WHAT?! A NEW CHAPTER! WHO COULD HAVE THUNK IT?!
Hello again, ladies and gents! I'm back with yet another god dang update to the story.
This one is a product of me just sitting down and, deciding "You know what, fuck just write whatever." and SOMEHOW I managed to put together a unique masterclass of my writing skill!
I don't want to brag or spoil anything, but you guys are in for a special kind of treat with this one.
ENJOY THE READ!
Warning: This chapter contains 100% unfiltered "fuck it, we ball" energy. If you suddenly feel the need to challenge fate, run into a burning building, or send a text you absolutely should not send, Supreme Gamer cannot be held accountable. Good luck.
….
….
It's freezing here…
The kind of cold that bites with a vicious persistence…
The air is a bitter white blur…swirling with snowflakes that sting like a thousand tiny needles as they whip across my face. The wind howls with a ferocity that makes me shudder, its force like an invisible hand that pushes and pulls, threatening to knock me off balance.
I shiver uncontrollably, and my breath crystallizes in the air, a fleeting ghost of warmth quickly claimed by the cold. It's not just a sensation of cold; it's an overwhelming presence that seeps into my being. It penetrates beyond the surface, settling deep within my bones, filling the spaces between my thoughts, and gnawing away at something more fundamental than mere flesh.
I try to think, but my thoughts fracture; brittle things breaking apart before I can grasp them. They are splinters, shards—jagged edges of something that should fit together but won't. The more I try to hold onto them, the more they writhe and contort into indecipherable forms, taunting my comprehension.
It's like trying to read a book where half the words won't sit still, and the rest is in a language that doesn't exist.
I need warmth.
I need—
I need—
…Was I walking?
Am I walking now?…The cold has gnawed away any sensation, leaving me numb and lost. I could be moving, each step a phantom in the blizzard, or I could be frozen in place, my limbs locked in icy shackles. I can't discern which is the truth.
I peer desperately through the thick veil of hail, each icy shard striking my face with relentless fury, as the vast, ever-changing white expanse stretches out like a boundless ocean of snow. My vision blurs, unable to distinguish one direction from another.
"It's too vast. I…I can't see through this blizz-"
…
Impact. Weight. Tearing.
A crushing force drives into me—through me—before I even comprehend what's happening.
Suddenly, I am warm. Wet. Slick.
Choking. Blood floods my throat, thick and hot, spilling past my lips in a molten rush. My body convulses—my fingers twitch, clawing weakly at the thing inside me, the thing inside me, the thing pulling.
A hand. Clawed fingers.
They sink deep, curling inward, hooking into something vital.
Then—
A yank. A pull. Something tears loose.
A wet, ruptured sound of flesh rending. My chest is wretched open. Something is being taken—something pulsing, something mine.
Then—
Chewing.
Grotesque. Visceral. Teeth gnashing. Flesh grinding.
Eating.
My knees buckle. I sink into the snow, my hands pressing into the freezing ground, the warmth spilling from my chest painting the ice in red ribbons.
I can't breathe….I can't.
My arms give out in seconds and a I crumble face first into the snow. The cold creeps in that much fiercer, swallowing me, devouring me faster than the thing above me ever could.
I barely even had time to realize what had happened before it all goes dark.
...She laments it was too swift. Not nearly enough time to relish the moment...
….
….
It's freezing here…
The kind of cold that bites with a vicious persistence…
The air is a bitter white blur, swirling with snowflakes that sting like a thousand tiny needles as they whip across my face. The wind howls with a ferocity that makes me shudder, its force like an invisible hand that pushes and pulls, threatening to knock me off balance.
I shiver uncontrollably, and my breath crystallizes in the air, a fleeting ghost of warmth quickly claimed by the cold…
I feel…off.
Something isn't right.
Something is missing.
I try to move my fingers, but—
Nothing.
My arms—
I had arms, didn't I?
A sharp, searing burn lances through my shoulders, sudden and overwhelming. And then I know.
I know what's wrong.
I have nothing to move.
The realization barely has time to settle before—
A blur of movement.
Something fast.
The ice beneath me shatters as something yanks me downward. My body slams into the frozen ground with bone-cracking force. My skull crashes against the ice, a searing white-hot agony blooming behind my eyes.
The impact leaves me stunned—dazed—
And then—
Teeth.
