Aha! I just figured it out!
-ugh.
Don't be so glum, chum. Perhaps our next attempt to crack the strange and fragmented version of the Dark Souls package we downloaded with avail results we have yet to receive?
-that makes this, what, the twenty-fourth attempt now?
And we shall go through twenty-four more until we find a method that works, or until there's another package that possesses a proper readme file and actual data file for easier installation.
-I told you downloading it from IGG was a bad idea.
Meh, the results are always jumbled. Downloading Civilization V was a cinch, as was the tower-defence game and the four text-based RPG'S that followed. If you ask me, its just the way the Dark Souls package is that makes it difficult to install properly.
-for once, I agree. The discussion on the webpage was the same. If it isn't that one site was down, then its that the final application run-test is as stubborn as a mule to comply.
That aside, I think we should alert author-san that the chapter needs to begin.
-seriously? You're already using me as your third-person, do you really need to introduce another one?
No, I'm actually not joking this time.
-wait, you mean you don't usually write the story?
Of course not, I'm the a/u persona. You are the illogical persona. The me that actually writes this stuff is over there.
(*Both Mihairu7's turn to look at the author, waving at them in the distance.)
-well that's something I didn't expect.
My sentiments exactly. On with ze story.
It was faint but Argon could feel his sudden desire for rampage slip into a temporary coma as he walked between the tall legs of a nearby sentinel. He couldn't explain why – nor did he really feel a need to – but he felt less prone to violence, as if all that rage had been released after his first and second death since who knows how long. Perhaps all that screaming he vaguely remembered doing had emptied his reserves? He doubted that branch of possibility but it was a start at least. That wasn't all, however; it seemed that the attacks from the inhabitants living in the Shining City had become quite docile in a second of spontaneity as well. Argon dared a glance at the metal leggings of the sentinel he passed under with a nod of approval. They may have been standing stationary here for a few centuries but those bulging muscles hiding behind forged metal was an impressive sight. He almost felt as if he were passing through an archway of chrome.
After his visit to Gwyndolin, it seemed that all beings even remotely connected to Anor Londo's new king lacked their usual zeal for hacking him into pieces. Whilst he appreciated the gesture, it would have been nice to at least have one of them disobey orders and stir the pot. That way, he could test this unusual surge of power running through him all of a sudden, and the unique fighting style he had unknowingly switched to when facing the Lord of the Darkmoon.
That aside, however, he was surprised he hadn't severed that Keeper's head from her shoulders when she was prostrate before him. She had been the one to instigate their bout, yet she had disrespected the ancient law of undead duelling. And to make matters worse for herself, she had lost to him – not that it was startling to anyone that had witnessed the fight.
By all rights, though, he should have killed her. Not because of his unexplainable bloodlust, but because she had sullied the one thing this decrepit body of land held dear to itself. He wasn't an enforcer of any undead rights but such action deserved just punishment, especially for an unrighteous knightess.
As the undead trudged up the dirt path leading toward the previously sealed-off entrance to the Duke's manor, he allowed his eyes a moment to rest on his companions.
Although that entire battle had been one-sided from the beginning, and in the end, it had cost him his rapier, Havel had abstained from his usual nit-picking and words of wisdom. Discovering that the old goat had understood his intentions was something he had had to raise an amused eyebrow toward. After all, it was neigh impossible for him and the ex-Bishop to ever see eye-to-eye.
However, when it came to his fluffy-tailed, slender formed, white-haired, and emerald-eyed princess, matters were of an opposite nature. He didn't blame her for not understanding his motives – quite frankly he didn't understand them himself. However, the thought that this would most certainly become an on-going event with the woman left a bland taste in his mouth.
Honestly, he had imagined that after witnessing the abundance of iron-scented paint he had used to graffiti the hallowed halls of Anor Londo with, she would have packed up her nerves and tail before departing from his grotesque sight. Any other sane person would have done so long ago, he agreed, but then again, she was not another sane person to begin with.
He noticed each and every look she gave him ever since they had left her uncle's presence. Honestly, he wouldn't have been the Chosen Undead if he had missed them. They had all possessed a rather interesting combination of emotions to choose from as well. In fact, they were so diverse that he couldn't decide which one he liked the most.
A look of confusion, followed by worry; a glance of rage accompanied by sadness, a direct stare of longing with a few drops of joy. And the most current one; a peeping amount of curiosity that held a minor squeeze of indecisiveness. He knew that one well. Her mind was probably arguing against itself, deliberating on whether to berate him for his actions or resign her words for the simple reason that he was merely… not himself.
