SWEET CHRISTMAS, I DON'T BELIEVE IT!
I actually managed to put together one last chapter before I headed out guys. I am actually one amazing over worker.
Not much to say about this bad boy other than, holy shit, I busted my ass to write this thing. So I'm just gonna move things along with...
A few comments that caught my eye.
CD123505-I feel like the prophet shouldve fought back a bit more because even if he is being pushed back or strangled i feel that he still can fight back and have enough time, endurance, and as well as being quite determined to fight, so i think maybe he could fight back more, and push back against the wraith.
And if the possibility of this happening, the part about him going bit out if control can stay the same but i feel that if he did push back the wraith he would be mentally and spiritually weakened, which would still allow you to make him go out of control of his body and powers, where since he is spiritually weakened he has no control over his magic and or pyromancy and can still sound alright and acceptable.
My Response- I agree with you 100% on this one, bro. I actually tried to write a more engaging fight between the Prophet and the Wraith, but I couldn't really get dead on point like I wanted. A lot of the ways I wrote the fight on seemed to dragged on every time I read it back to myself. I personally don't like fight with too much detail and try to make fights intense and detailed, but somewhat short and too the point.
So admittedly, I did somewhat settle on "Good enough" when I finally wrote the final draft for encounter between those two. But It has crossed my mind to try and re-write the fight over and try to do it better.
son of Ophion- is Gwyndolin dead cause ill be sad if thats case I know he's a bit of dick in the story but think of how shit his life has been
first his father made him dress and act like a girl second there are either two or three other actual people (minus the blacksmith and possibly Ornstien) in anor londo one of them is cannibal and the only one we can safely say he has talked to in who knows how long is the darkmoon knightess three he is guarding not only his fathers grave without an actual body but also the miracle his traitor brother left behind before going to help the dragons and finally four everyone thinks he's a dick
My Response- Is Gwyndolin dead? Definitely not. I think that would be a huge waste of potential for the story if I killed off one of the last of the gods in such a offhanded fashion. Gwyndolin has way too much to offer character, story and interaction wise for me not to use him. So he's definitely not killed off. Now, him being strained and somewhat weakened after pushing himself to the limit, that isn't completely off the table.
Guest- JUST FUCKING PICK BETWEEN ANNA AND VELKA BEFORE YOU LEAVE!
My Response- I want too, I swear. But every time I think about choosing one I think to myself "But that's gonna make the other one devastated and that will in turn make the Prophet devastated and then I'll start crying all over my keyboard."
I've dug myself in too deep in the Waifu hole, man. It ain't easy too choose. ;-;
Welp, that's all I got for you guys this time. Hope you all enjoy the read.
Warning: Ignoring warning signs cause instant death. Any caught committing the act of ignoring a sign will be fined $200 and sentenced to community service for a week. You have been warned.
He felt every instance of it. Every time his skull was beat into the ground a pounding pain shot through him with the only difference between each instance being the feeling of moisture beginning to build up beneath his head. It was likely his blood, he knew.
Once the beating had stopped, he had no strength to put up any sort of resistance or fight. It was then that he felt a sensation stranger than any he'd felt before go through him. The closest he could get to describing it was to say it felt...cold. At first, being touched by this cold felt akin being pinched. It was sharp, but minuscule. Not painful enough to make him cry out, but enough to make him understand that something was building. After but a moment more, the feeling shifted violently. Turning from a small nuisance to making him feel like he was being stabbed with thousands of needles that only penetrated the first two layers of his skin. That feeling faded as the cold got worse into a foreboding kind of numbness. At that point all of his extremities feet swollen, clumsy, stiff and useless. As though there's been a layer of water pumped under his skin that dulls the sensation of touch.
His mind registered fully what was happening to him as he felt his thoughts slipping, or rather being stripped, away.
"The dark hand...Pyromancy...have to...use.."
These were the last few thoughts he had as his vision slowly began to fade to black.
With his back to the ground and his head still pounding, he opened his eye's. That fact alone caused him to bolt upright.
The Dark Wraith was gone. No longer did it tower over him with its hand clutching his face. But once his vision had recovered and he saw what was around him, he was almost wishing to have that sight back. Instead of a fearsome pawn of the abyss, what sat before him now was a forest of tree's and a massive eclipsed sun that hovered high into the clouds, casting shadows at the ground and into the forest all around him.
Once he tore his gaze from the heavy darkness the covered the sky and stood to his feet, his eye's fell upon the ground and he could not suppress a frightened exhale of breath as his eye's went wide.
He stood amongst the bloodied and mangled forms of all of his allies and friends, each one of their face turned towards him with empty stares as they lay unmoving. Spotting Oscar, Solaire, Siegmeyer, Velka and Anastacia just to name a few, the Prophet quickly placed a hand over his forehead and shut his eye's tightly.
"No! Don't fall for it. This isn't real. This is some kind of trick brought on by the Dark Hand." the Prophet thought to himself as hard as he could, as if meaning to block out the nightmare that was before him. "I just need to resist it."
Even with saying that to himself, the Prophet had no idea how he might go about doing such a thing. He focus on trying to figure that out was so intense that didn't even notice as the leaves on the tree's around him seemed to begin fading into ashen dust.
Meaning to attempt to face this false reality head on, he opened his eye's once again.
The woman that lay on the ground before him was lifeless. He blonde hair scattered in multiple places, stained with dried blood. Her jaded blue eye's were wide open, staring into oblivion with a lingering sadness. Her clothes, little more than rags, were caked in blood from a chest wound. And the smell. The smell of he body made the experience all the more real for him. It was the smell of decay and rot. It solidified the tangible reality to both his mind and his senses, causing him to shake his head in sorrowful disbelief as he fell to his knee's, his mind refusing to allow him to gaze at the others as he shut his eye's tight.
"This isn't real...This isn't real...This isn't-"
"You think telling yourself that now is gonna help?" a familiar voice suddenly said, cutting straight through his thoughts.
His eye's shooting up, he saw a familiar figure walk free of the forests shadows. He was exactly the same as when he saw him last, an exact mirror image of his body and clothing with the only difference being that his were burned into a charred blackened state. Along with the Legacy Mask sitting on his face and his rags hiding his piercing yellow eye's in shadow, his visage was truly unforgettable to him.
Calmly walking forward until he was directly in front of the Prophet, the figure stopped in his tracks and stood over him.
The Prophet could do nothing but stare at his dark clone in confusion, his eye's silently pleading for some kind of explanation.
"Don't tell me your surprised." the shadow said calmly without a hint ill will. "Of course I'd be here at the end."
"The end?" the Prophet asked.
At this, the shadow merely turned his gaze upward towards the eclipse the hung in the sky, then he shifted it towards the bodies that lay around them both. All of which seemed to be slowly fading away into dust, their ashes seemingly being lifted up from the ground as if carried by an invisible wind and evaporating into nothingness.
"Yeah. Soon there won't be anything left. That thing...the Wraith... is gonna take all of you." the shadow explained coldly.
"Wha-? I don't understand. Where are-?" the Prophet started.
"We're nowhere, really. This place is nothing more than your mind crawling on its last legs trying to keep itself together." the shadow said plainly. "A pointless last struggle."
Hearing this, the Prophet clenched his fist and his eye's flew towards the darkened forest.
"Maybe if I just-" the Prophet thought as he stood to his feet and began to walk towards the forest.
"Don't bother. You go out there and those shadows will swallow you whole." the figure warned aloud. Almost as if on que, the darkness from the forest seemed to close in around them and what appeared to be a tentacle comprised of some sort of black muck extended from the shadows beyond and pulled the corpse of Oscar into them. Earning a look of wide eyed shock from the Prophet and a uncaring scoff from his opposite. "Kinda like that. But since your the center of everything here, I assume it'll be a bit more violent in your case. Better to just savor the time you got left."
