Gilika's Gambit

6 extra Chappies in P@treon or just Buy Me A Coffee.

***

Her Lord was the most enigmatic soul she had ever known, and that was saying something, for the years she had walked on this earth stretched across centuries. She had witnessed the rise and fall of many, but never had she encountered one like him. Even among Demigods, who stood as pillars of myth and power, he was different—an outlier in the grand narrative of the Golden Lineage.

The Demigods were legends, their names etched into the annals of history. Radahn, who halted the stars, and the Twin Prodigies, whose brilliance lit the world. Their tales were known far and wide.

But Godrick? His name was a whisper, an echo she had never heard in all her years. He entered her life as a stranger, a figure shrouded in gold and obscurity. His strength, at first, seemed meagre—a Demigod who struggled to even match her own power. Yet, there was something in him, something quiet and relentless.

She was old, very old, and the moment she laid eyes on him, she knew. He did not fight for glory or renown nor for the fleeting admiration of others. There was no sadistic pleasure in his strikes, no cruel laughter. He fought because it was in his nature—because the battle itself called to him. He reminded her of Hora Loux, a budding warrior back in her day who brought forth a new era. There had been something pure in his drive, a force that sought not victory, but the exhilaration of the struggle itself.

Day by day, she watched Godrick grow stronger and stronger. The movement of a stone could cause a landslide, and Godrick the Golden was about to bury the Lands Between.

He went from barely standing against her to wrestling Trolls with a ferocity that surprised even her. Ancient Dragons, beings of legend and fear, spoke to him as equals. And then there were those strange powers—healing himself in a flash of dark gold, summoning his weapon with a mere thought, and even resisting the madness of the Frenzied Flame.

She stood at the edge of his unfolding tale, and in the quiet moments, she wondered if perhaps, even in the melancholy of their journey, there was a glimmer of hope that his path might lead them both to something greater than they had ever imagined.

A future for Demi-Humans.

She hoped she had chosen well. 

***

Firming her will, Gilika gripped her new Greatsword, which had intricate lines of gold running down its body—compliments of her Lord—and leapt down the cliff onto the large stone platforms fused into the cliff wall.

She jumped from platform to platform, her quadruped form allowing her to descend more easily than most. Her surroundings grew darker and darker as the sun's rays disappeared over the horizon, and her body shuddered.

An involuntary snarl escaped her jackal-esque mouth as every aspect of her grew stronger. Her body became more robust as her mind dipped into a cauldron of anger and rage. Her eyes glowed blood-red, two floating orbs in the darkness, but she remained firm. She disassociated from herself, from her feral nature, controlling her body like it was someone else's.

She continued her descent, and after a gruelling ten minutes, finally felt solid ground beneath her feet. Her red eyes adjusted to the lack of light before noticing a large set of grey doors that led into the cliffs. She reached out to touch it but was struck by such an immense amount of pain in her chest that she nearly blacked out.

"Ragh!" she roared in pain as she jumped back, swiping her greatsword in a large arc.

A sword had been driven deep into her chest, pitch-black spider veins spreading across her body, weakening and draining her. She snarled in defiance, whirling around and glaring at the perpetrator—a ghostly-white figure in Knight armour carrying a shield and a Death-Blight-tipped sword.

It was Headless.

Gilika pushed her body to the limit, her powerful form swinging the Greatsword like it was a feather, but the Headless vanished and reappeared a few feet to the left, simultaneously dodging the strike and ramming the sword into the same spot. The spider veins were now up to her neck.

Her limbs gave out, and her weapon clattered to the ground. Deep in her bones, she knew that if the veins overtook her body, she would face a fate worse than death.

The Headless vanished and reappeared before the Catacombs, continuing to guard it as Gilika writhed on the ground, feeling something unholy grow within her.

'Two strikes? Pathetic,' she thought morosely as the blessing on her arm was slowly swallowed by the veins. But just as she was about to whisper her final prayers, the world suddenly turned brighter.

She almost mistook it for the beginning of a new day, but hadn't the night just begun? She forced herself to look to her right and saw something that would stick with her for the rest of her life.

Godrick the Golden stood on a stone platform, holding a gigantesque glaive made of pure red-gold lightning. It charred and burned his hand as it continued to grow larger and larger. The Headless noticed a difference and turned toward the stone platform, but it was too late.