Argon turned his head back toward the looming corridor in front of him and sighed in the fleeting silence around the three of them, the sound entering the open space like the silvery wisp of a ghost's torn tassels against cold walls.
He didn't wish to confuse or even mislead the cross breed. He just wanted to reaffirm his own existence. That was becoming difficult for a number of reasons, however, and she was one of them. As usual, it wasn't her fault, it was plainly his. How he wished he had never been privy to those lost memories that sent his mind into a game of eternal limbo without repose.
But that didn't matter at the moment. There were more important things to do besides reluctantly dive into his shattered psyche in order to find something he wanted to remain hidden forever; one of those important things being his party's current route towards the Everlasting Dragon himself.
Argon stole another breath as his feet crunched against the warm ground beneath his boot. He felt as if his lungs were constricting with each passing thought of the moments he had left his morals behind to try and choke the life out of Gwyndolin. He agreed that his head wasn't right, and that rushing into the lair of one of the vessels of Gwyn's soul was undoubtedly foolish, but it was too late to stop now. The only thing he could do was hope that whatever lie beyond this cool cavern didn't break what little gist of strength he had left.
The masked undead thought about what he was about to endure before a wry grin crossed his features.
If the calm and funny me that begun this journey had to see me now, I wonder how he would react…
"So this is leads to the Duke, huh?" Argon asked as Havel and Priscilla reached his side. "I know I should have expected this but a front door would have been nice." Argon peered up at the tallest spire of the pale castle in the distance. The thought that more stairs awaited them was not a reassuring prospect.
Havel grunted in reply, adjusting his gauntlet as he peered into the shadowed passage. "There used to be a more direct way into that accursed castle. Unfortunately, the knave garnered trust issues and a need for secrecy after my attempt to uncover his dastardly deeds," the Bishop prodded the base steps with his boot, "this was made shortly after my exile, and the old way was caved in by what masonry workers still lived here at the time."
Argon hummed in response, catching the gaze Priscilla gave him. His eyes bore into her own and he found her shivering before looking away with a frown, her hands folding behind her stiff back. the undead clenched his jaw. He was well aware that his past actions made him seem repulsive to the fairer sex, which is why he couldn't explain why his chest felt so tight at that expected reaction. He knew there must have been several reasons, but his mind was too unfocused to come to any sound conclusions.
Nevertheless, he could worry about his fading sense of romance later. First, he needed to solve the mystery in his head, and then ensure that all three of them made it out of Seath's manor alive and mentally intact.
As the undead thought about how challenging it would be to face a true Everlasting Dragon, the sound of deep, gruff breathing entered his ears. With a frown, Argon swivelled his head back to the entrance of the passageway only to see something burly and shiny scuffing its front leg against the clean tiles.
"What's that over there?" Havel and Priscilla peered through the corridor with squinted eyes. Even though there was a soft blue glow from the structure's walls, it was still difficult to make out what stood at the far end due to the waning of the sun above.
From their angle, the pair behind their masked comrade could make out the glint of steel and the sound of armour clicking against one another. What struck both of them as odd, however, was the loud scraping of something against the smooth floor, something heavy.
Argon placed a hand under his mask in thought, his other hand cupping his bent elbow. It sounded strangely familiar yet he couldn't quite place it. Deciding that perhaps a higher vantage point would help him uncover what lied beyond the shadows, he climbed the steps in front on him until he was at the top and peered through the gloom.
The scraping turned into a progressive thudding almost immediately. The Chosen Undead frowned. He knew that sound well, and it was irking him that he couldn't identify it.
Perhaps I should get a second opinion.
With a spin, Argon turned to his companions who were equally as stumped. He was glad that the previously tense atmosphere had been broken yet he wasn't so sure such intense confusion was a better distraction. It would just get on everyone's nerves.
It was only after both Priscilla and Havel lifted their heads toward their friend that their confusion abated, and fear began to set in. Before their eyes, a large boar decorated in shining armour appeared from the shadows of the passage, its tusks set on crushing Argon as it galloped excitedly towards his vulnerable back.
Both companions knew of Lordran's armoured boars; Havel from the pets Smough's master used to keep, and Priscilla from her travels with Argon and Laurentius, respectively. As such, they both knew that when a beast of broad form charged at an object with such vigour, the end result was never as pleasant – especially with those ivory tusks as thick as a scimitar was sharp.
"Argon, turn around!" Havel shouted; his hand outstretched even though he knew it was too late.
