Kingdom Come Chapter 27, a dark souls fanfic

Zoboomafoo! And screw you, writer's block.

Argon was a hypocrite. It was strange for him to actively speak down to himself like this, and yet it felt as simple as drinking liquid flame that would have turned any normal person's gullet to fleshy sludge.

He had always had this way of dealing with difficult matters in a sure-fire method. And that way was how he always managed to place an indifferent smile on his face despite his woes. He knew he wasn't one to bottle up emotions either, even though he had the habit of hiding them from those he was close to – perhaps that was his defence mechanism after being alone for so long?

Argon didn't store up troubles. No, he felt that he was too cool for something like that. Instead, he preferred to ignore them entirely, which was an easier way of getting through harsh disclosers of the truth. He would ignore them until they became too large to look away from and only then would he decide on a quick solution to forever expel it from his mind.

That was his way of doing things. It was simple, humble, and non-complicated in his mind. His philosophy had been even more straight to the point: if something is too complicated to understand, why bother breaking your head?

However, could he really follow that lifelong rule of easy living when said troubles resided with the missing pieces of his hazy memory? What's more, could he honestly ignore it when his own identity was on the line? Something that may or may not influence him into going hollow if he did nothing about it?

The answer was as simple as his weak set of rules: no, he could not. And that was why he called himself a hypocrite.

Under different circumstances, Argon would have been just fine letting sleeping dogs lie in their dens filled with human bones. And despite his overly curious nature to do all the things he shouldn't just because he could, he would have left this particular issue alone as he sailed away from the slowly disintegrating island of misery.

But this time, the case was much more severe. It had arrived before him already fettered to his person, ready to sink him into the quicksand below if he left his mind vulnerable for but a second.

The worst part was that he knew he was coming apart at the seams. Everyone around him did. Havel, Priscilla, Gwyndolin… he hated to imagine what Laurentius' face would look like once he saw what a mess he was. What would his other comrades think of him? And whether he tried to ignore it this time or not, he knew the outcome all too well. He had seen what the outcome was many times before. With Gwyndolin in the Throne Room, when he was surround by foes in the Archive. And he certainly did not forget all the nights his dreams were riddled with nightmares by that sadistic remnant of himself lurking in the dark corners of his mind, that was most likely the worst encounter he faced on a daily basis.

And those clocks… those large, noiseless ticking clocks. All related to him, all apart of his own person and yet he could not venture into his past without being washed anew with those feelings of despair, rage, terror, and fury. He couldn't even manage a decent fight because he was scared of losing himself in that atrocious, yet sweet feeling of abandonment. Perhaps that was why those golems he and Havel had killed during their descent into Seath's lair weren't taking it easy on him. Did they also know of the insecurity he wore on his sleeve like a coat of arms he couldn't tear off?

Ah, yes… he had nearly forgotten. They were entering the den of the paledrake.

Not only to acquire his Lord Soul, but to rescue their comrade, his daughter, from his clutches. Priscilla. Priscilla… that name made his heart clench in his chest as the guilt flooded his system anew.

It was his fault she had been captured. There was no denying that. And the fact that he had flown into a mindless fit of rage hadn't helped. After all, he still recalled those dark thoughts he had possessed when he had seen her with eyes that sought nothing but annihilation. He remembered the twisted fantasies that had run through his head when he imagined himself ending her existence. It had been a gruesome, disgusting thought that made him want to throw up the more the thought about it. Yet, he still could not deny that the person he had become in those fleeting moments of pure carnage had been him, and him alone. It was because of the Abyss curling around his body, all that blight did was bring out the worst in him before trying to control him. Unfortunately, that vestige of Manus had been unprepared for when the slumbering beast within him had been rudely awakened. To go as far as to manipulate the very parasite that latched itself onto the host meant that whatever piece of his old self remaining within him was too dangerous to instigate. Besides, he doubted he would be able to reign it back inside of him if it did break lose again.

Logan had offered him a nugget of wisdom to filter that immense power, but he didn't like the idea of using even a pinch of it. Even though the words the Vinheim graduate had spoken to him ringed against his eardrums he could not in good conscious utter them. For to do so might mean his own undoing.

Even if the nutty sorcerer was a good judge of character, Argon was not so confident that he would be able to control himself after he let himself go.

But thinking back onto the topic at hand, they were about to face Seath. An Everlasting Dragon, the Grandfather of Sorcery. He felt something odd stir within him as he and the Archbishop approached that fog wall. It took him a while before he realised that it was fear.

Palpable, unadulterated fear that coursed through his veins like venom – paralysing his movements as his mind shut down. He may have been unperturbed when he had lost it in the paledrake's chamber, but now that he was just about sane, he couldn't stop the quivering in his legs.

It was most likely due to his current frame of mind, otherwise he would have been excited at the prospect of seeing the Duke of Anor Londo in person… maybe. But now all his masks had been used and worn to the point of crumbling in his hands. His eyes couldn't keep up with the information his brain was processing, and he felt a stone poking his heel within his greaves.

It all felt uncomfortable, unnatural. Argon didn't feel safe now that his confidence had been stripped. He was the Chosen Undead and yet he couldn't feel anymore worthless. How had he even managed to come this far with how weak he was? Was it only because he was blind to his own truth that he had found the strength to push on?

He couldn't handle the pressure any longer. Couldn't wait for another sleepless night only for his eyes to betray him and lock him into another dreary nightmare that would take something away from him the next morning; whilst also giving him something he didn't want.

What he needed was an anchor, a rock standing above the surface of salty water his tears drowned him in. He needed an ally, not just Laurentius or Griggs or Havel or Solaire, but also Anastasia. He needed her calming presence, he needed someone's calming presence. One that he could personally be lulled to sleepy by. His eyes widened as his mind formed the picture of the person he was looking for.

Priscilla. He needed Priscilla. For better, for worse, it didn't matter so long as he could hide under her umbrella of peace and be lost in a sea of sparking stars and endless moonlight. She erased his inability to act, cleansed the filthy sins staining his heart. Moreover, she filled the hole in his being he hadn't known existed until now.

But she had been captured by Seath.

He felt the slow swirl of anger begin its ascension within him as he curled his hands into balls. She was trapped in that beasts' clutches as he stood here worrying about his own misfortunes. Probably crying out in agony at the twisted things he was doing to her.

A flush of purple energy trailed around his right side as he walked forward.

How dare he touch what belonged to him? How dare he take away his peace? Evaporate his saving grace because he could? Well, now he would receive the judgement he deserves. After his precious gemstone was destroyed, Seath would be mortal again, just like Logan said. Then he would see what true pain is, then the predator would become the prey. He would spill Seath's ancient guts from his stomach, dissect those pretty wings from his back, harvest his tails into the blades he would use to strike down the other fallen gods that dared to call themselves righteous; he would make an example of what would occur when they crossed him and his possessions!

The loud clink of Havel's breastplate shocked Argon out of his inner monologue, forcing him to blink rapidly and let out a haggard breath.

What was he just thinking? Priscilla? His possession? Killing Seath? A literal monster of the old era? Who was this person that conjured up this sick imagination?

He looked down at his right hand and was surprised to see the virulent power of the Abyss fade in wisps of violet. If he kept this up any longer, he would be a goner for sure.

Instead, he focused his mind on Seath. They were her for two reasons: save Priscilla and acquire Seath's shard of Gwyn's soul. The former would all depend on the latter, and visa-versa. If the stories of dragons valuing treasure like their lifeline was true, Argon doubted the great beast would relinquish such a valuable and powerful possession. The undead doubted he would have either if he were in the Duke's position. Then again, Seath was known as the pinnacle of knowledge for a reason, it wouldn't be a long shot to suppose that simply exchanging words with the great dragon about both his daughter and his share of Gwyn's soul would garner positive results. However, that also depended on whether the paledrake would bother to listen. As it was, Argon doubted that Seath saw himself and Havel as anything more than weak bags of flesh, and he wouldn't be too far off. If that were the case, then they would be more likely to die after entering the area in front of them before either undead could open their mouths to speak. After all, despite what people may have said, Seath was still an Everlasting Dragon – the wisest of them all. There was no way they could kill him, contrary to Havel's beliefs that were driven by revenge.

That being said, if they didn't do anything soon, Priscilla would die. Their options were limited, but that didn't mean Argon was giving up. He would never give up on the one person he felt these feelings of love toward. Love… wait, love? Yes… love. That was what he felt for her, or at least he hoped.

After taking another deep breath and clothing his bare chest with the platemail of a Silver Knight, Argon turned his head to his companion. Havel offered him a nod in reply, reaffirming his original decision. Without anything more to say, the Chosen Undead drew the pair of silver and gold tracers from his sides and rolled his shoulders. Whether or not he was going to be alright after this was over, he didn't really care anymore. What took priority was saving her, making sure she lived another day, not him. He could fall into a bottomless pit and be consumed by loss so long as it meant she could wake up again to the feeling of the fresh breeze against her skin. Because if anyone deserved to live the most in this world, it was people like her, like the Firekeepers, like the remaining forces of humanity still fending off the odds for the children that were barely able to understand why fish lived in the sea.

He was on this journey because of his debt to Oscar, he knew that all too well. But since accepting that dying wish, Argon had found much more than he had hoped. He had found friends, comrades in arms, innocents to protect; and above all else: belonging to fight for. He may have been the Chosen Undead but this was no longer about him anymore, not when he had so much to protect like this.

He finally realised it, too. His destiny, his rocky road to his eventuality that fate saw fit to make him suffer through wasn't to link some ancient flame and return to ash himself, it was to save the lives of those who couldn't save their own. And if that meant forsaking his own life, then he would do so gladly. He would do so even if his darker side took over. He would hammer that belief into himself, remember the reason why he suffered, and acknowledge the good that is to come from such sacrifice. The words that chapel woman had spoken to him when he was boy lingered in his mind endlessly. And with how sincere that woman had been. No, with how sincere his mother had been, how could he simply ignore it when he knew it was the truth?

He may not have faith in any of the gods he knew of, but if there was even the slightest chance he would be victorious by trusting in a promise his mother once made to him, who believed in a deity she didn't even know the name of, he wouldn't fail to grab onto that thread of opportunity with both hands.

Because at the end of the day, he didn't matter when it was his loved one's lives at stake.

As Argon passed through the fog wall with Havel, he couldn't help but feel his mind tickle with remembrance. He was aware of how dangerous it was to allow these sudden bursts of reverie to occupy his mind when he was in a most precarious position, but he couldn't allow his unease to remain any longer. He needed to know who he really was, what he really was. Who these strange people were that flogged his past, and possibly understand how he came to be who he was today.

So he allowed himself to be lost in a sea of black just one more time as his body was calmed by the silvery clouds of fog around him. This time, he would not lose himself to whatever was banging against the walls of his mind like a savage animal, even if this particular memory seemed like the worst of the lot.

He would fight, push, and struggle to retain who he was because there were people who depended on him to remain strong. He would assert his dominance as the current Argon because the past him had already had its chance. Now, he would take the reins.

He just hoped what he was about to see wasn't filled with the despair he knew it was.

When Argon opened his eyes again, he was surprised to see that he was in a familiar white room filled with noiseless clocks instead of the usual hazy reverie of the bustling dutchy in Carim. In addition to the spontaneous appearance of his mindscape, the undead also took note of two distinct characteristics that weren't there the previous times he had visited.

The first was the nauseating ichor dripping from thin air around the endless white area, climbing up invisible walls and hanging onto some of the clocks like a heavy coat of disease. The second was more of a curiosity than the former; the form of himself, standing but a few feet away in his usual spot. It was the same person that tormented him every night in his dreams, the remnant of his past self that still refused to leave – or was it because he couldn't leave that he had stayed behind? Argon couldn't actually remember.

The oddity about said figment of his imagination, however? The other him was, for once, not grinning maliciously.

"Why am I here?" Argon questioned the vestige, anxiety forming in his chest. He knew that time didn't move whilst he was in this environment, he had tested it many a time in the past as his other self inflicted an endless torrent of dark memories into his battered psyche. Yet, even so, it did not stop him from worrying about his imprisoned comrade, or fear that he would be too late to save her if he remained here any longer.

"Send me back. I don't have time to waste here with you!"

Argon's voice carried a quivering wilt to it as the noise echoed across the room to splash against his other self's face. To his surprise, the dark vestige barely twitched an eyebrow his way in reply. If anything, the blank stare he was giving the undead only seemed to intensify the more he attempted to speak to himself.

The two stood there in utter stillness, the only sound being made by the dripping violet sludge slowly coating his mindscape. It felt odd to the worrisome undead, that the quiet between his darker half and himself was both tense and loose all at the same time. It almost made him want to scream just to release his unease, although they both knew such a simple act would never fix a difficult problem.

When what felt like a full hour had passed – which was most likely just a few long seconds – his other half titled his head to the side casually, his gaze still fixed on Argon as if he were disappointed in his silent appraisal.

"You look so pathetic my eyes feel like bursting."

A vein on Argon's forehead twitched.

"If you brought me here just to insult me, I swear I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Really? I would have thought verbal abuse would be enough to pull you out of this useless hole you've fallen into. I suppose I was wrong in my assumption."

"Damn straight!" Argon shouted before walking forward and into his other self's face. What stared back at him was pity and disgust.

"Now if you're done screwing with my head, send me back out there so I can-"

"So you can what?" his darker half interrupted, taking a step forward in sudden aggression. "Fail? Peter out? Whimper like the dog you've made yourself to be so that Seath can kill you? Are you so blinded by petty inadequacy that you cannot even conjure up enough motivation to act like you can fight?!"

Argon was forced to take a step back as his other self advanced. This was so different to his past experiences with the remnant of himself that he felt nervous to even retort. As if the confidence in his chest had just been sucked out by this enraged part of himself. It had him thinking back, comparing his current self to the him that was suddenly growling at him dangerously whilst the space around them slowly decayed from the inside out.

But what caught his attention more than just the vast differences between the meek him and the loud him was that this encounter seemed to be much different in approach. In the past, his other self was cocky, confident and almost always made Argon fear for his life when he would command those noiseless clocks to wrap around him and feed his mind with images from his morose human life.

Now, however, his darker side seemed a bit ragged. His hair wasn't as luscious, his breathing was irregular. What's more, the way he exploded in anger seemed to lack the usual spite he would have expected from a being that had once been an assassin of a nihilistic group of nutjobs. This felt more personal – more so than usual – and with each word spoken, Argon could feel an uncharacteristic hastiness.

