The fresh breath of Spring brought with it the cheerful whistling of the birds, as they dived and darted in between the homely cottages and duchies dotted around the cosy village. Upon the smooth stone coloured a metallic grey, children skipped around one another in the orange glow of the sun's first light as merchants, maidens and men walked about the wharf beside the crystal-clear waters that meandered the community border. Although fish popped up from the still surface and many of the younger generation giggled with giddiness as the scales of those watery creature's reflected the warm light above, no one dared to insert a toe into those depths; for the cold chill of the previous season was stubborn to vacate that which was no longer its domain.
On the opposite side of the town, where the forest brushed against the wooded gates like intimate fingers on a woman's thigh, sat a small but charming building comfortably nestled between the village and the greenery. Its walls were painted with virgin snow whilst the burgundy roof caught the bold glare of the sunshine above.
Behind the open oaken doors was rolled a rich carpet of crimson, and beside it stood a formation of parallel pews splashed in deep brown lacquer. Candles filled the inside walls like miniature guards as the tall vertical windows allowed further light to illuminate the dark but comforting centre of the room. Against the back of the building rested a timber altar with a large pulpit upon its back. Said pulpit possessed no intricate carvings save for the simple brown cross etched onto the front.
Sitting nearby the altar sat a woman dressed in a black robe with white trimming, a small rosary around her neck – signifying her duty to the cause she supported. She was bent over, elbows pressing against her knees, hands clasped and eyes shut as her mouth whispered words not even the wind could hear. Her thick hair cascaded over her back like a dark waterfall and two solitary bangs framed her oval face. She continued in her mimed words before her long lashes exposed her deep amber eyes.
With a content smile, she rose to her feet and turned to see a small figure standing on the red carpet, legs frozen in surprise from taking the final step toward her. The woman blinked. She hadn't heard anyone enter through the church doors at all. Although the town was safer than a King's castle, her senses always did their best to lookout for any presences that were near whilst she was preoccupied. That was why it was odd that she didn't pick up on the small footsteps of a boy younger than ten that stood before her now.
Even so, she thought it might be a good idea to say something to the him before he scurried away in fear after being detected
"Why, hello my child." She said in a soft tone, her smile growing in greeting as she crouched down to his level.
The boy merely stared back at her, although he allowed his foot to finally find the floor.
"What brings you to the Church today? Are you hungry?"
The boy shook his head. It was a bit difficult to see since the glare from the sun shone against his back, slightly blinding. She had had her eyes closed for quite some time so they hadn't a chance to adjust to the incoming light.
From what she could see, they boy was wearing very shoddy clothing – almost accustomed to rags if they were torn anymore. His black hair was shaggy and wild, and from the smell she could guess that he probably needed a bath soon. After straining her sight, she discovered more prominent details, like the red stains on his chin and neck, as well as the shape of his small nose. His lips were also cracked, and the most amount of skin she could see on him was either chaffed or riddled with old scars.
Whatever had happened to this boy or who had done these things to him was a mystery to her. What mattered, however, was that his wellbeing was sought before her own curiosity. It would also be cautious to mind how she approached the him, he seemed to scare quite easily whenever she bordered around his personal space.
"Are you thirsty then?" the woman asked. She received another shake of the head.
His hair whipped around like the tail of a steed, granting her a quick glimpse of his eyes, although it was too fast for her identify what the colour was.
Before she could ask another question with regard to her visitor, she saw the little boy raise a thin, nail-less finger towards the altar behind her. She turned to find him staring at the podium.
"What does it mean?" his voice was firmer than his ability to stand straight without glancing around cagily.
"The altar?"
He shook his head, dark tresses flying around.
"The cross," the priestess' face softened. It wasn't everyday a young boy would wander into the church to ask about the teachings of her religion. In fact, if she remembered correctly, the only other people curious enough to come through the building's doors had been an elderly couple seeking shelter from heavy rain during a typhoon. In terms of how many people even accompanied her during worship was numbered less than forty, but she was content – it was a blessing that she possessed even that much in her fellowship.
Now was a time for many theocracies of varying beliefs to come out of the woodwork. With the majority of the world either running towards beings under the title of 'Allfather', 'Goddess of Fertility' and the 'Lord of Sunlight' barely anyone knew of her age-old faith. That being said, it was still both refreshing and a surprise when one so young came to her sanctuary seeking enlightenment.
"It means that He is always with us, no matter what."
"Who is?" the child asked.
"Why, God, of course."
She watched him appraise the carving again before looking at the pews and candles. "But… there's no statue." He commented, pouting in thought as to why that is. The robed woman smiled; such childish perplexity made her heart ooze with warmth.
"We don't keep statues in the church, child." She answered and watched him huff. He looked more confused than satisfied by that answer.
"Then how do you know what god looks like?"
"That's a good question. Its simply because we don't know what He looks like." She supressed a giggle when the boy scratched his head, deep in thought of something that sounded so unusual to his little ears. Eventually, he gave up on thinking and turned back to face the dark-haired woman.
"I don't get it." He said with a small shrug.
She smiled at him again before motioning for him to come closer, which he did – reluctance vanished as his curious mind egged him on to discover more.
"We don't need to know what God looks like." She poked his chest softly and was surprised to feel the outline of his ribs instead of normal fat. Either way, she continued with her explanation. "Because God is right here."
