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Glory to my Proofreader: Bakenekon. For he is the one who points out mistakes and acts as a good wall to bounce ideas off of.
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Torrent's hooves made only the faintest sound as they approached the towering, sleeping form of Greyoll. The massive Elder Dragon loomed like a collapsed mountain, each shallow breath rattling from her throat like a dying storm. Around her, five younger dragons—if they could still be called that—slept with slow, coiled menace, their wings draped protectively over her form.
Melina's voice broke the tense quiet. "Dost thou… have a plan here?"
Tarnished chuckled, low and cocky. "Who do you think I am? Of course I have a plan."
That wasn't particularly reassuring.
They veered carefully to the right, staying low and close to the overgrown ruins and gnarled, rotted tree roots that littered the path. The dragons stirred occasionally—tails twitching, wings flexing—but none seemed to notice the spectral steed or its passengers.
Using a low ridge and some rotted stone outcroppings as cover, they approached the far side of the lakebed. Then, with a tap to Torrent's flank, Tarnished spurred them into a leap. The spectral steed soared over a smoldering wall of collapsed stone, flames licking beneath them but never touching, and landed cleanly on a sloped path beyond.
Ahead, bathed in the sickly red glow of Caelid's rot-sickened skies, loomed Fort Faroth. Ancient. Filthy. And dangerous.
But just before it, a flickering golden light shone on the edge of the road.
"There it is," Tarnished said, grinning wide. "Here's where the magic happens."
Melina narrowed her eyes. "And by magic, thou mean…?"
"This," he said, hopping off Torrent and striding toward the Site of Grace. "Is where I start leveling up."
"…'Leveling up?'" she echoed, eyebrow raised.
"Oh. Right," he said with a grin, like he'd forgotten she wasn't also from the land of endless save files. "I mean, turning my runes into strength. You know—more power, less dying."
"Hmm," Melina replied, clearly unconvinced, but she watched silently as he knelt at the Grace.
[Site of Grace Discovered]
Golden light pulsed up through him, and he turned to look at her with an inviting smirk. "C'mon. You know the drill."
Melina sighed softly and dismounted. She gave Torrent an affectionate pat, running her fingers along his mane. The spectral steed nickered softly before vanishing into a soft swirl of blue smoke.
She approached slowly, her expression unreadable. "Very well. Lead on, Tarnished."
He straightened, brushing dust from his hands. "Alright. Strap in. We're going into a real shit fest."
She exhaled sharply. "If thou say so…"
He gestured toward the looming entrance of Fort Faroth, dark and gaping like the maw of some long-dead beast. Even from this distance, the stench of decay and bat droppings wafted out, thick enough to sting the senses.
Melina wrinkled her nose. "I can smell the filth from here."
Tarnished just grinned wider. "That's the smell of opportunity. And well… What'd ya expect from Caelid?"
"...Fair enough."
The stone stairs groaned beneath their feet as Tarnished and Melina approached the gaping mouth of Fort Faroth. Cracked banners fluttered limply in the wind, and the reek of rot and guano rolled out from the entrance like a living thing.
Tarnished stopped just shy of the threshold, the open gate casting deep shadows ahead. He turned to Melina, expression unusually serious. "Stick close to me."
She gave a silent nod, green eyes sharp.
Then they ran.
The moment they crossed into the fort, shrill screeches echoed overhead as a swarm of grotesque bats dropped from the rafters. Worse still, a pair of winged, wailing figures—harpy-like dames with long limbs and hollow eyes—floated down from the rafters, their chants clawing at the mind like nails on stone.
Melina's voice was terse. "Where-?"
"No time!" Tarnished barked, grabbing her hand without hesitation and dragging her forward.
They sprinted deeper into the fort, dodging flailing claws and flapping wings, past collapsed staircases and half-broken corridors swallowed by rot. Darkness consumed everything ahead, pierced only by the faint golden shimmer of his Grace-sight.
Eventually, they skidded to a stop near the base of a tall, rusty ladder that rose into another level of the fort.
Tarnished turned to her with a crooked grin. "Pretty ladies first."