"You have wrought my last strand of patience, you spineless swine." Argon took another step back as his other self grabbed a nearby clock and broke of the hour hand. Almost immediately, both of them felt a rush of emotions and memories flit about them as the timepiece bled with images and colour. Still, his darker side continued to pace toward him, a grim look on his usually arrogant façade.

"Watching you pity yourself like some tragic hero has been a deplorable practice that has me burning with the desire you just tear you apart, and yet I know I cannot harm you as I am."

Argon's breath grew short as he felt his other half's anger flare, only for the remnant to pick up the pace and start running toward him.

"You are an insult to the name Argon. An asphyxiation to the persona that was fought so difficultly to attain." Argon stumbled backward as his other half swung the broken hour hand his way, the point of the object missing just shy of a grievous cut to the temple.

"A filthy disgrace to what we are. And yet you still stand before me unknowing of your own transgressions that have led to this moment of rapture." Argon stepped in a puddle of purple ichor and slipped, tumbling onto his rear as his other half stared down at him distastefully, multicoloured eyes burning in rage.

"By wearing this feeble mindset you've created for yourself, you've allowed us to become compromised, and as you cower from me you allow more of this accursed blight to infest our otherwise clean temple."

"Argh!" the undead screamed as he was kicked back. The boot to his face didn't hurt as much as the amalgamation of pain it contained. As Argon rolled onto his haunches to stare back at his snarling self, he noticed the discrepancy too late. With the abyss corroding the clocks around them and the invasion of unsightly goop it was a wonder he hadn't noticed it before. The fact that he was here wasn't due to his darker half's need to make him suffer more, but a failsafe to prevent an eventuality he hadn't thought would ever occur.

Argon's other half was beginning to fade.

"So you finally see it." the other Argon growled, lunging forward to wrap his hand around Argon's throat before lifting him up. The undead choked as he was suspended by a vice-like grip, his legs kicking up a frenzy as he attempted to regain consciousness. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that he was about to be killed in his own mind by himself, or the fact that as he was being choked, he felt the blazing agony his other self was unintentionally transferring into him. It was scorching, as if someone had poured acid into his wounds and sealed it with stiches. It coursed around his body like cruel snakes, reaching every nerve ending and cell he possessed.

"Your weak will has destroyed this sanctuary, ruptured my control and brought us to the end. I had thought that after countless nights of remembrance, you would at least gain a fledgling of the power necessary to overtake my role, but no. You've decided to hollow out instead, forsake the second life you were giving despite holding more than just the might of the Lithecore within you."

As more of the abyss began to pool around the two of them, Argon watched as his other half conjured the last remaining clocks not doused in dripping death to stretch out and bind Argon's hands and feet. The hand around his throat eased up and the undead could almost see the exhaustion written on his other self's face as he stepped back.

"Even as you wear that murderer's ring on your finger, you still forget your strength, still refute your potential. If only he could see you now, I'm sure the punishment inflicted would be grand." The other him sighed out on shaky knees. "But that will surely come soon. A shame I will not be there to witness it, the coming together of both halves."

Argon struggled as he was bound tight, body strung out like a skinned animal to dry as his other self lifted the broken clock hand to eye level.

"This blasphemy of the self cannot be allowed to continue, you fool. I have watched in trepidation as you grew from your escape from that Asylum, acquired ferocious power, awakened our previous self, and even came close to purging divinity. At the time, you were not the human that served under Lord Stein, but the undead reformed in flame and ash. You possessed the necessary tools to leave this sickening destiny behind and I was willing to let it be… however. "

The other Argon groaned as more ichor burst into their shared mindscape, absorbing the whiteness around it in rapid succession.

"However, now… you've become less than elementary. Losing your mind to this worthless abyss, swimming in your bottled-up devastation, and forgoing clarity for overwhelming odds of a traitorous lizard ? You are wretched, pitiful, and sad to look at."

"What would you have me do, then?" Argon replied weakly. " I'm not the killer from that town I was tortured in. I'm not the Chosen Undead everyone believes will link the Flame and save the world either. I am weak, lost and tired of fighting when I know only sorrow awaits me in the end."

Argon clenched his jaw as the tears fell down his face, the pain of the burden he was forced to carry now forcing his head to droop. His chest felt tight as he reminisced on what he had been through to get here, and even though he had achieved much, he had also lost much. That loss was the reason he could not stomach his fate any longer, why fear and despair filled him when he was to pit himself against a being that had lived for eternity.

"You think that living through Stein's will and the Undead Curse has been easy? Whilst you sit here in my head, surrounded by every memory I have, I've had to fight my way to remember, to clutch what sanity I still have. What makes it worse is that I actually know how dark my existence has been, and that's why I locked them away in the Asylum! And now I've been through worse. Suffered death like never before, survived Primeval horrors, and now I have to wage war against my own mind so that I don't revert back to that side of me. You have no idea how hard I fought! No idea the pain I suffered just to get here! And now you chastise me for wanting to run away? Seath is a monster, not some foe I can simply defeat with a sword and witty comments. There's no way to win, and even if there were, what chance do I even stand of winning?! Don't you see? It's impossible! I'm going to die before I even manage to-"

SLAP!

Argon stared shocked at his feet as he felt the sting against his cheek. When he looked up again, his other self was sighing out in disappointment, a hand on his brow.

"And that is why we are dying from the inside out. You hold the knowledge of the Lithecore within you and yet you still rely on luck. The limitless potential of the Undead compels your soul to grow to the size of a god yet you halt its progression with doubt. And you stand before me with convictions to protect those dear to you yet you allow this abyssal corruption to control us both. How far you have fallen."

Both Argons stared at one another in silence, one too conflicted with guilt to speak, the other empty of life to bother trying. And yet, it was clear what needed to be done.

Argon's other self sighed out tiredly. "If you cannot realise who and what you are despite my concurrent efforts, then you are of no use to this vessel. Remain here and wallow in resignation, I have done what was necessary yet it seems I have failed."

The other Argon gripped the broken timepiece in his hand tighter before plunging it into the chest of the Argon bound before him with a loud shlink. Argon's eyes widened as a mass of memories began to flood his head as he stood within his head, his life flashing before his eyes.

"You are not fit to call yourself Argon, thus I will your take your place… whilst I still can." The other Argon rubbed his tired eyes. "Perhaps it will be enough time to break this worthless shell you've concealed yourself within."

As the other him began to walk away, Argon struggled in his inky bonds, terror filling his voice.

"Don't do it! You can't win!"

The other him turned back to snarl at him, and for a moment Argon himself wondered just how pitiful he must look right now.

"You'll kill us both, I tell you. That monster is immortal, how would you even hope to scratch him?! It's futile, meaningless! A battle fought vainly!"

Argon heaved in dread-filled breaths as his other self merely offered him an amused look, a glint of his prior edginess returning as he spread his arms wide.

"That fear is the reason I choose to fight in your stead. And if I must kill us both just so that you can break out of this self-inflicted spell, so shall it be. Dragon or no, Seath is merely an obstacle in my way. If, by chance, he proves to be more than even I can handle, at least it will prepare you for the inevitable reunion, our death be damned."

His other self turned on his heel and rolled his shoulders. And after a sigh, Argon witnessed as his other self's entire right side burst into a frenzy of abyssal energy.

"But remember one thing, Argon," his darker self breathed before walking into nothingness. "This will be nothing compared to my REAL self. For there are much stronger beings out there than the Ancient Lords…"

The sound of loud footfalls and the parting of magical mist was the first thing that alerted her senses that she was not alone. The second sign came in the form of two distinct scents. One was old, nostalgic like the tingle of dust in one's nose after basalt was ground to particles. The other was fresh, earthy like the morning dew of Spring. However, she also detected a hint of something foul that attempted to smother the smoother tones below it. It was only after her glittering eyes had found what they were looking for that she understood why.

"Argon! Sir Havel!"

Both undead stopped a foot in front of the fog wall they had just passed through, eyeing both the crystalline jail she was suspended in, as well as the array of humanoid bodies scattered around the cold space, petrified in pure black stone.

"Ah, there she is." Havel breathed a sigh of relief as he pointed to her cage, taking a jolly step forward as he did so.

"No, wait! Please stop!"

The Archbishop froze mid step with a frown on his bearded features as he stared at her in confusion.

"Wha? Why? I thought this was a rescue." He garbled out with furrowed brows.

"You must leave this place, now." Priscilla said desperately as she gripped the bars of her cage.

"We just got here. There'd be no use leaving without you, dear." Havel replied with a scratch of his head.

"NO!" she screamed, causing him to take a step back at the aggression in her voice.

Just what did that scaleless fiend do to make her like this?

"You have to leave. Father will be here any minu-"

"Is that right? Then I'll just take a seat whilst he takes his time to get here."

"Sir Havel, please listen to me."

"My dear Priscilla, please understand me: I'm not leaving this place until I have you by our side, and, no offence, your vile father's soul in my hand. I've waited long enough for this moment to just leave."

The crossbreed gripped the bars tighter as she cast a glance toward Argon – who had been suspiciously quiet from the moment he and Sir Havel had arrived.

She watched as he absently poked a sizzling hole in the floor with his boot, mild curiosity across his face as he watched the swirl of blue and dark violet energy rise from the ground.

Right then and there, she knew something was off. For one, he was not acting as he usually would, placing this quiet disposition as a warning bell for her. And two, his entire right side was ablaze with purple aura, almost resembling abyssal flames.

"Argo-"

"I suggest you back away from the open space, Havel."

Said Archbishop turned around to question his companion.

"And why is th-" his eyes widened as he saw the violet flames swirl around Argon as his hands gripped his weapon tighter. Suddenly the air felt off, and the quiet was deafening, enough so to make the hair on his neck stand on end. And this time, it wasn't due to the masked undeads shenanigans – even if the man's voice sounded much darker than his usually bright persona.

"Didn't you notice it already?" he asked as he drew his gold and silver tracer's.

"Notice what?" Havel replied, two-handing his Dragontooth and tensing his muscles. Argon answered with a snide smirk, revealing sharp teeth. For some reason, that look just set the armoured undead off as he whipped his head around aggressively, nerves making the blood rush to his head as Priscilla's tail curled in on itself, aware of the impending climax she knew wouldn't be pleasant.

Argon's voice rang out in the silence like the howling wind on a cold night, eerie and terrifying.

"It's a trap."

That was when all hell broke loose.

"Ahh!" Havel screamed as a grave of crystal spears the size of plinths rose from the chilly ground like Darkwraiths, piercing both his armour and his flesh as he was rocketed into the air.

Priscilla gasped at the attack as she cried out her friend's name.

The Archbishop was lifted twelve feet in the air, his body slowly being corrupted by the curse residing within those shafts of mineral glimmering with a wispy trail of foul magic. Unfortunately, the momentum he had conjured due to such an attack had left him vulnerable to defend himself as gravity began to carry him back to solid ground. And that was when the Golems emerged.

Large, hunched over, and cobalt were they that grew pointy swords from their fingerless hands and raised them to the sky. Havel felt immeasurable agony as gravity impaled him on one of said Golems, the force of both his weight and his speed causing the hunk of rock to crater the ground as both of them went down.

the remaining three that had formed from seemingly nothing turned their heads his way, the closest cocking back its sword arm to pierce his unguarded face.

Fortunately, before the golem could even advance, its head was shattered to pieces by a well-timed dragon slayer arrow that impacted like a speeding cannon ball. Argon breathed out as the great bow in his hand evaporated into a sliver mist before he lit his left hand in chaos fire and tossed the orb at the next foe.

The lava condensed into portable size spilled out like blood as it hit the golem rushing toward him. In a turn of luck, said lava had also managed to splash onto the one behind the first, before a loud sizzling echoed around the room. The Golems stumbled under the thick substance they were covered in, and Argon took the brief distraction to discard the cuirass on his chest and don a pair of black sorcerer gloves before charging forward with his tracers drawn. Now that this body was under the control of the same him that had given Gwyndolin a hellish workout, he might as well get comfortable in his skin whilst he still reigned control over both the abyss wrapped around his side and the pathetic persona he had watched flail about like some infant.

Allowing the powers of the abyss to fill his bones, he dashed toward the Golem in the vanguard as the stalagmites receded, ducking under the clumsy hook it sent his way before slicing under the arm with a flash of silver. When his momentum reached its peak, he spun on his heel and arced the other tracer downward, cleaving off half of the sentient crystal's head. The mass of rock stiffened as the boiling lava seeped into its body before it burst, sending blue shrapnel everywhere as the last Golem finally got to its feet.

Argon gave the thing a side smirk before rushing in again, executing the beast in the same manner as its partner but adding a solid elbow to its cracked chest for good measure, smiling widely as the hunched over crystal shattered to pieces.

Priscilla watched him move from up above, her eyes transfixed as he cleared the area of their ambushers before allowing himself a satisfied chuckle. He was obviously under the effects of the abyssal corruption and his own primal anger, yet he seemed to be more in control than she had thought. And whilst that was a good thing, she still couldn't help but shake off the feeling that something about him was still amiss. However, she decided to put that in the back of her mind as she called out to him, anxious to send him away from this place.

"Argon, please go. Take Sir Havel and run. It's not safe, especially after what has already occurred."

"Run?" Argon mimed in a colder voice than he should have had. "Why would I want to do that?"

She watched him walk up to a gasping Havel who still had a crystal sword sticking out of his abdomen. With a flourish of his tracers, he sheathed them on his hip before reached behind him for his Estus flask and tipping some of the contents into the Archbishop's open mouth as he simultaneously wrenched the pillar of rock out of him.

Havel sat up with a groan as the hole in his chest sealed over immediately. "Could you be any gentler?"

"Get mortally wounded again and we might find out." Argon replied, earning him a growl. The undead smirked, his amber eye glinting in the light as he walked away from the man and hefted up his discarded Dragontooth. It really did feel wondrous to be let out again, and he wasn't talking about the times his current him had allowed anger and fumes to overwhelm himself to the point of annihilation. With a frown, he gazed at the sleek blackness of the weapon in his hand before passing it to Havel – all this me, myself and I business was beginning to get complicated. He would just settle for calling the him he had trapped within their mindscape the 'real' Argon, and himself the 'past' Argon.

