He he he he he…. Hee hee… Ho ho
-alright, we get it.
Nope, you don't. Not at all.
-okay, then TELL us readers and imaginary parties what is just SO funny to you.
Have you tried using the text-to-speech function on the app?
-oh…
Go on. You don't have to hold it in on my account.
-hahahaha!
There you go. (*grins like an idiot)
-that… is quite- haha – funny.
I know right?! Seriously, listening to her say "you dipshit" in that mechanical British accent was just priceless!
-for those readers that want further explanation, just go into any of the amusing dialogues written with the 'How To Git Gud, Well… Not Really' series and hit the icon that displays a headset. It is rather something.
Onto a different note, I've noticed that I've been calling these skits we do "a/u's".
-and so?
Was it not meant to be "a/n's" instead? Because after saying it for more than three chapters, I'm thoroughly confused.
-well, I suppose they COULD be called a/u's since, in essence, this IS an alternative space you've created to explain/complain/rant/generally speak inanely about various topics.
Whilst I'll ignore the last part, I guess you're right.
-glad we agree on something.
Right on! The last item on our agenda: this talk of communicating with the author of said a/u's, stories and madness.
-about damn time. People were starting to get annoyed.
As I've complained and COMPLAINED about many a time prior to this chapter, the pm system for this site is down. Whilst some messages go through for some people, it does NOT go through for me.
-what terrible luck.
So! I have just recently created a Reddit account to fix that issue-
- shout out to Grandpa Jesse for finally getting this idiot to do so, and to RavenSouls for explaining the DocX system. Although, between the two of us, he doesn't know HOW to use the DocX system.
Oi! Don't expel my embarrassing moments.
-honestly, by this point I thought you knew that the only reason I exist on this site is to embarrass you.
A-Ah! Why you… little… Urgh.
-please… continue with you're a/u.
Oh, shut up.
-(*illogical Mihair7 smirks)
Anyway, my name on Reddit is: KitsuneKimchi
You can just call me Kitsch on it for short.
-again, nobody gives a continental.
Again, shut up.
-you DO realise what the word 'kitsch' means, right?
Yes… and I think it's a cool nickname.
-…
What now?
-how am I meant to be apart of a freak like you?
Normally. Now suck it up.
-that's what she said.
Now, you're just doing that on purpose!
- oh, lookie. He finally went coocoo for coco-pops.
(*Sighs) I will also be divulging my external e-mail address to those that don't use Reddit. Although I don't like giving out personal info on any site, this is the singular exception since the account itself is one I only use for the odd online mobile game and such. In fact, if you'd indulge me, please contact me on e-mail if you can. It makes it easier since I'm always working.
You can e-mail: Kitsummer19 at gmail-dot-com
- what's with all the 'kits' in your usernames?
What's with you being such a douche to me all the time?
-touché. On with ze story and all that.
Havel was a beast. He didn't say that because of that fugly beard he grew that looked like an ancient man's outgrown pubic hair – to which the ex-Bishop fit the criteria perfectly – but because his ferociousness on the battlefield was anything but sub-par.
After breaking out of their cell with coiled sword still in hand, they hadn't been given a chance to catch their breath. Argon didn't know how or when the other guards had caught notice of their escape but they had come in quite a hurry, stumbling over one another as they attempted to fillet them with those swords that overcompensated for too much. And now, after more than an hour had passed, they were still fighting for their lives and extremely tired.
Well, the exhaustion was actually his fault. He had wanted to see what would happen if all those humanoid snake men chased after the two of them from the top of the stairway all the way to the foot of it. His thinking had been somewhere along the lines of: 'if we can tire them out, we can axe 'em in a jiffy'. Unfortunately, the only ones that were left panting after all that running had been himself and his enraged companion. How was he to know that a snake's stamina was higher than a undeads?
Despite their initial flop, however, the two of them had made quick work of the first fifty or so foes that had stampeded towards them like hungry hounds. In fact, the Chosen Undead feared that if they had to face any more then they might run the risk of flooding the open space they were currently defending.
What had been the most intriguing shock of their scuffle, though, was that the weeping monsters down below had aided them in their serpent infestation after he and climbed up the ladder to the platform above it and wound up some odd record player covered in snake-skin. The brass horn had filtered out this obnoxious blare that had sent the monsters below into a frenzy. Havel had shouted in joy when he saw that they had reinforcements whilst Argon was just glad that those banshee things were on their side. After witnessing one of them shoot out some black spike or blade from its mouth to decapitate a Man Serpent, he was humbled that he was standing above the carnage instead of in it.
But his armoured friend had been something else. He should have known that the ex-compatriot of Gwyn would have been as deadly on the field as old texts made him out to be but witnessing it first-hand had been something else as he sniped their foes with his bow. Even now, as the Chosen Undead impaled another snake-man through the head with a poison-tipped arrow, he had to admit that the annoying grandpa with him was badass.
He watched closely as the ex-Archbishop blocked a strike with his great shield, tightened his hold on his Dragontooth and swung forward. The foe in front of him didn't have the time to back away or block as the black weapon smashed its head into a bloody stain on the floor. But the attack didn't stop there, it actually flowed into a second powerful, ground-breaking blow as Havel twisted around before bringing that terrifying club down upon the foot of another Man Serpent. The humanoid in snake scales cried out in pain as its left leg was crushed flat, before its head was decapitated by those mysterious blades ejecting from the Pisaca's mouths.
The Bishop continued his assault as five more of the snake-men crowded him, aware that the more space he was given, the better chance he had at becoming unstoppable. The undead merely sniffed distastefully as he was pushed away from his reinforcements and toward a grave of rusted metal gears the height of cottages.
