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Dark Soles

Chapter 7

Sponsored by Rikochet

By Draconicon

Cilwein bowed to the master smith as he returned her bow. Even with her more amateur eye, she could see that it had been improved; the bow sprang at her touch, and there was a greater draw to her pull, more power behind the string. It was worth the exchange of Titanite and souls, regardless of the other implications behind the bargain.

"Don't go getting yourself killed. Neither of us wants to see you go Hollow," Andre muttered.

"I have no plans to die. Not again."

"Heh, none of us plan to die. We just...do."

"Eventually, perhaps. But not today."

"Fair luck to ya, then."

He bowed his head and went back to smithing, and the white wolf turned her attention back to the stairs. For as much as the path down and out called to her curiosity, her sense of purpose drew her back to the upper levels, and further, to the Parish that looked over everything above them.

She made her way up, stopping at the bonfire that was the main feature of the middle floor. A glance down the pathway to the closed gate was all she spared before she sat down, reaching out and feeling the bonfire reach back for her. The flames seared her hand, but not in pain. It reached through her blood, burning like a fever that blessed her rather than harmed her.

The fire was strong.

The Fire was stronger.

Slowly, she felt the world turn. There was life again, a gift of it that returned to the Undead and the Hollows alike above. It reached through her, seizing on her soul - what was left of it - and it burned through the Darksign on her chest.

Every time that she sat at the bonfires, she hoped that the burning would sear that symbol rom her. At the very least, she hoped that it would burn it away and leave her with nothing but a scar, even if it didn't return her to normal. Every time that she looked down and saw that it was still there, a small part of her felt like dying.

What honor is there in coming back? she wondered. What honor is there when all you do is come back to see your failure, again, and again, and again?

She let her clothes fall, the armor that she'd taken from the various Hollows slipping along her arms, her shoulders, her chest, until she was bare from the waist up. The little red holes still showed through her fur, the scars where she had died staining her fur seemingly for the rest of her life. She touched each one, remembering the feeling of the arrows of her people stabbing through her, killing her, subduing her for the trip to the Asylum.

She had made a mistake, a horrible one, and lost her honor. Death, the one way that she had imagined she could get it back, was denied her.

...But if I cannot die...

Then it was up to her to do something that mortals could not do. She could do no less if she wanted to return to who she used to be. She might never return home, but she could at least leave a legacy beyond what she had.

She covered her breasts, feeling a twitch down below. It shouldn't be happening, not with the discipline that she'd held herself to for so long, but she supposed that as lift went to all the other parts of her, there was one other piece that needed attention, too. She shook her head, reaching for her armor -

A slight glow caught her attention. A white line in the air above the ground, tracing itself bigger, more obvious. She cocked her head to the side as it eventually formed something more distinct, more readable.

Need company?

It was a simple thing, yet impossible in its simplicity. Cilwein hesitated, then buckled her armor back on, covering herself up before touching the words.

No sooner had she touched it than the world warped around her. She wasn't sure if she moved or the world did, but something changed, and -

And then the otter from the Asylum sat at her side.

"Whoa. That was something else," he said, looking around. "Looks different here than where I was."

"...Brychan, correct?" Cilwein asked.

"Yep, that's me," the otter said, leaning back and extending his legs towards the bonfire. Webbed toes scrunched and curled as he popped his neck from side to side. "Ah, that's better. Never quite feels right to sit around a campfire without someone else around."

"And that someone else happened to be me?"

"Well, whoever touched the sign, at least, heh. Was thinking of inviting one of the Hollows to join me."

"You are suicidal."

"You'd think that, but, uh, you'd be wrong. My world's all kinds of strange. Fun, though."

"...Fun?"

Of all the words to describe Lordran, 'fun' was perhaps the furthest down the list of any of them. Cilwein could not imagine anyone describing what had happened to their world at the withdrawal of Fire to be enjoyable in the slightest. The constant danger, the death and destruction, the pain and the horrors of the world could not - and certainly should not - have been fun for anyone. And yet, she didn't hear a lie in the otter's voice.

