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Glory to my bum ass proofreader: Solare.
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He stood over what was left of Godrick the Grafted and still somehow managed to feel disgust.
The corpse looked less like a fallen lord and more like a butcher's mistake. Limbs hacked away until only two remained, torso skewered through with multiple blades, headless neck a blackened stump. Blood pooled beneath him in a thick, sticky mess, filling cracks between old gravestones.
John stared down at it with a faint curl to his lip.
Even dead, Godrick offended him.
He only became dimly aware of himself once his focus drifted from the corpse.
He was a mess.
Blood and gore had dried on him in layers; Godrick's, soldiers', troll, even his own. It was all caked over torn cloth and bare skin. It dripped sluggishly from his still-draconic right arm, crimson tracking along black and ember-red scales, gathering at clawed fingertips before pattering down onto stone.
Somewhere during the battle, his shirt had simply given up. What was left of his upper clothes hung off him in sad, ragged strips, exposing the hard planes of his chest and stomach. Healing cuts and fresh bruises chased each other across his torso, still smeared with grime and dirt.
And beneath that, ghosting the left side of his ribs and creeping up toward his heart, was the faint, ugly imprint of a burn that no ordinary fire could leave.
The twisted, spiral scar of the Frenzied Flame.
He barely had time to register it before the corpse twitched.
It was small. A little jerk of flesh. But it was enough to snap every eye in the graveyard back to the fallen Demigod.
John's grip tightened on nothing.
Then the runes came.
They burst out of Godrick like someone had split a piñata full of souls. Pale gold motes poured from every inch of him, from his wounds, pores, and even the severed neck. It rose a few inches above the corpse before streaking toward the nearest living anchor.
Johnathan.
They hit him like a warm tidal wave.
He watched his internal counter spike in the corner of his vision, numbers climbing so fast they blurred for a second.
[176,465 Runes Acquired]
A low murmur ran through the graveyard as people realized what they were seeing. Even those who didn't understand what the motes were could feel the weight of it. The power changing hands.
A lifetime's worth of stolen strength and slaughtered victims being tallied and reassigned.
The corpse stilled again for a moment, then something deeper shuddered through it.
The air pressed down around them, heavier by several degrees. The sensation wasn't like dragonfire or storm or raw magic; it was… older, Sacred. Like being inside a temple when someone spoke the true name of a God.
Motes of light, finer than the runes, began rising from the body.
These weren't golden. They were almost colorless at first. Clear, crystalline bits of radiance that bobbed upward in slow spirals, converging above the neck stump. More joined them every heartbeat. They spun together, knitting into a single, coalescing mass of light.
The glow intensified.
It brightened and brightened until everyone instinctively squinted, flinching just a fraction as the afterimages imprinted on their vision.
Even the Minor Erdtree Melina had raised seemed, for a heartbeat, less brilliant in comparison.
The light then gentled.
What floated there was not a sunburst or a sword or some obvious symbol.
It was a rune.
A complex sigil of eldritch geometry formed from thick ribbons of molten greenish gold, hanging in the air like a coin big enough to crush a man. A solid, circular ring anchored the whole thing. It was broad and heavy, more substantial than any other rune John remembered from the game.
From that ring, lines flowed inward and outward at once.
Root-like spokes branched from the inner edge toward an implied center that wasn't actually drawn, while others curled outward along the rim in staggered arcs, like miniature horizons.
There was a sense of anchor to it: like this piece was meant to sit at the very base of something vaster, the foundational lugnut that held more delicate parts in place.
It radiated an almost unbearable sense of belonging, not here, but somewhere else. Like a piece of a crown that wanted desperately to return to its whole.
It was a Great Rune, One of the Shards of the Elden Ring itself.
Someone whimpered. Someone else sank to one knee in involuntary awe. Even hardened veterans of Morne and Stormveil stared at it like villagers seeing the Erdtree for the first time.
John smiled.
For the first time since the heartbeat and the lightning and the screaming, his expression softened into something like simple, honest satisfaction. He let out a slow, shaky sigh and lifted his remaining hand.
His draconic fingers, still wet with blood and his claws dulled by chunks of gore, reached toward the hovering rune.
For a split second, the whole world held its breath.
The Great Rune shivered, then it flared.
Light erupted outward, blinding and pure, swallowing his hand and then his arm, then surging down his shoulder and into his chest in a single, smooth rush. It didn't burn. It sank into him, not like fire, but like being submerged in water made of divinity.
His lungs seized; his knees very nearly buckled.
