words* - flashback

'Words' - thoughts

Note: I don't claim ownership of either Dark Souls or RWBY


Chosen Undead

It was night by the time the Chosen Undead had finished his preparations. He sighed, removing his newly repaired helmet, placing a hand above the visor before rubbing his thumb along the top. His face was a hideous thing, a monstrous abomination that couldn't exist on a mere mortal. His jaw was unhinged, creaking slightly everytime he opened his mouth, as if it had been knocked out of its original shape. His nose was squashed, like he had repeatedly ran into a wall for years on end, its malformed shape rendering it more of a mere accessory then an advantage. His skin was wrinkled and raw red, like his skin had been flayed, leaving only the raw, red flesh to beat and abuse. Not one part of his face was free of the horrible treatment, all an angry scarlet that threatened to make its witness scream in terror. His eyes were little more than mush, moving like slime every time he turned, acting as if they were their own entity. His hair had evidence of being burnt off, leaving an exposed scalp save for a few stray strands. His mouth was devoid of conventional lips, all of them so dried that they could barely handle the estus that he chose to drink at that moment. He breathe dout a sigh of relief

'Drinking is so much easier with the helmet off.' He carried on drinking, refilling his flask with the healing liquid by his hearth. Downing another shot, he rummaged in his pouch again, fishing for something. Suddenly pulling his hand, he opened it to slowly observe the little black sprite in his hand. As it slowly got up in his hand, it moved slightly, trying to escape from the undead's hand.

'Humanity.' It moved on its own accord, mesmerising it's observer as it floated with an ethereal glow. The Chosen Undead waited for a reaction from the sprite, patiently watching it as it wandered aimlessly, reminding him of its older kin in the Abyss.

'A mistake of Gwyn's, in my hand. A remnant of a lost age, of my age, in a new world. A piece of origin, of pain, of suffering, in a time of relative peace.' He smiled to himself, his cracked lips slowly upturning to reveal hideous rotten teeth, gaps haunting every section.

He looked at the flame, considering his options.

'There's no influence of the flame anymore; this world is truly free of Gwyn's influence.' With this new piece of information, he returned the humanity to its rightful place, ensuring that it wouldn't escape, not that it would try.

"As a knight, I must show resolve, no matter how worthless." He spat bitterly at the end of his sentence, the words obviously leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He withdrew his claymore, its blade perfectly clean, the rusted blood of his enemies long past faded into nothingness before both the flame and his hammer. He slung it across his back, retrieving his favoured catalyst, the wood in pristine condition; perfect for casting spells. He turned to pick up his bottomless box before retrieving something from his belt, hanging precariously to his left. It was poorly made, seams starting to split across the fabric. Yet, there seemed to be a slight glow of gold before it sewed itself together, the presence of fire slowly repairing it. The golden feather on the top showcased the highest kill and a single black dragon scale adorned the centre of the talisman, covering an orange lightning spear.

'The sunlight spear.' He immediately slammed the accursed thing back into his belt, his reminiscing bringing him more anger than joy. His faith had long been extinguished, after all. A talisman like that would be of no use to him, a faithless traitor.

'And yet, why can't I bear to rid myself of it?' He retrieved the coiled sword, the flame extinguishing immediately after the tip separated from the wood. Shoving it into the box, he walked towards the dark forest, slowly clasping his helmet into place. After all, with the stench of the Abyss permeating every corner of the island, he doubted that those beasts would leave him alone. As the first wave of red eyes surrounded him, he withdrew his claymore, raising his catalyst in a show of defiance.

"Come, and meet your undoing!" A chorus of snarls rang through the woods before they pounced, closing in on him with a terrifying speed.

*

Qrow

Day had dawned, rain battering the small island as the dull sun hid behind clouds. Yet, for Qrow, this did nothing to deter him. The steady tap of the rain was a mere reoccurrence as Qrow flew, wings splayed, intent on gathering information. The illustrious knight had left no trace of his existence, heavy footprints turned to mud in the face of nature. Calling in a few favours, he had asked for a few hunters from the tower to scour the island, searching for any unusual signs under the pretence of increased Grimm sightings.

'How did they find nothing? Not a single unauthorized entry to Patch and they didn't even find the reason why so many Grimm have appeared.' He ached to take a long, hearty drink but resisted the urge, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Gliding lower, he vanished underneath tree canopies as he reached his destination. Before him was a disturbed patch of dirt, all of it completely caved in. He hastily reverted, approaching the unusual phenomenon as he investigated.

'This isn't caused by any lesser Grimm but on this small island, are there really any intelligent Grimm? No, this must be the work of a human or faunus.' To ensure his hypothesis was correct, he scoured the unkempt soil, peering into the hole left in its wake. To his dismay, it was an ordinary thing, with nothing inside except for grass and moss. He sighed, taking a swig before transforming. This would be a long day indeed.

*

???

"Are you ready to proceed, senators?"

