Liurnia of the Lakes – Ranni's Rise – Early Evening

"Mistress Ranni." Blaidd's projection appeared wearing a grave expression. "I have news."

"Blaidd, my shadow. What didst thou find in thine absence?" Ranni's piercing gaze met the half-wolf. Like the Dark Moon that she served, Ranni's control over her current body waxed and waned every night. Her delicate joints crackled under the strain of movement, slowly coming to life and shortly returning to an idle pose. Though it was far from a full moon, Ranni had enough energy to turn her head and listen. Blaidd noticed how Ranni's eye flickered under the doll's heavy-lidded gaze, conveying the effort it took to animate her current vessel. He took a deep breath, and started with a low growl,

"As you said, the Academy has fallen under attack. It was already in shambles by the time I arrived, and most of the scholars were dead. Strangely, the barrier spell has remained."

"Intriguing," the porcelain doll replied, "what of Mother?"

"The queen is safe. Just as before, she continues to gaze upon that amber egg. There's not a single hair out of place, and yet it seems that our intruders have made extensive use of the grand library."

"I am pleased to hear that she is unharmed, though I am greatly perplexed with how her Great Rune was untouched. Tell me, hath thou any clue on which tomes the intruder scoured?"

"I have spotted dozens, mistress, and based on the scents I've caught in this place, it appears there was more than one intruder. Each of them seemed interested in the history of the Golden Order, of the many lineages that existed since its conception, and some more recent history on the Shattering."

"Yet they chose to leave Mother unharmed and sustained the walls that protect the Academy...It appears the intruders plan to return."

"That looks to be the case."

"What else didst thou find?" Ranni found herself conflicted at the news. On the one hand, she was delighted to learn that no harm had come to her mother, but on the other hand, Liurnia's one chance at defending itself from the Golden Order perished with the invasion. To think that two intruders could cause so much damage was unthinkable, but to know that their purpose was driven by reason and not mere chaos was even more troubling.

"Their scents vanished shortly after, mistress," Blaidd's voice slightly quivered with embarrassment, "I searched for days, but heard whispers of a massacre in the Altus Plateau."

"So, our intruders doth not appear accomplice to the Golden Order, else they would not have abandoned Mother as such. To think the Academy would fall to but a pair…" Blaidd's ears twitched which caught Ranni's attention. A subtle tick indicated that he had more to say but did not wish to interrupt. "Thou wishest to say something, my shadow?"

"Y-yes, my lady. I've studied the bodies that were left behind. There may have been two scents in the library, but only one was responsible for destroying the manor and besieging the Academy. I found it hard to believe myself, but the evidence is clear."

Ranni raised a curious eyebrow at the half-wolf, her expression goading him to continue.

"Wherever this warrior goes, death follows. I've not seen jar warriors gather this many bodies since Lord Rykard waged war against the capital." Blaidd's expression darkened, a mix of fear and respect.

"Thou'rt certain that this warrior is responsible for the destruction?"

"On my life, my mistress, I am. This level of slaughter would only be possible with a much larger army, and yet I can find no signs of one. Not a single crest, banner, or tent other than the Golden Army's. Based on what I've seen of Caria and the Academy, I can only conclude that the same warrior is likely responsible."

Ranni folded her slender fingers together, a telltale sign of her deep contemplation.

"If thou speakest true, then our brother wouldst not waste time in mounting an offensive. Tis a rare sort that would openly defy the Golden Order, and rarer still for one to do so as brazenly. I do not forgive what this invader hath done to my manor, but neither do I doubt that the Academy was entirely without fault in the matter. See to it that Mother is looked after and continue thy search for the lost treasure of Nokron. I shall have to personally address this warrior."

"As you wish, my lady," Blaidd's projection replied and then vanished. Though he worried for his Empyrean, he knew better than to question the headstrong princess.

Limgrave – Castleward Tunnel – Early Evening

"So, this is Stormveil Castle…" Vergil casually strolled toward a crumbling gate. A small squadron of knights surrounded the entrance, each armed with pikes and greatshields and supported by foot soldiers who were considerably less armoured in comparison. Blocking the entrance was a large ballista manned by a pair of rangers. Vergil flicked his wrist and summoned a phalanx of spectral swords, whose forms shimmered in and out of existence like a mirage. The phantom blades floated around him, poised to fire at his command while he scanned his enemies' formations. He'd already thinned out a large majority of Limgrave's troops, scattering them with his blade as much as the rumours and shadows he had orchestrated in the past. By his estimation, Leyndell's forces would soon follow so he needed to act quickly.

