Kingdom Come

by mihairu7

Priscilla's a cross breed trapped in the Painted World. Argon is the chosen undead that got pulled into the Painted World that comes across an imprisoned goddess. So what's a girl to do when a stranger grabs you and pulls you out of the Painted World with him?

28. Chapter 28

The bonfire situated near the remains of the fake Primordial Crystal flared as if someone had thrown water into its centre. The flames that swirled around the coiled sword thickened for a moment, the warming atmosphere it exuded growing in range. Then, without anyone's consent, it collapsed in on itself before bursting with a loud fwoosh, depositing a half nude, hollow man with a crop of long, semi-parted hair.

Argon kneeled before the orange flames, the shadows that served for his eyes staring blankly at the rusted sword hilt in front of him. He had been killed. That had been clear. The spread of the Abyss had halted as well, the thick and thin black veins frozen as they attempted to shield his pale skin from the light of day.

He felt odd, even as he flexed his reformed right hand and petted the point at the back of his head where Seath had impaled and silenced him not even a few seconds ago.

Wait, had they been mere seconds ago? Or had it been some time from then? The rate at which bonfires brought back undead were always unpredictable. It was only through dumb luck that he had been instantly reborn when fighting Gwyndolin, so how could he be certain the same situation pertained to his current predicament?

Oh. That was how. He could see Seath wounded as he turned around, slowly slithering to the exit of the cave pocket. He would have thought the dragon would have at least made sure that the bonfire he knelt at was destroyed before leaving… but then again, he didn't think the paledrake knew it was even here – otherwise he would have revived elsewhere.

As Argon rose to his feet, he recognised that the him currently in control was still the past him. He also felt the odd swirl of unquenchable thirst grow in the back of his throat. It felt annoying, but he stood there, leathery skin and empty soul staring at the Everlasting Dragon with a hunger for flesh he hadn't had in a long while.

So this is what feels like as a hollow, eh?

He took a step forward and allowed the rush of anger, depravity, hunger, and ravenousness overwhelm his body, along with his original desires to see the Duke dead at his feet. He couldn't lie, it was all intoxicating, probably one of the reasons so many undead before him had resigned to their fate after their weak will's had been shattered to pieces. However, with as much power as going hollow might have given, the drawbacks were also as great.

Mindlessness was not something Argon enjoyed, in fact, he despised it. The loss of the ability to think for yourself was too great a feat to accept. Furthermore, it dulled your senses. He had already seen it with Oscar when he had visited his prison for a rusted ring and another bottom-heavy demon. The knight may have retained his skills as an Elite of his fallen kingdom, but he had been sloppy, had fought out of desperation, not for the thrill. An outcome like that… was not something either versions of the Chosen Undead wanted to acquire.

The other consequences of the Darksign taking over completely, was the eternal hunger. As an undead, one did not crave anything besides the feeling of being human once more. They did not require sleep, food, not drink to sustain them, the complete opposite of hollowing. And Argon refused to be some mindless drone, lusting obliviously for something he could never attain again.

However, there was one positive with being almost hollow… and it allied itself extremely close to the heretical arts known as Pyromancy.

"He-he… he-he-he… haaa…"

Seath stopped in his tracks at the sound of that slow, deliberate, and menacing laughter. He didn't need to overthink it to realise who it was that still remained alive behind him, but he still sniffed the air for proof of their existence. When the familiar foul stench of the Abyss, undead, and a Divine Sin flooded his palate like a wave of filth, he hissed, turning around as the room around him began to glow with magic. He had forgotten how much of an inconvenience undead could be, especially when they were disposed of incorrectly.

Argon heard the paledrake rally his power but didn't bother to make a move. He was too busy getting giddy over the fact that he had honestly forgotten he possessed this form of strength. And after he had used so many dark sorceries too; he would have assumed that his brain would have remembered about that type of magic by now.

"Oh well…" he lowered his regrown right hand to pick up the Dragonslayer Spear laying next to the bonfire, a few large chunks of rock almost obscuring it from sight. "At least all the parameters have been met. All that's left to do is… enjoy it. Keh-he-he-haaa."

He hadn't really felt the need for more power because he had known he was more than strong enough. But after facing so many difficult odds against foes that could and did trounce him in every aspect besides intelligence and relentlessness… he felt it was about time he evened the odds. And what better way of doing so than to finally give in to that burning desire to grow stronger? The power he possessed had not complained when he had made his decision, so he would use it to his advantage. That was what it was for, after all.

Settling his face into a mask of pure joy – even if it did seem twisted – the undead turned around. The black holes that served as his eyes peered at Seath who had been accumulating quite the plentiful amount of magic. He suspected the dragon would try to end this in one move. It wasn't as refined as his previous methods but who could blame him? The Duke was half dead as he faced ff against Argon for the umpteenth time.

The violet essence of the Abyss grew in strength as he used it to enhance his abilities, the casual flow of the vapour snapping taut and fluctuating into a violent storm of flames, the colour shifting to indigo. He was more than excited to get this fight over with. If anything, he was over the dark moon that could still remain conscious despite the frail position his current self stood in.

Yet, even if things were dire within himself, he would not stop himself from revelling in this glorious opportunity; to tear flesh from bone, hear screams from giants, scales off of dragons, and most especially, destroy the hope instilled in all those sinners that dare wave around their false gods as shields to the slaughter.

Flexing his right hand, he summoned his Pyromancy Flame, concentrating on the swirling madness within, the pure desire, the greed to be made stronger and fighter better. He allowed a smidge of his near-hollow state to reign over his emotions that sparked with more than just bloodlust and annihilation, but the desperation of his real self, too. He harnessed that feeling, the measly emotion of inferiority the real him stuck in their mindscape had previously possessed, used it to bolster the growing power surging through his hand, up his arm, through the Abyss and into his Darksign.

And then, all of a sudden, he felt it explode.

Dark flames, onyx and ambiguous in shape, that flickered and flacked around his palm before extending to his wrist. The burn felt unreal, yet not as painful as he assumed it would be for his human state. Nevertheless, he chuckled loudly as he gripped that orb of darkness tighter, its flames burning hot and cold as the spear in his left hand crackled with lightning, awaiting the taste of dragon flesh.

Neither party waited for a signal as they charged forward. They just began their assault.

This time, it was the Chosen Undead who made the first move, charging the head of his spear with such brilliant magic that the blade's colour turned off-white. With breathless excitement, he stabbed forward, watching the thin trail of pure yellow lightning advance.

Seath, in turn, called forth a complete wall of solid rock as his protection. The bolt of energy struck it with enough force to rattle the floor before its kinetic reserves faded away. Argon didn't bother to charge another bolt as he hurled his dark fire forward. The uneven orb of pyromancy glowed ethereally it washed over the wall ravenously.

The result was immediate. Shocking for the Duke, entertaining for the Chosen Undead.

Long tongues of flame licked every nook and cranny of the deep blue wall, erasing its magic, burning its base element, and spreading onto the space that shielded Seath from the blast.

Argon grinned. Fire that didn't go out, powered by hate and hunger that was unlimited in its source. Why had he not used this on fem-boy when he had the chance?!

Seath covered his face from the heat of the flames. It was strange that the undead could still manage to summon such power after he had reached his summit as a regular human. It was more astonishing that the Duke did not have knowledge of this phenomenal art, however. He had poured over the element of Pyromancy since its genesis, having been one of the rare few to witness the Witch craft the very first firestorm with her power, and her eldest daughter perfect the branch that ancient magic had taken.

He had sent spies to watch Salaman, Carmina, and even those dim wanderers of the skill, that formed cheap imitations of its actual radiance.

But after all this time, he had not seen such a violent form of the Izalithian technique, nor come across how it came to be so vastly powerful as compared to the demonic Chaos counterpart.

Unfortunately, before he could even begin to analyse the spell, he was interrupted by another bolt of lightning that stabbed into his arm, its wild energy going snicker-snack before the undead reached his position; that billowing flame growing once more in his hand as he cackled excitedly.

"AH-HA-HA-HA-HA! Purge thine transgressions, reprobate. Witness my… AMATERASU!"

If the feeling of Chaos Fire torching his body from the inside out and cooking his organs medium-rare had not been pain enough, the sensation of being set ablaze by this dark flame had become agony incarnate.

Seath roared, his head snapping up to meet the sky as he was roasted alive. The flames had not struck him like an ordinary Pyromancy, they had latched onto him like the jaws of a dangerous predator. The blister of its heat had not plastered his skin with sizzling flame, it had spread to every pore on his body before it grew to such coldness that the burn began to resemble a scorch, and then a singe; followed by the physical impact of it being thrown at him.

The pain had felt more than unreal, and for a few moments as he writhed in such unbearable torture, he actually began to feel the first flickers of fear corrode his psyche.

The worst part about the undeads fire was that it did not subside. Instead, it spread to everything it could before burning it to nothingness – even the air itself was not safe from such torment.

As Seath steadily burned in the fires of his purgatory, Argon dived forward, two-handing the Dragonslayer Spear as its unbreakable blade met soft flesh. This pulled another agonising roar from the dragon as the undead ran, roughly tugging the blade with him, haft digging into the open wound he made. The deep red line he left against cold, pale white flesh made his artistic side blossom with pride as a torrent of heavy blood sheeted the floor, the broken wall, and his feet with beautiful crimson.

