Earth's Tarnished Vol 1

by Corroded Vortex

The Elden Ring has been shattered, and the Lands Between has fallen into disarray. Many Demigods vie to become Elden Lord, and Tarnished have returned by the call of Grace to challenge them. But there is one Tarnished of no renown who is called, who is not of this world he finds himself in. His name is Lance, he hails from the land of Missouri, and he is in way over his head.

42. CH42: The End of an Era

When the Tarnished Lance was struck, nobody saw it happen.

Not the soldiers of Morne, not the warden. Not Blaidd, not Kalé, not even Lance himself. His mind was clouded; he couldn't even react to his own movements.

But Melina saw it.

She placed her hand onto Rick's chest, hoping to read his runes. Hoping to predict his movements, give her partner the edge in battle.

She expected to see the river; the flow of gold.

The mana of Grace; the fuel of life.

But when she looked inside the soldier Rick, she found no river.

She found a flood.

A hurricane.

A vile stream of molten minds and melded souls.

Hundreds of voices, calling out, crying, calling for vengeance. A tribe, no, an entire kingdom; of the misbegotten, the fallen, and the cursed. Ancient spirits, attached in iron chains to that grafted blade.

Unable to escape, unable to find peace. Unable to find solace; living in eternal torment.

Eternal resentment.

Eternal hatred.

Tormented by their shortcomings.

Resentment of their own kin.

Hatred for the ones who laid siege to their land millennia ago.

Hundreds of different rivers, morphing into distraught faces, suffering shapes, and hopeless names. And amongst them all, unveiling itself in the golden light of the void, resteth the Scarseal.

Like the eye of a giant, the colossal sphere lowers, constricting its engraven pupil on Melina's form.

The sight makes Melina's sole eye widens.

"Wait… No…" She utters.

The scarred eye lets out a high-pitched scream. The voices, the faces and shapes and names; they turn to her. Hundreds of them, moving in unguided unison, like a tidal wave.

Drawing in, filling the void, reaching out to take Melina too.

She forces herself out of Rick's mind, as the chasing spirits shift into green hues as they leave Rick's body.

"Lance! Get away!"

Melina turns, fearful of what will happen. She can feel it, as sure as the knowledge the sun will rise in the morning. She knows Rick has unleashed something horrible.

"Don't fight him!"

The clouds tear away, and Rick lunges. Blessed by the Scarseal, fueled by the wailing spirits of a hundred forgotten lives. He moves at a horribly fast speed, closing the distance and swinging his grafted sword up toward the heavens.

Lance tried to raise his sword, to block the blow… But the spirits overcame him, and he lagged just behind.

It made no difference.

The grafted sword cut Lance's blade in half, caught onto his left arm at the shoulder, and tore him up into the air.

A single blow. That is all it took.

Lance was thrown from Agheel's back, losing his arm and sent into a death spiral.

Melina wailed.

"NO!"

She dove after him; his flailing form plummeting out of sight as they entered the cloud layer.

With one hand outstretched, she reached for him, her face stricken with panic and grief. What can she do? What is possible?

There is nothing she can do.

Her hand reaches, but her fingers slip through his. She reaches again, and again.

Lance lets out a cry of pain, clutching his left stump, tears forming in his eyes. They break through the clouds, thousands of feet above the vast ocean.

Bellard is far away; any sight of land is far away. Nothing but the disturbed waves of a storm; nothing but the sense of growing dread constricting Melina's heart.

Lance is going to die.

He will die… die… die…

No.

NO, please!

He cannot leave her. He cannot.

She will not allow it. She will not!

"My name is Lance." The young Tarnished jumps, as if remembering his manners. "Sorry! I didn't mean anything by it. It's just… everyone keeps calling me Tarnished, but I have a name too." He looks about awkwardly, blushing. "Oh. And since you told me your name, I thought… it might… be… polite." What a peculiar boy, but Melina does not find that as a bad thing. Lance, then? A stoic name. She may not be able to remember it; she plans to only use him in the first place. But she can humor him. Melina snickers, placing her hands together on her lap. "Very well, I shall call you Lance."

A whistling noise tears Melina's gaze away, up at the clouds. Agheel dives out of it, homing in on Lance.

"Is that you?" Melina asks, looking down at an unfamiliar place within Lance's mind. "Yes." Lance says. Melina cannot help but smile. "What a darling little thing," She clasps her hands behind her back. "So full of energy." She watches a scene of Lance when he was younger, when he was nothing more than a child. So innocent, so joyous and brimming with life. Untouched by war or suffering, surrounding by fellows and friends and family. She wants such a child take on Demigods and Legends of myth... "You're right about one thing," Lance says familiarly. "I sure was energetic." She cannot help but sneak a glance at Lance, watching his peculiarities overtake his face as he thinks back nostalgically. She can still see that child in him, see that innocence. It was tested by the Tree Sentinel's assault and Agheel's ire, but it remains. Unfortunately so. "I was also very stubborn, more so than now."

Agheel's maw opens wide, billowing flames the color of vermillion boil to life. Melina grits her teeth. Agheel would not dare. She will not allow it.

"I am a Tarnished. I'm Lance." Lance says lightly, facing the withered merchant with a strong posture. His eyes somewhat pass between the merchant and Melina, and he makes a rather brash decision. "And this is my spirit." Melina raises an eyebrow at that. So, he believes she is his spirit then? Well, she essentially is. Though, the way Lance says it gives Melina an adverse reaction. The merchant eyes up Melina… she backs away, hiding behind Lance. She does not like what she sees in those eyes; the same thing she sees in every merchant. Lance cracks a small grin at that, giving her a side eye, showing an uncomfortable level of understanding. She would rather not let him look at her like that.

Melina rises, flying up toward Agheel. She must stop him, she must. What can she do? Her flames will do nothing to a dragon. The panic grows in her heart to a level that begins to make her feel as if she were ceasing up. Her head wracked with torment; the blades of fear dig deep into her back.

"Restraunt?" Lance dances about with his blade, taking adequate breaths and keeping light on his feet. Honestly, there is little to believe Lance is new to the sword; he carries about himself as if he were a long-standing warrior. He was rusted at first, and he needed to get over his fear of injury or death, but he was capable of keeping up with Melina's instructions when they dueled Roard. Not only that, but he held his own when Melina was still trying to figure the knight out. No man, no matter how talented, would be capable of that after only a week of training. "Yeah," Lance says in his head, multitasking as he swings his sword, keeping up the small talk he has started. "They're kinda like a tavern, usually with less alcohol though. I can try and take you to one sometime, if I'm able to remember a particular building well enough." Such an intimate request. Though, she can see the good nature in his intention. She stares down at her knees from her kneeled position as Lance dances about around her. She lets a small smile split across her face. If this world gives them the chance to enjoy such a coveted experience, then she will take him up on the offer. "I think I would like that."

She opens her mouth, ready to chant her incantation. One of only three she knows; her only spell that can hurt another. She goes to speak the first phrase, but the word "Kindling" gets caught in her throat. It will not be enough; she can already tell.

It is hopeless.

…

…

…

---

Is it?

---

She utters a phrase she has never heard before; it comes from someplace within her.

"The smoldering soul rests upon alabaster branches, carrying death it its wings."

How many times has she saved Lance?

How many times has he saved her?

How many times did she disregard his feelings?

How many times had she found herself caring for him?

Their time together has been short, just barely a month. Yet, in that time, so much has happened.

"Bestow black flames," She winces, as a horrid pain begins to grow from her heart. "That can slay gods," Black fire devours her, burning her skin, her hair; setting her very cloak aflame. "And burn away all things!"

The dormant power grows and grows. Like a mind ready to burst, a body ready to collapse. It is like there is a bomb on Melina's chest.

She cares for Lance, cares for him deeply. It has felt like she has merely watched his life in the Lands Between unfold, not playing a part in it. His pains are not her's, his life is not her's. She is not him, but she remembers everything.

Every moment, every second. All the time she has spent with Lance, she remembers it as if it just happened.

The big moments, the little ones.

The times of great strife, and the times of temporary peace.

Through the thick and the thin, it has always been by his side. After a life of silence and isolation, watching the world but not being apart of it, a light has finally come to her. A light of small smiles and timid words, of glaring imperfections but genuine intentions. A light of a young man that she has nurtured, cultivated… and found herself leaning into.

She will not let that light… her light… become snuffed out.

She clenches her slender hand into a fist; black flames curling about her fingers and trailing past her bent elbow.

She will fight for her light. She will not let him go.

"You're my partner, and that'll never change."

"Kindling!" She roars. "Become consumed by this devouring FLAME!"

---

BANG.

---

...!

I'm in a sea of darkness…

I can't see my hands, can't make out my own body. I'm stuck in the void, but this is not my mind. It's somewhere else.

…..!

I can't speak, can't even look about. I'm stuck, paralyzed by the dark arms of the deep consciousness…

Is this what death feels like?

No afterlife? No angels to beckon me? Just darkness?

…..! …... …. ..!

I hear a voice, I do. It's muffled, but it's familiar.

It's Melina's voice.

Where is she? Is she alright?

…

What happened to me?

I remember falling. I remember missing an arm. I remember Melina doing something to Agheel, but it all goes still after that.

Yes… After that…

I need to wake up.

I must be sleeping, or I'm unconsciousness. I hit something, and I was sent here.

I need to wake up!

I try to, I do. I try to move, try to shout or scream to claw myself out of here. But nothing works. I-

What are you doing down here?

…

…

…

…What? Who's there!

Well, would you look at yourself, all beat up and out of shape. So pitiful. Is that really all you're capable of? Get hit once and you give up?

Who are you? Where are you, show yourself!

Like you can see me. You really think we have eyes? Us? There's no senses when we're like this "Lance Thompson". Mother above, you are dense.

You know my name?

That might be the stupidest thing I've heard from you in a while. "Do you know my name?" Shut up. I'm not playing your little games, and I'm tired of letting you take the wheel, you weak little parasitic bastard. You're making a fool of us.

I can't understand what I'm hearing; it's like I'm talking to myself. The mystery voice is my own, but it oh, give me a break, can you stop with the monologues?

He can hear me? Yes. Of course I can. Listen, I don't know who you are, but I need to get back to Melina, yeah I already know that. How are you finishing your sentences? Stop that? No I don't think I will.

Something jolts me, two pairs of hands that are trying to take you away won't let go. That wench needs to lay off. Don't call her that! Oh? What are you going to do? I'll do nothing, exactly.

I'm taking over.

Now stay put and-

The hands return, shaking me again. No! I can't let her! I'm losing control. Interrupting bastard! I almost... had...

...

...

