The Outer Lord

Chapter 2: Shardbearer

Night fell across the Lands Between. Even in the small hours, darkness was kept at bay by the auric glow of the Erdtree. It was a splendid sight, Talos had to admit. As well as being beautiful against the backdrop of the star-speckled sky, it provided him ample light to navigate the wide open plains. Leaves as golden as their parent tree fell from the sky like gentle rain. Talos held out a gloved hand, catching one of them. It was as ordinary as any leaf from any tree, but he felt the warm energy contained within. What surprised him, however, was while the leaves of the Erdtree lay where they fell, the one in his hand began to smoke, its edges smoldering before igniting, quickly burning away to cinders until it was naught but ash in his palm. It was a curious sight, and one that warranted investigation. For now, he rested at a site of Grace with Torrent near Mistwood, feeding the spectral steed handfuls of berries, much to Torrent's quiet delight.

''An eventful day, eh, Torrent?'' Talos mused, stuffing a berry into his mouth with the Grafted Blade resting on the grass beside him.

After he left Irina and Edgar behind, Talos had spied the wall of golden fog far below on the beach behind Castle Morne. Whatever structure had been there had been utterly destroyed, most likely in a coastal offensive in a war long since concluded. With no need of the Beast Cutter with Irina safely away, he put it away and donned his trusted Lothric Knight sword. This proved to be a wise choice, as the fortifications down the cliff led him into cramped rooms filled with vile creatures. His sword made quick work of everything that barred his path until he finally met the sand of the beach.

He passed by clutches of strange jellyfish, grey as mist, that didn't seem at all perturbed by his presence. They floated above the ground and seemed to lack the corporeality of living creatures. He let them be, leaving them to their own business as he approached the golden fog gate. Passing through it, he laid eyes on a creature, neither man nor beast, but some hybrid of the two. The Leonine Misbegotten was orange in colouration, with a lion's mane about its neck and shoulders. Its body was lean with clearly defined muscle, though not overly bulky, while it's face terminated in a snout-like mouth reminiscent of its namesake. In one hand, it carried an ugly weapon. It was the rough approximation of a sword, rough-hewn and made of rusted sword blades that jutted off in all directions, creating deadly serrations. Was this the so-called treasure of Castle Morne? Well, no matter its form, it was unique and therefore Talos was going to take it for himself.

The creature stood on digitigrade legs. It growled with a deep rumble in its throat before pouncing, its powerful legs projecting it several meters towards Talos. The Tarnished, with sword in hand, was ready. The first strike came, a mighty overhead swing that met the sand and sent it in a clumpy plume into the air. Talos strafed, having avoided the strike and thrust out in a counter. The amalgous sword in the Leonine's hands came up and blocked the incoming thrust with the uneven flat of the blade. However, the creature felt something it hadn't expected. The sheer power behind the thrust sent shockwaves up its arms, making them ache as it was forced back, its feet leaving deep grooves in the sand as it was sent reeling.

Talos waited instead of pressing his advantage, twirling the sword idly in his hand. He saw a myriad of openings in the Leonine's guard, each practically begging for his sword to find its mark. This creature was hardly a worthy contender against Talos. He knew that. He had felled beings that would grind the Misbegotten under their heels before they'd even notice it was there. However, Talos wasn't interested in merely killing this creature. He wanted to study it. He had little doubt he would encounter more of its kind, and if this world was like the others in any way, then knowledge of his enemies would prove invaluable. Talos knew that time had forged him into something that was notoriously hard to kill. But while killing him may border on impossible for most, he had the wisdom granted by vast experience that the chance of even the most meagre of foes killing him was laughably unlikely, but never zero. Rats and dogs and even birds had taught him that lesson, as embarrassing as it was. Though to be fair, they were either freakishly large or otherwise deviant from their standard forms.

Outraged, the creature launched into a series of attacks meant to cleave Talos apart. Each one was evaded, all while the Tarnished watched impassively as he analysed his opponent's movements. This creature was no swordsman. A berserker with only its strength and agility providing the illusion of skill with the hulking sword it wielded. It was by no means unintelligent, though. Upon recognising that its barrage of attacks had done little besides kick up sand, it stalled and circled, watching Talos as he, in turn, watched it.