Sinking into the back of my neck.
A violent jerk.
A disgusting, wet rip.
Something is separating.
I am separating.
A horrible, stretching sensation as flesh tears, sinew snaps, bones splinter. A raw, primal scream wrenches from my throat—
But it's cut short.
Because I feel it.
My head.
Coming loose from my body.
Everything turns, spins, tumbles. I am watching my own body slump forward, twitching, spasming—
I can still feel it. I can still feel the pain.
My vision, still flickering, catches movement. A dark figure, crouched low, cradling something in its hands.
My head.
Claws trace across my face, something sharp pressing against my forehead. The figure tilts my severed head, inspecting me like an object, something detached, something no longer whole.
And then—
Teeth.
A bite. Hard.
White-hot agony explodes as my skull cracks under the pressure, my flesh ripped away in ragged chunks.
I want to scream, but I have no lungs, no throat, no voice.
I feel everything.
The chewing. The gnawing. The wet, sucking sounds as my own face is eaten.
…Just as before, she was not satisfied with this.
...
…
It's freezing here…
The kind of cold that bites with a vicious persistence…
The air is a bitter white blur, swirling with snowflakes that sting like a thousand tiny needles as they whip across my face. The wind howls with a ferocity that seems to pierce my very soul, each gust a vicious, icy knife carving through me.
I shiver uncontrollably, and my breath crystallizes in the air, a fleeting ghost of warmth quickly claimed by the cold.
And then—
A shadow.
Something fast. Too fast.
Before I can react, claws pierce into my sides. Claws hooking between bone and sinew.
A force rips me from the ground. My feet leave the ice—
Then pressure. Tightening. Crushing.
My ribs snap like twigs, caving inward as her grip tightens. I can't move. Can't breathe.
A wrenching pull—
A sickening tear.
I am being ripped apart.
Sinew snaps. Muscle shreds. Bone splinters. I am in pieces.
A howl of euphoria. A fevered, hungry devouring.
I feel everything.
Teeth sinking into my chest, gnawing, tearing, gorging on the meat of me. Flesh slurped away, bone crushed to dust.
I am eaten.
…Even with my blood soaking her maw, my essence spilling freely into the snow—
She is not satisfied.
….
….
It's freezing here…
The air is a bitter white blur, swirling with snowflakes that sting like a thousand tiny needles as they whip across my face. The wind howls—
No.
It happened again. Again.
I shiver, but the sensation feels… wrong.
My fingers twitch, but they don't move the way they should. Something is missing—
A weight slams into me from above.
I hit the ice—hard—the impact cracking through my bones, my skull bouncing off the frozen ground.
A sharp, agonizing pull at my leg—
I am dragged through the snow, nails scraping at the ice, grasping at nothing.
A snap. A yank. My leg—
Ripped free.
I choke on my own scream, pain consuming everything, nerves burning as blood sprays against the white abyss of snow.
The shadow looms. Hunger radiates from it.
Something grips my remaining leg. The same pull.
No—NO!
A second wrenching snap.
A new pain. Something hot, wet. My torso twists violently, flailing as my limbs are torn away one by one.
The pain is unbearable.
I hear the chewing before the dark takes me.
…
…
It's freezing here…
The air is a bitter white blur, swirling with snowflakes that sting like a thousand tiny needles as they whip across my face. The wind howls—
No! WAIT!
A moment. A breath. A false sense of existence before—
Claws. Teeth. Flesh torn.
A clawed hand wretches my head upward; jaws sinking into my throat. It's too strong for me to resist in any real way. My body pinned down into the snow. I'm thrashed like a dying animal.
I try to scream, but my throat is already crushed between serrated fangs. Blood sprays in thick, hot spurts, splattering across the ice like ink across a blank page.
It hurts.
I am choking. Drowning. My lungs burn, sucking in nothing but wet, gurgling death.
Then—
A bite. A twist. A snap.
Darkness.
..
..
It's freezing here…
I try to run this time. But I don't get far before—
Impact.
The wind is forced from my lungs as something heavy collapses on top of me, driving me into the ice so hard my bones shatter beneath my own weight.
A scream rips from my lips as claws sink into my belly.
A sharp, unbearable ripping as my stomach is torn wide open. Something inside me is being pulled.
A fist wraps around my intestines and yanks.
