FIRELINK ALTAR
"So this is everybody, right?"
The Altar was an excellent example of poor planning. It had been designed to exactly accommodate Gwyn, Quel, and Nito standing together. By the time Gwyn arrived to Link the Flame, he had grown so large that he had trouble fitting on the platform alone and had to stoop to pass through the oversized doors to the Kiln. Now, the problem was similar – there were so many people at the Altar that half of them were forced to sit awkwardly on hastily-woven hammocks of spiderweb. Nearly every NPC in the game and several of the bosses waited anxiously for the new Lords (and the irreplaceable Nito) to open the passage to the birthplace of civilization.
"Is this really all necessary, Chosen Undead?" Frampt complained as he loomed over the gathering. "The Great Lord brought his Knights because he was unaware of the Kiln's power. What is your design in bringing so many?"
"I'm basically just having a party. Nito said that Velka really hates Izalith, so I figured I should get everyone out. She's never going to have a better chance to come after us, even if it is an obvious trap. If she doesn't show up, I'm going to try something to buy us a little more time without, uh… repeating history."
"And your reason for allowing the Gravelord to live?"
"Hey, I let pretty much everyone live. Nito is actually a decent person, though. There's like a fifty-fifty chance of us going back to put Seath on trial for war crimes, but when he dies, he'll just reincarnate, and we'll lose track of him, so getting on his bad side might just not be worth it."
The Primordial Serpent groaned.
"That beast yet draws breath? You are truly the successor to Lord Gwyn, even in his failings!"
Lex just shrugged and weaved his way through the crowded platform to the Lordvessel.
"Are we ready?"
"As ever we will be," Nito said, nodding. "Give me your hands."
Lex, Quelaag, and Quelaav all extended their right hands over the dull flame in the bowl. Beatrice huffed and crossed her arms, but after several seconds, finally added hers. Nito placed his enormous bony hand overtop theirs and pressed downward. The black Flame of Occult surged downward, collecting the harsh white light of Lifedrain, the gentle orange of Sunfire, the maddening red of Chaos, and the translucent blur of Rhythm. The combined Flame of the five Lords poured into the Lordvessel and washed over the edges.
"I kind of feel like this ought to summon a Megazord."
Before anyone could comment on Lex's interrupting an otherwise sacred moment, the enormous stone doors opened with a deafening rumble. Beyond was a field of blinding light.
"Well, let's get a move on," Lex said, utterly unfazed.
Quelaag hurried after him as he headed through the gateway without missing a beat, but the others hesitated. The Kiln was a sacred place, the origin of the world as they knew it. With the gods and fate being very real, only someone from another world entirely could enter without the slightest trepidation. This was, of course, the reason why one was here.
A stone staircase passed through a corridor of pure white light, the white fog that had sealed away countless monsters rolling along the steps. From the left, hazy figures drifted past like shadows in the fog. Countless ghostly Black Knights marched across the path one by one, ignoring the intruders.
"Even in death, I still serve," Lex quoted in a grating voice.
"Who built this?" Quelaag asked, unsure whether her husband knew the answer. "The steps are human-sized. Mother always built to accommodate Quelana's size, but was this not a passage for the Lords alone?"
Nito was hobbling as quickly as he could to catch up.
"The Kiln is older than we," he said nostalgically. "Dragons… dragons are certainly terrifying, but in that gray world, they could hardly be stirred. It was Flame itself that was the greatest danger. The Kiln was constructed that the wretches in the Dark might protect themselves from it… and harness its might."
"The humans?!" Quelaag gasped.
"No. In the beginning, in the Dark, there was no distinction of that sort. Only those closest to the Flame suffered that curse. Before, all creatures were 'pygmies' as the humans are, but they learned to Want. The mightiest of them stole fragments of the unbroken Flame and brought to light that particular Disparity.
It was after this that you Daughters were born. You did not see the fleeting beauty of Ilyon, where the living were equal as the dead, and even that distinction bore little value."
"Do not slander Izalith, Gravelord," the queen hissed. "The humans were never treated as anything but shorter and shorter-lived."
"Even that is a distinction, my girl. True equality remains only in the peace of death. I am the first of the dead, but I claim no dominion over them. Those that serve me do so at their leisure. I serve Death; it does not serve me."
"Listen here, you pompous bag of bo-"
Lex grabbed her hand.
"Come on, we can have ethical debates later. Let's slap the crap out of Velka first."
"Hmph. If it my consort's request, then so be it. We will speak of this later, Gravelord."
"I look forward to it," Nito chuckled pleasantly.
