The vast, dark hall, pestilential with death and decay, contrasted with the portrait of Godfrey. Only decadence could be breathed.
Mitranis crossed the threshold as one entering a desecrated cathedral. The air, heavy with the smell of dust and rusted metal, clung to his skin like a second skin. Before him, the gigantic portrait of the First Elden Lord dominated the far wall, his figure still commanding respect despite the years and abandonment. Godfrey, with Serosh on his shoulders, gazed toward a horizon that no longer existed.
But it was not the portrait that had drawn Mitranis. It was the trail.
A wake of recent violence marked the cracked marble: dark bloodstains, fragments of shattered armor, and the echo of screams that still seemed to vibrate in the stones. They were the groans of exiled soldiers, defeated by a force that Mitranis recognized all too well.
Then, and more importantly... those sacks. The chrysalises Roderika had spoken of. His allies, and others. Furthermore, metal hooks hung from chains on the high ceiling of the hall. They were like the hooks that held pieces of slaughtered cattle. If it weren't for the fact that Mitranis was accustomed to death, it might have given him an uncontrollable urge to vomit.
There she was.
Hestia, seated against the north wall, her back curved like a broken bow. Her head rested on her knees, her red hair hiding her face. Beside her, a figure stood: a Banished Knight, his silver armor somewhat rusted, but still imposing.
The man's hand approached Hestia's shoulder, not with a threat, but with a false courtesy that Mitranis could smell from a mile away. Rather, the knight's hands were going to the woman's breasts. It wasn't as if any of those soldiers, knights, had a chance to enjoy a woman, let alone one as beautiful as Hestia.
Mitranis's instinct sprang like a coil.
There was no thought, only pure movement.
His feet left the ground in absolute silence, closing the distance between him and the knight in three impossible strides. The man barely had time to turn, his hand moving away from Hestia, when Mitranis was already upon him.
"What—?" the knight began.
But the words drowned in his throat.
Mitranis had already drawn Tenebrae.
With a swift, precise movement, the black blade crossed the knight's neck. A spray of dark blood splattered the marble as the man brought his hands to his neck, his eyes wide with shock. Mitranis held him for an instant, looking at him with a vacant expression.
"Women like you..." the knight managed to spit, bubbles of blood forming on his lips. "...always bring trouble."
Mitranis tightened the dagger.
The final sound was a wet click as the blade completely severed the trachea and spine. The knight's body collapsed like a sack of rags, bleeding profusely onto the marble.
Hestia looked up, her blue eyes opening like saucers.
A scream caught in her throat turned into a gasp of shock. She had not expected such explicit violence. Not even from Mitranis. She had seen the boy fight, but this was different. It was the cold efficiency of an executioner, not the warm fury of a warrior who gave her space to fight as an equal.
Mitranis wiped the dagger on the fallen knight's tunic, without looking at Hestia.
"Don't tell me you didn't notice that knight," he said, his voice flat. "He was going to assault you... but I suppose you were too tired to react."
Hestia brought a hand to her mouth, holding back nausea. The image of the slaughtered knight mixed with Mitranis's words, creating a nightmare of horror.
"I don't want to describe what would have happened next... But you would have ended up like all these pieces of meat. Godrick loves the flesh of beautiful and strong women."
"How... how did you know that?"
"Banished knights always think alike," Mitranis replied, offering her his hand to help her up. "More are coming, I can hear their hurried steps. We have to fight our way to the throne room."
Hestia took his hand with a tremor, still processing the brutality she had just witnessed. Mitranis held her firmly as they advanced through the castle corridors. The walls seemed to close in on them, the eyes of gargoyle statues following them in the gloom. Each step echoed like a heartbeat in the oppressive silence.
Godrick's Castle was a labyrinth of tortuous passages and halls that seemed about to crumble from age and absolute neglect. Though the worst were the outer walls, with their enormous holes, covered in thorny branches.