It descended, and all was consumed by lightning.

***

[Mausoleum Knight Killed. +800 EXP]

(FP 218/218 -> 0/218)

(Mind: 21.8 -> 22)

Godrick almost keeled over and blacked out, but [Order Meditation] regenerated his FP fast enough to push away the black spots and cast [Heal] on his hand, which had nearly turned into a blackened husk. Not even the 20% Lightning resistance could prevent that much damage.

He grew ever closer to casting [Lansseax's Glaive] without repercussions, and when that day came, he would have a tool that could help him cut through most of his opponents.

[Heal]

A flash of gold regenerated enough flesh for it to look recognizable, and two more casts made it usable. He leapt from the platform and landed on the brittle ground. The entire U-shaped area was scorched to the very core. Rocks melted, grass and trees turned into plasma, and the Catacomb doors vaporized. Large parts of the sand and dirt had been vitrified, forming odd terrain.

He ignored all of that, rushing to Gilika, who had lost consciousness, and casting [Order Healing]. His hands wound like a clock, and the Golden Order mural lit up under him, washing the spider veins off her body.

'DeathBlight as thy first adversary. How unfortunate,' he thought as he cast [Heal] on the Demi-Human Queen before turning to the burnt doors on the cliffs.

Work awaited him.

***

Two entire days.

That's how long it took for the entirety of his force to get down the cliff. The carts had to be broken down and built back up, while the cargo and horses had to be personally carried down by Godrick and Gilika, who had almost spiralled into a self-hating depression. She was, thankfully, pulled out of it when informed that even Godrick would've found it impossible to fight off DeathBlight if not for [Order Healing].

"Once, the Catacombs were a realm of rebirth and renewal. Despite their falsehoods and half-truths, the Erdtree did indeed permit the immortality of the soul," Godrick declared, standing before three groups of soldiers and Demi-Humans that had been personally divided up and trained by Earnan over the past weeks. They weren't perfect, but would give a better show than the travesty that was the battle near the Lift.

"But after the Shattering, all that has changed," Godrick proclaimed, brandishing his soulbond Greatspear in one hand and a Sentry Torch in the other. "The vile pestilence of the Death Prince, once Godwyn the Golden, hath spread through the roots of the Great Tree, infecting and bestowing unlife upon Those Who Live in Death."

His soldiers' faces tightened in anger and helplessness. They were once soldiers of Godwyn and hated more than anyone to see his legacy and body be stained so.

"We shall venture into the Cursed Catacombs, cleanse it of Deathroot, and play our part in staving off the influence of the Prince of Death!"

His soldiers and Demi-Humans roared.

"To Glory and Eternal Dominion!"

"To Glory and Eternal Dominion!"

He had put on a nice show, for in truth, he wished to get his hand on the Deathroot that was growing in the Catacombs. Well, he was indeed purging it of the Death Prince's influence; he was just differently motivated. 

***

The Catacombs were as he expected—cold, dark, and dangerous. Grey stone upon grey stone, with dark brown roots curling and spreading into every nook and cranny of the place. If that wasn't spooky enough, Ghostflame torches faintly lit the steps that descended downward, lined by human bones and skulls.

Godrick and his men walked down the steps, coated in a film of gold from his incantation. Earnan stood beside Godrick, carrying a sword and the Night Cavalry's Flail, whose Ash of War he was ordered to use every so often.

Sure enough, the moment they began to reach the end of the stairs, two piles of old, worn bones shuddered and trembled, raising and clicking together to form entire skeletons, wielding gnarly-looking short swords.

[Observe]

(Character Sheet

 Skeleton

 Age: Five years and five months

 HP: 40

 FP: ---

 Strength: 6

 Dexterity: 8

 Endurance: 2

 Vigor: 4

 Mind: ---

 Intelligence: ---

 Faith: ---

Skills:

[Those Who Live In Death (Passive): What is dead may never die, but rises again, stronger and harder. Burn your bones in Ghostflame, gaining 0.5 in all stats in every resurrection. Stat gain ceases once all stats have reached 20.]

[Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones (Passive): All damage to your bones regenerates once burned in Ghostflame.]

[Short Sword Mastery (Passive) Level 1: Barely proficient in wielding Short Swords])

***

POWERSTONES! Else Deathroot crawls up your ass at night!