Chapter 22: A King's Final Death and his Dark Secret

The journey through the Iron Keep was fairly unexciting. The Alonne Knights knelt before Mytha and heeded her wishes while the Ironclad Knights were too slow to be a threat thanks to the myriad of ranged attacks the group had amassed.

As such, the going was easy. Crossing over in a refinery that was attached to the castle, the group followed Mytha's lead over to a closed door and revealed an empty room with one of those face-walls.

"I want to check on something before we keep going," Mytha said, placing a hand into the 'mouth' and channeling large amounts of magical energy into it. Its eyes glowed and soon the wall lit up and then faded, showing a ladder.

"Up here is the entrance to the Belltower where Carlyle was imprisoned," the queen explained to the watching Undead.

"Tales talk about how the prince of Alken was imprisoned for loving the princess of Venn. What was the real story behind it all?" Chloanne asked. Mytha sighed and paused before the ladder, deciding to reveal some history.

"Alken and Venn were once a single kingdom many centuries ago, long before the Giants invaded. But the founding king had two sons, and they argued and warred and split their father's domain apart and named themselves kings. After the Giants came though, Drangleic was much weakened. Venn more so than the others, and Castor took the opportunity to invade them and conquer his ancient rival. To add further humiliation onto his foes he imprisoned Princess Alicia in the Lost Bastille. Such a move was done to claim she was less than human; no better than the Undead that were hunted and tortured."

"You said that the prince was communicating with the princess beforehand though. How did that happen?" Erik inquired to which the former snake-woman nodded.

"I do not know how it started, but Carlyle and Alicia were exchanging notes and gifts for a long time. If they had had time, and the Giant's not invaded, it is possible the two could have ended the ancient blood feud through marriage," Mytha said, a warm smile on her lips as she remembered those long past times. It turned to a frown as she continued to remember though. "But Castor had grown bitter due to the war, and when he learned that his son was courting the princess of his arch-rival for years in secret, he flew into a rage and attacked. He used his golems and Smelter Demons to tear apart Venn and raided their knowledge. When Carlyle protested Castor beat him unconscious and locked him into his room, which was here in this tower above us."

Mytha started to climb the ladder and her comrades followed behind, Erik trying to avoid looking up as he did so. At the top was a bonfire which was a welcome sight, and they rested at it and allowed the queen to continue her tale.

"But Carlyle was clever. He built a number of tiny dolls in secret out of scraps and used them to build an enchanted bell, and to ring it. He used these chimes to communicate with his love, and secretly sent a number of his Bell Dwarves to construct one for Alicia. For years they sent sonorous love messages, while I locked myself away in my misery and the kingdom eventually fell. I feel ashamed of that. He and I were friends while I lived here. I doubt we could have had a mother-son relationship due to how close we were in age, but I did consider him one of my fellow allies and companions. I do not know what happened to either of them, and I… I want to know. I need closure."

"One of the souls I collected had memories of this. It seems he fled the tower when the lava rose and supposedly made his way to the Lost Bastille," Erik said, causing Mytha to look at the chef with a hopeful expression.

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly sure. It was said by a man in the robes of a magistrate who claimed as such," Erik said.

"I see. Thank you. But I still want to investigate. Maybe he left something for me behind…" Mytha rose and ascended the second ladder to the higher level, and her friends followed as well. They soon came to a cramped waiting room filled with tiny helmets. Some were dented, others burned. And sitting of a metal bench was a tiny dwarf-like man, wearing the same style of helmet and some thick leather armor. It was staring at Mytha with its mouth open, and on closer inspection the 'flesh' was just paint, with joints barely visible around the mouth and fingers.

"We ring the bell! Forever and ever! We guard it from all! Even you!" The voice of the creature was a shrill screech, and it set the Undead's teeth on edge. Mytha looked furious at the fog gate that barred her path, and looked as if she was about to strike the diminutive doll for impeding her, but it held out a letter to the queen. "A letter! A note! From the Prince for his friend! He said to give it to you and only you! We waited! We guarded! We rang the bell! Khe-heh-heh-heh!"

The dwarf cackled as Mytha took the envelope slowly as if afraid it would turn to dust as she held it. It had been laced with trace amounts of the Repair Sorcery, which was what had kept it intact all these years.

