What a long eon it has been… Please, forgive me for my absence, and thank you for your continued support!
It's been two long years of strife, death, busted hard drives and writers' block, and yet here we stand, with you, the audience, still reading, and I having barely gotten past all these trials and prevailing myself to write once more.
And as per publication standards…
DISCLAIMER – I don't own Dark Souls, Super Smash Bros., or Super Mario Galaxy, and their characters. They belong to From Software and Nintendo, respectively.
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH
The Dark Sun Gwyndolin grunted with sheer exertion as he lifted himself up onto the platform of this strange structure. He was in a veritable Abyss of unfelt-before fatigue, the effects of his precious magics wearing off.
It was all going so well until this point.
He had done as flawlessly as he expected: he, along with the team of Silver Knights, had entered the accursed painting of Ariamis. Then they had so easily dispatched the horrors guarding the scroll containing Velka's Vow of Silence, and he then leapt out of the painting, ignoring Priscilla, who looked on at the passel of armored figures who heeded her warnings to leave.
Then he gleefully casted the miracle, watched in pride as the once-nigh-impermeable barrier wore off, and he ordered a renewed assault on the structure. But when he tried another Rain of Arrows spell on the structure… he found out that he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, the magic which used to flow forth endlessly like a cool mountain spring would not even as much conjure a single spark in his palms. And to his horror, he realized his illusions had faded… but luckily for him, his armor had him covered top to toe. Thank goodness for this armor! He thought to himself, as he flailed and grunted wildly as he sought for purchase, clambering up onto the rough platform with a strange.
And thus it was that he had to resort to physical exertion and hand-to-hand combat for the first time in his long life.
Finally managing to grope all the way up to the strange metal platform alone was nothing short of a miracle. Panting and slavering at the mouth, he unsheathed his sword gingerly, gripping it like a vise as if it would gain a mind of its own, make a fool out of him and leap out of his hands, infernally heavy as it was.
The eight Silver Knights he had brought with him made no move to aid their suffering lord, instead carrying out his orders to scour the area for enemies, leaving rather quickly to increase his embarrassment. They headed quickly to other regions of the strange structure, while one remained on the strange, raised grassy portion with a bonfire on it, and drew his greatbow.
He scoured the area he had stepped foot on. It was a strange structure indeed, with many contrivances unknown to his time and age, and quite admittedly to him it was ephemeral and regal to behold.
But the splendor of the Observatory was lost to the vindictive moon god as, blade in hand, he marched about the place searching for the enemy. He then suddenly saw a small blonde head peek out of the strange building with an abnormally large set of silverware, which he assumed was was an armory of sorts… if giant silverware was counted as a weapon, that is.
"There you are… Now, you dog, you shall die…" he whispered to himself savagely.
The head drew out of sight as he scurried towards the Kitchen with renewed breath… and he began to despair once more as he saw the massive, towering staircase-like… things which served as the only way up. Those were way too massive for him.
He grunted with exertion as he lifted himself, step by bloody step, until he had reached the midpoint of the stairs and his arms were burning like the ceaseless flames of Demon's Ruins. But he went on anyway, and by the time he had completed the grueling climb his arms were screaming in pain, he was breathing heavily, he was on the verge of tears and he couldn't get even just a step further.
And then he remembered the Divine Blessing. He took out the small yellow flask and downed it all in one go. Ahh, refreshing… Indeed it is the water of life, and thank Sister Gwynevere for bestowing me with such great numbers of this blest drink!
He stepped in cautiously, looking for danger all the while, sword held at the ready, the image of justice ready to be served… and finally spotting his adversary, cowering over what seemed to be a small, blue star-shaped rock.
He suddenly saw the woman that was very, very beautiful. Her long, shining, starlike hair, , her lithe limbs, her tart, petite face, her slender, shapely body… all of it was perfect. Godlike. All this should be mine.
"All this should be mine…" he whispered, breathtaken.
He hesitated, feeling an unfamiliar, carnal, yet very much pleasing stirring down below, his grip on his blade weakening.