"Huh?" Argon turned his head in confusion as the boar entered his line of sight, less than a few meters away from trampling him into a mushy mess.
Havel's eye's widened as Priscilla covered hers.
In what seemed like a miracle; however, the great pig stamped its front legs down hard, skidding to a halt just before the entrance of the passage. The wind it created blew Argon's hair around as he stood motionless, staring at the beast's wet mouth blankly.
That was… until it expelled a gust of warm air in Argon's masked face, causing him to gag.
"Damn Wilbur," he dry heaved, "what have they been feeding you?"
Priscilla pulled her scythe out from behind her back and made to approach the sow. She may have been conflicted when it came to the masked undead, but she would be damned if some red-eyed and overgrown hog would hurt someone she still cared for.
With her arm bent back to cleave off a tusk and half of the beast's snout, Priscilla reached Argon's side in less than a second before she swung. The air whistled as the enchanted blade cut through it before an arm reached out and grabbed her wrist, the tip of her blade stopping a hair's breadth away from the boar's snout.
"Whoa, easy there." Argon scolded, one of his fingers grazing the shaft of her scythe. In a split-second, he felt a barrage of poison, toxin and a minor curse attempt to invade his body, and he tensed.
The goddess seemed to notice this immediately and quickly pulled her arm away, resting her scythe back onto the makeshift sheathe on her back, shock evident on her face.
"Ah! Forgive me Argon."
Argon shook his head as the status effects abated, leaving him with a mild headache. He would have to remember that accidentally touching that scythe of hers could kill him if he wasn't careful.
"It's okay," he said and sniffed, it appeared that his nose was also bleeding. "I just wanted to say that dicing this guy up isn't the best solution."
"He's right," Havel quipped as he stomped up towards them. "your scythe may be able to slay a god but that armour the boar is outfitted with is quite sturdy."
The Bishop rapped a fist against the beast's jangling plates of armour and it let out another gruff puff of breath, making all three of them gag.
"Ugh… that's not what I was trying to say but the old man is right."
Argon ignored the Havel's growl as he equipped his pyromancy glove.
"So your idea is to burn it?" Priscilla asked with a frown. "That seems a bit cruel."
"Crueller than sucking it's soul out with a blade that infects it simultaneously?"
The cross breed rose a pale finger to object but stopped halfway. He had a point there.
"The more the two of you argue, the more chance it has to attack."
Argon clicked his tongue before wagging his finger at the armoured man. "Fear not, o wise Archbishop and behold!" he pointed back at the boar who was, surprisingly, just standing in front of the trio and grunting loudly.
"It looks like it can't or won't leave the passageway."
"That doesn't explain why it's not attacking."
"Sir Havel is correct," Priscilla supplied. "it is odd that it shows no sign of hostility after it attempted to trample you."
"Perhaps it's friendly?" Argon's reply met silence and he chuckled, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
"Or perhaps we aren't seen as hostiles since we're not technically inside the corridor it watches."
Both comrades seemed to consider the idea for a moment before they were met by another gust of wet and retched boar breath. With sour faces, they took a few steps away from the beast.
"Anyways, that's not the point." Argon said as he conjured a bright flame in his hand.
"Then hurry up and get to it."
"Hush grandpa or you'll pop a blood vessel." Havel ground his teeth at the reply, glaring at Argon through his helm as the undead skipped down the stairs and cocked his arm back.
"Why don't we just smash the damn thing? It'll cost us less time standing around like fools."
"Because that would be a perfect waste of good meat."
Havel snapped his head towards the undead. "You want to eat it?"
"Why not? It would make for some tasty ribs."
"A vile animal eaten by another vile animal. How apt."
"Wha? Don't tell me you don't eat wild hog?" Argon gasped as he stared at the ex-Archbishop.
Havel merely huffed with folded arms.
"You cannot be serious." The undead deadpanned.
"I may not be an elder of the church anymore but my personal choice to refrain from eating a literal cannibal still stands."
"That's the reason?!"
"Besides the fact that they eat anything and everything, and that they are one of filthiest animals in the world? Yes."
"I think you're confusing boars with pigs."
"Is there a difference?"
"Eh," Argon thought about it for a moment. "perhaps not."
Havel harrumphed before looking at the taller beast. It did look considerably cleaner than the ones he remembered… however, the smell it emanated left little to be desired.
"Meh, doesn't matter." Argon said as he launched the fireball at the hog. All three of them covered their ears at the loud squeal it made at the flames swallowed it whole. With that armour, it was probably safe to assume that it was being roasted inside-out as they stood there.