Erik and the rest wisely decided to clamber back down the ladder to the bonfire and wait for the queen to finish reading her letter in private. As they sat around the mystical spot of flames Erik whipped out some pots and pans and made a cold soup for a meal. It would have been impossible without his ice powers to chill the broth and vegetables, what with all the heat oozing from the lava just beyond the pit they hid in. Lucatile and Chloanne were glad to have something to cool them off as they ate, and all the fighting and sweating they'd done worked up an appetite.

Eventually Mytha descended from the Bell Tower, silent and with a far off look to her eyes. She gratefully accepted the bowl offered to her by the chef and she eagerly devoured her meal.

"Did you find what you needed?" Erik asked and the queen swallowed her food before replying.

"Perhaps." She played with her food for a bit before sighing. "What it wrote… none of it makes sense. He claims that… that Castor turned into a Demon."

"The soul memories claim that the Old Iron King fought one when it rose from the lava," Erik pointed out, and the two women nodded as that was the legend passed down in the mainland.

"That was a lie. Or at the very least what they saw was a mistake," Mytha said forcefully and with a bitterness in her words.

"Carlyle claimed that Sir Alonne discovered something extremely dangerous and important pertaining to the First Flame and the Monarch Candidates, and demanded that my husband meet him to discuss it. They vanished for a day, and when Castor finally returned he was badly wounded and bleeding lava," Mytha said, pulling out the note and looking it over again. "Carlyle claims that the earth itself exploded around his father as he died, the earth melting and absorbing him, and the Chaos tainting him."

"You're saying that the Old Iron King became a Demon?" Lucatiel demanded, disbelieving. The ruler of Alken was a legendary figure and his feats were told as lessons for all the knights of Mirrah to emulate. To hear he died and was morphed into a creature of Chaos was almost sacrilege to her.

"So he claims. As much as I don't want to though, I believe Carlyle. I know he would not lie about this. But there is one way to know for sure," Mytha claimed, iron will in her eyes. "We will confront him. I have no doubt that his soul is the one you seek, Erik."

"Very well then. Anything else the prince mentions we should know?" Erik asked.

"He wrote that we should 'investigate the family crypt, the answers we seek should be there,'" Mytha said, folding up the letter and sliding it into her chest cover.

"Then we know where to go." Erik cleaned up the dishes once everyone was done, and then helped Lucatiel and Chloanne up over the lip of the dip. Once they were all up and over, they headed down the ladder and reentered the face-wall room, before striding quickly across the walkways, careful to avoid the pressure plates that would drop them into the roiling sea of flames beneath them. The Alonne Knights fell to their knees as their queen passed by, and the Ironclads just fell, toppled into the lava by the advancing Undead.

Through cramped quarters and past pails of molten metal the adventurers hurried, wasting as little time as possible on the foes arrayed before them. Eventually the found what they were looking for; a hidden part of the Iron Keep's courtyard where the old kings of Alken had been buried in a sepulcher beneath a tiny shrine only the royal family could enter. Mytha had been to the shrine before, and claimed that there was a hidden room somewhere within, but even she had been forbidden to enter it.

Emerging onto the tiled roof of a part of the castle, the group found themselves staring down at the ruined remains of the royal family's shrine. Not even the roof had survived the devastation. All that was left was a pair of doorways and a single small room. A fog gate cut off access to that part where the crypt should be located. They just prayed that it was not submerged in lava.

"Let's do this!" Erik exclaimed, placing his bag down on the ground right beside the gate. The rest followed his example by putting down their baggage before they cried out in support as well and slid through the dampness that divided the area.

A veritable wall of blood lust slammed into the group, their vision going red as Erik and Chloanne fell to their knees from the mental onslaught of fury.

"Get up! Hurry!" Lucatiel cried, shaking both of them out of their stupor. As the knightess did so, Mytha remained fixed on the sea of fire before her, eyes narrowed. This pressure, this blood lust, this soul… without a doubt, it was the same as her husband Castor's, the Old Iron King of Alken.