"Both of you don't understand the gravity of the situation." A certain crossbreed's quivering voice altered his train of thought as he and the ex-Bishop turned to look at her.

"My father seeks to use you both in his gross experimentation, not kill you." She explained from her suspended cage, making elaborate motions with her hands. "As if that wasn't the worst of it, he intends to withdraw my essence in an effort to reinforce the Primordial Crystal."

"Not if I have something to say about it." Havel barked, pulling his lips back into a snarl. He wouldn't allow that detestable lizard to lay his hands on Priscilla, never again. He had waited a lifetime for this moment, for his chance to right his wrongs and exact his revenge on the beast that took away his status, his kingdom, and his best friend from him all those centuries ago. It didn't matter how Seath intended to fight them, whether in person or with his cowardly tactics, he would still be defeated before the day ended. And Havel would use any means necessary to ensure his victory, even if it meant sacrificing his arms, legs, soul, and sanity to ensure the traitor of the Dragons returned to the broken archtree he was born in.

"This game of cat and mouse has gone on long enough. It's time your father pays for his wicked deeds with his blood, and after we shatter his ancient treasure, his life will be in our hands."

"How about you find said crystal before you start talking big." Argon commented, looking around the misty area, his mind alert for the slightest disturbance.

Havel harrumphed before scanning around the room, effectively silencing Priscilla even as she still wore a look of unease on her small face. The ex-Archbishop admitted that he didn't like to put her down like this, and if this were any other scenario, he would have listened to her words. However, this was his own honour he was fighting for now, and the fate of the world as they knew it. No matter how much she begged him to leave her behind, he would not acquiesce. She was their third party member, after all, he couldn't simply leave her for dead; not after everything they've been through.

At the shimmer of something in the distance, the armoured undeads eyes narrowed and he zeroed in on something against the far side of the wall. It was a tall, slender object, almost invisible due to the thick mist that hung close to the floor and walls. He took a few steps forward until he stood in the centre of the room, next to the petrified bodies of more than a few humans – of whom he wondered how they had not been destroyed after the ground had erupted in javelin-sized spikes.

"Aha!" he exclaimed before pointing, and both Argon and Priscilla turned their gazes west to see a tall crystal standing a good few yards away from them. "There it is."

"That's the Primordial Crystal?" Argon asked in disappointment. He would have thought something that valuable to a naked dragon would have been kept somewhere more secure. And besides that, this unique shaft of rock seemed very much subpar compared to the history behind it. After all, this thing was literally his height, and from its size he guessed that it wouldn't take much force to shatter. He had been expecting something a little more… dragon sized. An ancient crystal capable of giving one immortality depicted an object of immense power, and as such its girth should have emphasised that. But perhaps some things were better off breaking the status quo and showing itself for what it really was. In this case: a glowing crystal.

He wasn't really complaining, either way. This would just make things easier for them when Seath eventually made his appearance. However, for him to just place his prized possession in the same room as his captured daughter, in plain sight, where anyone could have access to it? It sounded quite contradictory to the intellectual prowess of one scaleless drag-

Argon's heterochromatic eyes widened.

"Now, I'll just be breaking this icicle that holds the immortality of my nemesis and then we'll be off to go dragon slaying." Havel cheered, taking slow steps forward to savour the moment. "I never understood the excitement Ornstein and Gough would find killing flying lizards, but now I think I do. The hype of hunting the one beast that is a nuisance to more than just one party. Added to the fact that said beast is cornered, with nowhere to go, makes the hunt feel all the more enjoyable!"

Priscilla watched as her companion approached her father's source of invulnerability. She had truly never seen it in person, and it was a shock to her that such an item would be left in plain sight like so. However, when she thought about the ways of her father, the wisest dragon in all the world, she doubted he needed a reason to actually protect it. Not when he was one of the most powerful beings in the world with a labyrinth of pathways filled with his minions to ward off intruders.

Even so, if her comrades would not heed her warnings of the terror her father would bring when he arrived, then they would need to smash that crystal to pieces quickly. Otherwise there would be no stopping her father.

"Wait." Argon's voice rang out like a gong being sounded atop a mountain. Havel sighed before turning back, an annoyed look on his face.

"What is it now, boy? Do you have a witty remark to land in before I do your job for you?"

"Honestly, you're enough of a joke for me to say anything at all." The undead yawned.

Havel felt his face heat up in anger. "Get on with it then and say your bit. We don't have all day! And what's with that vile energy you're using? Did you actually take that foolish sorcerer's advice to channel it into a weapon?"

"Don't you think this is too easy?" Argon questioned. Havel gave the question some thought before turning back toward the Primordial Crystal.

"First the ground spikes, then the Golems and now the appearance of the crystal meant to hold Seath's immortality, casually placed within our grasp. It sounds like a flimsy ploy to me."

"He's right." Priscilla quirked, looking at Havel with a tense frown. "Father is meticulous in his actions. Anything he does holds an air of purpose to it, whether small or large. Above all, his love for calculated tactics and deceptions take the forefront of his mind. It would be wise to exercise caution."

"Well, I guess there's no helping it." Havel murmured, moving back toward Argon as he thought about it more. From his time with the beast during the Ancient War, Seath was their best tactician and strategist. Moreover, he was an advisor to Gwyn during their reformed attack against the Dragons. It would be a perfect deduction to assume that the dragon was merely toying with them whilst he remained in the shadows.

"Where do you suppose he is then?" the ex-Bishop looked at his undead companion.

"If I were an oversized and scaleless dragon, my greatest hiding spot would be in plain sight." Argon tapped a gloved finger against his chin as he stood in front of a cursed husk that was once a human. "And if my carefully woven net of traps were to be used up, I would have no other choice than to arrive in person to deal with the irregularities, until I formulated another plan to dupe my uninvited guests, that is."

"Then where could that bastard be?" Havel huffed out, scanning the room.

"Hmm." Argon thought about it for a moment. Seath, whilst just another dragon with a handicap, was a master of sorcery. As such, he would have had endless hours to study every facet of magic, as well as its many uses of stealth. It was possible that he could have discovered a way to blend in with his surroundings like the various spells from Oolacile do. However, that theory was flawed since he couldn't exactly find any foreign traces of magic via his right eye.

He could have just been residing somewhere else within the cave they stood in, and perhaps it was only a few moments from now that he would enter behind them. Yet again, though, that thinking was still flawed. Seath was a traitorous dragon, yes, but he was still a dragon, nonetheless. He would be one to make a grand spectacle of himself if he were to arrive in person, and that only held a few options as to how.

One way would be via the open hole behind them which they had entered by. The other would be via teleportation magic. Argon knew it existed since Gwyndolin would have obviously still been in contact with the Duke for reasons pertaining to the Shining City, and since Seath was a genius without legs, it wouldn't have taken him long to figure out how to replicate it. The last option was to simply smash his way in.

It was a crass method, Argon agreed, however, if the dragon didn't really care for them much – which he honestly didn't – there would be no need for him to waste time with grand entrances. Just dramatic ones. Even so, the sight of a scaleless dragon just simply smashing through crystal walls to capture and torture them was just… well pathetic to imagine. In fact, it sullied the name of the famous entity. There was no possible way the dragon would choose that option.

And then Argon felt a sudden presence he knew could only belong to one being before he promptly roundhouse kicked Havel. The Archbishop flew backward with a whoop as the Chosen Undead dived to the side just before a falling shaft of mineral could smash him into paste.

Havel rose to his feet, about to scream at his idiotic companion when he heard a shrill roar that spiked the adrenaline in his veins. Both men and Priscilla looked up in time to see the titanic size of Seath free fall from above them before slamming into the ground, shaking the entire cave with the impact of his fall.

Seath uttered another roar of pure power, filling the air with his fury as all three of them felt the strength and might of the Duke of Anor Londo, Father of Sorcery and Wisest of the Everlasting Dragons.

Argon merely deadpanned as his expectations plummeted further. A wide array of entrances and the dragon chose the least impactful to scare them shitless? What a disappointment this battle was turning out to be, and they hadn't even begun as yet.

"Aaargh!" Havel roared out as he sped towards the paledrake, Dragontooth raised above his head. Seath merely nudged the air with his snout before a colossal tail reached out and flicked him back.

Argon blinked in surprise as his companion was sent hurtling back like a cannon ball, crashing into the far wall with enough force to form a crater of his body. After a few moments of intense silence, Havel groaned as his hand emerged from the hole in the wall, puling himself out as he limped forward, obviously wounded.

The Chosen Undead narrowed his eyes in thought as he reached into one of his pouches and withdrew a grey ring. He had known that Seath would be strong, not due to his proficiency in magic but because of his lineage as an Everlasting Dragon. His size alone showed how powerful his physical attacks would appear to be, however, to see the blind dragon attack with such accuracy despite being lost of sight was impressive.

This would draw two conclusions to the half-crazed undead. One, that Seath's hearing was finely honed to catch the slightest of sounds. And two, he was most likely also extending his abilities to sense the aura in the room. That being said, Argon would need to exercise a bit of caution moving forward. And on the of the best ways to do so would be for him to utilise Lithecore training his real self refused to accept.

As the Slumbering Dragoncrest ring reached the base of his middle finger, Argon breathed in a euphoric sigh as the additional magic struck his veins and fuelled his body. He felt it cover his being as the magic muted the sounds emitting from his body. It flowed methodically, silencing each and every piece of him, the bass of his heartbeat, the intake of his breathing, the rustling of the material of his leggings, even the ringing of his tracers against the air.

He felt as if he was at the bottom of the sea, the only noise available being his own thoughts. Argon couldn't help but noiselessly laugh as he stalked toward his enemy, Vinheim had certainly done their magic proud.

Havel wheezed as he felt his broken ribs brush against his organs. That blow had been stronger than he had anticipated. Faster too. He growled out, crushing a humanity sprite in his hand to repair the damage as he watched Argon race across the cold ground toward Seath.

It was strange seeing his companion like this, warping the Abyss to his needs as if it were a mere extension of his will, but he could pester the fool about it later. What he needed to focus on right now was Seath.

With crack of his neck, Havel lifted his Dragontooth once more as he went to meet Argon. He saw the undead dodge a swipe from Seath's large claws before twin flashes of silver and gold entered his vision. Whether the dragon felt the pain from those tracers that looked awfully familiar or registered the amount of crimson blood flowing out of his side, the Archbishop didn't know. What he did know was that it was about time he contributed to this Smiting of the Everlasting.

The dragon heard him coming – it was obvious he would at this point – and wound his arm back to swat him away again. The ex-Bishop huffed in annoyance, there was no way he was going to be fooled twice. He shouldered his heavy weapon and reached behind him for his talisman. With a quick utterance of words and mild concentration, Havel timed the moment of Seath's swipe before he allowed the built-up pressure in his fist to collapse.

"Hah!"

The release of pressurised air and magic worked better than he had expected it to. The moment Seath's hand entered his range, he allowed the transparent orb to explode, sending the very crystalline ground beneath him to ripple outwards, creating a jagged border of spikes.

Seath hissed in annoyance as his hand was blasted back, knocking into the wall behind him. He was about to attack the armoured undead again when Argon fired off another dragon slayer arrow against his muzzle, causing the beast to wail in anger. Havel merely grinned cheekily as he two-handed his Dragontooth and jogged forward.

At this point, it didn't matter whether the paledrake could regenerate his limbs or ignore pain. What mattered was that they could hold their own against such a foe of immense power. Havel flicked his gaze sideward and noticed the scaleless beast's tails lifting up in response to Argon's antagonization. With a short burst of speed to his feet, the ex-Bishop reached the closest appendage.

"Eat this, filth!" a second later, and Havel delivered a great wallop to the base of Seath's right tail, his weight and strength causing the pale thing to collapse into the ground as Seath roared in agony and cock his head skyward. Again, Havel smiled to himself. That one must have hurt.

His moment of smugness began to fade, however, when both he and Argon felt an immense build-up of magic coming from the paledrake. Havel raised his shield as he backed away from his nemesis only for the great dragon to rear his head in Havel's direction and fire off a beam of magic so bright it almost blinded him.

The ray of pure white energy struck his shield like a blow from an armoured giant, and he felt his boots skid across the floor as he attempted to redirect the blast in another direction. He realised his mistake too late when a sudden clinking of crystal met his ears and he felt the searing hot pain of a curse force its way into his bloodstream.

Havel looked down at the newly formed stalagmites piecing his body. Whilst not as potent as the great spikes he had been struck by previously, these little devils were numerous in their assault, and their bite stung worse than the crystal sword that had impaled him.

He growled as the beam of energy dissipated, lifting his boot up before stomping down on the crystal below him. He was going to be seriously pissed off if this continued for another few hours.

"What's the matter, getting tired in your old age?" Argon's voice jerked him back into focus and he turned to see the undead sliding under a strong backhand from Seath before he twirled, lit the room up in silver and gold, and scored twin gashes alongside the dragons front that bled profusely only to close up a few seconds later.

Their current strategy was getting them nowhere. Havel turned his head back to the Primoradial Crystal before pulling out his shield once more. They needed to smash that crystal already.

"Hmph! As if. I'm more alive than anything else in this world."

"Then get steppin', old man." Argon smirked, doubling back around Seath and slashing against the middle of his tail. Havel had to admit that it was curious to watch. Argon seemed to move with such fluidity for a man who had spoken down about his own skills moments ago. What's more, he appeared to be bypassing Seath's incredible sensory abilities. If the blind swipe of the dragon's arms and tails were anything to go by, it seemed he couldn't detect the undead at all – except for when he insulted his companion.

The ex-Archbishop observed his friend cleave more flesh from the paledrake's body before backstepping and using the jagged outcrop of thick and thin crystal against the wall as suitable footholds to escape Seath's range. Havel took that moment to assist.

"Head for the crystal!" he shouted as Argon neared him, lowing in to crouch with his shield as a makeshift launch pad. Argon understood his meaning as he raced leapt from crystal to crystal, wary of the dragon hot on his heels.

The two undead timed the jump, Havel dashing tensing his arms at the exact moment Argon's feet touched the centre of the great shield. With a grunt, Havel threw his arms up, aiming to his left as he sent Argon flying. The undead flew from his position like a spring coil, rebounding off the surface of the carved rock just before Seath's tail could slam into the Archbishop for the second time.