Halt, fool! He steeled his thoughts, embarrassed at letting his guard drop. This is your enemy! She slaughtered your men! She's destroying your manor! She's going to kill you, too!
And then as he hesitated and wasted precious moments of his time, the foe struck without warning.
Rosalina lunged savagely at the tall, armed figure with a worn kitchen knife and a horrible howl. She brought the blade down in an arcing, overhead slash, not caring where it landed.
The blade managed only to glance the intruder's right pauldron, scoring it finely… but with little effect on the enemy itself. However, the figure stepped back, possibly taken aback, if not surprised.
Panting laboriously, she gathered herself up for one more strike. Come on… She thought, as she struck the foe's back with a loud CLANG! Still, no effect, and she backed away, fatigue from lack of magic overcoming her. Shit…
The foe had recovered now. He grunted, lifted his sword rather awkwardly, and slashed viciously at her. Thankfully enough, the move was telegraphed nearly an hour in advance and she managed to sidestep quickly, the blade completely missing her.
"Run, Oliver! Please!" She screamed, as the invader stumbled, then righted himself and swung out a second time. It was too quick for her to evade, so she managed to quickly block the hit with the knife, the heavy hit reverberating throughout her limbs. She recovered, shoved her opponent's sword aside, and thrust out, this time at an exposed joint - the man's neck. But then he dodged as well, and struck out, and then they began trading blows, meeting each strike with much force.
She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw Oliver, frozen with fear. She hesitated, and called out to him. "OLIVER!"
But as she wheeled around, the man slashed too quick for her to react, catching her in the shoulder. The blow was fairly weak, but the blade was razor-keen, and it dug into her shoulder, leaving a shallow, yet wide gash, which began bleeding profusely. She screamed in pain and stumbled backwards. Her opponent then raised the sword above his head, ready to bring it down…
Hearing the commotion outside - as Silver Knights make an awful lot of noise when they move - the knight had hurriedly began strapping on his armor, but with all the bits, bobs and joints which needed a lot of fiddling to connect, he knew he wasn't going to make it in time.
Worry not about appearances when combat calls! screamed the Knightess. Now let's go! Protect your lady!
Strapping the sword to his side, he risked a peek outside. Eight stolid Silver Knights roamed the area, with two approaching the Fountain. I hope they think they can't reach me from here…
He hurriedly finished attaching his chest armor on, got the greaves and gaunlets onto his limbs, admiring how much better it was to wear a grimeless, spotless and stenchless suit of armor for a change, and stepped into the light.
He acted quickly. Drawing into his hammerspace once more, he took the Dragonslayer Greatbow out, and loosed a shot out at one foe who was dangerously close to the ledges. It worked like a charm. The greatarrow smashed into the knight's midsection and sent him plummeting to crash far down onto the depths below.
Unfortunately for the Undead, the seven knights who were left noticed the loss of their comrade. Rage flowing into their veins, they immediately began rushing at him, except for one who had a greatbow of his own, who began nocking a sizeable projectile.
"Oh, we've dug ourselves a deep grave right now, Knightess… Knightess?"
And I'll have… to kill more of my own… thank you so much! The knightess returned sarcastically.
"Oh…"
This revelation stunned the poor Knight... enough to let him drop his guard as the greatarrow smashed into his chest, killing him instantly. He arose from the Bonfire, still shocked, but managed to rush over and drive the poor Knightess hilt deep into the bowman's chest, and take down another one of the Silver Knights with a well-placed shot to the ankle, sending him screaming onto the roof tiles below.
"Sorry…"
Then again, I don't have much of a choice, do I? Go on, then. Slaughter them all!
"The sooner this ends, the better. They'll live again, anyways… and do forgive me, but I've a Lady to protect…" the knight said, steeling the blade, now unsure of what he was going to do next. Was he really willing to kill and slay some more? "What? Should I just lay down here and throw roses at them?"
Alright, you have a point… Send them back, they shall not die permanently… But milord Gwyndolin shall stay untouched! The knightess screamed into his mind, enraged.
"I can't promise you anything in the current climate, Knightess… But I'll certainly try."
The knight raced forward with shield, sword and talisman, and leapt into the fray once more.
