Godrick looked up at the wyvern corpse with rare satisfaction. One of Greyoll's brood, brought all the way from Caelid with nary a trace of Rot. His men had done well indeed. He'd need to keep an eye on the survivors of that expedition. If any happened to fall to the next Tarnished who broke into the castle… well, no sense in such skillful hands going to waste.
With no place else to put the body, he was forced to hang it over the statue of an Erdtree Sentinel in the courtyard. At least it was in good company, with all the graves and dead trees. Fallen heroes, all.
But what to take, what to take? The grace of gold had left his eyes almost before he'd even learned to use his Great Rune, but he was sure there was some glimmer so faint no mortal man could see. His eyes were still so keen, after all. He could tell straightaway what parts of a man or beast were most suitable for grafting. When he cut, he blade flowed through flesh like water, with such clean cuts that the "donors" never even died from infection these days.
Shame about the blood loss, though.
He quietly wondered how best to graft dragon flesh. It was so radically different from men or even trolls. Was warm blood fine? Would the scales require special care? So many interesting questions he would have to answer with his own body. No one in his service was noble enough to warrant such an honor. This magnificent creature was, what, three generations descended from the fabled Old Lord? Practically divine. Certainly, no Fortissax, but… All his countless fingers tingled.
"Mighty dragon, thou'rt a trueborn heir," he said reverentially as he reached out to touch the stony snout.
The sound of conflict echoed from the castle's outer grounds. It seemed that treacherous bastard gatekeeper had found a strong one again. Or that damned Omen was reneging on his part of the deal. Either way, he'd have some extra limbs to replenish his strength if the first dragon graft didn't work out. Still…
"Lend me thy strength, o kindred. Deliver me unto greater heights."
He almost couldn't wait. He wanted to call all the ranks of his castle to deal with the intruder so that he could focus on the grafting. But such sloth ill-suited a lord. Usurpers were to be dealt with personally, to prove the strength of one's lineage. He lingered a moment longer, looking at the wyvern.
"Well," he said at last.
He slowly turned to face the intruders. A pair. Another warrior Tarnished from the Badlands and a Carian puppet of all things. The puppet was odd, but… he could smell the woman's blood on the wind.
"Another cousin. Wonderful!"
He threw off the cloak he wore to hide his true form from his uncultured servants. A dozen or more arms sprouted from his body and grasped for the light. Was he not the very image of the Erdtree, flowing with blood of the Golden Lineage like rich sap?
He gestured toward the inner castle's door behind him with one of his main arms.
"Come! I am the lord of all that is golden, and there is a place for you at my table. I am a generous lord. You need only swear that your weapon-arm will be mine when the time comes."
He chuckled at the double-meaning, but the girl clearly wasn't laughing. Well, there was no pleasing everyone. She pointed an axe at him. A good sign at least. She knew the proper weapon for nobility of their caliber.
"Godrick the Grafted–"
"–the Golden! You Tarnished lack vision–"
He paused. Vision, hm? The grace of gold… his keen eyes… Was it possible to graft eyes?
Ah, wait, she had launched into some speech about his crimes. Honestly, the Tarnished were beginning to sound like the damned Omen. Some things simply had to be done for a greater good. The people needed stability – an anchor. And it fell to the Golden Lineage to take that mantle. He would bear that burden, even if it meant literally bearing their limbs on his body. A strong trunk would weather any storm, no matter how many branches it lost.
"Words befitting the lineage of noble Godfrey!" he said once she finished. "But that is all they are. You are not chosen by the Elden Ring. The Tarnished were once the soldiers who marched at the Elden Lord's side, but now you serve only yourselves. Where are the lands you preserve? Bold for a mere pillager to speak of justice!"
He beckoned with upturned hand.
"But I may give thee purpose new. Thou shalt serve me as retainer or as spare limbs. Now choose!"
She turned away from him, perhaps to think. Ah, that doll was still there. An odd companion. Either a sorcerer was nearby or the Tarnished had found a more annoying technique than spirit tuning.
Suddenly, the doll seemed to tackle the woman. Then it spun as a stormwind kicked up. The warrior hurtled through the air toward him, roaring like a lion. A grin opened over Godrick's face like one of the smooth cuts of his grafting knife.
"Valor suits thee, cousin!"
Golden lightning sparked from the woman's axes as she fell. Godrick raised his greataxe with ponderous speed. He wouldn't beat her in agility, certainly. But dexterity?
Several additional arms bent to hold the axe steady under the crashing thunder. He endured the bolts as they surged over his weapon and coughed up a laugh. His main left arm shot like a ballista, punching her in the gut with the tightly-wound force of extra joints.
She hurtled away just as fast as she'd come but then threw her arms wide. Her paired axes looked like wings as a sudden gust slowed her fall and let her glide into a backstep.