One by one, the Man Serpents' struck in a never-ending chain of attacks that reminded Argon of an endless loop. His heterochromatic eyes observed the scene intently as he watched his comrade twisted and turn like a spinning top, blocking and deflecting sword strike after sword strike. In all honesty, he thought about helping out but knew that if he did, he would probably also be struck by that now bloody Dragontooth of his just for fun; so the undead remained where he was and opted to bide his time kicking off the stragglers climbing up the ladder to his right.
At this moment, Havel truly hated Argon. He knew he had said it once before and a couple more times after that, but this time, he really hated his idiotic companion with a passion.
Besides having to catch his breath from all that running they had done earlier – an activity that had taken more of a toll on him because of his armour – he was also annoyed that the fool had managed to allow himself to be killed and captured by Seath.
Of course, he knew it would have happened one way or another, whether the Chosen Undead had been in his right mind or not – the dragon was just that powerful now that he had actually managed to obtain that annoying crystal he had toppled countries for. Yet, at the same time, Havel was more angered with his own rashness. If he had not allowed his impatience – and his worry – to get the better of him, perhaps the three of them might have stood a better chance against the paledrake. Although such thinking was a pipedream, he was content to think of it as a possibility of their victory.
He grunted as one of the Man Serpent's slashed him across the back, its thick blade dragging the sharp edge of its silver against his platemail. He was about to spin round to plant his shield into the fool's face but had to block a strike that would have skewered through his shoulder and rendered his dominant arm useless.
Now that he had seen what that simple pole of clear mineral had done for the dragon, however, he knew the way to defeat him. Finding him again would prove to be mildly challenging due to how paranoid Seath naturally was, but if they could find him, then they would find that irritating mass of energy he would surely protect with his now immortal life. Even so, he was sure that with him, the idiot and their imprisoned crossbreed, they would succeed in beating the Duke.
With that reassurance in his head, Havel planted his shield into the ground with enough strength to crack the cobblestone below him, before drawing an old and dusty talisman from his hip. It had been a long, long time since he had been forced to use this tactic, and he still hated any and all magic with a passion but he was beyond caring. He wouldn't have decided to learn these miracles if he had remained obtuse to the growing power gap between himself and his enemies anyways; times had changed after his exile. And honestly, he was just glad he was able to consult with that god before even he had left for good. It was about time he tested whether he could still use the elements he despised, and his current foes would be the perfect target practice.
As the five reptilians crowded around him, he uttered a short breath of words, summoning the dormant power within him. He focussed on his rage, his wrath and the strength of his will before clasping his hand against the old material. A small orb of light appeared within his palm and he grunted as the potency of the Miracle threatened to rip his arms apart. Such magic was terrifying, especially ones that favoured the user's intellect over their faith. This was one of reasons he disliked magic, it was too volatile in the hands of greener scholars. One wrong move, a singular incorrect thought and even the most basic of spells could self-destruct, very much like this one.
"Scatter wretches!" Havel allowed the conjured force to take hold as his hand bolted away, unsealing the tiny orb at the end of his talisman. What followed was devastation itself.
"Ooh! Damn! Son of a- argh, what the… eeew." Argon grimaced. It was one thing to mutilate a foes body via explosion. It was another thing to do so with your bare hands – as he regretfully remembered himself doing not long ago. It was a completely different matter when you peeled someone's flesh off like a banana before turning everything within a ten-metre radius of yourself into rubble.
The Archbishop kicked the head of a serpent man away as Argon slid down the rusted ladder, landing with a huff and looking at him as if Havel had told him where babies come from.
"What was that?!"
"A Miracle."
Argon scoffed before slapping his forehead. "Oh, pssht! Right, how can I be so dumb- I KNOW IT WAS A BLOODY MIRACLE!"
Havel poked a finger into his ear as he picked up his shield. "Then why ask?"
"There is no way a Miracle can do…" he looked around at the half-destroyed architecture and corpses that looked more akin to uncooked meatloaf. "That."
"Of course, it can. Gain enough knowledge as I have and you can do it too someday," Havel turned his head away from his comrade, "…maybe."
"Hey, I heard that!"
"Good, I was starting to worry you were losing your hearing."
The Chosen Undead groaned. It was just like the old man to behave… well, like an old man. He was honestly too shocked at what he had seen to create a comeback.
"If you two are quite done," Havel and Argon turned their gazes West, "could you please let me out of this cell?"
Both undead turned to one another before nodding and walking toward the voice. They tensed when passing the Banshee's that had returned to their alcove underneath the platform, however, met no response besides the same echoed whimpering.
It seemed the area these creatures stood in was a makeshift prison, if the bars behind them were any indication. The person who had called to them stood behind said bars of rusted metal and crystal. Unfortunately, the two men couldn't see the person's face. Although, that was probably due to the ridiculous hat he wore that was nearly a metre in diameter.
Argon sighed exasperated and Havel turned to him. He held a deadpan look on his face as he eyed the fellow still staring at them under that big hat of his.
"Logan, why am I not surprised?"
"Well, because you're quite smart. And smart people are never surprised."
Argon frowned. "There are so many things wrong with that line of thought."
"Wait a moment," Havel interrupted. "You mean to say that this is Big Hat Logan, graduate of Vinheim's esteemed Academy?"
"Oh, so you know me?" Logan quirked up, leaning his face closer to the bars, his hat folding backwards. "For the immovable Havel to know of my achievements is quite an honour. But I must ask, how is it you are here? Last I heard, you died in some labyrinth."
"No, I don't know you. I know of you." Havel replied and poked a thumb at Argon. "From what he tells me, you're quite the idiot." Logan's face fell at that. Argon, the Chosen Undead had made him out to be a fool in explanation? That wasn't what friends did at all. "And as you can see, I'm in perfectly good health."