As the boar gave it's dying breath, it crashed to the floor on its side, cancelling the flames around it with a strong gust of wind. The new smell that permeated the entrance of the corridor was enough to make Argon's mouth water.
"Now that's what I call fresh roast!"
"At least it left a space for us to walk through. How are you going to carry it though?"
"The end of your Dragontooth isn't just for show is it?"
"I'll be damned if I allow my prized weapon to be used to carry a sow!"
"Actually, you'll be dragging it."
"Oh, really? Well that does make sen- wait, why do I have to drag it?!"
Argon was about to reply when a loud growl echoed out from the corridor. Both men tensed and prepared to draw their weapons when a soft whimper forced them to turn around.
"Uhm… please excuse me." Priscilla mumbled with a flushed face, a hand against her stomach that seemed to growl again at the attention it garnered.
Havel sighed out and shook his head. Priscilla may have been someone of nobility that he actually didn't resent for once… but she was the biggest glutton – and he meant it with all certainty – he had ever met. He couldn't blame her for being unladylike since she was never taught proper etiquette but for Lloyd's sake, could she be even a little more ashamed? Argon didn't seem to care whenever they all sat down to eat together – why he and Argon even needed to eat when they were both undead was another story altogether – but then he supposed the masked man probably knew even less about table manners than their cross breed did. Either that or he just really didn't mind how ravenous Priscilla's hunger was…
"Well lookie here," Havel could imagine the grin plastered on the man's face. "At least someone is excited about the feast we're going to have tonight."
At the mention of feast, the goddess seemed to whimper as her empty belly growled in appreciation.
Argon was about to suggest they get a move on and set up camp for the night before the boar got cold when a familiar grunting caught his attention.
The undead peeked under the dead boar's legs to see another armoured beast kicking up dust behind itself, red eye's burning in fury at the sight of its lost companion.
"Wilbur has a brother!" Argon cheered before skirting around the roasted boar and rushing the second one, another fireball in hand.
Havel sighed out in exasperation. He turned to ask the sane one of their group what her thoughts were but stopped when he saw the otherwise calm goddess drooling with wide green eyes at the dead boar at his feet; her clawed hands involuntarily flexing as if in anticipation for the moment she was allowed to devour the beast.
The Bishop palmed his helm as he set to work on binding the boar to his Dragontooth; pulling out a bundle of rope from his bottomless box – an item he had convinced Borgus to give him before leaving.
After all that had occurred and all the colossal emotions thrown haphazardly around the three of them, it was a pleasant sight to see Argon acting even a little bit like himself for once.
"Table for three please! Ya-ha-hoo!"
That being said, the bishop could certainly do without the inane exclamations and annoying retorts just once on their journey.
"How do you suppose he came to be this way?" Solaire asked as he gently dabbed the sweat from the young boy's brow.
"I don't know," Laurentius replied, filtering a handful of souls into the bonfire in front of him. "any number of things could have caused the change really."
"Any theories?"
The pyromancer shrugged. He had studied under Salaman once upon a time when he was little more than a grubby child. He hadn't bothered to ask about the complexities of Izalith's fall or it's denizens when he was mesmerised by the fact that the man could conjure actual fire from his hands.
After the pair had dispelled the anthropoid from is fiery throne and calmed the swell of magma known as Ceaseless Discharge, Laurentius had carried the pale Izalith inhabitant towards the area Solaire's real body had been resting. They had tried to wake their newest companion with an array of methods from prodding, to shaking him; including the occasional hard slap across the cheek – which the Sun Knight was more than happy to do.
However, after countless futile attempts to wake the young man up and hours of waiting, nothing of value had occurred. Laurentius had supplied that perhaps they should let the fellow rest a while. After all, he had been stuck as a monstrosity of red eyes, tentacled arms and a plethora of oozing liquid fire as a sort of shapeless body. Solaire had thought about it for a moment before stating that they needed to reach the capital city before nightfall.
From what the iron-helmed man stated, the ruins and pathways leading towards the crown city of Izalith grew with an abundance of demons during the waning hours of the sun. As such, it would be difficult to stay in their current location, fend of hordes of other monsters possibly equal to the size of the one they had just faced and protect and unconscious boy simultaneously.
Whilst the pyromancer agreed with the man, it wasn't exactly easy to wake up somebody who had been a mindless mass of magma for Gwyn knows how long. Besides that, how would they even know when nightfall came if they couldn't see the sun in the first place? To him, it always seemed like day underneath Lordran.
