Chapter 5- Godrick the Grafted
Harry's steps were heavy as he exited the chamber, leaving behind the suffocating atmosphere and the unsettling presence of Gostoc. The corridor beyond seemed to stretch endlessly, a labyrinth of shadows that seemed to promise pain at every corner. The memory of the fallen guards gnawed at him, their faces merging into a haunting montage of lives cut short. The clash of metal against flesh, the cries of pain and desperation, all of it haunted his thoughts like a relentless specter. He could not shake the feeling that their blood was on his hands, a stain that no amount of cleansing could remove.
His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. The weight of his actions bore down on him, the weight of a world that demanded he make choices that often defied his very nature. Tarnished or not, he was still human, still bound by a code of morality that clashed with the brutal reality he faced.
As he walked, the corridor gave way to a grand hall, its vastness echoing with the whispers of history. Harry's footsteps seemed to reverberate against the walls, a solitary echo amidst the silence. The torches that lined the hall cast long shadows, dancing like ghosts of the past. In the centre of the hall stood a Site of Grace, its soft glow beckoning him forward. Harry's hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing against the grace. A surge of energy coursed through him, a connection to the very essence of the world around him.
Attempting to quell the rising storm of emotions within him, Harry drew upon the teachings of Snape, channeling the stern composure that the Potions Master had once instilled in him. It was a matter of survival, he reminded himself, a brutal reality he had to come to terms within this unforgiving world. Killing was a necessity, a means to an end, especially in a realm where alliances were tenuous at best, and every individual was out for their own survival.
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the bleak landscape, Harry prepared to settle down for the night. The air was thick with tension, and he was acutely aware of the fragility of the alliances that held this world together. The camaraderie and moral certainties of his previous life seemed like distant memories, replaced by a gritty determination to navigate the treacherous path that lay ahead.
Amidst the looming darkness, a sharp yell pierced the air, jolting Harry from his thoughts. Recognizing the voice as Rogier's, he wasted no time, following the urgent cries down a set of winding staircases. The descent led him to a secluded garden, a small oasis of green amidst the desolation. But any sense of tranquility was shattered by the horrifying sight that greeted him—an enormous, mutated tree, its twisted branches snaking through the air like serpents, its bark marred by inflamed ulcers.
Without hesitation, Harry conjured fire spells, each incantation punctuated by the harsh mantra that echoed in his mind: survival at any cost. The flames engulfed the tree, its agonized screams ringing in the air. But the mutated creature fought back, a frenzied dance of desperation that culminated in a deadly strike. One of its branches pierced through Rogier's shield, impaling the sorcerer through the chest.
In a desperate bid to end the threat, Harry's voice resonated with a chilling determination as he cast the explosive curse, "Confringo!" The spell struck the creature's head, triggering a violent explosion that shattered its form and ignited the remains. The echoes of the blast still reverberated as Harry rushed to Rogier's side, his heart pounding as he pulled the wounded sorcerer away from the charred remains.
Rogier's body was battered, his breaths ragged as he weakly crawled away from the smoldering wreckage. With a swift motion, Harry levitated Rogier, his focus unwavering even amidst the chaos. Gritting his teeth, he carried the injured sorcerer back up the stairs to the Site of Grace.
As Rogier lay on the platform, his life hanging by a thread, Harry's hands moved with practiced precision. He chanted incantations, drawing upon the healing spells he knew, each word a desperate plea for salvation. The wound on Rogier's chest began to mend, the torn flesh gradually knitting together. But Harry did not stop there; he pushed further, manipulating the magic to mend arteries and soothe the trauma that had ravaged the sorcerer's body.
Time seemed to stretch, the rhythm of his incantations merging with the rhythmic beating of his heart. The world around him faded, leaving only the intense focus on the task at hand. And as the wounds closed, as Rogier's breathing steadied, Harry finally allowed himself a moment of respite. He leaned back, his chest heaving as he surveyed the aftermath of the brutal encounter. The chaos of the whole day was catching up to him now. As he looked at Rogier's battered but still alive body, his eyes closed.