The boy looked at down at her finger. "You can't see what your own heart looks like, now can you?"
He shook his head.
"It's the same with God. There's no need to go looking for Him when he's already with you."
She retracted her finger and watched as the boy processed her words, exchanging hair-shrouded glances between the cross and his chest. It seemed he was beginning to understand her words better. Her mission had been accomplished.
"Is God really in here?" the boy asked after quite some time of silence, holding a pale, rough hand above his heart.
"Of course he is." She replied. "He's always there. Speaking, listening, and protecting us."
"He… protects us?"
The woman nodded kindly. "From anything that brings us harm."
"Then why," she heard his voice quiver. "Why does it still hurt so much?"
A small tear appeared past his blanket of hair before his soft sobs wracked his tiny body. The priestess's face crumpled in sorrow at the weight of those words. The town she lived in might have been one of peace, but she would be a fool to assume that just because there was no cause for war, there was no cause for sinful acts either.
With a gentle tug, she pulled the boy close to herself, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. He seemed to stiffen against her, obviously not used to the contact – if he had even ever received this simple form of interacting from whoever he lived with in the first place – but after it was clear the robed woman held no ill intent towards him; she felt his smaller limbs loosely hug her neck as he buried his face deeper into her warmth.
She didn't allow him to break away from her as he cried freely. The sour scent he gave off became more apparent to her, and she knew her clothing would most likely be stained from the muck he carried but she ignored such trivial things. When in her line of work, these stains and unclearable scents were the battle scars of the small victories she won, so think like some snobbish noble she would not.
"I know that it may feel like too much to bear right now," she spoke as she gently stroked his raven hair. "but one day all this suffering will be worth it."
The priestess felt him shuffle in her grip, his head lifting from the crook of her neck. "But why do I have to feel more pain?"
"Not everything we learn is from books, my child. Some lessons are only taught through pain and bondage."
"I don't want more pain," he sniffed bitterly. "I just want it to stop."
"It will. I promise you, it will." She cooed in his ear and he relaxed once more, hugging her as tight as he could. The action made her crease her brow. Who had this boy been raised by to fear such amorphous suggestions of an unknown torturer? And what was this torturer doing to him that made him so afraid to even stare at his own shadow?
"One day God will see your strength, and he'll give you the desires of your heart."
"H-He will?"
"Yes," She said softly. "What is it you want most, my child?"
The boy looked up at her, his hair falling away from his eyes to reveal glowing amber pools. The priestess' mouth dropped open in shock as she saw eyes parallel to her own shining irises.
"A friend." Her train of thought broke as he finally spoke. He stared at her intently with a what certainty he could muster. "I want a f-friend."
She smiled warmly, even when the cogs in her head were turning fiercely at the discovery she had made. Those cogs had sped up when he had then asked her a question.
"W-Will you be my friend?"
She parted the few locks of hair covering his face and cupped his small, scarred cheeks. "Of course I will."
His smile was the first normal thing she had seen about him, and it broke her heart that such a child was thrown into the evils of this world.
"Then, if we are friends, you should know my name." she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster in her sombre mood. His eyes seemed to light up at the prospect of having something reciprocated back to him as she continued.
"I am known by this town as Priestess Eliana, but you can just call me Eli."
The young boy nodded furiously, a wide smile on his face that contrasted against the cruel scars and scabs on his pale skin. Once again, her heart felt as if it was being squeezed by ghostly hands. That smile of his was just so familiar to her, that skin tone a shattering reverie, and those eyes the splitting image of her own. Although she had her doubts, there was but once more question to ask him so that at least her fears could be settled.
"Tell me child, what is your name?"
A small flicker of sadness crossed his features but it vanished just as soon as it occurred and the boy stared up at her innocently before responding. "I don't have a name."
"Oh, I see," Eliana replied, tears slowly making their way down her own pale cheeks. She would have been set at ease if she were crying for the boy's predicament, but unfortunately for her, it was her predicament she wept for.
In all honesty, she hadn't thought to see him ever again. Even though she had cried until sleep had taken her for many nights, and the other sisters of the church had comforted her with scriptures that calmed the mind, she had bitterly made peace with the fact that her own spawn was pulled from her clutches, never to see her loving face a second time. It was both heart-breaking sight and a blessing to note that after nine long years, she had the chance to glance upon his pale, cut face. How could she have not recognised him? After all, he had inherited her good looks.
"That… that isn't a problem then." She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. "We are in God's house. Surely, it was by His decree that you come here today… so that you may be given the name you deserve."
The boy beamed as Eliana stood and held out her hand for him to take. She would be damned if she allowed him to be dragged back to whatever hell he had climbed out of without at least receiving the one thing that was his right as a living being. And even if those that had taken him were to come to this hallowed place, she would risk everything she had to ensure he was not taken from her for a second time. She would not allow the gift God had placed in her lap to go to waste.
Eliana turned back to face her cheerful child. He reminded her somewhat of the Lord she worshipped every morning and afternoon. Always joyous, kind even when going through turmoil, and always attentive to others. She smiled at him with all the love she could as the thought hit her. She had found the perfect name.
But just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, they heard the loud voice of someone that made her skin crawl.
"Ah… so this is where you've been hiding."
The boy stiffened to a plank as the face of Lord Stein entered his vision, royal guards of his choosing flanking him on either side. Eliana pulled the boy behind her and splayed her hands out protectively.