Agony. Unimaginable, searing agony. My body convulses as my insides are ripped free, looped, unraveled like rope. I feel every inch of myself being pulled apart.
The wet, slick sound of chewing.
The air reeks of bile and iron and something deeply, fundamentally wrong.
I am awake for all of it.
…
…
It's freezing here…
The blizzard rages, swallowing everything in its fury.
I do not want to exist.
But for me to cease is the last thing she would ever allow.
Hands—powerful, possessive—hold my head in place.
I recognize the scent of blood, the heat of breath against my lips.
Then, she kisses me.
Not a fleeting touch, not a brief taste—but a deep, lingering, all-consuming kiss.
It is slow, intimate, as if she wishes to memorize every part of me. Her lips move with aching reverence, pressing against mine with an affection so deep, so worshipful, that I can almost believe it is something tender. Almost.
But the taste of blood is thick between us.
My own blood. Our blood.
Her claws, still buried in my flesh, twitch with delight. Her tongue parts my lips, sliding over my own, exploring, indulging, devouring. I can feel her shudder, hear the low, rumbling sound deep in her throat—a sound of absolute contentment.
She loves me.
She loves me more than anything.
She loves me enough to ruin me.
I want to pull away. I should. I should resist. But—I don't.
The agony she has inflicted upon me, the countless times she has torn me apart, reduced me to nothing, should have filled me with hatred, with fear.
But all I feel is the warmth of her lips. And I want them to stay.
A broken whimper escapes me when she finally pulls away. A plea.
I do not know if it is for mercy or for more.
She leans back just enough for her breath to ghost over my lips. For the briefest moment, there is something soft in the way she looks at me.
Then—
Pain.
My head wrenches back, my jaw forced open by an inhuman strength. Searing agony—my vision erupts in blinding white.
A sickening, wet pop. The splintering of bone.
My jaw.
Being torn away.
Pain unlike anything before. A primal, raw terror as my own face peels apart.
The first bite comes at my cheek—torn away like fruit skin. Then my nose—
Then—
My eye.
I feel her savoring me.
The warmth of my blood spilling into the snow, the deep, guttural chewing.
She adores me.
She will never stop devouring me.
And I cannot stop loving her for it.
…
…
It's freezing here…
…
...
It's freezing here…
…
...
It's freezing here…
…
...
...
A shudder wracks through me. My hands tremble. My breath comes out in ragged, uneven gasps, the cold clawing at my lungs like a living thing.
I can't…
I can't do this…
The blizzard howls, the wind screams, and for the first time, I don't move. I don't fight.
I just—
I fall.
Knees crash into the ice. My arms go limp, hanging uselessly at my sides. My head tilts back, my eyes wide, staring up at the swirling, white abyss above.
And then—
A breath.
A crack in my chest.
A wail.
A sound wrenched from somewhere deep, somewhere raw, somewhere that should have long since been hollow.
It starts as a choked sob but builds—
Rising. Spilling over.
I don't want this.
I shouldn't want this.
But I do.
It starts as a choked sob, but it builds. The sheer, overwhelming futility slams into me all at once, tearing through my mind like jagged glass, splintering any thought beyond this is never going to end. No, worse than that, this is just the beginning of the suffering to come.
I scream.
It is raw. Animalistic. A noise ripped from the depths of my being, shattering against the blizzard and swallowed whole by the void.
It doesn't stop.
It keeps going, rolling from my throat, pouring out of me in endless waves of agony, fear, helplessness—love.
I clutch at the ice, nails dragging, breaking, skin splitting open as I press my forehead to the frozen ground, still screaming.
There is no fight. No escape. No end.
Just this.
Just the cold.
Just the hunger.
Just me, breaking.
The scream dies in a hoarse, shuddering gasp, my entire body trembling violently. I can't move.
The wind howls. The blizzard rages. She's waiting.
I know what comes next.
I close my eyes.
And then—
…
"Tough day, huh?"
A voice. Mine. But steady. Familiar. Whole.
I flinch. My eyes snap open, and through the biting cold, through the weight of despair settling into my bones, I see him.
Me.
Not broken. Not trembling. Standing.
There's no arrogance in his expression. No smugness. Just that same calm certainty.
He exhales, looking down at me, hands stuffed into his pockets, posture loose. Like the wind doesn't even touch him.