Melina scoffed, rolling her eyes—but the faint blush rising on her cheeks was hidden by the dark.
"Fool." She muttered, but she obeyed, beginning to climb.
Tarnished spun, slashing at two bats that dove at her from behind. Their shrieks were silenced in a quick double slice of his Uchigatanas, and he only sheathed them once the space below was clear.
"Alright," he muttered. "My turn."
He grabbed the ladder and started climbing—but partway up, a thick miasma drifted from the vents lining the wall. A violet haze. Instantly, a bar appeared at the edge of his vision.
[Status: Poison Buildup]
The bar filled rapidly.
"Shit."
Tarnished coughed, then louder, rasping as the poison filled his lungs and began eating at his flesh.
"Fuck you, Miyazaki!" he wheezed. "You and your annoying ass obsession with poisoning me!"
He kept climbing, each rung slower than the last. By the time he pulled himself up over the ledge, he was pale and half-sputtering, poison visibly eating away at the corners of his vision.
Melina was waiting.
She knelt the moment he collapsed beside her. "Are thou… alright?"
"Peachy," he coughed. "Just.. Got poisoned… By those harpy fucks."
She sighed heavily. "Stay still, fool."
Raising her hands, soft green magic swirled around her fingertips. She pressed her palms to his chest, her voice low and steady as she chanted the cure.
"Cure Poison."
The magic pulsed through him—gentle, warm, almost soothing. He exhaled deeply as the poison bar shrank and disappeared entirely, and the fog in his mind cleared.
"You idiot." Melina muttered, scolding without venom. "What was thy plan, had I not been here to mend thy recklessness?"
Tarnished grinned, still sprawled across the floor. "Chug flasks and pray to RNGesus."
Another sigh. "Then 'tis good you convinced me to come along. Knowing you, you would've found a way to permanently die despite Queen Marika's damn Grace."
"Maybe that's true," he chuckled, pulling himself upright with a groan.
A faint glimmer caught his eye to the side. A small stone chest sat tucked in the corner of the chamber, half-hidden behind some broken crates. He approached it and knelt down, flipping the lid open with one smooth motion.
[Acquired Item: Dectus Medallion (Right)]
Tarnished smiled to himself, slipping it into his inventory with a soft chime.
Melina stepped beside him, brow raised. "That… is quite lucky. Those medallions are rare. With this, our entrance into Liurnia shall be far smoother."
He nodded, still looking at the chest for a moment longer than necessary.
"Yeah…" He said softly. "Quite lucky indeed…"
Tarnished motioned wordlessly, a glint in his eye as he tilted his head toward a narrow tower exit. Melina followed without complaint—though she was growing all too familiar with his version of "just one more thing."
They scaled a short stairwell, emerging onto the crumbling ledge of a tower. Below them stretched the rotten tiled roofs of Fort Faroth, and without hesitation, Tarnished leapt down onto the shingles with a clatter of metal and soft grunt on impact. Melina landed beside him with more poise, cloak fluttering in the wind—just in time for the air to turn ice-cold.
Ghostly armor shimmered into view.
A trio of spectral knights materialized from thin air, summoned by some ancient curse or lingering duty. Their visors glowed faintly, and without warning, they lunged.
Tarnished drew his twin Uchigatanas, metal singing as he met the first knight's blade mid-swing. Sparks flew from the clash, the force knocking him back slightly. Melina ducked the blade of another, her expression sharpening as she retaliated with a sharp incantation.
A blaze of flame erupted from her palm, engulfing her target.
The knight screeched unnaturally, armor burning red-hot—and before it could recover, Melina closed the gap, her dagger flashing once in the dim light.
SHNK.
The knight's head tumbled free, vanishing into ash before it hit the roof.
With a synchronized finish, Tarnished severed the last knight's arm and buried his blade in its chest. The spirit dissipated into curling smoke.
He turned to her, panting lightly. "Still got it."
Melina arched an eyebrow. "I always had it."
They shared a breath, then turned toward a shattered section of roof. Tarnished led them forward and jumped down through a gaping hole, landing on a wide support beam within the upper rafters of the fort. Melina dropped in after, frowning as her boots squelched against the filth.
