- oh? So the illustrious Mihairu, without a 7, has finally returned, has he?
Ah, give it a rest already.
-no, I don't think I will be, thank you very much.
Well, you're welcome then.
-shut up. You left me behind.
You're in my head. How could I have possibly-
- I said: 'shut up.'
I heard you.
-you have NOT. You. LEFT me.
You're seriously not going to start a petty debate about this, are you?
- the term 'abandoned' means to depart from someone or something-
Yep. You're going to drag this out.
- when the owner or, dare I say it, "PARENT" see's fit to loose their responsibility over said object or living entity.
Oh, for the love of-
-ME! For the love of me! Why did you not visit your clingy illogical side in well near six months?!
As I've said before, I-
-not just three or four or five miserable months of monotony, but SIX! You are the WORST version of me I have EVER come across.
I'm the only version on me that you have any knowledge of. Now stop overreacting, take this harmonica and let the next chapter happen already.
- ooh! I haven't played one of these in years! (*grabs instrument).
(*Sighs) Why am I doing these two-way skits with myself again?
The shudder of rock had her turning her head a fraction at the foreign sound of disturbance. The rising dust particles made her small nose twitch reflexively despite the source of the rubble standing more than a few yards away from her position. The intone of deeper voices barely reaching her sharp ears made her dark brows rise with curiosity.
Well now. It was certainly odd to note that she possessed human company.
Behind a charcoal cowl with tears and worn piping, she gazed out onto the glowing corridors and caught the sight of four males steadily progressing toward the broken-down staircases leading to a once glorious pillar of grated stone.
They were an old amalgamation of people, each appearing to be from one of the great countries or the other. As for their armour and its distinctive cultural style, it seemed that modifications had been made since the last time her wandering eyes had the chance to gander upon the strange smithing of the mortal race.
Her neat brows did however pinch together in mild confusion when she saw the pale one of the quartet. He stood lanky and awkward, clothes eerily similar to her own, and away from the general group yet still with them simultaneously – as if he was unsure of how to enlist himself into their undoubtedly cosy little semi-circle.
But then, one of his supposedly comrades looked up, met the pale one's gaze and ushered him over. The awkward one hesitated for a moment before rushing into their group and sitting down. Almost instantly, the circle they possessed seemed to warp around him before it accepted him as one of their own.
And it was then that the pale one allowed his jittery features to blossom into a small smile. And it was after that smile that the hooded onlooker realised why she had been so fixated on him until now. For in that moment of interest, a sliver of memory had flitted past her empty head, pried open her thoughts and allowed the torrent of silenced emotion to funnel out like a burst geyser.
Her heart found its rhythm once more – after an eternity of stagnation – beating slowly, once, twice… before her cold veins grew hot. Her pasty skin was rejuvenated. And the dust clogging her lungs expelled as she violently exhaled – burning red eyes widening with recognition.
She was still alive, yes. She had not perished when her mother had failed in her attempt to rectify her and her fellow Lords' mistake. But wait, where was her dear mother?
The muscles in her lean calves singed in discontent as she tried to turn around. How ever long she had stood stationary must have caused her limbs to lock up. She grunted through the pain as she finally craned her neck around, feet now responsive to her rebooted brain's messages.
The sight of crisp, white fog found her eyes and she frowned again in utter confusion. What was this oddity before her? Why was it obscuring her passage to her mother's chamber? She pressed a dainty hand against it but found such a substance forcing her back. That was strange… should vapour not be intangible? Why then was this annoying blotch of silver and white delaying her from seeing mother?
She turned round once more. The City Guard need be alerted about this. She needed to call upon Izalith's great sentinels, surely, they would comprehend the idiosyncrasy before her eyes. Surely, they would be able to tear apart this formless mist and allow her to see her beloved parent.
But when she looked out over the banister of the channel in which she stood, not a soul walked by down below.
She frantically whipped her head to the side, searching earnestly for someone, anyone to come to her aid.
But none did.
She opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to scream out, shout for help, but her throat released nothing but dry dust – making her cough and hack.
Fear settled into her heart. That was right, she had forgotten. The Silver Knights. The burning anger of the Sunbringer. He had brought his armada here to stop her mother in her tracks. The reason the bustling halls were empty was because his forces had killed them all.
Her breathing dipped into a strangled stutter.
Yes… she should still see the blood. Puddles and puddles of crimson essence flowing out against the rocks and between cracks like intrusive ants before spilt crumbs from a dinner table.
Her hands trembled as she brought them to her head that throbbed as she cried. They were all dead. Gwyn had slaughtered them all. Her friends, her vassals, her family… she looked up suddenly.
Where was her family? Her beloved sisters, all six of them; and her youngest brother? where had they gone to? Did the Lord of Light claim them as well? Was his anger that selfish that it sought to rectify mother's mistake by cleansing her entire bloodline?!
The hooded Daughter of Chaos felt her teeth clatter. She felt angry. Betrayed. Paralysed. But most importantly, lost. There was nobody here. The silence was deafening. She needed someone to come for her, to reassure here that she too was not merely a spectre looking upon her fallen home. Maybe if she could just use her Pyromancy as a flare, someone would notice?
She looked at her right hand, found that she was still squeezing her catalyst tight to her chest, and lifted it to the sky. She felt her magic thrumming through her veins, creeping through her palm and into her staff – illuminating her own miserable solitude with blinding, brilliant, uncontained iotas of burning light.
She tried to cast it upward, but then gasped. A sudden pain in her chest flared like acid and she found herself falling to her knees – hacking once again yet this time she felt wetness on her lips. She raised a shaking hand to touch her chin, brought it before her face and stared.
It was blood.
She frowned deeply as she stood. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She needed to get out of here, find whatever survivors she could and escape her collapsed homeland. But where there any survivors here to begin with?
Wait.
She snapped her head back to the overview and found, once more, the quartet of humans huddled close together and hope spread throughout her being. They were still alive and not hallucinations. She knew so because her imagination was never that vast to begin with. She had never been to the other great lands; thus, she had only ever seen drawings of the onioned knights of Catarina, only heard talk of brave knights garbed in shimmering chainmail and unreadable helms shaped like buckets. As for the bearded fellow in familiar robes, she found odd recollection, but with his magic, not his face. The remaining pale one equally so, but for the opposite of the former.
It was then that it hit her. Her brother!
It couldn't be anyone but him. That meek persona, the pale skin, the nostalgic atmosphere around him – she had treasured such features about her youngest sibling well enough to remember.
Joy swept her up in its strong arms as she prepared to run towards them. There was the aid she so dearly requested. And with it, the brother she felt she had not seen in more than a century. She was not lost after all!
Her small feet planted itself forward, one after the other, as she smiled in delight. She would finally be rid of this odd loneliness in her chest. Finally be filled with the togetherness she suddenly craved! It was a dream come tru-
Her red eyes widened.
Her left foot, that was about to cross into the adjacent corridor, stood still in mid-air. It refused to move another step forward. But why?
The foot came back, planting itself next to her other, and in an instant, the other foot took a step back.
Why… why was this happening? And when they were so close to her!
Slowly, her feet guided her backwards, hands stuck by her side as she returned to her original spot.
Why couldn't she move forward? Why did her own limbs betray her need for security in the company of others? Why did the odds force her to be alo-
The life in her eyes faded for a moment. She blinked and the dullness grew tenfold. Suddenly, she felt awfully sleepy.
