Again, I want to thank all of you that are following my fic and that have favorited it so far. I never thought people would enjoy my work because of the overly abused vocabulary and need for one too many comma's but look at how far this fic has come. I appreciate all of you from the follower to the commenter, you really make my week worth the extra fight.
-isn't there something else you should be saying to our readers?
Yes, thank you for telling me!
-you're welcome (anything to stop him from becoming all mushy, ew.)
I thought I'd share some AWESOMEsauce fics with you that definitely deserve to be read for they hold the pricelessness of bountiful gems in value!
Note the following stories and their Author's:
Hope of the Shield Hero by Allen Blaster (this has a startling popularity for ROTSH fans like myself; more than worthwhile to read)
Mask of the Child by MungoJerry
Raven's Souls by RavenSouls
If any of these authors are reading this (it would be absolutely mind blowing if my favorite writers read even one of my fics) and disagree with me mentioning your fics for people to read, please tell me and I shall remove it immediately. I apologize if this has offended you in any way.
-are you done now?
Why are you impatient today?
-Kirk.
Yeah, he's a captain, so what?
-Darkwraith Kirk, you apologetic dolt.
Ah… you're eager to see the fight, I suppose.
-that eagerness will turn to anger IF YOU DON'T HURRY UP AND GET ON WITH THE DAMN STORY!
Yikes! (*ducks from incoming projectile) okay, OKAY! On with the story!
-about damn time. You're annoying everyone with your long-ass author's note's…
Darkwraith Kirk, the Knight of Thorns, stood impassively in the wide-open space of Quelaag's Domain as he observed his two targets with narrowed red eye's.
All who had known him had stared in fear as the infamous and terrible Darkwraith would slay his victims and absorb the humanity they had been foolish enough to keep on their person without wards of protection. Those who had seen his grim helm and felt the putrid aura of his phantasmic form invade their undead senses would prostate themselves before his spiked boots and await inevitable doom. For the act of a Wraith to invade and hunt an undead meant that the Abyss had need of such a prized and worthy vessel to house its malice and despair.
Any undead that had ever lived in Lordran from the genesis of its dystopia understood the unending pursuit of a Darkwraith; never sleeping, never tiring and never waiting. These embodiments of true death could never be beaten in combat due to their unlimited stamina and abyssal skill in combat, should one come face to face with such an entity, their best option was to run as far and best as they possibly could. For if a wraith found you and cornered you…
At the high command of these horrid deathly visages sat the Knight of Thorns himself, Kirk. A King amongst the Darkwraith's. Whose heart festered with malice and eye's burned with unholy fire that tainted, morphed and maimed all it touched.
But what scared the undead of Lordran more than the frightening appearance of a Darkwraith, was the appearance of this particular one. Kirk was the master of all wraith's, ordered by the progenitor of the abyssal scourge alone. If he was the one commanded to claim your soul, it meant you would suffer something far worse than any death imaginable.
Said commander flexed his grip on the hilt of his straight sword. After the immense surge of humanity, he and his subordinates had felt not too long ago, he had decided to make a personal visit to its source - impatient in his desire to slay the undead that held such an abundance of life. When the wraith had finally arrived at the area in question, however, phantasmic body pulsating with red rot and dark power, he had glared harder and funneled his hatred to focus on one of the two people he saw before him now.
Argon.
The name of the first target that had ever evaded his assault caused his black blood to boil in rage. The masked undead that had cheated death from claiming his worthless soul and the abyss from its wanted meal. His entire presence caused the Darkwraith to see red, yet Kirk just stood there silently and emitted killing intent that sizzled the dry air and caused the ground to crack under the pressure. The undead he had come for again simply chuckled at him.
He hated him.
In their past encounter's, he had thought they were at a simple stalemate in battle, each sporting equal nicks, gashes and bumps on their bodies and armor alike. However, even after all that swordplay and tactical attacking, the undead had begun to mock him by showing the wraith that he had been holding back, punctuation this at one of their battle's by drawing a hammer the size of a dead tree from somewhere behind his back and pummeling the Darkwraith's phantasmic body to a pulp on the floor.
Although Kirk had fought in his phantom form, oddly each strike delivered to him by the masked undead had physically appeared on his actual body, shocking and weakening his connection to the red puppet that fought for him. An event that was not meant to occur, especially not with an undead of all beings. To say that the wraith felt pissed to his core after mending his broken limbs that day had been the worst understatement ever.
Their second encounter together had done nothing but spur him to growl dangerously at the annoyingly jovial undead as they clashed swords - or rather boot's this time - atop the precarious ledge that stuck out of the Undead Asylum like a sore tooth. Instead of grappling with the thorny visage of death like a noble warrior, the accused fool had kicked him off the snowy cliff, thus ending their battle and making Kirk roar at the absurdity of it all.
The subsequent duels, ambushes and traps the Knight of Thorns had used to incapacitate that forever chuckling fool had all come close to scratching the tip of that somehow unreachable goal, but not quite making it that far still. The masked man would still taunt, laugh, and dance around Kirk as if he where some ill-bred child seeking attention.
But today would be different.
