HELLO AGAIN, MY FINE BRO'S AND BROEETES (Not sure if that a real word, but I'm just gonna role with it.)
I've got yet another awesome chapter of the story ready and waiting, along with a big announcement for you guys.
As of October 18, I'm going to be headed to Afghanistan for about 9 months to a year. So I'm sorry to say that for a good bit, their probably won't be any updates to the story. But I plan to make at least one more addition to the story and maybe a Just For Fun chapter before I head out, so be on the lookout for that.
So I want to give a quick apology to Ragnorak16, who had given me an awesome idea for a red phantom who I planned play a major role in helping the Darkmoon Knightess and the other Red Phantoms band together and survive the Dark Wraith invasion and maybe even play a larger role in the story. I'm sorry to say that, due to the time constraint that I'm put on with about to leave to Afghanistan, I didn't feel I had the free time to play around with the idea and at the same have it fit the story very well in a timely manner. So I decided to drop the idea. Sorry, bro, but I just could make it fit well without drawing it out and overcomplicating things.
As a final thought, I want to say thanks to all of you guys who stuck around and favorited this story, as this is now the number 1 most liked and Favorited OC Dark Souls FanFiction. (I legitimately freaked out when I check and found that out. No joke.)
I'm super happy that things have this far from an badly written first chapter that had gotten about 2 follows. Thanks for reading this far guys.
Now with that sappy stuff out of the way, lets move on to...
A few comments that caught my eye.
PathofOdinSonofThor- LITERARY. FREAKING. ECSTASY! As always, these chapters are so worth the wait, but this one? Utterly satisfying. Finally seeing the prophet ascend to Anor Londo in the most lore/game breaking way possible, fighting his way through an entire army, proving how powerful he is, seeing the world building that we weren't able to get in the game by diving into the minds of the murderers who steal humanity- how can I describe that other than divine?
The part I love the best about this chapter and your story overall is that the Prophet, with all his infinite wisdom, his ability to create new powers and break the game, and his uncanny ability to level up with the souls he gains from victory, is without a doubt overpowered, yet he's never at any point describable as a Gary Stue. He struggles, he fights, there is always an obstacle other a limitation for him to surmount and he always overcomes them. We've seen his emotional range grow and develop through the story, and at this point, I can sense him beginning to break. As far as the pacing of his development goes, you've handled it amazingly. Plenty of chapters of him being an idiot, trying to lighten the mood, knowing when to take things seriously (Black Knight), getting a wake up call from his first death, and then losing his cool against Nico and Lautrec? I can feel him starting to break, and I CANNOT WAIT to see it. I want to see what you do with that. Maybe you can further build his and Velka's relationship by having her help him through it when the battle is over? Maybe their talking to each other in a room in Anor Londo and then he starts to crack, tears falling down his cheeks, and she embraces him to comfort him?
Maybe it's just me, but I see him unable to let other people in for some reason. Subtext? If that's the case, then having someone break that shell in some way whether it's Velka or not would be a great idea.
Also, I've noticed something else. Even when things are serious, even when the gauntlet has been thrown and crap is hitting the fan, you still manage to successfully put in decent comedy. When Lautrec and Kaylen got invaded mid-duel, I could see and hear their shoulders dropping with a groan, and feel their frustration. It cracked me up.
Enough stroking your ego, though. Any review wouldn't be complete without stating both the positives and the negatives, so let's move onto what may or may not need improvement. To be honest, though, there is really only one thing I can think of, and that's the focus you put on the kids that Kaylen chose to spare only for them to try to stab him in the back. I think all of us reading that passage knew that Kaylen was going to survive that encounter, but what kind of disappointed me was how lackadaisically the ending to their confrontation was handled. About a third of the chapter was dedicated solely to Kaylen's inner turmoil about the whole situation with them, learning that he just didn't care about killing anymore, only to end up HAVING to kill them, but then what? How did that effect him? Was he pissed off that he betrayed them? Did it change him in anyway and make him rethink mercy?
That aside, I LOVE how you brought in my favorite enemies XD. The only thing I'm worried about is where you go from here. If you intend for the Dark Wraiths to be serious enemies, opponents that even the Gods fear, then you need to cash in and on that. Give them a reason to be so feared. Don't just bring them in for one chapter and then push them by the wayside with the next obstacle. It might be best to either make them a constant threat throughout the rest of the story or even make them and their leaders the prime antagonists. As for how Kaylen immediately handles it in the next chapter, make him hurt. Take this overpowered Hercules you've given us and bring him down with a pain that he can't fight through, an enemy he can't defeat.
This has easily become my favorite fanfiction. Keep it up!
My Response- Thanks for the awesome feedback, bro. Good to hear that I made the right choice with bringing the Dark Wraiths into this to raise the stakes a little. Also, thanks for the constructive criticism on the Prophet having to kill the kids off. Truthfully, I may have tried to give myself a bit of ammo for future chapters with that one. I was planning to use that as a key point in the story to show how, as you pointed out, the Prophet is slowly breaking down and becoming someone else. The Process was supposed to be slow and subtle, but dang, you straight up figured it out and layed it on me in the review. They me straight for a loop. XD
Billyyumyum2X4-WHERE IS THE LOVE FOR SMOUGH! SERIOUSLY! ITS ALWAYS ORNSTEIN! OLD DRAGONSLAYER IN DS2!
My Response- I swear to god, Billy, I tried to bring smough in on this one, But every time I thought about it I could only imagine him being groped by a crap ton of Dark Wraiths or him jumping in the air and capturing some poor Dark Wraith in the abyss of dem cheeks. And that is an image that is too much for one man to bear.
But in all seriousness, there's actually a reason I didn't have Smough join in. I can't really explain without spoiling it, but there's definitely an explanation related to the story.
Guest- The story is entertaining, to say the least. The way you handle the MC is very good. We see that he is powerful, yet not in a 'I can blow up the universe' kind of way. Maybe ( you can ignore this little bit if you want) lay off the sex and kissing a bit. I find it distasteful, but you write it in a good way that is still entertaining.