That was right, she couldn't leave, could she? As much as she wanted to. As much as her heart burst to be led to company, she could not abandon her post. To do so was to abandon mother. And she could not do that. After all, mother had given her the last orders she would ever receive. And those orders… had been to never leave her side. To guard her chambers… no matter what.
The Daughter of Chaos blinked once more, and her lively red eyes became empty, glassy marbles. They shifted from staring at the warm quartet, to looking out at the cold emptiness of her home beneath her.
Her duty was to protect. Not to be protected. How could she have ever forgotten such a thing? How silly of her.
The aftershock of such a tunnel collapse left Laurentius and gang flooded in motes of dust that hung on their armour like freshly fallen snow. They had been grateful to the Astorian for saving them all from an early end, going as far as to collectively give the man a hearty embrace – even if Queren had turned blue from almost being squeezed to death in the strong Sun Knight's arms.
After a short repose, a quick scouting of the wider areas of land, and the occasional stone sentry being shattered to pieces before it could flambe them to a crisp, it had been ruled out for certain that Central Izalith was more or less a definite ghost town.
Whilst the worry that they just hadn't found any enemies that were particularly worrisome was something deserving a second thought, the ginger undead didn't think that any demons of the larger variety would bother to remain down here when the Bed of Chaos itself displayed such an overwhelming sense of power over the lost capitol.
Queren had done his best to guide them through the maze-like city, despite the turmoil in his eyes as he wept for his deceased countrymen, but although his memory was stellar, the unpredictability of the terrain had let them down. As it were, all three main routes to and from the Witch of Izalith's chamber was suspiciously blocked off – either from a mass of fallen rock or by an expanse of humungous roots that tore away the ground to walk on.
Nevertheless, they had changed their approach somewhat, utilising the stable arches as high vantage points to decipher how to enter the main floor. It was only after they had successfully navigated around more brazen roots and crumbled a nearby wall with the help of Siegmeyer's Zweihander, that they found themselves eventually arriving within the inner circle of Izalith's heart.
"I'd say that an empty welcome after hurdling through countless flaws is quite the dis-service, however, I don't particularly want to be flogged by more demons of the greater variety." Siegmeyer confessed and huffed out breathlessly. It was a wonder the Catarinian had managed to venture this deep into the lost city without tiring so far – after all, it was no secret that his build was a lot less muscle and a lot more pudge – yet even so, it warmed the hearts of his comrades to see him actually sitting down after the ordeals they had braved.
"Can't say that this place will be eternally quiet, though." Laurentius scratched his beard and gazed at the looming towers in front of them. "According to Quelana, the Bed of Chaos spawns demons at impulsive intervals. Depending on the severity of its next pulsation of demonic energy, we could be facing a horde as large or as small as fifty to sixty fire-resistant giants."
"But I thought that demons could only be birthed by using the bodies humans as a host to form grotesque mutations." Solaire voiced and they all gave it some thought.
His words held some truth to them. If the annals of Lordran were honest and not tampered by the hands of anyone looking to shadow the origins of this kingdoms great fall, the demons in Izalith were born as a result of the Witch of Izalith's volatile body releasing cursed versions of the First Flame – now known as Chaos Fire – into the city, which then contaminated its people; resulting in the eradication of an entire domain. It was said that from this putrid flame later used as ancient pyromancy, the people afflicted started to turn into nightmares – creating a literal Hell for all who dared fight the sudden scourge.
That said, it was odd that after more than a few centuries, and Gwyn's army killing at least a third of those monstrosities, that the number of those vicious horrors never diminished. It had been argued that they had perhaps copulated with captured females like undead that had adventured into Izalith and never returned, or that the demons themselves were parthenogenic – but Vinheim's Dragon Academy later debunked these theories on the account of a sorcerer documenting that after careful study of these curious beasts, that they did not in any way possess the genetic need to procreate.
So, the question everyone asked remained unanswered: how did these monsters expand their ranks? It was simpler than anyone would have guessed. The Bed of Chaos.
"Perhaps that was the case before the world started its descension into madness," the Pyromancer mused, dusting off the dirt from his boots, "But after decades of silence and a growing multitude of the demons we just took down, the only explanation is that the mutated Witch is producing more of these things on demand."
"Well then, lets just hope we manage to lay her to rest before such an expulsion of destruction happens again." The Onion Knight chirped, and they were all in agreement – save for Queren who had remained suspiciously quiet throughout their time of rest.
They didn't blame him, of course. They had forced him to return to his ruined homeland after all, and this lifeless maze of buildings was probably once his greatest pleasure, with his people, sisters and mothers all happily cooped up within long ago. To make him come back to a distant memory that reopened wounds which never healed made the three of them feel sick inside. It was even worse for Laurentius, since he was the head of this party set to kill the boy's own mother – defiled and metamorphosed as she may be. The kid must have been feeling terribly out of sorts.
However, when the trio of undead turned to face the smaller man, what they found was not a sobbing mess of stutters and tears, but a distant look of pondering on his pale face as he sat against a lopsided slab of rock and frowned into space.
"Queren?" the calling of his name brought him out of whatever spell he had cast upon himself, although the uncertain frown never left his features. The Swamp-dweller knew him well enough to know that his pensive attitude warranted a decent amount of warning for them regarding their surroundings.
"Whatever is the matter, dear boy?" Siegmeyer asked him and the Son of Chaos replied by looking around them, his gaze hardening.
"Something's off."
"I say, everything has been off from the time we entered the last few levels of your homeland. Could you be more specific?"
"I n-noticed something earlier. Whilst we y-you were all talking." His unlined face formed three crooked trenches upon his brow as he squinted into the distance behind Solaire. He held that position for a moment before his eyes swivelled to look behind him. It was strange to see the boy this anxious – as if he were watching for an imaginary monster surveying him.
"You seem to be quite distracted about something, indeed."
"I am. Something's watching us."
The group felt the comfortable air around them dissipate as their hands twitched toward their weapons.
"Are you certain?" Laurentius raised his brow as he pulled Queren to his feet.
"P-Positive."
"So, we're being scouted, is that right?" the Sun Knight chipped in and received a nod. "This area is abandoned. It wouldn't make sense for any prowling foes to be observing us when they lack intelligence." He said before drawing his sword and shield. "Is it possible that you're simply imagining it? I wouldn't blame you after how exhausted we all must be."
Solaire raised a fine point. Any demons still in the are would attack if they had been spotted. That was just how their foes had been wired, thus far. It was true that they had also been on a non-stop sprint toward Izalith's core, as such, the mind was prone to viewing illusions for reality. Nobody would even blame young Queren for making such a small misjudgement – this heat would have gotten to his head as well, soon enough, whether he was a native or not.
But the Izalith survivor stood assertive in his belief – even if he was nonplussed with regard to their would-be stalker's whereabouts.
"I'm certain that someone's watching us." Queren said again.
"Yes, but how can you be sure it's not a hallucination?" Siegmeyer countered.
"I don't think Queren would hallucinate something like this." Solaire reminded him.
"Perhaps he's having a fever dream and this 'thing' is a corporeal form of his nightmare." Siegmeyer stated firmly.
"Again, I don't believe that to be concrete either." Solaire shrugged his shoulders.
"And why not?"
"Because I don't exist in nightmares." Darkwraith Kirk said behind Laurentius before swinging his sword.
