Hmm, what's this, you guys want another chapter from me so soon? Was the cliffhanger not enough or something? (*rubs nose with a sniff)
Well, I'm sorry to tell you that there is no chapter for you to read. None today, dear compatriots. You'll all have to wait another fortnight before the next one arrives. Now, please avert your eyes as I place this manuscript riiiight… here (*places manuscript down on table).
Hm? Oh, that pile of paper on the table is by no means Chapter 26. Nope, not Chapter 26 at all. That being said. Do not read it whilst my back is turned. Got it? Good. (*turns around)
- (*sighs) no wonder only a few people leave you reviews. You're a nutcase doused in stupidity. On with ze story.
"I'm sorry." Argon sighed
"Oh, please, don't be." Sieglinde replied with a polite tone.
"Uh, no. Please let me finish first."
"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry."
Argon raised his hands up to shush her. "There's really no need to apologise."
"Oh, but I insist," the Catarinian pressed, cupping her onion helm. "It's my fault for interrupting you. You see, I've never really been able to control my mouth."
"Really? You seem to be doing just fine to me."
"Do you really?" Sieglinde asked in an excited tone and Argon simply nodded solemnly.
Havel, meanwhile, was just staring at both of them, feeling like he had been left out of the loop completely. Normally, he wouldn't really care what the undead next to him spoke or thought of simply because his companion muttered about everything and anything nonsensical that it was pointless to listen. However, now that they actually had company besides Priscilla that seemed genuinely intellectual, he had tried his hand at understanding just what the hell those two were talking about only to come up short.
Honestly, what had just happened? One moment they were staring at a muttering Argon after the Onion Knightess had told them her father was around Lordran, and now he and Sieglinde were having a discussion as to who should apologise first? Or was he complimenting her on her lack of sputtering? He couldn't tell. Suddenly it just felt like a whole lot of stupid had weighed down the air around him.
"So, what exactly would your father be doing in Lordran?" Havel asked the Catarinian.
In reply, she turned to him, armour still jangling as she reached up a glove to her helmet and tapped it a few times. If the sound of the dull clinking of her brace against the helm wasn't annoying enough, she was taking too damn long to answer a short damn question. Did she think they had the time to stand around a garden of human-eating golems whilst she remembered the foolish acts of her father? Seriously, where all people of the current generation this slow?
"Oh, he's just here to partake in adventure." Sieglinde finally answered.
"Wha- I beg your pardon?" Havel hadn't heard right. Her father, who appeared to be as brainless as his undead companion had chosen to come here in search of adventure? Was this man senile in his undead years?
"Come now, Havel, this isn't the time to be asking pointless questions." Argon scolded with his finger raised. "We have a mission to attend to, if you haven't noticed."
The Archbishop ground his teeth as he stared at Argon treat him like some annoying old man. Now, he really felt like continuing their battle from last time. It was just a shame this poor maiden was before them, stopping him from showing the Chosen Undead what it felt like to have his face caved in.
"I know that already." He growled at Argon before hauling his Dragontooth against his shoulder. "Let's just go already. Sieglinde, it was a pleasure to meet you."
At the mention of her name, the Onion Knightess took a quick step forward. "Oh, do forgive me. I did not know of your quest, or its urgency."
Argon waved her off. "Meh, don't be. This was just a pit stop, is all. A little break to relax the nerves. A deep breath before the plunge. The ragged pant after a good shag-"
"She gets the point already." Havel conked his companion on the head, effectively shutting him up as they began to head for the mouth of the crystal cave.
"Please, wait a moment." Sieglinde called out, her hand raised.
Havel sighed and turned his body. He knew she meant well, but time was of the essence here. Whilst he had faith in the skills of himself and his compatriot, as well as the luck of their beloved crossbreed, he didn't want to test luck – since she had already proven how much she despised him after joining Argon's party.
"What is it now?" he asked in annoyance, ignoring the frown the orange-eyed undead threw his way.
"If you are going someplace, I wish to accompany you."
"What? Why?"
"If I do not find my father down whatever path you choose to take, perhaps I can repay you both with my blade."
The ex-Bishop thought of that for a moment before Argon beat him to an answer. What surprised him was the Chosen Undeads blatant refusal, in the form of a displeased shake of the head.
"Sorry Sieg's daughter, you have to leave this place. Now."
"Oh, but why?" the woman asked in confusion.
"Because besides delaying our rescue attempt, you might become an Everlasting Dragon's fancy regarding crystals, bondage and a damn ton of experiments that may or may not turn you into a weeping snake woman."
The Onion Knightess retreated a few steps at his words. Would all that really happen, or was he just being paranoid?
"What he means is that we can handle things on our own." Havel cut in with another sigh. He could understand his friend's logic but at the same time they needed the numbers. Just two people may not be enough despite their abundance in skill. And there was always reassurance in numbers. But if his fool-hardy companion decided to lose the idiot for a moment and be rarely realistic then he would honour the decision.
"Besides, I doubt your father would be in Anor Londo."
At this, Sieglinde gasped.
"I'm in the city of the gods?"
Havel sighed; they were better off leaving the woman to sleep on her feet.
"That's enough chit-chat for today. Let me warp you out of here." Argon redirected the conversation as he led Sieglinde towards the rope still hanging from the wall. "Climb up."
"She won't be able to climb up with her equipment, you idiot." Havel grumbled as Argon looked at the wall.
"Oh?" the undead replied before shrugging. "That's easy to fix."
He looked back at Sieglinde. "Please strip."
"W-W-What?" the Onion Knightess stuttered as Havel walked up and clobbered Argon upside the head with his fist.
"Ow! Bloody hell old man."
"Don't you have any manners, boy? What would Priscilla think when she finds out you asked another woman to strip bare before your lecherous gaze? And besides that, what are you thinking asking her to disrobe in the first place?!"
"I only meant get rid of the weight," the undead replied as he rubbed his sore head. "It'll be easier for her to climb up the rope and onto the balcony."
"Oh, if you wish for me to reach that level, I suggest we take that entry point over there." Sieglinde pointed to a wooden ladder attached to a walkway leading into the castle. Havel sweat-dropped. It had been there the whole time? How had they not seen that?
Argon merely hummed in response. "Well, that makes it easier to warp outta here."
"I'm sorry. Warp?" the Knightess repeated.
"Warp, teleport, jump, tear a rift though space and time just for a hitchhiker; call it whatever you want. Just get up there and I can send us to one of the safest places in Lordran just like snapping a Homeward Bone." He said.
"I see," Sieglinde nodded as Argon walked up to the wall. "But I can't use bonfires like Undead do."
Havel watched as Argon slipped on the moist soil and face-planted into the ground.
"The hell do you mean 'like Undead do'?" the Chosen Undead questioned, spitting out a mouthful of grass and a small earthworm. "What makes you so special, huh?"
"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry, I meant no disrespect." The Knightess apologised quickly before standing up straighter. "What I meant to say was that I am human."
At this, it was Havel's turn to slip and fall on his back. Just what kind of delay had luck sent to screw with their chances this time?
The air felt… cold as Priscilla opened her eyes. Although she was basically immune to the lowered temperature by now, this type of chill felt much more different than the one she was used to. It was cold, yet manageable. Icy, and yet oddly neutral at the same time. Furthermore, she could hear a soft tinkling all around her, as if she were standing in a room filled with chimes.
As the crossbreed surveyed this new environment, she came to realise two vitally important things. The first, was that the coldness and tinkling she was feeling was due to the crystalline chamber she was in. And the second, was the understanding that she was trapped behind a domed cage of the blue mineral, suspended nearly twenty feet above the ground.