"What is different about your world?"

"Oh, story-time?"

"...If you care to share."

"Well, I don't mind. Heh. Kind of the purpose of sitting around the campfire, isn't it? To share stories of your life and the things you've seen."

She wondered if all creatures from Catarina were so gregarious as this thief seemed to be. As she made sure she knew where all her belongings were - just in case this was some ruse - the otter pulled his legs in close again, folding them and resting his legs so his soles pointed up and his hands rested on his knees. He took a deep breath, then spoke.

"In my journeys through the Burg and Bridge, across the land claimed only by the Undead, I have seen many things. I have seen battles and corpses, the dead and the dying. I have seen suffering, yes, and I have seen so much more.

"But of all the things that I have seen, nothing has astonished me more than the Black Flame."

"What...what is that?" she asked.

The otter looked at her, and it was like looking at someone else. In that moment, the otter's personality had changed, as if he had taken on someone else's voice. He sat up straight, like some elder of authority from her homeland, and his story continued.

"In pockets of the world still burns the flames of ambition, the desire to live. Here, there, where shadows lie, where the light of the gods did not scour it away, lay the power of the ancient dragons, ancient spirits, and things from the primal times. There, in that hiding place, grew power, power that would defy the end of the Age of Fire.

"I saw, as I journeyed from the Asylum, Undead that had embraced this power, that bore the mark of a Dark Sole upon their chests, and as they lay together in worship, in carnal understanding, they created something that I had never seen before. A Black Flame that writhed and twisted beneath them, yet at its touch, scoured away the curse of the Undead and the Undying. Their flesh became whole, their eyes alight with true understanding of the world, and so long as they sought pleasure, they were whole.

"I watched them from afar, unable to believe what I saw, and more than once, the Undead and the writhing Hollows called to me, bidding me to take my place amongst them. I listened, I heard, and I was tempted. I craved the touch of another, the feeling of life against my body, but I resisted, knowing that this was not my place. Not yet.

"And so, journeying through the Burg and Bridge, under the Perilous Perish and among the knights and the dying, I have seen such things. The Black Flame, where it burns, brings a life of its own, something strange and twisted, and yet...appealing...

"That is what I have seen, and that is what makes the world...fun."

And as the otter reached the end of his story, he sagged down, almost as if he had lost something. He shook his head, and when he opened his eyes, he was himself once more, smiling and chuckling.

"Heh, how was that?"

"...What...did you..."

"Oh, that? That's a story-telling trick that I picked up a while back. Everyone's more likely to listen with more attention when you sound all wise and knowing. It's part of keeping their eyes off their possessions."

"..."

"True story, though." He grunted as he stretched his legs out again. "Been seeing orgies all up and down Lordran while getting here, and that Black Flame is something else. I watched a Hollow become something almost like us while they were taking part."

"...While they were taking part. Then it wore off, afterward?"

"Eventually, yeah. I guess that the fire needs fuel."

Cilwein nodded to herself, tapping her chin as she thought it through. The idea that some debauchery could restore Humanity and thought to a Hollow seemed wishful thinking at the very best, but there seemed to be something to it that struck a chord for her. Perhaps there was something there, something that she might tap and understand for her own purposes. Perhaps -

"You think that you'd like to have some fun?" Brychan asked.

She blinked, drawn back from her thoughts as she slowly turned her head back to the otter.

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Hey, hey, just asking. Heh. Just a bit horned up after seeing all that sex and not getting the chance to have some fun with it."

"I'm sure. But I am not here for that sort of company."

"No, no, guess you're not. Well..." The otter leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Maybe I'll give it a shot next time I get a little spare humanity. See what the black stuff does to you. Been a while since I had that kind of fun with someone. Since I felt that close to anyone, really."

