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Dark Soles

Chapter 4

Sponsored by Rickochet

By Draconicon

Cilwein shook her head at the Hollows just outside the fallen door that functioned as the bridge between her latest resting place and the top of Undead Burg's wall. They were both dead, their throats pierced with her arrows, and yet, she had the horrible feeling that if she were to take her arrows back, they would rise again. The first Flame had abandoned them, and even the essence of others would not be enough to bring them back. The only thing for them was total extermination, much as it grieved her to think that.

The white wolf shook her head, turning back to the bonfire. As she had at the shrine, she extended her hand and the fires leaped up to meet her. Even knowing that they would not harm her, she still flinched as the tongues of flame reached out for her fingers, only releasing that tension when the flames withdrew.

"Another fire claimed...Another place to rest..."

She looked over her shoulder. The fires were strange places, both capable of filling her Estus Flasks again and breathing some life into the world in their own strange ways. She could feel it in the air around her, the twisting, curling, burning warmth that was ever so similar to the feeling she'd had when the Asylum Demon had died and she'd gained her body back. The lack of pain, the beginning of life again: the bonfire poured that off in waves.

If she sat down, she didn't know what it would do to the world around her, and she was reluctant to find out after fighting so hard to get here, particularly with...

Cilwein leaned out the stone archway, looking up the path towards the high bridge that circled back over the town. Somewhere up there was a great scaly beast that breathed fire, and she had little doubt that it would be a problem further on. It had cleared her path, but that had been incidental, a means of clearing its own territory of the pests that had infested it. Of that, she had no doubt. It would kill her just as easily if it perceived her as intruding on its territory.

For now, though, she was safe. For now, she had cover and concealment, and for a hunter, that was all they needed.

She would have to test the bonfire, she decided, but first, she would take a moment to check her wounds and herself.

The white wolf leaned her bow against the stone wall to her right before reaching behind her back. The ties that ran up her spine holding the leather armor she'd looted came undone easily enough, and she groaned as it opened almost like a corset. The leather sagged in the front, and she let it fall. Her cloth shirt came next, and she laid it on the ground, shaking her head as she stood up again.

She ran her hands over her stomach and chest, feeling at the red spots that were left behind. One had been from an arrow-hole just above her navel, one of her first deaths once the curse had been laid on her. She stroked her pointer finger over it, almost feeling the depression that was no longer there, and she shivered as she had the ghostly feeling of being penetrated, broken, oozing through her stomach wall once more. The burning acid of her own guts eating her from the inside had been a painful way to die.

Further up, another pair of red dots waited. An archer that had been sent to hunt her at the orders of the great lords of the east, who had managed to catch her by surprise with a two-arrow shot. They had slipped between her rips, just under her left breast, and she took a deep breath as she pressed down on those spots. The memory followed of her air wheezing out, no matter how hard she struggled to breathe in, never quite able to fill her lungs.

There were other wounds, too, but few of them. One knife-thrust between her ribs, just under the bones, curving up towards her heart. A cut along her thigh from a beast that had gotten too close and too lucky, and one -

She stopped herself, shaking her head. The blood spots remained, but the wounds were gone. Only memories were left, and those memories were, by and large, best left in the shadows of the mind.

Her hands came up again, holding her breasts and letting them rest against the palms of her hands. They were...heavy, she supposed. Heavier than she often remembered, considering how they were often wrapped up and supported, even during her sleeps and bathing times. They were not exposed for this long, normally.

She didn't mind it, in truth, but it was inconvenient. She felt less mobile, less able to turn and move and creep and track as quickly as she would like. Cilwein shook her head, reaching for her clothing and dressed quickly.

It was time to test.

The wolfess sat down at the fire, extending her legs to get comfortable. She had yet to rest at them, but she remembered waking up after the first death to the Asylum Demon, how she had been splattered and then woke with her eyes on the fire, the heat fading from her fingers as if she had been crafted from the flames once more. She focused on the heat and closed her eyes.

