ANOR LONDO
Gwyndolin gazed out over the abandoned streets of Anor Londo. Reverent silence had returned at last to the lost city of the gods. Thea had finally arrived to report in person that the last of the Undead had left. The last deity already knew this, of course. With focus, he could use the senses of any of his illusions, and it was a simple matter to manifest a literal fly on the wall.
Still, he insisted on personal reporting of such matters. It was the proper respect a human should show a deity… and frankly, he was more than a little lonely. Ornstein had gone to Fire-knows-where, and the blacksmith (whatever his name was), had left to investigate the commotion that had occurred outside the Cathedral during the Knight-Captain's fight. Only that monster Smough was left to watch over his father's keep. It was unacceptable, but he supposed such compromises were necessary.
There were so few of his people left, and he certainly wasn't about to let one of his human Covenanters enter the keep. They were reliable and faithful, certainly, but their origins left much in question. Only Thea, bound to the bonfire as she was, held his full trust.
"I have one further incident to report, Master Gwyndolin."
"Oh? Continue."
This was strange. Surely, there was nothing those Undead had done that had slipped his careful watch. The strange disturbance the blacksmith was investigating had somehow blindsided him, but he was skeptical that two such events would occur at once.
"While I was disposing of the trespasser's body on your orders, that Serpent demanded I give it to him instead."
"Frampt did? For what purpose?"
"He did not, Master Gwyndolin. He only insisted that it was vital to the Prophecy."
"What manner of-"
The warm, golden light of dusk slowly began to dim. Gwyndolin looked up through the eyes of a sentinel and watched in horror as his artificial sun was eclipsed by fingertips. A massive hand had appeared in the sky, pale as winter and nails black as night.
"How quaint."
The fingers squeezed and burst the sun like a grape, and Anor Londo was cast into inky blackness. The hand vanished as well, leaving the sky a perfect void with neither moon nor star.
"You have been a very naughty child, haven't you?"
At last, a faint light appeared, a hazy aura of white oozing from a pitch-black moon like the white silhouette of humanity.
"Didn't your father say to keep a tight leash on humanity? You let those Undead go with hardly a punishment for their egregious blasphemies. Stupid, deformed child!"
Suddenly, his senses were forcibly ripped away as his real body was slapped to the floor. Velka stood before him, dressed far more regally than she had in the Painted World. She still wore a long black gown collared with crows' feathers, but overtop it was a mantle with elaborate patterns inlaid with silvern thread. Silver armlets and anklets chimed in the darkness, and her simple blindfold was replaced with a diamond-studded helmet lacking eye holes. Even still, she seemed to be looking right at him.
"I did not spend the last millennium orchestrating this elaborate play for an amateur to ruin it by acting of his own judgment. I Choose one Undead at a time for a reason. You don't need to know why; you just need to follow directions. Or do you not have ears either, you stupid mongrel?"
She kicked away his sun-shaped crown. His shoulder-length silver hair fell free, and his eyeless face was revealed.
"I did not give you my Darkmoon Blades to have a tea party, child. If you will not kill those sinners, then I will be forced to take them back."
Gwyndolin rose, his snakes uncoiling from within his gown to reveal he was much larger than he let on. He paced forward and faced her, eyelessness to eyelessness, while his snakes whipped around.
"Thou forgetest thy place! Thou art my mother, but I rule Anor Londo in my father's name! I shall forgive thy sin of trespassing on this tomb, but thou shalt not question the Dark Sun!"
Velka chuckled. It was a raucous, throaty laugh appropriate of a crow.
"Oh, how cute. You've finally reached that age. Honestly, I'd have let your sister go if she'd shown the slightest backbone all those years. But lo and behold! You already set her free!
Who's mommy's little rebel? What's next? Actually meeting other people?"
Gwyndolin threw out his hand, and the illusion shattered. An instant later, he toppled over as it reformed and backhanded him.
"Whose power do you think you use, child? Certainly not your father's, no matter how tightly you cling to this empty mausoleum."
