- not that I need to remind you, but this is a late update you belittling b*ch.
Woah, woah! Mind your language, would ya'? And for the record, I've never belittled anyone unless they have either insulted me first, or the mere sight of them has ticked me off due to their actions.
- so, if I were to impose the name 'Belle Delphine' on you…?
Grrrr, that country shaming, PewDiePie insinuating, vulgar little twit. To think I share the same nationality with that creature that deserves to be planted in the deep, dark expanses of the Nether-verse! If I ever meet her face to face, why I'd-
- alright, shut up already. Before you label us both as criminals.
-Smack her in the face with a cream-filled pie! Justice would be served embarrassingly sweet then, haha!
- oh. Never mind.
Wait, what?
- what?
You did you say about criminals?
-nothing. Nothing at all. On with ze story.
Wait, you were just saying something about us-
- I SAID ON WITH ZE STORY!
Okay… calm down, would ya'?
- (*sighs) the rubbish you make me utter in these lettered skits…
Argon was standing before himself. He would have assumed that out of the many perplexing oddities and mind-boggling curiosities corralled on this side of the southern hemisphere, he would be more shocked at someone telling him something more out of this world. Something like, oh he didn't know, like mushrooms the size of a pair of double doors could actually speak… or possess eyes for that matter.
But instead the startling, most enigmatic surprise the world could have ever awarded him had been the knowledge that there was another him, with a polar opposite personality to his, striding around as a soldier of the Dark, and that wanted his head whilst simultaneously being eager to await his 'growth', according to the remnant of the same person in his head. Yeah, he knew. It was all very confusing. Sometimes, he confused himself with the information about himself. It wasn't his fault there were so many bloody him's strolling around in his noggin.
He thought about his equal adversary for a moment just to clarify that the him standing a short distance away was actually real, and not some sort of hallucination. Because if it was, he was seriously going to drop-kick his brain into the next Age of freaking Fire. It was too damn inconvenient to be imagining crap like that at a time like this!
Lithecore. A name that was, in itself, quite unique. If you considered the fact that the term 'quite unique' was code for 'outlandishly made-up', the effect of the mystery held behind said title was withered away somewhat.
But in any other person's case, the name Lithecore and the identical face of the individual didn't inspire much dread – unless you counted the towns and cities the nihilistic League had toppled in its genesis, but that was a different story with its pages already closed and folded. To Argon however, it was the creation of his misery. The amalgamation of his bad deeds, pressed down, shaken together and melded into a bodily sentinel set with an agenda to render his marginally happier existence a walking tomb of suffering and malice.
As an undead of new life, baptised literally by the First Flame, to chase a path more fulfilling than his last as a human, he should feel immensely angry. After all, he was basically staring at the grinning mug of what he had vowed to leave behind, shed like a worn second skin of sin (which wasn't too far from the truth). If he were in any other state of mind, perhaps he would have even taken that rage a step further, lit up his Pyromancy and self-immolated with the bastard just to satisfy his sudden rush of bloodlust. Anyone who had heard of his story would understand such an uncharacteristic play of emotions swirling around the primal urge to obliterate the past.
Yet, here he stood…
Lithecore was before him, arms wide open, cringey grin on his face like a malignant tumour and he was laying siege to Anor Londo with the armada of Darkwraiths scuttling around the main corridors like ants on a platter of exotic sweets. By all rights, he should be lucid.
But again, he wasn't.
Perhaps it was the battle with Seath, the self-realisation of his own worth that balanced the scales in comparison to the valuable lives of his comrades, the approval of the past-him melting away in his psyche; maybe it was even the cuddle-time he got to spend with Priscilla in the Archives – in his present state of mind, he didn't feel as hostile as he normally would have in situations like this. If he were being honest with himself, he was conflicted. He had stored away mountains of hatred and negative compulsion for this very moment, been through rigorous mental warfare with the iota of himself to prepare for this exact moment so that he could 'unleash the beast', as it were.
So, why did it feel as though that reservoir of emotions had suddenly drained out like oil from a shattered nightlamp?
"…"
"Argon." Priscilla voiced.
"…"
"Argon." she repeated the name, a pinch more firmness to her tone, yet the undead didn't bat an eye. In fact, he was staring dead ahead without breathing. She was growing concerned. Did he consume one of those Green Blossoms before leaving the Archives? Sir Logan had warned them that one of the more noticeable side-effects was a lapse in mental activity, and in Argon's case, sudden dives into deep pondering. Needless to say, this wasn't the best time for those issues to be occurring.
"What's the matter with him now?" Havel groaned out as he shouldered an overhead strike from a nearby wraith. With an effortless jerk of his arm, he rammed the edge of the great shield into the wraith's face as the bone mask broke inward like porcelain. The Archbishop curled his lip and turned back to the crossbreed and their stationary companion as the enemy behind him crumped to the floor, black liquid spraying up from the concavity in its face like a dirty fountain. "Did he eat another one of those revolting ivy shrubs again?"
"Those were my sentiments exactly." The goddess shrugged and waved a hand in front of Argon's face. The same idiotic look remained in place, provoking a growl from Havel.
"Move aside, Priscilla." He barged past her smaller form with a grumble, placing his shield in her hands.
"What are going to do?" she asked inquisitively as he removed the gauntlet on his dominant arm.
"Precisely what he would do to me should the roles be reversed."
The crossbreed nodded once in understanding. Excellent, he was going to check his vital signs in case he inadvertently had a heart-attack standing… or a stroke. Why hadn't she thought of that first? It was common sense, after all. The Green Blossom itself marginally increased stamina recovery for the consumer, as such, it was possible that too much adrenaline and brain activity could cause them to suffer fatal anomalies. Honestly, it warmed her heart to see the older undead take so much care of other peop-
SMACK!
"Arghh…" Argon whined before he spat out a molar and cupped his face as he turned to an unimpressed Havel.
She blinked owlishly as her mind registered the sound in front of her. Was she seeing that correctly? Sir Havel just slapped Argon with his stone-plated gauntlet. Well… that was one way of snapping him out of delusion.