Personally, I want you to capitalise on what makes dark souls /dark souls/. The fact that shit can, and will, go wrong is a stunning feature of this series. It's why the games are so captive. Maybe I'm a sadist, but I want you to break the prophet over and over again. It's really fun to watch good men turn to broken husks of their former self. That's the one thing I would like to see more of. I like this story and where it's going, and I hope to continue doing so in the future.
From someone who is wasting too much time reading this.
My Response- Oh ho ho, trust me, pal. The Prophets time of suffering and loss will come. And when it does, I don't plan to make it an "Oh, this was terrible, but I'll get through it" kinda thing.
When I actually get to that point in the story, I fully plan to hit the Prophet with tragedy again and again. You wanna talk about broken, there's a lot that can be done to a man with such thin ties to the world like the Prophet. Juuuuust give it time...also, be careful with getting to attached to characters. I'm starting to think maybe things have been a bit too positive for the Prophet in this story, but I'll see what happens as I continue to write things ou as I am definitely making most of this up as I go along.
Alright guys, that's all I got time. Hope you all enjoy the read.
Warning: Reading this warning sigh gains you one free fondle of Princess Gwynevere. (Notice: This offer becomes invalid 2.5 seconds after being read. Any who try to take advantage of our sunlight waifu after such time such time will be met with a lightning spear to the chest. You have been warned.)
With the extremely distinct form that made up the corrupted knight rising from the ground before him, the Prophet felt a cold bead of sweat roll down his face.
"Dear god... a Darkwraith? " the Prophet thought as he observed the monstrosity closely and quickly put things together. "It must have been brought because of the Dried Finger. Just what kind of item is that thing that it could bring a nightmare like this all the way from New Londo?"
Just looking at the creatures bone-like armor made the Prophets skin crawl. The slow breathing that escaped its skull-shaped mask, the slow movement it made to turn it dark eye sockets towards him, every movement this thing made only served to further his dread and unease.
"This thing is...wrong. Everything about it gives off the feeling of danger." the Prophet thought as he felt his fist tighten further. "And this pressure...its almost suffocating. This thing was a human once?"
As the horror stood to its feet and the last of whatever that black muck that was on its armor fell to the ground, it paused on to look at the prophet only momentarily before it turned around towards the injured Lautrec. Wasting no time, it slowly began to stalk towards him, causing the Knight to turn on his heel with a pained grunt and attempt to escape up the stairway. He got no further than a few steps before falling down.
Watching this, the prophet gave small laugh.
"Wait a minute, this is good." the prophet thought. "He drains Lautrec of all the humanity he has, turning him into just another hollow, and then kills him. And with his death, there won't be anything keeping any of these Phantoms here. It's a win-win."
Looking on as the Wraith approached Lautrec's form, the Prophet felt no shame in saying that the sight of the murderer getting his well-deserved comeuppance was enjoyable to him. The irony that it was going to be caused by the very item he used to cause so much death and suffering to others would be the very thing that leads to him becoming a hollow was just icing on the cake.
Once the Wraith reached out and gripped him by the neck, mercilessly choking the life from him, Lautrec could only throw a single weakened punch at its face. Though with its head covered by its skull-shaped mask, the strike could only be described as a mild inconvenience.
Its grip like a steel vise, Lautrec could do little to more struggle against the inhuman thing that held him. As its hold increased to the point that Lautrec felt his skull would be crushed inside his helmet, a somewhat red aura began to permeate around its hand as black and white wisp of souls began to rush from the Knights and into the Wraiths, leaving Lautrec only able to release a dry scream as his very being was stolen from him.
"You reap what you sow, you son of a bitch. Enjoy you new life as a hollow." the prophet said coldly as he watched the entire event without looking away. Then, watching the Darkwraith release its hold on his enemy and turn towards him, he gave a response that was both threatening and cocky at the same time. "Thanks' for the assist, my tall, dark and spooky friend. But now its time for you to head back to whatever ass end of the abyss Kaathe had you in New Londo. Give the lying serpent my regards."
With his parting words said, the Prophet smiled smugly for but a few seconds more before his grin slowly began to drop from his face. The Darkwraith wasn't fading away. Instead, it merely turned away from Lautrec's form and gazed heavily upon him.
"What the hell? He shouldn't be able to stay here as an invader with the host dead. And he definitely used that dark hand and killed-" the Prophet said stopping mid sentence. Taking only a moment to actually think of what had transpired before him, he could only go wide eyed as a simple and obvious fact struck him. "Wait...the Dark Hand doesn't kill. I just drains humanity from a single target. Does that mean...?"
Shifting his gaze past the Darkwraiths massive form, the Prophet was quick to realize that Lautrec's body held the smallest traces of movement. Though the movement was so insignificant that it could have just as easily been his imagination, he knew what had just occurred.
The reality of his beyond careless mistake actually caused him to give a small laugh.
"Wow. Just...wow. Heh, heh, to think a guy who know everything there is to know about spell would make a slip up like this." the Prophet said, mocking himself thoroughly with a lowered shake of his head. The answer was obvious once he stopped and thought about it. Not only was Lautrec not dead, but he just let the only thing standing in the way of killing him feed off his body and grow that much stronger. "Heh, heh, clearly I'd forgotten Dark Souls commandment number 1: Dark Souls will always have the last laugh. Way to go, genius."
SHIING
Dragging the Prophets mind free from its own self insulting, the Darkwraith drew its massive, thick sword and leveled it towards him, before walking forward in a calm, even motion.
"Well...guess the only thing to do is finish the job then." was all the Prophet said as he willed a mirage to remain in his place, while he sprinted off to the side. Intent on rushing out of the Wraiths field of vision and make a bee-line straight towards Lautrec.