Contempt. That was what he felt toward the creators of flame magic. Even more so for the followers of that pathetic Great Lord that dared to call herself a 'witch'. In her time of living for who knew how many millennia, what had she truly accomplished? The destruction of the Ancient Dragons' home base? Perhaps. Then again, how much credit does an arsonist earn by burning a den of lizards to cinders? Respect? Hmph. If you asked him, being awarded a kingdom underneath the 'true' Great Lord was more of an insult than a reward. And what of her dutiful daughters? What had all seven of them earned at the end of the Great War, save for the rebuke from their peers after more than half of them were either turned into monstrosities or hunted by said monstrosities?
Which directed his point firmly at the futility of it all. That so-called 'witch' had been an utter fool. The wielder of the Soul of Life, and she did little more than taunt and everlasting fire to scorch her – and look at what that stupidity had caused. And she called herself a witch. He had to hold back the scoff building up at the back of his throat.
What sort of witch allowed her vassals to be corrupted by cursed fire, manipulated by baser instincts before being slaughtered by the Sun God's wicked forms of steel and platemail? Did her endless imagination that she was supposedly famed for even stop to think of the many ways she could ignify her still sane forces to fight back against the waning influence of the 'Great Lord Gwyn'?
But no. Such thoughts could not possibly hope to touch the fair brow of the mystifying Witch of Izalith. Power blinds the self-assured. It forms a complex of superiority that crushes the delicacy of logic only to weigh down the mind with the ignorance of a fleeting boon known as strength.
He wondered, as she stood there, burning from head-to-foot in unsmotherable chaos fire; did she have a moment to spare a thought for the remaining members of her own family? Or had that rotten utopic intellect denied all time for anyone but herself? He supposed no one would ever know, what with that pathetic witch being nothing more than a furious tree upon a slab of furious roots, set ablaze by furious fire.
Yet despite his disdain for what the fallen kingdom is and was, he still found himself walking within those stereotypical halls, breathing in the sullen air and looking at frayed murals on walls long since crumbled to nothing but enflamed pebbles.
It wasn't something he was looking forward to, nor was it a task he conducted with a smile on his face – if he ever smiled at all – but since it was by her request that he regularly investigate the agreed site, he obliged without an issue. It was the least he could do. Actually, that was a lie. The least he could do was feed her those shards of humanity as she cutely hummed against his dark breastplate. But that was besides the point. She had asked for him to come her regularly to check up on that brainwashed sister of hers, and so here he was, Darkwraith Kirk in his ascian form, in one of the ruins he despised with a fervent passion.
The only peculiarity of his visit this time around, was that there were three unwanted undead prowling around the perimeter Quelaan's robotic sister guarded.
Whilst that in an of itself was nothing new to him – from the myriad of reports his underlings had sent to him that also patrolled Lost Izalith – however, the fact that they were this close to the Bed of Chaos when he had a colossal invasion to mount did not improve his already bedraggled mood.
The thought that perhaps these undead (who also happened to be pulling along a Son of Chaos) would probably avoid any and all conflict with poor petrified Quemera, did cross his mind once or twice. That said, it didn't mean he was up for letting them live. Reason being, they were better left hollow and brainless rather than alive and cognisant to interrupt any of his well-thought-out plans.
Additionally, they were all friends with Argon. That alone made them happily expendable.
He allowed himself a grim grin as she slashed his blade toward the Swamp-dweller, the tip of his barbed sword just grazing against the Pyromancer's neck, drawing a fine but acceptable line of red that bled into his robe.
The ginger backed off warily, hand to his throat as the rest of his comrades came to the realisation of the danger they were truly in. Kirk was mildly satisfied in drawing first blood… for now at least.
He turned his helm an inch and found the Catarinian charging for him. Kirk stared blankly; expression indifferent beneath his helm as he twisted away from a lunging jab to smash his retrieved shield into the undeads Onion helm. It didn't inflict any damage but the decibels of noise most likely rattling within that enormous helmet would aid him in disorientating one of the two tanks temporarily.
A roar to his right and Kirk was dropping into a roll as a gleaming iron sword sailed over him as fast as a shooting star. He rose and managed to defend against the next on-coming strike aimed at his gut. He saw the shimmering gold eyes of the Sun Knight glare at him and raised an eyebrow. How intriguing. He had imagined the Astorian possessing generic blue eyes like the rest of his countryfolk. Then again, perhaps this explained why the follower of an exiled god was so much stronger than his brethren of the past. Was it not an old tale that humans possessing such eyes were of the bloodline closest to following the gods? He didn't speculate on it too much. His only concern right now was killing him before the others. After all, one did not haunt the grounds of Lordran without becoming aware of the unorthodox Solaire of Astora.
He backstepped another swung from the knight and deflected a jab before finally deciding to contribute to this dance of death. He lifted his sword arm slightly and Solaire tensed in anticipation only to be shocked by the boot that sunk into his abdomen, making him wheeze. Kirk may have been flexible in combat due to his smaller size but his strength was far more surprising than he had ever imagined it to be.
As if a switch had been flicked, the Sun Warrior found himself on the defensive, shield flashing up quickly to parry a lightning fast slash followed by heavy stab. The noise of his grotesque blade grating off his shield made his recovering companions' head pain, but Solaire couldn't allow such a distraction to make him falter. Not when he was facing an opponent as worthy as the Darkwraith Commander.
Kirk wasted no time in bridging the gap between them once more as he went rabid, right hand swinging madly – yet precisely all the same – as Solaire did his best to defend and find an opening. The constant clanging of their weapons made his arms tremble but his grip only grew tighter. By his estimation, he reckoned that he would be able to manage Kirk's barrage long enough for one of his friends to step in and help.
He crossed blades with Kirk once more after a good shove had made the phantom stumble before a grin lit up behind his helm.
"My, my, this is certainly exhilarating, wouldn't you agree?"
He hadn't been expecting an answer, but the rough swipe to his neck, which he seamlessly deflected, was enough to affirm his suspicions. To cross blades with an enemy was indeed a task that required an undivided span of attention, yes. However, when such a foe possesses more or less the same skill and proficiency you do with a blade, a duel to the death feels much less arduous and a lot more… energising. Why, if he had to be honest with himself, fighting an infamous phantom had recharged his physical battery better than basking in the golden rays of the sun would. Surely his partner in this deadly tango could feel it too, right?
To say that Kirk was thoroughly annoyed would be making an anthill out of a mountain. This was taking too damn long. The Astorian was defending him too damn well. He had too damn much to do as of late and to make matters worse, he was starting to sound like that obnoxious Right-hand of his. Kirk flashed his gaze behind him to see the Catarinian slowly getting up as the Pyromancer gulped down a healthy glug of Estus to heal that bleeding neck wound he had given him. He growled lowly. They were starting to get up far sooner than he had expected. At this rate, he would be stuck in this dismal territory until night overcame them and Lithecore would undoubtedly lead the invasion opposite to his direct instructions. He needed to end this quickly.
Solaire clashed his sword against his, muscles straining to overpower him as they stood in a momentary state of stillness. The Darkwraith noticed him readying his shield for a strong shoulder-bash and narrowed his eyes, the Astorian thought him a fool if he was going to try something that orthodox.
Adjusting his grip on his sword, Kirk angled the blade fifteen degrees to the right and watched Solaire stumble forward clumsily as his blade hastily slid down the length of his own and struck the hilt. it was then that the Darkwraith decided to move, flicking his wrist and disarming the Astorian in that moment of distraction. The knight watched his sword careen through the air before he was knocked back by a roundhouse from Kirk.
