Within a chaotic void of consciousness, Gawain opened his eyes.
"What is... where am I?"
The cathedral reflected in his pupils was shrouded in a heavy, crimson hue. A sense of dissonance washed over him. Looking down, he found himself holding a Knight Shield in his left hand and the hilt of an Exile Greatsword resting on his right shoulder. He was still clad in the familiar, tattered rags of the Fallen Knight set.
His thoughts remained muddled, as if he had forgotten something vital.
Before he could piece his memories together, a greatsword wreathed in the Profaned Flame swung toward his face.
Even if his mind didn't comprehend the situation, his body's muscle memory took over. His left hand raised the shield for a perfect parry. In the same breath, the Exile Greatsword in his right hand swung with crushing force toward his attacker's chest. The heavy blade tore through exquisite robes, and blood erupted in a violent spray.
He followed through with a kick that sent his foe flying, while a sudden, fierce gale erupted around him, overturning the cathedral's pews and altars.
"SU-LY-VAHN!"
Gawain glared at the enemy slowly picking himself up from the floor. For a moment, he ignored the storm skill he had instinctively unleashed. His heart surged with a burning rage as the memory hit him: he was here to clean house.
In the Profaned Capital, he had granted Yhorm the Giant a final release alongside Siegward of Catarina. After dying more times than he could count, he had finally carved a path through the entirety of Irithyll to stand before Pontiff Sulyvahn.
As the greatest schemer of this dying Age of Fire, Sulyvahn's machinations had shattered the already fragile order of the Cycle. It was his fault the proponents of the Fire were forced to wake weak, nameless Cinders to hunt down the Lords of Cinder.
In Gawain's eyes, even a broken order was better than no order at all. The chaos Sulyvahn had orchestrated for his own ambition was nothing more than a senseless waste of the world's final embers.
"You have already claimed the cinders of two Lords? No wonder you have grown so formidable."
Sulyvahn crossed his dual blades over his chest. He showed no anger, no hysteria. He maintained that same arrogant posture, as if everything were still within his grasp.
"But your journey ends here."
Without another word, the two figures clashed once more. One was a Cinder who favored miracles; the other was a genius sorcerer whose talent had commanded the respect of the gods themselves. It was only fitting that they traded blows with massive swords.
As the battle raged, the sense of wrongness in Gawain's mind intensified. From time to time, he unleashed skills of a strange, alien color. Storm arts that he hadn't mastered in the Profaned Capital now flowed from his hands with practiced ease.
Most importantly, his body seemed to anticipate every move his opponent made. No matter what trick Sulyvahn pulled, Gawain instinctively countered perfectly—as if he had memorized every frame of the fight beforehand.
The outcome was inevitable. Soon, a Soul Spear pierced through Sulyvahn's phantom clone, followed by a spinning slash from the Exile Greatsword. The once-mighty Pontiff Sulyvahn was left kneeling on the floor, clutching a severed arm.
Gawain kicked away the two greatswords that had fallen to the ground. Ensuring his foe was incapacitated, he sneered.
"You lost, schemer. I heard you came from the Painted World. I didn't think your kind bled when they were cut."
Sulyvahn let out a self-deprecating laugh, not bothering to refute the insult.
"As long as there is life, there is injury and blood. Naturally, there is also the fear of death."
"Fear of death? Ha. Is that why you betrayed Gwyndolin and let Aldrich devour the gods? And now, to protect that drowning pig, you dare stand in my way. It seems you aren't as afraid of death as you claim."
"A drowning pig? Heh. What you call a 'drowning pig' is the essential nourishment I need to survive the harrowing ages to come. Therefore, I cannot let you take his cinders back to the throne."
"Doesn't matter. I'll just throw both of you into the First Flame to burn together. If you want to keep protecting him then, be my guest."
Gawain had no interest in further talk. The Exile Greatsword bit into Sulyvahn's shoulder, carving deep into his chest. A pool of disgusting, crimson blood flowed out—the same shade as the world around them.
"Linking the Fire? Truly, you are a Cinder born to be drawn to the flame. Do you really believe sacrificing yourself to link the Fire has any meaning?"
To Gawain's astonishment, Sulyvahn's collapsing body restored itself instantly. But the Pontiff no longer seemed interested in fighting.