A deep, resonant ringing sound filled the air, like a tolling bell, except that it was deeper and further within than any echoing church chime. She felt it rolling through her chest cavity, expanding and filling her with...something. It made her feel like a fire had been set within her, a blaze that threatened to expand until it consumed her entirely, only to suddenly shift and fade, leaving her and spreading out through the earth and air around her.

Cilwein opened her eyes and turned, looking out the archway again. The Hollows had returned, both the crossbowman at the top of the stairs and the lumbering swordsman that patrolled up and down the rocky steps.

Her prey could return, it seemed, but so could she. The bonfires had a power, one that drew life into the world even as darkness threatened to take it. She wondered, for but a moment, if the fires could be set throughout the world, in her homeland as well as here in Lordran.

Then the Hollows turned, and she had to lunge for her bow. It was time to hunt, again.

#

She felt stronger after the Hollows were dead. Every time she plinked one with an arrow, only to bury another in a weak point, she felt something surge towards her, filling her, changing her. It rested somewhere beneath the Darksign on her chest, something that burned and echoed with power and fury. It would come in useful somewhere, she was sure, somewhere that could put it towards a different purpose.

But with the Hollows dead, she was low on ammunition. Her bow was only useful so long as it had arrows to cast towards her enemies, and she had used up most of hers.

The wolf looked over her shoulder. A long bridge led to a tower-house, which connected in turn to a series of steps up and out of sight. That was her destination, eventually, but she didn't like the looks of that path. There were more Hollows on the heights, and when she narrowed her eyes at them, she could make out the hissing of flames in their hands. They carried firebombs, waiting to blow up anyone that tried to make their way across the bridge.

And that meant that she needed more arrows.

Remembering a trapdoor she'd spotted behind some crates, she walked back down the stairs, picking her way between the bodies. Here and there, she spotted still-usable armor on the Hollows that she'd killed, and she picked them up, carrying them over her shoulder. She kept her eyes out for anything that might useful for boots or footwear, but none seemed forthcoming.

Descending into the lower room, she heard the scritch-scritch of a weapon and Hollow hiding somewhere out of sight. The wolf paused, then tossed one of the helmets she carried off to the side.

CRASH!

The set of shelves at the far end of the room came crashing down, and an axe-wielding Hollow rushed screaming from behind it. Cilwein had her bow up and the arrow nocked before he was halfway across the room, and he made it no further than that.

As he slumped down, the warmth of the now-familiar surge followed, and she shook her head. That had been her last arrow; she needed to find more soon.

She followed her path, leaving the stairs and stepping out to the balcony. If nothing else, she might find -

"Oh-ho. A customer, are we?"

She was turning and reaching for arrows that weren't there before she could stop herself, only to find herself staring at a hyena on a spread-out rug, wares of all sorts on display. She blinked.

"...Who are you?" Cilwein asked.

"A merchant, of course, of course. Just a simple man, trying to make my way in the world."

"Here? In a place struck by Undeath?"

"Oh, there's always a profit to be made. At least, when you're dealing in the right currency."

"And what would that be?"

"Souls, dearie, souls."

"...Souls?"

"Yes, yes. The currency of death, the currency of power. Oh, do tell me you have some to spend..."

Cilwein hesitated, the madness of the hyena telling her that it would be best to leave, or perhaps to give him some mercy. Yet, even as she considered her knife, she saw something that kept her from drawing it.

In a pot that sat next to the robed hyena, a sword hilt was just barely visible. It was a sword that had the same curve as the blades of her homeland, and more, the hyena sat in such a way that he could reach for it, if needed. He showed no fear, and as she opened herself to the possibilities, to the world, she could see red.

Red pools lay all around him, and the ghosts of others that had fallen could be seen through them. They fell, cut in the same place every time: right through the side of the neck with a quick-draw.

"...You are not from here," she said.

"Oh, no, no, not at all. But neither are you. But enough chit-chat. Buy something, will you?"

"And how...would I give you souls?"

"From the sign, of course. You burn with it...I can smell the souls from here."

