Chapter 46: Mirror Mirror on the Wall
"I can't believe you pulled off that maneuver!"
"I know! And did you see when the archer hit his own companion because Erik slid under the legs?"
"That was awesome! But so was the moment when he tricked the swordsman to destroy the platform the archer was on, causing it to fall and impale itself on the ceremonial weapons below it!"
"But that wouldn't have been possible without Erik turning the floor icy with his Cryomancy!"
Erik hunched over with a crimson face as he walked along the hallway, his party all chatting excitedly about his remarkably one-sided victory over the Dragonriders. He could feel the shame of their souls that now resided within him, and the amusement from the first Dragonrider he had vanquished.
"My favorite part was when Nashandra's face turned purple! I haven't seen her look so poleaxed since that time she found out her lover Hurin the Handsome was gay!"
"I remember that. Didn't she burn down his kingdom when she found out?"
"Now I wish I hadn't won," Erik sighed in embarrassment as conversation and praise towards him continued.
Not to mention many of the ghostly servants had been watching since Nashandra's spell had influenced all the mirrors in the castle. So the wraith-like staff had seen his victory, and were now whispering about him as they phased through the walls and floors, the maidens blushing somehow as the men gave him impressed looks. They thought he was his ancestor, but still. Pretty awkward all the same.
"Buck up, Erik! You earned the praise! After all, you trained hard and won through your own skills," Mytha assured the chef. He gave the dark skinned giantess a weak grin.
Their path through the castle was relatively unmolested. Several traps and tricks simply let them through, and the Hollows had pulled back and did not bother the 'guests' of the castle and its queen.
The party was now on the way to the secret entrance to the Underworld, an ancient burial site from the days of the First Flame and the Lord Souls.
According to Nadalia, the font of knowledge in the group, this region was once the site of the shrine that held the Kiln where the First Flame was hidden and the entrance to the catacombs Nito, the God of Death, had ruled. Known as Firelink Shrine in ages long gone, it now was replaced with a new castle, which in turn had been built on the ruins of an even older building, and so on.
The souls of the King, Witch, Dragon, and Nito had been melancholy as they looked on at what had once been theirs, now all but forgotten and buried by countless other fallen kingdoms.
"Does anyone else hear singing?"
Benhart's question broke everyone out of the festive mood they'd been in, causing everyone to strain their ears. A faint, harmonic tune drifted through the winding halls, filling everyone with inexplicable melancholy.
"I too hear it," Vengarl admitted after a moment. "It also sounds very familiar. As if… but no, it couldn't be…"
"What?" Erik asked, sensing the hesitation in the Red Lion's tone.
"The last time I heard this song, it was being performed by a group of beautiful women whom had been contracted by Vendrick. And by 'contracted' I mean kidnapped. They were also not human. Rather, they were aspects of Death itself. The Milfanito, Daughters of the Crypt."
Erik blinked and felt Nito's soul stir. "That name… they were the ones Nito told me to find!"
"He did?" Nadalia asked, recalling when he'd obtained the Lord Soul of Death below the Gutter.
"Yes. His words to me were to find his sons and daughters, whom I'd recognize by their name. They are servants of death and their title has 'Nito' in it, so I have to assume these are them."
Then let us find this maiden!" Benhart said gallantly. Everyone else nodded with various degrees of enthusiasm.
The source of the singing was finally found, secreted away in the tallest tower of the castle and up an elevator only normal sized humans could traverse. Which meant only Erik and Benhart. And even then the Jugonan knight had to be careful to keep his massive sword inside at all times so it didn't damage the mechanisms, or the wall.
Finally though the pair reached the top and they stepped through to investigate the sound.
"Hello? Is anyone th- holy shit!" Erik gaped in revulsion at the sight before him. Benhart looked ill. A cage. Massive, and shaped like a birdcage, there was a thin brown haired young woman trapped inside, eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer.
That was not what caused the chef to recoil and the knight to worry about his stomach.
Chained to the door of the cage was a… something. It was not a man, though it took the vague shape of one. It had no face, save for an empty slot where one should be. It groaned and moaned in time to the song the imprisoned woman sang, mournful and desperate and longing.