"You call me a schemer, but all I have done is acknowledge the nature of this world. The gods have waned, and the First Flame is flickering out."
"Even if you step through that door, return the Cinders of the Lords to their thrones, and burn your soul to extend the Fire... how many years will it last? Centuries? Decades? Or mere years?"
"Once your own light is spent, where in this world will you find another soul powerful enough to feed the Flame?"
Sulyvahn's low voice carried a seductive pull, the same charisma that had once won him Gwyndolin's trust.
"Hmph. What of it? Whatever the future holds, it has nothing to do with you."
Gawain exerted pressure on his blade, bisecting Sulyvahn's body. But after a splash of foul blood, the man restored himself yet again.
"But it has everything to do with you, does it not? I admit, Lord Gwyn was grand for sacrificing himself to prolong the world's light, and countless Undead heroes followed suit. But now? You will undoubtedly be the final Lord of Cinder. Once the Flame burns through your soul, the darkness is inevitable. So, tell me... does such a sacrifice truly have any meaning?"
Gawain slowly lowered his weapon. Part of it was the realization that he couldn't kill the man here and needed to find a weakness; at worst, he would die and try again. But the other part was that the bleak future Sulyvahn described had always been his deepest nightmare.
As a Cinder, he believed he had found the resolve to sacrifice himself after dying a thousand times. But for that very reason, he feared his sacrifice would be meaningless—or worse, that it would only prolong the agony of a broken world's soul.
"It seems you have finally realized something. Life is an incredibly precious thing. Even if you sacrifice it, do not waste it on a futile struggle."
"Partner with me. I can give you eternal life."
"Partner with you? I'm not that stupid."
Gawain almost laughed at the offer. He didn't know how Sulyvahn had the gall to say such things with his wretched reputation.
Sulyvahn didn't seem to mind the rejection. His form began to blur, and the space around them was enveloped in a crimson mist. His rough, wood-like hand gripped Gawain's shoulder from behind, whispering into his ear.
"I can step aside. I can even help you place all the Lords of Cinder upon their thrones so you may touch the Great First Flame directly. I will even give you my own soul to do with as you wish."
"Heh. And what is the price?"
"There is no price. Eternal life is the greatest reward for one who has struggled so hard to survive. You only need to accept my proposal, and I shall clear every obstacle from your path. You will be the only powerful soul capable of surviving the Age of the Deep Sea. After that, you will stand before a reborn First Flame, wielding power that even Gwyn could not imagine."
Gawain felt his consciousness slipping into a blur again. Sulyvahn's figure twisted, turning into a cloud of mist that wrapped around him, pulling his soul toward a certain destination. He wanted to resist, but a part of his inner desire held him back—the biological instinct for survival itself.
Maybe I should just do it... With that thought, he closed his eyes. But unbidden, a beautiful figure in black appeared in his mind. Unlike the surrounding crimson, she was a pool of warm, gentle color.
"What about her? She's still at Firelink Shrine, waiting for me to return."
"Forget that insignificant creature. You only need to entrust everything to me."
Gawain's dazed eyes snapped open. Veins bulged on his neck as he tore himself away from the encroaching mist.
"What did you just say?"
The reconsolidated Sulyvahn looked taken aback. He had been so close to success. Why had it failed?
"I asked you... what did you want me to do?"
Before Sulyvahn could open his mouth, a kick sent him flying. He tumbled across the smooth cathedral floor, crashing into the far wall.
Gawain glared at Sulyvahn with a lethal gaze. In his eyes, the man was already dead.
"I just..."
Before Sulyvahn could finish, a Sunlight Spear tore through his body. The explosion from the powerful miracle was so violent it blew out the wall behind him. Gawain had no other thoughts now; he only wanted to slaughter this vermin who dared suggest he betray the Fire Keeper.
Purple light erupted from his body. Before the enemy could reform, a fist infused with gravitational magic punched Sulyvahn straight into the courtyard.
Gawain chased him out of the cathedral, and only then did he see where he truly was. This was definitely not Irithyll.
The sky was covered in crimson tissue. Eerie masses of flesh littered the courtyard. The Deacons of the Deep who once patrolled above had been replaced by white, crawling pests.
