Whoo! Fells nice to be back. Say, you guys check out the Elden Ring closed server beta yet? It's awesome. A Nordic Dark Souls where our characters can actually jump? This is Heavenly.
There weren't many moments whereby Lithecore was every genuinely happy. Indeed, those that knew the fraction of him they were allowed to see witnessed him display a verity of smiles. Though one had to remember that there was a significant difference between happiness and amusement. In truth, the wraith and League omega didn't express sincere joy very often, in fact he could the number of times he had felt truly flamboyant on a single hand.
One of those moments was when he had been made Commander of the Lithecore. When his father, Lord Stein, had stared down at him due to his oppressive height and offered a twitch of satisfaction to grace his general mask of perfect composure. That had been a day of true tribulation. It was the start of his long road to discovery, after all. But what made him jolly to his twisted soul that day wasn't the fact that he had achieved something anyone else would most definitely fail at. Nor was it the appreciation of his father. No, what had made Lithecore insanely upbeat that day – which had only seemed to case Covance to grow paler – had been the fact that his father's mouth had actually twitched a few millimetres to the right.
Thinking back, it had always been the small things that Lithecore revelled in. Like buttons. The Darkwraith adored buttons. And why shouldn't he? Those little bits of apparel held everything together. They added a touch of elegance to normally insipid fashion; and left a lasting impression if one were to every be missing from whatever it was supposed to link together. An item that could never be forgotten.
His point was that the little things in this mundane existence made a big difference, and Lithecore was all for the little things. Those little things excited him to no end, like fingernails, or sideburns. Inkwells, shoulder holsters, dimples, his identical twin's spine between his fingers – it was the little things that Lithecore like to appreciate the most.
Argon had been one hell of a sport, too, he would be cruel if he didn't give out credit where it was due. The disillusioned undead had done a tenth of his best to beat him. Certain moves and decisions made had greatly increased his chances of victory – if one could call a decimal addition to zero percent a significant increase. However, at the end of it all, squaring off against him had been the largest disadvantage the upbeat twin had been forced to suffer. It was a no-brainer – at least to Lithecore – that he would lose. Argon just lacked the moxie to give the wraith reason to worry. As he had already said it before, his twin was nothing but an empty cask of threats and elementary skill.
Lithecore turned his head to look behind him, violet eye gazing down at the motionless body of Argon on the floor as he slowly dragged him by the collar of his garments. The undead was quite positively spent, even as the five-finger holes in his lower back continued to leave a bleeding trail as Lithecore hauled him through the battlefield of phantoms, wraiths and Darkmoon servants.
It hadn't taken long to break him, either. The initial shock delivered to the undead by the fact that Lithecore had survived a barrage of devastating Chaos Pyromancy, had jarred his mind enough for the Darkwraith to implement a basic level of Lord Stein's torture methods. After a decent application of pain had been imprinted onto the shocked hero's mind, Lithecore had then played around with his entertaining brother – utilising simple words of deceit and probability to cripple the undeads perception of hope. This combination had worked well in incapacitating him too. In fact, Lithecore was astonished at how dejected from reality Argon seemed to be now, as he sat there with his hair obscuring half his handsome face. A few minutes ago, he had been muttering incoherently, attempting to use a basis of insanity to save his psyche from complete deadlock. However, Lithecore was smarter than that. So, he had crippled the Chosen Undeads defence mechanism by berating his ability to protect those he loved.
And to be honest, everything the merciless wraith said had been flawlessly true. Argon had grown weaker, lax, boring in his time of idleness with these so-called comrades of his. The momentary peace he had earned after toppling the Abyss on its head had caused him to forget the purpose of his existence – and in so doing, left a rapidly degenerating gap of growth within Argon's persona.
He would never admit it, but Lithecore was correct from the start. When people lost the evil in their souls to channel in life changing situations, their optimal ability to protect that which they burn for is effectively reduced. This very concept was displayed when Argon had faced him with a misguided excuse that he needed to come to that insidious heathen in white's rescue. Lithecore scoffed as his pace quickened, smoothly swerving around a nearby wraith doing battle with a glowing navy phantom.
As if the son of Gwyn would require Argon's aide. What his twin should have been focusing on instead, was his own rage. Both of them had felt it during their short exchange of weapons and fists: the undead was weakened, fizzled out, drained of the juices that kept him going. The wraith blamed the stubbornness of his twin. By ignoring the influence of the speck Lithecore had planted, rejected the Abyssal corruption instead of embracing it; and simultaneously wearing that restricting ring of the Wolf Knight's on like a blasted wedding band, Argon had brought himself down to nothing but an ordinary undead with lofty ideals that couldn't back them up with action.