The Chosen Undead ran his tongue over the bleeding hole that had once housed a pristine ivory tooth. "Ow…?" he said in so much confliction that it sounded like a question of morals. The bishop grunted in reply.
"People are dying around us like flies and you choose now to space out? Wake up and put your game face on, you yellow-bellied turkey."
Lithecore chuckled opposite them, prompting their undivided attention as he lowered his arms and hunched over. It was odd that despite the roar of battle, his cringey laugh seemed to echo around them, as if his voice were encasing a membrane of personal sound. Which was kind of gross, now that Argon thought about it. that laugh was plainly atrocious.
The dark armoured twin finished off his low decibel cackle with a smile so crooked it seemed like his face would fall off. When he met eyes with Argon again, he found a freaked-out repulsion in place of the emotionless shock he had seen earlier.
"Why so downcast all of a sudden?" he asked, kinked smile bending even further in proportions the undead didn't even know were possible.
"I've just never thought my own face could look that ugly." Argon admitted.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," replied the raspy double, winking in such a suggestive manner that the Chosen Undead felt his skin crawl. "It gets better the more you constrict the facial muscles via electrocution."
Argon shivered at the thought. "Yeah, coming from you, I can't confidently take that as a compliment."
"Then at least you comprehend the pathetic light your own self sees you in."
"Okay, that's enough now." Havel cut in between their bickering and shouldered his Dragontooth as Priscilla turned to him. "Hearing one Argon speak is misery enough to my poor ears."
Lithecore titled his head to the side before asking, "You do know that he and I are two completely different tragedies, don't you?"
"Reiterate it to me on the day I give a damn." Havel said and swung his club.
Argon watched as Lithecore ducked under the attack by squatting, the burdensome armour doing nothing to topple his balance, before his right hand turned off-white in colour. With the speed of a cobra, he stabbed the arm forward, intent on leeching the ancient soul from Havel's body before the fight could even begin. It was just his luck that the Archbishop's shield happened to knock into said arm with force better fitting a rhinoceros.
The Darkwraith tumbled backward, barrelling into a friendly and rolled into a crouch. To say the overjoyed, eccentric grin on his face resembled a disfigured basilisk in desperate need of some loving… would have been putting it mildly.
No, scratch that. It was just freaking creepy.
" Well now…" the Darkwraith breathed as he rose, clawed gauntlet stabbing into the vortex forming next to his person and withdrawing a short sword the colour of night.
"Perhaps that knocked some sense into you." Havel boomed as he approached Argon's deranged twin, boots stomping menacingly as he prepared his arm for another swing.
Lithecore merely blew his hair out of his face and replied: "If you could call a tickle that revelation-granting," before twirling the blade in his grip.
"Hah!" the Archbishop jeered and marched forward. "We'll see how big you talk when I cave your smug face in."
The unveiled wraith waited patiently for his foe to come. Havel was all too happy to make the first move. There was this familiar glint in his eye that Argon had only seen when they first battled. The undead frowned. Was the thought of pounding someone that looked like him that motivating to initiate a duel? And with a Darkwraith no less?
Oh well, the Chosen Undead sighed, as long as I'm not directly on the receiving end of the old man's wrath…
The great compatriot of Gwyn raced toward his foe, Dragontooth raised high into the air like a rocky spire before it fell. When the end of said weapon neared Lithecore's skull, a sudden thought hit the undead. A thought that made him begin to sweat bullets.
"Oh, crap…"
"What's the matter?" Priscilla asked next to him as she cut down two wraiths creeping up on them from behind.
"Remember how I said that Lithecore and I are the same person yet two separate identities, being past and present, respectively?"
Priscilla ducked under the swipe from a third wraith, spun around the overhead swing it brought down next and placed a hand on its back. her magic coursed over its armour like a ravenous piranha as she froze it in place before shattering the ice sculpture with the haft of her scythe.
"Yes, I recall. You mentioned that absorbing the soul of Manus might have inadvertently split the current you and your darker thoughts in half."
"Yeah." Argon nodded nervously as Lithecore dodged the slam, backstepped Havel's great shield and responded with a roundhouse kick. "I'm just starting to think that it was a bad idea to let Havel have a go at him first."
"Why is that?" the crossbreed looked at him quizzically.
"Because what if there's the off chance that we share physical pain?"
Priscilla's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates before snapping her head the Archbishop's way. "Sir Havel!"
Said undead gave a throaty growl as he deflected the Darkwraith's kick with his shield and launched forward, the floor cracking like slate beneath him. "The blazes do you want now, girly? Can't you see its clobbering time?!"
"Don't hurt Lithecore!" she shouted back amidst the roar of battle, ducking under a spear thrown her way and assisting a nearby Darkmoon Blade by intercepting a fatal backstab.
" Don't hurt him?! What's the point of fighting 'em then?"
"If you land a blow on him, I'll be rocked to my soul too!" Argon offered as another skull-faced enemy jumped at him. The undead leaned to the side as its blade zipped past his ear. He watched the wraith spin around in that unusual fighting style they all possessed and waited for the overhead swing to come before parrying deftly by chopping into the unprotected underside of the incoming arm before pushing outwards. The Darkwraith grunted as it lost balance and Argon quickly stepped forward, fingers on his right hand bent to form a knuckled pommel as he jabbed at its throat.
The wraith's chin flopped into his hand and the limb retreated, grabbed the foe with the opposite arm and delivered another lightning-fast jab to the same spot. His knuckles met a crack and the wraith folded to the floor in a heap.
"Hey, old goat, you heard what I said?"
"…"
"Helloooo?!"
"…"
"Havel?" the undead said hesitantly.
SLAM! CRUNCH!
"The hell are you doing?!" the Chosen Undead raved as his companion continued his viscous assault on his darker twin with what seemed like renewed vigour. "Don't tell you're excited by the prospect of that!"
"Hehe, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't!" Havel retorted with a grin as Lithecore backflipped away from him only for the bishop to lash out with a heavy boot. The Darkwraith braced his sword in front of him and tensed as the Man of the Rock knocked him backward again. Lithecore got up once again and went to two-hand his sword when he saw the blade itself warped like a thin rod of smelting iron. His monochrome face lit up with an amused smile as he casually tossed the broken weapon aside.