The wolfess hesitated for a moment, but knew that she could get no further without help of some sort. And if she did die...well, she had a few deaths before she would be in true danger. She stepped forward, slowly pulling at her armor until the top edge of the Darksign was visible, her fur stained with sweat from running and leaping about.

"Ahhhh, yessssss."

The merchant leaned in, his eyes staring flush at the Darksign. If anyone else had looked at her like that, she would have assumed that their purposes were nothing but perverted, but there was greed in the hyena's eyes, not lust. He chuckled to himself, sitting back down after getting a good look.

"Yes...You have many souls..."

"How many? How can you tell?" she asked.

"Mmm, enough. A few thousand, I'd say, perhaps as much as ten."

Ten. Ten thousand. That felt...almost right, she had to admit, though she could not have said how. She held her hand to the sign again, wondering how many the Hollows she had slain had killed, how much they had held over time, and what she had taken from them while slaughtering them for her own safety.

"Here...come and look at my wares..."

He spread out many things. Weapons, arrows, armor, and more. There was much to choose from.

Cilwein, however, had little need for greater armor, and the boots that he offered were of chain and steel, too heavy for her to wear and keep her mobility. Instead, she laid out her souls, giving him the cost of another seventy arrows, a second quiver, and most importantly, repair dust.

"Ah, you tend to your own weapons?" he asked.

"I don't trust them not to break."

"Good. Trust your skills rather than your world. It will serve you well."

She nodded, turning to leave.

"Oh, that's all?" he asked. "Cheapskate."

"I'll remember you. If I need more, I will return."

"Oh, you will. You will. Hopefully sane, heheheheheh."

She hunted, and returned again, and hunted once more. It became a ritual, and she knew that she was circling the same area again and again, seeking any hidden treasures that would give her an advantage over those that waited. After the third loop, she knew that there was no more to find. She sat down at the bonfire once more, resting after losing her Estus Flasks -

And as soon as she did, she felt it. The fire burned, and she could almost see the souls that she had earned. They glittered and shimmered, gems broken down to dust so fine that it was like smoke, yet glittering in a way that no cloud could.

It surrounded her, filled her, and burned with the fire before her. And as she pushed at it, the fire consumed them in part, and she gasped as it surged through her in return. Her arms, stronger. Her legs, faster. Her eyes, keener.

Cilwein jerked back, and the feelings faded, though they didn't disappear entirely. She stared at the blaze, the realization stark in contrast to the flickering light and shadow around it.

The bonfire fed on souls, and strengthened those that fed it. It had just made her stronger, and it would do so again, for a sufficient price.

Who was she paying for the strength?

What profited from the exchange?

There was no clear answer, just like there was no answer as to how the bonfires were bringing the Hollows back when they should have been dead forever, yet here she was. Stronger. Better than she had been.

Cilwein looked at the fire, and then at her hands. She could feel the new strength behind her fingers. This...

Much as she hadn't wanted this, she knew that it could be enough to get her through to the next area. A little bit of speed, a little more stamina, something to keep her moving when exhaustion wanted her gone: it added up. The hunter in her knew that the end result of any hunt was not down to overwhelming might, but timing, and the ability to keep going. The hunter that could be outlasted was the hunter that would lose.

And she could outlast them for longer, now.

The white wolf nodded to herself, getting to her feet with bow in hand. Even as she nocked the arrow, tracking the Hollow coming up the stairs, she could feel the ease of holding the string back. The tension that had made her arms ache no longer dead, and that? That meant that things were different.

Snikt.

Snikt.

Two shots, two deaths. The Hollows fell, and she started running.

On the rooftops and towers, the other Hollows saw her, the ragged creatures shagged yet covered in bald patches turning to face her. Their limbs, stick-thin and yet still possessed of strength to harm, pulled back and threw their payloads. Fiery bottles of explosive liquids hit the ground, shattering and burning the path behind her.

Snikt.

Snikt.

Two more dead, and she turned as an armored Hollow started charging down the bridge at her. Two arrows, one over the other, a trick shot that she'd learned from the same archer that killed her.

Snikt.