Without the ability to even break his mind when necessity arose, he was more or less just fodder. It was obvious to Lithecore when he had seen it. Argon was already too broken to obtain more power. His mind was already in shambles – whether repaired by comfort and love or not. And as for his control over the vestige of Manus that slowly decayed him, the one force he could have used against the wraith… well, that was just a disappointing investment that led to a larger loss than he had hoped for. Currently, as things were right now, Argon was done for. He was a shattered vase of china – no room left to even fill him up to a tiny puddle of potential.
Then again, Lithecore wasn't all that miffed about it. This was just one of the favourable outcomes he'd planned for. The fact that all he needed to do was sit down with his twin and slowly coerce him back into the ways of the League was much better than tediously converting him. It would be for the better, in any case. Argon had spent too much of their precious time playing around like some righteous hero. The Undead Quest, accepting the dying wish of a failure like Oscar, rescuing the people that were meant to be hung over a shark infested pool and bled for extra effect? This entire journey had been a pathetic excuse to deviate from the true path.
Argon wasn't a hero, Lithecore knew as well as his glassy-eyed twin did. There was no such thing. Just a tragic individual that assumed they could supersede their suffering by making the world praise their good deeds. What made them contrast against the devious villains populating their story-lines like ticks was that the public never grew close enough to their so-called saviour to understand just how many mountains of corpses they had burned to get here. Whereas the antagonists, twisted and mortifying as they were, represented everything inside their souls with smiles on their faces. They were vilified simply for the act of sharing the darkness nobody wanted to see, for it was the same evil that festered within the envious hearts of the people at large.
The only reason a hero was placed on a golden throne at the head of an ivory tower was because they faked their existence, fed off the looks of admiration these supposed innocents gave them when they showed the world their 'good' side. How amusing.
Lithecore's gaze shifted to the right as a Darkmoon Blade ran forward, sword raised above their head. He gave the servant a bored yawn as his lifted his rapier and caught the strike. Sparks flickered from the clash and Lithecore gave the Blade a small shove. His attacker stumbled back a foot and the wraith lunged forward, left hand still holding Argon tightly by the collar. The Blade gasped out, looking down in shock at the sight of Lithecore's sword buried deep into his sternum. He coughed loudly and a speck of blood fell onto the wraith's pale cheek before he twisted the hilt of his weapon. He watched the Blade's eyes roll to the back of his skull and shoved him away, staring distastefully as a puddle of red formed around the rapidly cooling corpse.
Heroes were not good in any sense of the word. Just broken people fixing the damaged problems of others to appear more than human. It was due to this deception that made them detestable. When you got down to it, it was the villains that deserved a second chance. At least they did everything they could to achieved what they believed in, whether it was a pipe dream or not. Heroes, protagonists, saviours and prophets were just puppets used by their superiors until they realised their mistakes too late. To think that society would still give them the benefit of the doubt after destroying the world they were trying to save, by themselves, was just bitterly ironic. Poetic justice in its ripest form.
Which was why Lithecore wanted to pull his other half from this sickly optimistic fad. This world was already too far gone, what need was there to destroy yourself restoring it when doing absolutely nothing seemed to tear even the Heavens asunder. With odds as slim as that, the only choice left was to initiate that which society had deemed taboo: allow the villain to grasp the reigns.
The clatter of armour reached the wraith's keen hearing and he turned, spotting two more Blades coming toward his location. With a sniff, he turned his body to face the closest one, rapier still dripping with the blood of his opponents fallen comrade.
The Blade came in with a lightning-fast jab, estoc charged with the blessing of the Darkmoon as it aimed to pierce Lithecore's forehead. He offered a lopsided grin as his head fell to the side, feeling the buzzing energy from the sword sting his cheek. The Blade followed up his initial strike by flicking his wrist and Lithecore dropped into a crouch, avoiding an early beheading as his foe flung out his left arm that held a wickedly glinting dagger. The wraith was unfazed by such paltry fighting capabilities. He needed to end this one quickly before his colleague arrived to uneven the odds.
Cocking his sword arm back, Lithecore stabbed the Darkmoon servant in the hip, eliciting a yelp from the Blade, who's grip on the burning sword began to loosen. The wraith saw his opportunity and rose to his feet quickly, snatching up the blazing blade and slashing the wounded undeads throat open. The spray from the Blade's gurgling throat splashed onto Argon's lame form before Lithecore caught sight of the second contender. Her light shoes gave her speed as she dashed toward the wraith, but that would only become her downfall. Lithecore lifted his boot and kicked the dying soldier her way.
Surprise filled her face as she tried in vain to slow her momentum, but only succeeded in righting herself from toppling over when her comrade fell into her arms. Lithecore watched patiently as her eyes madly flashed around before fearfully settling on him. His face morphed into a manic smile as his left hand let go of his twin's collar to two-hand the glowing blade in his possession. He took three long strides and the Blade opened her mouth to scream, it was just unfortunate that he severed her head from her shoulders before that could happen. Both hers and her companion's bodies tilted backwards before slapping the floor with a sickening wetness and Lithecore blinked, suddenly confounded. His brain hadn't even registered him moving. Oh well.