"Seriously, cut the crap. I might actually die if you decided to take this battle seriously." The undead complained, effortlessly flinging a throwing knife coated with poison into the eye of a wraith behind him.
"Then it'll be as sweet to see both of you perish in the same way!"
"Sir Havel! How could you be so crass?" Priscilla admonished him but the Archbishop was too overjoyed to care.
"Two for the price of one is an offer I can't refuse." Havel remarked, stabbing his shield forward like a pike at Lithecore's feet. The wraith saw the attack coming and jumped back as the great shield impaled the floor, sending more rubble to join the blood-scented air.
With the grace of a cat, he ran up the shield inclined at and acute angle, making Havel chuckle at his cockiness before leaping off the edge. He broke his fall with a roll and snatched up the discarded blade of a deceased underling before turning back to Havel, a morose grin on his sickening features.
"Besides, you'll just revive."
"Is that the best defence you could come up with?!" Argon exclaimed in disbelief.
The Archbishop guffawed and shook his head. "Naw, but I wasn't trying to make up an excuse. Now watch daddy go to work."
He dived in with another overhead slam. Lithecore, being ever vigilant, telegraphed the attack and awaited the second the old undead would spring at the last second.
Unfortunately, Havel had been expecting such an outcome.
With his legendary strength, he lifted the Dragontooth as if it weighed a feather. As Lithecore dipped back in to bury his sword between stone mail, Havel used the momentum of the swing to spin his club like a propeller.
Behind him, the wraith subordinate that had been poised to strike when his guard was down was met with a surprising blow that perforated his head to pieces before his hand could move to his sword.
Lithecore coughed out a laugh of surprise as his immediately fell onto his back. Havel's eyes twinkled with excitement as he redirected the club's path to smoosh the Darkwraith into the floor. Argon's twin snapped his armoured hand up at that very moment, a pulsation of dark energy forming a dirty shield before him as the Dragontooth made contact.
A rocky shriek sounded as Havel's weapon scrapped against the negative field of energy before cratering the floor. Lithecore took that opportunity to right-hook his opponent in the temple.
"Guah!" the sound left the bishop's mouth like a roar of a dozen soldiers and he rolled against the floor – shield going wide. That had been a good one, he had to admit.
Havel copied Lithecore as he rose to his feet. The side of his head was sporting a deep cut that oozed a decent amount of blood. Even so, Havel was unperturbed. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that he had been hit in the first place.
"Good news, Argon." he suddenly said as he stared down the wraith.
"What, you decided not to savagely kill the twisted version of me?" the undead replied and Havel wiped the blood from his temple.
"Better, I'm going to give this uglier you a long, excruciating death. If you still think his pain is linked to yours then, you better prepare for the torture I'm about to administer that'll be ten times worse than the stuff that Stain fellow from your past could muster."
"His name was Stein." Priscilla corrected.
"I think you mean Lord Stein." Lithecore and Argon said in unison, causing them to glance at each other quickly before turning back to the Archbishop in question.
"That's not good news," Argon furrowed his brow as he broke the neck of the wraith kneeling in front of him, "that's terrible news. Don't do it."
"Too late, I'm afraid." Havel responded, his Dragontooth spontaneously in his hands once again as he leapt at Lithecore.
"Priscilla, tell him it's a bad idea."
"Sir Havel, this is a bad idea." the crossbreed mimicked.
"I'm sorry, but could you be a little more believable when you say it?"
"Forgive me Argon, but my hands are full…" she looked down at the pair of Darkwraith's she just froze to identical statues. "… literally."
"Oh well, smell you later Argon." Havel said as his club descended toward the wraith before him.
"Havel NOOOOOO-"
CRASH!
The undead blinked. Havel blinked and raised a surprised eyebrow. Priscilla exhaled a mouthful of crystals to impale and oncoming trio of wraiths from killing a nearby Darkmoon devotee. Her green eyes turned back to her comrades before a shocked look overcame her features.
She knew Lithecore would be strong. But she had no idea he was this strong. Honestly, she didn't know whether to be impressed or slightly worried about that fact.
"Ahh…" Lithecore sighed out as he gripped Havel's Dragontooth in his palm, not even a quiver of his fingers as he held the Archbishop's monstrous strength at bay. "Interesting concept, that my pain is linked to my other half's." Havel grunted as he piled on the force in his arms, but the wraith stood indifferent to it, all the same. " Unfortunately, that isn't the case."
Havel gave a lurch as the wraith shoved the club away from him. Gravity grabbed a hold of his weapon and yanked it skyward, causing the bishop to teeter backward. He left his midsection vulnerable as his hands followed his club like a magnet. It took Lithecore less than a full second to capitalise on that vulnerability.
He tripped Havel with his boot, not bothering to flinch when the floor shook and cratered from the oppressive weight. Extending his left hand behind him, another of his minions shoved a sword into it as if the entire sequence was rehearsed. A maniacal smile filled his face as he raised the blade, his opponent blinking dumbly at him before he plunged downward like a heavy anchor.
SNAP!
Lithecore frowned as he stared at what remained of his borrowed sword. Then he looked down at the hilt, where the metal splintered before simply snapping in half against the ex-Bishop's breastplate.
"Well now…" he voiced with an intrigued frown. That hadn't gone quite as he anticipated he wou-
"HAH!" Havel snapped forward in the moment of confusion and rocked the Darkwraith's with a right-hook that shattered his jaw.
… or it would have, if that ignoble half mask of the Abyss hadn't suddenly flared out in a purple ripple to cushion his attack.
Nevertheless, Lithecore went sprawling, once again tumbling over his heels like a rag doll. Havel got to his feet as the last few wraiths in the vicinity were dispatched by the various phantasmic effigies around them.
Priscilla saw the last one spin around its place as it died before all heads began to turn to Lithecore. It was as if this scene was out of some dramatic play, the antagonist as the last enemy standing after a valiant effort to decimate an enemy stronghold. And if she had to compare it between fiction and reality, this wasn't too far off.
