The situation was honestly laughable. Fate had a truly sick sense of humor. Due to the light of his Master, slowly burning away the tendrils of the Abyss, he had begun to recall vestiges of his memory. It had been… a long time since he was sent to fight the Abyss.

Since he failed his duty.

He had braved the Abyss before, but that fragment was nothing like seeing the real thing.

It was a deceptively simple assignment: go to the land of Oolacile, rescue the princess Dusk, and contain the spread of the Abyss, killing any spawned beasts in the process. And it seemed as though he would succeed in his mission. Until he saw the true face of the Abyss. Its monstrous progenitor proved a difficult foe. Even with all his expertise and the aid of his canine companion, he was unable to overcome the father of the Abyss. It was all he had to ensure the wolf was able to escape. He could have asked any of the other Knights to accompany him, but he foolishly went alone, aside from his hunting wolf. Proving victorious against the Abyss' spawn had caused him to grow complacent and arrogant in the face of danger, which ultimately cost him his life and his agency.

Arriving at Oolacile was easy. Few creatures were met on the path, and those they did encounter were gleefully chased away by Sif. Furthermore, a bandit or highwayman would need a death wish to even think of impeding one of the Four Knights. The city itself was in terrible condition when Artorias arrived. The buildings were in shambles and the earth had been torn, giving the land an unnatural amount of uneven cliffs. It was practically deserted, save for a few survivors huddled together, furtive and vulnerable, in a forest outside the city proper, so Artorias assumed that many had fallen prey to the Abyss' principalities. Those that remained had employed the magics Oolacile was known for to contrive a strange beast, amalgamated from several lesser creatures, to protect them. Artorias had warned them to flee, as he knew the abomination would not last long against the forces of the Abyss.

Trekking further into the city revealed the true extent of the Abyss' influence. Darkness swallowed everything in its path, until the deepest reaches of the city were nothing more than a chasm not even light could reach. And there he found the cause of all the destruction. Manus, the Father of the Abyss.

Howling and raving like a mad beast about it's lair, a gargantuan creature the likes of which Artorias could only imagine bounded within a large cave. It moved erratically, leaping and writhing in a way its form should not be able to. The sight of it even caused Sif to show fear.

The moment they entered its sanctum it attacked, as if on instinct. No regard for what it was fighting, it swung a giant club like object like a twig, slamming it into whatever was in its path. This was Artorias first mistake. The instant Manus was upon him, he raised his shield to block, and Sif went into action, just as they had practiced many times before. A successful block with his greatshield, leading into a swing with his sword, with Sif attacking from behind. But, when his sword made contact, the beast made no appearance of flinching or even registering the hit at all. It just kept swinging and swinging. A single blow from the monster was manageable, but the intensity and speed of the creature made blocking a bad option. At the rate it went, he would have been backed into a corner. And unfortunately, Artorias' particular fighting style never played much on evasiveness. So he pressed on with his defense. The blows from the creature put many sizeable dents in his greatshield, but he persisted. There was no method to the creature's onslaught, so Artorias could not determine the optimal time to retaliate. He was only able to counterattack when Sif's particular offense drew Manus' enmity. The way Manus moved required all of Artorias' concentration; one miscalculation would cost him his life. And that is precisely what happened. Even with all his caution, Manus landed a decisive blow.

While Artorias guarded, Sif was attacking from the rear. The Progenitor's many red eyes flared in rage as it turned to strike the wolf. Artorias took the moment to thrust with his greatsword. Yet, right as he was to strike, Manus turned and held out it's arm, taking the full of the attack with its hand-like appendage. It was too late for Artorias to redirect the blow; the second it was impaled, it gripped the Abysswalker by his arm. It lifted him up like a doll and flailed him about, before throwing him against a wall. Artorias was able to rise again, but he registered a great pain in his left arm and found that he was unable to move it. Manus then removed the sword he was impaled with and tossed it aside. The downhill battle had gone from bad to worse as he was disarmed, in more ways than one. At that point, there was only one way to proceed if he were to make it out of this.