Gwyndolin hissed and let a minor illusion slip. His snakes reared back and flared their hoods. Lightning arced amongst them for a moment before lashing out at the illusion, destroying it utterly.
"I take it back," Velka said, clapping as another copy approached from behind. "Maybe the fault lies with me for not taking a firmer hand in your education."
She once again took her place in front of him, hands clasped behind her back.
"Now, I know you're too clever to be fooled by some nonsense like earning my love as with your sister. But you can earn my respect by doing the right thing and removing the Chosen Undead's companions by force or by guile."
"The Dark Sun hath given a decision on the matter. As deity, thou must abide by it."
"Well, that is true, my child," Velka said plainly. "Unless, of course, I simply… took… the throne. After all, who's left to stop me? Your servants are mine, in the end."
A massive spike jutted through her chest, sparking and buzzing with power. An ear-shattering roar echoed through the chamber.
"I have long waited for that admission, witch! In the name of the Lord of Sunlight, his faithful Knights, and the proud people of Anor Londo, Dragonslayer Ornstein doth commit thy name to the Book of the Guilty!"
The illusion ruptured, and Ornstein and Thea took knee before Gwyndolin and the empty coffin of the Great Lord.
"I beg forgiveness my lateness and mine intrusion, Princess of Dark Sun!" the Dragonslayer bellowed. "I did not anticipate the traitor would reveal herself as such so soon! Nevertheless, my preparations are complete!"
He bowed deeper and lowered his voice.
"With Your Highness' permission, I would take the traitor's duties as mine own."
Gone was Ornstein's beautiful armor of brass and gold. In its place was a much more sinister raiment. In truth, it was an excellent replica of his original suit, only it was forged of black iron and lined with the same eerie silver as Velka's gown. Gwyndolin grimaced, his snake eyes taking in the sight from all angles.
"If that be the wish of the Captain of the Knights, then so be it. In the name of Dark Sun, I do name thee patron of sin until an appropriate deity is found to occupy such office."
A snake gently lowered the crown back onto his head.
"Go forth and perform thy duties. Grantest not mercy to the wicked and bringest to the light of the Dark Sun, the enemies of the gods. Even those that are among our number."
"I shall," Ornstein growled. "But first, it is my duty as Knight-Captain to once more lead evacuation of Anor Londo under siege."
"Evacuate?! We will not leave the city to my mother!"
"Master Gwyndolin, please," the Darkmoon Knightess said firmly. "You gave me a second chance at life. I cannot leave here now, but you can. I have always been proud to serve the only god who stood by his station when all others fled. This time, I fear there is no choice. The city has gone dark for now, but it will only return to light again if you survive."
Gwyndolin grasped his scepter tighter and tighter until his hand shook.
"Where would I even go?"
"The safest place in Lordran now: the grave of Artorias. The Chosen Undead must seek the art of Abysswalking there. Once he arrives, we can make further plans."
"And how shall we escape? We have no way of knowing where the traitor may be hiding. She couldeth easily be listening even now."
"Gwyn's Knights will not flee like thieves in the night! Our procession will shine like the sun itself!"
"And it will sputter and die like the sun," Velka crooned, walking down the stairs dramatically.
Abruptly, there was a gleam of gold, and a blade burst through her chest, shattering the illusion.
"Stop doing that!" she hissed, appearing again out of the wall.
Without a sound, the golden line traced through the air and separated the goddess' head from her body. Again and again, she formed a new body, but each appearance was cut drastically short. At last, there came an end to either her power or her patience, and she was gone. A woman in blue, with a white porcelain mask and a golden braid knelt before Gwyndolin.
"Lord's Blade Ciaran returning to service, Your Highness."
Gwyndolin was first shocked, then indignant.
"Ciaran? My father's Knight? Thou didst vanish when I was a small child! What excuse have thee for thy negligence when Anor Londo has fallen to such squalor?"
