Once the gates were thrown open, Stormveil Castle descended into utter pandemonium. Gawain led his forces inward with almost no resistance; the heavy ballistae and fortifications aimed at the entrance sat abandoned.
In their place was total, unmitigated chaos. Godrick's loyalists were locked in a desperate struggle against the rebelling Exile Soldiers. High above, the phantom of the Ancient King was surrounded by a swirling vortex of countless Stormhawks, a clear proclamation that the city's true master had returned to reclaim his throne.
With the King's deliberate support, a perpetual gale swirled around Gawain even without him casting a single Storm skill. A growing flock of Stormhawks circled his head like a divine escort.
Wherever he passed, the rebelling Exile Soldiers and Banished Knights instinctively parted to form a path. Everyone knew his final destination, and no one possessed the right to stand in his way.
"Nepheli, Rogier—go rescue the imprisoned Tarnished. Remember: do not spare a single Grafted Scion."
"Understood. May the winds protect you," Nepheli replied, gripping her Stormhawk Axes. "Give Godrick an extra strike for me."
She and Rogier immediately veered off toward the dungeon wards.
Just as Gawain was about to issue further orders, a massive silhouette leaped from the ramparts, shattering the stone floor in front of him. It was the other Crucible Knight of the castle, one who remained stubbornly loyal to Godrick. Two massive Lion Guardians flanked him, followed by a small contingent of knights who still held their ground.
Elza stepped forward, her twin blades humming with magical energy as they glowed with contrasting hues.
"We'll handle this. Your opponent is waiting for you in the deepest reach."
"Right. I'm leaving this to you."
The moment the words left his mouth, Elza charged. Two legends of the Giant-Conquering era collided. The Dancer's Enchanted Swords clashed against the Ordovis's Greatsword in a violent spray of sparks.
A battle of this caliber wouldn't be decided in a few strikes. To be precise, the Crucible Knight couldn't keep up with her speed; even with the varied transformations of the Aspects of the Crucible, he struggled to catch the Zamor Hero, who moved like a ghost weaving through the air.
Conversely, Elza's attacks struggled to pierce his defenses. Crucible armor was notoriously sturdy, and her current raw power was slightly lacking. Without Gawain's buffs, it was difficult to draw blood.
Edgar, meanwhile, led the warriors behind him into the fray. He personally engaged one of the Lion Guardians. Having just fought a Leonine Misbegotten at Castle Morne, he found the prospect of slaying a true lion quite exhilarating.
Galvan and his mercenaries engaged Godrick's knights, but they soon found they weren't needed. A massive influx of Banished Knights from the rear had joined the rebellion, and the tide turned into a landslide. The resistance Godrick had scrambled together was being crushed like dry weeds.
Except for the duel between the Crucible Knights in the center, the defense had all but evaporated.
Edgar drove his spear through the heart of the lion before him. As he turned his head, he suddenly remembered something and shouted, "Wait! Watch out for the golems at the Divine Tower! Follow me to dismantle those things, or they'll be a nightmare later!"
But as he prepared to lead a squad toward the bridge, another golden-armored Crucible Knight appeared from the rear.
Edgar tensed, but quickly realized this was the one Gawain had unsealed. Gawain had consulted him on how to handle the prisoner before they set out. His presence here meant...
"Enough, Finn! Stand down!"
Kandane's wings erupted from his back. Channeling a massive surge of Crucible energy into his greatsword, he dove toward his former comrade.
Elza had already noticed the newcomer. Knowing why he was here, she stepped back and yielded the duel. Let these two "poise monsters" beat each other senseless. She had no desire to keep "chipping" away at armor; she needed to hurry and catch up to Gawain to see the showdown with Godrick.
"Kandane? You actually chose to come out?" the knight named Finn shouted, showing little surprise. He had clearly expected that their differing ideologies would one day lead to this. "I knew you would eventually turn traitor."
"Traitor?" Kandane roared. "My loyalty was to Lord Godfrey and the Golden Godwyn—not to a depraved wretch who plays with severed limbs! I care not if he shares the Golden Lineage!"
"Save your breath. Years in a cell have made you soft. Godrick is the descendant of those we swore to serve. It is my duty to stand by him until the end!"
Realizing words were useless, the two Crucible Knights threw themselves at each other. Against an opponent of equal caliber, they unleashed their Aspects fully—no finesse, just raw, unyielding force.
Elsewhere, Nepheli and Rogier had breached the chamber housing the massive portrait of Godfrey. This was the dark heart of the grafting process, where countless severed limbs hung from the ceiling.
Some of the "chrysalids" stuffed into sacks were still twitching in agony.
The hellish sight triggered bitter memories for Nepheli. With a roar, she unleashed a powerful Storm skill from her axes, carving through the Grafted Scions prowling the hall.
She was surprised to find her skills far more potent than usual. Every swing seemed to generate a gale that sheared through multiple limbs at once. She could only attribute the boost to the phantom Stormhawk circling above.
Seeing that Nepheli could handle the Scions, Rogier followed the intelligence provided by the moles to locate the cells.
Along the way, he found a pile of discarded corpses that had been turned into chrysalids. Amidst the mountain of flesh, he spotted a red item. Though he didn't know its significance, he tucked it into his robes.
He eventually reached a row of locked rooms. According to the moles, this was where the prisoners were kept before their "harvest."
The Tarnished inside, who had been tortured for so long they had lost the will to live, heard the commotion. A flicker of hope ignited in their eyes. Not just any Tarnished was chosen for grafting; those who survived the process usually possessed significant combat potential.
