Archive of Our Own

The existence of Kaleidoscope is proof enough that such differences even exist, proof that such worlds have a right to simply be. At this very moment, the timestream is ever flowing forward, branching out, yes, but never stopping, not for anything or anyone. Thus, a quantum entanglement occurred during the Third Holy Grail War, with a different Avenger class Servant being summoned and subsequently infecting the system as a whole. One instance allowed All the World's Evil to be birthed, drowning the world in a dark red abyss of the cruel sweetness of what humanity had to offer. Another allowed the summoning of a creature of cosmic origin, violent and eager to corrupt as it spread its lifeblood into the Earth and corrupts it even now.

Now, the remnant of one hardened by the Great Poison's intervention finds herself in a familiar setting.

[Kiln of the First Flame]

"Hmm… You are astonishing.

The truth I shall share without sentiment.

After the advent of fire, the ancient lords found the three souls.

But your progenitor found a fourth, unique soul.

The Dark Soul.

Your ancestor claimed the Dark Soul and waited for Fire to subside.

And soon, the flames did fade, and only Dark remained.

Thus began the age of men, the Age of Dark.

However…

Lord Gwyn trembled at the Dark.

Clinging to his Age of Fire, and in dire fear of humans,

and the Dark Lord who would one day be born amongst them,

Lord Gwyn resisted the course of nature.

By sacrificing himself to link the fire, and commanding his children to shepherd the humans,

Gwyn has blurred your past, to prevent the birth of the Dark Lord.

I am the primordial serpent.

I seek to right the wrongs of the past to discover our true Lord.

But the other serpent, Frampt, lost his sense, and befriended Lord Gwyn.

Undead warrior, we stand at the crossroad.

Only I know the truth about your fate.

You must destroy the fading Lord Gwyn, who has coddled Fire and resisted nature,

and become the Fourth Lord, so that you may usher in the Age of Dark!"

- Darkstalker Kaathe

"It began that day, the ruination of this world. From the moment a successor of Gwyn linked the fire, this world began to end, and there was nothing we could do to stop it."

In a mountainous region illuminated only by an eclipse whose light faded away, a great battle was being fought atop a great crag. Fiery explosions rocked the ground violently while beams of light traveled upward before dissipating.

Two figures observed the event unfold from a distance. Both clad in dark clothing, they stood silent as a stiff wind lightly passed through.

But where one watched the battle occur, the other listened for she had not been blessed with sight. Her sister could not hear the sounds of battle between two monsters, one of which they were charged with serving.

"Thou hearest it, sister mine?" Yuria's voice addressing her elicited a sudden jolt. "The magnificence of our Lord?"

She did not even feel herself nodding at the question, too engrossed in the battle as she was. The youngest of three had hoped the movement would be noticed for she found words could not be formed at the moment. A certain dryness parched her throat, as if all moisture had been sucked away, and still is. Even the heat seemed to be leaving the area as the chill she felt grew colder by the minute.

She felt… uneasy about the situation. Afraid perhaps, but then again she was not down there. Down there with the supposed Lord of Hollows.

"And the one responsible is down there now." Yuria shuddered in an unusual manner, a hand on her upturned cheek. "Our future depends on you, my Lord, the one who doomed this world."

Liliane shivered as Yuria began to laugh.

Meanwhile, atop the mountain, a massive explosion lit up the darkening landscape. Immolated rocks flew everywhere as flames trailed them, hitting the ground with the force of meteorites. The towering flame at the center quickly died down as lava spilled off the edges of the summit, the semifluid rock cooling as it formed over the older material.

Two figures stood on opposing ends. One of them stood tall even as lava passed through their legs, no sign of flinching even as the metal armor heated up. A spiraled sword was held to the side as it was coated with orange flame. Whatever expression the knight had on their face couldn't be seen, but even concealed behind a helmet, the rising and falling of their shoulders indicated great anger. And it was directed at the person on the other side.

They who stood on the other side where the lava simply ceased to be. The semifluid rock cooling rapidly as its glow traveled up the metal boots of the opposing knight. Their form was almost completely surrounded by darkness, flames desperately licking at their armor as they struggled to stay lit. Even the light appeared as though it were being sucked into their very being, into the gaping hole in their chest which appeared to leak embers.

"Gwyn…" A voice growled with a demonic reverberation, red eyes staring from beyond the black cloud. "I cannot die…"

The black cloud parted to show the face of the one who dared challenge them. Skin the color of ash, the black knight was revealed to be a woman whose hair was as white as snow with what seemed to be a tinge of yellow to it. Red eyes surrounded by darkness stared impassively as the sword was swung once, and black flames enwreathed the blade.

A classical tale of light versus dark. And it all ends here.

During my participation of the Fourth Holy Grail War, there was an incessant noise. Its chime was once faint, but upon my return in the Fifth Holy Grail War it had since turned into a perpetual melody. 

Yes, indeed.

It is called Lothric, where the transitory lands of the Lords of Cinder converge. In venturing north, the pilgrims discover the truth of the old words:

"The fire fades… and the lords go without thrones."

When the link of fire is threatened, the bell tolls, unearthing the old Lords of Cinder from their graves…

Aldrich, Saint of the Deep… Farron's Undead Legion, the Abyss Watchers… and the reclusive Lord of the Profaned Capital, Yhorm the Giant…

Only, in truth… the Lords will abandon their thrones… and the Unkindled will rise. Nameless, accursed Undead, unfit even to be cinder.

And so it is, that ash seeketh embers.

[Cemetery of Ash]

"What is your fair guideline for deciding what is just? Could it be, could it be? Do you decide based on whatever you feel like? If its based on whatever you feel like, how is that different from 'for fun'?"

"Do not claim to know me, Assassin. You toy with people's minds and relish in their despair. We are not the same."

"Oh Saber-San, how it woooooounds me to hear you say that! After all, a lie about a lie… it turns inside out on itself."

- Assassin and Saber of the Fourth Holy Grail War

(Insert Casshern Sins OST: Sins)

A bell tolled in the distance, the significance lost on many who yet lived. To those who yet lived, who remembered, it was a signal, a cry from the gods to once again undertake great sacrifice.

'Once, I was a King.'

The cracking of rocks was heard in the dark canyon, a faint and ominous sound that was heard over the stiff wind that whistled in the silence. It was followed only by the momentary rasps of surprise and growls of outrage before they turned into howls of pain and dying whispers.

'A King who led a prosperous kingdom safeguarded by knights, ruling selflessly for the sake of my people.'

Dark and murky water lightly splashed underneath the boot heels of a black knight who walked along a river's path, its once pristine colour tainted not by soil, but ash. Ash which made up much of the ground that the lone individual walked through without care of its state nor that of the horrors which stalked the dark canyon. This same substance coated their dark armor, with faint red lines glowing on it like a fading ember; even their hair had spots of this residual essence of something which long since expired, the blonde hair atop their head almost an equally grey hue.

'In the end, it was all for naught, as I would soon see when treachery reared its ugly head and blew the flames of destruction upon Camelot. My leadership, it seemed, had left many unsatisfied. Yet even in death, when I was called upon to participate in a war during a time long since my own, I held onto the hope that perhaps it was not treachery… but myself who led Camelot into becoming nothing more than a memory.'

The black knight approached a clearing lit by a bright horizon, the possibility of what it showed causing a falter in their step. They continued at their slow pace however, the dim light beyond causing a squint in their eyes, eager to take it all in.

'When I was summoned into the Fourth Holy Grail War, it was with this false hope that I would come to encounter not comrades nor a hint of understanding among them. No, it was monsters and scorn at its core that greeted me.'

They stopped at a clearing that overlooked a picturesque scene of the landscape, their path leading them up along to the left where the ruins of a castle could be seen not much farther. But they did not follow the path, not yet at least. Instead, they stood there at the base of that cliff, impassive yellow gaze looking upon the landscape that was filled not with the greenery of life… but with the grey expanse of death.

'When I was betrayed into destroying the means with which to brighten the future of my long lost kingdom, I despaired. O, how I despaired. Long I sat at that hill, waiting for the chance to open up that possibility again. And it came, much to my relief.'

The mountains in the distance which appeared snow capped gave a rough indication of where they were. Not where in the world they were, rather, where they were with the situation at hand. They looked down at the ground before bending to a knee, armored gauntlet dissipating into red particles to reveal a rough but small and pale skinned hand. The hand slowly scooped up the grey particles into the center before rising back up and silently looked at the mound.

'Again, I was met by monsters, with the odd companion here and there. But it did not last as I would have hoped, for in my own hubris and that of my Master's, we were pulled into the darkness of the true face of the war. In time, I was among those to join the dead yet again, not knowing what happened to my Master.'

A black robed creature roared at the black knight from the side as it brought up its rusted weapon, intent on running them through. It was without sparing it a glance that the black knight swung their sword at this unimportant creature, the blade cutting through in a swift horizontal motion that decapitated it.

'When I was brought back into the world, it was with the goal to allow the Holy Grail to simply… end it all. To allow it to bring into existence a new world with a vessel suited for birthing it. When I was brought back into the world, it was with a newfound clarity that I faced down my Master and lost, a loss which I accepted. Even then, I would not know of their fate nor that of the world.'

Bringing the ash close to their face, they sniffed at it, a grimace forming on their face at its quality. Ash old and new mixed together. From generations of life and death, of prolonging life in defiance of death. Their hand tilted to let it drop to the floor, little by little it left their hand.

"And so it is that I find myself here, in a world limping on its last legs." Their voice spoke softly in the quiet, the tone revealing the knight to be female. "For what reason do I find myself here other than to face down the culmination of generations of foolishness and cowardice of the inevitable?"

No sooner had she first opened her eyes to the world did a flow of information flood her mind. Lothric. Lords of Cinder. Unkindled. Another conflict with fleeting hope.

The black knight's face remained impassive even as she turned to walk up the path leading to the ruins, not a wrinkle of fury or sorrow on her face. Only acceptance of the current situation.

"Now watch, O Lords, as I set to righting your wrongs set ablaze by your foolish ideals."

Arturia Pendragon, the Once and Future King of Camelot, had arisen from the ashes of failure.

(End OST)

She reached an open courtyard, where there lay a massive tree long since drained of life, its roots coiled around a giant gravestone surrounded by smaller ones. Though to say it was giant was perhaps an understatement, it was massive really, big enough to fit one of the Giants of this world. Or perhaps it held a Lord?

Her eyes slid over to the center of the open space, where a kneeling statue of a knight was situated, head bowed with an arm draped over its leg. Stabbed at an angle into the ground there lay a large pole with a spiral design along its shaft, the color equally as dull gray as the stone form of this knight.

'No, wait. Not stone.' Saber Alter thought as she approached its form. Trailing a hand across its surface, she felt the familiar sensation of metal, cold and hard to the touch.

It was a very large, unattended suit of armor, one which was detailed with intricate engravings on various parts of its body. The helmet was a curious piece of equipment as well, bearing an almost human expression with holes where its eyes and mouth were located. Along with the gorget that was connected to the helmet, it was the crown attached to it that caught her attention. Such a piece indicated status, a symbol of leadership, and in this world with which she found herself in again…

Then there was the other matter concerning this armor. At the back of its neck was… something attached to it. It was oily black and viscous, writhing and pulsating with life.

"I see, perhaps you were a Lord? Put here to test the mettle of others?" She spoke softly as she stepped in front of the armor. There was a sword stabbed into the chest, its coiled handle sticking out within range of an easy motion to pull out. "So be it then."

It took little power to extract the weapon, what with her strength as a Servant making it a trivial task. Even so, blood had spurted out of the armor which made abundantly clear that this was no ordinary suit of armor. So it was that when it twitched and rose from its kneeling position, ripping the pole from its ground to reveal it to be a halberd, she calmly put away the sword and stepped back.

Compared to her, the giant in full plate armor stood at around ten feet, a perfect contrast to her own height of five feet. A huff was heard from them as they hefted the weapon with great ease, looking down at her with an unreadable expression as he began to approach with thundering footsteps. She too, did the same as she drew her sword and held it to the side as the metal gauntlet tightened around the halberd, the warrior closing the distance with just a few steps.

When the weapon was thrust directly at her chest, Excalibur Morgan had parried the attack quickly with an upward slash, throwing her opponent off balance as Artoria followed up with a downward slash across the chest. The blade was neither dull nor rusted as it cut cleanly through the armor and drew blood. That did little to deter the wearer however for it quickly struck down at her, successfully striking the knight across the head with a hard punch.

Encumbered only slightly by the attack, Arturia stepped to the side as that halberd was thrust forward yet again, her free hand gathering the dark power she had at her disposal. Before the guardian could even react to what she had planned, her fist was driven into his side, amplified by magic energy. It was certainly not enough to kill him, but it was enough to surprise him as he keeled over, the helmet turning to face her incoming fist. Dazed by the attack, Arturia leapt over the swing of his weapon and landed behind him, quickly stabbing her sword into his back before pulling it out and prepared to strike again.

She did not account for the iron warrior's high durability despite his wounds, his endurance seemingly allowing him to straighten himself quickly as his arm shot backward in a quick motion as the hit struck her directly on the forehead. Her neck snapped backward, and it was only by the protection of her visor that any serious damage was avoided. From then on, it was once again a constant state of staying alert and avoiding his attacks, and it was admittedly easier said than done. For all her agility, Gundyr was able to match her with little effort on his part, seemingly moving faster as the fight went on.

'Is he trying to kill me as fast as possible? But why?'

The thought was of little import for the moment as she swung upward at the weapon, the powerful clang sounding in the clearing as the iudex's posture was thrown off momentarily again. This brief respite allowed her to activate Mana Burst as she propelled herself a good distance away from him, the warrior himself slowly looking to where she had gone.

Having no Estus left to drink, Arturia decided that prolonging the fight using conventional methods would be disadvantageous to her, so she decided on using that. Her most powerful weapon accessible to her class was not simply her sword, but the ability it carried. It would be a massive drain on her already dwindling reserves of magic energy, but it would be faster to eradicate the being than chip away at the armor. What's more, she found that the absorption of souls mended her reserves, and as there were none in the area, she had to come to a decision soon.

"Vortigern, Hammer of the Vile King, reverse the rising sun…" She began as she held her sword up. Gundyr began to approach her with nary a falter in his step. "Swallow the light!" She raised the weapon and roared. "Ex-"

The Iudex burst into speed, his boot crushing the ground as it exploded from underneath. Artoria had only seconds to react at the speed of her opponent, the halberd moving in a sideward sweeping motion. The blade was off by a few inches, but the pole wasn't, and though she moved to block the attack, Gundyr was simply too fast. When the pole of the weapon hit her arm, the excruciating sensation of the bone crushing underneath metal registered slow and steady as she realized she was flying through the air.

The last thing she saw before drifting off into unconsciousness was Gundyr twitching and clawing at his face, black liquid spurting out of his helmet's holes…

She pulled herself out of the rubble which she had been slammed into, her breathing labored as her sword was stabbed into the ground. She could barely even keep herself upright as her back had been shredded not just by the impact but the enemy Servant as well. ot even her connection to Kiritsugu could mend the damage fast enough.

"I was once buried alive…" Berserker's deep voice was heard in the opera house, the tone making her look up at him in tired anger. "...For 60 years!"

She steadied her sword and tried to remain upright on unsteady legs. Her right arm shattered as it hung limply at her side, forcing her to rely on her left arm, the feeling almost alien to her were it not for her training.

"You think that puny metal stick can kill me!? Knowing that!?" His roar reverberated through the entertainment chamber, the disgusting sound of flesh tearing itself apart following as his body morphed more and more into that of a terrible beast. "If that didn't kill me… if the Sith and the Mandalorians and the Bloodboilers of Kragis couldn't kill me- THEN YOU WILL NOT KILL ME!"

Golden eyes snapped open to the sight of rubble and water, lips parting in a snarl as the pain registered. Attempts to push herself up with her right arm were met with a hiss of agony as she fell back down. Her right arm had been shattered by the elbow down, with the ligament most likely having been torn.

An inhuman roar reminded her of the situation as she craned her neck on the ground. Gundyr was not advancing on her, instead his body was being contorted and torn apart by something from within. When the giant clawed arm popped into existence with some of that same dark substance from his neck spreading further, she knew it was time to get up with little complaint as she knew exactly what this spawn was. A case of one's Dark Soul overflowing with humanity, the so-called "Pus of Humanity."

Gundyr's body twitched as more of the black substance came forth, covering his whole upper torso as it began to take on a form. Once a head was noticeably formed, it began to feel as if the Iudex was no longer in control of his own body, the entity twisting his arm at impossible angles to accommodate itself. Its form was oily black and viscous - just the same as the growth on the back of his neck - easily adding to the warrior's height by several feet.

Holding Excalibur Morgan with her left arm, Arturia couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity in the moment. The creature was, at best, at an infantile stage; it was not at all like a beast she had faced in the past, completely consumed and rampant with rage and longing.

With one of her arms rendered useless and her dangerously low reserves of magic, firing Excalibur Morgan now would be suicidal. Were she to have Avalon on hand, her predicament would have been fixed in no time. But it wasn't, instead it lay with her Master…

Iudex Gundyr roared again and Arturia steeled herself, she could not let herself be held back on what she didn't have. She would crush this forsaken abomination like everything else.

When the red eyes of that darkness turned to look at her, she burst into a sprint just as the being jumped up into the air before crashing down on the ground behind her. With its attention away from her, she spun in place and struck at the back with a slash. Sensing that it would retaliate, the Servant bent her body backward and spun to build up the kinetic energy of her next swing, hitting the corrupted warrior at the front where the black mass had been turned to face her.

Enraged by her successful hit, the head of the creature slammed down on the ground to crush her, missing completely as she had leapt backward. Whirling to face her again, its red eyes seemed to widen in surprise when it saw the blade slash across. Once across its right eye and once across its left. Blinded, the creature reared its head back and roared in pain, giving Arturia the opening she needed as she charged her weapon with dark energy.

The empowered black blade cut at the body and even managed to slice away pieces of the armor as they clattered to the ground. The large, bony white arm whipped to grab her for the damage done, missing when Arturia leapt over with a spin and swung at it, cleaving into the bone. The appendage fell unceremoniously as she focused one more time and channeled what little energy she could into Excalibur. There was still the other arm however, which jabbed the halberd at her, missing as she raised her foot then and there and slammed it down with all her strength.

"Excalibur!" She began as the blade thrummed with energy, darkness elongating the weapon rather than enlarging it. "MORGAN!"

The noble phantasm was not as powerful as it normally was, but the energy empowered blade that ran through the corrupted warrior's chest was enough to pierce through the metal and shoot out his back. His body flying backward, the black mass quickly retreated into him as he slammed into the ceremonial resting place. The material crumbled beneath his weight as it collapsed in on itself, the rotted tree following suit to add injury as it all piled atop.

Arturia fell to a knee as she gasped for air, having exerted far more than she would have liked. Alas, the changes brought on by the war wrenched away her control. She could barely take in any magical energy let alone move forward without feeling the exhaustion creep up. She understood now that she had to be extremely wary of usage for her noble phantasm. Yet the bonfire was right in front of her, having appeared as if concealed by illusion.

Her hand clasped around the sword jutting out of the ash, and fire expelled outward, rekindling the fire that gave life. With a breathless sigh of relief, Arturia fell back down.

[Firelink Shrine]

"Ahhh, another one, roused from the sleep of death?

Well, you're not alone. We Unkindled are worthless. Can't even die right. Gives me conniptions.

And they'd have us seek the Lords of Cinder, and return them to their moulding thrones.

But we're talking true legends with the mettle to link the fire. We're not fit to lick their boots.

Don't you think?"

- Hawkwood

'Th… thank you… I am Anastacia of Astora… now I can continue my duty as a Keeper… but… I only hope that my impure tongue does not offend.'

The King of Knights was taken aback by this.

'I beg your pardon? Why on earth would you think that? You have done me no wrong.'

'I am impure… all Keepers are… we see and speak of blasphemy… tis only right that they silence me.'

The female knight's hands reached in between the iron bars and grasped the young girl's hands.

'I promise to set you free from here, Anastacia! I cannot on good conscience just leave you here! Goodness, you can't even walk!'

'... thank you, my lady, but… I am impure… mine tongue never meant for restoration. I'm not even supposed to be talking to you…'

The King of Knights stared at her in shock, unable to say anything else. Unable to understand how a soft-spoken maiden such as her could be treated so horribly. Like a witch.

She grit her teeth and swore to Anastacia again. That she would be freed.

…

'Saber?'

Arturia's eyes shot open at the sound of her Master's voice, quickly looking around to find her. But they just weren't there. Neither were they in the Emiya residence. They were in the cold and dank tomb of Firelink Shrine.

"Ashen One, is something the matter?"

She looked up to see the Fire Keeper looming over her. Her hand, formerly offered out to help establish her presence in the world, had now been reaching out to her, clearly concerned for the Ashen One. She meant well, and she spoke in a kind hearted tone but…

"I am fine," Arturia stood up and began to walk away. "I will return later, Anastacia."

"Ah - very well, but… my name is not…" The maiden replied, her hand retreating slightly as she spoke hesitantly, stopping as knight halted abruptly.

Arturia flinched, fists curling at her side as she realized her mistake. She considered turning back but… she could not. She could not bear to look at another failure of hers. So instead she let out a deep breath before continuing on her way.

…

"Oh, thou'rt unkindled, and a seeker of lords. I am Ludleth of Courland. Look not in bewilderment as I say… I linked the fire long ago, becoming a Lord of Cinder." The little man spoke, gauging her reaction. "If substantiation be thy want, set thine eyes upon my charred corse. This sad cadav'r. No need to be coy, have a closer look."

How curious it was to see that she was not the only one arisen from ash. That Lords of Cinder were roused as well… How long has it been since the Age of Fire began? Her eyes trailed down and noted his apparent lack of legs. Had they turned to ash in his condition or…

"Where are your legs that brought you to the Kiln, little Lord?"

"Fret not, fret not. My feet are here firmly planted. For I am a Lord, and this is my throne." Ludleth straightened himself up as best he could. "A query from this little Lord, if thou be so kind as to answer?" He leaned in, whispering his next question. "Why shy away from the Fire Keeper?"

She did not respond, merely narrowing her eyes.

"You need not answer, only take heed of mine words." He inched forward as best he could, his eyes smoldering with a strong emotion. "Treat the Fire Keeper not with discourtesy. She is much like thee. Prisoners, both, kept to link the fire."

"Like you?"

"In a sense." Ludleth chuckled mirthlessly. "Thou hast rekindled memories of old? Of a Fire Keeper?"

For a moment, Arturia remained silent. She looked at where the current Fire Keeper was situated, waiting with patience learned by years.

'You should not make such promises to others, not when you can't keep them.'

'Frampt.' She eyed the bizarre creature. 'What business do you have in eavesdropping?'

'The Fire Keeper girl has her duty and you have yours. You would do well not to forget it.'

'To succeed Lord Gwyn, yes, I am aware. You'll take me down there, and once I Link the Fire and inherit the throne, Anastacia will be free to see a world beyond her cell.'

Frampt's head cocked to the side.

'Is that so? Knowing that they spread fear of darkness, you would enforce their freedom?' His teeth clacked together as his head moved in closer, those serpentine orange eyes beholding all they could. 'Well, such would be the words and wishes of a future Lord. But you should take care, Arturia Pendragon of Camelot, for they may have unintended consequences.'

"Once. I made a promise to her I shouldn't have made."

…

Arturia had taken to exploring the shrine for resources to take advantage of, eventually coming up to the third floor of the place when she realized it wasn't as empty as she thought it was. She had stopped in the middle of the archway underneath the ceiling that shone light from its cracked architecture.

A small dog-like animal passed through her legs, showing no hostility in its actions beyond standing up on its hindlegs and pawing at her legs. It made no sound beyond the scratching so she was vastly unsure of what exactly it was. Perhaps it really was a dog if it was so friendly? It had flappy little ears and a collar around its neck, a bell centered in the middle.

"Spoken to the Fire Keeper and that little lord, have we?"

Someone else was approaching her by way of another arch, their form obscured by the shadow. While a sword was strapped to their side, unlike her, they wore a black hooded robe worn down by time and use in battle, with a black sleeved vest jacket worn over that. While only the lower part of their face could be seen, their nonchalant voice was close enough to deduce that they were likely female, even if it echoed in such an empty space.

Or perhaps the face underneath befit the voice?

"Yes. And you? Friend or foe?"

"That depends on how you define those words." They stopped before her, what little shined through the obstruction above showing the other had short white sticking out from underneath the hood. "For now, we are neither."

"Then what is this?"

"A chance encounter," She chuckled lowly, and their close proximity allowed Arturia to notice she sounded rather young, her voice smoother as she did not project as much. "I too, am Unkindled, and fast on the trail of the Lords absconded."

Her head tilted.

"But I can see it in your eyes, and I know that look very well." She began to circle around. "You did not simply attempt to link the Fire, did you? No, you succeeded."

A look of anger crossed her face as Arturia whirled to face the other person, satisfaction clear in her smile.

"Tis true then. We are much the same in that regard."

"Explain yourself."

"I linked the Fire once, and I understand all too well how it feels." She purred. "The sensation of burning to sustain this world… and former Servants to boot."

Excalibur Morgan was drawn up against the woman's throat, smiling even as blood trailed down her skin.

"Get to the point."

"Of course, my ashen sister," She whispered as she reached into her cloak to pull out several red eye orbs. "A gift for you, from one would be Lord to another. A catch up to old times if you would, for a war is expensive. If we didn't invade, didn't pillage, whatever would you fight with?"

Arturia took them and looked down at the orbs, their sinister eyes looking balefully back at her.

"And your name?" She asked as a sudden gust of wind passed, and when she looked up, there was no one there.

She couldn't have astralized, Arturia certainly couldn't. And yet it was as if they were never there to begin with. A phantom... met by chance.

She was able to catch one final whisper however, seeing sinful yellow eyes that burned with keen interest.

"I am Jacques de Molay, the Ringfinger."

[High Wall of Lothric]

The realization that a greater danger than the crossfire during a Holy Grail War presented itself to me late into the first conflict, but once I became aware of the truth... there was nothing I could do. The second war allowed me prepare my allies, just as my Master- Kiritsugu Emiya had done in preparing his child for the coming threat. 

To be imprisoned meant one had to sit through hours upon hours of little to no activity, with nothing to do but watch the occasional changing of the guard and fool around with whatever rubbish lay about. To be imprisoned was to be bored through what could be days, months, years.

And Greirat was very, very bored. He'd been lucky all this time to avoid getting caught, but he supposed his time would eventually come. Even so, it felt like he was in a cell for the better part of a year. One couldn't tell much of what was happening on the outside since there were no crannies to let light in, let alone see what was up and about. There were only the guards.

And then one day, they had gone Hollow. It didn't surprise him at all really, everyone was bound to lose it. But it was the knights who had gone Hollow that surprised him. Something had gone wrong, and the faint sound of the bell ringing didn't ease his own worries.

To be imprisoned was not just to be put through boredom, but to experience utter loneliness. A loneliness that could only be experienced when everyone else has gone mad and you were the only sane one left to make heads or tails of anything. Which brought him to thinking the worst, forced ignorance could do that.

How were things back home? Has the same thing happened there? Was she-

A click of the lock snapped his head up to see his cell opened by a knight in black armor. Not a knight he had ever seen really, her armor almost seemed alive as it… oh gods it actually pulsed. She didn't appear set to kill him at least, despite the cold look in her yellow eyes.

"Ahh, you're no jailer are you? No no, you're from far away. And judging by the bell… you must be some of that unkindled ash."

"That I am." She tilted her head. "And you must be something quite special to be locked up in this kingdom of madness."

"Heh! Yes well, it was an honest mistake on my part. I am not one so easily caught."

The knight was clearly not impressed, opting to stay silent in watching him.

"A-ah but I have a favor to ask, if you are willing to listen."

"Speak, and we shall see."

Well, she was blunt.

"Right. Below the high wall is a musty little town. Not the home of any lord, just a very old settlement of Undead. An old woman, Loretta, lives there." He fished out a ring from his pocket. "Please, give her this ring."

The knight frowned.

"I-I am not asking for charity! In fa- in fact if you do this for me... I'll be sure to repay you in kind. I-I may be a petty thief, but I've more wits than most royalty. What do you say, then?"

The knight closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath of air, worrying Greirat with what her response would be. What if she said no? She did not seem the sort to tolerate such requests. Worse… what if she decided to kill him here and now for his ridiculous request? A knight was above helping someone like him.

"Very well." He blinked once at her response. "Do you know of Firelink Shrine?" He nodded and watched silently as she took the ring and pocketed it away before regarding him once more. "Then go there, we shall resume our business then."

It seemed fortune was smiling upon him once more, for it was not often a person of dependable ability came across his path. Honour amongst thieves was still law, but that man was not likely the sort this woman would have enjoyed meeting. What then, did that say about her, this knight?

"I humbly place my faith in you, then. I am Greirat of the Undead Settlement, and I promise to assist you." He stood slowly, stretching his limbs with a grunt. "Do your part, and I'll do mine."

This would be a gamble, a shot in the dark. But he had to start somewhere.

…

Later, at the aforementioned settlement, an excursion would yield a grim discovery. The town had been overrun by hollows, attacking anyone sane or unlucky enough to come across them. They had been none too kind to the survivors either, subjecting them to cruelty far worse than what the authority in charge had in mind before everything collapsed.

A new brand of faith had come to the settlement in this time, and it did to the decent folk what any faith did. Impalement, burning, hanging, it mattered little in the end. Loretta had been just another unfortunate soul who met an untimely end.

Arturia could not bring back her body, not with how ravaged it had been. There was something she could bring back with her however…

…

"Heavens, she was already dead…" He spoke breathlessly as he clutched the ornamental bone. "Thank you. I-I'm not surprised though. Almost a relief really."

"How so?"

"Well, undead aren't treated kindly you see. And before everything went to piss, Lothric had us slaving away… so I fought back in my own way." He swallowed, taking a moment to collect himself. "The kingdom knew to be wary of Greirat the Thief!"

"So you were a vigilante of sorts? Fighting for your fellow undead," Arturia nodded. "That is admirable."

Greirat said nothing as he looked down at the keepsake, a bone hollowed out to be a makeshift ocarina. Neither did he say a word as the woman who helped him put a hand on his shoulder.

"I think she would be proud of you."

When she left, Greirat felt a measure of relief. Not because he was afraid of her or anything - she was certainly intimidating though - but because he didn't want anyone to see him at the moment. A sob cracked through as he lost his composure, his eyes burning with tears and his lips quivering beneath the hood. When his shoulders began shaking, he did not catch her pausing at the stairs to look back with a pitying gaze.

"Oh mother…"

[Undead Settlement]

Pride was a core aspect of knighthood, as was honor, for without it we would be as our enemies. We would be as those who would topple order through insidious means. Once, I thought my Master as such... Kiritsugu... not... Shinra...

I... we... what was...

No matter where she went, the stiff breeze of death followed her. A cool wind that had a faint smell of ash, not even fit to warm her body as the fires which reduced it were long since snuffed out.

She found it rather peaceful. There was of course the odd simpleton that dared cross her path but the silence was enlightening once no one was left to challenge her. It was a good opportunity to reach out with her senses and see, hear, feel, and think about what was around her. What was left around her. Which was nothing.

Nothing worth mentioning thanks to those who could not see it was finally time. Thanks to her.

"Please, grant me death. Undo my shackles…"

A low voice marred by despair carried through the wind, coming from behind in a rare moment where she hadn't been paying attention. When she turned to look at where the sound came from, she saw for the first time that there were stones dotting the destroyed bridge she stood upon. Or rather, these were not stones as she looked closer, but bodies. The unmoving bodies of pilgrims that met their end where there should have been a pathway lit up by hope on the other side, with only the hopelessness of the situation greeting them without mercy.

One by one, they could have collapsed to any number of fates that saw fit to end them. Except for one. Perhaps it was more cruel then that this lone pilgrim she approached silently bore a far worse fate? To die alone?

When she stood directly before him, the pilgrim gasped in sudden surprise and turned his strange hooded head toward her. The effort clearly taxing on him as he appeared old to her in his movements, with a shaky hand reaching out for her obsidian metal boot. As if he couldn't quite process the fact someone was standing over him without the intent to harm him. And still hadn't.

"Ohh…" He breathed out as his hooded head craned upward to see her impassive gaze. "Ohh, then it's true…" His voice was much clearer now as he stood up, bones cracking as he helped himself up with the support of his staff. "A Champion of Ash, as I live and breathe."

A Champion of Ash? She understood what she was well enough upon her rebirth into this world. The Fire Keeper had called her an Unkindled One briefly, before resorting to calling her the Ashen One. Neither were insults but they had been repeated enough to remind her of one thing. Everyone was being held back.

Not this one. He called her a Champion.

"To be in your presence is a great honour." He stood hunchbacked even with the help of his staff, the bone white object on his back giving him the appearance of a tortoise.

Her eyes narrowed as a dark and boney hand reached out for her, weakly setting on her own and grasping it with what appeared to be all her strength. Just like with Irisviel-

A grimace formed on her face as she shook her head and the pilgrim took note of this, and seeming to think he caused her discomfort, he pulled away with a low bow of his head.

"Ah… forgive me for my slight against you." He said as his hand clasped around the staff. "I am Yoel of Londor, a pilgrim, as you can see, only…" His head moved around slowly to look over all the bodies around them. "Somehow, I've failed to die as was ordained."