Ciaran's tone was as smooth as her mask.
"This humble Knight begs the Dark Sun's forgiveness for herself and for her companions. All these things had must pass before Velka would Choose the prophet – and in doing so, prevent our own deaths."
"What is thy meaning?"
"Highness, perhaps thine own eyes would speak truer?"
Gwyndolin stared at her for a few moments. She was so still, it was as if she weren't breathing. The deity focused outward, trying to possess the senses of one of his illusions, but they all seemed to have been destroyed. At last, he exhaled exhaustedly and motioned for the three Knights to rise. Ornstein proudly led the group from the tomb in silence while Ciaran guarded the rear.
As they came upon the spiral staircase leading to the bridge, there was a terrible racket above as steel rent steel and a massive bow fired again and again. At the top of the stairs, they found the giant blacksmith, much of his equipment stuffed into a rough knapsack. He quickly turned the lever. At the platform's edge stood the one-armed demigod in blue who had made off with Lautrec. An arbiter spirit wielding a katana cloaked in the deadly power of the Darkmoon faced off against a massive black greatsword, but as the bridge began to move, the demigod surged into action and slashed the human into the air. As the spirit faded, two more arbiters tried to rush through the passage to Gwynevere's cathedral, but in the split-second delay, the bridge was out of their reach.
Even as the platform rotated, the sound of a greatbow firing rang out again and again. When it finally came to a stop, the reason was revealed: all across the road leading to the elevator were strewn Gough's oversized greatarrows. There were a few arbiters remaining, but they were cautious now, and those with shields had formed a small wall, behind which the others stood.
"Hah!" the giant greatarcher cried from the roof of the gazebo. "For one who has hunted dragons, steel is like so much tissue paper."
He drew a number of arrows at once and fired. The massive spears blew through the wall like a cannon. Those that weren't run through tried to scatter and recover, but the one-armed swordsman was too quick and cut through them like chaff. At last, he spun about, a wolfish grin on his lips, and knelt.
"Knight Artorias returning to service, Your Highness!"
The gazebo creaked under the giant's weight as he climbed down and knelt.
"Greatarcher Gough returning to service, Your Highness."
Gwyndolin looked between the three missing Knights, stunned. He shook it off quickly.
"Rise, my Knights, and serve me as you served my father! We have need of utmost haste! Slay the traitors where they stand, and pave my royal passage with their souls!"
"As the Princess of Dark Sun commands!" the Four Knights, plus one, shouted in unison.
"Ornstein! Thy friend does not seem so friendly!" Artorias barked.
Smough bounded down the stairs of the keep. The Dragonslayer stepped in front of him, the body of a demigod large enough to easily block the bridge designed for humans.
"Hold, Executioner! I can forgive thee abandoning thy post in these circumstances, but approach the Dark Sun with proper respect."
"Too late, I see," he sighed, leaning on his hammer.
The demigod had a strangely lyrical high-pitched voice. While his armor drastically exaggerated his size, the muscle mass required to move such an unwieldy thing was not to be underestimated.
"Well, Ornstein, I'll tell thee what Velka toldeth me: it's game over. We're running out of time before the Flame goes out. Now, sure, lighting it again doth sound great, but what then? We do it again every thousand years? It's insane."
"Funny," Ornstein growled, "thine habits wert always disgusting, but I did not think thee a traitor."
"Well, thou always had a stick up thine ass, but I did not think thee blind as Princess Trousersnake."
Smough leaned to look past his former partner. Seeing the distinguished group beyond, he sighed again.
"Mmm. On second thought, I'll let you all go. You don't have time to waste fighting me, do you? This time, I'll just say you outran me. That elevator's a pain, isn't it?"
"Hmph. At least thou still hast thy sense of humor. Our next encounter shall not be so jovial."
The Dragonslayer stepped back and ducked under the gazebo. He glanced backward, and seeing the others had gone, turned the lever. As it began to descend again, he leapt onto the road and continued to the elevator.