…

I…

The other voice of mine is gone, and he takes his presence along with him.

I felt things, when he took control. Feelings of anger and hatred, for everything. The desire of death to befall all. It was a horrible sensation.

L..ce!

I try to reach for the hands, extending an unseen arm toward Melina's voice.

Our hands connect, and I'm dragged back into the world.

Lance!

Freezing saltwater invades my mouth, fills in my lungs and grabs ahold on my mind. Primal fear takes me, and I flail my arm, swimming toward the surface high above.

My hand breaks the surface, and I breach, vomiting water.

"Geh… Agh!"

I begin to sink again; a wave as tall as a building crashes atop me, sending me back under. The water returns, the danger of drowning chokes me with an icy grip. I breach again, my long brown hair whipping violently in the wind. Seaspray stings my eyes, waves toss me every which way. My single arm reaches and claws to keep me above the surface, and my blood clouds the water around me.

Please! Please! Stay alive!

Melina! I-

Another wave; I'm sent under.

I-

Where's the shore!?

I breach, I'm tossed. I turn, and I'm submerged.

It's… I…

My back collides violently with something hard, and sharp stones pierce my skin.

I gag; my breath exits my lips in bubbles.

Grab ahold!

Blindly, I reach, and my hand is nearly pierced through. It feels like a spear impales my palm; my adrenaline doesn't even let me feel it. I grip around the crimson-soaked stone, and I drag myself up.

Another wave slams into the small seastack, crushing me against crooked points and shattered rocky blades. I'm pricked and scuffed all over, and a nasty gash opens on my forehead. Still I hold on, taking deep yet strained breaths. The storm rolls in its glorious fury; heavy rainfall berates me. I drag myself up higher, as another wave crashes into me.

I grunt, I growl, I roar.

Signals of pain and the numbness of adrenaline wage wars all across my skin; my valuable warmth spills out of me and drips down the seastack's serrated walls.

The spear! Lance, use Roard's spear!

With a cry, I tear my hand off, now sporting a messy hole through it. I grip the partisan still strapped to my back, and I wield it, driving its ascended spearhead into the stone. It divides the rock, burying deep with almost no resistance to speak of. I put my weight on it, and I rise, driving my bleeding toes into any nook I can find, straining with every inch of my being.

"GRAAAAAH!"

With a final push, I find flat ground, and I collapse.

"Hah… hah…"

The adrenaline fades, and I bite deep into my lip, clutching my left stump tenderly.

"Gnnnnh… hah… hah… hah…"

Melina...

She kneels over my convulsing form, terror plaguing her face as she hesitates to rest a hand on me. I swallow, fighting to speak past my chattering teeth.

"M-Melina… Burn it…"

W-What?

"Burn it! Hurry!"

I remove my hand from my bleeding stump, placing the partisan's shaft between my teeth.

Prince of death, stay your growing blade. Shadow of Marika, hide your sacred rune.

Return the grace of gold to thee, under the light of the Erdtree. Heal.

She heals me.

The spell seals up my gashes, cleaning the bruises away. Part of the pain subsides, but my stump continues to bleed out.

It's too big of a wound. Healing magic won't fix it.

What? No… No!

Prince of death-

Melina!

I practically bellow in my head.

Now!

This… I-I…

She tenderly reaches for my stump.

This will only hurt for a moment.

I nod, bracing, biting down hard onto the brime-stained wood.

Kindling, accept this meager flame.

A small butterfly with smoldering wings forms from her hand, flying silently through the salty air. It lands amongst the blood and gore, and it flashes in a bright light.

…So this is how it feels.

Horrible sensations wash over me in an instant; that flame covers me like it was starving for flesh.

It lands, grows, and burns all to a crisp.

I scream through the wood, biting down hard enough to leave indents.

"RRRRRRRRRGGGH!"

It cauterizes my stump, catches the tattered top of my black and white surcoat aflame. It makes my left leather shoulder piece shrivel, eats into my skin and catches my hair-

Prince of death, stay your growing blade! Shadow of Marika, hide your sacred rune! Return the grace of gold to thee, under the light of the Erdtree! Heal!

The hellish fire is snuffed out. My skin reverts to normal, the half of my head of hair that began to melt returns and regrows. The upper half of my surcoat is burned to charred rags, and my leather pauldrons fall to the slick stony floor; their clasps partially melted and straps burned through.

Melina's fire… it is not like normal flame.

Knowing that such power rests in that young woman, with petite expressions and solemn words… it's terrifying to think of.

I spit out the partisan's shaft, letting the spear clatter to the ground.

"Gahhh! Hah! Arrrgh!..."

I collapse to my side; Melina's light floats next to me. I never saw the expressions she wore, and I cannot see the unease that plagues her even now. I could only hear the fear in her voice, and that fear still persists.

Oh… Marika above.

I work myself to a seated position, quickly finding that this ground has no wall. I'm on a small rocky outcropping out in the sea -a seastack-, covered in sharpened spines that have formed from years of erosion.

I'm rested in an eye of the stone, a large hole that runs through the entire natural structure. No shelter from the wind, still at a height that the tops of the waves can reach me.

Small crabs scuttle across the stone; they leap into the ocean with small splashes when they notice my presence.

I feel fresh again; Melina's double-healing did wonders. But, I also feel sore, and I'm awkward when I move; having a lopsided balance with only one hand is proving difficult.

I'm squinting through the seaspray, panting and wincing with every movement I make. I can see Bellard; at a distance comparable to half a mile away. Flames have begun to sprout in places again, casting fiery illumination along the low clouds and across the dilapidated buildings.

They're still fighting.

How… How long was I out for?

I grab my partisan, stopping it from letting the waves wash it away.

Melina resists to answer.

She wavers on the other side of the eye, as if she were kneeling up against that smoothened stone. She's grown yet again, nearing the size of my hand. I think for a moment... just a second... that I can see something moving about within her glow, but I must be imagining things... again.

She's always been just a floating rune.

"Too long."

I can barely hear her, relying on her flashing to help spell her words out.

We don't need to talk out loud. I'm a little busy trying to get my breath back.

"Do you think this is funny?"

A voice carried by the wind; she sounds distraught.

Quiet.

Slow to answer and plagued by contention.

She sounds mad.

"Of course I'm mad." She refutes, reading my thoughts. "I… I almost… you..."

Her voice ceases up, and she fails to finish her words. But I get the just of it. With that, the memories trickle back in. I was falling, as Agheel prepared to burn me alive. Dragonfire is a horrible flame as well; I required healing back at Morne just from an indirect blast. Even at Agheel Lake back in Limgrave… it boiled the water around me in a matter of seconds.

A direct hit would've killed me instantly.

But Melina did something.

She attacked Agheel; drove him sideways and tore half the skin on his skull off…

...

Holy hell, I really did get close to dying…

Why doesn't that frighten me more?

"Well," I say between breaths. "Thank you for rescuing me."

She doesn't answer.

For a spell, we sit in silence, before I try to work myself to standing. This eye is rather small; I can't even stand up straight. But I-

…

There's a Site of Grace just below.

I stare dumbfounded for a moment.

In a shallow nook of the seastack, behind spiny walls and kept dry from the waves, sure enough, rests a small golden aura, sprouting from a split in gnarled roots like a breach in a pipe.

"Melina! Look, this is perfect!"

I wince as I move, and I nearly slip when a wave beats against my legs, but when I reach the Site of Grace; one swipe of my hand and all of the pain goes away. Shallow and deep gashes disappear completely; my soreness leaves for good. And, golden particles of light form around my left stump, glowing and growing out, until the light dissipates, and my left arm has returned.

As if the entire experience was a bad dream; it's been reversed completely.

Melina is slow to join me, stalking into the light. She phases into existence, kept in mortal silence.

I try my left arm, closing and opening my hand. It works, good as new.

"What good luck, right?" I turn to her. "We can even use this breach to-"

I cut myself off.

Melina stares down at the Site of Grace, her face creased with a frown. She almost looks down upon that aura with blame in her eye, until she flicks only her eye up at me.

...

What is her expression?

Disappointment?

Worry?

Reading her eye gives almost nothing, but a deep sadness.

I falter on my words.

"W-Well… Should we return?"

She doesn't answer, only holding out a single, burn-scarred hand. I take it, and Melina whisks her other hand over the breach.

This was a hiccup, a little close to failure, but the people of Bellard still need us.

Now's not the time to be shaken up.

In a sensation similar to being tugged, we're sucked into the Site of Grace, and I'm thrust into that golden river.

We fire north at a breakneck speed… and we keep going north.

We just keep going and going.

How long does it take to travel half a mile? I try to speak, but the words don't come out.

Hey. Can you hear me?

No answer, Melina's hand holds on tight.

We're going to the breach in Castle Morne, right?

We stop going north… we go west next. We hit the turn hard, and I feel my stomach do a flip. Through root after root, going every which way, did she get lost?

I assumed the best, until we finally exit the root of the Erdtree… and my boots land on soft grass.

I stumble to a halt, and all I can see is the Erdtree.

I'm up on a lone hill, overlooking a dilapidated chapel and a small forest under the cover of gray clouds. To the north, is the Erdtree and Stormveil castle. To my south, is the Stranded Graveyard. The ocean to my west, and Agheel's lake to my east.

I'm back in Limgrave, back on that lone hill.

I take a step back, and my heel knocks aside something. I turn and look, to find a helmet -my first helmet- that was far too large for my head.

I'm back at the beginning.

Bellard is an entire kingdom away.

I turn, and when Melina exits the Site of Grace, forming into reality as she leaves the breach, I stare at her with shock.

"What… Did you…"

Her frown sours, as she stands her ground. In the confusion, I feel something break in me, something new that has only recently begun to cultivate.

My trust in Melina.

My belief in her.

It shatters.

She looks at me with a pained expression, speaking softly, but her words drive daggers into my heart.

"I saved your life."

---

...What?

---

I nearly stumble in place, as the weight of her words draw in.

Saved my life? Then…

My wide eyes tighten.

"…Take us back."

"...No."

"Do it. Right… now…"

She gives me an accusing glare.

"What happened to you Lance? Where has that Tarnished I knew gone?"

I grit my teeth.

"They're counting on us Melina, we need to go back, now."

"On this hill, Marika above, on this very hill, you used to be so full of life, of innocence. I know I asked every night that you would become stronger… But why have you changed so much?"

My hands clench into fists.

"What. Are. You. Talking. About? I'm exactly what you need me to be!"

I slam my closed fist onto my chest, my partisan still held in my other hand.

"I'm swallowing my fear, I'm fighting my battles… For heaven's sake, I'm actually standing up for myself!"

I seethe with every word.

