Spear:

Standard spear used commonly by soldiers. Long reach, and can be used with shield up. Effective against hard exteriors, and can hit for high damage at the right moment of an enemy's swing.

But the hit radius is small, and it is easily blocked by shields.


The Hellkite Drake roared as the Chosen Undead embedded a Dragonslayer Greatarrow into its stomach. Flapping its wings, it screeched in a combination of fear, pain and anger, before another greatarrow missing its head by an inch caused it to jerk backward and hastily fly away, wings beating with such force that below, the undead dogs of the Lower Burg began to claw and growl at the walls that the sound reverberated off of.

The Chosen Undead turned to see the siblings staring in shock. A gigantic dragon had almost destroyed the bridge that they were crossing, knocked them down with its wingbeats, and the Chosen Undead reacted with nothing more than a sigh of annoyance and a great arrow to the chest.

Just another day in Lordran with the Chosen Undead.

"I still await an explanation," Oscar grunted, half to himself, before helping Anastacia up.

"Later." Was the only response offered before they drew their Greatbow again. A jabbed finger to the right was all the instruction Oscar needed to unsheathe his sword as the crossbow-wielding Hollow Soldiers began to collapse one by one, destroyed barricades revealing a path to the right.

A single bolt clanged against his shield as he ran. He lowered the shield, walking forward as he looked at the Astoran crest that decorated th-

Tink.

Oscar stopped and looked up into the red eyes that glared back at him from behind a rusted helmet, then down at the spearhead that gently rested against his chest.

Connecting bridge.

One beat.

Pairs of eyes.

Two beats.

Shields raised in unison.

Three.

Oscar jumped backward as the hollow swung wide. Dull it may have been, metal was still metal, and Oscar had no need for more iron in his diet, delivered directly into his stomach. Rolling out of the way, he locked eyes with the hollow, staring into dead eyes. Behind it, another hollow raised its spear.

Shields up.

Sword raised.

He and the two hollows slowly circled each other, each stepping counterclockwise slowly. Oscar's eyes flickered back and forth between the two. His sword arm shook.

Never learned properly, did I?

He clenched his shield.

Footsteps.

The hollow on the left changed direction.

Eyes.

Oscar began to take larger steps.

Get around them, get around them, opening, please.

The hollow on the right raised its spear and shield, and Oscar stumbled.

The hollow didn't move.

Goddammit, lower your shield or just "Attack me!" He yelled, bracing himself as he stared down the hollow.

One.

Where's the-

Feet rooted in place, knees unresponsive, the hand on his shield white from the force of his grip, Oscar swiveled around to find himself pinned between the two hollow soldiers.

Spear. Shield.

Eyes!

Oscar charged the hollow in front of him, cleaving at its head. With a metallic clang, his sword slammed into its shield.

And stopped.

Dull pain in his chest. He wildly swung his sword, backing up before sparing a look down.

Blood.

He slammed his body into the hollow, knocking its shield away before his bloodied hands tore the spear from its gnarled claws. As he buried the tip into its eye, driving it in with every ounce of force in his body, it snapped. All of his weight placed on the spear, he fell forward onto its body. As he stared into sightless eyes, he couldn't control himself. As his eyes raked over shriveled grey skin that was rotted, calcified, and crumbling simultaneously, torn jaw muscles that barely held, and a skull fractured like a shattered plate, Oscar retched, convulsing as his empty stomach desperately tried to expel its contents. He thrashed, kicking off the body as he saw the second hollow raise its spear.

Oscar raised his shield before it was kicked aside with a boot to the hand that gripped it, and blood filled Oscar's mouth from a reactive bite to the tongue as the second hollow's speartip nestled itself in his kidney.

Warped, twisted fingers grabbed his neck and squeezed, and Oscar desperately pounded at the hollow's arm as his vision dimmed, and just as his vision blurred and darkness slowly consumed his vision, the world exploded into black and white.


Anastacia screamed.

The humanity inside screamed with her.

She felt herself moving forward, a firebomb whizzing past her head as she crossed the bridge. The hollow turned to look at her, slamming Oscar's head into the railing.

Anastacia heard screams. Screams inside her. One scream, pitched just like the soul trapped in the hollow's body, and Oscar's slowly dying scream. She grabbed the hollow and lifted it into the air as another scream joined the ones echoing in her head.

Hers.

The Chosen Undead unconsciously picked off the hollows that stood on the battlements as they too ran toward Oscar, eyes fixed on Anastacia as the dainty girl picked up what must have been a six-foot-tall hollow, armor and all. She convulsed as black began to seep out of her pupils, screeching an inhuman wail before the Chosen Undead ducked behind the stone railings as the sounds of flesh tearing and bone snapping rang through the air.

What they stood up to see was a new sight.

The hollow fell onto the ground, split diagonally down its chest as a giant mass of humanity that poured out of Anastacia's face enveloped it, pulsating as it slowly began to shrink. The firekeeper stumbled forward, before the humanity receded, revealing the Darksign on the hollow's arm, glowing white. The sign, drowned in humanity, began to grow and expand as it tore its arm open, its entire right side inflating like a pig's bladder before the hollow's entire body was blown into chunks of flesh and bone that came to rest in a bloody puddle of viscera, bits and pieces of limbs and innards that formed a heaping serving of meat salsa on the ground as Anastacia's eyes returned to their regular blue. The firekeeper fell to her knees in front of Oscar, desperately trying to unhook his armor.