Havel walked past her as the glowing forms of the Darkmoon Blade's began to surround the passive Darkwraith. Despite the turn of events, Lithecore seemed to be unenthused by the overwhelming odds as he yawned out loudly, going as far as to boredly count the individuals he would have to contend against in the next few seconds.
"One… two… three…" he droned on, eyes drooping slightly as if he were falling asleep just tallying his multiple foes. "Four… ooh, that one has a fancy rapier. I should kill him first…"
"I feel somewhat cheated." The Archbishop's grouchy voice rang out amongst the veritable army.
"Then you should blame your flimsy expectations for overcompensating." He shot back, going back to counting.
Havel heaved his retrieved Dragontooth over his shoulder and grinned. "As it happens, my 'overcompensation' seemed to have saved me this time around. Whereas your lack of preparation leaves you all alone," he finished and stomped forward, the Darkmoon Blades parting for him like the Red Sea.
Lithecore snorted. " Trust me, old timer. I'm more than enough to wipe out this entire plane if need be."
"Then why haven't you started fighting yet?" the ex-Bishop mocked, earning him a sideways glance.
"I'm just waiting for the real flood to arrive."
Havel frowned in confusion. "What are you babbling about? Your wraith army has already been wiped out."
"Haven't you ever played chess before, you sorry old sheep?" Lithecore questioned with a raised brow. Havel growled in response and advanced forward; his short fuse already blown at the fact that this insect was still alive.
"That's it. Let's end this charade here and n-"
"The pawns always come before the true might of the King is unleashed." Lithecore said with a dark grin.
Like a someone stepping on a twig in a silent forest, Anor Londo was set ablaze with sound as countless black holes opened from the sky. The sound echoed like a ripping of thick fabric, and from their epicentre rained down vile drops of putrid Darkwraiths from all sides.
The azure phantoms that were too slow to react faced agonising fates as pairs and trios of blood-thirsty soldiers collapsed on top of them, hands glowing off-white and screams ringing about the walkway, as their lives were sucked out from the dimension they were summoned from.
The few that were responsive to the carnage adapted quickly, forming small quartets that formed a triangle around a singular comrade as they fished out talismans and enchanted their weapons. The wraiths that were drawn to the brightly shining groups stampeded towards them like hungry zombies, blades moving like extensions of their own twisted bodies.
A nearby Blade drew a dagger from her side and parried an incoming blow. Her arm shook as she weathered the might of the dark obscenity and riposted, sabre glowing with holy energy as she drove it hilt-deep into her unbalanced foe. Black blood washed her forearm only to immediately hiss in anger as the blessing from her god rejected the abhorrent substance, yet as she looked up as the tall monstrosity dealt a mortal wound, it refused to fall.
A feeling of dread creeped up her spine and wrapped its fingers around her throat. She began to choke as she watched the wraith raised its sword only to realise that its other hand was currently crushing her windpipe.
The Blade gagged up blood and bile as the grip on her sword fell away. The enchantment, no longer being fed directly by her touch withered away as the Darkwraith lifted her into the air effortlessly, red eyes ominously staring into her soul as it reared back that abnormal blade it possessed. She tried to cry out for help, scream to her Lord to come rescue her from this grotesque demise at the hands of an abomination, but the barely audible gargle she managed to spew out fell on deaf ears as the wraith impaled her.
A silent scream left her destroyed voice box. The deviant metal felt terribly cold against her organs as she bled, despite being a phantom. Whilst she assumed all would fine once this effigy of her faded back into its own plane of existence, she knew too well that death was guaranteed. There was no escaping the sticky grasp of the Abyss.
Tears prickled the Blade's eyes as she stared at the skull face of the Darkwraith before her. Death at the hands of something so foul was not something she had ever imagined falling to. However, if it meant she died fighting for the peace her order aimed for, under the banner of the god that had saved her… then she would leave this world with honour intact.
Even if the last thing she ever saw was the unsightly visage of a half-rotten corpse draining her life essence.
As she began to close her eyes, the Darkmoon subordinate heard a gruff gasp, followed by her body jerking before the wraith dropped her. The Darkmoon's line of sight spun around as she slammed painfully into the ground, head angled to stare upward. There, as her neck sat crooked against her shattered spinal cord, she glimpsed a long grey scythe protrude from her foe's chest, the curved steel glinting wickedly as the Darkwraith gave a disgusting cross between a growl and a cough. It tried to reach up and touch the shimmering metal, but it jerked sideways and bisected the wraith, severing a third of its arm off as it collapsed to the floor with a thump of metal and a squelch of dead flesh.
The phantom blinked, and suddenly she saw a pale hand hover over her face. How apt, she thought, Lord Nito had sent a ferrier of souls to come fetch her. It was just a shame she would depart to whatever afterlife existed with only half her soul and spirit. That wraith had stolen most of it with that morose weapon it held, after all.
She prepared herself for the journey ahead but had to gasp as a sudden rush of warmth flooded her when the pale hand daintily touched her forehead. She felt the bones in her neck repair themselves as her throat puffed out to its original thickness before she gasped loudly, the joy of breathing air again stinging her deprived lungs.
"It's okay," a sweet voice entered her ears and the Blade looked up, saw white hair and the face of a beautiful maiden dressed in old Velkian leather. "you're going to be just fine. I've healed any mortal wounds you sustained."
The Blade nodded dumbly, transfixed by the glittering emerald eyes looking down at her, and mesmerised by the strange pattern of icy scales and tiny horns adorning her forehead like a tiara. This woman looked like a goddess. No, she was a goddess. She could sense something similar to Lord Gwyndolin's magnificent presence amidst the curious power the maiden above her held.
How interesting this was, to be in the company of a being obviously leagues above her in power; yet being treated as if she were this woman's equal. This was a lucid dream she was encountering, surely. Or a mad hallucination as she passed over to the Necropolis to be judged by Velka. There was no way she was still alive on the battlefield, being completely healed by a goddess of all beings.
"Come on dear, stand up now. I'm afraid I don't have time to help you any further." Her voice cut the confusion in the phantoms mind and she rose into a sitting position immediately.