Yes, indeed. It was cruel for fate to have left him here. Had it not been for the fact that she wandered aimlessly to this ruined bridge, he may have died here alone. But he was a pilgrim. A pilgrim of what? One who journeyed to this land to lay eyes upon the First Flame?

"Art thou a pilgrim who had journeyed to die?" She raised her gauntlet and willed the dark fire to life. "It is not too late."

The pilgrim sputtered as he waved off her offer, "N-no! Of course not! What I mean is…" His voice trailed off as he looked at her hand. "Oh…"

Yoel did not come across as anything more than a decrepit old man when she first laid eyes on him, a hermit who had a death wish perhaps. Anyone sane who willingly lived in these parts certainly had one, and a manner of strength could be found in them. But Yoel did not appear that way anymore, not as he grew quiet and put a hand on his chest and whispered what may have been prayers.

She could almost see him smiling when he raised his hooded head.

"Well, perhaps my calling lies elsewhere." The way he said the last word was… curious to say the least. It was like a serpent was speaking to her from the gloom of the dark. "Say, Champion of Ash, how does the idea of taking me into your service strike you?"

"How now will you serve me? Your fellows are dead, perhaps dying. Why should I allow you to serve me when all others perished?" Her words were cold, but if he keeled over from her voice speaking truth it would be clear he was unworthy.

"I was once a sorcerer." He missed nary a beat. "Surely I can be of use."

"A sorcerer of what? I tire of these games with which I am led." She brandished Excalibur Morgan and pointed it at Yoel who held up his hands in a placating manner. "Speak or I shall end your misery."

"Peace, Champion! Peace! I can explain everything if you so wish-"

"I do."

"But not here! Mad as everything is around us, the gods are still watching," He discreetly pointed upward. "And even now they would stop what I have to share with you. You must believe me."

Now she could begin to consider this man's word. The gods were not to be taken lightly, weak though they were for abandoning this world, they still had power. Those who zealously serve them could be sent to invade this plane and strike them down where they stood.

"Then I permit you to serve me, Yoel of Londor. I trust you know where the Firelink Shrine is?" He nodded. "Then make haste."

"Oh, I am honoured, truly. I should be dead, yet you have granted me purpose anew." He bowed deeply before her. "I, Yoel of Londor, do solemnly swear myself to you."

[Road of Sacrifices]

"The Undead Legion of Farron is a caravan of Undead.

Sworn by the wolf's blood to contain the Abyss,

the Legion will bury a kingdom at the first sign of exposure.

Joyous bunch, really.

Gaining admission to the Legion is a matter of some ceremony.

Inside their keep, snuffing out the flames of three altars opens the door to the wolf blood.

Even accursed Undead want to believe they're special, it seems.

I pity the sorry souls."

- Hawkwood

The swamp was what she expected from any. A horrid smell to its environment and treacherous to traverse if one weren't careful. But her task lay somewhere beyond its veil, and no hollows or crabs - big or small - would stop her from advancing.

Arturia passed by a tree when she noticed a woman wading through the water, her ghostly back turned to her as she hummed. The Servant stopped to look upon her, recognizing her long white hair.

She considered approaching when the ghostly woman's neck snapped at an unnatural angle. Her arms began twitching as black veins began to spread over her body, and the water around her began to darken with a familiar substance.

The Servant of the sword looked away once the woman began to turn, continuing to trudge through the waters all the while more inconsistencies with the environment were seen.

At first, it was only the bodies of knights whose names she could not place. The corpses floating over the water with rusted armor, with parts of their bodies simply rotted away or outright missing.

Then she began to see her knights. They trudged past her through the swamp, their own armor covered in the grime and filth of the area as well. But with their helmets removed, one could see the haunting expressions of their faces. Ser Lancelot, whose face was as gaunt and pallid as the hollows of this land, his eyes burning with mad hatred. Ser Gawain, who had lost all the light of life from his being, hair and skin as grey as ash, his muscles atrophied and stature downtrodden as he trudged through the mucky water. Ser Tristan, unkempt red hair reaching far below his shoulders while a beard grew wild, aimlessly wandering around while muttering to himself, "Its all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault." And then there was Ser Mordred, easily recognizable by the rusted horned helmet they wore, their whole armour was heavily worn down with dents dotting it here and there. The grievous wound from Rhongomyniad at the Battle of Camlann present through a visible lack of a stomach, her intestines hanging out the damaged flesh and staining her armour.

Ser Mordred actually stopped moving when Arturia passed them, looking over their shoulder to look at the King of Knights. The king did not even stop, as if blissfully ignorant she had even passed the Knight of Treachery. Not even while the rest of the Round Table and other assorted knights from varying kingdoms passed by. The echo of Mordred silently watched until the king's form grew smaller and smaller without looking back once, disappearing into the swamp.

'Our king is a just king! His leadership is a necessary one! Why can't you see that!?'

'Because he does not understand his subjects! How can his leadership be justified if he cannot understand what is required?'

'Our intervention is necessary step for Camelot's prosperity! To fail to do so would mean our failure as knights!'

'Why should we save them?'

"Still moving forward are we? Even after your hopes and dreams were crushed twice before?"

Arturia sat before a bonfire in the swamp, ignoring her visitor as she mended her blade through the flame's power. The sensation of ash returning into her body and mending the damage where estus flasks could not. It was a… comfortable sensation. Warm even. It was a deep contrast to the feeling of the Farron Swamp, treacherous creatures prowled the waters here, as did old memories.

"I do find myself wondering about what you plan to do from here on out. You look like her, but your resolve is clearly different." The being spoke a few feet away from her, contempt clear in his voice. "Why even your sense of honor is tainted, the Saber I knew would never use magic in battle."

Still, this was Farron Keep. Emphasis on was. This swamp was a part of the headquarters of the legion of warriors known as the Abyss Watchers, an order of warriors the man known as Hawkwood once belonged to. Apparently, their Linking of the Flame reduced much of their keep to a decrepit state, this swamp being one of the after effects.

"Are you thinking of starting anew? Here? In this blasted world immolated innumerable times over?" A woman spoke into her ear now, her voice as beautiful and soothing as she once knew it. But it was wrong, for it came from a woman whose neck had been snapped. She could see her even now in the corner of her eye, red eyes staring emotionlessly at her.

"This swamp is your Camelot if you change things, don't you see? If this does not satisfy you, then maybe the Abysswalker inheritors will."

She would need to combine both her own power and that of pyromancy. It would be inviting techniques she wasn't accustomed to, but it would be necessary for the journey ahead.

Two bony white pincers stabbed into the ground in front of her.

"Artorias the Abysswalker. Arturia the Unkindled. The Abyss Watchers. Does it not… anger you? That your past accomplishments meant little to this modern world?" She heard the mechanical whirring of the other's body lowering itself and the air shifting as his head leered down at her. "Once I was alive like you: solid and whole, needing no one and nothing. I was Makuta Krika, my name whispered in legends throughout half the known universe."

She looked up to see her former enemy of the Fourth Holy Grail War standing before her. It wasn't just him though, everyone from her time period was there, and everyone from the two wars she participated in was there as well. They all bore wounds inflicted upon them during that time, wounds she had delivered herself. To the mechanoid Servant's right was Irisviel, her proxy Master from the Fourth War, her head twisted at an awful angle while looking at her with empty, blood red eyes. Guinevere, Queen of Camelot stood to the left wearing a nun's habit, who in one timeline died to grief, but in her so called "Alter" timeline had been cut down by her own sword for her treachery; now, a dark splotch of red stained her collar. Merlin was farther off, and though nothing was particularly wrong with him, there was a look of disappointment in his eyes.

"But through my own undoing, my legends and achievements were warped, and they would come to mean little as I became as warped as the stories children feared. Just like you and your exaggerated tales."

His words befit the very same Servant who became her nemesis in the Fourth War, he even looked real enough. But he had many abilities, with one of them being able to cast illusions using his long-sloping insectoid mask. But the Krika she knew would use everyone against her in such tricks, and because mind-reading was another ability of his, he could easily conjure up the images of those from her past. There was just one small error here, and that was that Kiritsugu Emiya was nowhere to be seen.

This was just an echo caused by the swamp's ethereal presence, forcing out whatever she held in the back of her mind.

She silently stood up and passed through the incorporeal body of the Servant who had opposed her ideals the most, his hard exterior and vicious appearance amounting to nothing. For that was all he was now. Nothing. Just a memory.

"You are already doomed - and that is perhaps the one thing you and I have in common." The echo hissed one last time, a vague attempt to break her.

She stopped then at the opening on the side of the tower. Turning to look at the spot where nothing lay with an impassive expression.

"Perhaps I am doomed. But I have learned from my mistakes while you seek to redeem yourself even in death." She smiled at the empty spot, despite no one being there. "I am damned yes, but I am not the one seeking redemption eternally."

Illusions brought on by lingering doubt and regret they may have been, they had still been enlightening enough for her to reach a conclusion concerning the past. Long had she forsaken the idea of changing what was already done, but now she knew for a fact that her current path was the correct one. Cruel and impassive she may have been, her leadership was the strongest where others failed.

It had to be.

[Cathedral of the Deep]

"Oh. And we meet again. We spoke before on the Road of Sacrifices. Anri of Astora. I am well pleased to see you safe. We reached the Cathedral of the Deep, but Aldrich's coffin was empty. The man-eater must have left for his true home. The little doll in the empty coffin told me. Aldrich is said to hail from Irithyll in the Boreal Valley, an ancient fabled city."

"Irithyll? I had faced down two knights from that land… or what they had become at least."

"That was you? Impressive! As from whence those knights came, a pilgrim told me that the city lies beyond Farron Keep. And so becomes our destination..."

- Anri of Astora

Rosaria paid no mind to the one who entered her bedchamber, content to pamper her child. Such a sweet and sickly thing it was, but that mattered little to the Mother of Rebirth.

All her children were hers. All were beautiful… and yet, something was missing. A child who ran away. A child who was stolen away… where could her children have gone?

She looked up at the one who approached her, curious at what they looked like and eager to take her mind off ill memories. Most who came here sought to confirm whether there truly was a goddess here. Others sought to enter into a Covenant with her. The former thought often elicited bitter laughter from her, memories of a past life irritating her.

The one before her was a knight, clad in black armor and holding a sword of blackest metal with curious runes etched on it. They wore no helmet and-

Ah. Her. She had heard rumors, whispers from years past. Whispers of one with her description. Whispers spoken by locusts and angels. Memories from a life before this one and the last.

Her dark lips parted slightly as she chuckled, a soft and low enough sound that no one would be able to hear. She pointed a finger at the newcomer, her black eyes, though unseen to the knight, were crinkled in amusement.

'You.' Though she could not speak, her mind had such power. 'Mine…'

The knight's widened slightly for only a moment, enough for Rosaria to see they were a beautiful gold bearing the slits of a dragon. But only for a moment, the faint sign of surprise disappearing as they looked around the room, eyes scanning the assorted infant beds and the drapes hanging in the room. They were still for a moment longer when she spotted the symbols etched into the stone of her abode, the reliefs depicting goats and satyrs, along with blossoming flowers.

When she looked back at Rosaria, there was a look of familiarity in those golden orbs. Those cold, golden orbs which coldly regarded her.

"How strange, I thought I felt a familiar presence here. But…" The knight turned to leave. "All I see here is royalty fallen from grace."

Rosaria kept chuckling even as they left, the emotion that ran through her body feeling almost alien as it turned to low but barely audible laughter. And then, when she couldn't contain herself any longer, her laughter turned to cackling. When it finally passed, long after the Black Knight had gone, she kept her gaze fixed to the door. Her hands languidly spread out as she felt herself relax in a way she hadn't before, so relaxed was she that she ceased stroking the mangrub sprawled around her. The creature noticed this change and moved to squirm out of the bed, making its way to the bedroom doors to join its brethren.

She did not feel content as she was before. Instead she felt… free.

She smiled darkly as she stared at the doors. A dark desire pushing her action.

"Myyyyyy…"

From behind one of the pillars, the Ringfinger emerged from the shadows and kneeled before the Mother of Rebirth.

"Is she as you sought?" Jacques asked softly. "As you were foretold?"

Rosaria croaked as she reached out to her Servant, her hands cupping the woman's head and raising it up. Yellow eyes shined with her smile as she stared into the Abyssal Holy Mother's visage, fully understanding of what she wanted.

"As you wish."

[Farron Keep]

"Whoever thou art, stay away.

Soon, I will be consumed.

By them… by the Dark.

But you, you are strong, human.

Surely, mankind are more than pure dark.

I beg of you, the spread of the Abyss… must be stopped.

Sif, Ciaran, Lord Gwyn… all of you… forgive me.

For I have availed nothing."

- Wolf Blood Master Artorias

She entered the keep to find it riddled with the corpses of knights. Their armor was the same as what Hawkwood wore in the Firelink Shrine, minus the pointed helmet.

They were all members of Farron's Undead Legion, the Abyss Watchers. For all those who were dead, only two remained alive. And they were fighting each other like their lives depended on it. Fighting with massive swords and wedge daggers, the larger of the two weapons being equal in length to their own height.

Of the two fighting, the one on the left appeared to be winning as he landed blow after blow on his opponent, a fellow Abyss Watcher. This one showed clear signs of exhaustion as his movements traveled slower and attacks of his own were less frequent.

When the left one swung upward and staggered the other, they grabbed his shoulder and drove their greatsword through his chest, ending their life as they slowly fell to the ground. And then he noticed Artoria standing there, watching him silently. Wordlessly, he straightened himself up and tilted his head forward, the helmet obscuring his features as he pointed his sword at her, the dagger crossing over his arm as he stood ready for combat.

Arturia bowed her own head forward and pointed her sword at him, both hands on the handle. Stone cracked as their heels pushed them forward, and when their swords clashed, great sparks flew out as the ground beneath their feet rumbled.

Both dashed backward and it was the Abyss Watcher who reacted faster, digging his heels into the ground and jumping up into the air to slam his sword at her spot with a calculated precision. When he saw that she had merely stepped a few inches away from his attack, the Farron legionnaire violently pulled out his greatsword and slid it across the ground, kicking up a dust cloud as the metal dug into the stone before the weapon was swung in an uppercut motion. His enemy's black sword swinging down to lock with his own as a powerful and metallic clang echoed.

Arturia was able to catch a glimpse of the man's eyes underneath the pointed helmet, red irises narrowed in wolflike fury. She could have sworn she heard the man growling in apprehension when she heard another sound coming from behind. This lapse in attention cost her strength in the stalemate as the Abyss Watcher huffed and pushed her sword up, actually sending her flying into the air. She managed to right herself by somersaulting in midair, landing on the ground with a hand pressed down on the stone for extra support.

Much to her annoyance, there was now another Abyss Watcher standing tall against her; worse still was that neither attacked each other, most likely because they understood she was the priority at hand now. She considered firing a blast from Excalibur Morgan, but with how weakened she was in this world and how much mana her body consumed, the risk was too great.

Both legionnaires dashed forward and slid across the ground, swords sparking as they each performed a near 360 degree slash below her legs. She dove forward, rolling to her feet to immediately block against a slash from behind, eyes darting to the side as the other one moved to join the attack.

Coming to a quick decision, Arturia allowed her blade to be coated in the darkness of her power and overpowered her opponent, kicking him back before blocking against the other one. She nearly succeeded in pushing him back as well, but the clanging of metal was heard from behind and she had to dodge out of the way with a Mana Burst, narrowly missing the third Abyss Watcher rushing at her with a stab.

But something was off, the third one had not even tried to stop his attack from hitting his comrade; in fact, he immediately took to engaging in a duel with the other one. And then Arturia noticed something about the interruption, and that was the third Watcher's bright red eyes. They were not at all unlike the others who had red irises, for this one had it encompassing his whole eyes. They were tainted by the Abyss.

Arturia couldn't help but admire this madness to the dedication of their duty. Their order was formed to purge all traces of the Abyss, the encroaching darkness of mankind born from a Primeval Man known as the Father of the Abyss, Manus. It was an inheritance of what Sir Artorias had undertaken so long ago before succumbing to the Abyss himself. And now his successors fell to the same fate, slowly, but the effects were clear as she realized the significance behind all these corpses. They were all infected by the Abyss, and they were all locked in an eternal battle against each other.

'It was all futile,' Arturia thought as she swung her sword at the Watcher's who immediately broke off his partner, leaving him to fend off the rabid dog. 'Their efforts to stave off the Dark had only temporarily treated the issue but…' She effortlessly twirled her blade around to fend against the dagger intended to throw her off, slamming her foot down on the legionnaire's greatsword. 'Concepts and souls are not easily eradicated in this world. The Abyss has only grown stronger and infected the Light.'

The Farron Lord angrily attempted to push her off, pulling at his sword to no avail. Arturia raised her leg and kicked him square in the chest with a Mana Burst, crushing his sternum as he fell a few feet away. Frantically, he tried to reach for his main weapon but found it was still embedded into the ground, all he had left was his dagger. He whipped his head up to see her quickly approach, then turned to see how his companion fared, catching a glimpse of his comrade in his valiant fight against their corrupted brother. When he turned back around to slice at his own enemy's face, his hand was caught in the crushing grip of her black gauntlet, and the last thing his eyes ever saw was the figure enshrouded in darkness whose form seemed to swallow all light, her yellow eyes burning into his mind as the sword was stabbed into his chest once before being pulled out and stabbed again in a final motion.

[Even accursed Undead want to believe they're special, it seems. I pity the sorry souls.]

Arturia flicked her sword swiftly to clear it of blood, steadying her breathing as she scanned the room for more movement. The other two that had been fighting ended up running their swords through each other, killing each other at the same time.

It was then that she saw the red smoke leaving the scattered corpses. All around her, the corruption of the Abyss left each and every fallen member of the Undead Legion. All were tainted by that which they swore to destroy and locked them in a constant battle against each other. Such was their duty.

She could not help but applaud them for such dedication to their duty. Or perhaps their minds had been lost once they too linked the Fire?

For their ultimate fate, Arturia pitied them. But as the Abyss left the ravaged bodies and collected into one mostly intact and reanimated it, she decided pity no longer had a place in this. As the knight began to stand with a burning sword in hand, eyes now burning red with abysmal hatred, she decided she would put down this lingering remnant of a kingdom to rest. Not as a fellow knight or in recognition of whatever honor it deserved, but as the mad dog it was.

Lancelot. Artorias. And now the Abyss Watchers. The time for mercy had long since passed for each of them. For her survival. For her kingdom. For those in the future who would inherit responsibility of the world.

She ignited Excalibur Morgan with dark fire, deftly meeting the incoming blade as a loud clang was heard. Black fire met with crimson flame as it exploded outward in a fantastic display of immolation, burning everything around them as the scent of charring flesh was smelt.

One's downward swing clashed with an upward swing as plumes of fire trailed the blades, miniature explosions registering on impact. From a distance, it appeared as though their attacks blurred, the flames becoming naught but trails of light, one stream of purple and the other red.

The dagger was swung for her face, but she caught it in her gauntlet, the blade being caught in one of the greaves. With a jerk of her arm, she pulled the blade away from his grasp and sent it flying away before grabbing at his arm and sliced it off with one swift cleave. She then clenched her fist and delivered a left hook to his face, knocking away the pointed hat in the process.

She got a clearer view of his face then, a haggard and wolflike face with ferocious red eyes underneath a mop of messy white hair. It was not a face she was acquainted with personally, but it was a face she had seen on many others. Uncontrollable rage was all she could see on his face, even his teeth were bared as the high collar had been ripped away in their battle.

Goodness, even consumed by the Abyss and he was still looking to fulfill his duty. Truly the Watchdogs of Farron were dedicated to their work.

[The poor wretched souls… Be they lord or legend, the curse shows no mercy. What a shame.]

With an animalistic snarl so unlike that of a human, the Lord of Cinder raised his remaining weapon with his one arm and lunged with a somersault in the air, striking at black metal from above with a powerful strike. The attack momentarily staggered the two of them before the Abyss Watcher recovered, quickly moving in for another attack as he dug his heel into the ground and slid clockwise to slash at her legs. However, his opponent did the same with a counterclockwise mirror and blocked again, the blade being held downward, almost too easily as the woman looked at him impassively, their faces just inches apart. His growing irritation at her evident resistance to Fire and growing impatience with her resilience had finally worn down on him with an angered scream, pulling back as he leapt to his full height and raised his other arm to plunge the twisted dagger into her head. Whether or not the blade stabbed into her skull or was blocked again, it would matter little as he would swing down the greatsword and cleave her in half-

His red eyes widened as he realized his fatal mistake, his left arm was gone, sliced off by her black sword. So caught up in his mistake was he, that his right arm stopped for just a second, precious time lost to attack which his opponent capitalized on as she slid forward and rose.

He could still make it! One swing should do it!

But time seemed to move too slow for him and far too fast for her, his eyes twitching as that black blade closed the distance and-

[If the lords will not return to their thrones themselves, let them return as cinders.]

Excalibur Morgan stabbed through the Abyss Watcher's face, jutting out the other side with how deft the final strike was with the sharpened blade's wielder. Said wielder blinked in slight surprise as the sword arm tried to rise in one final move to attack but fell back down when the body went limp. He dropped dead to his knees, and Arturia ripped her sword out of his skull, watching in silence as the corpse fell backward and quickly crumbled into ash. Only his skull and pointed helmet remained, jawless and glowing with dim embers. Silence rang through the mausoleum.

Farron's Undead Legion, the inheritors of the Abysswalker's duty, the collective Lord of Cinder, had been put to rest.

…

Outside, the Ringfinger watched from her binoculars as the fighting concluded, hidden in the nearby ruins.

Arturia Pendragon had proven herself to be powerful thus far, the dog guarding the gate proved to be no match for her and the curse-riddled tree was naught but rotting splinters by now. She had not even shied away from invading other timelines and pillaging them for resources. Certainly, she had been killed a few times, but the interesting part about an Unkindled was that they were like Undead. They could die, but they wouldn't stay dead.

How she wished to have had such an ability back then. When the Knights Templar fought to recover the Holy Land. Her fellow brothers in arms… is this why her Master had sent her here? To monitor one of them?

A snarl almost escaped her when her companion began clapping, and so she stifled down her rising anger and looked at him with tranquil calm.

"My, my… my, my, my, my, my, my, my, my, my." He drawled on as that odd helmet of his giving a reverberating echo to his words. "I was wondering what the commotion was all about. It was you, hm?"

"You are acquainted then?"

"Oh yes, I served as Caster during a Holy Grail War, a shame we did not see eye to eye… Although," He perked up suddenly. "I do wonder how my daughter has fared since my departure, if only I could see her now."

That was surprising. This man was a father? She had seen some of his experiments, it was too good to be true.

"Ahhh but Saber…. truly, evolution has paid off in the time since we last spoke. She seems to have embraced the gift bestowed upon her at birth, raw power is an obvious trait, but still!" He laughed wholeheartedly as he spread his arms apart. "A perfect mixture between human and dragon! None of the deformities that come with peering too long into the Abyss!"

"You've certainly an unhealthy fascination with it," Jacques tapped her chin. "Your homeland worships it?"

"Indeed, for what is God but that which performs its miracles in ways we cannot understand?" He looked down at her, vertical purple light on his helmet giving no indication as to his facial expression. "Our lands share some similarities, what with the Abyss changing our mortal forms. I sure would like to change the worst aspects of it."

Initially, she knew him as the representative of his own Covenant in these lands, though he went by a plethora of other names. The Novel, Lord of Dawn, Sovereign of Dawn; all extravagant names, and most likely self-proclaimed.

Instead, she preferred the name Bondrewd more than any other, one shouldn't be so full of themselves after all. He certainly didn't seem to mind, what with the amicable relationship their Covenants held with each other.

"Then good luck to you, I must depart for my warriors, the former Ringfinger knew naught of camaraderie you see."

"Of course, Lord of the Fallen," Bondrewd took her hand and bowed before her. "Don't let me keep you."

'Flatterer.' She thought to herself, smiling at him as she turned to leave.

She did not acknowledge the man who dropped down from an overhead ledge who fell into step behind her. Creighton the Wanderer was not as silent the whole way out however, huffing as he hefted his axe over his shoulder.

"I don't trust him."

"You trust no one, Cray-Cray."

"Don't call me that…"

Jacques giggled. "Regardless of what you think, we need him. His group's numbers are key in stifling back the other Covenants." She looked over her shoulder to give the serial killer a mischievous smile. "Or did you forget he was also the one who told us about Rosaria in the first place?"

Creighton remained silent at that, and the trip back to Vendredi Treize - long since converted from Aldrich's Cathedral of the Deep - was relatively uneventful.

…

Meanwhile, the leader of the Umbra Hands stayed behind to watch the battle proceed, his technology allowing him to observe from a fair distance. An advantage he had kept upon reincarnating in Lothric. Though that detail was quite curious, begging the question of whether Servants were more alike to the Undead phenomena in this world.

Regardless, it truly was a boon that he was not the only Servant to end up here, but it was a shame they didn't all want to work together. The first one simply wanted to try and kill him for the sake of killing. The second he was acquainted with, but the Ringfinger was not as interested in exploring the intricacies of life and death, nor was she interested in cooperative experimentation. No matter, he had all he needed from Rosaria in his brief tenure with the Pontiff.

The third he actually knew in life, but much like her namesake, she was immovable, content in exploring the ruins of the land for whatever purpose she had in mind. They had met briefly in passing, even coming close to blows were it not for the fact she had taken a little helper. A child in a tumultuous time such as this? It was a miracle he would not take from his fellow White Whistle.

And then there was Saber, King Arthur Pendragon. A curious existence with what her body concealed. As elated as he was to see her again, he had an inkling she may kill him on sight as she was now.

He could wait. Patience was a virtue after all.

"Get strong, Saber. The journey ahead is overflowing with curses and blessings alike."

[Firelink Shrine]

Fishbones rattling close but never seen, a bell always accompanying the noise. Always loudest when I think I am at peace.

"What?"

She had suspected something about Yoel since his arrival at FIrelink Shrine, not something that warranted his immediate execution but it was an inkling that he was more than he seemed. And now, with the mention of the accursed brand of Undeath, his arm which was supposed to grant her a supposed new strength was seized violently by a pale hand.

"Argh! M-my Lord…" Yoel yelped in surprise and tried to free himself, but he soon quivered in fear upon seeing the burning look in his Lord's slit yellow eyes.

"What do you mean the Darksign?"

"A-as I said, those branded… argh! Branded by the Darksign possess something special!"

"You are aware that I have been Unkindled? Ash chosen to Link the First Flame once more?"

"Yes my Lord! Please! Relinquish thine hold! Have mercy!"

The very calm with which the wretch spoke infuriated her. But she let it pass with a stiff exhale through the nose and let go of him.

"Why trouble yourselves with the Undead Linking once more? It will only result in your chosen champion's immolation, like all the other attempts." Artoria stared down at her hand. "I am the result of one's futility… now naught but ash. I look upon this world and see an endless tide of this same ash coating the land more and more. The divine futility bestowed upon mortals to stave off that which they fear… a weakness I will tolerate no longer."

"... My lord… you… you truly are the one he spoke of." Her eyes narrowed in response and Yoel shuffled in place for a moment, as if considering how to answer. And when he did, it was with such confidence that she couldn't help but believe him. "Oh my Lord, I do understand, truly. But… what if there was another way?"

She almost believed him.

"You jest." She pointed her sword at the hunchback. "I knew magicians like yourself once. I should slay you here and now for your trickery."

"Oh this is no jest, my Lord. There is another way, one prophesied by the Primordial long ago."

Her sword lowered slightly. "Of which Primordial do you speak of?"

He was silent for a moment, shuffling in place with his staff. When he told her, he spoke with the air of a mad prophet, whispering his name excitedly, and it did little to surprise her. Of course he was the founder of whatever order Yoel represented. This was no longer coincidence, or perhaps she already knew that the moment he saw her on the bridge.

What it did do was open a wave of memories she thought long forgotten. Memories of a self she had been, a self who fought in a Holy Grail War. A self who found themselves playing the part of the Chosen Undead, who went on to Link the Flame. Such a cruel fate it was for her, to be burned to prolong the First Flame and be reduced to ash.

Arturia screamed as the primordial fire covered her body. Despite her high magical resistance, this fire burned so hot, so intensely, that it made dragon fire seem harmless. It burned right through her armor, almost sentient as it traveled through the gaps and charred her flesh.

This was what was required to Link the Fire? To suffer through this torment? It felt as if she had been dumped into the planet's core, or even the sun.

What would happen to Anastacia? She hadn't even freed her. Would her wishes be followed to the letter? Would Frampt spread the word? She didn't know what would happen to anyone afterward, and that was the worst part of this ordeal. That she burned and didn't know for what exactly…

Her charred body fell to its knees as a bright light formed above. She could no longer see, feel, hear. All she had was regret and bitter resentment. Regret for the one who she made a promise to, and bitter resentment for the one who withheld information. When the explosion finally lit up the entire land, Arturia managed one last exclamation before ceasing to exist, cursing the Kingseeker with a powerful draconic roar that echoed for eternity.

She was the first to Link the Flame after Gwyn, and yet she was not. To be the future to her past failure in this world… it infuriated her that the consequences of her actions inspired others to do the same. Was this what her Master spoke of during the Holy Grail War?

'Saber please! If you keep fighting like this, it'll harden your heart and you'll lose your humanity!'

Artoria extended her arm, allowing Yoel to grasp her hand and watched impassively as he worked his magic. Soon, she began to feel a certain… hollowing in her chest.

'Forgive me, Shinra, but it looks like I have to break my promise to you once again.'

[Smouldering Lake]

The chime is alive, I realize in my darkest moment of the Fifth Holy Grail War. It is always with me despite my power, but that is not what terrifies me.

'Quelaag, my dear sister…'

In a secluded, forgotten section of the ancient ruins of the Smouldering Lake residing in the former kingdom of Izalith, Arturia kneeled. Not before a stone idol or some great being of absolute power but…

'I'll be fine. I have you, dear sister. But promise me… that you will take care of yourself.'

She meant to speak up and correct the pale and sickly woman attached to the Chaos parasite but… she could not see or feel.

'Sister… It hurts… the eggs have gone still… I fear it may be too late… I'm so sorry, dear sister.'

How could she correct her when she had slain Quelaag? This poor, innocent being who only wished for her sister's well being?

'Quelaag? Please, sister, do not cry. I am happy, truly. I have you, don't I?'

Arturia looked up to see not the Fair Lady, but charred stone reminiscent to a spider's body burnt into a faint memory of what it once was. Of who it once was.

'My dear sister… You know, I still remember… your beautiful, silky face. If only I could gaze upon it once more…'

Her eyes fell on a charred corpse, one far less eroded than the larger one. It belonged to someone who had fallen to despair, head buried in its hands.

"So you ended up returning after all, didn't you?" She smiled at it despite the emotion it was forever locked in. "I know not whether you were with her until the end, but I do know her pain was not eternal."

There was no response from the grey cadaver that was once Quelana.

"Hmm… to be talking to empty husks, how curious you are, Arturia." She stood up and began to walk away. "Has this world given you at least a few fond memories?"

'Goodbye Quelaag. It was so very nice to chat.'

[Firelink Shrine]

The chime is a breathing, creeping sickness. But the symptoms are subtle, belayed only by my Element of the Red Dragon.

There was only silence to greet her in the Shrine when she returned. Save for the Fire Keeper whose smile was warm in its own way, none spared the time to greet her.

At first she thought it because she slighted them in some way, not that it bothered her to begin with. Its just that usually there was some reaction. Andre, for example, would usually be working at his smithy as usual and shouting her welcome.

There, down in the forgotten corner, surrounded by dank murky water, was Yoel. Dead as anyone can be. Perhaps she had grown used to his company

"Prithee tell, art thou good Yoel's master?"

She did not turn to acknowledge the presence behind her. Not as she kneeled before the corpse of her brief acquaintance. The fact that the new arrival asked the question meant she already knew.

"I am Yuria of Londor, a close friend of his." It was a woman's voice, a quiet and pleasant one. "Thanks to thee, Yoel's soul is redeem'd."

Arturia still did not rise, the lack of acknowledgement seeming to not perturb the lady as there was no hint of impatience in her tone, neither was there a shuffling of feet.

"My Lord, allow me to-"

"Hold your tongue. Can you not see I am in mourning?" Her tone came out more forceful than she planned. "He had been suffering when I first found him, and I suspect he had been by the time I returned."

"I… I see. Thine concern for him is appreciated."

"Your gratitude is recognized," Arturia reciprocated, standing up to acknowledge the newcomer. "Now then, what was it you needed?"

"As I said, I am Yuria. There was a matter to discuss…" The woman in black drew closer, her mask obscuring her intentions even as a hand reached out for the Saber's. When she frowned, Yuria faltered and stepped back. "Thou'rt a Lord, art thou not?"

A nod was her only response.

Yuria kneeled before her, head bowed as she spoke. "Bearer of the dark sigil, and our Lord of Hollows. For the time thou remain'st our Lord, we of Londor shall serve thee." She raised her head. "And I, of course, am also thine."

"You wish me to be your ruler?" The woman nodded and Arturia felt at her chest, feeling the dark sigils over her flesh. "Such was the purpose of the dark sigils then…"

"Quite."

Arturia's gaze hardened as she digested the information. If leadership was what was required, then there was only one thing to do. She needed information, far more than what Yoel had offered and this woman was the best alternative. She had said she would serve? Then it was time to put the question of servitude to the test.