The dragon clenched his fists as he was sent into hell for a second time, screeching loud enough for Anor Londo to hear him as his innards threatened to escape his body. This was bad, he realised as he attempted to stem the bleeding with an application of crystal to seal over most of the clean cut.

He had not anticipated such power from a being so weak. Furthermore, he could not endure such pain much longer as the black fire spread around his body. He needed to dispel this plague, no matter the cost.

"Aw, What's the matter scaleless? I thought you still had some oomph in you!" the undead teased sadistically.

Seath ignored him, opening his maw an inch as he channelled an azure flame to settle against his tongue. He knew he was already weakened thanks to the destruction of his Primordial Crystal, but after his slippery foe had gained such terrifying magic, he was hard-pressed to defend himself.

He would have to dose himself in his attack if he hoped to gain some space. Anything was better than suffering through this eternity.

With a growl, he clamped down on the orb, its fragile core going astray as it flooded from his mouth, covering his body and the black fire in blazing caerulean. Argon jumped back to distance himself but ended up being washed in the blaze himself.

He gasped as his body was set alight, and he was sure that if he had eyes they would have been melted off in the process. He fell on his back, rolling around to subvert the attack as the flames in his own hand snuffed out.

Seath, meanwhile, breathed through bruised lungs as he peered down at the undead, irate as he felt his consciousness slip for a moment.

Powerful or not, he intended to end this undead for good, enough time had been wasted and too many resources had been spent to ensure the undead of legend a painful death. This would end now.

Summoning more magic into his chest, Seath fired a beam of magical energy directly at Argon as he continued to pat out the fire on his body. His scream that had been a strange chuckle at the residual flames had erupted into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as Seath's ray of magic pinned him to the floor, cursed stalagmites rushing up to impale him as the floor caved in.

All the while Argon simply revelled in the pain, the sweet ecstasy of being hurt to such degrees filling his body with untold amounts of rapture. He panted, a wrinkled smile on his face as he sat up, pulling out a spike from his leg that crumbled to pieces as he crushed it in his hand. Oh, Seath was a treat.

He rose to his feet shakily only to choke on the blood in his mouth as four jagged tendrils of crystal impaled him simultaneously, two going through his stomach, the others running into his chest and right shoulder.

He was slammed into the floor by an angry tail soon after, the seemingly sentient shafts of rock snaping from the impact as he landed on his back again – which was now shattered in several places.

Seath snarled down at him and he grinned wider, reaching up his right hand to blast that maw of his off when he felt the floor give up beneath him. Through blurry eyes, he watched the Duke as his body slid through the hole, falling into the bottomlessness that was the Crystal Cave.

Seath huffed out a breath as Argon fell, and the undead had to offer a weak laugh. That had been unexpectedly exciting.

The emptiness rose up to swallow his battered form as he descended the levels of the Cave, passing multiple other moonlight butterflies thoughtlessly resting on jutting out pieces of land. He couldn't recount how long he had been falling for, or when his body had grown numb and unresponsive from both the barrage of his foe and the drawbacks of utilising his black fire, but he knew it would end eventually.

And so he fell. And fell. And fell…

---

Seath cradled his arm as he used the natural magic around him to partially heal his wounds. That Dark Pyromancy had been unforgiving, unforgettable, too. However, he had managed to dispose of the undead yet again. Now the only thing to do was destroy the Chosen Undeads method of revival.

He turned his head round as his arm repaired itself. If he had known the trouble these bonfires commandeered, he would have never permitted them in his Archive – Gwyndolin be damned. It was curios though, that a system of fires could be maintained by sightless Keepers… hmm, it was a shame he had been prohibited from taking one into his depths for experimentation – not that the Darkmoon's decree would have stopped him from doing so if he had really wanted to.

He approached the bolstered fire, breathing in deeply before he expelled a torrent of his crystal breath. Whether or not he found it interesting, he could not allow the undead to revive in the same vicinity twice, he was too drained to endure such an energetic and clearly mentally unstable foe again when he had grown this powerful in mere moments.

However, it seemed that his ideals were not to be when he cut off the powerful spell to see the bonfire perfectly intact, as if his magic had been but a breeze to the sentient vestige of the First Flame. Seath reached up a hand to grab his chin. Perhaps because it was a vestige of the Flame was the reason his attack did nothing to it. If that was correct then there was literally no way to destroy it.

The dragon growled. That could only mean-

Fwoosh!

"Ah, did you miss me that much?" Argon cackled out as he started up at the Duke, his body once again ablaze with abysmal energy and Dark Pyromancy.

Seath roared before slamming a hand against the ground, sending thousands of stalagmites to strike the undead. His aim was true – if one could call making nearly the entire floor a death zone accurate – and he heard the Chosen Undead gasp as the force of the spikes sent him flying ten feet above ground. As much as this attack would have added a boost to his confidence, right now all he felt was utter annoyance. He hated being right all the time.

Argon flipped himself over as he fell back to solid ground, throwing an orb of pure black fire toward the dragon. Seath felt it coming and raised more than one wall of crystal to intercept the projectile.

However, what he had not expected, out of his wildest dreams and insane imagination, was for that smaller ball of Pyromancy to break through not the first and second, but all the third wall of rock he had erected at a moment's notice.

The paledrake quickly sucked in air before breathing out a stream of blue energy at the unstoppable ball; he was not going to endure more of that hell, especially after he had observed the undeads use of the potent spell.

To his relief, the stream of magic caused the orb to dissipate, leaving nothing bit faint wisps of black smoke in the air as Seath sighed out. Now, if only the creator of said orb would also dissap-

"POP goes the weasel!"

Seath shrieked as he felt a greatsword cleave through his middle tail, severing off the tip as easily as cutting meat from a meal. What came after was white hot pain that stung his nerves and sent his mind alight as the undead flooded his open wound with more of that accursed Pyromancy.

He had thought that the initial show of that power had been all it was capable of. And yet, now just a mild configuration of that attack had given him more trouble than before. Had the undead been holding back? No, he was too delirious to think smart. Then it meant he was possibly growing stronger… but how? Was it the delirium that fuelled such intensity, or an unbendable willpower that forced him to exude such strength? Perhaps he was relying on the Abyss too much, this the additional force he could suddenly use, the best example being how easily he seemed to be swinging around that greatsword of his with one hand. But then that didn't explain the increased intensity of the flame upon his hand.

Seath wracked his brain for answers as he fought back, body exhausted but mind alert. Pyromancy is an art that invoked one's spirit into their flames, relying on will and determination to strengthen the potency of the burn instead of faith or intelligence. That was one of the reasons why it was dubbed a heretical art. If the Chosen Undeads flame was growing stronger, it meant his will was developing an iron resolve. However, that couldn't be the reason since the half-corrupted undead barely understood anything besides his own bloodlust at the moment.

Which in turn meant that there was something else fuelling his flame for it to grow stronger. The dragon analysed every detail of it as he pummelled the Chosen Undead to the floor, striking him down a second time with a tendril of crystal as the crazed being merely laughed at his wounds and stood up again.

Could it be the Sin upon his soul that drove to this additional enhancement of those black flames? He recalled certain sorceries that required the status of a Sin to fully activate the potential of an incantation. Could this Pyromancy be related in that regard? If so, why had the Sin only chosen to enhance his affinity for the technique now?

The dragon hissed as the undead stabbed a poisoned blade into one of his other tails before a Silver Knight Sword chopped into the open wound on his abdomen. He reacted with a strong backhand that sent the undead smashing into a column of rock before he charged and fired his crystal breath at him as he fell.

This Pyromancy was stronger than Chaos Flame, and it also enhanced the undeads resistance to pain and damage. If he were to go down the list of notable Pyromancies, Power Within would be the only logical choice to explain the high tolerance – excluding the maniacal personality and Abyssal influence, of course.

However, that technique drained the caster's life force, and since the undead didn't care for his life much, Seath could understand the sacrifice for greater fuel to his fire. And yet… he did not sense any of said technique being cast upon the undead. So, how exactly had his foe grown to such lengths of power in a such a short space of time? Surely his death wasn't bolstering his flame… or was it?

The undead had died twice now, and yet he still had not reverted to his human form, he could sense that much from the scent of rotten flesh in the air. It made sense that perhaps fighting after each resurrection was a better plan than stopping to regain their humanity but… it wasn't really a plausible answer either.

And then it hit the paledrake with so much force that his head swam in confusion.

Hollowing. It was the reason the undead was growing stronger. Normally, an undead with his humanity reinstated fought better due to regaining control over his thoughts. Hollows were the opposite, immensely single-minded yet exponentially strong, nonetheless.

As long as one still retained their will to live, they could remain in a near-hollow state for as long as they wanted to. It wouldn't matter how close they got to becoming a true hollow, as long as they didn't lose hope.

And the Chosen Undead had a constitution almost as impressive as Artorias. Meaning he wouldn't grow hollow any time soon, which also meant that each time the Duke killed him, he would come back stronger.

Seath ground his sharp teeth together. If that was true then there was no use even fighting the undead. Killing him would just make him stronger, and as far as he was concerned, his ability to use even a small portion of his other magic was all but impossible after the Primordial Crystal had been destroyed.