Artorias whistled, signalling to Sif they would have to resort to the emergency maneuver. With all his strength, he hurled his shield at Manus. The beast swatted it aside, as planned, giving Artorias the needed moment to leap above the creature. Sif followed through with the plan: as the shield struck its target, the wolf ran to the greatsword. Taking it in its mouth, he tossed it to the airborne Artorias. Even with his arm broken, Artorias caught the sword and used gravity to his advantage, plunging down on Manus, striking directly in one of its eyes. He jumped off with a retreating swipe, leaving the creature clawing at its face. Artorias and Sif moved quickly on this advantage, striking as a unit: Sif attacked the legs and back, biting and swiping as fiercely as he could manage, while Artorias leapt more, taking out as many of its eyes as he could. Just as they were gaining an edge, Manus pulled out another trick. It took its club and began a mad chant, malefic energies gathering around. The tenebrous cavern seemed to grow impossibly more dark than it already was. Dark magic rained down upon them all. Artorias had to act quickly. While he had a pendant in his possession that repelled the Abyss' magics, Sif had no such protection, a severe oversight on his part.

There was no way he would allow Sif to fall prey to the Abyss. The wolf was his only friend and companion outside of the Knights, and he'd be damned before he let him die because of his negligence. He activated the pendant and jumped to the wolf's side, shielding them from the Dark that rained on them. And, as the magics dissipates, Manus swung at Artorias, who in his desperation to protect Sif, had made the fatal mistake of showing his back to the creature, and was knocked forcefully into the wall again. Only his arm had been broken before, but he was sure that all his other bones were broken then. There was no chance left at that point. Manus laughed as it prepared its spell again. Artorias knew he was going to die there. He activated his pendant and threw it to the wolf. He wasn't going to make it out, but his companion could. He used the last of his strength to command the wolf to flee. It stared at him longingly, but ran at Artorias insistence. The Abysswalker certainly did not feel good about his situation. He almost defeated the creature, but was about to lose his life for want of an easy to create pendant. The last sensation he fully recognized was the unmistakable pain of Abyss magics attacking his body and his soul.

He was unsure what happened next. His memory had failed him after that. All he knew was that the Dark had somehow robbed him of his will, sensations, and even his consciousness. He had no control over his own body, and his mind was lost. And yet, even as the Abyss corrupted him to his soul, he had some vague awareness of what went on around him, as though he was of the Abyss himself. He had wandered aimlessly about, bringing an end to whatever being came his way. And through this perverse connection, he gained an understanding of what Manus felt.

Hatred.

Hatred and contempt for everything. Especially humanity and the undead who try to amass as much humanity as possible. He could not fathom why this was the case, but Manus used Artorias as its puppet to slay any undead that wandered too close. And he cut them down, battered and broken as his body was. They came in droves, hundreds upon thousands of undead crossed his path, and he slayed them all until they gave up or went Hollow.

All except one. A small, nondescript undead. Unassuming and worthless, just like all the ones before it. He didn't think much of it at the time, but that was because he could not. Yet, somehow, his body was slain and his soul rent from its corporeal prison. He could not tell what next transpired, but the next thing he was completely aware of was the sight of his current Master.

And that brought him to his current state. Facing off against another Undead as if he was doomed to do so for eternity. He took another glance at the Archer, who now was on his feet, breathing staggered. The Berserker's Master was collapsed on the ground. Now that his mental faculties were operating properly, he assessed his opponents. The other Masters seemed to only be watching. He could easily kill them all, but the safety of his Master took priority over that. A shot from the Archer could end her life. He was quick to come with an idea. Years as a Knight had hones his reflexes for combat, so his plan would be easy to pull off. He readied his sword. Saber made a motion to respond in kind. The Abysswalker ran toward Saber.