The Prophet could only grit his teeth at hearing this.
"This can't be it. It can't just end like this." the prophet said defiantly.
Hearing this, the shadow visibly shook its head.
"Not giving up until the bitter end. That's definitely like you." the shadow said aloud. "But its pretty remarkable to know that while you refuse to give up, deep down you're also simultaneously acknowledging immutable reality. Its a very strange contradiction."
FWOOOSH
"SHUT UP!" the Prophet said angrily as he threw a fireball at his mirror image, who merely sidestepped the blow without any real effort. "I haven't acknowledged anything! This isn't the end! What the hell would you even know?"
At this, the shadowed version of himself shook its head in annoyance.
"I see. So you plan to stick to your lies then, Mr. "Prophet of Demacia". Gonna keep bullshitting yourself even at the end." the shadow said with a scoff. "But I suppose its natural for you to deny me. As that which you buried so deeply, I'm the only thing you could never bring yourself to accept."
"What?" the Prophet said, confused at what he'd just heard. With that one word, as if summoned, Siegmeyer's body was dragged into the shadows just as Oscar's had been before.
"You don't wonder why I'm not laying on the ground, dead just like all the others?" the shadow questioned in a serious tone. "Its because they were what you kept on the surface. The lies you told yourself. The only part of that you would allow yourself to see. But me...I'm what you buried so deep that I'm probably going to be the last to go. I'm all that all the fear, all the guilt, remorse, doubt, hatred...all the things that you chose to suppress and bear alone, they're all me. I've been with you every step of the way."
SHLICK
"GAAAUGH" the Prophet screamed as a tentacle of black muck suddenly shot from the forest shadows and pierced the back of his thigh, making him fall to a knee. Seeing what it had done to the bodies of his friends, the Prophet was quick to grab hold of the black thing and rip it free from his flesh, causing it to quickly recede back into the forest.
"Let me ask you...do you remember the beginning? How all of this nonsense started? With you just waking up in a cell with no explanation for how or why? Of how you just made a joke and laughed the whole thing off like it was nothing, when in reality you were terrified?" the shadow continued, anger rising with each word it spoke. "You couldn't help but admire the happiness in Anastacia's eye's as you promised her a better future, could you? That's where your real ambition started, right? That ridiculous obsession of sacrificing yourself for the sake of others! WELL, LOOK WHAT BEING THE BIG HERO HAS GOTTEN YOU!"
SHLICK SHLICK SHLICK
This time there where three tentacles, piercing his shoulder, his left hand and his left bicep. Only this time, they didn't just attack him alone. They attacked his shadow, though he seemed to react as if nothing at all had happened to him at all as he continued to glare into the Prophets eye's. Not only that, but as they were being attacked the bodies of both Solaire and Anastacia were taken and dragged away into the forest.
Ripping each of the tentacles free was much more painful than the first time, as these new one's seemed to struggle against him as he tried to pull them out. Once he did though, he attempted to cover the bloody wound in his arm as he stared back up to his shadowed self, who allowed the tentacles to remain in his back with the only reaction that showed he felt anything was the clenching of his fist.
"Purposefully blinding yourself to your own arrogance, you used every one of them as an excuse to attempt what you know is the impossible. You never wanted to save anyone or cared what happened to the world, you just wanted purpose! A reason to be! You'd be happy to die fighting the impossible as long as it meant that someone would look to you!" the shadow spat as more tentacles began to stab into him, this time earning a grunt of pain as they ripped through his flesh. "Even here at the end will you STILL not admit it?"
With that one question posed, countless tentacles of black muck shot forth, this time both piercing his arms and legs with such force that the Prophet had to squeeze his eye's shut to suppress another scream. As more continued to pour forth from the forest and even began to come from the ground beneath him, the Prophet struggled. He fought to maintain himself, to keep the shadows that tried to consume him at bay. That is until a particularly massive tentacle wrapped itself fully around his throat and began to strangle him.
"You bastard...You goddamn bastard! I hope your happy with this ending." the shadow spat angrily, prepared to curse his other half with his dying breath. "You damned idiot who chased the impossible...do you have no regrets with throwing your life the feet of others? No remorse that you never even thought to choose your own happiness in all of this?"
He struggled. The Prophet struggled against the mounting number of black tentacles as hard as he could. Gritting his teeth through the pain he was causing to himself, he struggled on and on.
"I hope that darkness washes over all those you wished to protect. I hope that Kaathe and the Abyss bring Anor Londo to its knees. And when I'm gone and your nothing but a fucking hollow, I hope that you remember that all the people you killed and all the pain you suffered in the name of others amounted to nothing in the end!"
As he felt the things grip tighten on him, the Prophet bit by bit, started to stop struggling.
Looking around, there wasn't even any tree's to speak of anymore. The was no forest, no eclipsed sun. The only thing that remains was himself and his shadow, who, despite have countless veils of tentacles stabbing into his body as well, still stood on his feet glaring at him. The light of his yellow eye's being far more pronounced with the shadows closing in around them.
There was no fighting this anymore and he knew it. He was almost completely empty of everything now. And so, the next words he spoke were that of a broken man.
"You're...right." the Prophet said lowly.
"W-..What?" the shadow said, seeming more than a little caught of guard to here those words from him.
"I said you're right. I was...I was terrified when I woke up. I laughed and joked to help get through it, but I was afraid. I didn't have anything to walk forward too. No plan other than...getting out that place, I guess. Just waking up with a curse like this on my body, what could I have hoped to do?" the Prophet admitted finally. "So I did use them. I put them all on a pedestal, those people, my friends. I made it my goal to lead them to something better, even though I knew it was far beyond me. Even though I had you inside me along telling me that it was hell that I was walking into."
The words that escaped his lips next, the Prophet spoke with a grim smile. For at that moment, he his mind was truly losing everything. The faces of all those he'd met before were vanishing from his mind, leaving nothing but a black emptiness.
"This was just a sad little fantasy. It was almost a certainty that I would fail in the end...I know that." the Prophet said as visions of his brother Oscar came and went, along with the beautiful smiling face of Anastacia. "But still, there was happiness there. Smiles, comradery...hope."
It was then that memory's of being with Velka, standing up to her, smiling with her, kissing her. At these thoughts, the Prophet looked up at the shadow with a smile that held a lifetime of sorrow.
"So I do admit it. I was scared and I used them to give me purpose...But I did care deeply about each one of my friends. Even if it was formed from a hopeless lie, I didn't want to lose these bonds that I'd made. That's why I kept walking forward into that hell. That's why I didn't give up... because I felt they were worth it."
With these words spoken, the shadow was apparently struck silent. Then suddenly, seemingly of its own accord, the large tentacle that had wrapped around his throat suddenly released him and receded back into the darkness, causing the Prophet to fall to a knee in exhaustion. He watched as a few of the shadows actually retreated away from him, leaving him and his shadow with a small area of space in their immediate area.
But both forms of Kaylen knew it would be naïve to think that some magic of "believing in themselves" or anything like that had just come into play. From the way the strong pull and coldness around them had decreased, it was likely that something had occurred on the outside with the Wraith. But still, the real Kaylen was glad to no longer be strangled by the darkness.
Soon after the abysmal darkness had given them a moment of breathing room, the Prophets opposite released a heavy and tired sigh as he walked forward, finally showing just how much pain he was in as he got close to him and fell to a knee.
"Your a damn idiot, you know that?" the shadow asked.
"Heh, heh...Well, I guess you would know." the Prophet laughed sadly.
"Yeah...I guess I would." the shadow said as the black muck further ripped into him. "Ugh...won't be long now. We're the last things here, you and me. So how about this.."
With that, the shadow stuck its hand out towards the Prophet.