Without warning, the pale swordsman darted forward, his form obscured by a series of blue blurs. The first knight raised his shield, only to find his comrades skewered by spectral blades. In his moment of distraction, the knight failed to notice his torso being cleaved by a pale blue light, and only realized his mistake when it was too late. All he could hear was a single metallic "clink" before the darkness overwhelmed him. The other knights charged, but their opponent was too fast and impossible to hit. It did not matter if they raised their shields or drew their swords. Every time the swordsman vanished, it was followed by the sound of torn flesh and metal. Not even the ballista could help, as its target was too mobile to properly gauge his location. The one time he stood still to humour the marksmen, the bolt was snatched out of the air with but a flick of the swordsman's sheath, before a volley of spectral swords appeared in front of the marksmen and impaled them.

Vergil flickered in and out of existence like a wraith, the blue glow of the cracks in his skin casting a ghastly reflection on the castle's stone walls. His reforged blade served him well. The slender edge reflected the moonlight's pale glow with every strike; each slash was accompanied by a flash of infernal energy that extended the weapon's reach. Every formation was dismantled with terrifying ease as the pale swordsman approached, his wave of destruction nearly indistinguishable from the maelstroms that bellowed all around him. Since restoring Rykard's rune, Vergil found that every wound he inflicted on his enemies would grant him a moment's reprieve from the pain that constantly ravaged his body. It was as though he now possessed the ability to siphon his enemies' life force and add it to his own, thereby allowing him to counteract the drawbacks of his demonic affliction.

As the last of the knights fell, Vergil turned toward the gate and scanned the castle walls above. What first appeared to be a guess had been confirmed by the visions granted by Rykard's Great Rune, and now all he had to do was claim it. However, there was one anomaly he needed to address, and it was waiting for him in an adjacent courtyard. Raging winds roared around the square as if to warn passersby to turn tail and run—a sensible position for most adventurers, to be sure. Leagues of broken pikes and faded banners decorated each corner like makeshift graveyards: a clear warning for those unfit to face the castle's guardian.

Once again, the pale swordsman scanned his surroundings and sensed an alien presence atop one of the spires ahead. From it boomed a voice, loud and imposing,

"Foul Tarnished, in search of the Elden Ring. Emboldened by the flame of ambition."

Vergil cocked his head and observed as the figure emerged from a golden portal and then materialized into a hulking figure draped in a cloak of ragged fur. He vaguely carried the vestiges of human characteristics, but his form was twisted and monstrous, with protruding horns arranged in the rough shape of a crown upon his head. Piercing golden eyes heavily contrasted against the dull grey of his skin and the wild tufts of ashen grey hair all over his body. With a heavy grunt, the figure leaped to the centre of the courtyard. Thick clouds of dust and shattered concrete billowed as he picked himself up using a curious cane.

"Someone must extinguish thy flame. Let it be Margit the Fell!"

The pale swordsman glimpsed at Margit's form and sensed the faint traces of the Great Rune that animated the figure. "I see. I know what you are," Vergil smirked as he raised a brow against his opponent. He pointed his own sword, still wrapped in its sheath, toward the figure.

"Shall we begin?"

Margit's golden eyes narrowed in response to Vergil's provocation, his lips curling into a toothy snarl. "Insolent pup!" he roared, the ground shaking beneath him, "Many have stood before me in ages past; many have fallen." He extended an arm, and from it sprung a golden great hammer, gleaming with the golden light of grace. The Fell Omen shifted his position, as though the weapon carried a great weight, then swept it to the side. Vergil was unfazed, holding out a staff where he ignited a bluish-purple blade of his own. Despite the weapon's great weight, the hammer hardly budged the pale swordsman, whose spectral blade crackled against its handle. Unlike the enraged Omen, Vergil's expression was one of cold amusement. He rolled his eyes as he flatly retorted, "Coming from someone past his prime? Right..."