"Watch yourself!" Archer called, shooting a series of arrows at him instead of his Master. Just as he predicted. With a burst of speed, Artorias thrust his sword at Saber, who made an emergency attempt at a guard. The arrows missed their mark by a slight margin. Though the Undead's weapon was invisible, Artorias felt the clang of metal as he easily broke its defense. That brief moment was all he needed. A powerful slash cut through the Undead's armor, followed by Artorias stabbing it through the chest.

"Saber!" Shirou cried as his Servant was lifted in the air and effortlessly tossed aside. The Servant hit the ground, dissipating into wisps of its soul. Archer stood dumbfounded, his smirk belying his anxiety. With Saber soundly defeated, he had no chance against the Berserker.

Artorias was satisfied with the result. The rest of them cowered as humans tended to. Now he could attend to his Master. He gently lifted Illya, making sure he held her securely. He gazed at the boy, the Undead's Master, he assumed, as he watched the efflux of souls from what used to be his Servant. The girl and her Servant were making no move toward him, as they were more keen on watching the boy themselves. Artorias mentally scoffed. If he never saw an Undead again, it would be too soon. Manus' grip on him still caused him to see red in their presence; the very thought of those creatures making his stomach turn. Another glance confirmed that neither the girl nor the Archer had intent to follow, so he steadily made his way back to his Master's abode, taking care not to agitate the unconscious girl.

With the Berserker finally gone, Rin let out a scoff. "To think Saber would lose that easily. But, I shouldn't be surprised, having this guy as her Master." Shirou held a blank stare as he looked at where Saber's body used to be.

"N...No way…" Shirou muttered.

"Hey, come on now. If you aren't good enough to beat another Servant, then of course you're going to die. That's just how this War works." Shirou didn't respond to Rin's comment. "You should be glad you have your life. The way Einzbern was eyeing you, I'm surprised she didn't have Berserker attack you directly." Rin smugly flipped her hair. "Of course, if they tried that, I already had a plan to stop them. But my point stands. I'm not sure why, but I think the Einzbern girl has a particular interest in you. Did you kill her dog or something?"

"... Sister."

"Huh?"

"She said she was my sister."

"That's impossible. First off, you two look nothing alike. That's a bit extreme, even if you account for having a different parent."

"I don't think she was lying, Tohsaka-san. She mentioned my dad by name. And I was adopted, you know?"

"So?"

"He was acquainted with very few people, and I'm sure I met everyone he knew after we moved here, so I doubt some random girl would know that much about him unless she met him before I did."

Rin gave a dismissive pout as she turned away. "Be that as it may, she's still an Einzbern. Everyone knows that their family is comprised entirely of homunculi."

"What does that mean?"

"They're all basically dolls. There's a whole explanation behind it, but that's not important right now. Not that you would understand, anyway. In any case, she's probably just trying to provoke you."

Shirou sat in silence. While Rin did have a point, he still believed Illya had a connection to Kiritsugu. And whatever happened between them seemed to be negatively affecting her.

"I can't just leave her," Shirou said.

"Are you kidding me?" Rin yelled. "She literally tried to kill you less than five minutes ago."

"Yeah, but that's only because-"

"Don't try to psychoanalyze her! No Freudian excuse negates her from being a Master! You were destined to fight!" Rin heaved a sigh. "Whatever you think her deal is, you can't help her. Even attempting to is suicide. Berserker will attack you on sight. You saw how he wiped the floor with your Servant. You don't have a chance."

"But still, I have to try."

Rin shook her head. "Without a Servant, you have no place in the War. And with Einzbern openly hostile to you, we need to get you somewhere safe. We need to see that fake priest."

"Tohsaka-san, I said-"

"Archer. Take care of him." With a shrug, Archer quick stepped toward Shirou. In a blink, Archer landed a punch right in Shirou's gut, and a hook on his jaw. He hit the ground with a thud, knocking him unconscious.

"Hope I didn't hurt him too bad," Archer said, lifting Shirou.

"A punch like that is the only way to get through to guys like him."

"I would think a lady like yourself would abhor such violence."

