Dark Souls: Derp Edition

by Supreme Gamer

Somehow stuck in dark souls, Kaylen, Oscar and loads more characters go on an incredible journey to change the destiny of the chosen undead. Lost Izalith will become found Izalith, mushroom men will attack and Priscilla's tail will be fondled. Warning: Be prepared to joy puke your face off.

44. Chapter 39-The Prophet Vs the World

SWEET GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST, FINALLY!

For the love of all that is holy, I finally got this chapter done and finished. You guys have no idea how many times I wanted to just chuck my laptop out a window because my brain simply refused to come up with the goddamn story.

Writters block is a hell of a thing to push through, but I finally got through. With n small help from you guys and the idea's you sent in. (Thanks for that btw)

Anyway, I'm just gonna let you guys get right too it, right after i get through a few...

Comments that caught my eye

Blomquist- I might be remembering wrong but should they not have met Patches already? His contribution if any to the story could be interesting.

My Response- Okay, I think I've finally worked out what I'm gonna do with this chapter. There's absolutely nothing thats gonna distract me from-

*See's your review*

*Proceeds repeatedly slam head against PC keyboard due to the fact that I completely forgot about patches*

Soulbow109- I think I have an idea for Anastasia. You can have her focus on defense and healing. I recall a few fics where she was treated as basically a place for the MC to rest. This and your idea where she gains her power from her love and faith for the Prophet gave me the idea that if the Prophet is so set on saving and protecting everyone else then she can be the one who watches over and protects the hero. Plus having a previous damsel in distress take on such a role sounds cool to me too. He doesn't got a lot of defensive skills from what I recall after all. Velka already provides some serious firepower in my opinion so Anastasia can be his shield and nurse. Looking at the character Asia from DXD might also provide some ideas too.

Not sure if any of this is good but hope it helps.

My Response- You are seriously on to something with this. Especially since Reah is still at Firelink Shrine. I can practically already imagine our resident cleric trying to teach Anna a thing or two about healing, only for Anastacia to show more aptitude for it that even she has. Its an almost perfect setup for Anna as well as she doesn't particularity like hurt people or seeing others hurt.

I am definitely going to keep this idea in mind, bro. As it is almost to perfect to pass up.

Jyx The berserker- Loving the covenant ideas, and I agree with you on the whole ranking dilemma; Kaylen should get the fast pass on ranks. I agree with the other review about harems, and that too many members will spoil the story (much as I want to see Kaylen feeling the love from everyone). On that note, Priscilla. I have some suggestions, take them or leave them, but I have advice first. Ask what her personality will be like, what effect will her situation have on her, and what she is like overall.

As for slipping the hot af/tall af/cute af dragon lady herself into the Prophet Bedwarmer Club, I think Kaylen would be flipping out as much as any true fanboy would be in his shoes, but quickly retrieve his poker face and manners to talk with Priscilla. I encourage you to not rush things, pacing is key in any part of writing, and it's a key I fumble consistently (but I'm getting better!).

The soundest advice I can give you is to write first and edit later, get it out there at 100 mph with no regards for road safety, then go over what came out with a fine comb. I can't remember where I heard that, but it works a hell of a lot better than it sounds.

My Response- A huge thank you to you, Jyx. You advice to write first and edit later was pretty solid and more than helped me put this bad boy of a chapter together. Seriously, huge thanks.

As for you idea for Priscilla, I agree 100%. Thats pretty much exactly how i imagined the meeting between the Prophet and Priscilla going. And worry not, I fully plan to explore her character and keep the pace of her development with the prophet nice and smooth.

Alfa0306- Oh, for sure she has have deeper meaning than just fluff. That's partially why I want to be the last addition to the harem cause then we'll be able to flesh her out some.

As for the size of the painted world I see no reason to change it fully, unless you want introduce some shortcuts that the prophet always wanted to try but game mechanics prevented him doing in the actual game. But you definitely need hit the key points of: Jeremiah, Phalanx, Dragon Corpse Thing, and the special Ember.

Also, so what if you have defense against pitchforks! I'll just you my torch! :P

My Response- For sure, bro. I will definitely be hitting the key points of interest within the painted world before the prophet leave. Though I will say that I'm gonna hold my opinion of the special ember and other such significant items, as they are fairly hidden and I'm not sure if I'm fine with the prophet "Coincidentally" stumbling upon them. But I'll put more thought into that subject as I write.

Also, what the heck?! A torch?! Impossible, that technique is forbidden!

Alright thats all I got to say this time around, my fellow men and woman of culture. Hope you guys enjoy reading the new chapter of the story.

Warning: This chapter takes place in a cold landscape. As such, Supreme Gamer is not responsible for any that contract the Frostbite status effect. Please ensure you are full health and are wearing the Chillbite Ring before proceeding. You have been warned.

---

?

In this snow-covered land, sharp, labored breaths rang out as a figure used what little energy she had within her to continue to move forward.

Snow thickly covered and illuminated every path before her in a pure and beautiful white. It gave the impression that not a soul had ever set a foot in this part of the world. Though the reverberations of a distant monsters howls reminded her that this was not the truth of things.

Her breath visible against the numbing air, she blinked away the frost that endlessly came fell upon her cheeks. Though she could do little about the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavy on her eyelashes.

If one had to describe her, it would be said that she had supple, delicate limbs that closely resembled that of a young girl. Pure, vanilla white hair glistened in the light of the snow and matching its color perfectly. Alongside its flowing, white fur dress, the figure possessed deathly pale skin. The many scales covering its shoulders, lower back and forehead were similarly colored. But the most notable feature by far was its almost reptilian, yellow eye's that were wide with terror and fully showed the panic she was feeling at the moment.

Crunch, crunch, crunch!

She made her way through he thick pockets of snow a quickly as she could. But each step was agony upon her. It was her leg. He had cut into her Achilles heel and severed it, forcing her to lean against her scythe for support.

"...Why?..."

She was losing far to much blood. Leaving a trail directly behind herself. Claws, fangs and talons had inflicted many wounds on her body. The attacks had ripped entire scales from its shoulders, dying parts of its pale skin completely red. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be found by those monster once again soon.

"...Why?..."

Terror showed deep in its eyes. Confusion. Panic.

Several droplets accompanied the blood on its way to the ground below. The clear liquid flowed from the young girls stunning eye's as her throat began quivering.

"...Why?...Why did you...?" she started to speak the question allowed, but she simply couldn't spare the breath.

As if disdaining the sounds strung together to make a word, the cry of monsters echoing in the distance closed in. The lone figures pure white hair and slim shoulders trembled in fear.

The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down her face. She feels the muscles of her chin tremble like that of a small child's as she pleaded with her body to move faster.

This was her own fault.

She had put her faith in another only to be nearly crippled and left to die. But why? She didn't understand why he would do it to her. There was nothing to gain by committing such an act.

Her escape was only possible due to her ability to hide from the eyes of the creatures hunting her now, but the prints her feet left in the snow and the trail of blood she left destroyed any such concealment. So she could only flee as quickly as she could to escape from the horde at her heels, using her scythe as a crutch to aid in her movement.

She moved through the twist and turns of her prison frantically, moving off memories of the environment that were years old. Panic and instinct pushed her forward and through the pain of the injury on her Achilles heel, a final gift from the human she'd thought on her side.

FLAP FLAP FLAP

While she was moved anxiously, the sound of wings reached her ears and made her turn her gaze upward.

Not two seconds after did she cry out in pain as one of the abominations descended upon her, ripped at her arm with sharp talons. She regained herself quickly enough from the attack and swung her scythe at its body, but it quickly flew out of reach and her own momentum as well as her injury caused her to fall to her knee's upon the snow covered earth.

Skin torn, the red blood, the fresh wound burning upon her body caused her to lose focus and momentarily revealed her body in full. Taking a few breaths, she used her scythe to throw up a bit of snow around her and concealed herself one again. Fleeing once more just as the abomination had descended upon where she had knelt.

This scene would repeat again and again for hours on end for her. Never would she be given a moments rest. Never did her pursuers tire of the chase no matter where she fled.