Godrick's eyes focused on her, watching how finely trained her limbs were. She cut the wind as finely as his knife cut flesh.
Wait… where had the doll gone? Ah, no matter. He had more than enough backs that stabbing one of them wouldn't be too dangerous. Why would he divert attention from such a fine specimen?
The warrior tried to strafe around him, as if any angle had fewer arms to defend himself with. Laughing, he lunged toward her, dragging his axes. He swung with both at once. Any simple Tarnished could dodge the swing of his larger axe, but the second – carried by a grafted arm in the shadow of the main arm – caught many off-guard. Mm. Not enough. She leaped clear. Keen eyes too.
As his hulking body swung uncontrollably with the momentum of his own swing, he foe swung her axes in a circle. The wind stirred up, and lightning struck them out of the clear sky. Her blades bit again and again into the tough troll flesh of his leading leg. Well, he would certainly need to replace it after today.
Instead of opening himself with another axe swing, he swiped at her with every one of his left arm, the conjoined limb writhing like a centipede feeding on his shoulder. She broke out of her spin and tried to block, but there were simply too many. She crashed into the dirt, tearing up golden flowers as she rolled.
"Thou hast a stronger connection to the true power of this place than I, cousin. If only thou wouldst share…"
"You have no respect for this land or its people!"
"No respe–! Knowest thee the meaning of thy golden bolt?" he fumed. "Of the accord between Godwyn the Golden and the archdragon Fortissax? Thou'rt a rootless pillager like all Tarnished! The power in thine hands ill suits thee. Worry not; I will put them to proper use."
As he rushed toward her again, she took a powerful stance. Swinging both axes as one, she tried to catch his swing, even as he moved. Fine then! He swung his fists again. A feint! The very moment he slackened his axe arm, she dove into him. Perhaps knowing she couldn't tear the flesh of his troll arm so easily, she ducked past and hewed off the arm holding his second axe. The weapon hit the sloped paving stones and clattered away.
Even as he tried to bash her with the back of his greataxe, she jumped away again. Excellent battle sense. Almost a shame to–
The earth heaved beneath them. The trees and columns shook. A few gravestones tumbled off the cliff as the soil crumbled.
"Fie! Lord Godwyn is wroth today."
The warrior was puzzled. Of course. But it was his duty to enlighten his lessers.
"Lord Godwyn never left this place. Not entirely. The heartsblood spilled here haunteth these grounds. The vilest briars, which marketh the sin of deicide, infest these lands where Godwyn and Fortissax swore friendship eternal. Or didst thou think my deeds were enough to despoil this sacred place?"
"Then you admit your crimes?"
"My crimes? My crimes?!" as he roared, he leaped like an ape and swung at her.
Fury driving him out of sluggishness, he swung his axe with the grace of his carving knife. What he lacked in skill and strength, he made up with arms as they adjusted his posture and the angle of the blade.
"Malenia the Severed killed General Radahn and destroyed Caelid!"
The first strike was blocked, but he swung back, cleaving the woman in her side.
"Praetor Rykard became consumed by the Serpent and betrayed the Erdtree!"
He kicked at her with three legs, but she dodged away and into the graves.
"The other demigods who could have led us abandoned their duties!"
He smashed through the stones. Something dragged against his ankles, but he paid it no mind. The warrior tried to throw him back with wind and lighting, but he was too incensed to notice as his skin peeled.
"And that spiteful Omen King befouls the throne while watching it all like a voyeur!"
With a writing, insectile, inhuman movement, his long arm stretched under her guard. He grabbed her about the waist and neared the ledge. The stench of Death assaulted even his despoiled nostrils. He reared back to throw her over.
"With thy thick blood, any path was open to thee!"
He stumbled as the earth shook again. Something loosed a blood-curdling roar that quickly devolved to gurgling. Dirt sprayed from the edge of the cliff, and a thing which was like a fat serpent or a fish with limbs hurtled over the edge. It flipped lengthwise and crushed countless graves with its thrashing body.
Godrick's eyes watered from the toxic draft. Death followed the decaying body of the castle's former guardian spirit. Then his eyes blinked wide open. He realized what he'd trampled over in his wrath. He didn't need to look. Even in his body of scar tissue and frayed nerves, he could feel Deathblight creeping up his leg.
"So this be thy will…"
It felt like sleep. Or anaesthesia, if he remembered correctly. It had been a few decades… Either way, the strength was fading from one leg. He could cut it off, probably. Maybe throw the warrior into it as he did.
Well, odds were, she'd somehow fly away. Grace surely had some fate prepared for this one which would not allow her to die. He could beg for mercy, like he'd done to that kinslayer Malenia. This foe seemed honorable enough. Maybe he'd get away with it.