Rin rolled her eyes. "Let's just get to the church already."

"As you command, Master."

Though returning to his Master's castle would be an effortless feat, Artorias took great care to ensure Illya returned in one piece. He was still unsure as to what transpired with her; she spoke a phrase and the magic that yoked them gave him clarity of thought. But it harmed the girl. His only conjecture was the Dark he was still tainted with retaliated against Illya. He would have to find out more from his Master when she awoke. He trekked through the wood leading to the castle, taking a moment to relish the peace of the early winter verdure. Yet even in the midst of his tranquil walk he felt the presence of another, following some ways behind. It didn't seem hostile, so Artorias ignored it. Until it suddenly jumped in front of him. There, lance in hand and clad in golden armor stood his fellow Knight.

"It's been a while, Artorias." The Abysswalker looked at the Dragonslayer. "It's good to see you," Ornstein continued. The last time they had met, he flew into a blind rage, relentlessly attacking his fellow Knight. Looking back, he felt shame for his actions. Never would he thought himself one to attack his allies, especially for a reason he didn't even know. Whatever was causing his rage remained a mystery to him. Perhaps it had something to do with why his Master referred to him as 'Berserker'. But that was an issue to confront at a later date. At this moment, seeing his compatriot, again, he felt something he hadn't in a long time: relief. Artorias nodded at Ornstein's comment. It was good to see a familiar face. "I know I don't need to say it, but I'm not here to fight." Even after their previous meeting, Ornstein's voice carried a soft compassion. Artorias nodded again. "I'm supposed to be looking for the Caster, but I happened upon your battle instead. To think that we would be plagued by the Cursed Undead even here. I faced against one earlier, and you faced one just now." The Dragonslayer's hands clenched into tight fists. "But the thing that gets me… those worthless dregs have the gall to bastardize what we were known for. I killed one that used a sword similar to yours, trying to emulate your skills. And very poorly at that. Then I see another, mangling the miracle I created." Ornstein let out a sigh. "Makes me want to strangle them for eternity. I'd have scores of them impaled on my lance if they didn't reappear every time you defeated one." Artorias grunted. The Undead were a problem that didn't have a solution. Illya began to stir in Artorias' arm; she was beginning to regain consciousness.

"You sure have taking a liking to your Master," Ornstein said, eyeing the girl. Under the helmet, Artorias could not tell what the Dragonslayer was feeling. "I will say, it is very… odd, that a child was able to bring you into this world. Though I say this as one who is quite unfamiliar with the nature of sorceries. That was the Scaleless' domain I belive… and you know how I feel about that one." Artorias made a low grumbling noise. Ornstein decided to interpret that as a chuckle. "You haven't come across either of our other Knightly companions, have you?" Artorias shook his head. "I see. I doubt Gough could be brought here under any title other than Archer, and you fought against that one not too long ago. They definitely wouldn't be Caster either. So that just leaves assassin... though I doubt Ciaran is here. If she was, she would have sought us out, or you at least, her Master be damned." Artorias had to agree. Ciaran was the headstrong type. "What do you think they'd say if they saw us here?"

Artorias pondered the question. His memory was quickly returning, and his time with the Knights were some of the first. Gough would probably be more interested in the history of this world than the War itself, letting the two of them fight like they always do. 'Is this not one of your training exercises?' he'd say, felling any other Servant that came upon them.

"Ciaran would probably kill all the Masters before we even had a chance to fight." Artorias agreed. Then, he thought, she would go about collecting various souvenirs and memorabilia. One wouldn't think it by looking at her, but she was always fond of bringing something back from her travels to commemorate her time there. The Dragonslayer chuckled lightly.