All around her, her fellow Blades were fighting tirelessly to fend off the second wave of Darkwraiths falling from the sky. In fact, as she peered up to the immortal midnight shrouding Lordran like a black veil, it seemed that abyssal fiends were still emerging from those portals that cut through reality itself.
"This isn't good." The Blade turned back to the goddess. "I've been torn away from Argon's side. Furthermore, Sir Havel is in the heart of all this chaos. Between fighting through Lithecore's forces and healing any nearby phantoms, I haven't a clue which direction the two of them lie in." the goddess bit her fingernail as she pondered her next move. "Should I rush to Sir Havel's aide? He'll surely be engaging more foes in battle than he can handle. But then that leaves Argon alone to face against his evil twin. Although he can manage on his own, I don't like the way he froze when the two of them finally met… Oh, this isn't good at all."
Her stunning face was wrinkled as she frowned, apparently pensive as she rose to her feet, tall scythe in her hands. As the Blade prepared to do the same, she noticed a swaying of white in her peripheral vision and looked right quickly, only to freeze and stare in astonishment.
The goddess had a tail.
It was mind-boggling. First the scales on her face, then the fluffy appendage attached to her lower back – add that to the strange scythe the maiden wielded that had cleaved through the wraith like a hot knife through butter… the phantom was at a loss for words. Where had this magnificent creature, this holy being of both kindness, light, and yet strangely dark been for it to appear in her time of dying? Was there still a possibility that she was dreaming?
The clanking of metal alerted their attention to the wraith the goddess had cut down. It was bleeding out at an astonishing rate, blood gushing like a stream as it clawed its way toward them, sabre still stuck between its thick armour and left arm missing as it growled threateningly.
The Blade took a step back in fear. She had carelessly imagined the Abyss's minions as nothing but a fairy-tale to scare children into obedience. She had grossly underestimated such terror. The wraiths she and her comrades had fought before had been strong, indeed, but fallible. Their swordsmanship had been poor and their danger marginally lessened. So why then were these new arrivals so soul-trembling? Why did their fury feel that much more potent, their appearance fear-inducing to the weary eye? Did it perhaps have any connection to what that wraith with heterochromia had said before carnage had reigned down upon them?
"And you sir, are becoming a nuisance to my already withering patience." the phantom heard the goddess say before she twirled her scythe and severed the gauntlet attempting to grab her ankle.
The Darkwraith growled in pain but mindlessly continued to advance, using its own head to shimmy forward like some deprived animal gone ballistic.
The goddess sighed out, closing her eyes for a moment. The Blade swore she felt the warmth in the air drop when the fair maiden snapped those bright green pools open once more.
The goddess blew air from her rosy lips, as if shooting a projectile from a dart pipe. The Blade's eyes widened as she saw the shoulders of the grounded wraith crust with frost before its entire body was coated with a thick membrane of solid ice – freezing it in place like a fossilised beast.
"That will teach you." The maiden said with a huff and turned around and stared at the phantom. The Darkmoon Blade stiffened and prepared to say something when the woman before her furrowed her brow in mild agitation.
"What are you still doing here? I thought I instructed you go on and help your comrades fight!" she exclaimed before realisation hit her and she examined the blue phantom more closely. "Are you still injured?"
The Blade shook her head quickly, and the goddess' forehead crinkled in confusion once more.
"Then hurry back out there, your comrades need assistance!" she shouted, smashed the frozen wraith to pieces with her heel and retrieved the Blade's discarded sabre. The phantom grasped the weapon with haste, eyeing the goddess as she grasped her by the shoulder. "The enemy is strong, but we must not faulter. Please, do your best to fight on, even if the odds seem to stack against you." She flipped her scythe and severed the head of an incoming wraith behind her before continuing.
"Tell me, what is your name?" the care that oozed from the warm depths of the goddess' eyes was too strong for the Blade to deny her an answer.
"D-Da-Darlene, my Lady," said the phantom.
"Darlene, my name is Priscilla. Go out there and rally all surviving Blade's. Tell them to form a defensive line and await reinforcements from Anor Londo."
"But will such aide be enough to fend off the calamity at our heels, Lady Priscilla?" Darlene asked apprehensively. She knew of the might of Lord Gwyn's knights but when faced against such a terrible evil, would that additional force do them much good?
Priscilla smiled at her in reply, the gesture seemed to flood Darlene with so much hope that her knees almost buckled.
"Have faith. Although we stand outnumbered, we shall be victorious." The confidence in those words burned a righteous fury in Darlene's chest as the goddess let go of her shoulder. She nodded with renewed vigour and the enigmatic woman flicked her hair over her shoulder with a grin.
"Right then," the Darkmoon Blade breathed, "for my Lord Gwyndolin, we will fight until our last breath. Anor Londo will shine brightly again!"
Priscilla smiled wider. "Indeed, for my beloved uncle. Fight on."
Darlene's eyes bugged out of their sockets at the realisation of that statement, but lost sight of the woman as she dove into the sea of Darkwraiths behind them.
With a shallow breath, phantom readied her blade once more. Her curiosity could wait in the shadows until this crisis was averted, and averted it would be. She could promise that much.
If the smug mug of his alter ego wasn't enough to piss him off six floors under the Catacombs, then the planned release of these eternity old wraiths that derailed any and all plans to kill the doppelganger where he stood, was enough to make Argon livid.
True, his mind had held the decisive range of a potato; when at first he had seen the head torturer of his past, swathed in Black Knight steel like some cocky grave-robber – and honestly the wraith was the prime example of a kleptomaniac from the way he pillaged the corpses of his own fallen. However, that didn't mean he had been confused as to what his ultimate goal was.
Eliminate Lithecore.
The past-him that had danced around in his mind had warned him about the actual menace, detailing the cruel workings of Lithecore's mind by probing his own with vicious memories and body defilement. That being said, the speck in his mindscape hadn't done much more than tell him to 'prepare' for the inevitable. As for what said eventuality was, Argon didn't know. He hadn't been privy to information that could potentially save his undead life.