Unfortunately, the Wraith, pausing only a moment at seeing that Prophet form shimmer slightly, was quickly able to spot the minor shift in the air attempting to run past it. With no hesitation shown, it pounced upon the shimmer in the air, attacking with a mighty swing of its weapon. Not expecting his enemy to catch on so quickly, the Prophet only just barely managed to duck under the blow with wide eye's and then hastily back step from the following downward strike, with the Darkwraith sending its blade crashing into the spot he was standing not a moment before.
"Guess It really couldn't be that easy." the Prophet thought with grit teeth as he regained his footing. "Okay then. If I can't go around him, then that leaves me no choice but too go through him."
Accepting that his mirages would get him nowhere with something like this, the Prophet rushed forward and threw a fireball at the Wraiths body, gaining what could barely be called a small flinch. He then turned and spun on his heel, pulling the massive Murakumo from his satchel. Using the momentum from the spin, he brought the blade crashing down upon the horrors head.
CLING
What happened next caused the Prophets eye's to widen with surprise.
"Dammit!" was the only words he could put together as he watched the Darkwraith block and hold the full strike of a curved Greatsword with its blade, not faltering in the slightest at the weight behind the blow. "That would have no doubt shattered most other swords. But it stood its ground and stopped it fully? It can't have such strength after feeding only once, can it?"
Quickly breaking from the lock between them, the Prophet back stepped once more, before charging once again. Ensuring the distance between them perfectly set to favor his longer weapon, the Prophet began his onslaught.
"RAAAAAAGH!"
CLING-CLING. CLINK. CLING. CLING.
Two spinning slashes carrying all of the weapons weight, followed by a heavy thrust, then another single twirling slash, then a final downward slash that he put all of his might into. Each one of these attacks were batted aside and deflected with seemingly minimal effort of the Wraiths part, with the last being held in place above its head. Putting them both into interlocking blades, exactly as they were from the start.
The one glaring fact about all of this that stuck to the Prophets mind was that the Darkwraith had yet to throw a single attack in between any of the blows he'd thrown at it.
"This can't be right! The gap between us can't be this far!" the Prophet thought with frustration.
CLANG-CLING. CLING CLING CLING.
Blow after blow, strike after strike, was rained upon the Dark Wraith and each time the blow was redirected or simply blocked with its sword, just barely even giving any ground. Then, with the Prophet final blow crashing down upon him, the Darkwraith deflected the blow with such force that it managed to cause him to stumble backwards to awkwardly regain his balance with it.
But still, it did not attack him.
"I didn't come this far just to be toyed with like this!" the Prophet thought as he regained his footing and grit his teeth. Seeing that this clearly was not going to work, the Prophet decided to attempt a different approach and placed his weapon back within the confines of his satchel. "If swords won't work, then lets compare raw power!"
FWOOOOSH
Willing his black flames to blaze across his hands and arms, the Prophet wasted no time in bringing his hand together and, with a bit of effort, formed a sphere of flame far more massive in size then he'd yet to create. He poured as much power into the sphere as he could, up until the point where he felt that if he supplied it with anything further, then it would simply explode in his hands.
Once it was finished, he held it upwards in a threatening posture.
"WRAITH!" the Prophet shouted defiantly. "YOU CAN'T IGNORE THIS!"
With this declaration, the prophet sent the sphere flying at the wraith with all his might.
BOOOSH
Flying towards the creature, the sphere seemed hit its mark directly, causing a fiery explosion of light to erupt and annihilate everything within its radius in a searing flame.
With the explosion causing dusty debris to spray into the air, the Prophet, ignoring the pain from his now partially burned hands, watched with trepidation for the smoke to clear. Once it did, the Prophets could only just barely believe what he was seeing.
The Darkwraith stood just as immobile as it had before, the only difference being that it now stood with its hand outstretched, the space directly in front of its palm seeming to swirl and warp with a dark aura.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." was all the Prophet could say as the sight of what he already knew was one of the prominent abilities of the Dark Hand, forming a shield made from the pure abysmal power granted to them by Kaathe.
After pausing a moment more and allowing the smoke to clear further, the wraith had seemingly seen enough. Rushing forward and covering ground at inhuman speeds, the Darkwraith held it weapon tightly at its side. The Prophet only had enough time to give a single silent curse as he willed two black fireballs in each hand to come forth.
With what was essentially a nigh untouchable nightmare sprinting towards him, the Prophet threw both fireballs hoping to at least slow it down. Unfortunately the attacks didn't even accomplish that much as the wraith simply dodged one of the balls of flame and completely blocked the other with is makeshift shield. Once it was close enough, the Wraiths blade came crashing down upon the Prophet.
Having just enough time to react, the Prophet dove to the side and left a hasty mirage in his place. Watching the Wraiths blade cut through the illusion and leave a noticeable fissure as it followed through and cut through the ground like a hot knife into butter, it was came as a shock for the Prophet as the Wraith barely missed a beat before turning on its heel directly towards him and swinging once again.
"How can you-?"
SCHLIK
The second attack cut cleanly through his chest. His flesh was like butter as it separated beneath the blades touch. He didn't even have enough time to voice a question of his the Wraith could attack him so swiftly when his body, though not completely invisible, should have been at least concealed enough to buy him some time. The pain of his body being cut through radiated with such intensity that he couldn't think clearly. His mind only focusing of the placement of the source of this pain, the Prophet took two steps backwards before falling to one knee wide eyed, his hand covering the wound in a futile endeavor to stop the bleeding.
Seeing its prey was now injured and helpless before it, the Wraith approached the Prophet in a manner not unlike the way it had done to Lautrec. With pain coursing from his bleeding wound and the feeling of blood slowly filling his lungs, the Prophet stared up in defiance.
As the Wraith approached him, he could help but allow a few words to escape his lips through pains grunts.
"Ugh...this...isn't..over yet." the Prophet said as he struggled to regain himself. Unconsciously taking a fraction of moment, despite his own injuries and the situation, to really acknowledge that maybe Gwyn's actions in drowning so many in New Londo were not so unjustified.