He staggered back a step and gasped as that vast, slumbering power threaded into him, coiling around his Immortal Heart, whispering of new thresholds and locked doors waiting to be opened later.
[CONGRATULATIONS!]
[One of Eight Shards of the ELDEN RING has been Acquired.]
A weak Tarnished of no renown that had walked out of a buried graveyard not long ago, had just claimed a Demigod's head and the Great Rune bound to his soul.
In less than a week.
If there was anything in this world that could ever be considered "Speedrunning", it would be this.
He didn't get to bask in the moment for long.
[WARNING!]
[Due to the User acquiring a Shard of the ELDEN RING, the System will be undergoing temporary maintenance and will be back shortly.]
'Hmn… Spoken just like a shitty website.' John thought, even as he gasped through the afterglow. 'That Helios guy is such a fucking hack. Who hands out incomplete systems? Useless fucking ROB…'
The irritation was real, but it bounced off the surface of his good mood without denting it.
And he wasn't the only one riding that high.
"My, my~…" Marika purred in his head, sounding entirely too pleased. "Mine Champion, it turns out that even thou canst be somewhat intimidating when angry~!"
He could hear the smirk.
"Though…" she added, and there was honest delight under the tease. "It is quite something to watch thee become that brutal. Thou didst not even hear my voice, it seemeth."
'Ah… Marika!' he winced slightly, flexing his bloody fingers and watching the scales begin to flake away as his mana finally gave up. 'My bad. Kind of… zoned out there.'
The draconic arm dissolved by degrees, scales receding, claws blunting, skin knitting smooth over reforming bones. Fatigue lapped at him; that last descent into the Dragon's lightning had wrung him dry. Fifty seconds of that form, give or take, and his mana pool had gone from "plenty" to "overdrafted."
Then again… he couldn't argue with the results.
"Hardly, mine Champion!" She laughed aloud.
She manifested in front of him a heartbeat later in a shimmer of gold, daintily perching on a cracked tombstone like it was a cushioned throne. She stretched her arms overhead, back arching, hair spilling down her shoulders. She looked… light. Unburdened in a way he'd never quite seen.
Neither could she hide it, apparently.
'Y-You good?' John asked, an imaginary sweatdrop forming in the back of his head. 'You seem… Uncharacteristically joyful.'
She turned her head to him, a big, brilliant smile splitting her face, eyes bright.
"How could I not~?!"
She snapped her fingers and beneath his boots, a fountain of Grace burst into being.
A Site of Grace bloomed out of the stone at his feet, like a spring suddenly finding daylight. He barely had to think about it before he accepted it, letting the anchor latch onto him. Warmth surged up through his soles and into his bones.
The change was instantaneous.
Blood and filth evaporated off him in shimmering motes, leaving clean cloth and skin behind. Cuts closed. Bruises faded from purple to nothing. The threadbare tatters of his upper clothes rewove themselves where they could; the rest simply melted away, leaving his upper body naked besides a loosely hanging coat.
Most importantly, everyone watched as his left arm regrew.
Flesh budded out from the mangled stump like a sprout in fast-forward. Bone twisted into existence, wrapped in muscle, latticed with veins. Skin stretched over it in a smooth, seamless sweep, fingers unfurling at the end like blooming flowers.
Within three seconds, his arm was back.
It was whole, as if it had never been torn off at all.
Gasps rippled outward in a wave.
"You killed that embarrassment to my bloodline in a very, very satisfying manner." Marika said, ticking the praise off on her fingers. "Thou madest sure to educate him of his place and enforced his punishment for daring to raise a hand against mine beloved daughter…"
Her smile widened a notch with each point.
"And last, but certainly not least, thou kept thy promise and recovered one of the shards of my Elden Ring."
He'd seen her tired, bitter, sardonic, quietly vulnerable. This… this outright, unguarded elation was new. It hit him harder than most of Godrick's hits had.
She turned back to him fully, that smile curving into a cheshire grin so full of glee, satisfaction and thinly veiled gratitude that his heart gave a treacherous little skip.
Yep. Totally worth the arm.
She giggled softly, covering her mouth with one hand to hide teeth she absolutely didn't need to hide. Then she jerked her thumb toward the others, waving him away with the other hand like a mother shooing a child toward a party.
"But do not mind me, mine Champion. We shall have ample time to speak later. Go. Address thy… 'unworthy subjects,' comrades, and…" She sing-songed the last phrase with open mischief. "The woman that thou lovest~."