Still, when actually looking at this twisted form of himself, the undead couldn't help but feel a stab of empathy flood his system. Because as much as he wanted to destroy the malignant version of himself before he spread his cancerous influence, Argon wanted to understand why such a being was the way it was. True, he had prior knowledge as to what had formed the mindset of Lithecore, but as for why he chose to divert into the path of the world's annihilation, Argon drew a blank. What rewards could a person like Lithecore even reap at the prospect of global genocide? The joy of the hunt? Or was it perhaps the feeling of being superior to the rest? He would share in Seath's lust for power if it was the latter, however Argon didn't think that was the case – Lithecore already knew he was powerful. He didn't need to kill the rest of his species to prove that point.
Which brought up another question, what species was Lithecore anyways? The obvious assumption was that he was undead like himself, but then there was a question of duplication and how a soul split in two could become individual beings of equal life. looking back, the Darkwraith inherited everything about Argon that was grotesque, ugly and morose… dark, as his title mentioned. With that being the case, would it be better to classify the mirror image of himself as the accumulation of darker emotions? Was he, perhaps, similar to a cumulonimbus – whereby he grew dense from the overwhelming condensation of misery and pain? If so, was it possible that the only way to get rid of Lithecore was to allow him to rain down a cruel squall of hail and thunder onto its only outlet, named the Chosen Undead?
"I can see the mere thought of me brings you to controversy." Argon looked up as met the amused stare of his twin.
"What were you expecting? I just found out my worst nightmare is apparently not waking up to find the love of my life's intestines in my mouth."
" Ah yes, I knew this little tangent would cross our path sooner or later."
"Seriously though, cannibalism? Couldn't you have thought of something else to end the old man's rotten life?"
Lithecore gave a shrug. "To defeat one's enemy is to devour their soul."
"Hence the reason you chose to become a Darkwraith?" the undead probed with a peeved look on his face. "Real poetic."
Lithecore shook his head and chuckled. "I don't suppose a soft-hearted fool could ever comprehend my workings. More often than not, the true taste of victory is metallic and bitter."
The wraith closed his eyes and smiled wistfully. Argon felt the urge to fling a throwing knife at his throat in the moment of vulnerability but resisted the urge. Despite the warning bells going off in his head at the sight of himself, he wanted to talk more. He owed Lithecore that much for keeping them alive up till this point.
"So, why are you here exactly?" the wraith lifted his eyelids a smidge to look at himself, prompting Argon to continue. The undead read the action and followed up without a pause. "What purpose would there be in assaulting Anor Londo? There's nothing for you to gain in the off chance that you even succeed. Unless all this is an elaborate way to show me you actually exist, then well done. I'm properly aghast."
He waited for an in-depth explanation of the villain's diabolical plans, but all he received was a lazy smile of a reaction that made his shoulders slump. Damn those fictional tales of handsome protagonists dressed like anthropomorphic animals with fluttering black capes. He had been lied to from the very start.
Lithecore looked at him as a fresh wave of chaos raged around them. Despite what had just transpired the wraith didn't feel any less excited to finally be here, living this very moment, feeling these varying shades of emotion, and standing before the object of his desire, no less. He had walked a long, long road in order to get here. He had used many resources, taken multiple risks, sided with questionable company and had agreed to be 'controlled' under the banner of a destructive entity with deception as its only weapon. In short, Lithecore had done everything he could, and killed any one he could to attain the choices he previously could not. It was all a matter of planning to him, how to manipulate the betting pool to achieve the most favourable outcome that was an encounter with Argon. He had even gone as far as to leave a piece of himself within himself just so that the turn of events would further work in his favour. How else would Argon have accomplished using the Abyss to a fraction of its full potential? Certainly not by so-called pure emotions and fair amounts of law-abiding perception, that's for sure.
For his Yin half to truly grasp the power they both had claimed from Manus' smouldering corpse, he would have had to endure the same miserable torture and pain to completely understand the workings of a netherworldly source of magic. Because when an untainted element interacts with something vastly more sinister, it has a tendency to become corrupted – to go through an intense corrosion it may not be able to endure, and subsequently fizzle out after too much foreign compounds bleed into its system. That outcome was unquestionably unacceptable to Lithecore. That was how Artorias had fallen, after all, a repeat of that disaster would be tantamount to eternal failure for what the lieutenant Darkwraith had in store for this decrepit world. He needed a sturdier vessel to house the lingering trances of the Abyss, a container that could utilise the manifesting darkness of Man with greater fluidity than the progenitor of Primeval Man himself. For in the end, that vessel would ultimately become his own. With that being the case, why not let said subject of containment be himself?
But to do that, Lithecore would need to become whole once more. Indeed, whilst he had been nothing but a blockaded afterthought locked away in Argon's psyche after decades of idleness in that frigid Asylum, the absorption of Manus' overly potent rage had done much to free him from that imprisonment. True, he would have appreciated control over his original body better than becoming a split personality, but you took what you could get – and stole and pilfered what you couldn't. Which is why he was here, to recover what was rightfully his.
But first Argon would need to refute this infantile play of innocence. That time in the Asylum had done much to dull his senses, yes, but this sudden adoption of a jolly persona that only rejoiced in like-minded company was growing tiresome to observe. In the beginning, Lithecore's plan had simply been to set the stage from the shadows – prepare everything for Argon's imminent regeneration into the sacrilegious assassin he was, whilst the remnant still within the vessel's head did the rest. But apparently things had taken a dive since he had last watched his beautiful form waltz around acting like he was in love.
Moreover, it appeared the spec of his influence he had left behind to morph Argon in Lithecore had backfired. What else would explain the way his true body stared at him like he was a plague? With that being the case, perhaps his plan would have to take a small but manageable detour. Whatever it took to banish this ridiculous mindset and revive the good old League Commander he knew and adored. If need be, he could remain as a disembodied amalgamation of emotions given form for just a little longer.
If he had to honest with himself, living as nothing more than a humanoid form of dense emotions wasn't that bad. He didn't require rest, nor nutrients. In essence, he was almost akin to an ordinary undead. But the rotten icing on the burnt cake was the fact that whilst he was basically a non-existent entity given physical form, his dexterity in using the Abyss far outclassed his prior manipulation – which entailed that when he did usurp Argon from their fleshly body, he would most likely become the Dark itself.