"I've changed for the better Melina! What is wrong about that... ...Why is this only now becoming a problem!?"

She looks pained, but I couldn't care less.

"You have changed Lance, but not like you should. It is like… It's like something has taken over you."

"Not like I should? … Not like I should?! How is saving an entire city 'not like I should'?! How is being depended upon 'not like I should'?!"

"It's not that. It's just…"

She fights for the words.

"There are times, when it is like you are possessed, and it has always driven you to make horrible decisions. Your runes become unstable… and your thoughts… they become dark."

She closes her hands into fists, before hiding them away in her cloak.

"When you first met Torrent… when you fought the warden… if you think of the misbegotten and the Limgrave soldiers, or if you ever even grow mad… Something just… comes over you."

What the hell is she talking about?

She flinches.

"There, just now, if only for a moment."

I snarl.

"We said… we would talk about this later."

"It's like you are no longer yourself, you didn't even care that you almost died. And when we ran into Trey?"

The mention of his name…

"Did you not feel it? Do you not remember what you began to think of? You are becoming stronger, but you are becoming reckless. And… dangerous…"

She tightens her expression

"How can you not see that? You have driven yourself from one desperate situation to the next," She looks down, shaking her head in disbelief. I begin to scowl. "And it all started when Irina-"

"Shut up." I snarl.

...

…

…

I've never wanted to take something back so badly in my life. A horrid chill takes my rampaging heart; it makes me want to...

Melina is surprised by the tone of my voice as well. She knits her eyebrows and raises her gaze to stare me down.

"I don't think I will."

"I… I-I didn't mean that, Melina. Please… I haven't been acting recklessly, I… I just…"

Almost like magic, that chilling sensation is melted away, and my anger returns. It frightens me, as the regret I had just moments ago is killed with spears in my mind.

"Why are you afraid?"

I press.

"Are you a little scared to get a little bloodsoaked? I've grown stronger! I'm better now!"

Why am I saying these things? What's wrong with me!?

"I've done what you asked, and I've done more. So much more... More than you have ever done!"

I gloat.

"I fought off sixty misbegotten singlehandedly! I murdered a knight with nothing but a straightsword alone! I defeated highwaymen, I bested the warden! I was saving an entire kingdom!"

I seethe. I snarl. I jab an accusing finger at Melina, whose eye has begun to grow misty.

"I have become a hero! And what the hell have you done?!"

---

"I ALMOST LOST YOU!"

---

Her voice carries.

---

Echoing back once, twice; it's nothing but a whisper at the third.

I…

...

I…

Something retreats in my mind, taking my anger in tow with it.

Like waking from a nightmare, my skin turns clammy. The very words I just spoke; they come crashing down on me. Dead silence and my tormented expression are all that I have to offer.

"I…" Melina continues. "I almost had to say goodbye…"

She sniffles, and the single tear that beads under her golden iris says a thousand words she will not.

"I almost watched you leave me," She shakes her head, meeting my paralyzed gaze. "Leave me alone in this dark… and unforgiving world. I would be alone again."

Her voice comes as a whimper. Almost a whisper.

"Left to wander and mourn and suffer… alone… again… Not any closer to my goal, not any closer to my home… and… I'd no longer have you."

She locks her eye on me, and she takes a step toward me, and another. She passes over the Site of Grace, standing close enough that I need to look down to meet her gaze. She extends a hand from her cloak, grasping my hand with her's.

"I haven't even been able to properly meet you yet, Lance Thompson. I've spent too much time with my thoughts elsewhere."

Her grip is weak, but an innate warmth resonates from her.

"I keep so much from you, and you must know that I have been unable to feel anything for longer than I can remember… But… I want to get to know you…"

She hesitates.

"I… I want to truly meet you."

She pulls me into an embrace, a tender embrace. A hug that makes my entirety heat up, makes me lock up and wipes my mind clean. I can feel each of her breaths enter and leave her small body, easily sense her cherry-blonde hair rubbing up against my cheek.

Her heart thunders in her chest.

"So please, don't make me say goodbye. Not now, not ever. Please."

She continues when I don't answer.

"I know the path ahead is dangerous," She almost fails to say it. "And there will be times when we will have to be reckless. But please, I don't want to lose you."

I…

…

…

…I return the embrace.

My hold is gentle; I dare not grip her any harder.

I'm afraid of what has begun to take over me, and my worries over what is becoming of Bellard in our absence retains its hold on me.

But… maybe for just this moment, I feel those worries melt away, like it's magic.

But this magic doesn't frighten me… it warms my heart.

We hold the embrace for a long time, under the cloud-covered sky, taking in one another's company like never before. We've been together for only a month now; it's nothing in the grand scheme of things.

But even so… even so…

…

"Melina."

"…Yes?"

I take a deep breath.

"I'm awake now, I promise I am…"

I want this moment to last a little longer. Just a little. Just enough that I can let it truly burn eternally in my memory.

But…

"But the families… the soldiers… the people who are counting on us. There are sons and daughters who are losing their fathers... There are wives who are losing their husbands. There are men… good men… whose lives are in our hands."

Her grip on me tightens.

"It doesn't have to be us… It doesn't have to be you."

She always was against the idea of helping them.

"Only we can do it. You and me; we are what they need."

It pains me so, but I pull away from her, looking her in the eye.

"I promise I won't let that darkness take me. I won't wander about and make my decisions on the fly... But I can't promise that I won't be reckless, not yet anyway."

Her expression sours a little.

"That is not what you are supposed to say here."

I stutter a little.

"Oh. Uh, sorry. Can I try again?"

Despite herself, she smiles.

"There he is."

Thank heavens.

"So… You're okay with it then?"

She reluctantly breaks away.

"I am not. But I know you would hate me if I refused."

"Hate is a strong word."

"Yet, it fits."

"…Sorry."

"It is quite alright," She brushes her fingers through the breach's aura. "I am not without my desires for justice as well."

She turns on me.

"But I cannot allow such a foolish plan again. It was far too reckless of an idea."

Yeah, jumping onto Agheel's back for a joyride was a terrible idea, though it was the only one I could think of. That dragon isn't planning to land anytime soon, and there's no other way to pluck whatever it is controlling him out of his neck otherwise…

Well…

"I was kinda thinking of trying the same thing."

Her expression darkens.

"Lance…"

I hold my hands up as if to defend myself...

From what exactly?

Well… I guess I got a firsthand experience at just how hot her fire runs. And I can't get that scene of half of Agheel's face getting ruptured out of my head.

I guess I have a lot to worry about shielding myself from.

"Hey now, hear me out!" I protest. "I promise it's a better idea… if only by a little bit."

"Then? I am waiting to hear it."

I can only guess my thoughts have clued her in somewhat.

I fish into my pocket, relieved to find Irina's seal still in there. I had thought to take it off my left hand before we mounted Agheel; if I never did that, then Irina's seal would be resting at the bottom of the ocean right now. Furthermore, despite all the aerial maneuvers and the surprise swim I underwent, the seal stayed in my pocket.

Seems it's miracle number two.

I take it out, letting it dangle from its small chain.

"First, we need to get back on that dragon…"

---

"Are you mad?"

The Morne soldier asks, eyeing me like how a passerby would eye a drug addict in a city back on Earth.

"You want us to… launch you at the dragon?"

Melina hovers silently next to me; we arrived at our room here just minutes ago.

"Preferably when he crosses Monre's southern side." I state plainly.

There's always the ocean, and I'd rather go for another swim than become a red stain on a building or something.

Plus, if we succeed this time, then it'd be best if Agheel doesn't go for a crash landing in the city.

The soldier seems to look me twice over, as if to check if I'm joking.

I'm not.

Lance, this is even more reckless than the first plan. You do realize that, right?

It is.

"Do you have a death wish?"

I cross my arms.

"I've seen how accurate you fellows have been so far. If I want to get up to Agheel, then you're my best bet."

The soldier grips his helmet, grunting.

"Blithering fool." He mutters to himself, before speaking up. "Your funeral Tarnished, but I better not get in trouble with the warden for this."

He turns, and makes a swirling motion with his finger. The other soldier operating this particular trebuchet exchange glances, before reluctantly listening, and the entire war machine turns.

Three minutes later, and I'm strapped atop a chair, along with other furniture roughly tied together with rope.

It seems Morne finally ran out of boulders to use.

This mismatched projectile and I, we're left to hang out almost completely underneath the massive wooden contraption, where I get a perfect view of the thick arm that will be chucking me into the sky in a few minutes.

It's a terrifying view based solely on knowing what happens next.

In those next few moments leading up to the inevitable, my heart thunders violently in my chest. It's like the start of one of those slingshot attractions at an amusement park...

It's actually exactly like that.

Gears and pulleys spin, and the arm of the trebuchet lowers. Its counterweight dangles high in the air, while my back is nearly touching the ground on the other end. The falling rain gets in my eyes as they drip down from the ropes and the frame, and I can do nothing but wait, and believe in the aim of these soldiers.

One soldier high above on the ramparts holds what looks to be an instrument similar to a sextant. It's angular, covered in different settings and numbers, and it even comes with a little telescope fused on the side of it.

Whatever that simple device is, he uses it to watch Agheel, using known landmarks around the city that he flies near to determine distance. The soldier's been informed of the little stunt I'm trying to pull, and he's currently lining up the shot that'll send me at the moment.

We can still back out of this, you know.

Worse comes to worse, and we'll just go for a little swim.

There are other ways to reach Agheel, we do not need to throw ourselves at him.

I don't intend to play swords with Rick again. We're heading straight for our goal.

We need to kill Agheel, now.

Besides, you saw it too. Morne's out of adequate munitions.

It won't be long before Rick braves the weakened barrage and decimates Morne's army for good. We don't have the time to line up with Torrent again.

If we miss…

We won't.

But if we do, I promise you will not hear the end of it from me.

I'll keep that in mind.

Moments later, the soldier with the instrument makes a signal. That soldier from before takes knee next to me, looking over the other pieces of furniture as if it were his own grim work.

"Wanna make a bet, Tarnished?" He says playfully.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"A bet?"

He nods.

"I say five rels that you go for a swim."

Rels?

Rels…

Kalé told me dals are the highest form of currency here, and I always used runes in-game.

I don't know the conversion rate, but I sigh.

"Alright, you're on. I say two dals that I hit that dragon right between the eyes."

The soldier's eyes light up at that; he displays his wide grin that's missing a few teeth.

"I'll take you at your word."

He stands, turning to leave.

"Wait." I blurt out.

He takes a silent glance back at me.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"And why do you need to know that?"

I shrug.

"I need to find you afterwards so I can pay up, right?"

The soldier scoffs at that, but it turns into a deep chuckle.