"The two of them were something else. I, for one, am quite ready this War so we can all go home. This place is... problematic." Artorias gave as questioning a look he could manage. "Oh, you must be wondering what is it I'd wish for. I thought it was obvious: for us to return back to being Knights together. Though of course I have my own desires... wouldn't you wish for the same thing?" In truth, Artorias had forgotten the victor in this War was granted a wish, both the Servant and Master. As such, he did not really have an answer. He would love to be with his comrades in arms again… but if pressed at this moment, he'd wish for his body to be fully restored. Using his right hand for swordplay still felt uncomfortable. Being able to talk would be nice, too. "Think about it, Artorias! We have so much more to accomplish! A long time to serve the King and Anor Londo as a whole. If you were there when…" Ornstein quickly trailed off, heaving a heavy sigh. "I just want us to be together again. You understand, right?" Artorias grunted. He wasn't stupid. Something must have happened when he was… incapacitated. Due to his failure. Ornstein believed if he was there, whatever catastrophe alluded to would have been avoided. Yet another reason for him to feel guilty. Illya was stirring even more now, which did not escape Ornstein's notice. "Whatever the case, it seems having her as your Master is only benefiting you. She is helping you come around to your old self." Ornstein placed a hand on Artorias' shoulder. "Look, you can't blame yourself for what happened at Oolacile. None of us, not even the King, knew what was going to be we did, then-" Artorias backed away. No matter what empty words the Dragonslayer gave, he knew he only had himself to blame. "...I can only hope you forgive yourself in time." Ornstein gazed into the distance. "But it seems my own Master is calling me." The venom in Ornstein's voice did not go unnoticed. "The only thing worse than the Undead is this man who thinks he can control me. If it weren't for those damnable seals, I'd have driven my lance through him long ago. If you see him, don't hold back. We will talk again soon, friend." Ornstein took a step back, and with a leap disappeared into the foliage.

Ornstein's words were true. By the nature of this War, they would meet again. Artorias hoped that they could at least fight as allies before they met as enemies. He looked at the small girl in his arm. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Berserker…? Did… did you kill Shirou?" Artorias shook his head. He wasn't sure the emotion on Illya's face was relief or disappointment. "I appreciate you thinking of my well-being. It would not do to have me perish this early. I suppose this only means I need to have a conversation with brother dearest in the near future." The Abysswalker was glad that his Master was unharmed. The Dragonslayer was a matter to be dealt with later. He had his Master to think about now. He walked on, Illya in tow.

"Perhaps you've seen it, maybe in a dream… A murky forgotten land. A place where souls may mend your ailing mind."

She found herself gazing out to the sea, the calm waves highlighted by the sun on the horizon did nothing to assuage her worries. She knew not how she arrived here. She knew nothing. Not her reason for coming here, not where she was before. The only thing she had was her name, and that she now counted herself among the scores of Undead. The words of the old woman were still in her mind.

"Oh my! Your face. The face of the curse. It's an Undead. An Undead has come to play." She was going to interject, but the old woman continued. "They all end up here, all the ones like you." She assumed she meant Undead. And if this woman could tell by her face, then she must look pretty ghastly. "You're finished. You'll go Hollow. Hollows prey upon men, feast on their souls. This is the fate of the cursed."

Is this what the woman meant? Does going Hollow make you lose your sanity? Supposedly the act of death and rebirth took their toll psychologically. At least, that's how she had the curse explained to her. Which meant that if she died, she'd be one step closer to going Hollow. She didn't feel particularly dead, though. She still felt a need to breathe, at least. She passed by a few Hollow that attacked her. When she slew them, she absorbed their souls. They would come back, of course. That is not dead which can eternal lie. That would mean that she would come back if she died. But how? And where? And after how long? Speculating on these matters didn't help her at all. She wanted concrete answers. The only other things the woman said was that souls may mend her ailing mind, that they keep her from going Hollow, and that all Undead that pass here are looking to break the curse. When she first made it to this seaside village, she came across a particularly hollow looking blacksmith. Or at least he claimed such. He had been locked out of the house he stored his tools in and therefore could not prove his smithing skills. He was pretty angry about there was the shop keep, looking only to peddle his wares. Since she didn't have any money, they didn't really have much to say to each other. The only other being in the dilapidated buildings was the cat, Sweet Shalquoir. It had a snarky tongue and talked in cryptic ways, never giving a straight answer to anything. It clearly knew what was going on in this land, but talking to it just made her more confused. Just as she was about to give up on this town, she spied a woman dressed in green, staring at the sea. She didn't expect her to be of much help either. But she walked to her anyway, taking a moment to gaze out herself and collect her thoughts.