Oliver squealed in fear. Mama was hurt. And judging from his Mama's pained scream, her stumbling backwards, the tears on her face, the gaping wound and all of the horrifying blood, she was hurt very badly.
For once, his dear beloved Mama wasn't so strong anymore. And the bad guy was going to kill her.
"Then so be it, loser. Go look for Mama all you want." Zachary said triumphantly. "As for us… we're winners. We can do what we want now."
Oliver began flashing back.
"Take care of her." His grandma had said, gently, proudly.
"When the time comes, I'll fight alongside you!" he had said earlier.
He didn't think twice. He didn't feel afraid anymore. He had to do something. With rage in his face Oliver rushed to her, bowling the bad guy's legs over, and began pummeling the guy with his chubby little fists like he had seen the rest of the Lumas do. "STOP HURTING MY MAMA! YOU STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" he screamed, accentuating every with with another blow to him.
That was the first time he had ever struck another living being.
Fury blinding him, he went on, battering away… until his small arms began to tire, his punches began to flag, and he panted like a mad hound. He paused for a while, now exhausted.
Suddenly, the man struck out wildly with the sword. Luckily, he was hit by just the flat of the blade, and he was flung to the wall near Mama, who was getting up shakily. The blow dazed him thoroughly, but as he stumbled around dizzily, he saw Mama pelting the bad guy with a very large, heavy pot. Way to go, mama!
He shook his dizziness away as Mama grabbed more pots, and shouted "OLIVER, PLEASE!" She screamed desperately, her own strength beginning to fail her. "Run away! Run away and find Sir-" She paused, collecting her breath, as the enemy reeled, quite dizzy himself. "Find Sir Stranger! It's the only way we can win!"
That was something he could do. Trying to get the last of his dizziness out of his system, Oliver hurriedly wobbled out of the Kitchen without a second thought, looking for his friend the knight.
He checked the Garden, where he would usually be found, and he wasn't there. His panic grew… until, that is, he managed to spot the Knight right up the ledge near the Fountain… desperately fending off another stranger who was poleaxing him slowly but surely with a Halberd, using range to his advantage. Three more lay gurgling already in a pool of their own - Oliver didn't look any further.
Suddenly, another knight sprang up towards sir Stranger. With horror, the little Luma looked on helplessly as the Silver Knight ran his dear friend through his chest from the back, opening a deep, gurgling fountain of blood. The knight fell to his knees, reached out feebly, and died quickly, fading away into dust.
All the rage and hope he had felt before left the poor little Luma. He sank to the ground in despair, bravely trying to hold back the tears, squealing with frustration.
Now they couldn't win. And they were all going to die.
The silver knights drew closer, yet closer, intrigued by this strange little starlike thing squealing itself away. Satisfied that it posed no threat, the two moved on.
But then all of a sudden a massive stick impaled the first knight square on the head. Oliver heard footsteps behind him, a rush of steel clanking upon steel which leapt over him and decisively struck the enemy, who managed to interpose his shield in time.
The knight, much to his amazement, had been reborn.
Oliver began to get over his shock as the halberdier began to swing his weapon in a wide arc at his friend, who nimbly dodged sideward as the blade crashed into the ground. Oh, right... I forgot about that... Go, Sir Stranger! the Luma thought, determination rushing into him once more. The enemy staggered with the sheer exertion, allowing the knight to score a clean hit on the helmet of the foe, dazing him further.
Oliver made up his mind. Dashing full tilt, he tackled the other guy right on the legs, knocking him flat on the ground. This gave the knight a perfect opportunity drive his blade into the foe's eye slits. The Silver Knight gurgled once, twice, and then lay still, finally bereft of life.
Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, squealing, horrified, on the brink of bursting into tears yet ever-so-bravely holding back. The Knight slowly bent over, sheathed his sword and roughly patted the little starchild. He took him up into his arms and began shaking it up and down, which Oliver - and all Lumas - absolutely loved, and within moments the azure Luma was back to his senses.