Margit broke the lock and jumped, raising his hammer high. "Bold words, Tarnished. But words will not save thee from death!" With a strained grunt, Margit brought the colossal weapon crashing down, aiming to crush the swordsman who mockingly stood in place. Moments before it landed, the swordsman vanished in a blue blur and reappeared a few paces to the side. The ground erupted into shards of rock and dust from where he was, sending a shockwave that rippled through the ruined courtyard. "Too slow," Vergil uttered as he snapped his weapon into his sheath. In that instant, Margit felt his body convulse with several gashes—each aimed at vital regions, but not deep enough to be lethal. The intruder clearly meant to send a message.

"Thou art quicker than most," Margit conceded as he dismissed the golden hammer and grasped his side, "But thou shalt find thyself broken all the same." He dashed forward, cane in hand, and loosed two heavy swipes followed by a third from a freshly conjured golden blade.

Vergil's grin widened as he sidestepped each blow, noting how telegraphed the old warrior's movements were. Just as he did against the frontline troops, every movement of Vergil's was followed closely by a spectral blade aimed at the Omen's open back. He ducked under another slash of the Omen's cane and thrust his sheath into his opponent's stomach, causing him to stagger to his knees. The Omen, however, was undeterred and conjured a trio of golden daggers aimed squarely at the pale swordsman. Vergil swatted them away with swift motions, shattering the ethereal swords against Moonveil's edge. He disappeared in a blur, closing the distance between them, and spun upwards like a small whirlwind that sent Margit's heavy frame airborne.

"Fall…scum!"

With a final arcing blow, Vergil sent him crashing down to the ground, warped to his location, and then followed up by backhanding the Omen while he dusted off his cloak.

"Thou art indeed…formidable," Margit wheezed, and Vergil felt a spark of energy from within the Omen—something he found strikingly familiar. "But thou wilt find that I am not so easily felled!" The Omen willed himself back up and dashed forward with a thrust of his sharpened cane. Vergil, already used to this type of attack, swatted the cane with an almost casual flick of his scabbard. "Weak!" he taunted, his tone dripping with irreverence, "You insult me by holding back, old man…or shall I say…your highness."

The monarch's eyes widened at the revelation. "Thou knowest of me? How?"

"I had my suspicions, and you just confirmed it," Vergil bluntly replied while he surrounded Margit with a spiral of spectral blades, "You're not even here, are you?"

"Interesting…I shall remember thee, Tarnished," the Omen's form began to fade away, flickering in and out of existence as if caught in between two worlds. "Thou art aware of mine true nature, and yet still thou chose to face me so boldly…" Margit muttered with the slightest hint of respect. Vergil studied his fallen opponent, keeping his grip on Moonveil as he stepped closer. As he did so, the spectral blades he conjured spun faster around the fallen Omen. "Margit" could only laugh in response.

"Our paths shall cross again, nameless warrior. Thou art marked by mine gaze, and I shall be waiting for thee." Vergil cracked his neck, and the swirl of blades skewered the fading monarch in unison. The phantom's laughter was interrupted by a pained wince, yet still, he uttered, "Cower in fear. Of the night. The Hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter."

"Hmph. Fell, indeed." Vergil slicked his hair back as he walked toward the decrepit fortress.

Altus Plateau – Capital Rampart – Early Evening

"It is as he said, the way is sealed." Millicent sighed as she traced her metallic fingers near the edges of the golden barrier surrounding the capital. "I don't suppose we can simply slice through this?"

Melina shook her head. Her gaze lingered over the towering walls, noticing the faint glimmers of the barrier that secured the capital from the rest of the world. Her heart was heavy with uncertainty; The closer she got to the capital, the more anxious she felt. The memories she sought, the answers to the questions she'd been harbouring, lay just behind the golden barrier. Yet, the way forward remained out of reach.

"The walls are heavily fortified by the same magic, which means that we would have to circumvent it another way. We should look around." The maidens rode atop Torrent who directed them near the scent of food. Melina perked up with recognition, for she could only think of one who could make something smell so scrumptious.

Torrent quickened his pace toward the tantalizing aroma. For once, they were in no danger of stray arrows or furious Rune Bears, and the spectral steed could finally let his guard down. The path was a short and winding road along a hillside that led toward a shallow waterbed beside the barrier. A cast of crabs scavenged around the pond, while a familiar pair lounged near a pyre. To their side sat the remains of a giant crab.

"Do you think this will last the journey to the Wailing Dunes?" asked the man dressed in heavy Bull Goat armour. His helm was set beside a hefty stone hammer; its absence revealed the man's auburn beard and broad features. A noticeable scar ran along the bridge of his nose, right where a helmet's visor would normally rest.