He turned his bucket helm at Siegmeyer who had just managed to retrieve his own sword and darted forward. The Onion Knight met him head-on and they slammed into each other with enough force to make the rubble around them shudder. Siegmeyer tried to reach out a hand to grab onto Kirk's arm but the wraith just jerked his shoulder backwards. The larger undead recoiled as Kirk's barbs dug into his gauntlet, scoring the sterling silver with deep, ragged trenches.
Siegmeyer stepped back and Kirk lashed out with a diagonal slash. The Onion Knight caught the blow with the side of his tall greatsword before the sound of fire flaring rang out behind them.
Kirk glared at Laurentius through the corner of his eye as the Swamp-dweller hurled a ball of chaos fire at him. He replied in kind by diving toward the Pyromancer and curling his body into a roll as the projectile exploded against Siegmeyer's breastplate.
The bearded undeads eyes opened wide in alarm and Kirk rose to his full height before attempting to skewer his next foe with his shield. Laurentius noticed the attack coming and defended with his axe. The barbs on the black shield clanged against the wide wings of the battle axe, however the Pyromancer found himself grunting in pain as his shoulder was pierced in several places. It seemed that although he escaped the worse of it, the phantom's barbs had still sneaked in between the gaps of his axe, where the wings met the haft.
Kirk tried to pull his shield back but only resulted in jostling the undeads arm, making him cringe before his other hand burst into hot flames again. Taking the logical approach, the Darkwraith slipped his gauntlet out of the shield's handle and returned with a straight-forward punch to the face.
The metal covering his knuckles crunched against Laurentius' nose and he went stumbling back with his eyes shut tight, blood dribbling through his fingers. Kirk spun around, two-handing his blade with the intent to open the Swamp-dweller's throat for good this time, when the annoying sight of Siegmeyer's Zweihander blocked his path and forced him to rebound.
He skipped backwards by three steps and crossed his sword, meeting the Catarinian's swipe. They held their ground for a moment, both undead straining for dominance when the knight suddenly decided to speak in his ever chipper formal tone.
"Hmm, if I didn't know any better, I'd say we're an equal match of strength." Siegmeyer mused with a huff. Kirk didn't raise to the bait. Siegmeyer simply chuckled. "And here I thought the infamous Darkwraith Kirk was a powerhouse of raw power. Goes to show how worthless rumours are, wouldn't you say?"
the Catarinian went to laugh at his own joke when he felt himself suddenly straining his arms. He peered down and saw his greatsword turning clockwise as Kirk slowly overpowered him.
"Hm. Perhaps I was mistaken. Care for a redo?"
Kirk didn't bother answering as he shoved the oversized man off him and ducked under the lightning bolt that nearly tore his head from his shoulders. He was wasting too much time here. As much as his duty was to fulfil Quelaan's request, his attack on Anor Londo took precedence over the paltry task of dispatching three worthless undead aiming for the stationary Bed of Chaos.
It wasn't any surprise that they were after some abominable tree, but after his subordinates had warned him of the lessening distance from Quelaan's vegetable of a sister, he had to take action. Now he pondered on whether he had just been paranoid. Perhaps allowing these fools to clear that silent sibling of her mother's self-centred affliction was a wise decision, after all. He knew the ginger was capable of it. He was closer to the title of Master Pyromancer than any other undead he had ever had the displeasure of encountering – only to subsequently turn into a dull husk with his Life Drain.
Unfortunately, the avenue to leading them to forgotten Quemera required that he obtain a sliver of space to be chased. And if anyone had been paying him any attention, they would notice that he was in the centre of a particularly agitating triangle of durable undead.
He rounded on Solaire, who was in the middle of casting another one of his signature miracles and delivered a harsh uppercut that lifted his helmet up just slightly – but enough that he could barely see out of the elevated visor.
Kirk saw his chance to capitalise and raised his sword above his head. He figured that the least bit of compensation he could receive for escaping was the death of the infuriating Astorian. A small grin tugged at his lips as he swung his blade downward…
Or he would have, if the startling burn of lava hadn't lanced into his spine and forced him to tumble into the fumbling undead in front of him.
Kirk grunted in pain as he rose to his feet, giving Solaire a solid stomp to the solar plexus as he turned to stare in fury at the petrified boy before him, his shoulders shivering as his burning hands faded back to a pasty white.
Ah, yes… the recently recovered form of Ceaseless Discharge. How could he have forgotten.
At first glance, the child seemed like nothing but that; a pathetic child quaking in his worn shoes. However, the Darkwraith could feel the power dripping off him. He saw the hidden flurry of untameable chaos fire swirling around his body like a remnant of darkness, struggling to break the surface of light, and dive back into the sanctuary of everlasting night. This boy was obviously a sibling of Quelaan, but more so a male counterpart of Quelaag – if the raw power of his magic was to be compared.
His hands twitched. The boy stayed alive, however much of a nuisance he was appearing to be upon Kirk's first encounter with him. The Darkwraith had already made a blood pact with his beloved that no harm shall come to the remaining members of her family by his hand. Whilst Eingyi had still held his insignificant reservations toward him after the agreement, the undead would still keep his word. He may have been a Darkwraith, and lies and deceit were his specialty, but if he went as far as to form an oath – then he would most certainly keep his vow until he too was nothing more than a worthless hollow.
Taking a step back from the frozen boy, Kirk turned left and ran toward an open corridor. Siegmeyer and Laurentius followed not a moment later, the bleeding Pyromancer barking nasal orders for the brother of Quelaan to stay behind with Solaire, as they chased him down a long passageway, up a flight of tall stairs that led to a turn shadowed by an arch, before eventually ducking behind a thick tree root as both undead burst from the dark meander and toward the range of a motionless Quemera.
Kirk sniffed as he retrieved a separation crystal from one of his pouches. His work here was done. Truth be told, he had needlessly rushed here. Then again, if he hadn't, he probably wouldn't have figured out how to snap Quelaan's sister out of her mother's intense brainwashing.
Now then, if the lover of Quelana lived up to his drastically lowered expectations, perhaps things would finally go as he had planned for once. Who knows, maybe he didn't even need to utilise the ancient magic he had been taught. And with her brother tagging along – his name was Queren, wasn't it – there may even be a happy reunion for the pair before they returned to the surface.
Or perhaps they wouldn't return at all. The ginger was still out for the Bed of Chaos' Lord Soul, after all. If he was weaker than Kirk already envisioned him as and he got two more members of Quelaan's family killed, that was that. He wouldn't take responsibility; he had promised not to harm her family members. He hadn't stated that he would protect them with his life. That act of his rare charity was reserved for his beloved. For only she was worthy of the priceless value of his black heart.
Whichever way these idiots sliced it; it was their problem now. He wouldn't waste a second to remember those he had nearly killed if they failed. Time was of the essence. And he was tired of all these inconveniences.
That reminded him, he had lost his shield yet again. Not that he minded all that much, he felt he much preferred fighting without the heavy piece of equipment. He wouldn't be needing a replacement either.
After the invasion had been completed and Argon's soul was in his hand, he would forever disregard the way of the sword to live peacefully with Quelaan. He hadn't cheated life and death for nothing, he might as well end on a hypocritical note, away from all the pointless death and bloodshed.
Siegmeyer and Laurentius emerged into an open passageway that gave them a decent overview of the many other levels of the once grandiose city of Izalith. There was cobblestone, neatly lined slate and an entire kraken full of bursting grey-white roots that seemed to clutch the central area within its tentacles like some oceanic wine-glass, however what there was a lack of was the form of one obsidian and scarlet phantom known as the Knight of Thorns.