The only reason she was able to survey even this long was due to the fact that her body was not that of a humans. But it had its limits and soon enough, her heavy breaths could no longer be attributed to panic and fear. Now there only exhaustion, pain and subdued drowsiness.

"Ahh."

A downward slope in the snow.

She had lost her footing like a child and tumbled heavily to the earth, crisscrossed by her own fur lined dress. Her ragged muscles and lungs screamed to her that this state on the ground was a good thing and to stay where she was. But soon, distant howls and the flapping of wings prompted a shiver to run down her body.

Quickly examined her surrounding, she finally saw her salvation in the form of a ladder poking up from a well of some kind.

She took a few exasperated breaths before crawling to her knees and then back to her feet. Reaching the ladder that lead to who knows where, she climbed down the well until her bare feet touched down on a floor flooded with water and her eyes were met with a chamber that was only just barely lit by the low burning light of a few torches along the walls.

The water along came up to her ankles and wet the bottom part of her dress, but that twas the very last thing on her mind at the moment. As she stepped further inside the darkened chamber and away from the opening of the ladder above her, she came upon a large stone pillar.

Using her free hand to balance herself, she turned around and leaned her back against the stone wall before unceremoniously sliding to the floor., the harsh breath that escaped her lips indicating that even an act such as this was agony.

The pain increased in waves, small lulls giving false hope of an end. It's as though my blood has become acid, intent of destroying me from the inside out. All she could do was writhe, the occasional whimper escaping to echo off the walls.

Trembling, she squeezed her badly injured body tightly with both arms and fought back against the endless waves of terror she felt.

"..Why?..."

SPLASH. SPLASH. SPLASH.

It was then she realized something was approaching from the darkness of her hiding place as the sounds of footsteps within the water suddenly reached her ears.

Her breath caught again. She couldn't see anything through the darkness, she could only hear the steps coming closer and closer with each passing moment. The crescendo of footsteps, the thought of not knowing what was coming, made her recall the biting pain of sword against her flesh. Of the human wearing golden armor creeping towards her to finish the task that he had started.

Her body shook uncontrollably.

Stepping free from the shadows and coming just close enough to allow her to make out their form, three skeletons with each on of their bodies attached to spiked wooden shields, silently gazed down at her with empty sockets.

The last thing she thought before the skeletons took a running start and their spiked wheels ripped and tore into her flesh was a sad and pleading….

"Why…?

---

The Chapel

The Prophet and the Goddess stood face to face with one another. She had said her peace and laid bare what she wanted to do. All that was left was to hear his answer.

For his part, the Prophet thought hard. This wasn't simply a matter of power for him. As she said, forming a covenant was forbidden for her. The repercussions that could be brought down on her were real and he would not be around to protect her should the worst come to pass. But still, the significance of her were not lost upon him. She had declared outright just how much his life meant to her. From her memories, he saw that she was even prepared to kill for him.

Knowing all this, how could he even think of saying no?

"Alright, Vel. The risk and the fights to come, let's take them on together." The Prophet said firmly in acceptance to her intent, causing the goddess to smile warmly at him. "What do you need me to do to make this work? I imagine there's a ritual for this kind of thing, right?"

"There usually is, but we have no time to dwell on such formalities." Velka said explained simply as she approached the Prophet and raised her hand up to his right shoulder. "As for what needs to be done, you only needed to grant me your consent and acceptance. Now I must simply use something to form a bridge between our very beings. There is usually an physical item to be used for such things, like a ring or a weapon. But as we have nothing like that on hand, I have an alternative in mind."

FWOOOSH

Dark flames calmly ignited along Velka's hand as it hovered over the Prophets right shoulder. He needed only a moment to get the idea of what she wanted to do. So after pausing only for a moment to brace himself, he gave the goddess a small nod to go ahead.

Wasting not a second more, Velka slowly clawed her fingers across his flesh. With the searing pain flaring across his arm, the Prophet clenched his teeth tightly as he forced himself to hold still and bear with it. Once she was done, four prominent marks were plainly burned into his shoulder. Without question, it would leave a deep scar once it healed.

Taking only a moment to collect herself and take a deep breath, Velka raised a hand to her own shoulder and began to burn an identical mark upon her flawless skin.

Once she was done, she needed only a moment to release a single breath to recompose herself, before raising her hand back towards the mark she left upon the Prophets arm and closing her eye's. She then began to whisper things beneath her breath that the Prophet couldn't make out not matter how hard he strained his ears.

Soon after, both of their wounds began to radiate with the embers of black flame.

Despite the situation they both found themselves in and the danger forming this bond would bring upon her, Velka was completely enraptured with the feeling that flowed through her body.

"Yes…" the word echoed in her mind as she felt their bond grow further and further to completion. The way his body was so welcoming of her and the change she brought caused her to give a gentle smile as she felt her heart flutter. "…Heh…Even for something as ever changing as a human, there should still be some form of resistance. But I feel none within you. Do you truly trust me that much?"

She knew they would both suffer great hardship for this decision in the future, yet the more she thought of the man before her and the feelings he gave her, she couldn't bring herself to think of having it any other way. Where there should have been thoughts of what dangers lay ahead, she could only fantasize thoughts of them building a new and better future together.

Her fantasies then bloomed that much further as she turned to the memories of the warmth that emanated from him when he held her for the first time. Of his passion, his conviction and his pure heart.

She realized that she wanted to be this more than anything. To fight for that which she cherished, to hold on to the feeling of being wanted and trusted by him. She wanted to feel his warmth saturate her body as he held her close.

It was then, like a turbulent wind finally settling into a gentle breeze, that the covenant between man and god was complete.

"It is done." Velka said with a smile on her lips as she opened her eye's.

Looking down at himself, the Prophet could only gaze questioningly at himself.

He didn't feel any striking change. There was no rush of power in his spirit, no surge of strength on his muscle. The only thing noticeable difference to be felt was the constant burning feeling within his chest.

Taking in the pain for a few moments and realizing that it pulsed in tandem with his heartbeat, the Prophet gaze upon his shoulder and examined the mark itself.

Brand of the Hound

A painful wound burned into the flesh. Symbolizes the pact made with the Goddess of Sin and marks you as her wrathful watchdog.

Forsaking her duties to the Golden City and to Gwyndolin, Velka chose to protect her beloved Prophet and branded him as her first. The act all but marking the fall of Anor Londo and the reign of her kind.

Untrue Magic Aspect

By forming a Pact with the Goddess of Sin a part of her very soul envelops you, boosting your magic beyond even your own limits.

Allows the usage of Sorcery to be that of second nature, requiring no catalyst, and causes the magic of others to be severely weakened in your presence.

Velka's affinity for sorcery was a terrifying thing, meant only for use in service of the gods. By granting it to a human, she solidified her place as a rouge deity.

Black Pyromancy

Infamous pyromancy art belonging to Velka, Goddess of Sin. Feared by both gods and humans alike.

Strengthens your pyromancy to be rival Velka's own and will grow in strength the more damage inflicted upon you.

Though it was well known that she had mastered the use of sorcery, Gwyn had feared Velka's Pyromancy above all else. For no matter how powerful the foe she faced or how great their number, her flames only seemed to grow ever stronger. That is, if her foe even managed to put up a lasting fight to begin with.

As she saw comprehension and understanding come into the Prophets eye's, Velka didn't need to ask to know that a change that had just occurred.

On the surface, the only visible difference to see was that of his eye's. Though they did not take on the split and sharpen in a catlike visage to match her own, they did exude a permanent yellow hue just as hers did.

But looking past what simply lay on the surface, she felt as if there was a sudden pressure around him. Similar to the feeling one might get when standing in front of a ravenous and matured tiger. Beautiful and captivating to look at, but lethal and dangerous when one got too close.

But she wasn't threatened or intimidated in the slightest by the pressure he gave off. If fact, she thought the sensation was quite pleasing.

To her, it was as if she had finally put a collar on her favorite rebellious little puppy, making it official that he was hers. Needless to say, it was more than a bit strange that where others would see a menacing cloaked, yellow eyed beast, she could only see a curious and cuddly watchdog just begging for a cuddle session.