She jerked around in her cell, feeling around for her scythe in order to cut through the bars when her hand suddenly stopped. There was no guarantee she would survive the fall if she chopped her way out of her prison. Despite her dragon and goddess genes, a fall from that height would still kill her if she didn't land on her feet, or at least cause her serious pain.
Now that she thought about it, where was she exactly? And where was her Lifehunt scythe? Priscilla looked around the room, hair whipping around as she scanned every nook and cranny of the room until her eyes fell on the last thing she wanted to see.
Seath lifted his head up an inch at the sound of her shuffling before he huffed out a cloud of cold air from his large nostrils. He was standing on the other end of the room, his back to her, tinkering with an average test tube despite his gargantuan hands. She watched keenly as he swirled the strange mixture of cobalt and violet around in the tube before he scoffed and threw it against the crystal wall to his left.
Her eyes darted to it as the two colours mixed in before letting out a vapour akin to noxious gas. It only took her a moment to realise that the violet substance was Lifehunt energy.
"F-Father…" she hesitated. Was it still apt to call him by that title? After everything he had done, after everything he had put her through only to call her a tool for him to ascend from this plain's mortality? Was it even right to assume that she carried his genes within herself when all she saw before her was a sick, twisted dragon stuck in the same game of mental limbo with himself?
Seath didn't reply to her. Whether he heard her or not was debatable at this point, although she knew he was just ignoring her. He had always ignored her, even back then when she had pined for his attention, only to regret it when he showed her just how dark his 'affection' could be.
But even so… even if she despised the fact that he was her father and the Queen of Sunlight was her mother… she couldn't bring herself to hate them entirely. Their actions she could judge however she saw fit, but themselves as living beings, and her parents… now that was another matter entirely.
Although she had grown up watching him do the same thing for eons, never paying her any mind besides the times he would painfully extract one of her newly grown scales; she still couldn't fill her heart with hate towards him, or bring her mouth to utter a curse toward the things he had done to her.
How funny it was. She was sure that if Argon had been here with her, he would have said the same thing.
At the thought of said undead, Priscilla remembered that she still possessed his mask with her and reached up to grab it from her face. However, upon lifting her hands to grasp her face, she felt not the smooth, cool feeling of the plain white porcelain, but her soft, warm cheeks.
With a hint of worry, she search around her suspended cage like a stressed canary until she sighed out in relief, eyes finally finding the innocuous face covering resting next to her tail. With eager fingers, she picked it up and held it to her chest, mind finally at ease as his lingering scent invaded her senses.
She knew what would have most likely happened after he had been attacked by that golem on the lift system, and honestly her heart grew heavy with apprehension. It wouldn't be the first time he had lost control of his baser instincts, and it certainly wasn't the last time either. Her uncle had done what he could, placing that subtle charm within his mask to hamper the effects of the Abyss. However, she didn't believe that was wise, considering just how strong its influence was with Argon. If anything, he had probably rampaged worse than before after the magic inhibitor had been lifted.
Her teeth found her bottom lip as she nibbled on it in thought. Despite his reluctance to ask for help or accept it, she had gotten through to him in some way or another. He knew it too, which was why he tried to distance his thoughts and emotions from her. And whilst that train of thought brought happiness to her, it also filled her head with troubles.
Whatever was going on with him internally, it was making him worse. He was doing his best to hide it, although he was also unconsciously pushing both herself and Sir Havel away in the process. That wasn't all, however. The happy persona he forced himself to wear was beginning to possess cracks. They both knew it wasn't long until he finally became undone. And that thought alone was enough to scare her.
Argon was a stable foundation to her, and he relied on her just as much. The addition of the ex-Archbishop added to that stability of theirs. Besides that, the Chosen Undead knew of her feelings by now. He had always known, from the time they taken a short pause in Darkroot Basin. And if she read the room with regard to how much he valued her, she would come to the conclusion that he felt the same emotions towards her.
And that was why she worried for him. As he was now, he was a mass of confusion, pain, regret, and doubt. It didn't take a genius to figure out how lost he was with himself.
But she wouldn't despair. He was Argon, after all. No matter what he said to push her and Sir Havel away, no matter what he did to try and make them turn their backs on him, they would not stop standing by him. He was just too much of an adorable idiot to let go of, and that was probably one of the reasons she loved him so much.
Turning back to the matter at hand, she breathed in deep as she regarded Seath again. If possible, she didn't want to see him die. Even though his lust for immortality had caused immense damage on more than one front, he didn't deserve death by their hands, even if the Undead Prophecy said so. They were not the judges of anyone besides themselves. Such power belonged to her Aunt Velka, wherever she may be, and her alone.
So, instead of damning him to death, she would pay him the courtesy he would never pay others. She would give him a chance. Not to redeem him but to prove whether there was still anything left inside of him. She owed it herself to at least try and reconcile.
"Father." Priscilla uttered, her voice more resolute. Seath didn't turn round but she knew he heard her.
"Father listen to me. I know… that you don't see me as anything to you. I know that never saw me, or Mother as anything more than tools to you in the past, which is why you barely even notice us. Yet… even so, I don't wish for things to remain as they are."
The paledrake breathed out a cloud of air that glittered in sparkles of blue white.
"You know as well as I that the Chosen Undead will be here soon. If not for Lord Gwyn's soul within you then for me, instead. When he does arrive, there is sure to be a clash of devastating power. And despite how powerful you are, Argon will not yield until you are defeated."
He continued his toil, conjuring his strange magic up into his hand before breathing wisps of white energy into it, solidifying the spell before it was reabsorbed into his body.
"And despite everything you've done. All that has occurred with both Lord Gwyn, Mother, and myself; I don't want this to be the end." Priscilla took a deep breath. It was hard to say all this without resentment and pain filling her mind, but she pushed it aside for the benefit of what was right. Seath was most likely already a lost cause, unable to think of anyone other than himself but that didn't mean he was beyond understanding. If she could say the right words to channel that part of him, she knew would heed her words, then she could prevent any more bloodshed on Argon's part. And besides that…
"I don't want to see you die!" she screamed, breaking his concentration as he turned around, blind eyes looking her way. Hope bloomed in her chest, forcing her to push on and open her thoughts for him to hear.
"I don't want to lose you again, not after Mother…" she gulped, recalling the words Gwyndolin told her about the illusion in that chamber. Despite her age, she had not managed to grow her mind to accept the fact that she still needed that familial bond. Even though her heart had been closed for so long, she had still yearned to be closer to either one of them during the centuries spent in Ariamis' painting. Because no matter how hard she tried in the past to feel hate towards them after Lord Gwyn had imprisoned her, just the sight of the being that was her father biologically, made her love for him grow even more. For what child could truly despite their parents? What child did not seek their affection after so much time apart?
Whether those parents were kind or menacing toward said child, the love in the young offspring would never falter, because such a love was infallible, eternal. That was why she didn't want to see him face Argon. That was why she was kneeling in her cage, tears wetting her face as she pleaded to whatever god would listen that she could get through to him just once. That she could touch even a small piece of his heart.
"Please! Do not do this Father. Relinquish your Lord Soul to Argon once he arrives. There is no need for further death, this can be resolved peacefully." Seath flicked his tails around as he moved around the room, his eyes unblinking but his ears still locked onto Priscilla's voice.
It was a foolish thing she did, attempting to get across to him after she knew she was nothing in his eyes. And yet, hearing her beg him to reconsider his options was mildly reminiscent of Gwyn's daughter. He may have been insane after all that time, but he never did forget the day she had stood there before him, wailing loudly as she pleaded for him not to experiment on their daughter.