"Names Weller, Tarnished. Don't you forget it."

He leaves me, and my idea finally sinks in just as the gears scream, the counterweight drops, and the trebuchet's arm groans as it swings skyward.

...

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

...

I'm thrown, by a fifty foot arm, fast enough that I'm certain I really was on a rollercoaster. Morne's back wall drops from view, and I get a never-ending outlook of the ocean beyond for a fleeting second.

The payload I'm attached to comes loose from the pouch, and I'm sent skyward so quickly, I'd think I was strapped to a rocket.

Now!

I cut myself loose, draw my partisan, and clasp over Irina's seal.

We fly alone, rising above the projectile.

Remember, we need to get to Agheel's head. Dragons are durable, and cannot be killed easily.

But if we can attack the head, victory will be ours.

Got it.

Here goes nothing...

"Tears of a Maiden, blood of an Empyrean."

Bloody tears begin to leak from my left eye; I drag Irina's seal across them before they're blown away. My entire left hand ignites, becoming consumed by golden flames.

"It all… burns the same."

I drag my seal across my partisan's spearhead; trailing flames make it look like I'm carrying a massive flare. My world begins to spin, like I'm a hatchet tossed. The passing air buffers my body, making me roll and flail about without balance. Even still, through the spinning images I can see, I spot my target.

A black shape, gliding on lofty wings with a long tail ending in a stub. His back covered in tall spines, where a large man with a red and green surcoat spots me approaching, his face contorted before blatant confusion and alarming surprise.

There you are.

"Kindling, accept this meager flame."

---

Rick wasn't capable of understanding what he saw.

He noticed the lone salvo coming his way, chasing Agheel's tail from above like some lost bird. He didn't much care for it, even if it landed, it wouldn't do much damage to his mount.

He even chuckled to himself, leveraging his new sword over his shoulder as he looked upon the mass of furniture bound by rope with disdain.

They didn't even bother igniting it.

Looks like they're getting desperate.

He thought gleefully.

That was, until a lone flame ignited a few hundred feet above it; its golden color made Rick think it was a massive leaf of the Erdtree for a moment.

But the lone fire was spinning and twisting about, and it quickly became apparent to Rick that there was a body attached to it.

A human body, flipping over itself like a rat's carcass if you threw it from its tail.

But it wasn't until it was too late, as the body plummeted right toward Rick, that he realized the body was still alive. What's more, he recognizes it.

His eyes widen.

The body becomes all he can see, before it spins back over to face him, and he gets a view of a young man's face… full of fear… full of bravado and grit, snarl at him.

The Tarnished has returned, back from the dead.

The flaming spear he wields pierces into Rick's left shoulder, ascended tip driving through mail and skin and bone.

Rick roars in pain.

---

"AAAAAARGHHH!"

I crash. I tumble. I grind to a halt.

My footing is uneven at best, and my back collides with the horns on Agheel's head.

The dragon immediately shrieks in fury; I grab hold of one of those large horns before his head begins to whip about. His wingbeats become uneven, and we all begin to descend.

At the conjoining point between Agheel's shoulder and his neck, Rick falls to a knee, roaring in pain. His left arm is gone, parts of his surcoat has burned black. Half his face is riddled with 3rd degree burns; his remaining hand holding fast to Morne's grafted greatsword.

Strangely, he sheds no blood.

He peers past his face contorted in pain, baring his teeth as he takes in the sight of me.

"BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!"

I'm on the head! If I can just...

Rick slips backwards, having no way to anchor himself. He grunts, driving his sword into Agheel for support.

The dragon shrieks in pain, convulsing and dropping into a steep dive.

I lose my grip on his horn, and I begin to float.

Woah, woah, woah, hey! Wait! Crap! Crap! Crap!

Agheel begins to outpace me, and I rise, as the distance between us and the vast ocean surface far below decreases dramatically by the second.

I hold fast to my flaming partisan, Melina floating right by my side. Rick watching me with blatant hate in his expression, his bronze skullcap slick with rainwater.

Grab hold of something! Hurry!

Where!?

She flies up above me, latching onto a black spine more that an arm's reach above me.

Here!

I reach, I strain.

I miss, and I spin.

Compressed vapors trail from Agheel's massive wings and tail; Rick's voice can be heard above it all.

"STEADY YOURSELF AGHEEL! I COMMAND YOU!"

Grab hold!

With a shout of adrenaline, I reach out, and I grab ahold.

I arrest my dive.

"I COMMAND YOU! NOW!"

Agheel moves against his will, buffering his wings and straightening his neck. The ocean so close now; I can make out each wave.

For a moment, just a second; I prepare for the worst.

But Agheel pulls up, so violently that I can hear the joints in his wings crack; those holes in his wings grow.

I'm slammed against his back under eight times earth's gravity; I partially black out.

Rick takes it bowing, raising his head to stare me down beside him.

Agheel's talons graze the top of the bottomless waters; his wings pump to gain him altitude.

He almost falters again, when Rick rips his sword out of his back.

The Soldier of Godrick swings.

Dodge!

I roll away; Rick's swing cuts an entire spine off, burying back into Agheel's hide. The beast shrieks, angrily turning back toward Bellard, back toward land.

"DAMNABLE FIEND!" He swings again, I dodge, nearly losing my footing. "YOU JUST DON'T KNOW WHEN TO DIE, DO YOU!?"

Now!

I dip low, thrusting my partisan at Rick's leg.

…

Roard was right, the spear is surprisingly easy to use. 'Just point and thrust', and the weapon does the rest.

My spear catches Rick at the shin, sending trials of golden flames out in a web.

He snarls, swings, and almost falls to a knee. When I try to press, he ducks under my spear thrust, kicking me dead in the chest.

"Ack!"

I'm thrown back at a high angle, quickly tossed like a human boomerang into Rick's face from the wind blowing at my back alone.

I fly right by him, and on a knee-jerk reaction, I swing my spear wildly.

I score a hit.

"GAAAH!"

I reach out, missing my first anchor as my hand deflects off it. But I catch the second one, back near the base of Agheel's tail.

I rise, as Rick finally falls to a knee.

I nicked his helmet, cutting deep enough to reach skin with the ascended edge.

No blood.

His helmet strap burns and snaps, sending the helmet tumbling off, catching a current and blowing away. Rick's hair, gray and patchy, catches in the wind, and I get the entire look of his face…

...

I've always had difficulties seeing into the eyes of soldiers; their helmets and coifs were always in the way. I was only able to see them when I was close enough; I'd only ever seen hostile expressions with the occasional tolerance only recently.

But Rick's eyes display something far different when he looks upon me; it's such a contrast from his seething expression that at first I can't believe it.

But it's there; the eyes stare at me and only me. Pupils dilated and soft, slow to change but simple in its effect. I have only seen eyes like those once before, back when I saved a small boy from drowning in a pond at the park. He looked upon me with those same eyes, full of tears. After the initial shock and when the fear had left him, and he expressed his thanks from the bottom of his heart.

Past Rick's bared teeth, past his flaring nostrils and arched eyebrows…

Past the very definition of rage, his eyes display adoration.

Reverence.

And Worship.

Adoration of what I am, reverence in my presence…

Worship of me.

What the hell?

"THE END IS HERE NAMELESS TARNSIHED!" He calls, raising his grafted greatsword with one hand. "I WILL SEND YOU DO YOUR ORDIANED DEATH MYSELF!"

He called me a "Vessel of Death."

He was happy we could "finally meet."

His eyes… those damn eyes; they don't fit the situation at all.

Just who is he? Who is Rick?

Where did he come from? Why is he here?

Why does he look at me with such intent, but desires nothing more than to kill me?

It doesn't make any sense!

We can worry about this later.

Melina flies up next to me.

After this is all done, we can talk and question and guess until our hearts are content. But pull yourself together.

We need to ground this dragon, and quickly.

I shake my thoughts away.

"OATH OF VENGEANCE!"

The poisonous spirits begin to revolve around Rick, coursing through his veins and ordaining him with power. The spirits reach for me, but they don't dig in. Something changed from last time; something is missing in my head.

I don't falter and slow; I merely feel a solemn sadness take root.

The poor souls.

I break into a disjointed run, stumbling from one foot to the other as I latch from one spine to the next.

Rick roars, and he-

…

He stabs into Agheel's back.

As deep as his blades can go; ascended edges cutting into flesh and meat and bone.

The dragon contorts beneath me, and all of my footing is lost.

The hell!?

Rick bellows with laughter… He's insane. He doesn't want to fight; he just wants to kill me.

Even if that means killing him as well.

I'm thrown; I fall.

I smack my arm against a spine, almost breaking a bone. Agheel's head is the next thing to-

"TAKE HIM AGHEEL!"

I'm bitten.

Massive jaws clamp down onto my legs, snapping shut like an iron trap. Hot pain flares up my thighs, crawls in my chest and stabs into my gut. Agheel bites down hard and doesn't let go.

I spasm, letting out a cry.

"GAAAAAH!"

"YOU WILL DIE TARNISHED! I WILL BE SURE OF IT THIS TIME!"

He stares ahead, and his grin becomes a crescent shape, splitting skin and reaching to the outer edges of his face.

"TO THE CASTLE, AGHEEL!

Agheel changes course; a direct collision course with Castle Morne.

He intends to drag us all down to hell with him.

No!

I struggle against Agheel's jaws, getting lightheaded as my own blood drips down those black scales and thick hide. I go to stab at the dragon, but at Rick's command, Agheel bites down harder.

My chainmail strains; broken links rattling in the wind.

I nearly go limp.

It's no use.

Bastard!

The first time, Melina was frightened. She was shaken, and she was terrified. Terrified on my behalf; she hugged me to still her rampaging heart more than anything else. She saw me slowly lose myself to a reckless nature and a dark mind that thrust me into one suicidal charge after another.

She began to think I would slip away if she didn't do anything.

That's why she brought me to that hill. It's the only reason I could think of…

Of course, I have no idea what I'm talking about…

I've never experienced thoughts and feelings like these before, never been through situations like these. I don't know what such events do to the mind of Melina, who has to watch me without truly being able to make a difference.

But lately, she has been intervening; she's begun to take matters into her own hands.

And now, as I'm facing death a second time, she grits her teeth, eye furious, hands clenched hard enough that her own nails dig into her palms. She turns on Rick, flying up and latching onto him.

I won't - let you!"

She arrests him with unreal strength through her own arms, planting her hand dead on his chest.

Rick lets out a shout of surprise.

"WHAT IS THIS!?"

---

"WHERE THE HELL DID YOU COME FROM!?"

---

"GET OFF OF ME!"