'Y'know what…' John thought, half exasperated, half fond. 'Just because we somehow pulled this botched raid off, I'ma let you have that.'
"Don't care~!" She trilled, her beautiful voice echoing in his head as her form faded from sight, leaving only Grace behind.
Yeah. Marika was in a very good mood.
He turned.
Melina was already approaching.
She wasn't alone; Solaire, Millicent, Rogier, Nepheli, Edgar's troops and Morne's banners all framed the sight. But she was at the front of that little knot of attention, cloak still stirring faintly from the aftermath of her spell, green eye fixed on him.
There was awe there. Respect. And a thin line of fear that had nothing to do with Godrick's corpse anymore and everything to do with the echo of crimson lightning they'd all just lived through.
Some eyes couldn't help that.
Solaire's wasn't one of them; he looked delighted.
Millicent's had nothing but feral pride.
Nepheli's weighed him like a fellow warrior.
Edgar… Edgar looked ready to cry and swear fealty in the same breath.
Melina's gaze flicked from his newly restored arm to his face. She swallowed once, as if banishing the image of it being torn away.
John's expression softened.
"Hey…" He nearly whispered, voice warmer than it had any right to be after everything. "Sorry if I got a little… intense there at the end. He really pissed me off when he went for you."
Color surged into her cheeks so fast it was almost comical.
Her composure, usually so steady, wobbled. Her head dipped, dark hair falling forward to hide part of her face as she stared at his chest instead of his eyes.
"N-No…" She stammered, shaking her head quickly. "I could never be… scared of you, Johnathan."
Her fingers curled in her cloak.
"A-Actually…" She forced herself to look up, eye shimmering with too many feelings at once. "Seeing you get so angry for me… It made me… a little happy…"
Oh.
His smile widened, helpless.
He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug before she could overthink it, one arm wrapping around her shoulders and drawing her in against his chest.
She went stiff for a split second, then melted, arms sliding around his waist in return. She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled deeply. It no longer smelled like blood and smoke, but somehow it still smelled like him.
It was safe.
She smiled where he couldn't see her face.
He let her stay there for a long few heartbeats before easing back, giving her a gentle little nudge so she'd look up at him again.
She did.
His face was right there, unscarred, eyes soft, lips quirking.
The blush came back with reinforcements.
He tipped his head slightly, grin turning teasing.
"So, Princess~…" He said lightly, watching her eye widen at the word. "Do I have permission to kiss you?"
The title hit like a hammer.
Princess.
For a sliver of a moment she was back in that memory, in that village of golden flowers and soft Grace, with her mother's voice calling her those same names. Demigod. Princess. Beloved daughter.
Her heart jumped hard enough to make her chest ache. Her mouth went dry.
She became suddenly, painfully aware that they were surrounded.
Morne soldiers, Stormveil captives, Solaire's bright presence, Millicent's sharp grin, Rogier's wary stare, Nepheli's quiet watchfulness… all of them within earshot. All of them having just watched him turn a Demigod into so much meat.
"R-Really?" She squeaked, flustered. "H-Here, and now of all t-times? C-Can it not… w-wait?"
He leaned in just enough to make it worse, eyes dancing.
"Hm? Why?" he asked. "You embarrassed of me~?"
Her ears went red enough that he almost expected steam.
She ducked her head down, trying to hide behind her hair again.
"Mouuuu~… Stop teasing me…" She muttered, voice small and painfully adorable.
But she pressed closer, just slightly. Her fingers tightened on his coat instead of letting go.
He knew what that meant.
"F-Fine…" She breathed. "Make it quick though…"
He chuckled, and she pouted up at him for it, eye narrowing as she whispered for him to stop being mean and get it over with already.
"Sorry, sorry…" He said, entirely unapologetic.
He cupped her cheek lightly and leaned down.
The kiss wasn't deep. He did her that mercy. Just a firm, warm press of lips for a few seconds, enough for her to feel the steady beat of his heart under his coat and the heat of him against the cool air.
It still left her breathless.
When he pulled back, her pulse was racing almost as hard as it had when she'd been staring down Godrick's charge. Her cheeks burned; her eye shone, bright and a little dazed.
Tension bled out of the graveyard like someone had cut a string.
Soldiers who'd been hovering on the verge of panic or fear or flight exhaled instead. A handful of them actually smiled. The remaining Stormveil men, those who still clung to Godrick's banner, exchanged glances and then, one by one, dropped their weapons and sank to their knees.