When the doors finally swung open, they didn't hesitate. Grabbing whatever makeshift weapons they could find, they followed Rogier's guidance to escape.
As Rogier prepared to head deeper into the underground to pursue his own goal, he noticed a young girl in a red hood huddled in a single, isolated cell at the back of the room. Out of concern, he approached her.
"What is your name? Why are you still here?"
The girl looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of vacant trauma and terror.
"My name is Roderika... I'm sorry. I don't want to go out. It's too terrifying out there."
Rogier noticed the cell wasn't even locked. She was staying here of her own volition, hiding from the world.
"You are free now. Leave this place and find somewhere safe. The monsters of grafting won't find you again."
Roderika gave a bitter, hollow smile. She lacked the courage to run. "My companions... their arms, legs, heads... all cut off to become part of the spider. Their bodies became chrysalids, discarded outside. I was supposed to be with them... but I was too cowardly. The mere thought of it makes me tremble with fear."
Rogier remembered the memento he had found in the corpse pile. He pulled it out and handed it to her.
"I believe this belonged to your friends. Keep it. And please, leave this place. You are still alive; that has to mean something."
Roderika's hands shook as she took the item. Realizing what it was, she couldn't suppress a sob. After a moment, she looked up at her savior with watery eyes.
"Everyone believed in me. Even when I could do nothing, they believed I would achieve something in the future. Thank you... for bringing back their memento."
A massive boom from the distance interrupted the moment. Rogier knew the sound—the roar of a troll.
"It is not me you should thank," Rogier said. "If I'm not mistaken, that man is already at Godrick's doorstep."
Just as Rogier suspected, Gawain had cut his way alone to the final chamber. A massive troll before him shuddered, let out a final wail, and collapsed.
Behind him lay the remains of Godrick's final defense—men who had died in a variety of ways, from pyromancy explosions to being shredded by Stormhawks.
Gawain could see the bloated, oversized silhouette through the corridor. Remembering the atrocities this man had committed, his anger flared. He roared at the top of his lungs:
"Godrick! Come out and face me! Stop hiding behind your puppets! And don't bother—even if you lick my boots this time, it won't save you!"
Gawain's voice, amplified by the storm, echoed through the castle. The frantic Godrick heard it clearly.
The Demigod's countless limbs were trembling violently. He couldn't tell if it was from rage or sheer, paralyzing terror. He didn't understand how everything had collapsed so fast. Why had the Stormhawks and Banished Knights betrayed him?
Looking at the approaching figure, Godrick felt his spirit break before a single blow was struck. He was reminded of the terror he felt when the Malenia had bested him.
Gritting his teeth, he raised his axe and hacked off his own left arm. With a desperate heave, he pulled the head of the dragon corpse beside him and jammed it onto the stump. Though the grafting ritual was hurried and imperfect, he was out of time.
Enduring the agonizing pain, he turned around, swinging the newly attached dragon head to bolster his courage. Shedding his outer robes, he revealed his hideous, multi-limbed form, snarling and posturing in a desperate attempt to look powerful.
"A mere Tarnished, so full of bluster! Do not think you can claim my Great Rune just by standing here! I am the Lord of all that is Golden! I command thee... kneel!"
Gawain looked at the posturing Godrick and almost laughed. So this is the Shardbearer who is easier to kill than the Omen at the gate? He's pathetic.
The louder the bluster, the deeper the fear. Gawain could even see some of the grafted limbs twitching and tangling into each other in panic.
He actually put his weapons away. A man with this many extra limbs was the perfect candidate for a slow execution. He wouldn't let him die quickly; he wanted him to feel the agony he had inflicted on others.
Godrick watched the Tarnished approach, his entire body quivering. Like the Grafted Scions, Godrick's limbs held a variety of weapons—from crossbows to blades. Since the grafting merged the consciousness into a single whole, all these weapons were active.
In a flurry of panic, a volley of crossbow bolts and magic glintstones was unleashed, mixed with a chaotic mess of Ash of War skills. It was a "kitchen sink" offensive—throwing everything he had and hoping something stuck.
Gawain watched the mess of attacks. His first thought was surprise at how much FP Godrick must have to spam so many skills at once. However, while most of the attacks flew wildly toward the horizon of Liurnia, the few that reached him were simply deflected by his Twisted Wall of Light.
Godrick retreated as he fired. Realizing he was backed into a corner, he unleashed a blast of dragonfire from his left arm—his best "material" to date. He leaped into the air with his Golden Axe, wreathed in a vortex of flame, and swung down at Gawain.
"Using fire against me? Do you even know who I am?"
Gawain simply waved a hand. Using his mastery of pyromancy, he seized control of the flames and pulled them toward himself. With a clench of his fist, the fire exploded outward, swallowing Godrick whole. The Demigod's attack was snuffed out mid-air, and he rolled across the floor in a scorched, undignified heap.
Godrick coughed up blood. Because he had prioritized the quantity of limbs over structural integrity, the impact had snapped several of his "extra" bones. The pain was shared across his entire nervous system.
"Two hands are usually enough for a person. Attaching this many is just asking for trouble. See? Karma. But don't worry, I'm a kind man. I'll help you prune them."
Gawain right hand began to glow with the white light of the Way of White Corona. But instead of throwing it, he manipulated the shape, extending the edges until it resembled a high-speed, vibrating buzzsaw.
He charged forward, wielding the modified corona like a luminous saw. He began to systematically carve through the twisted, overgrown limbs of the Golden Lineage. The air was quickly filled with Godrick's agonizing screams and the acrid smell of burning flesh.
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Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (73 chapter - Ongoing)
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