20. Deceptions
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Light trickled down the subterranean passage through a caged metal door. The Lucid One tested the latch, found it unlocked, and eased the gate open. He could already hear strange noises from the room beyond. He was not alone.
The sorcerer crept behind a pillar, silently cursing every clink of his new armor. He had entered an expansive nave, and as he feared, it was filled with abominations. The hideous creatures prayed to an altar with a crystalline statue towering above, a luminous idol of the Divine Mother. Carved entirely from aquamarine, her majesty was flawed by countless fractures. Six venational wings arced from her spine like flower petals, translucent in their slenderness, all abruptly ending in shattered pieces. Snapped strands of hair cascaded from a veil which concealed her visage. Below her distended belly was a pillar of water. In her hands – one of which lacked a forearm – she wielded a broken blade with corkscrewing edges, its hilt as long as the man himself. It was, or had once been, a replica of the legendary Lifebrandt, the sword which slayed the Demon of Chaos.
The sword he had come to claim.
A trio of Nephel led their congregation in worship, while over a dozen snail-women wailed incoherently. Among them were slug-like creatures without shells, their pale and bloated torsos appearing more masculine. Circling the gathering were two masked summoners, drifting between rows of stone benches that seemed oddly out of place amidst the misshapen horrors. The nave was illuminated by crystal formations that hung from the ceiling like chandeliers, while smaller clusters grew atop metal stands dotting the perimeter.
The entryway was sealed by heavy doors, but there were staircases in either wall which led to an empty mezzanine above. With great care, the Lucid One snuck from pillar to pillar, timing his movement with the angels' patrol, then crept up the stairs unnoticed.
At the upper level, he came across a seating area with ornate thrones, some of which were still occupied. There were fanciful robes and holy garments, but they held no bodies, only vines and roots that snaked from their sleeves, coiling around the chairs and into the stone floor itself. He turned from the unnerving sight, then felt a flood of relief as he spotted another door across the balcony.
His relief soon turned to despair when he discovered it was locked. There was nowhere left to go. Close to death as he was, he would nevertheless have to fight.
The mage peered over the railing at the gathering below, trying to devise some sort of plan, but their sheer numbers made any strategy seem foolish. It would be impossible to face them all at once. Worse, he did not yet know what the Nephel were capable of. He would be charging in blind.
Then, his eyes returned to the crystalline chandelier. The answer was right in front of him.
He drew his cane and fired a single sound bolt. It whistled through the air, drawing the attention of those below, but too late. The crystal shattered with an earsplitting crack. Jagged chunks crashed down on the worshippers, crushing their bodies and exploding into razor-sharp slivers. One of the Nephel was cleaved in two by a larger piece, while another shrieked in pain as its wet flesh was lacerated by countless tiny cuts.
There was not a moment to spare. The summoners vanished in a flash of light, then reappeared across the balcony. They fired a volley of icy arrows, but were unable to hit the man as he took shelter behind the railing. He drank the last of his Estus, then leapt over the balcony and plummeted to the ground, twin swords in hand. He landed on the wounded Nephel, softening his fall, and drove both blades through its boneless head. It writhed in its death-throes before dissipating into mist.
Upon seeing this, the summoners instantly teleported beside the Lucid One, flanking him. He blocked their thrusts with each sword, halting the pointed tips mere inches from his face. With a twist, he slipped under the bidents, reversed his sword-grip, and rammed both blades through their stomachs. He rose behind them and impaled the back of one's head, reducing it to a cloud of dewdrops.
The last summoner disappeared, then materialized behind the swarm, where it began its ritual dance. The Lucid One felt the hairs on his neck rising. He was already outnumbered, he could not allow the angel to summon anything else.
A shriek broke his thoughts as the last Nephel lashed out, slimy tentacles flailing overhead. He dove out of range, then sprinted towards the summoner. Monsters clawed and grabbed at him as he ran past, threatening to drag him down. He hacked at the grasping hands, then stomped on a face before leaping onto a stone bench, using them to hop over the crawling creatures. One snagged his leg and sent him tumbling, landing face-first on the tiles. As one, the fiends flooded towards him.
Instinctively, the Lucid One twirled on his back, using his arms and legs as momentum. The twin blades slashed through the nearest creatures in a whirlwind, causing the others to retreat. In an instant, the man was back on his feet, and his focus returned to the summoner. There was no more time. Without thinking, he threw his right sword as hard as he could. It spun through the air and dug itself into the angel's chest, shattering the mirror which hung from its neck. The dance faltered, and the summoner wavered. Before it could recover, the second sword sliced vertically through its mask, erasing it from this world.