He swipes at her; she flinches and presses against the blows.

But still, she prevails.

"The smoldering soul rests upon alabaster branches, bringing death in its wings!"

She shouts.

"Bestow black flames that can slay gods and burn away all things!"

She roars.

Black flames grow to life from her outstretched palm.

Rick's eyes widen.

"NO! NOT THAT! ANYTHING BUT THAT!"

"Kindling! Become consumed by this devouring flame!"

---

BANG.

---

Rick and Melina are lost in a dark fireball, in a superheated shockwave that punches me in the chest. Pieces of skin and bone scatter every which way.

When the flames clear, Rick is gone, leaving only Morne's Grafted Blade Greatsword still imbedded in Agheel...

And...

Melina hovers there, letting off steam...

Dark cloak catching in the wind that blows at her back...

Her strawberry blonde hair shifting about...

Burn-scarred hand clenched, sputtering out the rest of the black flames that linger...

I can see her.

As clear as day.

She turns and stares at me, eye fierce. Her mouth moves, as the beginnings of red tears leak from her sealed eyelid.

Her tattoo glows.

"Kill that snake already!"

…

She could've led with that attack to begin with.

I take quickened breaths, fighting past the pain and leveling my spear.

I'll drive it through his eye, into the brain.

The ascended edge can do it; I can finish this in one stroke…

…

…

Why do I hesitate?

Agheel's left eye stares ahead: lifeless, clouded with a violet-crimson hue. I can see the rest of the damage he's sustained from here… From ballistae bolts sticking out of his hide, to fire damage and what Melina's black flame did to him. The cuts from Rick's own attacks… the sores and welts and broken bones…

I just…

I…

"End… me…"

I cease up. Melina equally looks surprised. A voice just spoke directly in my mind. Not like Melina's, and not like Roard's either. It is a deep and masculine voice, thunderous and booming… and pained.

With the words, Agheel's eye slowly turns, looking dead into mine…

There is intelligence in that eye. Frighteningly so.

It takes me aback, and I can't even feel my pain for a fleeting moment.

"Please…"

Marika…

I knit my eyebrows together, taking in a sharp breath. I plunge my spear into that eye, driving it deep enough to pierce the brain.

"…Thank… …"

The voice is gone, Agheel is gone.

His runes come to me; a horribly large number.

He is no more…

I snap back to reality, and I whip my head forward. Castle Morne is dead ahead; we're still on a direct collision course. If I don't start moving, I'll be obliterated.

"We need to go!"

Melina shouts, running and shifting back into a rune... a butterfly?... as she takes flight. She hovers up next to me, flashing furiously.

Now!

Agheel's jaw goes slack; I stick my spear's endcap into my mouth and pry myself free.

"Grrrrraaagh!"

The large fangs leaving my legs send agonizing sensations of fire and ice up my spine. But I tear myself free, and I go into freefall.

Wind stings my eyes, the rain batters me from seemingly all angles. The storming waters of Bellard's coastline rest just below me, and that sight is growing in size quickly. It's too shallow. We're too close to the shore.

Get a healing spell ready!

I shout in my mind.

I don't think this is going to be a smooth landing!

Melina's butterfly form plummets beside me, smoke trailing from her smoldering wings. She's the size of my hand, yet she moves at the speed of a diving falcon. The fiery aura she exudes intensifies and dims with her words.

Prince of death, stay your growing blade!

5 seconds, 4.

Shadow of Marika, hide your sacred rune!

3 seconds, 2.

Agheel's corpse spins out of control midair, falling into a death spiral at a sharp angle. His colossal body collides with Morne's top right side, devastating battlements and towers, taking a chunk out of the keep as he comes crashing down. Dust billows everywhere, a tidal wave of stone bricks wash away.

The sight is unforgettable, but I only get a split second to see it, before I try to orient myself, diving feet first into the shallow water.

Return the grace of thee, under the light of the Erdtree!

I slam into the water, diving deep enough that I immediately collide with the rocky bottom. The bones in my legs shatter, my ankles twist and threaten to tear away. My pelvis cracks, my spine compresses. My entire body wrenches downward; my splash sends white droplets nearly a hundred feet into the air.

I black out.

Heal!

---

When I come to, I'm dragging myself out of the water.

No... It's Melina that's dragging me.

Her slender hands are gripped tightly over my arm, pulling me along like I'm a sad sack of fish.

"Come… on!" She spits, wading through the waves that barely reach her knees. Her face creased with determination, cloak partially soaked by seawater. When she reaches the sand, far from the shore, where the grass begins to grow, she drops me.

She falls to her knees there, panting.

I cough up seawater, having to blink to get the stinging sensation out of my eyes. Melina's eye widens.

"Lance!"

She shouts in surprise… her voice perfectly carried by the wind. Full of inflections and innuendos, laced with emotions that even if she believes aren't there, at least I can hear them.

"Are you alright?"

I turn over onto my back, heaving for breath. The rains slowly begin to die down, as if it were Agheel himself who brought them. With his death, the storm slowly begins to subside. Roard's partisan washes ashore; its golden flame long sputtered out.

The holes in my legs are gone, though I don't think Melina's spell completely healed me.

I guess... I'm alright.

...Huh.

For the first time in forever, I feel alright.

What an alien feeling.

"You know," I push out between breaths. "You ask that a lot."

She slightly frowns, but relief finally washes over her.

"Ahhh, thank Marika."

If she were a rune, then she would simply float away.

But she falls to her knees, and flops right over on to her back.

She stares up into the sky with me, as the last of the rain subsides, and only the most stubborn of black clouds remain. The sun hasn't tried to show itself yet, but the winds die down to a rather pleasant breeze.

We lay there for a moment, before Melina knits her eyebrows together.

"Why has it gotten so cold?"

"What?" I ask.

"It is… rather chilly. Is it not?"

She raises a burn-scarred hand into the air, as if testing the breeze.

"It is cold… and… wet?"

She knits her eyebrows, tilting her head a little. Her strawberry blonde hair shifts about on the wet sands; she cringes at the sensation.

"Why does this ground feel so…"

She turns her head to look at me... noticing that I seem to be looking right at her.

Her eye flicks about, as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle.

"Why is it I can feel the ground?"

I look surprised, to say the least. But I partly smile instead, hiding my amazement.

"Well, I can still see you. So, maybe that's why?"

Her eye widens.

"Still?"

I point up toward the sky.

"Yeah. Back up on Ag-"

She bolts up, defaulting to her usual kneeling seat, giving me the most confused and flustered glare I've ever seen from her… not that I've seen much for emotions from Melina. For a young lady that's always been about the aloof appearances and soft expressions, so much as a smile was as rare as seeing an albino animal in the woods.

But…

She raises one of her hands, studying it as if it held the answers. She looks back at me.

Her eye practically bleeds wonder.

"You can… see me?"

She looks about, searching for any Site of Grace.

There's none.

We're alone on this beach.

"Right now?"

I try a nod, though it doesn't really work while lying down.

She looks back to her hand, before only extending her index finger. She reaches over, lightly poking me on the cheek.

What a soft touch.

She almost recoils from the sensation.

"Yes," I say dryly, not able to hide my amused grin. "That's my face."

I wonder what changed… Agheel's runes? Was it enough?

Was it ever truly the runes? Was the accumulation of them in me really the explanation behind Melina's developing body in the first place?

Or was it something else?

…

I can think about this later.

Melina studies herself as if she were a novelty, unable to keep the disbelief and curiosity from overwhelming her.

"I…"

She trails off; I try sitting up.

My legs feel like people attacked them with metal baseball bats, but I brave the feeling.

"Looks like it, huh?"

Her eyes linger, before she runs her hand lightly on the beach.

"So… this is what sand feels like?"

Her face sours up.

"I must admit, I am not a fan."

I…

I snicker at that.

I work to sitting.

Even in the light of a Site of Grace, Melina couldn't feel anything. She couldn't interact with any object in the way she can now; her hands would just phase through it. And when it came to living things, like me; I could feel her touch, but she couldn't feel mine.

Yet, as she stares at the wet sand with wonder, I rest a hand on her shoulder.

I don't know why I do it. It just feels right.

She flinches from it, staring at my hand like it was an alien.

I almost retract my hand; I give her a light shake instead.

Her head bobs with the movement.

"Congratulations." I say gleefully. "You're apart of the real world again."

Her eye trails up my arm to me…

And I'm ambushed by a hug.

"Oh!"

She almost knocks me over, and her grip is REALLY strong.

…

Wait, but seriously, I feel like I'm being choked. She's cutting off my air.

I'd like to tap out. I really want to.

But I keep it to myself, braving the stranglehold. I'd rather pass out than ruin the moment.

With her face buried in my shoulder, she almost chokes up as she speaks.

"So… this is what an embrace feels like."

I bite my lip.

"This…" She starts. "You…"

Unbecoming of her, she sniffs at something she can smell, backing off and giving me the chance to breathe again.

She crinkles her nose.

"You smell… foul."

I give her a soured expression.

"I smell like seawater... and dragon spit."

As if realizing what it is she's been doing to me, she backs away, squandering any other thoughts that were on her mind.

She averts her gaze, flustered and slightly pleased.

"Then, I can be safe knowing I do not like the smell of seawater... or a dragon's saliva."

I snort at that, which eventually breaks into a chuckle.

"What?" She asks.

I can't stop the giggle stuck in my throat.

"What does that even mean?" I ask, cracking up.

Relief of a victory that has not yet dawned on me mixes in my head, creating adverse reactions with Melina's seemingly dry sense of…

…

Oh forget it. It doesn't even matter.

I start laughing.

Melina gives me a judgmental look, but she can't help but snicker, until it turns into a lighthearted laugh itself.

Down on this beach, at the southernmost point of the entirety of the Lands Between, Melina and I sing our gleeful duet, spending a moment of pure bliss, after all that has transpired before.

Unbeknown to us, as the final clouds of the storm are dragged out to sea, and the sun begins to shine down upon Bellard, Morne declares victory.

The Misbegotten advance was halted, and they were driven to the city gates.

Dalia drags Trey's corpse through Bellard's streets, turning and listening as she hears a distant, conjoined roar.

Blaidd leans over, knocking lightly on the doors to Kalé's cellar, casting a skeptical eye and a small grin toward that victorious noise.

Rick is gone, Trey and Darriwil have been slain. Agheel has been put to rest; the Leoine Misbegotten's blood paints Marika's statue in that dark chapel.

The enemy has retreated, running for the plateau and never looking back.

Neil Haight breathes a sigh of relief from his quarters, slipping his ruler mask off to look out his window.

"Praise Marika."