Indeed, the Commander of the Darkwraith's had said so many, many times before and come up short, but today he felt invigorated. Rejuvenated. Almost powerful. After feeling that almighty deposit of humanity explode in the Izalith Ruins, he had immediately used an effigy of the red orb Kaathe had given him to invade that area in search of the owner of that delicious substance, like a moth drawn to white flame. When he had discovered that said owner was the one man he had been itching to kill, anyone present could only imagine the joy he felt.
As he stood waiting patiently for the undead, his grip like a steel vice on his sword, he granted himself a moment to glance at the man's companion, a woman clad in what once was a beautiful gown. It briefly caught his attention that she possessed a tail and scales, and he obviously upraised the divinity she carried as some cross breed, but ignored it in favor of her tall scythe, glinting against his visor.
It stood on thick, dark wood, unbreakable due to ancient magic imbued into it, and at the edge of the staff rested a marvelously long blade of wicked metal, polished and baring its deadly fangs for all to see. Kirk new that scythe, he had been one of the victims to fall by it once upon a time. One of the only weapons in Lordran forged with an Occultic Ember.
He quirked a thin eyebrow at the revelation. So that unruly undead had a goddess in his party, how interesting.
"Since I'm a good mood, I might actually take you seriously this time, Kirky." His face reverted to its deep scowl again as he snapped his head to Argon. He was going to enjoy killing this man for all the dishonor he had brought to his master for not acquiring such a disgusting soul.
"Argon, wait." He heard the cross breed call out and watched her take a step forward. Kirk tensed and readied himself, facing a goddess would make the stakes considerably higher in difficulty. The wraith prepared to raise his spiked shield to the tall woman but stopped when Argon raised a hand to her in reply.
"Don't worry about this one. It'll be over in no time." The undead stated and began to remove the brigand armor from his body, undoing the belts at the sides of his hips, stomach and chest before pulling the mass of leather off to reveal chiseled, pale skin beneath.
"What are you doing?!" She stuttered out and hid her face behind her hands, sneaking a few peek's through her long finger's. When Argon began to remove his baggy trousers, her face turned scarlet. "That phantom could attack at any time!"
"Nah, he'll wait. He always does."
He said that, but it didn't mean the blood flowing out of her nose would do the same. Why did he have do the most absurd things amid a crucial moment? Then again, the goddess corrected herself, he wouldn't be Argon if he didn't such things. She remembered the time he had stripped down the day after meeting her, unashamed and indecent. And then, when she had voiced her extreme discomfort – although she had thought of the memory most fondly afterwards – he had acted confused as if becoming an exhibitionist was the most natural thing in the world when meeting a stranger.
Kirk, for his part, gained a tick mark on his forehead as he watched the exchange patiently. One, the cross breed with no subtlety at all had forgotten that he, the Knight of Thorns, existed; being referred to as 'that phantom'. Two, he was being placed in the same category as a common cat despite the pure terror he wrought with a simple act of walking. And three, the undead was taking his sweet time preparing for his inevitable demise.
It wasn't the first time the undead had halted their battle to strip down to nothing but his mask and loincloth. Every battle after the first had started like this; Kirk would appear, wait for him to strip and then fight for his soul.
The wraith knew the act of otherworldly combat with an invading effigy possessed certain requirements of an undead, but he hadn't bothered to learn them. He was a Darkwraith more focused on collecting souls, not observing them.
The King of Thorns breathed out a sigh of relief as Argon approached, finally ready, and gave him a deep bow before drawing an odd-looking ring shield that glowed at its rim and initiated the fight.
Finally
Kirk dashed forward with surprised dexterity for being clad in heavy armor and his blade few diagonally at the nude man. Argon's blade connected with his and sparks flew from where light metal met thorned iron. They pushed at the strike for a moment before Kirk jumped back, stabled his footing and rolled forward like a spiky porcupine, shield out to dig into his foe's pale skin.
The undead raised his shield in reply and the thorns clanked against the glowing metal, forcing him back one, two, three steps before Kirk rose up with a wide sweep of his sword. Argon pivoted on his out stretched foot and leaned out of the blade's path. He dug his heel into the broken earth and jumped over the next swipe and raised his shield as Kirk slammed the third strike down heavily. His shoulder shuddered from the attack, but he held the shield tight in his grip, quickly ramming it forward into the Darkwraith's side and making him stumble back but not fall.
Argon rose to his feet slowly and stood a few feet from the red phantom. Black wisps of air caressed Kirk's armor like ugly fingers as he took a new stance and rushed the undead. He thrust his sword at Argon's chest and growled when the masked man skipped back out of its way before Kirk spun and aimed to cleave the masked head from Argon's muscled shoulders.
The undead raised his sword, deflected the attack and kicked him square in the chest area that didn't possess any thorns, chuckling lightly as the wraith stumbled back again before Argon raised his shield arm towards the ceiling.
"Air Strike Shield!"
He brought the ringed shield down and an arc of pure white energy left its glowing edge, striking Kirk with a strong blast of magic and tipping him onto his back, his red form blurring from the impact before re-condensing to the shape of his armor.
He heard the undead begin to laugh and he seethed against the ground. He was being played with again.
"Bah ha ha ha! I've always wanted to say that line from the time I got this thing!"