He was truly in a predicament now. The Chosen Undead was like a literal blockade, cornering him to accept but a singular outcome: death.

The thought of dying didn't scare the Everlasting Dragon, the thought of leaving behind his research did. But how would he be able to win against an enemy like the unhinged individual before him who never seemed to tire, no matter how many times he threw him around; and never appeared to be wounded – as afforded to him by that burning Abyss on his right side.

So, the Father of Sorcery chose the only option he saw possible at a time like this when he was at his weakest.

He allowed himself to go similarly insane.

---

Argon was having the time of his life, attacking Seath, cutting swaths into his flesh and being struck just as hard. The pain didn't faze him, it encouraged him to fight harder. The brokenness and bleeding he sustained were almost completely numbed by both the Abyss and his own adrenaline – not to mention how much more painful it was to use a single casting of his Dark Pyromancy.

He felt as if he were walking through a musty path of nostalgia, as if he were back in Carim, killing errant priests and tearing pitiful armies to shreds in the name of the League Lord Stein had initiated. The unadulterated exhilaration of this moment joined by the wondrous forms of power he utilised to slowly bring the great Duke of Anor Londo to a colossal corpse, was like acerbic liquid to his corrupted veins.

Honestly, he hadn't expected much from the Everlasting Dragon. His real self had feared too much, this would be an easy kill now that Seath's prized prism stone had been pulverised. And the results were all too obvious, what with the paledrake doing his utmost to remain at arm's length.

Even so, he had to hand it to the bug guy, he had held onto his wretched life far longer than Argon had expected.

A sudden shift of air made the undead turned his gaze toward said beast. Something seemed different, yet he could not place it – as if the mood had just changed. Was the dragon preparing to meet his brethren? Or did he suddenly think he could change the tide of battle?

The vortex of powerful magical energy that gathered around the wounded dragon told Argon is was the latter. He smiled, showing decayed teeth, this would be fun.

The shockwave the whirlpool of energy created was enough to send the ceiling crashing down on both of them, and Argon made a show of dancing around each massive slab of rock that attempted to crush him before the distinct clatter of steel reached his ears.

He looked a few feet in front of him to discover the glint of metal hiding under the rubble and approached it, kicking away some of the debris with his boot. What he found made his insides tingle with anticipation. So that was where the dragon had hidden it. He was wondering what the paledrake was going to do with a weapon only one being could ever wield.

Flexing his fingers to ready himself, Argon reached down and grabbed the oaken shaft of the lengthy weapon, immediately feeling its pull as its status affects tore away at his body, filling his fingers with toxins as the Lifehunt Scythe tried to siphon away his soul.

He had liked this menacing tool of the Reapers in storybooks from the time he had met his pale-skinned companion in the Painted World. Although the real him hadn't admired weapons such as these, the past him begged to differ; for this was a true executioner's blade.

He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and lifted it up, feeling the curses it contained that bit into his flesh like a swarm of piranhas. Such power that emanated from a simple weapon of atrocity, wielded by an atrocity, to fight other atrocities. He almost envied Priscilla, dead as she was. The ideal killing machine for the beings that called themselves gods was something he truly aspired to be.

He heard Seath roar and turned, two-handing the scythe only to feel twice as much pain as before. It made him cackle with joy, a weapon that punished its user as much as it devastated its foes was a rarity indeed. He would forever treasure this moment if he survived to remember it.

Tall snakes of blue crystal descended from the falling ceiling as Argon once again ran to his prey, Priscilla's scythe glistening with the power of the Lifehunt. The dragon noticed its presence and growled, slithering forward as his hands glowed with soul energy, burning orbs of sorcery accumulating in his hands.

Argon grinned and pilled on the speed, sliding under the incoming spears of rock and slicing through a rising stalagmite that attempted to impale him through the chest. When he was a less than a jump away from the dragon, Seath barred down with his fists, twin explosions of hundreds of soul orbs bursting around the undead who simply took the damage, bled through it, and spun on his heel.

Seath punched a fist into to the area Argon was standing in before he opened his maw and unleashed a stream of magic, the spikes it created reaching six feet in the air. Argon sidestepped the incoming blaze and backstepped another fist that cratered the floor in front of him.

When the dragon was about to bring his fist back up, the undead struck. Two neat slashes against the back of the dragon's hand and both parties felt enormous pain as the Lifehunt Scythe went to work.

Seath's hand gushed an unstoppable flow of blood that none of his sorcery could heal, and Argon's body went taught as multiple cuts opened on his flesh, expelling dark essence and his own life essence. He felt more of his soul being eaten away by the greedy scythe and rasped as he stabled himself. That had felt amazing. He wanted more.

He wasted no time as he rolled forward, legs springing him into a jump as his feet touched the ground again before he stabbed the wicked blade into Seath's stomach. The paledrake's scream caused his eardrums to burst yet he continued his maddened assault, tugging the shaft sideward as the Lifehunt tugged his lifeforce in the opposite direction.

The blade cut through the dragon's body like a hot knife through… well, soft flesh, and as Argon was washed in more crimson and experienced more of his life being drained by the weapon he wielded, he honestly could not think of a place he'd rather be.

"Urgh… Gah!" the organs in his body began to explode as more of the Lifehunt infected him, it was unlike the Abyss or the Dark Pyromancy he had used thus far. The pain was so much more unreal and with each swing he made with the hungry blade, the more he felt himself losing focus. The sheer power of this abominable ability had even petrified the Abyssal corruption to remain silent in all this.

His turn ended as he withdrew the scythe and plunged his right hand into the weeping wound. With another flare of dark magic, he lit up Seath's body like a bright flare in the night sky, eliciting tormented screams from the dragon before his unrighteous fury came down on the undead like a fallen tower.

The fist that came down flattened him against the floor like someone smoothing out paper, the spike that erupted from the ground raised him like the marble lift he used to traverse the lower levels of Anor Londo, and the cursed breath of Seath illuminated his injuries like glow worms nestled inside cracked walls.

Argon passed out momentarily, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the Everlasting Dragon went savage on him, backhanding him in mid-air, sending him crashing into yet another wall before more columns of crystal rose from all sides to stop his momentum, piece almost every part of his body and leave him suspended as a concentrated blast of magic forced his already mutilated body to explode against the adjacent corner of the room.

It was a wonder how he had not died yet, knowing all the pain he had just gone through. Perhaps he was made this resilient on purpose so he could piss off the self-proclaimed 'gods' of this world. Or maybe his body was just as stubborn as his personality. Whichever it was, he wasn't complain one bit.

He awoke once the sharp spikes on the wall speared into his back, and he reacted with an spontaneous burst of Abysmal energy, destroying more of the cave pocket as he landed on his feet, right hand ablaze with black Pyromancy as he chucked it forward. He grinned maliciously, now he was actually working up a sweat, now Seath was finally playing the game Gwyndolin had not issue holding back for. What an exciting day this had been, filled with twists, turns, surprises and more carnage than he could remember in a long time. He snapped his dislocated jaw back into place as his ball of destruction careened over the many weapons and broken crystals on the ground, descending to smite one Everlasting – and obviously exhausted – Dragon, the so-called Father of Sorcery. What a shame, the undead thought as he sniffed, wiping blood from his mouth. He had assumed Seath would be able to continue their brief scuffle after he had earned back the same fighting spirit he had once had in the old days. Well, at least he could acquire that Lord Soul now.

However, his coup de grace had been interrupted – for yet another agitating moment in time – when a flash of steel reached up and sliced his Pyromancy in two, absorbing the black fire into its gleaming blade.

Argon lowered his eyeless gaze and saw a panting crossbreed standing between him and her father, jade eyes burning with determination. The undead merely hacked up the phlegm from his throat and spat. "So you didn't perish after all. How inconvenient."

"That's enough now, Argon." she said, her voice flat – void of any doubt as she stared him down.

"Enough? I don't believe you understand… I am far from finished."

The crossbreed dug her heels deeper into the ground as she adjusted her grip on her scythe and took an unfamiliar stance. How had she retrieved her weapon from his hands, again? Oh, that was right, he had dropped it whilst being pummelled by her father. Wait… how had she even survived that indoor sun Seath had thrown her way?

Argon turned his head toward where he remembered she and the Archbishop had been standing when that giant ball of blue fire had been cast. He saw Havel's body lying there, more than half his armour crumbling as he lay motionless. Argon used his right eye to see the undeads aura.

Ah.

So she had siphoned away his life to repair the damage done to her body. Not enough that it would kill the ancient holy man, but enough to ensure he slept through nearly everything that would transpire here today. How thoughtful of her, and yet how deplorable. For a woman that claimed not to be a monster, she most certainly didn't waste any time using those atrocious powers when it came to her own life.

"I need you back to the person you were before."

Argon scoffed. "Darling, this is who I was before."

Priscilla shook her head, snowy tresses flowing about her head. "I need my Argon back."

"What makes you think he wants to come back?"

She pointed a finger at him and he stared down at his body, riddled with more scars and grievances than skin. "The Argon I know doesn't fight like that, doesn't allow a parasite to aide him in battle. He fights with his own strength. Moreover…" she turned her head to look sadly at her father, who was currently panting behind her, his crystals slowly covering his wounds as he sat there in pain.