By the time Edgar's voice rang out from the ramparts, ordering their surrender in the name of Morne's new alliance, most were only too happy to comply.
Edgar yelled once more about capturing and binding them, then promptly vanished from sight, clearly intending to sprint his way down to the graveyard now that the whole "new lord" situation was very literal.
Millicent sauntered up, Solaire practically beaming beside her, Rogier trailing in their wake with the careful step of a man whose joints had only just stopped screaming.
"Well, that was one hell of a first Great Rune!" Millicent announced, grinning. "And a hell of a romantic kiss, too. Multitasking king."
Melina made a noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a hiss. "Millicent~!"
"Ahaha!" Solaire laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Such displays of affection are heartening! Truly, the sun shines doubly bright upon warriors who fight side by side and love besides!"
Rogier adjusted his hat, doing his level best not to look at either of them.
"Yes, well, congratulations on both the victory and the… ah… bonding." He coughed. "Though perhaps next time we might save the romantic interludes for after we're not standing amidst a mass grave."
Nepheli stood a little apart, axe resting against one shoulder. Her lips quirked, but she remained silent, letting the core group have their moment.
Solaire eventually seemed to remember that he had a question, because he stepped forward again, both hands suddenly closing around John's in a grip that was surprisingly intense.
Even with the helm, John could feel the man's eyes.
They were practically sparkling.
"Friend Johnathan." Solaire said, voice warm and earnest. "That brilliant radiance you drew into yourself, the light that shone when you reached for that sigil… What was it?"
John blinked.
He hadn't expected that to be the thing that snagged Sunbro's attention so deeply. Not the lightning, or the whole "one-armed berserker" section. No. It was the brief, pure flash of Great Rune-ingestion.
He huffed a laugh. "You mean the rune? Why so interested, man? You almost climbed into my chest with that question."
Solaire froze for a moment, realizing belatedly that he was maybe squeezing a bit too hard. He let go like he'd been burned and took a step back, coughing into his fist.
"Forgive me… I fear I… overstepped. It is simply that my purpose in leaving my homeland was…" He straightened, one hand settling on his hip, the other coming to his chest in that familiar pledge. "I came here in search of my very own Sun, my friend. And I must say… that brilliant aurora of power comes as close to what I seek as one might dream."
John's eyes widened a fraction.
He knew, on a meta level, that this was Solaire's ultimate goal. To find his own sun. To become it, in some readings. But hearing the man connect it to a Great Rune's manifestation made his brain hiccup.
Marika hummed softly. "I cannot fault him his fascination. Though I doubt the shards of my Ring are what he truly longs for. Gwyn's 'Sunlight', from what little I know of it, is a wholly different concept."
Melina, recovered enough from her embarrassment to speak again, stepped in with the kind of careful, explanatory tone she used when lecturing him about basic geography.
"I suppose…" She sighed, looking at Solaire. "That Yura only gave you the barest outline."
His helm tilted. "He spoke of 'Shards' and 'Runes,' but not in such detail, no."
"Then allow me."
She moved slightly so more of them could hear, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"There are eight Great Runes we know of." Melina began. "Eight true fragments of the Elden Ring, shattered and scattered when the Ring itself was broken."
She lifted a hand, ticking them off one by one.
"First: the Great Rune of the Grafted, which you just witnessed. Once borne by Godrick the Grafted, now claimed by Johnathan."
"Second: the Great Rune of the Unborn," she continued. "It lies with Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon, within the Academy of Raya Lucaria. Hers is… a peculiar fragment. It is said to govern rebirth and revision rather than raw power."
"Third: the Great Rune of the Starscourge. Held by General Radahn, Scourge of the Stars. He resides, or resided, in Caelid, near Redmane Castle. His strength is tied to gravity and the firmament. Though it is said he held the very stars in check with strength so absolute, some consider him the strongest Demigod."
"Fourth: the Great Rune of the Blasphemous, in the hands of Praetor Rykard upon Mt. Gelmir in Volcano Manor. With the power of the Blasphemous Serpent, he devours the strength of those he kills, feeding gluttonously on suffering and sin."
"Fifth: the Great Rune of the Fell Omen, held by Morgott, king in shadow of Leyndell's thrones. He uses it to guard the Erdtree's base itself. There are rumours that he once even beat General Radahn in honest combat when the Demigod tried invading Lyendell during the Shattering Wars."
"Sixth: the Great Rune of the Lord of Blood, belonging to Mohg. It is said that he hides in some profane palace far beneath the earth, weaving his dynasty of blood."