Kirk rose and rested his own shield against his back, two handing his blade and taking slow steps towards the undead that seemed to be gasping for air due to how badly he was laughing. The Darkwraith ground his teeth as he approached, how dare he mock the Knight of Thorns like the common trash he was?!
The wraith leaped from his position on the ground and raised his sword above his head. Argon saw him coming and tried to strike him with another blast from that glowing circular ring, but Kirk used the momentum to deftly twirl around it and plow into the space of land Argon had once occupied, creating a cloud of dust around them.
When it had settled, Kirk drew his blade form the broken floor and turned to face him again, lifting his right hand from the blades hilt as his glove began to glow white. The undead was only a foot away from him, a single step and his soul would be claimed. Excitement began to churn inside Kirk's chest as he reared the glowing hand back and took a strong step forward.
Argon had taken a while to recover from all the dust that had flown through the slits in his mask. When he managed to regain his sight and see the wraith's glowing hand cocked back to grab him, he frowned. Kirk had never used this attack before. What was he up to? The undead decided that he didn't want to find out and raised his arm again to stop the attack but was surprised when Kirk's hand flew passed the defense of his ringed shield, aiming to wrap around his throat.
Kirk grunted loudly when his Dark Hand was momentarily stopped by a blade through his wrist. He turned his gaze to said hand a saw the undead twist a throwing knife into his armor, his fist impaled by the multiple thorns on his gauntlet.
This was becoming annoying. The abyss wanted this infuriating undeads soul and it would have it. No amount of stalling would pause the inevitable. His Life-drain ability would see to that. All he needed was to lay a finger on the masked man. No knife would hinder that.
"Priscilla," the undead grunted out as he dropped his shield down to push Kirk's arm away. "Go down to the Ruin's. Warn Quelaan in case I let Kirk slip passed!"
At the mention of the Chaos Sister, Kirk faltered long enough for Argon to shove his arm away. The Darkwraith stumbled back another step and glared at the undead kneeling on the floor. His wrist stung as he pulled the projectile from it.
They knew about Quelaan. How? They had found her hidden entrance. Was it due to the cross breed's magical prowess? Why hadn't Quelaag come to slay the interloper's in her domain yet? Had this unflappable fool slain her? Impossible.
Questions filled with worry entered his mind as he watched the goddess fly up the stairwell of the Bell Tower. Argon stood up after repositioning his shield somewhere behind his back before it disappeared and levelled his blade at the wraith.
"Well, shall we continue?"
Kirk could imagine the smug look behind that mask of his as he acted confident in the face of his finality, but for once the Darkwraith's thoughts weren't focused on the undead as he tried to put the pieces together.
He had come here personally because of the mass of humanity he had felt. Kaathe hadn't argued or voiced any opinion due his blind trust in the thorned-knight's abilities and loyalty, an odd occurrence for a snake. But in truth, the Commander of the Darkwraith's had made the journey here for one purpose, one person in particular. The frail and passive of the Izalith daughters.
He may have been a wraith forever tasked with hunting undead, but he was still potentially human. The care he had shown for the weak woman proved as much. Even if he was here to claim another pathetic undeads soul, Quelaan's safety took priority over the desires of that toothy serpent.
His eye's widened as he sorted through the information he had gathered thus far, his mind racing as he glanced from Argon, to the fleeing cross breed, to the Bell Tower.
There had been a mass of humanity almost incomprehensible in size that had exploded in the ruined entrance of Izalith. He knew that no soul alive could possess that much of the black sprites besides a Firekeeper that was forever tortured and in agony by the undeads only source of sanity.
Rage burned in his chest as he stared at Argon. Had this insolent worm slain the woman he had betrayed Kaathe for? The frail sister that he had given every last humanity to so wouldn't suffer much more? She was less harmful that a crystal lizard and wouldn't have harmed a hair on an insane hollow's head due to her innocence. Quelaan was too frail to even smile properly and this disgusting trash had found it befitting to kill her?!
Kirk's vision filled with red as his legs rushed towards the smug undead, all thoughts of his fake loyalty to Kaathe obliterated at he was assaulted by unholy anger that blocked all sense of logic.
They had dared to touch the woman he had sworn to protect. His mission be damned, Argon was as good as dead.
The warm air crackled with intensity as Argon blocked another heavy strike from the Darkwraith before him. He had acted smug before and done his best to rile up the thorny-knight as usual, but the truth was that Argon was hanging on to this battle by the skin of his teeth.
If the emotional conflict he had just had earlier with Priscilla had not been enough to wear his battered body out, then the expulsion of just over a thousand sprites of humanity had certainly done its job to drop his stamina to a tenth of its original reserves. He had thought that giving away so much of the resource would be like spending his souls at the bonfire to enhance his abilities but had not accounted for the fact that by resting at a bonfire while doing so meant he didn't feel the physical strain of expelling a couple thousand souls at a time. The humanity he had given to Quelaan had drained him to the point of blacking out, and to top it all off, he hadn't gotten the chance to rest his body at her bonfire before departing.
But what had made him more cautious despite his aloof personality was the fact that Kirk wasn't acting like his usual lonesome self. Normally he would simply fight him, fall for a few of Argon's snide tactics and his phantasmic body would dissipate, giving the undead more time to come up with a better strategy to defeat him again and live another day.