Once his foe had gotten close enough, the Prophet grit his teeth and forced his body to ignore the piercing pain in his chest as made his final lunge toward it, his hand erupting in a blazing inferno.
However, the wraith was more than aware and fast enough to move forward just as the prophet did, wrapping its free hand around his masked face and slamming his head onto the ground. With its hold on him only tightening, the Wraith began ramming his skull against the marble floor, again and again. Until finally the Prophet was so battered and hurt that he could offer no further form of resistance.
Now sure that the man could do nothing more and still holding onto his face, the Wraith allowed the same aura it used on Lautrec before to form once again around its hand. As it used its power on him, the Prophet was fully aware and could feel everything that was happening. Like a black hole had suddenly forced its way into his mind, he could feel everything as his memories, his strength and even his very emotions were being ripped away.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head as the excruciating feeling of his very soul being torn from his body consumed his mind.
"Pyromancy...have to..."
But it was already too late. Soon his thoughts began to fade away into nothingness. With his mind beginning to find it impossible to form a single word.
The last true thought he had was of everyone he swore to protect...and how he had failed them so utterly.
Time.
No matter what, she always felt that she had nothing but time.
She despised that fact more than anything else.
She was human once, but that was in another life. In another far gone time.
How the memory of it taunted her to no end, staying just out of reach of her conscious as to allow her to know that the time did exist once, but also staying at just a distance that it refused to allow her to recall an single instance of it.
It was maddening. All consuming. She craved it more than anything else an it was close within her grasp. Yet she would be denied time and time again as she was held in her prison deep beneath the massive expanse of water.
She knew it was the voice from long before, so deep and assured, that had kept her alive through it all. Its power moved throughout her form, never allowing her body to falter or fail. Truthfully, she did not know whether she should have thanked it for keeping her flesh intact or cursed it existence for keeping her in such a state of nothingness.
But deep down, she knew she had no one to blame but herself for the situation she found herself in.
After all, she chose this.
The memory of the exact details of the event had long since escaped her. But she knew there was a battle at one point. Whether it was massive or minor was lost to time, but she knew she had fought and lost. And then a voice came to her, the same one that kept her alive even now, and spoke a question.
"Do you fear death?" she remembered the voice whispering so coldly and clearly to her. "Do you fear that final breath?...Are welcoming of your end?...I can offer you...another path."
Its almost humorous how one's imminent end can make a choice so easy.
What came next for her was nothing short of a living nightmare. She'd been changed into something that could only strike fear into others. Her mind was warped by the shadows as she was given strength that went beyond anything a normal was capable of. Everything went wrong after that.
She feasted on countless lives, her power growing stronger with each one that fell at her hand. As the days turned to nights within the city and she gorged herself on the souls and humanity of so many, whoever she was before was gone completely. Now she stood as something more. Now she thought of nothing beyond her next "meal".
Soon enough though, it all came to an end. Without any sort of warning or indication of how it happened, there was a loud noise that echoed through the city. Then, a massive wall of water crashed through the streets, pushing everything aside with it force. Before she knew it, she was entombed and drowning.
She could hardily describe the terror of being confined at the floor of the massive expanse of water, the weight of it all crushing down on her at all times. Unable to move...and thanks to whatever dark force that gave her her power from the beginning, unable to die.
As the days turned to months, and the months turned to years, she thought to herself time and time again, that if even the tiniest hope of escaping this fate had come to her, she would take it. No matter who it was from, not matter what form it took, no matter what she had to trade for it, she didn't care. She just wanted to be free from this torment.
And then that chance came.
A ringing.
No. To her it might as well the sound of lightening echoing through the darkness of the waters.
A challenge. A signal. A beckoning. Whatever it truly was didn't matter. Right now it was her way to become free once again. And so the moment she could pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, she took answered he call eagerly.
Her soul, her very being, moved free of her watery prison at last.
Rising and breathing in her regained freedom, she found herself in some sort of cathedral. Standing in between two Knights, one with golden armor and the other wearing rags fashioned into clothing with an odd mask upon his face. Once her mind came back to her fully though, none of that mattered.
She was ravenous with hunger and the means to satiate that hunger was standing at either side of her.
Turning to the one with the Golden Armor first, it was apparent that he was both injured and was the one that emanated the signal that brought her here. Moving towards him, he turned at tried to run up a small flight of stairs, but stumbled midway. This made what she did next far too easy.
It had been so long since she felt the rush of humanity fill her. It was...fulfilling. Satisfying. Like traveling through a desert for months without a drop of anything to drink, then suddenly stumbling upon a spring of water. She took everything from him. His strength, his souls, his humanity and, to a certain extent, his memories and experiences. They were all taken and added to her own.
She saw this man was a predator. He hunted other undead for both survival and pleasure, not unlike herself. His memories, much like all she had taken from others, were scattered. Showing instances of countless battles and betrayals, all of which were boring and meaningless for her. But his instincts and reflexes would serve her well.
Once that was done, she released the now hollowed man and turned to the remaining masked one. Since the other was the one sending the signal out, she knew it was imperative that she kept his now hollowed body alive, lest she be returned to her watery cage.
The masked man talked mindless droll to himself for a moment, before she withdrew her weapon and brandished it towards him. After speaking a few words more, his visage seemed to shimmer ever so slightly, she knew within moments that something wasn't right. It was then that a memory from the Golden Armored more she'd drained not moments before surfaced wordlessly and showed her an interaction between the two of them. The memory showed the man in rags seemingly to fade away before his eye's and reappearing as the Golden Armored hollow spotting something along the air and struck out.
Following this memory's information, along with her instincts, her gaze swept the room for an instant and her eye's could not help but focus on a subtle shimmer along the air that was attempting to move past her. Without hesitation, she moved to attack it and was rewarded with a surprised gasp, along with the man in rags seeming to fade into view.