As the first rays of dawn filtered through the murky atmosphere, Harry's consciousness emerged from the depths of sleep. His senses gradually sharpened, dispelling the remnants of slumber's embrace. Blinking away the residual grogginess, he took in his surroundings—once again in the midst of the dimly lit chamber, the ethereal glow of the Site of Grace casting an otherworldly aura.
Shaking off the remnants of sleep like cobwebs from his mind, Harry's eyes immediately searched for Rogier. The sorcerer was not where he had been when Harry had drifted off, a twinge of concern pricking at the back of his thoughts. Frantic eyes swept the room until they landed on Rogier, seated near the Site of Grace. A rush of relief coursed through him.
Rogier, observing Harry's awakening, beckoned him closer. The two Tarnished souls converged by the Site of Grace, drawn together by their shared fate in this shadowy realm. Rogier's voice carried a tinge of detached contemplation as he spoke, "It is a strange irony that we are relieved of the need to eat, isn't it? One of the few benefits bestowed upon us by our cursed condition. Dying does have its unique privileges, it seems."
Harry offered a faint nod, death had stripped away that need, leaving them with only the essentials for survival—a bitter truth that echoed in the cavernous chambers of the castle. His mind briefly entangled in the memories of another lifetime—the time when he had ventured alongside Ron and Hermione in pursuit of Horcruxes, when their concerns had been rooted in the mundane struggles of survival. A sharp pang of longing echoed within him, tugging at the strings of his heart. Were they still alive? Were they safe and happy? The questions remained unanswered; a silent ache that refused to be quelled.
His thoughts jolted back to the present as he cast a questioning gaze upon Rogier. The sorcerer's recent encounter had been far from typical, and curiosity mingled with concern in Harry's eyes. "What in the world were you doing down there?" The question burst forth, laden with genuine bewilderment.
Rogier regarded Harry thoughtfully, a pause hanging in the air before he began to unravel the tale of his purpose. "I have always been a scholar at heart, you see," he began, his words carrying the weight of distant memories. "A student of history, particularly that of the Lands Between. My purpose for venturing into the castle was no mere whim; it was to uncover the secrets that time had buried within its walls."
He paused, his gaze distant as he continued, "The corpse that lies beneath the heart of Stormveil Castle is no ordinary relic. It is a fragment of a dark chapter in this realm's history—the infamous Black Knives Plot. It occurred during the Golden Age of the Erdtree, a time preceding the shattering of the Elden Ring. A daring theft took place, a fragment of the Rune of Death was stolen from none other than Maliketh, the Black Blade. And on that fateful night, Godwyn the Golden was assassinated in cold blood."
Rogier's words hung heavily in the air, a somber testament to the tumultuous past of this realm. "It marked the first recorded death of a demigod in the annals of history, becoming the catalyst that set forth a series of cataclysmic events. The Elden Ring shattered, giving birth to the war that history now knows as the Shattering."
Harry's response held a note of contemplation, his voice carrying the burden of realization. "I did hear the stories about the shattering," he admitted, "but I did not realize that the death of a demigod could be the spark that ignited such chaos."
Rogier's gaze remained distant, as if he were gazing back through the veil of time itself, his words carrying a solemn cadence as he continued to unravel the tapestry of the past. "The world we find ourselves in has grown crooked, it's very foundations twisted by the repercussions of those events. If you are to bring about any semblance of balance and rectitude, it is imperative that you grasp the underpinnings of what transpired, the decisions and tragedies that paved the way for this fractured existence."
A heavy silence hung in the air. The sorcerer's gaze seemed to pierce through the veil of time, as if he himself had been a witness to the tumultuous events he described. "And remember," he continued, his tone carrying a tinge of urgency, "that thing beneath Stormveil's heart—it is no mere relic of history. It is a specter of the past, a vessel of the choices that reverberate through time. Approach it with caution, for disturbing its slumber could have unforeseen consequences."
Rogier's gaze refocused on Harry, his eyes glinting with a mixture of melancholy and urgency. "In the lands between, the price of knowledge can be steep," he cautioned, his voice laden with a weight that only time could impart. "Tread carefully, for the pursuit of truth can unravel more than you can fathom."
Rogier finally seemed to break out of his melancholy "Well, I must be off. I have found what I was looking for at Stormveil. I will be at the Roundtable Hold if you are seeking me. I wish you good fortune against Godrick and his Tarnished hunters."