"Guilt, remorse, pain, doubt, anger; everything that you've let weigh you down...take it. Take all of it...embrace who you are." the shadow said. "The creatures out there a nightmares. Brutal, without mercy. But you...you can be worse. So what do you say?"
Looking at the outstretched hand, then to the slowly enclosing muck that surrounded them both, the Prophet sighed heavily before speaking his next words.
"Well...I guess it would be better to stand up and burn out, rather than lay down and fade away. So why not stand up one last time?"
With that, he took his shadows hand. Not a moment after doing so did they both erupt into a bright, crimson flame shined through the blackened muck around them.
?
Once more did he open his eye's.
But this time, there was no panic. No thoughts of questioning. In fact, there were no real thoughts at all. He was similar to a puppet on strings as he moved to his feet without even actually realizing he was doing it.
"We push forward and crush anything in our way." was what was said not but a few feet ahead of him, not that he actually understood it. To him, the words might as well have been nothing more than muffled mumblings. He gazed at everything with empty eye's, as if he was looking at them but not actually seeing anything at all.
Soon enough his gaze fell upon a multitude of beings that stood across the hall from him, their faces covered by a skull mask and their bodies shielded by bone like armor. His mind was to far gone to place just who or what they were, but he did know one thing...he heart seethed at the sight of them. There was no why attached to this reaction, only the feeling that their visage brought intense hostility out of him.
One might expect him to react with awe to the giant of a knight that stood in golden armor or the woman whose beauty was marred by sweat and cuts of blood, but he only just barely noticed their presence because they stood between him and the cause of his displeasure.
As he walked forward with barely a sound, the only thing that crossed his addled mind as he approached them both was they were in his way.
And so, with nary a thought beyond that, he walked forward until he was directly behind the two. Then without a word, he placed a hand upon the golden knights arm, willing forth a massive eruption of black fire that sent him fly off his feet and slamming into one of the pillars off to the side. Not even a breath after dealing with the Knight did he rush towards the woman to deliver the same attack, but she was quick to jump back and spread a pair of wing on her back. He barely paused as he brought both of his hands together and immediately formed a massive sphere of flame, throwing the ball and striking her directly, sending her body plummeting to the ground with a loud crack.
As her screamed echoed through the chamber, he was already turning back to the task at hand. His eye's boring into the empty black sockets of their skeletal mask, the mans anger only seemed to escalate as his eye's hardened beneath the mask he wore, taking on a demonic yellow shade. Soon enough a deep, sweltering feeling began to well up in his body. With every second that passed, he came closer and closer to feeling as if someone was pouring molten lava over every part of his body and he couldn't seem to catch his breath, no matter how deeply of heavily he breathed.
Soon the pain became to overbearing even for his emptied mind and body. He fell to a knee, clutching his skull with one hand as he bared his teeth under his mask. With his body in such agony, he didn't notice in the slightest as streams of steam began to seep from his body and an immense wave of heat suddenly washed over the room, causing everything and everyone to hold the appearance of shimmering incoherently in place.
If the thoughts that he followed before were nothing more than empty remnants of his previous mind, that what ensued in his mind now would best be described as chaotic instinct brought through pure agony. It was unfortunate that he did not the mental ability to direct this pain and rage that blinded him from his original purpose, he could only accept and endure the pain until something on the outside drew his hollowed mind to them.
And that's exactly what he got.
It was nothing more than simple footsteps. Sprinting directly towards him. But it was more than enough. His mind didn't care who it was, what they wanted or why the ran too him. The only thing it was capable of doing was finding direction, to give him something to focus his hatred on and destroy utterly with everything he had.
His body reacted once again without much of his conscious thought. Willing a ball of flame into his hand, he waited and allowed the footsteps to grow closer and closer to his person. Once they were right on top of him, his pyromancy spiked, reacting solely only his anger and need to kill, it struck out of its own volition. To others, it appeared as if a mirage of himself had suddenly sprung free from his body, carried the ball of flame from his hand and slammed it into the Wraiths black shield.
His ears registered what sounded like the shattering of glass and then his body moved. Like a shadow, he was on top Wraith in seconds, literally dragging him forward by his face with magically enhanced strength and slamming his head into the smooth marble ground. After he did that, he felt something grab hold of him, bringing the feeling of a deep cold through his body. This only served to enrage him further as he brought his hand high above his body and slammed it to the ground next to the wraiths head, causing a swirling pillar of black flame to erupt from the ground and giving his prey a slow, agonizing death.
Once the smoke and flame had cleared, with his breathing still ragged and steam rising from his flesh and clothing, the Prophet released his hold on the wraiths face. Turning his gaze upward towards the one's that remained standing. With that one death, his mind became focused solely on the destruction and slaughter of each and every one of them. Releasing a guttural snarl like a feral animal, his hands erupted into violent and wild flames that spread upwards along his arms.
It was then that one of the Wraiths dauntlessly stepped forward and leveled its weapon towards him. This gesture only served to further his seething hatred as every breath he took now carried with it wisp of burning steam. Glaring at them all with fury in his yellow eye's, his pyromancy began to react off of his anger and created four more shimmering illusions of himself, each one of their hand erupting in a blazing black flame.
Then, with his blood boiling and agony biting him to the bone, the Prophet released a roar of maddening rage as he sprinted forward with all his might to face them all head on.
Their were eight of them in total, each one identical to the other. But the one that held his attention the most was the one that stepped forward a raised it weapon to him first. Rushing forward with his clones, he watched as it made a shield of darkness that seemed much wider and translucent than the one's before did. Not that mattered to him.
With each one of his four shimmering clones seeking out, striking and shattering the defenses of the nearest Wraiths, he made a beeline straight for her.
The very instant he was within range, his burning hand slammed onto her shield. But, as the wraith in particular had consumed the humanity of both himself and of the Golden Knight from before, her Dark shield was in a much more perfected and powerful state. So instead of breaking away as her ally's before her had, her shield actually managed to hold against the Prophets explosive power. The shock of the opposing forces gave credence to the meaning of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, as the Wraith herself was forcibly sent skidding backward a few feet, while the Prophets momentum was forced to a complete stop.
As her brethren ran forwards past her, the Wraith could not hold back a grin under her mask at the mans display of unrelenting power.
Everything that happened next was done in the span of a few moments.
His illusions combined first attacks had done well to throw the Wraiths front lines off balance, but they quickly faded back into nothingness once their attacks had been done. Leaving the Prophet standing alone.
The first of the Wraiths to step forward decided that the best way to deal with him was to cleave him in two with its massive sword. Sending its blade crashing down with full force towards what he believed was an off balanced human, the Wraith went wide eyed as the mans body seemed to fade into wavering air around him and its blade missed him entirely, instead simply cutting deep within the floor like a hot knife into butter. Seemingly fading back into sight, the man reappeared at its side with an mad snarl, pulling a dagger from the bag at his side and stabbing deep into the small opening between the wraiths skull-like helmet and its armor, piercing its throat with a sickening squelch. As dark red blood seeped onto his hand, the Prophet pulled the blade free from its neck before placing a hand onto the creatures chest and sending it flying backwards into one of comrades with a deafening burst of flame.
As yet another Wraith ran towards him with its blade poised for an attack, the Prophet quickly wretched free the Darksword that was imbedded in the ground at his side. Then with speed born from a single minded need to kill each and everyone of them, he rushed forward and cut through the Wraiths chest with two expertly made strikes that left a bloody X across its body. Reeling back from the pain, the Wraith didn't even have time to call forth its shield before the Prophet spun on his heel and cleaved into its neck, the brutal sound of steel tearing through meat ringing through the ears of all.
Watching as the man cut down her comrades down one after another and seeing their blood splashing upon his rags, the female Darkwraith felt an elation like no other. It was unfortunate that she was the only one that was sane enough among to recognize what could be before her. Of who could be before her.
