The next time he came back, Sage Freke was with him.

He'd wandered lonely through the corridors of the Tower of Latria once before, a second time was no harder for him. Freke was relatively easy to rescue, and when they passed through into the Nexus, the old man's eyes widened as he looked down into the darkness, following the flowing golden symbols.

"Fascinating," Freke murmured, and then shuffled down the stairs. When he reached the bottom he ran his hand along the circle.

"What is this?" Freke asked the Champion, who just shrugged.

When the mage looked disappointed, he answered, "I don't know. It was here when I was first reborn. I think it's the power that binds me to this place…along with the few others who are."

"Binds, you, you say?" Freke asked, and then answered himself. "Ahh, yes, to immortality…that's right."

"I'm not sure if Immortality is the correct word," the Champion said.

"Why, then what else would it be, lad?" Sage Freke looked back up at him. His eyes showing just under the edge of his hood, standing out like pinpricks in the darkness.

"I…honestly, I don't know," the Champion said. "But not immortality…immortality is a lack of death. Trust me, I have died. And I have paid for those deaths, every one of them."

He hadn't mentioned to the old man that he didn't remember his name, yet. He hadn't mentioned to anyone, not even the Maiden, that he had forgotten his mother's face. He remembered that he had a mother. But he didn't remember her face, and all of the other details of her had become blurry. When he tried to remember, it gave him a headache, and he had finally given up.

He was sure that, the next time he died, she would be gone.

"How does it feel to die, then?" Freke asked.

He tried to think back to that, but it was just as blurry as his mother's face.

"It was cold," was all he could say. "Painful…and then numb."

"Fascinating," Freke said, but his face went pale, and he seemed far from pleased. It was obvious by his expression that he understood his own relative proximity to death. The Champion looked away.

"Freke?"

Freke turned, and saw his apprentice, standing there.

"Ahh, m'boy. Glad to see you," Freke said, as he waddled toward him. "I assume you have been keeping up with your studies."

"Yes sir," the Apprentice said, high strung as ever. "Just as you asked."

"Excellent…excellent," Freke said, and then stopped, as suddenly as if he had realized something. "Would you mind going back and preparing my bedding? The prison cell was not the most comfortable, and my tired legs need a proper rest."

"Yes, sir. Immediately, sir." The Apprentice turned and ran back to the corner of the Nexus where he had been saying.

"I told that boy to take his training seriously once," Freke said. "I think he may have taken it too much to heart."

He then turned and looked back at the Champion.

Freke smiled and said, "there was one last thing I wanted to talk to you about. I've been doing some research into the Soul Arts, lately. Helpful research, hopefully…though I'm not sure if anything can be so these days…anyway, I see that Augite at your belt. And I know that you killed the Fool's Idol, at least."

"That I did," the Champion said.

"Excellent, well, if you could provide me with her soul, as well as the soul of any other powerful demon you defeat. I'd be sure to make it worth your while. Teach you some of the best magic at my disposal, perhaps?"

"I'm not much of a mage," he said.

"Ah-ah-ah," Freke waved a finger quickly. "That's why we call them the Soul Arts, boy. It's a simple matter of how many souls you're willing to spend. Trust me, even a simple Soul Arrow can be a lifesaver in circumstances such as these…but I do not even teach "simple" soul arrows…no, my magic is potent, and it will make a difference for you in many fights."

The Champion hesitated, "…I'll consider it."

Freke sighed. "Very well, you know where to find me…not like there's anywhere to go in this bloody, place, anyway."

He waddled off, toward his corner.

"May God watch over us, and grant us holiness in our every step,"

"Umbasa."

"May we, His followers, be forever protected,"

"Umbasa."

"And may we understand, that, though a horrible storm this is, that, in God's Divine eye, it is a storm we shall weather. Nay, not just weather, but expose it for the test that it is. God grants miracles, and god grants wishes, and so He-oh, you."

Saint Urbain looked up, and saw the champion approaching. His followers, kneeling before him , opened their eyes, and looked up as well.

"Hello," said the Champion, awkwardly.

"Ahh, yes, then, you are here," Saint Urbain looked down at his followers, and nodded to them. "I apologize, but he is the one facing the situation in Boletaria, and he deserves my blessing most of all."

"That won't be necessary, Urbain," the Champion said.

"Oh, but it is," Urbain said. "And tragically so, for your immortal soul is in jeopardy. "

Here we go.