"Good luck" Harry replied, shaking Rogier's hand "Don't get into any more fights you cannot manage."
Rogier gave him a farewell wave and left through the door leading back to the entrance of Stormveil Castle.
Harry turned around, his gaze sweeping across the richly adorned chamber. This was the first time he truly observed the room's details, his curiosity piqued by the intricate tapestries and portraits that adorned its walls. The chamber resonated with a palpable sense of history, and Harry found himself drawn to the stories etched in paint and thread.
His attention was immediately captured by a regal portrait dominating one corner of the room. The subject, a warrior-like figure, stood tall with an air of both strength and restraint. In his hands, a steel axe gleamed, and a ferocious lion seemed frozen in motion on his back, as if restrained by his sheer presence. Harry's eyes lingered on the details—the lines etched by time on the warrior's face, the determination in his eyes, and the unspoken story hinted at by the lion's tense posture.
The next portrait depicted a vivid battle scene, the very essence of conflict captured in paint. The same warrior, now recognized as Lord Godfrey, clashed with another figure—this one adorned in ornate armor, wielding a tempestuous hurricane as if it were a weapon. 'The Storm Lord,' Harry mused, piecing together the tapestry of history. It was a tale of clashes, of power wielded in titanic battles, each stroke of the artist's brush capturing the raw energy of combat.
The chamber's narrative flowed seamlessly as Harry's gaze shifted to another portrait, this one of Lord Godfrey kneeling before a woman of striking beauty and regal bearing. The woman, undoubtedly Queen Marika, exuded an aura of divine authority. Her golden hair cascaded like molten sunshine, framing features that seemed too perfect for mere mortals. Her eyes, like twin pools of molten gold, held a sharpness that pierced through time itself. A halo of ethereal light encircled her form, casting an otherworldly glow upon her and the man before her.
"Queen Marika," Melina's voice, soft and melodious, broke through the silence, as she materialized beside Harry. Her words held a reverence that matched the significance of the portrait. "She was not only a ruler but a symbol of divinity in the Lands Between. The one who crowned Lord Godfrey, marking him as her consort and the first Elden Lord."
Harry found himself entranced by the woman's beauty, a fascination that seemed to transcend the boundaries of art. "She appears almost goddess-like," he murmured, his eyes locked on the portrait that seemed to amplify her ethereal allure.
"Perhaps she is a goddess" Melina replied, her response carried a hint of mystery, her gaze lingering on the portrait for a moment longer before she shifted her attention to the next depiction. This time, Lord Godfrey's form was locked in a frozen battle against towering giants, the scene set amidst snow-capped mountains. The last portrait was once again of Lord Godfrey and Queen Marika, this time with another man. The other man had Godfrey's warrior like bearing and Marika's golden hair. Their child, Harry surmised.
"Godwyn the Golden" Melina confirmed "He was the favorite of Queen Marika, her golden child. He fought against the dragons and eventually formed lasting friendships with them. During his mother's rule, the once majestic Erdtree found itself besieged by an ancient menace that had once reigned supreme—the Dragons. These colossal beings, remnants of a time long before Marika's ascent to power, sought to reclaim dominion over the world they had once commanded. Amidst the turmoil, it was Lord Godwyn who emerged as a formidable champion, and during the final battle, found himself face-to-face with the dreaded Fortissax, a dragon of legendary terror and power. Against all odds, Lord Godwyn managed to overcome the ancient wyrm, forging an unlikely alliance borne from a mutual respect born of combat. Fortissax, once a foe of unimaginable dread, now became a powerful ally, its loyalty sworn to the one who had bested it."
"He sounds like a legendary figure," Harry observed with a mixture of awe and curiosity. "And yet, you speak of Godwyn as Marika's favorite child. As if there are more children of Marika's."
Melina's expression grew somber, her ethereal form seeming to carry the weight of untold history. "There are two more," she said, her voice carrying a tinge of sadness. "Morgott and Mohg."
Harry's brow furrowed in thought as he processed this new information. "I don't see them in these portraits," he noted, gesturing to the family lineage depicted on the walls.