Unfortunately, she could not allow herself to dwell on such thoughts for long though. Not when Lord Gwyndolin was likely aware of what she'd done at this very moment.

"There is no time to waste. The longer you remain, the greater the chance Lord Gwyndolin will come to end your life." Velka said as she proceeded to guide the Prophet towards the massive portrait on the wall of the cathedral.

"What about you? If he can't end the covenant through me, he'll go for the next best thing." The Prophet said as he followed close behind.

"Do not worry about me. The only way to sever our connection is if he forces me to do it by my own will or upon my death, and I challenge anyone to attempt either." Velka said firmly, as if the idea of ending her covenant infuriated her to no end. "Now listen closely, Prophet. The Pained World holds only one entrance and one exit for you. Once your inside, there should be a towering structure on the opposite side of the prison where you enter. It is the largest thing there, so you should be able to spot it easily enough. When you reach it, plunge down from the end and you will be returned to this very building."

"I understand. I'll make myself there as fast as I can." The Prophet responded calmly. "Anything you can tell me anything about Gwyndolin before i go? I saw him make chains and those huge knights before, but knowing more specifics will make all the difference."

"Lord Gwyndolin is youngest of Lord Gwyn's heirs and possesses the inherent ability to use moonlight sorcery and illusions to an absurd degree. Forming a few chains and knights is only scratching the surface of what he can do." Velka explained in a dire tone. "He can form a nearly never-ending army of pawns to fight for him at any time, from Silver Knights and sentinels to any beast or demon he's encountered before. And that's only naming a few. He can also alter the terrain around him as he sees fit to give him an advantage and teleport himself short distances."

As she finished her explanation, the two finally approached and stood within arm's reach of the enormous painting on the wall. Though the Prophet made no move to touch it and Velka wasn't exactly eager for him to do so. So they both simply studded side by side with the painting towering over them both.

"So he can create an army composed of anything he needs, use moonlight magic, dictate the terrain and teleport away whenever he wants?" the prophet said with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, as if everything he just said only amounted to an incredible annoyance. "Well, thats just dandy. And here I was thinking this was going to be difficult or something."

"Heh, indeed. And let us not forget the multitude of Darkmoon Blades as well as the legendary knight Ornstein and that glutton of a man, Smough, who are all under his command. Not to mention the small possibility of Seath intervening as well." Velka laughed ironically, being fully aware of just how high things were stacked against the two of them. "Don't tell me that's all it takes to make you get cold feet, Prophet."

"Please. Its only an army of godlike proportions. Nothing to get all worked up about." The Prophet joked nonchalantly, before growing serious once more. "So snake-leg's has got power in his corner, no denying that. But abilities like those no doubt come with some sort of crutch or blindside."

At this, Velka needed only to muse to herself for a few moments in silence. She had fought and served closely under Gwyndolin as his right hand for years. If anyone was to be keenly aware of his strengths and his weaknesses, it was her.

"He can hardly be said to have any blind sides since he can see through the eyes of each and every one of his illusions. But he is far from invulnerable." The goddess explained as she placed a thumb to her chin. "Unlike others of my kind, Lord Gwyndolin's body is incredibly frail and easily fatigued. Even by human standards."

"But that won't matter if he can create subordinates that can overpower any sort of threat that comes near him." The Prophet added.

"As you said, that sort of power comes with a crutch. My lords' illusions and his sorcery may be his greatest strength, but they are also his only strength." Velka explained. "I am able to use sorcery seamlessly, but he requires the use of his catalyst of access such power. If we can separate him from it, he will be no more dangerous than a child throwing a tantrum. And it is also worth noting that no matter the illusion, nothing he forms is indestructible. They all have limits that can be overcome."

"Perfect. So when I'm fighting about twenty of the huge knight guys from before, I'll keep in mind that "Hey, they may be bigger, stronger and outnumber you, but they're not invincible." The Prophet said, openly mocking his odds. "We've practically already won, am i right?"

Velka could only smile and shake her head at his open mockery of his odds.

"Heh, yes, truly nothing more than afternoon delight. Perhaps they should just surrender now and save us some time." The goddess joked as she smiled endearingly towards the human at her side.

The Prophet matched her affectionate smile with one of his own. But after a few moments of gazing upon her, the grin upon his face slowly began to fade.

Her emotions were not easily hidden on her beautiful face from him. Her pain was masked well by the cheerfulness of her full lips and bright smile. But her eyes showed how she felt clearly to him. They were a deep pool of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless fear and grief. But she was refusing to allow such feeling hold make her hesitate. As he looked into her eyes he knew all the grief she felt could not even hope to compete with the one, simple thing in her heart: her passion.

Her passion and care to protect him. Passion turned her eyes into orbs of the brightest fire, and in them he read clearly that she would fight to the very last breath for this happiness she's found. She would not let the world take from her again. Whether it was evident to her or not, she had all but discarded her old self and clung to him with passion.

That passion made her beautiful…and a part of the Prophet felt ashamed that he was the reason for such a feeling within her.

He promised to protect her and prevent her from feeling any more pain than she already had, but because of him she had to experience a new kind of pain. Was it right for him to allow her to discard everything from her past and kill anyone that gets in her way for his sake? Was this the protection and future he was offering?

He opened his mouth to tell her that he was sorry, that he never wanted this for her, but the words were caught in his throat. He knew no amount of remorse would be able to fix what he had brought on her or alter the choices she's made for his sake. Though he would not be able to find the words to express it, the Prophet truly wished she didn't have to choose like this between him and her old life.

Seeing the clear conflict in his eyes, Velka slowly lost her cheery smile and demeanor as a bit of sadness came to take its place. But she didn't want such feeling to take over and ruin their time together. She'd felt enough sadness to last several lifetimes and wanted to hold onto the happiness he had granted her.

So she stepped closer to his side and linked her fingers into his hand.

"Its so curious that what started as an argument between us could end with us being so close to one another." Velka said as she shot him a look that was all love, with just the right hint of softness and suggestive passion. "You know, others of my kind have attempted to woo me before, but I do not believe any had ever been so brazen as to speak to me in the way that you did. Being so thoroughly disrespected was quite the irritating experience, but more than worth it in the end. To be able to break through all the uncertainty you held about me, to have you hold me in your arms and swear to protect me...it was like being let into the warmth after a lifetime of winter. I could never wish to go back to even a day before that."

Once again, she bared herself openly to him. The action of doing so bringing back the memories of the past and bringing a solemn look to her eye's. Thoughts of both him and the blood on her hands coming to the forefront.

"I felt helpless watching you dying in my arms. Knowing that the joy that you had given me was coming to an end…it was more painful than I can describe with words. Having you here with me right now, knowing that you are alive and well makes me feel that what I'd done was worth it...and I won't hesitate to strike down any that wish to harm you." the goddess said truthfully, not wanting to lie to him. "This is how I feel. And I understand if it is hard for you to look at me the same for speaking such things."

"I'd never look at you any different than woman I've come to know. Don't ever think otherwise." The Prophet said as he returned Velka's hold with just as much as care as she gave his. "But...I don't feel like this is the right path. Fighting to butcher anyone that gets in our way...No. I cannot allow that. It would be pathetic to accept an outcome like this. Why should we be bound to such an ending?"

"What are you talking about? I don't have to tell you that a battle is unavoidable. Gwyndolin and those around him will never allow you to escape. Whether either of us like it or not, it will inevitably come to a choice of them or us."

The Prophets determination hardened that much further as he caught the she had said "Us" instead of "You". Turning towards Velka fully, the Prophet grab her free hand and locked her yellow split eye's with his own.

"Then let them come." The Prophet said defiantly, his now enhanced pyromancy partially heating up the air around him as if to say it was ready for a fight. "If what stands in the way is Gwyndolin and the knights at his side, then I'll fight to overcome them. I'll gain enough strength to turn this place on its head. But I won't allow their deaths to stain your happiness. Thats a promise."

Hearing his words and the fierce conviction with which he spoke them, Velka stood dumbfounded. Did he understand the gravity of what he was saying? He had just declared that he would not only surpass Gwyndolin and everything Anor Londo had to throw at him, but that he would do it so thoroughly that there would be no need to end his life afterwards….and he would do it all just to see her happy.