The sign on his neck.

As they took out Priscilla's Dagger and prepared to cut Oscar's armor open, Anastacia's head snapped up, and their grip tightened at her almost feral expression, before clarity returned and she tilted Oscar's neck to expose it.

"I trust you." She whispered, and they nodded, before making two quick cuts across Oscar's neck, and his armor split open, leaving his neck unharmed. As Anastacia placed her left hand over Oscar's Darksign, she moved to pull out the spear in his chest, before the Chosen Undead's hand gently moved it away.

"The damage is done."

The firekeeper whispered to herself, ancient rites of fallen lands as her hand dissolved into black matter that seeped into Oscar's mark. As his torn flesh began to mend, the Chosen Undead tore out the speartip, before dousing it in Estus. The combined effect was immediate as Oscar jerked forward, grabbing the Chosen Undead, before stopping as they pinned him to the ground with dual Tracers at his throat.

"Well." Oscar rasped as his senses returned and the Tracers were sheathed. "I may have lost my patience somewhat."


"Well, now... You seem to have your wits about you, hmm? Then you are a welcome customer! It's been a long while since I've had anyone come to peruse my wares!" The undead merchant giggled. "Go on, have a look! I trade for souls. Everything's for sale! Nee hee hee hee hee! "

Oscar raised an eyebrow at the ungodly amount of firebombs spilled in front of him as arrows and bolts were carelessly dumped directly on top of them. "Sir, do you have any weapons or perhaps armor? Mine has been...subpar at preventing injuries, it seems."

"Ohohoh! Armor? Armor! You're in luck!" Chain armor and a couple of decently-maintained swords, axes, and shields fell to the ground. "I've got them in stock! But they're expensive, so be ready to give up your souls! Nee hee hee hee hee!" Anastacia hid her discomfort at the merchant's nasal giggles, opting to look the other way and keep holding Oscar upright.

"Is there something wrong with my armor? That spear had no right to hurt me like so." Oscar muttered to himself, patting the hole torn in his chestplate.

"Well well, new to Lordran, are we? Astoran, from the looks of it. But no matter!" The merchant's voice grew serious. "You see, Lordran plays by its own rules. You must abide by them. Your armor from out there? Worth nothing inside, unless you modify it to play by the rules."

"What sort of modifications are we speaking of?" Oscar leaned in, interested.

"Hmmm... I don't feel like telling you! But maybe I can be convinced by a good trade."

Oscar had to resist the urge to punch the merchant in the face.

"So? Whaddaya buyin'?" The merchant's lipless shit-eating grin only grew wider as Oscar scooped up a handful of firebombs, and took the chain armor. "Fine. How do I pay you?"

"Oh noooo, you don't have enough souls! Nee hee he-" The merchant's laugh was cut short as Anastacia offered three humanity sprites to him. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as she pressed them into his palm.

"How about this instead?" Anastacia smirked as the merchant nodded like his head was about to fall off.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am! You're quite generous!" The merchant eagerly scooped the humanity into his pot. "Those sprites'll keep Yulia company!"

"Ahem." Oscar cleared his throat. "Information?"

"Aaah, yeees! Of course, stranger! Titanite is what you'll want. Ore of the gods, they say! A few elite warriors or lucky peasants might have shards-god forbid you find a lizard, and a good ol' blacksmith'll reinforce your weapons!"

"Lizard?" Oscar raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. "The mythical ones that grow gems on their backs?"

"Of course! Crystal lizards, the little buggers! They like to hide in nooks and crannies. Sneak up on it, and well-" The merchant's mouth split into a wide grin. "You got yourself some quality ore! But it won't do anything. You might kill the hollows easier, but what's that matter? There are still the demons!"

Of fucking course there are demons. "What demons." Oscar sighed.

"Ohohohoh, things are getting treacherous in these parts! A horrible goat demon has moved in below. And up above, there's that humongous drake, and a bull demon too. If you stick around this place, it might end up being your grave! Nee hee hee hee hee! Just stay here, how about? The hollows don't care for a skinny old twig like me. I've got Yulia, and all is right in the wor-YULIA!?" The merchant yelled as the Chosen Undead peeked over the rooftop overlooking the merchant's hiding spot holding two Uchigatanas. "Wha-bu-but I-you-here?" The undead man fumbled around in the pot behind him, before drawing his own blade, and Oscar stifled a whistle as he saw the sword. It was finely maintained, and the craftsmanship was evident in every facet of his reflection in the katana.

"Yulia? Have you betrayed me? You promised me you were mine!" As the man began to argue with his own reflection, Anastacia quickly dragged Oscar away, leaving the merchant behind to yell at his own mind as the illusion he had crafted for himself was dispelled.

A/N: Has anyone ever noticed how every shield is held like a buckler in Dark Souls? I feel like you're missing the point of the extra protection that shields offer if you're gonna angle it to protect your elbow instead of the rest of your very exposed and not shielded torso. Oscar, you shoulda worn your shield properly.

Character tags: Oscar "Happy right trigger finger" of Astora, Anastacia "your head asplode" of Astora, Undead "I have the most lines in this entire fic" Merchant, Chosen "Just let me taxi these idiots to Undead Parish already" Undead