Once he's put some distance between her and accepted that he would not get past her with such a tactic, he resorted to rushing forward using a massive blade that he somehow pulled from the small pouch at his side. The blade did nothing to intimidate her, but she was wary of whether or not he held some other trick up his sleeve. It would not do to underestimate him and foolishly allow freedom to slip through her fingers.
So she held her ground, defending against his attacks again and again. Waiting for his next attempt to deceive her. As the blows came again and again, nothing out of the ordinary came from him. And so, she decided it was time to push back. Knocking his blade with enough force to send him off balance, her body tensed and readied to attack.
That is until...
FWOOOOSH
"WRAITH!" the man shouted as black flames spread across his arms and he gathered it into a massive sphere. "YOU CAN'T IGNORE THIS!"
And then he threw the ball of flame it at her.
She would not lie. The incoming attack surprised her greatly. She could feel the heat it emanated even before it came close to her person. Unfortunately, it would still not be enough to end her life. Raising her hand, she willed forth the gift given to her by the voice oh so long ago, blocking the entirety of the explosion with little more than a grunt and bracing her body.
Once the smoke had clear and the Man in rags gave a curse in shock, she charged forward. It was a simple matter to avoid and block the two ball of flames he threw towards her in a panic and close the distance between them. Her first swing was dodged, but she was quick to spot his form along the air and shift her bodies weight into a second attack that cut deep into his ribcage, bringing him to his knee's in pain as blood poured from the wound.
What followed next was nothing less than a brutal beating. She gotten ahold of him and proceeded to ram his skull to the floor, over and over. The reason she did this was, simply put, to fully enjoy the act of draining him dry with as little resistance as possible. It had been so long since she was capable of doing this and she didn't want to rush it.
Once she was sure he could do nothing further, she proceeded to do just as she had done before and rip everything away from his mind and body.
What came next caused her to go wide eyed beneath her mask and her jaw to slacken.
This man before her...his soul was...intoxicating.
It carried with it the feeling of tasting the most mouthwatering of nectars and drove within her body the most explicit feeling of euphoria and ecstasy. If the man in golden armor from before was like an spring, then this man could only be described as a bountiful oasis. There was almost no comparing the two.
Yet still, even though he could do noting to stop the inevitably, his will was still strong enough to attempt to resist the Dark Hands syphoning. That meant that what she was feeling now was but the watered down version.
This fact only served to increase her want to take his humanity and soul even further.
Releasing her hold on her weapon and letting it fall at his side, she place her free hand tightly around the mans throat, earning herself a pained gag as her grip was only just beneath the strength needed to crush his windpipe.
The rush she got after doing this was overwhelming. This mans being was unlike any she had taken before. His memories were even more so, each one seemingly more potent and clear than the last. She saw he would do anything, face any foe, overcome any obstacle to achieve his goal, yet achieving those goals only meant something if he was able save everyone.
Drawing further upon his soul as she gorged herself on him, she saw clearly that of his past. It was a both mesmerizing and mystifying experience. He knows of blood, death and darkness, but his soul was somehow so...pure. Untainted. Immaculate. Wallowing deep within the shadows, yet untouched by them. This was not the soul of a normal human being. Just what was he?
As she continued to feast on his seemingly unending well of strength, she thought to herself that she would love nothing more than to allow this feeling to continue for an eternity.
But her moment of bliss would be promptly interrupted as a single one of her fellow Wraiths appeared not but a few feet behind her. As it rose to its feet, it examined its surrounding for but a moment for its eye's fell upon the unmoving vessel of the call at the stairway and then upon her and the man in rags. Just as starved for humanity as she was, it was quick to turn to them both and approach her in attempt to scavenge whatever little was likely left.
Feeling his approach from behind, her eye's hardened.
"No. This prize...is mine. I slayed him. His essence belong to me." the Wraith thought to herself as her free hand deftly removed itself from the mans throat and onto the hilt of her sword next to him. "None other may partake in it."
Once her comrade has walked from behind her and came to her side, it reached a hand out. Masterfully shifting her body in a rather impressive manner and speed, she knocked its hand aside before ramming her blade straight through his chest, piercing straight through his heart and spine. Leaving him only a moment to take in the shock of being betrayed by one of their own, before she wretched she weapon free and allowed him to stumble backward before dying.
As she watched him fall to the ground and fade out of existence, no doubt returning to their watery prison, she only had a brief moment to admire her actions before another threat appeared.
BZZZTSHH
Willing her shield forward once more, she just barley managed to turn and block a massive bolt of lightening that came towards her at high speeds, nullifying it completely and causing streaks of electricity to spark around her.
Gazing forward, she saw that a herculean man wearing golden armor and sporting a helmet in the shape of a lions head, stood with a missive spear outstretched, electricity streaking along the air of its blade.
She knew of him. All of her kind knew of him. The Dragon slayer, the leader of the four, the storm caller.
"Ornstein." the Wraith said lowly as her gaze hardened further, speaking her first words since arriving in this place.
Almost as if sensing her rising anger, seven more Dark Wraiths suddenly rose from the ground all over the cathedral, painting a horrifying image that would strike dread into the hearts of most men. Though Ornstein simply swung his weapon outward to his side, a began to walk down the stairway and towards them.
With each of the Wraiths at her side drawing their weapon, the female Wraith was relieved to see that the foolish Knight had walked by the host of the call, who still lay unmoving at the foot of the stairway. This fully told her that he had no idea that his salvation was so near and within reach.
Once he was down the stairs and all his enemies were before him, Ornstein twirled his spear expertly, before gripping it in both hands and lunging forward with such force that he seemed to glide along the ground.
Silently following a new instinct within her mind, she stood her ground and allowed her thoughtless brethren to charge forward to meet his assault head on.
Gwyndolin's Chamber
The battle was hard fought, even with both gods fighting side by side.
Upon the chamber being fill with a seemingly endless onslaught of Dark Wraiths, the corridor behind them stretched to a seemingly infinite degree, owing to an illusion cast by Gwyndolin.