"UH-AGH!"

The feeling of being pressed into the ground like a farmer smashing a bug against the ground did not feel comfortable to the armoured undead as the air in his lungs was squeezed from him. However, he was still glad he was able to make a suitable distraction.

Argon landed heavily, breaking his fall with an overhead roll as Havel was smooshed into the floor. As much as he felt like laughing at the old man's predicament, he was more compelled to grin that their impromptu vault had actually paid off.

He broke into a run as he passed by more cursed statues of men he couldn't bother to learn about. As disappointed as he was with the dragon's dynamic entrance, his fighting spirit was endearing to the undead. No matter how many times he cut, bled, or sliced through the paledrake's body, Seath was still ready for more. It didn't matter if his regenerative factor availed him a high pain tolerance, the sheer ferocity of his attacks were encouraging.

Feeble were the words he preferred. But he could agree that whilst blind, the winged lizard had some fight in him, including a sharp mind to deploy traps with such precise calculation. However, the Father of Sorcery was not what he had expected to be. Whilst his name and achievements made him seem like a great adversary, the real deal was actually rather pitiful.

Hidden traps deployed from the shadows, wild swipes and tail-smacks at the slightest sound, charged bursts of concentrated magic that required too much time to cast? This battle was beginning to become more pitiful the more it continued. He honestly didn't understand how the real him was afraid of such a sub-par foe.

Argon grinned as he neared the Primordial Crystal. From up close it seemed mildly more intimidating. With its sleek blue colour and the tail of wispy fog that twirled around it, the shaft of rock looked quite mystifying. That being said… it also appeared less sturdy than he assumed it to be.

The undead picked up his speed and charged towards it, tracers ready to taste crystal when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and backflipped. As soon as his feet left the ground, he was rewarded with witnessing the trap that would have turned him into a pin cushion.

With a chuckle, Argon landed on his feet as the cursed crystal before him receded back into the ground. He should have known the paledrake had more than just a few traps lying in wait. With a cautious glance, he closed his left eye to peer at the crystal with his violet orb, searching for any trace of a foreign aura that could possess more traps. When he was satisfied with himself, Argon sniffed before diving forward, rolling to his feet, and twirling elegantly as his tracers severed the Primordial Crystal with sparks of gold and silver.

The sudden shattering of the shaft of rock broke Seath and Havel from their game of tag as they both turned to Argon. The Chosen Undead, in turn, turned back to them with his black bow in his hand as he drew a flame-tipped arrow and fired it at Seath.

Pheew… SHNACK!

All three of them watched as the arrow met its mark before the scaleless dragon pulled it out of his snout, the puncture mark sealing over with a soft sizzle.

Argon chuckled; he knew it wouldn't be that easy.

More Dragon Slayer arrows pierced his hide as the surface of his cursed flesh was pummelled by the advent of his misery, yet Seath stood before the two undead seemingly unfazed. In truth, he was irate, enraged, and rabidly ticked off.

This farce of a battle had pushed every single one of his digits since its genesis that he could barely manage to hold back the pent up energy bubbling in his chest – unless he wanted to kill his daughter, the next source of his immortality.

He had not been expecting much, which was why his insertion of petty traps and minimal strategy had only left the Archbishop impaled rather than eviscerated. In his mind, the thought that these fools would back away after the tremendous odds within his domain had been a solid idea, one he had hoped would pay off and leave him to mutilate the live specimen that was his flesh and blood.

But no… instead, that accursed sentient metal had decimated his Channeller's, shattered the crystal hollows he had formed legions of, and even beheaded the golems he used for maiden acquirement. Then, as if to add insult to injury, the Chosen Undead his nauseating accomplice had seen it fit to end the lives of the Pisaca's he had purposefully kept alive for the incentive of further research. And now here they were, within his crystal cave, standing before his Primordial Crystal and seeking to free the abomination that was and always would be his property? It was down-right exasperating.

However, he had to hand it to both men, they had done well to come this far. Even if their only outcome were to become his lab rats. This saved him the trouble of finding them himself. Additionally, the Chosen Undead had began to exhibit quite the curious behaviour. It was utter rage the first moment he saw him, as if the Abyss and his own hollowed madness had merged to form a singular entity of wrath. At first, Seath had wondered whether it was that putrid infection upon his right side that had caused this shift in disposition, but then he had seen a change occur, and suddenly it had all become crystal clear. It wasn't that the Abyss was controlling him, it was that he was controlling the Abyss. That warped persona that commandeered so much willpower that it forced the blight of blights to submit – quite in the intriguing specimen he was.

The next time Seath had peered through his creations to find him, the Chosen Undead had become vastly subdued by his own pessimism, and by doing so, had allowed his skills to dull and his essence to rot. The dragon had assumed that that would have been the moment the raven-haired hero would finally hollow, but then it dawned on him: a being so full of such emotions like dread, anger, sadness, and confusion would never allow himself to hollow – just go insane with his own misunderstanding. It was unique, something Seath himself had found peculiarly fascinating and similar to himself long ago – and that was why he had chosen to stay his hand from killing them immediately.

And now, as he towered above his nemesis, the detestable Havel, his pathetic offspring, and the Chosen Undead; he had discovered a brand-new facet to this intricate nautilus of a once human being.

Indeed, the anger was still there like before, but the control was greater. The Abyss was still writhing against his skin, but its effects did not hamper his movements. No, this version of the undead was exponentially more diverse than the others he had witnessed. It confounded him that such a being could exist in this dead world, and it amazed him further to note that something could still amaze him after an eternity of disappointment.

That being said, his observation had drawn to a close long ago. The undead species was something he had been meaning to study for some time, and that was why he had requested his forces to capture the pair dirtying his halls with their filth. But now that he had had the opportunity to face them directly… his study had elapsed, and his interest no longer piqued. Thus, it was about time he ended this sad excuse for battle.

With a deep breath, he summoned an orb of magic to rest within his throat as he condensed the potency of the magic and siphoned off the severity of its after effects, he wouldn't want his daughter to be affected before he had the chance to extract her occultic essence and feed it to the real Primordial Crystal he kept within a safe place. He had almost uttered out a chuckle himself when the Chosen Undead had severed the sparkling imitation on the wall and turned back to see the results. Sometimes even he found his ploys humorous.

Angling his snout Havel's way, Seath growled as he released another beam of pale blue light, blasting the ground and cratering the walls as the focussed attack receded to nothingness. Then, as soon as white steam appeared from his nostrils, the great spires of crystal rose to impale his foes. He felt the loud footsteps of the Archbishop lumber to the side and reached out a massive hand to crush him. Unfortunately, the compatriot of Gwyn seemed more elusive than he had expected, and more agile to boot. Seath's claws bit into the ground just shy of his target, the sound of crystal snapping under the force of his hand.

He heard a whistling in the distance and reared his head back. The scent of bark and giant filled his nostrils as the human-sized great arrow sailed passed his face, and Seath formed another breath of crystal before turning round and blasting the floor with it, hearing the sound of flesh being torn before the coppery scent of blood filled the air.

He heard the Chosen Undead chuckle before both his presence and his aura disappeared for the second time, leaving Seath truly blind to his whereabouts. The dragon blew out cursed steam from his nostrils. So this undead knew how to mask even his aura from detection? How admirable.

But it would do him no good. To find a lion in hiding, all one needed to do was expand the range of their awareness. The dragon breathed in gruffly, tucking his arms and head into his chest as he summoned forth his supressed magic. With the amount of spells he had just cast, it had been enough to whittle down the potency of this particular spell. And with both his nemesis and the Chosen Undead nearby, the accuracy of his attack was absolute.

Seath closed his dull eyes as he allowed the power coursing through his veins to run rampant. And after a moment of intense pressure, he let himself go.

Havel braced himself as he watched Seath charge his body up with an attack he knew could only end badly. There was no way to really stop the beast once a gathered mass of magic that potent was prompted to be released, thus the reason why he activated the enchantment on his shield. Whether it cost him half of the armament's durability, he truly couldn't care. What mattered was that he wasn't outdone by the foe he had waited eons to kill.

But what worried the ex-Bishop more than the pent-up energies from the paledrake, was the state Argon would be in if he didn't get to safety. And the fact that his companion was instead rushing toward their foe with a sadistic grin on his face did nothing to sate the unease he felt in his gut.

At the mention of his comrades, Havel cast his gaze upwards to Priscilla's cage. He had wondered why she had not voiced her opinion or advice to them after her father had gate-crashed their reunion, and after he saw her, he realised why. Priscilla was unconscious, bleeding steadily from a blow to her forehead. He guessed the bars had given her a concussion after one of Seath's breath attacks, and whilst it was good to know the one currently being used would not reach her because she was so high up, it was not reassuring to see the sorry state she was in. Havel cussed as he tightened the grip on his shield and dug his feet into the ground. Why were things never easy for him?

Argon, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. Fighting one of the last Everlasting Dragons in the world was one tick off his endless bucket list but doing so whilst free to reign over the consciousness of 'Argon' as his past-self was another joy entirely. He almost didn't care for the steady decline in his mental capacity as he continued to trap the real him in their shared mindscape, force the Abyssal corruption to bend to his will and fuel his body with the strength to surpass insurmountable odds.

By this point, he didn't even care about his comrades. Not the vengeful Archbishop currently cowering behind his shield as his ultimate foe prepared to unleash havoc, nor the feeble crossbreed trapped within her cage, unable to reach her father's twisted mind with brittle words coated in warmth.

Out of curiosity, he decided to turn his gaze toward her as he sped towards the Duke. To his mild surprise, she was asleep. Unconscious, was the right way to describe it but she just seemed so pretty with crimson fluid flowing down her brow and tainting that snow-white complexion of hers.

A groan from the dragon brought him back to reality and he grinned as the magic contained within that scaleless chest unravelled like a rosebud. With his right eye, Argon watched as the magic coalesced with the curse afflicting the dragon's body before it exploded in a burst of white light. The floors ruptured and diagonal spikes rose with urgency as Seath's magic corrupted the space they all stood in.

With a wider grin, Argon summoned a lighting spear from his inventory before flinging it skyward, above the wave of magical energy just before said wave crashed into him. His feet left the ground and he felt the pain flood his system. His laugh of ecstasy carried him through the shockwave that tore at his skin, followed by the pillar of crystal that clipped his head, and then finally into the spiky wall that made him gasp out as he went splat.

Broken bones, ruptured organs and severed nerves stabbed needles of pain into him, but Argon simply laughed as he fell back to the ground on mutilated legs, his greaves forming a metallic coffin for his lower limbs.

"Argon! Are you alright?" he heard Havel call out as he took a swig of Estus, sighing out as his adams apple popped back into place and his knees did a full 180, turning the right way round as he stood. The paledrake was almost as entertaining as Gwyndolin.

He tried to take a step forward but frowned when he found his legs immobile. That was odd. He was sure the Estus had done its j- ah. He understood now. The curse was finally taking effect. The undead keenly observed the curse cover his body, taking over his legs, waist, arms, and chest. He lifted his right hand as the virulent energy seemed to be absorbed by the status effect. Despite his predicament, he smirked. How would he fare, he wondered, if he used the Abyss to break this weak curse formed by an even weaker castor? Which corrosive power would prevail? The tainted crystal or his uncleanable infection?

Havel watched in horror as his friend stood there, halfway to Seath, and slowly turning into a hunk of black stone from the ground up. He turned back to Seath, his anger growing as he drew his occultic club from his bottomless box and ran forward. He would have vengeance for this. He just hoped Argon could hold out until he was able to do something, or possibly make his way back down here if he died… if he could hold out long enough…

"Are you satisfied now?" the real Argon asked him as he reappeared back into his mindscape.

"Can you see how futile it all is? You're fighting a losing battle!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. To think YOU of all people would fold under pressure is the true disappointment. Seeing you this worthlessly cling to life and abandon the bonds you painstakingly formed is just sad. Would you like a hug?"

"I'm being serious!" the real him replied, jerking around in the clock hands that bound him. "You were lucky. You have no idea of the full might of Seath."

"And you do?"

The real him remained silent.

The past Argon 'hmphed' as he prodded the black veins on his right side. "Your problem is that you don't understand the full might of YOURSELF, never mind Seath. You continue to isolate your true emotions behind fear, anxiety, and depression; as if all you're good for is complaining… it's sickening."

Argon walked up to the real him and drove the hour hand deeper into his body, causing the bound form of himself to cry out in agony.

"This repulsive persona aggravates me," the past Argon hissed into his counterparts ear, "the more I see you resign yourself to hollowing, the more I feel compelled to RIP out your existence and feed off its entrails. You and I are not the same persona anymore but we ARE the same man. And I will not have the weakling that stands before me be the last thing I see before my borrowed time expires."

The real Argon gasped as the grip on the clock hand eased up and his counterpart walked away. He was still drowning in turmoil, utter defeat as he remained in this slowly deteriorating space, watching the past him fight on with reckless abandon. But all he could do was uselessly watch from a distance. He couldn't conjure up the fight he had inside of him anymore, bring out the jolly self his knew he possessed deep within the warped walls of whatever part of his mind he was currently standing in. The determination to protect those he cared for just seemed to great of a task. And yet this old version of himself stood tall, a crooked smile on his face as he thinks he cannot die. Argon craved that feeling of enlightenment, yearned to be himself again.

However… hopelessness set in and stole his fire, degraded his confidence and peeled back his strength. He didn't know how to return to being himself, the 'him' he knew was filled with joy, kindness and everlasting positivity. The one that held faith for a god he had only been introduced to once as a child. But how could he revert back to that person when he was blinded by this smothering miasma?

"Ahh…" the past him sighed out. "so there it is, the seedlings of growth… I guess I'll need to water them. But then again, anything's better than the pathetic slob staring at me."

The real Argon hung his head in shame. It wasn't like he wanted to feel like this.

"But have no fear… allow me to inspire life into you once again."

"Can you really believe you'll win against something as powerful as Seath?"

"As he is, he's immortal, basically speaking. Additionally, he is a mastermind, a colossal entity of war. However…" the past Argon grinned as he turned back.

"I am a Lithecore. Not just one of them but the commander of them all. It's about time I allowed myself to actually let GO."

Priscilla's head throbbed as her eyes fluttered open, the constant swaying of her crystal cage bring forth a wave of queasiness. She couldn't quite recall why she had passed out, or why she was bleeding but she guessed the reason pertained to the battle still being waged below her.