"Understand that I know why you make the choices you do," Urbain went on. "Granted, they're necessary….but I do wish that you didn't hold onto those Demons' souls."

"What would you prefer?" The Champion asked.

"Prefer…? Well…preferably…you could give them to me." Saint Urbain said. "And I could destroy them using God's power."

"Destroy them?" The Knight asked.

Urbain nodded. "It…is a rarely used procedure, often considered sinful in its own right, for the soul of any being is sacred. However, there is nothing sacred about these…these creatures. They each symbolize a human depravity, in some way. Keep that in mind, and if you were to absorb them, you would absorb that depravity as well."

"I'll keep that in mind…but for now, I apologize, I will hang on to them."

Urbain's disappointment could not be hidden, still, he reluctantly murmured, "…very well," and left it at that.

"Why did you come, then, son?" Urbain asked.

"I was just hoping to pray…perhaps God has fortune left over for me, as well," he said.

"Very well then," Urbain said. "For you need it most of all. Kneel, and join in."

Afterward, Urbain spoke again.

"I saw you talking to Sage Freke," he said, as the Champion stood.

"And?"

"And, do not trust him," Urbain said. "That man's lust for souls was potent even before Boletaria collapsed, but now that it has…well, there may be little in the way of decency holding him back. I'm sure you've seen such things before."

"Yes," the Champion said, thinking of all the Black Phantoms he'd seen. How they looked so very similar to humans.

"I only have this to say: The Soul Arts are an ugly thing. Boletaria used them, and look what happened. Truly, it is god's punishment. It is a shame that the rest of the world may have to be punished with it."

"Indeed," The Champion said, considering the priest's easy rationale for the death of thousands.

"Very well then. Go forth, and may your sword be blessed to slay many demons. Umbasa."

"Umbasa," the Champion repeated.

He crossed up the curved steps. Perhaps thinking of asking the Maiden or the Monumental, but the Maiden was nowhere in sight, and the Monumental only awaited atop a mountain of stairs.

He wondered as he climbed why the Monumentals had built the Nexus this way. It seemed strange for them to place themselves so physically high up when they themselves were no longer capable of moving.

But before he reached the top, he heard a familiar voice.

"Hello."

He turned. Standing there, cleaning a hook shaped blade, was Yurt, the Silent Chief.

The Champion turned. "Yurt," he said. "A pleasure to see you here."

"A pleasure to be here, my friend. It feels good to be able to stretch my limbs without them being torn at by Gargoyles," Yurt said. "Speaking of Demons…well, will you judge me?"

"I don't judge easy," he said. Currently, that was the problem.

"Very well," and Yurt stepped to the side. Tied to a pillar, and gagged, was a familiar bald man.

"That's Patches, the Hyena," the Champion said.

"Is it, now? Fitting," Yurt said, and the Champion realized he wasn't cleaning the blade, he was sharpening it. "This one thought it would be a fine idea to rob me. I considered just scaring him, and leaving it at that, but I realized that I'd rather ask the question, first: what is he to you?"

Patches looked over at The Champion and made desperate murmuring sounds.

"Well…" The Champion began, recalling. "He first tried to send me to be smashed by a gigantic rock-beetle. He then kicked me into a pit where I had to fight a Black Phantom to escape."

"I see. Sounds quite charming," Yurt said, glancing over at Patches. Whose murmurs became more desperate, and then became screams as the hook blade came closer.

"…But…you should probably let him go," The Champion said.

Yurt glanced at him. The blade hung limply from his wrist, "Why?"

Beneath the gag, Patches screamed.

"There are so few of us left, Yurt. Even a scoundrel is better than a dead soundrel," the Champion said.

"Really, now?" Yurt said.

"Really."

"Well…I beg to differ."

And with that, he swung the hook blade so that it pierced directly into Patches neck, and pulled. Blood stained the rope, his clothes, and the floor, and then still kept coming. Patches struggled for a few seconds, but could make no sound, and then suddenly stopped writhing.

There was a pause.

"What the hell did you just do?" the Champion asked.

"Simple. I killed a man who attempted to kill you, twice," Yurt said, and then seamlessly transitioned to actually cleaning his blade.

"You shed blood in the Nexus." The Champion said. "There are people downstairs praying."

"Then they need not know of this," Yurt said. "It is, after all, none of their business. Just a matter between the three of us we had to settle, is all."

"I asked you not to kill him."