"This place reeks," she muttered, waving a hand to dispel a few bats fluttering too close. "We've returned to this… filthy hovel."
"Trust me, not my first choice," Tarnished replied, swatting away a string of dangling mold. "Place is like a poison and batshit casserole."
He walked along the beam, carefully balancing on the decayed wood until something glimmered at the edge. He crouched and reached for it.
[Acquired Item: Golden Rune (12)]
A soft chime echoed as he pocketed the precious rune, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Melina's voice cut through the dim silence.
"Can we leave this place now?"
"Almost," he said, turning toward a narrow platform jutting out to the side. He pointed. "Just one more thing. You think you can make that jump?"
Melina examined the distance, judging it with a quick glance. She looked back at him and nodded once.
"Alright then," Tarnished grinned. "Follow me!"
He leapt first, landing hard with a roll that nearly knocked him over. He recovered and turned to watch.
Melina's cloak fluttered behind her as she sailed across the gap in a single graceful bound, landing with silent precision.
Tarnished shrugged. "I could've done that too, y'know."
"Sure you could have," she replied dryly.
They walked along the rafters, weaving through crumbling beams until they reached a narrow corner. A ladder dropped into a shadowy chamber below.
Tarnished peered over the edge, then looked at Melina. "Hey, can you throw something down there?"
She squinted. "Why?"
"Just… humor me."
With a soft sigh, she pulled a spare throwing knife from her belt and flicked it downward. It clattered against stone, echoing for a beat of silence.
Then came the sound of shifting, wet flesh.
Two rats slithered from the dark—one oversized and foul, the other easily the size of a horse, its beady eyes gleaming red in the gloom.
Melina took an instinctive step back. "By the Erdtree… how did thou know?"
Tarnished didn't answer immediately. His gaze glazed over—like he was looking through her, not at her. In that moment, countless memories surged forth: ambushes in sewer tunnels, poison bites in dim catacombs, sudden deaths in rat-infested pits…
From Dark Souls to Bloodborne to now, it was always rats.
Always.
He blinked. The moment passed.
"…Gut feeling." He said simply.
Tarnished unsheathed both Uchigatanas in a clean, practiced motion, their steel catching the sickly red light of Caelid like fangs bared.
"I'm going for the big fat one."
Melina nodded, already forming fire in her palm. "Then I'll take care of the smaller one."
He didn't wait. With a grin, he dove through the hole, wind howling past his ears as he plummeted like a dagger from heaven.
He landed directly on the massive rat—its bloated body squelching beneath him. Both blades drove home with brutal precision, one piercing clean through its neck, the other pinning it to the ground with a grotesque squelch.
The beast let out a high-pitched, guttural squeal, writhing violently under his weight.
Its smaller kin shrieked and darted forward, fangs bared—but a searing spear of flame streaked down from above, slamming through its side and out the other, silencing it mid-charge.
Tarnished snarled as he twisted the blade still lodged in the rat's neck, then yanked it free and drove it straight into the creature's eye.
The rat let out one final convulsion before going still beneath him.
For a moment, the only sound was his breath—heavy, winded, and satisfied.
He stepped off the corpse, blood trailing down the curve of his blades. With a flick of each wrist, he cleaned the steel, then slid them back into their sheaths with a satisfying click.
From above, Melina crouched, one knee braced on the edge of the drop. "Need help?"
He shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "Nah. I got it from here."
He turned toward the side of the chamber, spotting a glint of something nestled within a half-rotted corpse. He crouched, brushing away the decay, and his fingers closed around a familiar sigil-inscribed talisman.
[Acquired Item: Radagon's Soreseal]
A soft chime echoed in his mind. Tarnished stared at it for a moment—feeling the raw, crackling strength radiating from the artifact. A smile tugged at his lips. "Nice."
He turned slightly, about to call out to Melina—
"Ah… my champion."
The voice returned like a velvet dagger to the spine. Cool. Amused. Watching.