"Tell me everything then, Yuria of Londor. Leave nothing to chance. Tell me of Kaathe, tell me of his dying wishes, tell me what is at stake."

Yuria tilted her head.

"Of course, my Lord."

[Irithyll of the Boreal Valley]

"Fool… you could not be the Dark Lord. Enough of this… and farewell to you. I shall return to the Abyss, and await the true Lord of Men."

- Darkstalker Kaathe

(Claymore OST: Erabareshi Mono)

It was ordered by its master to watch the bridge closer after an unidentified warrior breached the not-wall. It was a mistake on its part, but it did not want to look at the tall man again and feel the head pain again. So it stood watch over the archway, keeping an eye on the small opening in the cave before looking back down at the bridge.

Nothing had changed. The not-wall was still up. Nobody was there. And it was bored.

Then, just as its eyes closed to wander into blissful sleep, it heard the sound of footsteps. It quickly looked back at the cave and saw no one before turning back at the bridge. And there they were, just walking down the bridge and towards the not-wall. Its scent was female and… another curious smell was there, faint but present.

It watched her pass through the arch and stop at the bridge, briefly pausing in her walk across the bridge to look at the moon shining over the city. She was armoured with black metal that smelled of cold blood and red hot fury, with a sword in her hands that smelled of… death? Fire? Burning death? Whatever it was, it made the head pain return the more it looked. She was not like the others who had come here, poor fools that served as food.

Deciding not to waste any more time on its unease, Sulyvahn's Beast jumped down from its perch and roared a challenge.

…

Other than the beast who had chosen here had been little opposition to her arrival upon Irithyll, the snowy city located deep in the mountains. It was beautiful to say the least, with a ghostly glow from the light above shining down on the land, one could say this was a winter wonderland.

But what was strange to Arturia was the fact that the sun didn't shine here, not constantly like in the land of Lothric. Here there was only the moon shining down. Such a beautifully strange sight, to see that which she hadn't realized wasn't there.

She was a warrior through and through, a king even, but that did not mean she didn't think about what was around her. Taking solace in the fact that nothing was coming to kill her, she thought on the significance of these celestial bodies. The sun never set in Lothric, neither did it change position as the planet moved in its orbit. What did that mean for this world's moon?

Her thoughtful walk was stopped when she came across the first bodies, those of tall and lightly armoured knights who appeared to be more bone than flesh. Just standing near them seemed to make it colder, the air drying up as she found her throat becoming slightly parched. Even their weapons appeared to be brittle, holes of various sizes dotting the curved blades. It was a wonder they could even be used, if at all.

A monstrous growl brought her attention to the canal below, where another of those giant wolf-like beasts writhed in the water. It was sprawled on its side, whining in pain while its ribs - jutting out in place of remaining inside like ribs are supposed to - quivered in clear view. It was missing an arm, seemingly sliced off at the socket, with several lacerations lining its body.

Someone else was in the city, and it did not feel like a normal presence. It felt more like that of a Servant.

The creature was left alone as Arturia went on to investigate the anomaly, finding more bodies littering the streets. And there in the middle of a courtyard, seated atop a pile of corpses was a lone knight, one whose silver armor complimented their long white hair, braided tight as it fell to her waist. A single sword was strapped to their back, a claymore to be exact.

"Ah…" Her head perked up when the sound of metal boots reached her ears, her head turned as she took a look at the new arrival with a smile on her face. "Good afternoon."

Silver eyes danced in the night, lunar skin glowing in the moonlight as they clashed blades.

It was a simple greeting, if a bit odd considering the way the individual did so. Their back was turned to Artoria, but the woman's head was rotated to face her at a 180 degree angle. It was an inhuman action, but it did little to dissuade the Ashen One for it was the act of someone she met once before. Or rather, someone she in another time met - and subsequently fought - during a Holy Grail War.

"You are…" The words were whispered but they heard it anyway, their silver eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Well, this is surprising. To see you like this again." She paused before smiling. "So cold and dark… I'm glad it's you."

Berserker Ophelia of the Fifth Holy Grail War. The last person anyone wanted to hear those words from. However, she did not appear to be a hallucination like Krika was in the swamp. If she was here, then…

"Are there any others?"

"Of the Holy Grail War?" She leaned backward. "Actually, I think there's a few others. There was this one guy, he kept talking about how he couldn't wait to see dawn…"

"And you? Why are you here, Ophelia?"

"Who knows? Maybe I'm here to link the fire. Or maybe I've been tasked with hunting down rogue Lords of Cinder. Doesn't the unknown excite you so?"

"Not where you are concerned."

"You wound me so, Saber. I could have sworn we had something special."

"Were you the one who slew all these?"

"You got it."

Arturia had only a split-second to react as the air seemed to shift, Ophelia seemingly vanishing from sight. But the swordswoman anticipated this, slashing at the presence from behind before feeling a slight pain on her neck. Their weapons still connected however, sparks flying as the blades locked together.

"Still as quick as you were back then, if you were any softer I would have killed you with this one attack." Ophelia smiled and brought her hand close to her nose. "This scent… I see, you're the one they told me about."

With a flip of her blade and a stab at the silver knightess, Arturia's sword was only an inch away when Ophelia had leapt back from the attack with a somersault through the air, flipping three times before landing a fair distance away on her feet. She continued smiling despite this, her eyes taking on the golden cat eyed look she was familiar with. Sighing, she raised her hand and licked at the blood on her glove. Her blood.

'Disgusting creature.' Artoria thought as she felt around the back of her neck, feeling the sensation of a wound.

"Now that wasn't very nice… I only wanted to catch a whiff. I must be sure you see…" She sighed in bliss as she licked at her fingers in a lascivious manner. "I kind of like it, this scent. Its a strange taste though. You're clearly an Unknidled. But beyond the dryness of ash, there's… viscosity. I wonder…" She licked her lips and tapped her chin. "You've gotten pretty interesting, Arturia Pendragon."

"Do you intend to fight me?"

"Oh no, I only came here to hunt my quarry. They have all bloomed an exquisite color quite satisfactorily." She tilted her head. "We're the same now, you and I, your taste makes you one of us."

"And what makes you so sure of that?"

"You bear the Darksign, same as me." She turned. "We'll see each other again, Ashturia."

One of them? Did that mean she was part of Yuria's entourage then? The woman had neglected to inform her of someone like Ophelia out here. Deception, it seemed, followed her wherever she went. She would have to fix that.

(End OST)

And indeed they would meet again. Having fought their way through the city's defences, Arturia and Ophelia would meet back up and eventually clash with a large contingency of knights situated in the main courtyard. Though Ophelia was strong in her own right, her situation was similar to her ally's where she could not strain herself for too long. And so it was that they were stuck in a battle of attrition.

"Well, we're in a bit of a pickle." Ophelia said distantly, her smile still in place even with all the blood splattered on her face.

"That is an understatement." Arturia replied, swinging down at a fallen fire witch's head. "The Pontiff's resources are vast, we'll need to stop him soon."

Their backs were against each other as they faced enemies on opposing sides. There were still plenty of knights in the area, and several of those wolflike beasts were on their way if the howls were any indication.

"Not with all these interruptions at his beck and call." Ophelia hummed and looked back at Arturia. "You go ahead. I'll deal with everyone here."

Arturia hesitated, but not out of concern.

"You forget, I come from a world where I dealt with monsters like these on a day to day basis. There's more magic involved but…" Her eyes flashed golden. "That just makes it more fun."

Arturia looked between the cathedral - where the Pontiff yet lived - and the incoming reinforcements. Her pride and honor demanded she remain to assist but… there was a saying she had grown fond of. That there can be no victory without sacrifice.

"Fight well, Ophelia."

The warrior known to the people as a Claymore watched her enemy-turned-ally run toward the opulent building, disappearing through the doors before they shut behind them. That wouldn't stop the reinforcements from breaching, but that was why she had volunteered to hold them back.

A pressure was set upon the area as the ground cracked apart and pushed back the city defenders, a bright aura surrounding their enemy who smiled back at them with eyes that experienced euphoria.

"Alright then, its time to get serious…" Ophelia's voice distorted as she let her power run wild, the blood of Yoma boiling as it rapidly mutated her physique. "Time to be free."

The grey suit underneath was ripped apart as her muscles expanded, pieces of her armor falling off while her bones elongated and hardened. Claws as hard as steel tore her skin apart, and her legs fused into a mighty serpentine tail that whipped idly. Scales the color of black formed over her skin, and her teeth sharpened to a refined point, granting her a draconic appearance.

A flash of teeth shone in the mist. "Let me feast on your innards."

A Pontiff Knight was bisected right down the middle as the beast suddenly appeared before him. The serpentine tail whipping loudly across as two others found themselves decapitated. Another was ripped apart as Ophelia pounced on him and tore away, arms flailing in futility as more knights came to the rescue. Their weapons did little to harm her, but they were becoming an annoyance, putting all their weight on her as she fought.

And then one of Sulyvahn's Beasts rushed at her, trapping the Claymore in its mouth and violently shook her around. A mistake on its part as Ophelia tore and ate away the inside of its body, tearing herself out of its back and roaring a challenge at the other beasts who came.

"REALLY! HOW MARVELOUS! YOU ARE ALL SIMPLY MARVELOUS! WHICH ONE OF YOU SHOULD I KILL!? WHICH ONE OF YOU WOULD BE MORE TO TO WATCH AS YOU FAIL IN AGONY!?"

Everything was set upon on her at that moment, pushing her back as she fought back with equal fervor. The bodies of knights were thrown out of buildings as Ophelia dove out of one, rubble flying everywhere as a Beast tried to catch her in it, succumbing to its wounds and dying as the weight of the building fell on it. One managed to gnarl into her left arm and tear it out, earning a deep gash across its eyes. Another blasted her out of the alleys with an electrical breath attack, sending her tumbling into the docks as she twitched with electricity coursing through her.

But Ophelia got back up, even as purple blood gushed out of her horrible wounds, she got back and stared defiantly at the enemy lumbering out of the city to meet her in battle. An Outrider Knight had even joined the wolf-like creature, its nimble form crouched like that of an animal ready to pounce on its prey.

"COME ON!" She roared as the Beast rushed at her, only to be punched by an uppercut and was pinned down by her body and arm, keeping its jaws open as she twisted one motion and ended its life. "LET US KILL AND BE KILLED!"

The Outrider Knight rushed forward and stabbed its sword into her open stomach, only to find itself grabbed by the shoulder and slammed into the ground. It wasn't enough to eliminate it however, as it pushed back against her claws and pushed its body into hers, their weight plunging them into the freezing waters below. There, they continued fighting each other, even as Ophelia grew exhausted and her presence in the world faded, they continued fighting. And when the Outrider Knight sliced her tail off the body with the sword still embedded in her, she sunk her teeth into its helmet and held him down with one arm, ripping the head clean off.

…

A naked Ophelia languished in the lake of blood, serpentine form sprawled over the water. 

"Brother. Are you watching?" 

Silver eyes crinkled as they looked upward, turning golden as she did so. Her smile splitting wide as she giggled. 

"My Master... are you watching?"

"Oh, King Arthur Pendragon! So glad you could join me. I hear you're good with conversation, and I am in such a chatty mood."

"Caster, if this is a trick-"

"Code of chivalry, sister was Morgan le Fay, yes. I know it all, you see, like limbs removed from the equation. I know perfectly well, given I had my whole arm removed. Makes some operations difficult. Hold your Master down please."

"Why are you-"

"It was no longer functional. My body rejected it after some modifications, so I had it replaced. Like a lightbulb. That's what we do, you and I: reject, and replace."

"I- your Master is Koyomi Kili Ichneumon. We-"

"We test our mortality, yes. 'First, do no harm.' Hehe… rubbish. Doing harm is the first step to progress. What were you before you were a Servant? A knight or something, right?"

"... I was a king, tasked with ruling for the people. I was-"

"Boring. And then you weren't! You were tested. You drew the sword from the stone, accepted the crown, and accomplished more in a few years than what Uther had done prior to that! Your uncle Vortigern must've been roiling in his grave when he realized that. You reject that, and replace death with life. I admire that about you, really, even if it's a bit short-sighted. The Jennerit are much the same, preserving life. Sustainment, survival; I ask you, what's so great about it? A moth survives! It's a half-measure! No, I refuse! I reject 'life'!"

"I… see. What would replace life then, if not death?"

"I'm not exactly sure. But, that's what makes the Holy Grail War so exciting! Rather an eye-opening experience. Speaking of eyes, could you hold down Miss Emiya?"

"Can you save her?"

"Our primary incision will be just above the ocular nerve. Ahhh… eyes in this world are just so interesting!"

"Saber? Wh- AAARGH!"

"Wouldn't you agree?"

- Caster and Saber of the Fifth Holy Grail War

'Where have you gone sweet child? It's cold outside. It's awfully cold.'

Sulyvahn shook his head as he took one last look at the set of doors behind him. They opened the closest route leading to his Lord and investment, the Saint of the Deep entrusting him with the control of Irithyll while he invaded Anor Londo with a small contingency of his own.

And now, the plan he had been working towards was in danger of being undone. Not by an army or a god, but a single member of what could be called a new species. Ash born from failure to link the Fire successfully. He would not let such a waste continue with their journey, not after all he had sacrificed.

The Pontiff watched the black knight approach him, unwavering golden eyes set on his visage. The sword she carried didn't seem to have a scabbard, so it appeared as if she were ready to kill at a moment's notice. Ready to be unleashed for whatever deity she served.

A pity. He had heard the reports on her, she appeared to be set on the exact quest as all the others were. Slaying all the Heirs of Fire and Lords of Cinder she came across. But was she truly just another pawn in this world? There had been one minor inconsistency, but that would have to wait.

"So, the venerated Ashen Black Knight has come to slay me."

"You are in the way, nothing more, nothing less."

"Quite. I have an investment to watch out for after all. Many years of work have been put into this endeavour and I would not simply bend a knee to another monarch in this decrepit realm." There was no response to his words. "But I wonder, art thou truly set on linking the flame for the gods of the old world? Thou bearest the Darksign, I can sense it. And yet, thou art ash. What do you plan then? To link the Fire for Hollows? You would burn this world yet again in such a venture… wouldst thou care to hear a tale?"

She stopped in place.

"I come from a rotting paradise where there is neither want nor worry for the future, for we are all forlorn. We have nothing in this world, for we have lost everything. I come from a land where I lost nothing unlike the rest of my peers and family. When I came here out of a wanting need to see more, I found a truth. A truth in which this world was like my own, forsaken and rotting." He spread his arms apart. "The Age of Fire is an Age of Rot, canst thou not see? Shouldst thou link the flame, you consign this world to more rot, leave it, and the result is the same!"

"You believe humanity will misuse the flame like the Lords of old."

"Let it be smothered in the coming Age of the Deep." He almost whispered the words. "Let there be no light to spawn from even the most untouched lands."

She nodded then, looking around the interior of the building with a critical eye. When she looked back at him, she appeared different somehow. They were not narrowed like before, though he didn't know what it was that he saw.

"We let the Deep unleash itself upon the world, what then? This world would be overflowing with madness the likes of which rivals the current order. You have seen the Pus of Man, yes? What would a world overflowing with such beings have to look forward to?"

"It would not have the foolishness of the gods weighing down upon it. It would be free of the demands set upon by Lords clinging to an age stretching past its tenure. I do hope you understand this is an endless cycle of monotony, no progress made beyond what we know today."

"And I hope you understand your prospect of an Age of the Deep would be just the same. A monotony of madness with our world thrown back further behind in progress. If you dare liken that to evolution, then you are a fool. You don't even know what will happen afterward."

A rush of wind and the Pontiff was before her suddenly, twin swords of pyromancy and sorcery clashing against her own black and red blade of darkness. He towered above her, yet she did not cower underneath as she looked up at him with a defiant smirk.

"And so the deceiver of this land strikes first!? How telling of your character!"

"Hypocrisy! You don't truly know what will happen in the Age of Dark!"

"No," She admitted, focusing all power into a mana burst and expelled it outward, pushing back Sulyvahn a few meters away. "But it is necessary to take a leap of faith."

What Pontiff Sulyvahn saw then was not a woman, nor was there a knight before him, instead there was an abyss. An abyss that sucked in all light as it was centered in one area. And it was her. A pair of golden eyes that stared back at him. Eyes that belonged to that which would render everything he worked for null and void if he didn't stop her now.

'Where have you run off to?'

He roared at her, knowing reason would no longer work here. How could he hold on to his own if nobody agreed on one thing? It was simply maddening.

It truly was a shame. He imagined they would have made fine allies.

'I'm here sweet child, right here. You're cold and you've no place to go.'

[Irithyll Dungeon]

"Do you have a conception of God? The people around here, you see, don't believe in God. Do you know what it is they believe in? The answer is this place - the Abyss itself."

- Unknown

How long had it been since she was brought here? Days were out of the question, weeks less so. Months perhaps… a year?

At first, there was only fear as she shared this cell with other inmates. They all varied in age, ethnicity, it mattered little as it seemed the entire dungeon was filled to the brim with people. Then there was dread when the guards started taking some of them away - she can still hear them screaming - wondering when it would be her turn. And when she was the only one left in her cell, there was only horror when a particular guard took to personally overseeing her torture and humiliation. Resignation as day after day of the same face with ugly glee and twisted satisfaction followed and then…

Hopelessness. A monotony of recurring events followed even as the world beyond burned and decayed. Not that she knew what was happening. How could she when wretched lights prowled what should have comforting darkness?

But soon, even her least favorite jailer stopped visiting, a new cycle that began as she sat in that cell without daring to leave. Something had gone wrong after all, the jailers still prowled those dark halls, but something was off about them. Why, there were even untold monstrosities prowling in the dark. And that was when she realized… the time had come to link the First Flame once more.

A smile of twisted satisfaction spread on her lips. They said there was pleasure in thinking of how those you hate suffered in payment for their wrongs. She should have hated thinking that but… she quite liked it.

Karla jolted from her spot on the ground when she heard the footsteps. It had been weeks since the guard had last stopped by, maybe longer. But that didn't matter, they were still nearing her cell.

She would not falter in the face of humiliation however, not for these parasites who took joy partaking in torture. Not for them, not for those who took pleasure in far worse.

The cell opened and the figure walked in, their form near imperceptible as the dark swallowed the light. She did not even glance upward to acknowledge her would-be torturer for today. No satisfaction in that even.

"Oh, there you are." She said impassively. "I thought you'd all but forgotten me. How sweet. Good to know that a skinny little heretic can still turn heads."

When there was no response, Karla frowned. Odd. There was usually some response, some small sound of indignation before the hands of fate seized her by the neck to take her elsewhere.

So she chanced a look up. She regretted her decision almost immediately when only golden eyes looked down at her with what could only be described as inhuman apathy. They were the only light in the room as they seemed to illuminate the beautiful face that beheld her.

Yes, indeed. She did not feel fear. Instead there was an all encompassing dread that filled her entire being, as if the fire of courage had been snuffed out. Now, all she wanted was to escape the gaze of this terribly, terribly dominating presence.

More than that, she felt something from this black clad knight. Something forbidden and ancient that she knew was there but couldn't quite place. Something beyond her very presence that seemed to swallow everything in sight.

She did not realize she had brought up a hand in pleading until the figure knelt and grabbed it gently. The metal gauntlet was hard to the touch, but the fingers closing around her trembling hand were careful.

"Worry not, I am not one of them." The figure's voice was distinctly female. "Can you stand?"

Her dread turned to confusion. "A-ah… I…" Karla struggled with her words. "No… no my l-lady, I cannot." She slowly turned her head without averting her gaze from the newcomer. "They… my legs…"

A certain emotion passed through that beautiful face, but it passed just as quickly as it seemed to appear. Those eyes closing as a deep exhale of air escaped through her nose.

I… you're not one of them, are you?" Karla whispered. "Accept my apologies, for mistaking you for one of those leeches."

"No apologies are needed. I cannot imagine what you went through."

"... Thank you, my lady." She straightened herself up on the floor. "So, what business brings you here? This is a land of monstrosities." She lowered her head slightly as she whispered her next words. "And I am no exception."

"Then I too, am a monster." The knight said simply. "My quest brought me here, into this jail so I may pillage and burn." She smiled lightly then, an almost imperceptible sight. "Along with rescuing fair maidens in need."

Karla sputtered in response, much to the amusement of her chuckling savior. It was such a deep contrast to the general atmosphere surrounding her, it was as if there were two beings in one body. A monster as she said, but also some dark knight who had come to her rescue.

"What is thine name?"

The question brought the witch back to reality. "Karla… my name is Karla, my lady."

"Come, this is no place for any of the sane." The knight declared as she quickly moved to pick her up, one arm on her back and the other under her legs. "Are you familiar with Bonfires?"

"Yes but-!" She stammered as the knight quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

She was going to say she could walk on her own… but then she remembered her legs. How ravaged they were. She hated this weakness of hers laid bare in front of the knight.

"Ah, I see. You have your pride, as we all do. Unfortunately, I know no healing spells, nor do I have any potions to spare."

"I see… then please, take me away from here."

And so the knight did just that. Quietly moving through the dark halls, the witch realized that the only sound she could hear was that of metal boots. There weren't even other footsteps, nor any dreadful laughter from the jailers. When the ethereal green light of the dungeon lit their path, Karla saw why.

Littering the passages were their corpses, all sporting vicious wounds as they lay dead or dying. Perhaps the guard who visited had also been slain?

She slowly looked up at the knight from the crook of her neck, a silent question forming at her lips as she debated asking.

"They are all dead," Came the plain and simple answer. "I made sure of it."

Karla blinked twice before nodding. Her breath shaky as she held on tighter, fingers digging into the cloth over the armor. She did not even feel the tears falling as the moonlight of the outside world fell upon her.

For all that she despised Irithyll, the moon was one of the only things that she admired here. And with its shine illuminating her saviour's form, she realized something about it.

Irithyll's moon has never looked more beautiful than it did now.

"Oh! My friend! So this is where you disappeared off to!" An unpleasantly jovial voice spoke. "And what's this? A fair maiden in your arms? Oh, how I knew you could do it! Ahahaha!"

When her saviour did not rebuke the man, Karla huffed at the realization that she knew him. Worse still, her lips were set in a smile. Wonderful.

"Hmm… mmm… I can see that you've been through much, my lady." The onion knight mused. "Well, you're in capable hands now. My friend, I take my leave now. I've even left you some Estus Soup in the same place."

"Ahh… ahem!" Karla noticed how she practically salivated at that. "Thank you, Siegward, I'll partake of it when I'm able."

When the vegetable themed knight left for the dungeon, the witch idly watched the snow fall as she was carried up the stairs on the cliffside. She supposed she could find comfort in seeing snow rather than rotting away in the cold of darkness, not that she didn't relish it. The dark was her home in all the time she spent in that cell.

"Oh, your… your name…" By the time Karla realized she hadn't asked for the knight's name, the weight of exhaustion had already caught up. How long has it been since she slept properly? How long had it been since she felt safe? How long indeed…

Her eyes fluttered one last time before sleep took hold and the comfort of darkness wrapped around her.

"My name is Arturia."

[Profaned Capital]

The chime is beautiful in a strange sort of way, almost... welcoming. And yet, even at this stage of the Holy Grail War, despite my clarity, I find I should be horrified. And I do not know why.

"Did I ever tell you what my own duty entailed, my friend?"

"No? Are you not Unkindled?"

"Ha! Well yes, but my duty has me set on another path. It is why I came here to the Profaned Capital."

"You have history here?"

"Oh yes. You see, Yhorm is an old friend of mine, a friend I once pledged myself to as his knight. I swore to return to him in the event that he ever faltered in his duty… and here we are."

"He asked you to kill him?"

"He gave me the means to kill him if it came down to it. You see, Yhorm is a very lonely giant, a descendant of an old conqueror and a member of the race the people abhorred. What do you think it was like for him then? To rule over a people who had to swallow their pride and ask a giant for their protection? There should have been respect and gratitude that he even agreed to rule, but there was only insincerity and bitterness. And yet…"

"And yet he ruled regardless…"

"I see a little bit of him in you, you know? Well, a little bit of the old Yhorm I once knew. I haven't seen him in many years, haha! But… I do remember when he linked the flame… It was an awful time. Everyone here, as you can see, was burnt alive when he did so. Something had gone wrong with him doing so, and it shames me to even think about why."

"Thus proving his people's malcontent against him…"

"Yes I imagine they would curse him even now if they were able. I knew him well, and I think this played a part in him forsaking his duty. And why wouldn't he? With nothing left to lose and everyone around him gone, what would be the point in linking if nothing would change? Apathy must have struck him while I was away, and so I am here with the means to defeat him. But I can't do it alone."

"If you are asking for my help, know that I am already tasked with killing him."

"Yes but… forgive me but, there is another of these weapons I carry. My old friend once gave it to those who doubted him, you see, and if you can find it, we can defeat him together!"

"You are not confident you can uphold your duty to him?"

"Hmm… no its not that. Its more a matter of principle you see. I don't want to kill him alone. If you can use the weapon he gave to his people, I am sure we can put him to rest without regret weighing him down."

"And if we don't find it?"

"Then… hmm… mmm… well then that would be just unfortunate! We'll get him in a jiffy, I'm sure!"

…

With thundering footsteps did the giant approach, machete in hand which he let trail on the ground, sparks flying up and falling to fade away. He spoke nary a word since she arrived, instead letting the loud scraping sound of the obscenely large weapon do the talking as he came closer.

And his eyes. His red eyes stared at her with little emotion as they burned with a silent fury underneath the chainmail hood. Whatever expression he currently wore was indecipherable as his face was concealed by the shadow of this item.

Then she saw the crown which he wore. Silver and jagged like some Lords of the past, it still fit perfectly on his head. But it seemed as though it sat upon an unwilling head. Or perhaps it was an uncaring head?

Why else would she have been able to retrieve that weapon from his throne so easily?

"Are you so distraught by your loss that you've lost the need to do your duty?" She whispered, a tired look on her face. "I suppose I understand. Perhaps we are the same, O Reclusive Lord of the Profaned Capital."

So caught up in reminiscing about the past that she did not notice someone else enter the throne room after her. Slowly, she placed both hands on the Storm Ruler, gripping it tight as she prepared to run towards her opponent. She stopped when a hand placed itself on her shoulder, making her jump slightly in surprise. The knight had turned in slight embarrassment to strike down the insolent fool when she realized who it was. Recognition of the odd shaped armor struck a chord in her, the deep and jolly voice that followed being acquainted with pleasant company.

"Come now, my friend. Don't let yourself be clouded by comparison, you and Yhorm are two different people after all! Ahahaha! Hmm…" Siegward let go of her shoulder and brandished the Storm Ruler. "Come, let us face down your past together!"

She smiled lightly at him then, grateful for his help. Very quickly realizing that this moment, here in the Profaned Capital, was where his duty had led him.

So caught up in her old habit of venturing alone that she had forgotten she was not alone in this world. She never was.

A coughing fit overtook her then and she put a hand over her mouth, letting the black liquid stain the metal. She didn't have much time left, the Hollowing catching up with her. More souls had to be consumed and fast, else she ended up with a terrible fate.

"Yes, let the sun shine upon this Lord of Cinder!"

…

The Storm Ruler broke apart in her hands, its usage against Yhorm proving to be its final test of power. Not to mention it had been incredibly useful towards conserving her magical energy.

The giant in question had fallen to his knees, the embers coursing through him were fading as life left his body. And as he sat there, Arturia could have sworn there was a smile on his face, one that remained even as his body crumbled into ash and his soul formed in her hand. It was such a pretty thing it was to look at, shimmering with such light. It would be so easy to consume right now, to maintain her upkeep of magical energy.

But did she have the right? By right of combat, she certainly did. But he was a dear friend of Siegward's…

"I wouldn't hold it against you, if that's what you're thinking." The man himself said, currently sitting cross legged on the floor. "You have your situation to think about after all."

Arturia looked down at the soul in her hand, golden in its radiance despite being twisted in power.

"There is no shame in it."

"But it belonged to your friend. If anything, it should be yours."

Siegward laughed jovially before a coughing fit took him.

"You're very generous, but… no. I am neither deserving nor wanting of it."

Before Arturia could even ask why he felt that way, Siegward started coughing again, only it was far more pronounced as he doubled over in pain. Out of concern, she rushed to his side, removing his helmet to ease him into comfort. It was hell to even endure watching him go through his labor, and all she could do was watch as he coughed up blood; why, she had even tried offering him some of her Estus, but it was waved off.

"I… I am fine! Just… it seems my time has come." She said nothing, unable to understand what was happening. "But thanks to you, I managed to keep my promise."

"Siegward, what is this?" Arturia asked breathlessly.

"Well, I had been hoping we could kill him sooner but… as an Unkindled, my oath, my purpose… has been fulfilled it seems."

"What?" Arturia shook her head and took both of his hands in hers, unable to accept that this was the end for him. Her desperation took her to old memories once again, as she thought of a similar man in the distant past, one who wore this style of armor as he did. "No! I will not accept this! I know you will go further! I know you wish to keep living! Just as Siegmeyer did! You-!"

She stopped herself, surprised that she had even brought up a name of a long gone comrade.

Siegward smiled at her sadly, a hand brushing away at the single tear that fell from her face.

"So you remember as well." She gasped at the statement. "Yes, I remember you, my old friend."

Reincarnation. The concept was not lost on either party.

"I cannot go further, why, I am not even sure I want to go any further." When she said nothing, Siegward tapped at her hand and pulled out his flask. "Now, let us relish the moment. I would prefer this moment be shared rather than endured alone."

Arturia hesitated for a moment, frowning at his cheerful attitude despite the circumstances. He kept up that smile however, despite the pain that caused a twitch every now and then. Finally, she decided to oblige him, it would not do to keep him waiting after all. Not while on the verge of death.

So she sat down in front of him, raised her own flask of siegbrau and clinked it with his before downing the rest of it. Even with how little was left, the drink still had a delicious taste to it, the frosty burn that followed bringing a small smile to her face.

"Ahah! There we are! You can smile after all!" Siegward bellowed, his laughter ringing through the massive throne room. "To your valour, and my old friend Yhorm."

For a moment, it appeared as though he had more to say but refrained from saying it. Instead he leaned back and let out a sigh, long overdue it seemed, as if he hadn't been so relaxed before.

"I'm not going to link the fire, Siegward." Arturia admitted listlessly, saying such for the first time to anyone else who planned otherwise.

Siegward's eyes widened for a second before nodding. He looked at his barrel flask and sloshed it around, disappointed nothing was left.

"I should slay you for saying that but… I find that I am really tired." His voice was low as he spoke. "I remember my daughter, you know? Sieglinde, I mean. Well, not mine exactly but Siegmeyer's…"

Arturia nodded in understanding.

"Some days, when I doubt myself… I think about her." Tears fell from his eyes. "How she ended up… and then I think about the Age of Fire. A never ending cycle of suffering for those of us not meant for anything more… just look at what became of Yhorm and his kingdom. Burnt to a crisp in trying to prove to his people they were wrong about him."

His shoulders heaved as he started bawling, his jolly attitude lost in the face of regret. Face red in a mixture of anger and sadness, his eyes were shut while tears streamed from them.

And Arturia? She sat next to him and put an arm over his shoulder, taking his left hand in hers. So they just sat there in the company of each other until the end finally came for one of them. Such sadness wouldn't last long fortunately, as the knight of Catarina sobered up after a while.

"Well, I'm going to have myself a little nap." He coughed after calming down. "The only thing to do, really, after a nice toast."

Arturia smiled even as his armor began crumbling, his flesh turning grey and breaking apart before drifting away. And Siegward, reincarnation of Siegmeyer and trusted friend of Arturia Pendragon, kept smiling as well. Always. Even to the end.

"Keep moving forward with whatever you plan to do, Arturia Pendragon. Soar like a dragon in your namesake!" He shot his fist upward even as the left half of his body crumbled away. "And should you ever have children, name one of them Sieglinde!"

Siegward of Catarina, Unkindled and trusted friend of the lonely ruler of the Profaned Capital even after death, had passed on.

"You are a true friend. Best of luck with your duty."

[Darkmoon Temple]

"Whether it's for justice or it's for fun, killing is still killing. So what do you think? Which part do you think is wrong? Killing someone? Or was the reason wrong?"

- Assassin of the Fourth Holy Grail War

'Our Lord and Liege. Knowest thou of a youth named Anri? He is hollow, and will join thee in wedlock.'

It was quiet when she entered the Darkmoon Temple. Perhaps it should be expected when it is concealed from the naked eye, not many may frequent it. The only other living soul she had come across was that pilgrim at the entrance.

'Oh, hello. How do you do? I am Anri of Astora. Unkindled, like you. This is Horace, a friend and traveling companion.'

All roads lead somewhere, sometimes interconnecting in the future. People were like that in a way, she had already come across Ophelia in this world.

'The next time we cross paths, one may find the other in a time of need. May the flames guide your way.'

Tales and legends were similar in that regard. Astora being an example still survived to this day, raising proud warriors for a just cause. Admittedly, she felt a tinge of envy, just a tinge.

'Oh, and we meet again. We spoke before on the Road of Sacrifices. Anri of Astora. I am well pleased to see you safe. We reached the Cathedral of the Deep, but Aldrich's coffin was empty. The man-eater must have left for his true home. The little doll in the empty coffin told me. Aldrich is said to hail from Irithyll in the Boreal Valley, an ancient fabled city. A pilgrim told me that the city lies beyond Farron Keep. And so becomes our destination…'

Even so, as she held onto the sword given to her by the pilgrim, she felt… a great unease about the situation. The long hallway felt daunting like never before, a primordial fear growing as it stewed in her stomach, sweat beading down her face as she neared the cathedral.