"He was nearly drained fully of his humanity. He should be akin to any other hollow, weak and lifeless. Yet here he stands, with his strength increased two-fold and wielding one of our blades as if he were born too it. Could it be that he's...?"
She stopped herself before she could finish the thought. Choosing instead to raise her weapon and charge to him once again. The Prophet seemed to zero in on her specifically, using his pyromancy to fade in and out of sight as he rushed past all of the other Wraiths in his way.
The two beings blades locked into one another in a deadlock for only a moment before they both erupted in a swirl of dancing blades that went back and forth. Though he stood in the center of their numbers, the Prophet showed no signs of hesitation, nor fear as his blade clashed with hers and his mirages struck out and attacked any Wraith that tried to attack him from behind or at his sides. He was single minded in his assault, with only one objective in mind, "Kill and annihilate all that surrounded him." He kept moving, kept swinging his blade, forced his pyromancy to attack on his behalf again and again.
"An undead who is able to surpass their own limits, capable of wedding two powers into one vessel in order to over come the flame. That was what he foretold. That one would be born among us that held such a strength. But could he truly be...?"
Suddenly, one of the Wraiths managed to land a stray blow had cut deep into his arm, causing it to bleed profusely. The Prophet was rewarded further for his mistake as the female Darkwraith placed a heavy kick to his chest that, despite her enhanced strength, only managed to send his sliding back a few feet.
Seeing this opening, every last Wraith around him pounced all at once.
This was their fatal mistake as the hand that held the Darksword quickly erupting into a blazing flame that quickly spread along the sword he carried. Then, with every ounce of power he could muster, he stabbed the swords blade into the ground, causing a missive pillar of dark pyromancy to erupt from beneath them all. As the flames surged forth like the flames of hell, the inhuman cries of pain from the wraiths were almost deafening. But the Prophet wasn't finished yet.
"RAAAAAAGH"
FWOOOOO-BOOOOSH
With a scream that that echoed with every fiber of his blood rage, he poured even more of his strength into his flames. Causing the pillar to grow massively in size until it was a towering inferno of black flame. One that both Velka and Ornstein could not help but think looked to be a strong imitation of the power held by the Witch of Izalith herself.
As the fire died down and returned to nothingness, the Prophet stood with his weapon still buried into the floor. His breathing heavy, his body still holding remnants of the lingering black flames, his arm and chest drenched in his crimson essence. In that moment, he truly held the visage of a hellish and inhuman apparition. Velka and Ornstein could only watch on wide eyed and dumbstruck as all around him lay the unmoving bodies of fallen Dark Wraiths.
And that was when a noise came to the Prophets attention. Pained breathing, as well as slow movement from a Darkwraith body directly in front of him. She had survived his onslaught, albeit only barely. She looked at him weakly, the blatant rage and hatred in eye's still as strong and as clear as it was before. Ignoring the pain of her burned flesh, she smiled weakly under her mask, watching on as he ripped the sword free from the ground and began to approach her.
"..Hrg, rg...Ugh...Y-..Yes...Finally...we have found him...He walks among us...At long last..."
As he walked forward, the Prophet felt no pity towards this being. He felt nothing for the pain it was in or how it felt towards him. All that mattered was that it needed to die.
But as he towered above her, sword in hand and ready to deliver the final blow...
BZZZZT-BOOSH
Flying past him in a flash of lightning, a massive spear crashed into the stairway just ahead, stabbing straight into the body of the unmoving golden knight with explosive force. Once the smoke had cleared, their lay Lautrec, struggling futilely to pull the lodged blade free from his body. Soon his flailing began to die away and with his life fading away, so too did the anchor that drew and held the invaders here.
And so it was that they all began to dissipate as if their bodies were that of red dust in the wind.
Weakly reaching her hand out towards him, she silently begged to stay even a moment longer to bask in his presence. The fear of losing what they have sought for so long beginning to overcome her. It was then that thoughts began to enter her mind, showing her things. Showing her everything. She saw visions of places that bore hell fire and nightmarish abominations, of a place of grey nothingness where a lone winged creature watched over a bonfire, of a towering abomination that held great power in the shadows, of plans for both humanity, her kind and for Kaathe. It was all so clear, so transparent before her.
And it all only served to solidify that the man before her was indeed who she thought.
"...Yes...Oh, yes...Praise be to our lord...Without fail, he will seek us out..." she moaned lowly, the pain of her flesh preventing her from expressing the joy she felt as she faded away. Her last words being directed to him in an almost revered tone. "Yes...Hurry to us...We await thee with bated breath...Hurry..."
These were her last words as she faded away, rejoicing in the revelation she'd just experienced.
After seeing the things she saw, there wasn't a single part of her mind that doubted she would see him again in time. But oh, how every second would be like that of a tortuous eternity for her.
Ornstein had lived a long life and seen many extraordinary events.
He'd witnessed the battle prowess of lord Gwyn first hand, stood against swarms of dragons as they descended upon a small army he stood with, battled back waves of horrendous demons that overran township after township. But after watching what he believed to be a human completely overwhelm no less than eight Dark Wraiths with power that was nearly identical to that of a bearer of a Lord soul, it was understandable to say that he was shocked like never before.
Once the towering inferno black of flame had died down and the bodies of the Wraiths lay strewn at the ground all around the human, his shock had suddenly worn off as he realized that, at least for the moment, nothing was obstructing his path to the body he was told was the cause of all this.
So spinning his spear in his hand, cocking his arm back, and channeling forth as much of its thunderous power as he could, he launched the weapon with all of his might. His effort was rewarded with a thunderous crash that erupted from the spot the spear struck. Once the smoke had cleared, he saw that his weapon was successful in hitting its mark and all the wraiths bodies were quick to begin dissipating into nothing. At seeing that the plight of the city was now ended, he breathed a small sigh of relief.
The respite was brief however as the human man, with nothing else to focus his attention on, turned towards the source of the thrown spear. Now weaponless, Ornstein was well aware that he had little beyond his fist to battle such explosive power. But he was a knight of Anor Londo, one of the four chosen by Gwyn, he would not retreat from this threat.
As the Prophet sprinted towards him with the Darksword still in hand, Ornstein raised his fist and prepared himself. His plan was to deliver a swift strike to throw him off balance, then make for his weapon. He was certain he could match his power with skill once he was armed.
Once the human was within his reach, Ornstein made sure that what he was seeing was indeed the humans true self, before he stepped forward and threw a punch, confident that his attack would reach the humans head before he could do anything to dodge it.
Unfortunately, with his very pyromancy permeating the air around them, Kaylen's mirages were more than enough to deceive Ornstein's sight. So when his fist struck out, the knight was surprised to feel nothing but air as the illusion dissipated and the Prophet appeared directly at his side with his weapon raised high. Seeing where his focus was directed and immediately acknowledging how extended his arm was, Ornstein was quick to realize the humans intention.
He was going to sever his arm with a single strike.
"NO!" Velka shouted as she quickly ignited her hands in a burning flame and snapped her fingertips toward the both of them.
With that one gesture, a ball of black flame suddenly ignited in the space between the two of them, before erupting violently like a miniature grenade, sending the two warriors flying in opposite directions. Ornstein, who was fully armored, took the attack much better than his unarmored counterpart. His body only being set skidding backwards a few feet and leaving a black mark on his golden chest piece. The Prophet on the other hand, was set flying onto his back with his weapon coming free of his grip.
"Ornstein, are you injured?" Velka asked concerned.
"Of course not. It will take more than that to hurt me." Ornstein said as he rose to full height, his eye's not leaving the temporarily downed human.
"Good. Then you must leave this place." Velka told the Knight.