They continued downward in silence, Lex and Quelaag continuing to hold each other's hand despite the awkwardness caused by the height difference. It wasn't long before another set of hurried footsteps interrupted their peaceful walk, however. Oscar quickly came up alongside them, lifting his visor.
"Lex," he said quietly, "these Knights don't look right. They're not marching together. It's almost like… they're on patrol. You said this was the resting place of Lord Gwyn. Still, why aren't they facing the exit?"
"Actually, once we get inside, you'll notice that the pillars and stuff are all slagged counter-clockwise. I'm guessing that the Knights are walking in the same direction. Don't know why they aren't moving together."
Oscar nodded and stopped until Solaire caught up, leaving the couple to pass through the rough-hewn archway together.
KILN OF THE FIRST FLAME
Beyond the initial platform was a wasteland of bleached ruins rising over dunes of ash. In the distance was the crumbling central tower of what had been a magnificent temple. All around stood the remains of decorative outer walls, spikes of melted stone running counter-clockwise. Over all hung smoggy clouds, a dim golden light barely breaking through above the tower.
"What?! How?!" Quelaag complained. "We're underground!"
"Well, it's not hard to blame it on warping. Some sort of stairway to heaven," Lex murmured. "Still, where we are is a pretty valid question. How do you manage to hide all this? Pocket plane? I don't want to deal with another Shadow Mulsantir."
As the rest of the group came to stop on the last paved platform, he looked back to make sure no one had slipped and fallen into the glowing oblivion. A shadow passed overhead as he looked back up the empty passage, then turned to face his final challenge as Chosen Undead. He gripped his trusty divine claymore tightly and continued on alone, as he always had.
"I just wish I could have saved Solaire," he sighed.
He rubbed his chin.
"Why didn't I? I started with the Old Witch's… Master Key. I should have just sucked it up and fought my way through the Depths."
He stepped off the platform and into the ash, heading down the hill to face the first of the Black Knight guardians. He didn't feel anything as his wife's lifeless hand slipped from his. He couldn't hear the jangling of his modified armor and the sword that was his wedding gift. Even still, he was better off than the others. Fearless warrior and raging monster alike had fallen into the ash and lay like corpses.
"Please, leave me be… I have not long to live, and I may harm you after death… Now, go…"
"Ahh, it's over… My sun… it's setting… It's dark, so dark…"
"Heavens, me… My dear little Lin…"
"Quelaag… But, why…?"
"Ahh… But, why… What seeketh thee?"
"But, how…? You humans… My dear Ar…tor…"
An inky blackness fell into the ash as a rain of soot. It piled up as a distinct mound, then slithered to a standing position. Long black claws gathered up pitiful handfuls of ash and patted them across cracked bone and scorched flesh. A monster in dull monochrome soon took shape. It danced as it revived, a snowman made from the holy remains of martyrs and archtrees.
Flawless flesh of ivory, with high cheekbones and a sharp nose. A tight-fitting gown of blackest silk, with long gloves and longer stockings. Silver bangles chiming a wicked alleluia. A black blindfold and a collar of crow's feathers. Raven hair that flowed like a pennant in the still air.
Velka. Raven-Haired Witch. Goddess of Sin. Third consort of the Lord of Sunlight. Darkmoon.
"There," she hummed to herself as she rubbed a few stray grains from her cheek. "As beautiful as ever."
She kissed her fingertips with her black lips and looked over the fallen with disdain.
"More fuel for the Flame, I suppose. I had hoped to keep the Souls as they were, but it is no huge setback. There are always heroes more than willing to carve their names into the Flame."
She strode to the archway and kicked the excess ash from her bare feet. At her approach, the spirits of the Black Knights in the passage turned at once. They did not stop or hesitate, but as they glared at the traitor, their weightless footsteps left behind golden trails of sunlight. Their well-worn paths between Lordran and oblivion became a barrier five hundred layers thick. She laughed.
"It's been a pleasure. Truly."
She waited as the outermost Knight's orbit brought him onto the path, then with a quick thrust, ran her wicked talons through his spirit. Dark dyed his soul, spreading from her nails through his transparent body like bleeding ink. Soon, his soul burst from the contamination, and his blessed path faded away.
"Five-hundred Black Knight ghosts on the stairs. Five-hundred ghosts on the stairs. Take one down, without a sound. Four-hundred ninety-nine Black Knight ghosts on the stairs."
She quirked her head back. Something was moving on the ash. The Chosen Undead was in his second combat, and his own "faithful knights" had succumbed to dreams of their true fates. Only the child of another world could possibly escape the illusion, and that didn't seem to be the case. Had another Knight survived and lain in wait for her to reveal herself?
"Take this!"