"That pot-belly would say otherwise."
"You try living a few centuries and not have your muscle mass deplete!" Havel raised a fist to his grinning companion. The sorcerer, meanwhile, simply placed a hand to chin in thought as he analysed the ex-Bishop.
"Anyways," Argon muttered as Havel walked away, "how did you end up imprisoned yet again?"
"Why, I was attempting to reach one of Seath's prized volumes on Crystal Release."
"Hm-hmm. Of course, you were." The undead sighed. "Did you at least tell Griggs where you were headed?"
The wizard opened his mouth to speak when Argon cut him off.
"I'll take that as a no then."
"You didn't allow me to say anything."
"Because I know your answer before you speak it."
"That's impossible, how could you-"
"Because I'm smart." Argon grinned. Logan stopped talking, it was clear he had lost this exchange of witty roulette.
"Fine, yes, I left him behind again." Logan sighed after a while had passed. The Chosen Undead merely offered another disappointed groan before pulling out his set of master keys.
"You shouldn't do that to him, Logan. Kid's gonna end up dead on his own."
Logan rested an elbow against the bars. "Well it's not my fault. I trained him as best I could but he lacks much, the foremost trait being unorthodox thinking."
"Not everybody is like you and me," Argon replied as he shimmied another key into the lock. What was with the doors in this place, they just didn't open with normal skeleton keys. Were they enchanted or something?
"Correction, there is nobody like you two imbeciles." Havel quipped, pulling out a random book from a nearby shelf outside the alcove. The two undead turned to give him a blank stare before returning to their conversation. Havel merely scoffed as he read a few lines from the old book in his hands before throwing it into the pile accumulating behind him.
"Why did you come here in the first place, Logan?"
The wizard's face broke out into a smile. "To read over the findings of the paledrake, the Grandfather of Sorcery, and discover his world of immortality."
Havel scoffed again. This time it seemed to be directed toward Logan. Argon simply shook his head.
"I'm being serious. You know the truth of the albino dragon, especially after being undead for more than a century. The only thing you'll find if you follow that path of greed is your insanity."
Logan forced a chuckle. "Oh? So, my desires of knowledge is detestable whilst your climb to succeed Gwyn is noble?"
Argon flinched but continued fiddling with the cell door. "I'm not doing this because I want to."
"And why are you doing it? Just because some lost Astorian saved you, is that it?" the Archbishop leaned his head back to peer at the two undead, observing as his companion said nothing.
"We both know the prophecy is false. And now that the time has gone by, you probably know more than I about the matter. But how does that change anything? To relink the Flame means to kill many beings, including the other Great Lords. To allow it fade evidently means the same. So, why do you continue to follow that hollow vow granted to a less than useful knight that gave up too early despite his duty to his quest?"
"You wouldn't understand." Argon said softly.
"Wouldn't understand?" Logan barked. "You're going to judge me when you can't even hold off your own bloodlust. Has the Abyss really taken that much hold over your being?"
At this, the undeads eyes widened. He looked at the wizard who simply sighed as if it was the simplest thing to piece together.
"I'm still Vinheim's finest. And besides the scent of that terrible sin on your soul, finding out that your body is corrupted is child's play. Just look at your right side."
Argon dropped his gaze to the floor. It was only right that Logan would be able to figure it out. As much of a jerk as he was when his motives were questioned, his thinking was not something to be taken for granted.
"Look," the wizard began. "All I mean to say is that you shouldn't spent your days following some god's bidding. Surely it hasn't been doing you any favours, correct?"
Argon scratched his cheek.
"Why not come with me? This Archive… is magnificent. And there's obviously more than just Seath's research on Dragon Scales to discover. I wouldn't mind having a fellow intellectual pilfering tomes with me, especially one as spry as you."
The Chosen Undead smirked. The offer was tempting. Argon's initial train of thought was to stuff as many books as he possibly could into his bottomless box before they were to leave this grand structure of marble. Besides that, Logan was a good friend to him, if not majorly reckless. Their adventure wouldn't really be that bad, all things considered.
The final key in his inventory rotated the tumblers within the lock before a sharp snap echoed around the room. Argon remembered the faces of his comrades as he opened the door; the faces of Laurentius, fighting the masses of Izalith to save both the world and those he held dear; old Cresty and Griggs, his old pal Solaire who he hadn't seen in many moons, Havel with his grouchy façade. And finally, the warm, smiling gaze of Priscilla, who was still trapped within Seath's grasp somewhere in the castle as he continued to mope around.
A spark of his former self flashed across his eyes as Logan readjusted his hat and drew his catalyst. He couldn't abandon them, not when he had come this far, asked them to risk their lives to help him. He couldn't stop now that he had plunged himself further into something too deep for words. He had to continue, not because Oscar had pleaded it of him, but because it wasn't just him fighting to fix this world anymore.
Behind the two of them, Havel snapped another book shut before tossing it behind him. He lifted his Dragontooth from its place against the wall before entering the alcove to stand by his companion and the Dragon Scholar. He didn't know why he had been worried in the first place, the undead was a tough nut to crack for the simple fact that his head was filled with idiocy. With that in mind – no pun intended – his convictions wouldn't be weakened by a few paltry words to pick at his insecurities.
"Sorry, Logan." Argon smiled, pocketing his keys. "I like the offer, but I can't stay in one place too long. I'll get bored, especially in this dump."
The wizard shrugged. "Can't win them all, I suppose."
"When have you ever won against me?"
"Oh, there were a few. Like that time we took a bet against the size of Lady Rhea's ches- Mmph!"