"The Argon I know wouldn't kill recklessly. He would show mercy even with the most detestable of foes."

The Chosen Undead took a moment to drink from his Estus flask, grumbling when the incisions made by the Lifehunt Scythe took longer to heal.

"Then you really haven't met the true Argon yet. He's the complete opposite of your whimsical fantasy. Only alive to wreak havoc upon the world and torment your every waking moment with eternal nightmares."

His bones popped and cracked as they healed and the undead paced forward, leathery face breaking into a stern glare.

"Now… walk away from the dragon and I may end your life without having to make you swallow your own tongue."

Priscilla shook her head and tensed her body up.

"You're not going to kill him, not whilst you're still the shadow of your past."

"You're defending the lizard that stole your life from you and tortured thousands… yet you still think he's worth saving?"

"Without a shadow of doubt."

Argon creased his eyebrows. "What gives you such confidence that Seath can change?"

She offered him a sad smiled. "You, of course."

The undeads mouth twisted into a snarl. "Foolish sinner, such a being with never change, thus the requirement that one end their cycle of profanity."

"If you could show mercy to the lost Fire Keeper, you can show mercy toward my father."

"The brass knightess lives only because her life is too pitiful to end."

"And yet you still stayed you hand."

"Why do place this must trust in me?" Argon frowned.

She smiled again. "You already know the answer to that."

He grit his teeth. She was getting on his last nerve. He was here to kill a dragon, not converse with its unwanted offspring. But whilst she had delayed the inevitable, her intervention availed him time to recuperate, time to refocus his thoughts.

"Whether you move or not, I'm still going to kill you."

Her solemn nod only served to annoy his further. "If you think you can do it, I will be willing to spar with you."

The vein on Argon's temple throbbed as he drew Artorias' greatsword from his bottomless box, the Abyss flaring up on his right side. The time for talk was over. He had a pair of abominations to adjudicate.

"Last time I was in control, Gwyndolin stopped by wrath," he said as they both approached one another, her scythe glinting wickedly as he dragged his greatsword against the floor. "This time you won't be spared."

"I won't rest until you've returned to me, Argon." she replied with a cold glare. He was mildly surprised, perhaps she could put on just as good of a show as her old man.

"Foolish girl, I never left in the first place."

(*Queue "Juugo Sai" by Acid*)

Priscilla didn't wait for him to come to here as her feet left the ground, gliding over the debris and ruptured floor as her she swung her scythe towards his throat. As expected, his impressive strength enabled him to block, lazily flinging up his sword to clash against her weapon. Both blades collided with a sparking of metal as her boots touched the floor again. He reached out with his left hand to grab her but she backstepped, pivoting on her heel and slashing diagonally. The result was another clash of scythe against greatsword.

Argon took the initiative this time, throwing his shoulder into the swing as the giant blade soared through the air to cleave her in half. She had the mind to dash to his left and lash out with a kick.

His abs felt like unbreakable stone beneath her heel, yet she had enough force packed behind it to send him skidding back a few metres. When she lowered her leg to the ground, he was no longer standing there perplexed, but seven feet in the air, mid somersault as his blade prepared to send her six feet under.

Her eyes watched him use that momentum to propel the blade overhead. It was astonishing that he could be so dextrous with just a single hand, and that was coming from his own strength, not the Abyss.

A second before he could land a devastating hit on her, Priscilla leapt to the side again, the blade vibrating as it passed her shoulder and sliced into the crystalline surface. He growled and placed his other hand on the blades hilt, twisting his body as he delivered a strong scissor kick to the shaft of her scythe. Priscilla was forced back and had to dodge yet again when he tore his blade from the ground and slammed it down in front of her.

In an impressive display of control, he twisted his grip on the sword hilt and jerked it up, sending shards of blue in every direction before cocking his right arm back and stabbing forward. Her nimble feet danced around the blade and he replied by slamming his left hand against his forearm to cut sideways. She leaned backwards and watched the cursed blade sail above her face, just an inch from her nose before she straightened, flipping her scythe around and tearing a clean line across his stomach.

Argon yelled and dropped the greatsword, the feeling of the Lifehunt pulling out more of his strength as he attempted to turn around, only to feel resistance. He looked down and noticed that his ankles were encased in a thick layer of ice. That moment cost him when Priscilla placed two diagonal slashes against his spine, causing him to bleed like a burst fountain.

He stumbled forward as he shattered the ice with pure strength, curling a fist and turning back to sock the woman in her face when all he saw was shattered crystal. Growling loudly, Argon whipped his head around in search for the missing crossbreed. She reappeared a few seconds later behind him and he twisted, filling his fist with black fire as he punched her. The hit landed, however, the crunching of his fingers told him that was not what her check should have felt like. A moment passed and the illusion faded, revealing a tall block of crystal. He smirked at her resourcefulness when her occultic blade bit into his ankle, severing the nerves and cartilage before her sharp claws pierced into his skull – slamming his head against the block of rock, creating a large hole in it as she backed away.

The undead sputtered, his brain going fuzzy as he limped around, the Abyssal corruption repairing the damage as he reached out for the single crossbreed that then became two crossbreeds the further he saw. That had been quite the show of strength on her side, if he wasn't about to kill her, he would have voiced how impressed he was.

Shaking his head, Argon reigned in his thoughts and looked back at Priscilla. She stood away from him patiently, awaiting his next move with blank eyes. He accepted her challenge and ran forward, starting their next bout of blows without a blade in his hands.

She watched his moves carefully, detailing the unorthodox way in which he flowed from once stance to another, never really settling on one specific method of combat. It was an interesting way to fight, probably how he had come to be so skilled as an undead. The fluidity of the moves grew faster as she remained within his range, ducking under the third palm strike he sent her way before jumping up to evade a swift leg-sweep.

He was feral, wild, and unpredictable. She was calm, analytical, and cautious. And yet… they seemed to be evenly matched.

That was… until he decided to stop holding back.

Argon huffed as she countered his fist with a swipe of her scythe. He bent his body as far back as he could, body forming a perfect arch as the powerful blade whizzed over the hair on his abdomen. She wasn't hesitant to experiment and test her opportunities. It was admirable. But that didn't mean she had the upper hand.

Rising back up, Argon began to take things up a notch. Aiming for her throat, he fired a punch that she leaned to the side to avoid. He grinned as his knuckle clipped her ear before he drew back and spun around, raising an elbow to smash into her nose.

She dropped her scythe and caught the arm, to which he then followed up by swinging his left leg at her knee. She took the bait and jumped back, allowing him dash forward, grab her shoulder with both hands and lean in with a knee aimed for her stomach. Her small but strong hands stopped it before she blew a breath of ice into his face at point blank range.

Argon stumbled back and she swooped down to pick up her scythe when a wave of dizziness overcame her. The undead managed to recover from the cheap shot when he saw her almost lose her foot and smiled. Running back to her side, he planted three palm strikes against her body that numbed her right arm and buckled her knee before he kicked her to the floor. It seemed his previous blow had finally taken affect.

The ears contained fluid that kept the body's sense of gravity level. If there were to be any blow to one of those small appendages, a person's equilibrium would be shot, making them vulnerable.

Argon sniffed as he drew a Painting Guardian Sword. This bout had been entertaining. Now he would see if her tail could also be fashioned as a blade like the many other dragons he had slain.

Priscilla shook her head to ease the dizziness. That had been a clever move on his part, but he would need to do more than that if he wanted to end her – not that he would give him the chance.

Looking up, she saw him a second before he swung a wedged dagger her way. Priscilla snapped her head back, feeling the cold steel just prickle against her throat as she rolled back and rose to her feet, rushing the undead as he spun elegantly, parting the air with that sharp blade of his.

She blocked the first strike, watched him twirl into a second and bent her body away from it before arcing her scythe up the intercept the third strike. Argon grunted when her scythe impaled his left wrist, his right flaring up with Dark Pyromancy as he powered through the ravenous magic.

She watched his fist approach and twisted her scythe roughly, hearing his scream as his hand broke and tore off from his hand when she jerked the shaft of her weapon. The flame in his hand poofed out of existence and she twirled the scythe, sheering off his right arm from the black-veined shoulder down.

Crimson blood sprayed from both wounds as he was disarmed – in the literal sense – watching as he fell to the ground, body taut as the scream in his throat struggled to exit his mouth. The veins on his neck stood out against his leathery skin and he let out a roar of agony before her scythe flashed once more.

SHLINK

And then there was silence.

(*Fight song ends*)

---

Argon blinked as he stared at the bonfire in front of him, filled with a mixture of anger, elation, pain, and most importantly, confusion.

He had just been killed. That was not surprising to him since he had had the opportunity to die many times before. And even though with each death, he lost apart of himself, this time felt oddly different.

Perhaps it was because he had been killed by his assumed-to-be-dead companion. Could he even call her that when he tried to kill her? Why was he attempting to kill her in the first place? Was it out of anger? No, that would be stupid. A clash of virtues? Perhaps, but even so he doubted he would try to kill her just because she argued against one of his ideals.

