric from before made a move to strike the unprotected Darkwraith.
"Stop you fool!" Alvina shouted but was too late as his mace connected with the Darkwraith's armour and went sprawling as a ripple of energy rebounded off of him and sent the cleric back again. He didn't get up this time.
"Stand far back from his reach, a Darkwraith can kill you with a simple touch."
The black-clad wraith in question simply chuckled as he absorbed the life force from the sorcerer. His eye's rolled back as he choked, spittle flying from his lips as his body hollowed out and dryed into a lifeless, empty husk. The wraith's hand stopped glowing as he dropped the body and turned back around to block a strike from above that was aimed to split his head in two. Shiva grunted as their swords were linked together, both men pushing at the other in a battle of strength. It was clear that the wraith was winning as Shiva's murakumo was brought closer and closer to his helm, the blunt side of the cruved blade almost touching the eastern man's eyehole as he strained against the taller man. Sparks began flying from their swords like miniature grasshopper's colored white and orange.
Shiva noticed a glint behind the wraith and immediately lurched backwards. The Darkwraith's sword screeched against Shiva's and he used the opportunity to flick his wrist again, knocking the large sword from Shiva's grasp as a loud shinck sounded and the wraith stumbled forward. He turned his head and stared at the transparent warrior clad in black as if only noticing him now.
"I see you didn't notice my companion until it was too late," Shiva taunted and crouched down to retrieve his blade, "I must warn you, he's quiet skilled when it comes to scuffles like this."
The wraith ignored the heavy-set red warrior and regarded the semi transparent foe. He tightened his grip on his greatsword and tilted his head to the side.
"That's a Washing Pole, right?" He asked looking at the extended sword that gleamed wickedly in the dimly lit forest.
"Huh." He swung his sword in an arc before swiping it down to meet the smaller warrior that backfliped away from the attack and used the momentum to deliver a thrust at the Darkwraith. He used the flat of his blade to block the strike and twisted, giant blade speeding to meet the masked warrior's head. The lither man ducked and jabbed forward again but the wraith used his free hand to grab the blade and stopped him dead in his tracks.
He tried to free the washing pole by jerking it back and forth, attempting to slice through the thick armour of the wraith but it didn't help and was suddenly pulled forward as the wraith tugged the sword point roughly. The semi visible man's eyes widened as he was impaled by the greatsword, a choked gasp leaving his lips as the Darkwraith stuck the blade deeper.
"No!" Shiva cried and swung downward in a blind rage but was knocked sideways as the wraith swung his sword towards him before jerking it back at the last second, the dead body on it careening through the air and slamming into Shiva.
The eastern man turned onto his back, winded. He was attempting to stand when an armour-clad boot stomped against his breastplate, trapping him from moving. Shiva growled at the wraith and with his last ounce of strength, swung his murakumo, watching with satisfaction as the blade connected with the Darkwraith's face and shattered his mask. The green lines around his body evaporated at the mask fell to the floor in pieces, the wraith's head turned to the side with the force Shiva's strike brought.
"How's that for a welcome, Darkwraith?"
The wraith in question, instead of retorting or striking back out of anger, simply began to laugh. It was a light chuckle first, before it quickly escalated to a loud cackle that scared away the birds and angered the stuck warrior further.
"What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing really…" the wraith replied, raising his left hand to remove the bindings that held the now destroyed mask to his face.
"I just think your sense of humor has the worst timing."
The binding's gave way and he dropped them to the blood-soaked ground, sighing out as his black hair spilled out to frame his face, a small part on the side of his head that separated the left from the longer right strands of hair. From behind the wraith, near the edge of the cliff face, a startled Alvina gasped in shock.
It cannot be! The undead from before… but how did he…
The Darkwraith turned his head to her, amber eyes shining like fire as he noticed her presence.
"Ah, a cat." Alvina's eyes widened as he spoke, hand gripping the hilt of his drenched sword tightening, "I'll be with you in a moment."