This was a whole other level of intensity. Kirk was acting like a mad man; flinging strikes, punches, boots and back-hands his way desperately as they fought. He hadn't used his rolling tactic once during their continued duel and he barely flinched when Argon would grace his ominous form with a deep gash or stab. If this continued and Kirk decided to use that glowing hand of his again, Argon knew he would not be able to counter it due to how badly his energy levels were drained.
The undead raised his now dented longsword horizontally as the Darkwraith struck it with his own blade, the sound of ringing metal cascading throughout the open space. Argon's knee's buckled but he fought through the lameness in his muscles, holding his position and forcing the Knight of Thorns into the defensive.
The wraith merely snarled loudly and twisted, his blade screeching across Argon's before he delivered a strong kick to his nude midsection, sending the undead flying a few feet backwards, his sword clattering uselessly at Kirk's feet.
His thorned boots snapped the blade in two as he stomped forward, his breathing ragged and his grip tight on the hilt of his sword. Kirk stopped a foot in front of Argon and leveled his blade at his chest, mirroring the undeads actions prior to their second go at their duel.
"Why?" His voice travelled out from the many holes in his helm like a whispered sigh. It was clear he didn't use his voice much at all. Argon, for his part, looked up surprised at the wraith.
"What?"
"Why did you slay her? She was frail, incapable of fighting back."
Argon frowned. He hadn't known the Darkwraith could speak for starters, and besides that, just who exactly was he talking about?
"I don't know what yo-"
"Enough!" Kirk shouted and drove his blade though Argon's shoulder, impaling him against the floor as he gasped in pain. The sound would have been satisfactory to the wraith were he not drenched in anger.
"That expulsion of humanity, it only comes from a Firekeeper. You murdered her to satiate your greed for a simple sprite? Does an undead know no bounds?!"
Argon had tried to summon his catalyst from his storage, but his focus was too broken to even pull out a firebomb. The pain and exhaustion were like an anvil dropped onto his chest.
He watched as Kirk raised his hand again, glove glowing a shiny white.
He was going to meet his end, it seemed. The undead couldn't help but chuckle despite the current event taking place. He had just saved one of the seven Sisters of Izalith and now he was going to die to a Darkwraith… how unfairly the gods of this world were. He briefly wondered who the next Chosen Undead would be if he truly died here and now. Who else would be willing to take on a quest as impossible as the thought of Seath bedding Gwynevere in his dragon-form? Certainly not Grigg's, he was too busy searching for this 'Master Logan' scoundrel that had abandoned him years ago. Maybe Solaire? He hadn't seen the sun-praiser in quite a while, he regretted not being able to see him at least one more time. The optimistic side of him reasoned that he would at least get to see Oscar again in whatever afterlife there was. If it even existed for undead like him.
"I will avenge Quelaan." Kirk said through gritted teeth as he crouched down over Argon's body. The undead raised an eyebrow behind his mask. Hadn't he just told Priscilla to guard her, how could he have slain her?
The Knight of Thorns raised his glowing hand, Life-drain spell prepped and ready to be used against his slippery foe. For a moment, Kirk was almost happy with himself. He was about to claim the soul of the undead that had evaded capture countless times, the undead that had slain the woman he had tried so hard to protect and heal without her banshee of a sister noticing. Yet at the same time, he felt deep loss. What use was it to slay this undead when he had already taken his only reason to live?
Before he could expand that thought further, Kirk felt the blast of a fire across his spine that flung him over Argon, as if a giant had used a great hammer to swat him aside.
The phantasmic form he possessed blurred thickly, the red and black swirls violently thrashing to quickly re-condense into his body. He groaned silently as he raised himself up to his knees. That had been pyromancy, but more than that, it had burned him. Not his corporeal form, his physical one.
Chaos fire…
He turned around and saw two new figures enter the vast space and rush to the undeads side; it was a black-robed woman and a man dressed in swamp rags. Both pyromancer's. Kirk attempted to stand but found his armor flicker and become transparent in the process. The orb he possessed was losing its power, it couldn't keep him here long.
He growled loudly, his luck had just turned sour. How fitting.
Quelana raised her catalyst at the phantom, murmuring softly under her breath as pools of liquid fire began to dot around the Knight of Thorns like geyser's. While she busied herself with dealing the killing blow to their intruder, Laurentius dashed to Argon's aid, tearing off his mask and pouring torrents of his Estus into the undeads mouth while simultaneously wrenching the sword from his shoulder.
The thorned blade left jagged trench's in Argon's skin like thin, dug up tunnels as the sword was jerked out of his shoulder. White pain flashed across Argon's brain and he choked on the Estus Laurentius fed him, gasping in both agony and relief as the wound sealed up, skin mildly smoking as his healing factor was sped up.
"Guah! That hurts goddammit!"
"Ooh, sorry mate." The pyromancer said flinching. He hadn't attempted to pull the weapon out that fast. Then again, it wouldn't have hurt that much if the undead had been wearing armor in the first place. Where had his brigand gear gone to?
