A/N: EDIT: Sadly, that's not a lot of feedback for this chapter or Love Bites. I'm beat...did my best for a double update day, too...T_T

As ever and always, every review truly does help, large or small, any feedback is better than nothing at all.

Do let me know if you want weekly updates, monthly, or what-have-you. As ever, I own no references, quotes, memes or themes! They're all tributes to legends far greater than me. I'm just a humble author trying to make his way in this wild world, one word at a time. Time and feedback will determine if this remains a story. Simple as that.

In other words...its up to YOU, the reader. Do let me know~!

SPOILERS FOR SHADOWS OF THE ERDTREE AHEAD!

Suppose that's obvious.

We've also a tribute to cut content as well. If you know, you know.

And a scene from my Shards of Shattering plotbin~!

"Monster, monster, monster. So quick to throw that word around, aren't you? But am I the monster here? Or is it you?

Ahh, not-so-kindly Miquella, you have cast aside something you shouldn't.

Something you mustn't lose under any circumstances.

Love."

~A reference.

Flowers in the Deep

It wasn't hard to find the voice.

Down into the depths he delved, down past those who had fallen, through the muck and the mud and the mire, following his instincts until they led him where he knew he needed to go. There was no need for words or any such hesitation. He had a job to do, and only once it was done would he return to his loved ones. They would expect nothing less of him - no, he expected nothing less of himself.

He decided that.

All the while the realm resisted him, the Land of Shadows -as did Miquella- knew he was here now, and as such he soon found himself encountering obstacles that might have otherwise been avoided. Creatures rose from the muck to impede him, sorcerers flung spell bolts his way, the very sky rained down fire and ice upon him.

It was all for naught; the cold never bothered him anyway.

With his golden ax in hand, Naruto -Godrick!- waded forward without fear and defeated all challengers. Radahn's death weighed on his mind while he walked, but not as heavily as one might think; he mourned for what his uncle had become, for what she should have been, but he did not allow that grief to shackle him. Not as it would Rennala. Even with her son's letter, he knew she would mourn the loss of her son.

As was her right. She was his mother. No parent should have to bury their children.

At the very least he could return his weapons and armor to her. The rest has been safely sealed in a storage scroll; both to be returned to her at a later date...and kept well out of Miquella's scheming hands. Radhan's soul was dead and gone, but his "kindly" uncle might yet attempt some mad manner of malevolence with his flesh.

Who says knowledge of a past life didn't help? Not him!

But who yet remained, then?

Malenia he had -accidentally!- wooed to his side. Radahn was no more. Miquella's fragments aside, that Rykard, Ranni -whom he held no ill will against- Morgott, and of course, Mohg. The latter was going to be a problem. He had no doubt Miquella had fully charmed the twisted old Omen, and even if he hadn't Mohg was a servant of the Formless Mother, Lady of Blood.

She might be...difficult to deal with.

Uncles and Aunts aside, Radagon and Marika remained the true threat. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of them since the Shattering started, and while the Erdtree had welcomed him, he was loathe to enter it without safely securing Stormveil and eradicating the last of his...

.

..

...competition?

Was it a competition?

It didn't particularly feel like a competition.

More like he was putting madmen -and madwomen- out their misery. He took less pleasure in it than he thought he might. Besting Malenia had been a pleasure. Ending Radahn was a solemn duty to prevent his soul from being further twisted by Miquella.

Miquella.

On second though, he would enjoy killing him, hunting down his "selves" one by one.

And if this voice was who he though it was, he'd take great pleasure in what was to come.

Naturally, when it came time to leap into the abyss below in search of the voice guiding him, he did so without fear.

Down he went once more, plummeting in a freefall.

The moment landed, sludge sucked at his boots; this was no madness of Miquella, but a result of the decay in the deep itself. A sweet, almost cloying scent tugged at his nostrils and almost unbidden, he felt his eyes begin to droop. Down here the miasma was almost overpowering; sleep threatened to overtake him if he lingered long.

Tearing a strip of cloth from his cloak, he fashioned it into a crude covering of sorts and wrapped around the lower half of his face.

Even then it was an effort to resist inhaling overlong; best not to linger.

Movement up ahead caught his eye.

As he stalked toward the cavern at the far end of this strange, sleepy swamp, he found his prize guarded by a ghastly knight-skeleton-creature. Whatever it was, it had been forged of white bone and sludge sat astride a decaying horse, a twisted soul damaged almost beyond all recognition. A twisted cleaver of bone hung ready in his right hand, gripped and ready to swing.

And yet it looked upon him; it knew him.

Baleful blue eyes of a gloamy-nature regarded him from afar, and as he drew closer, he realized something horrible. Both rider and warrior were not quite one as he'd first suspected, but the steed itself appeared to be fused with the ground near the hind legs, which made it all the more ghastly to look upon.

Remarkably, it did not attack.

Instead, this "Putrescent Knight" dismounted its steed and knelt, long neck craning toward the floor, head bowed in supplication.