With a groan, her vision cleared up, allowing her to see Sir Havel and her father still duking it out. As much as she didn't want to see this, her father and her companion fighting one another to the death, she was more concerned with the lack of a presence she had hoped would be by the Archbishop's side. It was only when she had reached out with her Lifehunt ability that she noticed a flicker of him towards the far side of the room. Unfortunately, what she saw made her both snap upright in terror and force her stomach to twist.

"No…" her eyes could not fool her, and her mind was not one to play tricks on her. Yet, there he stood… frozen in time and petrified to stone. He couldn't move, his form was stilled and the life within that chunk of rock felt weaker than a hollow's life force. She could not accept it.

"Argon," she breathed. She had been saying his name a lot recently, she knew. But that had previously been all she had needed to say to get through to him. However, now her words could never reach him because he was cursed. Trapped to suffer within a shell of his own body.

The tightness in her chest grew in intensity and she couldn't stop herself from clutching the fabric above it as her tail writhed in displeasure. She had warned him not to try and rescue her. She had pleaded with them both to turn away immediately. But because they had refused to leave a comrade behind, they were paying the ultimate price.

"Gah!" Havel coughed as he hit the wall below her, creating yet another Havel-sized crater. He breathed out threw his teeth, standing up and dusting off the shrapnel stuck between his platemail. Things were not going that smooth today.

"Sir Havel!" the Archbishop looked up and saw the crystalline cage.

"Priscilla, what are you still doing up there? Help an old man kill your sad excuse for a father, would you."

"This isn't the time for jokes," the crossbreed leaned against the bars to her cage. "And besides, even if I could assist you, I don't have my scythe with me."

"Tch! Think outside of the box for once. Did you even bother trying to utilise Lifehunt energy without a catalyst?"

"I…" Priscilla opened her mouth to speak but stopped. He was right, she hadn't even realised she could do that.

"Well? Stop moping and come down here!"

"And just how would I begin to do that?!" she screamed back uncharacteristically. She didn't mean to act unladylike, she promised. But after the entire ordeal she had suffered with her father, and now Havel's nagging, she couldn't help it. She hoped Argon didn't hear that.

"By the looks of things, the cage is already about done for." Havel spoke up to her as he surveyed the cracks withing the crystal before he walked toward a sharp piece of rock and wrenched it out of the wall.

"Get ready, I'm going to crack the base further."

Priscilla nodded and gathered up her tail and Argon's mask as she stood, hands clutching the bars around her in preparation.

Havel nodded and launched the broken spear of rock like a javelin, cracking the base of her cage further before she raised her tail to deliver a mighty smack against the flimsy floor.

CRACK!

The base of the cage shattered instantly and the crossbreed found herself tumbling toward solid ground again. She braced herself put found a soft landing in the arms of her comrade.

"Thank you, Sir Havel."

The Archbishop grinned before setting her down.

"How's your head feel? It looks like you suffered a nasty hit." He probed as he wiped off the blood drying on her temple.

"I'm okay. The wound is already healed."

The undead huffed. "Lucky you. If only the fool and I had your genes, we would be damn near unstoppable. Well, more so than we already are."

"Speaking of Argon, where is h-"

Her eyebrows shot into her forehead at the sight of the Chosen Undeads body petrified in black stone a good distance away from them.

"Oh no, we have to help him immedia-"

"Worry not, child, he'll be okay." Havel reassured her as he two-handed his Dragontooth once more. "He just needs to make it back here before we become this evenings entrées."

Priscilla caught his meaning as they turned to face Seath, the dragon offering a roar in response as he was finally recognised. She stared at her father apprehensively. He had been the reason for all her suffering, pain and isolation, the only reason why she had previously feared to be in her own skin. He had tortured her with his malice and discarded her into a frozen wasteland after he had taken nearly everything from here. She knew she should have felt hatred toward him for all of that, knew that she should unleash the devastating power within her to crush the Duke that shackled her freedom and twisted her happiness in an act of retribution. But after seeing him when so much of time had passed… all she truly felt was pity, sadness, and woe.

He was not the dragon she had met during her youth, that she was sure of. The glint in his unseeing eyes that stared her down at this moment was more abstract than the days he had simply wanted to tinker around. The ferocity that had once burned through him, that lust for knowledge had dwindled greatly, leaving behind the form of a beast that now only sought seclusion and privacy.

He was a shell of his former self, and although that was the one saving grace he had acquired, the fact that the only way to make him see reason was to kill him felt so animalistic to her. She didn't want to kill him, despite what he had done, and yet here they were, steps away from their doom. She knew that Havel sought his revenge, and yet seeing him madly swinging his instruments around filled her with an unease, as if the current situation were just making the Archbishop head quicker to his own departure the more he engaged her father.

And then there was Argon. She had felt the confusion in him the moment they had left her uncle, smelt the fear slowly seeping into his veins as he struggled to commandeer his own body now that the Abyss had spread over him like a dim cloud of grey. Although he did his best to hide it, he was broken and weak. Lordran had taken too much from him and still demanded he offer more than his soul. As it were, he was half dead already, barely making it with the façade of confidence he wore like a badge of honour. The sight broke her heart to pieces, guilt and pain flooding her body as she watched him fight not for himself, but for those he cared about.

And now he was here to fight her battles as well.

She might have been unconscious for a while, but her senses had certainly not taken a break. She had felt the way in which he had channelled the Abyss as his weapon, warping its decay to enhance his already shattered body. What's more, she could tell he was not himself, his behaviour after finding her was proof enough. He was going through more than she or Sir Havel could comprehend, and yet he still wished to save her. Still wished to comply with the Undead Prophecy, even if it meant him dying time and time again. And even though he had voiced his opinion that linking the Flame wasn't an option, the sheer stress of merely gathering these ancient souls was causing him to self-destruct.

And that was something she could not allow.

She had behaved meek and subdued in the past, especially after he had freed her. Whether because of her fear of the outside world or just genuine hesitation to allow herself to be free, she couldn't remember. But right now, the only thing going through her head was that she could no longer allow her friends to suffer like this whilst she played the damsel in distress. Because she was more than just some crossbreed, she was more than just Priscilla. She was a living being, with a mind and will of her own, with power strong enough to turn this world on its head if she exercised it enough. And besides that… she was also the Princess of the Shining City – whether people accepted it or not. She would not and could not allow her friends, her loved ones to ensure this plight whilst she stood on the side lines. So scythe or not, she would ensure this battle was settled soon, without the need to kill her father or her comrades.

Priscilla breathed in deeply as she adopted a determined mindset. To execute her plan, they would first need to deal with her father. Whilst immortal, they could still beat him, and that was via submission. It would be difficult, especially considering the wisdom of the Duke of Anor Londo, but if they could make it this far, then they could also beat the paledrake down a few pegs.

The next step after that would be to pacify Havel. It would be harder to convince the suborn Archbishop to forgo his need for revenge, but if anyone could get through to him, it was her.

And lastly…

She glanced at Argon's petrified form again. She could be sure that something new would resent itself when he re-emerged, and it wouldn't necessarily be something nice. In the case of that happening, she would need to come up with a way to calm him down, especially if he becomes unhinged like that time with her uncle.

Priscilla took a confident step forward toward Seath, ready to end this supposed one-sided battle when the sight of enchanted bark met her eyes. she frowned and turned to her right to see Havel with his hand outstretched toward her, Occultic Club in hand.

"Um… Sir Havel."

"Hmm?"

"What… are you attempting to do exactly?"

"What's it look like? I'm handing you a weapon." Havel said gruffly. "Can't have you getting those cute fingers broken."

"Oh, uh…"

"What's the matter now?" the ex-Bishop pressed, an irritated look on his face.

"Well…" Priscilla began, an awkward look on her features. "It's… it's just that I um…"

"It's the club, isn't it?" Havel said bluntly. The crossbreed sweat-dropped as she let out a nervous chuckle.

"No, no! It's not tha-"

"Please don't lie to me so blatantly."

"O-Oh… forgive me."

"It's okay, just tell me what's wrong with the club."

"Well… It's just a bit too…"

"Too… what?"

"I don't think I should say."

"What?" Havel stepped in front of her. "No, we've already come this far in the conversation. Rather just say it."

"I don't know about this. Are you certain?"

"Of course, I'm certain! Now spill it!"

"O-Okay, then…" Priscilla twirled a finger through her hair awkwardly. This wasn't going to be easy.

"The club is nice, it really is."

"But?" Havel stared.

"It's a bit too…"

"Well? Say it."

"Brutish."

"I KNEW IT!"

Priscilla cringed as the Archbishop walked away from her, hand on his head as he lamented on his decision to even make her look at the weapon a caveman would use. What was he thinking giving her a piece of wood to clobber an Everlasting Dragon that could heal itself? Yes, it was occultic and she was basically full of that energy but that didn't mean she would be able to use a Havel-sized weapon.

The Archbishop sighed out as he pocketed the item as his tailed companion placed a gentle hand on his back out of concern. What was up with him in his elderly years?

"Seath isn't fighting us seriously." Priscilla blinked at that comment. From what she had seen thus far, the battle seemed evenly matched – if she excluded her father's regenerative factor. However, assuming that the millennium old dragon was only capable of simple breath attacks and large-scale magical explosions was foolish of her. Seath was not an esteemed Duke of sorcery for nothing, it was only natural that he had a near infinite store of spells within that enormous head of his. The fact that he hadn't deemed it necessary to display said powers yet was either because he didn't see them as much of a challenge, or because he was waiting for something to initiate him to takes things a step further. Whichever way she sliced it, she couldn't help but feel mildly insulted, even if she herself didn't feel as powerful as she actually was.

"Well, then we'll just have to make him take this seriously." She replied in confidence.

"What's your plan?"

The crossbreed adjusted the gloves around her fingers before curling her tail and lowering into a low stance. "The only way possible right now is to aggravate him. That will at least force his hand."

Havel guffawed. "As simple-minded as that sounds, I can't help but want to play along."

Without need for affirmation of their next task, Priscilla tensed the muscles in her legs before she shot forward, racing over the expansive crystal floor like an enraged ghost. Seath heard the quick steps of her boots tap against the floor and sucked in a deep breath, conjuring more of his cursed magic to coalesce within his chest.

She recognised the attack and quickly diverted her path to the right of him, just bypassing the ray of azure energy that dug a deep trench into the ground not three feet behind her. The sound of Havel grunting as a new wave of crystalline spikes knocked against his shield alerted her of the successful casting of the dragon's attack. She breathed in deeply as she altered her course and headed toward a nearby tail of Seath's.

With a growl, she let out a magical blast of her own that speared through the tip of the fleshy appendage and froze it in place with ice so cold it burned the paledrake's scaleless skin.

Seath bared his fangs at her but was unable to move so much as a finger in her direction due to the magical backlash he sustained from such a powerful attack. The white-haired crossbreed moved like water, using his impaled tail as a makeshift bridge as she ran across it before jumping up and ploughing her sharp nails into his flank.

The immediate sensation of Lifehunt energy spilled into his body, causing Seath to roar in pain. Priscilla grit her teeth as he shook his body in an attempt to fling her off, her fingers digging in deeper before she pulled herself up, tore her right hand out of her father's body and stabbed her claws into him again, climbing up his enormous body.

The dragon wailed, his head snapping back as more occultic magic sizzled his insides. He had never cared about the pain enchanted weapons could wreak upon its foes, but direct assault from one's source was a different matter entirely. In the past, he had experimented on the scales of his daughter, once or twice experiencing the utter agony such magic could cause a person to endure. And yet, it felt so much more unbearable as she channelled that forbidden power through her very own fingers to wound him.

Priscilla gasped as the she felt the skin around her hands begin to heal, attempting to seal her fingers along with it and closed her eyes, summoning even more Lifehunt energy to aide her in her endeavour. It was difficult using so much without her scythe, so much so that it was beginning to drain her of stamina but she pushed on, tearing her hands out of the paledrake's flesh as she continued her climb, steadily moving up towards his neck.

Seath eventually regained full control of his body after the magic in his body regulated, before reaching out to grab her. She may have been the item he needed to drain and funnel into his Primordial Crystal, but she was wrong if she thought he needed her perfect.

The crossbreed cried out as his hands enclosed around her, squeezing with enough force to shatter the spires of Gwyn's castle. Her resilient body endured the pressure but her grip on him relented, availing him the chance to pull her off his body. He held her a metre in front of his face and watched her struggle in his hand, clawing at his large knuckle and flailing her legs about. It was pleasing to see she had lost that meek disposition she had grown into as a child, and the ferocity in her face as she attempted to free herself was admirable indeed. However, she was still foolish if she believed she could defeat him as she was not.

Her abominable magic may have scared the gods, but it did not cause him to faulter. Try as she might, there was no way her powers of the occult would be able to slay him. As it were, the Primordial Crystal was already expelling the negative energy within him, healing the wound she had made in less than a second.

Even if she had used a substantial amount of magic to attack him, it would do nothing but cause him to stumble. His resistance to the affinity he had a hand in bringing into the world was just too strong for the Lifehunt to overwhelm.

"I won't allow you to harm my friends." She warned, still tearing away at the fast-healing wounds on his hand. "and I won't let them kill you either."

Seath scoffed. As if they could.

He charged another mouthful of bright blue magic. Roughing her up a bit wouldn't be pushing it. In fact, it would ensure she stayed down whilst he dealt with the pathetic Bishop he had forced into exile centuries ago. He didn't need her getting up and attempting to fight him again, was weak as her control over the Lifehunt was, it was still distracting to his body due to how foreign it still felt after all these years.

But as he was about to fire off a round from his maw, he felt an excruciating blow to his right tail, followed by a horrific crunch.

Turning back, he reached out with his magic and saw a weak outline of someone behind him. It was Havel, he recognised that infuriating weapon he had salvaged from one of his worthless brethren's corpses. Before he could react to the enraged undead, he felt another mighty blow to the end of his tail. The feeling of his bones turning to brittle and piercing his flesh made him roar in both fury and pain.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of it. At the exact moment that Seath opened his mouth, Priscilla – who had been silently charging up an attack of her own – let out a stream of icy magic at point blank range.

Seath choked as icy pillars and shards materialised down his throat until it blocked off his air supply entirely. His grip on his daughter loosened marginally enough her to squeeze out of his fingers and land on the ground before backflipping out of a tail he sent to slam her into the floor.