"Our plight aside, it seems that ring is doing its job in keeping that lava away from the young man." Solaire mused, prodding a finger against the orange ring fitted snugly around the pale pinkie finger of their sleeping acquaintance.
"Hate to wonder what it was like for him."
"Aye, my thoughts exactly." Solaire nodded for a moment before giving the boy a light slap on his left cheek.
When the action granted him no result, he shrugged and turned to his companion. "He's still out cold."
"As expected, I suppose," Laurentius grunted. He didn't expect the boy to wake up immediately, not when he had been trapped inside the very element he possessed dominion over for so long.
"Perhaps you should cease with trying to wake him up."
"Oh, I apologise if it has irritated you."
"It's not that. I just think that if you slap him anymore, that pale skin of his might burst with how red they've become."
"Oh… I didn't even notice."
"Maybe you should take your helm off. We are out of danger for now, I don't think there's a need to keep it on unnecessarily in this heat." The pyromancer offered, tugging at the neck of his robe.
"Thank you for the thought, but I'm perfectly fine." The knight replied with a cheeriness in his voice.
Laurentius smiled and nodded. Solaire had been like this from the time he had arrived on his island of surprisingly cold rock. He had finally understood what the man meant by another sea of lava and the vague description of dragon legs.
The crown city of Izalith was in view, he had understood as much after sitting down at the bonfire next to his friend. However, what stood in their way was room thrice the size of Quelaag's domain submerged in flowing lava that was nearly up to his calf.
There were these oddly sized roots from trees the colour of ash that he and the knight could walk on in order to bypass the lava, and there were two buildings in the area like watchtowers that were free from a drop of the corrosive substance. If they could manage to walk upon these tree roots, land within the space the watchtowers occupied and made a mad dash for what looked like a makeshift entryway into the city's battlements – which they definitely could – then their mission would be a cinch.
However, what they were not looking forward to – and what had prevented Solaire from continuing his journey thus far – was the 'dragon's legs' dotted around the perimeter of the open space.
They were more like the lower bodies of undead dragons, if the thick smell of decay and the sight of toxic flesh was anything to go by. Frankly speaking, such variable shouldn't be a problem since they were just the lower bodies of the near-extinct race. But from Argon had told him from his travels to the world of Ariamis, undead dragons have the annoying ability to make their severed limbs move. To be exact, their lower halves were just as sentient as their upper counterparts, meaning that if luck was not on their side – and it never was – they would potentially find themselves running from and battling these tall, fire-resistant body parts as they attempted to reach the entrance to Izalith, whilst carrying an unconscious inhabitant on one of their backs.
The danger was cranked up to eleven as always and the risk of dying was what made it mildly exhilarating, but the prospect of being trampled on by a herd of angry undead dragon feet that could jump acres across boiling hot lava was not a pleasant adventure.
Both men sighed as they stared out at the task before them. Perhaps if they did attempt to ram through the foes they had before them, they could use the boy they just saved as a human shield since he was immune to intense flame. However, even Laurentius wasn't that unchivalrous, and Solaire was an actual knight if the armour we wore and the way he spoke wasn't all an act – which the swamp-dweller highly doubted since the man was just too trusting.
"I wonder how Argon is doing." The pyromancer turned to his comrade with an amused smile.
"What brought this on?"
"I've been thinking about him ever since you mentioned that you were also his friend. It almost feels as if it's been years since he and I have crossed paths."
"I sympathise with you there," Laurentius replied with a grin. "I'm actually beginning to miss his outlandish claims and responses… even dear Priscilla's pouting whenever he teases her."
"Ah, yes. You mentioned that he had rescued someone from the Painting of Ariamis."
"You know it?" he raised an eyebrow to the man.
"I had to traverse around it to reach the castle in Anor Londo. Mind you, I didn't spend a lot of time admiring its articulate brushwork but I did stare at it long enough to shiver in trepidation."
"Was it that shocking to the undead eye?"
"Not at all. Although, a canvas the size of a barricade is quite intimidating."
"It's that big?"
"Possibly bigger," Solaire nodded, "but what stirred up my unease was the aura of the painting itself. Whoever this Ariamis was, he left a sense of dread into his art, and it seemed to ooze into the very soul of the person that viewed it." Laurentius' eyes widened in response.
"I dare say that if it was possible, that embodiment of dismay would have pulled me into its very confines to suffer for eternity."