Putting the question aside for a moment, he reached within himself and offered a shard of humanity to the flame softly swirling before him, sighing out as its soothing warmth restored his hollow husk to his original human form.

The Chosen Undead started down at the bonfire as he knelt there, over half his body submerged in black veins and abysmal vapour. He reached up a hand and scratched the vein-riddled side, creeped out by the feel of the stuff. Why was it this active?

"Argon," he turned his head to the soft, familiar voice he knew could only belong to one person and saw Priscilla's concerned face. He stared back perplexed; his heterochromatic eyes muddled by the strangeness of it all. Where were they exactly?

Her frown turned into a relieved smile as she dropped her scythe, fell to her knees, and hugged his neck. His eyes were drawn to the weapon as it absorbed the red liquid coating it like a wet layer of paint. Was that his blood?

"I'm sorry I had to kill you." She whispered in his ear as he knelt there, still dazed from it all. Towards the end of the room, his eyes caught the sight of a wounded Seath, panting loudly as he gazed at them with sightless eyes.

Argon frowned. What was he doing here? And what had been done to him to look so bad? And then it all came crashing back to the undead, forcing his body to tense as Priscilla hugged him tighter.

He recalled everything; from the moment they entered this room to the time Priscilla had beheaded him. That was right, he had been attempting to kill her because of her sins. Sins borne from her birth, not her actions. Yes… the sin of possessing a false gods blood. As for Seath… he had done that to him, and he had nearly ended him too. But she had tried to stop him. No. She had stopped him. And now she was hugging him, despite the obvious danger she was in. Could her keen eyes not see the growing Abyss on his right side, not the murder in his eyes as she feebly attempted to comfort him?

It was of not matter. She had just made it easier for him to kill her. He glanced down at her as she shut her eyes, tears pooling down her face as she apologised over and over again for having to hurt him. He noticed her smooth neck from beneath her pale locks and grinned. He had always wanted to devour a god, now he could do it literally.

Wrapping his arms around her in turn, he felt her snuggle closer, availing him better access to her jugular. He grinned before opening his mouth, sharp teeth glinting ivory as he leaned forward to tear her throat out. However, as his teeth were about to prick her skin, he stopped.

He frowned and tried to do it again, and again his body refused to follow his command. This was strange… why could he not… when she was right here… all it would take was a simple bite and then…

Suddenly, as if the world had wanted to give him confirmation, he heard a voice that echoed resolutely in his head, loud and unflinching. It was odd because it was his own voice. Again he heard it speak, a clear, precise tone that caused him to shut his jaws and be pulled into his psyche.

"Stop."

---

The past Argon stared around the mindscape in confusion, the flames on his right side snuffing out as if the room he stood in rejected such energy – and if he were being honest, that was exactly how the room operated.

Something struck him in the temple, making him stumble back and clutch his head. When he looked up again, he saw his real self stare back with his hands undoing the last clock hand wrapped around his leg.

"Well? Are you done proving your point? Because I get it already."

The past Argon's face lit up with a grin. "So… you've FINALLY returned. How does it feel to be your usual nauseating self, compared to that meek inconsistency?"

The real Argon huffed, folding his arms as he looked away from himself.

"Aw, what's the matter now? In which way have I offended you, my current self?"

Argon turned back to his past counterpart. "You tried to kill Priscilla."

The other him snorted, finding the reply utterly amusing. He should have guessed.

"As I said before, I am not you. I behave as my past self did; ignorant of the power of bonds."

"And now that she's shown you how strong they can be?"

The past Argon frowned at that question, cupping his chin in the process. "Admittedly, it wasn't half bad. If I had the time to analyse it, I would. But unfortunately…"

He motioned to the thick ichor dripping into the mindscape around them.

"I can only do one more thing for you."

"And what might that be?" the real Argon asked as his counterpart approached him, hand raised towards his forehead.

"Now that my time is up, the duty of keeping this blight at bay will fall onto your shoulders. You must not allow it to spread further than it already has, else you run the risk of sullying the good name we both share."

His hand pressed flatly against Argon's brow and both men looked each other square in the eye, Heterochromatic orbs clashing.

"And so, my parting gift to you will be the last memory of your past. The final moments of your life before the Asylum took you. Whether you enjoy them or not is of no consequence to me."

Argon said nothing as the past him closed his eyes. And then, the real Argon fell into reverie once more.

---

The night was the colour of pitch as torches studded the silent streets like amber stones upon an onyx bed of rock. The villagers had all retired for the night, their stores closed-up and hearths burning brightly to ward off the freeze of the night air. Guards and sentries of the small settlement mindlessly walked about, their snoozing faces pressing against the shaft of their pikes as another uneventful evening passed by.

Lord Stein, like the rest of his vassals, drank deeply from the stream of dreams as his form was smothered by the softness of his bed, his sheets acting as a wispy layer of slumber that allowed the Sandman more time to collect the thousands of dreams spread across such a boisterous body of inhabitants.

In all his days of leadership, as the nobleman of this meandering town that bushed against the flanks of Carim, he had seen and done much, both cruel and kind – for both the right and wrong reasons. His actions did not lay guilt in his bread chest, nor inflate his mind with nightmares when he recalled the terrors his hands had brought upon others. Rather, he found solace in the works of his hands, for they had carved a path no other country, noble or man had ever hope to imitate. With his ideals spread to a secretive division in his ranks, he had managed to cultivate an army of invincible men, Lithecore, that struck fear into the souls of the world's enemies, and ripped clean the bandage that false godhood sought to veil humanity with, blinding them from the truth of this world.

Indeed, kingdoms had fallen due to this twisted sense of justice and administration, but he did not care. His sword was in service of the Monarch of Carim, and his goal was devoted to the gospel all men had seemingly forgotten.

Whether his perception of the ancient text had been warped and reshaped into a vile personification of death… was another matter entirely. All people really needed to know was that these 'gods' walking the land of Men, prophesying untruths and claiming to be Divinity were just poor imitations of the real thing. And that was why the League had been formed: to guide man into the correct… destination. And to establish a proper system of law and order, which did indeed punish the sinful, and purged the unclean.

Speaking of, tonight was the Lithecore's final mission for now. They were to eradicate the unnecessary souls of those drawn to the filthy covenant of Fina, a seductress and the incarnate of Lust. Man would not be able to withstand such a Sin should they find her face. As it were, the only was to cleanse such men was to free their souls and banish their minds to the Dark. For once a man is given a taste of forbidden fruit, his initial Sin compels him to try some more. Thus, the League had been dispatched to kill, maim, free, and hold a grand ablution for those souls indicated as irredeemable.

The sound of raised voices and the clatter of greaves awoke Lord Stein, his dark eyes blinking thrice before he rose from his bed, aged bones creaking under the weight of his muscles, most of which had turned to flab years ago.

Time had changed him, much like it had changed the world. As the years passed, he had created more Lithecore, instilled his will into each one of them, and stood proud as they lead the slaughter to its knees. However, when the arrival of the Undead Curse had begun to strike the world, kingdom by kingdom, his plans had taken great turns, costing him more time than he possessed.

As it was, he could barely make it outside of his own home. Illness had sunk its poisoned fangs into his body decades ago, and the deterioration of his body had rid him of many things, strength included.

That was why he had left everything to the Commander of his forces, the only man who embodied his will, his goal, and his self so completely. Along with his servant Covance, they would bring his plans to fruition, despite his ailing body. Slowly, they would make Carim greater than its former self – whilst simultaneously releasing these so-called gods from their thrones. For an army of individuals fiercer than the legend of the Darkwraiths was a force prepared to take the heads of Divinity and hang them on pikes.

"You seem so satisfied with yourself right now."

Stein snapped his head around, eyes searching through the darkness for the originator of that voice.

"Now, now… theirs is no cause for alarm. My Lord."

"A… Argon?" Stein croaked before breaking into a fit of coughing. It seemed even his voice had been eaten by his disease. How fitting. That even the strong must become weak… before they are granted eternity.

"Why… why are you here?" he asked in confusion.

"Oh, just walking the fallen is all."

Lord Stein frowned at his meaning as his subordinate stepped into the thin trail of moonlight, illuminating his coppery skin, wrinkled, and mangled by the Darksign. The noble gasped and fell back, his back hitting the headboard of his bed with a dull thud.

"Y-Y-Your face…" he wheezed, attempting to regain his lost energy as he began a new fit of choking and dry heaving.

" Yes, I know. It looks atrocious. But isn't that how an atrocity should look?"

He received no answer as Stein battled to breathe, laboured breaths coming out through his nose as he fisted his chest.

Argon sighed as he sat down at the foot of the bed. "You know, you never did tell me why you killed her."

"Haa-Ugh…. Haa-Ugh… wh-who?"

"Come now. You remember… Eliana."

Lord Stein froze before looking back at his Commander. That name had never been uttered in many long years. In fact, the mere fact that Argon knew it was shocking enough to the weakened Lord.

"It always occurred to me that her practice of the Gospel you spread was cleaner. Purer, even. It did not tell of the countless lives one would have to take, but the one's a person would have to save to ensure proper honour and obedience to the Faith."