Edgar raises his gauntleted fist high into the air, never faltering even as his wounds berate his every movement. He grits his teeth, his eyes ablaze with gusto and glory. He bellows loud enough to make his vocal cords strain, loud enough that even Lance and Melina can hear him from the beach.

"VICTORY IS OURS!"

The soldiers around him roar.

I work to standing, extending Melina a hand. She accepts it, and I hoist her up.

And with that, the Battle of Bellard came to a close.

---

Three days later…

"And there I was, flying through the sky!" I shout, slamming a boot onto the table. "Launched from the trebuchet like I was a dragon taken flight!"

The other soldiers at the banquet shout approval, raising their mugs high in the air.

I take my own mug, braving a sip of the horrid ale inside. It makes me gag, but the lingering fuzzy feeling it leaves on my head feels like a spell in and of itself. A spell of bravery.

"And there he was! Rick! In the flesh! Riding atop Agheel like the knights of Leyndell themselves!"

I thrust my other hand up into the air, mimicking a body flailing through open space.

"He sat pretty atop his flying snake. And what did I do?!" I smash my hand into the other, partially spilling my drink. "I knocked him clear out of the sky!"

The soldiers cheer, and a chant picks up.

"Tarnished, Tarnished, Tarnished!"

A soldier joins me up atop the table, kicking aside plates and cutlery in a drunk stupor. It's Weller, the soldier who played a bet with me. He coughed up the three rels, though he didn't seem the least bit angry at that.

Instead, he arrests my hand, making me spill the rest of the drink all over the table.

"To the Hero of Bellard!" He roars.

"RAAAAAAAAH!" The crowd answers.

I grin like an idiot.

The banquet continues on into the night, as the defenders of Bellard sing and drink and feast, making light of the harrowing experience that transpired here only days prior. Due to the cursed reality of this world, the casualties on Morne's side were minimal. I missed out on a gruesome fight while Melina and I were dealing with Rick and Agheel, and Morne needed to fight nearly to the last man.

Only a few hundred were left… 300, to be exact.

I don't believe in superstitions, but I'll still call it an amazing coincidence.

Nevertheless, a day later, and nearly all of Morne's dead soldiers revived; the city of Bellard was 4,000 strong once again. Some were lost to dragon fire; even more still abandoned Morne.

But in the tales told of this war, they will say it was Bellard's overwhelming victory.

A defending army of 4,000, against a horde of over 30,000. Mere men in a castle, against a combined army; plagued by betrayal, sabotage, and beasts of myth. They slayed over 10,000 of that army; they laid the beasts low.

They achieved the impossible.

When the manpower returned, Edgar stepped down, and Neil Haight took over, beginning efforts to console his devastated people, and repair his damaged city.

The people of Bellard were much less vivacious about Morne's victory. They don't think I'm a hero, nor do they care for Morne's soldiers… and I don't blame them. As they saw it, they had to suffer through a horrible manhunt the misbegotten conducted out in the streets on a daily basis, and they're now left without homes in the worse case, and events that will scar them for life in the best cases.

Watching loved ones get butchered and eaten, feeling their bodies torn apart and feasted upon.

I look for otherwise, but this world is still dark, and unforgiving.

I only find solace in the soldiers because they're used to it, and they live to make the most out of it. Many soldiers at this banquet had a horrible last week, filled with multiple deaths and excessive torture. Yet they are laughing along with the rest of us, downing Bellard's signature ale and singing along to songs I've never heard before. A few of them didn't even know that a Tarnished was amongst them, and I nearly got my throat slit yesterday when I ran into a new soldier in the keep's halls.

I can spot the man now, and he's equally keeping an eye on me. He apparently got caught by the misbegotten on day one of the rebellion, and he's spent a good chunk of the last week dead in an alleyway.

He's not the only one either.

But, besides that, the soldiers of Morne are ecstatic with my presence; they've been finding my ridiculous story of fighting someone atop a dragon an especially appetizing tale. All's to say, I've gained a modicum of respect, and besides a few outliers, I've been accepted here. They fought like gods under the influence of my golden vow, and a good few caught sight of my duel with Rick atop Agheel. My actions in this city will not be forgotten here anytime soon, and knowing my luck, I'll probably have even crazier stories to tell if I ever find myself back here in the future.

Eventually, I retire from the celebration, waving the soldiers off as they cheer for me. I take a filled mug with me, sloshing the liquid around and staring at it. I've been requested one, so I guess it's time I make a delivery.

At the head of the stairs though, I turn back.

I drink this image I see in, all of it. The smiling faces, the upright postures. The colors, the lights, and even the smells. And, at the opposite corner of the room, I look over the large gaping hole there. Piles of bricks rest scattered on both sides, and the opening lets the ocean smell in. Mere days ago, A dragon rested atop that rubble.

Agheel, dead.

Agape mouth still stained with my blood; Morne's treasured sword sticking out atop his back like a trophy. As to whatever the implement was that controlled him; it dislodged in the crash. It might be under the rubble somewhere, or it shattered and nothing left of it can be found.

But, just like the Scarseal Rick possessed; both unknown artifacts may never be seen again.

Agheel has since been carted off, so the wall can begin reconstruction. But I stared a good long while at Agheel, taking in what I've done.

I've killed before, far too much before.

But, ruminating on it, searching…

I realized it was the first mercy kill I've ever performed. And Agheel will never return, the loss of his runes to me made sure of that.

And his voice… I can still hear that voice echoing about in my head.

It's haunting.

I turn from it all, and I head up the stairs, mug in hand. I run into Blaidd in the halls of the second floor; he looks just as surprised to see me.

"Ah, well met." He says, having to bow his head to fit into this hallway.

"Hey. Haven't seen you around."

I slow to a halt, looking him over as I lean against the wall.

Blaidd has been rather scarce in the past few days, dipping in and out of the castle, mostly without none the wiser. He dropped by to say hello after the battle, but I haven't seen much of him since.

"This is a rare occasion," I muse. "What's the towering wolfman doing in the castle?"

Blaidd cocks his head at me.

"I think you might be under the influence a bit, mate. You certainly are not talking like you do."

I've never been drunk before. Hell, I'm underage still. But I like the fuzzy feeling; it helps me speak up and all that.

"Nah, got no clue what you're talking about."

He reaches over to pluck the mug out of my hand. I quickly sweep it out of his reach.

"Hey now, this is for someone else."

Blaidd looks amused at that.

"That so?"

I nod a bit too eagerly.

"Well, I'm glad I ran into you mate. Truth is, I was looking for you. Was hoping to bid farewell before I head out."

…

I think people call it getting "sobered up"; the fuzzy feeling is dashed away from my head.

"Oh…" I slightly frown. "So soon?"

Blaidd barks laughter.

"Hah! Miss me that much, will you?" He tries straightening his posture. "Well, I'll be frank: my Lady is beckoning me back, and I'd never refuse her summons."

He tilts his head slightly.

"Though, I will be taking a detour with Kalé before so. There is something he needs help with up north of here."

I frown even deeper.

"Kalé too?"

I haven't seen the wandering merchant since I left his cellar with Irina…

That feels so long ago.

I was hoping to talk to him at least once, considering Melina and I are thinking of leaving soon as well…

I guess everything can't be perfect; I should be grateful with what I've gotten away with thus far.

"Aye, sorry mate. Kalé apologizes too, he wished to say his goodbyes in person."

I wonder what the two of them are up to? I have a few ideas, one of which makes my skin crawl thinking about it. But I don't pry.

"Well," I say. "Tell him I said I'll be happy to run into him again in the future."

I think of something else to add on.

"In better circumstances than the first time, hopefully."

Blaidd nods thoughtfully.

"That I will… how did you first run into him?"

"Found him locked up in a prison." I say dryly. "And the door wasn't even locked."

Blaidd snorts.

"Seems I have something new to pick his teeth with. Much appreciated, Tarnished Lance."

He seems to remember something, and he fishes for a medium bag underneath his cloak. He pulls it out, alongside a small satchel, and a heavily curved piece of metal.

"Ah, and before I forget," He plops the three objects into my free hand; they're much heavier than I was expecting. "These are for you."

I have no clue what the curved metal is, and the satchel gives little away; but the bag slouches in my hand, and the telltale sound of coins rattles from within.

My eyes widen.

"What?"

"Kalé's payment he promised." Blaidd explains, eyeing the coin bag. He looks over at the satchel next. "With a little extra -a gift of sorts, from him- on behalf of your efforts here."

I regard the bag as if it was filled with bugs.

"Oh, I can't accept this. Edgar already-"

"Aye." Blaidd says, cutting in. "I heard Castle Morne's warden has some reward planned for you. The soldiers have been rather vocal about it."

Well… I didn't know that.

"But consider this a token of friendship. As Kalé likes to put it: 'You can never have too much money in the Lands Between.'"

That does sound like something he'd say.

"As for the other thing: A crafting kit. A relic of his collections. He figured you'd make use of it, on account of your... 'peculiarities'."

I know about the crafting kit; Kalé sold it to me in the game. I was figuring to ask him about it, but it sounded like such a pointed question to suddenly bring up.

Seems it found its way to me in the end.

"And… the other thing?" I ask.

Blaidd regards the curved metal with a fresh glint in his eyes. He leans down, as if he were infatuated with it.

"A gift, from me. Took it as a trophy from Darriwil, one of his prized claws."

Now that I give it a better look, the concave side has a mean edge to it. Dented and bloodstained as it is, it probably still cuts most things to ribbons.

"I'd like you to have it, as a memento of sorts."

I find a little off-put by it; I wasn't too fond of my encounter with Darriwil. But I catch the glint in Blaidd, a glint that does the impossible: it drives off the insanity I always see in his eyes, if only for a moment.

He… well…

He looks like a dog that just brought someone an "amazing" stick they found outside, or a cat that dropped their favorite kill off on their doorstep. He's sharing, and he looks almost innocently happy about it.

Seeing what Balidd is capable of firsthand, the expression makes me do a doubletake.

"Thanks…"

I shuffle the bag and crafting kit around to hold it in my armpit, moving the claw about with my hand. It's remarkably balanced; I guess I could have it made into a knife or something? It might just stay as a "memento", but I take it graciously all the same.

"I'll treasure it."

Blaidd nods at that, rising his head back to the ceiling.

"On your way then, Tarnished Lance; I am sure our paths will merge again."

"Likewise. See you later then?"

"Yes. Later."

And with that, Blaidd takes the closest window to get out of the keep, leaping away and disappearing into the darkness like a shadow.

What a strange guy.

It's a 200 foot drop.

I close the window behind him, taking in a deep breath.

I guess that's that then.

Though, I do have the sneaking suspicion that I might see him again, far sooner than either of us think.