"Yes, master. The preparation for the first ritual is ready and all of our men are starting to converge to the designated meeting point." A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, wearing a dull red, akin to a subdued crimson. Before him were six kneeling humanoids, adorned in similar grey cloaks, red lines drawn at the hems as if climbing up the cloth. The first figure had a dull grey lap his heels, cinders burning at the end of his dress.

"Good. How long will it take for all our forces to arrive?" One of the six figures stepped forward before kneeling again.

"We have been informed that it will take approximately one year, with our forces stretched as thin as they are." The man scratches under his head, considering the idea.

"Very well. Ensure all forces have arrived before the given time period or I will personally have you all ripped to shreds by the Grimm. If we want to usurp Salem and her Grimm army we will need the coming power. The power, of a deity." The six men bowed in unison.

"It shall be done, my lord." Stepping out of the room, the men spoke in hushed tones, freed evident even under their masks.

'They can dream all they want; this power is mine and mine alone. Before long I will have the whole of Remnant before me.' He laughed, a laugh of fervent greed and abstract happiness. The laugh, of the damned.

*

Chosen Undead

Blood. Wherever he went, no matter what time, blood always followed. Whether it be his own or his enemies, no matter friend or foe, no matter before his training or after, blood had been present. An omnipresent, eternal presence that followed him even now, as he cleaned the Grimm blood off his blade. They served no challenge to him, not anymore. By the third kill, he had learnt the patterns of his new enemies. By the fifth, he could effortlessly slip between attacks and damage weak points. By his tenth murder, the Grimm had become little more than an annoyance, creatures of the Abyss or not.

'Too weak. Has the Abyss weakened over time? And yet, even after the fire has faded, dark still remains. Was the dark always stronger than the light? Was I misled?' A rustle broke him from his thoughts, his blade instantly drawn upon the sound.

"Show yourself!" From out of the clearing a child emerged, disappearing before reappearing before the knight in a shower of petals.

"Hello, Mr Knight!" He immediately put his claymore down, before joining it, beckoning the girl to sit beside him.

"Lady Rose, I did not expect thee to grace me with thy presence." She turned her head in confusion.

'Damn old habits; I'm lucky they didn't change the spoken language too much but just my luck that I'm conversing with a child'

"I meant to say, I didn't think you would come to see me, Young Ruby." A smile lit her face, the slight rain being ignored even as it seeped into her clothes. He quickly helped her, retrieving a simple cloak from his box to shield her from the rain.

"I wanted to talk to you, Mr Knight." Hidden surprise graced his visage however it quickly turned into a small smile.

"Of course, ask me anything you'd like." She smiled lightly, a melancholy look settling upon her face.

"What's your name, Mr?"

"My name is..." He paused, trying to remind himself of the tidbit of information.

"My name is..." He frowned, the information eluding him.

"Actually, I'm not sure what my name is." She looked at him, confused.

"Everyone has a name though. You can't just forget your own name." He laughed at her innocence, silently muttering an old prayer under his breath before quickly stopping. Old habits die hard, after all.

"Well, it seems I've forgotten mine." She pouted, eyes practically visualizing ideas as the cogs in her head turned rapidly. He waited patiently, stooping low to match her height.

"I know, I'll name you instead. Imt he best at naming things!" He froze, the idea passing through him with the speed of a snail.

"Like a pet?" She nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, like a pet." He sighed, newfound exhaustion seeping into his heavily atrophied body. He had forgotten about the behaviours of children, most of them dissapearing after the Darksign had ensnared the souls of the world. The last time he had interacted with one was... A blinding image crashed into his mind, crushing his vision as he was brought to his knees. As the image steadied, he made out a child dancing in a field, small hands carrying a dandelion for him before it switched, leading back to the accursed Kiln.

'Who was that?' In his contemplation, it took him a minute to hear the cries near him.

"Mister Miles, are you okay? Mister Miles?" He stood up, knees shaking under the new strain.

"I am fine, young lady. I am sorry to have worried you. More importantly, Miles?" Ruby looked at him, eyes downcast.

"Do you not like it, Mister Knight." Warning bells ran through his mind immediately and before he could stop himself, he spoke.

"No, no. It is a perfect name, lady Rose and I will cherish it forever. I promise." Her eyes darted to look at his helmet, face lit up with joy as a beaming smile grew on her face. Just as she was about to respond, however, he quickly covered her mouth. Drawing his sword, he turned as he watched a new horde of infernal creatures climb out of the clearing.

"Beowolves!" Without looking behind him, he drew a random shield from his bottomless box, movements slow and calm.

"How far are you from home?" From behind him, he could hear her panic elavating.

"Around 5 minutes with my semblance." He swore under his breath, situation assessed.

'Two hundred or so 'Beowolves', a repaired claymore, an unknown shield and a child. This isn't in my favour at all. Then again, when have any of my battles been in my favour?'

"Young Ruby, I need you to run straight back home and hide, okay?" He could hear her surprise.