"What is that?" Erik whispered. He had come across many strange and foul things in his time in Drangleic. Giant rats. Giant spiders. Hollows stitched and smashed together. Beings deformed by Chaos and Dark alike.
But this? This was worse. It still seemed human. It still looked and sounded human. But it was not. And that made it so much more terrible to the cook.
"Oh, young travelers. It seems you have stumbled far to find me. And you, with my father's soul. Have you come to save me?" The voice was spoken to the pair, but it echoed in their minds instead of their ears. Erik nodded slowly, confirming the telepathic inquiry.
"If I can, then I will. But before that, please, tell me: What is this?" The chef gestured to the malformed being chained to the cage's door.
"That is a man who once loved us," the imprisoned Milfanito explained. "He was enamored with our song and our beauty. But he was a priest, sworn to celibacy and the gods."
The woman's voice became sad and her song echoed the change in emotions.
"A member of King Vendrick's court, the Master of Ceremonies, he feared giving in to temptation and so bound himself to this cage after locking us inside it so he could not touch us."
"Alright then, I'll just burn him and the door away and we'll get you out of here," Erik said, holding out his left palm where fires sprang to life.
"No, don't!" the Milfanito cried out. "His lust and madness twisted and broke his very soul! He bound himself to me, and should he perish or the door be opened without the key he made from his soul I would perish as well! And if I die, then the sorority is down to three, and my sisters would not be able to contain It."
"It?" Erik asked, pausing from setting the abomination ablaze.
"A Demon of Chaos, born in the days when the Bed of Chaos was first made, and hidden in the Dark ever since. It had gorged on souls and wallowed in Death. Only the song the four of us sing can contain it and pacify the countless lost souls."
"Then where is this key?" Benhart inquired.
"Lost, and then stolen by the Demon of Song."
Erik sighed. "And where is the Demon?"
"Do not worry unduly, young one," the Milfanito said with a smile. "Its lair is in the place you head towards: the Shrine of Amana, which leads to the Undead Crypt where our brothers stand vigil over Vendrick and the Others."
"Convenient," Erik said with a roll of his eyes. "Very well then. We shall find the key and free you soon."
"So, did you find her?" Mytha asked when the chef and knight returned. Erik nodded with a look of annoyance on his face. After explain what he had learned, the annoyance was plastered on everyone else's.
"A Demon from the days of the Witch of Izalith which has not only absorbed the powers of the Abyss but also that of Death? I had no idea something like that even existed!" Alsana said in shock.
"It would be unfathomably powerful," Elana agreed. "And to think these 'Milfanito' are the only thing that has kept it contained. Remarkable."
"So you've never heard of them before?" Erik asked, incredulous. Surely they'd have had to encounter each other before, right?
"We may be ancient, Erik Potts, but we do not know everything," Nadalia scolded as the group continued through the castle.
"Indeed. We have traveled far and wide, but generally avoided being close to the site of the Kiln which houses the First Flame," Elana explained. "It makes sense that if anything, that which we know not of would be under our very noses. And these children of Nito dwell where our sole weakness hides. It only makes sense for us not to know of them until now."
"They also seem rather reclusive," Vengarl added. "I only saw them a few times, usually when they were entertaining guests at a banquet. I only knew they were inhuman because I overheard other knights discussing that fact."
Raime grunted and nodded. He too only knew a little about the mysterious maidens. One day, they'd just appeared beside King Vendrick, and only he and Velstadt knew who they were and where they had come from. The king, enamored with the power they held and the secrets they represented, had ordered them to be detained. Vengarl was ordered to kidnap them, but he only obtained one. Not that the Red Rust Knight had tried very hard. He had morals, few that they were.
After a bit more traveling, the group found their way to what Vengarl claimed was the old arena and proving grounds. Guarded by animated statues, but they were easily dealt with. There was also a Fog Gate, which according to the mercenary was blocking a path to the ancient ruins the castle had been built on top of.