"Thou hast been… enjoying thyself with my daughter in my absence, I see."
Tarnished blinked. 'Oh great. You're back.'
He cleared his throat mentally. 'Yeah, sorry about not calling. Cell reception's terrible in poison castles.'
"Mmm… And what's this?" Her voice purred in his mind, dripping with an edge of knowing sarcasm. "Thou hast acquired quite the… artifact."
'Artifact?' he echoed. 'You mean this talisman? From it's name, it seems like something Radagon left behind. What about it?'
A pause. Then her tone changed—sharpened, like glass hidden beneath silk.
"That... is no mere trinket. That is his seal—his flaw, his penance." Marika materialised before him once more, her ever breathtakingly beautiful form almost brightening up the dark room around him.
"Radagon was ever the fool who believed pain was strength. He etched his guilt into that seal, branded it with power, and cast it adrift."
Tarnished furrowed his brow, turning the talisman in his fingers. 'So he punished himself?'
"So he thought." Marika's voice lowered, and something heavier stirred beneath it. "But in truth… he made others suffer in his stead. A burden passed on, not lifted. Typical of him."
'You sound real warm and fuzzy about the guy. I'm a bit shaky when it comes to the lore, but aren't you two basically the same person?.'
"Thou art correct, to an extent. He was me, and yet not. A mask I wore. A chain I bore. Wouldst thou wear his shame upon thy neck, my champion? Or art thou merely drawn to raw strength like every other beast in this forsaken world?"
Tarnished raised an eyebrow. 'Bit of both, maybe.'
A chuckle—dry, bitter, fond.
"Of course it is."
From above, Melina's voice cut through the psychic haze. "Tarnished? Art thou well?"
He looked up and waved. "Yeah. I'm fine. Got what we came for."
"Thank the Erdtree," she muttered, barely audible.
Marika chuckled softly with a breathtaking smirk on her face.
"Indeed, sweet child. Thank the Erdtree… and pray it forgives what cometh next."
…
The heavy doors of Fort Faroth groaned open behind them, a sick chorus of hinges and wind. Tarnished and Melina stepped out into Caelid's rot-blasted air, the castle's stench of poison and bat droppings mercifully left behind.
As they descended the stone stairs, Tarnished flicked two fingers upward, pulling open the glowing interface that hovered faintly in his vision. Transparent golden light bathed his peripheral, and with a thought, he opened his Stats Page.
[STATS PAGE]
Name: John Elden Ring
Class: Samurai
Level: 9
Vigor: 12 (Truly? I hath seen scrawnier knights in my court.
Mind: 11 (Let us see how much wit doth fill thy skull.)
Endurance: 13 (Mayhaps thou shalt not collapse like a babe with naught but a breeze.)
Strength: 12 (Ah, the might of a warrior? Or merely the grip of a stableboy?)
Dexterity: 15 (Astonishing. Truly, the swiftness of a crippled crow.)
Intelligence: 9 ('Tis fitting, mayhaps.)
Faith: 8 (A heathen, I see.)
Arcane: 8 (No great miracles shall be wrought by thee.)
Tarnished groaned internally. 'Your… riveting commentary is still here.'
Marika giggled softly in the back of his mind, her voice velvet-smooth and smug. "Why wouldn't it be? I find thy struggle... endearing."
He sighed. 'I suppose that does make sense.'
With a thought, he flipped open the talisman interface. The comforting pulse of the Green Turtle Talisman still thrummed faintly against his chest—stamina bubbling like a hidden spring.
But he unequipped it.
The effect disappeared instantly. His limbs felt heavier, slower, and his inner energy dulled like a faded ember. For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he moved on.
Radagon's Soreseal slid into place with a resonant hum—like a forge lighting in his blood. Power surged through him, tendons tightening, muscle coiling with unnatural strength. He shivered as the sudden pressure filled every inch of him, head to toe.
A small hum of near-pleasure escaped before he caught himself.
He flipped open his updated stats again.
[STATS PAGE – With Radagon's Soreseal Equipped]
Name: John Elden Ring
Class: Samurai
Level: 9
Vigor: 14 (Oh? A second breath in thy lungs. Will wonders never cease.)