"Pay the idiot no mind." Argon said quickly to Havel, awkwardly chuckling to himself as he held Logan in a neck-hold.
The ex-Bishop in question just muttered to himself. The youth of today was certainly going to the dogs.
"Gah!" Logan exclaimed as he was finally allowed to breath. "By the way, you still owe me a twin humanity for that bet since she wasn't as flat as you guessed."
"What are you, a debt collector for Lordran? Besides, I don't have a twin humanity sprite on me."
"Well, that's bad sportsmanship."
"How about I give you souls instead?"
"You really are a terrible negotiator. Humanity is far more valuable than any amount of-"
"How does a hundred-thousand sound to you?"
Logan was quiet for a few seconds. "Is it liquid?"
"I should hope so."
The wizard shook hands in agreement as he guided Argon outside the alcove. "Speaking of the Abyss, I think I might have a theory to help you channel its ferocity."
Argon shook his head defiantly. "I'm against even thinking about it, let alone using it."
"Oh, just listen to me anyway. Th advice is free."
Argon sighed out as their voices grew softer. "Fine."
"Great! Now, as I'm aware…"
Havel waited for them to climb up the next flight of stairs before he turned back to the remaining Pisaca's still crying quietly to themselves. There were about six of them left after the Serpent men had taken out the rest. He didn't know why they hadn't attack himself and Argon during their battle. And if they had an inkling of recognition toward him from all that time ago, he wouldn't bother to ponder about it. The only thing that remained true was that they had assisted them, whether for their own purposes or not.
Honestly, the Archbishop hadn't expected to see them after all this time had went by. He didn't recognise their faces, or from which moment in time he had seen them and failed to do something, but the sound of those feminine cries were something his old ears could never forget. How could he when they had kept him up for months, haunting his steps as he moved through the castle and underground channels in hunt for any other malicious plots of Seath?
And even after he had failed to help them, when they had endured unspeakable terror and torment, screamed until their lungs burst and cried until their bodies dehydrated, they had still done their best to protect him.
A tear escaped his eye as he saw one of the creatures standing next to a discarded scrap of parchment. He recognised the warm light emanating from it as he picked it up. Bountiful Sunlight. One of the Miracles bestowed unto Gwynevere's trusted maidens.
He felt grief and sorrow fill him as he pocketed the morsel of text, planting his shield unto his back as he two-handed his Dragontooth.
He didn't want to do it, but to leave them be was to allow them to suffer further. And quite frankly he had enough of allowing the paledrake to continue ruining the lives of others.
With a sniff, Havel walked up to the nearest Pisaca, his weapon raised high above his head. The creature seemed to notice his presence as it turned to him, before lowering its head that was flogged with a mass of serpents. The Bishop's heart sank at the simple act before tightening his grip on his club.
No more, he wouldn't allow Seath to continue with this degradation of life. He had been right to stand against the paledrake all those years ago. He had not been wrong, especially when Gwyn had turned a blind eye to it all, he didn't care what others told him. This had been a cruel act, one that deserved punishment. And since Velka wasn't able to do her job in this regard, he would do it for her. Both Seath and Gwyn were guilty for what happened to these poor women, and for what had happened to the Shining City after the fading of the Flame.
He would right those wrongs alongside Argon and Priscilla. But first, he had to make peace with his demons. First, he had to allow himself to die once again.
"I'm sorry." Havel said to the sniffling creature as he brought his Dragontooth down.
Seath observed Priscilla as she lie there, unconscious on a bed of smooth crystal. It was remarkable what time had done to his insignificant spawn as he poked and prodded various parts of her limbs, analysing the fully grown muscle and testing the pulsating aura of hers, the power of the Lifehunt beating around her form like a protective shell.
It seemed like more than a millennia that he had last felt such power furtively clinging to her mother's waist in terror at the things he had done to her. That was before she had become useless to him. Before her supply of freshly grown scales coated in draconic essence had stopped. Back then, he had spent many a day crushing those glittering plates of natural armour in his hands, both observing their everlasting properties and despising their brilliance in the light, angry that birth had not been kind to him in his centuries of festering hatred.
Seeing his daughter – he used that term simply because it was convenient – now when she had even less scales to offer toward his research was a mild inconvenience. However, a look at her supposed 'ungodly power' kindled some curiosity in him, forcing his hand as he directed his blind gaze toward her scythe.
Gwyn and his band of familiars had all been fools leading up to their own demise. It should have been obvious that their self-proclaimed 'timeless' Age of Fire would come to an end sooner or later. After all, if history and the order of things were to be believed, it was only natural for eras to come and go. In his case, as a being that outlived all, such time would pass by within a blink, a simple flash of light. The gods, in comparison, were not so lucky. Perhaps that was why they had rushed toward their own extinction?
Nito had been wise, choosing to go into hibernation. Death was the only constant, Seath felt, that would effectively live on throughout the ages even after the names of the Great Lords were forgotten in time. His only mistake had been to leave his tomb unguarded. From what Seath's many eyes around Lordran told him, the Lord of Death's power had been stolen by a maddened necromancer. Whilst that was a tragic outcome, it was an expected one. The veil of decay and his body of bones should have been more vigilant, but perhaps that wasn't entirely necessary, considering that even with his power stolen, Nito was still deeply connected to the world around him. That was why his strength seemed to dwindle even as he lay there in slumber.
As for the other two, Seath could merely offer a hiss of disappointment, continuing to collect a sample of the occultic power his offspring carried, now amplified by her inactivity within her prison.
In his time as their Duke, when he was less likely to crush all that approached him, he had warned Gwyn that his days were numbered. He had offered an iota of his research regarding the degradation of that ancient bonfire they seemed so enamoured with, as well as a few weak theories on how to potentially preserve its freshness.
