QUELAAG'S DOMAIN
Lex, true to his word, had spent the last hour running between the bonfire and the far end of the swamp killing some dozen giant leeches each time. He'd acquired a small fortune in large titanite shards and now had more than enough to upgrade everyone's armor, to say nothing of the unholy number of green shards, which mysteriously came in groups of five at the same frequency. Now, he was finally walking the other way, approaching the hill at the other end of the swamp. Only, it wasn't a hill at all. It was a massive ball of spiderweb, half-submerged int the bog and hung from the broken, gnarled branches of an unseen tree.
Inside were hollows with yellowed skin crusting over and hardening to chitin. They lay on the ground blankly, their hands firmly grasped in prayer. Horrifying cysts larger than a man rose high above all their backs, stretching the pockmarked skin into a grotesque shape, and the walls themselves bulged with the same burden. Lex shuddered and tried not to look as he made his way down the well-worn path to the fog gate. The mad she-butcher's summon sign appeared at his feet, but he pushed through without calling her.
He found himself in a massive round chamber, the walls and the ceiling likewise encysted with giant eggs. The floor was paved with concrete tiles, though countless years of abuse had left them cracked and worn. On cue, footsteps echoed from the far side. A horrifying spider with countless eyes and limbs bending in every direction climbed down the stairs the led to the chamber's other exit. Its shell pulsed with red light, and instead of mandibles, it had a great gaping maw that roared like a lion as it approached.
Fused to the back of this monster's neck at the navel was a woman. Though her proportions were normal – better than normal, actually – she was simply too large to be human. Her long brown hair covered her bare breasts, and her sharp facial features made her seem just as predatory as the monster that served as her legs. Around her right arm, she wore a tiara as a torc about her bicep, and she held a flaming, jagged sword that seemed to have been one of her spider's legs, sharpened and made all the deadlier. Lex looked down at the reddish brown ring on his finger and then back up at the woman.
"Quelaag of Izalith!" he shouted.
The woman atop the spider didn't react, but the spider crouched. In an instant, it heaved its appreciable bulk into the air and lunged at the cleric, spitting lava as it landed. He panicked and threw himself under the creature and away from the lava. He crawled out from under its abdomen as its legs lanced at him, shooting jets of flame. As he got to his feet, the spider whirled around, and the Chaos Witch swung at him.
"Quelaag, chill!" Lex said, rolling out of the way. "I'm here to help!"
"So Kirk said," she said, still pressing the attack. "I don't know how Anor Londo found us, but I'll be sending your head back in a box, prophet."
The cleric tried to put some distance between them, but the spider was too quick, the Witch clinging to its head like it was a mere horse. She pat it affectionately as it lurched to a stop and began vomiting lava over Lex's head to cut him off. He doubled back but found himself facing the Witch's blade. The jagged edge pressed into his claymore as he tried to hold it back, flames licking his robes. Eventually, his strength gave way, and the burning blade dug into his stomach and catapulted him across the room.
In agony, he rolled back and forth on the tiles to extinguish his robes, but that delay cost him as the Witch charged, stabbing through his sword arm with one of the spider's spear-like legs. She raised her sword to deal the final blow, but he screamed and ripped his arm free, rolling under her again. Breathing heavily, he gripped his talisman so hard that his nails cut into it and raised it high. Swearing under his breath, he pressed a great lightning spear to her unprotected underbelly.
The spider jittered and jumped away awkwardly. Quelaag gritted her teeth and prepared to charge again.
"Please, Quelaag!" Lex said, gasping at the pain. "The gods aren't even in Anor Londo anymore!"
"I fail to see how that's my problem."
"I can help you!"
"Amusing. The last time my sister and I took on human help, she fell fatally ill. The last time the gods tried to help, they tried to murder our mother. We do not need your miracles, prophet."
"It's-!"
Before Lex could say anything else, Quelaag had charged, spitting him on her sword. The curved razor sheared cleanly though his ribs, his heart, and back out through his shoulder blade. She raised him into the air as the souls poured out of his mouth and waited for the last soul, his delicate humanity, to escape, physically grabbing it with her free hand. Satisfied, she tossed the corpse aside as it dissolved into ash. Abruptly, she turned back to the entrance.
Another Undead was in the room somewhere. She had waited for the newcomer to attack during the fight with the first, but none had come. Curiously, she turned about and scanned the room. Nothing. No sign of intrusion.