They split, hitting the Hollow between the eyes. He went down, and she leaped over his body. Another explosion shook the bridge behind her, and she was forced to leap and roll, coming to a rolling halt in the covered room of the next tower.

Two Hollows like the ones she'd been killing looked up at her, one already standing up and the other getting off his ass. They were armed with axes, and they were not happy.

Five minutes ago, that run would have left her panting, exhausted, ready to sit and rest for a few minutes. Now, she could still feel the rush, the excitement, everything that she needed to keep going. She was stronger.

The wolf smiled, rolling and drawing her bow once more.

She was down to thirty arrows from her original seventy, but she had cleared the path from the bridge tower to the stairs that led to her destination. She looked up at it, shaking her head as she saw two more Hollows waiting for her in the doorway. They hadn't bothered looking down yet, but once she climbed the steps, they'd see her.

Yet, there was a second passage. The wolfess turned to the stairs going down. There was no telling whether they'd continue down a straight passage that led to nothing, or if they would turn and go back up and around, or if there was anything down the passage at all. Yet, if it had a chance of helping her avoid further combat and letting her keep more of her arrows, it was worth a try.

Descending the stone steps, she tried to put some speed to her progress, but no sooner had she hit the bottom of the steps than she stopped dead in her tracks.

A black-armored knight stood at the far end of the tunnel, and he had his back to her. She was grateful beyond words for that, for he was taller than her by a head, and his weapon was nearly the size of her torso, broad and heavier than any normal man might have lifted.

He was a Black Knight, a legendary figure even as far off as her homeland. They were warriors that had fought to the bitter end, working to preserve the Flame and stave off chaos and darkness, yet for all their cause, they were not holy. They were dangerous, powerful, things that had become less figureheads of order and more creatures of death and destruction, laying into anything that they believed could be a threat to their cause.

The Darksign on her chest would label her one such threat, and she knew that she would be far better off anywhere but here. Cilwein took a step back, and her carelessness betrayed her as she slipped on her heel.

The knight turned at the sound of her bow clattering against the stone railing to her side, and he stalked toward her, one hand pulling his blade free, and the other holding a shield.

"...Not...what I had in mind..."

Cilwein stumbled backwards up the steps, fumbling with her bow. The Asylum Demon had been dangerous, but this creature was something else. The Black Knights had fought demons, slain them again and again. His armor gleamed, and his pace was slowly getting faster and faster as he came for her.

She finally drew an arrow and loosed it, only for the knight to block it. The arrow bounced off his shield as he reached the base of the steps and she reached the top.

"Damn..."

Shaking her head, she knew that there was no way that she could leave him behind her. She had to find a way to kill him, and fast. The wolfess kept backing up, nocking another arrow as she tried to keep everything in mind at once. The wind, the terrain, how uneven the steps were, how the sixth and first step on the last staircase were loose and might send her tumbling if she caught them the wrong way: they were all things that she had to know if she was going to -

He charged up the stairs, and she almost host her head. He swung for her head and she rolled to dodge, only for him to follow it up with a downwards cut. The tip raked her shoulder before she was able to keep moving, and she felt something pop along her back.

There was no time to worry about what it was, and she kept running, docking, weaving, throwing herself to the side to avoid the controlled swipes of his sword. Each swing was perfect; no wasted motion, never a frantic chop. It was discipline incarnate, and she was not trained to fight someone so controlled.

But she could keep out of his reach.

Back, back, back she dodged, going up the steps and back to a secondary tower, and the knight followed. His eyes were like fire through the holes in his helmet, and Cilwein wondered if he had fought chaos and shadow, or if he had become it.

She had no time to think on it. Another chop nearly took her bow from her hands, and any closer would have cut the string. Up, back, up, back up the stairs, making him chase her around the rounded corridor leading up. She had one chance, and she had to take advantage of it, but that torn feeling was getting worse, something getting looser and looser behind her. Whatever it was, she'd have to deal with it later.