He suddenly remembered something important, leapt off the Knight's hands and began speeding off in the direction of the Kitchen, stopping briefly and motioning for him to follow. Seeing the Luma's predicament, the knight sped off as fast as he could without another thought.
What a bizarre, yet horrible sight it was indeed that graced the Kitchen that day.
Circling her opponent warily, the Lady of the Stars stood with the oven behind her, gripping a knife in one hand and a frying pan in the other, sweat beading on her forehead like raindrops on a windowpane and blood oozing from the ugly gash on her forearm. She panted heavily, the battle taking its toll on her, debating whether fight or flight was necessary. This enemy could neither be reasoned with, nor could it be harmed by her pitiful blows. She was inexperienced in pure melee combat, and worst of all, she was nearly completely defenseless without her magics.
Thankfully for her, judging from the wide, haphazard swings the enemy desperately threw at her, she could tell he was just as inexperienced as she was. And now, he was growing tired too.
What next?
She remembered little Oliver, dashing out for sir Stranger. Sir Stranger, my only hope… Where could he be?
She thought of the towering Sentinels which patrolled the roof, those silver-armored knights which loosed arrows half their size, and shuddered in despair. What if at that moment, they were being attacked - killed - by those brutes?
But she tried to drive the fear from her mind, focusing on the foe in front of her, and then she knew what to do. I have to hold out for as long as she could, until the Knight arrives… and hope he does…
She steeled her grip on the frying pan, which seemed to have a decent concussive effect on the armored figure, and drew into what she thought was a combat stance, with her frying-pan-hand a little in front of her, knife ready to parry any blows.
The God of the Darkmoon was not as lucky, though.
His armor had served him beautifully, protecting him from the keen blade of the knife and the thick, but all the huge, thick soup pots that had been thrown at him had dazed him considerably, and the toll of the day's exertion was slowly returning to his scrawny, wasted body, the effects of the Divine Blesssing now gone to his recent exertions. He was slavering at the mouth, and each scratchy breath reverberated thoughout his helmet. A curse… on mine own breath… to irritate me so… and… give out easily… in this direst… time of need!
He shifted slightly. His pitiful strength was fleeing him. His stance wavered, his breath faltered, his grip on the sword weakened.
Perhaps he could avoid more of this. Perhaps he could come to a truce?
The idea rolled glaringly around his mind as he considered it carefully. Here stood a murderer who had slain many of his kin, destroyed his home and threatened to kill him - a heretic, swathed in the Dark of death and destruction.
But then, he had little to gain if he killed the beautiful woman aside from fulfilling his ideals. Here was an opportunity to gain more exotic magics, knowledge, weapons… and possibly, a beautiful, yet powerful partner?
"Prithee… whatever you are… I beg of you… please desist."
The Lady of the Stars was surprised. She had not expected her opponent to surrender so suddenly, so willingly, so easily, not even to utter a single word..
"What… wait… how can I trust you?" This seemed too sudden to be sincere for her.
Gwyndolin noticed the wariness in the woman's eyes and began to plead more despairingly. "Because… I would… on my honor… leave and let you be… so long as… you give to me… some things… which I seek... Do you not… tire of this… pointless duel?" the Dark Sun spoke on hoping beyond hope that she would listen to reason and halt. "Do you not have… something to protect? Something to… to return to? What have you… what have you come here for? I can give it to you, I swear it upon my holy name."
This time, it was Rosalina who hesitated. She pondered the possibilities in her mind carefully… longingly, even. No more bloodshed. No more fighting. We'll get home peacefully.
If only they had thought of that sooner, not instantly leapt to conclusions and assumptions, bearing blades and violence to fix their problems!
Then again, that couldn't be possible in the current situation… especially not after she had indeed violated the peace in this man's domain.
"Why tell me all of this just now? Why only after you have borne a blade to my house and tried to kill me and my child?" she retaliated, hatred starting to seethe in her once more. "How can I be sure you aren't going to kill me?"
"Because… you… you destroyed part of my home and slaughtered my men, that is… How could I approach thee… peacefully… without being mistaken… as an enemy? But now, here I am… ready to absolve us of our faults… and reach peace… But again, there is something… something that I seek…"
Rosalina gave into her guilt. She, admittedly, was not without fault. "Alright… Do forgive me about the loss of your men… I shall consider your terms… sir… who are you?"