"You," she hissed and tensed as two guards cornered her and the boy against the altars podium, spears raised in level with her pale throat, daring her to make a move to stop them from touching the shaking child behind her.
"Yes, me. And I believe the words you were searching for was Lord Stein." The large man chuckled darkly before nodding towards his men.
At once, they grabbed her arm and threw her to one side, her body stumbling into one of the nearby pews whilst another guard grabbed the terrified boy and shoved him towards Stein.
"I would thank you for keeping my property safe and sound, but I fear your words of heresy might have corrupted the boy."
"Property?" she gawked. "Is that the way to refer to child that doesn't know any better?"
"He knew not to run from me. Now that he did, he requires more reconditioning. Not that it's any of your concern what I do with my possessions."
Eliana pushed herself off from the pew and stepped forward, shrugging off the hand one of the guards placed on her shoulder in warning.
"I won't let you take him. Just looking at his scared face I can see you've done to him what you've done to the other poor orphans you've taken under your black wing."
Stein sucked in a long breath, feigning surprise although the sadistic glint in his eye showed he was more than happy with the events that had just played out.
"And to think I was going to let you go with a gentle slap on the wrists." He clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment as his massive hand clasped onto the boy's shoulder.
"But now that you know so much, my men with have to… dispose of you." He said softly despite his gruff voice and began to drag the shivering boy away from her. The look of unbridled fear in his eyes showed that even if she tried to call out to him, he would be unable to hear. Such was the effect of a monster like Stein.
"Farewell then." The large man waved behind him as he and the child she had only been reunited with for but a few moments slowly disappeared into the bright sunlight outside.
Eliana fell to her knees as one of the guardsmen roughly pushed her, a lustful smile on his and his comrades faces as they neared. The priestess merely raised up a hand toward the retreating form of the child she loved, tears flowing freely down her face as she whispered her final words he would never get the chance to hear again.
"I'm sorry Mikel…my son."
Argon awoke with a start, lurching forward from against the wall as his eyes stared blindly at the space before him, breathing laboured. That dream had been too real to credit as some nightmare conjured by his other self. What was more worrying was that he recalled those brightly lit streets, the sounds of that village, and more importantly, the face of that priestess.
Nevertheless, he refused to believe such a bittersweet dream was anything more than just that, a dream. It had been eons since he was human, he knew that much; so he wouldn't assume that simple anecdotes bursting from the undead parts of his mind were works of non-fiction just yet, they couldn't be if he were still attempting to grapple with himself in a battle of wits.
"Argon, thank goodness you're awake." The undead turned his head towards the voice and saw Priscilla staring at him, a mere few inches away from his shirtless body. He saw her cheeks rise in colour as he continued to burn his unsteady gaze into her before she remembered the reason for her close proximity to him. Her expression changed from embarrassment to urgency.
"It's about Sir Havel, he's departed."
"The old geyser croaked in his sleep? I thought he was undead?"
The crossbreed shook her head so fast her bangs swatted his monochrome cheeks. "No Argon, he has left our company completely." She pointed towards the lift mechanism to the left of them, a deep frown on her otherwise perfect face.
"I fear he aims to face my father on his own."
Argon's eyes narrowed in alarm as she shot up to his feet, fitting his mask back on a second after as he strode towards the crank on the right-hand side of the lift, pulling it down with one arm.
"That idiot! Does he realize what awaits us all inside that castle?" he yelled out in frustration as the goddess joined his side, waiting for the platform to reach the floor they were on.
"I understand that his reason for staying alive was his hate for Seath but he can't seriously be this pig-headed."
Priscilla coughed into the sleeve of her bodice.
'This coming from the man that attacked uncle Gwyndolin due to maddened ideals.'
From what little shew knew about his and her uncle's battle, Argon had briefly mentioned his mind being "eclipsed by thoughts more sinister than his previous ones". Even if the explanation had been a struggle to re-align his perception, his statement was still quite hypocritical.
The platform creaked and clinked against the cogs that spun slowly before resting against the wooden frame with a soft hiss. Argon wasted no time for the safety doors to open and vaulted over them instead, impatient to reach their third-party member and stop him in his stony tracks before he had the opportunity to do something foolish.
He tapped his boot against the lacquered floor as Priscilla joined him before his yanked the second crack down with a healthy amount of force. The crossbreed feared the lever would break when it clanged against the metal around it but was relieved when the cogs began to turn once again, rotating more rapidly as if sensing the pairs urgency to reach their armoured friend.
The growl of another crystal hollow sounded within the labyrinth-like corridors of the Dukes Archives before it was silenced by the crash of Havel's Dragontooth. He watched with a curled lip as the annoying blue foe shattered into multiple shards of crystal, its caduceus shield clattering loudly against the smooth marble floors.
This raised the number of ugly hunched and mutated creatures he had broken to seventy-four, and still he wondered how they were still brave – or just stupid – enough to continue rushing him. Yes, he had bent and twisted the limbs of about three of that blind brute's magic casters but if one more measly soul arrow bounced off his shield, he swore he would be pissed off. In fact, scratch that – he was already pissed off.