At every corner, exiled soldiers blocked their path. Mitranis moved like a specter among them, his dagger tracing arcs of black light that felled enemies before they could scream. Hestia, recovering her strength, covered his back with her Carian sorcery, her Glintstone Pebble spells creating barriers with her shield that deflected arrows and knives.
Finally, they arrived at an inner courtyard. The air was fresher here, charged with the smell of recent rain. In the center, a woman waited, leaning against a fragment of a column. Her armor... it could hardly be considered armor.
Rather, they were a warrior's garments. On her torso, a leather breastplate, and thick trousers, also of leather. On her head, a kind of hat or bandana, quite peculiar, red in color.
Mitranis had noted the woman with other fighters from the highlands, surely from beyond The Lands Between. A Tarnished, definitely. Her posture denoted a confidence born from countless battles.
There was no doubt. She was the woman Rogier had told Hestia about.
"Nepheli Loux?" Hestia asked, recognizing her from Rogier's descriptions.
The woman straightened upon hearing her name. The corpse of a Banished Knight could be seen. He had died from a clean blow, but one that had clearly shattered his torso, armor and all. Hestia looked carefully at the axe the woman carried. It was no ordinary thing.
In an instant, Nepheli examined the warriors with swiftness and precision. She got an idea of the situation.
"Hmm... My father likely sent you," Nepheli said, her voice grave but not hostile. "You don't seem weak. But you're not in good shape either."
"We've had a busy day," Hestia replied, with a hint of defiance in her voice. "We met the 'guardian' of this place."
Nepheli let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Margit?" Nepheli asked, with a small hint of surprise. "If things went that way... your exhaustion is justified. I'd say it's a miracle you're alive."
"Are you here to defeat Godrick?" Mitranis asked, without preamble. "We need help, and yours would be very, very welcome."
Nepheli looked at them for a long moment. Her eyes settled on Mitranis, as if perceiving something beyond his Recusant appearance. Then, her gaze shifted to Hestia, and an expression almost of respect crossed her face.
"Gods... do you really think you can stand against the Grafted?" Nepheli asked, with a skepticism that was not mockery, but realistic. "I've seen stronger warriors than you enter the great courtyard outside the throne room."
"We have something he doesn't," Hestia interjected, her voice firm. "We have determination."
Nepheli watched her in silence. Then, she nodded slowly.
"Determination is good. But it's not enough. Godrick has tremendous power. It's not just from him, or his grafts. His Great Rune is the anchor. Some say it's a copy, but it's surely real. And even if it were fake... it's extremely powerful."
Hestia didn't quite understand what Nepheli meant by the anchor.
"The anchor is... The trio of rings that converge at the center of the Elden Ring," Ernest explained to Hestia, kindly.
"It's evident that the power it contains is no small thing."
"I understand," Hestia replied, now showing concern. "If things are this complex, I think we'll need a good strategy."
"We could say it's imperative to have one," Mitranis said. "We need to fight our way through first. The final stretch before reaching the throne room awaits us. And the path stinks of troll."
A fierce smile crossed Nepheli's face.
"Well, perhaps I can give you the chance to reach Godrick without having to wear yourselves out with that troll and the other knights. Then, I'll try to catch up in time."
"Well... Say no more," Hestia said, about to draw her sword.
"Don't rush it, woman," Mitranis said, placing his hand on Hestia's right shoulder. "In that room there, the one Nepheli seemed to come from, there is a lost grace. Use it."
Hestia nodded and entered that room to recover with that lost grace. At the same time, Melina would help her grow stronger, thanks to all the enemies she had faced in the castle.
Nepheli seemed surprised. She looked at Mitranis, and couldn't help but ask.
"You have no sign of being a Tarnished, Mitranis," the woman stated, with a serious expression, "and yet, you can see the Grace. Why?"
A short pause took over the courtyard. Mitranis sighed.
"I wish I knew, Nepheli."
Gideon's adopted daughter fell silent. Meanwhile, Mitranis threw a stone that glowed with a golden hue. It was warm... And gentle. That stone offered healing.