From the bubbling stone a gargantuan figure rose. Their body was made of liquid iron, superheated and shrouded by the Chaos-fueled lava that surrounded them. The being had an elongated, inhuman face with two long horns jutting from the side of its head. It had large, leathery bat-like wings and it hands ended in razor sharp claws. The Demon glared down at the four Undead who'd intruded on its territory, its fiery gaze lingering on Mytha. It let out a low growl and stomped closer, shaking the ground with each step and sloshing lava about.

Mytha did not bother to wait for the massive Demon to approach any more, and began to shower it with all sorts of Soul Arrows and deadly Sorceries. The queen's face was set in a grim frown, yet a solitary tear flashed to steam on her cheek as she did so.

Even if he had not been the greatest husband, there were still some fond memories of him within Mytha's heart. And with the revelation from Erik about how he had tried at the very end to connect with her, the wife of the Old Iron King felt it was only fair for her to be the one to finish him off.

Erik stepped up beside her as well, recovered from the demonic essence that had slammed into him. He hurled jagged spears of magical ice at the giant form before him, and the chef smirked happily as his Reverse Pyromancy seemed to deal even more damage to the Chaos-filled lava monster than Mytha's mighty Sorceries did. Lucatiel joined in as well, flinging curved arcs of magic from her Blue Flame Sword into the now roaring Demon. Chloanne just glanced at her dinky little Throwing Knives before shrugging and tossing them at the Fog Boss.

The twisted Old Iron King staggered under the assault but raised its right hand in defiance and soon a beam of ravening heat energy lashed towards them. The four Undead threw themselves to the floor, avoiding the blast that melted away a piece of the door frame. Jumping back to their feet they saw that the fallen king had gotten much closer and was now in melee range! He smashed his fists into the ground and tried to pummel the Undead who challenged him. But the damage had already been done.

Its body was leaking glowing ichor from countless wounds, and its movements were sluggish. Erik raised his left hand, palm pointed to the Demon's face, while Mytha aimed her spear and charged up a deadly bolt of magic.

"Good bye, Castor. May you find peace in death," Mytha whispered. The Demon's eyes widened as recognition clicked in its broken mind.

"Sooorrrrrryyyyyy…" the Old Iron King groaned before closing its eyes and accepting the end.

The two Undead fired off their spells together, and their magic suddenly intertwined and melded into a single, new attack as they flew up at the demonic entity! Mytha's Heavy Soul Spear somehow fused with the ice, and it took on a jagged, crystal-like shape not unlike a Crystal Soul Spear but radiating an unearthly chill. The bolt of freezing Sorcery tore through the head of the beast, splitting it in twain and causing it to erupt into a fountain of glowing ichor, molten metal, lava, and souls. As well as a large, heavy iron object that thudded into the floor before their feet. The glorious white life energy rushed into the Undead and they felt their bodies swell with power and vigor. Sighs of relief at their victory went around before the earth started to shake again.

Before their astonished eyes the lava suddenly began to recede. Not by much, but the lake of the stuff dropped several feet and the gushing geysers and waterfalls of the stuff that had ringed the sunken city ceased flowing as well.

"What just happened? Did we just… cure Alken or something?" Lucatiel inquired, utterly bewildered. Erik, Chloanne and Mytha just shrugged.

Like with the Lost Sinner, two massive souls appeared. One was red and black, throbbing with the taint of Chaos but still retaining a faded luster of gold to it. The second, larger soul was like a little bonfire that pulsed and throbbed to an unseen heartbeat, and gave off a feeling similar to the faded Ember in Erik's possession. They both entered the chef, and he closed his eyes, ready to glean the memories.

In the woods around Alken a young man, barely out of his teens, trained with a wooden sword. He had straight hair, iron grey in color. In spite of his youth the boy was over six feet tall and rippling with muscles. He grunted with exertion, before throwing the training weapon to the ground.

"Useless! What good is practicing with a flimsy shard of tree?! Why does father insist?"

"There is much that can be learned from training, even with a simple tool such as that." A voice with a lilting accent broke through the trees accompanied by a laugh.

The young man jumped in surprise and spun to face the man who'd snuck up on him, fists raised in a brawler's stance.

"Who goes there?!"