His soul had been restless the night prior. Filled with thoughts, imagery, situations and scenarios of him reaching that traitorous paledrake only to find him already gone, flown away on flightless wings like the coward he was. Havel had spent that entire night expecting, anticipating his encounter with the beast that had stolen his honour and branded him a foe to Gwyn. Those thoughts had made him act hastily. In an instant, he had felt his feet rushing against white floors, his shield raised blocking incoming projectiles and his Dragontooth his only ally as he slammed and smashed his way through hordes of monstrosities made from the very earth itself.
But upon seeing those tall, word-garbling fiends with golden tridents and six pairs of eyes, his blood had royally boiled in his veins. Those twisted scholars of greed and envy were part of his quarrel. They had been the reason he and his small cluster of Silver Knights had found reason to doubt the intentions of Anor Londo's only Duke. Even if he and his knights hadn't been human at the time, they had still held rage in their chests at the sight of those poorly clothed, lifeless, and beaten maidens, shackled to one another like prisoners and heading toward the Duke's study via the underground passageways.
Back then, Havel had been a man to ask questions and then strike – as was his duty to be more open-minded as the Archbishop of Lordran. Now, however, after the consequences of his actions had taken their toll, he cursed himself for being so naïve. Damn the example the church expected him to set, he should have slaughtered those brainless followers of a dragon he originally held reservations for the moment he saw them. Perhaps then, he wouldn't have gone to bed that night with a heavy heart. Perhaps then, the news that a few of a few of Gwynevere's hand servants had went missing wouldn't have reached his ears the next morning. Perhaps then, his manhunt for them wouldn't have ended up in the sewers of that swine's castle, with the maimed, mutated and broken bodies of six once pure and beautiful women.
Now that everyone had left Lordran altogether, he could rest assured that no other discoveries would pass by his sight; however, if the masked and bipolar fool Priscilla followed failed in his mission to exterminate that white gecko, what would become of her? Could he sleep or even breathe normally ever again if he were to let someone who had saved him become mere ingredients for the likes of a power-hungry beast like Seath?
No. He could not. That was why he had left his comrades behind, that was why he allowed his deep-seated hatred and bloodlust overcome his already shattered mind and soul, obliterating anything and everything that moved within his line of sight. Because he would not permit the Everlasting Dragon to get away for his crimes. He would do everything in his power to ensure he avenged those souls he failed to save all those centuries ago.
So, when he thought of a reason for why he had decided to head for the paledrake on his lonesome, it was for more than just restoring his honour; but for the lives he couldn't save that day and the lives he had the potential to save today. This time, he promised, Seath would be found and slain. If not by his hand, then certainly by the ones who followed closely on his tail.
Havel stopped slowed his pace when he came across a chest towards the end of the walkway he stood on. This Archive was nearly as vast as Gwynevere was well endowed, and he didn't know which floor he had arrived at after the many he had already cleared. Nevertheless, if this passageway he was in lead towards Seath's chamber, then he would need to leave some trace that he was here so that Argon and Priscilla could be warned in advance.
Unfortunately, he didn't have any soap stones with him to leave a message. That being said, there were other ways of proving he was here.
Walking up to the chest, Havel placed his shield on his back and placed his free hand on his hip. Perhaps an opened chest would alert the duo that he had passed by? No, anyone could open a chest in this place, those brainless forms of crystal included. He would need to make it more pronounced.
Yet, his curiosity as to what was inside the chest before him was of greater importance than his need to leave a marker. Wait, a marker… maybe he could leave behind a prism stone? No, he couldn't, he didn't see a need to stock up on those useless balls of light. It was a shame, but now he really wished he had such needless trinkets like that kleptomaniac1 in a white mask.
With a sigh, Havel lifted a boot to open the chest like he had done in the castle of Anor Londo. Unfortunately, he had overestimated the power of his kick at the last minute, incidentally, booting the poor chest against the far wall until it formed a rectangular crater.
Dust, plaster, and rubble dropped from the point of impact as the ex-Bishop stared at it with a blank face.
"Oops," he grumbled, when the sound of pained groans filled his ears. He watched as a pair of gangly grey arms and legs grew from the sides of and underneath the chest before standing, the latch flipping open to spill out a cavern of sharp, ugly teeth.
Havel froze on the spot. He had not expected those monstrosities to be lurking inside Seath's manor. He had gained a tiny phobia for opening chests with his hands after watching one of the Mimics try to eat Argon whole. Now one of those beasts were 'staring' at him angrily after being rudely awoken. The undead didn't know whether to scream at his terrible luck or glare the Mimic down for souring his mood further.
As the freaky thing giggled ominously whilst it skipped toward him, Havel chose the third option and watched with rapt attention as the chest, which served as the thing's 'head', was crushed to splinters under the force of his Dragontooth. Its limbs bent at awkward angles like a smooshed spider before Havel felt the rush of souls and a sliver of humanity enter his body.
With a small sniff and after re-centring his Dragontooth on his shoulder, Havel nodded with a satisfied look behind his helm.
"That'll do." He said and walked off with a little spring in his step. Killing nightmarish monsters in oddly amusing ways was mildly therapeutic.
One of the first things to greet Argon and Priscilla's cautious eyes, respectively, had been the abundance of oddly shaped and crafted instruments and stands carved from more lacquered wood and shining metal. It had seemed that whatever the paledrake had been doing whilst cooped up in his castle had to do with vast stores of research and practical experimentation – after all, there was a reason why people from Vinheim to Catarina had sung songs about the 'Duke's Archives' with such wonder on their faces.