Staring down at the estoc slowly dimming with power in his hands, Lithecore sniffed in appreciation. Sacrilegious magic or no, that serpentine son of Gwyn knew how to create enchantments. He could only imagine what such a potent power could do in his capable hands. But then again… what use was the borrowed power of a false deity, when you could have your own?
Chucking the dripping weapon away, the wraith made his way back to Argon, shoving his way passed both Darkwraith and Darkmoon Blade alike, before he stopped – staring down at his mindless twin in the gentle glow of the moon. His head felt clear – despite the blood-curdling screams around him – as he admired the object of his affection, the person he had yearned to see for oh-so long. All his careful planning, all his hard work… and now Argon was finally lying still at his feet. He couldn't wait to begin reforming his convoluted brain, rebooting the program of the League, rewiring the old teachings Lord Stein favoured with gusto…
Lithecore smiled widely, a small trail of drool leaking down the side of his chin as he imagined it, savoured in the sweet memory he would soon create. Indeed, to him, this inhumane act of morose rehabilitation sounded like his wildest dreams coming true. And they would, he would certainly make sure of that. But first, perhaps getting Argon to his base of operations might be the most important task at hand.
"Let's go, Argon." the wraith mumbled, grabbing the undead by the collar and dragging him along. It would do him some good to hurry himself along. The plans he had laid to arrive here had taken serious thought and careful manipulation, sure. However, the excitement of tonight's event that he had decided to use as a distraction possessed a greater possibility to derailing his plans. It was overkill, but only slightly. He was sure Kirk would also find it equally entertaining, under the guise that he actually survived what was to come.
The thought made Lithecore chuckle deeply. His darkened spirits were lifted – elated beyond his greatest imaginations! Nothing could deviate the joy he felt, the sheer euphoria that coursed through his twisted veins-
"Give Argon back." spoke a bland, arguably feminine voice that made the wraith sigh out in disappointment. He looked up as the Darkmoon Knightess stepped into view, brass armour reflecting the misty glow above them – washing her form in a mix of light and shadow. It was a stellar appearance, he had to admit, but slightly aggravating.
Didn't they understand that he just wanted some quality time with his identical twin brother?
"I hate to break this to you, Keeper. But I'm afraid Argon is already and item with the hybrid." He tilted his head back and observed the woman. "Not that it really matters. She'll be a rotting corpse alongside her beloved uncle soon enough. Whether I get to her first, or even Argon for that matter, the one definitive is that she will be very much unalive."
"Your perverse whispers don't inspire me to rush to immediate concern, pitiful wraith," the Knightess replied as she slowly drew her blade. Lithecore closed his eyes and shrugged. Not everyone was susceptible to his charm. Often times, those few individuals he couldn't convince with words were coerced into obedience by the tip of his knife. Perhaps this one would prove a fun toy to tinker with when he had the time. "The Lady Priscilla and my Lord are capable of overcoming the ploys spun by a detestable insect. All that is required of me is to rescue that which they both hold dear."
"How admirable," Lithecore replied dully, examining how the Abyss had seemed to merged his skin with his black gauntlets whilst he had been burning alive in Argon's radical Pyromancy, "the tragedy of the confused god sees Argon as beloved. If you're attempting to be funny, this is stooping too low, even for the likes of you."
The Knightess was undaunted as she brandished her talisman. "The truth is difficult for the undignified to comprehend. Fortunately, you won't be alive long enough to understand the compassion the magnificent Dark Sun has for someone as kind as Argon." The wraith stared at her impassively, eyes narrowed dangerously at her as she brushed the handful of cloth against her blade. An azure light grew from the point of contact, coating the weapon with enough magic to illuminate the curled frown Lithecore sent her way.
"As much as I would love to tear that smooth voice from your filthy throat, I have more pressing matters to attend to," he said and flexed his fingers – enjoying the claws from his gauntlets which were now permanently soldered to his fingertips. "Move aside now and I won't have to feed you your perforated liver through a spoon."
The Knightess tilted her head in response to the warning. "Is that mercy I see a Darkwraith offering freely?"
Lithecore shrugged. "I'm feeling generous now that my twin is by my side. Surely, you can understand?"
He received a nod before the Keeper replaced her talisman with a versatile dagger. Lithecore could only grin as he dropped Argon and strode forward. He had never pulled the spinal cord from a Firekeeper before. He wondered, would she spill humanity with each cut he blessed her putrid flesh with, or would her death be as anti-climactic as the barrage of lacklustre attacks she and every other Darkmoon displayed?
"Lord Gwyndolin warned me of your unending deceit." She mentioned as he approached.
"I see. Did he also tell you how he squealed when I sliced into him?"