"It bloody well should, mate. I marinated 'at thing in salt an' all for nearly a week. If it don't last you the trip, then that'll be your blinkin' problem."

The second figure had darker features and a crown of long scruffy hair that ran along his cheeks. His iron helm similarly sat beside a pile that included a pair of spherical gauntlets. The two rushed to their stash of armours as soon as they heard Torrent's galloping steps.

"I told you the fire would draw attention!" The knight of assistance practically yelled as he scrambled after his equipment.

"Shut your trap, 'fore I crack you in 'alf!" The Blackguard replied.

Torrent slowed to a stop as Melina raised a hand and flagged them down. "Easy, old friends. It's only us."

"Oh…you again is it." Big Boggart's eyes lit up in recognition and his grip on his weapon loosened. "You scared us 'alf to death with all that trotting about!"

Traggoth let out a heavy exhale as he set his Giant Crusher down. "Indeed. A moment longer and we both could have done something regretful."

Melina dismounted Torrent gracefully followed by Millicent, who practically floated down. "My apologies for startling you both. We weren't expecting to see friendly faces this close to the capital."

"In truth, we were drawn by the delicious smell from your camp. Even from a distance, we could tell that the Golden Army wasn't here. Their rations certainly never struck me as appetizing," Millicent added.

"You're certainly right about that!" the Bull Goat Knight chuckled.

"Praise me cookin' all ya want…I ain't complainin'" Big Boggart cackled. "Perfect bloody timing, actually. I got crab, cooked up fresh."

Millicent approached with delighted curiosity while Melina gave Torrent some sweet raisins for his trouble. She followed shortly after.

"It is as you said, Boggart. I must say, I never thought that crab would taste so good!"

Millicent was reluctant to eat at first, fearing that the juices would get in between her prosthetic joints. Never mind the fact that she had no clue how to eat it in the first place. After some initial struggle, she finally took a bite and found her fears evaporating. Meanwhile, Melina was too busy gorging on crab meat to notice anything else. While she never felt the pangs of hunger, she was delighted that her physical form allowed her to appreciate the taste of food. The plump and moist meat was a fine specimen indeed, and Melina dreaded the thought that the meal would eventually end. Until then, she was more than happy to appreciate the little comforts until she needed to sully her blade once more. Traggoth, having already eaten, was busy packing his things for the long journey ahead.

"If you think that's good, wait 'til you get a taste for lobster. Now that's a proper meal. I've seen bugger all of them 'ere though," Boggart cast his gaze over the shallow pond.

"How did you know you could eat these?" Millicent inquired.

"'ow, you say? Them lobsters were the easiest food you could catch in a port town. So damn many would just wash up on shores like this and all you'd 'ave to do was wade in, pitchfork in 'and, and you'd get a good catch," Boggart's grinned as he continued to reminisce, "So what them bloody swine used to do over at the gaols was give us nothing but these things to eat. My friend…well, 'e used to absolutely 'ate these. Said it was no different from eating rats. 'Rats? Are you raving mad, you prat?', I always said! Bloody hell, he used to take the absolute piss out of me when it was time to eat. Said that I don't need to eat like no pleb and that he'd feed me something nice soon as we got out…instead of what they use to feed the pigs. Well, I ain't never had no taste for posh food, so I just made do with what I 'ad. These crabs 'ere are no different."

"I see," Millicent continued to eat, utterly astonished, "I'm glad to see you doing so well for yourself."

"What? You trying to start something?" Boggart asked, eyebrow raised.

"I meant nothing by it, I was just trying to-"

The Blackguard let out a hearty laugh that startled even Melina and Traggoth. "I was just taking the piss, lass!" Millicent sighed in fake shock and smiled while Boggart continued. "Whereabouts is that fair-haired git, anyways? Could'a sworn you and the other ginger were always tailing him."

"Stormveil Castle. To claim another Great Rune," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Stormveil? With that craven prick Godrick? Well…I can't say 'e don't deserve a proper thrashing, but why're you 'ere and not there?"

"He can take care of himself. He's made that perfectly clear," Melina stated, finally joining in on the conversation, "Meanwhile, he's tasked us with finding a way around that barrier."