"Well... I suppose we must get on with our improvised strategy."
Mitranis laughed at Nepheli's reaction. She just drew her axe and wielded it softly. She was more than ready to fight.
At that moment, Hestia ran up to her companions. She was ready now.
"I guess now is when we begin," Mitranis said, drawing his dagger. "Ready or not... Here we go!"
At that precise moment, Nepheli lunged at all the soldiers and knights she could. A single movement of her axe was enough to generate a gust of wind. She swung her axe, spinning it over and over her head. The attack, relentless, would be a real problem for the Banished Knights, and certain death for the soldiers.
Meanwhile, Hestia and Mitranis slipped along the right edge of the path that led to the entrance of the courtyard that announced the arrival at the throne room, where Godrick surely was.
"Are you sure about what we're going to do?" Hestia asked, running alongside Mitranis.
"I couldn't answer you," he declared, running faster and faster, "but we have no choice but to fight. You're ready; I am too."
With nothing more to say, the duo dodged the troll that lunged at them. Now only the narrow passageway that would lead them to the inevitable and terrible battle remained.
As Hestia and Mitranis headed to the battle of their lives, in the depths of the castle, Rogier advanced through passages that grew increasingly damp and dark. The air grew heavy, laden with the smell of rot and decomposition. Finally, he arrived at an underground cavern, where numerous roots appeared.
But, they were not just any kind of root: they looked like... tentacles. And the source of these left no room for any impression or doubt on the matter: A body formed of wood, stone, or other unknown material loomed brutally from the rock that bounded that cavern.
That thing was not a root: it was a corpse. Furthermore; it was not a corpse in the traditional sense. It could not be. And that indicated to Rogier that he had reached his objective.
That thing had a humanoid shape, but swollen and corrupt, as if death itself had decided to take physical form. It seemed a withered and dried creature. One could not say where its eyes, its mouth, its nose were. It seemed its mouth... Or the crest of its head had undulating limits. It was almost like an oyster shell.
Rogier approached with caution, his estoc ready for any threat. But there was none. Only the sepulchral silence of death and the constant whisper of the roots.
"So here was your counterpart... Godwyn the Golden."
Indeed: that was the putrescent corpse of Godwyn the Golden, Marika's firstborn, murdered during the Night of the Black Knives. His soul had been destroyed, but his body remained, becoming the source of the corruption of soulless creatures that yet remained in body.
For some, it was the pinnacle of corruption and opprobrium for the Golden Order and The Lands Between. But... for others, it was a consequence of the disorder Marika caused in The Lands Between by sealing Destined Death.
The sorcerer felt a shiver run down his spine. It was not fear, but reverence. Before him lay something that felt like the source and origin of all the world's suffering. The starting point of the current nightmare, the one that allowed Those Who Live in Death to exist. And, unknowingly, it was also the key to a delicate mystery in the making.
"Fia..." Rogier stammered, about to mount the head of that creature.
However, he hesitated. He remembered his allies. Much as he followed Fia, as much as he had a sort of feelings for her, it seemed foolish to continue. Even if that body was not the original, just as the woman had told him, there was too much risk in getting closer.
"I'm sorry, Fia..." Rogier said.
Then, the sorcerer backed away and headed towards a rope ladder that climbed the unheard-of height of the castle walls.
Upon taking the first step, he felt the greatest terror of his life. A kind of bush rose up behind him. Rather, it was a stake. However... it was neither wood, nor pods: They were... earthworms, and insect wings that resembled thorns. The Deathblight.
Only a second, a small decision, sealed Rogier's fate. And, the most terrifying thing came after. Tears flowed from what now turned out to be the creature's eyes... Tears of that dark mud. There was no doubt: he had to flee.
And, as Rogier had already launched himself onto the ladder to climb it, only one idea ran through his mind.
"This isn't what Fia described to me. She doesn't understand the terrors of playing with death herself."