Mohg exhaled a long, slow breath, steadying his racing heart before turning his attention to the surrounding architecture.
The structures bore the distinct, ornate style of the Golden Order. This meant the upper echelons of the dynasty were well aware of what lay at the very bottom of the sewers, yet for some reason, they hadn't stationed any guards here.
However, he also noticed a rather frustrating design flaw: the staircases weren't continuous. They were tiered.
In other words, the flight of stairs they were currently on didn't lead directly to the level below. To reach the next floor, they either had to vault over the railing and drop down or follow the current path to find another door, exit, and search for a different route.
As for the "vault and jump" method... Mohg suspected that whoever designed this place wouldn't have left such an obvious shortcut. He didn't particularly want to find out what happened to those who tried to cheese the descent.
Furthermore, Mohg didn't see the familiar elevator from his memory. This suggested they were still a significant distance from the true bottom.
"Have you rested enough?" Mohg asked, turning toward Morgott.
"Enough," Morgott replied with a nod. He slowly rose from the ground, casting a slightly surprised glance at his younger brother. He knew Mohg's constitution was stronger than his own, but he hadn't realized the gap was this significant.
Fortunately, he possessed advantages that Mohg did not.
"To think such a place existed within the sewers..." Morgott muttered, scanning the area as he began to lead the way down.
"I'm not entirely sure either. Perhaps it was built for some specific purpose," Mohg replied vaguely. He didn't want to explain too much; it would be impossible to justify how he knew such things. As they walked, he grabbed a torch from a bracket on the wall.
He had no idea what kind of fuel it used, but it burned with an eternal, steady flame.
"It's a dead end."
After walking for a while, Morgott reached the end of the path and turned back to Mohg, his expression flat. Mohg blinked and walked forward to join him. He saw a small room with a staircase leading upward, ending at another familiar-looking wooden door.
"Well, looks like we're heading back into the pipes," Mohg said with a resigned shrug. He moved to the door and began to heave it open.
Morgott stepped up to help. As the heavy wood groaned open, a new sight greeted them. It was an exceptionally long corridor, the floor cluttered with crates and sacks that seemed to contain supplies. Torches lined the walls, casting a warm glow over everything.
It looked almost like a staging area specifically designed for resupply.
"How unexpected..." Morgott remarked, stepping into the hallway.
Just as Mohg was about to suggest taking the lead again, a violent, overwhelming wave of dizziness struck him without warning.
"Ugh...!"
With a muffled groan, Mohg collapsed, his knees hitting the floor hard.
"What's wrong?" Morgott spun around, confusion turning instantly to alarm when he saw Mohg kneeling on the ground. His face paled, and he rushed to his brother's side. "Hey, Mohg! What happened?!"
But Mohg could no longer hear him. His vision had turned a saturated, visceral blood-red. A searing heat began to surge from the depths of his marrow, coiling upward through his body.
Along with the heat came an insatiable thirst for blood and a primal urge to slaughter.
Morgott was at a loss. Seeing no obvious wound, he hesitated for a moment before placing his hand on Mohg's back, desperately channeling the power of the Golden Order into his brother's body to stabilize him.
Meanwhile, within the depths of his own consciousness, Mohg had reached a critical threshold.
In the center of a sea of red, a silhouette slowly coalesced.
Mohg's vision cleared enough to see her. The upper half of the figure was that of a woman with a lithe, seductive form. Although the upper half of her face was concealed behind a mask, Mohg felt certain her beauty rivaled that of his mother, Marika.
However, when his gaze fell upon her lower half, his mind recoiled. It was a mass of blood-red, indistinguishable matter—a pulsing, writhing mound of flesh covered in a translucent white membrane.
It was an eldritch sight that threatened to shatter his very sanity.
"My child... embrace your blood... embrace your power... then, come embrace me... grant me joy..."
The voice echoed like the maddening whispers of an Outer God from a Lovecraftian mythos, making Mohg's skin crawl.
But soon, the thirst for blood began to recede. The stifling heat dissipated, and the seductive, corrupting influence of this Outer God—the Mother of Truth—faded away. It was as if the debuff she had inflicted upon him had been an accident, a mere byproduct of her attention.
In truth, that was exactly what it was. She never intentionally coerced mortals into worship; she simply guided them to awaken the latent desires and ancestral powers within their blood.
She was never stingy with her power. So long as one could grant her "joy," she was more than willing to bestow her blessings.
And as for "joy"... Mohg knew exactly what that meant. To put it bluntly, the Mother of Truth was a cosmic-scale masochist. To wound her body, to grant her pain—that was what brought her joy. Similarly, sacrifices of high-quality blood pleased her.
This "accidental" pull into her presence was simply because she was overexcited. For the first time in countless ages, she had encountered a being with such high-quality blood. In her excitement, she had been uncharacteristically talkative.
While Morgott shared the same lineage, his rejection of his own blood was too absolute, and he was too tightly bound to that "golden thing" above. She had no love for the gold.
"Phew..."
With the departure of the Mother of Truth, Mohg's consciousness snapped back to reality. He saw Morgott's worried face hovering over him, his brother still frantically pouring energy into him.
"Are you alright?" Morgott's face was deathly pale from the exertion, but he gripped Mohg's shoulders tightly.
"I'm fine... I just... I felt something coming from deep underground," Mohg lied, shaking his head. He silently pinned the blame on the Three Fingers; it was better not to let his naive older brother know about the Mother of Truth just yet.
"Deep underground...?" Morgott's expression grew grim. He moved to help Mohg up, but as he did, his own legs gave way, and he slumped against Mohg.
Mohg gave a helpless sigh and supported Morgott instead.
"Sit here and rest for a bit. We'll move when you're ready."
"Alright," Morgott nodded, closing his eyes to begin recovering his strength.
Meanwhile, Mohg began to explore the small "gift" the Mother of Truth had left behind in his soul.
────────────────────────────────────────
🔥 Want more chapters & early access?
Support me here:
👉 https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
✨ Get:
• Early access chapters
• Full access to all released chapters
• Support the story you love ❤️
📖Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (142 Chapters – Ongoing)
Join the journey and become part of the story!
────────────────────────────────────────