The goddess' ashen legs burst out from under her. Shocked, she plummeted a short distance before she caught herself and formed an entirely new body a short distance away.
"Did I do it? I beat the bad guy! Uncle Ornstein's going to be so proud!"
A child. Where did it come from? What was it that it possessed no fate? A whirlwind of questions plagued the wicked deity, but a smile crept across her face.
"Well, hello there! That wasn't very nice, you know!"
"You're not very nice! And you smell like birds!"
An "Uncle Ornstein" and a keen sense of smell. The blue eyes and silver-gold hair. Dressed all in blue and holding two wooden swords. The Wolf and the Hornet. An unexpected life, outside the pattern of fate she had witnessed so many times.
"Well, I worked with your parents and both your uncles. Surely, you've heard of Lord Gwyn? I was someone very dear to him."
"Dad says that Lord Gwyn needed your help, so you forced him to screw you and then left him with the baby when you didn't want it, and then Mom says that he shouldn't be talking like that around me, and then they fight, and then I have to go play with Uncle Gough while they 'make up.'"
Velka took a deep breath.
"Well, aren't you a precocious little firebrand?"
"Flattening won't help you, bad guy! I'm five years old now, and I know all your tricks!"
The Raven's interest in the disruption of the cycle was rapidly giving way to bloodlust.
"Why don't we just talk-?"
A surprisingly skilled slash took her legs out from under her again, but this time, she didn't retreat. Her body simply reformed in place, and she stepped forward menacingly.
"Bad girls get sent to bed without dinner!" she hissed as she sprayed soot at the child.
The girl staggered on her feet as the spell began to take hold, but she gnashed her teeth and hacked at the goddess again. This time, Velka was more than ready, and the wooden blades only cut halfway through. The artificial flesh repaired itself in a flash, trapping the toy weapons. She took another step forward, unaware that her smile had gone from pleasant to murderous. The girl ran, and the Raven instinctively chased after her.
Velka quickly fluttered to a stop before making a costly mistake. How cute. The child had stopped on the first step. Had the witch lunged after her, she would have crashed headfirst into the Black Knights' barriers. Well, even the Wolf had his moments.
"Little girl, little girl, won't you come out of there to play?"
"No! You're evil, and now I can't even fight you!"
"Oh. Well, that's too bad. I guess I'll just have to play with Mommy and Daddy."
Soot fluttered in her hand like crows' wings until it became a razor-thin black knife.
"Just keep in mind – I play for keeps."
The girl growled but held her ground. As Velka drew nearer to her insensate parents, she began to whimper and hopped from one foot to the other anxiously. By the time the goddess had drawn the tiny Ciaran from the ash and held the blade to her neck, the child was covered in tears and snot but still hadn't left her spot.
"I must say, they're much better at child-rearing than I. Well, not that it matters anymore, with this body."
Though Ciaran's paltry number of souls would have been better sacrificed to the Kiln than taken for herself, it – like the woman herself – was a small matter. The goddess started to make the stroke but stopped when another unexpected noise disturbed her. Passing through the Knights' barriers without harm was a knight in gleaming bronze armor. As the child looked up to him with hope in her eyes, he gently pushed her face-first down the stairs.
"Goddess Velka!" his raspy voice called out, laughing wickedly. "How about we strike a deal?"
"Knight Lautrec," she said evenly. "You passed over the borders of Lordran some time ago. I had been too preoccupied to notice you returned."
She dropped Ciaran casually and approached the holy champion as he lifted the snarling, crying girl by the back of her tunic.
"What could you offer me…" she hummed, "…that I could not simply take?"
"Oh, I'll be the one taking," Lautrec quipped back suggestively.
Velka grinned and rolled her hips as she approached.
"Really? Well, I'm sure we can work something out."
There was only the sound of the child kicking at Lautrec's greaves as Velka grew close enough to hear the knight breathe. As she reached to remove his helm, he put one arm around her. There was a metallic clash, and the child's screams grew further away. Lautrec now had the goddess' body pinned against his breastplate, the decorative arms at his waist. The twin shotels shot up and hooked around either side of Velka's neck.
In a flash, her head rolled off and hit the ground before the girl did. It burst into a vortex of soot and ash as the body crumbled. Jacquelyn rolled to a stop next to her unconscious parents just as Velka reformed, her full attention now on the knight.
"I should have expected nothing less of such a consummate traitor," she cawed.
"Traitor? Hmph. There is no one more faithful."
Disturbance after disturbance after disturbance – yet another walked down the stairs.
"Now, rumors circulate about an Undead who traveled to Lordran, in pilgrimage. A prophet from a distant land, who chastened the gods for their sloth… and coveted the power of Chaos."