"Because they were ostracized and shunned," Melina explained with a heavy sigh. "Born as Omen, cursed beings without the grace of the Erdtree. They were considered impure due to their bloodline, cast aside by a world that feared them. Morgott and Mohg were condemned to lives of darkness, hidden from the world, bound by chains of prejudice."
"That is outrageous," Harry's voice carried a blend of anger and frustration. "They are innocent children, caught in circumstances beyond their control."
"Such is the harsh reality of this world, Tarnished," Melina said, her voice carrying a hint of resignation born from centuries of witnessing the world's injustices.
Harry's fists clenched at his sides, his resolve strengthening. The echoes of his own past, marked by mistreatment and disdain, reverberated in his mind. He had fought against oppression and prejudice before, and he would do so again. Determination burned in his eyes as he decided that he would use his presence in this world to make a difference, challenge the status quo, and fight for those who had been cast aside.
His determination crystallized into action as he strode purposefully toward the only path forward, a closed door within the chamber. He raised his wand and with a forceful "Depulso," the doors swung open with a resounding crash. Before him stretched a long corridor, leading to a small, humble shack at its end. Harry's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. The shack was guarded by two figures, oblivious to his approach.
With a determined glint in his eye, Harry advanced down the corridor, keeping an eye out for sudden attackers. He noticed Melina had already disappeared, but at the moment, was too angry to care. There were severed limbs hanging from the ceiling in the corridor; a dismembered Troll's body lying on a corner; and a pile of dismembered corpses. On one of the corpses, Harry found a red chrysalid, confirming Roderika's words about her companions being killed. Tucking the memento into a pocket, he resolved to bring the memento back to her. Finished with his examination of the corpses, he started walking towards the shack, where he could still see the two soldiers loitering about.
Reaching the shack, he drew his sword and stabbed the first soldier through the neck. The second soldier turned around in alarm but before Harry could kill him, an axe burst through his stomach and pulled, dropping the now-dead soldier on the ground like a sack of potatoes. Harry warily raised his sword at the new figure who nonchalantly rubbed the blood off her axe on the soldier's clothes.
Ignoring Harry, she crouched down to the dying soldier and patted his arm consolingly "Be proud. You were a fine warrior. Your only mistake was your choice of master. Let the winds lift you, to a higher place."
Getting back on her feet, she noticed Harry's raised sword and raised an eyebrow "Well, who do we have here? Tarnished, are you? Clearly not one of Godrick's lot. I am Nepheli Loux. Tarnished and warrior, like you. I am here by decree of my father. How utterly repellant this is... This "grafting" of Godrick's ill befits a Lord. He's tainted the very winds."
Observing the lack of aggression in his new companion's demeanor, Harry gradually lowered his sword, the tension in his stance easing. "It is a foul business," he agreed with a grave nod.
"Indeed. If you intend to challenge Godrick," Nepheli Loux spoke with a somber intensity, "I ask you to call upon me. The winds run cold with his deeds. I'm certain my father would permit me to aid in the fight."
"You keep mentioning your father. Who is he?" Harry's curiosity was piqued by the repeated reference.
A soft smile touched Nepheli Loux's lips. "He is my foster father. I believe you met him when you visited the Roundtable Hold."
"Not Gideon Ofnir," Harry responded with a hint of distaste.
"Aye. He took me in when I was but a child," Nepheli Loux's gaze seemed to drift into the distance as if reliving memories. "My entire village had been put to the sword, and I was left with terrible scars. He offered me guidance and a purpose throughout my life."
Harry's perception of Gideon Ofnir shifted slightly, acknowledging the complexities of the man's character. "Perhaps he is not that bad," he conceded.
"He can be off-putting at times, but his intentions are for the best of the Lands Between," Nepheli Loux admitted. With a renewed sense of purpose, she continued, "Now, I believe we have a demigod to face."
"You sound rather eager," Harry remarked, trailing after Nepheli Loux as they exited the shack and approached a tall doorway that seemed to shift and shimmer like mist.
"It is supposed to be challenging," Nepheli Loux's wry grin spoke of the trials ahead, her eyes alive with a mix of excitement and determination. "Godrick, you see, is no mere name in these lands. He is a hated demigod, a symbol of depravity and cruelty. The echoes of his deeds during The Shattering still reverberate through the hearts of those who remember."