Besides being flanked by an armada of equipment; however, the pair had also figured out that there wouldn't much fighting to do, judging by shattered remains of what had looked like crystal in humanoid form. From what the undead had gleaned from the traces of discarded crystal swords and obliterated shelving along with the large, dirty boot prints against the clean marble, it was clear to him that their ex-Archbishop had been in quite a hurry – and it wasn't because he hadn't wanted them to catch up. Priscilla had also reported her findings that from what she could smell in the abnormally clean study, Havel's sandy musk lingered near the right wing on the stairway before them.
Whilst it was a relief to know that the armoured giant had definitely passed by, it was quite annoying for the Chosen Undead to see such a beautifully made hall messed with the corpses of shattered blue minerals and splintered objects he suspected to belong to some sort of astrology – he had learned quite a lot from Logan whilst on his way out of Sen's Fortress.
"We should make haste. Sir Havel couldn't have gone very far if every level of the castle was as heavily guarded as this one." Priscilla mused, pointing to the discarded weapon of a Channeler.
"I doubt his armour would have helped in terms of speed anyways," Argon replied as he picked up the tall trident. He had always wondered why those eyesores that barely spoke any language besides babbling carried these around. They had been followers of Seath, which meant they were all sorcerers in training, but to use a mythical sea creatures' weapon as a catalyst was unheard of. Moreover, what was the deal with those wired dances they did whenever one had spotted him? It was freaking stupid no matter what people said to dissuade his opinion.
A curious look crossed over his face as he contemplated imitating that tribal dance and miming the very same gobbledygook2 when his better judgement decided against it. He may have been half crazed but he was by no means an idiot. He wouldn't be caught dead reiterating such a foolish charade in front of Priscilla, even if she would find it amusing – who was he kidding, she would find it hilarious.
That being said, as much as Argon did feel the need to rescue his idiotic comrade, there was still a side mission nudging him almost to the extreme with infuriating little pokes and prods. It annoyed him so much that he had to sigh out deeply in order to calm his nerves from the sensory overload he was receiving.
The goddess nearby seemed to notice his slight unease as he turned back to him in mild worry. "Is everything alright?"
"Of course," he reassured her, turning away from that soft look of hers. For some reason he just couldn't find it in him to look at her normally, the events from less than forty-eight hours ago still fresh in his head, replaying itself over and over until he was forced to get the hidden moral of the story.
"I'm just having a bit of trouble focusing."
"What is it that's bothering you?" she came closer to him and he caught her scent, even from behind his mask. He couldn't really explain it clearly, since his unhinged experience with Gwyndolin his body had undergone a drastic change.
He was still physically the same, the only exception being his abyssal right side; however, everything he had originally felt inside and around him had shifted significantly enough that it was almost completely difficult to bind his mind to one thing at a time.
His sight was the first to take on this change. Ignoring his ability to witness previously invisible aura's, it felt as if his sight had been reworked, tuned in some manner whereby he could now make out the minute details on a leaf from more than a sentinel's leap away.
The next sign was his movements. He was still agile as before, his time spending his souls on enhancing his endurance and dexterity still at its all time high; however, now it was as if time had slowed when he ran or fought, or as if he was moving faster than time itself to follow at certain points. He knew his fighting-style had changed as a result of his oldest memories surfacing, so he wondered if this sudden surge of deft skill was also due to that.
Last, by not least, Argon had felt the shift in every sense he possessed, from sight to touch. He honestly felt like some beast enraged, senses spread out like some killing intent to petrify his prey and devour it whole. Whilst the comparison was mildly intriguing, the actual feeling was beginning to mess with his mind from the new influx of information he was forced to process at the regular rate.
Under normal circumstances, he would have blamed it all on the bonfires invigorating his body as he fed it his accumulation of souls. Yet even he knew that the lifeline for all undead couldn't boost one's person into hyperdrive by simply augmenting their body to the max with souls. Even the pyromancy Power Within was nothing compared to this intense high he couldn't get down from. But what really scared the undead was that the more he investigated this strange phenomenon, the more he was beginning to like what it offered and adapt to it quicker. A thought had once occurred to him whilst he was staring off into space the previous night before his eyes had closed. Thoughts that pondered whether this new strength had arrived was due to the reinstatement of his previous existence. And if that was so, was it possible that the him he refused to go back to had originally possessed these honed reflexes, these inhuman traits? For the sake of focussing on what was right in front of him, Argon had chosen not to know the answer to that question. He feared it would make him lose control if he allowed his darker thoughts to brew once again.
"Can you smell that?" he asked her suddenly, walking around the room bisected by newly made bookshelves and a grand stairway. "I smell something… something divine."
"Divine?" Priscilla repeated.
"Divine." Argon nodded. "I don't know what it is but the thickness of it makes my knees quiver."
"Be careful, such things can be lures to trap and ambush us." Priscilla scolded and drew her scythe. "Remember, the castle guards know we're here. They'll do anything to either kill us or capture us."
Argon tilted his head at her as she climbed the staircase, avoiding the broken body of another one of the azure creatures Havel had already dealt with. She had been on edge from the time they had all left her uncle, he knew, but something else was amiss with her now that they were in her father's house.
Assuming that she was anxious to return to a place she had been shunned and tortured in was an obvious guess, but she would have been traumatised rather than wary. A further exhibit of proof from her fluffy tail explained her precise unease as she slowly rotated her gaze around the room, glittering emerald eyes searching for something.