But what then? His eyes flitted to the side, to the Erdtree.
"I am the lord of all that is golden…"
Godrick wound his conjoined bodies tight and stretched his arm to its fullest.
"…and I command thee…"
He threw her clear of the growing brambles. His own flesh had begun to liquify, and the rancid black evaporation of Death pooled about his feet.
"…heal the wounds of this land. Be what I had no right to."
He slammed his greataxe into the thorns as they crept around him, propping himself up even as his muscles loosened. His body twitched as new briars began growing out of his veins and bursting through his flesh. Yet his eyes remained transfixed.
"And one day, we'll return together… To our home, bathed in rays of gold…"
He shuddered one last time, and a jagged root burst from his mouth. Death held Godrick upright even as it took him.
After a few moments, the warrior knelt and said a quiet benediction for whatever may have been left of his soul.
The doll finally emerged from behind the corpse of the wood-fleshed serpent. Its fists were covered in the thick sap which had been its blood. The golden amber was mixed with dark specks. Maggots writhed and gorged themselves on the rich supp.
The puppet made the sign of the Crucible and took a breath with mechanical lungs. It blew fire over its arms, turning the ooze into a hardened crust flecked with gold. It flexed and shattered the coating before silently joining the warrior.
Then Godrick lurched again.
More briars sprouted from his mouth as his head twisted without gravity. The circlet fell from his head to reveal a knot or a boil. It popped with a burst of maggots, and the corpse's eyes came into focus again. All three.
Briars began to wrap around Godrick's body, stitching the grafted flesh together into a more perfect amalgam. The monster stepped forward, still limping due the unevenness of its legs, but it was more certain and upright in posture.
The choking, gurgling, dead throat groaned like it was trying to say something: "Rrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaa…"
In a heartbeat, the puppet had lunged at the corpse, arms wide. At the last moment, her fists slammed the ground. Her whole body flipped over itself and vaulted into the air. Rigid legs and mechanical joints locked around the dead man's neck. The doll's body spun with her immense speed.
"Godrick" stumbled, tearing away some of the briars creeping up through its legs. Then it bumped into a tombstone and fell over backward, the weight of its grafted body dragging still more thorny vines after it.
Nepheli caught on immediately and hurried after the pair. Careful not to touch the thorns, she began hacking them off the corpse. Yet, it wouldn't stay still. Nepheli dodged a blind swipe with its spare arm while it struggled to pull the puppet free from the pin around its neck. Her body creaked from the grafted strength of a dozen, but it held fast.
"Rrrrraaaaaaanniiiiiiiii!"
The corpse's thrashing was too dangerous to be near now, so Nepheli followed the briars closer to the cliff. She finished cutting the last of them and braced herself for what was to come. Only, the corpse seemed to still. She looked to her companion, who hadn't moved in spite of the cracks spreading over her body.
Then the corpse spoke again.
"Thhhhhhe," it choked through the roots. "Thhhhhe Ruuuuuune," said a voice which was clearly Godrick's. "T-taaaaake ii-ttt… D-d-deeeea–"
He coughed violently and wheezed as he frantically clutched his chest. The faded light of the Anchor Rune glimmered.
The puppet gestured for Nepheli to approach, still not releasing her grip on Godrick's neck. Only, as the warrior got nearer, the color of the light changed. The pale gold withered and blackened. Thorns began to prickle inside the Rune itself. The cold eyes of the Prince of Death blinked through the gaps.
Nepheli didn't hesitate. Spinning with the stormwind, she drove both axes overhead into Godrick's convulsing chest. Golden lightning struck the Rune. It flashed, and the taint of Deathblight seemed to retreat. Then that too blackened. Shadowy death lightning crackled from the infested mark.
"Mmmmooooooorrrrrre…?" hissed a voice which was less and less Godrick's.
The body went very still. Nepheli leaped back. She recognized the calm before the storm.
Slowly, it reached for the doll. At last, she released her grip and scampered away. The corpse rose with the reluctance of a man being forced to wake early. The briars which had already wrapped around its form drew closer. Black blood dripped on the grass, which withered and exploded into a cloud of flies.
The doll raised her hand and motioned Nepheli to hold. The body managed two steps toward Godrick's fallen axe before she reached it. She spun and glowed with the light of the Crucible. As she turned, her legs turned into the powerful legs of a flightless bird. The puppet sprung forward and lashed into the corpse's side with a taloned kick.
It shuddered, but the briars held the flesh tight. Then it bent down to pick up the axe.
As it lifted the weapon, the puppet slid beneath it and struck its elbow with a palm thrust to use its own motion against it. As the arm swung loosely upward, she assumed the arm of a runebear. The flesh-rending talons dug into the corpse's stomach like paper. With a roar, the doll tore out what should have been organs – only, her arm came out wrapped in briars.