"Leave? Are you out of your mind?" Ornstein said, more than confused at what he was hearing. "This human or whatever he is, holds strong power and you're injured. I will not flee with my tail between my legs."
"Listen to me. Lord Gwyndolin commanded me to come here and end this in the mist of a battle between us and a growing number of those invaders. You must leave and ensure that he is alive and uninjured. His safety is our greatest priority. I can deal with this alone."
"Velka, you think I'm going to just-"
"Do you question my ability to deal with a lone human, Knight?!" Velka said the anger in her voice stressing the last word used, almost as if to remind him just who he was talking to right now. "I am more than capable of dealing with one man even injured, do you here me? Now make yourself useful for once and ensure our lords has survived!"
Hearing this, Ornstein was taken back by this display of fierce outrage. The Velka he knew did not allow any sort of emotional rage to ever over come her, she would always be level headed even in the most dire of situation. He could have accepted it as concern for lord Gwyndolin, but a part of him felt that it was something more than that that brought about her fury. But her assertion was no less right.
Watching the human make his way back to his feet, he wasn't completely sure if he would be able to retrieve his weapon with the humans illusions seemingly able to attack him within seconds. So, knowing that the Invaders were now dispelled and the true danger had passed, he decided that he would do as she commanded and proceeded to retreat to the massive door behind them.
As Ornstein moved to the lever at the end of the hall and opened the massive door to the outside stairs, Velka did not move from her position. Surprisingly enough, the Prophet followed her example and stood in place with his back hunched over, not even making an attempt retrieve his lost weapon.
Velka proceeded to observe her champions with a look of deep concern and bewilderment.
How? How had he grown in strength to this degree? It was easy to surmise that he had fallen prey to a Darkwraiths abilities. She had first hand knowledge of what the Dark Hand did to an undead. It syphoned the humanity, strength and power from another Cursed Undead and assimilated it into their own, making them more powerful while leaving their victim a shriveled and weakened husk. Yet the Prophet has become stronger than he was before. What's more, his behavior was not the same as a hollows. Normal hollowed undead may have been capable of attacking, but they were mindless, simple, swinging their blades with reckless abandon. Yet the Prophet seemed to fight with a ferocity that was focused. His actions and reactions appeared sharper than before, not dulled. It didn't make any sense.
"Prophet...What happened to you? You did not posses power like this before. How did you obtain it?" Velka questioned aloud, hopeful that she would receive some sign that there was still a part of him that she could reach out too. "For a human to be able to release such destructive force without the aid of a covenant should not be possible. How...How were you able to come this far? What spurs you like this?"
The only the response the Prophet was to give was to charge forward with an angry snarl and a grit of his teeth. Velka remained completely calm as his raging form came barreling toward her, not even taking on a defensive stance.
She knew this power, for it was but a forgery of her own. She knew pyromancy, for it was what she spent time beyond recollection mastering to its fullest. The air around them, the steam that seeped from his body, she knew it was all not just for show. They were clear signs of his pyromancy extending itself to his surroundings, essentially making the entire room his domain. She had witnessed the first time he used this ability to battle the Undead dragon. Back then, something of a similar nature had happened, with the air moving all around him and his body disappeared from sight. This was nothing more than that power being use on a grander scale. His Pyromancy was always unnaturally potent and reactive to his emotions, but with his mind in its current raging state, it was able to reach new heights. But he was still limited in the variety of Pyromancy he could use. This gave her a small theory on how to defeat him.
The moment he was upon her and raised his hand to press against her body and blow her away, she stepped forward and, ignoring her blaring instincts, walked directly through the mirage he sent to attack her in his place, focused only on avoiding the flame itself. She had easily discovered the flaw in his attacks. He did not hold the power to call upon actual, solid illusions like lord Gwyndolin. The only thing he was capable of creating was visually distracting hallucinations. The only thing real enough about them to hurt her were the balls of flames they carried in their hands. She could move freely through them or past them as long as she did not let her sight deceive her. Not to mention that there was one glaring distinction between the real Prophet and his clones that she noticed.
"Grrrr"
SNAP BOOOSH
The constant noises he made out of anger readily gave his position away to her keen instincts and ears.
Snapping her finger tips once more, she summoned three sphere's of flame to appear around her body, which quickly exploded and sent the nearly invisible Prophet flying backwards onto his back once more. Velka's eye's actually filled with pain as her attack landed. That pain did not leave her as the Prophet slowly made his way back to his feet in a disoriented fashion.
Still not wiling to back down, he once again four more mirages of himself.
"Prophet, stop this. You cannot defeat me with such simple tactics." Velka pleaded, hoping against all else that he would heed her words. "Please. I know your in there somewhere. I beg you to not make me do this."
Barely able to comprehend that she'd said anything, the Prophet and his clones rushed forward with reckless abandon. Velka, focusing in on the Prophet snarls, dodged and weaved through the bodies of the fake clones. She knew that none of them made any sound, nor did they disturb the dust at their feet. But in his madness, the Prophets was wild and uproarious. He gave himself away clearly to those that were smart enough to ignore what there eye's told them and listened. Once she had a general area of where he was, evading the clones attacks were as simple as dodging normally thrown fireballs. This was a clear example of overcoming the difference in raw power with a sharp mind.
And so she moved. Even with her injured wing, she was fully capable of avoiding his clones and pinpointing his general area each time he attacked. She simply needed to focus and keep her mind at ease amongst the burning heat that surrounded her. If she wanted, she was sure she could take advantage to his aggressive approach and deliver a counter attack of her own.
But something stayed her hand.
She knew the Prophets mind was on its last legs. What would happen to him should he be killed in this state? But she was also aware that his mind was lost and did not respond to simple words. She could not allow such power to mindlessly rampage through the city. If she could not save him, then she could not allow him to leave this cathedral.
And so she spoke her next words with heavy emotion, almost as if she was reciting a sacred oath that was taken long ago.
"Prophet! We, the servants of Gwyn, have chosen to bear this world on our shoulders!" Velka exclaimed. Ducking a blow, sidestepping another, then shifting her weight quickly to dodge his extended hand. There! Right then, there was a moment she could have willed a magical blade forth and cut into his real body, but she did not take it. "We must see the cause through, even if it invites tragedy upon ourselves. We make the choices no one else will."
Another blow dodged, but forced her to back step. She ducked again, narrowly avoiding his palm for the seventh time and with that extension, yet another opportunity to stab into him presented itself and yet again she refused to take it.
"The world must be protected. I know you want the same! If so, please listen to reason and-"
BOOSH
Soon enough, her luck ran out. She lost sight of him for but an instant before she felt his hand slam into her ribcage. Fracturing two of her ribs and sending her flying backwards a few feet with such force that it turned her body in mid flight and caused her to land on her stomach.
Coughing blood into her mouth and feeling a trail of it leak down her lips, Velka took a few heavy breaths before to allow her mind to accept the pain coming from the bones in her chest. Then, with her back still turned to her former champion, she rose to a single knee and spoke softly.
"...Right...I forgot...still the same man of fell for..."
FWOOOOSH
Fully ignoring the pain from her broken ribs and the bone that protruded from her left wings, Velka ignited her entire body, both her flesh and her wings, in a blazing black flame that mirrored the Prophet own.
"...YOU DON'T LISTEN TO ANYONE!" Velka shouted as she turned her yellow split gaze towards him, her eye's showing a raging fury, yet also brimming with tears at what she was about to do.
Standing to her feet, the Goddess walked forward at an even pace with her gaze fixated on the hunched over man before her. She did not flinch as he once again brought forth four clones and charged towards her.
"I believed you when you said you would protect me and not allow me to suffer. Why should I care if a filthy liar like you dies?!"