In the face of a true challenger, the Leonine Misbegotten second-guessed itself. The common folk of Castle Morne had proven easy prey as they ran from it and its malformed kin. The soldiers and knights had put up a decent fight, though superior numbers and the element of surprise had severely hampered their defensive capabilities as they were scattered and unsupported. They'd all but taken the castle within the day, with only pockets of resistance here and their as the soldiers had hunkered down in varies spots within the castle. And now, with the Grafted Blade in its grasp, it had never been stronger. So why? Why was one man able to toy with it like this? The Leonine knew this stranger was merely humouring its attempts to kill him. That only made the beast furious.

Talos had seen everything he'd needed to. There was nothing special of note here. Just another beast flailing with a weapon it could scarcely understand the intricacies of. He lowered his guard, scant as it was already.

''Enough of this,'' Talos said. The Leonine's nostrils flared as it grunted, then roared as it lunged forward, putting all of its weight and formidable strength behind a massive thrust. Talos waited until the last second, side-stepped and moved forward. His hand wrapped around the wrist of its sword arm, and using its weight and momentum against it, he pulled it forward. The Grafted Blade sunk into the sand at the very same second three-and-a-half feet of steel penetrated the beast's throat and out the other side. Twisting the blade, Talos ripped it free in a spray of blood as the Leonine fell sprawling into the sand, gargling as it choked on its own ichor. After a few moments of writhing, it went still, and with it, the fog gate dissipated.

Not sparing a thought for the dead creature, Talos hefted up his prize and left Castle Morne behind.

The wind buffeted Talos, sending his cloak billowing. Melina hadn't lied when she said the hills surrounding Stormveil were shrouded by storms. He supposed the name had to originate somewhere, but it seemed originality had not been at the forefront of Godrick's mind, assuming he'd named his castle. A thick mist obscured much of his sight, but he could see a shack and the tell-tale glimmer of golden light indicative of a site of Grace. Dismounting Torrent, he entered the shack, thankful for the reprieve it gave from the gale outside. Sat by the wall, crestfallen and alone, was a young woman in white with a red cloak and hood that stood out against the grey surrounding them. Hearing the rattle of his armour and his footsteps on the creaking floor, she looked up. Her skin was pale with flushed cheeks, and strands of her golden hair were visible from under her hood, while sullen blue eyes watched him approach.

Talos stopped and looked around. He saw a wooden box and sat down, more to put the girl at ease than for any need for rest. He understood that he didn't exactly look welcoming, and Irina had the benefit of not seeing him. Had she done so, she might not have been so quick to ask for aid. However, looking at the girl, he didn't see fear. All he saw was exhaustion, someone sapped of any capacity for anything beside resignation. Whoever she was, whatever had happened to her, it had been bad indeed.

''Chasing gold, are you?'' Talos asked, breaking the silence. The girl didn't speak. ''Tarnished?''

''Yes,'' she replied sullenly, ''everyone's been grafted...''

''Grafted? I'm assuming you encountered Godrick, then,'' the shudder that passed through her at the mention of that name confirmed it.

''Everyone who came with me, we... we came from across the sea together. They fought hard... for me. And all I did was run and hide,'' she pulled her knees up to her chest, ''their arms were taken. Their legs taken. Even their heads. Attached to... attached to the spider.''

''Are you a warrior?'' Talos asked. The girl looked confused at the question and shook her head.

''Well, no. I was never much for combat. I can see the guidance of Grace, but I'm a poor fit for Elden Lord,'' she replied, her eyes falling to the floor in shame.

''Not everyone is meant to fight. Just as not everyone is meant to rule. Unfit soldiers and rulers are the rule, not the exception. I know this truth well. There is no shame in running away if you cannot fight. Sometimes, it is our only option, and positions us for better things,'' Talos said gently, ''your fellows, I assume they were Tarnished as well?''

''Yes, but you don't understand. It's scary, having your arms and legs removed... your head removed,'' her tone grew frustrated, ''I just wanted to be like them, but I couldn't! I'm nothing but a craven...''