"Ah. Proper cracked, that one, but I don't doubt 'e can pull it off." Both maidens nodded at the Blackguard's comment.

"Indeed, but on to more pressing matters; that barrier. How do you suppose we can get through it?" Melina asked.

"Why're you asking me? Do I got something written on me face?"

"No. But perhaps you could offer us a perspective we have yet to consider. I know that castles always have escape routes. We hoped to find signs of one, but our search thus far has been fruitless."

"Bloody hell. Ain't no one's asked this no-name shithead about what 'e thinks in ages." After a few moments of deep thought, the Blackguard finally answered. "'ave you thought about the sewers?"

The maidens looked at each other and then at Boggart in surprise. "The sewers?"

"Aye. Ain't no one would think to get in through there, and I don't see no barrier covering that up neither. Else the castle would go tits up with all the muck going through it."

Millicent's eyes widened at the suggestion. "The sewers…of course," she muttered.

"Indeed," Melina added, "The barrier covers all the walls and main entrances—places where the city had been attacked in the past. But the sewers are often overlooked…and as you said, the city's waste would have nowhere to go if the barrier kept everything sealed."

Big Boggart crossed his arms, a grin spreading across his features. "Glad to see me brain's still got some use after all this time. Mind you, if you're really thinkin' about crawlin' through all the dung, you best be ready for what's lurkin' down there. If that capital's the shithole I keep 'earing about, then it won't just be rats and slugs you'll run into."

"We've faced worse," Millicent declared, which earned a laugh from the Blackguard.

"I'm sure you 'ave, lass. Just don't be daft and get lost."

"We'll keep that in mind. Thank you," Melina said softly. Boggart nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't worry about it. Off you go then, 'fore ya make me all sentimental and shite," he chuckled. The two maidens mounted Torrent and waved off when they came across the Bull Goat Knight.

"Do you two need an escort, perchance?" Traggoth asked, having finished packing up for his journey.

Melina softly smiled and shook her head. "We'll be alright, thank you. Besides, we wouldn't want to keep you from your journey."

"Agreed. Caelid isn't exactly a stone's throw away," Millicent added.

"Fair enough," Traggoth nodded, his expression thoughtful but respectful of their decision. "But if you do run into trouble, I'll be around these parts for a while."

"We both appreciate the offer, truly," Melina expressed.

"Safe travels!" Millicent exclaimed as they rode off toward the cliffside and near the city's drainage canal.

Limgrave – Rampart Tower – Late Evening

"You trash!" Vergil shouted as he mercilessly cut through another battalion. His reforged blade, Moonveil, sliced through flesh and armour alike, its pale glow leaving blue flashes of light with every motion from its wielder. The castle's defenses were formidable if not dull, but they were certainly thinning.

The pale swordsman paused for a moment, surveying the stone maze, searching for Godrick's whereabouts. Based on what he'd learned from the Academy's accounts, Godrick the Golden, the current ruler of this decaying fortress, was no great warrior. Once banished from the capital, he fled to this castle, declared himself lord, and accomplished little else. Even the scholars of the Academy regarded him as little more than a footnote in Marika's Golden Lineage; hardly worth remembering.

Of all the demigods Vergil sought to challenge, Godrick was the least appealing. Not simply because he found the demigod utterly unremarkable, but also due to the irritation he still felt from a certain white-masked fool he encountered in the past. To the pale swordsman, Godrick was nothing but a gnat clinging to stolen power…a reminder of another human whose greed and lust for power compelled him to foolish ends.

"The weak in courage is strong in cunning."

The pale swordsman cautiously stepped through a treasure room of sorts; its entrance sealed tight by a magic barrier. Upon seeing the mysterious veil, Vergil instinctively drew his hand onto his weapon's hilt and channeled a sliver of demonic energy into Moonveil. The reforged blade responded by humming with power, its cold edge shining with a pale blue light. As Vergil studied the threads of magic that formed the curious obstacle, he found himself tracing the subtle pulses or arcane energy that animated it.