With a lurch, Seath grabbed his throat and squeezed with both hands, attempting to crush the built-up ice within before his magic went out of control from the blockage. Again, he was left to hang dry as the Lifehunt imbued into the solid liquid seeped into his body, the pain causing him to lose control for a moment.

A moment that had cost him.

In an instant, the pent-up magic bubbling within his chest, struggling to reach the back of his throat lit up, illuminating his pale flesh like a lamp as the Lifehunt energy merged with it. His body fought against the foreign magic, spinning wildly within his gullet before the dragon spasmed. And then the room burst into white.

Havel uttered a war cry as he rushed to Priscilla's side, stabbing his shield into the ground in front of her with both hands and tensing up. He felt her arms wrap around him and he grit his teeth as the explosion bashed against him like an Iron Golem.

Spikes of crystal, petrified bodies of other undead, even the ground beneath them caved in under the immense pressure. More object beat against the Archbishop's shield but he refused to relent. The force of the combined magic had worked better than he had anticipated, creating a pure wave of destruction despite the minimal amount of magic summoned by both parties. He attributed it to the potency of both occultic and cursed magic, however, for it to have such an immense outcome… he looked down at his tailed companion. If this was just a fraction of her power, he feared to know what she could do with all of it.

They remained tensed for a few more moments as the stark brightness dissipated, leaving behind a room with falling crystal and ruptured floors. The far corners of the room were still untouched by the implosion, however the ceiling itself was beginning to cave in. Amidst the rubble, stood their scaleless foe.

Seath had taken the brunt of the damage due to the collision of magic deriving from within him. Because of that, the detonation had taken more from him than it had from Havel and Priscilla. Both of them looked at the still form of the Duke, the upper portion of his head reduced to bleeding flesh as only his lower jaw remained. Among the bodily evisceration, his wings on his right side were also partly damaged with more than half of them appearing to be torn off.

The icy crystal that was lodged down his throat was partly visible, a few spikes of solid ice puncturing the outside of his neck, leaving behind jagged tears where there was once fur and pale skin.

The sight was grotesque to Priscilla, yet she stood strong. She knew this wasn't the end, Seath was much more resilient than that.

And the dragon proved her right by standing up.

"Lloyd's sake." Havel cursed as he left his shield where it was and hauled his Dragontooth up once more. He wondered just how insane the dragon had to be to be able to survive being disembowelled from the inside out. He watched as residual magic swirled around his nemesis, rapidly reforming flesh, bone, and muscle as Seath's head was put back together, piece by agonising piece. he cringed. The pain must have been unimaginable, and yet he still refuse to keel over.

Nice to know he shares in Argon's stubbornness. This is going to be a long day.

"Well, that worked." Havel nodded to himself. They had surely screwed the pooch now.

"Prepare yourself, father isn't one to hold back when aggravated."

"Oh, believe me, honey… I know all about that." He replied, pulling out his talisman and casting Magical Barrier on the both of them.

"I'm just surprised you're so willing to help me kill the great beast."

"I'm not helping you kill him," she smiled, "my goal is to prevent death on both ends."

A smile found Havel's face at that answer, filling him with more Moxy than he had anticipated.

"Hah! Good luck, my revenge will still be found, whether you like it or not."

"Then I guess I just have to convince you with much more than sincerity."

Her reply silenced him. And for a moment he entertained the idea of forgiveness… until his rage overwhelmed the blasphemy of that thought and he curled his lip as Seath finally healed himself to completion.

The dragon breathed out a cloud of misty air as the ice that had flooded his mouth melted to water, dripping out the side of his mouth as he bared his fangs toward the two interlopers still alive within his crystal cavern.

He had never distracted himself with the idea that someone could truly make him as angry as he was currently. Even Havel, the Archbishop that had attempted to thwart his plans had been nothing more than a nuisance to him when he had stormed his Archive and arrived at his chamber. But now… oh, now his mind had been turned.

He no longer cared for playing around with the stubborn undead. Because now he was ready to tear those limbs of his off with his teeth, open a hole in that thick armour with his magic and sever his soul to splinters.

As for his daughter, he thought against using her to fuel his Primordial Crystal. There was no real to, even if the magic was eating him from the inside out. He could handle a menial drawback. What he could not was the fact that his failed spawn actually thought she could beat him with that ancient magic of hers on par with the Goddess of Sin herself.

No… he would not need her essence any longer. What he really wanted was to make her scream out in agony. It would be payment for hers and her useless mother's acts against him, and he would revel in it.

All three beings stood still as statues, weighing each other up as they prepared for the tension in the air to be snapped like someone's spinal cord. Seath growled dangerously as his tails whipped around him, claws prepared to show these worthless ants what true power would feel like. They had endured his might thus far, yes. But they had no idea what he was really capable of. And to make matters worse for themselves, they had engaged him in battle whilst in his domain. They would curse themselves for such an error.

However, as they were about to throw down, they all felt the tiny tingle of energy begin to pool around the room. It was slight at first, almost invisible as they had focussed their attention to one another. But now… it felt like a musty cloud hanging around the room, as if it had slowly grown, waiting for them to notice it.

And notice it they did. For when the strange magic – if they could even call it that – had reached a substantial level in the destroyed room they stood in, the tension was broken with a distinct snap.

With wide eyes, Priscilla and Havel look on behind Seath toward the other end of the room. Stationed near the broken remains of the fake Primordial Crystal stood Argon's petrified body, frozen in time yet seeping out infectious energy from the jagged crack along his outstretched arm. They waited a few moments longer and more cracks began to grow from the first, spreading quickly along the stony body of their comrade, until the entire right side of the Chosen Undead was marred with thick and thin lines.

Dense, unsightly mana dripped out from the cracks, as if a slime were attempting to force its way out before Seath and his foes felt a rush of dangerous power. The dragon immediately turned around, snapping an enormous hand against the wall, causing a quartet of cobalt crystal pillars to shatter said body of stone.

However, to both his shock and concern, the columns of rock were blown to dust as a filthy orb of Abyssal energy expanded around the Chosen Undeads body. And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, Argon flexed his arm, breaking cracked stone from his body as his upper half burst for the from the curse.

" Ahhh… finally free." He sighed out, a whimsical grin on his monochrome face as the purple flames of the Abyss washed over his form.

Seath hissed, drawing more spires of rock from the walls and floor around them to speed toward the changed undead. Argon simply held out his hand as another wave of destructive power tore through the crystals like they were nothing.

The undead tilted his head to the side as he saw Havel and Priscilla with worried looks on their faces. They seemed more concerned for him than they did for their own lives. He smiled, how thoughtful of them.

The stone encasing his left side cracked and crumbled for a moment before his other hand broke free of the curse, summoning a purging stone from his inventory and crushing it in his hand to ward off the remaining putrid essence that stuck his feet to the ground.

As he got his bearings and drew his tracers for round two, the other beings in the chamber eyed him with an air of caution. He simply replied with a flash of his pearly whites.

"Well, what are we all waiting for? Hail to the slaughter."

(*queue: "0.00 a.m." by Acid *)

Seath didn't waste any time in flooding the room in his magic, a spell circle of titanic proportions hovering above all of them before he rained down crystalline hell. The squall of cobalt, azure, and royal blue shards stabbing the ground like a leviathan's arsenal of pikes. Both Havel and Priscilla were shielded by the Archbishop's great shield as they advanced, the crossbreed concentrating her Lifehunt ability into her breath, claws, teeth, and circulating the rest around her body to heal herself should any lucky shards find their mark.

Argon, meanwhile, took the opposite approach, racing forward carelessly. Whilst he was at risk from being impaled mid-way, he made up for the lack of protection with his speed and evasive action, dodging left and right, forward and back as his tracers gleamed silver and gold.

The Everlasting Dragon felt both parties' approach and tucked his head into his chest. All three of them saw the attack coming but didn't expect him to follow up with a half-second charge of magic. The moment Seath expelled his wave of calamity, Argon leapt into the air. Below him, a sea of stalagmites dripping in cursed energy waiting for him to land.

Argon grinned madly as he lifted his gaze forward, only to see the paledrake's large hand swing his way, about to slap him into last century. The undead allowed gravity to lower him a few feet before he raised his arms and stabbed deep holes into the incoming hand. The force of the blow rocked his body but Argon remained strong, digging the tracer's deeper as he climbed up the hand and sped forward along Seath's arm; all the while cackling loudly.

The dragon growled and huffed through his nose, filling the space near his snout in thick mist. Argon admired his ingenuity and replied in kind by tossing a black firebomb forward as he vaulted over the swipe from Seath's other hand.

The firebomb hit its mark, turning the white mist black with smoke. When it finally cleared, Argon was graced with the sight of a roaring paledrake, a beam of concentrated magic hurtling his way. The undead met the blast head-on, using the purple flames on his right hand as a shield with another expulsion of vile energy. The beam of magic was delayed a second, and Argon used that time to dive off the arm, Havel waiting for him down below with his shield over his head. The Chosen Undead landed on the great shield, his muscles tensing before leaping up again.

Seath couldn't react in time to defend against the oncoming assault so he did the next best thing, snapped at the Chosen Undead.

Argon grunted as his leg was caught between Seath's jaws. The dragon glared at him with blind eyes before his head began to shake from side to side. Argon experienced the pain of his leg being ripped from his body before the rapid motion made him feel nauseous and he promptly stabbed a tracer into the dragon's nostril.

Seath reeled back, opening his mouth just enough to allow the undead to slip out, climb his maw and score twin strikes across the paledrake's face. He smiled to himself, proud of his handiwork that was already healing itself before using the dragon's face as a springboard to backflip himself back to the ground.

Priscilla joined him as he dropped both tracers into her hands before rolling to the side as Seath sent a mighty fist to plough the area he was standing in. The crossbreed blocked her face from the shrapnel, staring up at her father as he curled his hand into a claw before summoning a few large orbs of burning blue energy. She immediately charged forward; dodging passed the first orb that attempted to smash into her. With an elegant twirl, she cleaved two neat lines into her father's crystal-ridden body before jumping back and spinning her blades diagonally. Rich, dark blood gushed out from Seath's abdomen as he roared, flicking a tail toward her in agitation.

Her eyes darted to the side as the appendage neared her before breathing out freezing ice that pierced it, simultaneously halting it an inch from her face. Seath tried in vain to wrench it free but immediately felt the drain on his life force as her Lifehunt ability seeped into his bloodstream.

And it was at that exact moment that Havel arrived.

"AAARGH!"

The Archbishop slammed his weapon against the thick flesh of Seath's tail, hearing more than just a snap as he dragged his Dragontooth back, built up more momentum by spinning, and delivered another successive blow on the wounded tail. He cringed when the tail replied with a louder breakage of bones.

CRUNCH!

Priscilla flinched at Seath's cry before she sped up to the appendage and stuck it again. From Argon's viewpoint, she seemed like a dark servant of Velka, moving elegantly as she cut through the dragon's tail with ease.

SLICE-SHINK-SHNICK-SLASH-

SPLASH!

(*Fight song ends*)

The Everlasting Dragon bellowed as half of his right tail was cleft in twain, dark blood spilling put life a fountain as the Primordial Crystal worked double time to regrow the lost limb. Seath crushed the mass of orbs in his hand, filling his hand with writhing blue energy before slamming it into the ground.

The explosion that rocked both the crossbreed and the Archbishop sent them tumbling far away from the dragon as Seath trembled, rage engulfing his mind. He should have killed those two whilst he had the chance. But now that they were in his line of sight, there was no better time than the present.

He opened his maw, filling his throat with enough magic to blow a giant hole through the cave itself before delaying its release. Alongside his crystal breath, the dragon held up a hand, palm facing his daughter and nemesis. Slowly, he pulled together the magic from around the room, pooling it together to form a small sun within the cavern they all stood within.

He was tired of this game now; it was about time he closed the final curtain.

With a roar, Seath allowed the gathered magic in his throat to go wild. The particles of magic violently writhed as it began to leave his maw. And that was when a Dragon Slayer arrow pierced through the paledrake's left eye.

The dragon screeched as the course of his blast was altered, veering towards the ceiling above him as his head snapped back due to the force of both the stone-tipped arrow and his own attack.

Havel groaned as he got up, Dragontooth-less as he patted his body down for mortal wounds. He sighed out when he found a few light gashes through his platemail and turned back to see an unconscious Priscilla. The sigh that left his lips lessened the vice-like grip on his heart.

So they had survived after all. He had never been that grateful that his anti-magic barrier had redirected most of that previous explosion. Thinking back on it now, he hadn't seen Argon during that last attack.

He turned his gaze forward to see if his companion had managed to brave that blow when his eyes bugged out of its sockets. Right there, standing at the same height as Seath, was an orb of so much magic that it was frightening, and it was speeding straight towards them both.

The Archbishop's eyes darted around him, in search for his shield but found no trace of it. He looked back at the behemoth projectile. He couldn't allow that to touch Priscilla. He would surely die himself if he attempted to meet it head on but he had the advantage of reviving at a bonfire, the crossbreed didn't.

But he was too tired to even stand, and yet again, he felt more of his armour flake off his body as he struggled to get to his knees.

No, I'm not quitting just yet.

He still had his revenge to think about. And he wasn't going to just die, revive outside of this accursed cave he and Argon had taken eons to traverse before continuing his fight. He would stand his ground and brave this attack, no problems. He just needed extra protection.

Managing to haul out his now torn and withering talisman, Havel clenched his teeth as he summoned all the magic he possessed within him, funnelling it into the miracle he had created to deal with issue just like this one.

His body lit up with a bright hue of warm light, outlining his armour like an angel's halo as he allowed the material in his hand to fall to the floor, its final task done.

The bright blue of the orb illuminated his bearded face as Havel offered it a wry smile.

"This is why I hate magic."

However – and this seemed to be occurring too frequently for his taste – he was interrupted from feeling immense pain when Priscilla suddenly flashed in between both him and the gigantic orb, one hand on his shoulder as she sucked out his magic with her Lifehunt ability, and raised her other hand toward the hurtling orb of death, channelling the magical barrier out of it.

Havel gasped as his magic was torn from his body. "Priscilla, stop!"

She ignored his plea as the orb hit, smashing into the anti-magic wall she raised in front of both of them.