"Sure, you are," said undead glared back before allowing his friend to pull him to his feet. "You took your sweet time getting here. What were you learning, the art of coitus?"
"I-I don't know what you're insinuating."
"You stammered and you're blushing." Argon sighed out.
"Lucky bas-"
"Begone abyssal find!"
Both men turned their attention to the Chaos Sister's outburst just in time to see pillars of orange flame erupt around the Darkwraith, who hadn't paid attention to the glowing halo about to burst at his feet.
"Quelana, wait!" Argon spoke and ran towards the wraith but wasn't fast enough to reach him as his phantasmic body was blasted skyward, like an almighty fist crunching into his armored form.
Kirk shouted out as his form was set alight while airborne, his arms and legs flailing as his body connected with the ground again, spreading his shadowy visage like mixed paint onto the scorched earth. His body didn't dissipate but he wasn't moving either. Argon sighed. He had been wanting to finish their duel without any interruption, as foolish as it sounded when it was obvious Kirk would have been the winner a few moments ago. However, as an undead, Argon respected the sacredness of any duel as tradition explained. The undead merchant called him unreasonably stupid for thinking that way - and had charged him more for his wares out of spite - but he understood the meaning of such an exchange.
Time here was convoluted, the people here back-stabbers and the only safe haven around was the sanctity of a fire that took away more than it ever gave. But in battle, one wouldn't be shackled by the yoke this world ensnared its people in. Opposing foes could freely dictate the terms of their own lives, as they were to revive to the slaughter again and again.
Combat shared the thoughts of your enemy, expanded his deepest desire's as you experienced their past with every blow they dealt. Even if Kirk was Darkwraith, the bane of all undead, Argon still felt he deserved a proper battle each and every time. And after what he had witnessed today from dueling the thorned man, he felt the half-putrefied heart in his chest stop momentarily.
He approached the grounded phantom that had yet to rise, Laurentius and Quelana flanking both sides behind him. That blast had been powerful, enough to put a stray demon down, if he were being honest, yet the Knight of Thorns still clung to what little power remained in this effigy of his form. For that, the undead applauded his spirit. He stopped a few feet away from the phantasmic wraith in case it was all a ruse and made the logical decision to equip clothing to cover his bare form - their duel had ended already; and besides that, Quelana looked as though she was going to faint from the amount of blood gushing out of her nose from staring at his bare physique in astonishment.
The trio waited a moment more for the wraith to stand but he didn't do so much as flex his gloved fingers, all the while fading and reappearing in this effigy of his. They could all hear the pained whisper he repeated continuously like a mantra until Argon stepped forward and crouched down next to his shoulder.
"Those egg's cradling her body wasn't Quelaag's doing… was it?"
Kirk growled. His helm faced the opposite direction and his hands flexed and relaxed continuously, as if the Darkwraith were anticipating Argon to leave his guard open. Upon the undeads closer inspection, however, it was clear that the blast he had suffered not long ago prevented him from moving his anything save for a few fingers. Quelana had effectively immobilized the notorious commander of the Darkwraith's.
"I'm guessing Quelaag didn't know you paid her sister regular visits? She would have said so otherwise." Argon continued, idly tugging the long sleeves of the painting guardian garb he had equipped. It may have been too flashy and offered no protection, but it was comfortable to wear down here.
Kirk remained silent as Argon rose and paced towards the thorned sword that had bitten into him earlier. Quelana, for her part simply gawked silently at the undead, her hand to her mouth.
She had been under the impression that the gentlest of her sister's had perished long ago when she had absorbed the blight into herself. She knew that Argon had slain Quelaag, she had been the one to task him with the slaying of her sister to end the half-breed's suffering, even it was selfish of her. But now all she felt was guilt and shame. Had she known or had the courage to find out the truth, things could have turned out differently for the bravest of her family. The raven-haired mistress wouldn't have had to be slain by Argon if Quelana had risen above her fears and now she felt the weight of her consequences, the fact that she had sentenced her own blood to death sickened her to her core.
"I'll be back for you…" she heard the wraith say through gritted teeth. Her attack had wounded him badly. He would soon perish if he stayed in this form for much longer, but he was still undead, as ironic as it may have been. And now he had a greater purpose; to seek revenge. A motivation unlike any other, she knew.
Quelana had once also felt the burn of vengeance in her chest when Gwyn had come to slay any sick survivors of her home that day. It had made her bitter, temperamental and arrogant. So much so, in fact, that it had taken a human outcast called Salaman to show her that it was all a means to an end.
The Sunlight Lord had already died after sacrificing his life for the Flame… what use was her vengeance if she couldn't even reach the man that had haunted her dream's those many nights ago if he waited behind enchanted doors for his chosen successor?
"No, you won't." Argon replied and crouched next to him, resting the hilt of his blade in the palm of his gloved finger's. He wouldn't have been able to use it even if he could move his broken arms, the exhaustion that came from overusing his phantasmic body was too great a drawback.
"But you did fight well today, I must admit. Quelaan would be proud of her Knight in spiked armo-"
"Do not speak to me so freely. Your life would have been mine were it not for the witch's interference."
For the second time that day, Argon raised an amused eyebrow. How could someone so badly beaten and humiliated still have enough pride to shame a lion?