No, it can't be him, this undead's voice seems different somehow, and the power to summon the Abyss was not with the human that slew Sif…
"Alvina…" Shiva managed to choke out, his energy drained and his lungs slowly being crushed by the wraith's boot on his chest, "...run from her- AGH!"
"Don't speak," the wraith said, increasing the pressure his foot held on the eastern warrior, "just… die ."
Alvina gasped again as she heard Shiva's chest concave with a loud crunch. He spewed blood from his mouth that oozed out from his eyeholes as he gave a final breath, sighing out as his body went limp.
The Darkwraith lifted his boot from Shiva's now broken chest and started to pace toward the Cheshire cat, pale features gleaming in what light came through the thick tree trunks of the forest, an expanse of black veins pooling up from beneath the wraith's armour, up his neck, and curling around the left side of his face until the corner of his eye. The grin he kept was maniacal.
Alvina stared at him, fixing her thoughts and grinning back, her whiskered face a mask of triumph.
"So you think you've bested me, do you?" She purred, her tail flicking the air tauntingly as he approached.
"I know I've bested you, yet you seem to think otherwise. Why is that?"
"My guards will be back soon, you fool. They are undead, they will not fall easily."
The Darkwraith only grinned wider.
"I see… then I shall wait for their… arrival."
He stopped less than a meter from her and stared down smugly, sword dripping blood that pooled beneath it's tip. Alvina was about to retort when she noticed something odd. She glanced behind him at the many bodies on the floor and noticed none of them had burst into white light and dissipated by the burning of their Darksign's after death. Something was wrong.
She turned back to the wraith that grinned broader, his face looking almost similar to hers, were the wickedness and insanity not burned into his eye's. Alvina began to tremble her tubby body.
"You… y-you stopped the Darksign from activating in them…"
"I'm afraid not even I have the power to do that, cat."
She turned her wide eyes to his, teeth bared at him as she hissed back. "Then what have you done to them?"
"Haven't you known all along? Whan a Darkwraith kills anything, he absorbs everything from it. Life, soul, spirit, memories and happiness. Even with an undead, when they are killed by us… they can never be reborn."
Alvina gulped loudly, throat going dry as she walked backwards as the wraith began to advance again. This man - whether the same undead or not - had slaughtered her guards, her trusted right hand men, and for what? What was it he wanted here? Why did he come to Lordran from the Abyss? And why did he resemble the very same human that Sif had known and battled in anguish? She had to know.
"Then before you finally end me," she began and he stopped his actions, sword raised above his head prepared to swing down like a guillotine, "are you the same human that slew the great grey-wolf?"
"I was, yes… but I'm not the same man which you spoke to before."
Alvina furrowed her furry eyebrows, it was almost funny were it not for the predicament she was currently in now.
"Then who are you?!"
The wraith grinned so wide his cheeks threatened to split in two.
"I was once the man you knew as Argon. Now, I am simply not Argon." He said as Alvina stood there, terrified as the Darkwraith that was not Argon swung his blade downwards onto the Cheshire cat.
A wet crunch was all that was heard thereafter.
I do apologise for updating later than usual(though I also admit that I don't exactly have a specific update schedule), I was preoccupied with a few personal matters - as well as the fact that I had completely messed up drafting this chapter and I had to cut/copy/paste soooo many times. I'm just glad I finally finished it.
Also, I decided to watch Spirited Away for literally the thousandth time and I got hit in the feels all over again by falling in love with Chihiro and Kohaku's story. What a perfect way to start the new year by watching an anime so perfect, it didn't require a sequel or series adaptation. I'm so happy I was born in the new century and raised like an 80's kid. God bless Studio Ghibli(am I spelling it right? Sorry, can't remember) It truly was one of the best movies of the century. My great grandchildren will definitely be watching it!
If you haven't watched Spirited Away yet, please do, as well as all the other wonderful creations by the same company. I guarantee you won't be disappointedl(I say this a person that has never cried except for after watching those blessed movies)
Anyway, my obsession aside (I LOVE YOU CHIHIRO AND HAKU!!!!!!!!?!!!) Please do R , I'd love to hear your thoughts on the new character I've placed at the end of this chapter.
Thank you for reading!