Although the demonic edge Yamato allowed him to create temporary distortions in the fabric of reality, this was an ability inherently tied to the blade itself. In his moments of silence, Vergil often reflected on this limitation. His goal had always been to surpass his father, but to his chagrin, the very concept of "power" was so nebulous that it could mean everything and nothing all at once. It was one thing to slice through a physical object and another to pierce through metaphysical constructs like "magic" or "reality." One was a byproduct of instinct honed through numerous hardships and training, while the other required a type of mastery that transcended human notions of skill and understanding. Through his exploration and mastery of his demonic energy, Vergil had come to grasp the fundamental principles of magic—it had even allowed him to adapt to the foreign magics of the Lands Between. Unfortunately, none of these foreign magics allowed him to fully tap into his most powerful abilities. Now Vergil was without the Yamato for the first time since he inherited it, and he was forced to realize exactly how much he'd grown to rely on the dark katana and its abilities.

The thought of his father splitting the human and demon worlds in twain had always seemed an insurmountable task for the pale swordsman. Despite having the legendary Devil Arm bound to his soul, Vergil had yet to achieve such a feat. Up until now, the wayward son of Sparda had been obsessed with the idea of accumulating power, with little regard for understanding the world around him. This was something that needed to change.

"I rest not from my great task!

To open the Eternal Worlds,

To open the immortal Eyes of Man"

Piercing blue eyes scanned the shimmering barrier in a moment that felt like an eternity. Vergil visualized the puzzle unraveling before his eyes—the delicate connections of energy that were stitched into the fabric of reality itself. A smirk graced his face as the solution slowly dawned on him. The answer, he found, was two-fold. The first was the more obvious—he possessed the ability to not only perceive the cracks in reality but to force them open; all he needed was the right tool. The Yamato, once his father's blade, was designed to cut the fabric of space and time itself. In the past, Vergil would have relied on the Yamato's signature ability to slash through such barriers. Yet, as more recent battles have proven, his demonic energy and force of will allowed him to tap into the ability regardless of whether he possessed the weapon.

The second realization was borne from the first. When Sparda divested himself of his power, the Yamato inherited the ability to cut through dimensions. But this power was not born from the sword; it was a part of Sparda himself. If this was the case, and the power existed in his father, then it followed that it was likely inherent to him, too. Yamato had always been an extension of the ability; never the source.

"Inwards into the Worlds of Thought;

Into eternity, ever expanding."

Vergil focused, channeled his demonic power into the blade, and pictured the interconnected links that held the barrier together—the same way his father had when he envisioned the boundaries between the human and demon worlds. Moonveil flashed in a graceful blue arc as it sliced through the air. The blade shimmered with Vergil's demonic energy, casting a faint glow in the dim hallway preceding the barrier.

"Slice through."

As the two energies met, a brief distortion appeared—a ripple that echoed across the room in a thin, undulating line that groaned with a low hum. Like reality itself was groaning under the weight of absurdity. The magical veil trembled, having been cut off from its source, and then, silence. The barrier flickered away, dissolving into nothingness as though it had never been there at all.

Vergil sheathed the Moonveil with a satisfying click, its pale blue light fading as quickly as it appeared. With the storeroom finally open, Vergil stepped inside and immediately felt a spark of yet another foreign energy. The source was dim, but effervescent like a pyre that had been extinguished but refused to relinquish its heat. An ancient tome rested before an artifact, sealed in runes that spoke of its forbidden nature. Enclosed in a secure vault right next to it was a small talisman, inlaid with obsidian. Vergil's hand hovered over the talisman, feeling the undeniable presence of magic that pulsed through the artifact—an aura both diminished and ancient, yet no less potent. But as soon as it rested in his palm, its energy quickly and immediately fell inert. He tightened his grip around the talisman, feeling its power simmering beneath the surface, and infused it with his demonic power. The trinket, however, produced nothing but a feeble litany of sparks. Vergil furrowed his brow and tried again using the other magics he had learned. Yet nothing, from the boundless expanse of the primeval current to the meteoric intensity of gravity magic, could get it to yield a different result.

"Just what are you hiding…?" Vergil murmured, his mind pondering through the possibilities. The strange conduit likely required a different source of power, one that he would have to learn at a different time. For now, he had a target to slay and a Great Rune to claim. And so, he tucked the artifact securely in his coat and stored its accompanying tome along with it. The pale swordsman turned, his eyes reflecting the cold moonlight piercing through the walls, and left the treasure room behind.

Altus Plateau – Subterranean Shunning Grounds – Midnight

"What was that?" Millicent asked incredulously. Her dress was covered in filth and a crimson gash ran along her prosthetic arm. Shadowy flames danced on the line, refusing to die out. Despite the phantom sensations that Millicent felt upon wearing her new arm, she was glad that pain was not one that fully registered.