"Hmm. Seems we lost him." Siegmeyer voiced without much enthusiasm, and he had a right to be so downcast. That Darkwraith had made him feel inadequate as a man of strength in less than ten seconds.
"Bollocks!" Laurentius cursed and grimaced as he squeezed his tricep to stem the flow of the barbs still stuck into his arm. His face wasn't faring any better. From what the Onion Knight could see, it seemed Kirk had managed to wound the relaxed Pyromancer's pride as well… along with breaking his straight nose. Quite frankly, the Swamp-dweller had it worse than him in the regard of being shamed by a Darkwraith of all beings.
"Now, now, Laurentius. I realise that you're frustrated but such language just cannot be accepted when there are children milling about." He gestured to the imaginary form of Queren behind him and received a deadpan stare. The Catarinian tilted his head in confusion before turning back and noticing that no one was actually there in the first place.
"Oh!" he exclaimed in amazement before frowning and tapping his helm. "When was it that we all were separated from one another?"
The Pyromancer groaned in exasperation and slapped a hand against his tired features. He was too annoyed to even be annoyed with the slightly slow undead – however odd that sentence sounded.
They had been ruffled by the invasion of Kirk. More than that, they had been utterly outclassed. Whilst their numbers were even and decent in the case of a surprise attack, the Darkwraith had still proven how even the strongest could fall like a house of cards. How did his dear old grandad put it when he was younger? Lions that fail to work as a team will struggle to bring down a limping buffalo. Whilst the moral was understood, he still couldn't comprehend what in the blazes a 'buffalo' was. His grandad had been a wicked adventurer before he went mad from eating hallucinogenic mushrooms one day; and jumping into a lake filled with dangerous leeches. Laurentius had eventually fished him out and onto dry land, but not before he saw a school of blood-sucking parasites turn his role model into a dry, leathery husk in record time. He guessed a story with common sense as the ethic plotline would have been much preferred before any talk of teamwork.
That dreary image reimagined, Laurentius shook his head before sighing and sipping from his Estus flask. The loss of one Darkwraith wasn't as bad as they made it seem. If anything, they were lucky… or, he was lucky, at least. Kirk was more than just notoriously terrifying; he was also a skilled veteran at killing. As strong as Laurentius had grown to be able to take down pairs of greater Taurus Demons at a time, he was no match for an unparalleled swordsman like Kirk. Solaire would have definitely been able to hold his ground, and most likely gain the upper hand soon enough. Siegmeyer was similarly as strong, but not as durable. He, on the other hand… would have fallen immediately.
The undead wasn't afraid to admit it – even if the truth did sting like the blood mosquito's in Blighttown – but he wasn't a great fighter. A good strategist and one hell of a distance fighter, yes. But shabby in close combat with someone that knew what they were doing – especially if it was against homicidal maniacs like Kirk of all people.
So, instead of dwell on the sour defeat – and the half a dozen barbs still stuck in his upper arm – Laurentius focused on the positives, which was that Kirk had led them through a route they hadn't even known existed until they all had the prism stones beaten out of them. Seriously, Kirk was relentless… Bloody hell.
"-rentius." the undead frowned. Was someone calling out to him? If so, where was it coming from? He looked at his companion who merely shrugged in reply. Placing a finger to his lips, he motioned for Siegmeyer to be quiet as the voice grew louder, slowly nearing their position.
"Laurentius! Siegmeyer!" Solaire shouted out clearly enough for the Pyromancer and Onion Knight to pinpoint his location behind a nearby obelisk the size of a monolithic pillar.
"Over here!" Siegmeyer finally shouted back.
"Siegmeyer? Is that you?!" Solaire questioned.
"Of course it's me. Who else would it be?"
"Well, for starters, you could be a monster impersonating my dear friend so that you could lure me into a trap before sucking my brain out with a tube-like appendage that extends from your tailbone."
"How in Gwyn's name is your imagination that specific?" the Catarinian said in obvious confusion. "Additionally, what sort of horror novels have you been reading over the course of your journey?!"
Laurentius frowned. There were monsters like that in Lordran? How terrifying.
"U-Uhm, Solaire… p-perhaps that is Mr. S-S-Siegmeyer after al-"
"Don't be deceived, my young Queren," Solaire's voice overpowered him happily. "there are all sorts of crazed eyesores in this world. If we don't proceed with caution early, we could see ourselves attacked by a horde of mindless abominations out to eat us alive, as we scream for help that would never arrive!" he exclaimed.
"T-T-T-That c-could actually ha-happen?!" Queren shouted. It was clear to see he was positively terrified by such an unlikely end to his life.
"Don't listen to him, dear boy!" Siegmeyer said with a shake of his head. It seemed even he thought Solaire's overly cautious mindset was ridiculous. "Just hurry it up and come round the wall you're currently staring at."
"Indeed, it could very well happen!" Solaire screeched as if he were preaching an extremely important sermon. Needless to say, the argument itself sound extremely unlikely to occur. It was already Armageddon, after all. How much more horrible could the world really get? "Whilst you would cast your outstanding lava, and I would fight both sword, shield, miracle, fist, boot, nail and tooth for us to get out alive… the horde would, unfortunately, prove to be too much for either you or I to handle together; resulting in us being dog-piled, bitten, scratched, and eventually munched down to our skeletons."
"That's terrible!" Queren screamed.
"Yes, but then-"
"THERE'S MORE?!" the young'un shrieked and Solaire guffawed.
"Why, of course! We have to talk about what happens to our remains that become like our hungry attackers!"
Laurentius heard an audible gulp that he was sure belong to a miffed Queren.
"Oh, for the love of cream cheese, he sounds exactly like my little Lin when she was a teenager." Siegmeyer sighed, shaking his head like am exasperated father. Well… in this case, the undead supposed he was an exasperated father.
"How did you get her to stop?" Laurentius asked, hopefully.
"Oh, I couldn't. My wife simply placed a platter of food before her adorable face and she shut up by eating until she was too full to move."
The Pyromancer sweat-dropped. Well, it was worth a shot, at least.
"Imagine it for a moment: the two of us, half-eaten corpses, wandering around aimlessly. Dead, both inside and out, just like hollows, yet… not just like hollows," the Sun Knight continued. The Swamp-dweller rolled his eyes. The only thing either of them could do now was wait until the two of them appeared in the corridor. It was no use going after them, they were already too tired to bother remembering the routes they had taken. Going for the to find them now would just get them lost, and that would be even worse on poor Queren's psyche.
"We would gander at our newfound friends, exchange the occasional growl or shoulder-bump because, as those of the undead – oh, pardon me – the undead- er, we wouldn't able to use basic methods of communication like speech and hand gestures."
"Uhh…" the Son of Chaos answered woozily.
"And then!"
"Huh?!"
"We see fresh meat." Solaire said so loudly you could hear the grin on his face. "we all run toward it, them, they, it. Why? Because we are hungry remnants of humanity, hunting to satisfy an unquenchable thirst."
"I-I think I get the p-point by now…" their youngest murmured. The poor lad sounded as if he was a few words short of bursting into tears – not that Laurentius blamed him. he had said that Solaire wasn't as tactful to take care of a child as he was.
"Yes, but here comes the best part."
"The best… part?"
"Yes! The moment we lumber forward! Skeletal hands and white teeth yearning to feel warm flesh once more! And once we've finally caught out prey…"
"W-W-What happens then… ?"
"Oh dear." Siegmeyer said unexpectedly.