"Seventh: the Great Rune of the Rot Goddess. It lies with Malenia, Blade of Miquella, upon the Haligtree's roots. If the rumor still holds true. Her speed, dexterity and ferocious swordsmanship make some claim her to be the strongest Demigod, arguing that her battle with Radahn was in her favour or merely a tie."
She hesitated briefly, then lifted an eighth finger.
"And last," she said quietly, "Miquella the Kind. He is described by all who meet him to possesses the wisdom, or the allure, of a god. His Rune slumbers with him, presumed still within his cocoon somewhere near the Haligtree, unbloomed and incomplete."
Solaire listened as if each name were a star being plucked down and placed in his hands.
Rogier, meanwhile, practically vibrated with the mention of one of his idols.
"Rennala…" he murmured. "Bearer of the Full Moon… I must visit the Academy again someday. To speak with her. To see how she has… adapted, in the wake of the Shattering."
Solaire's helm turned vaguely toward the distant, unseen capital. "Morgott… A Shaded King guarding that wondrous tree… ah, to see such a thing with my own eyes. A god-tree so vast, so luminous… It would put Anor Londo's spires to shame."
Nepheli's eyes burned with a different kind of fire.
"I wish to fight Radahn." She said simply. "Scourge of the Stars. They say his raw strength was unmatched among the Demigods. That his conquests shook the very lands. That he followed in Lord Godfrey's footsteps." She smiled, fierce and hungry. "I would pit my axe against his blade, if the chance ever came."
Millicent scratched the side of her neck, lips quirking.
"Malenia." She said with a guarded, complicated look. "Everyone says she never lost a battle. Ever. I want to see if the stories are true."
Melina and John traded a stare at that, both knowing the reason was a little more complicated than "I want a good fight" but neither said anything.
"And you?" Rogier asked, turning to Melina with polite curiosity. "Any Demigod in particular you look forward to meeting?"
Melina crossed her arms, gaze tilting away, the barest hint of pink touching her cheeks again.
"I do not 'look forward' to any of them." She sniffed. "I am simply… performing my duty as Johnathan's Finger Maiden and partner. I will follow him wherever his path leads and attempt to prevent him from getting himself killed in increasingly dramatic ways."
Millicent snorted. "That's so you."
The flush deepened.
"Be silent," she muttered, then promptly deflected. "What about you, Johnathan? Which Shardbearer interests you most?"
He opened his mouth.
The first name that rose on instinct wasn't any of the eight Great Rune bearers. It was a Demigod who had discarded her own flesh, who had traded one fate for another. Ranni, the Witch. Bearer of the Dark Moon, if you wanted to be poetic like Rogier.
Though, he didn't get the chance to say it.
Bootsteps pounded toward them, fast and slightly uneven.
They all turned to see Edgar half-running, half-jogging across the graveyard, hand braced on his lower back as he skidded to a halt a few steps away.
He bent over with a hoarse groan, hands braced on his knees.
"D-Damnit… I'm not getting any younger…" he muttered under his breath. "This is why I wanted Irina to take over soon…"
It was too quiet for most to hear.
But John heard him.
It made his lips twitch as he coughed lightly into his fist. "You alright there, old man?"
Edgar flinched like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he straightened abruptly and bowed at the waist.
"M-My apologies, milord!" He blurted. "You should not have been forced to witness such an unsightly display! I beg your forgiveness for the incompetence of your unworthy subject!"
John physically rocked back from the whiplash.
'Oh god, he's in Demiurge mode…' He thought, somewhere between hysterical laughter and despair.
The others turned to him slowly, Melina and Millicent for once shared the same amused look.
Rogier and Nepheli both slid him the exact same skeptical stare, as if they'd just discovered their friend collected human teeth in his spare time.
"I swear I'm not making him do that!" John defended himself immediately, hands up. "This is not a… weird kink thing. Or a tyrant thing."
Rogier's lips pursed. "Of course not…" he said mildly. "I'm sure he calls himself 'unworthy' entirely of his own volition."
Nepheli folded her arms. "You did accept his fealty." She pointed out. "And now he's calling you 'my lord' loud enough for the dead to hear."
John glanced desperately at Solaire.
The knight scratched his helm. "I am not one to judge another man's ruling practices," he said. "I have never held such a title myself." He paused. "But I did think slightly better of you, friend."
John let out a strangled wheeze, feeling his soul leave his body just a little.
Edgar paled.