Once too a moment to fully process what he'd said, the goddess of sin had restrained herself from sighing in relief and laughing.

"And there you are. Heh, you've been striped of nearly everything and stand at the precipice of a battle with gods far above you and that is the path you wish choose? To win, but not to kill?"

This truly was her Prophet. The foolish, smart mouthed idiot who knew not the meaning of the word "Impossible". Instead of choosing the path presented to him, he simply decided to make his own as if he hated the idea of fate telling him what he could and could not do. A part of her knew she should rebuke him, to tell him that such a thing was impossible. But she found that another side of her thought that, if only because it was him, that maybe they could do it.

"You only ever seek the brightest path. Heedlessly striving for more than the path of sacrifice...More than anything, I've missed that about you."

Seeing her eyes brighten up at his words, the Prophet raised a hand gently stroked her black hair and placed a hand to her cheek. He then stepped forward and placed one last kiss upon her lips, bringing her closer as he did so. Despite the heaviness of her thoughts, Velka's heart fluttered at the feeling of his body pressed against hers and his lips on her own. She sunk into the warmth of his body, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow, her future within its walls seeming a little less bleak.

He then released his hold on her and turned back towards the painting with not a hint of fear on his face. He had no more words to speak. Only actions would mean anything now.

So at last, the Prophet placed his hand directly upon the painting.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. It was the same as if he was touching any old piece of ancient paper. Then, as if the painting suddenly became water, the Prophets arm sunk straight through. Before he could even think of questioning what was happening, he was yanked forward all the way to his elbow. Finally, like a hungry beast, the painting dragged the rest of his body into its maw until he was swallowed by it completely.

Velka would stare at the Portrait for quite some time after his departure to allow the Prophets intentions to settle within her mind.

"…Fight without losing anyone…" she whispered to herself lowly. As a god and someone who looked at reality as it is presented, the words left her conflicted. She wanted to hold out hope for him, to say that she knew without a doubt that it was possible. But every piece of information she held; every fact she knew about the situation at hand all stood in direct contrast to such an outcome. The mind of her rational mind battled with the emotions in her heart.

Until finally, she decided to free herself of the cathedral and find a place to think things over clearly.

She knew that in the battle to come, there would be no room for doubt or indecision. Kill or show mercy? Destroy if given the chance or spare their lives? Proceed with faith that the Prophet would prevail or move with the certainty that death was the only solution?

Velka would make the choice in time, but for the moment she wished only for time to herself. She had the thought that perhaps a nice, long bath would aid in clearing her mind.

Painted World of Ariamis

The transition was seamless.

Though initially caught off guard by the feeling of being forced the Prophet was quick to adapt and the painting to take him where it pleased.

He had expected to experience the feeling of falling or drowning to take him. But there was no such feeling. One minute, the painting had him in its grasp and was swallowing him whole, the next his surroundings seemed to simply blur together.

Immediately, his senses were greeted with an immediate drop in temperature as well as the fact that a bridge was beneath his feet.

There was no time given for him to adapt as a bitter and freezing wind blew right through his cloak and ate away at the heat his body gave off, forcing him to quickly grab hold of his hood to lower it as low as it would go as he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep out the aggressive chill of winter.

Once the winds died down enough to allow him to see, the Prophet opened his eyes and took in the sight of the almost completely frozen fortress before him. Crisp layers of snow and ice dyed its towering walls a pure unblemished white and prevented him from seeing anything beyond them. Fresh snowflakes slowly trailed through the air and fell where they pleased, endlessly adding knew layers to the bridged he stood on as well as the rocky path laid before him.

But what seemed the most oppressive feature about his new surroundings was the complete and absolute darkness of the night sky.

Of course, the Prophet had experienced the darkness of the night before, the kind of dark that twinkled with stars here and there and beckoned one to the comforting feeling of a peaceful silence.

This bleak night wasn't like that.

There nothing above him or anywhere he turned. There were no stars, no moon. Just an empty space of nothingness. The oppressive feeling of gazing upon the night sky and finding not an ounce of light had the effect of making him suddenly feel so small and insignificant. The only thing that broke the stillness of this night was the sound of the frozen wind beating against his ears and nipping at any exposed skin it could find.

Raising his hands to his mouth the Prophet attempted to warm himself as best he could. Of course, such meager efforts were wasted completely as he barely felt the heat he created before the cold carried it away.

Knowing that he needed to get from out in the open, the Prophet pushed through the chilled wind and the falling snow until he made his way across the bridge, finding himself at the bottom of a small stairway leading further inside.

Making his way across them and further forward, he came upon the sight of a multitude of corpses impaled upon spikes lining the side of the path.

The Prophet paused only for a second to take the sight in, before moving forward and ignore them. This place was filled with supposedly the worst of the worst, so it was likely a punishment deserved. If he allowed himself to be shaken by something like this, then he was doomed from the start.

Making his way further up the stairway, the Prophet found that they lead him a massive, metal doorway. An entry point that seemingly meant to prevent entry into the fortress past the towering stone wall.

Though it seemed to be opened and welcoming, as if someone had made their way through here not long ago.

Moving forward through the gate, the Prophet was met with a surprising sight.

He'd expected there to be cells, steel cages, chains to restrain prisoners, something that would give the feeling of being confined. But there was nothing of the sort to see. The structures around him all looked like decrepit stone cathedrals, ruined spires surrounded by rubble and crumbling structures that looked like they could have been homes at some point.

"Velka said they dump criminals and monsters here, but this looks like it could have been a normal place at one point. Its more like ruins, than a prison."

The Prophet proceeded forward, traveling further inside the variable ghost town and keeping an eye out for a place to get a vantage point and find out where he should head to find the exit. After a few minutes of silent walking, he was at last greeted with the first sight of one of the prisons inhabitants.

It was nothing more than hollow dressed in torn rags and wielding an old broken sword in its hand.

"Huh. For a place that's supposed to be filled with the worst of the worst, some half naked, scrawny thing is a major disappoi-"

TSSS-THWIP

He got lucky. That was the only reason he wasn't struck dead at that very moment.

An arrow, barely noticeable within the pitch-black sky and the countless specks of snow, had flown but a hairs breath past his head, leaving a shallow cut upon his cheek.

The Prophets needed only a few moments to shake away his close brush with death before choosing to charge forward and instinctively leave a mirage of himself in the place he stood previously. It wasn't two seconds after that the illusion was peppered with several of arrows.

Making a beeline towards the hollow, the Prophet was barely given time to seek out the would-be sniper before seven other hollows swarmed from around the corners of the buildings he passed. Each one moving to collapse around him.

"NOW THIS IS A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION!" the Prophet shouted defiantly as he summoned a ball of flame into his hand.

The lone hollow raised its broken blade to strike him as he approached, but the Prophet more than fast enough to react. Thinking quickly, he easily sidestepping the creatures thrust and struck it directly in its temple with a right hook.

His instincts screaming for him to move once more, he left a mirage in his place once again as he quickly moved behind the hollow before him, just as the thwip of bows releasing their arrows sounded and his illusion was dispelled by another small volley of attacks.

Following the path the attack came from this time and spotting two hollows on opposite roofs of a cathedral and crumbling home across from it, the Prophet was swift in retaliation as he ignited both his hands in a blazing black flame.

BOOSH BOOSH BOOSH

Throwing three balls of black flame, one for each of the archers and one for the group of hollows approaching him, he quickly reduced them all to corpses with minimal effort, save for the remaining hollow in front of him.

After his thunderous and deafening attack had concluded, the remaining hollow in front of him tried to turn on its heel and swing it broken weapon at the Prophet body, only for Kaylen to easily capture the creature by its wrist mid swing.

"Wow. Was that it? You guys are barely worth the few seconds it takes to beat you." The Prophet said before placing a hand upon the hollows cheek and releasing a explosion of black flame directly upon its face, snapping its neck and sending it slamming head first into a building off to the side.

With that handled, he now stood among numerous barely clothed bodies and a handful of dull, broken swords, one of which he quickly retrieved from the ground.