The warrior faced the remaining enemies, only to find an icy gale rushing towards him. There was no time to dodge, so he grabbed his shield and braced for impact. To his surprise, the magic burst over him harmlessly, and he suffered nothing more than a chill. Memories of his fight in the woods resurfaced, of the white phantom swatting aside magic as if it were nothing. The shield was no doubt enchanted. With this knowledge in mind, he retrieved his sword from the ground, sheathed it, and charged.
Just before he collided with the swarm, he took a sharp right and dashed behind the pillars. The crawling things could not keep up with his speed as long as he steered clear of them. The Nephel continued to fire frost arrows, but it could not strike him through the columns. He raced across the chamber untouched and rounded the last bend with shield raised.
The moment he left cover, the Nephel conjured a swirling ring of ice. Skidding to a halt, the man braced for impact as the spell slammed into him like an avalanche. Though the shield's magic warded him from the cold, it could not withstand the heavy shards that pummeled them. Just before the spell dissipated, his strength gave out, and his guard flew wide.
In that instant, the Nephel slithered forward with terrifying speed and enveloped the man in its tentacles. At its mere touch, his body went stiff and unresponsive. He could do nothing but stare as the monstrosity lifted its jeweled veil, exposing something that was not quite a mouth, yet parted hungrily all the same. In a flash, a needle burst from its orifice and pierced through his neck, so thin and precise that he felt only a slight tug as it slid between his vertebrae.
Then, it hit him. Not the numbing pain, not the warm bleeding, but the cold ebbing of his very essence. This thing was drinking his soul.
The creature dropped him as it reeled back, tendrils quivering in some grotesque ecstasy. The man struggled to stand, to strike back, but his body would not respond. He barely had the strength to crawl away as the congregation surged ever closer, and the Nephel recovered from its rapturous convulsions. A tentacle wrapped around his ankle, dragging him in, then more slammed against his shield with surprising force. The warrior grimaced as he pushed back to no avail, unable to halt the frantic assault.
Using one knee to support his shield, he grasped for his cane with a free hand. He tore it from his belt and fired off one sound bolt, but not at the Nephel. The invisible spell rippled through the air and struck the statue of Samaras, leaving a web of cracks upon impact. Instantly, the blows ceased, and the Nephel turned in alarm as the cracks began to spread. Pieces fell to the floor, first in flakes, then chunks, then an entire arm. The tentacled horror wailed as the torso crumbled, and the head rolled from its shoulders, shattering against the tiles.
The Nephel was too distracted by this blasphemous act to notice the swords scraping together. The blades ignited into dark-blue flame and struck with blinding speed, severing tentacles with each swing. The Lucid One unleashed all his desperation in the onslaught, jaw stretched in a silent scream. He cut, and cut, and cut, until he realized there was nothing left. The creature had already faded into mist, fallen to his blind fury.
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The angel-slayer heaved in exertion, face dripping with sweat and silver blood. On the brink of death, he faced the last of the congregation, but to his surprise, the moaning creatures were retreating, watery eyes locked on their slaughtered brethren as they crawled back to the shadows. The Lucid One hesitantly lowered his swords. As much as he loathed letting them go, pursuing them in his state was too risky. Instead, he retrieved his shield and cane from the floor, then turned his attention to the altar.
Upon the white-clothed table was an assortment of offerings, with a silver basin as its centerpiece. Beside it was a surprisingly familiar object, a decanter of silver and gold, exactly like the one he found in the Inquisitor's torture chamber so long ago. Recalling its miraculous healing properties, it was all he could do to not consume it immediately. Instead, he stored it inside one of his empty belt pouches for safekeeping.
As he did so, an unwelcome thought crept into his mind. He remembered drinking the silvery contents of the last bottle, identical in every way to the metallic water within the basin. Identical to the pale blood of the Nephel that now stained the chamber floor.
He fought the sudden urge to retch and forced the revelation from his mind, then continued to search the altar. There was one more item of note, a damp and moldy tome that looked like it would tear at the slightest touch. Despite this, the Lucid One dared to lift its cover, along with some wet pages that clung to it. Much of the book was ruined, its contents smeared and illegible, yet the second half was surprisingly intact. He carefully closed the book, noting the seven-spoked wheel on its cover, and this too was placed into his pouches.
The last item to catch his eye was a key, its golden gleam standing out amidst the abundance of silver. As he took it, by chance, he spotted something unusual behind the base of the broken statue. Like most of the temple, vines snaked across the wall, save for one arched, barren section. The stone surface appeared no different, yet the vines did not grow there. In fact, they grew straight into the wall itself.
