"I trust you've learned your lesson..."
Vilhelm's blade had sliced perfectly between the unkindled's helm and mail. The knight slumped under their own weight, black-red blood gurgling forth upon the ground.
He flicked free a bloody chunk of throat from his twined steel. "Inside the cold painting, curiosity could be your cross..."
And they were gone.
Always as soon as he looked elsewhere. Once the Ashen One stilled, even a glance in a new direction would spirit the corpse back across the bridge. Around the bend. At an ever-burning bonfire.
The blizzard across the gorge hid all but a faint amber glow. If he stared close, he swore the wind would whisp around the knight's shape as they remerged from the fog.
Their new life was just as short as the last.
Ash had revealed a holy catalyst, waving it uselessly once Vilhelm's spell struck.
They just as quickly abandoned their magics, reaching for the hilt of their scabbard blade. A slight turn, as the arm jerked across their chest. Exposing the sword arm's pit. His slice was clean but short. The Ash howled louder than the storm, their arm now dangling by mutilated muscle.
Ash was had. They both knew it. Always, always, always…every time, the damned knight would slump onto the ground, already dejected by their early loss.
He hated them. Every time.
They had turned their duel into another abominable façade of undeath. No longer was the risk of life or limb considered. This time, and every time, Ash merely surrendered to the killing blow, never satisfying.
Only the moment's blink between Ash's death and life was there peace. The gaps in time were random. Even staring with the hardest intent, Vilhelm never saw the knight emerge fully from the blizzard. Every. Time. No matter how short the moment. In even a half blink, just as vision blurred, once he opened his eyes fully…Ash would now be halfway across the bridge. Halfway to their next demise.
Now, their claymore clattered uselessly upon the ground. The parry was perfect. Doubly so, his repost. The onyx blade freshly impaled from kidney to heart. The Ash spasmed to death from shock.
An arm outstretched squeezing Vilhelm's shoulder. Deep, wet growls guttered from the unkindled's mouth. Could their full helm wrinkle like a man's face, it would surely be in agony. Vilhelm could stand it no longer. Snapping his head to one side, looking anywhere but in front of him.
And the weight wafted away with the wind. Even the gore was gone.
After that, Ash appeared wearing thick black iron. Sheets of solid metal, beaten and warped to encase them.
Vilhelm's black flame bothered them less. They traded rattling strikes more often, both stumbling equal feet.
Ash dragged its blade across the ground, slicing up towards his neck.
Vilhelm stumbled, crawling up the chapel steps as the indominable wretch prowled closer. His sword, snagged, parried, and so easily disarmed shot free his hand and clamoured across the floor
No choice now. He raised the dark hand of Londor.
His hand did not slice, bludgeon, nor invade the space beside Ash's unbeating heart. Merely, his blood-drenched wrist appeared now, utterly encased in the unknindled's chest. Had they remained permanently still, no injury would be ever suffered. It was the act of removal which could ravage entire civilizations.
With the broken bones. With the sludge of human mire. Within the life's blood of the unkindled ash was the very essence of the soul. Stolen and embraced. After all that terrible destruction, the body vanished just as easily as he blinked.
And there was peace. Just long enough that Vilhelm daggered stares in every direction. Scouring the chapel and surrounding cliffs for signs of the unkindled. The Ash had finally vanished. Hopefully hollowed away in a ruin. Or even better, ripped to shreds by a corvian.
His vigil remained. Not only for the unkindled, but for any wayward hollow which dare challenge his lady, and Father Ariandel.
The dark hand never worked again. Nor his healing spells. Nor Friede's black flame. Much their latest bout was a horrific melee, screams, and blood all in equal measure. It was the closest to true combat he ever felt. Technique, athleticism, style…all crumbled against the vigors of combat. Each traded blow, each smash of blades, reforged the two into war iron. Smelted only in the fury of black fire.
Londor's secrets festered within him. Each blaze was a shard of himself. With each use, he felt the hollowing eek further. His body fought on. Friede's protection slowly forgotten, but Vilhelm's body fought on. For no other reason than to simply end the hostile unkindled.
He was sluggish. Missing the three slashes by an arm's length. Forcing back a memory of his blade's stratagem Vilhelm swung with two hands, engulfing everything in front of him.
A small smile etched across his cheek. He had not slowed. His skills had not been forgotten. His armour remained immaculately cared for. His victory was assured.
Now, unmistakably impaled through his liver was the unkindled's sword. Vilhelm's strength failed him. Now slouched against the Ash, his mind alit once more. Searching, scowering the last moments of their duel for the fatal err.
Only now did the unkindled's failures fall within any sense of logic. Intent or not, Vilhelm's fevered antagonism had reforged the undying wretch. A beast of his own making, and defeat.
The grown Ash was faster… Stronger.
They took great pain to gently seat him. Skewering aside, the fire's champion offered every chivalry to the losing dualist. With a gentle bow, the unkindled trudged down the stairs, leaving the dark flame's knight to die.
"Forgive me, my Lady..." He wheezed through the agony.
It was only as he spoke, did Vilhelm realize the true terror which now awaited his Lord.
"I swore an oath, but I have failed you...Lady Elfriede..."