"Right. Okay. You like using tricks like this to lie to me, don't you?"
Upon seeing the true scene outside, his forgotten memories came rushing back. He had almost been fooled by this damnable Goddess of Rot.
The Goddess of Rot, disguised as Sulyvahn, realized she could no longer maintain the charade. A feeling of frustration welled within her. After temporarily subduing Gawain, she had been captivated by his powerful, exquisite life force. Though it seemed a competitor had already staked a claim on him, she wasn't willing to let him go. She had spent a great deal of effort using his memories to craft this illusion.
Deep within every soul lies the desire for life and the unavoidable presence of despair. From these two things, the most beautiful flowers bloom.
The plan should have been perfect. She would have merged her Law with his, claiming this perfect vessel as her avatar. Why had it failed at the final moment?
Looking at the soul now radiating a surging life force born of rage, the Goddess of Rot abandoned all subtlety. Even if she had to use force, she would keep him here.
Gawain looked at the crimson flesh closing in from all directions and realized he was in trouble. He must have been swallowed, and his consciousness forcibly pulled here. Fighting on the enemy's home turf would be difficult; he had to find a way to escape.
But reality was harsh. Even as his Sunlight Spears threatened to melt his hands from the heat, he could only slow the encroaching tide of rot. The space left in the courtyard was shrinking rapidly.
"Dammit. I should've knocked 'him' forward instead of back. This courtyard is cursed; there's always gods lurking here."
Just as he reached his limit, a beam of light pierced through the obscured sky, illuminating the small area where he stood. Through the tiny crack, he could see a brilliant, searing orb of light above.
"Forgive the wait, Ashen One."
A comforting voice spoke from behind him. The Fire Keeper stepped through a tear in the space, cradling a faint but brilliant spark of light in her hands.
"You're finally here. A little later and you would've had to dig me out of this pile of meat."
The Fire Keeper chuckled softly behind her hand, then held out the spark.
"I have been watching you from the beginning. However, an important task required a bit of time to complete. By the way... I heard everything you said just now."
"Ahem. That's not important. This place is about to be completely submerged. What is that in your hand?"
"In my hands is Life. Please, feel it."
Gawain looked puzzled as he slowly took what she offered. Upon contact, he felt a flood of complex emotions—joy, rage, bitterness, longing... it was a soul.
"There is no need to resist your surroundings, Ashen One. For they, too, are a part of life. Accept them, master them, for all of this is a necessary component of existence."
The brilliant soul merged with Gawain. In a daze, a sea of blue flowers bloomed beneath his feet, spreading out as if the crimson flesh were serving as their fertilizer.
The Fire Keeper began to hum a familiar melody. Gawain realized it was a song he had once sung in her presence.
"Because I enjoy its brilliance, because I endure its decay. You say don't love, yet you cannot let go. So life, it is bitter like a song."
After the long ages since the Witch of Izalith became the Bed of Chaos, the Law representing a portion of life merged with the Embers. Through various twists of fate, the King's soul had been reborn in the Lands Between.
Whether it was the immense vitality represented by Radahn's Great Rune or the twisted Scarlet Rot, all became nourishment for the King's Soul. This was the King's Soul of Life.
Gawain felt the power the King's Soul brought him, and his heart filled with a myriad of emotions. Life, truly, was a thing forever worth savoring.
He gripped the Fire Keeper's hand tightly. Amidst the sea of flowers as brilliant as the stars, he softly sang the next verse.
"In the vast galaxy, what are you? In her gentle eyes, what are you? Shining as you fall, yet unable to let go. So life, it is radiant like a song."
With a sharp crack, the false world maintained by the Goddess of Rot began to crumble. He was about to escape this prison of the soul.
"It seems she can no longer hold me. I wonder how much time has passed... it's time to end this."
"Rest assured. The situation outside is not as dire as you imagine. There is still time. The so-called Scarlet Rot is but a small fraction of the authority of the King's Soul of Life."
The Fire Keeper looked up at the shattered sky and smiled.
"It seems your actions have made those Lords of Cinder quite eager. It appears the other side needs some support as well... then this time, let them take the field."
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Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (255 chapter - Ongoing)
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