'Oh, hello, how very fortunate. Have you seen my companion, Horace? To my shame, I was snared by a trap, and we've become separated. I've not been able to find him since.'

She discarded whatever thoughts formed from doubt, the necessity of the situation required a clear mind.

'Ah, hello, we meet again. Have you seen Horace anywhere? Oh, Horace, where have you run off to? Have you abandoned me? No, what a horrible thought…'

Even so, Anri brought to mind the knights of her Round Table. Bedivere in particular - only a human with a prosthetic - had been a valued member of her court.

'Oh, I thought it might be you. Good to see you. I never managed to find Horace. But my duty must be done, even alone. As an unkindled Lordseeker. For the children I knew, bless their souls. We all have our reasons, don't we?'

The only sound in the wide expanse of the temple was that of her boots crunching down on stone. It echoed around, almost giving her the sense that someone or something else was in here with her. But that wasn't it at all, it was all her imagination.

'A fellow of mine guides him/her at this moment. When the time is ripe, thou mayst make thy salutations.'

And yet, she was still conflicted.

'For what Lord taketh no spouse?'

The reason for her inner turmoil lay ahead. She had her suspicions, and thought herself prepared for what she would see. This world was cruel however, it spared none.

'Thy spouse is ready. The time is ripe to greet him.'

Lying faceup on a stepped platform, Anri lay on the ground with his hands over his chest. His armor was still worn, though his helmet had been removed and placed neatly in a corner. The cloth over his head suggested that he may as well be dead.

'He is hollow, and will join thee in wedlock.'

Arturia slowly dropped to a knee and placed a hand over his own.

"Oh my dear friend," She whispered as she trailed a hand over the cloth. "I am so sorry for this."

Did Anri even want this? She did not know. He seemed fine the last time they met. Had his Hollowing reached such a critical point?

Her question was answered when she removed the cloth. Though he had indeed undergone the physical change of hollowing, his face still looked so peaceful. So tired was he, that it appeared as though he were only sleeping.

'So thou mayst a true monarch become.'

Her grip on the Sword of Avowal tightened as she raised it over his head, aiming it directly at his forehead.

"Please, forgive me."

…

Power surged through her as the darkness seeped out of Anri's body and into Arturia. The dark sigils dotting her chest connecting with each other as new ones appeared, collectively seeping out Humanity until it became a single gaping hole. A Darksign, one unlike any other.

Yellow eyes stared down at the young man before they closed, a smile gracing that fair face. A hand brushed at the right arm of the sacrificial knight, lingering at the familiar sensation.

'Mine king who hold of the holy sword… how very similar. An ally who is the same person, yet at the same time, different. May her future be blessed and filled with shining happiness.'

"You were beside me all this time..." Arturia said as she left the temple in peace, holding back the urge to destroy it. "Thank you, my knight."

Once she returned to Firelink Shrine, Yuria would answer for her deceit. Either in words or in blood, she had no choice in the matter.

[Anor Londo]

"Ooh, yet to give in, eh?

Good. The Fire Keeper must be twitching with delight.

But what do you really know about these Lords of Cinder, these supposed legends?

Let's take Aldrich, for one.

A right and proper cleric, only, he developed a habit of devouring men.

He ate so many that he bloated like a drowned pig, then softened into sludge,

so they stuck him in the Cathedral of the Deep.

And they made him a Lord of Cinder. Not for virtue, but for might.

Such is a lord, I suppose. But here I ask. Do we have a sodding chance?"

- Hawkwood

There was no light shining down on Anor Londo, nor was there any lighting up the interior of the once royal family's castle. Apostles of the corrupted Way of White littered the ancient building, staining their presence into the foundation as they chanted unholy scripture in the name of their patron saint. Such acts were not without their intended effect however, for the ground beneath them cracked as black sludge bubbled up to spread corruption, and metals known for their long lasting qualities rusted and chipped away despite their malleability.

Not even the knights sworn to the eternal defence of the domain of gods were spared from this. A number had fallen to Aldrich when he came for his quarry, some being consumed into his being while others were merely left to die and be broken down into base elements. A few had survived however, though they were too few in number to thoroughly deal with the threat, for they were beset on all sides. The most they could do was keep watch and eliminate further intrusion and hope that their superiors could deal with the likes of the cannibalistic Lord of Cinder.

But not even they were immune to the illusions set up so long ago, and perhaps their own long lived madness attributed to this as well. How could they know that Ornstein, of all of Gwyn's knights, had left his post in search of the king's firstborn son? That only Smough was left to honour his post and guard the ancient cathedral from anything anyone? How could they, including Executioner Smough, know that Princess Gwynevere had departed long ago?

Tall and proud knights once guarded this cathedral, and as time passed, so too did their state of mind. All they came to know was their duty. Loyal dogs to the end, maddened, unbreakable will pushing them on through the years.

Arturia remembered them all well, despite not knowing their names.

"... Help…"

The spider-like beast shrieked as Excalibur Morgan was stabbed deep into its head, virulent green eyes wide in hate even as its life expired. Its limbs slackened as it felt its connection to the world slipping away, twitching slightly in a vain attempt to keep its abhorrent existence. When the blade was extracted and a metal boot kicked at it, the creature had no strength to persist, tumbling backward and crushing a gravely wounded deacon who tried to crawl away.

"... He's going to…"

Arturia turned to regard the fogged gate, leading to where she had once faced down Executioner Smough and his compatriot, Dragonslayer Ornstein. Now, it would be doubtful that either of them were still present, surely at least Smough had fought to the end; however, the sounds of battle were not heard behind this world's variation of a bounded field.

"... Help… he's going to kill me…"

Only the distinct sounds of someone or something gorging itself on food, and the distinct whispers of desperate pleas. Someone was still alive, and they were being eaten if the pained moaning was anything to go by.

Regardless of what she thought was happening, she still had her quarry to hunt down. She would slay whatever foul beast lay in wait and THEN she would seek out the deceptive wretch called Yuria. She had not-

…

"Help… he's going to kill me…" They rasped, still conscious throughout the process.

Aldrich was as the stories depicted him. The very personification of gluttony, now reduced to a disgusting and writhing mass of black sludge. But that wasn't all there was to him, for protruding from the head like a beast from an East Asian folktale was a sight she never thought she would see.

Gwyndolin, the Dark Sun of the Age of Fire.

Once, they were the divine spawn of Gwyn himself; born under the moon and a mage of magnificent power, whilst also commanding great authority. Leader of the Blades of the Darkmoon - hunters of dark spirits and other malcontents - and the last remaining deity of Gwyn's lineage to remain in Anor Londo.

And now they were being consumed by the Lord of Cinder. Ghastly moans left the deity's lips as twitches of pain coursed through the upper torso, followed by the disgusting pulsing of darkness running underneath the flesh.

Arturia narrowed her eyes at the sight, nose scrunching up at the rancid smell as she stepped further inside. Her boots stepped onto the ground with a heavy splat, sinking slightly as the dense liquid pulled her in. It actually took a small amount of effort to continue walking as the semi liquid kept its intrinsic hold on her boots.

And then she realized something about the foundation. That being the stone floor no longer existed beneath the black sludge, for the material had literally eaten it away. It was only by the divine blessing bestowed upon her by the Lady of the Lake that she was able to stand atop the liquid, even as it pulled her downward.

Gwyndolin caught sight of her at this time, and for a moment looked as if they recognized her before screaming suddenly. When they fell silent and hung from the sludge holding them up, it almost looked as if death had claimed them. The reality was not far off however, for they slowly straightened back up with sickly cracks and ghastly moans, turning to laughter as the former body of the Dark Sun looked at her. An arm was extended to the right as the halberd in hand created a luminescent purple scythe, brilliant in its sorcery even as it was swung to cast its spells.

Soul masses were fired at her while she dashed for the nearby pillars, taking note of her surroundings whilst also keeping an eye on the sluggish beast. Its slow movements despite the serpentine form meant it had little time to dodge and attack her in turn, so it kept its distance from her by using "Gwyndolin" as a ranged form of attack. What's more, her magical energy consumption was once more reaching its limit, and it likely knew this as Aldrich and the Pontiff had collaborated all this time.

The halberd was swung again, and this time it was soul spears that were fired. Her instinct flared and she rushed to move away from the pillar, watching the spells pass through her momentary safe haven. She could not afford to hide, not when the enemy could simply lure her out; so she activated mana burst and charged at Aldrich, zig-zagging wherever soul masses were cast.

Arturia had just enough time to jump over the attack that she saw the creature preparing to lunge at her with its weapon, cutting a deep wound across "Gwyndolin's" arm and loosening their hold on the weapon. It began to turn the body for another wide slash when she stabbed her sword into the amorphous black mass that slithered, releasing a burst of black energy that vaporized a good portion of the main body.

She jumped back a few feet as that halberd was slammed into the ground, the purple blade of sorcery that coated it splitting the sludge away as it cut into the stone. "Gwyndolin"/Aldrich hissing hatefully as it glared at her from underneath their crown, twitching as Aldrich reconnected the remaining half with the material available.

'Or was it really split?' Arturia thought to herself.

A dark smile graced the last deity's lips as they watched their wounded arm regenerate the blackened flesh, flexing the fingers in what may have been wonder. Embers began to glow across the serpentine form of Aldrich, turning to flames that traveled upward to the skeletal shroud until "Gwyndolin" was also dressed in the power of Flame.

Arturia reacted first, running across the cathedral with a mana burst strengthening her legs. Her sword pointed backward as she held it with both hands, slowly but steadily pouring in energy.

Aldrich in turn ignited his weapon, the halberd-spear hybrid roaring with flame as manipulated his body into lunging for his enemy, the weapon meant to run her through.

At the last second however, the Ashen one jumped from the side and spun in the air, brushing against Gwyndolin's upper half and angling her body according to her plan. Her sword slowly coming up clockwise as the blade was aimed right at the waist, exactly where Aldrich ended and the Dark Sun began.

One quick activation and Excalibur Morgan burst with raw power, the blade annihilating the flesh upon contact as it cut clean through.

When Gwyndolin's half of the body collapsed into the sludge, the Saint of The Deep thrashed around like a chicken without its head. The monster roared as it writhed violently, slamming into a pillar before dragging itself through the ground. And then, it charged at her, pinning her into the ground in its death throes as little by little it died. The last thing Arturia saw was a torrent of sludge falling into her…

Cold. That was what it felt like as the sludge fell on her.

There was a heavy weight on her body as she fell to her knees, stabbing the sword into the murky ground to keep upright. A slight warmth was also there, yet it quickly faded as the viscous material continued its beating descent. It almost felt like a waterfall, a vertical drop of water coupled with rocks; or rather, the remains of Aldrich's past victims as they clattered over her armor.

Something thwacked her on the head just then, sinking into the muck below her. It was the upper part of a human skull, sticking out of the oily matter with its empty eye sockets looking at her.

Did they feel horror? Elation perhaps? Utter helplessness at the situation was likely what some felt.

"Helplessness?" Her golden eyes snapped open, a snarl escaping her lips. "At this lowly, gluttonous, SHAM OF A LORD OF CINDER!?" Excalibur Morgan exploded with power then, her power and not that of the teaching of this world or anyone else's, pushing away Aldrich as the creature fell backward. The heat produced by the weapon was enough to sizzle the black sludge, the semi liquid material screeching as it seemed to move itself away from the blade. She raised the sword with its energy encompassing it as she swung around in a spinning motion, cutting the monstrous collection of life as the rest of its body fell to the side and splashed gunk everywhere.

But she was not satisfied with simply pushing back Aldrich, she wanted to utterly destroy him. So after checking her magical reserves, she decided quickly that she would simply annihilate him with one fell stroke. One shot should be enough to wipe him out.

"EX-" She readied her sword as it exploded with powerful black-red energy. "-CALIBUR!" She did not notice the whirlpool that sank below the cannibalistic abomination even as it rose up in challenge. "MORGAN!"

The beam was fired at Aldrich, traveling across the cathedral as it tore through everything in its path, even thoroughly melting down the statues of Gwyn and Gwynevere into nothingness. The destructive laser didn't stop there however, continuing to travel until it blasted through the castle itself. If one were to catch the death beam from a distance, they would notice a brilliant red light shooting out of the postern section of the divine fortress.

Back with Arturia, her visage was lit up by the remaining vestiges of light cast by her noble phantasm, the sinister red light dimming as she huffed. Sweat beading down her face while she huffed, looking around for any sign of activity. Seconds passed, and for a minute it appeared as though she had destroyed him.

Her victory had been denied when a loud splash was heard to the side, gunk flying everywhere as the serpentine form of Aldrich shot out of the black pool. His entire body was in full view as it breached through the substance like a whale, bones jutting out of the body like ribs, and there were even spots that looked similar to actual flesh.

Her annoyance was almost palpable when the "head" of Aldrich opened as it fell upon Gwyndolin's body, disappearing into the muck. She exhaled a deep breath and watched for his reemergence, feeling slight surprise when he shot out right in front of her. When the creature showed no sign of attacking she stood her ground, keeping her sword arm tense for action nonetheless.

"I am the King of Knights… I fought worse than you and lived." Her inner nature showed itself with a hiss as "Gwyndolin" smiled down at her. "You think you can devour me like the rest? Come and try it."

"Gwyndolin" starting laughing once the body stopped twitching, a haunting sound that echoed, somewhat feminine in its tone.

"That is why it is so enticing to eat you as well…" A wide smile stretched across their face, splitting to their ears. "Gwyndolin screamed so beautifully… I wonder how you will scream."

"So you are Aldrich. Disgusting creature, how long do you intend to continue existing?"

"Until all things are consumed," They slowly licked their lips and moaned most provocatively, as if aroused by the very prospect of the idea. "Until I am all things. Are you not curious? I will be an ark when the Deep finally comes."

The Deep? The Pontiff had mentioned it before expiring. There was little time and reason to ponder it any further however, there was a Lord of Cinder that needed to be returned to his throne.

The black mass connected to Gwyndolin began to reform itself while rising up like a facsimile great wyrm. The Dark Sun's body twitched and wriggled as the black serpentine form pulsed and deflated continuously, splitting apart from the face down to the chest. They made a rhythmic sound akin to gurgling as the body swayed around, the exposed ribs - formed by actual ribs - flapped slowly while its head bobbed up and down.

It was not a puppetry of the deity expressing humor, but rather it was well and truly Aldrich that was laughing.

"You… are alone." They shuddered, the Dark Sun's body moving to and fro with a hand under their chin as if inspecting her. "And with little time left."

"And what of it?" She shot back even as black blood began to painfully spill out her eyes and mouth once more. "I know what I am."

"No. You really don't. That ability of yours was costly but..." They hummed. "I meant something else. You are born from the Dark. Abysmal even. You know someone similar in nature, don't you?" They placed a hand on their cheek, smiling contentedly. "You felt it, just as I have with you."

In a jolt of realization, she found she could not move, her boots caked in the sludge as it held her down. An arm of that same matter shot out of the pool as it wrapped itself around her sword arm, another wrapping around her other arm. One final arm wrapped itself around her throat, cutting off her air supply and pulling her backward.

"Let me help you." Gwyndolin whispered, their body lowering as they started to crawl towards her. "And in return? You will help me with Mother."

Anger consumed her in this moment of oversight, of course Aldrich would have the ability to control the surrounding sludge, it was part of it after all. With a mighty roar, she gave a vicious pull with her right arm and shook the hold, her sword swinging down on the other tendril and cleaving it off. Now free, the King of Knights shook off her left leg from the surprising strength of the sentient fluid, stomping down on another rising tendril viciously just as it began to rise.

Aldrich was approaching now, waves of darkness slamming into her as their serpentine form cut through the open space. She pointed her sword at the beast, alighting it with her fast depleting power to fire at him. But then, she felt herself get pulled forward, a tendril having wrapped itself around her torso in a surprise motion. The sword misfired and cleaved a path underneath with an early shot, vaporising the ground and leaving it free for it to quickly fill up. Several more hands of oily blackness wrapped around her arms and legs and solidified, leaving her to struggle against this newfound strength.

'What had it been that spurred Aldrich so suddenly?' She thought as she managed to look up and see them directly over her.

"YOU!" Gwyndolin roared through the monstrous mouth Aldrich made for themselves, rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth lining their split mouth. Bones. All of them. "WILL DROWN!" It dove down on her then, the abyss of darkness closing around her. "IN THE DEEP!"

She felt as though she were falling.

Sinking.

Drowning.

And in the great black expanse, a chime was heard. A frequent noise of the Holy Grail Wars, she tried to ignore it even as the horror crept closer. It grew louder as the arms of that poison wrapped around her body. It spoke of evolutionary unity even as it warped everything around it, its measured whispers becoming frantic as she was drifting further from its influence. Until only a vestige of its severed network remained with her, the blue mote cupped in her hands as a new chime came.

A song of silence. Beautiful, encroaching silence.

[We will never stop fighting]

"... Help… he's going to…"

Darkness. I open my eyes to darkness. That is all I saw now.

And I can breathe. I had been sinking and yet I can breathe.

But where was this? Where am I? I had been fighting Aldrich. Is this the Abyss?

The pain from before. It is gone. Am I not Hollowing? Where has the pain gone that it is now soothing?

"... No… not him… anything but him…"

"... Oh gods… have mercy… have mercy…"

"... Anri… Horace… please…"

"... Help… he's going to kill me…"

I can speak. But I hear nothing. The silence is deafening. I can feel. But I feel nothing below me. I feel weightless. I can see. But I see only a void of darkness. And yet I can see my hands. There is…

There is no light here…

…

What? Where did the voice come from? It rumbles. But I know not where it is. Only that it is around.

…

You… ARE… ALONE…

…

You… SHALL... DRIFT.

…

You… SHALL DROWN… IN THE DEEP.

I… cannot… I felt myself sinking further below. Far too fast. It felt like an anchor had been chained to my leg.

"Please help us…"

No. Not an anchor. Hands. Grabbing at me from the shadows and pulling me down. I tried to swim upward, but the hands increased in number and in strength. I looked down to see who was doing such a thing, panic rising as I saw familiar faces. Faces with smiles too wide and haunting eyes that instilled what I hadn't felt in so long: fear.

Merlin, Morgan le Fay, Lancelot, Solaire, Lautrec. And it grew darker still. Darker until I couldn't see my own flesh. And in this darkness, red eyes shone in uneven placement. And when the antlers came into view, I realized I was no longer being pulled in by those I was most familiar with. No. That which I myself slew, the Father of the Abyss himself, was pulling me down now, his large hand doing so with a surprisingly gentle ease as I was swallowed further into the unknown. With a being I myself did not truly understand.

"Come hither, O child mine, be not afraid of your progenitor."

…

Darkness~ A woman's voice spoke sensually into my ear. Her giggling echoed as she seemed to drift out of reach.

SERENITY. This one thundered with the power of a dragon. The rumble of its form passing through in the depths.

SWEETNESS. And this one, I knew quite well. The memory of its chime was simply everywhere. Once.

…

"Yes."

…

"There is no light here. It is… comforting."

…

"But I do not know who you are. What you are."

…

We… have always… been with you~

WE… ARE ALL OF YOU… DEEP DOWN.

YOU… ARE… ALONE.

…

"We were. It was the path we took as King. It was necessary. And I believe it still is if I wish to spare everyone the mistakes of the past."

We laugh at your insistence to delusion~

TO YOURSELF.

IT IS EXCRUCIATING.

…

"And what are you to judge me? There have always been two paths, light and dark. Both require a shepherd to lead the new era. Chaos is but rampant Light, and the Abyss is but rampant Dark. The Deep may well be another form of the Abyss.

And that is why we laugh.

THOU CLAIMEST TO BE MOST ENLIGHTENED.

THROUGH PAIN AND SUFFERING AND TIME.

…

Memories pass. It burned as I linked the First Flame. Another possibility. Not me. Yet me. A wizard who denied the Light earlier and wandered until she forgot the reason why. Guilt plagued her as she took the Throne of Want.

…

So you see? Still so blinded you are, whether in the Light…

OR IN THE DARK.

AROUND AND AROUND AND AROUND.

…

"I see… I haven't actually changed. No matter what side I took, nothing would change. Even if I took the fire for the Dark, I would just be another Lord Gwyn. Repeating his mistakes out of… necessity?"

Fear~

FEAR.

FEAR.

…

"Then can anything be done? I want this constant cycle to end but there is never an answer. Only one or the other. Foolish as I sound, I see no other option for existence to move forward."

…

No, sweet one~

THERE IS ONE OPTION LEFT.

AND WE HAVE WAITED EVER SO LONGER.

Through rock.

AND METAL.

AND TIME.

…

Memories. Of a lonely king who ruled as best they could but were torn down. The people wanted more. Memories. Of a lonely king who fought twice as a Timelost Spirit. They all wanted more. Memories. Of a lonely king who fought and succeeded the first Lord of Cinder. The Fire wanted more.

The Light wanted more. And the Dark wanted less.

Is that not insanity? For just a moment, the first voice was clear in sight. A woman of unparalleled beauty floated before me, one who wore a beautiful black robe in contrast to her snow white skin and hair. Her eyes were the colour of violet in their familiar iridescence. A promising smile that whispered sweetness parted to show pristine white teeth. So close were her lips to mine that it felt as if she would devour me.

YOU TOOK OUR PROPHET. For just a moment, the second voice was clear in sight. A massive and ferocious black beast of the sea floated before me, those eyes which burned with rage and hate searing into my mind. Its maw was lined with destructive teeth which threatened to cut my flesh. Its body writhed as it twisted and pulled against something holding it back while purple voltage coursed through it.

YOU WILL THUS BE ENLIGHTENED IN HIS PLACE. The final one, I still couldn't see. Nor would I as I felt it seep into the gaping hole in my chest, entering my body through the Dark Soul. I could not even feel fear. All I felt was acceptance even as my body twitched in protest.

…

My eyes opened with a newfound clarity in the deep darkness. I bore witness to all. I judged. And I reached the answer I sought after all this time.

Alone… you drown~

SHE… SHALL DROWN… BUT YOU… SHALL DRIFT.

WITH US.

…

"Yes. Yes we shall."

…

There will be no light~

"As it should have been. As it shall be."

…

THEY… SHALL DROWN… IN THE DEEP.

…

"No. They shall not."

…

ELUCIDATE.

"They shall not drown. Neither shall they drift helplessly. They shall sail. Those in the Dark shall be in the shadow of our care. We shall keep them afloat rather than drown them in sin. Why would we drown those we swore to rule?"

…

"Are you not with me? Are you not all of me?"

…

Aldrich… had vision as our emissary… he wished to survive the coming age… but you… you are as we hoped…

…

AS WE KNEW YOU TO BE… WATCHING FOR YOUR PEOPLE… AS YOU ONCE DID… AS YOU SHALL… OUR PRECIOUS KING OF KNIGHTS.

…

NOW AWAKEN.

…

Do not whimper and cry.

ROAR AND FEAST ON FEAR.

DEVOUR.

[Vous Mourez]

A pair of arms pulled Arturia out of the black sludge, the density proving to be strong enough to make the Lord of Dawn topple backward. The knight's body fell limply on the stone floor, completely unresponsive to whatever pain she should be feeling.

"Marvelous. Even under such extreme conditions, I see that your ability to overcome any obstacle didn't diminish in the least."

The black-clothed man knelt before a naked Arturia, two fingers resting on her neck to feel for a pulse. When it was clear that she was alive and well, the man stood back up and brushed his coat of the sludge. Despite the fact that it no longer held the life it once did, it was still a viscous substance similar to oil. It would be very annoying to try and remove it later, but as they say, c'est la vie.

Regardless, Aldrich had been an interesting specimen to study from afar, evolving from a man to what could only be described as a sentient mass of primordial ooze. It was fascinating really. There had been unfortunate costs to this of course, such as an apparent loss to his sense of self as he continued eating people, even children eventually fell to this fate, but he was in no position to speak out on that. He simply hadn't been there at the time; then again, he supposed had once been committed to such a process.

"I see that your own sins caught up with you in the end, Saint of the Deep. But I wonder…" The gap in the man's black helmet shined bright for a moment. "What did you do to my friend here?"

He remembered Arturia from the Fourth Holy Grail War, how she shone with a light that could be mistaken for the Dawn. Seeing her here now, her body corrupted by All the World's Evils and further changed by the laws of this world… It was fascinating. She was meant to be ash, but through the machinations of desperation there had been an interesting development. A development in the form of the Darksign oozing humanity out of her chest, seen in plain view over her chest. And now in the aftermath of this battle between an Unkindled/Chosen Undead and a Lord of Cinder, something else was happening.

Her armor lay scattered and in pieces all around, and the dress she wore underneath was torn - or perhaps melted down - to a point that her modesty couldn't be hidden anymore. So of course he took advantage of the opportunity before him and extracted some samples from her; blood, hair, the sludge around them. Something was happening and he would need something to work with, to understand how the blessings in this world worked.

Just as well, he had been inspecting a needle filled with the black liquid inside of her when he noticed her stirring. Soon, she started seizing, and Bondrewd dropped to a knee and checked for any more irregularities. He'd checked his blood samples, checked her temperature, he even shed some light into her eyes. His analysis yielded what was already evident through what he could already see. She too was evolving.

Bondrewd considered stabbing a tube through her ribs to assist with her erratic breathing but thought against it, this was something entirely new and interference may kill her. Besides, she was strong enough to have survived everything up until this point; she even killed him by the end of their Holy Grail War.

"Oh my oh my… is this your doing, Aldrich?" He looked out the broken glass in the abandoned chapel, out at the light shining through. "Or is it something else?"

The Darksign gushed out humanity as though it were a wound on her body, the void in her chest seemingly writhing as if it were alive. What veins could be seen were violently pulsing with an equally dark substance, and her limbs twitched as pained exertion was expressed on her face. And then, it began to spill out of her orifices. Were it only her eyes, he would have thought she was crying, but it was an awful lot of tears to leave her mouth and ears as well.

Her eyes shot open at that moment, widening at the sight of the enemy Servant looming over her. Very briefly had there been rage in them before they contorted in pain, her mouth quivering before vomiting a black-red liquid. Naturally, the White Whistle helped her turn over face down, unobstructed to expel what he could only assume was the mass of curses that was the lingering remnant of Angra Mainyu within her.

Her body was doing what the physiology of organisms had always done, where hands and weapons killed their enemies, their inner workings fought against what was inside of them. The dark sign on her chest most certainly served a purpose in this as well, not just in being a sign of the undead; in fact, the scientist likened it to medicine, an antibody fighting back against whatever was inside of her.

But what would happen to her afterward? Would she be the same person mentally? Physically? It was disgustingly beautiful to Bondrewd, one who saw value in such a process.

The walls began to shake, cracks spider webbing across them as the stress of time and today's events caught up. Aldrich's corruption had seeped into the foundation of Anor Londo, thus eating away at the supports and ruining what little stability was left. The final nail in the coffin had to be Arturia's usage of her noble phantasm, a weapon capable of enough power to destroy a castle such as this with a single strike. It hadn't been used as such now, but it was enough to pierce through its many layers reinforced by near-extinct materials and spells.

"My, my… what a fascinating turn of events." He looked around one last time, judging the stability of the interior. There should be some time before it all goes down, but even so… "To think this castle would finally fall apart."

"Bondrewd?" Arturia rasped before convulsing once more. "You…"

"Don't speak, just let the change happen." He placed a hand on her shoulder, tapping her gently. "Try not to think about the pain, sleep if you will. I can't interfere, else I might interrupt something wonderful."

His decision made, Bondrewd knelt before Arturia until she fell into unconsciousness, making sure to assess her stability until he was sure she could be left alone. The first set of breaths were heard after an hour, slow and steady as they escaped through the nose while the diaphragm moved gently.

"Marvelous. Simply marvelous."

After that, he escaped relatively unnoticed and left no sign that he was even there.

[Kampfen hat sich die gestalt]

There were storm clouds up in the night sky, a low rumbling being heard as three individuals met up with each other in a park. Were it not for recent events, this reunion would have been well received. But both parties had lost something that day, if the smoke rising up from the city were any indication.

"Saber." The dark-haired samurai started.

"Archer." The blonde knight replied.

For a moment, the two Servants stood in front of each other silently, neither saying a word. One stood tall even in a land where their authority as a knight, as a king, was not recognized. The other stood equally as tall, but the air seemed to shift around him, as if giving way to one who once fought for the land in a past time.

The silence was broken when the King of Knights spoke.

"The Grail is corrupted." Archer said nothing, his silence prompting her to continue. "If we continue fighting each other, its contents will overflow and-"

"And grant the world a power it hadn't seen in years?" Genichiro Ashina interrupted. "We've had this conversation before, Saber. My answer will not change."

"You stubborn fool… do the lives of the people mean nothing to you!?"

"That's interesting coming from you."

"What?"

"You were a king, yes? Tell me, when you ruled Camelot, did the lives of your people matter to you? Or was it the kingdom itself that mattered?"

Such a question had never been asked before. Previously it had been whether she ruled properly as a just king but now?

"I-" She stopped herself, unable to form a correct answer.

"You have your honor as a knight and loyalty to your kingdom as its King, but our similarities end where I am a Lord of Ashina." His brow furrowed. "You sought to change your own rule and now you tell me it would be wrong to do so? How so?"

An explosion was heard behind them, in the city, where a black cloud rose while a building collapsed. Only Arturia and her Master were taken aback by the sight, Archer paid it no mind as he stood there unmoving.

From the very beginning, it had been clear that something was wrong with the war. It was subtle, just like in the one before. But the speed at which events unraveled here was more noticeable, frightening even, with Caster and her Master, a member of the Covenant of Ichneumon, at the forefront.

"Look at the city behind you! There is a third party involved with clear intent to retrieve the Grail and even then it will only lead to more destruction! Death on an unfathomable level! How can you still want that!?"

"Because it only proves its value. Because what I want will lead to Ashina's prosperity." The man stated resolutely. "What we want is impossible to attain on our own, even if we are Heroic Spirits. There could be mountains of bodies in our wake and it still wouldn't change anything. No matter what the cost is, the Holy Grail can help me save my homeland. As the perfect king, you should understand that; if not, you are not fit to rule."

Arturia took a step forward, teeth gritted in frustration. She stopped when her Master spoke up for the first time since coming here, having insisted on coming along.

"How can you say that!? Its just cruel, to wish for something to help you but hurt others…"

Parts of her clothes were in tatters and covered in soot, and her face was covered in small cuts from an earlier confrontation with members of the Coven.

"Maybe so, but how can one such as yourself understand what I want? You, a so-called 'Hero of Justice?'" He regarded her with a sideways glance. "I once knew a child like you, willing to sacrifice himself for others, with his loyal Wolf not far behind. He too wanted to save everyone… but at the end of the day, he didn't have the stomach to do what was necessary."

"That… that shouldn't be up to you… what's necessary isn't always right…" Her Master stepped away, amber eyes wide in shock at the lengths this man would go. "I saw it… h-happen… people burning… screaming… friends… family… you'd take that all away so your nation can just…"

She looked down at her hands then, her bloodstained hands, a choked sob escaping her.

"Shinra Emiya, you don't seem to understand. I am Genichiro Ashina, Head of my clan and sworn Lord to Ashina." He drew his sword then, letting the moonlight shine off it. "No matter how cruel it may seem, if it is for the sake of preserving Ashina, I will seize any manner of strength. Cruel, heretical, monstrous. I will endure any burden."

She saw herself in him at that moment, stalwart in his ideals, his conviction and loyalty to his country.

"Master, go."

But she could not accept that. She could not accept him.

"Saber?"

She could not accept what part of herself she represented. The part of herself that she denied.

"Shinra, please." She shot her a sharp glance, her eyes narrowed in fury. "There is no convincing him. Rendezvous with Lady Luvia at the very least."

The ember-eyed girl looked between the two Servants, torn with the decision to stay and help or assist with the last-minute evacuations. In the end, she chose to leave them, likely agonizing at forsaking the friend she found in Arturia.

"You have no honor, Genichiro. Was Ashina not part of Japan?"

"Perhaps, long ago. But my time period was nothing like today. A knight such as yourself should know the difference between honor and loyalty." His feet shifted in place as he held the sword to the side, left hand drifting over the blade with a slight twitch. "My honor is my own, and my loyalty is to Ashina alone. The Interior Ministry saw to that."

For as diverse as all the Servants were in this war and the past, there were none she could understand more than this Archer. She too had her own Interior Ministry to worry about. Kingdoms that should have allied with her and instead sought their own leadership, individuals who simply could not accept the power falling to one such as her, even those who wanted a taste of the power she bore. King Vortigern, the Sorceress Morgan le Fay, even Ser Mordred, whose rebellion amounted to little more than a need for recognition.

She knew not this man's tale, but in the end, two polar opposites could never agree with each other. It truly was a shame. Someone like him would have made a fine knight, perhaps even a member of the Round Table. But their methods were too different, their ideals just barely meeting an agreement.

Excalibur was held up with invisible air coating it, Arturia shifting in place before she charged at him. Thunder rumbled up above and Genichiro charged as well.

That night, one of them fell in battle.

[Houtē hē moira mou]

When she awoke, it was silent. Nothing churned to life or moved to attack her in such a vulnerable position.