"Damn," he mutters. "Didn't think she'd rough you up this bad."
I don't answer. My breath rattles in my chest. My fingers twitch against the ice.
His gaze softens. He kneels, resting his elbows on his knees, peering at me with something almost sympathetic.
"I get it," he says quietly. "Really, I do. She's... a lot. But you already know that, don't you?" He tilts his head slightly. "So what's got you down? The pain? The fear? Or is it the part where you don't hate it as much as you think you should?"
I stiffen. My throat tightens. He knows.
A chuckle—not mocking, not cruel. Just understanding.
"Yeah," he murmurs. "Figured."
He taps two fingers against my forehead. "But hey, take a breath. Shake it off. This? This isn't where we stop."
Something shifts. A crack inside me, but not breaking. Not shattering. Opening.
I shudder. "I don't—"
"Yeah, you do," he interrupts. "And that's fine. But for now? Let me take the reins for a bit."
His hand grips my shoulder. Firm. Steady. Real.
The weight pressing down on me lifts. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe.
He rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders, flexing his fingers. Testing them. Preparing.
And then—
He grins. Not cocky. Not reckless. Just ready.
"I'll show you how this is done."
The wind changes.
Huh.
I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck as I stand tall in the cold. Damn, this place is weird.
I know I'm standing here, ankle-deep in ice, staring out into the endless white. But at the same time, I know I'm somewhere else too—falling with Gwyndolin and pushing forward against something just as relentless as this blizzard. Fighting.
Two places. Two versions of me. At once.
Weird.
The thought should bother me, but it doesn't. Instead, it just sits there, lingering, like something that should matter but doesn't quite reach me. Much like the cold flooding this place. It should be unbearable, but it doesn't really bother me. Feels more like a suggestion of cold than the real thing, like an idea my body's supposed to care about but just doesn't.
I exhale, watching the mist swirl from my breath before getting swallowed by the storm.
And then there's her.
Not Priscilla. Not exactly.
The blizzard shifts, moves, breathes.
She's in it. She is it.
I can feel her watching, circling. The hunger is there, thick and pressing into the air, clinging to my skin like a second layer. Desperate. Insatiable. And yet…
It's not just hunger.
It's something deeper. Something warmer.
A slow grin spreads across my face.
"That all you got, gorgeous?" I call into the storm, my voice light, cocky. Daring. "Why don't you come on out? Unlike the other guy, I prefer things a little rough. And I always wondered what a primordial horror looked like up close."
The wind shudders.
Then, for just a moment, the snow parts.
And something steps forward.
I don't know what I'm seeing.
My mind fights to grasp it, to force meaning onto it, but the thoughts slip through my fingers like sand. It is hunger, it is shadow, it is fur, it is silk. It is the dark between stars, yet soft as breath against my skin.
The shape trembles, something between movement and stillness, between real and unreal.
And it is beautiful.
The hunger presses closer, thick, all-encompassing. The storm tightens around me.
I chuckle. "Heh. Nope. Can't make a lick of sense of what I'm looking at. But I do know two things: you're thicc, and you've got nothing but hunger on the brain. Which means you're probably too narrow-minded to think on your feet. Both of these things are good for me."
The air quivers.
A whisper. Gentle, but clear.
"Noth…ing…but…hun…ger. Think…Think… Hunger…"
It isn't mindless.
The words are tested, the syllables stretched, examined—considered.
The storm itself seems to pause in its endless howling. Like something shifting, turning, weighing the words before choosing to keep them.
"H-…Hunger…Hunger…"
A pause. A slow, deliberate intake of air. Not the ragged, desperate breath of an animal, but something else.
A shift.
A slow, toothy grin. Something like amusement. Something like understanding.
"…Kaylen…"
Something twists deep in my gut. This isn't good.
I exhale through my nose, shaking my head with a grin and a sigh. "Dammit. You can think too. That really isn't looking good for me."
The storm tenses, the air thick with the weight of something about to snap.
I roll my shoulders, planting my feet firmly in the ice.
For a moment, something different settles in me. The way my breath comes easier. The way my stance feels just a bit more sure, even here.
Like I'm standing just a little taller than before.
And I can feel the other guy behind me, feel him starting to stir, working up the nerve to move.
I grin wider, letting the sharp thrill of the moment settle deep in my bones.