"The foe we face is a strong one," the rusted knight stated. "If nothing has changed, then this is where the Mirror Knight awaits. An odd Golem made by Vendrick and Aldia to test the mettle of the castle's knights."
"I want to face it alone," Erik said suddenly. Everyone froze and looked at the chef who had a determined glint in his eyes.
"I fought the Dragonrider's, but we can all agree they were not a true test of my skills," the chef explained. "If this being was used to test men like Raime and yourself, Vengarl, then I want to be able to prove I am worthy enough to continue on the path of the Monarch Candidate."
"You are worthy, though!" Mytha protested, everyone else nodding their heads. "You saved me and countless others through your wits and cooking, not to mention you wield long forgotten magic as if it was nothing!"
"I need to do this," Erik said firmly. "I need to prove this to myself, and the souls I carry. I know I'm not weak, but I'm not strong either. Luck will only carry me so far."
He stepped up to the Fog Gate and pressed a hand to it. "You can watch, but please, do not interfere."
His piece said, he let the cloying wet touch of the mist drag him through onto the other side.
The first thing Erik noticed was the rain. At some point the dark clouds overhead had disgorged their load, and thunder and lightning boomed and danced above while raindrops stained the stone arena.
The second thing Erik noticed was that his souls had gone quiet. Normally he could at least feel the larger egos of the more powerful souls in his collection at any time. Now, though, they were still and silent, as if respecting his decision to go into battle alone.
The third and final thing Erik noticed was his opponent. A tall man made of sleek silver polished to a reflective sheen, clutching an oversized long sword. In his left was a shield that looked like a mirror, while the face carved into the helmet of the Golem was a calm, handsome male face. It looked like a statue of an idealized hero standing ready to test other aspiring champions.
Behind him, his companions filed into the arena seats, watching in silence as he, a mere chef, faced off against a construct that had fought the finest warriors of Drangleic. Syan, Velstadt, Raime, Vengarl. And now, Erik Potts.
He gave a bow. The Mirror Knight returned it. Erik raised his twisted blade and his pyromancy filled hand. The automata entered a stance.
Erik made the first move, sending a searing bolt of fire at the towering Golem. It blocked it with its shield, rain hissing to steam upon impact. It then charged, swinging its sword in a wide arc that would have been easy to dodge if it was slow. It wasn't, and the chef barely had time to roll out of the way.
Erik followed up his dodge with another Fireball, but this one was aimed at the Mirror Knight's feet. It hopped back easily before darting forward with an overhead slash accompanied by a shield smash. Both were avoided, but left little room to do much else except back off.
So he did. The chef took a few steps back and hurled a large icicle at the Golem. It was blocked by the shield, but as soon as it happened Erik used the moment of immobility to dash around behind the knight and slam a Great Combustion on its back. It staggered but spun quickly, blade nicking Erik's cheek.
"Not bad. He moves like a veteran. Light, but with a heavy blow ready to go. Like lightning itself," Vengarl said approving from the seats.
"Indeed, the young man has done well under our tutelage," Benhart praised.
"But he won't be able to win against the Mirror Knight using such tactics," Elana pointed out, the martial minded companions nodding in agreement.
"What do you mean?" Alsanna inquired.
"The Mirror Knight is a Golem. It does not tire," Mytha explained. Being the wife of the Golem loving Iron King had given her a lot of info on them.
"Indeed. Animals and mortals will tire in a prolonged fight. Even Undead and Hollows become sluggish and weary in a drawn out battle. But constructs like Golems never grow tired, and never stop fighting. Erik will have to use his full might to bring this one down."
The chef seemed to know this as well, as he threw out more spells, both fire and ice, all aimed at keeping the Mirror Knight pinned down so he could get close and strike at it. The Blade of Eleum Loyce proved stronger and sharper than its brittle appearance led one to think, as it carved deep rents in the silvered armor.
The artificial knight seemed annoyed, but continued to block with its shield every attack. Until something happened. A shape moved within the glass. Erik froze in shock as something appeared in the large mirror and began to pound its fists against the glass as if it were a window, and not a mirror-turned-shield.