"What's bothering you?" he decide to ask rather than assume to get it. Doing the latter and thinking her understood her was what had made him grew apart from her in the first place… he didn't want a repeat of that if he could help it.
"I used to remember this place like the back of my hand." Her face displayed nostalgia yet her tail wrung itself in nervousness. "There were places here that I had spent my childhood hiding in, observing, and choosing to remain until Seath's subordinates needed to extract more of my scales. But now… everything has changed." He watched her trace a finger against the carved wood of the railing, continuing her ascent until she reached the edge.
"I always thought change was a good thing." The undead said, reaching her side silently and staring up at the expansive walls around them, all filled to the max with volumes of the Dragon's work. They smelt similar to the alluring aroma calling to him, but not quite the same. He didn't know how to put it more simply than these books around them just smelt… new.
His companion's soft laugh brought him out of his haze and he faced her anxiety once more.
"Change regarding this place isn't a good thing." A piece of the puzzle slotted into Argon's mind as he replied.
"When you mean everything has changed…"
"The architecture of old has long been removed. The places I once knew also lost with reconstruction."
The undead snapped his fingers. "Which means our plan to follow the way to Seath via your memory has been foiled."
Priscilla nodded glumly. "Unfortunately, we will have rush into things completely blind."
Argon huffed and rolled his shoulders. Things were never that easy, their most current experiences with Blighttown and Anor Londo the perfect examples.
Not possessing a guide anymore made things for the two of them mightily difficult. They would be as unknowing as Havel, meaning they wouldn't be able to pass by undetected by the other guards and monsters prowling the seemingly endless Archive crafted by Seath. Although, when Argon really thought about it, they had never really ventured into any enemy territory with a plan, so what was the need to bother now?
Perhaps the fact that we're inside the domain of a possessor of one of the four Lord Soul's?
Argon grinned at the thought. Even in the most perilous journey, they still approached it like it would be a dance in a field of daisies. How lopsided were they as a trio? Then again, it was better to dance in a field of daisies rather than be the ones to be pushing up daisies.
"If I remember correctly, Seath's also blind, yeah?"
The crossbreed nodded before understanding his point and smiling. The undead enjoyed staring at that bright look on her face. It was leagues better than that downcast expression that reminded him how screwed he really was when all four of these souls had finally been collected.
If he recalled correctly – which he most certainly did – although he had told fem-boy his plans to enact a third solution to saving the world, had he actually thought of one yet? The answer was obviously no, of course. Why, he had been too busy battling the sea of nightmares his mind had conjured every night as he slept like some heroic king of the seas! Yes, a very heroic king of the sea. A very… man… manly? … king of the sea?
Argon sighed out as he and his companion climbed up the right wing's staircase, diverting into the passage whereby Havel's scent lingered. He had to start thinking of a way to save the world without killing himself in the process, and he needed to do it before anyone thought he had been slacking off.
Maybe I can ask Cresty for help? He doesn't give a damn but maybe he'll be able to find a way to bypass the burning of my soul better than I can?
The undead shook his head. That was a stupid idea for a lot of reasons, the main ones being that the crestfallen knight either wouldn't give him the time of day or he just wouldn't have an answer. And besides Argon's reluctance to admit he had dug a hole he didn't know how to fill; he couldn't allow himself to take shortcuts this time around – not that he had ever taken them in the past. One hastily made decision and he could end up killing every other being in the world besides himself and the many Firekeeper's in Lordran. It would have been all for nothing if the world was safe from the Abyss but no one was around to enjoy the fruits of his labour. No, he needed to find his own solution, and fast. Before they reached Seath's chamber, wherever it was.
As Argon thought about his burdens, he caught another whiff of the scent he had been attracted to before and stopped dead in his tracks.
Priscilla turned to him, noticing the absence of her friend only to see his masked face staring down a different passageway from behind his mask. She frowned as his feet changed course and decided to follow him. He had been reacting strangely ever since they had started tracking their armoured friend, and this mention of a scent not even her draconic senses could pick up on was worrying.
She knew that the more time they spent wasting time, the faster Havel's scent would disappear, but if something was potent enough to gain Argon's attention to such a degree, it would be worth investigating. Maybe it could give them a lead as to how best to arrive at her father's private chamber.
The pair continued walking through the tube-like corridor. The undead next to her seemed lost in mind as he allowed his nose to lead them, whilst she was on guard, body tense. They had not stumbled across another living guard of the Archive and it was beginning to worry her. What's more, the place sounded awfully quite for the grand library of Anor Londo. Even though there were no scholars and visitors entering the white and pale blue building like when she was a child, it was odd that there were none of her father's minions absently pacing about, or the failed experiments he had allowed to roam his halls under the title of his 'pets'.
Soon, they emerged into a large room similar to the one they had previously been in. The style was the same, and it was almost identical if you forgot to note that the previous room held the corpses of more than a few of the Dragon's servants. It was only after they had reached the foot of the same type of stairway that Argon had found his voice again – as well as his head.
"Ahhh!" he moaned out as he paced around the bookshelves set parallel to a long table meant for studying. "We've finally found it."