"Make no mistake," Kirk seethed through the square holes in his bucket-shaped helm. "I'll come back for you, putrid dog. Her blood stains your hands. It's only a matter of time before I relocate your presence and claim your soul, and when that time comes, I'll be there personally." The wraith growled in pain, face still gazing away from the undead for some odd reason.
Argon simply found his words annoying. Again, he sighed. How could he have killed the Chaos Daughter if he had sent Priscilla to protect her? Was the bucket-helm with thorns making this guy deaf? Or perhaps he needed to scream it loud enough for the Darkwraith to hear? He was probably older than Argon by a few decades. Undead or not, age still catches up with you. He was sure of it.
"Maybe when you do come to this plain physically, you can pay her a visit." The undead murmured loud enough for Kirk to hear, and the thorned knight froze for a moment. Whether from shock or something else, only the wraith knew.
"What are you…" he trailed off and Argon sighed louder, making Laurentius frown at him in question.
"She not dead, idiot."
This time Kirk responded with as much movement as he could by lifting his head off the ground and finally turning his gaze Argon's way.
"You mean you didn't-" he began but his words caught in his throat when he looked at Argon's uncovered face for the first time.
"...Lithecore?" He spoke as if all life had left his otherwise emotionless voice.
"Who?" Laurentius asked before he and Quelana turned Argon's way.
"Huh?"
Argon looked from the knight to his friends and back to Kirk again. This day was just one confusing bit of information to the next.
The wraith took another moment to stare at a confused Argon before he dropped back onto the floor and sighed out in what seemed like relief.
"I see."
"You see what?" Argon asked quite miffed as the Darkwraith began to laugh. He was being left out of the loop. Sure, his intellect was high, and he knew more than he let people believe he did, but this was just ridiculous. First the dumb Darkwraith didn't want to look at him because his deaf ears couldn't understand that he didn't kill Quelaan, then he did look at him after eventually believing him only to freeze up and call him a dumbass name that belonged to some old geezer. And now he was acting all sagely, as if he had the very answer to why the undead curse was spread in the bloody first place.
This did it, Argon decided in his mind. He was done being nice to the freak in the porcupine dress-up that was always trying to kill him and claim his soul. He briefly remembered the day his mother had told him not to judge people and he hadn't, choosing instead to entertain the animal wannabe rather than laugh at him, but here he was being on the opposite end of the stick.
Argon reached into his side pouch, ready to pull out a black firebomb to blow this idiot's behind off when Kirk raised a shaky hand to rest on Argon's bent knee.
"Listen… arrogant knave." The undeads eye twitched. The wraith had just dug his own grave two feet deeper.
"Tell her, tell Quelaan I'll be back… soon." His red and black form began to shimmer, and Argon felt a pleasant rush of souls fill his body suddenly. He glanced down at Kirk and noticed his legs turn transparent. He had overstayed his welcome in this form.
"With those marks in your face, you could almost pass as him… without that glint however." Kirk mused and wrapped his finger's round the hilt resting in his hand.
"Thank you, undead." Argon's brows raised a fraction. Was the infamous Darkwraith actually thanking him? This was a first. A singular, spectacular moment to behold. Perhaps he had been a little too hard on the annoying Thorny Knight?
"But your soul is still mine."
Nope, he was just over thinking it. There was no way Kirk deserved a shred of sympathy, he was still the same ball and chain fetish lover as always.
Laurentius and Quelana stared for a moment longer after the Darkwraith's body had dissipated, mind's both working in tandem to put together the pieces of this confusing puzzle. Quelana's brain worked on her frail sister whilst Laurentius cupped his chin and pondered on the Knight of Thorns, both carefully coming closer and closer to the sudden realization they couldn't quite reach yet.
Argon, for his part, was stretching his worn-out muscle's. That duel had been fun, even if he was about to lose it due to fatigue and other setbacks along the way - he imagined the event prior when Priscilla had frozen him against the wall out of anger - before shaking his head and retrieving his mask.
Kirk had mistaken him for someone by the name of Lithecroft, the oldest name he could have ever dreamed of in his opinion, that just personified the form of a raggedy old man with a few spokes loose in his head. Besides that, and the fact that he had been accused of killing a weak Daughter of Chaos - he had never even hurt a mindless undead in New Londo, he had just kicked him off the ledge, he swore - his mind travelled towards the fact that someone out there possibly resembled him. Maybe it was the abyssal corruption that made the wraith mistake him, surely, he wasn't the only undead suffering from a secondary curse that felt like the Plague on his skin.
Then again, if there were other undead with his condition, it meant that he would have to learn how to breathe underwater if he was going to purge the wraith's that plagued New Londo. Rickett had been extremely specific on why exactly he preferred to stay in that cage of his, a reason that didn't sit well with the undead after what he had already witnessed in Oolacile. He would have to hasten his movements. This world didn't have long.
"Perhaps he sought to claim my sister's soul as well as Argon's? He is a Darkwraith and Quelaan's soul is purer than snow."
"I understand the reasoning but why would he lose his mind at the prospect of Argon slaying her if he also wanted her soul? Wouldn't he just claim it from Argon's fading corpse after he had slain him?" Laurentius shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms.