The stairs fell away behind her, and she knew she was at the top of the tower. Cilwein leaped to her feet, fingers pulling two arrows from her quiver as she did. All the rolling and retreating had gained her some precious few paces, and it would have to be enough. She lowered her bow, guessing where the knight's head would be where he came around the corner. Lifting it by a half-inch, she loosed at the first sign of movement.

One arrow clanged off his helmet.

The other went through the eye-hole.

With a surprising lack of drama, he fell backwards, hitting the side of the tower staircase, and went still. She panted for breath, half-expecting him to get back up, and her hands shook for the first time in years. This prey had almost been too much for her, nearly reversing the hunt.

And...

She felt alive.

She was alive.

"...The difference between the Undead and the living. The Undead have less to lose."

Shaking her head, she sat down on the stones, knowing she needed a moment to rest. Anything else would just be -

RIIIIP!

Cilwein blinked as the tie around her back finally broke, her armor, and then her shirt, falling off. She was effectively topless, and as her breasts fell, sagging slightly and exposed to the sun, she thumped her palms against her forehead.

Archery, it turned out, was a great deal more difficult when you had to account for her breasts being in the way. Oh, it was doable, but Cilwein was still flinching every time she let loose. One slight bit out of position, and the string would not only swing forward against her arm, but against her bare breasts, as well. The fur protected her from the friction burn, but the first time that the string had 'flicked' over her nipple...

Well, suffice to say, she was surprised that every undead in the city hadn't come rushing her position. She had howled, and loudly.

The white wolf shook her head as she climbed to the top of the last tower, a sparkling lizard hoisted on an arrow she held at her side. She was still trying to figure out just what it was when she reached it.

"..."

Cilwein stared with wordless exasperation at the white wall of fog before her, flashbacks to the demon in the Asylum hitting her hard. She leaned forward, thumping her fist against the stone for a moment as she struggled to get control of herself again.

"You beat it once. This is just one more prey. You can handle that. You can handle that."

It was hope, nothing more. Hope, however, had a way of holding one together, and she felt those tremors fading.

"Hold onto your honor...keep what is left of it. You cannot..." She took a deep breath. "You cannot let fear take it."

That helped. Not much, but it helped. For all that she had been sent away from the Eastern Lands with her curse, for all that others had tried to strip her of her honor, she still had some. She still had life, and so long as she had that, she could find a way to get the rest back again. To cleanse herself of the curse, to find out why the Flame had faded, and to bring that back would return her to the rightful place that she had been denied. She held tight to that hope, and refused to let it go.

As she calmed down, the little crystal creature on her arrow finally ceased its squirming, and the gem-like thing on its back came loose. She caught it before it could fall, tossing the arrow and creature away. The glowing gem looked useful, and she put it in her pack hanging from her waist.

She was about to take the fog wall when she caught sight of a white ghost coming up the stairs. A cursory glance confirmed it was someone she knew: Alfar, the knight. Curious, she waited until he arrived, then stepped through.

Holding firm, she called to him as the worlds thinned, and he answered, stepping through to her world. They arrived together on the far side of the fog wall, and the knight...was worse for wear, to put it politely.

His armor had been dented in at the chest, and the various leather straps that held the plate and chain together had been damaged, in some cases cut through before they had been tied together again. More than that, he limped, huffing and puffing as he walked, and he clearly winced as he took a step too far. She cocked her head to the side at the way that he moved more gingerly in far too familiar a fashion.

"Something large caught you."

"...Yes."

"And abused you."

"Abused, molested, and worse. I intend to pay it back in kind," the black cat said, shaking his head and hefting his sword. "It lives on this bridge...but it may not know me in this world."

"Not to the extent it does in yours." She sighed. "Sorry. That was unkind."

"No less true for that."

"Where does it come from?"

"Over the tower at the end of the bridge," he said, pointing down the long battlement to the next tower in line. "Once we make it to the halfway point, it jumps to the top, then down to meet us."

Cilwein nodded. One ear twitched as it caught the sound of something scuffing away.

"There are more than the beast."

"Right. Two archers overhead. How did you -"

"I heard them."

"We should take care of that."