The crossbreed watched him as he flew to and fro, inhaling deeply and gasping in delight like some toddler in a bakery. The sight would have been amusing were it not for the direness of their situation. Priscilla chose that moment to scout around for any sign of foes. When she found none, she rested her scythe against her spine and approached the lines of bookshelves with a critical eye.
She smelt old wood and thick musk from pages that were without a doubt, extremely old. The clean room didn't possess the same stench of disinfecting agents that she had remembered when she was younger but other than those qualities, there was nothing really that impressive except the multitude of written, leather bound tomes packed and overloaded around the tall walls and passageways above them. She had remembered her days spent peering up at the once taller shelves, never being able to read the books they had held since her father had forbid her from touching the works he had carefully crafted from years of research. Occasionally, before her exile, she had disobeyed his orders and grabbed one of those very same books of his so that her curiosity could be sated. Although he had spent much of his time in various rooms and talking to his subordinates on certain floors, he couldn't always keep a watchful eye on her; giving her the freedom to do as she pleased – she was only a child back then after all.
However, from what she retained about those days, she had only remembered glossing over mountains of boring black ink without any pictures or colour to keep her attention. Those had been simpler days. Days whereby the only thing she had feared were the times Seath would require more of her scales, and more of her happiness.
She blinked as she observed the layout of the room. The ground floor itself was overflowing with books. Some piled in various corners of the room in heaps, others stacked in a neat tower next to the many chairs decorating the gaps the long table offered. Argon stood in the centre of it all, giggling like some demented man with an obsession – which might not have been too far from the truth. What worried her was that he seemed too excited to be here, as if this space had cast a spell upon him, preventing him from focusing on anything besides what he saw before him.
She allowed her senses to fan out, coating the area within a few metres of her with her magic. She couldn't do much besides utilise the elements of a snowstorm but she was able to detect incantations and illusions quite well, as was her specialty next to her uncle.
However, she found nothing. Not a trace of a spell or charm. Even when Argon had crossed into her radar, she had felt nothing from him except the cold chill of the Abyss against his skin. With another frown marring her features, she called to her friend, wanting to figure out why he was so ecstatic all of a sudden.
"You mean you still don't smell it?" he exclaimed in shock, skidding to a stop before prancing up to a nearby shelf.
"Can you not smell it? The aged paper of an era passed, the leather made from an animal too fat to cut down with ordinary blades and the richness of ink only formed by tinkering with a hydra's venom?" he picked out a thick book with the imprinted letters already faded on the spine and cover.
"Take another deep breath at all this knowledge and history collecting dust. This bibliosmia3 is heady, stronger than the brew of the strongest ale and more potent than the toxins of Blighttown. Oh, what a delight it is to finally come upon a vault of resources so magnificent after months stabbing hobo's without clothing and reading poorly inscribed messages left via other undead with the help of soap stones." He breathed.
Priscilla gave the man a blank stare as a large drop of sweat fell down the side of her face. He had reacted like a drunken hound because he had the opportunity to read books again?
She wasn't one to judge, and she wouldn't since her love for the written works of many faceless beings was also a pleasure she shared with the Chosen Undead. Back in Aramis, she had searched and surprisingly found a small library of books, scrolls and journals in the annex which she had read nearly three-hundred times over – and she wasn't exaggerating when she said that.
However, whilst she was also joyous to be in the presence of millions of volumes of said literature and annals, she found it more pertinent that the Chosen Undead do the job he was supposed to do instead of allowing the world to end because he wanted to immerse himself in a few novels. And besides that fact…
"But… aren't you also shirtless?" she asked, and he looked down at his black and white torso.
"Yes…" he said with a sober tone. "But I am by no means poor."
Priscilla palmed her face in exasperation. "Argon…"
"Sure, I may be homeless since nowhere in Lordran is inhabitable but I'm still not an inch close to those hollowed, dirty and mindless drones. Why, if we were to compare hobo's…"
The crossbreed groaned as she tuned his voice out. He could be so charming when he wanted to be; the undead of her dreams if that even sounded right. Yet now, he did the exact opposite of about everything she liked about him. Even so, she couldn't help but think but one thing as he continued to rant about the difference between armoured and loin-clothed undead: she had fallen in love with a child.
"Anyway," he cleared his throat. "fear not for the safety of our stone-headed brute of a friend. He'll be fine just so long as he doesn't do anything stupid… which is exactly what he'll do since he's still and airhead with more brawn than brain. Even so, we'll head out for him once I've briefly discovered the contents of this wonderful tome of knowledge."
Priscilla watched him open the heavy book with eager hands, his mouth most likely dripping with drool from the anticipation, she imagined but allowed it, nonetheless. While they were here, she could search for a map detailing the path to her father – then at least they could make some progress.
However, as soon as she took a step forward, she heard Argon scream in agony, making her tail stiffen as she drew her scythe and dropped into a combat stance.
"OH! THE HORROR!" he screamed and chucked the book against the floor quickly. Priscilla frowned at his idiotic display, wondering what had happened now.
"AHHH! My poor eyyyeeeeesssss!" he pointed an accusing finger at the innocent book and snarled at it. "What a tale of Boys' Love is doing on the shelves of a brilliant – if not insane – dragon are beyond me. I should torch this monstrosity to a crisp." He whispered darkly and panted.
"Boys'… Love?" the crossbreed asked and bent down to pick the discarded book up.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT SMUT!"