Gloam eyes gazed up at him.

"Nightlord Godrick." the creature's voice was warped, distorted, a shadow of what it had once been and never again would be. "He who bears Destined Death. Ye who swallowed the Sun. The Specter of Our Lady reborn in the pale flesh of a Demigod. Long have we waited your arrival."

Nightlord? Him? He'd never heard that term before. Ah, but the creature was still speaking, and he must attend:

"Lady Ranni spoke of thee; she said you would come at the promised time." something in the knight's tone quavered as a tremor shook it skeletal frame. "You honor us."

His eyes widened. Ranni? Had she been here? "How do you know her?"

"The witch cometh and she goeth." the skeleton-knight shuddered anew. "It is by her grace that the Lady yet lives. She knew you would come, for the Night is gentle and thou art kind...she left thee words to guide thee upon thine path.

He scoffed, both surprised and annoyed. It was so very like her to meddle. Was she trying to make up for that awful Night? "Lets hear them, then."

"We shall show you instead...

With but a word, those trembling, bony fingers reached back toward its faithful steed and plucked something out the horse's hide. A sealed leather bag of some sort. As he looked it fumbled at the string sealing it for a moment before plucking forth its prize; a worn, sealed letter branded with a familiar blue crest. Not the crest of Caria, or Rennala, but something far more simplistic, almost rustic even.

Ranni's crest. That of the Lunar Princess, in all its gleaming glory.

The Putrescent Knight offered it to him. "For you, Nightlord."

He kept calling him that; still if it meant he didn't attack...

With a reluctant sigh, he tucked it into his pouch, resolving to read it later.

"What are you?"

"We do not know; we simply serve." the knight intoned. "We protect. We guard that which has been forsaken." Without missing a beat, the knight pivoted, pointing toward the innermost. "She awaits you. Attend her. Mend that which Miquella the Accursed has broken. Make her whole. Make us whole."

Before he could think to ask anything more of it, the Putrescent Knight sank into the sludge before him, returning to the mire from which it came.

"Make...us...whole...

There was nothing more to be said; he stepped past and entered the cave.

Clunk.

He hissed a little as his forehead buttered against the ceiling and immediately crouched low, ducking his head so as not to bash it against the tunnel again. Thankfully it opened up as he ventured deeper and well that it did too; because there, at the end, he beheld something extraordinary.

A flower woman?

Vivid and bright and purple, she wasn't a flower at all, but rather someone that had become one; forced to change against her will. The frail wilting blossoms cradled the barest remains of her pale face, cradling her violet hair as though rocking her to sweet sleep.

Not the strangest thing he'd seen in his first life, or his second, but definitely up there.

Poor thing looked to be in a bad way.

"Hello? Are you there?" He waved a hand before her face." Anyone home?"

No response.

None whatsoever.

Nothing to suggest she was alive.

There was some sort of strange nectar chipping from her outstretched hands

On a whim, he cupped his hands and let it pool there, then drank.

He nearly passed out on the spot.

The small body cradled in the flower had moved just now.

Just a touch.

Just a tad.

Just.

Naruto frowned and took another drink.


(.0.0.0.)


Saint Trinna opened her eyes.

And in opening them, she understood the truth.

Realization was slow to come, a wary, sluggish thing, an act she could scarcely comprehend, but come it did.

Strange indeed, how very strange; she could feel her heart breathing; Feel her lungs filling, gasping for air she'd not needed in so long. She remembered the pain. The agony. Being ripped apart, cast aside, rooted in the ground and left to fester in this stone fissure.

Life had been a walking dream ever since, a hellscape of suffering.

And yet she did not hate Miquella for what he had done to her.

How could she, when they were one and the same?

Kindly Miquella, who wished to become a god. Foolish Miquella, who understood not the prison of Godhood. Lonely Miquella, who had cast aside everything, his loves, his doubts, his anger -even her, the other half of his very sou!- all in pursuit of a grand unattainable dream he could no longer reach. Aloof Miquella, who had already devoured something he should not, and become something so much more. Arrogant Miquella, who ever now strove for more, heedless of the disaster that awaited...

"Can you hear me?"

A hand touched her pale cheek -how strange it was to feel again after growing numb to it all- drawing her back to reality, and unbidden, she felt her face warm.

Right.

Remember.

Rise to your feet.

She stood unsteadily, unused to having legs after so long.

How very quaint it was, regaining her movement in such a manner; she felt as though she might topple over at any moment; that it would be better if she just curled back up and returned to the flower. Everything was so very bright and new, and her skin was so sensitive; her bare feet tingled with ever step, and her arms felt so wretchedly heavy...!

But she had to press on. She must. To give up now was to accept defeat, and she refused to do so.

When she stumbled, a pale hand caught her, looping around her waist. She gasped and clung onto her savior's chest, only to balk, not just their warmth, but what -who!- she saw supporting her. For a fleeting moment she thought it might be Godwyn, so bright was he, such did he shine even here in the depths.