As Nepheli Loux began to share the grim tale, her voice took on a somber tone, underscoring the gravity of the history. "During The Shattering, as chaos engulfed the realm, Godrick's reign came crashing down. Driven from the Leyndell, the once-proud royal capital, he fled the city after amassing a horde of treasures. His cowardly escape saw him hiding among the womenfolk, desperate to evade the pursuit of General Radahn."
Nepheli Loux's words painted a vivid picture of Godrick's descent. "This castle became his refuge, a sanctuary for his dark ambitions. Here, he practiced the grotesque art of grafting, attaching fragments of living beings to himself, seeking power in his twisted transformation. When the Tarnished, like us, returned to the Lands Between, Godrick's hunger for supremacy led him to send his soldiers on brutal Tarnished hunts. He sought new subjects to graft, expanding his abominable dominion."
The air grew heavier as Nepheli Loux delved deeper into the chilling narrative. "Godrick's insatiable thirst for power knew no bounds. He extended his abominable practices to himself and even took to creating the Grafted Scions – monstrous, nightmarish beings crafted from the twisted fusion of various limbs, seemingly sewn together on innocent children."
Nepheli Loux's words conveyed the gravity of their mission. "But even the powerful can be brought low. When Malenia, his stepsister, marched southward, Godrick dared to insult her. What followed was a confrontation of titanic proportions, where arrogance met unwavering determination. In the end, Godrick's defeat left him broken, a demigod forced to grovel and beg for mercy. And now it is on us to end his rule of terror."
Without hesitation, she charged through the misty threshold, and Harry quickly followed suit. The world around them shifted, and they emerged into a vast courtyard adorned with trees and, to Harry's unsettling realization, hundreds of graves. Dominating the scene was the massive carcass of a dragon, its colossal wings spread out as if in eternal repose. The creature was twice the size of the Hungarian Horntail he had faced during the Triwizard Tournament.
In the distance, a tower stood tall, bearing the image of the Erdtree that had become both a symbol and a source of power in this world. However, Harry's attention was immediately drawn to a figure kneeling before the dragon's carcass. He was draped in a golden cloak around his shoulders, adorned with the Erdtree. The tall figure's hand reached out as if seeking blessing, an eerie scene that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
"Mighty dragon, thou'rt a trueborn heir. Lend me thy strength, o kindred. Deliver me unto greater heights." As Harry followed Nepheli into the courtyard, he could hear the figure saying these words over and over. Walking closer, there was a crunch of breaking twigs under their feet and the tall figure turned towards them, shaking his head as if breaking out of a trance. The figure had a pale drawn out face, long white hair falling in strands. The man, for it was man, let go of the cloak covering his shoulders and Harry saw to his horror, at least dozens of hands attached to his back. Two of those hands reached into the ground and pulled a massive axe in the air, brandishing it at Harry and Nepheli Loux.
"The fight's about to begin," Nepheli Loux said with an excited grin as Harry grimaced.
"You think?" Harry muttered, conjuring a magical shield on his left arm.
"...Well. A lowly Tarnished, playing as a lord. I command thee, kneel! I am the lord of all that is golden!" Godrick the Grafted shouted, lifting his axe and then smashing it back into the ground, sending tremors through the ground. Nepheli Loux gave a war cry as she jumped in the air, bringing both her axes to bear. Godrick in response, dug his axe into the ground, then pulled it out shooting out blasts of wind that curved towards their position. The blast of wind caught Nepheli mid jump, and threw her back against the castle walls, knocking her unconscious while Harry managed to avoid the brunt of the attack using his shield. Drawing his magic, Harry sent an exploding hex at the Demigod, which he avoided by rolling once to the side before leaping into the air and swinging his axe counterclockwise as he descended. Harry dodged the axe and sent a Sectumsempra, which cleaved off two of the attached arms off his back, drawing out a scream. In response, the demigod brutally struck Harry with his axe, throwing Harry back. Harry landed among the gravestones, smashing a couple of them apart. There was a sticky feeling under his chain armor, and as Harry gingerly felt through his armor, he touched two protruding ribs from the side.