He hadn't cared what Gwynevere had thought of his attempts at immortality, and her ailing father had wisely remained blind to it, even as he began taking more and more maidens from the castle. It was a shame that the Queen of Sunlight just never understood him from the beginning.
He was an Everlasting Dragon. One of the last of his kind. And if that fact weren't enough for her to get the picture, he was also Seath the Scaleless. The traitor, the albino dragon, the paledrake, and the wisest of them all. He cared not for emotions and feelings after he had been shunned since his birth, he refused to acknowledge anything around him unless it added stimulus to his mind and aide to his research. The only reason he had even chosen to marry Gwynevere and create a spawn of their own was because he had run out of the scales of his brethren to concoct new experiments with.
He was brash, arrogant, unparalleled in his craft, the Grandfather of Sorcery and, of course, immensely pig-headed. He would never listen to the feeble words of a goddess so long as she stood there, arms wrapped around his neck as she solicited him for mercy against her child.
Despite how much his hatred had grown for her, he had still acquiesced to her demands, but only after he had taken all the scales he could from the crossbreed with the power of Lifehunt. Casting her into that idiotic painter's portrait had been his reply to Gwynevere's pleas. It had also gotten the other gods off his back after they had all discovered how hazardous she was to their health, should she, much like Velka, find disfavour amongst the divinity of Anor Londo.
In truth, he had known exactly when Priscilla had been freed from her jail. His sight stretched further than the Dark Sun God assumed. He had felt the results of her maturity, the potency of how much occultic energy flowed through her veins as she travelled around Lordran with that masked undead.
From the reports his Channeler's relayed to him, she had decided to follow this Argon to the ends of the world so long as he remained by her side. Honestly, it was a surprise to hear that she didn't hold any ill will toward him after all that time had passed by.
He would have never assumed in all his life that she would turn out exactly like her mother, prostrating before him, requesting a ceasefire so as to not only bring about peace, but to also ensure his safety.
He had felt the urge to scoff when she had screamed her worry for him. What did she think it would achieve? And besides, was she foolish enough to think that he would fall should he face her corrupted lover? He should finally end her life now whilst he had the chance, use her body and power to strengthen the Primordial Crystal. There was enough time before the Chosen Undead arrived to reclaim her. It would be a simple task for him after his research on crystal release had reached its summit.
And yet… even as he contemplated doing just that, his hands remained at his sides. He could kill her with a simple blast of his cursed breath yet his lungs refused to conjure up the required magic to do so.
It was perplexing to the dragon as he stood in the same room as her, his enhanced senses managing to make out her form suspended in mid-air. With what little he had managed to do regarding his sight, he could just barely make out the quivering of her shoulders as he stared at her outline. He could hear the pathetic tears she cried that slid down her face and hit the crystal base of her cage with a sound that oddly resonated with his own heartbeat.
Succinct thoughts crossed his mind as he listened to her sob. Thoughts like how she was this concerned about him, why she still bothered to gain his non-existent affection, why was she so small in size, and what would his answer be.
They were all confusing to the paledrake. So much so that he felt compelled to take her advice.
"I know we can sort this all out, if… if only you would just heed my words." Priscilla sniffed, wiping her swollen eyes. She was sure she could save him from death. All they needed was the Lord Soul shard within him, not his entire life. If he could just agree to what she was asking him to do, there wouldn't be a need for this constant state of violence.
"It won't be long before they come. And when they do, perhaps you and Sir Havel could even-"
CRASH!
Priscilla shielded her face as a rain of shattered crystal flew around the room, steam filling the place where Seath had fired off his attack. Her green eyes found him once again, witnessing the rage behind those murky blue eyes before he approached her cage and hissed at her dangerously.
Fear filled her as she saw his throat light up, an amalgamation of magic and crystal energy swirling around the back of his throat as his maw opened before her, shadowing her body as she held Argon's mask tighter to her chest.
No matter how powerful she was, if she replied with an attack of her own, it would do little more than tickle Seath's pale body before she was ripped apart. And without her scythe by her side, she wouldn't be able to negate the damage of such a point-blank attack.
"F-F-Father please…"
At the sound of her voice, she watched as Seath turned his head away from her and blasted the ground with an unending stream of magic as he roared in anger. The floor immediately grew, cursed and tainted crystals rising up to cultivate the area like a graveyard of spikes before they all receded just as quickly as they had formed.
Seath huffed into her face, cold and cursed breath sending goosebumps down her skin as he trailed away from her, exiting the chamber with more hissing as his wings began to beat. It was then that she knew she had utterly ruined her chances. Failed in her attempt to save him from himself.
She began to cry anew as she realised the futility of it all. Her father's mind was lost to his creations, he could not hear her. All she had really done, was fuel the beast with more rage. All she had done, was speed up her father's path to his own destruction.
Her sobs turned into a wail and she curled up into a ball, her tail wringing itself as she mourned for the loss of her parent. The only other thought that occupied her mind was the need for someone to save her from this despair. The only one she wished for right now… was Argon.
After a short delay that consisted of more inane conversation, Havel getting into another mood swing and a quick clobber to Argon's head due to the Archbishop being pissed off, both undead found themselves taking cautious steps down a narrow, and decidedly disorientating beam of azure crystal.
Their exchange with Sieglinde had ended with her successfully getting the hell out of Anor Londo with a kind incline of her helm and soothing words before the familiar spell circle had wrapped around her feet and taken her far from the Shining City. As it turned out, humans couldn't interact with bonfires. However, they could still use Homeward Bones… for… reasons Argon could still not comprehend. According to Havel, said flimsy bones worked the same as Miracles that transported one back toward their homeland.
In the case of undead, they would be redirected back to the last bonfire they rested at. Apparently, it had something to do with the various Firekeeper's pulling the strings or something like that, something he could understand. With regard to humans, however, they would simply need to think of an area they considered safe before the spell itself did the rest. It was nifty, how magic worked differently with the different races. When Argon thought about it, perhaps that was why Gwyndolin's soul arrows seemed so much more powerful than his own. Then again, maybe the reason was something else entirely, like the amount of magical power the last born carried compared to his own. Either way, he still thought it was unfair, it was as if magic was picking favourites.
Speaking of favourites, Argon turned his gaze back to Havel as he finally reached the end of the unnecessarily high beam of crystal and onto solid land. He sighed out in relief as his boots scuffed against the stalagmites dotted around the chunk of blue.
Despite the fact that Havel was once a demi-god, or whatever was close to a god, his magical power was also quite high. Thinking normally, one would assume that when he turned undead, that power would have been greatly decreased. However, on the contrary, he seemed to possess the same reserves as when he was in his prime, if not slightly more.
Argon wouldn't assume to know just how powerful the Archbishop was in his days beside Gwyn, however, what he did know for certain was that the man wasn't fighting to his full potential. Their first battle in that tower had been tough, but nothing near what the armoured undead was dishing out now, including that shockwave which had nearly eradicated the floor beneath him.
Perhaps he wasn't fighting to his full potential because the foes they had faced thus far weren't that strong? Or perhaps it was because he was saving his strength for something greater. If the reason was the former, it would mean that the ex-Bishop even saw him as a less than worthy foe; and given how he had performed that day in the tower so many moons ago, Argon would be hard-pressed to disagree. If it really came down to it, he might not actually win against a fight with the grouchy old fart. And that in itself was a thought that mildly worried him.
Despite his abilities as the Chosen Undead, and his corruption due to the Abyss, it meant he was still weak, still insignificant next to all the other foes they would come to face. He hadn't paid much thought about it because power never interested him. However, now that it was time for him to start getting serious… perhaps changing to that approach would be wiser?