She didn't say anything. Much as she would have judged another for just throwing themselves into a pile of flesh and lust, she could not say that it wasn't an understandable feeling after being in the Asylum for so long. The touch of another was...comforting, even if it wasn't always sensual.

What would it feel like...to feel...alive...

Even this Humanity was a pale semblance of the raw richness of true life, she imagined. Yes, they were no longer in pain, no longer seared from head to toe with the fires of Undeath, but they were still Undead. They were still one step away from going back to that.

What would true life feel like?

What would it be like to have the Darksign gone?

Such questions were rife with horror for the cost that would surely come with it; she had already lost her honor once. It seemed foolish to think of something that might cost her yet more of it. She shook her head, putting the thought to the side. For now, it wasn't as if she had an option; the darkness was not here, not in her world. It was likely a unique feature of Brychan's, and she doubted that she would see it without going there.

And she had no intention of doing that. Not while she had a chance to break through here.

"So, what are you going to do now?" he asked.

"Once I have finished calming myself, I intend to go to the church rooftops."

"Heh, you think the bell's up there?"

"I do. There is little chance that it is in the fortress across the bridge; I imagine that the bell may be something that opens it."

"Above and below..." Brychan shook his head. "They don't make it easy for us, do they? All this work just to get an audience on the other side...Must really not be that fond of guests."

"Likely not." Cilwein shuffled her legs, getting them under her before getting to her feet. "Would you care to join me?"

"Eh, might as well get a look at what's in the church, sure."

"What is your weapon of choice?"

The otter smiled, reaching for his hip. A rapier, needle-thin and almost invisible, slid from his sheath. Cilwein nodded; that would do.

#

They worked in tandem as they rushed the stairs to the church. The Undead in the courtyard fell, one arrow for each. As they hit the ground, Brychan laughed and charged over one falling body, the barely-dressed thief kicking himself into the air and spinning over the tower knight that blocked the path to the church proper. Even as he landed on the other side, she heard the ping-ping-ping of his light blade tickling the larger fighter's armor.

"Ha ha, look at me, look at me!"

Were it not a perfect distraction, she would have found him irritating. As it was, it drew the knight's attention from her, his irritation leveled on the otter. As the armored figure turned, she drew her bow further, further, and further still.

A gap at the top of the armor. He will bend, swinging his sword down, lifting the back of his helmet just enough - now.

The arrow flew from her bow just as the tower knight swung his mace down. Bending just enough, his head lowering, the back of the helmet rising. Thunk.

He stiffened and fell. The otter chuckled, thrusting his rapier in the air. He looked a comical figure, wearing a vest of leather and long, silken pants, clearly stolen from others that he had encountered along the way. No armor for that one, just as she had kept very little for herself.

It was almost enough to make her smile. Almost.

"Come on!"

He ran into the church, and she padded along at a brisk walk. She had almost made it to the steps before he ran right back out, throwing himself against the outside of the doorway.

Three sudden blasts of magic against the stone floor and wall told her what he'd retreated from. She took cover herself, looking carefully around the doorframe.

"How many?" she asked.

"One big guy on the second floor with a big staff. Big helmet, too, but not much else; probably no armor."

She narrowed her eyes until she caught the light of his staff. Big, indeed, almost twice her own height and with a helmet that loomed down on everything that it saw. The stranger hopped from one foot to another, swinging his staff around and -

She ducked behind the doorframe as more magic came for them, feeling the thud of it hitting the other side. Stone crumbled and fell in chunks to the church floor, and she shook her head.

"Well...this is problematic."

"Heh, you call it a problem. I call it a challenge," Brychan said, smiling like a fool. "What do you reckon? Think you can hit him?"

"Not when he's aiming for me."

"Well, guess that's my job. How long you need to hit him?"

"Three heartbeats clear shot."

"Mine or yours?"

"Mine."

He reached out and - before she could stop him - pressed his finger to her neck. Three heartbeats later, he groaned and pulled his finger back.