Talos gave her a quizzical look, feeling as though he were missing something. Had she and her entourage come here not to fight Godrick, but be grafted by him? From what she'd said, grafting was a grisly process, one that nobody in their right mind should ever wish to partake in. What could have possessed her to desire such a thing?

''What is your name? I am Talos, Tarnished, like you,'' Talos said.

''Roderika,'' she muttered.

''Well then, Roderika, it is my intention to put an end to Godrick and his grafting. I trust you have no issue with this?'' Roderika looked surprised. Very few came to Stormveil at all, and fewer still came as challengers to Godrick. The only one she'd seen was a lone woman in the garb of a barbarian, brandishing two wicked-looking axes. She'd seen her from a distance, cutting her way through the patrolling soldiers.

''You've come here alone, have you? But you're not here to be grafted. I wish I had your courage,'' she withdrew something from inside her cloak, offering it to Talos. The item in question was a curious thing. It was a small stone talisman imbued with strange magic, the image of a jellyfish smudge-etched into its surface with faintly glowing ash. ''Can you take this little one with you? Poor thing deserves someone braver than me...''

Talos walked over and knelt, wrapping his fingers around her hand and over the small stone. Roderika shrunk slightly at the unexpected contact. ''I will take it. But I can't in good conscience leave you here or take you with me. Is there somewhere you can go?''

For the first time since they'd met, Roderika smiled. ''There is, but not yet. And thank you. The spirits look rather fondly upon you, and I think I can see why. It'll be glad of the company, I think, the little'un,'' Roderika squeezed Talos' hand gently before he withdrew it back to his side and stood. ''Could I ask something else?'' Talos nodded, ''I'd like to pass on a message, to the little chrysalids inside Stormveil castle. If you find them, then please, tell them I love them.''

''If it can be done, then I will. You have my word,'' Talos said, ''if you are staying here, then I will return once my business has concluded.''

''Be safe, Talos. I pray for your success.''

Another fog gate barred his way. After traversing the path to Stormveil's preliminary gatehouse and eliminating the soldiers guarding it, the sounds of battle echoed through the tunnel he'd found himself in. He heard a woman grunting as she attacked and evaded, while earth-shaking impacts shattered stone with echoing cracks from a heavy weapon. Talos pushed his way through the golden fog, stepping out onto a long, thin strip of land with the true entrance to Stormveil on the other side.

In the midst of battle was a gaint humanoid swathed in a thick brown cloak and little else. He was malformed, with ashen skin and rough horns sprouting at random spots on his body, with a dense clutch of them on one side of his head. An enormous, bulbous tail swung like a flail, smashing all that was in its path. In one hand was a long and gnarled cane of ancient wood. The way he fought was unlike any Talos had encountered so far in the Lands Between. The balance between overwhelming strength and martial skill was struck beautifully, meaning that this being was formidable.

Fighting him was a woman, tall and muscular. She was dark of skin, and her barbarous hides proudly flaunted her warrior's musculature as she battled with two hefty axes. Clearly she was on the defensive, doing just enough to ensure no blow from the giant struck true. In truth, Nepheli Loux, Warrior, had never felt such a rush. Though the two were so absorbed in their fight to acknowledge Talos' presence, there was a break in the fighting as they calculated their next moves.

''Thou art of passing skill to endure for this long. It seems warrior blood indeed flows through your veins,'' the giant said, his voice regal and dignified.

''It does me great honour for you to say that, Margit the Fell. I've never been pushed so hard in battle,'' Nepheli replied, wiping a bloody lip. Margit sneered and was about to speak until he saw there was an observer to their bout.

''I see another treads where they do not belong. 'Tis true, vermin swarm together, after all,'' the woman turned, her eyes narrowing as she spotted Talos. She left herself open to attack, however, Margit was not without his honour. As much as he despised the Tarnished, he would not stoop to treachery. Besides, such measures were unnecessary for their kind, weak and foolish as they were.