"Hmm…" Quelana nodded in agreement and rested her back against his as they both pondered for a moment more, her hands clasped together in front of her as she thought.
"Perhaps Darkwraith Kirk desired to strike the killing blow on my sister and revel in her death?"
"That does sound like a sound answer but…"
"You have doubts?" She turned her head to the side slightly.
Laurentius nodded. "If he honored the requirements of his duel against Argon I wouldn't imagine him killing an innocent soul like your sister's so frivolously. From what I've seen it's not his style."
"Indeed. This is intriguingly perplexing, wouldn't you say?" The Izalith daughter asked in excitement, joy glimmering in her black eyes.
"Oh, I'd say so, my lady." The swamp-dweller answered back with a grin plastered across his face.
"Very perplexing indeed."
Argon's eye twitched again. He had stopped poking his fingers into his pouch to find his Hawk ring when he overheard the two whispering pyromancer's near him. They both stood upright, back's supporting one another as they sported looks of intense concentration on their faces like some pair of wayward detectives on the brink of discovering the motives of a serial killer. The undead had thought that Dragon Scholars were the worst when they delved into the complexities of their tomes and disintegrating scrolls but obviously he had been wrong. Damn pyromancer's and their insatiable nosey personalities.
"Ooh, wait! I've got it. What if Darkwraith Kirk was secretly in love with my sister and tricked his master into giving him an item capable of crossing dimensions and time just to see and help her when he could, seeing as the love of his life was on the verge of death with Blight?" Quelana asked in excitement.
The amber-eyed undead raised his brows so high they threatened to disappear into his scalp. How the hell had she come to that conclusion after meeting him once and blasting his ass skyward?! These Chaos Sister's deserved more credit that he normally gave them. He fitted his mask against his face and smiled to himself. But they were still pretty messed up in the head. Did she realize she was talking about her sister's attempted murder? He couldn't wait to explain this to a certain cross breed.
Priscilla's going to be just as shocked as I was. Oh, man, she's going to look so cute too. I can't wait…
"I think your answer is flawed, my dear Quelana." Laurentius said, breaking the undead from fantasy land. His eyebrows came back to earth and furrowed at the pyromancer. That was exactly the answer they were looking for. How in the world was her answer flawed?
"You think so?" Quelana asked innocently and tapped a finger to her cheek in thought. "What have you discovered?"
"Darkwraith's may be undead but they don't feel attraction, do they? I mean… aren't they technically sex-less when they join the abyss?"
Argon slipped on the flat surface he was walking on and promptly face planted against the floor.
Both pyromancer's turned to see him twitching on the floor with his limb's raised and jutting out at odd angle's
"Argon!" They both shouted and rushed to his side.
"Are you okay, mate? That was a pretty bad fall." Laurentius said in worry and reached out to grasp the undeads arm.
"He's smitten for her, you freaking idiots!" Argon yelled and yanked his arm away from his friend. The two of them took a step back from Argon, shocked at his outburst before looking at each other blankly.
"There, you were right, Quelana. Happy now?" The undead grumbled at the two of them as they turned his way, jaws hanging in unbelief before they both shouted in unison.
"They're in LOVE?!"
Argon stared at the two of them as they began stuttering off question after question to one another about the 'who', 'why' and 'how' regarding said Darkwraith and Chaos Sister. The undead for his part, shook his head, sighed for the umpteenth time that day and walked toward the bell tower. He could leave these two lovebirds to act like the innocently naïve soul's they were as he returned to his patiently awaiting cross breed. He pulled out a Thief's light-vest from his inventory that was colored a moth brown. They had been down here for more than four hours now; the sun would have already gone down which meant she had shrunk down to a decent size - or so he hoped - to fit into the garments he had prepared for her. Personally, he wouldn't have minded handing her the ripped black leather set he had met her in but the fact that, number one, it was ripped to shreds; and number two, he didn't want anyone else to see her in attractive apparel besides himself, eventually outweighed his previous idea.
Just as he was about to reach the first step to the run-down tower, he caught a flash of black through the corner of his mask and turned around. His eyes eventually rested on something large and black and recognition crossed his gaze before he pocketed the garment, walked up to the item in question, and picked up the Spiked Shield Kirk had left behind in his defeat. Argon grasped the arm guard and held the shield up high enough that the dim light in the room cast a sheen on the spike's metal surface.
"Ooh, shiny."
Darkwraith Kirk fell out of the red portal he had been ejected from and crashed to the smooth obsidian floor, his armor ringing against the soft and hard surface under his weight. A tall figure near a dead bonfire stirred from his thoughts and turned to the Darkwraith Commander just before he ripped off his bucket-like helm and vomited a torrent blood that soaked the floor a vibrant crimson, despite the obvious blackness.
"I take it you failed then?" Asked a raspy voice, the deep timbre mixing with the sound of nails scoring pathways against stone.
Kirk didn't respond and opted to continue heaving out the contents of his stomach as more blood poured out of the gashes in his armor. He knew the consequences of facing that particular undead in his phantom effigy and had been prepared for the scars that would no doubt surface after their duel. What he had not been prepared for, however, was the assault of chaos fire by that cowardly witch. Even now as he continued to try and breathe, his scorched lungs burnt with the cool air it took in, making him gasp and his body go into shock.