"I know that look all too well." Havel's voice broke him from his reverie and he looked up at an unimpressed Archbishop.
"Huh?"
"Power. That's what you were wracking your brain about." He said firmly as Argon walked by his side. "I don't blame you, but it's best not linger on fruitless thoughts. That path is what led to the fall of the Four Kings of New Londo."
The Chosen Undead frowned. He knew the story. Didn't like the ending.
"So, what do you suggest I do? You know as well as I that I'm not strong enough. I barely made a dent on Seath."
Havel barked out a laugh.
"Nobody can make a dent on Seath as he is now. And besides, you've always been under classed regarding power. It was by fluke that you even managed to absorb me into your party."
At this, Argon offered a small smile. He was right, he was never strong enough to face the enemies he had bested in the past. In fact, it was a wonder how he had made it this far.
"Humanity is weak. That is just how they were created. Undead are the same." Havel said as they prepared to head down another beam of crystal. This one narrower and more hazardous than the last.
"However, their weakness is their strength. You, the many undead before you… even I, are testament to that. But even so…" Argon waited for him to reach the other end of the makeshift bridge before continuing. "I believe that we can grow much stronger than the other races in time."
"Yeah? How's that?" Argon asked, leaping onto the chunk on land before him. Seriously, why was every cave so precariously made? First it was the Chasm of the Abyss with its eternal darkness, natural walkways made of broken pillars and humanoid sprites of black that singe you when touched. Now there was an endless labyrinth of crystal walkways that ensured a painful fall to a bottomless pit if you didn't die smacking your head on some glowing beam halfway down. What was next? Were the Catacombs covered in skeletal tombs with walking monstrosities?
Argon shook his head. He didn't want to jinx his less than great luck.
"Patience." Havel said in a sagely voice that didn't befit how annoying he was in reality. "If you focus too much on the outcome, the process will become shoddy and the foundations will crumble."
"That's pretty deep, even for you."
"Yet there still is truth in it." the ex-Bishop grinned before observing another slippery walkway and groaned. His armour wasn't suited for such terrain.
"So, I should just be diligent. Is that it?" Argon repeated, opting to slide down the inclined walkway instead of walking down. His feet were beginning to hurt.
"Exactly. Focus on not focusing." The Chosen Undead huffed as Havel stumbled back onto solid ground. Did he realise how difficult that was, considering just who it was he was giving that advice to? Argon was a natural born over-thinker. There was no way he was going to ignore thinking about that.
"Besides, you may not realise it but you are far stronger than you allow yourself to believe."
"And you say this because?" Argon pressed, giving the man a hand as he approached an alleviated ledge.
"I am not a man of the Rock for nothing. With my age came my experience, and with that experience I crafted the many mighty soldiers the Shining City possesses even today. Such was one of my main roles as both a friend to Gwyn and Archbishop of Anor Londo."
The undead flexed his eyebrow in response. What exactly did the old man see in him that was seemingly hidden behind his own perception of himself? He knew he was stubborn man. A funny one, too. One that would rather crack jokes during a battle to make the fight more entertaining than tense. Argon also recognised how he drew strength from his will to protect those he considered dear to him. It was one of the reasons he had managed to defeat Lautrec and reclaim Anastasia's life.
Last, but not least, the Chosen Undead distinguished his rage from his anger. After being afflicted with a blight that continued to consume him little by little by chewing at his mind, and the fact that after each traumatic event he was able to remember pieces of his crooked past, he was all too clued up with how indominable he could be when he could not remain sane enough to reel in that annoying remnant within his soul.
However, all that amounted to nothing when he considered just how feeble he had been in the past. Sure, his skill with a blade or any weapon in general was unorthodox; so much so that he had bested many a legend in deathmatches before, but when in the face of true danger, against foes so immense in power that killed with a flick of their fingers he had fallen short by a landmark. Not only that, but he had lost himself to corruption, malignant thoughts and had even attempted to kill a being that he considered one of his greatest allies. And when he was finally before Seath back within his chamber, he had lost it entirely. It had taken a mindless drone coloured in blue to break that tiny sense of control he had fought to obtain. And then he had died just as easily as one snuffed out a candle.
With those facts and failures listed. How in the world could he even be considered to possess more potential than he already had? As it were, he was only walking with a clear mind because he had burned off that insatiable lust for bloodshed by dying. And now his steely-eyed companion inserted a flicker of hope into his heart when he knew how badly Argon wanted to know that there was still a chance to redeem himself? What type of friend did that? Giving him a lifeline when he knew there was none?! Or perhaps there was one all along and the bright-eyed undead had never bothered to see it?
The two of them were ascending a mound of shining rock shaped like a small hill when Argon decided to direct a question to the ex-Bishop he hadn't had the chance to bring up until now.
"Say… why do you hate Gwyn so badly?"
Havel turned his head to Argon in confusion as if he should have known the answer all along.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I get why you despise Seath. From the stories I've heard and a recount from you yourself, it's understandable why the paledrake would be on your hitlist…"
"Damn straight." Havel replied, puffing out his chest in pride. Seath deserved to die from more reasons than simply framing him and abducting innocent maidens from their homes. He deserved eternal death because of what he had done even before Lordran had been established.
Havel was no stickler for religion despite being the head of the Old Church back in the day. However, it had not sat well with him when that spineless traitor had come slithering to Gwyn with a plan to wipe out his own race due to petty jealously and anger. That black-winged Witch had seconded his sentiments that day, warning the Sunbringer and his companions that if they went through with this disgusting act of genocide, the punishment for their sins would be grievous. It was just a shame that he hadn't had the choice to stand by the goddess' side that day, his mind going blank when he saw his best friend rush into the fray like some suicidal idiot.
"But Gwyn was your compatriot," Argon cut him off from his thoughts. "He was fooled by Seath, which was why you were exiled. I'm not saying he's entirely blameless but shouldn't he at least be forgiven for such a mista-"
"Gwyn was my most trusted friend." Havel growled darkly, his eyes piercing Argon's. "he and I stood side by side through everything, even during the harshest of times. We were inseparable as friends, dating back eons before his children were old enough to know what the sun looked like. I would have given my life to protect him and by Lloyd, he would have done the same for me. But time, unfortunately, is a dangerous tool when you live for eternity."
His gaze grew soft as regret filled his face. Havel took a heavy seat on one of the felled chunks of crystal beneath him and sighed, and suddenly it seemed like more lines, wrinkles and age began to decorate the man's bearded face.
"When the incident with Seath began, the days we knew were already beginning to grow darker. Tales and warnings from other nations and our scouts were bringing news of the fast-approaching Abyss. I was next to Gwyn as we sat amongst the other gods, discussing the best plan of action to eradicate this ominous presence capable of sucking the life out of anything it laid its icy fingers on. By the time the first sightings of Darkwraiths' in New Londo began to reach our ears, Gwyn and I had already been driven apart by stress, anger, quarrelling and more questions than we had answers for.
"I had done what I could to help him, even going as far as to command Lordran on his behalf as I instructed him to take a short repose. From there, things had taken a dive into choppy waters. First the banishment of his firstborn, then the fall of the Four Kings. We did all we could to keep it together only to face our extinction when the First Flame had begun to fade. After that, Gwyn had slowly changed from the noble god I knew and trusted. Too much grief had poisoned his mind and hardened his heart. He started to dictate orders rashly, sending Artorias to Oolacile alone, flooding New Londo in desperation, the banishing of Priscilla…" he took a moment to lock eyes with his friend before continuing. "he had grown into a shell of his former self as he tried in vain to hold onto what he had built. That was when Seath had begun his filthy tinkering."