''Am I interrupting?'' Talos questioned. He drew his Lothric Knight sword and held it in a loose grip by his side. He made no moves, simply standing as he watched the two duellists. Margit looked at him with a scrutinising gaze. He was old and blessed with divine blood despite his unfortunate appearance, and so he knew power when he saw it. This upstart Tarnished eclipsed all that had come previously. He could feel it like vibrations in the air that sent his skin prickling. Heat, cold, life and death, each was akin to the seasonal winds. Each was different, but each was felt. If he had to describe it, it was a similar sensation to being in the presence of one of his siblings or his parents. Though, that similarity was minimal. There was still a gulf of difference between them and what he sensed from this interloper. This man was impure. Unnatural. Other.

''I see. A new piece is in play. I sense thou art not of ordinary Tarnished stock, but it matters not,'' Margit stepped back, his cane in one hand, then with the other outstretched, he conjured a sword of brilliant golden light. ''Come, then, profaners of the Golden Order. As many as thou like, thou wilt not find me wanting!''

Nepheli felt a stab of anger at the interruption, but there was no time for that. Her mission hinged on too much to turn down aid. Margit was on the offensive once more, now more determined than before. Whoever this Tarnished was, he had caused a sudden shift in the Fell's demeanour, and that was bad news. She was already on the cusp of defeat before the Tarnished arrived, surviving only by her wits and survival instinct. Every blow she threw was denied in the face of Margit's surprising agility and tactician's knowledge of combat. Still, it did her pride good that even a foe like him had recognised her ability despite being on the back foot the whole time.

''Ready?'' the woman hadn't noticed the man was already beside her, his ragged cloak flowing in the breeze as he stared Margit down. Instead of answering, Nepheli rushed forward with her axes ready to go about their bloody purpose. She was sure she had Margit's measure now. Talos followed and the battle began in earnest.

Margit was swifter and more aggressive now, weapons and tail cutting through the air. Nepheli dove over an errant swing of his tail, rolling to her feet. Steel against wood as hard as stone shook the ground with a booming clang as Talos took the full force of Margit against his blade. His feet slid on the stone, but he held firm. The Fell Omen loomed over him, his one golden eye narrowed, seeing nary a tremor in Talos' arms until he felt the bite of Nepheli's axes in his back. He turned with a snarl, both his cane and sword of light swinging in a vicious counter. Talos jumped over Margit's swiping tail.

Nepheli held one blow at bay, though it disarmed her, sending her left-hand axe spinning away where it clattered on the stone floor. Pain shot through her hand and wrist, numbed by the power behind the strike. The sword of light came down, Nepheli's death clear in its intent, when suddenly, Morgot was thrown to the side so hard, he had to dig his sword into the ground to prevent him from being sent into the swirling clouds below. He'd felt an eruption of force and heard a nearly deafening noise in the second before. One ear ringing, he growled and stood straight, reassessing the fight.

Wrath of The Gods was an old, old miracle that Talos had learned from an old friend, Reah of Thorolund, during his arduous journey through Lordran. It was a concussive bubble of divine force that sent foes flying when used. It was a reliable option when one needed to create space in a fight.

''Thine efforts are laudable,'' Margit said, ''but regardless, thine end will be the same. None have passed this gate since I took up my vigil, and I will show thee why,'' with a swipe of a large hand, small swords of light appeared above the combatants. Seeing the incoming barrage, Nepheli tensed her legs as she prepared to throw herself to safety. Talos stood and waited. Then, they fell.

As Nepheli dove to the side, another dome of force erupted around Talos, sending the swords away up and around him. One almost hit Nepheli, much to his embarrassment, but most found their way back to Margit. The Fell Omen leapt high into the air and avoided the deflected swords, turning his sword of light into a massive hammer. At the apex of his jump, he brought his arms down and fell like a comet towards Talos. The Tarnished knight dashed to the side, mere inches away from the spray of dirt and stone kicked up by Margit's deadly strike.

