Jolted back to his senses by Mohg's shout from behind, Morgott didn't hesitate. He threw himself into a desperate roll, scrambling to the side.
Swish—
The instant he cleared the space, the Omen's massive great-cleaver came crashing down from above, burying itself deep within the thick mire of the floor.
Splashes of filth and sludge—the "snow" of the sewers—pelted Mohg and Morgott. In the heat of the moment, they had no time to care about the grime; having lived in the sewers for so long, they had long since grown accustomed to the squalor.
Seeing his weapon stuck, the Omen gripped the hilt and pulled with a low grunt. However, the blade seemed snagged on something buried beneath the muck, refusing to budge for a crucial second.
Mohg instantly recognized this as their best opening. Without a moment's hesitation, he reached into his tunic and pulled out the dagger Godwyn had left for them.
It was a weapon imbued with a powerful Golden Battle Skill.
Shing—
The moment Mohg unsheathed the dagger, it radiated a sense of lethal danger so intense that the Omen abandoned his stuck cleaver. He began to lunge toward Mohg like an unstoppable juggernaut.
"Mohg!"
Morgott shouted, leaping through the air toward the Omen's back. As he flew, two daggers forged from the shimmering power of the Golden Order materialized in his hands.
A second later, both blades sank deep into the Omen's shoulders.
"ROAR!"
Bellowing in pain and fury from the heavy impact, the Omen swung his massive, spade-like hand backward, trying to swat Morgott off.
Morgott anticipated the move. The moment the Omen reached for him, he released the light-construct daggers and immediately conjured another, driving it into a different spot on the creature's back.
Meanwhile, Mohg was already channeling the latent power within his own dagger. He felt a wave of exhaustion wash over his mind—a mental fatigue unlike anything he had ever felt—but he had no other choice.
In an instant, a brilliant, blinding golden light erupted from Mohg's body.
The Omen's sense of impending doom spiked. Driven by a primal, soul-deep fear of death, he began to thrash violently, desperate to dislodge Morgott.
The sheer violence of the movement was too much. Morgott lost his grip, and a massive hand caught him squarely in the side.
With a sickening thud, Morgott was sent flying like a dark shadow, crashing into a nearby mound of sludge.
"ROAR!!"
Knowing he couldn't escape, the Omen charged Mohg with a final, desperate howl, as if trying to scream away the terror clawing at his heart.
Just as he reached Mohg, the golden light descended.
BOOM!
"ROOOAAARRR!!"
Crash!
Splat!
The terrifying power of the golden light slammed into the Omen's massive frame. In a heartbeat, the creature was scorched into a charred husk. Yet, in the split second before the light fully descended, he had managed to land a single, heavy blow against Mohg's chest.
The force of the impact elicited a clear, sickening crack from Mohg's ribs. He coughed up a spray of fresh blood, his vision swimming as he wondered if a bone had punctured something vital.
But the thought was fleeting. Between the agonizing pain and the mental drain of unleashing the "Golden Retribution," Mohg's world went black, and he slumped into unconsciousness.
"Ugh... ah..."
Morgott slowly regained his senses. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, he used one hand to brace himself against the sludge pile and dragged himself up. He rolled over, leaning against the filth-mound, gasping for air as cold sweat matted his hair.
Suddenly, a realization struck him. His expression paled. He forced himself to stand, leaning on a discarded wooden plank for support, and hobbled toward the spot where he had last seen Mohg.
As he drew closer, the acrid scent of burnt flesh filled the air. Fearing the worst, Morgott pushed himself to move faster.
Entering the mouth of the pipe, the first thing he saw was a tall, scorched corpse standing upright—the Omen, now nothing more than charcoal. The ground around it was blackened and seared.
Morgott threw aside his makeshift crutch and rushed forward. When his eyes finally landed on Mohg's form, a surge of frantic relief washed over him.
He tripped and fell face-first into the muck, but he didn't care. He scrambled over to Mohg's side, checking for a pulse. Finding a steady, albeit weak, rhythm of life, he finally collapsed onto his back beside his brother, exhaling a long, shaky breath.
Mohg's life force wasn't as vibrant as before, but he was stable.
Once certain Mohg was out of immediate danger, Morgott pushed himself up into a sitting position against the pipe wall. Only then did he have a moment to survey the surroundings.
This area was clearly the adult Omen's personal hunting ground. Now that the beast was dead, it was likely the safest place for them to hide—at least for the moment.
However, there were still risks. Since this was a hunting ground, other creatures—like the prisoner from earlier—might stumble through. And there was no telling if other sewer-dwelling horrors would try to move in on the vacant territory.
I just hope Mohg wakes up soon... Morgott thought silently, glancing at Mohg's slightly caved-in chest.
He closed his eyes and pressed a clenched fist against his own chest, beginning to whisper an incantation.
Heal.
It was only a minor recovery spell, and its effects were limited, but it was the best medical care he could provide in the depths of the sewers.
As the golden glow enveloped them both, a warm, tingling sensation spread through their wounds. It wasn't a miracle cure, but it significantly accelerated the natural healing process.
Watching the light fade, Morgott began to slowly circulate his internal energy, intending to cast the spell again once he had recovered enough strength.
And then... without even realizing it, he drifted off into sleep.
When he finally woke up, Mohg was gone.
Morgott's heart plummeted. Ignoring the protest of his injuries, he scrambled to his feet, bracing himself against the pipe wall.
"Moh—"
"I'm fine. Sit back down and rest."
Before Morgott could shout his name, Mohg appeared before him, carrying a few small prawns in his arms.
Seeing Morgott standing, Mohg hurried over to support him and helped him sit back down.
"Your injuries are worse than mine right now. You need more rest," Mohg said, handing a prawn to Morgott. "This place is relatively safe for now, so we can stay a while. But we can't risk starting a fire. We'll have to eat these raw."
"It's fine," Morgott said, shaking his head as he took the food.
"I suppose I was overconfident," Mohg admitted, his eyes reflecting a trace of helplessness. "I really thought our strength was enough to hold our own against an adult Omen."
Morgott nodded in agreement. Looking back, it seemed the Omens in their home district had merely been "playing" with them.
Perhaps it was because they were young, raised in a controlled environment, or perhaps it was because their father's presence had lingered over them...
"Once your injuries have healed enough, we're going back," Mohg said, adjusting his posture.
Morgott blinked in surprise. Mohg had always been the one most eager to push deeper into the bottom of the sewers. This sudden change of heart felt strange and unsettling.
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My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (115 Chapters – Ongoing)
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