She jerked upright in shock at his loud and screeching tone, her wide-eyed stare locked onto his mask as he sighed out in relief before sitting down in a chair.
"Thank whatever god besides fem-boy is still alive. Another soul saved from damnation."
Her shoulders dropped at the comment. He was either too childish or too mature when the opportunity came. Yet, despite all that she was still going to hold on to the warm feeling in her chest when he was around, wasn't she? Priscilla sighed and shook her head in disappointment. If Argon was an idiot then she was an even bigger fool.
"How about we get out of here? I think I've seen enough to last another lifetime." Argon said with a shrug of his shoulders. Priscilla nodded at him wearily, she was exhausted from his fluctuating personalities.
Just then, she caught the distant sound of footsteps followed by the faint scent of earth- no, it was more like rock. Was it Sir Havel? No, there was more than one pair of feet moving, and it seemed like it was approaching in their direction. Her green eyes widened as she spun on her heel and prepared herself for a potential battle if they didn't manage to run in time.
"Argon, we have to leave. Now."
The undead caught her meaning and shot to his feet, racing up the left stairway next to her as they saw the dark blue body of a crystal golem stomp into view.
"How the heck did they find us?" Priscilla gave him a deadpan stare as they continued running.
"Oh… oops."
They were about to reach the next turn off when she felt Argon grab her wrist and tug her backwards. Priscilla stumbled into his body and he hugged her, turning around and tensing. She opened her mouth to ask him what on Lordran he thought he was doing when they needed to avoid their enemies when she saw a burst of blue light followed by Argon's loud grunt.
He let go of her and turned back to face the Channeler that had got the drop on them, an ugly scorch mark steaming in between his shoulder blades.
"Sorry Priscilla, guess I brought the heat down on us early." He said and drew a menacing axe the colour of midnight from his bottomless box before rushing at the scholar charging up another soul arrow.
She gripped her scythe tighter and turned when the golem from earlier appeared from the adjacent corridor behind them, flanked by a pair of smaller, crystal beasts with red eyes and jagged mouths, holding swords made of the same mineral.
With a grimace, Priscilla charged towards them. She hoped Havel would be alright once they found him – if he didn't get to Seath before they did.
Word Bank:
1. Kleptomaniac – (n.) a person with a recurrent urge to steal, typically without regard for need or profit.
2. Gobbledygook – (n.) means the same as jargon, gibberish, nonsense, etc.
3. Bibliosmia – (n.) the smell and aroma of old or good books.
Cliff-hanger, I know, don't be mad… please?
Anyways, the reason is because my head has just been all over the place recently. Had a lot to do and there's still a boatload to deal with, so if my updates are later than usual please forgive me. Lockdown status has really made a lot of things difficult, BUT I am determined to do as I said I would. I will certainly not be going on hiatus either, not when we're this far into the story.
Mm, sweet Bibliosmia… I daresay, I would have spent quite some time in Seath's Archive unravelling every ounce of hidden lore and actual events written in that infinite number of words and pages, as well as anything else there just because I can, dammit. Mr. Jesse, I share your enthusiasm there.
Okay, a few things to note:
The name Eliana gave to Argon has no correlation to my pen name, in case you were wondering (which I doubt you were). Mihairu7 (the 7 is silent) is just something I decided to make after the character, Miharu Rokujo from "Nabari no Ou", if you were also wondering about that (which, again, I doubt you were). I'll explain the meaning of Argon's given name in the next chapter.
As for when Havel mentions seeing the disposed bodies of the maidens the Channeller's abducted, I know that most of Seath's failed experiments on the women he abducts usually end up in his prison as those tentacled monsters that still cry like humans. I made Havel find those women's bodies so that his plan to unveil Seath's blasphemy is explained from its inception. If there is a canological (am I spelling that right?) explanation for Havel's first suspicions of Seath, then I either forgot about it or really don't know. This was just my idea to make his convictions all the more precise.
Ah, and if there are any BL fans reading this don't be offended (then again, even if you are, I don't think I'll really care. I love flames and besides that… I'm against yaoi. Always will be), this is just Argon's viewpoint (and possibly my own but that isn't important right now, let's move on).
I'll do better to actually make the characters do more than just converse for the next 2, 000 words. I don't know if this is good or bad, but I've noticed that in a few chapters that I've written, the most the characters do is go through a lot of explained thoughts, history, canon and dialogue before progressing into the actual fan-canon by a sliver. This has really been a thorn in my side because I don't want you guys to end up reading a story with over 100 chapters and the first fifty only cover about 25 percent of the story itself. Perhaps I'm overthinking it a little but I've made up my mind to do better and git gud (that reminds me, I've got a surprise for you guys after the next chapter is over) at writing Dark Souls instead of just playing it. Get where I'm coming from? You do? Awesome, have a splendid day.
Lastly, I'd like to thank you one-hundred and some change people who are following and supporting this story. I didn't expect my humble writing to gain that much attention, but I'm grateful, nonetheless. You guys really do make my day, so thank you for being you and peace out!
-I see you're back to your old self agai-
No time for you Illogical me, gotta break my synapses and plummet into excelsis (is that the right term? Ya' know what, I don't really care right now, I'm just too pumped up. Bring on the rhapsody, baby – WOOO!)
-I knew it, the readers new it. He's gone wacky again.
BACHKOII!!!!!
-thank you all for reading. Please leave a review.