"But, what about you?" He steadied the claymore, shield still by his side.

"Currently, your safety is most important. I will survive, I promise. After all," he turned his head slightly to look at her. "I'm Mister Miles, remember?" She nodded as he turned again watching the Grimm slowly crawl forward, their fear slowly ebbing away for hunger.

"Now GO!" He heard her dash away as the Grimm charged at him, wave upon wave crashing upon him like a force of nature. They quickly bit at him, their teeth scraping across his armour and leaving scars in the metal.

'There's no room to use the claymore well and the catalyst is still in the box. How did I deal with this in the past?' The word 'force' immediately flashed in his head along with the image of groups of hollows being flung away from him.

'Screw that.' He dropped the claymore, punching the Grimm above him directly under the jaw, making it fly a few feet away. With the new room, he quickly hilted the claymore and instead drew a tiny spark, fire elegantly dancing on the palm of his steel hand. As they rushed towards him, he rose the hand into the air and looked at them with mirth before thrusting his hand down. Fire erupted from the ground in grand pillars, blinding the Beowolves as magma spewed out in random directions. Curiously, as they started to touch the flammable clearing, they seemed to dissipate, leaving the forest intact save for some corpses as Miles slowly cut through the creatures before him.

Before long, the only thing that stood was Miles, his blade dirtied with more blood. As he stood there, he thought of a time before the Darksign, of a time when he had a name.

"Dad, this way! This way!" Running across a grassy meadow, the wind blowing through his hair, a small child rushed to and fro as he guided Miles. He jogged lightly, allowing the child to get away as a small cottage spontaneously appeared before them, a woman standing at the entrance of the house.

'My wife. My, ... wife. My, ... child. My family?'

"#/#, you're back!" Miles took of his helmet before quickly embracing his spouse, gently kissing her.

"Of course I am; I can't leave that early, can I!." A smile formed upon Miles' lips, mirrored in his wife. Yet, he couldn't see her face, only her smile.

'Why can't I see her face? Why, can I not, see, her, face!?' He turned to his son, only to see the same shroud covering his face.

"Do you want to see us, dad?" He nodded, desperation clutching at his throat.

"If you say so." His vision abruptly stopped responding before his eyes opened to a grassy meadow, a small cottage at the end of the field.

"Murderer!" Miles turned, staring face to face with a nameless hollow. Before he could process what was happening, two pairs of hands grabbed at his hands, both as thin and malnourished as each other.

"Murderer!" He shook off the arms, running to the cottage at the far side. Every step he took changed the scenery before him, staining the grass with blood and morphing the sky red. The shambling of various hollows grew louder as he ran, each and every one of them hurling the word "Murderer" at him.

"Traitor!" He stopped, bracing himself for the hollows to grapple at him and take him under. They never came.

"You traitor!"

'Please, no.' He turned, assessing the single figure crawling towards him. Paladin Leeroy, senior of the Way of White.

"You were my friend, my student. And you killed me." Miles turned and fled, running away as the fallen Paladin slowly crawled towards his former student.

'Why, why, why? Why is he here? Why did he replace the hollows? Why, why, WHY?'

He reached the front lawn of the house, separated by a quaint little fence. Relief immediately washed over him, easing his guard as he opened the gate. Big mistake. From the earth emerged a figure, appearing as the house moved another half field's worth away. Miles backed away, fear and disgust etched on his scarred face. His right arm pulsed as the form gained substance.

"I am Artorias, knight of Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, Abysswalker, and I have come to kill you." Miles recognised the gaping hole that he had left within his chest, just as the knight could recognise the vicious mark he had left on running the length of his forearm. No words were exchanged as both of them circled each other, identical blades drawn as they paced cautiously. After all, both remembered the uncountable battles they had before, when the famed Abysswalker was a mere beast, yet even then he had been an unstoppable force, the majority no doubt being the knight's own skill and strength. They both started and rushed at each other, swords prepared to impale the other, ready to kill the other...

*

Ruby

"Mister Miles. Mister Miles! Are you okay?" Ruby shook the Chosen Undead as he stood there, unmoving above the piles of Grimm corpses. Motionless for an hour now, he hadn't even breathed, his bloodstained helmet attached with a force a child couldn't hope to overcome, the bloody claymore held loosely in his hands.

"Ugh." Movement erupted from Miles, blade sheathed as he turned to look at Ruby. He took a second to process what had happened before quickly rushing to her side, checking that she had sustained no injuries. After breathing out a sigh, he lightly shook her by the shoulders, reprimanding her.

"Lady Rose, why is thee here?" She hugged him wordlessly, latching onto him like a vice. After a moment, he returned the hug, lightly wrapping his arms around her.

"You weren't moving, mister Miles. I thought you had, I thought you had..." she erupted into tears, bawling at the dreaded notion.

"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere. I promise." She looked at him through teary eyes, hope piercing through like two pinpricks of light.

"Really?"

"Really." He slowly stood, carrying her home as the dawn broke.