Taking advantage of the terrain he'd created, said god had opted to teleport a large distance from the entrance, drawing his bow and doing what he could to provide support to Velka, who stood as the front line with multiple blades of blue magic hovering above her body and a rapier made of sorcery in her hand. He was confident in his marksmanship enough to rain multiple arrows upon any Dark wraith that strayed away from Velka's person, having many of them finding their bodies filled with five to six arrows in rapid succession. It would be difficult to do more as he maintained the illusion of both the corridor and the Knights providing support to others all throughout Anor Londo.
Velka, solely because of her to intense focus and trust in her lords ability, was quite doing well to showcase just why she was both feared and respected by both human and god alike. Her blade danced left and right, parrying and striking out flawlessly. Though it was difficult for her to land a lethal blow when dealing with that all but impenetrable shield the Wraiths formed, she had not survived this long without being able to adapt and think on her feet.
Their magical shields, though a powerful tool, was still just that. A shield. With it only being capable of protecting their front, she quickly deduced that she only needed to find a way to get around it. And she was quick to do just that as she willed more of the blue sphere's to appear not around her body, but in the air high above both her and each of her enemies.
As she deflected and danced around the blades of the seven Dark Wraiths around her, a tasked that consumed much of her focus and stamina as it was, she would strike quickly within the miniscule windows of opportunity she managed to create. Each time she thrust weapon forward, she would simultaneously will one of the sphere's that hovered above to strike of towards their legs and thighs, creating a brief moment where they faltered. This moment was more than enough for her to deliver a swift attack from her blade that either pierced straight though their eye sockets, stabbed directly into their hearts or slice into their throats.
With soul arrows hailing on them from behind, Gwyndolin's magical arrows pelting them from the front whenever they left an opening or strayed to far and the seemingly insurmountable swordplay held by Velka, the two gods made a duo that seemed to be truly unconquerable.
Under normal circumstance, this would battle would undoubtedly end with their victory. But the Dark Wraiths numbers only seemed to increase with time and not one of them faltered against the force the two brought upon them. Velka's breath was beginning to grow heavy and her movements were growing increasingly sluggish. As Gwyndolin saw this, he knew that if this continued, she would soon be overwhelmed and killed. And with her death, his would soon follow, along with Anor Londo's.
His fears would soon be solidified as seven more Wraiths suddenly rose from the ground around Velka, bringing their number to fourteen, causing even the Goddess of Sin to look around with a nervous gaze.
Seeing this, Gwyndolin's jaw clenched as he made his decision. He was nearing his limit on his capabilities, but he had to push himself even further for the good of all.
His gaze focusing hard on what was before him, allowing his mind to concentrate and mold it as he saw fit, Gwyndolin raised one of his hands towards them all... and then he clenched tightly it into a fist.
CRASH CHING CHING-CHING CHING CHING
All at once, countless metal chains burst forth from the marble floor, quickly wrapping around the arms, legs and necks of every Dark Wraith within the chamber before seizing there bodies with brutal force and bringing them all to their knee's.
His mind being pushed to the breaking point with each solider he had to maintain within the city, the corridor which provided them both with breathing room and now a multitude of chains that the Dark Wraiths continued to struggle against, Gwyndolin's could feel a trail of blood flow down his nose as his vision blurred for moment.
"Ugh...Quickly, Velka. I can hold this for but a few moments. G-..Get to the source and stop this madness!" Gwyndolin all but shouted mentally to the goddess.
"I will not abandon you here." Velka said defiantly, turning around sharply to her lord with the look of shock in her eye's.
"You don't...have a choice." Gwyndolin spoke with some effort as he raised his bow vertically to the air and fired a single loose arrow the glowed with a sort of blue aura. Suddenly, a dark cloud appeared above Gwyndolin's head and the arrow soared straight into it. Without a moments pause, a torrent of hundreds of arrows began pouring from the dark cloud and began moving toward the goddess and the apprehended Dark Wraiths.
Thinking quickly, Velka turned towards a window that was at her side and willed all of the blue sphere in the air around her to strike it, creating a multitude of holes in the glass. Moving as fast as her feet could carry, she sprinted towards the damaged window and dived straight through it with her arms raised to shield her face.
As she felt herself free fall out of the building, being more than accustomed to moving through the air, it did not take much for her to right herself and spread her wings wide, maintaining her height with but a few beats.
Hovering at the window for but a moment, she watched as the magical hail of arrows rain upon the helpless Dark Wraiths, continuously piercing every inch of their bodies. It was evident that her lord kept this assault going in an attempt to keep her from returning inside the way she had come.
So gritting her teeth, she did as she was ordered and took to the sky, heading straight towards the cathedral that she knew held the Lordvessel.
It took her but a few minutes to reach her destination. Choosing to fly higher above instead of traveling from the inside, she looked through the buildings windows and saw that Ornstein was standing alone against five Dark Wraiths, all of which surrounded and attempted to attack him from different angles. Though he simply twirled his weapon to and fro expertly, deflected and counterattacked each one of them that came close. Her eye's were quick to spot Lautrec laying at the foot of the stairway, she had her target.
But before she could decided on any further action, it was then that she spotted the Prophets distinct form laying unmoving on his back with blood pooling around him. She could not suppress a gasp at this sight as her eye's went wide with fear, her mind already believing the worst had transpired.
Beating her wings and flying higher into the air, she released a fireball of black flame and destroyed the window before diving headfirst into the building. Without a second thought, she headed straight towards the Prophet. Coming in fast from behind, she wasted no time in throwing another fireball and striking a Dark Wraith that seemed to be taking a backseat to the battle, choosing instead to remain standing next to the Prophet body.
Reacting to the sound of the window above her shattering, the Wraith was able to turn on her heel and react in time to block the ball of flame with her Dark shield, though it did still manage to send her skidding backwards a few feet.
It was fortunate for the Dragon Slayer that the sound of the window suddenly shattering also had the effect of gaining the attention of all of the other Wraiths, making them look to the source of the disturbance and giving him a moment to regain himself.