"Ah," Harry gasped in pain before he banished himself away with the banishing charm to avoid another swing of the axe. The demigod paused in his attack, observing Harry calculatingly.
"Your magic is not of these lands, is it? Very well, I shall enjoy adding you to my collection" Godrick announced, swinging his axe around in circles, surrounding himself with a cyclone, and knocking Harry back. Spitting out a glob of blood, Harry ducked under another swing of the axe and deflected the next with his sword, creating an opening. Pushing his hand against his chest, he yelled.
"Confringo"
The blasting hex caught Godrick directly on the chest and the demigod was thrown back, landing painfully among the gravestones, and smashing through a dozen of them before finally stopping in front of the dragon carcass. Letting a pained groan escape his throat, Harry clambered back to his feet, keeping an eye on Godrick who was slowly getting back on his feet. The demigod let out a yell and lifted his axe again, with Harry bracing himself for another attack. But then Godrick brought the axe down on his own arm, tearing through flesh, bone, and sinew. Harry watched horrified as Godrick wrenched the arm apart and threw it away, drenching the ground with black blood. His horror was compounded as Godrick thrust his stump into the throat of the dead dragon's carcass, and then wrenched it back, pulling the head of the dragon onto his stump like a twisted gauntlet.
"Ahh, truest of dragons. Lend me thy strength… Nnngh!" the demigod panted, looking at the dead dragon's head in desperation. Behind him, Nepheli Loux began to stir slowly as Harry cast some healing spells over himself. To his shock, he saw the dead dragon's head stirring and rear its head with a growl.
Raising the dragon head grafted on his arm like a trophy, Godrick exclaimed "Forefathers, one and all… Bear witness!" and bathed the area in fire.
"Bloody hell" Harry cursed to himself, casting a flame freezing charm over himself as Nepheli Loux quickly ducked the raging flames. The flames licked at his body, causing him to get warm all over. After all, no charm could completely shield against dragon fire.
"You are wrong" Nepheli said, her dual axes clashing with Godrick's own. "You are no Lord, and that dragon is no true dragon like Fortissax or Placidusax. You are weak and unworthy." Nepheli ducked under Godrick and smashed her axes into Godrick's side, making him drop in pain.
"You dare besmirch my strength" Godrick shouted, one of the grafted arms grabbing Nepheli while another clutched her right arm, twisting it and breaking it.
Godrick bellowed at Nepheli who was moaning on the ground "One day, we'll return together. To our home, bathed in rays of gold. There is only one tree and only its branches. That bathe in true rays of gold. Not the fool Omen King. Nor the rank malformed twins. O, we are the Golden Ones. The true and rightful heirs. Nor you, Nepheli Loux, I recognize you. You bear the mark of our ancestor. But you are a weakling. And I.." Godrick lifted his foot and stomped on Nepheli with terrific force "I am a God."
"No," Harry said, his sword now glowing with an ethereal blue light. "You are nothing." Harry's sword enlarged into a magical greatsword and sliced Godrick's left leg off. The demigod staggered and tried to bat Harry away with another discharge of flames, but Harry cast a banishing charm at the ground, lifting himself up over Godrick where he sliced Godrick's head straight off. The demigod's face was frozen in disbelief as its head slowly slid off his shoulders and dropped to the ground. As Godrick's body collapsed, a mist like substance rose from it and coalesced into a ring like shape and hovered in the air. Harry tentatively raised his arm and reached out with his magic. The ring rushed forward and engulfed Harry and wrapped around his left wrist like a bracelet, runes etched across it.
"You won" Nepheli Loux exclaimed, staggering to Harry who grabbed her and lowered her to the ground.
"With your help" Harry reminded, wincing at the damage done to Nepheli Loux's body.
"She needs to be taken to the Roundtable Hold. And you as well" Melina said, suddenly appearing beside Harry, making him jump.
"Merlin's beard" Harry exclaimed, now noticing the copious amount of blood flowing out of his rib wound. Melina ignored him and grabbing both him and Nepheli Loux, pulled them into a vortex of colors once more.
AN: Hey all, I hope I managed to do justice to the fight between Godrick and Harry. Hope you liked it. As always, please read, review and enjoy.