Out of the shadows of the trees a tall man stepped out, clad in exotic armor and with a curved sword at his side. He had his hands raised in a placating gesture to show he meant no harm.

"I did not mean to startle you, young sir! I am merely a wandering swordsman from a land far to the east. I saw you were having difficulties training, and thought I could help."

"Oh? And how could a nameless foreigner possible teach me anything?" The boy sneered. The man just laughed, removing his helmet. The face beneath was only a few years older than the boy's, with dark black hair and slanted eyes.

"Give me your wooden sword and I will show you." The grey haired youth stared at the newcomer warily before tossing the blade to him. The traveler caught it deftly, and gave it a twirl. He smacked a tree with his foot, shaking leaves from its branches. Suddenly, the man's arm flickered and became a blur, and the leaves were shorn in two equal sized pieces!

The young man stared in shock at the swordsman's actions, picking up one of the sliced leaves.

"How… how did you do this? Who are you?"

"Simply years of practice. As for my name, I am called Alonne."

The grey haired man turned eyes filled with iron onto the foreign blade master with an appraising look.

"Greetings, Alonne. I am Castor Dominik Valn Tark II, Crown Prince of Alken. And I want your blade and your skills!"

The memory shifted, time blurring past in an incomprehensible mess of colors.

King Castor stared down at the white sheet that was now stained with blood. He fell to his knees and wept, cradling the remains of his wife, who'd been crushed to death by the sudden, abrupt invasion of Drangleic by the Giants.

"My lord, there is news from the front lines. Shieldless Lothian under King Vendrick's command has been slain. The Giant King himself brought him low," a tall armored man said, stepping next to the equally massive iron grey haired king. This man was clad in outlandish armor and carried a long katana that even while sheathed shimmered with magic.

"Sir Alonne… leave me." Castor pleaded, still clutching his wife's remains.

"My lord, your men need you! Your kingdom needs you! If the Giants are left unchecked their rampage will claim more lives! Do you want Queen Talia to know her husband abandoned the people he is sworn to protect because he was crying when he should be fighting?!"

Castor roared in anger and lashed out at Sir Alonne with a massive gilded hammer, carved from solid Titanite and inlaid with enchanted metals. The Far Eastern knight leapt back from the blow.

"WHERE ARE THEY?! I WILL GRIND THEM INTO THE DIRT!" The Old Iron King shouted, screaming in blood lust.

The memories shifted again, and the Old Iron King was alone, beaten and bruised. His elegant armor was shattered and he bled from dozens of wounds while his arm hung limply at his side. He stood in bitingly cold wind atop a rocky mountain, surrounded by the corpses of dozens of his men and several Giants.

"Is… that… all?" Castor snarled. When nothing answered, he staggered away, muttering to himself about vengeance and death. He froze and spun around, having sensed a dark force approach. He raised his hammer to smash his attacker, but a meek cry halted his blow. A young woman in tattered black robes cowered beneath him, trembling in fear.

"Who are you?" Castor asked, confused. To his eyes this woman was beautiful, with pale ivory skin and soft black hair, but thin and frail. But to his Soul Sense, he saw a gargantuan writhing mass of Darkness, hungry and untamed. Ready to devour and absorb and smother. But there was an overwhelming sense of Loneliness radiating from her.

"I-I am Nadalia. I saw your fight, and I wanted to tend your wounds," the thin woman whispered. She showed him a vial of Divine Blessing and rolls of poultice smeared bandages to prove her words.

"What are you?" Castor demanded next. The woman looked as if she wanted to keep it a secret, but looking into the piercing grey eyes of the Old Iron King, she relented.

"I am a Daughter of the Dark. I am Loneliness," Nadalia admitted, and something stirred in the empty heart of the warrior king.

One final time, the memories shuddered and shook, and then there was Castor, staggering up the stairs of the crypt, clutching a gaping wound where his heart should have been. His clothes were torn and wounds dotted his body. He worn no crown on his head, and instead had a mad gleam in his eyes. Instead of blood, glowing orange fluid dripped from between his fingers and from his wounds, sizzling as they struck the ground.

"Na…dalia…" He groaned, pulling himself out of the secret room and through the temple. "Must… protect…"

He staggered out into the sunlight of Alken, collapsing to his knees.