As he studied this curiosity, he reached out to touch the blank stone. To his surprise, his hand passed right through. The entire wall faded from view, revealing a dark and damp corridor which led to the soothing light of a lantern.
He glanced back to make sure the creatures were not following him, then eagerly approached the beacon. It sat within an enclosed, barren space, devoid of decoration or embellishment. Only a single statue loomed behind the lantern, depicting a strange Nephel of less monstrous proportions. The tentacles of its head swept back neatly from a jeweled tiara, and an orchid veil hid its face. Nearly every inch of its body was covered in elegant silks and ornaments, concealing its hideous form. Its arms curled before it in a strange gesture, as if embracing something that was not there.
The Lucid One gave it little thought. Sleep called to him. He sunk beside the lantern, closed his weary eyes, and let the bell's soft timbre ferry him back to the dream.
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When he awoke, the Well Maiden was nowhere to be found.
The shrine was curiously vacant, though otherwise unchanged. The man helped himself to the well water, then took a moment to sort through his findings, spreading out the various books and trinkets he had gathered since his last visit. Two rotten tomes, a healing elixir, a handful of frosty flowers, one peculiar silver bell... and a dried eyeball. He returned all but the books to his pouches, then studied the spells he had found on the dead Falmour pilgrim.
To his surprise, he could actually make out these diagrams, their meanings slowly revealing themselves within his mind. He had no doubt learned these spells long ago, but was only now just remembering them. He was elated at first, then doubtful. As useful as this new magic would be, it was another troubling reminder of some past life long forgotten. What other knowledge lay buried in the depths of his mind? What secrets eluded his recollection?
It was useless to dwell on such things. Only time could uncover the truth. Instead, the man took the second tome, its pages filled with alien glyphs and symbols, and approached the white tree. For this task, he would require Ryn's aid.
The serpent lounged in its usual spot, draped across the barren branches. Though its lidless eyes were open, the snake did not react, and the Lucid One wondered if it was sleeping. Then, the tiny head jerked towards him, and its forked tongue flickered.
"Is that you, silent one? Hm, there is something changed about you. I hardly recognize you. Your taste... You taste of salt, of tears and blood, of innocence lost. How peculiar, and yet familiar..."
For once, the Lucid One was grateful he could not speak, for he had no response to the snake's strange observations. Instead, he raised the tome in offering.
"Yes, yes," the snake sighed, "Place it here, let me see... Oh. Oh my, scripture of the Seven? So you have found them... the cursed children of Samaras. I was wondering if you'd end up lost, or worse, remain there of your own volition. Heed my words, do what you must and be rid of that place. Those poor, poor souls. They know not what they've become. To take the form of that which others desire most... you'd think it grand, would you not? But woe to the desires that dwell within the dark heart of man."
Its scaly tail flicked another page. "Shame. The earlier stories are all but ruined. Still, I will do my best to translate them for when you next return. As for the rest, they should pose little problem, but be wary of the knowledge they impart. Such magic was born from a chilling hatred, a bitter grievance. Such terrible emotions resonate even to this day. Tapping into such a power will not come without its price."
The Lucid One bowed in thanks, then left the serpent to his studies. He continued to look for the absent Well Maiden, wondering where she could have possibly gone in this empty abyss. He peered over the mountain's edge, gazing down at the bottomless shadows, but found nothing. Then, as he approached the titan smith's room, the ground trembling beneath his feet, he saw her.
The Well Maiden was poised before Volk's window. She was speaking, but it was impossible to hear her words over the titan's thunderous hammering. As he waited, the tremors died down, and the giant's baritone reply echoed beneath the mountain.
"Yes, little one. It cry. Hammer hurt. But hammer make new. New shape. New dream. No more cry."
"I can feel it... reaching... It calleth to me. It yearneth to be whole once more."
"No mind. Finish soon. New shape, new dream. Just like little one."
"And the awakened? What of their dreams? What shape might they assume?" The titan remained quiet. "We must be made whole. We must return home, to quell the echoes of the fallen. When shall we be freed? When shall it all end?"
"It end, and it begin. Like us."
"Nay, Volk... not all of us."
Another sound drowned out their speech. The Lucid One winced as a swelling vibration filled his skull, piercing his mind like a thousand needles, and the dream escaped him.
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He stood amongst the mutilated bodies, shoulders heaving, stained once more in silver blood. The Nephel and their minions lay in pieces around him, severed tentacles still squirming. He had awakened at the lantern only to find the congregation returned en masse, so he set about killing them all over again. The massacre happened so quickly, so fluidly, it may as well have been another dream.