Stein watched the outline of Argon creep up closer to him as he sat on the bed. A soft patting sound reached the older man's ears and he looked down to see something falling from his subordinate's waist. Without hesitation, he reached down to touch it, only for his fingers to become slick with moisture. He brought his hand back and rubbed the substance between his fingers, frowning in confusion when the sharp scent of blood finally reached his nose, suddenly filing his bedchamber as he was made aware of two very important things: Argon was covered in blood, and his mansion was suspiciously quiet for a Thursday evening.

"Did you ever regret what you did to her? When you allowed two of your royal guards to have their way with her. Did it not feel odd to see your significant other suffer like so before you had her killed?"

Stein's mouth dropped in shock. How could he have known that? How did he piece together a secret not even Covance had access to?

"Oh? You want to know how I figured it out?" Argon chuckled, slowly lifting his legs and straddling the old man, pinning him to the bed – not that he could have escaped if he wanted to.

"It was easy, really. I knew from the moment you arrived to take me away from her…"

Stein's breathing rapidly increased. He was trapped here, secluded by his own personification, living on borrowed time before his clock ultimately stood still.

He knew he couldn't call for help. Argon would have already slaughtered every living thing within his abode hours before entering his chamber. He also doubted Covance was still alive at this point. If anything, he would be surprised if the man that had tortured the boy more than he had remained alive to see tomorrow. It was just too unreal to imagine.

"But I suppose the past does not matter anymore." Argon sighed as he stroked Stein's cheek with his knuckles. The feeling of dry, decomposed skin rubbing against his flesh was disgusting to the noble, and he attempted to turn his face away only for Argon to cup his face and stare at him with those empty eye sockets of his. He had never known the Undead Curse could be this terrifying.

"The rest of the Lithecore are dead, so are all your men in the village." Stein's eyes widened. He had killed all of them?! It wasn't an impossible feat for someone like him but the mere fact that he had done it sent shivers down his spine.

"Oh, and the villagers won't be needed to prepare for Winter either. I've sent them all somewhere warm, if Hell could be called that."

Stein gasped, just what kind of monster had he created?!

"All that's left… is you." He chuckled again before sniffing deeply, making Stein shudder as his Commander brought his face closer. "I think I'm going to enjoy this… just like you enjoyed killing Eliana. I guess I take after my parent in that regard; killing, I mean."

"M-M-Mikel… please…"

The Lithecore Commander paused an inch from Stein's face. Both men said nothing for a good long while before Argon began to speak.

"You… will not… EVER call me by that name." his voice had gone cold, and his fury had unmasked itself, causing Stein to wet himself as he whimpered below the Commander.

Argon sniffed the air a single time and laughed. It was a soft laugh. But it carried a dark humour with it that forced tears in Lord Stein's eyes.

"How ironic. But at least you know what's coming to you. It's just a shame you aren't prepared for death like you prepared the rest of us… but hypocrites are many whilst good men are few."

The newly turned undead rasped as his mouth reached the old man's ear, his breath ghosting over Stein like freezing ice.

"It's time you join your forces in the purgatory you created for yourselves."

He licked his dry lips with a rotten tongue, dripping thick saliva onto the mattress as he prepared himself for the ultimate revenge. And this time he wouldn't even need to use his hands to do so.

"Farewell then… father."

Argon's teeth tore into Lord Stein's throat, ripping flesh and muscle from bone as he devoured his Lord, his Master, his father alive. All the while, Stein screeched for help, his pleas falling on deaf ears in a town of corpses.

"AHHH! AAHHHHGH! AAAAHHHHHHGGH!-"

SPELCH!

Argon swallowed the portion of flesh that swam inside of his mouth, lifting his head skyward as blood flooded his neck, falling into the open mouth of Lord Stein.

"And now… you've been avenged… mother."

He looked back down at the corpse below him, a duty to purge the remains of this filthy sinner from the world compelling him to launch back down and begin his feast anew. He would fully devour the very memory of the man that was his Master, swallow the liquid of the leader that took everything away from him, crunch the bones of the father that deceived him, and suck up the brain matter of the fool parading around as God's advocate.

After today there would only be one Lithecore remaining in this world. And he would smite the gods himself, using the very weakness of Man to anchor him towards his goal; complete annihilation.

---

Argon blinked as he stared back at his other self, the memories of his past making his head fuzzy.

"So…" he began. "That's why I eat people when I go rabid."

The past him nodded. "I was captured by followers of Lloyd a few years later. From what I recall, they discovered me slaughtering an entire warship of Way of White clerics en route to a far away land. The reverie is hazy, but I was thrown into the Asylum soon after. As for how much time I spent there before you came along, I am not sure."

"Okay, so what exactly should I do with all this? And why are you speaking as if we're not the same person?"

"Because we AREN'T the same. The child, Mikel and the Lithecore Commander Argon are beings you do not need to worry about. They are your past, yes, but your human days. You were born in the Asylum as an undead. Thus, their sin's do not fall onto your shoulders."

"Then why tell me about it in the first place?"

The other him gave Argon a bemused grin. "I already told you, its so that you can be prepared for when the time is right."

The mindscape they both stood in darkened for a moment and the past him sagged, his face growing tired as he hunched over.

"Hey, are you okay?" Argon asked out of concern. He knew he should hate this side of himself, yet for the life of him, all the wanted to do was prevent him from leaving.

"Hehe… you possess her heart. Despite having no affiliation to Eliana… you epitomise what I would have been like… were I to live under her love." With a deep sigh, the past Argon straightened his spine and tilted his head to the side, a warm smile on his face.

"So, now you know… and I can die with hope in my heart."

"Alright, man. That ain't the least bit funny." Argon folded his arms in annoyance as the other him laughed. Where did the guy get off teasing Oscar like that?

"Forgive me, famous last words, I suppose…" he rolled his shoulders and nodded, as if making up his mind.

"Well then… farewell."

As his other self began to make slow but deliberate steps toward the end of the corrupted room, Argon couldn't help but ask a question he had never been able to ask before.

"Why are you helping me?" the other him turned back round with a raised eyebrow. "You'll cease to exist if you leave now, won't you?"

"Oh, I'm not helping you. This is entirely for my own sake. And partly because you need to be ready when HE arrives."

"Ready?" Argon repeated. "Ready for what? And who?"

The other him merely smiled wider.

"Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? Or have you grown deaf as fear and dread clogged your head from logical thought?"

Before Argon could question him again, his darker counterpart turned around fully and began walking away. Where exactly he was walking to, Argon did not know.

"Why? Why help me when you know it'll cause you to fade away?!"

The other him shrugged. "Perhaps I enjoyed the spotlight."

Silence reigned between them as Argon's past self began approached his extinction. It was bittersweet to see, yet he couldn't allow himself to miss another opportunity to speak his mind, whether or not he was currently too much of a coward.

"What will I do after you're gone?"

"Whatever the hell you want."

Argon bit back the sadness he felt. Even though he hated this vestige of himself, the one that had tortured him, haunted his mind and made him fear his own shadow at night, he was still apart of him. This departure… it wasn't a triviality; it was a final goodbye. He knew so from the heaviness in his other self's voice. And though he knew he should be glad his slumber would be peaceful from now on, the small part of him that mourned for the eventual loss of a piece of himself demanded one last exchange of words.

"I'll need you after this is over. I'm still not strong enough yet."

He heard the other him chuckle loudly. "No, you won't."

"How can you be so sure?!"

The other him raised a hand as he walked further and further away, disappearing from sight all too quickly.

"Because anything you lost in the present, means you didn't really need it in the future."

And then he was gone. And only Argon remained.

---

The undead blinked for what felt the infinite time today. The events of his mindscape making more things confusing to him as he pondered on who exactly his alter ego had been preparing him for exactly. Besides that, why was it always him that had to endure these mind breaking moments of despair? Did he look like some shy dark-haired boy that worked in a coffee shop that catered for man-eating monsters?

The tightening of arms around his neck and the scent of one of the most pleasant fragrances he had ever come across snapped his mind back to reality as he noticed the sobbing crossbreed in his arms. Guilt washed over his heart as she embraced him for dear life. How long had he left her to cry her eyes out like that? How badly had his shift to insane hurt her mentally? He already knew what he had done when his other self was in control, he had witnessed it all through his own eyes, fighting to free himself and stop this madness from continuing.

"Hey," he whispered and she raised her head up to stare into his eyes. Gone were the abysmal vapour that permeated from his skin, and the ravenous hunger of his hollowed self no longer wished to dine on half dragon girls today – although… he did wonder what such a thing would taste li-

Nope! Don't even go there, you dirty perv!

"A-Argon…" her eyes held such warmth in them. Such life despite the fact that he tried to kill her. After all he had said and done to her… yet she still clung to him out of relief, joy, and happiness – as if just seeing him being… well, him, was all she had ever wanted. He wondered how he had found someone as precious as her in his life.

"Yeah, its really me this time."

The tears in her eyes fell harder as she smiled from ear to ear, her small face glowing in the dim light as she displayed her heart for him to see.

"It is? Th-That's so g-good to h-h-hear…" she said and he brushed away her tears with his thumb. He felt like stabbing himself in the heart for doing this to her, making her worry to such extremes that she was forced to kill him in order to save his life. And yet, he had never been so grateful for anything else this ugly world had given him – save for Eliana, even of his other self insisted she wasn't connected to him.