"I…I don't know. I…" Melina was in disbelief. As soon as they entered the sewers, they were greeted by an unseen visitor. Were it not for the streams of filth flowing through the cavernous tunnels, the two would not have known what to watch out for. Upon setting foot within the capital's inner boundary, Melina regained the ability to manifest her physical form without Torrent's assistance. This was a most fortunate development, for it allowed her to shove Millicent out of the way before their mysterious assailant could fatally wound her. Melina held a steady grip on her dagger, its golden light casting a bright glow across the dark, damp tunnel. Her breathing was uneven, her heart racing from recognition of the sudden attack.

"Those flames…it can't be…" Melina muttered under her breath.

"Melina?" Millicent diverted her attention from her prosthetic while the shadowy flames stubbornly flickered on its surface. Realizing that the narrow tunnels were counterintuitive to her usual wide slashes, she adjusted her grip to a backhanded stance that allowed her to take advantage of the confined space. In these conditions, the young Valkyrie knew that what she needed more than anything was agility and control.

"Millicent, we need to be careful. Whatever we are dealing with…it's using Destined Death," Melina found herself doubting her own words, but deep down she knew that it was the truth. Her fingers trembled and a cold sweat ran down her back. Destined Death—a power feared by both gods and mortals alike—the ability to permanently end the stagnant cycle of rebirth in the Lands Between.

"Destined Death? How? I thought the Rune of Death was sealed away?" Millicent tightened her grip on her blade and cautiously scanned for any traces of movement.

Even for someone like Millicent, who had grown accustomed to the stench of constant rot and decay, the odour wafting through the sewer catacombs was nauseating. Every breath gave way to inhaling more of the noxious gases while an unthinkable concoction of sludge defined every muddy surface nearby. Yet, in the face of the discomfort, she found herself forgetting about her predicament altogether. Under any other circumstance, she would have attempted to crawl out of her skin, but there were far more pressing matters to be concerned about. If the burning gash on her right arm was any indication, then the legends told about Destined Death were likely to be true. Millicent sharpened her senses, focusing only on anything out of the ordinary. In the distance, she could vaguely hear the muffled squeaks of scurrying rats as they all fled from multiple directions. Their exodus created ripples in the stagnant waters that they passed, which in turn revealed the assassin's whereabouts.

"There!" Millicent motioned and coiled herself for a strike. Melina nodded and leaped forward only to be kicked into a wall. The kindling maiden gritted her teeth and cast an illuminating incantation that exposed the assassin's misty outline. On top of being invisible, their mysterious attacker seemed to also possess the ability to negate the sounds produced by their movement. Had it not been for the roaring pain she felt in her gut, Melina could have almost sworn that she just tripped since the only sounds she could hear were her own.

Millicent flung herself forward with a spin that propelled her blade like a corkscrew and grazed the assassin's shoulder. As soon as the hit landed, the assassin's cloak dispelled for a moment, revealing a hooded woman's figure. The assailant plunged her blade into the turbid water then pivoted around it, unleashing a powerful slash that repelled the young Valkyrie and bought her enough time to restore her concealing veil. By this point, both maidens' eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and they could better follow their opponent's movements. Melina kicked herself off a wall and lunged forward with an underhand stab that was quickly parried and followed by a retaliating slash. Both daggers clashed repeatedly, creating sparks during each encounter.

The longer the battle continued, the more accustomed the maidens became to their conditions. Every wall became a springboard, every tile a platform, and every splash of water a treasure trove of information. Millicent and Melina moved with increased precision and synergy, each strike having progressed from barely missing to hitting and deflecting their opponent's every attack. Millicent's blade spun in rapid arcs, driven by a ferocity that was punctuated by the dark flames that seared the arm wielding it.

Now aware of her opponents' prowess, the assassin retreated further into the sewers. The young Valkyrie's stomach churned with every step they took until she could no longer resist the urge to throw up. Melina heard this and rested her arm on Millicent's back for a moment before pressing on. Despite her concern over the young girl, their opponent was too dangerous to lose track of. Melina chased after her assailant, aided by the warm glow of her incantations and her burning desire to uncover who it was that wielded such a dangerous power so freely.