"What's the matter?" the Pyromancer asked with a concerned look on his face.
"Solaire is about to scar the boy for life." the Onion Knight said matter-of-factly.
"How can you tell?"
"Just watch."
Said pair finally rounded the corner, fast approaching Laurentius and Siegmeyer. However, whilst their friends were happy to see them, Solaire and Queren were too engrossed in their moment of hypothesising to notice. And to make matters worse, the Son of Chaos looked exactly like the corpses Solaire was telling him about. And his eyes were watering considerably. He was going to burst like a fountain if the Astorian didn't ease up.
Laurentius looked at a smug Siegmeyer. The man had been right on the money.
"S-S-Sol…aire?" Queren question once more and the Astorian replied by slapping both hands on the boy's shoulders and screaming into his ears.
"AND THEN WE EAT THEM ALIVE WHILST THEY BEG FOR MERCY AND SPILL THEIR BLOOD ALL OVER OUR FACES!"
" WAHHHHHH!!!!!!"
Laurentius shook his head as Queren ran screaming from a howling Solaire before his teary eyes landed on the shiny armour of the Onion Knight.
Queren sniffed wetly, his mouth quivering as his eyes poured out tears like a waterfall.
"SIEGMEYER!" he screamed and dived toward the Catarinian with his arms outstretched.
"I'm here, dear boy. I'm- oof!" he jerked when the weight of the Izalith survivor crashed into him. He gazed down at the weeping child before looking at a sheepish Solaire and shaking his head – placing his hand on Queren's head and patting gently.
"There, there. Just let it all out. Everything's going to be juuust fiiiine, okaaay?"
"I-I-I-I-I-" the boy stuttered.
"Ok aaaaay?" Siegmeyer repeated.
"O-O-Oka-ay." He sniffed loudly before calming down and burying his face into the crook of Siegmeyer's armour.
"Good." The knight said and gave the Son of Chaos the firmest hug he could give without accidentally smothering the boy in front of him.
"You handled that surprisingly well." Laurentius remarked as he delivered a smack to the back of a still cackling Solaire's head. His friend in the bulbous steel skin merely shrugged his shoulders.
"You learn a thing or two after raising a child of your own."
"Guess I'll need your advice when the time comes for myself and Quelana." The Pyromancer said, scratching his head.
"Always happy to help. But I do hope you'll make me your best man for the wedding."
"Luckily for you, I'm in the market for more than one of my groomsmen, so I guess you'll be standing next to Argon on my special day."
"Oh, how delightful! I can't wait."
Queren, who had been quietly sniffing against Siegmeyer's body, decided to look up at that very moment – his curiosity piqued at what the undead were talking about. Unfortunately, since he was still in a state of mild delirium, the sight of Laurentius with his nose broken and turned to face the left was the trigger that made him freak out even more.
"GAAAAHHH!"
"Gwyn's sake!" Laurentius jumped and held his chest in shock before staring at Queren. "what is it now, lad?"
"WHO ARE YOU?!"
"Laurentius. Who else could I possibly be?!" he felt a mild sense of déjà vu for some reason.
"WHY IS YOUR NOSE SO FUNNY?!"
"Why are you screaming?!"
"WHY IS THERE SPIKES IN YOUR SHOULDER!?"
"Bloody hell, kid." He sighed before grabbing the bridge of his nose. "just hold on for a minute."
There was a loud crack followed by the undead cursing under his breath, before he let go of his nose, turned back to a staring Siegmeyer and Queren and dropped his hand from his face.
"There we go! All better now." he smiled brightly before a torrent of blood comically flew from his nostrils as if they were propelled by a pneumatic force. Evidently, the image did the opposite of reassure the boy. If anything, the sight just set him off any further.
" AAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
"STOP BLOODY SCREAMIIIINNNGGGG!!!" Laurentius covered his ears in annoyance.
"Ba-hahahahahahahahaha!!!" Solaire exclaimed, rolling on the floor hysterically.
"I really should have gone this adventure alone…" Siegmeyer mused as he stood amidst his trio of wailing comrades.
Fwoosh-
The Onion Knight turned his head at the sound. It sound strangely like the casting of a Pyromancy, which was odd because Laurentius was too busy screaming to use his magi-
Boom!
The explosion that slammed into the floor near them was like a mountain top breaking into the ground right next to them. The shockwave that rippled thereafter was effective in pushing the four of them a fair distance away from each other – the more heavily armoured of their group going as far as to form a crater in the passageway walls.
Queren groaned as the dust settled. He looked up, saw the silhouette of someone walking toward him, right hand glowing ominously. He rose to sit on his knees and squinted. The sight didn't clear up. He scrubbed his face with his arm and peered forward again, saw the slender figure of the person approaching him. It seemed feminine.
He frowned. They didn't possess a female in their quartet.
The woman's opaque form came closer and he began to notice her clothing, rich black robes lined with faded gold pipping. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the ashen staff in her left hand. his breath left him when she was standing over him, cowl obscuring all but her fair cheeks and pale lips. He recognised her. Not just her form and appearance but her magic was well. It resonated with his own like twin sparks of a crackling bonfire.
New tears pooled under his eyes as familiarity coursed through his veins, and his voice cracked when he finally opened his mouth to speak.
"Que… mera?" he asked uncertainly. The only reply he received was her burning hand flying toward his face before something yanked him backward.
Queren tumbled backward just in time as his sister's hand exploded in a supernova of flames, bathing the area in a bright light. The Son of Chaos choked on his gasp as he scurried backward, fear and confusion confounding his sense of reason as Laurentius stepped forward, axe drawn and features hardened like scorched stone.
"L-Laurentius…" he said weakly, his knees still trembling at the fact that his own flesh and blood nearly ended his life.
"Just stay back, 'Ren. I'll deal with this one quickly."
"W-Wait. Don't!" he tried to stand up but ended up tripping over his feet. "She's my sister, don't kill her!"
The warning caused the undead to stiffen before turning back to regale him with a surprised look. That brief lapse in silence was all Quemera needed to initiate her assault.
The prickling of his arm hairs alerted Laurentius to the danger he was in and dodged left as the Daughter of Chaos lunged, her staff smacking the ground he had been standing on only for the floor to rise up in a column of brilliant chaos flame.
The undead gulped and dropped into a defensive stance. Any slower and he would have been burnt to a crumbling flake. The woman turned round to stare at him, her glowing red eyes locked onto him from under her black cowl.
"You sure she's a sibling of yours?" the Swamp-dweller questioned with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course I am!" Queren shouted in outrage and the ginger undead rolled his shoulders.
"Just makin' sure. The only family member of yours that was ever this violent was Quelaag, ya' know? And she had reason to be aggravated since people kept entering her domain to ring a pointless bell. What motivation does this one have?"
He jerked away from a clumsy swing from her staff and shoved her backward to gain some distance. Whilst her Pyromancer was certainly a danger, she was merely an average female in close quarters combat. He needn't overdo it by injuring her. All he needed to do was disarm her. Easy enough, right?
He tried to get in close when she recovered her footing, only to duck back and take cover when she lit herself up like a firework and covered the entire area in spots of hissing lava.
Okay, not easy enough. Definitely not easy to disarm.
"You sure this is your sister?"
"Don't you see the resemblance?!"
"Not when she's trying to turn me into a puddle, I can't!"
"Then what do you suppose we do?" Queren blurted out hastily.
"Why don't you try speaking to her?" Laurentius' voice lilted as he raised the suggestion. The Son of Chaos blinked.