However, such tricks did not ensure eternity. What they did was cause unrest, and that unrest, in turn, had caused many issues within the Land of Ancient Lords. Issues he hadn't needed to bother engaging in as Oolacile fell, the population of Man skyrocketed and the Darksign brand took over the world. In actual fact, all these problems had done was motivate him to continue his important tinkering, his life's work, his path to immortalisation.
And after years of Lordran's fall, he had finally done it.
Although the mineral he used as the conduit to channel this unending flow of life had been the optimum resource, it had cursed his body – leading to an infestation of a new kind of disease that only he possessed. He didn't care as long as he got his wish, but it would have been a lie not to admit that the way the crystal was slowly eating him from the inside out, was most certainly unbearable.
Even so, he would endure it. He had come this far, learned this much in a short space of his original lifespan and he would go further in the next Age to come. And besides, now that he had his daughter back, the pivotal height of his race, he could begin to experiment anew.
It didn't matter that she was his flesh, or that her power could combust into a chain of destruction greater than the Great Lords combined. What mattered was that she fit his criteria, and his criteria was that she was both half dragon, and completely female. Thus, his work had found a new pathway to divert into.
He had honestly taken a gamble, despite his cautious nature when he placed her in his crystalline cavern, right in front of his source of immortality. If she woke, she could escape his claws effortlessly and destroy it. He was blind so madly swiping around the room for her and blasting things with his magic would just be foolishness, he could potentially destroy his primordial crystal himself.
But that was of no concern when she was with him. If she did destroy his crystal, the result of countless centuries of his research, time and life force, he would just use her next. She possessed interesting power, one that contained unlimited potential and uses. If he could extract by a handful, he could create another source of immortality. One that actually healed his body rather than degraded it.
A thought flitted through his mind as he crushed a chunk of the crystal around him, merging it with the sample of her occultic power before he breathed his magic into it. Science held no limitations so long as it possessed at least one theory, one possibility. However, was that the same with regard to himself? After all, he was contemplating on using his own spawn to build a receptacle to funnel his eternity.
Seath scoffed.
Why did he care what she was? He was the one that had undergone modifications so that he could implant that cowardly goddess with his seed. He was also the one that had found a way to prevent his daughter's power from rampaging when she was infantile, thus the scythe in her hands. Whilst she was his progeny, she was also his property. And now that she had run out of the rare resource, the scales of his brethren, she was little more than spare parts for his workshop. Parts that he would use without a care in the world.
However, first he would need to take care of the pests still scampering around his Archive.
The Chosen Undead, his Nemesis, and a peculiar entity that, should by all right, be nothing but scrap metal. They were a problem, the proverbial spanner in his works.
Seath hadn't an idea how the pair of undead had escaped his dungeon, however, he knew that if they continued at the pace they were going, he would be interrupted yet again. What's more, they had let that fanatical mage out of his cell, although he was less of an inconvenience and more of an annoyance. His fascination with his work of the crystalline element was mildly impressive, however, the last thing he wanted was an insignificant rat pilfering his research as if it was owed to him.
Then again, he would simply leave the sorcerer be. He would just go mad as the dragon had, and that was a small price to pay for his collection of knowledge, was it not?
Seath dropped his failed sample onto the floor and it shattered against the icy surface. All he needed now was to deal with two more delays. They would certainly come to him if they sought to save their comrade, his daughter, from his clutches. Honestly, that was exactly what he wanted, to be discovered, hunted as if he were prey only for his pursuers to realise the error of their ways and he reversed the roles in a heartbeat.
So, the dragon removed his claws from his child, preferring to wait until his uninvited guests were either gone, or petrified by the curse he carried.
Havel and Argon made their way down yet another flight of mechanically moving stairs, around the bend where another dead mimic lie with its tongue out of its mouth, and finally down the last flight of stairs leading to the ground floor.
Their friend in mage robes and an oversized hat had long since parted, opting to return to Seath's study for some 'light reading' before agreeing to join them later. Whilst the Chosen Undead had been bordering on forceful with regard to persuading the wizard not to take a peek at a madman's – or in this case, a mad dragons – work, Logan had simply replied with a pat on the shoulder and the words 'adventure awaits' before he disappeared from their recently formed trio.
The Archbishop, on the other hand was completely neutral when the Scholar had voiced his departure. He admitted that a powerful sorcerer like Big Hat would have been more than useful against the scaleless dragon; however, he knew that the admirer of that traitorous dog wouldn't want any part in slaying him.
At the same time, he was content to allow the fool to walk into his own demise. Far be it from him to keep a poor and utterly stupid soul from going hollow before their time. In his mind, he reasoned that if they wanted to die, then they wanted to die. No point in putting hope into the hopeless when they were hell-bent on eternal suicide.
Another reason why Havel didn't particularly care about the Vinheim wizard, was for the matter of just who and what possible army had swept through the dragons Archive whilst they were imprisoned. For one, every floor they had passed had been deadly quiet; empty, as if not a soul was left in sight. It was only until the two of them had reached the ground floor that they realised why: someone or some thing had killed nearly every Channeler, Man Serpent, crystal hollow and blue golem in the castle. The proof was the stench of blood and the overwhelming sight of bodies and broken crystal strewn about the stairway, the main walkways, against the bookshelves and one or two dangling from the banisters of the grand library. To state that it was complete carnage would have been paying it a compliment.
"Phew, that stinks." Argon muttered, waving a hand in front of his face. He could take the scent of blood just fine. Hell, he had just dug through the bodies of a few Channeler's before being thrown into a dungeon. And since he had spent a lot of time in the Lower Burg amidst the stench of burning bodies, he was fairly certain he could handle most smell's without flinching.