Bondrewd, the monstrous and delusional scientist that he was, had vanished. She had not hallucinated, she knew for a fact that he was there for whatever experiment he had planned next. If they crossed paths again the next time… there would be no hesitation. Not after all he had done in Fuyuki. For now however, there was the matter of addressing the odd sensations she felt.

When she stood, she was surprised to find the sensation of a heavy weight had all but passed. Certainly she was naked but… she felt too light. As if gravity lost its effect on her. The sudden movement of standing almost caused her to fall back down as she struggled to gain her bearings. Her vision began to swim from moving too quickly, and she was even more surprised to find that as she raised a hand to calm her nerves, the arm practically shot upward with an unexpected speed. It almost felt as though she had forgotten how to move…

Taking a moment to reassess, she waited for her vision to slow down and for her breathing to steady. She moved her aching arms, noticing they felt lighter, more fluid as she shook them with unconsciously fast reflexes. She was almost as equally unprepared when she moved her legs, a similar ache in her bones passing slowly. At least she could keep from falling, though she did feel as though she were tipping a little too forward.

All in all, Arturia felt far different than when she found herself changed by the Holy Grail. Back then, she found herself free as her power had been unchained, her prowess enhanced; and yet, the heavy weight from the corruption was too much even in that state. Now, she felt no such pressure, it was not pulling her down with a distant pain, nor did it feel as if it was blighting her with curses.

'My magical energy… it is stabilized? What has… I feel… connected to the world?'

Indeed. The world itself was not actively expediting her from its realm, she truly felt as if she had a concrete presence. So she tested out summoning her armor, reaching out and willing it on. The spirit particles formulated immediately, condensing until they formed the black dress she wore underneath her armor, cool and soft to the touch. Her armor formed just as quickly, but there was a noticeable lack of weight on it, strange in that usually more was felt.

Regardless of what she felt of the situation, there was no rage ringing in her ears. It was blissfully quiet. There was no boiling sensation passing through her body. It was nourishingly cold.

And with noticing the cold came the pain. Not the pain of Angra Mainyu. The pain of hunger. A deep, wrenching pain that rumbled painfully in her stomach as she clutched at it, gasping for air as she felt herself drowning in her famished state.

What could she even eat? There wasn't any edible food around, and her estus flask had been all but drained at this point. She hadn't even felt hungry the entire time she had been in this land. It was an abnormal feeling. It was…

Ravishing~

She groaned in pain at the response, teeth grinding to bite back a cry. Tears had been threatening to spill out as it felt like a hole was opening inside her.

WE ARE FAR MORE GRACIOUS THAN ALL THE WORLD'S EVILS.

A glow appeared in the vision of her closed eyes, and when she opened them, it was to find several powerful souls floating before her. The souls of powerful beings she had slain before. Lord souls.

WE ARE COMING.

They wanted her to become a glutton? To become a wraith?

And we are so very hungry~ are we not?

Yes and it hurt. But she could not start here. If she did, she did not know if she could ever stop.

JUST A BITE.

Stop.

JUST ONE.

"Stop it!"

You won't regret it~

"I… AAARRRGH!"

YOU'LL DIE IF YOU DON'T.

Nothing else was on her mind. There was only the moment. The monumental, primal feeling of hunger.

WHY DO YOU HOLD YOURSELF BACK?

…

That emptiness you feel inside you?

"Please… I hadn't agreed… to this…"

IT CAN BE FILLED.

Yellow eyes opened up as black liquid from them. The same substance spilled out of her mouth as she began to lose all reason and smiled wickedly.

IT CAN SATISFY US WHERE YOU WILL NOT LET US FLOOD.

Her hands held the soul of Yhorm, the Lonely Giant.

Eat.

Her armored hands brought it closer to her face, her lips beginning to split at her ears. Closer still it was brought to her mouth which opened to reveal razor sharp teeth and salivating gums. Closer it was brought to her monstrous maw that roared in animalistic hunger.

Indulge in the essence of others~

FOR JUST A SCANT MOMENT.

AND LET OUR FEAST BEGIN IN EARNEST.

I see you.

An unholy howl pierced across the dilapidated castle, shaking the foundation with the power it held. Cracks actually spread on the stone as the soundwaves echoed through the halls, as well as forcing the few silver knights and deacons left to stop whatever they were doing and cover their bleeding ears.

Sirris had been one of those to do so, dropping to her knees as she tried to bear through the pain. It felt as though needles were being stabbed into her head over and over. It seemed to go on forever… until it stopped after a full minute. The Darkmoon knight found it a struggle to even open her eyes when she did, tears of pain falling down her face.

"A beautiful song, isn't it?" A wretch spoke distantly.

Fingers dabbed at her ears to find blood, her ears having been ruptured by the noise. Even now, a ringing noise stung at her as she looked up with a wince.

"How fitting to see a member of a fallen order brought so equally low… like the Templars, even your foundation crumbles."

No sooner had the woman said those words that the castle of Anor Londo began crumbling, the spires shaking before starting to fall. The foundation of the old gods and Master Gwyndolin's domain… it was being destroyed.

"Ringfinger…" Sirris growled. "What was that? Is this your doing?"

"Why that's ridiculous, you've been after me ever since that giant's domain." She laughed. "Hah… oh don't look at me like that. I told you, you'll regret chasing after me and my cadre."

"You desecrate the land with your mad quest!" Sirris screamed. "Following a heretic goddess, slaying champions of justice, are you not one of the knights of old I once fought with!?"

Molay's boot slammed down on her head, grinding it into the stone. The Darkmoon knight could scarcely look up, catching only the hateful burning eyes of her former sister in arms.

"I was a Templar, yes." More pressure was applied. "But do not ever misinterpret my intentions, as your big sister, I told you that once," More pressure was applied. "Remember?"

Sirris did. Oh how she remembered. Tears fell as she remembered the times she shared with the woman who came to her hometown one day and practically became her sister in all but blood. They were a family at that point, her, grandad, and big sister Jacqueline.

Then, one day she just… left. Grandad followed and she was alone.

Another howl was heard, this one far less piercing.

"Ahh… she comes." The woman murmured, taking her foot off Sirris. "Our Lady's Chosen…"

When Sirris chanced a look, all she saw up those stairs was a deep and bottomless abyss. A swirling mass of blackness and a few silver knights swinging their swords at whatever lay within. And then… she came.

A quiet rage was in those red eyes that shined through the dark, narrowing in contempt as they caught her frightened gaze.

Sirris choked as a panicked sob left her, quickly scrambling to leave this city. It was too horrible to look at it again, she had to leave now! But her sister stopped that, grabbing her head and forcing her to look at the horror that appeared.

"LOOK SIRRIS! LOOK AT WHAT SHALL SAVE US ALL!" She screamed. "IT IS PERFECTION!"

And she was indeed looking. It was Arturia Pendragon, a fellow warrior she had come to blows with on several occasions after reports came that she was on good terms with groups like Rosaria's Fingers. Perhaps she should have tagged along with her, if only to have confirmed for herself before it was too late. And now she walked down those steps, a swirling mass of darkness behind her eerily forming into the shape of a dragon.

"Well, I suppose now is the time for a question." Jacqueline spoke as if nothing was wrong, pulling back her hood and looked down. "Won't you join me, Sirris?"

Her sister turned enemy had let go of her at that point, leaving the Darkmoon knightess to gape in horror at the look of pure serenity the woman's face had. A blissful smile graced her lips in spite of the danger around them, disregarding the rage she had expressed earlier. It took all her will to formulate even one word in her stupor.

"What?" Sirris asked, unable to process the question.

"Will you join me, you silly girl?" Jacqueline's smile was too wrong for her face, too malignant and without any of the gentleness it once had. "You could stay here of course, let my friend here eat you along with those and the Aldrich Faithful, but…"

Said members of the church literally prostrated before the pitch darkness, not a sound of protest escaping them as they were consumed by the shadows. The knights on the other hand were unable to protest in any way as tendrils of darkness pierced into their armor and forced their way inside them, black liquid bursting out of whatever openings were in their armor.

"What more could be keeping you from understanding? Gwyndolin has been killed, the foundation of your order destroyed, you even killed Grandfather Hodrick, didn't you?" The fallen Templar frowned. "Don't you want to continue living? What point is there in fighting for a crumbling order of tyranny?"

The words struck a chord in Sirris, for at the moment there was no slaughter. There was only her and Jacqueline.

"We could be sisters again, just you and me." She whispered.

What should she do? She had her duty, even if her patron deity was dead. She didn't even know where Company Captain Yorshka was. So what could she do? She could kill the Ringfinger here and now, maybe even escape if she had time to flee.

But this was her sister, who taught her how to use a sword. They laughed together. They played together. And when she left… it was to protect her… a man named Leonhard had come for them and she had set off after him…

"Sister…" Blue-gray eyes shifted to a sickly yellow and quirked upward. "Please…"

Sirris' hand was reaching out for the other's, and she took it with the most gentle caress she had ever given in so long.

"Of course, my little sister."

Crawling around my domain, like insects.

Firelink Shrine had been quiet recently, though it was to be expected. Most people here wanted to be left alone, or perhaps unforeseen circumstances played a part. They certainly did where the young knight named Anri was concerned.

If anyone were to ask Yuria if her actions were worth the sacrifice of one such as him, if it were worth betraying the trust of her Lord, then she would have an answer right away. Yes. It was worth it in the long run. One Unkindled would be worth the lives of many now and in the future.

She knew her Lord would return. She knew she would have to face some measure of wrath. But her Lord was of the honourable sort, though it was not often expressed, she still saw it the first time they met where Yorl earned his long deserved rest. Honour would not allow her to continue the journey, instead demanding they cease. Surely then, she would understand the point of it all once she stood over Anri?

"You will never deceive me ever again, Yuria of Londor."

She had only a moment to realize where she was, to hear the sound of sound splashing underneath boots, and feel a presence behind her in the dark space. Fear and surprise overtook her as she was lifted up by the throat and slammed into the wall. Fingers gripped tight on her trachea, cutting off her air as she thrashed in the hold.

Yellow eyes which burned in the dark stared back at her light grey ones.

"Ah! M-my Lord!" Yuria exclaimed as she struggled to rip away Artoria's grasp on her throat. "Please! I-it-"

"Yuria. I've been longing to speak with you since my wedding, and I believe I put it off for long enough.." Her voice was flat, eerily monotone. "How now could you have neglected to tell the exact details of how it would commence?"

Her hand gripped tighter and Yuria's eyes bulged out.

"M-my Lord… please f… give m… necess…"

There was a loosening then, and Yuria could feel cool, dank air returning once more.

"Speak."

"I… thank you, my Lord. But please… understand I wouldn't have deceived you if I had known your true intentions. I had to know!" The Darkwraith grew frantic. "Don't you see!? So many Dark Lords have come and gone, and yet the Age of Fire continued! Our kind had been so close to victory many times prior only to have it all squandered by another who foolishly chose to follow Gwyn's example!"

"Please… my Lord… I am so very tired… please do not betray us." Her head lowered as she spoke in a defeated tone. "I… I am at your side… I am thine…"

She went very still when her Lord began to remove her helmet. The armor had not been removed once since she arrived at Firelink, so there was a noticeable change in the air. The cold, damp air followed by the scent of smoke.

"Look at me, Yuria." Her Lord commanded quietly.

Trembling, Yuria did not dare; thus, she jolted in fright when the other woman pulled her chin upward. Her iridescent white eyes grew wide in expectant terror. Her heart beating deeply as she prepared herself for the inevitable.

What would her Lord do? With her so close, and at a vulnerable point in her own life…

"I have not seen such fierce devotion and loyalty to one's cause in many, many years." The woman actually smiled, closing her eyes wistfully. "Fond memories and emotions return to me, only to be crushed by the helplessness that I will not return to such a time… but here I am, with an opportunity to begin anew. And it is thanks to you, my loyal yuria."

She helped Yuria stand with her, hands on her shoulders for support.

"Yes. I am your Lord. And so I command you to never again deceive me." She released her hold on the woman and instead cupped one of her cheeks, the other clasping around both of her trembling hands. "Some clarification for how I would like my reign."

Her fingers gripped the woman's face hard enough that it felt as though the flesh would tear apart from her face, and as Arturia brought it close to hers, sickly yellow eyes that turned an abyssal red surrounded by darkness staring deep into her soul. Her nails dug deep into her skin as the hand threatened to rend her flesh. And the words she spoke next were as inhumane as the voice which addressed the Darkwraith.

"There will be no betrayal in my reign. No dissatisfaction." Her words were like a predator's growl. No more trickery. No more lies. You will tell me everything you know, everything you have planned. You will tell me, or I shall feast on your facsimile visage."

"I-"

"In the past, I struck down those that thought I was unworthy, pillaged dissent and let it fade into the wind. I defended against invaders many times in the past, and I struck down rebellion even when it was from my own knights. Do you understand, O Yuria mine?" A horrible smile formed on those lips, teeth sharpening as her already towering form loomed over her with a shadow covering her visage. Only her eyes could be seen then, and they burned bright with a madness she couldn't understand. "Must I burn Londor as well?"

Whatever Yuria stammered out seemed to please her Lord as she let the woman faint from fear. She had to be thankful for that, what she saw in her Lord at that moment was something she never wished in her direction ever again.

Eyes which burned her own, and teeth far too sharp and too close for comfort. Her Lord was simply not human, bearing the qualities of a force of nature.

And something far worse which lurked beneath her skin, deep within if one looked close enough.

And she did~

AND WE ANSWERED.

FOR WE WISHED UPON HER TO WITNESS OUR ABYSSAL BEAST.

This realm answers to only one master.

"Andre." The aforementioned man looked up to the one who spoke his name, his eyes widening as he beheld the Unkindled.

Appraising her impressive height and musculature which had not been there the last time they spoke, he had to take a moment to compose himself and renew his opinion of her. She had grown, for lack of a better word. No longer was he looking at Arturia, the girl of small stature who wielded a sword with an incredible amount of skill. She who had the eyes of someone who had seen so much and came to her own violent conclusion of the world. She who spoke little but with such volume that demanded attention.

Instead, he was looking at a Lord. Not a mere holder of land or one in service to one higher than they, but an honest to gods Lord.

But she was not one born from the Dark, she did not find her own Lord Soul at the Dawn of the Age of Fire. She was a Lord born in the Dark, one who took the souls of others and…

"By the gods… you ate them didn't you?"

Arturia did not respond, her stature was steady as she held her gaze.

"Y've taken their essence and merged them with your own…" For a moment, Andre's face was grave, his brow furrowed as he thought of what to say. Then he started laughing. "By right of combat, y've become a Lord fit to rule."

"But am I a Lord you would continue serving your work to?" Her voice was curt, faltering Andre's demeanor. "I seek not to link the flame as others have in the past, nor do I intend to let it fade into nothing. Knowing this uncertainty for the future, would you, neutral as you are, continue serving me?"

"Hmm… sounds like something will happen soon. Something new mayhaps?" He scratched his beard. "Bah! No matter. I am a smith, such is my purpose to all." At her raised eyebrow, he chuckled before continuing. "Listen well, Arturia of Camelot, I've toiled away over countless Ages past, forged many weapons for heroes and legends, some even came to link the fire. I've seen all and known all manner of folk that stopped by my forge, I know your struggles, they are drenched on your armor and coat your weapons. And I know you, from all those millenia ago. I can hardly blame y' for wanting this path. Whatever comes next, unseen by my sight lit by fire, so long as I am able to continue with my work…"

He paused for a long while then, setting down his tools and straightening out his back, grunting as tension built up over many years was released. How long he had toiled to keep his own madness at bay was up for debate. Perhaps he had never stopped to begin with.

"Well, so long as I can keep to my purpose, it matters to me none. Y' hear me lass?"

Arturia smiled lightly.

"It comforts me to know that you at least are bothered very little by the unknown."

"Ha! Come on then, I know y' didn't come here to chat. Show me what it is you want."

She took out a roll of paper and spread it out on the ground before taking out a dark object from her cloak. Spreading out the paper on the ground, she placed the lump of coal over the scroll for added weight. As his eyes widened at the sight of the rock, Arturia brought out the armour she had set aside, placing them on the ground before him.

Armour pillaged from the Ringed Knights of the Ringed City, malformed from being created in the Abyss, thus betraying a smidgen of life. And her own armour, created using magic and later corrupted by the Holy Grail.

"Lords… where didye hap'n upon this coal?" He recoiled slightly.

"Coal from the Profaned Capital, I thought it might suit my needs."

"This is much too dark. I see the Abyss in it… Yet, a smith I remain. I won't turn down a request. One final great work o' mine, forged to light the way."

There seemed to be a look of sadness on his face then, his hands hesitant to continue smithing after all this time. It passed shortly after however, and so he began his work, banging on the armour she had given him. Then, he would assuredly start smelting down the smaller pieces.

"And one more thing 'fore y' go," He said as he stopped suddenly, pulling out a strand of swordgrass from his pocket. "That crestfallen arse Hawkwood, he handed me this. He's changed a great deal since he left this place. Graven of face, he asked me to give it y'."

Arturia frowned, understanding the intent behind it. Hawkwood himself once told her that the Undead Legion had a tradition of using swordgrass to send grave messages.

"Will you need assistance with what I want, Andre?" She asked simply.

"Eh? Who do you think yer talkin' to? I'll have it done by the time y' finish yer business." He gestured to her sword. "'Sides, y' still need yer sword changed, eh?"

The King of Knights left without another word, hand gripping tight on Excalibur Morgan.

You are nothing.

'Come to the the mausoleum in Farron. Only one take the path of ancient dragons.'

 

Hawkwood was waiting for her at Farron's mausoleum, exactly as his message stated on the sword grass. His arms crossed over each other as he watched her approach. She stopped right at the entrance however, shadows obscuring most of her form.

"Ah, there you are…" He started, unmoving from his spot. "Well, I've decided to stop running from my fate."

Her lack of a response was curious as she would usually say something, perhaps even nod; but there was no acknowledgement, only silence. When she did respond, it was with an echo that traveled through the wide space. She was laughing. It was a low sound, and one that brought an unnatural chill in the air, but it was nonetheless mocking in its intent.

"Have you now? The last of your order. YOU have stopped running? Have you noticed it is far too late for that?" She gestured at the corpses of the former Watchdogs of Farron. "Look around you, and know that it is I who slew your comrades in arms. The ones that YOU turned your back on."

"Yes I see. They died for the cause they believed in, damned as they were."

"A cause you should have kept to, no matter the cowardice you felt as you held that shield close." She stepped closer into the light and Hawkwood could see a sort of shine in those eyes. "Did you set out to link the Fire to repent for your desertion or was it out of a need to set yourself apart from your peers?"

He shrugged at the question. "I suppose even accursed Undead want to believe they're special…"

"You hopeless, crestfallen fool. You have naught an inkling of the rage I feel for someone like you. No shred of respect for yourself and absent without leave out of mere dissatisfaction only to return once all is lost." She seethed, memories of her knights coming to mind. "Were you a knight under my command, I would have executed you on the spot."

"A woman concerned for my conduct. Oh, I'm touched." He smirked. "But of course I have a reason for returning here, I wouldn't have otherwise. You see, I've come to a point of realization. Don't you think it's strange how small the Lords truly are?"

"Is this a literal question or figurative?" Arturia curtly responded. "Get to the point, Hawkwood."

"The point, King Arthur! The point is that this entire ordeal is an absurdity! That the gods cannot even keep the Flame alight for too long that they resort to us! We Unknidled who are treated as lower than Undead! Now they need us!?" Hawkwood ceased his ranting for a moment and huffed, taking deep breaths to collect himself. "So I left, again. And then I found a new path on pilgrimage to Archdragon Peak. And do you know what I discovered?" He pointed at her. "A Nameless King told me about you. Slayer of Manus. Humble to allow the Wolf Blood Master to take credit where it wasn't his. Lord of Cinder. Dragon spawn. KING."

Arturia's eyes narrowed dangerously and her lips pursed together. Her fingers twitched as she finally understood this fool in his true form.

"So that's when I figured you were like the rest of these Lords. And look at you now. Gifted by birthright and circumstance." He smiled madly. "Loathe me, all you like. I will take what makes you Dragon."

Yellow eyes burned with an abyssal red rage. "Neither courage or honour resides within you, only to emerge now of all times. Or perhaps it was never there at all?"

"I've tried to link the flame once, and look at me!" He gestured to himself, his eyes twitching as his composure shattered. "Forced to become my failure and tasked to convince those Lords to return to their thrones! How can worthless undead like us hope to do so!? That we must return them to their thrones as ashes!?" His teeth were bared as he raged. "Courage and honour! Courage and honour! COURAGE AND HONOUR! Do you even know the meaning of those words!? You who were a king that ruled in a time of peace and partook of kingly pleasures!? WHEN HAVE YOU EVER HAD TO STRUGGLE OVER AND OVER AGAINST THE DEGRADATION OF YOUR OWN SELF!?"

"All the time." Arturia growled out as she was suddenly before Hawkwood, 1 meter away to be exact. "So now I ask you, Hawkwood. When have you ever had to struggle to keep your kingdom standing despite the circumstances of your birth? When have you ever struggled to fight back against the shadows of those who wished for your demise since being crowned a king? When have you ever had to stand against several End of Times? Against what should have been a family who would sacrifice their own humanity to destroy a perfect world and bring back an Age of Gods?" She grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up off the ground. "Courage is continuing to fight despite all that is thrown at you, no matter how insurmountable the task may be so that you may set an example! Honour is keeping to your oaths to undertake what you swore so that the concept we build our kingdoms on becomes reality!"

She threw him backward then, letting him stumble on his feet as he stepped back. Her heels clacked loudly on the stone floor as she continued approach, stepping on the bodies of the Undead Legion with as little afterthought as she would an ant.

"Which one of us had the courage to continue fighting amidst a crumbling kingdom, believing they ruled inefficiently? Which one of us had the honour to take responsibility and fight until the end even as their comrades dwindled down to but one knight? You know nothing, Hawkwood. You knew nothing as you fled and wasted away even as ash." She shook her head, disappointed with having to have had to share with someone like him. "Even Greirat does more than you. Even scouring souls for me to sustain myself at his own volition. That is courage. Honour would be him even deigning to share them with me."

His momentary anger took much out of him as he fell silent, looking at her as he huffed for a few seconds before slowly calming down. His fury turned to slight regret with a shake of his head, looking at her with downtrodden eyes.

"You believe that by becoming a dragon, you will be worth something?" She tutted.

"Better a dragon than a wolf," There was no hesitation in his voice. "I will be free of this cycle as they once were."

He truly believed that.

"No, you wish to run away from it all once again. You are not even fit to become a Lord of the Dark." She let loose a steady breath, and what appeared to be smoke wisped out from her mouth. "There is neither courage or honour in you, perhaps there never was. I considered simply letting you be. But now… I only want to crush you beneath my heel."

She stood a few feet before him now, but the crestfallen knight could very clearly see the drastic changes she had undergone. Her fair skin remained, but it almost appeared as if something writhed beneath her skin, squirming around like parasites. And then there was her musculature, her beautiful black dress with purple accents clung tight to her body, showing off the well defined muscle mass hidden underneath the sleeves and wrapped over her stomach.

"For openly proclaiming thineself an enemy of the King. For thinking you understand what birthright truly entails. For believing that you understand me…" She stated as she stepped closer. "You have been sentenced to death."

Her voice took on a deeper edge. Draconic to a sense but… deeper than that, if it were possible. There was an echo, as if her voice carried through a chasm.

"This will not be a duel, Hawkwood the Craven."

Before he could even ask what she meant, he had only a split second interval to hear the ground crack, and then, his beautifully dressed acquaintance was before him with sword raised above. Shaking away his panic, he used his sword to block the blade, feeling the slamming pressure buckle him down to his knees. The ground below him cracked apart as he poured all his strength into this defence.

But Hawkwood knew he was outmatched long before he returned to the mausoleum. This Unkindled, this woman, this warrior, had faced down Lords of Cinder and returned each and every time. She had faced down creatures of great magnitude where he would have lost his life thrice over, concerned more with keeping his shield close to himself out of his own fear. She had gone where he dared not, emerging all the stronger for it.

And what followed could barely even be called a fight. It was simply a show of strength. A show from someone that could not be considered human anymore.

[This is your fate.]

With a cocked head, Arturia watched him struggle to stand on broken legs, using his sword as a weight to push himself up. He would die here, he knew that. But what better place to die than in the company of his comrades?

"You are a dragon…" He coughed up blood as he struggled to look up and smile at her. "More dr-"

A swift swing of the sword and Hawkwood's head left his body.

"Silence now."

All was quiet in the mausoleum once more. There was no clanging of swords against each other, nor was there the discharge of magical attacks. There had been a momentary struggle, but it had faded into memory as quickly as the Abyss Watchers took to killing each other.

Soon, even they would fade into memory, the last of their warriors slain.

A small glint of light prompted Arturia to look down at Hawkwood's cloak, it appeared to be hiding something underneath, tucked away in a pocket. Ripping it out of his person, Arturia found herself looking at the last remaining piece of dragon stone, twinkling in the faint light and bearing a faint depiction of a dragon.

"The spoils of war then. It should make for a good legacy."

The challenge to her authority had not been without its rewards, for she soon felt the exhilarating sensation of souls being taken into her being. A mere appetizer, but it was satisfying for the time being. She had grown so hungry, it felt as if her hunger would consume her instead. But she had nothing to fear, after all, powerful beings still walked the earth, and more often than not had much to offer.

Ariandel had proven that. The Ringed City had proven that. And soon, this "Nameless King" would prove that. All things would be devoured to sate her hunger, until she was sated.

Even Fire.

"No." She spoke aloud to no one in particular, looking down at her hand and slicing a thin line across the flesh with a nail. "Many others shall sail, as per our contract. Do you not remember?"

The Deep settled down, reminded of their vessel's penchant for strength.

You know nothing of power. Thrashing around like a wounded animal, unaware that you are already dead.

"You fear the gods?"

"I fear what they fought against. To keep back the chaos that would bring only darkness."

"Then have faith in me. Know that in the dark, I will be with you every step of the way. You need not be afraid."

"But I… I know not what scorn would be felt. This goes against everything I swore to uphold. All Firekeepers-"

"Are chained to their duty. Much like myself. Much like those who linked the fire many times in the past. Does it not pain you? To know that I would have to burn for eternity?"

"..."

The firekeeper looked up with her newfound sight, with her grey eyes, at the hand offered to her.

"Take my hand, and know that in the dark, you will see that I am with you."

Your failure is written in time. 

"You know, I was thinking…"

"Oh, how the First Flame has faded. Greirat, thinking?"

"Haha! Hush you! Jesting aside, I was thinking about leaving for another round of thieving. There must be something of use in Lothric Castle."

"..."

"I-I'm aware of the danger. That castle is a death trap. Not a single man has returned from the castle unscathed, even back in the day."

"Then why?"

"I… hmm… think what you will of me for this but… I don't want to sit around and die a petty rat. And I consider myself your friend. You helped me when you didn't have to, and you didn't forsake me like I thought you would."

"... So be it. You have your pride, and I mine. Go and do as you wish, but know that I do not permit you to die."

"Thank you, for placing your trust in me. And don't you worry. I know Lothric like the back of my hand."

Your victories are hollow things. 

Prince Lothric fell on his back and clutched his chest, his brother had been run through by the obsidian blade of the Obsidian Knight, the blade piercing through his armor and stabbing into him as well. He had thought she had been another dogged contender, arisen from ashes to once more link the curse that binds them to the world's hope.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The Obsidian Knight matched his brother in skill and might, and even with his handicap where he was unable to walk properly, Lorian held his own until he had been struck down. That was to be expected, as his sword to strike down whomever came for him, the prince did not expect him to emerge victorious every time. It may have been cruel to think such, but cruelty was asking him to link the fire yet again when it was clearly the source of the rot in this world.

Why, he heard the tales of that Painted World, how its wellbeing was dependent on the condition of which the painting contained it. Created from blood, the painting soon weathered down, lost to time as the world within began to rot. Or at least, that's what his subjects spoke of as they ventured in through scraps of what was left of that painting. Such is why he tried to convince their latest invader to cease their journey, to let the fire fade before the first sin of Gwyn devoured them.

But she did not listen. She would not listen.

She seized him by the neck when he attempted to resurrect Lorian, holding him up high as he was forced to look at those cruel, awful eyes that promised only death. Her face was impassive as she regarded him with nary a word, throwing him across the room as he tumbled into a cobblestone pillar with a sickening crunch.

"You… why didn't you… why wouldn't you just leave…" He asked as he tried to push himself upright, it hurt to even talk. "Why do you seek to Link the Fire? Don't you understand it is all an endless cycle!?"

"I do." The knight rumbled beneath her helm said as she approached him, her footsteps echoing in the throne room.

"Then… ah! Then why… why kill my brother…"

"There will be no Age of Fire." He looked up incredulously. "I will ensure it once I take the First Flame and drown any hope of rekindling it." Her voice was unwavering even with the ridiculousness of that statement.

"Take the First Flame!?" He spat. "THAT is your excuse!? I do not seek to uphold this so-called duty forced upon me! But you! You will die if you attempt to take it, you vile thing! No matter how many times you link it, there will always be more death! More incessant burning!"

She was upon him now, looking down with those bright slits in the helmet burned with such animosity, such hatred… that they frightened him. They burned with draconic hatred towards him, and his lineage would not be able to save him.

"Then prepare for YOUR death, you vile princeling." She said and pulled him up before headbutting him violently into the stone column, keeping her grip on his arm as she delivered a brutal metallic punch to the face, then another as he fell to kiss the ground. "This is not simply to attain the flame."

She kicked him in the mouth when he tried to get up, teeth falling out as he looked up to see her grab him by the neck. Desperately, he tried to relinquish her powerful grip, but his own strength was nothing compared to hers. And then his vision swam as she slammed his head into the wall.

"Please… I…" He started as he fell back down, only to gasp in mortification as she grabbed his head with both hands, forcing him to look at her. The Black Knight's helm had autonomously shifted off, forming into her body armor to reveal her face. Her emotionless face that was covered in his blood, lips parting to speak and granting a glimpse of her monstrously sharp teeth.

Dragon.

I've seen your grave. I see you. 

Lancer spat out what passed for blood from his insectoid mouth as the sword pierced through his chest. Not once did he break eye contact with his foe, red orbs staring balefully at hers.

"You, Saber, are truly the epitome of which I hate. I curse you… and every other hero who takes after you."

She pulled out her sword and stepped back, her eyes wide in shock. Slowly, she looked to where the gun had been fired, recognizing who had committed such a dishonorable action but wanting to confirm nonetheless. Indeed, stepping out into the light was none other than her Master, Kiritsugu Emiya.

"You…" Lancer growled and began to walk - or in his case crawl- towards him, his spiked stilt arms and legs digging deep into the ground. "You are no better… than the rest of the Brotherhood…"

Kiritsugu said nothing, instead putting his hands in his pockets as he blankly stared back. For a moment, he glanced at Arturia, as if expecting her to strike her enemy down while he was severely handicapped.

"You don't even intend to let my Master and his wife live, do you?" No sooner had the Servant spoken did another set of gunshots ring through the open area, causing the Lancer to actually flinch in shock. "Scum. You are scum." Slowly, he turned to look back, seeing Sola-Ui motionless on the ground next to a despairing Kayneth. "Oh Sola-Ui… you would have been so happy…"

Saber shuddered as she took a step back, unable to tear her sight away from the magi. She knew from her peripheral view that Krika was looking at her now, his breath rasping in her ear as he wanted her to know just how much he despised her in that moment.

"May your kingdom burn in your memory as your failure. Your queen writhing in madness, and your knights forever seeking redemption for the stains on their honor. May you, Arturia Pendragon, know despair."

When she looked at him, the towering Servant was already gone, and in her line of sight was Kiritsugu Emiya. He said nothing as a twisted expression of fury took her over and she marched over to him, grabbing his collar and lifting him up. Even then, he said nothing as he just stared back down at her.

She could feel it now, the unfathomable rage of what dwelled beneath. The blinding hatred for the thing before her. The need to destroy it, to crush it, to burn it.

"You-!"

"You want the Age of Fire to end?" She spoke calmly even as she slammed his head against the wall again. "You want to save this world?" She slammed it again. "You who speak of family?" Her voice grew angry as she slammed it again. "You who killed mine!?" And again. "YOU!?" And again. "WHY THEN WOULD YOU KEEP YOUR KNIGHTS POSTED IF YOU SHAN'T PERFORM YOUR DUTY!?" And again. "THIS WORLD IS DEPRIVED OF WORTH!" And again. "AND YOU LEFT HIM THERE!"

She slammed his head against the bloodied stone one final time before flinging him across the room again, hitting the wall at an odd angle and fracturing his left arm as all sensation below his waist was lost. Prince Lothric shook his head and blearily looked up to see the Black Knight closing the distance, and while his brother was just a few feet away, he knew he wouldn't be able to make it to him. So he crawled away, hands raking the stone as he tried to get out of the room with shaky breath and weak arms. He couldn't even feel part of his head anymore as he was sure he was missing part of it.

But he swore she was right behind him, so he stopped to quickly warp out, perhaps even revive Lorian! If he could just-

He felt a weight crush his back. No. NO! NO!

He was pulled back up by the head, though there was not the discomfort of her metal gauntlets, but the rough calluses of her hands. Her teeth were no longer bared, but her eyes still stared balefully back at his. So clear were they that he could his own bloodied reflection staring back.