"I am Lord Gwyndolin… God of the Dark Sun… and Captain of the Blades of the Darkmoon" the armored figure replied curtly, having started to fully recover his breath, "…and I thank you for considering my peace. I shall desist my attacks… if you give me two things."
"Name them."
"First, I wish to receive knowledge. Knowledge and advancements in technology of any sort. We are in an age of war… and an age where Dark forces have eaten away at the foundations of our existence. We are in desperate need of help to fight back. And I implore of you, please, do help us."
Rosalina pondered this rather quickly. "That I can do… And what's the other?"
"I wish that you hand over the heretic named the Chosen Undead, so that he may be punished for his crimes against my kingdom. I have seen thee entertain his presence, and I have to warn you that he is an extremely dangerous individual who has killed many of my kind! All he seeks is power - the power of the souls of those he slays." He coughed rattlingly in his helm. "What say you? I have not dealt with him in the past, having not seen him as a threat before, but now that he has grown in power, he might as well slay me next. Or you."
Rosalina was shocked at the outburst. She had not expected all of this from her foe. All this she already knew, thanks to the Cosmic Spirit. And yet the embers of mistrust began to stir within her. Was the kind knight in shining armor really just a facade to what horrors lay within his twisted soul?
But, despite all this, he had not killed her yet. And he was her charge - a charge he had to protect. She, despite the very short time they had known each other, had grown to trust him.
She settled her mind, and spoke out firmly:
"I am afraid I cannot pay that price for peace. Your accusations against my- I mean, this person you call the Chosen Undead are unbelievable. I shall not hand him over to you."
Gwyndolin's initial shock soon melded with the frustration and disappointment that followed. He reached to his belt and immediately gulped down another Divine Blessing.
"You seriously would consort with someone as vile as he? Dear me, you must have fallen so deeply into his charms… It seems that our differences are irreconcilable."
"Really? Can you just leave my dear friend alone? Can I not argue for my own terms? Can't it be just simple as "leave me be and I'll leave you be?"" Rosalina pleaded. Peace was so close to their grasp… and yet like a shy beast it had slipped quickly from them. "Please… let us truly put our differences aside, just for a day. No hatred; no hard feelings, no more bloodshed. We all have our things to protect. We don't have to fight. I'll leave as soon as I can…"
"This is my domain, and I make the terms here!" the vengeful God returned firmly, stubbornly even. "You have trespassed and destroyed and killed and I shall bear this no longer - especially with the murderer you protect still at large!" He raised his blade and charged at her. "I'll start on finding peace - by killing you!"
The Lady of the Stars barely managed to react in time. She raised her frying pan, but not quickly enough to stop the God's blade from thrusting deep into her belly. She gasped, then screamed out in pure pain, tears welling in her eyes and blood starting to ooze out of her deep wound.
But she had one last spurt left. As the God grinned, so sure of his victory, she managed to grip the knife tightly enough, and drove it deep into the gap between the helmet and the chestplate.
It stuck and remained there, followed by a faint sanguine spray. The God of the Darkmoon cough once, twice, thrice, and the spray turned into a rivulet of blood which trickled down his throat and sprayed lightly onto Rosalina's face.
But then the God stumbled backward, feeling a surge of power rush through his veins once more. Finally, at long last, the Vow of Silence had ended. He quickly healed the wound on his throat, and held up his catalyst, charging small projectiles of energy…
But then he heard the furious clank of steel sabatons meeting the ground near the entrance of the building. Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly saw the knight charging like a raging bull towards him, with a shining rapier in hand and ready to strike.
He acted quickly. This new foe was too experienced to defeat in fair single combat. He canceled his spell, and quickly charged a Teleport instead. The knight rushed over, but it was too late. Gwyndolin had already disappeared in a bright flash.
And that's it. For now :)
I'll be working on more soon. Hopefully, sooner than later :)
Do read, rate and review, and enjoy as always! \\[T]/