The conglomerative of nearly a hundred bodies in one room with their mixed blood congealing on the floor, however? Now that was asking way too much of him.
"This was most certainly not me." Havel rolled his eyes at his companion. Of course this wasn't his doing. The wounds on these corpses were made by someone stronger than Argon, surprisingly. He could tell from the large cracks in the floor, the cleaner cuts in the flesh of these fallen soldiers, and especially the method this unknown assailant had used to kill this many foes.
Argon's style was an array of fighting styles all directed toward finishing opponents quickly. He had observed the undead long enough to figure that much out. As for the strength and power of his swings, they came down diagonally. The reasons were due to the way he stood and the weight he placed into his favoured side.
This attacker was much different. They were almost perfectly straight, and the way in which more than one corpse was decorated with their heads severed argued that the assailant was most likely taller than the regular undead. The ex-Bishop hummed as he thought of what kind of warriors could have accumulated this kill count, but all his theories escaped out the window when he narrowed down the stance used to fell this many.
"There's just no way." Havel said as he walked away from the body of a Man Serpent.
"You say something?" Argon asked, popping his head around the corner of a bookshelf. Havel waved him off.
"Its nothing." The Chosen Undead nodded before the Archbishop's gaze found something rather interesting on the balcony a few metres away from them. "Is that… a bonfire?"
Argon looked up from the book he had picked off the shelf. His amber orbs followed Havel's line of sight and found said resting place. He cleared his throat, tossed the bloodstained book behind him carelessly and approached it without hesitation.
The flames were curling around the shaft of its respective coiled sword as they stood next to it, and when Argon touched the hilt of the blade, he felt something that made him hum in curiosity.
"What is it?" Havel asked him.
"Someone's already been here before us."
"How can you tell?"
"There's a few reasons, the main one being that the bonfire was already lit when we got here." The Chosen Undead took out a humanity sprite from his pouch and held it to the flames below him. The Bishop watched as the black mass was absorbed by the fire before crackling a bit louder.
"And they've already bolstered its properties."
"Do you think it was the same party that killed all those followers of Seath?" the armoured undead questioned with a hand to his chin.
Argon shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter. We should be grateful they did all the work for us."
"I suppose you're ri-" Havel began when he finally noticed the scenery before him.
The balcony overlooked grounds within the castle. This one in particular was quite interesting because he had seen it more than once when traversing other levels of the castle. It was a small forest of thin, but tall trees surrounded by lush grass. The picture itself wasn't that curious, but the mass of crystal that formed into some type of monolithic cave was.
"What is that?" Argon asked.
"The only place Seath would go if he isn't in the castle."
"Hmm." The Chosen Undead replied as the two of them stared at the mass of shiny rock.
From what Logan's astute analysis had said about Seath's movements, his supposed laboratory wasn't exactly inside his Archive, per se. From the wizard's assumption, the paledrake would need a place to conduct his experiments in private in case one of the other Great Lords, namely Gwyn, were to enter his abode or send a servant to request his presence.
However, from what vague knowledge Logan had on the dragon, he had only begun perfecting this Crystal Release after the Lord of Sunlight had departed to the Kiln. Which meant that this cave or hideout was built during the fall of Lordran, away from prying eyes when his servants went out to capture various maidens from their homelands.
If their guess was correct, and when backed by the Vinheim graduate, they were never wrong, it would mean that both Seath and Priscilla were possibly inside that odd-looking crystal formation. He wouldn't be in his study; he had been forced to move out of it when they had attacked him inside of it. So the only lead they had was the opening beyond the forest they were currently staring down at.
"Look's like we've found our destination." Argon quipped as he pulled out his bottomless box from his hip pouch, set it on the ground after it grew to size, and began searching through it.
"Its going to take a while to get down there." Havel grumbled. From the room they stood in, they would need to go at least a floor or two lower until they reached it. And given this castle's size and identical corridors, it might be difficult for them to find their way around. This was a problem for the Archbishop for many reasons, the chief one among them being that they didn't have long to save Priscilla.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." He heard his companion reassure him as he rose to his feet, putting away a quickly shrinking bottomless box before patting the pouch it rested in.
"What, did you find a hidden passageway or something?"
Argon chuckled, giving him a sheepish smile. "Something like that."
It was only when the undead flung a bundle of rope over the balcony that the ex-compatriot of Gwyn got the message.
"Are you an idiot or what?" Havel scolded him in anger.
"Or what." Was Argon's reply as he tugged the piece of robe tied and tightly knotted to the thick wood of the balcony's railing.
"There's n way we can climb down a bloody balcony."
"Of course we can. Have you never read Rapunzel before?"
"No, actually. I haven't. I've been locked inside a tower for nearly an eternity."
"Funnily enough, so has Rapunzel." Argon chuckled and vaulted the railing, placing his boots against the side of the castle wall as he prepared to climb down. "Unfortunately, whilst she had hair longer than Gwynevere's illusion is tall, you are most clearly bald."
"So what if I'm bald? I'm old dammit." Havel groused with his arms cross. "You live through a century or two and see if retain all your hair."
"Actually, from what I can piece together, I've been undead for nearly a full century… probably." Argon looked up in thought. "Can't really remember all that well. The memories come to me in drips and drab's… most of the time in the form of nightmares… weird right?"
Havel sighed out as the undead in front of him began to repel down the side of the castle. He was really going through with this? Well, obviously, he was climbing down right in front of his eyes, but even still, he honestly thought it was that easy?
It was common knowledge that the hero of a story or antagonist had to suffer and going through too many obstacles to count before he reached his destination. And here the supposed 'hero' of this world was, cheating the order of things as if it was a walk in the park.