The thought excited him somewhat. To be one with a substance he resonated with, like maggots to a putrid carcass. However, now he was beginning to have second thoughts.
Argon was not yet primed as the perfect container to re-inhabit. In fact, he had digressed from the path entirely. Whilst the option to forcefully enter the undeads body was possible – given his fluid control of the Abyss – it wouldn't be as fun compared to using Lord Stein's old methods of mental warfare to replace this petty form of feelings and empathy. After all, what was sweeter than becoming whole once more, was brainwashing a level-headed version of himself before the act of conglomeration.
But back to the matter at hand. Lithecore brushed a clawed hand through his hair as he stared down his twin, debating on whether to do as he had planned for so long or let their twisted game continue. If he looked at it plain in the face, killing Argon here and now would save him much trouble in the future. A little tinkering of his hollowed form when his psyche was dilapidated and the undead would turn to the Dark side without a second thought. Additionally, he would have his body back and be completely whole – a solid form to control the Abyss with greater dexterity (and possibly take the reigns from that slow moving snake that only cared about searching for 'The Dark Lord'). Then again, leaving the Chosen Undead to live another day also had its upsides…
Yes, and come to think of it, didn't his friendly doppelganger still have that unfinished task to complete, the one involving his cohorts and all those Lord Souls?
The Darkwraith grinned maliciously at Argon as he took a step forward. It would seem his plans would need to be amended before the final curtain closed. Was he concerned? Not in the slightest. What was life without unexpected twists and tumultuous turns every now and then?
"You gonna answer me?" Lithecore tilted his head as Argon flared his nostrils in aggravation. The expression was cute on his face. He liked it when his twin was enraged. "I asked you why you decided to attack the Shining City."
"Why did the scorpion still attack the toad after the amphibian carried it over a muddy bog?" Lithecore counter-questioned, causing Argon's mouth to curl into a snarl.
"So, you think this is just in your nature? Did you forget that your vehement mindset is only an infraction placed into your psyche by a madman?!"
"Said madman, who is incidentally the reason we were able to survive up until this juncture in time. And though his future plans of us fell away with his ailing health, I find it pertinent to continue the cycle."
Argon ruffled his hair in frustration. The fire in his eyes flickering weakly. The wraith wondered how it felt to be controlled by petty things like emotions. When he stared at his twin suffer from self-deliberation, he almost felt compelled to experience it himself.
"I understand why you remain indifferent," the Chosen Undead followed up, "I was the same way after leaving Oolacile ravaged by this amorphous blight…" his eyes once again glowed with that petering fire Lithecore saw as he took a deep breath. "But I changed. I was able to leave that entire holocaust of the past behind me as I strove to take on Oscar's will. Things haven't been the best for either of us thus far, but if you just give it a chance perhaps you can change as well. All this needless slaughter can be averted!"
The wraith observed the undead pant loudly as souls were claimed behind him. It was curious… being coerced into switching sides by himself when he had done so much as a servant of the Dark. Indeed, by joining his twin and abandoning Kaathe, he would no longer have a master to continuously pester him with orders – just the way he liked it. Contrarywise, it would also mean an end to his psychopathic tendencies, a limiter to his unsatiable coffer of bloodlust, defilement, torture and damnation. He didn't appreciate those facets being taken away from him. Those were what gave him identity in a world that would soon end without ceremony. Furthermore… he didn't believe he could be saved, even if he wanted to change. Argon had walked off. No. His pure vessel had walked off. Any emotions of warmth were all clustered within Argon, a disillusioned misconception that assumed it was vastly different from Lithecore because it called itself the Chosen Undead. As it stood, Argon truly believed he was the pinnacle of Lithecore's salvation. He believed that he had 'changed', adapted from the stone-cold murderer Lord Stein had made him out to be.
And he would be wrong in that assumption.
Lithecore took another step forward. Whilst he was only commandeering this assault on orders from Kirk, it didn't mean he couldn't have some fun before the main course happened to grace this city of hollowness. And besides, Argon was right in front of him. He had joined the Darkwraiths explicitly for this tantalising moment, to bring Argon out of that pathetic shell of innocence and unveil his true humanity. There was honestly no need to remain in this idle covenant any longer.
He made to advance and plant the first seed of the undeads revelation when the wraith's boot made contact with something on the floor.
Raising his brow, Lithecore looked down, oblivious to the vulnerability he put himself in, and peered at the discarded bow of that serpentine fellow that actually thought he was a god. With a scoff, he picked it up.
"Did you actually kill him?" Argon's voice broke through the dull whine of battle. It was a few decibels softer than usual.
How odd, Lithecore thought, it's almost as if the death of that ingrate upsets him.
Nevertheless, Lithecore wasn't going to bend over backwards to please his other half. And half of the fun was drawing situations out rather than letting them end suddenly.
"Wouldn't you like to know." He watched Argon grind his teeth and smiled. This was entertaining. How far could he push this easily flustered persona of his before the true killer within started to blossom? "But if it's any consolation, the blood on the bow doesn't belong to him."
"Then why do you hold that sacred item?" Argon growled, a silver straight sword shimmering into his hand that glinted in the moonlight. If Lithecore was meant to feel threatened by the display, his obvious grin said otherwise.
"I was cleaning up your mess." The wraith retorted, carelessly chucking the bow at his twin. "Your incompetence to kill the very line of beings that you despise further pronounces how far you've fallen from the League."
Argon shook his head indignantly. "That time period doesn't pertain to me. I became my own individual when we were trapped in the Asylum. The only reason you even still exist is because I absorbed Manus's soul, sparking this accursed abyssal infection!"
"Tsk, tsk." Lithecore waved a clawed finger in the air as he chuckled to himself. The mere motion of the Darkwraith's hand was enough to sent shivers down Argon's spin, but he stood firm. It would paint him in a sad light if he couldn't face the real vestige of his past after conquering the spec in his head. "You only assume that you are your own person. Not to worry, though… after I conduct a proper session of reconditioning to your poor, rebutting self perhaps you'll finally see the light."