"M-My lord, forgive me!" he said rapidly, sweat beading on his brow. "I did not intend to cause you trouble with your companions-!"
He dialled his intensity down a notch, shoulders loosening by sheer effort.
He cleared his throat. "Ahem. Lord Johnathan…" He tried again, more evenly this time. "What would you have us do with the remainder of Godrick's men?"
John latched onto the change of topic like a lifeline.
"Hmn." He tapped his chin. "Grab them all for now. Separate out the ones who are willing to join us from the ones still loyal to Godrick, if any of those exist after that show. Help the innocents where you can, and… clean up the truly rotten. I'll leave the sorting to your capable hands."
He flashed a brilliantly bright, fangy grin and gave Edgar a thumbs-up.
In the glare of his wholehearted approval, Edgar actually squinted, one arm half-raising as if to shield his eyes from a divine spotlight.
"It shall be done!" he said, voice fierce. "You honor me beyond measure, my lord! I will not fail you!"
Rogier stared, faint horror creeping back in.
"That is… an incredible amount of work to dump into so vague a command…" He muttered under his breath. "He's basically going to be triaging an entire castle, that's not 'delegation', that's indentured servitude…"
Much to John's immense fortune, Edgar looked nothing but thrilled.
John clapped the older man on the back, laughed, and then turned toward the broken mouth of the graveyard.
He started walking.
The others tracked him with their eyes, then fell into step. Millicent and Melina flanked him by instinct; Solaire and Nepheli came up just behind, Rogier and a handful of Morne knights forming the rear.
"So…" Millicent said, leaning forward a little, hand clasped behind her back. "Where we going?"
John's grin sharpened again.
"Why, to activate my Great Rune, of course~."
Melina had expected as much. Knowing and hearing were different, though.
She still sucked in a small breath at the casual way he said it, like most people didn't spend their entire lives dreaming of touching a Great Rune, let alone awakening one.
The ones who didn't know his plan at all were hit even harder.
Rogier tripped over a loose stone. Nepheli's brows shot up. Solaire made a delighted noise.
"Oh-ho!" The sun-knight laughed. "Now this I must see."
They moved through Stormveil in a strange procession.
Morne banners rose where Godrick's had flown not an hour before; confused soldiers and knights pulled back to let their new… something… pass. John watched the takeover with half an eye as they walked. Edgar's men secured ballistas, binding surrendered foes, and putting out fires.
They passed the little side courtyard where those two nervous soldiers and their captain had let them in earlier.
The men were still there, partially. They'd clearly tried to make themselves look useful since. Their armor wasc askew, weapons at hand, eyes wide as dinner plates as they watched this formerly blood-spattered hero, his one-eyed maiden, and a Sunbro stroll past like it was a city park.
John gave them a bright, friendly grin and a thumbs-up.
Millicent waved in passing, laughing. "Thanks for the shortcut!"
The two card-playing soldiers stared at each other, sweat trickling down their temples.
"B-Bro…" One whispered. "I-I… I think…"
"Y-Yeah…" The other croaked. "We almost died…"
Melina heard it. She sighed softly, lips twitching despite herself.
Their route took them through another inner yard, one currently in chaos.
Several Morne and ex-Stormveil soldiers were attempting, with mixed results, to calm two elder lions.
The huge, scarred beasts thrashed and snarled, chains clanking as three men tried to hold them. One soldier, for reasons known only to idiocy, had both arms wrapped around a lion's neck.
"I've got him pinned!" He yelled triumphantly.
The lion immediately rolled, dragging him into the dirt and proceeding to maul him in… not-quite play, but not quite savagery either.
John stopped dead, staring.
He turned his head slowly toward Melina.
"Am I obligated to help him?" He asked with a deadpan tone. "Technically he's our guy now, right?"
She gave him a wry smile and a resigned nod.
He blew out a breath through his nose and strode forward.
The lions felt him coming before the men noticed. Both beasts paused mid-struggle, turning their heavy heads to glare at the approaching human with round, golden eyes.
They growled.
John met their gaze evenly.
"...Down, boy…" He said flatly. "Let the idiot go. He is not a chew toy."
There followed perhaps the strangest argument the graveyard survivors had ever seen.
For a good minute or two, John and the lions stared each other down, exchanging growls and huffs and the occasional sharp word. At one point, one lion huffed and turned away like a sulky teenager. The other pawed the ground and gnashed its teeth until John promised, with all the sincerity of a man bartering with toddlers, "more meat later".