"A-Argh." She bit her tongue as the force of the orb forced her feet back an inch, but still she didn't yield. The attack sent their way would have most certainly killed her companion, even with the shroud of magic he had slathered over his form. The only choice she had had was to convert his magic into a shield for the two of them, her power was more substantial than his, after all. And if her luck played correctly, she might even be able to protect him from the blast completely. She doubted she could redirect it at this point, the momentum it had built was too great, and she couldn't use her powers to absorb it either since it was conjured via the elements around them, not from her father. The whiplash of taking in that much natural energy would be a literal overload for her – not that getting hit by the orb in front of her would be the easier alternative.

"Sir Havel… you need- ah! T-To run." Her hand trembled as it was forced back a bit. Holding onto this magical shield whilst simultaneously replacing Havel's lost magic with her life force was taxing on her. She would have chastised him for even considering this reckless act but she had her hands full at the moment. Still though, the fact that the ex-Archbishop had been willing to sacrifice all of his magic – which in turn would cost him his life – just to save her, the abomination that nobody cared for was heart-warming. She would be sure to thank him if they ended up living to tell the tale.

"Priscilla," Havel said raggedly. He had used up all of the remaining magic in his system which would have ended in his death if she hadn't chosen to intervene. But even still, the fact that she had chosen to save him despite knowing he would not die was foolish. Didn't she know he was almost immortal as an undead?!

"Why… when you know I can revive?"

She smiled at him like a child would toward their grandparent, kind and sincere. It warmed his heart whilst also knocking a guilty nail into it.

"J-Just because you can revive… doesn't me-mean that you should allow yourself to die."

He stared at her with wide eyes as she held both their death's at bay. He was proud to see her make such leaps and bounds as a person, but the fact that he had allowed himself to let her protect them knowing that such foul odds were against them…

"Now, we c-can't have you sp-spacing… out, Sir Havel."

The Archbishop looked up; a firm look on his face. "My magic isn't substantial enough. You need to take my life essence from me, now."

Priscilla shook her head as she powered through the pain. Like it or not, even her control over her Lifehunt had its drawbacks, and right now, she could feel her grasp on Havel's barrier slipping.

"If you want to repay me then please… lay your revenge to rest."

Havel stared at her with sad eyes. "You know I can't do that. It's the only thing keeping me sane."

Her soft laugh forced tears to roll down his face as the barrier before them began to crack.

"Of course you can. You're Sir Havel… you can do a-aghn!" she clenched her teeth, the force of the orb of magic slowly breaking through their defence. She knew they didn't have long. They would have to make this quick.

With an innocent smile, and the kindest eyes Havel had even come to know, Priscilla spoke her final words as the barrier before them shattered completely, letting the blazing sphere through.

"You can do anything…"

And suddenly all the ex-Bishop saw was white before pain rocked his soul.

" PRSCILLAAAAA!"

Argon watched as both his comrades screamed in anguish, the deep globe of magic burning them from every direction as they were washed by its overwhelming glow. He should have felt angered by such a sight, saddened too; instead, he just felt like scoffing.

Seath, a pathetic excuse for the dragons of legend, had killed two birds with one stone – or should he say two sinners with an unholy sphere of light? Either way, at least he didn't have to worry about them getting in his way. Whilst they may have been the reason he stood back up to fight insurmountable odds, that emotional strength belonged to the real Argon, not the current him. At this very moment, whilst he was still in control, his eyes only detected a fallen Bishop and a sinful goddess bearing a posthumous end by his hand. Now that they had been taken out of the equation by the very being he was eager to kill, there wasn't a need for him to break his head about it.

The Duke himself was a different matter. After what had seemed like a tumultuous display of power, he still seemed unfazed. Perhaps it was due to his so-called 'everlasting' magic that overrated crystal of his availed him? Or perhaps the dragon simply possessed greater reserves than he had assumed.

Whichever way he sliced it, one objective was clear: find and destroy Seath's favourite gemstone.

The dragon snarled at him, pulling out the great arrow lodged within his skull. The undead watched the large optic nerve regenerate at surprising speed before a murky, dull blue eye stared down at him again. Argon merely smiled at the gesture.

Six seconds.

Not waiting for the go-ahead, the Chosen Undead rushed his foe, demon spear flashing into his hands as he thrust the bone-white weapon forward, stabbing a piece of flesh just under Seath's ribcage before he dodged a right hand that would have crushed him into the floor. He heard another guttural growl and dropped into a low crouch, just missing the next hand before he countered with a heavy stab in the same place he had delivered he first.

Instantly, the wound lit up with lightning, singeing the point of impact with its sharp teeth. Argon jumped back as a tail smacked into him. The spear in his hands disappeared into silver wisps of mist as he rolled to the left of an incoming beam of magic, drew his black bow and fired a flame-tipped arrow into the very same wound he had already struck twice.

He grinned as charred flesh lost its dark complexion, being filled out with fresh skin as it sealed up around the shaft of the arrow.

Three seconds.

The undead kept his distance with the next frontal assault, drawing his Oolacile catalyst as the paledrake slithered toward him – the lazy lout making the first move for once.

He knew full well that magic wouldn't work on the oversized beast, Seath was basically immune to any magical attack he could cast – however, it was a different story entirely when said magic was infused with another foreign element altogether. Just take the scaleless dragon's late daughter, for instance, her occultic magic had harmed him quite a bit, even if he had healed in a jiffy.

Argon raised his arm skyward, the end of the ashen tree branch turning a misty black as he channelled his spell through it.

Seath seemed to recognise the abhorrent enchantment take root from the undead before he hissed, raising a monolithic hand of his own. Argon watched with a smug face as a torrent of crystalline tendrils extended from the room around them, their jagged ends directed toward his motionless form as he prepped his hex. His assumption had been correct after all, the dragon was wary of this type of magic.

The fronds of glittering mineral sped toward him, their quantity filling his vision like an army of faceless serpents. For a moment he thought of that diminutive false god before his face stretched into a sick grin and his catalyst expelled the energy it had accumulated.

The Father of Sorcery watched as several beads of abysmal darkness crashed into his crystal barrage, devouring the rich mineral like ravenous parasites before breaking through the cobalt walls with a hideous sizzle.

He had not cared for the human-born disease that had obliterated Oolacile and corrupted to weak minds of the Four Kings, but he had spent time researching that foul magic. After countless experimentation with his own crystals and after he had taken to bonding his flesh with the curse currently turning him into a dragonoid statute – albeit, quite slowly – he had come to the conclusion that the powers of the abyss were far more repugnant to him than Velka's dominion over the Dark. As such, he had refused to allow such crass mutations of magic to enter his Archives, set up a blockade of golems to surround the Darkroot Basin, the unofficial warp-point to the corrupted forests of Mirkwood; and had even trapped that useless princess within one of his gold creations to ensure no trace of the Abyss could potentially enter his domain.

And yet…

"Aw, what's the matter, great betrayer of the Ancients? Abyss got your tongue?"

It had taken just one undead to undo his plans. Oh, how he was going to enjoy pulling this insignificant bottom-feeder apart, particle by particle.

The dragon's keen senses zeroed in on the undead in time to feel the growth of yet another warped incantation. He lowered his head as his body filled up with cursed magic; he intended to finish this fight quickly.

The incoming mass of appalling energy made the fur on his skin writhe, yet he remained calm – this was but a paltry exchange, even if the Chosen Undead was filled almost to the brim with the Abyss itself. This fight was nothing to him, a mere annoyance despite how drawn out it had become.

The dark energy approached him like a rapid hound, and he replied in kind with a focussed shot of unborrowed power, the bright beam dissipating the mist that flew toward him and slamming into Argon, forcing him to the ground as Seath huffed out plumes of tainted air.

Compared to his brethren, this was child's play.

Argon stood up with a satisfied groan. The impact of that roar had filled him with so much delicious pain that he couldn't help but drool. It was also curious to note that although his previous attack had nearly sealed him in a stony coffin, this particular blast of magic had merely torched his being from the inside out. He wondered if perhaps it was by his reliance on the corruption on his right side that negated the curse imbued within Seath's body, but didn't dwell on it long enough to find out – after all, there were much more exciting things to do.

The flames of the Abyss coiled around his body as he observed the paledrake. In all honesty, they weren't getting anywhere like this. In fact, if he had to weigh the gravity of the situation for a moment, they were almost equal in power. One of them would have to get serious soon.

Argon meditated on the scaleless beast as he watched the dragon regain control of his limbs again. If he were to decide the due judgement on the endangered species before him, what would it be exactly? The dragons were not, in his opinion, really deserving of the title sinner; partly due to the fact that they had not been the aggressors during the Old War. He could possibly judge the blind lizard on his transgressions against humanity, what with his unending experimentation on captured maidens – yet at the same time, he wondered whether it was really a sin, considering the deplorable acts of Man.

Or maybe he should be focussing on the dragon's sin for power – or was it knowledge? Yes, the dragon had sinned after all. His lust for the attribute he was born without was a clear marker of his contravention. A combination of envy for his brethren, jealousy for what they took for granted, his lust to commit genocide and become the only flying lizard of strength. Add on his lapse of personality due to a crazed obsession to live forever and Argon had a literal wealth of depravity to purge. How fitting.

The undead sprinted like a maddened wolf, arms flailing behind him as he eagerly approached the Everlasting Dragon, catalyst already drawn and conjuring another sinister spell. His sight lit up with an array of colours as he watched Seath draw deep from within himself to counter Argon's recurring attack.

The undead followed the trail of thin strands of blue from within the paledrake. It drew close together in his chest for a few seconds before settling and flowing up his large throat toward the back of his maw. Argon's brow crinkled, however, when he caught an anomaly in the information his insane mind quickly processed.

It had only been there for a split-second, but he had seen it, nonetheless. A slight flash of untainted magic that merged with the rest of the dragon's essence. His eyes grew wide with understanding before another crooked smile broke his features apart.

So that was where he had hidden it. How clever; now all the pieces made sense as the fit into this jumbled puzzle.

Argon pointed his catalyst at Seath's head, focussing as a large cloud of darkness broke off from his fist with a blunt phwiff. Seath snapped his head to the side to dodge the projectile before letting loose a discharge of his own. The undead was hard-pressed to escape the assault from above as multiple rounds of Seath's crystal breath tore the ground asunder below him, causing Argon to dash and weave through and around the azure hail.

The dragon growled impatiently at his inaccuracy before deciding to simply crush him with brute force. Argon fell prey to a claw that clipped his shoulder, tearing the muscle in his shoulder as he went sprawling against the floor. The dragon saw his chance and launched a tail forward, cracking against the undeads spine.

"Ack!" the crazed undeads eyes widened as he felt his vertebrae snap and pierce his insides as gravity caused his body to ricochet off the ground. He felt time slow down as Seath followed up with a rising pillar of rock that impaled his abdomen before time sped up as he was once again swatted by a pale backhand.

He skipped against the floor like a stone flung against the surface of a lake, bouncing once, twice, thrice; breaking new bones and experiencing fresh waves of pain with each impact before he finally reacted.

Splaying the broken fingers in his left hand, he summoned a weapon from his bottomless box to halt the constant up and down motions that were beginning to make him queasy. As his face neared the ground for the fourth time, he lunged in with his left arm, impaling the ground with the weapon so that he slid against the floor – stopping any further momentum from being built.

A deep sigh left his lips as his blood stained the navy surface he stood on. That short chain of attacks had been excellently timed, at least the lizard knew how to fight. He wondered if Seath would show him any unorthodox techniques like fem-boy had – he was just itching for another feel of that glittering blade of sunlight that had torn him in half the last time.

Fwish

"Hm?" the undead peered down as he felt the sudden burst of flame warm his side. To his amusement, he noted that the weapon he had spontaneously drawn had been none other than his coiled bonfire sword.

Spitting out the broken tooth he felt swimming around in his mouth, the undead decided to use this opportunity to his advantage, tapping the hilt of the bronze-coloured blade. "How convenient."

He hadn't known how the sword could summon a bonfire without a Keeper present or the signature ashes and bones underneath the blazing hearth but Argon didn't argue. As it was, he had considered taking just a slight rest before he allowed himself to really break loose.

Seath didn't bother to retaliate, for whatever reason he had conjured in that bulbous head of his. Argon chuckled as he felt his bones snap back into place and his flesh sizzle as his wounds close up. He didn't like to be that guy, but Seath would regret not killing him when he had the chance.

When less than a minute had passed by, the undead launched himself forward once more, running closer to the ground on all fours like some feral hellhound. The dragon, who looked to have also benefited from the short repose, reacted by slamming a hand against the ground.

The undead closed his amber eye to get a better look at what the paledrake was plotting when he saw the rush of twin streams of magic swim underneath him and circle a space of six metres in diameter. He laughed to himself before jumping.

Almost instantly, the ground rose up to meet him, a cluster of a dozen spikes attempting to skewer him. Argon was about to lash out with a pyromancy when a thought occurred to him regarding his foe.

Whilst Seath was the Father of Sorcery, and all that, he was still a puny dragon – meaning that his weakness against lightning-based attacks was still pretty apparent. The smile that lit his face managed to reach his ears as he landed on his feet and took off with a sprint. How had ne not realised it sooner?

A shaft of crystal attacked from his flank but he jumped over it, using the elevated object as a platform to leap higher. He held out his right hand as more Abyssal energy swarmed his body, turning his entire right side into a rough shadow of writhing veins and violet flames. Seath's hand approached him once more and he grinned; maybe this time he could amend his prior attempt?

The dragon snarled when his clawed hands met nothing but air, his superior senses picking up on the outline of the Chosen Undead flipping over the strike in mid-air, drawing a spear, and stabbing into his wrist as he landed on the dragon's arm.

The pure wave of electrical energy that scorched his flesh and ran up his veins made the paledrake cry out before anger filled his head. He had not guessed that he would ever see this weapon again. And the fact that the undead possessed it just fuelled the burning anger in Seath even more.

Argon smirked as he saw his scaleless foe spasm momentarily. That had worked better than he had assumed it would. Moreover, now that he had Seath's undivided attention, he could have some fun.