---

I make it to my room, opening the door with my back. I balance the mug, the claw, the crafting kit and the bag of coins in my hands, trying not to spill anything.

When I enter, I'm greeted by probably the most peculiar sight of the night.

Nearly the entire back wall of the room was destroyed when Agheel crashed into the castle. Honestly, all of the Erdtree's roots growing everywhere might be the only thing still holding this room together.

The fireplace is still here, and my bed survived. But the place is in terrible shape.

Callum, the lead servant, suggested I change rooms. But the Site of Grace, still glowing near the center of the room; it's what keeps me rooted to this place. It's a safe haven, a literal source of quickened travel, and… well…

Melina rests quietly in her usual kneeling position by the breach, facing the opening into the calm night. She hums something to herself with her eye closed, seemingly in a far-off world, as the lightest whisper of a sea breeze messes with the ends of her hair.

Despite the form she has in my presence now, given what could be considered a real body, she still cannot survive out of my light, and the only other place for her besides by my side is in the light of a Site of Grace.

Some things might never change, though it doesn't seem to bother her much.

She shifts a little when I enter, and peeks at me with her one eye.

"Hey," I say awkwardly. "Did I wake you?"

Among the many things Melina gained, the need for rest was one of them. And, as if she needed to catch up on the thousands of years of rest she's missed out on, she's been passed out almost constantly these past few days.

But, she lightly shakes her head.

"No, I was just thinking about some things."

I drop the bag of coins on my bed, stashing the claw and crafting kit above the mantle.

I take a seat next to Melina.

"What kind of things?"

She shakes her head, smiling slightly.

"I am afraid I cannot tell you."

"What else is new?" I say sarcastically.

She picks up on my intent, and she shrugs.

"I do apologize, it seems unfair that I am able to hear your thoughts freely, yet you are unable to do so back to me."

"Don't worry." I sigh. "I'm used to it by now."

I hand over the mug.

"Here."

She accepts it, looking at the liquid inside with that curiosity that I've seen take hold of her eye recently.

"Thank you… I have always wondered what ale tastes like."

"Well, why don't you join us downstairs sometime?"

She rolls her eye.

"And be asked an untold number of inquiries? I will have to decline."

If she shows up as a Smoldering Butterfly; the soldiers will ask questions. If she shows up as herself; there will be even more questions.

They're used to the glowing rune, but Melina has been unable to turn into that since the battle.

She tips the mug up to her lips.

"I do not care for such rambunctious celebrations either. I rather prefer... more intimate company."

She tries a sip.

Not only has Melina been sleeping a bunch, but she's been cooped up in this room ever since the end of the battle, deciding to refrain from letting anyone else know of her form for the time being.

It's honestly a little chilling, not having her flying around me like she used to all the time. Without her presence, her calming voice… but… I'm fine with this.

For now, at least.

Melina tests the ale, before ultimately frowning.

"I do not like this flavor at all. Not in the slightest."

She hands it back to me. I fancy a sip as well; grimacing at the almost vinegar-like bite it calls an aftertaste.

I don't think saltwater and fermented wheat is a good mix.

"Yeah, I'm not too crazy about the taste either."

If ale tasted like something similar to Dr. Pepper, I'd probably down the stuff without flinching.

But for this stuff...

I play with an idea, before I speak up.

"Roard. Arise."

A chunk of my magic is stolen away, and the summoning commences. Pale lights illuminate the floor next to me, until the knight assembles into reality, glowing white and seemingly almost see-through. It looked like he was in the middle of something; his helmet's off.

I'm taken aback for a moment, I don't see Roard's face often.

His concentration breaks, and he snarls.

"Oh, come on!" He yells in protest, raising his eyes. "I was in the middle of reading something…"

He trails off, looking around. He spots Melina and I below him; he gives us a skeptical look.

"Hey boss... Hey pipsqueak... ...Why is there a big hole in your wall?"

I raise the mug.

"Roard! A little birdie told me you were a huge help to her."

He cocks an eyebrow at me.

Dalia has been just as inconsistent as Blaidd, never staying long and keeping away from the soldiers and Edgar alike. She sought me out two days back, asking a multitude of weird questions about my home, among other things. But mostly, she thanked me for my "kind words" and briefly thanked Roard on my behalf as well.

I was hoping to ask her a few questions of my own, but she ran off shortly after.

I still have things I want to pick her brain about.

I let the liquid in the mug slightly slosh about.

"She also told me you were looking for one of these as well."

He takes the mug, covering it with a suspicious glance, before his eyes widen.

"Oh, thank the heavens! Your house has none of this stuff!"

...

Wait what?

He downs the whole beverage, but quickly frowns.

"Can't even taste it."

He checks his chest, deepening his frown.

"Can't even see it through me either! You know, that's a real buzzkill."

Buzzkill?

Is that a word people here know?

"You know," I say haphazardly. "They're having a banquet downstairs right now, maybe you could join them."

He can't taste anything, but surely he'd like to converse with others, right? Surely that'll cheer him up. That's the Roard I knew back at that village, at least.

Sure enough, Roard's expression almost immediately lightens up.

"Are you serious?"

I nod, he cackles.

"Hah! You're the best boss ever!"

He practically runs out the door, slamming it behind him.

But before I can even take a breath, he pops back in.

"Oh by the way, there's a few more spirits romping around your house right now. Just thought you'd like to know, you know?"

My confused expression is the only answer he gets.

"Cool. Hasta la vista, suckers."

He slams the door again…

I'm certain "Hasta la vista" is not something people in this world say.

Where the heck did he learn it from?

I turn to Melina, who watched the whole exchange with a small smile.

"What was that all about?"

She gives a slight shrug.

"I am as clueless as you are."

We fall silent after that, taking time to watch the moon rise above the horizon, climbing above a vast ocean, surrounded by stars and planets that are unfamiliar to me. Sparse leaves of the Erdtree fall in chaotic unison, landing atop the rolling waters and glowing like stars themselves.

The light breeze, the salty smell, the temporary peace after so long. We still have a long journey ahead of ourselves; I haven't even collected my first Great Rune yet. But even so, I feel like this trip south was whole heartedly worthwhile.

"I have to agree."

Melina says, breaking the silence.

"Yeah… "

I tilt my head.

"Is it weird to say I'm nervous?"

"For what lies ahead?"

I nod.

Melina stays silent for a time longer, before she finally speaks up.

"It will be treacherous. I am certain of that."

She holds out her hand, letting a small golden flame flicker to life there. Like a small Site of Grace.

"But remember: No matter what happens, you will have me there, right beside you."

"Through whatever comes next, you will not face them alone. Ever."

I take a deep breath, controlling the quivering feeling that rises in my chest. I take Irina's seal out of my pocket, holding it close to my chest.

"And that's all I need to know."

---

I'll admit it: I care for the people of this world.

I may be an outsider; I may be of a culture everyone looks down upon and hates.

I may have a vestige of this... Rune of Death... festering in me. I may have to press on, knowing who I kill will never walk the world again, forever lost to the void...

But...

Everyone I've met; everyone I've talked to and asked of and laughed with... I cherish them, all of them.

I want to protect them, and I don't think I'll ever forgive anybody who harms them.

And if I found them here, then I believe I can find them anywhere.

They're out there, and even if they despise me for being Tarnished; if they wish to kill me or spit upon my name...

Melina. Kalé and Blaidd. Dals, Drew, and Edgar. Kal, Wallace, Faxin, and Boc too. Ranni and Dalia, Callum and Neil. Even Roard and Patches. And Irina.

There are good people out there, even if they don't know it yet.

That is the core of it; that is my conviction, and it rests down in my heart.

I will find the good of this world, and I'll uproot the evil... the corruption... even if it means putting my own life on the line.

If I won't do it, then who else will?

...

And if I become Elden Lord, I promise I'll give this world what it seems they've spent generations without:

Hope.

---

…

…

…

"I just realized... It might've been a terrible idea to let Roard go downstairs."

"Because he is a rowdy sort?"

"No… Well, there's that too. I'm just thinking he might scare everyone, having a big guy glowing white randomly barging in out of nowhere."

"You know? I can see something like that plainly."

"Heh, you sounded just like him there."

"Yes, I guess I just did."

And there Melina and I sit, with our backs to my bedframe, watching the moon slowly rise into the night sky... until we both fall asleep; our heads resting atop one another as we fall into the deepest realms of peaceful rest.

END OF VOLUME 1

---

EPILOGUES

---

Trey snarls, fighting against the chains that tie his arms together behind him. He's been stripped of his armor, left to rot in a cellar, and his face became heavily bruised shortly after he revived.

He's in terrible shape.

Lucky bastards.

He thinks to himself angrily.

How did we lose!?

They had the numbers, they had the advantage! They had a dragon! A Leonine Misbegotten! A blasted Bloodhound Knight! How in Marika's name did they lose!?

It shouldn't be possible!

A bang on his cellar bars drags him out of his simmering; he nearly ceases up when he finds Edgar staring right at him.

The warden watches Trey like how a cave bear would watch a rude awakener during their hibernation. No remorse, just animalistic fury.

"I'm not an exhibit." Trey eventually barks. "Kill me if you plan to already, would you?"

Why is Trey still alive? No... how is Edgar still alive!? He should've been the first to fall!

Edgar enters the prison cell, taking up much of the already cramped space.

"You needn't worry," Edgar says with a shallow voice. "Come one of these days, we will burn you to ash with the entire city as witness."

Flattering. Trey growls.

But the warden lowers, and the knight shuts up.

"But there are things I want from you. I will not give you relief yet."

There's... there's a yellow glow in his eyes. Like a flame that's not quite what it seems.

It looks almost like the eyes of Shabr-

In a blindingly fast speed, Edgar grabs Trey by the throat; the knight's eyes bug out of their sockets.

"Ack! Aggghhhh!"

"My daughter..." Edgar says calmly, yet that yellow glow in his eyes intensify.

"This... silver man Tarnished Lance speaks of... who is he?"

Edgar doesn't give Trey a chance to answer; he bashes the knight's head against the stone wall.

Blood spills.

"You are going to tell me... efhjiqnfiasdvau everything aciaqwedrahahahahah ...that you know about this man with silver skin."

Trey's cries of pain and fear fall on deaf ears, down in Morne's prison cells, amongst the skulls and bones that will never tell a soul.

---

afhuadvegebafafqenfqweneqeq Help qwefiuqebaenvqefqe me! afoihuavobuaegaoipoaoavpomfaeahashaahahahahh.

Shabriri holds his sliver arms high into the air, calling out into the night sky.

"Ohhhh, Flame of Frenzy!" He preaches, gripping his hands into fists. "Hear our fervent prayer! Accept our humble offering!"