Nepheli felt her bones rattle as Talos and Margit exchanged a series of rapid blows, their weapons crashing together, the strength and skill on display leaving her in awe. Seeing an opening, Talos drove his sword forward, then used a feint. Margit fell for it, swiping diagonally when the Tarnished side-stepped. Margit roared as he felt Talos' blade slide between his ribs, then the breath left him as the Tarnished kept pushing with unexpected strength, forcing the Fell Omen's immense weight back. As this happened, Nepheli pushed through the pain in her left hand and took her axe in a two-handed grip, then swung the cleaving blade at the Omen with a defiant roar. Margit hurriedly brought up and arm. The axe blade bit deep into his wizened flesh, halted only by bone as Nepheli winced with the impact jolting her injured hand. Talos pulled the sword out in a horizontal cut, spraying himself and the ground with Margit's divine blood. Margit staggered back, almost toppling, but his tail steadied him as he grasped his side, glowering hatefully.

While hatred for the Tarnished threatened to boil over, Margit calmed himself. He was a tactician by nature, and succumbing to anger would only hinder him. He would quit the field for now. There was no point in falling here. Let them progress. If they took Stormveil and killed Godrick, then good riddance. There were other, greater obstacles beyond this place, and Margit's attention was needed elsewhere. Letting the Tarnished believe they had achieved a small victory here would only serve to embolden them, making their subsequent failures all the more punishing. It also went without saying that this newcomer was dangerous, and he would need time to strategise. He would not be caught off guard again.

He swept his cane out, catching Nepheli on the side as she leapt at him. She was sent flying back. Margit leapt away, landing by the golden fog gate in front of the castle proper, blood trickling from his wounds. Talos watched, his sword by his side as he anticipated the Fell Omen's next move.

''I shall remember thee, Tarnished,'' Margit sneered, ''smould'ring with thy meagre flame,'' his body from the feet up lit up with golden light, his form coming apart before slowly fading. ''Cower in fear. Of the night. The hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter!'' then he focused solely on Talos, ''and thou... thou hast earned my true ire,'' and he vanished like a phantom while the fog gates dissipated. All was still.

For several long moments, Talos waited for something to happen. It was unusual for his enemies to simply retreat, most often deciding to fight him to the death. How strange. Once he was sure it was safe to let his guard down, he sheathed his sword and turned his attention to his impromptu ally. Nepheli grunted as she stood and dusted herself off. She took a small, spherical and ornate golden flask from her belt, the sunlight catching the crimson liquid within. She took a sip of it and gave a sight as she felt it take effect as warmth rushed through her body. Cuts and bruises healed while pain and fatigue fled. Reattaching it to her belt, she looked at Talos.

''Well, that's that, I guess. Tough bast... no, sorry. My blood's still up,'' Nepheli said, ''I appreciate your help, Tarnished.''

''He is a formidable opponent. You did well. I am Talos. And you are?'' Talos prompted, offering a hand.

''Nepheli Loux, Warrior. A pleasure, Talos,'' Nepheli clasped a hand around his forearm, a customary greeting between warriors sharing mutual respect. Talos did the same. ''With Margit gone for now, I am free to carry on with my mission. I must be on my way now. Farewell.''

''Hold a moment,'' Talos said, ''I have a feeling that while our destinations may be different, our path, for now, is not,'' Nepheli looked hesitant, but waited for him to continue, ''what say we take this castle together? Should make our respective journeys a little easier, don't you agree?''

Nepheli pondered his proposal. While indeed she had her own objective, getting into Stormveil and dethroning Godrick the Grafted was her objective here. Talos had already proven himself a capable combatant and a reliable ally, having swiftly turned the tide of battle against Margit. She knew that death awaited her if he had not arrived. Of course, she would be revived, but she could only beat her head against a wall so many times. This may be the best course of action. Her father would approve. Accepting aid given freely would speed her mission along and place her on the next step of making her father Elden Lord.

''Very well, then. I'd be a fool to turn away an extra blade at my side. I'll place my trust in you, then, Talos,'' and she meant it. Something about this Tarnished inspired trust and confidence to the point that she felt that taking Stormveil would be a trivial matter.

Nepheli was, much to her surprise, correct. Though they were advised to go through a secret entrance by Gostoc, one of the castle servants, she and Talos mutually agreed that taking their chances with the front gate was the best option. Gostoc reluctantly obliged, signalling for the guards to open the gate. Neither Talos or Nepheli were expecting the fusillade of bolts hurled their way by the Exiles mounting the ballistae, but something amazing happened that the axe-wielder could scarcely believe. Talos, by some means unknown to her, began hurling enormous bolts of lightning at their enemies. The earth rumbled with each bolt he loosed, and the ballistae and the men operating them were blown apart.

