"I'm sorry... I simply never imagined an Omen could speak..."
"No need to apologize. We are outliers, even among our own kind," Mohg replied. "More importantly, why are you all down here?"
"Ah... that," she sighed. "It's because we've all contracted a strange disease. Our skin has started to ulcerate and rot... It's quite hideous. The Perfumers tried to find a cure, but they couldn't. Eventually, under pressure from the public, they moved us down here."
"I see..."
Mohg nodded slowly. He looked down, scrutinizing their condition. His primary concern was whether this was the Scarlet Rot, but judging by their appearance, it didn't seem to be. Had it been the Rot, the Golden Order wouldn't have been "composed" enough to simply relocate them here; they would have been dragged to a secret location and incinerated immediately.
"Shut up! Can't you just let me have some damn peace?!"
Suddenly, a harsh, volatile male voice erupted from beside them.
Mohg turned his head, his expression clouding with annoyance. The speaker was another man wrapped entirely in bandages. From the look of him, his condition was far worse than the woman Mohg had been speaking to. He couldn't even wear clothes anymore; he wore nothing but a pair of trousers, his entire torso and limbs swathed in gauze, leaving only his eyes and mouth exposed.
His eyes were bloodshot, and within his gaze, Mohg saw a cocktail of despair, madness, and violence—all underpinned by a foundation of excruciating pain.
A second later, the man's expression shifted. Rage gave way to sheer terror.
"No, no, no... an Omen?! Get back! Stay away from me!!"
As he screamed, the man flailed his arms wildly, desperate to crawl away from Mohg. However, his withered body refused to cooperate. Every slight movement seemed to bring a fresh wave of agony. Soon, he collapsed onto the stone floor, weeping silently in his misery.
"No... why? Why does it have to be me...?"
Mohg looked away, returning his attention to the young woman.
"Can you tell me your name?"
"Yes... I am Liana. And you, Mister Omen?"
"I am Mohg. Well, Liana, would you mind if I took a look at your affliction?"
Mohg gave his name casually before making his request. Liana looked hesitant, her face clouding with a troubled expression.
"If it makes you uncomfortable, then forget I asked."
"No... it's just... I'm worried I'll frighten you, Master Mohg..."
"You don't need to worry about that."
Mohg waved her concerns away. Having played through the Dark Souls trilogy and Bloodborne, he had seen his fair share of sanity-blasting horrors. He wasn't about to be rattled by a skin condition.
"If you insist..."
With trembling fingers, Liana lowered her head and slowly began to unwind the bandages around her wrist.
Unlike the pale skin of her palm, the area beneath the bandages was a raw, bloody mess of weeping sores and pus, emitting a faint, foul odor. There were even traces of viscous fluid clinging to the cloth as she pulled it away. This simple act of unwrapping clearly caused Liana unbearable pain; Mohg could see the tears welling in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Mohg didn't dare touch the wound directly. He had just climbed out of a literal sewer, after all—he was likely far "dirtier" than she was.
Instead, he glanced toward Morgott to ensure his brother was preoccupied on the other side of the road. Then, a flash of crimson light flickered for a fraction of a second, disappearing into Liana's body.
Liana felt nothing. She didn't even notice Mohg's subtle manipulation.
As the blood resonance returned to him, Mohg sensed the state of her internal systems. To put it bluntly... it was terminal. A virus-like force was acting directly upon her blood, systematically attacking every organ in her body. It reminded Mohg of a certain disease from his previous life.
He wasn't sure if the Golden Dynasty possessed a cure. Perhaps they did, but it was likely a method beyond the reach of commoners like Liana—or perhaps the cost was simply too high for an ordinary person to pay. Despite the "utopian" facade the Golden Order presented, its social structure was still fundamentally medieval.
Whether people like Liana could truly "Return to the Erdtree" was an open question.
"It's hideous, isn't it, Master Mohg?"
"Don't worry about it. You're just sick," Mohg said softly as he helped her re-wrap the bandages.
He stood up slowly. He kept one thought to himself: he might actually be able to save her. Using the power of the Formless Mother, he could grant her a Blood Blessing. Once her blood was infused with that power, the disease would no longer be an issue.
But that was only a theory. He didn't know if it would truly work, and if it failed, he would only be dragging her from one hell into another. More importantly... he didn't know if she would even want it. To accept the Blood Blessing was to commit ultimate blasphemy against the Erdtree.
In an era where a religious fanatic could pop up behind any corner, Mohg decided it was better to be cautious.
"What's going on here?"
Mohg turned at the sound of the voice behind him.
"Ah, nothing much. Just some sick people... who have been 'sidelined' down here."
Mohg had almost said "tossed out," but he caught himself and chose a softer word.
"Afflicted? Let me see."
Morgott's eyes showed a flicker of surprise. He knelt down and began to examine them. Toward the "Subjects of Gold," Morgott was always remarkably compassionate.
After the examination, Morgott's brow furrowed. It seemed he had no cure for this blight either. He stood in place and channeled two incantations: Lord's Aid and Blessing of the Erdtree.
Despite its grand name, Lord's Aid was a relatively common restorative incantation with modest requirements. As the twin pulses of golden light washed over the group, the color returned to their pale faces. However, Morgott knew this was merely treating the symptoms, not the cause.
"I cannot uproot this sickness, I'm afraid. This is all I can do for you," Morgott said, his voice tinged with regret.
He left one thought unspoken: I hope that once you return to the Erdtree, you will find peace.
All who received the Grace of Gold were destined to return to the Erdtree's embrace. After all... if they didn't return, how could the Erdtree recycle its power? The real question was whether they would ever be released again. For a commoner, only through a "proper" burial and rite of return was there any hope of walking the world once more.
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Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (174 Chapters – Ongoing)
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