"Luckily, Argon had done it on your behalf."
"He entered into the painting?" Solaire asked in bemusement. Lordran was quite a peculiar place if it could make your wildest nightmares come true.
"He'll be sure to tell you the story when we both meet him again." The pyromancer took a gulp from the waterskin he kept on his person before offering it to the Sun Knight.
"Do remind me to ask, I find this most intriguing." Solaire lifted his helm above his mouth and took a grateful gulp of warm water.
"I'm just eager to get this over and done with." Laurentius replied, staring out at the glowing floor a few feet away. "The sooner we finish here, the sooner I can come back to Quelana."
"Hmm? Is that another friend of yours?"
The pyromancer grinned. "You could call her a friend for now, but I think her and I will become much more than that – if we haven't already reached that point."
"Ah, do continue." the knight offered a nod that showed his understanding. The swamp-dweller was all too happy to oblige.
"Well, you see… Quelana is actually my-"
"SISTER!"
Both undead recoiled in shock as their unconscious companion bolted into a sitting position as if he had been struck by lightning. His onyx eyes stared wild and unfocussed around him before he noticed Solaire and Laurentius on either side of him. He panted in an attempt to calm his racing heart as the undead turned to each other in silence.
It wasn't long until Solaire broke said silence.
"Well I wasn't expecting that at all."
Night fell like the first flakes of snow on dry ground. Upon reaching the end of the passageway, Argon and company found – to their relief – a bonfire slowly burning just a ways off from what looked like a more modernised lift system.
The room was square and had possessed an assortment of trinkets and stands made of tan-brown cedar and cool metal that shone light blue in the light the walls gave off. There wasn't much conversation from any of them as Argon merrily roasted the pair of boar's before he and Priscilla dined on them, indulging in the crispy crunch eat bite availed them; whilst Havel sat against the far wall, stating that he needed to clear his mind in preparation for when they braved the Archives in all its twisted glory.
Now, after the grand feast had been whittled down to ivory bones and the calming warmth of sleep had swallowed both the Chosen Undeads companions into a state of dreamy stasis, Argon breathed out heavily against a lone pillar; mask discarded and chest once more bare to allow the crisp chill of night to freeze his insides into relaxation.
Although he had faced what he would have liked to call his demons and made his final decision that would eventually change the fate of the world as he and everyone else knew it, the coming of dark had remained his foe even in light of all he had been through.
To the gumshoes that even possessed, his life was little more than its plaything – a toy to use and abuse as it saw fit. With its cruel and crooked fingers, it played with the edges of his mind like a scholar would an unusual tome. Tinkering, fiddling, and testing out whether the resistance he possessed would break after further torture… or reinforce as the will to remain sane grew stronger than the will to live.
In truth, Argon had thought that after such tribulations, rest would finally beckon when he saw the courage of a soul only afflicted by eternal sorrow. Yet as the undead stared blindly at the metallic walls of the passageway he came to know as a temporary sanctuary, he knew deep down that all that would visit him tonight was more nightmares.
He held no hate for anything in this world and feared nothing as an entity that instead injected terror into others; but still the worry of closing his eyes grew as his body weakened. It was unhealthy to force insomnia unto oneself, he knew that well. But how could he not when the thing he grew weary of the most was what would make itself known to him in the dangerous yet safe arms of the dream world? He had only ever allowed himself to fall into a cloudy oblivion when he was too weak to even breathe properly, and even then he had known that the horrors he had seen would haunt him in unconsciousness.
However, this time it was different. Argon knew that the incubi to follow him now was not that which he had seen in the beginning of his journey, but the ancient vessels of the damned formed by the machinations of his own mind. He had never feared anything after becoming undead, so why did he feel this intense hesitation to encounter himself in a state of weightlessness? Was it because of those slivers of memory that had revealed to him the things he had locked away eons ago? Or perhaps the persona he was loathe to admit belonged to himself, after he had done his best to be righteous even when everything around him had been deceitful?
He didn't know for sure, but what he did was that he couldn't refuse the sandman's tug any longer. Yes, there had been many events whereby he was far too tired to fall asleep – and tonight would be one of them – however, he knew that if he put off that which needed to be resolved for a wider period of time; it would only end up consuming him when he least expected it. And to be lost adrift in a sea of uncertainty, when it was most germane he remain focussed was not an advisable path to tread.
So, with a sigh too heavy for someone so lithe; and a tired frown too old to belong on features so young, Argon allowed his heterochromatic orbs to be shrouded in darkness by the eyelids of his that weighed more than lead… and felt the encroachment of bitterness to wrap him into a cocoon of boundless agony.