"Oh, man, that's gonna be hard...but if that's what you need, that's what you need. Just, uh, try not to let him kill me? Really don't want to find out how much magic hurts."

"So long as you are not stupid, you will not die." She glanced around the corner again, then back at him. "Do not go further into the church than the area around the altar. There are other Hollows that may see you."

"You mean the big guys by the other door?"

"And one on the stairs."

"Huh. Missed that one. Thanks for the advice."

And thank you for not groping me, she thought, revising her thoughts of the thief. She knew that he would be quick on his feet, but the fact that he knew just where to reach for her pulse and could get to her before she could block him said quite a bit. If he ever turned dangerous, she would have to keep on her toes.

"On three," Brychan said. "One...two...three!"

And he was gone. The otter laughed, throwing himself into a cartwheel. As soon as he was in view, the mage on the second floor started loosing bolts of power, each blast coming nearer and nearer to hitting the otter. They splatted against the stone ground, leaving cracks and blasting out pieces of stone with each impact.

Cilwein, however, had already taken aim.

One heartbeat. She pulled the string back, aiming down her arm at the mage on the second floor. Unaware of her, turning, exposing his side.

Two heartbeats. One arm raised, no protection against a vital shot that would do horrendous damage to anything. She held her breath.

Three heartbeats. The last of the mage's magic came down, and she let go as she breathed out.

Thunk.

Squelch.

Gasp.

The mage tumbled forward, his staff falling from his perch as his body hung half-off the balcony. A little gurgle followed, then he was gone, complete still with one of her arrows lodged in his armpit. Probably had pierced both his lung and his heart with that shot, which would keep him down.

Cilwein nodded to herself, turning to the otter. Brychan had fallen on the altar, laughing.

"Glad that you managed that shot," he said, grunting as he picked himself up. "I would have been too easy a target there."

"Yes, you would have."

"Do you ever lighten up? You just did something amazing."

"It was a standard shot for anyone from my homeland. Archery is a basic skill that we all learn and master."

"...Okay, remembering that you're rather strict and stern. You know, you can be lighter on yourself, right? I don't mind a little discipline, but, uh, there's only so much anyone can take."

"I will know if I take it too far."

"Right...Anyway." The otter chuffed. "I imagine that you could use a little help going up the stairs, what with the tight quarters and everything. Shall we?"

"...Yes. I suppose we shall."

#

Much as she hated to admit it, Cilwein was grateful for the thief's help. Brychan's blade danced as he fenced with the armored knight on the steps, and though he laughed like a fool, the otter was accomplished with the blade. He darted in and out, back and forth, all but leaping from pose to stance to strike. Each move was as calculated as could be, and she admired his form as he put the knight to shame.

When they had cleared the Undead from the base of the ladder leading to the top of the church, she took a step toward it, only for Brychan to pause, his head turned.

"...Huh. There's something over there," he said, nodding toward the far side of the church.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Something...dark. Almost like the stuff I was seeing with the Black Flame, but...I don't know. Not so 'fun.'"

"It can be left, for now."

"...No, I don't think it can," Brychan said, and for the first time, he sounded...serious. She wasn't sure she liked it. "I want to take a look at that."

"As you will," the white wolf said, shaking her head. "I have...appreciated your help, thus far, and...I thank you for it."

"Heh, you're welcome."

"Will you be -"

"I'll be fine." He waved her off. "And besides, I think I can feel - yep, that's the world twisting. I better move before it drops me in the wrong spot. Right, the mage would be right about..."

The otter faded before he finished that sentence, but she put her faith in his skills. She imagined that he would be alright, even if he did end up in the middle of a cluster of Hollows and a caster like that. Now that he was on the same level as the mage, she doubted that his enemies had much chance.

Such a strange fellow...but amicable, I suppose.