"Come and get your Manwich, if you can!"
The storm surges, and I run.
Whatever part of Priscilla is here with me charges as well.
"Shit, not bad!" Kaylen said with a dark smirk before Gwyndolin wordlessly relaxed his grip and the arrow was sent flying straight for his head.
Kaylen's eyes narrow. With both hands still gripping the serpent's fangs for support, he doesn't have the luxury of dodging. Good thing he didn't need too.
A pulse of sorcery crackles at his temples, and thorned vines of pure magic lash out from thin air, moving with uncanny precision. At the last moment, just as the arrow is about to pierce his forehead, the vines snap forward. The arrow jerks to a halt, held in mid-air, its momentum completely halted before the vines violently crush it into dust.
Kaylen grins.
Gwyndolin's momentary flicker of surprise is all the opportunity he needs.
A flicker of heat shimmers beside him—a Mirage.
The illusion bursts forth, a perfect spectral echo of Kaylen, but it doesn't hesitate. It lunges into the serpent's maw, weaving through the twisting void of the illusionary beast with eerie precision. Flames ignite around its form, a blazing silhouette that carves a path through the swallowing dark.
Gwyndolin barely has a moment to gasp before the mirage is upon him.
A hand—burning bright with raw, explosive pyromancy—slams against his chest.
A detonation.
The explosion devours the serpent from the inside out, a roaring inferno ripping through its spectral flesh. The force of it ejects Gwyndolin violently, his form blasted from the illusionary beast, tumbling weightlessly through the distorted void of Anor Londo's shattered landscape.
The serpent disintegrates behind him, the remnants of its illusory form collapsing into nothing.
But Kaylen isn't done.
Even as Gwyndolin spirals downward, Kaylen's thorned vines lash out again, snaring the god mid-air. With a violent yank, Kaylen pulls himself forward, the sheer speed of their free fall sending them into an uncontrolled spin.
The air howls past them, the wind tearing at their clothes, the shattered landscape of Anor Londo—a chaotic mass of fractured spires, collapsed towers, and ruins pulled from different times and places—rushes up to meet them.
Kaylen doesn't hesitate.
His knee crashes into Gwyndolin's ribs, driving the god downward even faster. He shifts his weight, mounting him mid-fall, gripping his silver hair in one hand while his other hand draws back, fingers tightening into a fist.
"Grit your teeth!" Kaylen barks, voice filled with violent amusement before he slams a brutal punch into Gwyndolin's face.
The god recoils, blood flying from his nose, but Kaylen doesn't stop.
Another punch.
And another.
And another.
Each jarring impact snaps Gwyndolin's head back as they tumble through the air, spiraling amidst the chaotic debris of a city torn from the laws of time and space. The sprawling metropolis around them warps and shifts, with structures multiplying and morphing into a dizzying array of shapes and sizes —Victorian mansions meld into sleek skyscrapers, Gothic spires twist into modernist cubes, and cobblestone streets float beneath Roman arches. The air rushes past with a deafening roar, and it feels like they've been tumbling through this kaleidoscope of architecture for an eternity, far longer than physics should allow.
Then—
With a sudden flick of Kaylen's wrist, a greatsword of pure sorcery materializes beside them, shimmering with an ethereal glow. It propels itself forward like a spear, piercing the air and embedding with a resonant thud into a nearby crumbling tower. From the sword's hilt, a vine of vibrant magic unfurls, its luminescent tendrils snaking out and snapping taut around Kaylen's forearm with a sharp crack.
Harnessing their combined momentum, Kaylen twists with agility, yanking himself and Gwyndolin into a wild arc through the air, their bodies slicing through the dense atmosphere.
They swing.
Fast. Violently.
The ruined cityscape whirls past in a chaotic blur, a tapestry of shattered buildings and debris, as they carve a path through the tumult. Just as the acceleration crescendos—
Kaylen wills the vine, thrumming with power, to dissipate, allowing the relentless momentum to hurl them both forward like projectiles.
They crash into a nearby building, the impact detonating stone and glass in a cacophony of destruction. Kaylen maneuvers with precision, ensuring Gwyndolin absorbs the full force of the collision. The god's back slams through the wall first, splintering it into rubble as Kaylen drives him relentlessly through the debris.