The Keeper tensed, causing Lithecore to grin. She was just so easy to rile up, he couldn't wait for when she was on her knees begging him to show mercy. Depending on how well the tears fell down her disfigured face, he would end her suffering my merely using Life Drain instead of his usual process of live dissection.
"You will be punished for each drop of his precious blood spilt."
"Provided you can touch me, we'll see how exactly your revenge plays out."
"Hmph," the Keeper lifted her head an inch condescendingly, "you show a lot of confidence for a wraith without a weapon."
He continued to march forward when another wraith suddenly tumbled into his line of sight. Without taking his heterochromatic eyes off her brass form, Lithecore grabbed the wraith's sword arm and slapped his other on its ivory mask. Muttering something along the lines of: "you're in the way," he snapped his comrade's neck mercilessly and snatched up the thick sword falling from its fingers – grinning back at the Keeper as the body fell lifelessly to the ground.
"You were saying?"
She didn't bother to offer up a reply, opting to dart forward instead and end this tiresome wordplay.
The Darkwraith took an immediate step back, narrowly avoiding her blazing rapier that whizzed a hairs breadth away from his adam's apple. She stomped her foot against the floor and changed her stance, flashing the dagger in her left hand. Lithecore scoffed and lifted his free hand, closing his slender fingers around the hilt of her weapon and jerking. The Keeper's body followed her hand and the wraith flung his knee out. She twisted her hips and the steel-plated limb sailed past her torso. Lithecore looked at her with intrigue, silently praising her for her agility before squeezing her fist tighter and flinging her to the side.
The Knightess grunted as she skidded along the floor, knocking over a nearby wraith in the process. With a huff, she flipped the wraith over and knelt on its chest – looking up at Argon's twin blankly as she impaled the scrabbling fiend through the mask with her sword. Black blood decorated her armour like warpaint, the viscous fluid running down and into the nooks and spaces between her platemail as she got back up and ran at her opponent. Lithecore only grinned back madly, slamming his blade against hers eagerly as they continued their duet of death.
The Keeper grit her teeth and placed her dagger-less hand on the pommel of her rapier. This wraith was stronger than he looked, cockier too, but for good reason. His skill in battle was undeniably noteworthy, however she wouldn't back down to someone with a unique style of fighting. She hadn't survived this long without learning a few tricks of her own.
Pressing back against Lithecore, she focused on the magic blazing around her rapier. It was an almost unstoppable lunation sorcery, it was a blessing of Lord Gwyndolin's, after all. But what she knew better than one of the Blades under her care was that the blessing of their Lord reached farther than simply enchanting weapons with power. Yes, aside from the boost the incantation brought a Darkmoon Servant in combat, the ability to mould said magic was also available for use. Which meant more than just a burning sword. It meant a living blade.
Her mouth twitched under her visor as she charged the spell with more magic, squinting slightly as the light from her sword shifted to a burning white. She pushed back harder against the oppressive force of Lithecore and felt her efforts pay off when the blade in her hands melted through the wraith's despicable armament.
Lithecore put on a surprised face as he watched the Keeper cut through his blade. He leapt back, twisting the remaining half of the sword in a backwards grip before ducking under her second stroke. He felt the blade singe his shoulder as it crested away from him, the tip of her rapier nicking his skin and his eye's widened as he felt an injection of foreign elements invade his system. She attempted to return with a third strike by stabbing forward but the wraith rolled backwards. The Darkmoon Knightess panted as she watched him rise to his feet, a strange smile on his features.
"That blade was made with an occultic ember in mind," he breathed hoarsely and stumbled, righting himself quickly as he advanced forward. The Knightess merely tensed her body in preparation for their next round. "A gift from Argon?"
"He left it in my care whilst he sought out to accomplish his mission. It seems his decision was one well made."
"And what makes you say that?" the wraith questioned, using the Abyss to purge the status affects infecting his body. "You expect something as miniscule as black magic from a Smithing God to kill me?"
The Keeper, for her part, simply lowered into an offensive stance. "The power hammered into the steel won't be enough to kill you, no." Her armour rattled as she tensed her muscles, coiling up like a deadly viper before mentioning, "But relieving you of your head will," and shooting off after the malicious wraith.
Lithecore snapped his body backwards as the sword stabbed the air above him, burning sorcery and dark magic merging together fiercely to eviscerate the very atoms themselves. The Keeper arched her blade downward and forced the Darkwraith to twist out of the way. His body moved like an encumbered snake fighting with the live bait he just swallowed whole. She struck out the third time and he flung out the melted half of his sword, she deflected it with a graceful flick of her wrist and jabbed. Lithecore rolled out of the way and stood up, head turning in her direction before he decided to make the first move this time around. The Brass Knightess was all too happy to comply.