"Better than nothing, I guess." He said as he examined at the incredibly shabby and run-down piece of metal. "I should find a high point and get my bearings. Once I know where I'm going-"

FLAP FLAP FLAP

The prophet stopped mid-sentence as a sound he knew well reached his ears. It was the sound of a massive pair of wings beating against the air. It was unfortunate that byt the time his mind actually put together what he was hearing, that the creature in question was already upon him.

Without any warning, a substantial force suddenly crashed directly on top of his body, forcing him to the ground and nearly knocking the wind from his lungs.

He barely the chance to register that he'd been forced into the snow before a sharp pain suddenly surged from his arms.

"AAAAAHH!" The Prophet screamed as a pair of sharp claws dug deeply into his flesh.

The attacker in question was not any sort of human found in any land. It was a tall and imposing abomination. Its long limbed form held the appearance of what could only be described as an emaciated and naked humans body with a crow's black feathered head and wings unnaturally replacing the normal limbs. Its disturbingly long arms held black claws hidden beneath its wings as well as a pair of black talons upon its feet that were drenched in blood long dried and piercing deep into the Prophets arms to deny him any form of escape.

The creature retracted its head back as it prepared to pierce its helpless preys eye socket with its beak. But the pain and injury it brought upon the Prophets body on served to fuel his flames as he furrowed his brow and placed his palm flat upon the earth beneath him.

SHWO-BWOOOOSH

A pillar of flame erupted and consumed both the Prophet and the crow creature. The entirety of the labyrinth of buildings around him were illuminated by the twilight of his tainted pyromancy as it incinerating everything around them.

The crow gave a screech of pain before releasing its hold on its prey and retreating high into the air, perching itself upon the roof of a building just above him.

Quickly bringing himself back to his feet, anger danced within the Prophets eye's as he retrieved his broken weapon from the ground and allowed the smoke that surrounded him to clear so he could get a good look at his attacker. Once he did, he found himself more than a little surprised at what he saw.

The creature seemed to have suffered no visible injury form the attack despite being engulfed entirely by a column of fire. The only sign that the attack had affected it at all was the wisp of smoke that permeated from the black feathers on its body, but otherwise it only seemed of gaze down upon him with the mild caution of a predator who's prey had merely given it a little scare.

"Resistant to pyromancy? That might be a problem." the Prophet said, quickly putting two and two together.

As he had this thought, the crow monster's beady black eye's peered down at him and tilted its head in a birdlike manner, before…

CAW CAW CAW CAW

The creatures cry was blaring and grated against his ear drums as it resounded loudly through the air all around him. On and on, it continued to sound its cry in an annoying fashion.

The Prophet hesitated, unsure of what this thing was currently trying to do. Until he heard a certain sound being carried through the air all around him….

FLAP FLAP FLAP FLAP

"Oh Christ…" the Prophet said as he felt his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach before he unceremoniously began sprinting further inside the ruined prison.

With the creatures intent becoming clear to him, the Prophet knew he had to get as far away from this thing as he could because right now it was sounding the dinner bell and drawing more of its kind right too him. If the sound of their wings beating through the air from every direction was anything to go by, their numbers were more than enough to overwhelm him

Unfortunately, escape didn't appear very likely as the creature seemed more than capable of keeping up with his running speed as it simply used its wings to hop from rooftop to rooftop.

"Shit, Fuck, Shit, Shit, Shit." The Prophet cursed repeatedly as he sprinted through a multitude of random pathways, all leading him further into the maze that was the Painted World.

The situation only seemed to grow worse by the second as countless hollows began to shamble free from around the ruined buildings and converged towards him. With enemies coming from virtually every crevice and corner around him, it didn't take a genius to know that he wouldn't get much farther before his path was inevitably blocked and he would be forced to fight.

His thoughts were soon proven correct as seven hollows, all sporting broken weaponry, appeared to bar the path forward. The situation only grew that much worse when a multiple crows had made it to the scene and landed upon the buildings above him, followed by a countless number of undead that had followed at his rear and blocked his retreat.

If he allowed the hollows ahead to slow him down for too long, he would be at all of their mercy.

In that moment, the Prophets mind and body braced themselves as he instinctively placing himself into a deep state of focus for what was coming. For but an instant, time seemed to slow to a crawl as his senses strained to take in every single detail and the location of every enemy around him, laying out his next several moves before he had even begun.

When that single instant of pure focus had passed, the Prophet had crashed headfirst into the first wave of hollows. Unleashing his pyromancy upon any hollow that came within reach of him to blow them back into their comrades and buying himself some space, while using the broken blade to quickly slit the throat of those that required quicker movement.

The skirmish was strenuous and punishing. The Prophet was natural adept at outmaneuvering and capitalizing upon the mistakes of his enemies and these hollows were no different, but there were just too many of them attacking at once.

As seconds turned to minutes, their numbers continued to swell further and further with seemingly no end, forcing the Prophet to constantly continue to shift his position or be overwhelmed. Again and again, he altered between swinging the broken blade, unleashing explosions of pyromancy to give himself room to maneuver and using his illusions to momentarily confuse his foe's.

While a normal battle would last for perhaps several minutes at most, the prophet would continued fighting against the tide for a grand total of thirty with the only thought in his mind being just when did their numbers end?

The crows were sly. Like a salivating hunter toying with their prey, they didn't all dive in and go in for the kill all at once, but instead strategically waited for their meal to wear itself down. Slowly but surely, the hollows began to land more and more glancing blows upon the Prophets body as their numbers whittled away at every bit of physical and mental strength that he had within him.

As if his situation wasn't bad enough, the Prophet soon found himself having to deal with yet another predicament.

With each blow he suffered, he could feel a powerful pressure building within him. With every blade that struck his skin, with every draining movement he made, the feeling within in his chest grew further and further. Soon enough, he began to feel a change in his pyromancy. It became to feel as if it had sudden grow in stature and was actively fighting against being controlled. The feeling quickly reached a point where the pressure became a hindrance to him and began to slow his movements.

The hollows capitalized upon this and began to pile onto and strike at his vulnerable body, adding more fuel to his fire and making him lose focus that much further. The pain being brought on him by this assault should have been enough to bring him to his knees. But the Prophet barely felt anything beyond the fire that continued to rage and encompass his body.

Until finally, he could maintain it no longer….

SHWOOSH-BOOOOSH

His black flames surged violently and blazed freely around him, burning his body as well as the hollows nearest him. As the pyromancy burned away at its owners' flesh, it fueled its own growth and progression. Making the Prophet place a hand to his chest as the heat began to intensely warp the air all around where he stood.

"Stop..." the Prophet said through clenched teeth as he struggled to wrestle back control of his body.

It was then that three Illusions materialized around him, their forms slouched in a rabid fashion and identical to the Prophets own black cloaked one. Seemingly working of their own accord, they bared the teeth ravenously as their arms and hands became engulfed blackened flame.

Seeing that their prey had seemingly become frozen in its tracks, a chorus of high-pitched squawks rang out as the crow creatures all spread their wings and descended upon him. They knew that his meager fire could do little to harm their bodies and held no fear at their meals display of strength.

Shrouded in the darkness of his own pyromancy, the Prophet strained to not allow his own power to overcome him completely. Staring at the shimmering apparitions around him, images of how he tried to kill Velka, of how he attacked her like a mindless beast, ran through his mind.

That's what he was turning back into right now, something that would kill and burn her without the slightest hesitation. The thought of becoming such a rabid creature once again caused him to grit his teeth and dig deep.

"ENOUGH!"

Forcing his flames to do as he commanded, the Prophet willed each of the illusions around him to raise their hands high in the air before slamming it into the earth beneath their feet just as the crows were directly upon him. The result being a swirling storm of darkened fire that consumed each of his enemies as well as the surrounding buildings, burning some of the structures to a point that they crumbled under the heat.

Inevitably, the fire degraded and died away, allowing the smoke to clear soon after. A multitude of hollow corpses lay in a charred heap upon on the ground. But unlike them, the crows all stood relatively unharmed from the attack. Though parts art of their naked bodys were slightly singed and their wings were now sporting smoking feathers, there was no life-threatening damage to be found.