The bear flesh shriveled from the taint, and it writhed from maggots growing inside. As she shapeshifted back, her porcelain skin was pierced and cracked. The twine inside which moved it was rotting black. Still, she twisted the tendrils another loop around her wrist and kept pulling.
But the strength of a single Carian doll was not enough to budge the thorns which had already completely filled Godrick's body. Now the corpse swung his axe straight downward. The puppet turned her other arm into the claw of a great crab and caught the weapon between its pincers.
The Prince of Death looked down with his three leering eyes. The zombie chuckled drunkenly through the vines in its throat and swung with its other fist.
Lightning struck.
"You cannot do everything alone."
Nepheli's overhead smash drove the corpse's arm into the dirt. She heaved one axe back and hacked into the soft of Godrick's elbow. The steel sizzled as black blood dripped from it, but it held shape. The zombie shook her loose, but then the puppet ripped a gash of briars out of its torso. She retreated as well, and the pair stood ready on either side of the corpse.
It gurgled mindlessly, then swung its axe through the air. The heaving, grafted body turned. It wasn't swift like Nepheli, but its sheer mass kicked up a bleak wind. Black lightning crackled over the blade as a cloud of Deathblight churned about it. It lurched at the puppet, swinging a sundering blow.
She dodged alongside the falling axe, straight into the blighted wind. She turned with its rotation and delivered a jaw-breaking uppercut. At the same time, Nepheli leaped at the zombie from behind. As her axes swung, they led the wind behind them, sweeping aside the cloud of carrion and flies. The warrior hammered away at the briars that held Godrick's body together, but as they fell away, more just emerged from beneath the surface of the slashed skin.
The corpse howled and stretched its weapon arm wide, tensing its hips. The women jumped away again as it spun in a cyclone of miasma and thorns. By now, the puppet's right arm was dripping with decay. The fingertips on her other hand flashed red-gold, and she dug talons into her shoulder, ripping off the contaminated limb.
The mark of the Crucible flashed over the stump, and a tree branch grew of the doll's torso. Strands of grasses and vine spun out and wrapped around the skeletal shape in a perfect simulacrum of muscles and tendons. The bony growths of an Omen twisted out of the twine and formed new casing to replace the broken ceramic.
The zombie heaved about to swing at Nepheli now. She ducked under the greataxe and cleaved across its wrist, but still more briars emerged to keep the hand attached.
By now, there was so much decay seeping out of Godrick's body that Nepheli had to step back. The air was foul, and each of the corpse's attacks streaked with death lightning. The fine mist of decay and gnats was quickly becoming a cloak of sludge and buzzing vermin.
The puppet clasped her hands as if in prayer, and a tiny shockwave sent cracks all across her body. Embers sparked on her skin as the graven seal of dragonfire stretched across her arms. She craned back, steadying herself with her arms, as the spectral image of some ancient dragon formed about her head.
All at once, she stomped and screamed. The ground exploded as a corona of flame spilled out, and the dragon's head unleashed a single beam of white-hot flame.
The zombie was caught off-guard – but not totally. Even its dull senses couldn't miss the commotion behind it. One of its arms was incinerated, and the cloud of Deathblight smoldered over its rotten flesh. It screeched back at the puppet and threw its axe. The incantation was interrupted, and the doll hurtled back. It struck a gravestone, and its body tore in half where the blade had struck it.
Nepheli had seen worse. She didn't waste the opportunity her companion had given her. She dashed to the corpse's wounded side and stirred up the winds. The fire whirled about, and she hacked her burning blades into Godrick's main ribcage. Briars and maggots poured out, but she swung again, and again, hammering the flesh until it sizzled.
The zombie shook away from her attacks and clumsily tried to swing its remaining fist at her. Only, it was off-balance from its sudden lack of arm and tumbled instead. It gave up a wailing dirge as the briars protruding from its mouth trembled.
"Foooooooor…"
It rolled over and pawed at the ground, dragging itself away. Black ooze seeped out of the wound, which burned like pitch as it dripped over the ground.
Its voice was keening and shrill as if all the blighted vines which writhed under its skin were drawn taut.
"–tiiiiiiii–!"
The zombie staggered to its feet after a moment and started lumbering away. Nepheli saw it was going for the drake corpse and charged after it. She vaulted onto its good arm and bit into it with both axes, swinging to use its own weight against it. It crashed into the paving stones just a step away from the wyvern.
"–ssaaaaaaaax…" it sobbed.
Nepheli paused, her body tense. One part of her wanted to finish the monster, knew the dangers.
"Lord… Godwyn?"
She turned as she heard another dragon's roar.