In the stands everyone grew quiet. Only Raime and Vengarl knew of this ability, the secret to the Mirror Knight's almost uncontested winning streak.
From the shield mounted mirror a pale, silvery reflection of Erik burst forth, sending spectral shards of glass everywhere as it was born into the world.
Erik was stunned. That was all the opening his foes needed. The large sword cut deep into his stomach while his double sprayed his face his flames.
Dodge fireball. Avoid sword. Fall back. That was all the chef could do now.
"Did you know it could do that?" Nadalia demanded, pointing in shock at the doppelganger of the kindly chef.
"Yes. It is the Mirror Knight's ability to create a clone of its foe, but only after it has fought them for a while," Vengarl explained. "I believe it was Aldia who gave it such a power. As you can see, the knight is no longer on the defensive. Now it knows its opponent's tricks and movements, and has a companion to double team the target. Only a truly talented warrior can win against himself. This is the true test."
People were on the edges of their seats. The ghostly staff had trickled in as well, and were cheering on the combatants down below.
Erik's foot slipped on the rain slicked stones, and the Mirror Knight ran him through, lifting him aloft as Mirror-Erik tried to incinerate the original with fire. Lots of fire.
But instead of looking defeated, Erik just smirked through the blood dribbling out of his lips. "Gotcha."
He raised his Fire Seed studded palm and unleashed a torrent of viscous, burning ooze that when it struck the Mirror Knight, began to corrode and eat away at the metal. It promptly dropped the chef who wasted no time in spinning on his heels and slicing the surprised head off of his double.
Mirror-Erik looked shocked before it shattered into pieces.
"So, Erik leaned Acid Surge. Did you do that, Nadalia?" Elana asked, curious and impressed at the resourcefulness of the young Undead.
Fire was easy. Ice was as well, once you understood the principle. Anything else was much, much harder. It was why most sorceries were blobs of raw magical power, and enchantments used a medium like Titanite to imbue special effects onto equipment.
Acid, though? Alongside poison and hardening the body, it was a kind of magic that was extremely hard to learn and master, even with a Spell Scroll to ease the process. It was one thing turning magical energy into another form of energy, like heat or the absence of it, but a physical embodiment of Entropy itself? Even Carhillion, a master sorcerer, would find such a thing difficult without years of practice before hand.
And Erik pulled it off flawlessly. Armor melted like wax before the Acid Surge, and the Mirror Knight was missing half of its face while a good portion of its upper torso was twisted and ruined by the potent magic.
"If you must know, it was I who taught Erik the spell," Mytha said proudly, watching as the chef gulped down some Estus before approaching the crippled but still deadly Golem.
"It's impressive. I didn't think he could pull it off after so little time practicing," Nadalia admitted.
"Erik Potts is a natural at understanding the more physical nature of magic, dear sister," Alsana said happily as her student wailed on the downed warrior, slowly hacking it to pieces with the fragment of her own soul turned into a weapon.
"Fire is heat, ice is its absence. He figured out the key behind Cryomancy all on his own, and partly by accident and luck. And when he understood the concept behind creating a wave of magic that dissolved all that it touched, Acid Surge and Poison Mist were no trouble at all to learn."
In the arena, Erik raised the Blade of Eleum Loyce over his head and stared into the remaining eye socket of the Mirror Knight. It did nothing, but Erik could swear he saw something glimmer eagerly behind the helmet. He drove his sword down, piercing the Mirror Knight where its heart would be.
A sighed seemed to escape the defeated automata, and a silvery soul popped out in front of the chef who accepted it as his prize.
WELL DONE. YOU ARE A TRUE KNIGHT, ERIK POTTS OF LINDELT. WALK WITH YOUR HEAD HELD HIGH, FOR YOU HAVE A TRULY NOBLE AND PURE SOUL.
The Soul of the Mirror Knight was like no other soul he'd ever encountered. Instead of memories, all he got was a rush of pride and a congratulations. If he was being honest, he felt kind of gipped.
"Well, the path is clear," Erik said to his companions as the arena was rocked with cheering ghosts. "Shall we continue?"