Eventually, grudgingly, both lions released their bloody victim and padded away to join the Morne handlers, rubbing their heads against John's shoulder as they passed like oversized, murder-capable cats.
Apparently, Godrick hadn't fed them well. Just whatever servant annoyed him that day.
Which… yeah. Everyone could've guessed.
"That was… something" Rogier muttered faintly.
They pushed on.
Out through another gate, across the long, precarious bridge that stretched toward the Divine Tower proper. Guardian golems loomed along the sides, massive stone constructs with greatbows and swords as tall as houses.
As they stepped onto the bridge, Edgar rejoined them, Stormveil's banner tucked under one arm and a fresh, blue-and-gold flag bearing both Morne and Stormveil's emblems in the other.
He unfurled Godrick's old standard and marched a few paces ahead.
The nearest golem's eyes flared once, scanning the emblem. Then dulled. It turned its head away, stone face returning to impassive stillness.
They made it halfway before the bridge simply… ended.
The far section had collapsed long ago, leaving a yawning gap and a tumble of stone spilling into the mists below. In front of that break sat a small, circular platform etched with glowing runes.
A teleport gate.
Millicent eyed the missing bridge. "Who broke that?"
Melina gave her a look that said very clearly: '…Who do you think?'
Millicent sighed. "Fuckin' Godrick…"
One by one, they stepped onto the gate and let it pull them sideways.
Reality flipped.
For a dizzy moment, all was light and wind and weightlessness, then their feet struck solid stone again. They emerged on a matching platform halfway up the Divine Tower's base.
The tower loomed above them.
Up close, the Divine Tower of Limgrave wasn't just big. It was monolithic.
A cylindrical column of pale, weathered stone soared into the clouds, its sides banded by faintly glowing rings of arcane script and relief carvings of roots, lions, and abstract runic shapes. Massive buttresses like petrified ribs jutted out from its flanks, disappearing into the mists below where they anchored into hidden bedrock. Windows and openings were few and far between, small dark slits in an otherwise unbroken sweep.
It felt less like a building and more like a piece of the Erdtree's architecture planted sideways into the earth.
"Woah…" Millicent whispered, walking up to the enormous, closed gate at its base.
She planted both hands on it and pushed.
Nothing happened.
She leaned her shoulder into it.
It didn't budge.
It wasn't that it was heavy, though it very much was. No, it was like it simply didn't acknowledge her.
"Rude…" She muttered, stepping back. "No fun at all."
She turned, waving John forward. "Alright, chosen one. Your turn."
He tried very hard not to look like an excited kid being told to push the big red button.
He walked up anyway, planting both hands against the cold stone.
The change was immediate.
As soon as his palms touched the surface, a soft, golden light seeped from the seams between the doors. The stone hummed. Lines of Grace flared along the carvings in a rapidly expanding network.
The gate shuddered once.
Then it swung inward with majestic slowness, answering not muscle, but right.
This was the reason why the gate didn't answer to Millicent, yet did to Johnathan. Much like the sword of selection known in Arthurian myth, this gate only opened to those it deemed worthy.
John didn't look back as he stepped through.
The others followed, boots echoing faintly as they entered the tower's hollow interior.
It was… empty, in a way.
A vast cylindrical shaft rose up above them into shadow. The only feature was a wide, circular platform set into the center of the floor, ringed with faintly glowing sigils. No chains. No ropes. No gears.
They stepped onto it.
The platform trembled.
Then began to rise.
There was no sound of machinery. No grinding. No creaking. It simply lifted, borne up on pure sorcery, carrying them up the column's length. Walls slid by, etched with faded murals of ancestral kings, lions at their feet, roots at their backs, runes held in their hands.
Wind whispered faintly the higher they went.
Eventually, the platform slowed, then settled with a soft thunk beneath a small archway.
They disembarked onto a narrow stairway that wrapped the tower's outer skin, open on one side to the world.
From here, they could see everything.
The sea stretched out in a vast slate sheet, flecked white where waves broke against cliffs. The Lands Between rolled away in soft greens and jagged browns: Limgrave's gentle hills, Caelid's red rot-blighted expanse, Liurnia's drowned basins glimmering with reflected light. And beyond, like the spine of a god lying on the world, the glowing trunk of the Erdtree.
They climbed.
At the top, the stairs opened onto the Divine Tower's roof.
There, in the center of the wide, circular platform, lay something that had once been holy.
A Two Fingers.
Or what was left of one.