''Bloody hell!'' she'd exclaimed, forgetting the manners her father had instilled for a moment. In her home in the Badlands, storms held great significance to her people. It was every warrior's aspiration to become like a storm, an unstoppable force of nature that one's foes could either run from, or be destroyed by. Never had she seen someone harness the essence of a storm, wielding it with an uncanny mastery.

Exiles, knights, dregs and other denizens of Stormveil Castle fell to blades and spells as the pair of Tarnished scoured it for treasure at Talos' insistence. As they went, they bantered, keeping a tally of their kills. They'd watched each other's backs, turning aside blades and arrows meant for the other. They entered a large room, the rafters laden with Godrick's grim acquisitions as severed limbs hung from ropes. In the room, one of his abominations waited, its horrific form swathed in a large black cloak. Limbs writhed as if obeying their former owners' wills as the Grafted Scion shrieked its challenge at the two. The sight horrified Nepheli, but Talos, sad as he was to admit, had seen far worse. Yharnam had made sure of that.

It was then Nepheli bore witness to another of Talos' abilities. He ordered her to wait by the door, and against her spirit as a warrior, something compelled her to obey. Flame flickered around Talos, bringing his surroundings to a suffocating temperature as he strode towards the Scion. The smell of sulphur and smoke suffused the air, making Nepheli choke and cover her nose and mouth. The multi-limbed horror rushed on stolen, skittering appendages with its sword and shield at the ready. Talos slammed a hand to the floor and the Grafted Scion's world became naught but roaring fire. Pillars of flame shot from the ground, spreading out around Talos and engulfed everything in the Chaos Storm. Screaming and writhing, the Scion burned, blackening and sizzling while its body quickly incinerated until only ash and scraps of charred metal remained.

''A fitting end for such a creature,'' Talos muttered in disgust. After that, they went throughout the remainder of the castle and took everything they could. They found a pit in which several corpses were piled, and one of the Storm Hill giants was suspended upside down above the pile. Talos heard whispers, mostly too faint to make out their words, but one stood out. A name. Roderika's name. Among the corpses, he found a small, delicately decorated golden brooch laying on a folded bit of cloth as red as Roderika's cloak. Small grey wisps shifted around it. This must have been what Roderika had been referring to when she asked him for a favour. He pocketed it gently, aiming to present it to the girl later.

Soon, they found a golden fog gate at the end of a tunnel. Several rooms lined one of the walls, and inside one was a site of Grace. There, Talos and Nepheli took a brief rest. She sat by the light of Grace, letting her sore muscles relax as the power of Grace washed over her. After messing around with a strange, yet simple-looking box he carried and retrieving a couple of even stranger items, Talos leaned with his back against the wall. He hardly seemed winded, now that she got a better look. In fact, the battle with Margit the Fell didn't seem to have worn him down at all. Nothing had so much as grazed him on their way here, either. Just who, or perhaps, what was this man?

''Will you not rest?'' she asked. Talos looked up from where he gazed absently at the floor.

''No. I am keeping watch while you do,'' he replied, ''tell me, Nepheli. What brings you this place? You seek Godrick the Grafted as I do, but what do you stand to gain?''

''The same thing as you, I assume. Godrick is a Shardbearer, in possession of one of the Great Runes,'' she said, surprised that he wouldn't know.

''And that is?''

''A piece of the shattered Elden Ring. All Tarnished following the path covet these Runes,'' this made Talos nod in thought.

''And, if one of us were to claim it, would that put us into conflict?''

''Depends on the Tarnished, really,'' Nepheli shrugged, ''There are other Great Runes, and I don't know how important they are to becoming Elden Lord. But regardless of who claims it, it will no doubt be a boon to its holder.''

''I see. Fascinating. A wager then, a bit of friendly competition,'' his tone lightened and Nepheli leaned forward, interested to hear it, ''whoever deals the deathblow claims the Great Rune. Simple, no?''