"You can stop the water works now… I'm finally back. No need for tears, right?" he tried to be cheerful about it. She agreed with his words.

"R-Right." She said and sniffed. He smiled at her before hugging her back, instantly feeling her slender arms grip his neck for dear life.

He lowered his forehead against hers as he began to speak, the emotions he felt making his voice crack and go soft.

"Thank you…"

She lifted her head a fraction, motioning for him to go on.

"It looks like… It looks like you were the one to save me… this time." His resolve broke as tears of his own began to fall, his arms pulling her closer as he wept.

"Th-Th-Thank you. Thank you s-so much."

Priscilla smiled softly as she allowed him to unbottle everything, from the pain brought on by this arduous journey, to the battles he waged within himself. She knew how hard it must have been for him, especially when he had begun this quest to no one by his side, those friends he had made along the way all veering off into separate directions to his own.

She was happy though. Because if he had never come to her prison, battered and alone, she would have never gotten the chance to meet him. He would never have been able to save her, to ask her to accompany him as he took on the task his very own savour had placed into his hands before passing. And although they had gone through so much pain, trouble, and difficult trials, he was still here with her. He was still him, despite his flaws. For that, she was grateful.

"No need for tears, huh?" she chuckled as he huffed. Priscilla shook her head and hugged him tighter. "You're a hypocrite, Argon."

He laughed into her hair, despite himself. If only she knew how much.

Their touching moment continued with more tears and cuddling, that is, until a groan from yonder broke the silence and Havel sat up, rubbing the back of his bald head with a crumbling gauntlet as he cussed from the pain he was in.

"Ah, for Lloyd's sake…" he looked around him for his Dragontooth but couldn't find it. Strange, he had thought it was right next to him, along with that one-hundred-year-old bottle of wine he was drinking. What was it called again? Frost-White? No, Bite? Frostbite wine? And wasn't he meant to be in Oolacile right about now? As he recalled that shmuck Argon who had spontaneously possessed a twin was about to fight Artorias in a match for the right to… marry a Lords' Blade? Wait, wait, wait… now he must be drunk. Argon was only smitten for Priscilla, and she was currently playing a game of chance with Gough whilst Gwyndolin made them some delicious grilled fish to eat. Wait… Gwyndolin could cook?

Yeah… 'course she could. The same way Gwynevere was still busy shagging a humanoid Seath in her chambe-

"WHAAAT?!" he screamed as he recognised where he was and what in Izalith was going on.

"Geez, gramps," Argon wiped his eyes as Priscilla untangled herself from him, a slight blush on her cheeks as she realised that she had been hugging Argon… around the neck… whilst his shirt was off…

"What, you got a problem, runt?" the Archbishop shouted as he struggled to stand up. Forget feeling too weak to walk, how was he still alive after that blast from Seath?

"Yeah, your non-stop complaining. Why don't you just tell us the next time you're too tired to fight your nemesis, we'll understand that old age is bad for your health."

"What was that?!" Have screamed.

"What did it sound like?!" Argon screamed back.

"I know you did not just call me old!"

"Pull back the flab covering your ears and you might be able to hear clearly!"

"Oh, now you're calling me fat?!"

"Hey, if the boot fits, wear it. Although, in your case, I doubt even your bunioned toe could squeeze through."

"That's it! C'MERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE!"

"I AM! OR ARE YOU BLIND TOO?!"

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" Havel screeched.

"NAH-UH!" Argon shrieked back.

"Hmph."

"Hmph!"

"HMPH!"

" HMPH!"

"STOP COPYING ME!" the Archbishop wailed.

"NO, YOU STOP COPYING ME!" Argon replied.

Priscilla merely hung her shoulders and shook her head, a bright smile on her face. After everything they had just been through and the two of them acted like children. What a wonderful family she was a part of.

Seath listened to everything that was going on with the three before him as he managed to complete the basic stage of healing for his many wounds. It was unreal, watching his nemesis and the Chosen Undead act as if nothing had happened in the hours they had all spent fighting to the death.

But what was more astonishing to the paledrake, that his own superior brain had literally shut down to process, was the fact that his daughter had saved his life. It was unheard of, implausible, and purely outrageous. His offspring, the one possessing the Lifehunt ability, who he had experimented on and tortured before throwing into the Painted World as a prisoner had stepped in to protect his already depleting life.

His first thought on the matter had been to use the opportunity she had given him to kill both the undead, her, and his nemesis in one fell swoop. However, as he 'watched' her through his aural sense, and felt the emotions she held within her chest as she battled to save an undead thought to be a lost cause, he was reminded of the words she had spoken to him before he had set his ambush. Those tear-filled words, dripping with feeling that had made his cold heart beat just once.

"I don't want to see you die," she had said before he left her. A sign that despite what he had done to her, she still felt compelled to see the good in him. Him, Seath the Scaleless.

It was stupidity in his blind eyes, and yet he had not made a move since she had intervened, intent on watching as her growth skyrocketed to amazing lengths, all in the name of an undead who's destiny it was to burn for another eternity.

And now… here they all were, happily laughing together as if the end of the world was not around the corner, as if all this misery and premonition of Dark was simply a fairy tale. It awoke something in him, a deep memory, one that he had repressed for eons now. A time after the War whereby he had been a curious dragon, after the secrets of life, not just the source of immortality.

He heard Priscilla's laughter and was once again assaulted by the reveries he had hoped would never return to haunt him. Those of a young goddess, her face that shone like the very sun in the sky, a face that he was able to see despite having a lack of sight. He recalled her laughter, her warm, comforting laughter that eased his busy mind as he was actually seen outside during the first few centuries of Anor Londo. Seath breathed out shakily as he remembered what Gwynevere's voice had been like. Not like the illusion above the Throne Room which he had helped craft, but a light, airy tone that spoke of gentle showers in the sun and warm radiance even in the harshest of storms.

He had been a different entity back then, whether he wanted to believe it or not. Still an obnoxious and prideful dragon, which was one of the other reasons Havel had taken a dislike for him, but still different, nonetheless. One that had not lusted to live forever, but simply to be remembered forever.

"Argh, okay… we gotta sort this beef out." Argon quipped as Priscilla helped him stand up.

"I'd say so as well." Havel grunted roughly as he leaned on his Dragontooth for support, Priscilla once again helping him find the weapon. "I'll go first, I hate your attitude."

"Uh, good for you but that's not what I meant, old man." Havel blinked and turned toward where Argon was pointing. His sight was filled with scaleless dragon and he curled his lip, turning away instantly and hobbling toward the bonfire.

"Wha- where are you going?" the undead asked him as Havel brushed passed the two of them.

"Where does it look like? I'm half dead and my armour's broken, I need to rest up."

"What about Seath?" Argon frowned. Did he miss something here or was the old man not comprehending the situation after a few solid knocks to the head?

The ex-Bishop paused before growling and waddling off faster. "Do whatever the heck you want with 'em! Leave me out of it!"

A confused undead and a grateful crossbreed watched him go before Argon turned back to his companion. "The hell did you do to him?"

Priscilla placed a finger on her lips with a smile.

"Not telling."

The undead frowned before a grin sprang up against his monochromatic features. He didn't mind not knowing. As long as they got that damn Lord Soul so they could hit the road already, all this crystal was giving him a headache.

It took them a few minutes but the managed to reach Seath, who was currently trying to reattach his severed tail. Whilst his Primordial Crystal ensured he could regrow limbs at a rapid rate, the time spent to grow one before he created another crystal to retain his immortality with would take years. Even if he just attempted to regrow one after harnessing the power of a secondary Primordial Crystal, the healing process wouldn't be perfect, and he would prefer it if his insides were healed without any scar tissue.

"That'd make a good greatsword." Argon commented, nodding at the severed tail in Seath's hands. Both Priscilla and Seath stared at him, one with a glare and other in shock as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Just saying…he-he-he…"

The slap the crossbreed landed on his bare arm told him to shut up before he pissed the dragon off yet again. And he smiled like an idiot as he continued to scratch his head.

"Aha… right, sorry about that." He began on a different note. "And sorry for… you know, messing you up and stuff. Lost my cool for a minute."

Both father and daughter sweat-dropped at that. That was the understatement of the century.

"But anyway… I hope that we can get passed all this in-fighting. I mean, we only came here for your shard of Gwyn's soul."

Ah. Seath recalled that day well. Gwyn had dropped by his Archive when he was neck-deep in research, attempting to find a solution to aide in preserving the First Flame when the fool of a King had dug into his own chest, snapped off a fistful of his burning soul and told him to hold onto it as he went and sacrificed himself for the greater good. He had cursed the Lightning Lord's name for making him do so much pointless investigating.

"So, uh… if we could just have that shard… we can be off in a matter of seconds."

"Argon! Behave yourself!" Priscilla scolded.

"What, I'm just saying!"

The paledrake looked down at the Chosen Undead with his aural sense. His power was magnificent, even without the Abyss possessing over half his body. And that unknown Pyromancy he had used was untraceable as far as he could see. If he weren't feeling nostalgic right now, he would have loved to run a few tests on the undead, see how he ticked and what else he could do. But alas, he was passed that now, and he was too weak to even bother fighting.