He flicked the blood from his sword before sheathing it, then took a sip of his sapphire flask, washing away the few injuries he had suffered. Then, he made his way back to the locked doors above. As he suspected, the golden key fit, and they swung open to reveal a lengthy corridor leading to a spiral staircase.
It was a long climb to yet another corridor, but this one lay exposed to the outside, its ceiling held aloft by pillars instead of walls. Flakes of snow drifted between the spacious openings, gently carried by a cold breeze. He was near the peak of the shrine, far above the island below. The Lucid One gazed over the forest, obscured by frosty mist, leaving only the treetops and auroras visible. The stillness was unsettling. He continued forward with sword and shield in hand, towards the gilded double doors at the other end.
It was only a few steps before the silence was broken by the beating of wings. Something soared past the corner of his eye, but was gone in a blink. Another shape darted just out of sight. The man watched all directions at once, pausing uncertainly in the wide open, deciding if he should retreat or make a run for the doors ahead.
Before he could decide, a pale demon swooped into the hall, bony spear in hand. It was the same as the wretched fiends that brought him here, with blackened hands and feet, spiny wings, and a fleshy lump for a head that engulfed its eyes, if it even had any. The thing shrieked as it hurled its spear, crackling with lightning, and the Lucid One tumbled beneath it into a charge.
As swiftly as it appeared, the demon flew off, but another soon took its place. This one hovered outside the pillars, flinging its spear through the openings. Again, the warrior avoided it, but a third struck him from behind, impaling his lower back. He winced as electricity surged through him, and he tore it free as yet another projectile streaked past his face. The air was filled with flapping and cackling as the demons flocked around the intruder. They kept out of range, bombarding him with their twisted weapons, taunting him from afar.
He made his choice. The Lucid One dashed madly for the doors, leaping and tumbling over spears as they staked into the stonework. One of the creatures flew into his path, but he deflected its thrust and left a deep gash in its stomach. Just as he reached the doors, two more fiends leapt in from either side, jabbing high in a cross-shape. The man slid to the ground beneath them, laying on his shield like a sled, and with both feet kicked open the golden doors.
His momentum carried him into the next room, and in an instant, he rose and prepared for the next attack. However, though he was within range of their weapons, the demons fell back. They hissed and bared their teeth, but would not pursue him into the room. Instead, they slunk through the pillars and returned to their rooftop perches.
As he turned, he understood why.
He was alone in a lavish throne room. The walls were adorned with deep-purple banners, while a matching carpet led to a pair of thrones atop a dais – the left wrought from gold, the right silver. The path was lined by jewel-tipped stands which cast an eerie glow across the marble surfaces, causing their cloudy streaks to shift and flow in illusory patterns.
Despite the stunning display of royalty, the Lucid One's gaze was drawn to a pair of massive treasure chests on either side of the room. He carefully made his way towards the one on the right, keeping watch for any traps or surprises, then lifted its cover with equal care. In a stroke of good fortune, the chest was unlocked, and fell open to reveal its gleaming contents.
The man marveled at the treasures. There were not only piles of coin and gemstones, but also extravagant jewelry and ornaments, crowns and pearl necklaces. Flower heads were scattered across the top, each petal perfectly coated in metallic amber. It was the most wealth he had ever seen, but ironically, it was all worthless to him. Gold held little value in this realm of the dead and undying.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the slightest of movements. His reaction was slowed by sheer disbelief. One of the decorative stands was sliding towards him.
Before he could turn, the stand burst into silver mist, and a heavy mace slammed into his back. The Lucid One dropped to his knees, pain shooting through every nerve, then a blow to the head sent him sprawling. His vision filled with blood and bright spots, obscuring the armored figure that approached. He had just enough sense to roll away as the heavy mace came down again, crashing through the marble tile with deadly force.
The sorcerer shook his sight clear and confronted this new foe. The knight was clad head to toe in immaculate golden armor, face concealed behind a crowned helm. A woolen cloak hung from his shoulders, fastened by a pair of decorative arms which embraced his broad chest. He wielded a gaudy gold scepter with flanged spikes, adorned with gems of all shapes and colors.
The guardsman retrieved a parchment from his belt, held it flat in his palm, then struck it with his mace. The crushed amber inside crackled to life, enveloping the weapon in electric energy. Without a word, he attacked.
The Lucid One leapt back as the hammer swung past, barely missing him. The next blow collided with his shield, almost knocking him down. He lashed out with a sword, hardly scraping the knight's sturdy cuirass, then deflected another blow, numbing his arm to the bone. Suddenly, the knight grabbed the shield and slammed his mace down, snapping one of the straps and ripping it free. He threw the bent metal aside as he continued his merciless assault.