SHWOOOSH
Flexing her right wing and swinging it forward in front of her, Velka sent a wall of flame blazing forward, quickly dispelling the Prophets illusions and forcing him to raise his hands to his face to protect himself. Though the flames were thick and overwhelming, the Prophets body was able to withstand it well enough. Removing his hand from his eye's, he was greeted to the sight of Velka standing directly in front of him with a blue ethereal blade cocked back to her chest in a fencers stance.
"Safeguarding this world..."
SCHLCIK
"...Is no easy task."
She stabbed directly into his side, piercing straight through his kidney and sending the blades end protruding through his back. The Prophet could do little else but wildly throw his palm towards her once more. But she was more than ready for this as she released her hold on her blade, leaving it embedded inside his body as she sidestepped his attack easily and let him stumble forward clumsily.
"I played my part as best I could!"
SCHLICK
She willed forth another blade to appear in her hand, cutting deep into his side and earning a scream of pain.
"You have no idea, do you!?
SCHLICK
Ducking under his mad backhanded swipe at her, she stabbed her weapon upward, piercing straight through his right shoulder and earning yet another cry of pain.
"YOU IMBECILE!
BOOOSH
Bringing her fingertips together, she summoned forth another sphere of flame to appear in between both of them him. Exploding directly at his chest and sending him flying backwards. But surprisingly enough, even with his new injuries and the blades protruding from his body, the Prophet hastily maintained his footing by placing his hands toward the ground. With a heaving breath, he turned his gaze back towards the goddess to see that she held two more ethereal blades in each of her hands and the air above her head was covered in countless magical sphere's.
He had no armor to speak of and was not capable of thinking of any rational defense against this sort of ranged onslaught. Even if he could deceive her sight, he would not be so swift to reach her as to be able to dodge all of her soul arrows once she fired them. This was it for him. All she had to do was give but a thought and they would rain down upon him like a hail of bullets. But even still with this overwhelming obstacle point directly toward him, the Prophet did not falter. His placed himself in a low stance with a defiant, angry snarl and held his hands as if they were claws, summoning his flames to swarm over his body.
Seeing this, Velka's eye's softened. Before her stood the human she had grown so fond of in such a short period of time. The first man whom she allowed into her heart and she stood now at the precipice of ending his life for good.
Realizing this, as unreasonable as it may have seemed, her thoughts traveled through everything they had been through together. How he defied her when they first met, how he told her he would not accept the way of things, how she shared her darkest acts with him and was shocked that he not only accepted her, but swore to not allow her to experience the horror of it ever again. She remembered all the emotions, the arguments, the passion. All of this caused he hands to quiver as she held her blades and looked at him.
And then something unexpected happened...she chuckled. It was a single one at first, then that one turned to two, then to three.
Looking at the scene before her, at what she was about to do, a sudden epiphany hit her. Its something she should have know for the very beginning of this battle.
"Heh...Heh, heh...for all my blunder...I really can't do it. Even knowing my duty and the danger you bring, I...cannot bring myself slay you. I just want you too...please stop this, Prophet. Please hear my words and stop this." Velka said as she shook her head and sadness overcame the anger in her eye's. This earned her nothing from the Prophet, but for his flames to grow in intensity as prepared to attack again despite his injuries. Seeing this, Velka clenched her jaw before shouting her next words both physically and telepathically. "OPEN YOU EARS AND LISTEN TO ME!"
At this shouted commanded and much to Velka's surprise, the Prophets body stiffened and froze. His flames, for just a few moments, seem to settle slightly. Velka could only watch on in befuddlement, not at all actually believing that that outburst would have an effect on him.
She didn't know it, but this wasn't as if the Prophet mind had suddenly returned to him. He didn't some part deep inside speak to his addled mind or anything of that nature. What truly happened was the Prophet mind was, in a sense, eased. Her telepathic voice, even if she shouted to him, was like a knife that cut sharply through the thick cloud of fog that was his mind. Suddenly hearing it amidst all the flames, hatred and pain he was experiencing brought a wave relief to him. It would simple to describe the feeling as akin to someone placing a healing balm on a badly burned wound.
For a few moments, the goddess didn't move. She only watched him, trying to ensure she was not mistaken in this. She then attempt to reach out to him once more.
"Prophet? Can you understand me?...Do you remember me?" Velka said, watching as the Prophets body relaxed slightly. This calm would not last however. As she took a single step towards him, the Prophet body tensed fully once more, though he made no attempt to attack her again.
"I see. He does not attack, but he does understand either. This is but an interim to his rage. What am I to do when his mind so empt-" and that when it hit her. A chance. A possibility. A small realization that lead to an even smaller hope. The Prophets mind was always well fortified, but now..."He thoughts are empty. Unable to focus fully. That means that right now, he's vulnerable to me."
This small truth was more than enough to convince her that there may yet be a chance. Using Undead Rapport, she could possibly control him now. She would need to do nothing more than get close enough to him and get him to look into her eye's. This was not to say she blind to the many possible faults in this plan. Right now, he was only halted momentarily and still a very volatile state. One step forward could send him back into his blind raged state. She could end up getting herself killed in the attempt.
But that didn't matter to her. She would take that risk. She would bring her foolish idiot back to her side, risk be damned.
And so, she spoke to him telepathically yet again.
"Prophet...my dear little champion...do you recognize me?" Velka said as she very slowly moved towards, careful not to rush herself and make him lash out. Her voice in his thoughts was enough to stay his hand, at least for the moment. "The battle is over, my champion. You fought well today. But it is time for you to rest."
Apparently she took one step to far, as the Prophets flames grew in intensity once again and he released another growl. The goddess paused only momentarily, before steeling herself and continuing forward with a more resolute gaze.
"You do not frighten me, Prophet. I know the last thing you would wish to do is hurt me. I will not accept that you are too far gone to help. Do you hear me?" Velka said, actually increasing her pace as she moved toward him. "I did not laugh with you, share my pain with you or fall so far in love with you just for it to end this way. I won't allow it."
With each step she took and with each word she spoke, the Prophets flames began to die away and his muscle began to relax. She wasn't far from him now, nine steps at most.
"I told you before, do I not? I am yours...and you are mine."
With her body but two steps from being directly in front of him, the Prophet flames all but vanished. Her voice all but lulling him into a state of serenity, his entire body relaxed as she came close. The feeling of ease she brought upon his thoughts was made even more apparent as he made no effort to react when she stood directly in front of him and gently placed a hand at the side of his head.
The next words she said were spoken in a soft tone as she looked him directly into his eye's.
"Prophet...fall."
And that was it. The Prophet his consciousness ebb away as her final words echoed through his mind. As he stared on at her beautiful, yet concerned face, his eyelids began to grow tired and heavy. His thoughts, as aggressive and hostile as they were moments ago, were coming to an end. All at once, he was struck with a heavy incoherence, an inconsistency in his thoughts, as he fell to a knee. To prevent him from crashing to the ground, she caught his body's weight and gently eased him to the floor.
It was fortunate for him that she had done so, for before his body even managed to fall to a knee, his mind had already surrendered to the burnout, fatigue and exhaustion that suddenly overcame him, allowing himself to be fully dead to the world before his body even touched the ground.
As she gently allowed his body to ease to the floor, the goddess chose to sit at his side and allowed him to use her legs as pillow. She then removed the blood stained mask from his face and flinched slightly at seeing the sunken eye's and monstrously pale face that lay beneath.
She had felt it when she entered his mind, but she wanted to see for herself.
Whatever was inside the Prophet that kept him moving was running on minuscule traces of humanity. He had a handful of minutes at best, before he would be reduced to a fully hollowfied undead. She was no idealistic fool. She knew that there was no time to go and seek humanity outside the city walls. Even with all her efforts to maintain his life, it seemed that he would still be lost to her. Even now as he lay unconscious, the curse ate away at his mind and once it had him, there would be no amount of humanity that would be able to bring him back to sanity. He would be just as every other hollowed undead.