The moment his eye's fell upon those two dark wings of hers, Ornstein was already moving. Piercing his spear through the body of a Wraith as it was distracted, the Knight quickly flung its body into the few that stood at his back. Taking advantage of the opening he'd created, the Knight rushed towards where Velka would land. Attempting to cleave through the Wraith that she struck with her pyromancy along the way, though he was surprised to see that it was quick enough to roll with the weight the fireball had carried her back with and move steadily out of his weapons reach, retreating back to the ranks of her allies.
Once she had ensured there was enough space between her and her enemies, Velka was quick to notice the massive wound cut into the Prophets chest and the dark bruise upon his neck.
"Oh god, no. No, no, no. Your going to be fine, Prophet. Your going to be okay. You not dying here." Velka said in a panic to herself more than to him. Moving with the intent to save his life, she hastily retrieved the container that held his Estus. Though there was barely anything more than a sip of it left, she lifted the strange mask her wore and fed it all into his mouth watching as the wound closed partially. She could tell from a touch that the mask was of a magical origin, no doubt helping him in some way, so she chose to place it back upon his face and hoped it did something to stop him from bleeding any further.
"This is not the time to worry for a human." Ornstein said plainly as he held his weapon level towards the group of Wraiths before them. "We need to move or they may yet overwhelm us here."
As if on que, three more Wraiths rose from the ground just off to the side of the larger group. But Velka merely laid the Prophets head back onto the ground and stood defiantly against their numbers.
"No. We can not leave. Our only means of ending this is just beyond our reach" Velka said in a resolute tone, gazing hard at the body that lay just behind the horde of Dark Wraiths. "The man over there, in the golden armor. If they are still here, he must not be dead yet. He is the cause of all this. If we wish to stop all of this, then he must die."
Stepping forward, Velka once again willed forth the blue sphere's to appear above her shoulders and willed one to become a makeshift blade in her hand.
"I see...so whats our plan?" Ornstein asked, though he likely already knew the answer.
FWOOOOOSH
Calmly and with control garnered from years of experience, Velka will her black flames to appear a spread across her arms, body and wings. Giving herself the appearance of something otherworldly.
"We push forward and crush anything in our way." was the goddesses only response. She did not need to hold back here.
With their intent declared, both Velka and Ornstein readied themselves for combat, with Velka raising her blade in a stance akin to a fencer and Ornstein holding his weapon in a low stance that showed he was preparing to pounce forward into the fray.
They were both ready to fight to their last breath for the golden city that was their home.
That is until a bloodied hand suddenly was placed upon Ornstein's arm...
KA-BOOSH
A massive explosion of black flame suddenly erupted upon him, sending his body flying off to the side and brutally slamming into one of the cathedrals pillars with a shout of pain. As his body slide to the ground, Ornstein was only just barely able to maintain his hold on his weapon as he fell to a knee and allowed his arm to hang limply, a numbing pain enveloping it completely.
Velka's eye's went wide with surprise as she had just barely a moment to process what happened when the culprit suddenly turned on her and swung his palm in an attempt to attack her as well. Thinking quickly, she jumped backward and attempted use her wings to make herself airborne high above him. Unfortunately, just as she had moved to do so, during the brief moment she needed to align and adjust herself midair, the adversary placed both his hands together and formed a massive sphere of flame, throwing it at Velka's airborne form.
Unable dodge it and meaning to minimize the damage, Velka quickly brought both of her wings together and attempted to use them as shields against the incoming blow. Taking the full brunt of the attack, Velka was surprised to find that it held an incredible amount of raw power behind it. So much so, that the explosion that followed it hitting its intended target was more than enough to temporarily daze her thoughts and send her spinning wildly to the marble floor below.
CRACK
Unable to regain herself as she fell, Velka could do nothing as she landed painfully onto her right wing, the weight of her body bending it at an odd angle and snapping one of the bones held within it, causing it to rip clean through her flesh.
"GAAAAAAH!" Velka screamed bloody murder as pain radiated from the now bloody and exposed bone fragment.
Though even with her scream being loud enough to echo through the cathedral, the man that was once the Prophet didn't give any sign that he acknowledged what he'd done in the slightest as his breathing came in deep and heavy gasp of air.
In normal circumstances, hollows would be mindless, their thoughts only capable of focusing on whatever came near them and attacking it aggressively. But the Prophet was different. He held within him the pyromancy born of both pure hatred and unyielding determination. Without even realizing it, his sound mind had managed to suppress the rage that help create the ability in the first place and, to a certain extent, control the flames.
But with his mind gone and no emotion or will to stifle them, his flames slowly began to boil up and attack him from the inside. With every second that passed, his breathing deepened further and further, until finally turning into what could only be described as a ragged, tortured sound. His thoughts told him to attack and kill them all, but the welling pain in his body was so all consuming that it stayed his movement.
And it only seemed to escalate further from there.
TSSSSSSS
Gripping his pounding skull in pain, the Prophet fell to a knee as steam began to emanate from his body and a wave of intense heat suddenly washed over a massive portion of the Cathedral. The heat was so harsh that it caused not only his body, but everything around him to shimmer and move. Giving the illusion of the pillars and the bodies of the gods and Dark Wraiths themselves to begin wavering incoherently. The air beat down on them like a furnace with no breeze to lighten its fiery breath, making breathing from the somewhat of a labor.
All of the Dark Wraith, though starving, were not foolish enough to charge headfirst towards something so unknown with a plan of attack. Well...at least not all of them were.
There was one among them that believed that this strange display of ability meant nothing before its own dark power and charged with its shield willed in front of it. No matter what was thrown at him, he was confident would be capable of withstanding it.
Hearing the creatures footsteps running toward him, the Prophet did nothing more then grit his teeth and raise his palm, summoning his tainted flames to swarm across his hand before forming into a sphere.
What happened next came as a surprise not only the gods who watched with trepidation, but to the Wraiths as well.