The growl in Havel's voice when he mentioned the scaleless dragon did not go unnoticed to Argon as he watched the man stare into nothingness. He may have been only a tenth of Havel's age but he knew that look well, understood that deep-seated pain at the thought that all you did to prevent grave repercussions in the past only made things worse.
"I had remained vigilant, even when things had grown worse. Even after Gwyn had secluded himself to sitting in his throne, drowning in his own despair, I had continued my work: dispatching knights to tail the dragon's servants, conducting daily inspections of his manor. Eventually we found enough evidence to convict him for his crimes. It was just a shame that Velka had been classified a rogue deity, and an even larger pity that Seath had already sunk his claws into my friend."
Havel sighed out loudly.
"From that point, you know the story. After the failed coup, I was exiled by my own compatriot, the man I considered to be my own flesh. He hadn't shown any remorse when he sentenced me to die in that tower, nor did I feel any from him… but we both knew how that moment would forever feel like a knife through our hearts. I did not know it until after a few centuries had passed by and armies of men started to raid the ruins of our once beautiful kingdom, but word of Gwyn linking the Flame with his own soul had finally reached my half-dead ears. Perhaps that was the final nail in my stone coffin, or perhaps it was just the guilt that had flooded my deteriorating mind, because shortly after hearing that news, I had finally gone insane trapped within that building."
Argon combed a hand threw his long hair as a shaky breath escaped his lips. To think that the old man had been suffering through this much pain for nearly millennium, yet he fought harder than anyone else to stay alive instead of giving up. It was truly an amazing sight to witness from his position.
"So to answer your question of why my hatred is directed not only at that traitorous dragon, but at Gwyn himself, the answer is simple. He failed. He failed to hold onto his wits when the time came. He failed to remain calm like the King he was. But most of all… he failed to trust in the only friend willing to do anything for him. He forgot where his loyalties lied and allowed himself to fall into despair. The reason I hate him isn't because he betrayed our bond, friendship is supposed to possess wrinkles like that with time. I hate him because even after everything that occurred, he lost himself to the trials placed before him, instead of searching for an anchor to focus his might and steel his will. But beyond that, the reason I hold onto this hate is because I too am at fault. I failed to be there for him, failed to barrel through all obstacles in order to stand by his side as the comrade I was. If I had only picked him up instead of putting him down with every failure, things would have turned out differently.
"But then you two came along during my time of nothingness and gave me hope. I saw an opportunity to rectify my wrongs when you offered to spare my life. I knew that if I decided to hold onto my deep-seated disgust for both myself and Gwyn, I would be able to face him one last time, only to tell him that I'm sorry. Only to be there for my friend one last time."
Havel closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders as Argon placed a hand on his spine. Such respect was hard to find and even more difficult to keep. The fact that their bond still remained this close to Havel's heart was astonishing, and one of the reasons Argon felt his own convictions rise to the occasion, clearing away all the doubt he had allowed to cluster within himself.
"Gwyn's time and mine are over now, I realise that. We lost when we couldn't reconvene to power through the challenges before us. That being said, even if what awaits us within that Kiln is nothing but the vestige of the man I once called my brother, I would still like to reach it, expel my guilt and… most likely die knowing I did what I could fix what little of our bond still remained. So, to answer your question to the fullest: I hate Gwyn because I could not save him. And that is why I will give my all to aide you in reaching him… just so that I can tell whatever is left of him that I am sorry."
There was no need for further dialogue as the ex-Archbishop stood, straightened and turned to the vast cavern of crystal and emptiness ahead of them. Anything that needed to be said had already been said, and in that small moment of silence, both Argon and Havel felt that they had recovered the spark of determination they had lost. They had both recouped their drive and were ready for what was to come.
However, the sudden beating of wings and the large gusts of wind that began to whip Argon's hair around his face broke that peace as both undead turned around to behold a confusing sight.
"Uh… Argon."
"Uh… Havel."
"What exactly…" the Bishop began as he frowned at the monolithic beast before them. "Is this thing?"
He heard Argon utter a curse before he drew his great bow. With a huff, he stabbed the base into the chunk of ground they were standing on and took aim at the great creature currently spinning a ring on its body as a vast amount of energy began to collect at its centre.
"A bloody pain in the ass is what it is. But for future reference, we'll just call 'em butterflies."
"Butterflies?" Havel repeated as he equipped his shield and lowered into a defensive position.
"A moonlight butterfly, to be precise." Argon corrected before nocking a dragonslayer arrow and stretching back the drawstring.
"How is this thing supposed to look like a butterfly exactly?" Havel exclaimed, throwing a wide-eyed look at his companion as a large circle of concentrated magic pooled at the centre of the creature's ring.
"I don't know, its wings look pretty. What do you want me called it? A Monstrous Moth?!"
"Don't scream at me, you're the one that lacks decent naming sense."
"Oh yeah? Says the guy that names a slab of rock after a tooth."
"That's because my club is a bloody tooth!"
"Like I actually believe that!"
"You've got bigger things to worry about right now, now hurry up and shoot!"
"Fine!" Argon shouted as he released the arrow.
"Fine!" Havel screamed as the arrow struck the winged monster right in the centre of the amassed pool of energy. In an instant, the power it collected became unstable as the spinning ring broke in two. Havel sighed out in relief as the explosion that came after merely punched into his shield like someone giving it a good boot.
As for Argon, he hadn't been as lucky when the butterfly had exploded at point blank range, sending both him and his bow flailing into the air before crashing into a mound of crystal, sending shattered flakes in every direction.
Havel lowered his shield and turned to his groaning companion as he rose to his feet on shaky knees.
"You doing alright there, boy?"
Argon puffed out a breath before giving him a thumbs up.
"Who the hell… are you calling boy… ya' wrinkled goat. Ooh, that hurt."
"Where did a beast like that even come from?" Havel asked as he placed his shield onto his back and retrieved his Dragontooth. The winged creature had been silent in its approach toward them, and if not for the gust of wind its sparkling wings deposited, they would have been caught unawares when it fired that blast.
Come to think of it, it was strange to see such a creature capable of even conjuring magic in the first place. There were certain monsters that did possess magic within them, like the demons created in Izalith, but this one had not been birthed from fire and brimstone. Its body had been ethereal, its movement majestic, and the power it wielded was most certainly sorcery. Other than the fact that it had a twisted horn so long it could have impaled the both of them, there was but one important piece of evidence that enabled him to trace it back to its source: the creature had been made out of pure crystal. Was there no end to Seath's crazed creations?
"I think 'moonlight' is a bit farfetched." The Archbishop said as Argon regained his composure.
"The one I fought in Darkroot was all glittery, okay?" the undead countered.
"The one you fought?"
Argon nodded. "Seems the nude lizard let one of his shiny winged carrier pigeons fly away and never come back. It made its nest against some abandoned wall of stone when I encountered it. Was damn near impossible to kill without aide from a summon, too. It utilised a wide array of sorceries when I fought it, not so dissimilar to this one."
Havel rubbed his chin in thought. That would explain the name Argon had called it, although the one they had encountered was made of crystal, not glittering wings. Either way, it just meant they would have to remain vigilant in the case that more showed up. It would be a major setback if they were forced to face more than one firing off concentrated sorceries whilst on another narrow walkway.
With a few short words and a collective nod, both undead made their way forward from their pitstop, descending further into the belly of the beast, as it were until they came upon a piece of land that led to a long fall overlooking their final destination.
Using Argon's binoculars from their vantage point, they were able to scout out two more of those crystal butterflies roosting on natural ledges before the path reached a small pocket within the cave. Upon closer inspection, and with Argon's better eyesight, they were able to deduce a fog wall standing at the end of said pocket. Which meant that they were not far from rescuing Priscilla and facing off against Seath.