Whenever he had fallen into the murky surface of his mind, Argon had always imagined his mindscape to be as broken as the battlements of the Undead Burg – for that was how damaged he had felt. Even when he had been healed by the purifying fires the Keeper's maintained, he had cringed as his head oozed acid that dribbled into his eyes, blurring his vision and dulling his senses.
However, when he had opened the eyes of his subconscious, he was surprised to see an unpolluted white room in place of the expected black broken barracks of his imagination.
Argon looked around at the silvery surface he was surrounded by and almost felt out of place. There were just so much untainted elements here that he felt as if he were the one intruding. With a glance at the floor he noted that he wasn't actually standing but floating above something and nothing simultaneously. It was a confusing, yet perfectly obvious concept to grasp.
Another thing that was odd yet common, was the assortment of what seemed like more than a thousand floating clocks in suspended in the air around him. They weren't anything special, just outlines of a clock face filled with numbers and the standard trio of hands coloured inky black. Once he had been curious enough to poke one before he was assaulted with one of his memories. The experience of remembering what it felt like to have his limbs crushed by gravity after he fell to this death had been both unpleasant and exhilarating. From what his mind inside his mind had concluded, these ticking – yet noiseless clocks – were all a sequence of events he had once created, either from when he was an undead in Lordran or as a human. He had never tested the theory and touched another clock, though… he had thought that doing so would only make his stay in a temporary coma more unbearable.
"So you've finally decided to come visit me."
Argon turned his head to stare at himself, or what would be considered himself if that ugly smile and abyssal aura weren't running off of the figure that stood a few feet away from him.
"I imaged you would have worn away to nothing by now. I did defeat you, after all."
The other version of him scoffed as it folded its legs into the lotus position, as if it were entering meditation.
"You may have killed my influence, but I am still here… until the end." It winked at him and Argon ignored it to run his fingers along his blackened side. The other him snarled in response.
"Ignoring me won't get rid of me. I am still apart of you, as such, I cannot be destroyed completely."
"So basically, you're the remnant of the me that I refused to allow reign?" it was directed as statement rather than a question to the twisted him. Again, the other him snarled back. Argon stared at it with a monotone expression. If tonight's nightmare was simply to listen to this waning side of him rant, it was an easy – albeit annoying – misery that he could wake up from without being scarred any further.
"I'm guessing you're just going to sit there and wait until I'm weakened in the real world."
"And what use would that be to me?"
"The chance to take over, of course. You've tried and succeeded before. Now that you have a taste for freedom, you'll most likely anticipate a second opportunity like that."
The other him quirked an eyebrow. "And I suppose you believe that you can prevent such an opportunity from appearing?"
Argon shook his head, making his darker counterpart frown. "I can't promise to do that. You of all… people, should know that."
"Interesting…" the counterpart mouthed with a nod, "at least you're not stereotypical, but even if that chance comes, I will be unable to do anything."
Argon copied the frown the other him displayed. "Why not?"
"Because I am only a remnant of what you dispersed. The only thing I am able to do is converse with you." Argon watched himself grin madly and sway from side to side. The sight was both intriguing and annoying, especially when the other him wore that unflattering look on its face.
"That can't be right. If you don't have any power in my head why am I still itching to kill somebody?"
"Oh, so you didn't trick yourself into believing that you were that happy-go-lucky fool in a mask?"
"I did that for both Havel and Priscilla's sakes."
"A wasted effort."
"For you maybe."
"Indeed, since you and I are… almost the same."
Argon glared at himself. It was like looking in a disobedient mirror that showed his negative emotions.
"Why do you entertain such childish games? Let loose! Allow them to see who you and I know you really are and spare them the bothersome journey to the end of Lordran. At least then you can say you didn't endanger their lives because of your own iniquity."
"I know but I…" Argon trailed off. The other him smirked in a way that look more like sour reaction after biting into a lemon.
"You don't want to do it because you actually think you're like that sun-loving fool with the feather." Argon said nothing.
"Do you honestly think this false sense of joy and witticisms you perform without shutting up is the REAL you?" the other him watched as Argon put his head down, his long hair covering his dull eyes. If he had to look up, he would see himself shaking his head.
"Or perhaps it's the face that you don't actually WANT to be alone…" his counterpart rubbed its chin in faux thought before continuing.
"You don't want them to leave your side, do you?"
"No."