Using the same tactic as before, Argon raced up Seath's arm. The dragon roared as he tried to shake him off, but the Chosen Undead didn't loose his hold on the large arm as he continued his sprint. Seath clenched his other hand into a fist, drawing the natural magic around them into his palm as he prepared to create another squall of blue. Argon refused to let that happen as he charged the spear in his hand, its sleek haft shining white as the lengthy blade crackled with power. He thrust the spear forward, the end glowing like a bright star before lighting shot out, catching Seath directly in the eye.

POW!

The wail the Duke uttered left a sadistic grin on Argon's face as he hopped off the arm and hit the floor. Seath was too busy clutching his head in pain as his Primordial Crystal struggled to repair the damage wrought by the weapon of a Dragonslayer. Frankly, Argon had quite forgotten that he had pillaged Ornstein's spear from his corpse. He would have thought that out of everything that had happened to him from his arrival in Lordran, that piece of memory would be something he remembered clearly. Then again, he recalled that he was Argon, and even when walking around in his past persona of nihilism, even he agreed that the announcement of his own name was troublesome enough.

The undead approached the Duke's pale stomach as he writhed about, his tails crashing against the ground, causing the room to shake. He hadn't understood just how bad the affects of a curse could be until staring at the mass of crystal slowly taking over Seath's lower half. He could only imagine the pain the dragon felt each waking moment, the feeling of being eaten alive by your own power. The corruption on his right side might have been similar in that regard, but the undead digressed. He would just have to… aide the dragon with regard to his suffering.

Without wasting a single second, Argon tossed the Dragonslayer Spear into his left hand before charging it up with lighting again. He took a step forward and slashed upwards with the weapon, opening a clean vertical eye within the centre of the beast's body. With his right hand, Argon cocked back his arm before plunging it into Seath's body.

The dragon made a confused noise, turning his body to the side. Argon comically followed the movement as his fingers dug into the Duke's flesh, feeling around for something as the wound he cut sealed over, slowly crushing his arm from the shoulder down.

The undead didn't stop his exploration, even as he felt the thick skin of the dragon begin to clamp down on his elbow, cracking the bone with the contraction on either side of the appendage.

He knew it was somewhere around here. He had seen its aura glow with each fresh breath of magic the paledrake breathed. It was only a matter of time before he finally discovered its hiding pla-

Ah.

Argon grinned as his fingers wrapped around the side of something that didn't feel warm and fleshy. He knew he had found what he was looking for too since he could literally feel the ancient magic permeate against his invading limb.

" Finally, we can end this charade."

Seath attempted to reach out and grab him but froze when he felt a sudden intrusion of heat pool within his body. His head snapped back and he screeched when he felt something intense begin to burn through his innards.

The pyromancy flame burst to life on Argon's trapped hand as his fingers groped around the Primordial Crystal within Seath's body. In truth, he had to hand it to the dragon for being so clever. He would have never thought of hiding such a vulnerable source of immortality in plain sight. However, now that he thought about it, it did make sense how the gemstone was slowly poisoning him from the inside out.

Even so, now that he had found the bane of his battle, he could destroy it. And the best way to rid the world of useless junk was to use extremely prejudice – via grand measures of power.

Argon chuckled as his burning fingers sunk into the crystal like a knife through butter, squeezing down hard enough to feel the object crack and chip within the dragon's body. Seath wailed out, trying his best to tear him away from his treasure but each time the paledrake attempted to attack him, Argon would only squeeze down on the crystal harder.

Eventually, he grew bored of this torture and summoned a great flame to encase his hand, his arm and the inside of Seath's belly as he readied himself for self-immolation. He knew this was going to hurt, which was why he looked forward to it the most.

"And why an explosion, you say?" the undead whispered to no-one in particular as the inside of Seath lit up like a brilliant light.

"Because art… is an explosion!"

FWOOSH- SHABOOOM!!!

Both parties found themselves rebounding from the point of the implosion. Seath barely moved an inch due to his size but the reaction his body made from the sheer amount of pain felt from both his organs and source of immortality exploding caused him to crash against the wall and thrash about animalistically.

Argon's mind went into shock as he felt his arm being ripped off from the blast, and the eruption of magic from the Primordial Crystal ensured his tumbled back far enough to hit the opposite wall with a loud splat!

He laughed manically, despite his pain. It was just too hilarious for his sadistic mind to comprehend as he watched Seath bleed profusely. All that tough bravado and the dragon keeled over due to an internal implosion? How disappointing yet also satisfying. That had to hurt.

Similarly, he was enduring the same amount of blood loss – so much so that he could feel his consciousness begin to slip. But by this point he didn't particularly care whether he passed out or not, he had just proved to that blubbering fool within his mindscape that the Everlasting Dragon was nothing but a nude lizard.

Shaking off the fatigue, he stood up on wobbly knees, gulping down healthy amounts of Estus as he made his way back to the paledrake. He had lost Ornstein's spear somewhere, but that was of no concern. He wanted to use his hands anyway.

Feeling the soothing numbness of the Estus work on his body, Argon decided to look at his severed right arm and raised an eyebrow at what he found.

Whilst said limb had possessed a cocoon of the Abyss over it and had been swarming with enough abysmal energy to flood a cathedral, it had not protected him from the Chaos Fire he had set to detonate within Seath's belly. Additionally, it seemed that the Estus, the only saving grace in this hellhole called Lordran, could not regrow lost limbs. He should have expected as much but the mere fact that his assumption had been correct was amusing, still. Although, he wasn't opposed to fighting with a handicap; he had been doing so ever since he had arrived in this dead land.

After taking a few more steps forward, the undeads boot made contact with an object that clanged against it, echoing round the destroyed cave pocket. He looked down and a smile washed over his face.

How convenient.

Bending over to retrieve his gold tracer, he turned back to Seath. Although he had lost all inhibitions of the self to prove a point, he was still here to claim something. It was a shame though, they had come all this way, fought this hard and it was only for a shard of the bearded bastard's soul? Talk about overcompensation.

"You can still dance, can't you?" the dragon lifted his blind gaze Argon's way and the undead snickered. Seath had spent eons crafting that crystal, tinkering with it, ad infinitum, in order to achieve the immortality his brothers and sisters were born with. He had become one of the greatest minds in the world and stood above the pecking order as one of the last Everlasting Dragons alive. And then here the undead came and swiped it all away with cunning insanity and more than one way to piss off a dragon. He almost felt like shedding a tear for such an achievement.

However, his good time came to an end when the dragon snarled with such fury that Argon felt it vibrating in his chest. The reaction made him grin maliciously. He was going to enjoy the outcome of this bout.

The pillar of rock that struck him not two seconds later possessed enough force to shatter his jaw and leave his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He felt his body sway backwards only for a second shaft to smash into his back, elevating him back to his feet before a chilling blast of crystal darts splashed against his front, pock-marking his bare chest with cobalt shrapnel.

Argon collapsed with a squelch, staring up at the falling column of mineral that aimed to turn him to paste. He coughed out a dry chuckle. He knew he had pushed the dragon's buttons to the max, but he hadn't expected him to react with such ferocity. Honestly, it was getting him excited.

The falling hunk of crystal neared the prone undead, aided by gravity to smash him flat. Unfortunately, just before it could touch land again, Argon raised his hips and threw his legs to the side. He rolled over like dog but managed to prevent his other arm from joining its mate, rising to his knees and craning his neck to ease the stiffness.

"Yeah… let's not have a repeat of last time."

He took a few deep breaths, focussing on the Abyss that worked overtime to repair itself over his skin, their crumbling surroundings that oozed natural energy, and of course, the wounded paledrake grunting on the other side of the room.

As if a switch had been flipped, the rushing noise in his head evaporated and only silence remained. He settled his thoughts on the violence he would bring, the carnage his lone hand could deliver, and the burning desire to administer his twisted sense of judgement to the sinful of this world.

As he felt the last wisps of air leave his lungs, his legs responded automatically, powering through the pain and numbness, aiding his blade to reach its target as he leapt over an incoming wall of crystal, sliding under the slow, but deadly right claw the dragon sent his way.

The world once more crawled to a snail's pace as he allowed his mind to run rampant, unleashing the smothering dose of adrenaline within his system that caused his heart to spasm in his chest. Right now, at this moment, within this space… he felt immeasurable euphoria – a sudden surge of unlimited strength, as if he were empowered with Dunamis itself.

The dragon shrieked when his tracer cut into his pale flesh once more, he assumed that his resistance to pain had gradually lessened after he had destroyed that frail fragment of the past stored within his stomach. And truthfully, he revelled in such an outcome – the echoing agony fuelling him to lose control, give way to instinct and borrow a piece of carnality.

The grinding cogs in his head paused when he was lashed by a titanic tail before they began their steady clinking anew, ignoring the blow as if it had never happened in the first place.

The sounds that filtered through Argon's head grew less and less. It seemed his psyche rejected all information besides the Duke before him. It wasn't an issue; he couldn't care less. All he wanted was to keep this state of mind going. It had been so long since the world turned red like this.

"Enough."

The undead raised an eyebrow. What was that? Why did that voice sound so familiar?

"I said enough."

Ohh, he understood now… it was him speaking. Although, at the same time, it wasn't. The real him, then. It seemed that pitiful lout had finally stolen his muchness back.

"You've had your fun. Now revert."

Revert? Where to? As far as he was aware, there was nowhere to really go to after his job of purging a near-extinct race was over. Furthermore, what made the other him think that he wanted to go back? He was quite content to remain right here, as he should be.

"He doesn't need to die," the real Argon's voice reverberated through his head as he carved two more lines into the great dragon's hide, watching in fascination as the blood sprayed out like a punctured wineskin. "Or do you want to endure another mistake like the last one?"

"What makes you think I'll make the same mistake?" he asked out loud as Seath vomited out another stream of magic, hitting him at close range and burning everything from his corneas to the soles of his feet.

The assault of the dragon's status affect swarmed under his skin as he used the Abyss to absorb it, in turn allowing the black veins to spread further across his chest and curl around his left hip. He rose to his feet only to be smashed to the ground by a great hand, the loud snap of his ribs sounding loudly as the dragon wailed down on him, utilising his tails in the process.

Argon let the hits come, staying motionless, allowing his body to be battered as he debated internally with himself.

"You can't kill him. Even when returned to mortal form, Seath is still too great for you to face. Just look at what he's done to you already."

Argon's eye twitched. The only reason he seemed beat was because he had purposefully left himself open. Otherwise this battle would have been come to a close long ago. To even insinuate that his power was weaker to a coward like Seath was profane.

"Pfft. Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

He growled. The real him seemed pretty cocky all of a sudden. Whatever happened to that meek persona he had been ready to quash?

"Fine then. If you won't calm yourself down, I will."

Argon got to his knees and dashed out of the way before another tail could smack him into the floor. He flipped the tracer upside down in his grip and cut into the wrist of his foe as the pale hand clawed the space he had been standing in. Red liquid covered him from head to toe as he continued the one-handed dance of gold, his teeth grinding together as anger took over.

So, his other self thought his power was insufficient, did he? So, he appeared to be biting off more than he could chew? Well, he would just have to take things up another no-

SPLOSH

"Ugh?" he frowned and stared down at his chest. He had been impaled by a serrated shaft of crystal. He tried to pull his body out of it but found his legs unresponsive. He frowned and looked down to see his legs quickly being submerged by stone.

This was odd, he thought he had purged the growing assault of the dragon's curse beforehand-

His eyes widened before he snarled. So, now it was a battle against both the blasphemous Duke and himself. How the odds proved to be forever against him.

But before he could bother to do anything about the situation he was in, he felt a strange sensation bubbling within him before his stomach lurched, his body convulsing as he retched.

"Mngh- blegh!"

Dark ichor, thicker than mud and lumpier than coal covered the floor. Argon shivered before tensing up, the tendons on his neck straining as something vile forced its way up his throat and out his mouth. With a gag, he spewed out more of the bubbling tar, staining his feet obsidian as the Abyss surrounding his torso began emitting more poisonous vapour.

Argon's breaths grew laboured as he felt his strength being sapped away. The real him was a fool. Blocking his control over the Abyss and allowing Seath's curse to take over was just delaying his plans. However, if he couldn't regain dominion over the corruption that wasn't wasting any time consuming what was left of his body, there would be no use in relenting his control over their mindscape if it meant complete corruption. He needed to do something to break his other self's influence, and before he was consumed by both this petrifying curse and the agitating Abyss.

Seath stared down at the Chosen Undead as he emptied more putrid essence onto the floor of his domain. Although he couldn't exactly see the undead, he knew the besmirched feel of Primeval Man's composition.

Whilst he was still enraged at the fact that a mere human had managed to destroy the source of his immortality, he was not directing his fury toward him due to the destruction of his crystal. Instead, he felt compelled to release his rage at the undead solely because he was undead.

This weak race, this mortal being had come to his Archive with the intent of rescuing his friend. And while the sentiment had been amusing enough for the Duke to entertain himself with, the fact that this elusive and complicated animation of legend had actually harmed him, the Father of Sorcery and wisest of entities was an insult he could not turn his nose away from.

But now, things seemed to have taken a change. He had known for a long time that the undead harboured a vestige of the Abyss within him, that had been one of the reasons he had fled to his cave. Not out of fear but for preparation. For within this sanctuary of his was an unlimited sea of natural energy cultivated by this ancient land. A source of power he as both an Everlasting Dragon and advent of magic could draw upon with the use of the Primordial Crystal.

It had been clear from their first encounter that the elusive undead was able to channel the twisted amalgamation of humanity's hatred, and that was why Seath had submerged himself within his crystalline domain, where the curse that tainted his magic could also be used to whittle down the nuisance that was the Abyss.

And now, after both parties had suffered much and lost tremendous power, the dragon discovered the victor of this match. After all, it was only a matter of time until the human mind would begin to wage war on itself, such was the affect the Void possessed on those infected by its plight.

The surge of vile energy masked the room and make Seath growl. Although this battle had been eventful, it was time to douse the flame of his foe. He didn't fancy the growth of Abyss, especially not within his domain.

With a huff, Seath raised a claw in the air, directing it above the retching undead before sending it downward. The ivory tip of the sharp weapon cracked a hole through the ground, spearing straight through the Chosen Undeads head like a pierced grape.

Instantly, the rise of such a smothering substance stopped, and Seath felt the sweet rush of decadent souls' flit into his body. How interesting.

He slithered passed the bloodstain on the floor as the Chosen Undead evaporated into spots of white. There was much to be done after this unexpected visit, the first item on his agenda being to heal his wounded body…