But the attack had served its purpose as a distraction as the Prophet had long since fled out of sight by the time the creatures regained themselves and sought him out.

Running as fast as he could through the corridors of the prison, the Prophet might as well have been a mouse scurrying within a maze. The pathways were wide and almost completely identical to one another. Not to mention that the frozen wind seemed to do little to calm the fire that continued to simmer across his body and armor.

But still he continued to push forward. He needed to find somewhere safe. Somewhere he could rein in his pyromancy and get it under control.

Every now and again he would run into a hollow or two blocking his path, of which he quickly cut down with the bloodied broken weapon in his hand, barely even halting in his advance as he aimed primarily for their throats or eye's. They weren't much of a threat on their own. But what made him curse beneath his breath time and time again was the sight of one of the crow creatures perched high upon rooftops, their black feathers providing almost perfect concealment amongst the night sky.

Hours go by with the Prophet trying to stay low and find a safe place to collect himself. But no matter where he turned, the sight crows black feathered bodies greeted him up above. If not for his Pyromancy making it difficult to spot him, he'd no doubt already be surrounded like before. Not to mention that his wounds did not magically heal themselves and disappear as he moved, as such his pyromancy was still volatile and refused to settle fully back into his control.

It did not help that he could feel it smoldering across his skin, burning him and slowing growing in intensity.

"Hunh…Hunh…" his deep breaths pierced the silence as the pain began to reach a point that he simply could not bear through it and run anymore. He'd come to accept the fact that it didn't matter how far or in which direction he ran. Sooner or later, his luck would run out and he would lose control again. It was doubtful that the crows wouldn't notice when an area suddenly erupted with fire.

"..Fuck it…"

The area of buildings he was currently standing in seemed to be enemy free, at least as far as his eyes could see. So after giving the area one last look, he turned to the nearest building he could find, placed his hand upon the closed door and used his pyromancy to force it open.

Dark, empty, cold, the room stood silently as a perfect example of what one would think a prison cell would be, nothing more than an empty box with not even a bed or a pile of hay to furnish it. The only noticeable feature about it was the gaping hole in the ceiling, but as there was no moonlight to illuminate the room, it only served to make the room feel more eerie. If he wasn't preoccupied with burning to death, the prophet might even grow a bit afraid that some nightmare of a monster might peak through at some moment. But as it stood, he could not care less what tit looked like.

Stepping inside and closing the door behind him, the Prophet groaned lowly as carelessly dragged himself to the furthest end of the room and slumped against the wall, letting his body slide to the cold floor beneath him. Those things may have been able to spot him if he was out in the open, but he doubted they could zero in on him inside one of the countless buildings inside the prison, even if he did make a bit of noise beforehand.

For now, at least, he was safe.

"Ugh, well…that could have gone better. Vel would definitely have my head if she knew i got beaten by a few birds."

It was a minor snark, something to help him to get a grip on himself. The pain, no matter how it escalated, was not something that brought fear upon him. The crows, despite their resistance to his flames, did not make him want to curl up and cry for help. The Prophet was not so easily broken or deterred. He needed to look no further than the mark burned upon his shoulder to remind him what he had to lose. If his Pyromancy had become erratic, regain control of it. If fire wasn't effective against the crows, rethink your approach and find another way to kill them. If your back is against a wall, break the damn thing down. It was a simple as that for him and he wasted no time in getting to work.

If he was going to move forward, he knew the first thing that he needed to do was bring his pyromancy to heel. He could not afford to lose control of it mid-battle like that again.

So sitting on his rear end and getting as comfortable as he could, he willed an ordinary ball of flame to appear in his hand.

"Okay. On step at a time…take it slow."

Doing just as he instructed himself, he allow the flame to sit in his hands a burn solemnly for a few minutes, before willing it to slowly changed from a crisp, yellow fire to that of the darkened taint. Taking a deep breath, he willed it to slowly snake its way across his arms, over his shoulders and finally to flow over his entire body. The act coming as naturally as breathing to him.

BUMP-BUMP

There it was. A sudden violent flare of power that snap at him and fought against being controlled like a dog on a chain. But the Prophet remained calm.

Rage was seeping into his thoughts, his heart pulsed far too fast within is chest, blind fury demanded that he stand up and find something to kill. Soon enough, the darkened pyromancy bared its fangs and began to eat away at its owner once again. But the Prophet held his ground. Maintained his sense of self amid this meaningless resentment and hostility.

"I'm not some puppet on your strings. You might have been born from Velka's power, but you're still my pyromancy."

As if in defiance to his thoughts, the flames on his body grew in intensity and began to spread along the stone floor and the wall at his back. But the Prophet held true to his calm.

He wasn't some raging beast that sought to destroy anything in his way without remorse. He did not seek to be some harbinger of death to be feared. Thats not what he would allow his pyromancy to be. He wished to use his fire to be a comforting warmth for his goddess and a protective light for his Firekeeper. It was a power to help him safeguard those he cared about.

Moving as if his will was a guiding force, the fires that raged around him all began to recede and converge upon the cloak he wore, giving him the appearance of a wraith basking in moving shadows. The Prophet wasn't trying to contain his pyromancy or hold it back, he wanted to learn to control it. So he forced himself to maintain it to a state that it radiated from his shroud freely, adding a more revenant image to his already threatening appearance.

He tested the extent of this control by willing forth a mirage of himself and having it stand proud before him as its arms and hands erupted in a blazing flame. With a small gesture of his hand, he dismissed the image just as easily.

The rage was still there, but he felt as if he was able to temper it well enough to give it direction and not allow it to run wild.

"Not bad…but a little better control over a few old tricks won't be enough to break free of this place, much less be enough beat Gwyndolin." The Prophet thought to himself as he focused heavily on the one ability he'd yet to make use of.

The sorcery Velka had gifted to him.

The covenant they formed together made the presence of her magic a constant. So it stood to reason that all he had to do was figure out how to utilize it. Taking a breath to gather himself, he tried his best to do just that.

After ten minutes of absolutely nothing happening, he quickly came too conclusion he wasn't going to get it work like this. His Pyromancy may have responded to his instinct and emotions easily enough, but his magic didn't seem to react the same way. So he decided to take a step back and try a different approach.

His sorcery was formless, so perhaps the problem was that he needed to focus more specifically on what he wants from it. To begin to fix such a problem, he began by asking himself a simple question.

What is this magic to me?

"Magic…would be a absolute attack, right?...No. There's no such thing as an absolute attack. Magic would be something honed and refined. Something like…"

Images of Velka and the seamless way she would used sorcery to form weapons and projectiles flooded his thoughts.

"…like that. She used magic in a way that seemed both flawless and fluid. I want to do the same. I need to be just as strong."

He felt something collecting. It wasn't swirling or building up, it was more like he suddenly became aware of something around him. But he struggled to hold on to the feeling. The chaotic nature of his Pyromancy was throwing off his focus. But even still he would not let it slip away so easily and so questioned himself once again.

What kind of thing is magic to me?

He could perfectly picture the sight of the magical blades Velka used to cut into him. The memories of the countless blue armaments being point at him from above, ready to finish him off, came to the forefront.

"Magic should be a weapon. The most precise of weapons to strike at any weak point no matter how minor. The sharpest of swords to cut through my enemies. Honed, reactive and versatile. A weapon to let me fight and protect those close to me. Thats what I need."

He could grasp the feeling clearly within himself now. He pulled at the feeling and allowed his focus to give it shape. It was then that he could feel that it had finally taken a physical form in front of him.

Opening his eye's and taking in the effects of his magic for the first time, he was met with the sight of….an ethereal broken blade floating in front of him, completely identical to the one he held in his hand.

"What the hell…?" the Prophet thought as he examined the tangible blade before him.

Untrue Magic Weapon

Sorcery created by a Prophet who sought to shadow the might of his goddess.

Imprints the memory of a weapon upon your very soul with but a touch and use the memory to fight to the bitter end. But take heed: As it exist as nothing more than a memory, this ephemeral weapon has no true form and could never hope to surpass the original.