"Then why do you continue to play hard to get? Are you a cheeky maiden in love?"
Silence.
The counterpart sighed. "The reason you still crave destruction is simple. In truth, you ARE the very entity that was turned into a vessel of Stein's detestable will. You know this."
"But I don't even know who this Stein IS."
"Then why do you fight like his prized soldier? Why do you speak his twisted gospel like the leader of his cult? Why are your impulses solely focussed on tearing the gods themselves into strips of bloody skin and bone?"
Argon opened his mouth to speak but no words escaped. Suddenly it felt like the whiteness was too bright, the silent clocks were too loud, like the him in front of him was more than just his torturer but his executioner as well. It felt like the clean snow falling around them had changed into a rain of ashes.
"Face it, Argon. You are and will always be his arbiter, his famous last words and masterpiece. Even though you bit the hand that fed you, you are still his right arm, the extension of his malice. And you can never escape that."
"What do mean by that?" Argon looked up, his eyes glittering like amethyst and amber amidst the white around them.
"Which part, the right arm or the fact that you're still adamant?"
"What do you mean I 'bit the hand that fed me'?"
Argon watched as gave himself a sadistic grin. It shocked him how impish he could appear.
"You still don't know, or you pretend not to know…" he hated that entertained tinge to his counterpart's voice. It was as if he was some grand spectacle to laugh at whilst sinking poisoned daggers into. He hated it so much it made him want to choke himself until even he himself died in return.
"You know what, I don't care anymore. That's all in the past, who I was as a human is NOT who I am now."
The counterpart opened his mouth in what seemed like shock before he cupped his monochrome chin. It appeared what Argon had said either stunned him to silence or made him realize something that would be detrimental to Argon in the next few moments. Personally, Argon knew it was the latter.
"You say that your dark past was all when you were human. You couldn't be more wrong."
"What are you talking about?" the tension in Argon's chest grew unbearable. His mouth was dry despite being in a dream and he couldn't manage to breathe properly. The worst was just about to crash down into him. His fear told him as much but he couldn't stop it from happening. He desperately looked around the space he and his other side occupied for something, anything to prevent his mind from shattering further.
"You also say that your grisly self is in the past… whilst that MIGHT have been true, it is now false. In all honesty, the you that you refuse to accept is still VERY much alive and palpable."
"What? How? I thought I removed him from my mind?!" Argon shouted desperately.
"Oh, you did, but I'm afraid that was merely just fumes. The real thing is MUCH more terrifying, visceral and unstoppable."
"Then tell me where it is, tell me so that I can forget it! Why does he- it still exist and how can it live outside of me? Am I not the only host it can exist inside of?!"
"Too many questions and not enough conviction. Now, I'm afraid we've run out of time. It's time for the nightmares to begin, yes?"
As Argon tried to speak against himself, he heard the sound like a rush of water from all sides. The whiteness around him became so blinding he had to close his eyes and the quiet of the suspended clocks began to ring with ticking so loud his head burned with pain.
He screamed out as his sub-conscious burst with resonance as his other side cackled ominously. He noticed the clocks begin to move away from him until all but one remained, approaching him almost menacingly.
Argon knew what that was, strangely enough. He understood the torment of what he was about to incur and shivered as the clockface grew closer and closer. He attempted to run away but found his limbs locked into place by invisible bonds the temperature of ice so cold it burned his skin.
He could barely even blink in time before the inky black hands of said clock extended from the face to piece his bare skin. And once again, the carnival of horrors began anew as he was washed in another nightmare that was too real to be a dream, but real enough to be a long lost reverie…
Sorry for not posting earlier, things haven't been the best. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.
The sad stuff aside, I know I haven't made Priscilla take centre-stage for a while now, it was all part of my plot. Next time, she and Argon will be the main focus so that they can deal with this whole 'us' thing… as well as Argon's case of 'who the bloody hell am I really?'
Oh, as for Ceaseless Discharge, I was having a bit of trouble deciding what his name should be. I've finally found one, but I would still like to ask all of you for help with it, if you don't mind.
Please leave a review, I'd love to hear your thoughts, likes and hates. Flames are always welcome, as I don't mind being corrected. Also, if there are any errors in this chapter, I will edit them as soon as I am able, thank you for mentioning them. I'll do my best not to say the 'Shinning City' and 'the god of Lighting' again. I know I make a lot of mistakes… but that was bloody embarrassing T-T
That being said, please have yourself a wonderful day or night and please stay safe. Mihairu7 (the 7 is silent) signing off.