Well, technically this was a walk in the park, he thought before shaking his head and leaning over the balcony.
"What about me, eh?"
"Wh- urgh…" the undead grunted as he fixed his footing and jumped back again, lowering himself jump by jump. "What about you?"
"How am I supposed to get down?"
"Simple, follow my example."
"Are you aware my armour weighs nearly a ton?"
"Then take it off. Ooh, this is good exercise for the arms."
"I will not strip down like some uncouth vagrant."
"Then I guess you'll just have to stay up there until I kill your nemesis." Argon replied as he reached the grounds below, dusting his hands off as he stared back up at the Archbishop.
Havel ground his teeth as he stared down at the undead. This was just like him, forcing his companions to do something foolish so that they could continue their journey. He bet that if Priscilla were here, she would have outright refused to follow by the Chosen Undeads questionable example. Then again, the crossbreed was extremely light, even with her scythe and leather amour into account. And besides her weight, she would most likely follow Argon even if it meant jumping off a tall cliff.
Besides all that though… that was a long way down. How did the undead manage to reach the bottom so quickly, and just how long was that single length of rope?
"Come on gramps, times are wasting."
The ex-bishop sighed out in resignation as he began to remove his gauntlets. There was no winning this argument. Not by a long shot.
"Just… don't tell anyone about this. You hear?" Argon smiled in triumph as Havel grabbed a hold of the rope.
"Who could I possibly tell?" he was so going to tell people; it didn't matter who.
"Ah, golems." Havel said flatly as he redressed into his armour. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Ohh, so this is where the kids' playground was. I was nearly lost for a moment there." Argon laughed at his own joke as his companion rolled his eyes. As if his stupidity wasn't enough, now he was belting out humourless jokes every chance he got? Why didn't he just stay in the bloody tower?
"Judging from the size of the opening, the cave seems like to goes underground."
Havel took a moment to peer through the trees and into the opening guarded by two burly crystal golems stomping around aimlessly.
"Doesn't look like it'll be easy to go through it unnoticed." The Bishop murmured. His companion nodded in agreement, a bastard sword appearing in his hand.
"We'll have to take them out one by one as we go along." The black-haired undead commented, placing the blade against his shoulder. "We can take 'em out easily if we just- oh, well that's interesting."
"What is?" Havel asked with a frown.
Argon pointed his free hand toward a cluster of trees not far from them where a lone crystal golem stood. The golem itself was smaller than the other's lumbering about with their fingerless hands swaying. But what made this one stand out from the rest was that it was taller than the rest as well… and gold in colour.
"What is that one so much taller than the others," Havel began. "and why is it gold?"
Argon didn't reply, opting to flip his sword in his grip as he marched forward.
"Argon, where are you g-"
"You'll get the answer to that and more once I kill this thing and free a damsel in distress." Argon cut him off, two-handing his blade before sighing out. He just hoped it wasn't Dusk inside that mass of crystal again. He wouldn't be able to handle the annoyance she brought with her whenever she came close to him, especially when she had 'subtly' tried to jump his bones when he was sleep in the Sanctuary that one time.
Come to think of it, if this was her then how the hell did she manage to appear in Lordran again? He knew time was mess here because of some Zeus wannabe in gold but dimensional warping should be impossible for her; especially after he had killed that ugly thing with a thousand red eyes chasing him around for the other half of his momma's pendant. What was his name again? Menace? No, Nemesis? Nah, that beast was something completely different.
The undead cleared his mind as planted his sword in the ground before his trusty black bow appeared in his hands in a flash of light.
If there was one thing he had learned after fighting the golems in Darkroot Basin, it was that needlessly rushing up to them was a rookie mistake. One wrong move and the uppercut's these things were famous for would rip your head from your shoulders faster than a Parent Mushroom would pulverise you to mincemeat if you decided to play hide and seek with its child.
In that sense, Argon found that the lazier approach was more acceptable. It took longer, sure, but he would rather these maiden abductors come to him instead. That way he could dodge the first swipe they put their backs into before lopping their head's clean off. It was just a shame his Zweihander was shattered to pieces.
Nevertheless, Argon drew an arrow from the small quiver placed diagonally against the base of his spine. He still remembered the strategy well enough to pull this off. One shot and the golem would be on alert, a second shot and the mass of crystal would find him. A third shot just for luck since everything was perfect in three's and finally cut it down on four with a swing of his sword.
It was easy in theory, but difficult in practice. Even so, he had killed more than enough of them to get the hang of it.
Havel, for the meantime, decided to wait and watch. It would be better if his companion handled this skirmish as opposed to him anyway. His Dragontooth would just draw unwanted attention if he were to engage the golden golem. And the last thing he wanted was to face more than two of these hulking masses of rock in an open space.
He was fairly surprised, however, when the Chosen Undead dealt with it in less than a full minute. It was over before it even began. One moment Argon was pelting the golem with arrows, the next it punched the ground forcing Argon to roll away as a small cluster of golden stalagmites shot up from where he was standing, and then the thing's head was destroyed after the undead ran forward, grabbed his sword and gave the vulnerable thing two solid slashes.
However, what was even more astonishing was that after the creature had burst into soulmass, it had deposited a person.
Havel stood next to his companion in utter confusion as they both observed the soldier before them, arms crossed, weapons sheathed, and sleeping whilst on their own two feet.
From the looks of their steel grey armour that was either made larger than wear or simply accommodated the wearer's body mass, and he bulbous helmet they wore which looked very much like a fresh onion, the Archbishop guessed that their nationality was the jovial country of Catarina.