Lowering an open hand, Seath channelled out a brilliant orb from within himself, the sphere of power burning a lovely orange as it reached the size of Argon's head times two. The undead gulped as he stared at the thing.

Yup, it'll be a hassle fitting this one in the box, alright.

"Uh, thanks." Argon said to the dragon as he took the soul shard with both hands, only to jump and toss the soul fragment around in both hands.

"Ooh! Hot, very hot. Extremely hot!"

He managed to flick his bottomless box out of one of his pouches and kick the lid open as it expanded, but he wept for the many weapons which would most likely melt under the intense heat of such an item.

After he was done, he turned back to Seath and Priscilla, awkwardly trying to find a few words that would make this situation somewhat less weird. Eventually, he just ended up saying the first thing that came to mind.

"Sorry for wreaking your Archive, it's a lovely place. A few secret doors, some moving stairwells… a few BL novels that shouldn't be there… I recommend burning them when you have the time, only if you want to, of course." He chuckled awkwardly; he was running out of things to say.

"Also, I killed a lot of your subordinates. I'd like to say sorry about that but… I kinda needed the souls… gotta enhance my resistance to poison and magic, ya' know… don't know why I can't just do that with good 'ole elbow-grease but… ya' know."

Seath and Priscilla stared at him with blank faces. He broke out with a thin sheen of sweat before promptly turning on his heel and walking away, waving back as he speed-walked toward the bonfire Havel was currently repairing his armour at.

"I'll let the two of you catch up, gotta spend my souls, bye!"

Priscilla and Seath turned back to one another and stood in silence for a good few moments before the Chosen Undeads scream rang out again.

"Hey! What happened to all my souls?!"

"Pipe down, would ya'!"

CLONK!

"Ouch! You old buffoon, that hurts!"

"Keep talkin' and you'll be in for a world of hurt when I'm done with you!"

The two undead began bickering amongst themselves and Seath sweat dropped for the second time. That was the man his daughter was in love with? He would have been better off dead.

"Thank you, Father."

The Duke caught the soft tinkle of the crossbreed's voice as she smiled at the ground.

"I really did mean what I said before. I don't want to see you die."

He looked at her, murky eyes peering at her aura. She was almost just like her mother, overly forgiving as she was caring. Loyal to a fault and unnaturally strong. The only difference between the two of them was that Gwynevere had acted cowardly whilst Priscilla remained steadfast, never once losing hope in what she believed in.

For a moment he wondered what she would have said seeing what he was as the crossbreed who he had done sin to actually thanked him for agreeing to a ceasefire. Sometimes he wondered what he had done to be given something as precious as this.

Without waiting for her to say another word, Seath picked up the severed tail he had been tinkering with before and began to slither out of the cave pocket, intending to reach his study to create another Primordial Crystal immediately. He had already spent his life researching and perfecting the art of Crystal Release. Theoretically speaking, it wouldn't be as difficult to create a second one after he had perfected the first.

Priscilla watched him go and bowed deeply. She was grateful he was still alive, and even if he never did see her as his child, she would still be happy. Because he had been able to change, to shift away from that cold Duke that sought power, to a sober dragon that honestly felt the emptiness in her heart, even if it was for a but a moment. Right then and there, he had filled that void in her soul that had remained empty for so long.

Seath flapped his wings to get some momentum going as he prepared to leave the Crystal Cave. He had done what needed to be done, and all that was left was to repair what was damaged… and decide what he was going to do with this unstoppable flow of emotions he didn't realise he possessed. Whether what his daughter had done for him was good or bad, he did not know. The only thing that was clear, was this this time, it was him that needed to change.

---

Havel stared at Argon as he sat down with a sigh, having finally collected all of this discarded weapons from around the now dilapidated room. He had explained to both himself and Priscilla the reason for his lapses in personality in the past, and from where it had come from. And whilst that made the pieces of the puzzle fit together for the Archbishop, there was still one thing that bothered him.

"Say, Argon."

"Hmm?" the undead hummed, his mouth full of roast pork. Havel frowned. Where did he get food from all of a sudden? Wait a-

"Are you eating the same boar you killed yesterday?"

"Yeth." The undead nodded, the crossbreed to his right also munching down on a shank of cooked meat.

"Not you as well, Priscilla!"

The crossbreed stared at him innocently with those emerald eyes of hers as her tail slapped against the floor in delight. "Woudth oo like a phishe?"

Havel turned green as he held back the bile in his throat.

"No, thank you."

He shivered, no matter how good it smelt. He refused to eat it.

"Like I was saying, Argon, you said you already travelled to Oolacile, right?"

The undead nodded, "Got sucked in by Manus to some time in the past."

"And you say that you defeated a corrupted Artorias and braved the Abyss, defeating Manus soon after and saving Princess Dusk, yes?"

"Mm-hmm. I was so heroic that time." Priscilla giggled as he stabbed his pork bone forward like a sword.

"That's all well and fine but there's one thing I still don't get."

Argon and Priscilla turned to face him in confusion.

"After you killed Manus, the Abyss stopped spreading, effectively saving the rest of the world from its scourge, right?"

"Yep, exactly like that. The Abyss is never coming to Lordran… unless we usher in the Age of Dark… or something like that…"

"So… how is it you came to be corrupted by the Abyss then? Did killing Primeval Man cause a blight to be cast on you or something?"

"Oh, this." Argon lifted up his light hand riddled with black veins. "That just happened after I absorbed Manus' soul."

Nobody said anything as the Chosen Undead happily sorted through the items in his inventory, unaware of the bubbling volcano he had just allowed to brew.

"YOU DID WHAT, YOU FOOL?!"

"ARGON!"

"What? His soul was literally a sprite of humanity. A tainted shard of humanity, but humanity no less!"

"Then why did you absorb it, you utter idiot?!" Havel slapped a hand against his head.

"I needed some humanity, okay? There wasn't any around and I was half-hollow."

"And did his soul end up giving you any humanity?" Priscilla asked curiously.

Argon flopped forward in disappointment.

"Not a single one."

"SO WE'RE IN THIS MESS BECAUSE YOU WERE AN IDIOT LIKE ALWAYS?!"

"OI, SAY IT, DON'T SPRAY IT, YA' BALD GYSER!"

"YOU WANNA RUMBLE? I'LL KICK YOUR BRAINLESS BEHIND SIX WAYS TO SUNDAY!"

"BRING IT ON, YA' WALKING FOSSIL!"

"ARGON!"

"HAVEL!"

"Guys, can't we just relax for once?" Priscilla's plea fell on deaf ears as the two undead began another argument she would soon have to finish. But for the life of her, she couldn't help but smile. It was another wonderful day with her friends, after all.

---

Okkkkkkaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had to cut this 'final' chapter in two because, well… you can see why. Please forgive me for being away for so long. I won't annoy you with my excuses (even if they are valid) so please accept this double feature to end the Chrysalis Arc which includes far more content than I usually write.

One of the major setbacks I had was writing the battle scenes for Argon and Seath, don't ask me why. And although I did mess up on making Seath this OP character with an unmatched intellect, he WILL be redeeming himself later on.

Also, for those of you that wanted to see either Argon, Priscilla or Havel kill the paledrake… yeah, too bad. He stays alive because he's Seath. 'Nuff said, ya' scrub.

There are a lot of things I'd like to explain but my brain cannot function so well because I am literally falling asleep whilst typing, so! I'll keep this short until my next chapter.

Argon possesses Dark Pyromancy now. Yay! I did my best to utilise his hollow-form, willpower to grow stronger and Sin that Gwyndolin bestowed upon him. My guess is that attacking a god makes you reach Sin level 100 or over, so that helped in bolstering its potency. If I did mess up that part, please forgive me, I took my notes directly from a wiki site since I don't have DS 2 to play. Let me just say that he will not be using that Pyromancy a lot through out the story because he's already plenty strong, and since he has to battle the abyssal corruption on his own… I doubt he'd have the control for Dark Pyromancy.

Oh, just to let you know, the chapters will flow according to my original one-week update schedule (at least… it was around a week. About 9 days max to publish new content in the beginning). After writing this out completely, I have overcome a BIG case of Writer's Block and have so much to show you guys.

Lastly, Argon's past. So, if I didn't make it clear before, the point was to show that Lord Stein is actually Argon's father. This explains why Stein kept Argon in his reconditioning program for years instead of a few months and why he didn't just throw him away when he became rebellious to his orders. Argon devours Stein out of revenge for killing his mother and so that he can personally be freed from his years of torment, incidentally, becoming exactly like his father in later years with some fine adjustments. He slaughters the entire town because well… he was rabid after just turning undead so he needed to test out his abilities. There will be no more moments when he loses his mind, and that's because the vestige of the 'past' him faded when he used the last of his consciousness to take over Argon's mind and try and kill Seath. In essence, the 'past' Argon was actually good, although he came across as bad. He was preparing Argon. bum-bum-bum…

I do have greater plans for Argon regarding his past self. You can already guess who I'm talking about so… get ready.

I probably left out a lot of stuff here but I'll save that for the next chapter if I remember. As always feel free to ask me what you didn't understand in the reviews and I'll be happy to answer.

Also, I'll edit both chapters at a later date. Right now… I just can't.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to bloody sleep. On with ze snoozing!