Millicent used a small unsoiled patch of her sleeve to wipe herself then ran toward the golden glow illuminating the end of the tunnel. At its end was a wide chamber that was partially submerged in wastewater. The young Valkyrie brandished her curved blade as she dashed forward; the sound of blades colliding and retreating grew louder with every step. As soon as she caught up to her companion, she was greeted with a vision of two flames—one bathed in gold and another shrouded in shadow. Melina and the assassin danced around each other with uncanny fluidity, each matching the other's every movement. Millicent couldn't help but marvel at how similar they moved, almost as though Melina was fighting against her own shadow. Even the blades they wielded stuck out like opposites; the shapes were almost identical, right down to the shape of the flames that extended their reach.

In one swift motion, Millicent flung herself into the melee, her blade aimed at the assassin's torso. But the assassin twisted at the last second, which caused Millicent to narrowly miss. The assassin spun around and fired a horizontal arc of flame from her blade, but just as the projectile was about to leave her blade, the assassin was herself tagged by a golden arc from Melina, which caused her to miss her target by a wide margin. With a burst of speed, Millicent closed the distance and slashed her sword in a deadly sweep that cut through the air and created a small vortex. Unlike her previous attempts, Millicent's curved blade finally connected, slicing through the assassin's veil and into her side.

The assassin hissed in pain, but rather than retreating, she lunged at her attacker. Millicent barely had time to deflect the blow, but her reaction wasn't quick enough to dodge the assassin's momentum. A cold gauntleted hand wrapped around Millicent's waist, curving around her and performing a backhanded slash from the ground. Melina seemed to anticipate this move and kneed the assassin's head while tightly grasping her cloak, causing her to tumble away. Now stripped of her veil, the assassin's silver-scaled armour dimly reflected the light from Melina's blade. A flash of memory gripped the kindling maiden—a moment of hesitation that gave the assassin the opening she needed. She grabbed Melina's sword hand and flung her toward her companion.

"Daughter of Marika…thou should not have come through here," the figure uttered in laboured breaths. She raised her blade aloft and then banished the shadowy flames that enshrouded it before running off.

"Yorshka?" Melina beckoned in muddy recognition. The two attempted to give chase once again through a tunnel but lost their way when the ground collapsed beneath them, sending them through another labyrinth of narrow pathways. Unlike the upper level, the corroded pipes were infested with giant slugs and an encroaching horde of basilisks. A thick cloud of black smoke slowly approached the maidens, who slowly backed away from the unknown substance.

Limgrave – Liftside Chamber – Midnight

Vergil's heightened senses proved increasingly useful the further he ventured into the decaying castle. The deeper he explored the rotting fortress, the more it looked like it was slowly being consumed. Not only by time but by something much more sinister. The walls and floors were unnaturally riddled with hollow fissures, each lined with thorned briars that twisted wildly like roots. These withered vines spread out from an unknown source, corroding everything they touched until only a dark void remained. It was as if the entire structure was being torn from within by an unseen force—one intent on utterly consuming all life through its spread. Not even its inhabitants were safe from the mysterious infection, as these same vines could be seen spreading through the weapons and armour of many soldiers encountered thus far.

Vergil observed the slow spread of this sickness and recalled the loose fragments of knowledge he gleamed through his research at the Academy. Some scholars claimed that the curse of Stormveil was caused by Godrick's twisted experiments—his obsession with stealing the strength of others by literally grafting pieces of their bodies with his own. But other scholars claimed that in the depths of the castle lay a vengeful remnant of a forgotten age. Whatever the true source of the castle's rot, Vergil knew that grafting was not the sole reason. The roots had to have a point of origin. Something ravenous yet patient, willing to consume the entire world, yet in no rush to do so.

Vergil tightened his grip on Moonveil's scabbard as he silently made his way forward. The spiky tendrils snaked across every wall, tile, and ceiling, converging into a spiraling structure that led deeper into a sunken pit. The wind's distant howling echoed through the crumbling fortress, further deepening the oppressive atmosphere. Aged wooden beams creaked under the stress of prolonged existence while mountains of dust scattered everywhere in a cyclical tempest with nowhere else to go. The void was nothing if not inviting, which piqued the pale swordsman's curiosity. However, what finally convinced him to leap into the unknown was the faint, distinctive glimmer of azure magic flashing and fading from the shadows.

"Sorcery, hm?"

Vergil took a deep breath and allowed the darkness to swallow him whole.