However, whilst there was a large island of crystal standing halfway there that was connected to a wider bridge of glowing blue crystal, there was no physical way toward it, or at least there didn't seem to be.
Out of the corner of his eye, Havel had noticed some glowing light at the edge of their supposed cliff. After he had goaded his companion into walking up to it with him, they had discovered that the 'glowing' light had actually turned out to be a message written via soapstone.
They were common within Lordran. If the ex-Bishop hadn't seen them for himself, then either Priscilla or Argon had done their utmost to explain the method of indirect communication with him. It was an out of the box method to alert others, and apparently it had helped the Chosen Undead many a time during his travels from the Undead Asylum.
If he were to take Argon's advice to heart, the way to read the floating runes laying against the floor was to step on it, thus activating the dormant magic and allowing a specific message to be read.
Now, that usually wouldn't be a problem. But this time around… it was. For the message in the ground was oh-so-conveniently situated before the two of them… floating three feet from the cliff they stood on… in mid-air. Havel had to wonder for the umpteenth time why luck was so cruel to him.
"Well that's bloody brilliant." The armoured undead grunted and turned back to his friend. "What now?"
"Well, we'll have to figure out a way to get across this massive expanse without the help of a friendly message then." Argon said before frowning. "Or unfriendly message. It could be either. Like that time I was in the Depths and this message on a rats corpse told me to go fu-"
"Wait a moment." Havel cut him off and peered in closer to the message hanging in the air. "Do you see those snowflakes falling all around us?"
"Of course, I see them." Argon said. "It makes absolutely no sense why there would be snow in a generally cool cave with crystals everywhere but yes, I do see the snowflakes falling from the ceiling."
Havel nodded at his agreement.
"Along with all the raindrops, candy drops and gum drops."
And just like that Havel's perception of Argon decreased significantly.
"Oh, what a day it would be."
Havel's eye twitched. Now the undead was just asking to be thrown off a cliff.
"What importance does this have anyway?"
"I'm glad you asked," the ex-Bishop replied, pointing toward their feet. "Just look. As soon as they hit the ground, they burst and tinkle like chimes."
Havel then dragged his finger up and pointed at the message on the floor. "the snowflakes are also breaking apart upon the surface of that message."
"Wait, so you think that we can stand on it?" Argon asked and his companion shrugged.
"It's only three feet away. If I hold onto your arm, you can stretch far enough to prod it with your boot."
"You sure about this?"
"Definite." Havel said firmly.
"Then pick an arm to smother."
Cracknel continued to spark off from the message as Argon's left arm was hugged as if by a needy spouse, placed near the edge of the cliff they stood on and allowed to dandle a boot over nothing. The entire scene was so ridiculous that the tink of pink staining his cheeks really didn't want to abate, but he endured it until his heel finally touched the message smack-dab in the middle.
However, the word touched would have been putting it kindly. For when the undead had expected his boot to simply pass through the flat message, it had actually struck it with a resounding clank.
"What the…" Argon frowned as Havel pulled him back. Was he imagining things or were soap stone messages made of iron?
"Well? What does it say?" the Archbishop asked before peering over his companions' shoulder.
There, where the runic message had previously been, a new cluster of words emerged. One fortunately written in the common tongue.
Yet, again, there was another problem. As Havel scrunched up his face, pulling his wrinkles and dryer skin together like a sour prune, he still could not make sense of the message before him after reading it nearly ten times.
So, instead of losing focus, he decided to do the next best thing.
"The hell does it mean there's a path ahead?!"
Scream his frustration out to the max.
Argon frowned before actually looking at the text itself.
"It says 'invisible path'. You certain your ability to read isn't degrading, old man?"
Havel scrunched his hand into a fist before yelling at the Chosen Undead, spittle comically flying from his mouth as Argon covered his head.
"I CAN READ JUST FINE, YOU INFANTILE MORON! THE ISSUE I'M BRINGING UP IS WHERE SAID PATH IS!"
The monochrome undead shook his head and ignored Havel as he continued to yammer. Choosing to focus on the oddity of the solidness in the message floating before them, Argon moved forward before stretching out his foot.
It would be hilariously stupid if he were to fall to his death doing this but after the ex-Bishop had pointed out how the snowflakes broke apart on certain areas and how that message in the floor was surprisingly hanging in mid-air, he just had to test his theory.
He would have used prism stones but unfortunately, he had run out, and using his trust throwing knives were out of the question. Those little guys where his last resort when things got messy fast in a fight. They would be better used to distract his enemy than search for this unseen path.
And so, with all the confidence in the world that he was going to most certainly go down in history as the most idiotic undead in the world, Argon's foot sped toward the space whereby more and more snowflakes burst into dust before a sudden force halted his descent.
A sudden invisible force.
Havel turned his head back to the undead as the sound of him stomping his foot down reached his ears. He walked up behind the undead as he took two more steps forward only to see the most intriguing sight. Argon was now standing on nothing but thin air.
"I take back what I said before. You must be the Chosen Undead."
"When in the hell did you ever claim I wasn't the Chosen Undead?" Argon retorted, cautiously taking tiny steps forward until he stood a few feet beyond the soap stone message. "As the text said, this is an invisible path, a walkway of sorts."
Havel placed his Dragontooth on his back as he balanced on the end of the cliff before poking the tip of his boot on the space before it. When his boot tapped against a clear piece of land, he experimentally placed his entire foot down to find a stable surface underneath.
"We should be good walking on the place these snowflakes fall down on." Argon mentioned, carefully waddling toward the horizontal slab of blue before them.
Havel merely scoffed.
A labyrinth of bookcases, crystal golems that eat people and a cave with invisible bridges. Could things get any worse?
"Oh shi-"
CLANG!
Havel snapped his head back up as Argon skidded backward as a large golem lifted its fingerless fist from the unseen ground below all three of them. The Archbishop paled at the sight of the beast. Why was luck so mean to him?
He hefted his Dragontooth off his back but Argon grabbed it before he could place his other hand on it before two-handing it, raising it above his head and throwing it – with quite noteworthy strength that didn't entirely matter to Havel because Argon just threw his Dragontooth at a bloody golem!
The weapon didn't crest over gracefully before meeting its mark, or even make a full revolution in mid-air. All it did was hurtle toward its target before abruptly smashing into the golem's featureless face, sending blue shrapnel everywhere before the great thing burst into souls and Havel's club met the invisible ground with a loud thud.
"Now, let's keep going." Argon said energetically as he walked over the club and onto the adjacent walkway.
Havel grumbled to himself before picking said weapon up and reaching his companion's side. What they saw before them wasn't any different to the picture they saw whilst on the cliff face. The only notable difference was that the shadows from the cave cleared up enough to show the forms of two more crystal butterflies nestled apart from one another. The first was right next to the spire of rugged crystal they were to approach whilst the other was perched directly on the final piece of land they needed to reach.
"Taking those down from up close will be difficult." Havel mused as he rubbed his beard. "striking one at close range will attract the other and taking a blast at point blank by one of them even with my shield won't ensure out survival. That plot of land the first one sits on isn't enough room to handle the force behind such an attack."
"Uh-huh." Argon nodded.
"Perhaps you could shoot one of them down from a distance? It doesn't seem that intelligent. If you can fell the first one then dealing with the other won't be as difficult considering their numbers will be whittled down."
"Yep. I hear ya'." Argon agreed as Havel continued his plan, the sound of clothes softly rustling entering his ears for a second.
"Then that's what we'll do. Let's not waste anymore time whilst Priscilla's life hangs in the bal- BY LLOYD, BOY! WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!