Dust and debris explode outward, filling the air as the two men burst into the room, colliding with the remnants of shattered stone and splintered wood. Gwyndolin's body slams against the ground, sliding across the rough surface with a harsh, grating sound until he finally comes to a painful stop. In contrast, Kaylen, with his sorcery heightening his senses and granting him precise control over his movements, takes advantage of the chaotic force propelling him. He tucks into a seamless roll, his movements fluid and precise as if choreographed. Rising to his feet with effortless grace, he stands unscathed amid the wreckage, the chaos around him seeming trivial compared to his remarkable agility.
Kaylen exhales, his limbs a little shook from the impact.
"Holy shit, that was not as easy as I made it look." Kaylen admitted as he felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, before turning back towards the Dark Sun. "Still with me, Sunshine?"
Gwyndolin groaned but stubbornly forced himself onto his hands and knees. Blood trailed from his nose, a streak of crimson cutting down his pale face. Slowly, he began to rise.
Kaylen took a quick breath and shook his head, now fully calmed down and ready. "C'mon, don't keep me waiting. I'm not the type to kick a guy when he's already down. Especially a man in a dress."
Gwyndolin's expression darkened, a flash of frustration breaking through his pained grimace.
With a commanding lift of his gleaming catalyst, six ethereal archers shimmered into existence behind the god, their spectral forms lined up in a precise firing formation. Each archer's bow was drawn taut, the string vibrating with a silent promise of violence.
A mere flicker of thought, a silent command, and the arrows were loosed.
They cut through the air with a shrill whistle, streaking toward Kaylen with deadly intent, their paths converging in a perfect, lethal trajectory.
Yet Kaylen remained still, his presence calm and unyielding—not a twitch of panic or a hint of fear.
He inhaled deeply, his body relaxing into a subtle shift. A slight tilt of his head, the barest pivot of his torso, a graceful dance of precision and intuition.
The arrows sliced through the space around him, missing by mere hairsbreadths, as if the very atmosphere had conspired to mislead them. Each movement was fluid, an effortless ballet of evasion, as the projectiles seemed to aim for a phantom, leaving Kaylen untouched in his original stance, his form barely displaced from where he began.
"Really? More arrows? If you couldn't land one when I was carrying Velka on my shoulders, what makes you think you can do no—"
Kaylen's sentence was cut short as he suddenly recoiled.
A sharp, unexpected pulse of pain surged through his arm like an electric shock. He glanced down at his hand in alarm. His fingers quivered uncontrollably, the skin losing its color, turning as pale as moonlight, while his nails elongated and sharpened into menacing points.
Kaylen exhaled sharply, attempting to flex his fingers despite the persistent stabbing sensation that throbbed in his hand. The transformation was undeniable—pale skin stretched over his bones, nails shifting like a predator's claws. The sight of his own hand transforming before his eyes was unsettling, the once familiar flesh now alien and threatening. The pale, almost translucent skin and those monstrous nails were clear signs that his body was undergoing a metamorphosis. This was far from an improvement; If he was understanding things correctly, these changes were part of the insidious process designed to make him a more appetizing and "seasoned" offering for Priscilla's insatiable hunger.
He was acutely aware that his time was running out, each second ticking away like the final grains of sand in an hourglass, and the urgency of his predicament was all the more apparent.
His gaze flickers back to Gwyndolin, and this time, the amusement is gone. When he speaks, his voice is calm but edged with something raw.
"Let me clue you in a little." Kaylen mutters. "I'm not screwing around, Gwyndolin." He lifts his hand, staring at it as his fingers twitch involuntarily. "Something inside me is twisting, pulling, becoming. And I don't even know if I'll be standing here the same way two minutes from now."
His eyes lock onto Gwyndolin, steady and unyielding.
"You're throwing small time illusions at me like I'm some idiot you can scare off with parlor tricks. But let me make something clear— Here on out, I'm going to kick the shit out of you in earnest and take you back to the others."
His voice lowers, and there's something colder beneath it now.
"So you'd better start fighting like you actually want to win. Otherwise, this is just going to be a long session of me kicking your ass."
Gwyndolin coughed a little, his head tilting slightly downward as he spat a dark streak of blood onto the dust-coated floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression still composed, but his eyes colder now—calculating.
"You talk too much."
The moment the words left his lips, the ruined bedroom shifted.