"The Firekeeper sees only fire, and she cannot even see." She snarled. "So tell me, little prince, what do you see if I do this?" Her thumbs hovered over his eyes, her black fingernails dangerously close to his eyes and then-

He screamed as the darkness set in, then horrid pain was felt as her claws dug inside, making sure he felt every last sensation. And then…

Snap.

Rent asunder... broken...

The light of the sun faded as the eclipse neared completion and darkened the sky further. Just as the heavens wailed in agony, so too did the denizens below who fell to their knees and cried out in despair. The Pilgrim Butterflies which flew in favor of the incandescent light saw this as well and beat their wings, some of their heads making a trumpet-like cry while others emitted a deep and blaring groan similar to the sound of a creaking door in recognition of this act of defiance against the gods. Their wings of fire grew in intensity as they flew ever higher, as if attempting to give back their fire in the hopes of fueling the light.

Down below, the Obsidian Knight watched as one of these creatures flew closer to her, regarding her with a bulbous head dotted with holes. A deep, guttural roar was heard as its head dangled to the side before flying away to join its kin.

Before, one of them had seemingly been controlling the Dragonslayer Armour which impeded her access to Prince Lothric. Their attempts to stop her had been few and far between, but they likely hadn't been able to spot her beforehand. It was curious that pilgrims had been trying to stop her, but she supposed not all had Londor's best interests at heart; and yet, even more curious was when she got a closer look at the creatures. Their wings of fire appeared wooden, as were most of their limbs; however, the rest was even stranger. Their bodies were made of flesh, dotted with bones. Their necks were lined with spinal columns, and their backs had protruding ribs, their wings likely having sprouted from there. More to the point, she had seen nary a corpse of the pilgrims throughout her excursion here.

What then did this say about the literal angels she encountered in the Dreg Heap at the world's end? The sun had almost completely gone out then, and none of these flaming butterflies were present, but winged angels that shined with a pure light. Curiously, those had attacked her with beams of light, putting Gwyn's own light to shame.

The Deep had her answers as it whispered in her mind, secrets many would wish to hear only to regret wanting.

The Angels were a product of Allfather Lloyd's now corrupted religion, the Way of White, and as time passed, so too did he. The Age of Fire would burn for too long, and soon the people would forget the way, believing not in honouring Gwyn and the legacy of linking the fire, but in themselves. And in believing in themselves, in their own darkness, a new light would be born that would rival that of Gwyn's; thus, when the Angelic Faith was realized to be the worship of creatures born in the darkness, rebellion ensued in the kingdom.

The Angelic Faith prophesied by a child known as Gertrude, one in direct opposition of the faith towards the First Flame. And these fire spawn were anything but angelic as they were faithful to fire. But soon even they would fade and plummet into the deep darkness, and those who survive would ultimately be born from Dark. The Locusts, who had foretold this in their poetic manner, would be among those to survive. Whether in the Dark or the Deep, it mattered little as the rest would drown.

And that was the ultimate fate of the Age of Fire. To be doused in the drowning darkness of whatever may come, the futile struggle of linking the Fire only weakened those who fought for the ideals set by Lord Gwyn so long ago. It made them weak, frail in mind and body.

And Arturia hated that.

But she supposed that was enough ruminating for the time being as she felt her hunger return. Annoyed, she looked down at the soul in her hands. The soul of the Twin Princes. Smiling unconsciously, she swallowed it whole and felt the power surge through her, fingers brushing the skin of her throat as a shiver passed through her.

She sighed as the alien sensation departed, though the euphoria was there. Regardless, there were other matters to attend to, such as handling the fallen.

It was quiet when she walked along the rooftop tiles. Her boots cracking the material underneath, brittle like the kingdom that fell today. But her face held no satisfaction in that, only impassiveness as she approached her destination.

Her yellow eyes surrounded by darkness silently stared at Greirat as he lay there unmoving, struck down by the defenders of the castle. And was left here to rot. The thought… gave her conniptions.

Arturia silently picked up Greirat's body, cradling him close as she walked through the empty hallways, devoid of its attendants. She stepped past all the bodies of those she slew, knights who had lost themselves to the eventuality of this world. She climbed down the stairs, where none greeted her as they would on occasions such as a ball. It was all silent.

So silent was it that she could hear the hitch of her own quickening breath. The stinging of her eyes as she tried to hold back her tears. The sob that broke through when she chanced a look down. Several stab wounds were present on his back, with one large slash cutting across his body. Just thinking about it had been enough to unsettle her deeply, the thief having been a dear friend who stuck his neck out in finding resources for her. Even souls.

'The king does not understand the hearts of men.'

Was this what was meant by understanding? It felt like she was drowning. She did not want it. But it happened all the same.

'The king does not understand the hearts of men.'

She fell to her knees as a great weight settled on her, her shoulders shaking as she held his body as close as possible. Her breath shuddered as she was still processing that one of her most trusted friends was gone. One who had accepted her so easily. That he- that she-

She thought she understood. She thought she understood the man was miserable being kept at Firelink. She thought she understood for once. Didn't she?

You are allowed to feel. It is only human.

An alien sound escaped through her lips suddenly. She couldn't even recognize the sound at first, thinking she was simply screaming at the darkened sky illuminated only by the ringed eclipse. She thought it was simple rage coupled with the Deep's hunger for more souls… but it was not anger. It was despair.

"You liar…"

She only knew she was crying when her eyes shut with a watery feeling, sobbing through a constricted throat. The exhaustion and turmoil of everything that had happened up until now finally broke her.

'Thank you, for placing your trust in me.'

"You liar!"

He was so eager to help her, so willing, that he risked his life time and time again. For her sake.

'Oh, don't you worry.'

"YOU LIAR!"

Why did they all have to go above and beyond? Why did they all throw away their lives?

'I know Lothric like the back of my hand.'

Her body arched backward as she roared at the heavens, the primal sound of anger being followed by a furious stream of black fire. So powerful was it that the flames of darkness managed to blot out the sun, darkening the land for a moment.

They were the flames of hatred, hatred against those who let it all lead up to this point. The Gods. The Lords of Cinder. Gwyn.

Herself.

Hollow.

There is more complexity to the Dark than what the Light would have you believe, what your father and his successors have set in stone, but then I have lived through countless millennia and learned much while your weak nature prolonged the Age of Fire. I know that there is more to the Dark than simply violence and madness, for where the Light burns and creates, the Dark soothes and nourishes. I was born in this supposed heretical realm, and I have watched what was accepted in the world twist and turn shadows who wished to be left alone. Perhaps your forefathers were gods once, heroes even, ones who upheld life as best they were able. Even wielders of the Dark Soul were allowed some liberties, once upon a time.

Once upon a time. Not any longer, for change is inevitable, and Fire cannot remain alight forever. And when it is forced to continue burning, it produces horrid realities similar to what you fear. What do you think happened to Gwyn when he journeyed to link the Fire as the first Lord of Cinder?

He was alone. He was adrift in a sea of destruction of his own doing, his knights having lost their purpose as they wandered in madness.

I am beyond the prophet of the Dark. I am beyond what you fear. I am what will finally rip you apart as you cling to past principles and beliefs no longer viable. I am what will sift the light of life from you before you finally die… unless you listen for a moment longer and take heed of what I speak. So that you may finally learn.

An end is coming. And at the end of this age of creation shall a new age emerge. An Age of Discovery. You will look upon your visage in the waters of life and see not the illusion of the past, but a vision of the future.

There will be a new path. There will be suffering, but that is true of all; and yet, it will heal, not linger like a festering wound. There will be joy and wisdom. There will be victory.

The Light takes. The Dark gives.

Now rise, O Rosaria mine.

The Light you fight for believes you thankless, nothing more than a soldier asked again and again to do its bidding.

'Thou hast journey'd far, and overcome much, Chosen Undead. Come hither, child…'

Rosaria smiled as the Black Knight returned. Her Black Knight. Yet she did not appear happy. There was a slowness to her walking. A wobble, as if she would fall over at any moment.

And she had been crying if the sullen look on her face. Her Black Knight had been crying. How she knew the feeling all too well. That would change. She knew why her knight had returned to her.

What she had denied her so long ago… what she thought she knew…

You must not.

There they were again. Those pesky whispers returning. Still, they did not deter her from taking in the visage of her chosen. She had grown to say the least. Powerful souls had been consumed it seems. They were nourishment, for what use were they otherwise in one form or another? In the end, they still served their purpose.

They do not deserve it! Without our help, they are led astray!

She wanted her help. She heard the rumours. Rosaria would help her.

You must not!

She would help her beautiful Black Knight with what she sought. She would be reborn in such a way that what she wanted would be utilized best. Armor could be mended just as well.

She offered her hands to her knight, of which they were taken silently as she stepped closer.

No! Remember who you are!

Silence.

She is Rosaria. And she had burned in the light for so long. Father had sacrificed himself for a misplaced sense of a greater good. And afterward there had only been despair. Her heart had been torn when her children had been whisked away. First, tragedy struck when her daughter, wise and beautiful Gertrude, had been executed for heresy, a religion formed of her visions of angels. Then, after her husband, Oceiros, deemed Lorian and his younger brother unfit for the throne, he absconded with her youngest, Ocelotte. The pain that followed was simply too much to bear, collapsing as if the very light of life itself left her.

'My Lady Gwynevere!'

'Oh gods… angels above… not her…'

'Silence you fool! We must protect her ladyship! Rebellion is afoot!'

'Fellow knights slaying one another… so be it! Stand tall and kill the traitors!'

That day, she lost a part of herself. Her voice, stolen away by the loss of her children, was unable to be heard as she was secured in her nursery. There, she would be forgotten as the rebellion drew on, turning to war, and then… silence.

And in silence, came the whispers. Of angels that whispered dark promises and old prophecies. Of insects that recited ancient tales and the truth of the old words. In the silence came her enlightenment.

"The light takes… the dark gives…"

An abridged recitation she often repeats as she lulled her newfound children to sleep, these beautiful, twisted things that were the truth of what lied beneath. What lied deep below.

And then there were her other children, powerful warriors who made it their duty to retrieve the tongues of those who sought their demise, ripping it from their mouths and presenting them to her. One became five, and five became ten; and like children, they only wanted to please their mother, to ease her pain. Sometimes, it helped dull the pain of heartbreak away, to think of them all as her own. She knew very well they were not truly her children, but she had no other choice.

Was this desperation then? Perhaps. But she did not care anymore.

The angels told her not to hurry and find what she was given. The locusts promised the gift would find her on its own.

And so she waited. With serene calm and abysmal patience. Days would pass. Drawing into weeks. Months. Years. The Age of Fire, prolonged as it was, took its toll on her. Soon, she could no longer see Light, but Dark.

And in the Dark, she remembered. Before she was Rosaria, she was Gwynevere. And before she was Gwynevere, she was… by her King's side. As Queen. As…

What did her father have to fear so much that the Dark embraced her like a mother soothing their mourning child?

Why should she go back?

Her father hurt her deeply.

'Be at ease, for it shan't continue. Accept your gift without restraint, your knight rescuing you from your tower.'

Rosaria delighted in her knight discarding the obsidian armor, peeling off the dress beneath to reveal all of her being. As that magnificent muscled body ripe with promise approached, she stood up on her knees and offered her hands, savoring the sensation of rough calluses brushing her own skin. When she took her knight in an embrace, their lips connected with such fervor, such passion, that the fell goddess knew she made the right choice. All light in the room began to flicker before being snuffed out, a dark ritual taking place that reality itself seemed to be frightened of what was taking place.

There was no vengeance to be had, no plague. Only unity. Soul after soul was consumed and reshaped, and at the climax of this joining of souls, reborn.

And in the end, all was quiet with wisdom as sweet truths were whispered.

"You… are miiiiine…"

Her Black Knight. Her King. Hers alone.

In the end, there was only the sweetness of the dark.

So we want to thank you.

Karla found Arturia at the top of the bell tower, drawn in by their connection to each other as children of the Abyss. Even better still, the sun was not so bright anymore. Its fading light stung little now.

The witch took her spot beside her saviour and just stood there, taking in the silence. A stiff wind breezed past, threatening to blow away her hat as she held onto it with quick fingers.

"You, you!" A squawk was heard as a nestling flew over her head. "Me me, Pickle Pee! Me me, Pump-a-rum!"

The bird landed atop her hat and picked at it with its beak, attempting to fly away while grabbing at it with its feet when she wouldn't let go.

"Blasted bird! Leave me be!"

"Pump-a-rum! Give! Pump-a-rum!"

The creature wanted her hat? Absolutely not! It was one of her treasured belongings! Lady Yuria had even offered to wash and repair it!

"You, you! Give! That soft! That warm! That pump-a-rum! Pump-a-rum!"

"Hmhmhm…" Arturia rumbled beside her as she pulled out a prism stone and tossed it away, the bird flying after it excitedly. "Now begone."

The bird having departed, silence fell again as Arturia looked down at Yuria. It was strange to say the least, that she had been around her height back then; ironically, Karla was just a few centimeters higher than her friend. But now? She was practically a Lord.

And she was beautiful… by the gods, she was beautiful. Her skin was the palest she had ever seen of anyone, it was almost as if she hadn't been exposed to the sun before and yet there was a ghostly beauty to it. Her hair, no longer a bright gold, was a snow white color, with a rather curious new addition of long black hair tied into a back length ponytail with a white band. A braid had also been tied around the longer work, a mixture of black and white hair. Two loose locks framed either side of her face like the pristine white fangs of some predator.

And her eyes… a fell light dwelled in them. Inky darkness surrounded her deep red irises, and that same darkness seemed to writhe beneath her eyelids. If one looked closer, they would see that same writhing underneath her face. The writhing of the Abyss that writhed within her…

"It had been a long road, Karla." Arturia spoke softly, her voice deeper and mature than before.

"It has, hasn't it?" Karla smiled.

Neither were good with small talk and that was just how Karla loved it between them. What was there to talk about after all? That the same grey land was there to greet them? That the Age of Fire was at last coming to an end?

"Ah, your clothes…" Arturia started awkwardly, saving her the trouble. "Hmm… they are ah… new?"

Karla giggled before reaching up and flicking the taller woman's nose. Poor, awkward, bumbling apprentice. She could always count on a laugh with her.

"Why yes," She smiled and stepped back to curtsy, showing off her new dress. "Do you like it? Lady Yuria helped with the design."

Apart from the flawless pointy hat she now wore, she had donned a leather coat with a half cape attached to the shoulders; fingerless, open palm, cotton gloves; a new pair of leather trousers and well kept foot wraps. Her old clothes had to be thrown out, but perhaps that was for the best given the state they were in.

"Yuria did?" Arturia quirked an eyebrow. "I hadn't expected that from her."

Silence fell again, but when it was broken again, it was Karla who spoke. Her tired yellow eyes staring into Arturia's.

"Do you regret it?" She spoke softly. "Becoming the dark lord of this age, I mean."

"No." Arturia said as she looked at the eclipse.

"Did you want to become the Dark Lord?"

"We want for many things, just as we don't want for many things." She turned back to Karla. "Did you want to be born a child of the Abyss?"

"I did not want to be in that dungeon any longer."

In response to her admittance, and to Karla's great surprise, Arturia kneeled before her. Though they still weren't the same height, the young witch was able to at least look at her normally this way.

"Circumstances dictate what we are and what we must be. I for one am glad to have met you in the first place, though it wasn't ideal to find you there." She bowed her head. "But more than anything else, I am sorry for not finding you sooner."

"Don't be, I don't blame you for that, Arturia. But I understand what you mean." Karla smiled and reached out with her hands, cupping the other woman's face as she looked up in faint surprise. "Were it not for my incarceration, I would not be your cheerful, ever dependable, loyal little witch."

Arturia just stared at her flatly, unamused with her dry humor. But it would have been a waste not to take the opportunity, after all, it was one of her most charming aspects! Laughter never hurt anyone.

"Hmm… indeed," Arturia took Karla's hands in her own. "Come what may, where will you go?"

"That's an interesting question… I don't know." Karla looked up with a perplexed look, scrunching up her face as she pretended to think about it. "Perhaps I'll travel? Who would even want a wench like myself by their side?"

"Yes, indeed. Who would? I know of one individual who would prefer the maiden to be kept by their side. They were once a king you know?"

"A court wizard then?" Karla matched Arturia's smile with her own. "Yes, that does sound nice."

The Dark Lord of this age stood up to her full height then, her form blocking what little light remained in the world. For a moment, she looked as if she had more to say, but whether it was through indecision or finality was something the witch would never know. So it was that the black knight left the tower without another word, departing for the shrine's bonfire to be sent to their final labor.

"Just come back alive so I can teach you some more spells; after all, what is a Master without their apprentice?" Karla's voice carried into the wind as she looked at the eclipse and reached out with a hand. "Dearest Arturia, do return to me."

Dark satisfaction danced in her eyes as the fading light in the sky darkened, the clouds turning black as smoke.

With a gift.

"Noble Lords of Cinder. The fire fades… and the lords go without thrones. Surrender your fires… to the true heir. Let her grant death… to the old gods of Lordran, deliverers of the First Flame."

Yuria watched as the Fire Keeper chanted the aria for transposing her Lord to the Kiln of the First Flame. Her body and armor being engulfed in fire before turning to ash, the process having been successful it seemed. As if hearing her thoughts, the Fire Keeper turned to look at the Darkwraith with her ash coloured eyes and nodded.

Yuria nodded back, retreating back into the darkness to prepare for the coronation. Londor itself needed to prepare for the coronation. She could hardly believe it herself, but the Darkwraith reined in her excitement for it was still too early to celebrate. Her Lord was powerful, she could tell, but she may yet fall in the coming battle - not that she hoped she would - against the Soul of Cinder.

The Soul of Cinder. The amalgamation of all worthy lords who have linked the fire after Gwyn, time and time again. Their souls brought back into a single being as the last line of defence, one final defender in the case that the linking is threatened and no Lords uphold their duty.

Legends. All of them. Yuria could not even name them all which showed just how long the Age of Fire had been in effect. Except for one. And if he were there…

No. Her Lord would emerge victorious and their kind would be uplifted from this cursed fate… no. Arturia Pendragon would emerge victorious and lead their kind in the darkness.

The leader of the Sable Church drew out her sword and trailed a gloved finger along its edge, reminiscing on all her victims. All necessary lives taken.

Lord Arturia understood this well, just as she understood why Orbeck of Vinheim had to be slain. His vanity would have led them to blows eventually. Her Lord accepted this as true, and as recognition for her devotion, Yuria bestowed her the Morion Blade, blessed by the Sable Church.

They were so close now, closer than ever before. All their suffering would be healed, and her promise to Kaathe would finally be upheld.

Muffled noises from outside brought her attention back, quickly moving outside to check the inconsistency from the silence. The man named Eygon stood there at the entrance, an unreadable expression on his face. And what they beheld was quite possibly the worst case scenario made reality.

A small army had amassed where Iudex Gundyr once lay in wait for the next champion to prove their worth, and they were slowly moving towards Firelink Shrine. Warriors of Sunlight, the Way of Blue and their allied Blue Sentinels, and what appeared to be remnants of the Blades of the Darkmoon. Three Covenants, all longtime allies to each other, now coming here to stop what was taking place.

For what other reason would they be coming here at this moment than to stop Kaathe's dying wish? All of these beacons of light would suggest that it was Frampt who alerted them all in his own dying breath.

What's more, flying down from above Lothric Castle were a small contingent of Pilgrim Butterflies, traitors to the original purpose of which they had journeyed from Londor. Undoubtedly they were coming to assist the arriving army, and that did not bode well for their chances.

"Well, that's quite a sight." Eygon of Carim rumbled beside her. "That woman's gone and done it now."

"They're coming to stop the usurpation…" Yuria whispered. "We can't allow it."

"And with what army? I can hold my own, but that's quite a gathering."

Yuria's mind raced for a solution, realizing that Londor was simply too far. The kingdom of Hollows hadn't even concentrated all its forces here, only a select few had connected to the shrine's bonfire and Liliane may improve their chances but…

There were too many adherents dedicated to the linking of the fire.

Eygon let his hammer smash down on the floor, breaking apart the stone as he stood even against such odds. Yuria found herself perplexed at the man, and he noticed this with a tilt of that ghastly helmet.

"Are you not a knight of Carim?" She found herself asking. "Your land has long sent warriors in favor of the fire."

"Carim is damned, just like all the other kingdoms." He said without hesitation, surprising her. "The girl… heh, Irina is still safe, and my terms still stand. I might as well make sure they do."

"And you will not be alone." A voice spoke up.

The two of them turned to see a red armoured knight with a black cloak approaching them. They wore a strange red helmet with several holes bored through, giving it the appearance of a spider; with a plate protruding from the top with jagged spikes, almost like a crown. Their left arm was encased in armor, with a spiked pauldron protecting her shoulder; her other arm was left bare, save for the bandages wrapped around it, with strange blue tattoos circling around the limb, with one painted similar to instead form a sort of "U" on the dorsal side of her hand.

"And you?" Yuria began, hand reaching for Darkdrift. "Are you friend or foe?"

The red warrior chuckled in response, and with such close proximity Yuria was able to make out more details. They wore a black cloak made of black feathers that trailed behind them and a wolf's skin was draped over their shoulders. But that wasn't all, for there was a wooden rack fixed to the back. And at the top of each pole?

Skulls of varying sizes. They were decorations. Trophies.

"For you, that depends on how you define those terms." They rumbled, a noticeable feminine tone in her voice, but understanding their identity would be difficult without the removal of the helm. "But for your Lord Arturia, we are close acquaintances."

Eygon huffed and looked back at the incoming army.

"We're in the same boat then."

"But is it just you?" Yuria asked. "What can you alone provide?"

"Daughter of Kaathe, have no fear." The red knight said as they pulled out their helmet, allowing long red braided hair falling to her shoulders. Cold, merciless blue eyes stared past Yuria's mask and into her own as a smile formed on her lips. "I am Boudica, the Left Ringfinger. And even the ring finger is not alone on one's own hand. Nor can there be one hand without the other."

Left Ringfinger? Yuria had heard of such an individual but assumed there was only one. Regardless, they were one of the shadowy members Rosaria's Fingers, enigmatic warriors who struck from the shadows and served a fell goddess.

Boudica turned around and gestured behind, showing off nine others who began to spawn from the bonfire. All warriors it seemed, of varying sizes and donning different armour and weapons. One of them even wore a yellow robe over her head which, curiously enough, was in the shape of a mushroom. Another was more familiar, a knightess who wore similar armour, a shawl over head. It seemed Sirris of the Darkmoon knights had joined the Fingers, making their order a total of ten.

"I bring my warriors here, to defend our Blessed Rosaria."

As if to answer the statement, a low hum was from behind as Yuria looked up to see an Angel descending from the sky. Light encompassed its form briefly as it settled to float above them, its head looking down at them with a haunting moan.

"Yoel?" Yuria wondered aloud.

Several more howls were heard as more Angels flew out toward the fiery butterflies.

To help you finally take control.

She arrived at the Kiln of the First Flame with her new armor, a set made to fit her specifically with her newfound height of 8 feet. Close fitting yet assembled so as to make room for her musculature and every bit of movement down to the most miniscule turn of her head.

Its design had come in a vision after Aldrich took her to the Deep, and Andre delivered it well. Forged with the strongest metals she had ever found, melted from the highest quality armour, and smelted with the coal necessary to extract the desired results. She had even allowed the complete disassembly and melting of her own armour, such a feat could not have been without the use of the profaned coal, Karla's own dark sorceries, and Yuria's knowledge from Londor. The result was the strongest suit of armor she had ever worn.

Shiny black metal etched with symbols and runes of her choice, with two red capes flowing down from either side and another down her front. A strange purple metal glowed in the boots, the chest area, and in the helmet, all of which shined red upon emotions heightening. Atop the helmet were three horns, two to the side curved backward while a taller one shot upward in a sharp and twisted manner. A large sword was held in the clawed gauntlets, lined with red faerie runes and gnarled metal shaping the hilt. This was Excalibur Morgan after being fused together with a straight sword from the Ringed City by Andre; thus with its elegant design despite the purpose it was meant for, it was named Excalibur Morgause.

"So you are the deified form of all the Lords of Cinder." She muttered as she stepped closer towards the tall figure in the distance."You, who are the consequences of my actions."

Sitting with an arm over its leg much like she had done in the past was a knight, but what set it apart from others was the fact that flames outlined its form. Licking at its body like hungry parasites were bright flames, yet they did not appear bothersome to the being in question. The knight almost appeared content to let them flicker across its body, calmly sitting before a lit bonfire.

Artoria looked up at the eclipse in the sky, a single black dot surrounded by light which cascaded downward. It was almost time for its light to fade and for a chosen Lord to come and light anew.

Yet the being at the center did not answer to the statement, making the Black Knight growl in exasperation as they gestured around themselves.

"Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?"

It was a jest as there really was no one else in the area, but even still there was no response. As ever, an insult from those blessed with godhood and perfection to not even deign to speak with those who are faithless and accursed.

"Ohhh…" A sickening growl was heard through the helm of the black knight. "Soul of Cinder… I have tokens to show thee. If thou canst see at all that is."

The Black Knight pulled out several items from their being, tossing them in front of the amalgamation of flame as they tumbled unceremoniously into the ground. Wordlessly, the Vessel of Lords picked up the items and just looked at them.

A rounded crown with seven rods protruding from it, likened to be a sun of sorts. A jagged crown that emitted small sparks of light. And a beautiful silver crown with a white gem embedded in the middle.

"Gwndolin, Faraam, Filianore." Darkness licked at their armor as red eyes shined bright beneath the tri-horned helm. "Know that they suffered greatly at my hands. And they did, Lord Gwyn. They did."

Even still, the knight said nothing. It merely sat there, staring into the flame. But some damage had to have been done, for it began to shake.

"Are you truly just a machine? As the others had said? Are you, Lord Gwyn, King Vendrick, King Arthur Pendragon, just a machine which will rule only to prolong that which you fear!?"

"No." Was the single response which was rasped from its faceplate, the flames seeming to burn brighter as it finally stood. It looked at her then, through a featureless visor as they clenched their fist. "For it is not just them."

It cannot be…

"Lord Gwyn may have started this, but those who came after did so for the people. Fire breeds possibilities, Heroes to uphold them, and a future with which to light the way." It pulled out the sword and swung it in a swift motion, lighting it up with fire. "Another you may have linked the flame in the distant past, but King Vendrick did not. That fell to another."

No.

"Lord Gwyn, Arturia Pendragon, Vortigern… you know who I am, yes? Chosen to be the one to speak with you? Chosen to be the Hero of Justice for all those who seek to live the right way? Chosen for the future Age of Fire?"

Arturia was silent, rendered unable to speak from the surprise. Her helmet autonomously shifted as the different pieces made way to reveal her gobsmacked face, her mouth parted open in disbelief as she shook her head slightly.

"... Shinra?"

The Soul of Cinder nodded its head.

"Yes, but unfortunately I'm not the one you knew. There had been another who summoned you, one who understood what was right. Just as you should. Just as you had, once." Half-hearted laughter was heard. "I'm sure this meeting would have ended up different too…" They shook their head quickly then. "No! We can still talk like we used to! Everything can get back to normal if you just Link the Flame!"

Arturia had been hoping beyond hope that Shinra would be standing before her again one day. That they might come across each other in this world. That her beaming smile would greet her once again. But instead, she had been twisted and violated to be fit inside a disgusting amalgamation of past ideals and fallen eras. Her own ideals collided with others that it had blinded her to a point that it was frightening.

Well then… if frightening was what they wanted, then frightening they shall receive. She was not Arturia Pendragon, the Chosen Undead who had once linked the flame. She was Arturia Pendragon the Dark Lord. If she was a monster for not accepting their wishes, then she would embrace it. If she was a monster for accepting the true nature of humanity, then she would embrace it.

The giants are but slaves, dragons a mere pest, but humans? Only humans are treated as monsters by the gods, for having a power even they do not understand.

AND NOW THEY USE A MONSTER AGAINST YOU. ONE FINAL EFFORT TO KEEP THEIR POWER, TO KEEP AWAY THE DARK, BY USING YOUR LOVE AGAINST YOU.

YOU KNOW THERE IS ONLY ONE THING LEFT TO DO.

If she was a monster for understanding that the current path would only lead to insanity, that a new path was required… then she shall embrace it. She shall CONFRONT it! She shall take it BY THE THROAT!

"As I suspected, nothing… but cowardice." She hissed as her helmet began to form over her head again. "The gods of cowardice thou barters with plucked thine insufferable being from their cellar to… what, I wonder? To convince me that this course of action is mayhaps illegitimate to their aims? To put me through anguish that the one whom I swore to protect, fight with, and even lay with in a time long past, is now the one obstacle in my vision?"

"Saber-"

"I. AM. ARTORIA PENDRAGON! I AM NOT SOME SERVANT OF YOURS WITH WHICH TO BETRAY IN SOME DELUDED SENSE OF JUSTICE!" Her voice took on a roar as the red spots in her armor shined a furious crimson and black fire rose from her being. "Stand and fight, Emiya. Honor your ideals. Fight, and show me your resolve. Your purpose."

For a long moment, the amalgamation of past Lords of Cinder said nothing, instead regarding her silently. When they did stand, it was with deliberate slowness as they stood up to their full height, little around three meters. Their arm clasped around the Firelink Greatsword embedded into the ground, the fire it produced now spreading to the weapon as it shone a bright orange. It was swung once, whether to stoke the flame or emphasize the raw power, it mattered little.

"I will stop you. Not as your Master of the Holy Grail War and not as a Lord to a Dragon. I will stop you as your friend."

Too engrossed in fury and purpose was she that no words were said. Instead, she donned her black draconic helmet once more, fire bright eyes shining through. Excalibur Morgause was also drawn, its form having changed drastically over the course of this journey from its original counterpart, no longer a sword but a greatsword which she could easily hold with one hand. Dark fire coursed through the weapon as the markings glowed a bright red in their faerie language.

They are the final argument in this long war. It would mean everything to me if I could convince you of the right and only way. Denied through sheer stubborness.

Shinra - the Soul of Cinder didn't make a move then, not right away at least. It took all her willpower not to with every past Lord of Cinder urging her forward. Some of the more powerful ones - she suspected Gwyn himself being one of them - were close to wresting control just because of this state of inaction.

But she would not allow them to. All she wanted for a second longer was to gaze upon her one last time, even if she was different the last she saw her. Even if they were to kill each other.

She smiled underneath the helmet that she wore, or at least she supposed she did. She couldn't tell if it was worn or if it was burned into her body. Hell, she wasn't sure if this was even her own body anymore, she just woke up with voices all jumbled together while everything burned like the inside of a furnace.

When she saw her start walking, she felt himself twitching to do the same but stopped. The screaming of outrage grew stronger then, so loud it was that she felt himself losing consciousness. It felt good to be honest, to be the one treacherous voice in this unified corpse. She wasn't even the one to actually talk to Artoria, not exactly, that was the Soul of Cinder. All of the Lords of Cinder.

But Arturia was not alone in her fight, not she was sure the Servant even noticed. Several phantoms appeared with her, all running, all in pursuit of the same goal. All Dark Lords in their own timelines.

Jacques de Molay. Boudica. Sirris. Creighton. Kirk. Even another version of herself. All pale and translucent as the fabric of realities connected for a single instant.

So as her sight faded away and the screaming turned to a warbled cacophony of roaring, she imagined herself to be smiling peacefully at her, the moonlight shining down on their union.

'I love you, Arturia…'

And in that instant, just one last time, she was human again.

We truly value you. To the Light, you are but a means to an end. To us, you are majestic. Majestic. You are full of the only thing worth anything at all.

They both charged each other at full speed, swords drawn to the side as their energies thrummed with power. Both opposing forces to one another and as ancient as the concepts of life and death.

Time seemed to slow when they were right before each other, the Usurper of the Flame with her sword raised high and the Soul of Cinder with their own in an upward swing. When the weapons made contact with each other, it seemed as if the force of the impact was felt before the sound of metal was heard. The Black Knight's armour flashed red in the heels, chest, and head as a Mana Burst was released, the ground underneath buckled from the pressure before cracking apart and exploding everywhere as rocks flew everywhere.

The Soul of Cinder lost its balance then, and Artoria pushed it back and quickly spun around before swinging downward at its chest. She had to roll backward to avoid the wide arc of a powerful swing, and when it bounded forward and swung again the other way, she crouched and dug her hand into the ground as her armour's mana frame activated and pushed her along the ground, her legs skidding as she slid into his blindspot. Her leg shot and kicked the vessel's own legs out from underneath, shooting herself up and plunging her sword into its chest as it fell, the lines on the weapon extending to become serrated, the very thorns of the Morion Blade. She slammed the weapon down, pushing her enemy down with it and unleashed the black and white flames of her power, burning it from the inside out by flame unknown even to the gods.

The moment did not last long however as the Soul of Cinder arched a leg back and pushed her away with a flame enhanced kick, standing up without protest while its wound closed magma pouring out and sealing it. The flames from the Soul of Cinder seemed to grow in intensity, the sound almost like a roar of anger as it approached its enemy.

Meanwhile, Arturia had little trouble in recovering, her metal boots digging into the rock while Excalibur Morgause stabbed into the ground to stop her momentum. Her helmet's six eyes smouldered with red as she looked up and watched as it approached, ripping her sword out and charged at it once it began to run. Her mana frame activated again as it quickly pushed her forward, her sword held in both hands as it trailed behind, swinging upward when Soul of Cinder raised its own weapon and brought it down powerfully, black colliding with red whilst metal grinded together. Artoria took the moment to buckle her feet against the ground and capitalize on the pressure to propel herself forward, pushing against her enemy while its legs dug into the ground to stop the movement. Such attempts were fruitless however, as the Black Knight pushed themselves into the side of a crag, burying the Soul of Cinder into the rock.