"The breeze here is nice." Argon replied in kind, doing a few short stretches as they stood on yet another narrow walkway.
"I swear if you're turning queer on me-"
"Ya' know, as much as you're not apart of the Gwyn's apostolic stronghold, you really stand firm in those age-old customs."
"Of course, a man and a man have no business copulating for many a reason. One of the more logical being that men cannot reproduce."
"If people are gay, then they're gay." Argon said before pulling on a pair of grieves with an alabaster waistcloth. "What are you gonna do really? Baptise them in the faith you renounced millennia ago?"
Havel said nothing as he watched his companion adjust his waistband before stretching his back. His eyes fell to the undeads back decorated with two shades of opposing colour. He hadn't said anything but the rapid growth of those abyssal veins on his friend's body worried his greatly. He had seen the feral rage in his eyes the time he and Gwyn's lastborn had had their spat in the Throne Room. The other signs had been there in brief intervals within the Archive's, although Argon had managed to hold himself back until he had separated from Priscilla.
And besides the forced need to crack pointless jokes every so often when the silence seemed so dense it could envelope the both of them, the Archbishop did not forget the time his companion had chosen to support him in battle via ranged weaponry rather than joining the fray as he usually did.
He knew that the undead next to him was barely hanging onto his sanity. How could he not understand the boy's plight when Havel had gone through the exact same thing many times before. And it wasn't just the abyss corrupting his thoughts, it was his own humanity as well. Whilst many would think that those black sprites where all an undead needed to remain whole and most resembling their human selves, the real truth was that humanity was a danger to all that used it, save for the many Firekeepers around.
The more you had didn't mean the more you were closer to becoming human, but actually the opposite. The more one's mind obsessed over retaining the last slivers of the self, the more those ingested monochromatic sprites began to fester something dark within the twisted souls of those that were cursed.
And the addition of abyssal corruption made it even worse. The abyss itself was a path that only lead to death and decay. According to Artorias during the fall of New Londo, the observation was that with time, corrupted patients grew into a sense of insanity paired with a dreadful mutation of malignant power. If such a blight was able to override the mind and body of a person entirely that they became nothing but flesh puppets, then that meant it had the power to poison someone seen as a lifeline physically, and in this case, it was humanity.
And Argon possessed more than just a few of those sprites within his body, even after he had been killed by Seath. Havel wondered just how the boy was managing to stand with how those pieces of black and white must be poisoning his body along with the abyss slowly filling his personality. It had already claimed half of his body, and that violet eye of his was not something the Archbishop could stare at with a blank face either.
Truthfully, he knew all too well that the reason Argon was still hanging on was because of himself and Priscilla. However, the more he forced himself to fight and battle the odds, the more he allowed this vengeful side of himself to take the front seat. A side of him that was so insatiable in rage and death that it couldn't discern friend from foe. When the time eventually came to face Seath, he knew that side would assert its dominance at some point, it was just shameful that he couldn't do anything to help.
That being said, if he could not support his friend physically, he would just use emotions to boost the boy's proper state of mind. He would aide him in reinforcing the walls in his psyche that his mask couldn't provide right now. From that point, it would be up to him to face his own demons and come out victorious but Havel didn't really fear that. He knew his comrade was a tough one, and more stubborn than Gwyn himself was. If anyone could come out on top and overcome the effects of some simple-minded parasite, it was Argon.
"Why are you undressing anyways?" Havel questioned as Argon popped a joint in his back with a sigh.
"Look at the bridge before us and tell me what you see."
The archbishop looked forward. It was a large plank of crystal to walk on. One that led to a jagged island which most likely connected to another invisible bridge leading to that pocket in the cave. What was most peculiar about their method of travel, however, was the bridge itself. If he titled his head just a smidge, Havel could see that their walkway was actually placed quite skew. In fact, if he were thinking correctly, and he most certainly was, they were more likely to slide to their death if they dared to brave crossing it.
Havel's mind put the pieces together before his eyes widened and a sour expression filled his features.
Why luck? Just… why?
"I see you've figured it out." Argon said cheerfully as his great bow appeared in his hands again before he planted it against the crystal floor, pulled back the thick drawstring that carried a dragonslayer arrow, and let the javelin fly freely.
The crash it made against the first butterfly's horned head was strong enough to snapped off the crystal below it as the creature furiously beat its wings to go airborne.
"I'll be the distraction. Hurry up and strip." Argon said as he flexed his muscles, his bow disappearing in a wisp of light. "Make sure you take a running start else you might not make it to the other side. WHEEE!" Havel watched as the crystal butterfly hovered above the bridge, staring down at the Chosen Undead as he made a mad dash toward the island of crystal before him. The ex-Bishop caught the sigh of the creature's ring spinning wildly before a pool of bright energy filled its centre. Havel didn't need to waste any time as he began to disrobe, utilising his own bottomless box to stow away his equipment – even if he did feel like the biggest fool for listening to him ill-mannered friend.
Argon grinned as he saw the glowing circle of magic churn from the flapping insect on his right. If the lesser beast was anything like the alpha he and Beatrice had killed, then it would need a good seven seconds to charge up that beam of devastation. In that time, he could make it halfway towards the island and still give Havel enough time to undress and sprint. He was such a good companion; he hoped the old man knew that as well as he did.
As the timer in the undeads head reached seven, the crystal butterfly abruptly flapped its wings once more before a torrent of magic erupted from its centre. Argon pilled on the speed as he felt his feet begin to slip on the smooth surface below until he finally dived forward, missing the blast and rollingto his feet on the island of jagged spikes.
The beam of light blasted the bridge like a focused heavenly ray, momentarily blinding Havel as he began his run toward the other side of the bridge. Surprisingly, the bridge didn't give out or shake. Conversely, it merely reflected the energy elsewhere, nullifying the attack as the winged creature flapped back onto its perch, exhausted after using so much magic.
That was Argon's queue to strike as he drew a pair of gold and silver tracers from his bottomless box and launched at the resting mass of blue.
Havel watched in astonishment as his companion moved like an elegant dancer, flashes of gold and silver flying around his body as he made quick, deep, and devastating cuts into the body of the butterfly.
It was only after he reached the raven-haired undead that he saw the large and somewhat beautiful creature break apart and crumble from the grievous wounds upon its crystalline hide. A light burst forth from it as its souls were drawn into Argon, leaving behind nothing but its spiralled horn.
"Hey, a souvenir," Argon quirked and picked the large object up before depositing it into one of his pouches. It was almost comical seeing something that large fit into a pocket so small before disappearing entirely. But that wasn't what caught the ex-Archbishop's eye as he stared at the twin blades in Argon's hands.
"Where… did you acquire those from?" he asked calmly. He wouldn't act rashly, there was no possible way Argon would have killed a remaining Lords Blade for her weaponry. He was an idiot, yes, but also a decent undead. One that wouldn't resort to something so immoral.
Then again… what if this had been when the undead had been in more… dire circumstances mentally? Would he have been capable of killing such an elite assassin in that frame of mind? Havel didn't deny his skills as anything sub-par, so the possibility was more than likely…
"Hm? Oh, some chick with a mask and navy overalls stuffed this into my hands back in Oolacile." Argon said as he sheathed the weapons and pulled on a matching white shirt with overly long sleeves. Havel's eyes recognised the garb of the Painting Guardians but said nothing. He wouldn't question his more than capable companions' choice of armour even if it was quite odd, given the area they were in.