"Yes, you did. However you'll find I'm quite an independent being, and capable of making my own choices. Now, I'm going to wrap the body up and use one of the archstones to dump it. I'm sure no one will suspect anything."

"I'm going to be sick…"

"And why?" Yurt asked.

The Champion looked at him, "what?"

"I said, why? How many fights to the death have you been in? How many times have you had to slay something just as alive as this man?"

"This was different, you killed him in cold blood," the Champion said, trying not to look at the body.

"Really? And how does that make it different? Cold blood, warm blood, a man is a man and death is death, no matter how you kill him." Yurt finished wiping his blade. "The question that you should ask yourself is such: is death really so bad? After all, it comes to everyone, sooner or later. If I kill a man, I'm not really killing him; he was sentenced to death from birth. I'm just…shortening his lifespan, significantly. And many people, my friend, need their lifespans shortened. For many, it's the best way."

"That's…that's awful. Please, just…let me step aside, I wasn't expecting-"

"You've never killed a man before, have you?" Yurt asked, very suddenly.

"What?"

Yurt placed the hook sword back at his belt, "I mean to say: you've only slain demons. You've never killed a man."

"I killed Phantoms."

"Not the same. They are monsters."

"I can't talk about this right now," The Champion said. "I'm sorry."

"You really haven't, then. My sincerest apologies. I thought you would have been ready. I will take care of everything, from here on out. Rest assured though: he would have killed you without hesitation. He tried twice. I did you a favor today."

"Yes…" The Champion said. "Yes, I…I guess you did."

He then backed away, and Yurt watched him as he did. With nowhere else to go, he continued up the stairs.

He didn't know. He just didn't know.

Freke wanted the Demons' Souls. Urbain wanted the Demon's Souls. Freke offered his spells, Urbain, later, had offered Miracles. Both made good points, and both hated the other. (he had noticed the way in which Freke had looked toward the Priests coner). Yurt, whom he had brought here, had killed a man in cold blood. But that had been a man who had tried to kill him. He seemed to almost have done it out of loyalty. He had never killed someone before, was he biased, was he unbiased? He still couldn't remember his mother's face. After all this, he'd have to go out into the fog again. He didn't want to go there. He wanted to stay in the Nexus forever, where there were no Demons.

When he finally reached the top of the steps, he wandered into the gallery of Monumentals. Rows and rows of dead stone children surrounded him. When he finally reached the Monumental, he looked to him, and said, "I don't know what to do."

"Kill demons, and purify this world," the monumental repeated.

"But that's not enough…there are people…and people, they're complicated. I don't understand who is right or wrong."

"Go with what you feel inside of yourself, then. Make the choice that you would make, and live without regrets."

"But I don't know the Choice that I would make!" He screamed out in frustration. His yell echoed throughout the large room.

The monumental was silent. With his empty expression, it seemed, for a second, that the Champion really was just talking to a statue. That his roar had scared the soul right out of the stone figure.

"That is a strange thing to say," was all the Monumental said.

"Not if you're me, it isn't…it's the only thing that makes sense. I don't remember anything. I don't remember who I am. It'd be one thing if the memories were gone all at once…but they're fading, as I keep dying, as I keep existing as a soul. I just want to remember things. I want to know what it was like to be a child. I want to be able to think back to past decisions, and know what's right now because of them, but I can't do any of that! I'm trapped here, not even as a person, but as a shell!"

"The longer you stay in your soul form," the monumental said. "The more of yourself you will lose. It will slowly leak away from you, as if it is blowing away into the breeze, without a body to hold it there. Soon, there will be nothing left of you but a consumable soul. That kind that others can use to make themselves stronger."

"And you…you didn't warn me about this…?" The Champion asked.

"Why warn you?" The Monumental said. "When you came here, you had already died. It was better just to be grateful that you were alive, at the time. Worry about you losing yourself could come later."

"And I guess it finally has," the Champion said.

"Yes, yes it has."

"Did I…introduce myself to you?" he asked. "Did I ever tell you my name?"

"I'm sorry," the Monumental said, and shook its head.

"Damn it…damn it! I don't even know who I am. I don't know what choice the real me would make here…there isn't even a real me anymore. I'm the real me. And I have no idea who I am."

"It happens to the best of us. To the very best it happens again," the Monumental said.

"Just explain to me, what can I do…please?" the Champion said.

"After all this is over, I can promise you your identity back," the Monumental said with absolute certainty.

The Champion nodded listlessly.