The Chosen Undead gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands as he stared down his doppelganger. The abrupt heaviness in the air was dangerously palpable. He knew that if he allowed himself to stray from focus for a single moment now that Lithecore decided to get serious, he could potentially lose everything.
Unafraid, he glared his copy in the eye before asking: "And what does your 'reconditioning' entail, if you don't mind me asking?"
Lithecore's sick smile split the corners of his mouth in glee. " Well, the first step if always to nip your emotions in the bud. So then, tell me which one of your loved ones deserve their souls to be claimed first?"
Argon narrowed his eyes. "You really think you stand a chance against my friends?"
The Darkwraith shrugged, "Depends on how hard you'll make me try."
"And how exactly could I influence your decisions?"
The Darkwraith giggled and raised his left hand, " everything you say and do will hinge on my next action. If you choose to abandon this ruse you call a new beginning, I won't harm a hair on their heads." He then lifted his right hand. " However, if you refuse my kind offer, we'll play a little game, see which one of us drops the decapitated head of your loved ones."
The undead bared his teeth at the wraith as rage flashed across his face. Lithecore almost moaned out in ecstasy – that look injected untold amounts of pleasure in his veins that it wasn't funny .
"You leave them out of this!"
"I'm afraid I can't," Lithecore shook his head in mock-sadness, "you involved them in our stage play the moment you decided to grow attached."
Argon's grip tightened on his sword as he struggled to contain the anger swirling within his chest like an acid mist. A threat against his life, he could handle without batting so much as an eyelash but a threat against those he treasured? Whilst some of them were capable enough to contend with his dark half, there were still others that weren't on such a powerful level – especially people who didn't favour combat with a ferocious opponent. Whilst he could claim that he could defeat Lithecore without an issue, the same wasn't the case for the rest of his friends. As a piece of the madness that was Lithecore, he knew the battle strategies and indominable strength the wraith possessed. Top that with the unique fighting style of the Darkwraith's and their original League training under Lord Stein, and Lithecore was potentially unkillable to a lesser combatant.
As much as he wanted to smile smugly and come up with a counterplan, Lithecore honestly had him trapped. He believed the twin when he said he would slowly kill each and every one of his friends if he refused to follow the old teachings the insane wraith clung to. And if he analysed that weird vortex ability the wraith just so easily plunged his hands into from before, it would mean that Lithecore had reached a manner of abyssal control greater than Manus himself, able to rip the fabric of time and space with varying portals that could and would lead to his compatriots in a matter of seconds. Undoubtedly, the crazy split personality of himself must have been tagging and stalking each and every one of the people Argon associated with – a testament to just how devoted he was to claiming Argon and turning him into the very being he had suffered to reject. Truly, he was in a fix this time and Lithecore knew it.
"So… what will it be?" the Darkwraith asked without hiding a fraction of his wicked excitement. He knew all too well that Argon's ability to warp with the Lordvessel possessed limitations – meaning he couldn't reach his allies as fast as Lithecore could – and the fact that he literally had an army of wraiths at his disposal to use on a whim just for kicks… Honestly, Argon was screwed whether he picked either side of the twisted twin's options.
The worst part was that Lithecore knew Argon would pick the former decision, to be slowly tortured and twisted into the killing machine he had been before his imprisonment. And after that spec in his head had awarded him with the freedom of choice to do as he damn well pleased. Fate was really a bloody bit-
BOOOOM!!!
As if to change his mind, Argon was halted from making his final decision as a loud explosion ruptured the air around the plane he and Lithecore were standing on. Both sides of the same coin turned their gazes to the side as a shockwave of concentrated air rippled out, nearly toppling them backward as a bright light emerged from the castle's Great Hall. The undead squinted in confusion, before his eyes widened at the sight.
There, in the centre of Gwyn's palace, a tall, quickly expanding tower of ethereal azure magic broke through the castle ceiling, ascending toward the very sky. As the undead peered closer, he made out the previously unnoticeable swarm of Darkwraiths, like black soldier ants, flood toward the burning light, incinerating all who drew near. Argon looked up toward the sky as the tower of energy reached its summit, saw the circular prism of magic fold over, and watched as thousands of spears of brilliant light sped downwards – obliterating the wraiths pooling on the outskirts of the castle walls as throngs of Silver Knights did their best to hold them at bay.
Argon couldn't fathom why, but suddenly a sharp pain entered his chest, piecing his heart as he watched the beautiful and tarrying display of power at work that it finally hit him.
"Gwyndolin!"
Without waiting for confirmation, the Chosen Undead raced toward the marble lift left untouched by the wraiths and Darkmoon Blades, intent on aiding the god he possessed a close bond with.
Until Lithecore stepped in with a roundhouse kick.
The undeads eyes widened as he was knocked onto his back, skidding four meters away as he gasped in pain, blood dribbling from his lips as his doppelganger cackled ominously.
"Keh-heh, did you really think I would let you go?!" the wraith walked up to a nearby corpse and lifted the rapier stained with blood on the floor. "As I said before, the main course has only just begun. You and I are going to get acquainted with each other in that time. Hopefully, you'll fight hard enough to make it to see your beloved blasphemer's downfall!"
The wraith cackled louder as Argon got up, wiped his mouth and dropped into an acceptable stance. "Fine then," he said with certainty in his voice, "delay me all you want. I'll just have to cut you down before fem-boy has the chance to wipe the floor with your pathetic horde. Get ready, you useless excuse for an arch-nemesis."
Lithecore only smiled wider in anticipation, nearly frothing at the mouth as he spoke. " Oh, I've been waiting for this day to arrive. Please, do your utmost to make this enjoyable for me. KA-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!"
Whoo. I apologise for publishing late. I had the worst trouble thinking about how to finally introduce Argon and Lithecore. I know I didn't touch on the Gwyndolin x Lithecore battle like I said I would, but I'll make up for it in the next chapter.
Oh, and before I forget, this Arc will be called 'Jekyll and Hyde'. About bloody time I start naming these Arc's before the end.
Stay safe out there if you're living in Louisiana. Storm's like a Yandere neko-girl in heat whilst she's seven months pregnant, I tell ya'.