But she would not complain. If this handful of time was what she had to enjoy being with her Prophet, then she would rather spend it caressing him and cherishing his memory. As she stared at his slumbering form, she was content in the knowledge that she had tried her best to save him before his mind and body succumbed to the curse completely.
That was until...
"My lady!" a female voice, accompanied by numerous footsteps, shouted at her from behind. Turning towards the massive open doorway at her back, Velka saw the Darkmoon knightess, along with five other Darkmoon Blades, enter the Cathedral. "Are you injured?"
Seeing them, seeing a total of six human walk right too her, an idea formed. One she knew the Prophet would despise if he knew the thought even crossed her mind.
She looked to her champions calm, pale face and then back to the humans who approached her. Then without speaking a word, she gently lowered the Prophets sleeping head to the ground, stood to her feet and walked towards the newly arrived humans. This action caused each one of the humans to stop in their tracks as her eye's suddenly turned to them. He gaze suddenly felling so...cold upon them.
"Lady Velka?" the Darkmoon Knightess said, more than aware of the heavy air that suddenly fell upon her shoulders. "Is there...something wrong?"
Velka's pace was steady, as it always was. She time was of the essence but she had more than enough to do what was required of her.
"Fret not, Knight. For the solution to my problem stands before me." the Goddess said ominously as she continued forward.
"What are you-"
"Please...do not struggle." Velka said as she materialized a weapon in her hand, causing all the knights to grow wide eyed with fear at what this action meant. "I wish this to be done quickly."
Even speaking these words aloud, she gave them a few seconds to ready their weapons. It was only right to give them the chance to defend themselves, no matter how futile it would be against her.
She did not feel remorse for what she was about to do. If the choice was all of their lives or that of her beloved Prophets, then her decision was an easy one to make.
?
Things have been...strange, to say the least, for a certain cleric. Well, strange doesn't come close to describing a sudden invasion of blood thirsty, murderous Red Phantoms. Horrifying? Petrifying? Terrifying? Yes, that was it. It was absolutely terrifying.
Being mainly versed in healing miracles, she didn't have much battle prowess to speak of. As such, when she heard screaming echoing through the halls and saw blood flying everywhere, she had no shame in admitting that she made a beeline for the closest bedroom she could find and hid beneath a bed for the entirety of said invasion. What was she supposed to do? Fight for an empty city, of which she barely even got to explore? No, thank you, she'll choose life.
But once the screaming and fighting had died down, she somehow worked up the courage to come from under the bed to see if the coast was clear. Thanking Gwyn above, things had appeared to have settled down and the Phantoms were all gone. Surprisingly enough, she was the only one inside the entire building who had survived. It seemed that her golden rule had gotten her through yet another crisis: No problem is too big it can't be run away from.
Been a pretty useful rule so far, If she did say so herself.
But after some time had passed, she was suddenly given a seemingly simple and important task by the Goddess of Sin herself.
She had suddenly approached her out of no where and told her to follow then to a room. Inside was a man that lay unconscious on a bed, with his clothing, most really dirty rags, set to the side. His bare body was very well toned and littered with scars left and right.
The Goddess told her that, being one of the few clerics that remained inside the city, she was charged with watching over this man and to send word once he had awakened. A simple and easy job, just as she preferred.
The man seemed to have been healed prior to her coming and was breathing normally, so there wasn't much of anything for her to do to him. Well, besides making sure that he stayed relatively clean by rubbing him down every now and again with a cloth that soaked in a glass pan filled with water.
As time passed, everything was very uneventful. As she waked into the room with a freshly made pan of water to bath him with once again, the task was more or less automatic at this point. To be completely honest, rubbing a finely toned man such as him was quite the exhilarating experience for her. Sometimes she might allow her hand to linger over his slowly rising chest every now and again, but she didn't take it any further than that.
Now the thing people should understand is, when you have rubbed down the same man, day in and day out, for an extended period, you start to get the impression that he probably wouldn't be waking up any time soon. So when she turned her back to him and placed the small pan of water on a dresser, there was no reason she would have expected the man to soundlessly wake from his slumber and rise from the bed he was sleeping in all the while clutching his head with one hand.
Considering what he'd been through, it wasn't that hard to understand that the first thing the Prophet felt as he awakened was a throbbing headache. His breathing came smoothly enough as he looked around confused, taking in the surrounding of the room he now found himself in. The suns vibrant bright rays sent a glossy gold sheen all over the room, giving it a color similar to that of the fallen leaves of autumn. The sound of the splashing of water caught his attention and that was when his eye's fell on a woman dressed in what appeared to be a plain looking brown robe.
"Hey.."
"EEP!"
CRASH
His raspy voice suddenly breaking the silence of the room caused the woman to scream loudly as she quickly turned to face him, dragging the pan of water from the dresser and sending it crashing to the floor, shattering it.
"Oh! Y-You've awakened." the woman exclaimed more to herself than to him.
"Ugh, I...Where am I?." the Prophet said the sudden loud crash doing wonders to make his headache worse.
"Uh...You're inside Anor Londo." the ceric said as the shirtless and scared man rose from the bed he lay in and faced her.
"Anor..what? What the hell are you-" the Prophet started before his words were caught in his throat as his headache suddenly kicked into high gear. The pain of it throbbing and pulsing in his skull, not a sharp pain like a knife inflicted wound, more like a dull pounding with a hammer over and over again. His brain felt as if it was flipped into overdrive, but at the same time barely able to process things clearly as a flurry of images and events shot through it. With each of the images chasing each other round and round in his thoughts, the Prophet was barely able to understand much of any of it. But as they continuously ricocheted and slams into the walls of his mind, he managed to hold some of them in place long enough to grasp some of what they were. "Ugh, there was...a battle? I was...fighting someone? Ugh, my goddamn head. Can't think straight."
"Oh, there is no need to worry about any of that. The danger has thankfully past quite some time ago. I'm not exactly sure how, but I think your life was protected. And by Lady Velka, no less."
That was all it took. That single uttered name seemed to have the effect of clearing his mind, like a gust of wind blowing through a thick fog, he saw clear instances of a strikingly beautiful woman with large black wings upon her back. He saw her smiling, laughing and even weeping with him. Yet still, all of these instances were brief. Each one but a tease to his confused mind.
"Velka. Who...Where is she?" the Prophet questioned, knowing well that he needed to find this person if he wanted answers.
"Y-Yes, well...I was told to inform her or the Firekeeper once you had awakened. So I will make hast to do that." the Woman said turning around and heading towards the door.
Still reeling from the information swimming at the edge of his mind, the Prophet just barely managed to snap himself out of it once he realized something.
"Wait." the Prophet said, stopping the woman in her tracks. "Where are my clothes?"
"Oh, uh, your clothing was in such terrible condition that they were deemed unfit to wear anymore. There are replacements for you on the dresser next to the bed." the woman said pointing behind the Prophets body to said clothing.
With that, the woman walked free of the room, leaving the Prophet alone with his thoughts.
Seeing no point in stopping her, the Prophet turned and walked towards what appeared to be six items sitting on the dresser. The first of which seemed to be a mask that had a black trail going down its eye hole, giving it the appearance of weeping, and a small, seemingly normal satchel. Placing his fingers along the mask edge, the Prophet felt a small flow of strength move along his fingertips. There was a small pull in the back of his mind that told him that both of these items were well known to him.
Sitting the mask on the bed, the Prophet saw that what also sat on the dresser was a pair of greaves and gauntlets, both of which seemingly made of a strange looking metal that appeared silver at first glace, but upon closer inspection held traces of a blackness within it. Staring onward at the items, something whispered in his ear to look further beyond what he was holding. To peer into the item itself.
And so, narrowing his eye's slightly, he managed to do just that.