"That is the best that I can do," the Monumental said. "I'm sorry."

"Alright...well, at least there's something I should work for."

"Yes…is that all?"

"Yes, that will be all, thank you for your time."

"I am not short on it," the Monumental said. "Of all the resources we have left, time is our most impressive supply."

"I'll remember that," he said, and then left the Monumental's chambers.

On the way back down the stairs, he saw her, lighting the candles up along them with her strange, glowing staff. He stood, and watched her as she delicately bent the rod, placing its sigil in just the right place at the tip of the Wicker. He wondered to himself how practiced this motion must be for a blind woman. How long it had gotten her to get it right, and even now, how cautiously she did it, as if she still wasn't certain.

"Hello," he said to her, just as she finished lighting the candle. He didn't want to startle her into making an unfortunate mistake.

She turned to him, and smiled, "ah, tis thee."

"Yes, it's me…" he said, and felt awkward. "Ugh…sorry. I'm just thinking about a lot of things. I'm confused. That's all."

"I see," was all she said. "Wouldst thou care to assist me in my labors? I am not as practiced at this part of the Nexus, and fear I may fall."

He looked down. She was talking about falling hundreds of feet, and still speaking calmly even as she said it.

"Yes," he said.

So he went back up the stairs with her, assisting her in putting her staff in the right place and in watching the flames grow. Light filled the dark Nexus, and he realized that without the hundreds, maybe thousands, of candles throughout this place, tiny, starry pinpricks, it'd be nightmarishly dark.

"Do you keep all of these lit?" he asked.

She nodded, "for a time now, yes."

"How long of a time?"

"I doth not count the years."

"But long," he said.

She nodded.

"And your blindness is never a problem?" he asked.

"Once," she said. "It was, but it hath grown with me. And the layout of the Nexus hath grown in beneath mine skin, beneath mine sight. I now knowst these corridors and stairwells as much as thee knowst thy mother."

That stung. He didn't say anything.

"But it must have been hard, at first," he said.

"Yes, but all wanderst in the dark," she said. "Mine journey ist more apparent than most."

"That's true, I guess," he said.

"Dost thou guess?" she asked him.

"No…I think so. I'm not sure," he corrected.

"Ah. Well if thou doth not agree, perhaps I thinkst wrong. It ist not a question for one such as I, after all, a simple Candle Maiden."

"No…well, first off, you aren't just a simple Candle Maiden," he said. "Second, I don't know. I don't know what I should know…I don't remember anything about myself anymore. I lost it when I lost my body the first time, or the second time…I don't even remember which time it was."

"Ah," was all she said.

"Is there anything you can do? Can you use Souls to bring it back?"

"Tragically, no," she said.

He sighed.

"But thou ist not thy memories," she said.

"What?"

"Thou ist more than just thy remembrances. Thou ist what thou decideth. And that may takest time. But threat not, for thy soul is the purest white. I have seen it within thee, and the white soul ist strong above all others."

"And the white soul is the soul of the Demon Slayer," he said.

"Yes, so it beith," she said. "And so do not fear, for thou ist brave, as I have said before. And thy will is strong, as I have said before. Make thy decisions, and live thy life, and fret not thy identity. Live."

Live.

He walked with her, helping her light the candles. Once, she wandered close to the edge, and he caught her. She simply smiled at him, and went on with her duties, as if a threat on her life had not been made.

And around the corners, from behind the shadows, Yurt, the Silent Chief, watched them.

-

Well, here we go. If you're still reading at this point, you like it, so keep it going! Review please, let me know how much you want it. I was honestly going to drop this, given all my other writing projects, until an email hit me letting me know that someone was actually enjoying it.

I've never been particularly popular on these sites, honestly, and my writing is never usually too popular anywhere. I've had occasions where my stories have hit hard, but afterward they've been quickly forgotten. Still, I keep throwing stuff out there hoping something will stick. That's how writing as a career works after all.

Not that I'm expecting this to get me anything, this is fanfiction after all. But I feel like so much of the Demon's Souls universe is untapped, that I have to do it this much justice. I feel like nobody else really does. Too many people who care about story ignore this game, and too many people who care about gameplay ignore story. There are very popular video series describing different lore elements of its spiritual successor, Dark Souls, which, IMO: has the worse story/world between the two. As opposed to Demon's Souls, it's murky and convoluted, and the characters (other than Solaire) are not as interesting.

Anyway, enough of my soapbox. Hope you enjoyed it.