She sat down at the bottom of the ladder, resting her bow against her shoulder. For all that Cilwein had enjoyed the chance to be alone since leaving the Asylum, there was something about having a traveling companion that made the fights less...cold. There was an attachment there, more of a reason to fight, more of a reason to succeed than mere honor.

That was not to say that her quest for honor was not compelling, but...it was a distant goal, something that was ephemeral. The quest to stay alive was little more than that, a simple desire that was given meaning by a world that wanted her to be dead and gone, just like the rest of them.

By contrast, to have someone standing beside her, someone that she had come to find...amusing, she supposed, and to know that his life was in her hands as much as her own was? That was more than sufficient to keep her on her toes, to find reason to embrace the situation rather than hold it at bay with her arrows and her skills. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to traveling with others. It would be...intriguing...to find out which of her fellow Undead were still able to entertain her with their company, and which she could not stand.

She glanced around the base of the ladder. A new white message had appeared, though this one was not in Brychan's handwriting. Instead, it seemed to be written far more neatly, with precise lettering and focused penmanship. She leaned over it, reading the simple words:

Need help, please.

It was simple, to the point, and polite. She imagined that it might have been the black cat that she'd helped with the minotaur, or perhaps the cleric. Thinking on it, she supposed it was more likely to be the rabbit. She could tolerate him, at least, and she touched it.

He came with a huff and a shiver, hugging himself. Unlike Brychan, he was still in the raggedy robe that he had worn in the Asylum, and he did not look well. If anything, he looked haggard, almost haunted.

"You have seen things," Cilwein said.

"Who - oh it's you. Oh, thank the gods, it's you," Nero - she remembered his name, vaguely - whispered, covering his face and running his hands down his cheeks. "I was...If it had been him I would have...But it isn't. It's you. Thank you...thank you."

Where Brychan had been light and jovial, the rabbit seemed all but broken. His eyes were drawn tight, and despite his residual Humanity, it was clear that he had been run ragged. Everything about him screamed exhaustion, and more than that, he sounded terrified, broken.

"What did you see?" she asked.

"So many things...so very many things," Nero said. "There's...there's a darkness out there. Worse than the red spirits that invade, worse than the monsters. Or...is it worse? The gods...They would say it is, but they make it feel -"

"What did you see?" Cilwein asked again.

"Creatures. Creatures with darkness embedded on them. Creatures that walk on two legs and whisper about power, power and pleasure, so long as you submit to their ways," Nero said, hugging himself. "The gods would forsake them - would forsake me - if they heard half of what they whispered. They claim that the dragons are still around, or at least, that some of them are. One of them. One great dragon that wields a power of darkness and fire...and who offers...great rewards for those that will submit to him.

"I keep...I keep seeing them. Shadows that appear, shadows going about, claiming everyone that they come across. They pin them, step on them, and something happens in the eyes of those brought low. I keep...I see it...They go from screaming to smiling, and then...then they start moaning..."

Nero was hyper-ventilating, shaking from head to toe, and it was clear as day that he was about to fall over, possibly even faint. The white wolf got to her feet and grabbed him by the shoulder, squeezing until he yelped. It broke his spiel, but stopped him from panting, as well. He looked up at her, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.

"You are not there. You are here."

"...I'm here...I'm here...And...and you haven't seen that? Haven't seen the Black Flame?"

The Black Flame.

That was the same thing that Brychan had been curious about. Her eyes widened, and Nero shook his head.

"Not here. Please, please tell me it's not here."

"It isn't."

But it is where Brychan is...and he's been tempted by it...

And if it was in more than one world, it might eventually come to her. No, not might, but would; fire had a way of spreading, and this one had already touched other worlds. It would come to her, eventually, and when it did...

When it did, she supposed she would have to make a choice. And if what Nero had seen was right, if it was so rampant and powerful as he had seen, then it would be a very different choice than she might have made from what Brychan had told her.

Brychan...whatever you do, try not to be stupid. Please. You are a fool, but I do not wish you to be a dead fool.

"It's not here...it's not here..." Nero whispered.

