The putrid stench of rotting corpses wafted through the air as the half-demon sauntered through the decrepit mausoleum. Pinching his nose, Vergil could only wince as he stumbled forward. Despite the rejuvenating effect of the mysterious flasks, Vergil could not help but notice the vacuous pit that yet remained within his fractured soul. It would evidently take much more than the restorative liquids to return him to full strength. A quick glance to the side revealed a lone translucent figure sat upon a wooden chaise. It looked to be a spirit of some sort, hunched over atop a vast, dimly lit chasm. Vergil could sense no ill-intent in the spirit and moved forward when it spoke.
"Brave Tarnished."
Its laboured breaths echoed in Vergil's mind, an unwelcome greeting that he could somehow understand though the spectre uttered no sound. It merely pointed towards the void ahead.
"Take the plunge. Of learning, and remembrance."
Intrigued, the half-demon stayed a moment.
"Recall the arts of war. And your warrior's blood."
Surely, in this unfamiliar land, none had ever heard the tales of Sparda and his rebellion against the demon world. Still, Vergil could not help but be suspicious. Hearing some movement within the gulch, Vergil leapt forward. If nothing else, he needed to see how far his limits would extend. He weakly coughed after landing in a shallow pool of water and stone. Shaking off the moisture that soaked through the dried blood in his cracked gauntlets, Vergil raised his head and slicked his hair back—a habit that he had held, long since the distant days of his youth.
Immediately before him was a curious sight—a shard of golden light that pierced through the darkness of the murky cave. It shifted and undulated like a gentle flame, guiding the cautious traveler towards it. As he approached, he could not help but extend a curious hand. The gentle light shone brighter for a brief moment, emitting a chiming sound that like the spectre, Vergil could somehow only hear in his mind. In his pouch, he could feel a weight shifting and thus decided to take out its contents. The two flasks, almost empty moments before, had somehow replenished.
"Interesting…"
The half-demon inquisitively cocked his head to the side and took more sips from the flasks. The earthy taste of the unfamiliar nectar was something that he still could barely stomach, but given time he knew it would cease to be a bother. He felt a momentary sense of relief but felt no change within his soul. Regardless, the flasks appeared to endlessly refill themselves so long as he stayed near the shining light.
Vergil wiped his mouth of the nectar and then continued towards the mouth of the cave.
A series of candles weakly lit the murky cave, the sounds of their undulating flames unbothered by the droplets of cave water that periodically broke through the silence. Absentmindedly standing in front of them was a figure covered in rags, mindlessly staring at a nearby wall. Around it were several wooden boxes, barrels, and an unevenly placed wooden barricade. Vergil cautiously moved forward, uncaring of the dullard or its actions, but remained vigilant should it notice his presence and act accordingly. He strolled onward, seeing that though the dull creature remained distracted, a nearby companion was not and stumbled towards him with sword drawn and arm wound back, ready for a swing.
Vergil instinctively reacted by reaching for his left side, stopping for a moment when he could not find what he was looking for. In that brief instant, the wayward warrior had taken a few steps ahead and initiated its swing. Vergil clenched his fists, sidestepped, and threw a well-placed palm strike into the creature's sternum. This creature stumbled and lost its balance, falling flat on its face.
Too slow.
The resulting splash alerted a pair of nearby allies who then readied themselves, spears at the ready.
Sighing with frustration, Vergil lunged forward, grabbing one by the neck and tossing it into the other before they could raise their spears in response. Despite his quick actions, Vergil could not help but notice how sluggish his movements were. The remnants of the black angel on his person may have weighed him down, but it should not have affected his movements to this extent. He struck a nearby wall, ridding himself of yet another fragment of the accursed armour. Faint whispers of demonic energy hissed as the pieces of armour dissipated into a fine purple mist before they could hit the ground. Picking up one of the discarded spears, Vergil continued onward.
The light of dawn could be seen in the cracks of the cave above, revealing an armoured soldier who had just let loose his crossbow. Vergil rolled his eyes and sidestepped it before tossing a spear into his assailant, sending it flying backwards from the stone arch where it stood. Another had taken notice and steeled itself, a great shield obscuring its form. Such measures were normally a trifling measure for the son of Sparda, who could at a moment's notice, transport himself behind his target before they could even react. However, despite visualizing the space beside his target, Vergil found that he could not access this ability. He furrowed his brow and attempted to summon a Mirage Blade, struggling to get it to manifest before a sharp pain from his chest broke his concentration. He clutched onto his chest as he fell on one knee. It was as though a tight force was stirring from the depths of his damaged soul, sealing his power, and suffocating his every sensation. His opponent was quick to notice as it lowered its shield and readied its spear. Vergil rolled sideways while his armoured assailant made a quick thrust, the spear managing to pierce Vergil's side. The half-demon grunted in pain, grabbed the spear, and wrenched it away before it could go any deeper. With his attention on the weapon, Vergil injected some of his demonic essence through the wooden shaft, using it as a conduit to focus the energy into the form of a blue blade that promptly materialized beside the knight's head. The translucent azure blade pierced through its helmet, expelling a small geyser of blood from its eye slits. Vergil tightened his grip over the spear, crushing the shaft and ridding it of the attached blade. He recoiled as he pulled the blade out, tossing it aside.