The colossal digits lay collapsed like a felled statue, the great knuckles cracked and blackened. The flesh had petrified into a grey, stone-like texture, fissures running along its length like old age lines. The nails, once gleaming with blessed polish, were dull and flaking in places. A faint, residual shimmer of Grace still clung to it, like embers in a fire long burned low.
The others recoiled slightly, awe and unease mixing.
John, heart thumping a little faster, took slow, measured steps toward it.
'Any instructions, or should I just wing this?' He asked quietly.
Marika appeared at the edge of his vision again, less exuberant now, more solemn.
"Lay thy Great Rune upon it." She ordered, gesturing delicately toward the Fingers' cracked surface. "The corpse of the Two Finger yet remembers its duty."
He fished Godrick's Great Rune from his soul, it resisted at first but listened anyway.
It appeared in his hand in a soft flare, still a circle of solidified divinity, its rootlike lines glowing faintly.
He pressed it gently to the withered skin.
The dead flesh shone.
Light seeped from the cracks in the Fingers, threads of Grace rising like mist. They curled around the Great Rune, bathing it, soaking into its grooves, infusing it with the original system's recognition.
The Rune drank it in.
"Now…" Marika whispered softly. "Break a Rune Arc before it. And brace thyself."
He blinked. "Brace myself? For what..?"
He didn't get an answer.
He pulled a Rune Arc from his inventory. It was a slender, curved fragment of translucent, iridescent material, humming with faint power. Holding the Great Rune suspended with one hand, he lifted the Arc with the other, bringing it close.
It cracked before he even put proper force into it.
Hairline fractures raced along its edges, spiderwebbing inward as if drawn by the gravity of the Great Rune itself.
The Arc shattered.
It burst into sparks of pure, condensed Grace, each shard a tiny, hungry flame. They didn't fall. They flew, streaking into the Great Rune like moths returning to a lantern.
Something clicked.
Deep under his feet, the tower trembled.
"Um… guys?" Millicent said, eyeing the platform. "I think we should probably-"
Melina didn't wait.
She grabbed Millicent's sleeve and hauled her bodily back toward the archway.
"DODGE!" She snapped.
They threw themselves past the threshold just as the world turned gold.
From the center of the Divine Tower's roof, straight from where John stood, a pillar of light exploded upward.
It wasn't just bright, it was absolute. A column of burning, dense Grace that covered the entire surface of the Divine Tower, drowned out the sky's blue and the sun's own rays for a heartbeat, punching through cloud-layer and into the upper heavens.
Wind blasted outward in a ring.
The shockwave tore across the tower, slamming into the archway with enough force to knock loose chips of stone. It rolled down the tower's sides, then raced outward over the sea and land. Flags snapped taut, trees bent, loose debris was flung from rooftops miles away.
The aurora of power that followed wasn't just visible.
It was felt.
Every Site of Grace across Limgrave flared brighter, their gentle flickers turning momentarily into spears of light pointing toward the tower. Tarnished on lonely roads stopped and clutched at their chests as their own long since faded inner Grace resonated with the surge, eyes going wide.
In the Roundtable Hold, candles guttered and then steadied as the great roundtable itself hummed, lines of golden script crawling across its surface before fading. Gideon Ofnir's head snapped up from his tomes, eyes narrowing.
Deep beneath Leyndell, something in the roots stirred, ancient sap quivering.
On a distant moonlit plateau, a witch looked briefly up from a doll and narrowed four unseen eyes.
Even the Erdtree itself seemed to respond, its leaves trembling as a new line of connection was forged.
From Caelid's red rot swamps to the misted cliffs of the Weeping Peninsula, every being even half-attuned to Grace felt it:
A Great Rune had awakened.
And a new contender had stepped fully into the great, ugly game.
If anyone in the Lands Between would have somehow missed the news of Godrick's fall before this moment, if any lord or knight or hidden thing had been able to pretend ignorance of the upstart Tarnished in Limgrave…
That luxury ended the instant the Divine Tower screamed its golden announcement into the sky.
A NEW DEMIGOD HAD ASCENDED TO THE STAGE.
PREPARE FOR WAR———OR BOW BEFORE HIS ETERNAL SOVEREIGNTY.
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Author's Note:
STONES PLEASE
I didn't put extra emphasis on ETERNAL SOVEREIGNTY for no reason.
It's there for a reason :3
Also, remember the finals I told y'all I have? Yeah, those are starting next week.
Wish me the best, cuz if I'm cooked, y'all won't see me for a while : ')
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Next Chapter Title: (Interlude) The King of Wyrms.
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