"No. It is not. But there are other enemies about. The bell is near; can you come with me?"

"The bell...the bell. Yes, the bell. Above." The rabbit nodded, taking a few deep breaths as he gathered himself. "I'll come with you. I know enough magic to keep us both alive up there. The miracles of the gods. They will not forsake us, even with temptation being forced down our throats."

It was an oddly appropriate thing to say, though she didn't let on. She kept her face neutral as she turned to the ladder, putting her hands to the bars and starting her climb.

It was hard not to think about temptation as she climbed, however. The gods were meant to be aspired to, a race that had reached perfection and were the epitome of honor. She had heard the tales of them far and wide, and their power was never to be denied. The fact that they had claimed the world from dragons and used their light to bring the potential out of mortals was meant to inspire others to be like them. So many of her homeland thought such, meditating on how to bring out more of their potential and embody the gods further.

Cilwein's dishonor had come from a simple question. What if they could be inspired, not by the gods, but by each other?

I should not think of it again, she thought. Not when I am already testing my luck. I should think of nothing but regaining my honor. To be better than I was. To be the best that I can be.

The white wolf climbed higher and higher, but the thought of the Black Flame still tickled at the back of her mind. It was common knowledge that the gods had banished and destroyed all dragons. Everyone that had stood against the gods in the past had been struck down. Even Chaos, that source of great and powerful demons, had been contained by their power and kept in the underground.

But if there were still dragons around, even one, then it meant that the gods had lied, and more, it meant that there was something that they had not beaten. It meant that the gods, just as she had once said, were not the epitome of inspiration and idolization. They were fallible, and...

And it meant that there was something out there that she could find. Something that she could hunt. Something she could fight.

And if she won...if she won, she would complete what the gods themselves had never managed. It would bring her honor again.

The Black Flame, though...

Her thoughts were wild as she climbed higher and higher, forcing herself to move quicker to not leave Nero waiting. The Black Flame sounded like it could burn away the Darksign. She had little hope that even the gods could do that, but with the idea that the power of the Black Flame came from a dragon that had survived the purge, that still had the power to defy the gods and step from world to world to bring it with him, that offered a whole different temptation. It offered her the chance to take it, and with it, feel the strength and vitality of true life and mortality once more.

Honor or life...life or honor?

It was a question that she had never imagined asking herself, and yet, here she was, standing at the top of a ladder and offering her hand to a bunny priest as she tried to figure out which of the two she would choose. For the first time, she had a real choice in the matter, so far from home, cast out, already without both.

If I could take just one...which would I take?

For someone that could not die...

For someone that had lost it all...

Which mattered more?

"...There's something waiting out there," Nero said.

Cilwein dragged herself out of her thoughts, turning to the doorway. It was fogged over, just as the door to the Asylum Demon had been. Perhaps there were many doors of this sort in the world, each one hiding powerful enemies behind it to keep Undead like herself and her companion from progressing further.

Regardless, she had come here to ring the bell, and ring the bell she would.

"You said that you could keep us alive," she said, pulling an arrow to her bow. "You keep your magic flowing...and I will keep my arrows flying."

"Of-of course."

"Then come."

She stepped through the fog wall and dropped a couple of feet onto the church rooftop. From there, she could see the courtyard below, the many bodies of the Hollows that had been slain. In the distance, she could see the high mountain that marked their destination. And closer, on the heights...

She saw statues coming to life. The great gargoyle on top of the church was rising up, and it had turned its attention to her already, cracking as it shed its great stone skin.

Cilwein tightened her grip on her bow. It was time to fight.

The End

Summary: Cilwein's turn again, and this time, she gets a bit of a download about some of the dark spirits that people have been seeing.

Tags: Narrated Sex, Orgies, M/M, M/F, Intersex Woman, Wolf, Otter, Rabbit, Dark Souls, Parody, Rule 34, Series, Fighting, Undressing, Scars, Melancholy,