The tall figure sighed and approached him, an emerald flask raised above Kirk's blood-covered mouth.
"I'll help you just this once. Don't expect anything more in future."
Kirk felt hot and cold liquid run into his mouth and down his chin. He gulped quickly and let out a deep sigh as his body repaired itself, the wounds stitching back together as the burns evaporated. His companion pulled the Estus flask away from Kirk as he rose to his knees and panted breathlessly. Never had he been more grateful than to drink that accursed fire.
"So, did you kill him?" The man with the flask asked. His body was dressed in the armor of a Black Knight and his face was covered by a black cowl, obscuring all features except the black veins covering the side of his face like a multitude of crooked hands.
The Darkwraith Commander scoffed. He always asked him that question as if the Knight of Thorns had been triumphant with all the cuts, wounds and blood on his body after another attempt to claim that undeads worthless life. He didn't understand why his Master desired such a broken soul that lacked too many fragments to make it whole but Kaathe had insisted on it, demanded it of him in fact. The Darkwraith hadn't argued and briefly pondered if it was the man's sheer battle instinct that caught the snake's attention. He had bested Kirk many times without more than a scratch on his person and wore his confidence on his sleeve like armor. It wouldn't be a surprise if that's what his Master was after, and yet, even so it still made no sense. There were so many perfect Darkwraith's already bound by Kaathe's covenant that could topple a country in days. He wouldn't require another foot soldier like Argon.
"Why do you care so much?"
The Darkwraith in front of Kirk shrugged boredly and moved to sit back down at the dead bonfire.
"It's just interesting… he's the first undead to best you in combat." The way he curled his tongue when he spoke reminded Kirk of a serpent like Kaathe. Maybe his brother? His master had said that his family was vast.
"I'll end him next time." Kirk growled and removed his armor piece by piece, leaving him in torn tunic and trousers as he sat down on the obsidian floor that softly writhed underneath him. He hated when it did that, it made him feel queasy.
"You lost your shield as well."
"I know."
"Master will not be pleased."
"He won't."
"Well, what are you going to do then?"
"For now…" Kirk looked up at the hooded man, his red eye's lingering on the black veins and amber eye's that occasionally flashed at him from behind that ugly cowl.
"...I rest. Repair my armor and tell the other wraiths to double their watch."
"Of course, Commander." The man said and cackled loudly. The sound grated against Kirk's eardrum's painfully.
"After our conquest in Darkroot our numbers have spread thin. I will warn the other's not to slack off…" he rose again and turned to walk off, boots clapping against the soft and hard floor like a giant blacksmith smiting a sword.
"And Lithecroft." The Darkwraith turned his covered head and stared at Kirk for a moment before lowering the hood.
"Yes?"
"What is it you find so intriguing about this particular undead filth?"
Lithecroft's mouth split into an eerie smile as his long, black hair blanketed his pale cheeks like an unholy veil. There it was, that flash of madness Kirk had spoken of before. The disturbing true nature of his second in command, Lithecroft in all his sadistic glory.
"Can't you tell just by looking at us? He's the white to my monochrome. The sword to my shield, the right to my left. I wouldn't expect you to… understand. You haven't experienced a familial bond, now have you?"
Kirk didn't reply and the Darkwraith cackled again at his silence before turning on his heel and walking off, the blackness of the room enveloping him until nothing else was visible by darkness.
No, it's not familial… that much I can tell.
I do apologize for the extremely long wait. I think it took me two weeks to write this. I had to re-write the entire thing after picking up on details about Darkwraith Kirk I only discovered recently, I am very sorry.
A big thank you to VaatiVidya (although he won't be able to read this praise since he doesn't know me from a bar of soap) for his in-depth explanation on the finer facts of each character in SoulsBorne and Sekiro, I had a blast learning more and more about a franchise I love to death. I'm even more ecstatic to hear that FromSoftware will be releasing a new game called Elden Ring. Check out the trailer, it's heart-racingly amazing.
In terms of this chapter, it officially ends the Izalith Arc until I re-center the story on Laurentius, which will be much, much later.
Quelaan has been healed, Quelana knows her sister is alive, Priscilla won't be wearing black leather (I think) and we found out Darkwraith Argon's name, wee!
Lithecroft… is not the best name I could have come up with, but you'll understand why I chose it as the story progresses.
I will do my best to upload soon and even though I probably messed up a few important parts of this chapter with all the stop and go progress I've made on it, I still hope you all enjoyed it, thank you for reading.
Please do R and R(this ain't funny fan , give me back my ampersand… please!), I'd love to hear your opinions both positive and critical - I enjoy flames that have a purpose to correct my writing - as well as any ideas you might have or suggestions for future chapters, like an OVA set once I finish this story (hey, that's not a bad idea) so please talk to me if you do want to share your thoughts.
Please enjoy the remainder of your morning/midday/afternoon/evening/and midnight. Happy belated Valentine's Day as well for those that celebrate it (no, I'm not that into it, but maybe that'll change after I meet somebody… wait, what the hell am I talking about? I'm loving single life right now.)
Thank you and God bless!