Gauntlets of the Crow
Gauntlets meant to worn by one who would stand at Velka's side always.
The strange metal that forms this item is tough and provides dependable defense against fire and sorcery. The Goddess took great pains to ensure her champion could withstand anything that was thrown at him, while also intent on not stifling his movements. Any who stand against this armor will quickly realize her efforts bore fruit.
Trousers of the Crow
Leggings meant to be worn by one who would stand at Velka's side always.
The strange metal that forms this item is tough and provides dependable defense against fire and sorcery. The Goddess took great pains to ensure her champion could withstand anything that was thrown at him, while also intent on not stifling his movements. Any who stand against this armor will quickly realize her efforts bore fruit.
Seeing this knowledge presented before him, the Prophet honestly didn't know how he should take it.
"One who would stand by Velka's side always? Her champion? Does that mean that I'm..."
Not wanting to assume too much, the Prophet allowed his gaze to fall on the last two items that remained on the dresser. The first which was an armor chest piece that held a black, sleeveless material beneath it, likely having no sleeves so as to not make it uncomfortable to wear the gauntlets that paired with it. The Prophet also made note that the armor piece had the image of a crow with its wings extended etched directly in its center and that it seemed to be made from the same dark and silver metal the other items were made from.
Armor of the Black Crow
Armor meant to be worn by one who would stand at Velka's side always. A durable metal plate worn over a black sleeveless vest.
The first and only piece of armor to bear a crest in the Goddess of Sins name, this item is tougher than most and will provided strong defense against fire and sorcery. None were beyond the justice of Gwyn's enforcer. By bearing this armor, one shows that they would always be ready to stand alongside her as both a protector to be praised and an executioner to be feared.
There was but one item left on the dresser now. Sitting in front of him and bearing a much more extraordinary outward appearance than the rest, was a massive pitch black cloak. What was striking about this item was that its body and frame seemed to waver in the minor shadows of the room, as if it was attempting to fade into them and out of sight.
Shroud of the Black Crow
More than just protection, this cloak is a symbol of the loyalty given to the Goddess of Sin.
This black cloak serves as the distinct symbol of one who bears the title of the crow, he that would serve Velka directly. Made from the powerful magic of but a few of her feathers, this cloak provides great resistance of pyromancy.
Be they the lowest of human or the noblest of god, none were exempt from Velka's swift and terrible judgment. By donning this shroud, you take up the task of punishing sinners in her name.
Seeing all of this information, the Prophet found himself feeling a bit...concerned. If what he was seeing was correct and considering this was all meant to be newly made gifts, that would mean that he was fairly close to this Velka woman. But he couldn't recall much about her besides a few wordless memories that came and went.
Feeling that there was no real reason to disregard these items here, the Prophet opted to don them all on his person. He tugged at the Gauntlets and the greaves as he put them on, finding that they both fit perfectly around his hands and legs. Though It did take him a moment to get used to the form fitting vest that was underneath the chest piece, the sleeveless, skin tight material smoothing against his body like a second layer of skin. But he did like the way it all left his arms free and breathing. Once he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and allowed its odd wavering form to settle, the Prophet raised its dark hood over his head and truly took on the visage of a dark apparition, his body seemingly trying to mold into the small shadows around him.
With nothing else left for him here, almost instinctively, the Prophet picked up the weeping mask and placed it inside a small satchel that lay beside it. Then, wrapping the satchels strap over his shoulder, he turned and walked through the doorway.
The only real objective he could think of was to find Velka.
He had no idea that the very instant she felt the Book of the Guilty that was in his satchel move out of that room, the Goddess was already eagerly heading towards him.
AND SO ANOTHER CHAPTER HAS BEEN COMPLETED IN THIS CRAZY STORY!
Just a few parting comments for you guys before I skedaddle.
First, regarding the beginning of the chapter with the Prophet and his little shadow self, I want everyone to know that the whole conversation was pretty much just all in his head. As in, its just a way to express to you guys that deep down, a part of the Prophet kinda hates himself for forcing himself to go through with the whole "Fighting the impossible" thing, when he could have chosen to be happy with Anastacia somewhere or even taken Velka's offer to stay in Anor Londo. I imagine that, at least to an extent, he buries those sort of thoughts and intense emotions deep in his subconscious so that he doesn't exactly have to face them. But when the dark hand takes everything else he had within him, the only thing left was all the remorse and hatred.
Secondly, the only reason the Prophet was able to stand up and fight was because the Darkwraith didn't finish taking all of his humanity or his soul. There was just a small enough amount left for him to know that he fucking hated the Darkwraiths specifically.
Thirdly, you'd better freaking believe that the female Darkwraith is going to play a massive role when referring to the Prophet. I got idea's, but nothing to specific to say just yet. All I can really put out there is that I'd like her to be a sort of wild card in the midst of things. As in the Wraith that took a part of the Prophet and now holds the capabilities to go beyond what she was. Again, nothing too specific on how I plan to go about that, but I really enjoy th idea of a Darkwraith going further beyond the other before her and possibly even choosing to side against her kind.
Fourthly, before you guys say anything, know that I WANTED to have an epic face off of the Prophet vs Ornstein, but time constraints kinda tied my hands here. I could really get it to that awesome point that I wanted so I was forced to throw that golden opportunity away. :(
And lastly, I want to give a shout out to Terratrox for giving the idea of the Prophet actually losing something like his memories,, but being able to have a sort of catalyst to regaining them. You kinda made me think "Wait, he just lost nearly his entire being. It would be too anti-climactic if I just gave him everything back with no repercussions." But I will say that I am FULLY aware that I'm playing with fire with the whole memory loss thing as I know its been done before and I don't plan to drag it on for freaking eternity and make it boring like some stories do. But I think there are plenty of ways to spice this baby up. Maybe Velka isn't so forthcoming about his past just so she can finally have her Prophet to herself, maybe the Prophet needs to consume more humanity to regain more of his memories, maybe Velka tries to prevent that by lying and manipulating him, inadvertently turning herself into the manipulator the Prophet saw her when they first met and seek out the truth on his own. This could lead him to following stray memories and running into a developed Anastacia or Reah and Vince.
This is just a possibility off the top of my head, but the point is there is a lot of places I could take this whole thing. Hell, this could be the Prophets path to gaining Gwyndolin's trust and approval by carrying out task in his name. I could even have him form bonds with a few Painting Guardians or Darkmoon Blades. And don't you guys even think that I've forgotten about Pricilla in all this.
Oh and since I'm gonna be gone for a while, and I don't really see a point in keeping it to myself, a major plot point I'll give away is that the Darkmoon Knightess wasn't killed like the rest were. Given that she's probably the only Firekeeper Anor Londo has, I was thinking that maybe Velka may have considered her too important to kill. So put that little character device in your head, you got a human Prophet and the Knightess knowing that to keep him alive, Velka killed many other loyal Darkmoon blades. This could lead to a bit of resentment or outright hatred of the Prophet for her and that could lead to a whooole lot of other shit between these two. I'm definitely confident I could use this to make her into a more developed character.
But anyways, I'm babbling now. (Lol)
Let me know how you guys feel about things so far. Seeing as this might be the last chapter for a while since my deployment, I'm interested to know how you guys think this chapter went. As always, positive or negative, honest opinions are always appreciated as I'm always looking to improve my style of writing, so don't be shy in telling me how you guys feel. Outside opinions will have a huge effect on how this story plays out.
This is Supreme Gamer, signing off.
P.S. I will try my damndest to do one last Just For Fun chapter before I go because I got a lot of spicy idea's floating around in my head. If you guys have any preference to either Overlord, Akame Ga Kill, Skyrim or Dragon Age: Inquisition, then now's the perfect time to let me know since I'm probably gonna be starting up on writing the little addition today.