There was barely room to dodge in the enclosed area. It was all the man could do to retreat and avoid the deadly scepter, swinging steadily as a pendulum. He blocked an overhead strike with crossed blades, but a plated fist slammed into his face, collapsing his nose and spraying red across the knight's polished armor. As the Lucid One swallowed blood and teeth, the same fist snatched his collar and drew him back in, mace poised to crush his skull.
The tip of the inquisitor's cane tapped against the golden helm. The knight barely flinched as an invisible bolt rippled through the metal, but a second later, he released the trespasser and stumbled back, head bowed as blood streamed from his visor.
The sorcerer seized the opening. This time, he cast his new spell, gleaned from the pages of the pilgrim's spellbook. His cane shone bright as he swung it like a sword, and from its pommel emerged a thin blade of light. It passed through the knight's armor without resistance, leaving no sign of injury, but the man continued to swing the weightless blade in rapid succession. Soon enough, trickles of red leaked from the joints.
The mute knight finally broke his silence. He roared as he gripped his mace with both hands, then swung wildly in defiant desperation. The Lucid One fell back once more, but the moment his opponent swung too wide, he tumbled past and drove a sword into the back of his knee, finding a chink in the armor. He thrust his cane just below the ribs, and the blade of light burst out the other side before disappearing just as quickly.
Still, the guardian did not falter. He swung behind him, hoping to catch the Lucid One as he rose, but the sorcerer deftly caught his arm and drove the sword into his exposed armpit, pushing until it struck the underside of his pauldron. The knight arched in pain as his mace clattered to the floor, then the ephemeral blade swept through his neck.
The gilded warrior finally fell to his knees, grasping at his throat. The Lucid One lifted the scepter from the ground and raised it high above his head, wavering from its weight, then brought it down on the knight's helm. The gold plating crumpled as the flanged spikes pierced it like paper.
The sorcerer released the mace and stumbled back, gasping for breath. It remained firmly lodged in the knight's skull as he wavered, then pitched forward, falling at the foot of the golden throne in a pool of red.
Once he was sure that the knight would not rise again, the Lucid One dragged himself to his feet and retrieved his shield, bent and useless. He could only pray that Volk would help repair it. He drank from his flasks, restoring both health and energy, and allowed himself a moment of pride. Even when ambushed, he had emerged victorious. Even against a seasoned knight, a timeless guardian of some forgotten lord, he had prevailed. He could hardly recall that feeble, terrified man who had crawled from his glass prison so long ago.
With the battle won, he sheathed his weapons and eagerly approached the second treasure chest. When he opened it, he found only fangs.
Before he could comprehend what he was seeing, a pair of sinewy arms sprang from its sides and pulled him headfirst into the gaping maw, kicking and squirming, helpless as the crooked teeth chomped down again and again. There was a wet crunch as something gave way, and he lost all feeling in his legs. The last thing he heard was a malicious, impish cackle.
Then, there was only silence.
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Appendix
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Amber Resin — A parchment of crushed amber resin that applies lightning to a weapon. Commonly used in the lands of Aurimil, whose armies worshipped the Illuminator, until the arrogance of one king led to the great city's downfall.
Backbone Spear – Twisted spear favored by the Spinewing Demons, malformed descendants of the Nephel. Crafted from bone and imbued with the power of lightning. This weapon suggests some blasphemous relation to the Demon of Light, but the demons were all but eradicated in the distant age.
Chameleon – A peculiar sorcery discovered in the land of Aurimil. Transforms the caster into an inconspicuous object. This spell seems born of mischief, but could inspire those with harmful intent.
Flashsword – A unique melee sorcery. Creates an ephemeral blade of souls that can be swung rapidly. The pilgrims of Falmour knew their journeys would tread upon dangerous territory, and devised this spell as a means of defense.
Sovereign Scepter – A ceremonial scepter carried by Odis, the King's Usher. It is exquisitely crafted from gold and adorned with jewels. When his kingdom fell to ruin, Odis sought out the only family he had left, and now guards their secrets with undying devotion.
Testament of the Seven – A weathered tome of the Nephel, scribed by the first seven. It records the miracles of Samaras, and later, her children's descent into heretical sorceries. Lamentably, much of the tome's earlier chapters have become lost to antiquity. Only the final tales of betrayal are preserved.
Vortex – A sorcery of the Nephel. Fires a slow-moving vortex of frozen souls. Threatens a wide area and stuns enemies, making it effective against mobs. Many awakened were drawn to the holy lands of the Propagator, but only one has ever returned.