"Do you really th-think that will work?"
"Dunno, but at least you're fire-proof!"
He had a good point, the Izalith survivor admitted before launching his body up and running toward his elder sister. She was still flaring with intense chaos flame that bubbled against his skin somewhat, yet he held firm and eventually managed to place his hands firmly on her shoulders.
"S-Sister! Please stop this madness, i-it's me! Queren!"
The momentary yelling did much to halt her berserk display. However, when he pulled down her cowl and gazed into his eyes, what stared back were red, glassy eyes that seemed to project an atmosphere of lifelessness.
"Oh no…" Queren gasped softly. This couldn't be true, there was no way his own mother could… but the kingdom had already fallen! How could she do this to her own daughter?!
In his dismay, he missed the way she struggled out of his grip and placed her glowing palm flat against his chest. Queren was knocked out of his shock at the smell of something burning, looked down and saw Quemera charging up a grand explosion right above his heart and froze.
"S-Sister…"
Laurentius jumped in before she could blow a hole through her sibling, hand flashing outward and chopping the Daughter of Chaos against the back of the neck. Queren watched as her dead eyes rolled to the back of her head before she fell backward into the undeads arms. Laurentius laid her down against the ground gently, pulling off her Pyromancy glove and staff before plopping his rear onto the floor and exhaling obnoxiously.
"Well…" he sighed out, nodding to himself. "I guess a familiar face didn't help in this regard either. Sorry for putting you in harm's way, 'Ren."
"N-No, it's okay. She's my sister… I thought that would also s-stop her." he replied sympathetically, brushing a hair out of his sister's unconscious face. "But it seemed something else held her focus."
"What do you mean?"
"Quemera is much like Quelana, f-from their personalities to their looks. But one thing all the Daughters of Chaos h-have in common, is that n-none of the, possess red eyes."
The Pyromancer frowned in confusion. Whilst that was true for Quelana and Quelaan, he couldn't help but remember Argon telling him of how Quelaag's visage was that of crimson irises and burning red hair. Was it possible that the difference was caused by her mutation?
"Only mother once possessed such eyes," Queren continued, stroking his sister's face as he went back into reverie. "Lord Gwyn had o-once voiced his fright at a gaze so blisteringly fierce, and after the war with the D-Dragon's ended, she had promised never to show those eyes of hers to another soul again, for the power displayed in their ability to alter the thoughts and perceptions of others with naught but a glance.
"To prove her conviction, she had all my sisters cast a tiresome spell to seal the effects of her visual prowess – promising to never use it again…" Queren's face hardened as he turned to look at his friend. "but then we saw Quemera's face, how she moved like a mindless puppet. How she couldn't even remember the face of the brother she held so dear to her!"
The undead placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down, and Queren took a deep breath – sighing out shakily before turning his gaze toward an adjacent corridor. Laurentius followed his stare and understood its meaning. That direction was where the Bed of Chaos resided. He didn't need Queren to sense the overwhelming demonic power pulsating behind the fog wall a short jog away. They had finally reached it, although that didn't quell the unease stirring in the Pyromancer's belly.
"So, she attacked us because she was under you mother's influence?"
Queren nodded. "The method is simple. Mother utters a command and the victim is compelled to carry out such an order until they pass on. Even after she became the Bed of Chaos, the power of her manipulation never faded."
"But why would your mother want to control your sister to guard her chamber after it was sealed off when the demons began spawning?"
"That, I am unsure of. But at least we got to her in time. I would hate to image a fate of her falling at the hands of a stranger that managed to reach this area."
They both nodded in agreement. Perhaps Fate had played a part in bringing them all together here. Then again, Fate was also a temperamental git with a superiority complex. It could have just been plain coincidence – and Laurentius was opting for the latter.
"Can you remove the mind control?" he asked and Queren shook his head.
"Not I. B-But perhaps Quelana could. She was the only one that possessed the finest control over the flames like mother, after all."
"Well then, it's a good thing she's still waitin' for me back at the love nest." The undead chirped with a wink.
They waited until Solaire and Siegmeyer found their location. It didn't take very long when it was Queren that fired off large globules of lava high into the air every half-hour. Eventually, both knights had arrived and had been explained the events leading up to their separation, as well as the nature of Quemera's affliction. They had been understanding about Queren's mother and her dubious actions before her untimely transformation, also admitting that they didn't hold it against Quemera for blowing them sky-high.
Solaire had made a joke of it, stating that if he held a grudge for every person that wanted him dead – and apparently the list was extensive – he would have been swimming in enough souls to make him a proverbial god of war and bloodshed.
Thereafter, the group had decided to rest up their aching muscles and tend to their wounds, most importantly, the barbs still drilled into Laurentius' shoulder. By the ginger undeads account, when he had prised off Kirk's shield from his body, he had had the unfortunate lucky of some of the barbs snapping off and digging even deeper into his flesh. As it was, his shoulder was already swollen with bruises and bleeding a profuse amount due to the sharp metallic needles slowly grinding against his bone. Siegmeyer had taken the time to sit and remove each and every one, but not before the Swamp-dweller had cussed him out with every foul word in the book due to the pain, before he finally fell back into a heap and drank gratefully from his almost empty Estus flask.
"Now that that's over," Solaire said, taking his hands away from Queren's ears, "we can discuss how we're going to battle the Bed of Chaos."
"I second that opinion." Siegmeyer nodded to the group as he put his gauntlets back on. "it would be terribly preferable to destroy the nest birthing these demonic beasts before we have another horde on our hands to purge. Heaven's knows how hard it was for us to eradicate the last one."
"We take priority over the sick and wounded first." Laurentius' voice cut in like a knife and they turned to his prone form next to a bound and snoring Quemera. "fighting that monster means we have to ensure we possess no weaknesses. Leaving Queren's sister up here would not only be the dumbest move, since there are still a few demons around Izalith, but if we do end up defeating the Bed of Chaos and it causes a massive cave-in, we would have killed her indirectly."
No one objected to that line of thinking.
Laurentius sat up. "Therefore… ugh, bloody hell, that hurts… we'll be halving our party as of now." he narrowed his eyes at Siegmeyer who attempted to disagree but gave in on account of the serious stare of his companion. "Glad we're in accord. Siegmeyer, you take Quemera and 'Ren to the surface using a few Homeward Bones. Making sure the three of you are at a safe distance before we enter that fog will-"
"But L-Laurentius!" Queren raised his voice in outrage, but the Sun Knight placed a hand on his shoulder and sat him down before he could open a closed argument.
"Sorry, mate, but you're not suitable to for this battle. Besides, what kind of men would the three of us be if we let you kill your own mother in cold blood? She may be mutated and mindless of her surroundings, but she's still your mother. You watch her die by your hands, and you'll break something inside of yourself that shouldn't have been broken, yeah?"
The other undead nodded. Queren didn't need the stress. He had already been through much that left ugly scars which would never fade, he didn't need more. Besides, he had come so far as a person, going as far as to lessen his stutter when speaking. That alone spoke of his potential to come out of that hermit shell his psyche forced upon him.
With the four of them in agreement, Laurentius passed over the necessary fingerbones needed to warp back to the Sanctuary. It was just a shame there wasn't a bonfire anywhere near them that they could use themselves, but such was life.
"Take care, you two," Siegmeyer said, Quemera slung over his shoulder. "our collective power will be diminished with Queren and myself absent. Be sure not to be careless."
"We'll do our best." Solaire said with warmth in his voice as he thumped his chest heartily. "Nay the bright Sun illuminate your path."