While it tried to break free, Arturia punched it in the chest two times with her gauntlet alight with black flame, stepping back once she was sure it was damaged enough. Holding the blade aloft, the black flames enwreathed it once more as she prepared to drive it through the black skeletal armor of the Lord of Cinder. With a jab of her weapon into its chest, she was none too surprised to find the action stopped in place by their left hand, brought up to block her sword even as it stabbed through.

She had to tilt her head to the side to avoid the jab, so close had the blade been to stabbing through her mouth that it burned her skin far more than any more flame, even with the headwear in place. Instead, the flaming sword cut through the side of her helmet, breaking apart the metal and exposing the right side of her face with a few strands of hair being cut, not that she even noticed. So with a huff she raised Excalibur Morgause once more and slammed it against the amalgamation of souls' own blade, opposing flames exploding outward. Her red eye shined bright in its inky darkness just as the remaining three slits of her helmet did, a torrent of power exuding from her as flames licked at her armor, fire and black smoke surrounding the area. The Soul of Cinder did the same as a bright light surrounded it before exploding outward, its own flames mixing with her own.

The ground beneath rumbled as cracks spread through its surface, spider webbing until the pressure of the combined power crushed it further and rock exploded outward. But the damage wasn't focused solely there, for all over the archtree that made up the Kiln of the First Flame were cracks and fissures that became prominent. Slowly but surely, the base felt the damage and began to buckle under the weight forced upon it, and it was a stream of condensed fire that emanated from the two fighters which served as the final nail in the coffin.

The oldest part of the Kiln melted, and the archtree tipped over and fell with a groan, crumbling apart as it made contact with uneven terrain below.

We are, by the only standard that matters or ever will matter, the winning team. Existence is a test that most will fail. That most have failed. Would you not count yourself among the victorious few?

"Cut them all down. We shall cleave our way through them all."

The first group to move for Firelink was composed of two teams of fifteen, their numbers made up of 24 knights, with four sorcerers in the back, and two heralds in the front leading their respective teams. They marched with purpose, stalwart in their duty to uphold what has always been done, and that was to Link the Fire.

But then, they stopped. One of the knights actually flinched upon seeing the assembled force, recognizing their infamous armours by description of her fellow comrades.

The most infamous of them all however, was that of Ringfinger Boudica's. Blood red armour with a cape made of countless raven's black feathers and a she-wolf's pelt draped over her shoulders. That crimson helm, staring at them all with its eight eyes with a rim at the top likened to a twisted crown. Worse still was that which gave her another name, one as morbid and terrifying as the rack fixed to her back and presenting what she claimed in battles she enjoyed most.

"The Headtaker…"

And then, without any word or exchange given, they all began moving; swords swinging at armour and axes hacking at their shields raised in defence. There was no quarter given to them, not as Rosaria's Fingers tore at them with a barbaric ferocity one could perhaps liken to demons. Soon, their shields were whittled down, broken apart by unrelenting viciousness and leaving their users vulnerable.

The sorcerers present tried to push them back with their spells, but they were mostly ignored or outright shrugged off by their armour. And when the first knight fell, so too fell another soon after, two more had their arms sliced off while one of the heralds fell in decapitation. And when the first herald fell, so too did the second shortly after, his helmet knocked off his head before his whole being was bisected in half by the Headtaker's war axe.

The knightess who had mentioned the second name of the infamous Red Knight of Lothric was one of four left to start running, recognizing the futility in their numbers while the other two were slain. One of the knights she knew by name called out to her as she stumbled away, watching him get run through by two swords before being decapitated by Creighton the Wandering Knight, a serial killer who killed all who bore the distinction of knighthood. The other, a knight who had been defending a sorcerer, had been rushed at, cut down by swords belonging to foreign knights known as Sachiko and Mikura, tall and powerful warriors who regarded their kills with as little afterthought as one would after stepping on an ant. The sorcerer himself was left at the mercy of Kirk, the Knight of Thorns, who cut away at his meager defence and vulnerable flesh with armour, sword and shield alike until he died from blood loss.

The knightess realized she had been frightened in place for far too long when another of the knights stopped before her, equipped with paper-thin armor that somehow provided excellent protection despite that. Long white hair trailed down an expressionless silver helmet adorned with strange symbols and no visible visor. Sachiko of Juraku she was called, hailing from a land farther than any other and one of the more mysterious members of the Fingers.

"You are broken, crying at the realization of hopelessness," She spoke sweetly as she trailed a finger underneath her eye, wiping away her tears. "Get up and run to your comrades. Tell them we are coming to devour you all."

So she did just that. Scrambling past the guards placed at the entrance to the Iudex's grave, throwing herself at the triumvirate of the allied Covenants. She told them what came this way, what she saw as she fled, what was happening even now. There was no quarter given to them, rather, they walked into a slaughter.

To these wolves, they were sheep.

…

The Ten Fingers of Rosaria, Mother of Rebirth, stood just a few feet away from the back entrance to the Iudex's grave. Mukago and Yotsuyu had gone ahead and slain the two sentries posted at the gate and forced the heavy doors closed to prevent any more people from coming through.

A few of their stronger warriors had been sent out to combat the shrine's new defenders, only to be bested by a relentless Eygon with his mighty hammer and Yuria's swift skill with the Darkdrift sword. The final knight being of some challenge as he kept up with her speed, his shield managing deftly protecting him for a good five seconds before the Darkwraith took a practiced stance and lunged forward with her seemingly bladeless sword. A trick as the Eastern styled make of a weapon pierced through whatever defense the man thought he had, penetrating through the armour and slicing through his heart.

Yuria did not even regard her kill as she quietly tucked away the hilt and watched some Blue Sentinels rush to close the doors.

"Wonderful." She crossed her arms with a huff.

"Your skill with that weapon is impressive," The one named Sachiko took a step beside her and admired the woman in black. In particular, she seemed to be admiring ONLY the woman in black and not the sword in question. "By any chance, are the rest of your skills learned from a distant land?"

"I had good teachers." Yuria said simply, not seeing any point to divulge further. Her hand was on the hilt of Darkdrift as the long-haired woman not so discreetly trailed a hand along her back, traveling lower still.

"I see, I suppose you wouldn't mind sharing with me those skills you learned?" Sachiko's voice dripped with honey, her smile sweet with unspoken promises.

"I serve my Lord," Yuria gently grabbed the woman's hand and pushed it away, the knightess' hand clasping around hers. "Until she wrests the mantle of leadership and under her discretion, I serve her alone."

"Mmm… devotion and obedience," The other woman purred. "I do like such qualities in women."

"Sachiko, your helmet." The woman known as Heysel called out as she went to join Boudica, her voice muffled underneath the odd-shaped cloak over her head. "There may be archers with them."

Sachiko sighed and flipped her hair, her blood red eyes still on Yuria.

"Well, perhaps when all this is over…" She whispered.

"Yes, perhaps."

Sachiko howled in laughter.

…

"Right Ringfinger, how do we proceed?" Yotsuyu got Brutus spoke, the thin and lithe woman's yellow eyes were narrowed at her direct superior.

"It is a narrow space to move through those doors, not to mention they appeared quite heavy to those soldiers." Kirk chipped in, his voice echoing from within the spiky helmet. "I can hear them shouting orders from here, fortifying the other side."

"So we can't just storm in and kill them all?" Creighton piped up. "Damn… and I was really looking forward to getting that Blue bastard."

"Now now little Cray-Cray, we can't rush these things." Jacques interjected as she adjusted her glasses. "If you want someone to blame, just look at Sachiko."

"Don't be ridiculous, the plan was to corral them in their little camp." Sachiko said as she meditated atop a rock. "If anything, my killing Yorshka contributed to a weaker command structure."

"Enough, I've heard your arguments. But you need not worry, a solution is on its way as we speak."

Everyone save Embo looked at each other. Then they all looked at Sirris, who understandably threw her hands up defensively.

"Don't look at me! I don't know what she's talking about!"

"Well, you know… you are family…" Mukago muttered, twitching in place as she tapped her index fingers together.

Boudica simply walked over to the edge of the cliff and stared at the grey expanse. Everyone followed and looked to see what was going on but there was really nothing of note. It was just ash and snow down below, the mountains which dotted the land, and the cliffside which led up to the-

Wait. Someone was climbing up the cliffside. Multiple people actually.

"Your solution, Ringfinger?" Yuria questioned.

Boudica nodded, ordering everyone to take their positions before the door.

…

The coalition of Covenants had been ill-prepared when a man clothed in a black trenchcoat climbed up from the ledge, greeting them with a wave. A metal helmet sat upon his face, a thin purple line of light shining bright.

"Hello there everyone! I see you've made yourselves at home!" Several more began to come up from the edge, all of them wearing white coats over their black clothing as well. Similar helmets were worn by them as well, with blue lights instead of purple. "As much as I would love to be polite, I'm afraid circumstances warrant a higher response."

"Its the Lord of Dawn!"

"Kill him!"

"Oh my my. Violence is the question once again it seems." Bondrewd stated as his left hand blocked the swing of an axe while his right hand shot forward and lifted the man into the air before slamming the warrior's head into the ground. "And the answer is yes."

…

The gate serving as the exit was breached as Ringfinger Boudica led the charge with the other four members of Rosaria's Left Hand, meeting the enemy vanguard on the right as swords clashed against one another and shields pushed back the advancement of either side. Meanwhile, the Right Hand struck from the left, led by Ringfinger Jacques who vaulted over the wall with the other five, with Little Finger Mukago jumping high into the air and acrobatically spun her body around. Blood tipped projectiles made of bone shooting into the enemy below her.

The Red Knight huffed as her sword was currently locked with the blade of a Warrior of Sunlight, her helmet's eight eyes staring into the other's rectangular slits. A smile grew as she spotted the man's green eyes widening, his posture faltering as he spotted the war axe swinging down from the left.

"The Headtaker-!" He had only a moment to exclaim when the axe fell upon his head, cutting through the helmet and splitting his head in half.

Boudica kicked the man away and dug her axe on another's back, the one holding Creighton back, while her sword stabbed through the neck of another soldier on her left, allowing Sirris to advance as well.

Vanguard of our Blessed Mother! Advance!" Her war axe swung across a Blue Sentinel's raised arms, the limbs falling to the ground while holding the great axe. "They claim to fight for a brighter tomorrow, but continue to strike down those afflicted by their own undoing!"

Creighton swung madly upon his enemies, his eyes bloodshot underneath his helmet as his Dragonslayer's Axe flew and heads rolled off their shoulders. One man tried to escape but was grabbed by the back of his armour and thrown down, meeting the cruel gaze of a Mirrah deserter.

Sirris, having enhanced her Estoc with the miracle of the Darkmoon Blade with what faith she had left, twirled her sword and took her opponent's with her own, throwing it out of her grasp. The fellow Darkmoon Blade had only a second to utter the word "traitor" before the rock-soild blade was thrust forward and pierced through her armour. The former Darkmoon pushed her enemy forward and into another before ducking to avoid his swipe at her face, pulling out her Estoc and sliding around to stab at the man below his ribs.

Yellowfinger Heysel kicked a Blue Sentinel back before swinging her pick hammer into their eye, cackling as she cast a small Farron Dart through the weapon. The force of the spell at such close range caused the head of the knight to explode, but Heysel wasted no time in revelry when she raised her pick and summoned a cascade of soul darts that fired upon more of the approaching force.

Longfinger Kirk fought the most ferociously however, choosing to throw himself at his enemies once his opponent was knocked down in the face of his unrelenting strength; unfortunately for the Warrior of Sunlight, he was stepped upon by the infamous Knight of Thorns, whose armor was coated in nasty barbs and gnarly thorns. The twisted knight didn't even bother to acknowledge the man he left screaming on the floor, instead choosing to rush down two others of the grossly incandescent warriors. Much to his glee, these were spellcasters who resorted to attacking from afar… so he lunged at them both, letting his armor scrape at their bodies and wounding whatever flesh was beneath and swung his barbed sword upward at the one on the right before slamming its barbed surface on her face. The other one had fallen on his rear, scrambling backward while others rushed to his side, screaming obscenities at the thorned knight and shouting orders.

The Fingers under the command of Boudica were but one small group fighting off an organized invasion, and while Jacques had command of the other group, there were still too many of them. One might lay down their weapons and surrender in the hopes they would be spared. But Rosaria's Fingers were anything but so weak as to drop everything they were doing.

"CHAAAAAAAAAAARGE!" Boudica's bellow was loud enough to be heard by all, some of the invasion force closest to her clutched at their heads in pain while the rest of the Fingers shrugged it off and continued. Sirris however, being the latest addition to their little group felt the more adverse effects and fell to her knee, Boudica kneeling by her side to help her drink from the estus flask.

Kirk expected Sirris to push her away or even glare at her given their former occupation; but no, instead she smiled at the Red Knight and slowly got back up. The Knight of Thorns watched as she hurried to join the others, stepping out of her way even if she wasn't in danger of being harmed by his thorns. So content was she given the circumstances, that…

"Kirk." Boudica came up beside him.

He turned to look at her.

"I know not whether we'll survive this fight, Yuria and Eygon had taken a different path while we storm the entrance to the Iudex's resting place."

He didn't say anything, instead he turned toward the entrance to Firelink Shrine and lingered.

"Concerned for the Blessed Mother? Worry not, Arturia will prevail."

Kirk's hands clenched.

"This is what she wanted after all."

He lowered his head before turning to regard Boudica.

"..."

Boudica raised an eyebrow and inched closer, punching away a cheeky knight without even looking at him. "Did you just speak?"

"..."

Memories flashed before Kirk, of a time before he became ash, of a time when he served as a Darkwraith. He fought and killed to bring about a world of dark. No one was spared… not even Lord Gwyn. And when the world was dark, he wandered and killed and killed until… he found… her.

"Quelaag…?"

He knew not her name, only that she was in constant pain. So he gave her all the Humanity he could provide, all he could pillage, finding purpose in helping ease her pain… until his past returned to strike him down for squandering his allegiance.

But he pressed on, fighting until his armour could no longer protect him. Toiling and failing to acquire more Humanity, much to his despair. Until one day, he found one. And he returned to the Fair Lady on broken and bloodied footsteps, giving her one last essence of what lay within humans.

"Dear sister, do not cry…"

Her touch soothed his pain, ignorant of the thorns that harmed others. And so he died there, in pain, but in the presence of love and not hate. In the presence of the Fair Lady.

"... I am happy."

"I am happy." Kirk managed to say, his voice hoarse from years of unuse.

"Oh?"

"If I am to die here, I will die happy."

Don't hurry to deliver your answer.

The Kiln of the First Flame collapsed, but the combatants did not perish along with the ancient holy ground as one might have thought. Two streams of light flew from the top of the crumbling structure, one red and the other purple, flying high into the castles mixing together as per transitory entropy.

In one moment, the lights collided with each other, crashing into a castle tilting forward and exploding out the other side. They crashed once more unto the ground - actually the side of a castle - and skidded along as they kicked up a path of rubble before stopping. Both lights had been the Soul of Cinder and the Dark Lord escaping the collapse of the Kiln.

The Soul of Cinder, coiled sword digging into the ground, had called upon the power of all past Lords of Cinder to be used as Lord Gwyn once did with his own, during the height of his power in the War of The Ancient Dragons. The Dark Lord on the other hand had no such power but her own, using instead her own innate abilities and heritage; along with that of the armour she developed, one could even say she was truly a dragon now.

To those who watched the battle from a distance, the battle appeared almost picturesque. A classical depiction of light and dark.

To those who still recounted the old legends, the battle was between gods and dragons. Two ancient enemies who would never stop warring with each other.

To those forsaken and nameless, the battle was one long since demanded. This was a battle built up over many years, all of the successes and failures leading up to this one point.

For what seemed like a few minutes to them, an hour had passed since they began fighting. And yet with the imminent disappearance of the sun, what did it really matter whether even a day had passed?

The two had ceased fighting for the moment, each standing a fair distance from each other now.

"All of my humanity has been sacrificed for this moment. For the tyranny of Gwyn's Age of Fire to end, I will sacrifice everything." Her exposed eye was wide as she spoke, her voice low even as she struggled to maintain her composure. "Just look at yourself, Shinra, at what you became when you chose to let Kiritsugu's ideals drive you to this insanity."

The Soul of Cinder had no words to treat with her, only rasps that turned to grunts that almost sounded like words were being spoken. And then it roared at her, the fires on its body growing in intensity at this display of aggression.

"Can you even hear me anymore? Or is it Gwyn himself that I speak to?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "No matter, you spared me no words before when I succeeded you and neither will you now."

As if offended by the very mention of her past succession, it was instantly upon her, their faces mere inches away as weapons clashed. Calm wrath met with animalistic rage as the blades shook on contact. Cyclones of fire shooting off their backs as one tried to overcome the other.

"I have seen the future. Poor, poor Filianore had been waiting for her dear father to return for so many years, blissfully sleeping away in ignorance." The roaring grew in outrage. "You would have the world burn to cinders for, what, I wonder? Power? Some misplaced notion that continued immolation is the one true path?"

The sky seemed to darken behind Arturia as she dared to move her head closer, red eye boring into the Soul of Cinder's visage and crinkling as she spoke her next words.

"Is it out of fear? Is the legendary Lord of Sunlight, Gwyn himself, scared of the dark?" She chuckled darkly. "A child playing at lordship. How adorable."

The explosion rocked the ground as molten metal rained down, the ground at the epicenter melting at the high temperatures. Were anyone else to approach the battle site, they would find themselves unable to breathe as their lungs filled with soot, unable to see with the air burning their retinas.

From the lava filled crater did the Soul of Cinder emerge, great fire illuminating its visage as every part of its body was superheated. Steam blew out its helm as it seethed with rage, whatever flesh it had was burnt away now, naught but metal fused with blackened bone. The armor it adorned was incandescent with the full power of the First Flame, even after being used for so long, the might of all the Lords of Cinder charged it.

But such power needed control, and who better for this control than the one who Linked the Flame the first time?

"Gwyn…" Their - or rather his head - looked up at the speaker as he stood up from his kneeling position, the metallic crown cooling down as it solidified. "I cannot die…"

From the black smoke did the Usurper of Flame appear, red eyes as bright as the outlines on her armor shining through the darkness. Her flesh, having been burned away to ash, looked almost as though she were smiling through it all. Her breath spilt out the inky darkness of the Abyss as black smoke seeped out of her skull, flesh knitting itself back together and slowly granting her an emotionless mask once again. Her hair, white as snow with a tinge of yellow to it, billowing through the hot wind as she stared at the Soul of Cinder with a look resembling pity.

But it was only momentary as a sharp look crossed her features, the waist cape burning as the flame came to life once more. Her gauntlet glowing with power, she slid it across the sword, reactivating it as the red lines shined bright and burst into flame. The black blade ignited with both the power of Flame and her own, granting it an almost dark red color as bits of metal melted off it. Its shape expanded and elongated into that of a weapon with longer reach, the blade gaining a spiral shape to it as red spikes sprouted.

It was not Rhongomyniad, but it would suit her needs for the time being.

"Do you feel it, Little Lord of the Fading Fire? The darkness creeping up? Look upon mine visage and know it to be myself."The monster closed her eyes, sighing tiredly before opening them back up again, black liquid seeping out of them as she smiled lightly. "The Firelinking Curse, your legacy of Lords - let it all fade into nothing. You've done quite enough, now have your rest."

The Soul of Cinder said nothing as it held up its sword with both hands, the metal glowing brighter and brighter before it burst into an inferno. The action surprised Arturia, but not because of the show of seemingly bottomless power the being had. No, she was surprised because no other opponent had this ability, neither did they have the intended purpose behind that stance.

No one except… herself.

We will come over and hear it ourselves.

The cliffside ruins were littered with corpses, the bodies of all combatants currently engaged in battle with one another. Every now and then, some would fade into dust before reappearing from the bonfires in the area, immediately springing into action.

Among those who fought was Eygon of Carim, who tirelessly fought with hammer and shield. The hammer, Morne's Great Hammer, was swung with little effort at any warrior that came after him, even those who did not seek his attention. Any time he was beset by a small group, the hammer's head would be pounded into the ground to release a powerful shockwave to clear the way.

Meanwhile, the Moaning Shield attracted as much attention as it could, providing excellent defence as much as it allowed the knight to hold the line while the others fought elsewhere. Most magic projectiles were deflected harmlessly through armour and shield, but there was the occasional spell which got a good hit in or even staggered him.

'Who's there? Is someone there, anyone? The dark surrounds me, nibbles at my flesh.'

He was tired, that much he knew. But he had to keep fighting, for her sake.

"TRAITOR!"

A roar from behind signaled another confrontation and Eygon quickly whirled around to block against the strike of a greatsword, the blow powerful enough as his arm buckled under the shield. He wasted no time in raising his hammer to slam it down on the Black Iron knight but was stopped when the enemy took hold of his hand and began to crush it, causing him to lose his grip. The knight of Carim had only a second to raise his shield when the greatsword was swung, crashing into him as he was sent flying into one of the Umbra Hands. His grip on weapon and shield being lost as they clattered elsewhere.

The white clothed combatant was quick to recover and helped Eygon up before rushing at the attacker, and the warrior wearing the long lost armour of the Berenike knights was quick to cleave him in two with a single swing. That moment of split attention was what Eygon had been waiting for as he charged at the eight-foot tall menace and delivered a series of punches at the stomach area before following up with an uppercut. The counterattack had been successful only momentarily however, for the hulking knight punched at the other's head with his left hand, a hit that left the knight of Carim dazed.

"You DARE side with Londor?" The giant man's hand clasped around his neck and lifted Eygon up. "You DARE forsake the Light?" The greatsword swung down and sliced through the armour, cutting off pieces of his helmet and dislocating his left arm, with the knight styled after Morne getting kicked away afterward, careening across the floor while he struggled to get back up.

'Yes, there you are. So close indeed. Then I am not entirely alone, just yet.'

Eygon spotted the handle to his hammer a foot away from him and he quickly crawled over to grab the handle, his attention to the pain miniscule as his hand wrapped around the weapon. A satisfied smile forming underneath his ruined helmet, he allowed himself to be pulled away by the leg before being dragged along the ground. The Berenike styled knight then pulled hard and threw him against one of the entrance's walls.

'Always have something to fight for, brother.'

'Sister? What brought this on?'

His hammer crushing into the ground, Eygon stood back up and flexed his right arm, loosening the tension. He pulled out his estus flask and drank what was left with gusto, throwing it aside as he picked up the great hammer and hefted it over his shoulder.

"Come on then," Eygon yelled disinterestedly, gesturing for the other to hurry up. "I thought you were here to kill me."

The hulking brute roared in response and charged with his sword held aloft, punching one of the Umbra Hands away and crushing him underfoot. Even being a fair distance away and with the clamor of battle prominent in the air, one could still hear the huffing and puffing of anger escaping through the slits in that helmet. All according to plan, not that it would have taken much to agitate such a person. Someone large enough who wore the armour of a kingdom long since conquered by Carim was bound to have pride, and Eygon has kicked that pride in the balls.

'None of the clergy are saying it outright, but the light of this world is fading faster than ever before.'

Eygon slid to the side of the knight and ducked to avoid the swing, twisting his body to smash the hammer into the other's back. A wolfish grin spread on his face as the sickening crunch was heard, metal being bent underneath and flesh being pulverized even with the legendary armour doing its job. This knight of Carim was simply that powerful, to rend highly durable material to pieces with just a hammer.

Morne's Great Hammer was raised once more, and the light of the fading sun illuminating his form was sure to give his enemy a terrifying sight. One of a demon cackling as it prepared to kill its next victim.

'The nuns are abandoning their duties, absconding hurriedly and with little word. The other knights are setting down their swords as well, their oaths mattering little.'

Eygon felt his helmet crack apart when the Berenike remnant responded with an elbow strike, blood spurting from his face as he nearly toppled backward. The only things that kept him going were his feet digging into the ground and his hammer keeping his weight stable. With a defiant roar, he swung his hammer from the side and brought it down with all his strength, smashing down on the greatsword brought up to block the attack. The knight of Carim could only relish the brief jolt of shock passing through the portholes when the weapon was broken apart and the hammer crushed his helmet.

'I want you to be part of the expedition setting off for Lothric. Take one of the nuns with you, I fear she may be killed with what they discovered about her.'

'Why would they kill a Fire Keeper candidate?'

'Who knows? Maybe the whole world is going mad this time? Either way, they already started executing them in swaths.'

The Berenike knight was dazed but still standing, resorting to using his fists as he lunged to crush his enemy, only to be dodged as his fist destroyed the ground instead. Eygon slammed the head of the hammer down on his arm and eviscerated the knight's arm as the shockwave tore through his body. The knight cried out in pain yet still tried to hit the Carimite with his other arm, and the remaining limb was instead blocked by Eygon's foot before being crushed underfoot.

'Take Irina with you, she talks of you often.'

'... And what of you?'

'Well, I of course will also depart.'

"STOP! PLEASE!"

Eygon aimed Morne's Great Hammer square at the Berenike armoured knight's face with careful precision, ignoring the babbling man's pleas for mercy. No mercy was to be had from a man who was set to kill everyone at Firelink, so none would be given to him by a demon given human form.

'You'll be executed for this.'

'Oh brother, you know me. I'll kill them all before they can even touch my hair.'

'Then… this is farewell then?'

'For as long as this ordeal lasts, yes. I know not when we will see each other again, but… my shield, take it.'

'Wouldn't you need it?'

'I know you miss me when I'm not around. As your elder sister, I implore you to take it.'

'Oh you cheeky little…'

'Keep it. If not as defense, then as a reminder of who you are. I won't have you going Hollow without me around.'

The Berenike's head went flying over the ledge, falling into the chasm below. His body managing to keep itself upright for a few seconds as if in denial of death, finally succumbing when Eygon kicked it down.

'Fine then, don't you go Hollow before me then.'

'It's a promise then. For however long it takes, we'll protect our charges.'

'Yeah yeah… oh how I'll regret this…'

Eygon's hold on his bloodied hammer tightened as he swung one more time at a pyromancer wielding a flame enhanced sword, the force knocking the man off his feet and blowing his jaw off his head. His body was wracked with pain, but there was just enough adrenaline in him to barely notice it.

Something began screaming, violently so, as if a cornered animal had finally lost all sense and was doing everything in its power to fight back. A final, bitter bellow of defiance. It was only by noticing the harsh burning in his throat that he noticed he was making that noise.

And then he started laughing, laughing as he continued fighting despite having only one arm, his sanity lose in the midst of battle. Soon, even his hammer broke apart, and he was left with just his feet and fist. A fist that tore at heads and feet that stomped at the fallen.

Soon, the enemy fled. Fleeing into the cemetery of ash as they were followed by the joint counterattack. And even the demon's allies gave him a wide berth as he slowly calmed down.

"Haaaaaaa…"

…

The sounds of battle were muffled as Eygon stepped over all the bodies, trudging through the grime on weakening legs. He looked back once at the bonfire at the center, chuckling as it flickered before going out completely. A Pilgrim Butterfly crashed into the ledge overlooking the mountains and brought down a large section with it, causing the bodies of several Blue Sentinels and Sunlight Warriors to fall with it.

'Ahh, Lord Knight? Where is…'

'Stay in here, you'll be safe. I can't protect you if everything else is out trying to kill you.'

'But the Shrine! I must-'

'I don't want you in the way of my duty. I can't do that if you're out to get yourself killed.'

'... I understand.'

'We'll get to the shrine when we get to the shrine.'

'I thank you, Ser Eygon. You are a kind knight.'

"Heh… me? Kind?" Eygon rumbled as he approached the wall, a bloody hand grabbing the stone as he bent over with a labored cough. "Well maybe I am genteel? No matter…"

He put his back up against the wall and slid down the stone, right next to his sister's shield, all bent and cracked. Though it was a memento he wished to keep intact, it still served its purpose to the end.

He felt the presence of someone kneeling before him, though he couldn't see who it was with his vision marred by blood and grime.

…

Eygon's hair was stuck to his face with blood coating every inch of being. His armour was chipped and dented in several areas, some parts were just downright missing. A pool of blood had collected around him, seeping into the dirty water underneath.

"Ahh… you ah… whoever you are… we winning?" The knight of Carim croaked out.

"Aye, that we are." Boudica said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The enemy is being routed, they're fleeing as we speak, into the cemetery." A pause as she fumbled around with her armour. "I've some estus still, do you…"

"N-no, no," He said breathlessly. "Keep it, the bonfires are going out I think. You'll need that for… for the others."

"I see."

It seemed it was getting hard for him to see, to keep his stinging eyes open even as Boudica cleaned his face with a cloth. All feeling below his waist was pretty much lost at this point. But he still had to know…

"You… Headtaker… Irina… you promise me that… promise that you keep her safe. Promised… my sister… I promised… and my terms were very…"

Boudica noted his heartbeat was beating slower with each passing second.

"We will. I swear to you, Eygon of Carim." Boudica nodded her head. "On my honour as Queen of the Iceni, on my honour as a warrior of Rosaria, I swear to you."

"That's… that's good…" He grunted as he pointed a finger at her. "It's your turn now… terms are… simple."

Eygon's eyes closed as his head hung limply. A final breath escaping his body as he lay there, in more peace than he ever had in life.

"We will."

Eygon of Carim, sworn to his duty and defender of Firelink Shrine in the End of Days, had passed on. With respect extended from former enemies turned allies, in glory against more odds he had ever faced, he had died well.

One was a true Lord of Cinder, determined to make one final sacrifice.

While the great battle took place, Karla meditated outside Firelink; right in front of a tree to be exact, one eerily similar to a Giant. She committed herself to a standing position of this technique for several days now, after Arturia offered to teach her as a way to relax in a place such as this. Everyone had their own position, Arturia sat with her legs crossed, and while Karla had little issue copying her, she felt it was ill-suited for her. So she experimented, just as she did with her spells, until eventually finding that this position suited her just fine.

It was a strange and new experience, but Karla loved it. There was discomfort from having kept herself hidden in seclusion, bent over to read her tomes, but over time her persistence led to being able to lose herself in this sightless serenity for hours. And then days. Each and every time she returned, she felt more and more free of the world, of her past.

But there was more to it than simple mindfulness and her tranquil state of mind, for in her ventures she had found her own method of connecting to the world like some groups of pyromancers did. Pyromancers lived a life of being in tune with nature herself, wearing little in the way of clothing from more advanced cultures. Clothing made from local wildlife, old garments of a life they left behind mixed with swamp matter, and simple footwraps to let one feel the earth's heat pass into and out of them.

Karla supposed she was much the same in that regard now, although her clothing was meant to be in tune with the cold rather than the heat. Yuria fashioned clothing for the witch that let her body breathe in the cold and not be suffocated by the heat, whilst also keeping her body heat in. Her standing position of meditation was perfect for this, as her feet dug into the cold and soft ground and her hands felt the sensation of a cool wind passing through the gaps in her gloves.

"Ah-ha, I should have known there would be one more defending this place." A man spoke up, his voice almost grandfatherly.

Her sense of peace gone, Karla opened her yellow eyes tiredly and turned around to see a man wearing a bed sheet and some branches, a towel wrapped around his face.

"And are you a leech or a finch?" She asked in a bored tone.

"Oho! Well young mistress, I am a crow really." He spread his arms apart good-naturedly. "I am Cornyx, of the Great Swamp. It is a pleasure to meet another spellcaster in these times."

A pyromancer then, given his choice of clothing.

"Fascinating, you know what you are." She rolled her eyes and inspected her nails. "It is a displeasure to have met you."

"Ha! And after all it took for me to get here, I am met by a rude young lady." The man shook his head. "You should learn to respect your elders, you may learn a thing or two."

"My elders branded me a heretic, humiliated me, and left me to die." Karla monotonously replied. "Is there a point to this? Are you dictating your fucking obituary to me, little bird?"

"Let me pass, without resistance." Cornyx bluntly stated.

"What?"

"Let me pass to reach the Kiln of the First Flame. I have the strength to link the fire after all, and you know it is the right thing to do."

Karla frowned. "No, I don't know."

"Then let me educate you," The old man continued, the blindfold quite possibly preventing him from seeing the growing displeasure on the witch's face and not just letting him be in tune with fire. "The fire must be linked, no matter the cost. All of our potential, all of our power, all of our knowledge, will be squandered if we don't. To let all this work fade away would be folly!"

Karla was dead silent, eyes closed and her hands clenched at her side. Her nose fumed with such anger that she felt as if she would explode at the man. But she didn't, instead she listened and judged him.

"An old man set in your ways then?" Karla chuckled mirthlessly. "I knew men like you. Time and time again, people like you have been present. Always justifying others' pain for your benefit."

Cornyx frowned. "Are you saying we are unworthy?"

"No, you old fool, I am saying you have no right to preserve such a world." Yuria hissed. "None of you do."

"You stupid, stupid girl." Cornyx shook his head. "If we let the fire fade, we let an unfathomable deposit of energy escape from our grasp! The gods knew this, hence why they took it upon themselves to follow Gwyn's footsteps! Whatever trifling matters you have, you must not let them dissuade from the righteous path!"

Time seemed to stop as his words rang through Karla's head. Her yellow eyes wide in disbelief at the audacity of this man who thought he knew what was right. So blinded was he by the decadence of fire that he was so assured nothing awful happened beyond being branded heretical.