It was said that the gods had imprisoned the Prophet within their dreaded Painted World, assured the he would perish within it. But such a place only offered him the opportunity to grow in strength. Truly, their underestimation of him would prove to be their undoing.

In any other situation, in any other scenario, this would have been a joyful development. But considering where he currently was, the ability was somewhat underwhelming.

Leaning his head against the wall behind him, the Prophet sighed at the ironic turn of events.

"What am I supposed to do with this? If I was somewhere I could get my hands on more weapons, then I might be able to make better use of this magic. But the things here either only have broken weapons or use claws, making this ability the equivalent of a copy machine with no ink to work with. Useless." The Prophet complained to no one as he eyed the floating magic weapon in front of him. The memories of the way Velka used her magic going through his thoughts once again. "Hmm….wait a minute...If she can do that, then maybe…"

With only this though, the Prophet focused hard on the floating blade.

Then, as if it suddenly grew a mind of its own, the blade suddenly began to rotate mid air. Seeing this happen, a smile began to form across the Prophets face as he realized just what kind of ability he was dealing with.

Focusing that much further, he willed the blades tip to shift in a multitude of alternating and changing directions, before suddenly halting its movement abruptly, pointing it at the stone wall to his right and propelling it directly towards it in a trail of blue light where it sharply rebounded off the stone with a resounding ring.

But this didn't erase the excitement the Prophet felt at what he had, as he simply willed it to fly back into his hand as it tumbled through the air.

"Ho, ho, ho boy. I take it back. This might be a lot more useful than I thought." The Prophet thought with a smile as he will the blade to spin over one of his fingers, the cogs in his mind already turning on how to build off this ability uses. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. A broken sword is still a broken sword, magic or not. Since I might not find any better weapons here, I'm going to need a little something more imaginative to make this as effective as possible. Hmm..."

Letting the weapon spin over his finger for a few more moments, the Prophet abruptly halted its movement before sending it twirling in the air above him.

SHWOOOSH

Utilizing his pyromancy once again, the Prophet released a small portion of its power on the room around him, summoning a mirage of his cloaked form and commanding it to reach out and snatched the magic weapon from the air. Willing his mirage to twirl the weapon in a backhanded position and stand at the ready, the Prophet stood to his feet at last with a pleased look in his eye.

"Heh, nothing more than a trick of the light." the Prophet thought as he could already imagine the possibility's to be had with an armed double of himself and this was only when he'd had a broken weapon to work with. "I wonder what use this magic too-"

CAW CAW

With the tell-tale sound of a bird's prominent cry echoing through the room, the Prophet turned his attention to the hole in the roof above him to see three of the crow creatures staring down at him. He had been discovered.

"Ah. I see. Does this mean break times over, guys?" the Prophet questioned almost non-nonchalantly with the crows responding by jumping through into the hole of the building with ravenous hunger.

BOOSH

Moving with practiced haste, the Prophet charged towards the door of the building and used his pyromancy to easily blow it off its hinges. Having the raging winter winds greeting him immediately as he step back outside, his cloak danced free through the air. Though it was worth noting that, even with such cold, the black flames that coated his cloak did not falter for even a moment.

After moving a short distance from the building, the Prophet turned sharply on his heel to face it one again.

FWOOOSH

"No more running." the Prophet said as he gathered all the power he could using both of his hands.

As the balls of flames in his hands swelled to the size of soft balls, the Prophet realized something. There was no need for him to restrain himself here. The was no call for him to handle things in moderation or take it easy. He could let loose everything, destroy as much as he wished, lay waste to every part of this land with no remorse.

Not to mention that, though he was painfully unaware of it, the sorcery that he had "Learned" was leagues beyond what he should have been capable of obtaining in his current state and was of the most potent magical skills in existence. To put it into perspective, for a dedicated human of genius intellect, it would take upwards to twelve years of practiced study to master such an ability. For a normal god, it would take six. Velka, a unheard of marvel even among gods, accomplished it in just under one. So for the Prophet to be able to do it in less than a single day, even if only because he was connected to Velka, was something that should have been an outright impossibility.

But such a reality was rebuked entirely as the Prophet willed six ethereal broken blades to appear behind him just as he had gathered enough power to accomplish the task he had in mind.

FWOO-BOOOOSH

Unleashing his attack in full, the Prophet threw the massive ball of black flame at the building the crows resided in. True, they may have been resistant to the flames heat, but nothing would save them from the explosion of power that leveled stone building around them, leaving their bones to be crushed under the weight of the crumbling structure as well as causing an explosion that echoed far and wide through the prisons walls.

This wasn't just an attack to finish off the crows; It was his declaration of open war. His darkened flame burned bright and loud against the crisp silence of the snowy confines of the prison. Causing hordes of hollows, giant rats and crow demons to all flock towards him like moths to a flame.

Any other time, the Prophet might have said that this was a decision only an idiot would make. Calling down every enemy in the vicinity upon yourself in one fell swoop? Madness.

But there was one thought that plagued his mind that defied such thinking. Even as countless footsteps echoed off the walls around him and the beating of wings grew ever closer, he could not help but think one thing.

"None of this would stop any of them. If any of those being were here, they'd be able to push through this without fear." The Prophet thought as images of each of the gods he's met ran through his mind. His memories were a jumbled mess, but this was something he just knew. Velka, Ornstien, Gwyndolin. To any of them, this sort of thing wouldn't even amount to a speed bump. "If they can withstand this, then so can I. Velka's risked everything to give me this power, so its time to see what I can do with it."

Countless hollows endlessly swarmed out of the shadows and crevices of the buildings around him in a zombie like fashion. He counted six of the crow demons suddenly flying in from the night sky and landing on the building's rooftops looking down on him, each one cawing loudly to draw more of its brethren to his location.

In he was being honest, finding the exit should have been his priority, not attempting to risk his life to fight these creatures. But this was a matter of pride for the Prophet. It was not lost on him just how insane it was to defeat Gwyndolin without killing him. Even without his memories, a part of him was afraid to even stand in the same room as him, much less think of fighting him. He felt he needed to fight this battle and win to prove to himself that he could grow beyond what he was and get through this obstacle.

After all, if he couldn't overcome a few birds and barely living corpses, then how could he even think of trying to protect Velka from Gwyndolin?

With a wave of his hand through the air, the Prophet extended his Pyromancy as far as it would go, forcing everything his vicinity to shimmer with heat.

"Alright. Each and every last one of you freaks…."

As if they were revenant spirits rising from the shadows, three mirages of the Prophets cloaked form appeared at his side. With but a thought, he willed the six magic weapon floating above him to find a home in each of the mirages hands.

"…COME AND GET SOME!"

With that resounding battle cry, the prophet and his shadows charged headfirst into the throng of hollows that swarmed all around him.

Clenching his teeth, the very second that he came within range of the veritable wall of hollows did the Prophet will a ball of blacked flame into his hand before throwing it directly at them. He did not hold back in the slightest in this attack and, much to even the Prophets surprise, the unrestrained power of Black Pyromancy was more than enough to cause and eruption that was more than powerful enough to shatter the many of crowd of undeads bones and sending them tumbling across the snow-covered earth in a mess of limbs.

The Prophet took in the sight for a breath of a moments, before turning on a heel and driving the real broken sword in his hand into the throat of a hollow approaching his side. Just as he had done this, he simultaneously willed the magic weapons held by his mirages to separate from their owners hands and move as sentient arrows around him. Soon enough, six more hollows had died simultaneously, courtesy of his magical weaponry piercing directly into their skulls.

Six other hollows quickly took their place, but were quickly and easily dispatched by a combined assault of the Prophet with his shadows at his side, each of which he had armed once again with ethereal weapons. In almost two heartbeats after, the shadows each took down three other hollows simultaneously, each one finishing off their enemies with attacks aimed either for the brain or the heart.

This patter continued for quite some time. With the Prophet moving forward, killing hollow after hollow with either an explosive burst of power or a precise stab to a vital area. His eye's and instincts were sharp, already planning ahead three steps after he had finished off an enemy.

It was only after a handful of minutes, once he'd thinned their numbers a great deal and purposefully slowed himself down did he realize something.

These things were…. pathetically weak.