With his left hand he delivered a feint that she refused to follow, and with his right Lithecore reached out with the claws of his half-melted gauntlet. The Firekeeper lashed out with her flaming rapier, repelling those sharp talons from tearing through her armour before he launched his knee into her side.
"Aghn!"
The Keeper gasped as her breath left her, closing her eyes tight to stomach the pain and follow up with a counter move. Unfortunately, Lithecore was quicker, catching her across the helm with his claw, shearing four jagged lines through her visor before he hopped back and watched her collapse.
She blinked rapidly to rid the tears pooling on her bottom lid. That blow had possessed unimaginable force behind it – stronger than any punch the Executioner Smough could muster – and she was sure that if she hadn't been in full armour, he could have broken more than one of her ribs, possibly also punctured a lung. He grinned down at her as she reached out and grabbed her sword from the floor, the enchantment wearing off, making the black metal sizzle.
The wraith was good, she could give him that.
He approached her casually, taking all the time in the world to enjoy the spectacle of her prone and wounded on the floor – waiting like a helpless fawn to be eaten alive. She refused to give him the satisfaction of crying out. She wasn't down and out yet, and although she couldn't heal like the regular undead that she ordered around within the Darkmoon Covenant, she was still resilient. Pain didn't affect her now like it did when she was but a child.
" Ah, now there's a familiar sight," Lithecore mouthed before clapping slowly, wicked eyes glinting as they watched her rise on unsteady feet. "You look just like Argon when he thought he could finish me. No wonder the two of you get along so well." He spoke as his strong legs strode forward, grabbing her by the helm before yanking her up to her feet.
She moved in when he was closest, driving the rapier the Chosen Undead had given her as deep as it could go, but the wraith easily swivelled his hips to the side, dodging the occultic sword entirely as he grabbed the wrist holding the rapier and dug his claws into it.
The Firekeeper grunted in pain as her vambrace bent inward, squeezing her flesh like a powerful vice as Lithecore stared through the holes in her visor and smiled. He wanted a reaction out of her, and it was clear that he wouldn't stop until he received one. She curled her lip at him from behind her helmet when the pain suddenly increased and she shouted, lifting her other hand to sock him across the jaw when he lifted her wrist to the sky. She groaned out painfully as he suspended her in mid-air by her wrist and she kicked out desperately. The Darkwraith looked down at her boots sympathetically as they weakly impacted with his shins. She squirmed further and he looked back at her with an eerie smirk before he squeezed even tighter.
She heard a crack before her mouth opening into a scream and Lithecore wailed with laughter. He let go of her wrist and gravity took over. Her feet nearly reached the floor before he came in with a devastating palm strike that cracked her breastplate. The Firekeeper flew backwards, smacking into the floor before skidding over the limestone stained with various colours of blood. Lithecore was about to rush in for another flurry of attacks but stopped when he noticed that she didn't get up.
A sighed left his lips. That had been fun. A small, inelegant brawl involving minimal effort. As he said before, it was the little things that excited him. Sometimes, simplicity was the best medicine. It availed him the ability to be grateful, and not crave things that took too long to organise before the grand massacre. And slowly dismembering the infamous Firekeeper of Anor Londo was one such simple pleasure. He could almost taste how sweet her maiden life essence would be on his black tongue. Peeling off her helm from her deformed face would be problematic in the sense that there would be fragments of brass imbedded in her skin, but he could live with it. After all, it had been a while since he had actually eaten another vaguely humanoid being. Argon had caused the craving to return to him for some strange reason, not that he was really complaining. Petrified undead flesh, laced with the seasoning of fear had a specific tang to it, after all. Who was he to deny his palate such a scrumptious treat?
He began to walk toward the downed Keeper, unaware of the Darkmoon phantom silently creeping up on his position, bloodied straight sword in hand. The summon waited patiently for any signs that he had been spotted, that the wraith had noticed the slightest trace of him approaching but found none. With bated breath, he crept toward Lithecore as the wraith stood over the barely moving form of Gwyndolin's advisor before he swung his blade with the last of his energy.
A loud clang resounded in the air, and the phantom opened his mouth in shock as he found his target's right hand gripping his sword tightly. His shocked face snapped toward the wraith, who was casually yawning into his other hand. The phantom shook his head and let go of the sword. So, he had been spotted after all, huh? That didn't matter.
The Blade drew a curved dagger from the sheathe behind his back, flipped it in a reverse grip and flung out his arm.
So long as the wraith's back was turned, he still had the upper han-
Cling!
The phantom blinked in shock as the wraith's other hand slapped his blade from his hands. He watched it in slow motion as it fell to the floor.
Clatter!
How had the wraith deflected his surprise attack? Surely, his skill as an assassin hadn't been subpar-
SQUELCH!
The phantom coughed roughly, blinking in confusion at the sight of his own sword sticking out from his chest. That… that was impossible. It had happened so fast. How could the wraith possibly have moved like that?!