With no access to his demonic speed and strength, and his magic crippled, Vergil became keenly aware of how limited his options had become. Though his inhuman physiology still manifested itself in strange ways, he would undoubtedly need to be more cautious if he was to survive in his current state. Further into the cave, Vergil found himself fighting against a small group of soldiers, rusty swords in hand. He made quick work of them despite his limitations until he eventually found himself face-to-face with a strange golden mist. The mist seemed to operate on the same principle as the demonic barriers erected by foes seeking to entrap him. Extending an arm out, the half-demon slowly walked through the barrier, clutching a sword he had unceremoniously ripped out of a fallen enemy's corpse. Behind the fog was another armoured soldier, covered in the same green and red banner as the other two soldiers he encountered. This one held a Zweihander aloft, readying it to strike. Vergil rolled his eyes and sighed, not even waiting for the enemy's weapon to drop, and lunged forward with his sword. The blade, already brittle and blunted from use and disrepair, barely pierced through the knight's armour, but the impact still sent him flying onto his back.
"How boring."
Vergil waited for his opponent to get up, ready its weapon once again, and make another swing. This time, Vergil opted to wait until the blade was within inches of his face—before he swiftly swung his sword, deflecting the heavy blow at the cost of his weapon. As it cracked into pieces, Vergil used the momentum of his strike to redirect the shattered edge and lodged it into his opponent's chainmail-clad throat. Though the sword could barely pierce through the material, Vergil nevertheless heard the muffled gurgle of his opponent as blood pooled where he had struck. A quick jab to the head snapped his enemy's neck, and the battle was won. Once again discarding his broken weapon, Vergil continued his ascent through the cave.
The path brought him back exactly where he started. The impatient devil groaned in frustration as he dropped down to the previous level, passing through a small, brightly golden tree leading up to a stone staircase. He opened the wooden doors blocking the way, passed another small golden light, and approached through the stone lift ahead. The grinding of rusted gears screeched and bellowed through his ascent; it was as if the contraption had not been used in some time. Finally reaching the top, the demonic warrior lifted the metal door and welcomed his reprieve from the stench of death that permeated through the mausoleum.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the sun's rays, he was greeted by a vast expanse littered with broken stone structures, cliffs, and hills, with a stone castle situated atop stony ridges. A broken bridge led to a stone tower, whose size was noticeably dwarfed by the imposing presence of a world-spanning golden tree. What looked to be dozens of bodies were held up on wooden stakes; arms held aloft like effigies of the woman he once saw depicted on a statue. Across the hills a short distance away stood a figure waiting expectantly. The man, dressed in what appeared to be a war surgeon's garb, wore a white stone mask that did little to quell the air of suspicion surrounding him. The man's patronizing demeanour irritated the fallen warrior, who already had more than enough reasons to distrust the stranger. Still, the warrior could not help but wonder exactly where he had ended up. This foreign land was neither the underworld nor the human world he had grown accustomed to. From what he'd seen so far, perhaps he wasn't even in the same era. The wary half-demon gave a sideways glance when the man spoke.
"Oh, yes…Tarnished, are we?"
Puzzled by being called tarnished once again, the blue devil pushed through his obvious state of vexation to hopefully gleam some semblance of information.
"Come to the Lands Between for the Elden Ring, hmm?"
The man's tone made this endeavour more challenging than he would have liked.
"Of course you have. No shame in it."
A glare and a deafening silence on the warrior's part was clearly insufficient. His patience was growing ever thin.
"Unfortunately for you, however, you are maidenless."
The warrior cocked his head to the side inquisitively.
"Without guidance, without the strength of runes, and without an invitation to the Roundtable Hold…you are fated, it seems, to die in obscurity."
The blue devil finally spoke.
"Get to the point, or leave me."
"My my, impatient aren't we?"
Underneath that mask, the half-demon could sense a toothy grin.
"Are you familiar with grace? The golden light that gives life to you Tarnished. You may also behold its golden rays pointing in a particular direction at times. That is the guidance of grace. The path that a Tarnished must travel."
That explains those golden lights. Now I know where I must go.
"Mm, indeed. Grace's guidance holds the answers. It will lead you Tarnished to the path you are meant to follow."
Though he knew that the masked man would be more than happy to volunteer more information, Vergil could no longer tolerate the man's arrogance and thus started walking away. Surely he could find his answers through less…grating means. The words "Stormveil Castle" reached his ears, but that was beyond his care or concern. Vergil looked at the distance and scanned his surroundings. Wherever this was, he had a long road ahead.