"Yes. And then the beast."

"I will -"

"We should kill the archers together, and then concoct a proper plan for whatever lies across the tower. Your revenge shall be had, but hopefully without you paying the cost a second time."

"Third."

"...We shall ensure that it dies horribly."

Dealing with the archers on top of the tower was easy. They were unaware of her and Alfar's presence, and as it was even numbers, the Hollows fell without issue. She took their arrows, considering their options. As Alfar stood waiting, she leaned over the edge of the tower, looking down at the battlements.

"How swift is the beast?"

"Not particularly. It seems more strong and sturdy than quick."

"Could I outrun it?"

"Easily, but there's nowhere to go."

"Except back here."

"...You think that we could surprise it?"

"I think that there's the possibility. If I can lead it to you -"

"What if you get caught?"

"I best not."

Before the cat could stop her, she left her bow on the tower and leaped down. The impact wouldn't have been a problem, normally, but her still bare breasts left her off-balance, tumbling forward by half a step before she caught herself. Shaking her head in frustration, she began the long walk from one tower to another, keeping her eyes on the heights.

At least that cat is a respectful one. There are others that would have stared long and hard.

The wolfess was equally grateful that he hadn't asked her what the red marks were from. Those were things better left -

She heard the passage of air before the first thump, and saw the beast on the heights. It was big, alright, not quite so tall as the Asylum Demon, but half again her height at the very least. It carried a massive axe and wore little, and she could see what had caused the cat to limp; an enormous shaft hung past its loincloth, and it was slowly rising, threatening her with the same fate that Alfar had suffered twice.

It leaped again, and she turned, running as fast as her legs could carry her. She looked over her shoulder, saw that it was keeping to a slow advance, its axe covering the battlements from one side to the other, and realized what it was doing. It was herding her towards the tower. Was it intelligent enough to rely on the archers, she wondered, or was it just barely smart enough to actually keep her from running the other way?

Either way, she slowed down, turning to back up towards the tower rather than run toward it. She made herself breathe slower, to take it quietly. Swing, swing, swing went that pendulum of a cock, and she gritted her teeth as she realized just what it wanted to do to her. The same thing that a number of brigands had tried, once, but they hadn't been so large or dangerous as this.

She was trusting Alfar to come to her rescue. She hoped that he'd prove worthy of that trust.

She had just backed up to the steps leading to the fog wall, felt the stones against her bare heels, when the cat jumped. The demon stopped, the bull looking up just in time to take a sword straight to the forehead.

Even as it screamed, Cilwein could tell that it wasn't dead. Too much life left in that roar, too much anger at the pain. The white wolf leaped to the ladder, climbing it as fast as her hands could drag her along. Up, up, up, even as Alfar fell to the stones below. He was shouting, swinging his blade as the beast pressed a hand to its wound, but it wouldn't last long. She had to get up there.

She reached the top of the tower, glanced at her bow, but knew it wouldn't be enough. Not against something that thick-skinned. One of the Hollows had carried a shortsword, and she decided that would have to do. Snagging it, she took a few steps back to get a running start, then threw herself off the edge.

The bull demon had its axe in the air as she came down, and it was so fixated on Alfar that it didn't even see her until she buried the blade in its eye socket. It froze, gurgled, and fell backwards.

As it came crashing down, the same soul-warmth that she had become so familiar with hit her, stronger, more fulsome than ever before. She shivered as it was absorbed right into the Darksign, and she swore that it swelled with heat and light between her breasts.

"That...is why you always...go for the eyes."

Alfar rushed to her, offering her a hand, but Cilwein could only think of the warmth of the mark and what it meant. Why did it accept the souls of others so readily? Why did it make her stronger?

And why couldn't it be that easy to get her honor back?

The End

Summary: Cilwein is the focus point this time, the huntress wolf making her way through the grounds of Undead Burg, and learning more about the soul and the Darksign.

Tags: F/solo, Nudity, Exhibitionism, Wolf, Cat, Knight, Black Knight, Taurus Demon, Dark Souls, Parody, Big Dick,