" One important lesson you should learn when becoming an assassin." Lithecore's voice reached his ears and he looked up in fear as the Chosen Undead lookalike cupped his face with those unnatural hands impaled and deformed by shattered steel gauntlets. "Always remember to wipe the blood from your blade before every new execution. All that dripping fluid can trigger your target's defences."
The phantom's eyes grew wide with realisation. It hadn't crossed his mind to implement the orthodox methods of assassination when they were in a literal war with the Abyss. But then how had the wraith even picked up on the sound when they were standing in a roaring battlefield?
"It might save your miserable life… one day." Lithecore said before snapping the Blade's neck. He looked down impassively as the blue body turned into a transparent outline, before bursting into a mass of bright light and vanishing – leaving behind nothing but a cloud of souls that immediately rushed toward Argon's immobile body.
Lithecore scratched his veiny cheek absently. He knew he couldn't absorb souls and humanity due to the fact that he wasn't actually undead… but did that mean every person and beast he had killed had had their accumulated souls transported to his twin's able body? It had only happened this time around because Lithecore was so close to the undead, but what about the other times? It would be a fascinating curiosity to dive into should his hypothesis prove to be right.
"I see you're still clinging to life like the cockroach you are." An immensely gruff voice said to Lithecore and he turned around with a bright smile on his crooked face.
"That was my line, old man."
Havel grunted at the wraith, one of the twin's colleagues choking under the force of the archbishop's powerful chokeholds. Lithecore watched the elderly undead squeeze the masked wraith's throat as it scratched at his stone gauntlet, legs kicking in futile as he squished the atrocity's neck like a grape. The black-haired wraith showed no sorrow as Havel dropped the body to the floor and stepped on it casually – crushing its skull into the floor like a bug – before walking toward him, passing the unmoving form of the Firekeeper without an issue.
"Not going to check the status of your comrade?" he asked with a mocking frown. The compatriot of Gwyn didn't bat an eye as he retrieved the shield from his back.
"She knows as well as anyone here that my priority is the foolish boy three yards behind you." He replied, levelling his Dragontooth at Lithecore's head. The wraith couldn't stop the smile that filled his face. Now this was a man that could understand his devotion to his cause.
"Release him into my care now, and I'll see to it that you're granted a merciful death."
The wraith lifted an amused eyebrow. "What would your version of merciful warrant me, exactly?"
Havel shrugged, "I'll put it to you this way," he shouldered his weapon and took a step forward. "Your bones will be dust and your flesh nothing but a monochrome wineskin spread out across the floor for the batwing demons to pick at. However, your head will still be intact. I'll do you the honour of reading you your last rights before smashing it to bits like an oversized watermelon."
Lithecore gasped and held a hand up to his bare chest. "I've found a man after my own heart!"
Havel growled and took two more steps forward when his jester-sized boot kicked the Firekeeper's rapier. Lithecore watched the blade drag across the dark floor with attentive eyes before they snapped back toward the bristled bishop. Perhaps he could use this conversation to his advantage somewhat.
"Why do you insist on taking Argon away from my care?"
"Hmph! That's the last thing I would call your disservice toward him," Havel spat. The Darkwraith held up his hands defensively in reply, opting to draw out this talk as far as inhumanly possible.
"You're gambling the fate of the entire world on the shoulders of an amnesic murderer." Lithecore emphasised his point by pointing to the unconscious form of his twin, eyes shut almost peacefully as if he weren't in the middle of a bloodbath. Sometimes Havel admired the mindlessness of his companion.
"Far better than leaving it to a cannibalistic sadist." The wraith blushed at the comment, it was uncommon for the mountain goat to hand him compliments. Even so, Lithecore still had his pride to uphold. The only one truly worthy to insult him like it was their second nature was Argon, and he was barely alive, mentally speaking.
"What do you intend on achieving by spiriting him away to your liar, eh?" the Archbishop questioned, planting his shield against the floor as Lithecore actually listened to his words. "If he doesn't complete the Undead Quest, this world will collapse in on itself. As much as I despised the monotonous continuity during the Age of Ancients the dragons ruled over, succumbing to an unending period of dark ruled by the wicked emotions of Man is not an outcome I find appealing."
"And that is where you and your entire brood are wrong."
Havel narrowed his eyes at the wraith. "What is it you mean?"
Lithecore flung out his hands as he spoke, "This world is indeed doomed, ready to fall to ruin at a moment's notice. And yet, despite the end of all civilisations as we know it crumbling to dust in the hands of each monarch that assumed they had the stones to what was right, we are all still, partly, alive." He paced around in a wonky circle; the bishop's gaze trained on him for any minor changes in movement. It was a smart move on Havel's part. He wouldn't be able to react fast enough if his focus wasn't utterly set on Lithecore. Fortunately, the wraith didn't feel like killing the false prophet today. He was too fun to dispose of, really.