''Please...'' she scoffed, ''I'm not much for sorcery, Talos. I've seen what you can do. I'd have thought you above such stacked odds.''

''You wound me, Nepheli!'' he dramatically clutched his chest, ''this is a contest of arms. Steel to steel. I've no intention of cheating you, on that, I stake my honour.''

Nepheli took a moment to eye him, though any deception was lost through his helm. She relented. He'd been honest and fair with her so far, acting as a true sword-brother. He'd have been popular in the Badlands, of that she was certain.

''Alright then. I accept your terms. To the slayer go the spoils,'' the shook on it, forearms clasped together. Her strength replenished, they went to meet the Grafted Lord of Stormveil Castle.

The sight that greeted them was a ghoulish one. Stood alone in what once was a palatial courtyard, now a rubble-strewn graveyard, violated by its master's depravity, was the master of Stormveil himself. He was a malformed thing, covered in scraps of what was once royal regalia. Nothing save his face remained of whatever his form had been before. As a testament to his ego, the sole unblemished article was his symbol of office; a golden diadem around his head. Towering and sickening to behold, Godrick stared with a sick affection for the impaled, half-rotted dragon corpse beside him. In two of his many hands, he held twin axes, both gilded and double-headed.

''Mighty dragon, thou'rt a trueborn heir,'' he stroked a gnarled hand down its snout as he spoke in a voice like a death wheeze, ''lend me thy strength, o'kindred. Deliver me unto greater heights.''

''By the storm...'' Nepheli muttered, disturbed by the Grafted. Some of the other things in the castle had disgusted her, but Godrick, this walking patchwork of flesh... he stirred genuine fear in the Badlands warrior.

''He and his kind are a common breed. Cretins and defilers by nature,'' Talos said, spite clear in his hushed voice, ''I see you, Godrick, for what you really are.'' Insight was a curious thing. True sight, beheld only by the mad. Fractured minds saw the truth of the world, and it was thanks to the Night of the Hunt that Talos could see the machinations of men and gods. Weakness and fear hung off Godrick like an ill-fitted cowl. A small man with small desires. Power had been taken from others to supplement his own inadequacy. Others could hide it and often did, but a lowly being like Godrick the Grafted couldn't hide anything. If there was still room in Talos' heart for mercy, he might have pitied him.

The Grafted turned his gaze upon the two Tarnished, his lips dropping into a sneer. His body shifted, and was once a regal sash fell away, revealing the twitching limbs of Tarnished passed. ''Well now... Tarnished, playing as lords?'' his massive golden axe came up, ''I command thee KNEEL!'' it slammed back down, shattering stone and kicking up dust, ''I am the lord of all that is golden!''

''I see no lord here,'' Talos strode forward, his sword already free of its sheath. Something was different now. Nepheli could feel it. In just their short time together, she had determined that Talos was a calculating man. When he fought, he first observed and then reacted. The battle with Margit was the clearest example. He didn't rush or charge, but he probed and tested and waited. Then with the information his opponent gave him, he would strike decisively. It was a cold and clinical approach to combat, not at all like the frenetic, passionate style she adopted. But along with that, she felt, for the first time, what may have been the 'otherness' Margit had attributed to Talos. She decided that she would still fight, but in a more reserved manner. Her keen instincts for battle warned her not to get too involved, for being swept up in this fight could spell her death. How was she meant to win their wager, then?

The first blow was struck. Sword against axe, the rebound sent both combatants sliding apart. Smaller and lighter by far, one could understand Talos being moved. But Godrick... how had the strength of a mere Tarnished moved him? His axe had bounced off of Talos' sword, but he may as well have struck a mountain.

''Weak!'' Talos spat unfazed. Godrick grit his teeth. Talos awaited no reply and moved in, his sword coming up and aimed for one of Godrick's many limbs. The larger of the two gilded axes swung wildly with no technique, only brutish abandon. Once again, the attack was denied as his strike rang off of Talos' blade, sending quakes through Godrick's arm. Searing pain erupted as the sword cleaved into his flesh, leaving bloody stumps where stolen arms had been.