BOOSH
The Prophet...hadn't moved an inch from his position. But in what should have been an impossible fashion, what appeared to be shimmering copy of himself suddenly rushed from his body, carrying the ball flame in its hand. Meeting the Wraith head on, it struck its shield with such force that it completely shattered it and sent the wraith stumbling backward. With its arm flying back from the force of the blow and its body completely off balance, the Prophets clone suddenly faded out of sight as he charged forward with an animalistic growl and grabbed the Wraith by its skull shaped helmet, dragged it forward slightly before slamming straight to the ground.
Once the Wraith gathered itself from the pain of having its head forced to the floor, it was quick to wrap a hand around the arm that held its face and proceed to attempt to drain the masked mans humanity, the agony of the process usually being enough to make a normal Undeads body seize up completely.
Unfortunately for him, the Prophet didn't even pause at the feeling as he raised his free hand and allowed it to erupt into a blazing black flame. Looking the creature directly in its eye as he did so, the Prophet slammed his hand down just at the side of the wraiths head, summoning a massive pillar of black flame that flayed the flesh from its bones and sent it to a death so painful that it couldn't even form a thought to question how it was possible that a human was capable of overwhelming his dark powers.
Once the smoke and flame had cleared, the Prophet, still breathing ragged breaths and steam rising from his flesh and clothing, released his hold on the wraiths face. Turning his gaze upward towards the remaining Dark Wraiths, he released a guttural snarl as his hands erupted into violent and wild flames that spread upwards along his arms.
The display of raw power he'd shown was more than enough to give many of the remaining wraiths pause. Though, there was but one among them who fully relished a chance combat this man. Or rather, she relished the opportunity to see if the was even an miniscule amount of his soul left within him to take. So with a small tightening of her grip on her blade, she stepped forward and brandished her weapon towards him, seemingly welcoming the challenge he presented with an eager look in her eye that was hidden beneath her mask. Once they saw her do this and realized that they still outnumbered him by an overwhelming amount, so too did the other wraiths around her step forward to stand at her side.
The Prophets gaze only narrowed at this gesture as four shimmering illusions of himself appeared around him, each one igniting their hands in a wild, burning flame and summon sphere's of fire in their hands defiantly.
Then, with his blood boiling and agony biting him to the bone, the lone human released a feral snarl as he charged forward to meet the horde head on.
ALRIGHT, DEAR READERS. THAT'LL BE THE END OF THIS ONE.
Just a few closing comments before I get outta here.
Firstly, since I'm not sure if I'm going to have time to able to put this in the next chapter, I'll just tell you guys what the deal with multiple mirages was. Many of you will be happy to know that I didn't go full Naruto and give the guy shadow clones or anything. I just figured since his mirage ability is basically just him using pyromancy to change the vision of things around him to look like something else, that It wouldn't be to far of a stretch to take that a bit further. Within a certain limit and with intense focus and stamina consumption, the Prophets mirages can now use his pyromancy, but their still just mirages. They can be dispersed just as easily as they could before with little more than a touch and if they fade away, so does the pyromancy they create. The detail of the drawbacks as still up in the air, but I think considering the future enemies he'll face (I.E. freaking dragon and essentially demi-gods.) That this isn't exactly OP for where he's at. But again, the details are still being worked on so any input for you guys is welcome on the manner.
Secondly, please to do not misunderstand and think that the Prophet has suddenly grown into god hood. Right now, he's basically just a walking husk and his flames have no master or will driving them, so their simply running wild and freely. In essence, his abilities have grown to a more potent degree. But I'm preety sure about two things. He's only going to be able to be able to allow the clones to use Pyromancy when he's using his tainted Pyromancy and that I think I plan to call the ability something like "Wailing Dark" since that's the first awesome thing that came to my mind. How am I gonna write with this from a decent storytelling perspective? Welp….I wasn't lying when I said I was making this up as I go. Everything's pretty much up to discussion to be changed, empowered or nerfed right now. So let'er rip if you guys have any add-on's to this baby you want to throw in.
Thirdly, before anyone ask, I don't believe I'll have hollow Lautrec join in on this as he was injured to the point that even getting to his feet or climbing the stairs was a mountain of a task. But hey, like I said, making it up as I go. So maybe I'll change my mind as I write.
Lastly, regarding the Dark Wraith who took the Prophets soul and humanity, I decided to go the rout of instead of focusing on all of the Dark Wraiths as a whole, maybe it would be best to have just one be the center of focus. I researched quite a bit on the type of personality and type of enemy I wanted her to be and, thanks to a few suggestion from both you guys and a few other friends, I decided that the best way is to go the path of the "The one who rebelled." kinda thing. If you have no idea what I mean, think of Agent Smith from the Matrix after Neo blew his up from the inside and changed into something more because of it. That's somewhere where I think I want this new Wraith to be in terms of relationship with the Prophet, She's not his friend, but a chance encounter with him will change her fate into something truly dangerous. Also, I'm not sure I she should be given an actual name or let her just go by "The Wraith." I'm open to idea's for that and maybe even a bit of her backstory if you guys have any on that, although I think the fact that she can't exactly remember is also a pretty decent option as well, adds to her character without adding anything at all.
But anyways, I'm babbling.
As always, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you guys thought about this chapter of the story. Should I have had the Prophet put up more of a fight? Should the Wraiths have been a bit stronger? Did I do Gwyndolin justice with his illusions?
Honest opinions are always appreciated as I'm always looking to improve my style of writing to make this story a bit more interesting for you guys. so don't be shy in telling me you thoughts about how things are going so far. Outside opinion will have a huge effect on how this story will play out.
This is Supreme Gamer, Signing out.
P.S. I wanna do a Just For Fun Chapter on either Overlord, Skyrim, Akame Ga Kill and Dragon Age: Inquisition. But goddamn it, there's no time to do them all. Any preferences for what you guys wanna see. (Not sure If I'm going to finish the next chapter first or hop straight on these little side projects. Decisions, Decisions.)