Each one fell with a single attack from him. Not to mention that they were not smart enough to form a plan of attack and were idiotically attacked him in the most telegraphed ways possible. They had the numbers advantage, but now that he had at least a reasonable amount of control and he kept himself aware of his surroundings, they could honestly do nothing to stand against his pyromancy or his sorcery.

If he had had his memories, the Prophet would have seen these enemies for what they truly were. The weakest of the weak, the lowest of the low…. annoying, barely worth mentioning, hollows. It seemed that in his desire to prove himself, he had taken them all on as if they were on the same level of Ornstein or Gwyndolin.

Soon enough, as the number of bodies turned from six to thirteen to twenty-seven and so on, the Prophet felt almost annoyed that he was even taking the time to deal with them.

Staring up at the six crow creatures who still stared down at him from the roofs like a piece of meat, the Prophets eye's narrowed. Easily dismissing his mirages and leaving each of their nine magic weapons floating midair, he willed them all to sharply point towards the abominations threateningly.

"Get the hell down here." the Prophet said angrily as he willed each of the blades to shoot forward as if they were bullets.

With that small volley, a single member of the creature's number found that the magic weaponry had no trouble stabbing deep into their lungs and gullet, sending its body crashing down the sides of the building with pain filled cries.

The remaining four responded by spreading their wings and releasing angry and guttural caws, before descending upon their prey.

Just as they were upon him, the Prophet raised his hand up and slammed it against the earth below him. Though this time, he did not will a tower inferno to come to life, instead he merely used the attack to kick up a staggering amount to dust, snow and debris into the air to conceal himself.

The crows landed exactly where he was standing moments before, but all their talons gripped was air as they each touched down to the earth. Each of them tilting their head this way and that through the smoke to search for their prey.

One by one, the prophet took them all down, using both the debris and his pyromancy to conceal himself completely

The first to be killed had it cut the tendons at the back of its knee's cut, causing it to cry out in pain just as he willed a magic weapon to appear in his free hand and stabbed both it and the the real weapon directly underneath its shoulder blades, piercing its heart and lungs. As the blue light of the magic gave him away, the Prophet was quick to extract both weapons and back off into the obscurity of the smoke around him.

One crow cried out in anger and charged its tall body to where the Prophet was standing when he stabbed it ally, but once again its claws found nothing but air as it attacked.

The next two fell just as easily as the first, as six magic weapons pelted the first of the two's chest and killed it seamlessly, just as the Prophet slammed his hand against second creatures legs, throwing it off balance and before he roughly grab a handful of the feathers on its neck and stabbed it directly in its right eye.

With this, the smoke and debris traveled with the wind and cleared, leaving only the Prophet and the last of the crow creatures remaining. With the bloodied bodies of its kin lining the ground around them.

With his yellow eye's showing the vexation he felt, the Prophet stalked towards the crow without a hint of fear or worry to be seen. The crow on the other hand almost seemed to grow a bit afraid of him, as it initially took a step backward from the human approaching it.

CAW CAW

Seemingly finding it bravery within the hunger it felt and seeing that the human was only half its height, the creature cried out loudly as it spread its wings wide to make itself appear larger and more threatening. It then charges forward with its claws held high.

The Prophet didn't so much as slow in his approach as he left mirages in his place and easily dodged the two swipes from the creature's claws before placing a hand against the starving creatures abdomen and causing an explosion that was powerful enough to send it slamming into the wall of a nearby building.

As the abomination struggled and choked on the blood filling its lungs, courtesy of its shattered rib cage piercing them, the Prophet could only stare down at the creature with narrowed eye's, before raising his hand and willing forth six magic weapons to appear at his side.

"I was hoping for something to push me and help me discover my limits. But you things have been nothing more than a waste of time. The least you could do is die quietly." The prophet said coldly as he lowered hand and he directed each of the blades pierce the creature's head and body.

One final cry echoed through the air before all was silent.

The exhilarating feeling of joy and triumphed never came. He didn't even feel they put up enough of a challenge to warrant anything more than his annoyance. With all the corpses pilled up around him, the only feeling he got was "So what? You're still as weak and outmatched as you were when you started. You've gained nothing."

At this, the Prophet closes his eyes and allowed himself a moment of quite deliberation. After but a few moments, he resolved himself to accept that that was the truth….for now.

He was still weaker than them at the moment.

Gwyndolin, Ornstein and all the others were still stronger than him. But he would change that in time. He couldn't allow himself to stay at the same level as he was now. He needed to grow further in power. Master the gifts Velka had given him to an even greater degree.

Overthrowing his unreasonable fate, defeating those that stood in his way, these were dreams that he would fight to make a reality.

Still needing to know where he would be heading, the Prophet sought out the tallest building near him for a vantage point, finding an answer in a building that was little more than a stairway leading to and open rooftop.

Just as he was told, there was no missing the colossal circular tower far off in the distance on the opposite side of the prison. He had his destination and his exit in sight.

"I'll make it back no matter what I have to do. I'll get stronger and protect Velka no matter what it takes. And no matter who or what they may be, anyone that tries to stand in my way…" The Prophet narrowed his eye's as his darkened Pyromancy responded to his thoughts by spreading further along his cloak, emphasizing the wraith-like look his shroud gave off. "Better be ready for one hell of a fight."

With that solemn declaration made, the Prophet stepped free of the rooftop and proceeded in the direction of the exit. Ready to face whatever destiny may throw his way.

---

OKAY, HOLD ON, HOLD ON, WAIT!

Before anyone says anything about Priscilla being in the chapter and meeting the prophet, I want you all to know that I flipping, alright? I swear, I rewrote this dang chapter like six times before I decided, "You know what, there's just no way to get the old fluffy waifu in the first time around. I'm gonna have to Push their meet to the next chapter."

There was just no way that I felt I could write Priscilla directly into this chapter with the Prophet without her feeling forced in. But I promise, next chapter is the one. Just give me one more chance to work this into the story right, guys. You won't be disappoint.

Now, moving on to final words about this chapter.

Firstly, for those wondering why I would have the prophet want to beat Gwyndolin without killing him, I did it because i feel like the prophet should be the one who look fate in the eye and says "screw you, buddy." He should be the heroic example that the gods wish they could have been. When the going gets tough, he should seek to rise above just accepting whats expected of him. As he's already accepted himself when the darkwraith tried to kill him, I don't want to see him turn into a mopey, edgelord. I want to make him hopeful, driven and to strive to a better ending to things as he goes forward.

Now thats not to say that things will go the way he wants it just because he has good intentions. This is Dark Souls, so tragedy is always ready and waiting to strike at a moments notice. Keep that in mind moving forward btw.

Secondly, I want to say that I haven't decided if I'm going to allow Gwyndolin to live once all is said in done. Personally, I would love to write an arc where the last god grows out of his fathers shadow and becomes something better than what he is now, but again it still up in the air for me as I all don't want him to appear weak or as someone who crumble the moment his convictions are challenged.

Thirdly, to any wondering, yes I decided to make the Painted World larger and more expansive. I tried writing it the normal way about four different times, but I just could get that sense of pressure that I wanted to put on the Prophet for being there. Every time I with through and read what I put down, i felt more like i was just checking things off a list instead of actually telling a story. So I decided to retell the story of the painted world in a different light. Keep in mind that the big landmark area's like the Graveyard, the Phalanx, the Undead Dragon, the Well that leads to the Skeleton Wheels and other such big area's will definitely still be included.

Lastly, I want to point out that I fully plan to allow the Prophet develop new abilities while he's inside the Painted World, so if you guys have any idea's for what you want to see in the story, feel free to let me know as I am definitely on the look out for new abilities to equip the young mad-lad with.

But thats all I have to say this time around, guys.

As always, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you guys thought about this chapter of the story? Was the Prophet being to idealistic in his declaration? Could his development have used a bit more work? Do you think his new abilities are a bit too overpowered?

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 your 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 know what your thinking. "SG, what the hell is wrong with you? Crippling Priscilla and leaving her trapped and at the mercy of the skeleton wheels? You bastard!" But trust me when I say it will all be worth it in the end once I actually get the Prophets ass moving and he finds her.