"Why… Alonne… This is… not how… it should have ended," He whispered, falling onto his face. He was vaguely aware that the ground was shaking, and it was becoming unbearably hot. He gasped out in pain, turning his eyes to the lone Bell Tower above him in the distance.

"Carlyle… Mytha… what a fool I have been." He closed his eyes and felt his flesh combust. He let fire replace his blood, and iron become his flesh. He offered no resistance to the whispers of the Vile Worm as Chaos filled his mind. He was already dead inside. Always had been since the day his beloved Talia died, and the weak rekindled spark of life that had appeared when Nadalia appeared was snuffed out as his Bride of Ash was cut down by his best friend.

Castor's memories vanished and soon Erik was filled with something unfathomably ancient.

A tall, elegant man crowned with Sunlight stepped before a blazing inferno that spanned the entire world. He removed a flickering glob of energy; a Soul of Light, a gift of the First Flame.

The Solar King and First God rained lightning upon a sky darkened by stone scaled Dragons. His divine bolts tore away their armored skin and they fell, slain. Beside him the Witch of Life brandished her powers to incinerate the Arch-trees while the First Corpse created souls and life within the weakened Ancient Dragons for it to reap.

The First Flame faded and weakened. The Witch had tried and failed to find a solution. Now her Chaos swept across the land, birthing Demons. His Silver Knights fought and fought, their armor turning black with ash and soot. But it was only a stop gap. The Primordial Serpents whispered secrets to him. An answer to rekindle the First Flame and save the world from the Darkness. The Solar King entrusted the fate of the world to his youngest child while he perished to preserve the source of reality for just a little longer. He had to have faith that Mankind would find a way. The Fire must be linked. All Four Lord Souls must be gathered together one more time. Vereor Nox!

The memories faded, and the souls integrated with the Monarch Candidate, giving him great power and a sense of purpose.

Shaking off the effects of two new souls, Erik bent down to pick up the item that had fallen, cooling it off with a gust of freezing wind from his left hand.

It was insanely heavy; it had to weigh at least ten pounds! The artifact was a simple looking key but huge and solid, likely cut from an entire ingot of pure iron. Potent enchantments were melded with the key, infusing it and likely the reason it had not been dissolved by the heat and lava even after all these years.

"Do you recognize this?" Erik asked, showing it to Mytha. The queen just shook her head.

"No, never. Perhaps it fits something down in the family mausoleum?"

With no other leads to go on, the Undead ventured around the corner of the ruined temple and entered the tiny antechamber where a chest and a descending flight of stairs awaited them.

"What did you see when you took my husband's soul?" Mytha asked as they descended, waiting as Erik stopped to ignite a Primal Bonfire hidden in the crypt. Surrounded by the tombs of ancient lords and ladies, Erik pondered on how best to state what he witnessed.

"I saw him meet Alonne, and then him mourning his wife's death. Finally I saw him die. He… he claimed it was done by Sir Alonne." Omitting the part where the Old Iron King met the bizarre woman Nadalia, Erik looked away as Mytha's face fell.

"But… Sir Alonne was loyal to Castor! He would never betray him!"

"I'm sorry, Mytha. But that is what he claimed. I did not see anything else." Erik refused to meet the second queen's eyes. He had seen the person who stole his heart a second time, and kept him from loving the young woman beside him. Of all the things he did not want to reveal, most of all the chef did not want to tell his new friend about the unholy lady of Darkness who had indirectly ruined her marriage.

"Did he at least think of me and Carlyle before he died?" Mytha asked, practically begging. At this Erik turned to her and looked into her eyes.

"Yes," Erik said simply. Mytha smiled sadly and turned away. She thought all her tears had been shed by now. To her surprise, a few more managed to drip down her cheeks.

"What's over here?" Chloanne asked, breaking the mood. Erik and Mytha glanced over to where the ore trader and the knight stood, facing a room filled with graves and a large, hideous altar.

It looked like a round bowl-like surface, with three headless serpents coiled around it. To their shock, it was all made of Titanite, and seemingly a single massive piece of it, based on the lack of joints and connecting pieces.