"It was after I did Artorias an old favour…" the Archbishop saw Argon's eyes grow distant and he silently mourned the loss of the brave Knight as well. From their time travelling, Havel had come to know of the exploits of the masked undead before he came upon the crossbreed. To heard that he had entered into Oolacile and saved Princess Dusk by slaying Primeval Man had been the greatest shock to his wise ears. The addition of him claiming to put a corrupted Artorias to rest had been equally as shocking, although he didn't doubt the word of the undead before him unless he was actively spouting nonsense for fun.
If he had indeed been given that pair of rare blades from a surviving Lords Blade, in Oolacile no less, then it could have only meant that he had met Ciaran. She would have been the only person willing to follow the quiet Wolf Knight into danger, regardless of how calamitous the journey was.
Suddenly, Argon snapped back to attention as if someone had slapped him across the face before he turned back to Havel with an annoying smile on his face.
"So uh… you gonna become and exhibitionist or are you gonna change back into that armour that looks like someone in great need of a good poop?"
Instantly, Havel's sympathy turned into anger as his ears burned red.
"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO STRIP, YOU SIMPLE MINDED DOLT!"
Argon chuckled as the man rushed to get back into his armour.
"AND WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN MY ARMOUR LOOKS LIKE EXCREMENT, HUH?!"
"Just as I said, it looks like someone's really in need of release." Argon said with his hands raised in defence.
Havel ground his teeth as he hefted his Dragontooth back onto his shoulder, ready to pummel the idiot in front of him when he noticed something odd.
"Hey…" he said with a frown. "Where's the other butterfly?"
Both he and Argon looked around before the younger of the two shrugged his shoulders.
"Probably got scared by your saggy gut."
"I MAY BE OLD BUT MY GUT STILL RETAINS ITS MUSCLE MASS!"
"Or perhaps it was your obnoxious voice that made it fly away." Argon pointed out; a finger raised in sudden realisation.
"WHAT'S OBNOXIOUS IS YOU!" Havel roared as they both reached their destination.
It wasn't as difficult for them to find the second invisible bridge due to how much more snowflakes fell on this side of the cave. However, what did surprise the two of them after crossing into the final corner of the expansive mass of shiny rock was the cluster of more than half a dozen colossal shells strewn about the area.
Upon closer inspection, Havel pointed out that they looked more like clams, big one's at that, and that they seemed to be man-eating if the countless humanoid skulls piled within their lower halves were anything to go on. Argon had been brave enough to climb into one or two and stick his hand into the sticky muck holding all those skulls together, and the Bishop was equally surprised when the undead ended up pulling out titanite shards from within a few of them. They had even found a peculiar grey stone with a fossilised skull inside the last clam corpse.
Havel had been grateful for the fact that they were already dead. If they had been alive, he wouldn't have imagined how tedious it would be to fight to many in such close quarters, but the real issue at hand was what had actually killed them. However, before he could reach that conclusion, he and Argon both stopped in their tracks as they finally noticed the massive fog wall standing silently against the furthest end of the pocket they stood in.
Without further need for words or rest, both undead nodded to the other before walking through the mass of grey and silver fog, neither one even noticing the dragonslayer arrow to their left that suddenly crumbled to dust.
The Black Knight lowered the binoculars he was holding as the Archbishop and Chosen Undead both entered into the fog wall. It was a wonder that he could even peer through the lens of such an advanced piece of equipment when he possessed no eyes, but agreed that the tool had its uses, nonetheless.
It hadn't been easy downing that winged insect coated in crystal, and it had been a pure bother sniping all of those walking clams from over a thousand feet away. And yet… even as he stood on one of the islands of jagged crystal were an abundance of snowflakes broke apart and filled his armour with frozen liquid, he had to admit that it had been quite entertaining doing all that whilst avoiding detection.
He had been tasked with aiding the Chosen Undead and his comrades whilst en route toward the various Lord Souls, which he been dutiful in keeping. However, now that more and more of the half abyssal undead filled his non-existent mind, the Black Knight felt more compelled to exercise his secondary imperative, which in itself was more a path of self-discovery than evaluation of one curious undead with amber eyes.
There was no doubt from the wraith in black that his charge would complete this task. If Gwyndolin's battle with him proved anything, it would be that Argon was no undead to be taken lightly. He would be able to slay the scaleless dragon and save the Dark Sun's niece without a problem. However, with regard to the Chosen Undeads own issues, the first being his encroaching battle to remain sane… the Knight was not so certain of.
The Abyss was a different circumstance. Unpredictable with acquired, much like how the demons of Izalith had been unorthodox in their synergy despite being mindless and mutated inhabitants of a once beautiful country.
He had already seen how the undead had fared when his base instincts had taken over, the results of such carnage had been quite interesting to the Black Knight as well. But as much as the man continued to play around with his own emotions by lying to himself that everything was alright, he would never be able to overcome what he feared the most. The only way to not be afraid of the dark was to be absorbed by it. But would the undead allow such a thing to happen when he held so many things too close to his chest? Perhaps it was because of the things he held dear that he couldn't allow himself to face himself properly. In that case, the only way to truly help him reach normalcy was to separate him from his supporters, and aide goad his other side to resurface completely, whether it was just a vestige of evil or not.
The result of such an occurrence would be devastating if done before his comrades, and there was a high possibility that he would attempt to kill his friends due to how uncontrollable such a force was paired with the undeads own inner turmoil… but it still had to be done. He would self-destruct otherwise. Couldn't the Archbishop and goddess see that all they were doing was allowing his dark emotions to be bottled up for another explosion of wrath?
The Black Knight didn't think they did. That being said, it was not his job to help the undead mentally, just observe and make his own judgements. As much as Gwyndolin assumed that he had come back to Anor Londo for the purpose of serving him loosely once again, he was more inclined to place his greataxe against the lastborn's throat in order to make him pay for the sins of his father.
But… he wouldn't act on that thought either. He wasn't alive to exact revenge. In fact, he wasn't alive at all, just conscious. He assumed that by watching the Chosen Undead, he could discern why it was only him that had been given this second chance at existing again. There was no other reason he would have retained his mind, after all. And what better way to serve the betraying gods than guide their prised lamb to the slaughterhouse called the Kiln of the First Flame?
Although, that wouldn't explain why he could now think for himself. Why he could decide to abscond from Gwyn's absolute order and why he felt more alive than he ever did before.
Perhaps he had been given a second chance to right the wrongs of the gods he had once served? Or perhaps, he was just here to enjoy the show?
Either way, the only thing he did know was that he needed to leave this cave of pitfalls and precarious ledges. The quite was starting to put his mind into overdrive. He didn't want that, now right now at least.
As he returned to the surface and away from the Archives, he would simply wait for the Chosen Undeads safe return. Hopefully he wouldn't lose his mind by then. However, if he did… perhaps that version of Argon could give him some answers?
Yes, I lied to you again. I promised that this would be the last chapter of the Arc I've titled as 'Truth and Reconciliation'.
-don't copy from Halo (*smacks Mihairu7)
Itai!
- the Arc is actually called 'Chrysalis'.
Yowch. Anyway, the reason I've decided to break this up into two parts instead of a 25k chapter is because you've been waiting too patiently for the next chapter. The real reason is because I've had a lot of setbacks so I wanted to give you something rather than nothing for another fortnight.
Hope you enjoyed. Please review, I feed off of those and since there are a hundred and some change of you reading this (man, that number makes me giddy), I'd appreciate any more opinions. So don't be a stranger, and don't forget, I allow a LOT of flames so bring 'em if you have 'em.
- did you ever stop to think that the reason a lot of people don't review if because you actively ASK them to flame you?
Only if they have any flames.
-yes, but that just makes you sound like a creep.
Really?! Well, damn… can't change that now, now can I?
Thanks for reading, stay safe and God bless!