"You talk as if there's a point to your ramblings." The bishop muttered out.
"Because there is one. Look around you, Havel. This world still exists despite the sands of time running out. How long has it been since this so-called prophecy saw the light of day? Has it been years? Or maybe decades? Centuries or millennia? How many kingdoms have been deleted from history in the time that these self-proclaimed gods fell into disarray with themselves, upturned their majesty into utter dystopia?
"You say that Argon is your last hope, but do you really comprehend what you're actually saying? This world has stood for more than one eternity already, and it can survive for a few dozen more. The only reason you seem to want to rush this 'linking of the Flame' is due to the fact that only Argon has proven the aptitude to gather the four Lord Souls."
"If that was the case, then tell me; why it is the Abyss is swallows this 'stagnant' world up, piece by wretched piece?" Quarrelled Havel, causing Lithecore to scoff. "It's true that out of the possible thousands of undead that sought to lay claim to the title of Chosen, only Argon has done what even Berenike's Tarkus could not. Even so, why should I trust the words of a scheming Darkwraith?"
"You'd prefer the lies of a pernicious undead that pulled his godhood out from a smouldering bonfire?"
Havel's brow creased as he weighed the options given to him. On the one hand, Lithecore was correct – a statement he wished he could cut his tongue out for – in his hypothesis about the end of the world. However, would blind faith in a hideous monstrosity grant him a clue to the real truth? He didn't trust the wraith as far as he could pummel him, the same was the case with Gwyndolin – perhaps even more so due to him being Gwyn's boy, girl… whatever the hell the lastborn's gender was.
"You mistake the spread of the Abyss," Lithecore sighed out as he stopped his pacing and held his head in what Havel presumed was a show of dismay. He couldn't really tell if Argon's twin was truly sincere when his face had the creepy visage of a wide-mouthed basilisk. "It is partly true, though Argon killed the last remnant of the corroding substance that claimed Oolacile, some of it still remained tethered to the world. Meaning that some one decided to take it back to the present timeline."
"A third party involved with the Abyss?" Havel exclaimed, face crunching up in displeasure at the news. "Impossible. Lying worm of the Dark, I'll cave your smug face in!"
The undead bishop roared and Lithecore took two more steps back, eyes glancing to the Velkian rapier still lying beside Havel. " Easy now, old man. I wouldn't want to be the cause of your sudden spike of high cholesterol."
"How could the Abyss have made it here were it not for the existence of you?!" the Archbishop slammed his Dragontooth into the floor, garnering the attention of another Darkwraith gone mad by its bloodlust. It charged at Havel recklessly, only to have its face crushed to pieces when the undead used his shield as a battering ram. "The only reason this unholy darkness threatens to swallow us whole is due to your filthy machinations."
"Now, now. Surely, you don't think me capable of messing up the world that much when I was only born into it during Gwyn's fall from divinity to utter depravity."
Havel opened his mouth to retort but stopped short. Lithecore was telling the truth. He couldn't have spread the Abyss single-handedly over the span of a few thousand years. Argon had only been alive for nearly one-hundred summers – possibly more if he remembered Lithecore's memories – so his hands in all this were relatively clean.
"But if you didn't spread it, who did?" Lithecore's eyes crinkled in delight. Finally, it had taken too long for this dry slab of meat to reach the eventual conclusion.
"You're more naïve than I anticipated," Havel growled as the wraith giggled at his expense. This wraith was beginning to seriously piss him off. "But that doesn't matter right now. I'll ask you once again, allow me to take Argon away from here."
The bishop's guffaw served as a final answer.
"As if I'd allow my boy to be led into despair by some peon."
"We can still deliver this world to peace, Havel." Lithecore warned. "Argon is the key in all this ."
"Damn straight he is, and he's chosen to follow the path my ex-companion set out for the undead. Except he intends to find a better route to preserving the Flame."
"Do you honestly think the words of that wretched snake are worth more than someone who has seen what lies beyond?" Havel took a step back in surprise and the wraith growled impatiently. Why did even bother negotiating with an idiot?
"Yes, I know of Frampt. The secret soothsayer Gwyn held close during his waning influence."
"And what of it? A lying atrocity that blindly vowed devotion to my foolish comrade's cause." Havel asked cautiously. Lithecore sighed out irritably.
"One that inserted this absurd task of killing off every Great Lord under the imaginary sun. You think its words can be trusted? An outcast like that?"
"I don't know what you're getting at-"
"A Primordial entity. Like Manus, it was there when time itself became a concept. And like its title implies, there is always more than one like it. From whom do you think I receive the orders of the Abyss from, Havel? From where do you think the Abyss was started?"
"Enough," the bishop blurted out, unwilling to accept what was being told to him, "I don't wish to hear any more of your lies."