From the shadows pooling in the corners, figures emerged. Not one, not a handful—dozens. Silent phantoms, clad in spectral silver armor, their forms flickering like candlelight. They lined the walls, their empty visors locked onto Kaylen, swords and halberds gleaming with ethereal menace.
Then, with an almost casual gesture, Gwyndolin raised his hand.
The wall behind him exploded outward, the shattered stone and debris vanishing into shimmering mist before it even hit the ground. The roof overhead peeled away, unraveling into strands of golden light, revealing the night sky above—or what should have been the sky.
Instead, more figures stood beyond.
An army of illusions, stretching out along the broken rooftops, along floating remnants of Anor Londo's architecture suspended in the chaotic void beyond. Knights, archers, towering giant—each one a perfect imitation, as if an entire battalion had been waiting just beyond the walls for Gwyndolin's signal.
Above them, Gwyndolin's reflections manifested.
Shimmering duplicates of the Dark Sun, perched upon spectral platforms high above on the rooftops, bows drawn, golden arrows aimed.
"Now that's a little more like it. I can see the plan is to overwhelm me with numbers and firepower. Nice, Gwyndolin." Kaylen said with a grin and a wink of approval, settling back into a more playful and casual demeanor. His body slowly beginning to radiate black flames. "Heh. Think they'll get ahold of my buns before I get ahold of yours?"
"…You're disgusting, and you phrased it that way intentionally." Gwyndolin retorted with a cool disdain. "Perish forevermore like the vile fiend you are."
A single command—silent but absolute.
The illusionary army surged forward.
WAAAAAAAAIT! JUST WAIT A MINUTE, I GOT THINGS TO SAAAAAAY!
Okay, FIRSTLY, I wrote this chapter purely based on my desire to want to try something new and writing about the abstract. I wanted to explore just a bit what is happening between Kaylen and Priscilla, and try to convey that relationship to you guys.
And if it wasn't clear enough, that shit is pure nightmare fueled torture. Leaving a part of Kaylen as basically the plaything for this hungry force. I thought the best way to convey this was to not "explain" things, but rather keep things as disorienting as possible; Hence the generous use of the Bold words and way I wrote scenes themselves. I didn't want to give exposition or clarify ANYTHING about the place where this is happened or the logic of that place. Focusing on sensations and actions and what simply is. As well as show that this thing that Kaylen has connected himself too isn't dumb, single minded or incapable of learning; It should feel like something ominous and hungry.
I'm really excited to hear what everyone thought on as I had a lot of fun putting each scene with the entity of hunger together. (I just came up with "Entity of Hunger" and I'm kinda digging that as a name. That shit sounds Darks Souls as hell! XD)
Secondly, I'm going to really start actually SHOWING how much of a monster Kaylen actually is in a real way. There has been a lot of implications of his potential, but I want to actually give him bigger showings of skill and abilities now that the stage is open for this fight to span anywhere and any-when I want it too with reality now in shambles.
And that goes double for Gwyndolin; It's long since time I really show what his illusion sorcery is capable of and I have big plans for him moving forward regarding what being a direct descendant of the King of the Gods actual means in terms of power. As far as I'm concerned, Gwyndolin has every reason to have power comparable to someone like the Nameless King. It's all a matter of how I execute it, if you ask me.
But anyways, that's all I have to say this time around, ladies and gents.
As always, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you guys thought about this chapter of the story. Did the showing of the Entity of Hunger's brutal killing of Kaylen solidly give an idea of just the kind of monster Priscilla is? Should Kaylen's relationship with it have been more symbiotic rather than so brutal? Was Kaylen's "Other Self"'s fear and unwanted love for this creature properly portray or was it just confusing?
Honest opinions are always appreciated as I'm always looking to improve my style of writing to make this story a bit more interesting for you guys. so don't be shy in telling me your thoughts about how things are going so far. Outside opinions will have a huge effect on how this story will play out.
This is Supreme Gamer, Signing out.
P.S. Jesus, after reading things over, I think I might definitely have to have repercussion from Kaylen "dying" so many time show themselves, right? What do you guys think, should there maybe be consequences or a sort of "Bleeding through" effect due to the many deaths? Or am I overthinking and overcomplicating things?
P.P.S. God, I hope the scenes didn't come off as too repetitive at the start with the "It's freezing here.." start off. That might have been something I should have gotten a second opinion on.