''Your strength is not yours, filth!'' the blade fell, again and again, cutting and hacking harder and faster. Arms and misplaced legs fell away, hacked off by increasingly ferocious attacks. ''Your strength flees you!'' blood sluiced as steel parted Godrick's pallid flesh again.

Nepheli watched the fight progress, now feeling that she had no place here even as she held her axes in a white-knuckle grip. She could see no openings, no gaps for her to exploit. Were she to strike, her death would surely and swiftly follow. Winds whipped up as Godrick fought back, and astonishingly to her, the Demigod was on the defensive, fighting for his life against one of her Tarnished kin. The fighting reached a fever pitch as attacks and counter attacks grew in speed and power. Weapons sung a chorus of battle as they became a storm of clashing steel and gold. Stone sundered and tremors shook the earth like palsy under their combined aggression. That was until the Grafted Lord did something that shocked them both after he scrambled away from Talos. Screaming in equal parts anger and pain, Godrick took his axe to his own left arm, severing it just below the elbow. Gasping and wheezing as life bled from him, he looked to the subject of his infatuation.

''Ah, truest of dragons... lend my thy strength!''

Then, by whatever foul, blasphemous means at his command, he plunged his ruined arm into the neck of the dead dragon and tore it free of its body. Flesh melded with flesh, and soon life anew came to the dragon's head as its neck writhed. Fire belched from its mouth as it roared, held aloft over Godrick.

''Forefathers, one-and-all... BEAR WITNE-'' he never finished his cry.

Blood and brains burst from the back of the reviled Demigod's head, preceded by a deafening boom and the flash of fire. Crows cawed and fled from their perches. Bone Marrow Ash crumbled between the gloved fingers of Talos' right hand and scattered on the wind, while smoke flowed in wisps from the barrel of his beloved gun, Evelyn. Whatever pathetic parting words Godrick might have spoken would never be known as he fell back, muscles going slack before he crashed to the ground.

Talos lowered his gun. ''My apologies, Nepheli. I denied you a proper fight with him and thus cheated you. If it is your wish, then the Great Rune is yours,'' they both saw that as Godricks monstrous body dissipated, leaving only his head, a radiant symbol was seemingly carved into the air where he had fallen.

''Talos, with all due respect... shove it,'' she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. He hadn't expected that.

''I... I'm sorry?'' he asked, puzzled.

''I said shove it,'' she sighed, ''It's true I'd wanted to have a go, but after that display, I think it's for the best that I didn't. I just count myself lucky I witnessed such a thing. A Demigod, laid low by a Tarnished. And I was there!'' she laughed despite herself. She looked up at Godrick's former keep, now empty and without a lord. ''Take the Great Rune. It's in better hands with you than with me, especially with that bloody thing,'' she tilted her head at his gun. ''My mission here is complete anyway, so I think we'll part ways here.''

''I see. Thank you, Nepheli,'' he reached out to the Great Rune, and upon contact with it, it vanished as he took it within himself. ''What will you do now?''

''I'll return to the Roundtable Hold. My father will want to know what's happened,'' she adjusted the axes at her hips, ''you should go there, if you haven't already. If not, I believe my father will want to talk to you, being a Shardbearer now.''

''I haven't been there yet. For now, my business takes me elsewhere,'' the two clasped forearms for the final time that day, ''Farewell, Nepheli. Should you have need of me, you need only ask.''

''Likewise, Talos. May the storm guide your blade.''

Godrick the gormless is down and his rune has been taken. With his fight, I wanted to make a point of how pathetic he really is as the jealous, ignored, runt of the litter. For any Sekiro players, I threw in a cheeky Mikiri counter against the Leonine Misbegotten, mainly for the cool factor. I wanted to give Nepheli a bit more of an active role in Stormveil and set her up for future chapters. There's still a lot of set up for Talos to be done. Right now he's just going about business as normal, but he'll get a real shake up soon. The Erdtree leaves burn in Talos' grasp. I wonder what that could mean. Next up, Caelid, a little bit of Melina, Millicent and our easy rune slush fund, good ol' Greyoll.

I appreciate all the reviews, favs and follows so far, they keep me motivated.