But she could taste it. The flames of Chaos burning within her roiled uneasily at a large mass of humanity hidden somewhere nearby. Movement. That egg must have fallen. As she moved toward it, it dispersed into smoke, revealing another Undead, this one with a ridiculous hat.
"Later, Chaos Bitch!" Beatrice said, waving as she passed back through the one-way fog.
THE ABYSS
Pain, then nothingness. It was dark and warm and quiet. In the distance flickered a light, and it burned the eyes, which only wanted sleep. The light grew nearer and larger and all-enveloping. Nothing became everything.
A world of light and experience. He could feel it. His name had been Lex, and he had been waiting for something like this for so long. A chance to do something meaningful. A chance to be a hero.
Just now, it had been stolen from him. He didn't care. He just wanted for the light to go out so he could sleep. The light was dying now. The shadows were weak, but they were many, many to smother the few furiously-burning lights.
He could feel them. All of them. His mind traced back to the Primeval Man and back forward through the countless generations. He was Oscar of Astora, who wanted repentance and to prove himself. He was the rogue witch Beatrice whose lust for power was insatiable.
His was the Dark Soul. He was Humanity, Whole. He was nothing. He was everything. He was Desire and Wrath and Solitude and Fear.
A light approached the shell of what he had been. Like a marionette, he dragged it forward. Carelessly, he flung its limbs forward, swinging its sword at the light. But the thing was hardly light at all. Certainly, there was a small Flame burning brilliantly at its core, but now that he could see it through hollow eyes, it was more of himself than of the Fire.
Countless humanities swarmed about the Flame, trying to touch it to smother it or to steal it. Pain, cold, rage, blood, dying, they whispered. He would take them into himself and calm them. He only had to extinguish that light, and they would come home of their own will. He tried again with the sword, but the light was too quick.
The light struck its puppet with something. A stick. Painful, but such pain had no meaning to the sum of all agony. It followed the light out into the swamp. The light slowed, but the puppet didn't, the magic it carried protecting it from such ill effects.
It followed the light past a great stone structure. The light had stopped and was gesticulating wildly. It didn't care and swung the puppet's sword again, slowly getting used to controlling the hollow. The light had avoided the attack but had hardly moved from the small bit of dry land. It flared and spat, and the humanities orbiting it giggled at the rage.
Abruptly, a shroud fell away, and a blinding light appeared. It had no Darkness to it. A stranger. A monster. Inhuman.
The Darkness was Desire and Wrath and Solitude and Fear. It threw the puppet at the brilliant light, but the light moved away quickly. It drew a tiny spark off from itself and thrust it into the puppet. No, that was wrong. The Darkness began to burn and was severed from itself. Its world turned to white.
BLIGHTTOWN
Lex's eyes fluttered open. A fire was stabbing right into his heart just like he remembered, but this was definitely the wrong Daughter of Chaos. Quelana withdrew her pyromancy flame, panting.
"It is done," she said in her mousey voice.
Beatrice stood beside them, hands on her hips.
"Shit, kid. I know I made fun of you before, but hollowing on your first death? That's so embarrassing that I can't even come up with a good burn. Thank your god that I still need you to find Logan, because I should have left your dumb ass."
"That is not the way to speak to someone who has just died," Quelana scolded. She turned to Lex and continued, "Are you… all right? That technique is one that I have been researching for many years, but it is not yet complete. I have not dared test it yet. Do you feel any ill effects? In body or soul?"
Lex shook his head.
"I… didn't think it was possible to reverse true hollowing. Sure, you can burn humanity to restore human form, but I thought once you were gone, you were gone."
"That is true," she said, nodding nervously. "The hollows have no Fire left in them, so no amount of humanity can restore them. I have given you a piece of myself. Only, I don't know what effects it could have on a human. Please, forgive me."
"Forgive you for what? I was… uh… I think I was a Neverborn there for a second. Thinking about it gives me a headache. But no. It's not a matter of forgiveness – you saved me. Thank you."
"Beatrice, how did you find her anyway? You need to have a maxed out pyromancy flame to see through her illusion."
"Maybe it's just that everyone else is shit at finding things!" she said defensively.
"Right, so. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you went back to Firelink."
"I figured you were going to backstab us. The Knight of Thorns was around in my time too, and there were no survivor stories. At all. I didn't exactly believe your 'infinite humanity' shit. But I guess getting shanked like a bitch proves you're innocent."
"You watched that happen?!"
"It could have been an act! And then you died. It was hilariously disappointing."
Lex grumbled and turned to Quelana.