"The Abyss lives because a Primordial kept it running." Lithecore pressed. Havel seemed all the more shocked. "What? You thought Frampt was the only one? He's nothing but a bitter outcast! An exiled serpent, with a family of brothers and sisters – all bent on bringing about the rumoured Age of Dark. A pipedream, if you asked me. However, one that could come to pass if you refuse to hand over Argon."
He didn't care if the undead believed his words, what mattered was playing for time. Whether he released the honest truth in that time wouldn't leave consequences for the wraith himself. After all, he had acquired what he wanted. His service to the Dark was more or less terminated now. Even if he did possess the only seed capable of turning a Chosen Undead into the true Dark Lord, he wouldn't bother to stay and pass it over – never mind become the thing these pathetic gods feared. His method of changing this world was better, it possessed less of a risk of failure. With Argon as his side – or absorbed back into his own body – Lithecore could actualise what Lord Stein failed to accomplish. He could create the perfect existence that he envisioned in place of his yielding father.
"Let's say I believe you," Havel began as Lithecore noticed his guard dropping. "Why would you reveal the plans of the world's enemy?"
Lithecore shrugged, deciding to tell the truth. "Because I don't care about the Dark Lord. My only concern is my beloved twin. The end of days, the rise of Man, the extinction of the gods… these can all come or fall away into nothing. I've already seen what will happen if either path of Life or Dark progress. And in both cases, this world is stuck in the same inane loop it began in."
"No! That cannot be…" Havel breathed out deeply as he glared at the floor, struggling to make sense of the truth that he himself already perceived from the very beginning. Lithecore wanted to feel sorry for him, he honestly did. But then again, he was more concerned with the fact that the grouchy bishop was keeping him from his goal. What's more, there was so much more he had to do aside from taking back his other half. Which settled the wraith's psychotic mind on a singular thought as his fingers twitched, sending a light shroud of abyssal energy to course through his body. The sword on the ground moved an inch in response to his efforts and Lithecore grinned triumphantly.
That settled it. Havel had to die. The Firekeeper, he could worry about later, or… not worry about at all. It didn't matter. Gwyndolin's harlot was of no concern when the heretical priest was right where he wanted him. He would have loved to gut the half goddess whilst he was at it but he was short on time, which meant only one special murder for the time being. Now it was just a matter of getting the old fool riled up enough to gouge his eyes, lungs and heart out.
"Linking the Fire will just return it back to the way it was. Letting it die out will just pave the way for some other deceived fool to do what the first Chosen One should have."
"Sh-Shut up." Havel stuttered.
"You should ask Frampt when you get the chance. Perhaps he will answer you. It'll be the last mercy you receive before he drifts into eternal slumber for another thousand years to usher the next unfortunate undead into the very same fate!"
"SHUT UP, I SAID! ENOUGH OF YOUR BLATANT LYING!" The bishop found himself walking towards Lithecore before his mind even registered doing it. The wraith, for his part, was ecstatic. Things were finally moving according to the correct path he had planned out. the only thing left to do before he woke Argon up was to kill the brain-washing bishop within his disturbing party.
"I'm going to send you back to the nothingness you came from, wraith!"
Lithecore smiled, even as Havel's Dragontooth arched above the bald undeads head. Instead of blocking it like he usually would have, the wraith decided to sidestep this particular cliché.
It was just a shame that whilst Lithecore had been improvising and learning from his opponent's telegraphed moves, so had Havel.
The Archbishop's Dragontooth hit the floor with devastating power, cracking the ground and sending debris in every direction as Lithecore prepared to silence the undead there and now. He was so focused on the undead using the momentum to lift up his weapon for a second blow, that he forgot about the enormous wall shield in Havel's other hand.
"Gah!" Lithecore grunted as the stone shield slammed against his cheek, breaking his jaw and cracking the side of his skull before the wraith's body flew back, tumbling over the floor like a discarded rag doll.
Havel watched with a proud sniff as Lithecore bounced once, twice, thrice against the floor before he used the fading momentum to roll onto his feet, snatching up the Firekeeper's discarded rapier in the process and staring at the bishop with bloodshot eyes.
"Thathg wash a good un."
Havel poked a finger into his ear. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you over the way your throat seemed to gargle your own teeth."
Lithecore closed his eyes and allowed the Abyss to repair the damage. Havel curled his lip in disgust as he watched the wraith's face snap, crackle and pop back into place, before he opened his eyes again to reveal glowing pools of violet and amber, alongside an insanely uncomfortable grin.
"I said: 'that was a good one.'"
"Thanks very much," Havel nodded and grabbed his Dragontooth from its resting place. "Now stay still this time so I can end your sad existence properly."
Lithecore grinned wider at the reply, the edge of his lips cutting as his grin struggled to fit his face.
"I've been entertained by the cattle I've killed so far. You, I will most certainly enjoy playing with."