"Are you… the next monarch? Or… merely a pawn of fate?" The woman asked after a moment of next to each other. She was apparently called the Emerald Herald, guiding Undead like her to the King of Drangleic, 'he who peered into the essence of the soul, Vendrick. "Bearer of the curse… seek souls. Larger, more powerful souls. Seek the King, that is the only way. Lest this land swallow you whole… as it has so many others."

According to the Herald, there were four. Four powerful souls to empower her own frail and pallid soul. She was to return to that squalid hamlet when she acquired them all. And that would mean killing them and claiming their souls for herself. This was the fate of the Undead: to kill others and amass their souls to empower your own, all so you don't go Hollow. The thought of having to face others in combat was not palatable, but if that was the only way to see this Vendrick, to potentially end this Curse... The thought of going Hollow scared her. Since she had no other ideas, this seemed like the best course of action. She steeled herself and made her way out of Majula, completely unprepared for what was to come.

Shirou grumbled, sensation returning to him. He was being carried, and rather uncomfortably at that. But that dream he saw was so clear, as if it were a memory. In fact, it probably was a memory, now that he thought about it. Rin did mention how when a Master summons a Servant, their souls become linked and they can peer into each other's essence. Or something. Speaking of Rin, he could hear her talking.

"It really is a problem. Guys like him who think they can just do whatever they want. He probably thought he could show off. Getting beat up should really put some sense into him."

"For someone who claims not to care about Shirou, you sure have a lot of opinions about him."

"That's because he's hopeless. You know what he's like: he can't leave other people alone, always going out of his way to help people, even if he really can't do anything. He'd work himself to death if people weren't looking out for him. I don't like it but if we hoist him off on the priest he won't be able to hurt himself."

"Truly your altruism is that of a saint."

"Ugh, to think I volunteered to come here. You may be right about that saint part. If it were up to me, I'd never see Kirei again. But, for better or worse, we've arrived. Wake him up." Chester dropped Shirou.

"Ow…"

"He's up."

"You didn't have to let go of me!"

"Listen up, Emiya, because we do not have time for your games," Rin said. "I know you want to go after the Einzbern girl, but you cannot do that. Even thinking about it is a death wish."

"Tohsaka-san, I-"

"So you're gonna go in here and stay with the priest. He is contractually obligated to protect people who can no longer fight in the War."

"But Tohsaka-san-"

"Archer." The Servant brandished his bow, aiming it at Shirou's head.

"Come along, friend. Nice and easy, now." At the risk of having a bolt pierce his skull, Shirou offered no resistance as he was corralled into the church. Rin sighed.

"I really don't want to have to talk to that fake priest…" she muttered. "But it's better if I just get it over with now. Having Emiya involved at this point will make everything more difficult. If he's here, I won't have to worry about him doing something stupid. Ugh, why did I take it upon myself to get involved like this? I wish we defeated Saber earlier, then I wouldn't be here." Rin cleared her throat. If she didn't come across as competent and in control, Kirei would talk circles around her. And that was a headache she neither wanted nor needed. She walked into the church, seeing Archer and Shirou standing in the middle of the aisle. "Hmm?" she said. "What's wrong?" the two of them were looking down at something in front of them.

"Master…" Archer said. "Take a look at this."

"It's always something, isn't it?" What's the big deal? You act like-" But when she drew closer, she saw the issue at hand. There, in the middle of the floor, lie Kirei Kotomime's body, impaled to the floor by a golden lance through his chest.

Been playing the Dark Souls remaster. Faith builds are just as fun as I remember. But then again, I refuse to do anything but faith builds.