How wonderful is it? To find an Albinauric village so close to Bellard? Up high on the plateau, away from any witnesses?

It is perfect!

His Outer Gods' newest members kneel and sprawl out all around him, covering their eye sockets and wailing righteously toward the sky. Fresh yellow embers dot the ground, budding Eyes of Yelough begin to rise amongst the nearby shrubbery. What a reverent gathering! What an astoundingly faithful few!

Oh, he cannot help it! They are perfect! wefivaegjnagaeavanjavaaefaaahahasahahahhahahahahah!

"Oh, my everything," The bonfire they constructed blazes with overwhelming glory, bathing Shabriri in the heat of tranquility. "Give us, but a glimpse, of your chaos!"

"Shabriri."

Shabriri slowly lowers his hands, covering back up his eyes. He turns, finding a lone merchantwith clothes of red fabric and a pale cloth covering over his mouth. He slowly enters the firelight. Shabriri smiles.

How nostalgic.

"Ah, young merchant. Do you wish to singe your flesh with us as well? Come to take part in our glorious sacrament?"

The merchant stares at Shabriri with pure hatred in his frenzy-touched eyes, oh how that individuality stings Shabriri so!

"Come now, no need for such selfish desires."

He says warmly, inviting the merchant.

"All can be conjoined under them! let the selfish become selfless! Let the individuality become one! May chaos take the world!"

Ohhhh, efaevoavai how eiieagnaisiasefaef he weiojrssrgaefijaegrsw loves egoiengoaenfaepogtehkak to seoihnwewronfaenjaeg preach qfeoigraeklaelkmfrjtewioe such afoijegsjgafnklaebpotgafnkj truth! efjoiabjnvaaqoignafoijoaefaenahahahahah!

"May chaos take, the WORLD!"

It is not until a large blade swung by a wolfman takes Shabriri by the neck, that he is silenced. His newest head rolls to the merchant's feet, as the rest of the albinaurics stricken by the flame of frenzy are quickly dispatched by the wolfman warrior.

"Rot in hell." The merchant says, kicking Shabriri's head into the bonfire. "It's the only place you'll ever belong."

Oh, but Shabriri cannot die, he is chaos incarnate! He cannot die!

Ahh, may chaos take the world!

afianaoicmacaoieae help aoiaefaefnaoijfijogfaa me aoiaegananjfaivaaoaeioja please! afiajoijafnoejnfafoaianjsv HELP ME! aeavanjahaahhahhahahahahahhhhh!

ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa!

---

Rick drags himself ashore, panting heavily.

The entirety of his face and chest has been torn away, revealing nothing but degraded bone beneath. He shouldn't be alive, but still he claws onto the sand, one bony hand after another.

"Hah… Ha! Like I would be defeated by such cold flames!"

His empty sockets for eyes glow with a subtle semblance of life; his bones stay connected through mind alone.

Rick's soul has been dead for millennia.

Those Who Live in Death.

He cackles to himself, in a sense of synthetic delusion.

If only he could've used his Executioner's Glaive. He could've easily killed the Nameless Tarnished if he didn't have such unfamiliar weapons in his hands!

It doesn't matter. The ocean didn't take him, he can still come back from this.

"I can… still… do-"

A glowing metal boot slams down, crushing Rick's empty skull into small small fragments.

...

The headless knight drags her foot, driving the chips of bone deep into the sand.

Rick's body attempts to revive again; his rancor clinging to his bones and flickering ghostflame.

The knight's lance drives down through Rick's ribcage; the Prince of Death's gold and black fire devouring his vengeful spirit. He goes still, the rest of his measly runes burning away like embers driven from flame.

Rick is no more.

Even with no mouth to speak from, the knight's voice materializes from empty space.

"Dispose of him."

The headless knight steps back; headless mausoleum soldiers pick Rick's remains up and take him away; their glowing forms phasing into ash and transmuted dust.

They disappear, taking the failed plan away with them.

Lhutel the Headless stands there for a moment, the black feathers of the wings branching off her pauldrons catching in the wind as she faces Bellard.

So much planning, so many elements brought together to create a perfect trap.

Rick played his part; The Morne Knight and Agheel and the Scarseal played their respective parts.

She plucks Radagon's Scarseal out from the sand, stashing it away.

The merchant played his part...

The blind maiden played her part.

But it all failed.

It all came crashing down; the Gloam-Eyed Queen's Vestige made sure of that.

A failed attempt… though there will be more to come.

But first, they must rid away the Gloam-Eyed Queen's Vestige. She cannot foil their plans again.

And they cannot let her regain her mind anymore than she already has.

No matter how long it takes, they will achieve their goal. If it comes to it, they may well send the Deathbirds...

"Lhutel."

A mausoleum soldier says behind her.

"Lady Fia is expecting us. We need to begin to move."

Lhutel turns, her wings catching perfectly in the wind.

"Gather the troops. We'll leave immediately."

The headless soldier salutes, before he phases out of existence, like a spirit returning to the afterlife.

Lhutel makes her way, retreating. She walks up five stone steps, before turning her torso one last time, taking the sight of Castle Morne in.

Soon, they will be back.

There are many things they still must do; it might've been foolish of Lhutel to make an attempt so soon...

But soon enough, The Witch herself will enter the fray.

Sleep well, our Prince.

She turns away, closing the door to the cathedral behind her.

We will free you soon enough.

With a shuddering groan, the cathedral begins to rise, standing atop three colossal legs made of souls and minds and stone.

It stalks away, into the obsidian shade of night, until even the Erdtree itself can no longer see it, under the star-studded sky and late summer climate, as it becomes one with the unending colors of the everlasting void.

---

And there it is. The end of an era. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in the next volume. Just as a heads up, I might add an "Extras" chapter after this. It won't have any more of the story in it, more just a chance to clear up the mechanics of this story, answer a few questions I got, and maybe even a little behind-the-scenes stuff, just for fun. Now, as a disclaimer, if you're reading this, and you don't really care for this story; you can stop here. Nothing else but my own thoughts ahead, and I promise you won't be missing out on anything too important.

All good?

Good?

...

Cool.

Well, hello there, got something I'd like to get off my chest... I'd like to say sorry. For context: I am aspiring to be a writer, (novelist, script writer, anything I guess) and I've mainly used stories like these for practice. (seeing how I can't make any money off of them, lol) I initially created Earth's Tarnished solely to practice how a person's inner monologues would work.

I always felt pulled out of a story if the characters just starting doing one thing, then made a decision that made little sense just to do another thing next. Honestly, I know it's the author just wanting to get their characters from point A to B (I'm a victim of this too, mind you), but I always felt it was a little jarring to read. Because of that, I wanted to practice filling out a character's personality; how they would be affected by the situations they were in, and why they would make the decisions they did.

So, I wanted to write a story with a main character who would think through almost everything relevant to their situation, and act accordingly.

Furthermore, I wanted that character to have a "realistic" personality. He wouldn't accept his situation, and would make multiple attempts to think about how to escape it. That was the just of Lance at first.

It was around the time I was thinking about this, that I played Elden Ring for the first time. It is, without a doubt, my #1 favorite game. But I got to thinking: How would I react to being in such a world as Elden Ring? Not that Lance is based off of me; I friggn' wish I was 6'3. The only things we have in common is that we both lived in Missouri once upon a time; I designed the kid to be a pencil that didn't have much of a life outside of his room.

Then again, I guess authors are like that to begin with (Hey that's meeeeee :333), but I digress.

The point is; the character Lance was an experiment, on what would happen if someone from 21st century America, mostly free from trials and tribulation, with a Christian background and from a middle-class family; how would he live in the Lands Between? How would he fare? What would be going on in his head on a daily basis, with the knowledge that, depending on his decisions, he might have to kill someone or face unspeakable horrors he couldn't comprehend?

That was my mindset writing this, and I'll be honest, it was supposed to be like five chapters long at best.

Got a little blown out of proportion...

Just a little.

Sheesh, this is getting long. THE POINT IS: I would like to apologize, because of how these chapters are set up. This story could've easily been reduced to less than 100k words, but it's triple that at this point, solely because of what I was practicing. I took way too much time, monologuing everything Lance was considering and thinking about, going through the effort to write down how a person like him would need to convince themselves over and over, REPEATING things over and over, just to "hype" themselves up into doing something.

Anything, really.

And that's what real people are like, including me. We rarely... just... take action, unlike the characters in action movies and adventure novels do. We second-guess ourselves, we doubt our intentions and our reasonings, sometimes needing to explain to ourselves what we're doing and why we're doing it. We can have in-depth reasons; our reasons can be shallow or self-serving; and above all, we're afraid of change. It's built into us, and very few people ever escape it completely.

It's part of being human.

Having 100% authentic "human" characters in a story would probably make it the most boring story to ever exist. Authors and filmmakers can get close, really pull on the heartstrings to make their characters relatable, but things need to be tweaked for the sake of entertainment; real people aren't entertaining unless they do something funny, make a fool of themselves, or if you know them personally so their company alone puts a smile on your face.

So, I say sorry, for having to put you through so much "fluff", and a lot of "Two steps forward and one step back." writing; it's all been hardwired into this story since the beginning. I'd also like to congratulate you; you read 300k+ words of a spineless kid wandering around the Lands Between. Most people probably dipped after the first few chapters, despite the popularity this story has somewhat achieved.

And, with that, I hope you might understand why I'm splitting this story up into volumes. Really, it's just a big excuse to change writing styles suddenly. I'm wanting to move away from the extensivity this story's been thus far.

I'll still write with my usual style; I find it important to emphasize certain things in a tale, especially when the overall plot is just as important as characetr interactions. But, Lance will stop acting like a "human" from this time on, even though he started wandering away from that since around the time he entered Bellard.

But, he won't entirely act like a "character". He will still take a vaguely "human" approach to most situations, Not constantly second-guessing himself every chapter like a broken record player, but not acting as the engine that drives the narrative. He's never truly been the protagonist; the story moves him far more often than he moves the story.

He's always been a human thrust into one dangerous situation after another, as he tries his best to overcome it solely for his survival, or for his own desires that slowly morphed as he grew accustomed to the chaotic and perilous life he now lives, in a world an RPG was based off of.

He will retain what makes him "him", but just know, as a heads up, that this story will start moving a lot faster, without fluff to slow it down. I've fallen in love with this little project of mine, and I want to continue it until the end. I'll continue onwards, and I might even make a version for the first volume that removes all the "filler" it's got all stuffed up in it.

Thank you for your time, and thanks again for reading.

With love from me, myself, and I...

-Corroded Vortex :p Peace out!