"I-I'm not sure that sunlight can reach us this far down." Queren intoned and they all stopped to stare at him for a moment. When he retreated into his shell due to embarrassment, they shared a jovial chuckle.
"Well, you know what I mean, at least." Solaire said sheepishly.
"Say, Laurentius…" Siegmeyer looked up, an idea brimming against the symmetrical curves of his helm. "Would you like me to give your regards to your lovely lady?"
Laurentius gasped. He hadn't even thought of that! "Yes, please. Tell her I miss her, and that I'll be back by her side the minute I tear her mother's soul out from her dystopian homeland… or die trying."
The Astorian placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked at him puzzled. The way Solaire shook his head and sadness didn't do much to ease his confusion.
"What? What'd I say?"
"Hmm, lacking some tact, indeed." Siegmeyer voice and his companions shared a collective nod, making the Pyromancer feel like a bigger fool than he already was. "I'll be sure to tell her you miss her. Anything else?"
Laurentius scratched his chin in thought. "Well, I would have asked you to give her a big, wet kiss for me, but then I'd also have to break every bone in your body if you actually took me seriously. So… nah, I'm just peachy, mate." He finished with a smile.
"Ho-ho! I'm glad to see being outmatched by a phantom hasn't dulled your sense of humour, my friend!" the Onion Knight cheered before motioning for Queren to follow him as he snapped his Homeward Bone.
"Alas, we must be off. Fight well my dear comrades! The fate of the very world might actually be resting upon your victory… ah! But no pressure. Give it your all!"
And with that, he, Queren and his unconscious sister vanished as the runes around the three of them glowed brightly and teleported them back to safety.
Laurentius went to make a joke about how they wouldn't be slowed down due to Siegmeyer's slower reflexes when the distinct sound of wingbeats thumped the air around them. The undead frowned and gave his companion a look. They knew that mortifying sound all too well. The only question was what the hell it was still doing haunting their every move in this boiling bloody blister-basin of arid temperatures.
The answer came sooner than expected when the Demon Firesage smashed into the ground from above them, forcing Laurentius and Solaire to shield themselves from flying debris as it landed a good distance away from them.
"Ah, son of a bitch." Laurentius cursed loudly. "Will this day never end?"
"I don't mean to worsen your mood, but may I remind you that after this is over, we will still have a young boy to raise, yes?" Solaire calmly scolded him as he drew his sword and shield.
"Yeah, I apologise and all that posh, but we have bigger things to worry about at the moment."
"Right you are." Solaire agreed before turning back to the snarling personification of gluttony.
The last time they had encountered this relentless beast, Solaire had greeted it with a Lightning Bolt to the face. After what felt like days later, the great monster walked toward them with its right eye closed up tight, a gnarly white scar crossing over it as if it were attempting to imitate some badass character that only Argon would know the reference to.
"Hello ugly." The Swamp-dweller greeted once the annoyance faded away. "come back to get the other eye eternally sealed this time?"
If the demon could understand the common tongue, it showed its anger at the insult by roaring loud enough to ripple the air before charging forward. Solaire tensed and waited for it to come to them when the demonic sage decided to switch up its tactics.
Laurentius watched with his mouth agape as the beast flapped its comically small wings twice as it leapt into the air, burning staff poised over its head before it delivered one of the most earth-shattering strikes the undead had ever seen onto the floor before them.
Chaos fire flared out like oversized sleeves on a sorcerer's cloak, flanking both undead on either side – effectively boxing them in like helpless prey in a gladiator arena. Laurentius shut his mouth and grinned as the demon leered at them with its good eye. Now, that was a smashing entrance – all pun intended.
"You ready, partner?" the ginger undead asked his companion.
Solaire merely cracked his neck. "I think I smell a bowl of Jolly Co-operation coming my way."
As if a signal was given, all three participants of the current battle royale advanced forward. The Firesage growled as it swung its massive chaos staff. Solaire, being the powerhouse he was, decided to take it head on as he raised his shield as was knocked back a few feet. Laurentius, used to using more finesse, slid under the massive piece of tree bark before getting to his feet and running up to the giant monster. His axe cut into the soft flesh of the demon's bulbous stomach like butter, spilling litres of black blood that nearly boiled his boots off. The Firesage replied to the attack by brining its staff over Laurentius' head. The undead noticed and dived out of the way before he staff slammed into the ground.
Unfortunately, with a Demon Firesage, came the annoying burst of chaos fire that followed not a second later. Laurentius screamed as he was scorched alive by the progressive flames. Such pain made him want to fall to his knees, yet snarl in anger at the ridiculousness of it all. They were right outside the Bed of Chaos' door. No way was he going to die yet.
Powering through the fire, the undead flipped up his cowl to absorb the brunt of the flames as he placed his palm against the ground and channelled his own Pyromancy. A pillar of tall flame rose up to punch the demon in the chin, making it stumble back and break one of the pillars holding up the ceiling above them. Solaire took the chance to get a cheap shot as he charged his fist in glorious yellow lightning.
With a dextrous throwing arm, the bolt sailed like a flying fish at the demon but was abruptly halted when the thing covered its face with its arm to deviate the damage.
The Sun Warrior clicked his tongue before jumping back as the demon slammed its staff into the ground next to him in anger. It rose on stubby feet before its wings began to flap again. Laurentius paled as he heard a sudden crack echo below and all around him.
He looked down as the Firesage went up. Well this wasn't good. The ground was beginning to crack. Which could only mean one thing… He looked up again to see the furious Firesage descending on them like a falling stone. He gulped. If they survived this, he was gonna ask Quelana to teach him how to use her mother's weird eye-manipulation thingy – because such a skill would be useful in a situation such as this!
The Firesage slammed into the floor with a might crunch of rubble, but not before the ground underfoot reacted to the shockwave with a snap that sent them all tumbling into the darkness below.
Laurentius screamed as he fell, trying to hold onto the masonry falling around him. Luckily, the fall lasted less than two minutes before he was violently thrown off the boulder he was clinging onto and slid on his face against stone of a smoother texture.
He groaned in pain as the rumbling in his ears faded, looked up, saw the Demon Firesage standing in front of him with its staff raised to crush him and went slack-jawed – but not for the reason one might have thought.
Behind the beast, the Bed of Chaos woke from its slumber, gnarled roots and gargantuan trunks of a tree given anthropomorphic qualities, as its front arm rose high into the sky and turned the Firesage into a soppy, black pancake on the floor.
The loud noise jarred the Pyromancer's hearing, but not as much as the unholy scream the mutated Witch of Izalith uttered a moment later, making his eardrums ring with so much pain, he thought they would burst.
He covered his ears and rose to his feet as the screaming ended, only to notice Solaire at his side, looking pensively at the nightmarish monster before them.
"Well now," he said and turned to him. "that fog wall was just a waste of time setting up."
Word Bank:
1. Ignify – (v.) to form into fire; to burn.
2. Ascian – (n.) a person who has no shadow.
I know I threw in a couple Naruto references in there, but I couldn't help being mildly cheesy. After watching the disappointment that is Boruto… can you truly blame me?
As for Queren, I was getting Zenitsu vibes from him when he was shouting all hysterically at Solaire and Co., or was that just me?
Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've got more coming.
Lastly, for those of you trying to contact me via Reddit, please use my external e-mail instead. My account on Reddit has been acting wonky, so I uninstalled the app.
Take care, and stay safe out there, fam. Peace.