Mind: 11 (Still untouched. 'Tis no surprise.)
Endurance: 15 (At last, something resembling stamina. Try not to waste it.)
Strength: 17 (Now this is strength. Thy stableboy hath grown teeth.)
Dexterity: 17 (A crow no longer—perhaps a falcon, though one yet half-blind.)
Intelligence: 9 (Alas. Still tragically dumb.)
Faith: 8 (Still a heathen. But now a stronger heathen.)
Arcane: 8 (I remain unimpressed.)
'As witty as ever…' He thought with a mental eye-roll.
"Why, thank you, my champion," Marika replied sweetly, golden hair no doubt flowing in some unseen wind as she preened in his mind.
They approached the slope overlooking the shallow lake. The massive, collapsed form of Greyoll—Elder Dragon, Mother of All Dragons—lay ahead, breathing in ragged, seismic rhythms. Around her, five drakes slumbered, wings twitching faintly in dreamless sleep.
Melina slowed beside him. "…What is thy plan, exactly?"
He smiled.
"We're going to kill it."
Melina stared at him, jaw hanging slightly. "You wish to what?"
He turned to her, utterly calm, even cheerful. "Kill it."
"…How." She asked slowly. "Dost thou intend to slay Greyoll, Mother of all Dragons?"
"It's quite simple, you see."
He unsheathed both Uchigatanas with a soft metallic shiiing, their edges gleaming red.
Then he pulled a weapon from his pack—a spiked flail, its iron ball rusted but brutal—and offered it to her.
"We're going to bleed it to death."
Melina stared at the weapon in her hands like it had personally insulted her ancestors. "And… What of the five dragons guarding her?"
He gestured to the distant beasts with his chin. "Scarlet Rot's robbed them of their sight, probably most of their senses too. They won't even notice us."
She watched him for several long, quiet seconds. Then she tightened her grip on the flail.
"I have a very bad feeling about this."
Tarnished laughed and patted her lightly on the back. "Don't worry. What's the worst that could happen? I'm practically immortal, and you can disappear whenever you want. It'll be fine!"
Melina let out a long, slow sigh of deep spiritual regret.
He led her along the ridge, down the slope, to an exposed flank of the great dragon's side—its scales cracked, old, vulnerable. The breath that left Greyoll's maw was like hot mist rolling across the earth.
Tarnished cracked his knuckles.
"Alright," he said, eyes gleaming. "Start swinging that flail or get comfy. This might take a while."
Marika's voice whispered in his mind again, amused.
"Truly, mine champion… only thou wouldst wage war on a god-beast via mild inconvenience."
The rhythmic shunk-shunk-shunk of Uchigatanas slicing into ancient dragon flesh echoed across the crimson wastes. Tarnished and Melina stood side by side, their strikes slow but methodical, carving into the massive, motionless flank of Greyoll. The Elder Dragon groaned—an otherworldly, earth-shaking screech that shattered the quiet and made even the wind falter.
Immediately, the five slumbering dragons scattered across the cliffs awoke with shrieks of their own, wings flaring, eyes blazing.
Melina tensed. "Tarnished…"
He held up a hand. "Just watch."
The dragons roared into the sky and began attacking… everything. Stone, wind, tree, the shadows cast by each other—they clawed at the air blindly, rage-filled and directionless. As Tarnished had guessed, the rot had robbed them of not only their vision, but their senses.
"Damn, I'm good…" He muttered.
They kept slashing.
After a few moments of bloody repetition, a shimmer of gold appeared at Tarnished's side—Marika, her astral projection leaning elegantly against Greyoll's colossal flank. She crossed her arms, golden eyes unreadable.
"Art thou truly content to butcher a godbeast like a common hog?" She mused, amused and faintly pitying. "And tell me, my champion… Dost thou know why Malenia fought Radahn? What could drive the Goddess of Rot to bloom—on her own brother no less—and doom Caelid to this fate?"
Tarnished grunted, not slowing his swings. 'Not exactly a lore expert, but… far as I know? It all ties back to Miquella.'