But this was not Godwyn. Miquella had tried to save him time and time again, only to fail.

No...this was someone new. A newcomer, to the Realm of Shadows.

She sensed the divinity in him and perked up.

Ah, yes. She remembered him now.

Her champion.

He who had drank her poison six times. He who understood her words. He who had sat with her for so long, listening.

He whose name she did not even know, for she had not thought to ask.

He who smiled at her now, and let her stand on her own power.

Trinna thought she might like this man.

She liked him very much.

More than that...

"You," the word itched her scratchy throat, "You are kin...

There was a distant relation between them, a spark of divinity that they both shared. His burned so much brighter than hers, but even now she could feel her strength returning to her; that which was once severed was not so easily made whole, but it was a start; a wonderful one indeed.

His handsome face softened as he planted his ax in the much and patted her head.

"What," She still spoke slowly, haltingly, such was her way. "Have you done to me...?"

"Gave you a new body." whiskered cheeks dimpled in a smile as he winked once an flashed a marked palm her way, allowing her to glimpse the many rings wrapped around his fingers therein. "Really wasn't that all that difficult." he winked her way. "I gave you some of my own lifeforce. From there it was merely a matter of mending what was broken. See, I got this idea from this dragon I met...

Dragon? His own life-force? But that meant-no! Don't focus on that!

Panic flowered in Trinna like the lily she no longer was. "Miquella!" she grabbed at him. "You must stop-

"And I will." The Glowing One smiled and held out his hand for her. Her, and only her. "Shall we go?"

Trinna dithered. "I should not exist. I was never meant to exist. I...shouldn't be alive."

The Gold One tilted his head. "Yet here you are."

"But I don't deserve to-

"Nope." he held that same hand before her face, fingers splayed. "Nope!" he repeated, louder now when she made to protest. "NOPE!" a final shout stole her breath away, such was the heat of his glare. "We aren't talking about refusing to exist or un-aliving yourself. You're here. You're breathing. You have thoughts of your own. That means you deserved a chance to be someone, and if anyone says otherwise, I'll smack 'em."

She hiccuped a little. "Who decided that?"

He grinned. "I did."

Tears sprang to her eyes.

...do you mean those words?"

Naruto squinted at her. "Never go back on 'em, soooo...

A light laugh bubbled up in Trinna's heart and escaped her lips, held back no longer.

She inched forward, and when he didn't move, she dared to reach for his palm, then his hand hand proper, burning bright.

Quietly, timidly, she curled her pale, violet fingers around his...and held tight.

For in these wretched shadows, he was her light.

Hope flowered anew in the deep.

A/N: Tada~!

Hope you enjoyed it!

Wouldst thou prefer weekly updates? Or perhaps monthly?

Well, what say you? Should this remain a story or not? It'll likely be rated M soon with Mature themes, lemons, character death, and the like.

Once more, we're sticking with the "Embers" rule for this particular story, and others. If folks don't like this, it won't be continued. Meaning that if the story itself isn't popular... I won't be able to continue. I'm working two jobs -might need a third soon!- so I barely have time to write; as such, I cannot afford to write something folks don't enjoy.

So by all means, speak up! Your voice matters! Make yourself heard! As ever, reviews are the fuel that sustain me. Without them I cannot write a single word. Simple as that. Working nearly all hours of the day keep me absurdly busy, and I can't bring myself to write something folks don't like.

Aaaand there we go. As ever, reviews keep me alive. Without them, I cannot write. So...in the Immortal Words of Atlas...

...Review...Would You Kindly? And have some previews -potential blot bin things- that I'm working on.

Things that may or may not become stories in the far flung future.

Previews are mostly the same, don't want to spoil things.

But ohhh these battles are a' coming...

(Previews)

"I'm an honest man. You had your chance. And you squandered it.

His axe bit deep into their skull.


Mohg felt the charm shatter.

The moment it did, his mind returned to him.

And so he raged. "No! That miscreant was MINE to kill!"


Another crossbreed?" he regarded the quivering figure sprawled before him. "Now that's not something you see everyday. And who are you? How did you get here?"


I am Nepheli Loux! Show yourself, Godrick!"

Remarkably, he answered. A towering figure emerged.

...I had a door, you know." his voice stilled her. "You could have knocked."

Oh, dear. He was bigger than she'd thought he would be. Wasn't he supposed to be the Runt of the Litter?

His shadow fell over her. "Lets see how good you are with those axes."

Meep.


Rykard took a deep breath to steady himself.

The serpent beckoned, promising him power if he but yielded to it. And yet...


Lady Rennala? To what do I owe the pleasure?"


So this is where you were hiding...Malekith."

A hooded head rose. "Why have you come here, nephew?"

"To snap you out of your funk. You have something of mine, and I've come to collect."

EDIT: Hey, you made it! Thanks for reading! Hope you have a great day!

Looking forward to chatting with you all when I get back from work~!

R ~!