"What is this thing?" Lucatiel wondered. The object practically thrummed with Darkness and was both tantalizing and repulsive.

Surrounding the altar were several large slabs, also made of Titanite and engraved with delicate text.

"This is… Lore Script!" Erik exclaimed, peering at the closest large tile. Seeing the confused looks of his comrades, his explained its significance.

"Lore Script is the language Lindelt uses to write its holy scriptures, and is the tongue spoken with blessings and rituals. Furthermore most of the oldest Miracles are written in this ancient script! It is the oldest known writing style in the world! Supposedly it originated here, in Drangleic, and was spoken by the gods!"

"What does it say?" Chloanne asked eagerly, and the chef squinted at the words.

"I know some, and it seems fairly basic… *ahem~!* 'Forbidden is the path to the Ancient King's Domain,'" Erik read aloud, eyes tracing over the lines and symbols and moving from one plate to the next. "'With water dry, and path amiss, Woeful Temptation is dismissed. Trespassers will face adversity befitting a Monarch. In Tower of Old Iron King resides a Child of Dark.'"

"Is that it?" Mytha asked when he stopped reading. Erik nodded, just as confused, and looked around the room.

"Yes, it is. The translation is shaky at best, though. The word for 'water' can also be used to describe 'life,' 'souls,' or 'time' depending on the context. The oddest part is that all of them seem to fit. The way the sentences are conjugated and arranged make it look deliberate and not just a case of bad spelling," Erik mused, running a hand over the slab. It was cool to the touch, and the glossy black material felt strangely soft yet hard.

"And that altar thing?" Lucatiel pressed, still unnerved by the centerpiece. Erik turned a frown onto it, also feeling the unease it radiated, but for some reason several of his souls throbbed when he looked at it as if yearning to enter the bowl.

"Well, snakes are often described as 'Imperfect Dragons' by Lindelt scripture, and they symbolize Greed, Gluttony, and Envy," Erik said, racking his brain to remember the old tales and texts of his homeland. "And statues deliberately without heads often represent Ignorance or, if of a person, one who turned to Dark magic or heresy. Finally, the last piece of the puzzle is this; 'Vereor Nox,' an old, old prayer spoken by high ranked Clerics."

Here, Erik pointed out those words which had been scrawled into the bowl's rim, encircling the entire altar.

"It can be translated a variety of ways, from 'I fear' to 'the night is feared,' but the best and most accurate one is 'I, the Darkness, fear myself.'"

"What does that mean?" Chloanne inquired and the chef merely shrugged.

"No idea. A theory states that it refers to the sins of mankind or those belonging to the utterer. Others believe it refers to some long lost legend. No one is sure though. But for it to be here, I think I can safely assume whatever lies beyond is very dangerous, and very old."

"Does this mean that Lindelt is responsible for all of these things in here?" Mytha asked, curious. The chef thought about it for a minute before shaking his head.

"Most likely not. Many of Lindelt's rites and practices were taken from those of Shulva, the Sunken Kingdom. Lindelt was founded by refugees of that nation which once resided here in Drangleic, and it is likely the people of Shulva took those teachings from some other place. Plus, despite the impressive condition of everything, this all feels ancient. As if whoever made it did so millennia past."

"What now, then?" Lucatiel asked.

"I don't know. The souls in me are resonating with the altar, so maybe I should touch it…" Erik mused, reaching out. Before anyone could tell the Undead chef how bad an idea that was, a bluish white flame sprang to life in the center of the bowl and leapt out, flooding the room and wrapping around the people present. With a sickening lurch not unlike the transportation effects of the bonfires, Erik and his companions were dragged across leagues, before being deposited in a dimly lit catacomb.

Woozy from the sudden stop, Erik felt bile rise to his mouth but held it in.

"Where are we?" He gagged out, his tongue still stained with the acidic taste of his lunch coming to greet them.

"I have no idea," Mytha admitted, looking around. "But I feel something. And it is old and Dark…"

Author's Note: The bit about the meaning/translation of 'Vereor Nox' came from a very interesting post on the Dark Souls wiki by an Anonymous poster. It is very interesting, and should definitely be checked out. Just type in 'Vereor Nox' into Google and it should be the first or second result.