Marika raised a brow. "Miquella? What had he to do with that battle?"
He stepped back to wipe blood from his blade, flicking off the clinging rot ichor. 'Miquella wanted Radahn as his… 'consort.' To pull his soul free from the influence of the stars. So he had Malenia fight him to the death. To break him.'
Marika's smile faded. She looked away, thinking.
"…To seek Radahn as a consort… is Miquella striving for godhood?"
Her voice was quiet now, touched with genuine disbelief.
"I always knew he was the secretive sort… but this? This magnitude of manipulation? Even I…" she paused, expression unreadable. "Even I did not see this coming."
Tarnished's gaze darkened. 'Yeah. Miquella's a little wolf in sheep's clothing. The death, the rot, the manipulation... All to create his age of mindless 'compassion.' A twisted dream of a golden world. But it's soaked in blood and ruin.'
He stepped forward again, blades gleaming red.
'If I ever see him with my own eyes… I won't stop until I know for a fact he's dead. Permanently.'
Marika was quiet for a long time.
Then, voice low and sharp:
"If he is as thou say… then I shall strike him down beside thee. I've had enough of traitors in my bloodline."
Tarnished turned, about to speak—but a sudden spurt of foul, corrupted blood exploded from Greyoll's side with a wet splat, catching him full in the chest and sending him flying backward into the dirt.
He hit the ground hard, sliding through the muck. Scarlet rot clung to him like oil. The blood sizzled on contact, and a familiar bar began to fill in the corner of his vision.
[Status Ailment: Scarlet Rot Buildup]
And yet... he grinned.
Greyoll's health bar dipped visibly, a full sixteen percent, from that one instance of bloodloss.
Melina looked over, eyes wide. "Art thou well?!"
Tarnished sat up, spitting rot-tainted mud from his mouth. "Fine! That was just the first of many. A few more like that, and Dragon Momma's dead."
Melina sighed. "At least we know thy insane plan is working."
"I never doubted it," he said, smirking through the filth.
"Yeah," she replied flatly. "I didn't think you would."
He staggered to his feet, armor soaked and stained as the sting of rot pricked at his skin. "Hey, uh… Melina?" he asked, glancing down at himself. "You wouldn't happen to know any rot cleansing spells, would you? Apparently Greyoll's been so thoroughly rotted, even her blood's more disease than blood."
Melina gave him the world-weary stare of a maiden pushed to her spiritual limits.
"Must all maidens work so tirelessly?" she muttered, stepping closer.
Tarnished grinned. "Probably not. But I love you all the more for it."
Her face went crimson.
WHAM.
Her fist sunk into his gut, folding him in half with a wheeze.
"Shut up." She hissed.
He stumbled back, laughing through the pain as she stepped forward, raising her hands. A gentle golden flame—soft, not destructive—flickered to life in her palms.
"Hold still." She muttered.
The flames gathered, glowing with a rare warmth. Not fire to burn—but fire to heal. The rot hissed and smoked as it fled from the blessed light.
"Flame, Cleanse Thee."
[Rot Buildup: Cleansed]
"Thanks," he said, exhaling as he patted his now cleaned abdomen. "You gotta teach me that at some point."
Melina's eyes narrowed instantly. "No. Thou wouldst find a way to burn thyself to death with it."
He placed a hand to his heart, feigning offense. "Come on~! Give me a little more credit than that!"
She didn't even blink. "No."
Tarnished blinked back at her.
"…Wow. Not even pretending to consider it?"
Melina shook her head, turning away and raising the flail again. "I value mine sanity."
Behind them, Marika chuckled softly, her astral form still leaning casually against the side of Greyoll.
"She knows thee well, my champion."
Tarnished rolled his shoulders, a grin returning to his face as he re-drew his blades.
"Alright, alright. Back to dragon stabbing."
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Author's Note:
That Elden Ring Nightreign Platinum Trophy is mine. Also, Wylder is the Goat.
Grant me your stones, my children. So that we rise above the trash below us.
…
Next Chapter Title: Leveling 101.
…
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