"Not to sound ungrateful, but why did you save me? You've been living in exile for a thousand years. Surely, you could have tested it on someone else before now. From what I could tell as a hollow, Beatrice just walked over, and then you popped out and rezzed me."
"I… I panicked. A strange woman started shouting at me while running from a hollow and asking for help restraining it. I thought it must have been someone dear to her… I know what that is like. But I see I was mistaken."
"Yeah, I thought we could hogtie you and have Oscar drag your ass to Anor Londo. I know you said it was empty, but shit, there might've been something at your god's temple or whatever."
"Anor Londo is empty…?" Quelana repeated, stunned.
"Yeah, except for Gwyndolin. Goddamn pantsless tentacle Hitler. And Ornstein and Smough. I'm honestly not sure what the definition of god is."
"You're a shitty prophet."
"Yes, we have established this."
"Has the Flame faded that much…?" Quelana asked fearfully, ignoring the tangent.
"Yeah, someone's going to have to sacrifice themself to the Flame pretty soon, or we're all going to have arms hanging down to our feet and fat heads with twenty eyes. The gods have all mostly quit and run off to Carim and other places, I guess. I am allegedly a prophet, but my knowledge is actually from another source, and my goddess is fictional. Your sister didn't take too well to thinking I was from Anor Londo, so I just thought I'd make that clear now."
"Fake?!" Beatrice roared, grabbing his collar.
"My info is still correct!" Lex said, pulling back. "Most of the time, anyway. The more we change fate, the more it changes around us, so I can't be blamed for not knowing that."
"Yeah, yeah," Beatrice said, sighing and letting go.
"You mentioned my sister?" Quelana interrupted.
"Eeeeeeeh," Lex groaned, unsure where to start. "I'd convinced Kirk that I wanted to help, but it looks like Quelaag has a bone to pick with, uh, pretty much everyone. She kind of stabbed me repeatedly and then hung me out to dry like her name was Vlad."
"I'm terribly sorry. If I were stronger… and braver… I would have stopped her long ago. Quelaag was the strongest of us, physically, and mentally too. She was the commander of Izalith's military forces and unmatched in swordplay. Only Quelara could keep up with her. What hope do I have?"
"Aaaaawkward question," Lex said, raising his hand. "Do you know she's still sane? And the other one who's also a spider but whose name escapes me."
"What? Impossible. The Flame of Chaos breeds nothing but madness."
"Yeah, about that. There's more than one kind of madness. I'm not sure how badly they're affected, but they're sane enough to have a conversation with, and there are certainly 'sane' humans running around that are nuttier by a long shot. Like a Hawkeye Gough long shot."
"I… Will you face her again?"
Lex nodded.
"I have to get past her to ring that Bell. Gods know why it's down here. Stupid Prophecy."
"You are headstrong, like my pupil was. I wonder how you went hollow so easily. Please, do not do it again. A part of me is in you now. Do not let it get snuffed out.
I will await you here, to learn of your victory or defeat. I cannot harm the demons who hold mastery over fire, my sister included. Please, if she cannot control herself, end her misery."
Lex nodded solemnly and turned to leave. Beatrice had sat down.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting on you to get back, kid. What, did you think I'd help you with this menial shit? I'm only useful for killing shit, and you seem pretty dead-set on talking through this. Now, Little Miss Muffet, let's hear about that flame sorcery that preceded all the pyromancy shit."
Lex groaned and sprinted to the spider's nest. Fortunately, Beatrice had killed everything on her way back, so all he had to do when he reached it was chew some of the bitter purple moss he had collected in Darkroot. He'd have to be serious about this now. Checking to make sure neither of the witches were watching, he stripped out of his filthy robes and tossed them in his bag, swapping the Rusted Iron Ring for Havel's. Feeling lighter than ever, he rummaged through the bag until he had assembled what he thought was a manly outfit.
He slipped on the wanderer's slacks, tightening the boots and strapping on the knee pads with an air of determination. It took him some time for his Lordran-granted instincts to guide him through donning the Eastern cuirass, but he soon had all the straps and buckles in place. He polished the roaring lion's head on the left pauldron with his talisman, grinning at how ridiculous and badass it was. At last, he snapped the brigand's bracers onto his wrists and looked himself over. He was a glorious golden god.
He struck a few poses from various fantasy games in order to psyche himself up. As he turned to flex, he noticed Beatrice and Quelana staring at him in the distance. They had a pair of binoculars from gods-know-where. He gulped and quickly turned to enter the lair.