"Trifling, you say?" Karla whispered so low that the man almost didn't hear her.

"Speak up, child. I would hear you explain such blasphemy."

This ignorant, arrogant, self-assured hermit speaks of blasphemy? He thought what she went through was trifling? He wanted such pain to continue?

Sad, isn't it? A dark part of her spoke up, it had been so long since she heard its voice.

"You call my adoptive parents abandoning me trivial? You call fearing for my life in the cities trivial? You call being branded a heretic trivial?" Her fingers twitched as she went on. "Imprisoned with so many others and watching them get taken away is trivial?" Her voice grew in outrage as she glared a hole through the man's face, black fire rising from her being. "I was alone… raped by those who were supposed to be righteous and in the right… and that is trivial!? I feared for my life until it didn't even matter to me!"

Educate him, as he did you.

Cornyx shuddered, regretting his choice of words as he learned of the girl's fate. His lips stammered as he held up his hands in an attempt to placate her.

"But then…" Her voice dipped low as her gaze turned distantly up at the sky, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. "A knight came to my rescue, rescuing this maiden from the dark place shrouded by light. I found a life I wanted to preserve, to keep."

Her yellow flashed to red as they slowly rolled back down to Cornyx, a shadow cast on her face as she tilted her head down. Her hat obscuring all light save for her eyes while she raised her hands and spawned black fire from them.

"I will protect my apprentice. I will protect the one whom I love. The one who gave me purp-"

Cornyx interrupted her by releasing a surge of fire from his fingertips, the steady stream engulfing her in its torrent. When the flame spurted out from its use, the pyromancer quickly gathered up all his energy into creating a flame that grew in size, throwing the giant fireball at his target, the resulting combustion exploding outward in a fantastic display. When there was no activity, the man let out a sigh of relief and fell to his knees.

"Now that was rude," Came her whisper in the fire, a set of red eyes shining through the whirling flame. "As an elder, I thought you would have known about manners."

A pale hand pushed through the fire before fingers were snapped, the towering flame fading quickly as though a powerful wind had come and gone. The woman herself appeared unharmed as a dark blue aura surrounded her, bored red eyes regarding him silently.

"Impossible."

Karla merely giggled as her hand was raised, a black orb flame developing over it. Her other hand had a coil of black flame writhe around it, passing through her fingers like a snake. When Cornyx quickly chanted the aria for Flash Sweat, Karla cackled as she threw the black fire orb at him, delighting as he fell backward with pained screaming as she fired her own surge of fire. The stream of black flame burning through his defensive pyromancy as he fell to his knees.

Satisfied with her attack, Karla snapped her fingers, snuffing out the black fire coating the man. As she approached him, the trembling pyromancer inspected himself hesitantly, shivering as he checked for burns. He flinched when she laughed, frantically summoning more flames as she waved her hand, a blade of darkness whirling into existence. Without allowing him a moment to defend himself, she slashed at his chest with unnatural speed.

The pyromancer fell with nary a gasp, possibly shocked at the display. The blindfold fell from his head, and as he struggled to get up whilst clutching his chest at the unseen wound, his shattered understanding of the world was very clearly shown on his face. He whipped his head up to Karla when she knelt before him.

"What… what did you do to me?" Cornyx asked breathlessly.

"Why, I showed you the human potential of the Dark." She answered as a little black flame danced around her fingers. "Such power… and yet, it cannot be squandered for it comes from within."

"Heresy…" He breathed out, grey eyes bulging out. "Heresy!"

Karla frowned and closed her hand before looking at him. She kept her stare on him for only a few seconds before sighing disappointedly.

"Oh little bird, you have no idea of the power one can learn in the dark." A dark edge crept into her voice. "Let this daughter of the Abyss show you."

Her left hand shot forward and clasped around the pyromancer's mouth, while her right hand stabbed into his stomach, burying itself deep inside. Her eyes smouldered in that deep and abysmal red, her smile growing wicked as she relished in his pain.

"Oh wise and powerful elder mine, it is only pain! Trivial! Surely you can handle a little bit!" Karla hissed as she twisted her hand inside his stomach, crushing whatever flesh her hand could find.

Cornyx thought he knew pain, he had been raised in the Great Swamp after all, he lived through the poisonous waters and toxic vapours. He had trained under his masters in the harshest of conditions, endured the worst fires as he worked to control his own.

"You wanted more out of the power you can attain? Then you shall have it, you will become like a king and attain knowledge from beyond." She whispered sweetly. "But power requires sacrifice, so you shall endure unrelenting pain and have your Humanity set you free."

Cornyx struggled in her grip, screaming in anger only to stop suddenly when she began reciting dark incantations into his ear. When she pulled back with a haunting giggle, the old man felt his vision darken and swim. Karla herself looked as though she began shifting, changing even, as her flesh darkened and her crimson swallowed his attention. Antlers sprouted from her head as her appearance looked less and less human by the second, only her lips remained human even as they spoke their next words, unable to be understood in this state of confusion and terror.

"Eb nrob fo ym ydob dna raet otni eht hself, tae ruoy llif." Her lips moved in a manner he could not comprehend before speaking one word in perfect clarity. "Gnaw."

The hand clasped around his mouth pulsed and writhed as something skittered out of her hand, invading his mouth before traveling into his gullet. The sensation of biting and chewing being felt inside his throat and chest before it spread down to his stomach. Beneath his tattered headwrap, the old man watched in horror as insects crawled out of the open wound, some crawling along the woman's arm before ducking into the sleeves of her coat.

"Huurgh… leeez… I…"

But Karla paid him no heed, keeping her hand around his mouth while her other hand glowed white from within the wound. The darkness in her irises remained unchanged but the red of her irises slowly shifted to white as she chanted her next spell.

"Kees tuo eht tcejbo fo ruoy yvne dna etaitas ruoy evol. Kniht ton fo eht thgilp uoy lliw gnirb, ylpmis daerps dna yortsed."Karla's eyes rolled backward as she spoke the next word. "Affinity."

Cornyx arched backward as his whole body was alight with black flame, cold as ice yet burning hot from within. The fact that the insects of the Deep were still inside made it worse as his Dark Soul overflowed with Humanity, stoking the fire until it encompassed his whole being. Soon, there was only the silhouette of a person surrounded by white flame until even that disintegrated and changed to a simple ovular shape.

"Aha… so my experiment worked." Karla hummed to herself.

Now floating in front of her where Cornyx once sat was what many defined as the base form of humans. Weak, fateless… with nary a breath, soul, or voice. To most, it was the embodiment of isolated loneliness. But to her…

"Come hither, my familiar…" Karla outstretched her arm to the consumed human. "Bottomless, you will make a perfect bed for power."

The consumed human said nothing, it merely blinked its white eyes at her hand as some of its being flowed into her. She smiled at its lack of verbal response before turning back to Firelink Shrine, walking up the steps before pausing to look at it. She gestured for it to come, a motion completely alien to it. And yet, it desired more contact. So ever so silently, it floated after her, curious at her existence and eager to fill its empty existence with whatever she sought.

She sought power? If it would fill this emptiness it felt, it would do anything for her. That smile that grew on her lips meant something after all.

High above in the sky, an Angel had shot down a Pilgrim Butterfly with its beams of light. Its wings of fire fading as it plummeted, yet the spears of light shined regardless, lighting its descent into the dark land below.

"That's a good little bird."

It was a beautiful thing, the light shining upon all. Even time itself was not hidden from sight. His sight.

"So… it is you I face now." Arturia mused. "The consequences of my actions."

"Indeed, a curious situation." Her other self spoke in the vessel of Lords. "I know not what spawned you, but I will not allow a future obscured by darkness to befall this world."

"Then you are every bit the fool I remember you to be. Whipping a beaten horse to continue trotting… you can't stop can you? Just like the others, you're willing to let the light cloud your sight."

"Judge me how you want, I know the path I have chosen is correct. Camelot had fallen because of our leadership, but if we can continue passing on the flame from one capable leader to the next, the balance of the world will be ensured."

"Ahh… so you rule the world now? Look at your world then, and tell me if you see anything worth ruling." Arturia gestured at the land around them, the lifeless landscape, the charred corpses, the sky above polluted by smoke. "The First Flame, the means which the gods have ruled, has been burning for too long. It is time to let go."

"Even so…" The flaming sword grew in intensity.

"One shouldn't place hope in unwarranted hope in life that merely exists and then fades away."

"EVEN SO!" A myriad of voices shouted back. The flames were no longer that of a primal fire, but of the light she herself once lit in battle. "HOW CAN WE LET A WORLD EXIST THAT WE CANNOT SEE!? HOW CAN YOU STAND TO ALLOW THIS!?"

"It is simple," Arturia raised her own blade with both hands and channeled her abyssal power, a grand pillar of darkness and raw power exploding upward. "In the hands of Lords and Gods, we will experience only insanity. In the hands of one such as myself however…"

She let the question trail off, watching her other self fall silent before she began shaking in a myriad of emotions. The King of Knights would never falter at such words, so she assumed that she was no longer looking at Arturia Pendragon. Indeed, the roar that burst from the being sounded as if a thousand voices joined in and couldn't comprehend what they had heard.

"EXCALIBUR-"

"EXCALIBUR-"

Their swords swung down, torrents of energy shooting towards each other as the ground crumbled and vaporized. The collective energies that emanated from them both exhuding and collecting all light and darkness at once, burning away at the flesh of those who dared wander. The Murkmen, whose abyssal flesh bubbled as the darkness of the Deep sizzled away and freed the ancient bones held together. Knights of the Harald Legion fell lifelessly, whose bloated armour was hollowed out from the inside.

"IGNIS!"

"MORGAUSE!"

And then the world went white.

So bright was it that the Lord saw it as the one truth of the world. And so, through fear and vanity, he forced it to remain lit and consigned this world to ash. Does this not ring true?

The Fingers of Rosaria had reached the front gate, impeded only by reinforcements who rushed to enforce the defensive line. However, there wasn't an infinite number of them, and though their constant support made it difficult to advance, the lack of active bonfires made it difficult to reinforce both sides. In particular, it was the invading coalition of Covenants that suffered the most from this.

"We are being flanked! Enemy force climbing up the ledge!"

"How many of them!?"

"Unknown! They just keep climbing and- AAH!"

"Gods help us… its the Umbra Hands…"

"Fall back! Fall back to the Cemetery!"

"Ortanx! Please! Don't leave me!"

Their leaders lost, the remnants led by the acting commanders of the allied Covenants retreated to the front entrance of the Iudex's grave, finding all the sentries stationed there dead or locked in battle with a few Umbra Hands who had fought their way out. Some were even arriving from the side, rendering the situation futile.

So they fled deeper into the mountain, the crags proving to be difficult to climb as some had to be left behind. Those who donned heavier armour were pulled away from safety just as their companions lent a hand, the Umbra Hands tearing them away and dragging them away to be beaten. Some had their fates left to the Ten Fingers, where they experienced fates worse than death.

Jacqueline in particular subjected a cadre of five to the experiences of the Ventredi Treize, or rather, an alternate dimension of it within the pockets of reality. There, the Black Mass of her own Covenant - the Fallen - would torture their victims and rend them with curses until the otherworldly being that was their god descednded and swallowed them up in its womb. A thousand years of outrage at their betrayal was liberated, and the Warriors of Sunlight were no more, reduced to virulent and primordial ooze.

Only a small detail was left by the time they made it to the cemetery, a few Blue Sentinels led by two Darkmoon Knights. One by one, their number was whittled away by Umbra Hands or a Finger who had chased them too far.

Twelve entered the canyon, with four staying back to hold back the dark Covenant of madness. They did not return. Eight scouted the area, three vanishing without a trace in the scattered ruins, while two others explored a smaller pathway and found themselves trapped by a new enemy which had found them.

For the three that were left to attempt to salvage the situation, it was far too quiet. Nobody else was coming and none of the survivors had reported back. And then they saw why.

The shadowed forms of the Darkwraiths stalked the area, some keeping watch a fair distance away while others approached closer and closer. And at the head of those amassing in greater numbers than anyone had ever seen were three notable members.

Sister Yuria of the Sable Church, her sword's bladeless hilt drawn to the side, the absence of the metal a deceit as few knew the truth of the weapon. Sister Liliane, her long sleeves hanging to the side as she seemed to give no indication of participating in combat. Sister Friede, whose scythe illuminated the ground with its dull brilliance, uncaring of her bare feet padding the ground. Each of them all had one thing in common, and that was to witness an end.

"Thou'st will not submit?." Friede asked simply.

"Like cowards? You jest! The Light shall always shine!"

"With your numbers? We watched as you fled with your tails behind your legs. Killing you ourselves would be a mercy at this point."

"Mercy? What would Darkwraiths know about mercy?"

Friede did not miss a step in her words. "Better us than Rosaria's children, or those Umbra Hands."

"Ready your weapons! If this is to be our last stand, then fight well!"

Her sisters approached first as Friede could only sigh in resignation. Her violet eyes shined underneath her hood as she too began to approach.

"Rest now, knight of the Darkmoon. Your part is done, you no longer have to fight."

Fear not, the Dark, my friend.

Particles of light drifted in the darkened crater, blinking as they fell like snow before dissipating on the ground. The entire surrounding area had all but melted away, the ground and the few buildings that still stood were reduced to obsidian glass.

The only things left standing were the strongest living things left in the world, battered and spent, but still capable of warring against each other for as long as they existed. As long as Fire and Disparity existed. Heat and Cold. Life and Death.

Light and Dark.

The Soul of Cinder appeared more skeletal now, the charred metal that made up its body having warped so much by now that if any flesh existed underneath, the armour would have replaced it. The skull was fully visible now, blackened as the bones jutting out underneath the bits of fused metal. It was smiling, if a skull could actually be smiling that is, given it could change nothing about its structure beyond a shift in its jaw.

Ironic, given that this was the Soul of Cinder, still fighting for a cause that mattered as little as the ash underneath their feet.

The Dark Lord on the other hand, was no better for as much as the Deep regenerated what flesh had been lost, its usage and its toll was evident on her body. Her shoulders rose heavily as her breaths came and went labored, while black liquid seeped out of her eyes and mouth, and her skin was losing more of its colour. Everything had a limit, and even the Deep could only provide so much for her Servant body, modified as much as it was even with her becoming one with a divine being such as Rosaria.

A coughing fit overtook her at that moment, she brought up a hand to her mouth to stop it, but black liquid spilled out regardless. She would fight for as long as she needed to but it would have to be concluded soon, else she would be destroyed before she could even attain victory.

The Soul of Cinder had burst into a sprint as magma fell behind it, its boots leaving glowing footprints as it raised the spiraling greatsword. Arturia did the same as she charged with the warped spear, holding it with both hands while pointing it at her enemy. When the two reached swordpoint, Arturia swung down the spiral spear as the Soul of Cinder swung upward, a powerful strike as it ended up overextending. It must have panicked then for it quickly recovered and swung down, the strike being parried once more.

Unbeknownst to the being of fire, the false Rhongomyniad began to break apart right as the momentum carried it backward. Arturia then focused all her power into her free hand, glowing purple with the Deep's influence as the energy collected. She clenched it into a fist and swung it forward, hitting directly into the Soul of Cinder's waiting hand alight with flame.

Both were fighting with fumes, they knew it. It was just a matter of who would let up. Unfortunately, time was no longer a luxury.

Excalibur Morgause, freed from its modified form as a spear, was thrust forward, breaching past the block meant to protect against a larger weapon. The sword was pushed right through its stomach, the sound of armour and bone being punctured did not reach her ears ringing with adrenaline. So caught up in the heat of the moment was she that the sword was pulled out and her left fist reared back with a ferocious snarl, knuckles turning white on the exposed flesh as the muscles on her arm expanded.

The only sign of preparation that the Soul of Cinder had for the incoming blow was an incline of its head, hollow eyes staring blankly as the fist smashed into the skull. A rumble passed through the two before the feeling of a dent was sensed when the impact finally registered, the Soul of Cinder being knocked off its feet and flying through the air with bits of metal falling off it and trails of fire followed. It tumbled unceremoniously through the ground, bones cracking as it did so.

Breathing heavily, Artoria just stared at her opponent. Her eyes stung as the sweat of exhaustion and blood spent from fighting seeped into them. Even if it served to protect her, the helmet was far too damaged to serve its purpose, the exposed right side of her face only proved that. So she pulled it off and let it clatter on the ground before making her approach.

But it seemed fate would not spare her mercy just yet. Even with a gaping hole through its body, it still stood, albeit slightly hunched over as it looked at her. Yet she did not falter, her eyes burning with fury as the sword thrummed with dark power.

But the Soul of Cinder made no move to approach, it simply stood there with the fires dimming down. It infuriated the former Servant, to still stand when it was clear there was no point for it to continue resisting.

The sword had been dropped with a clatter, the fire that coated it having dissipated into the wind. Even the fire that had spread over the amalgamation's body had almost gone completely out, leaving only fading embers on its hands and head.

To her surprise, the Soul of Cinder raised a skeletal hand and placed it over its chest, clutching tightly as a glow emanated from it. A long, metallic object was produced from the action, dropping to the ground with a clatter. She didn't realize she had been aghast as she looked back up at her enemy, who nodded once before faltering.

It was the scabbard to Excalibur, Avalon.

She didn't realize she had been crying black tears when the corpse fell to the ground. And so her attention was directed then to the little flame that still burned.

"Thank you, Shinra."

And let the feast begin.

From a distance, the leader of the Umbra Hands watched as Arturia approached the First Flame, now just a small imitation of what it once was. She cradled it close to her chest as if it would die out, and indeed, it was fast dwindling in light. In potency. It was doubtful another linking would lead to the desired result.

But to take it for the Dark, even in this state… there were limitless possibilities.

"Boss? We're not going to be joining them?" One of his assistants asked.

"No, Guiera. Arturia would sooner kill me if I revealed myself to her. And by the time I did reach her, I would be no match for her."

"Oh dear, what do we do now then?" Gyarike questioned.

"Continued observation would prove detrimental to our survival." Sumama offered.

"Hiding out and making a base is out of the question as well." Bido added.

All were valid points, not to mention history was still a fundamental part of this world. While Jacques and Boudica had been sent here and established their own historical footprint, he was a different case, sent here much later right as the collapse began once more. There was no longer any use for recording their presence and feats at this point though. The same went for the silver warrior known as Ophelia, though it was a shame he couldn't find out who she truly served.

EIther way, their purpose here was finished.

"There is truly nothing to be worried about then, our job here is complete. Master already has a close eye on this world. We need only return with our data and present it to her." The Umbra Hands began to fade away as their bodies broke apart into blue particles. "It will be thanks to you, Arturia, that only now will humans prosper at last in this world, but…"

His own body began to emit golden particles now, breaking apart his body as he returned to his point of origin. To his Master.

"... We are now ever closer to unraveling the final mysteries of an Abyssal Beast's true nature."

…

The eclipse had lost its bright orange color, no longer spilling down to the earth in a vain attempt to continue burning the world. Bone white incandescence replaced the fire in the sky, dousing the land below in a dim light brighter than what burned it to cinders.

The Dark Sun, so bright even in its infancy that it cooled the burns that harmed the earth below. It was a light in the darkness, a contrast to the darkness in the light that fooled the Lords of Cinder of old, even the gods. Like moths to flame indeed.

Yuria approached the towering figure that rose in front of the sight, their armored form outlined by the shine. A pair of limbs were outstretched from the back and fluttered once, membranous tissue forming in between the fingers of what were now evidently wings. Two white orbs appeared where her face was, eyes the colour of the eclipse, surrounded by inky darkness.

"My Lord…" Yuria stammered as she fell to her knees. "Our Lord of Hollows…"

Her sisters were there as well - both Liliane and Elfriede - kneeling before their Lord. Other Darkwraiths had shown up, some as old as their homeland of New Londo, and they too kneeled before their Dark Lord - their King. Swords were stabbed into the ground as they paid respect to her, for the ultimate sacrifice she had undertaken in accepting lordship. All madness, all corruption, all humanity which leaked out of the Dark Soul would be taken in by her being. The Hollows of Londor, even those beyond, would inherit their truest form. And their Lord would take her own truest form, mirroring the monstrous power she once tried to stave off, physically manifesting itself in her coronation.

All of Rosaria's Fingers had taken a knee - though it was better to say they were her Fingers now - five for two columns.

Karla had phased into existence beside her, her traversal of the Abyss' fringes allowing her to do so with regard to a fellow child of the Abyss. The witch stared up at her apprentice, now her Lord, and smiled. She took off her hat and gracefully placed it over her chest and kneeled with a respect reserved only for her.

"Make Londor whole…"

Epilogue

Everdark Kingdom - Gloamlight Fields

"One's inner flame is that which manifests as belief in oneself, will it outward, and you shall have the results you seek. Cold as it may be, one must not fear this alien sensation for it is a part of yourself. So, as some might have said long ago, 'Fear not, the Dark, my friend. And let the feast begin.' But what did the Locusts speak of? Cannibalism amongst each other most likely, for that is what they had to resort to in the Age of Fire. But a feast, I believe, pertains to a great many other things. Such as the consummation of knowledge and the ability to apply it in practice."

In the Deep Stone Academy of Londor, a great many subjects were studied under the tutelage of renowned sorcerers and historians who had survived the Age of Fire. Lost, advanced forms of sorceries; forgotten histories of past Dark Lords who rejected the Age of Fire; even subjects deemed heretical in the past, such as the abstract study of mathematics for allowing the usage of far more precise magics.

Arturia herself seemed to have an intimate knowledge of something close to these more precise magics, confiding in Karla to keep the knowledge close to only a few in their inner circle whilst encouraging further development. The Court Mage could understand the logic, her Dark Lord was willing to ensure absolute dominance of their empire, even concealing information to ensure no rivals rose up to take advantage of the knowledge of these so-called "True Magics."

Thus far, only a few individuals had been shown to have proof of these advanced sorceries, as if exclusive to them alone.

Karla herself was one of them. It was one of the reasons why she was able to phase in and out of the fringes of the Abyss only to return with knowledge she never even knew. Knowledge such as that of a world that Arturia once fought in, where similar magics existed; however, she would also learn of the people who used this "Magecraft" and concluded they were no different to the Lords of old. Most likely, these Magi would have studied the First Flame and go on to link it anyway with some modifications they made.

Similar to what the Witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos once tried and failed to do.

'Really, it is no wonder the Age of Fire resulted in such horrific excuses of life.' Karla, one of the academy's oldest and most experienced instructors, entertained the idea of these studies being used during the Age of Fire. 'Perhaps the ill effects would have been avoided, but one's mental state would have hollowed eventually. If anything, they would have continued linking the fire as it was burned into their logic.'

"But Professor, could the Lords not have ceased tradition?" One student brought up a fair question. "Better yet, could they not have understood the consequences of their actions on the world?"

"Quite," Karla returned. "But you forget, the idea of usurping its power was unheard of in the past. Trial and error was necessary, the Darkstalker understood this, while Lady Elfriede proved greater power was required to do so. Such was why the linking of the fire was honoured for as long as it was, greater power proved Lords could do so." She closed the book set before her with a loud shut of paper and scanned the students seated in the auditorium with a shadowed gaze of her yellow eyes. "And I am sure you know the folly of such an action."

Many nodded, some talking amongst themselves. They all knew the reasoning behind Age of Fire from their families, even records left behind by their ancestors. The power was simply too good to pass up, so much so that there was nothing else they could fathom coming from the Age of Dark.

"Speaking of folly, I am sure some of you recognize the consequences of neglecting your studies on Higher Applications of Sorcery?" She clicked her tongue. "I distinctly recall setting up an examination for today to test your quick thinking."

Most of the assembled students groaned in exasperation, although there were a few who looked eager to get the work over with. Still, she would not deny that they most likely thought she was torturing them. It was like teaching Arturia again.

Oh, how they loved her.

…

Later, out on a grassy field with a few trees dotting the land, Karla stood before one particularly large tree. She was meditating, in as much time as she could find nowadays, and such peace allowed her to reminisce on earlier years.

Little over three thousand years had passed since the Age of Dark began, three-thousand six hundred and eighty-six years to be exact. No sparks of light showing signs of becoming another First Flame had appeared since then, and though she had a number of theories, Karla supposed it was ultimately due to the First Flame having been absorbed into Arturia's own Dark Soul.

The Ten Fingers had been officially posted as the Knights of the Round Table. The Sable Church as the main religious organization to instill order. And Karla herself was appointed as the Court Mage.

As for Londor itself, it had prospered since her old friend had accepted leadership, contrary to now debunked belief. There were those who said this Age would never come. What are they to say now?

Of course, this did not mean the ascendancy of a new order on the world came peacefully and quietly. The kingdoms of old still functioned, they still had plenty of fight in them. Remnants of Astora, scattered pockets of Carim, Vinheim's mad hoarders of knowledge. They were all crushed. Out in the old battlefields where the crows once picked at their carcasses, to the ramparts of their castles and fortresses before their honorary pride was demolished.

Those that were spared in this decade-long campaign across the continents were the deprived, heretics and traitors to their individual kingdom's cause. They graciously thanked the Dark Lord who had taken them in, many prostrating in religious fervor as they swore allegiance with tears and hysteria.

Karla could not blame those people, at one point in time, she would have been among those people had a different path been laid out. But there was no point in thinking about what could have been, they were in the present. The kingdoms of old were nonexistent now, essentially myths told only in tomes, stories to tell to children.

And speaking of children…

"Aunt Karla!" Karla smiled and braced for the impact on her legs, two youngsters dashing for her excitedly. "You're back!"

"Yes yes, your favorite witch is here." She patted them on the back earnestly, looking at them in the eyes when they pulled back. "Have you been practicing what I taught you?"

Their smiles were the only answer she would receive as the two pulled out some tomes they stored away in their packs. They started out small of course, conjuring magical creatures that wouldn't threaten to cause a great cataclysm. Karla looked up to see their parents walking a fair distance away, a lovely couple, that they were.

The Court Mage laughed as she ruffled the heads of the children, kneeling to their level as they hugged her chest with increased fervor. She noted the curved horns that protruded from the white haired twins' heads, beautifully patterned in their white colouring. A curious physical feature to see on a human, but then again, little Nana and little Guren were an example of another people that the Kingdom of Londor eventually implemented into its society.

Fifty years after the mainland had been wholly united, expeditions set out by sea to discover what lay beyond, finding the distant land of the Giants the gods once enslaved. Though negotiations were understandably tense at first, with some tribes still bearing grudges from Drangleic's past excursion, friendly relations had been able to be formed as the towering beings now walked amongst them.

The solution? The Dark Lord stood before them with unflinching stature and drew out one of the coiled swords of old before burying its blade deep into the ground. The Giant Lord that represented his people at that time had been silent as she did so, whether out of shock or respect, she did not know. What she did know was that the being in turn stabbed his own sword into the ground, intersecting with the other. The old gods and old kingdoms were no more, so too was their reason for bitter hatred against Humans.

They had an understanding with one another.

Time would pass, and eventually, with their help, humanity's territories would expand, their might bolstered by the willingness of the Giants. They were at a time of relative peace.

Another land would be discovered, a land said to have been populated by dragons in the distant past. A most curious people had been discovered to inhabit the continent known as Othard, bearing draconian scales over their bodies with horns jutting out of their heads.

Though the Au Ra had been at war with each other for many decades, once Londor set foot on the land, once Arturia lay waste to most of the clans quarreling amongst themselves, all the remaining two clans she spared could do was recognize her power and cease their infighting. Fear had been prevalent in the initial years, discontent followed by a brief rebellion that was swiftly cut down, and then acceptance as they welcomed her as their Dusk Mother.

Religious fervor had not been the intention, but the Xaela clan could not be convinced otherwise upon seeing their chosen female ancestor judge them appropriately. The hunter-gatherer tribes proved to be excellent warriors as they were accepted into the warrior caste of the ever growing Londorian Empire.

Curiously enough, Arturia mentioned their warriors - aptly called samurai - were similar in nature and arms to her world's counterpart.

The Raen clan on the other hand were much more reserved, though they too saw their Dusk Mother in much the same light. The tranquil tribes embraced the ideals set upon the Sable Church and the general affinity for peace. And yet the Dark Lord accepted many of them into the warrior caste of the empire, though not as samurai, but as silent warriors who struck from shadow. Some even took it upon themselves to watch over Kaya, the Painter girl that Arturia had found on her travels, fascinated by her supposed ability to create another world from blood. These "Shinobi" would undertake the mantle of responsibility of watching over her and her works, just as the Painting Guardians of old did with Ariamis.

Peace could not be ensured without making sure it stayed peaceful, and the Raen tribes understood this well even during the early days of Londor's arrival to the Kingdom of Doma. Even now, several members of the clan stuck to the Dark Lord as shadows underneath her wings, like lesser Dragons protecting the larger beast that they respected.

As for Dragons as a whole, no one actually knew whether True Dragons existed anymore at this point, seeing as it had been too long since even a Wyvern had been spotted in all the known lands. It was tragic really, that an ancient race of majesty and great power had all but vanished. But perhaps they truly had left a final parting gift in the shape of a new people.

A reminder that they existed.

Now, the Au Ra walked amongst Humans and Giants as equals. A triumvirate of leadership had been formed as a result, one where the product of Dragons could freely walk without fear of extermination.

"Now, let's get started. Do you remember how to read the scripture?"

…

The day had come and passed, in as much as it could under the cold and gentle light of the dark sun hanging overhead. Part of the phenomena that came with the eclipse was the curious case of a shift between night and day, with the white colouring of the body of light changing to a dark purple when it was nighttime.

Karla still couldn't get over how beautiful the night looked with the purple light illuminating the sky, it neither burned the flesh nor stung the eyes. It even elicited a sense of exhaustion after a full day's events, contrary to the bright white light of day.

And now, in returning home to Londor, the witch found herself taking her time journeying to the highest peak of the tree that made up the kingdom's capital. The high altitude allowing one to see the magical body of light well and true, no longer hanging so close to the ground but instead higher up. It had always been meant to attain a higher zenith it seemed, uplifted by humanity's lack of dependency on it.

The highest point of the castle was open to the elements, though it had little in the way of development. Instead, it was formed into a sort of courtyard, with a fountain in the middle that had a beacon of light shining at the top. Water, the purest anyone had ever seen, flowed from the structure and into small paths lining the floor, granting a faint luminescence to the area.

Along the stone columns that fenced the edges, the Dark Lord, Arturia, silently stood watch over the land. She was clad in a heavy black cloak that encompassed her whole being, stopping just short of her metal boots. Her head was free as well, allowing her lustrous black hair to flow down, almost blending in with her black cloak.

No one truly understood what it was that transformed her so. Karla had some idea, though it was merely hypothesis in the end. Arturia once spoke of a poison that people called "Element Blue" which carried over from another world, sentient and virulent in nature. Its hold over her had been almost completely severed after whatever happened in long forgotten Anor Londo, to which Karla sensed a lingering vestige in her when next she visited Firelink Shrine before the changes took a greater leap. 

Height and size were always signs of power in this world, but her change wasn't solely there in that her very composition had warped... or perhaps phased. Little wonder to Karla then that while she made her inner observations as the two slept after their consummation, something else observed her in turn. It had been faint, but it felt like that lingering vestige of the poison, only different. Sentient and virulent yes, but warmer than before. Its nature though... 

"Sentient planet which is the source of all Phazon..." Karla muttered to herself, eyes looking up at the dark sky. "Darkness coming."

A single black crow stood on her shoulder, nuzzling its head against her hair. Its head darted to the new arrival when it heard her footsteps and cawed once, flying away to wherever it made its nest.

"My Lord." Karla greeted as she approached.

"Karla, we are old friends." Arturia's voice drawled through the breeze. "I do wish you would call me by my name, especially when we are alone."

She turned, and Karla nervously smiled underneath her big hat at the sight of those black eyes with a purple shine around the irises. Once more, she was reminded of the difference in size between them, the twelve foot tall monarch bending over slightly to look at her properly. Her expression was blank, devoid of emotion as she stared down at the Court Mage.

"Karla." Arturia repeated.

Karla smirked and opened her palms, pointing them downward as she willed forth power to levitate herself into the air, rising up to meet Arturia nose to nose. Her hands cupped the woman's face as she pecked her lightly on the lips, lingering when the other deepened the kiss between them.

"Arturia." Karla whispered when they pulled back.

The taller woman chuckled at her response before straightening back up. The small smile she had disappeared as she looked into the distance, and Karla followed her gaze while floating up to her side. Beyond Londor's territories, beyond the Deep's oceans covering land that wasn't elevated enough. To the massive, golden tree that stood tall in the distance with all the other Archtrees.

No one knew what kind of tree it was, no one even knew where it came from. Not even Arturia. The only thing that anyone knew was that despite the light it emitted, it was neither malignant in nature or beneficial by any means. It simply was.

Another point of interest for Karla and her Covenant to study.

"We must always be vigilant, from here on out." Arturia broke her train of thought, surprising Karla momentarily. "Until the end of time. Even with the Deep covering as much territory as it does, we cannot allow another First Flame to exist in this world. No Lords to reincarnate. Not another Gwyn. Not another string of linking the Fire."

"Of course."

"Are you prepared for this level of dedication?"

Karla grasped at Arturia's hand with her own, gently kissing her cheek before wrapping her arms around the woman's neck. The monarch wrapped her own arms around the lithe woman's body and lightly pulled her close.

"Always."

"Then stay with me here, for just a while longer."

True End.