In his time as Archbishop of Anor Londo, he recalled visiting many other nations as Gwyn's influence began to stretch further than his own domain. As such, he had been there when the country known for their happy persona's and jubilant smiles had created the prototype for this large set of equipment. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that the finished model would look like this, however.
"Onion Boi, that you?" Argon asked in confusion as he knocked against the round helm with his knuckles.
"How did he manage to get inside that golem?" Havel asked, mind apparently boggled.
"Wasn't it obvious? The golem ate him."
"These things EAT people?!" Havel made a wide-eyed face. To think that he would have ended up in the same fate as this poor chap if he had allowed but one of those stomping minerals within arms-length of him inside the Archives. Seath was truly mad in his machinations.
"They do…" Argon began, placing a hand on his chin. "But I was aware that they only abducted women for the dragon to experiment on."
Havel opened his mouth, about to curse the name of the Duke for his vile ways when the Catarinian before them stirred.
"Urgh… mm…" both men raised an eyebrow. Those murmurs sounded suspiciously feminine.
The Onion-headed warrior shook their head before looking directly at Havel and Argon. Neither one said a word before recognition seemed to reach the supposed woman before them.
"Oh! Was it you who rescued me?" Havel merely pointed to Argon, who was still as confused by the woman talking to them
When did Sir Onion swap genders?
The Catarinian turned her visor to stare at him. "Why, thank you."
Argon blinked. This situation was fairly familiar for some odd reason. In fact, he felt a strong sense of déjà vu, and he didn't know whether he liked it or not.
"Uhm… it was no problem?"
The woman shuffled forward, her armour clinking.
"I am Sieglinde of Catarina." Argon nodded; he could have guessed that much. "I don't know how I ended up in that crystal… it wasn't terrible in there but I could hardly move."
"Understandable why you were asleep then." Havel said as Argon looked at him blankly. He frowned before crossing his arms in annoyance. "What? Would you have anything better to do in there?"
"I must repay you." Sieglinde interrupted both of them as she patted her armour in search of some sort of gift before her head snapped back up in realisation.
"Oh! I nearly forgot, have you seen my father?"
"Your father?" the Archbishop repeated. This was just getting more confusing the more they continued speaking.
"Ohhh no." Argon said quietly to himself. This could not be true. It was just too good to believe, there was no way… was there?
"Yes, you wouldn't miss him. A suit of armour just like mine?"
"Ah, crap." Argon facepalmed and the two of them stared at him in curiosity.
There was a way indeed, it appeared.
Meanwhile, in the arid dryness of Izalith, underneath a caved in ceiling with overgrown roots the colour of ash, stood a knight dressed in a similar fashion, his arms crossed, a hefty Zweihander resting across his back as he nodded off on his own two feet.
"Zzzz…"
"Uh, excuse me."
"Zzzz…"
"Sorry, mate. Could I ask you something?"
"Zzzz…"
"Perhaps we should leave him be, Laurentius. He must be quite tired if he's in deep slumber."
"I agree… h-he seems quite t-t-tired, esp-specially in that armour…"
"See? Queren agrees."
"Come on Solaire, we can't just leave him her-"
"Hmm?" three sets of eyes turned to the strange fellow in armour that made him look obese. For the Pyromancer, however, he was under the assumption that this newcomer was just obese.
"Hm… uh, OH!" the man exclaimed, unfolding his arms, and turning to the trio standing next to him. He seemed to behave neutral despite the face that if he took a step forward, he would fall into a mosh pit filled with demons.
"Forgive me. I was lost in thought, or was I dreaming?" he asked as if they knew what his thoughts were.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said and straightened, pulling his piercing shield and Zweihander off his back and rolling his shoulders before holding his arms out widely. "I am Siegmeyer of Catarina!"
Yes, I'm am aware I've been absent for nearly a whole month. The reason is: life is unpredictable.
Anyways, please enjoy this chapter, the penultimate instalment of this Arc, the… uh…
- you forgot the Arc again, didn't you?
I'm not proud of it… but yes.
- (*sigh)
Right, so I had originally wanted to name Ceaseless Discharge "Langol", which is the Hungarian word for 'Blaze'. However, I didn't know if it would have fit him or not, so I just put 'Ren' in front of the hereditary Que. I had even created this whole reason why he wasn't going to have Que in front of his name and stuff. A shame, right?
Ah, yes, with regard to Havel, he used Wrath of the Gods to kill those Serpent Men. When he was referring to ' that god' that taught him various forms of magic, he was talking about Allfather Lloyd. In essence, the point I was trying to make was that before he was exiled and the world went to hell, he trained under the god to learn various Miracles and such. Since he was still technically an Archbishop even after his betrayal, his faith is inanely high. As for his wisdom, my thinking was that since he's been alive for so long, and alongside Gwyn no less, his understanding of magic and its application would be very much different from your average sorcerer or mage.
To support this, think of Beatrice. Her intelligence is leagues above most people in Lordran, probably even Logan's, and her own practice of magic led to her spells becoming insanely powerful. In the same manner, Havel's ability to understand the element he hates due to his high level of knowledge availed him the ability to alter the power of the Miracle he used.
I'm going to be using this line of thinking with regard to magic going forth since the usual 'fire spell, kill a boss' idea doesn't appeal to me. I don't think I'm going to be creating any new Sorceries/Pyromancies/Miracles because I don't want to break the Lore, just bend it. However, if I come up with a something that's imaginable, I'll incorporate it somewhere.
If you have any other questions, feel free to message me. I'd much prefer it if you used my e-mail address since it's easier for me to answer your questions when I'm on the move.
That being said, please review. I'd love to hear your thoughts, dislikes and opinions. Flames are, as always, still welcome.
Take care, stay blessed and squirrels to the nuts!