Moving upstairs, he was finally able to see the outside world. Cold light poured in through shattered windows and broken stone arches. The entire asylum, by the looks of it, was perched on the edge of a crumbling cliff. Jagged mountains loomed in the distance, and a vast grey sky stretched overhead like a dome of smoke. For a moment, Solaire's heart sank—how was he supposed to escape from this isolated ruin? But he steadied his breath and forced the panic down.
No. If this nightmare follows any rules, then escaping the asylum has to be the trigger. That's what Oscar said.
Sword in hand, he pressed forward through the corridor. After a few turns, his eyes caught the sight of a massive fog gate ahead—thick and shimmering, the same as the strange mist he had seen when the nightmare first began. Still uncertain, he held off approaching it and instead veered toward a nearby room.
Inside, another figure stirred.
It was a hollow—but unlike the previous one, this one looked far more dangerous. It was fully armored in battered iron, a longsword clenched in one hand and a shield in the other. Its posture was rigid, but something about its stance told Solaire that this one hadn't forgotten how to fight.
He exhaled shakily. "This… this is going to be my first real fight."
Swallowing his fear, Solaire stepped forward. The hollow soldier reacted immediately, its head snapping toward him with unnatural sharpness. With a metallic shriek, it charged.
Solaire tried to react, but he was too slow. The blade came down hard, slicing diagonally across his chest. The pain hit like lightning—white-hot and breath-stealing. He cried out, nearly collapsing.
Too fast! Too strong!
The hollow raised its shield and closed in for another strike. Solaire, instincts roaring from a lifetime of street brawls and desperation, slammed his shoulder into the creature and shoved it back. It staggered for only a moment—but it was enough.
He turned and ran.
His feet pounded against the stone as he dashed down the corridor. The clatter of armored pursuit followed close behind. He could barely think over the pulse thundering in his ears. After a sharp left turn, he ducked behind a corner and yanked out the Estus Flask. With shaking hands, he took a gulp. Warmth flooded through him as the glowing liquid worked its miracle—his torn flesh stitching itself together, the agony receding.
He gritted his teeth and readied his sword. No time to think. There was no where else to run.
As the soldier rounded the corner, Solaire lunged with everything he had, driving the blade forward.
The impact jarred through his arms as steel met undead flesh. The sword pierced the hollow's neck, sliding past rusted armor. The creature twitched, staggered, and then collapsed into ash at his feet.
Silence.
Then—
[You have slain dormant beast: Hollow Soldier]
[You have received a memory: Soldier's Regret]
Panting hard, Solaire dropped to one knee. His arms trembled. Sweat poured from his face. That had taken everything out of him.
"So… he was a soldier," he muttered between ragged breaths. "Wait—why did it confirm the kill this time? Was this one different from the first?"
Still reeling, he called up the memory.
Memory: [Soldier's Regret]
Memory Type: Weapon
Memory Description: Shields wielded by hollow soldiers, rusted but provides strong defense.
He stared at the round, battered shield and the matching sword.
"A sword and a shield. That… that's something. I don't know how to use either though," he muttered with a weak laugh. "Ha ha ha… haaaa…"
His gaze drifted back toward the fog gate.
"…So I guess that only leaves the fog gate."
He sat down in the corridor, resting his head against the cold wall. Minutes turned into hours. The pain dulled. His limbs stopped shaking.
Finally, when he felt steady enough, he stood.
He took one last deep breath—and reached for the fog.
The surface felt cold and unnatural, like walking through a thick veil of static. He stepped in—
"Ugh! That felt like going through ta—oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"
He spun around, slamming his hands against the fog wall behind him. Solid. Impenetrable. He was trapped.
Below the balcony where he stood, the abominable creature—the same hulking beast that had nearly killed him before—snarled in the gloom. Its massive form shifted beneath the torchlight..
He sat atop the balcony for what felt like an eternity. Below him, the monstrous creature screeched and twisted in fury, its grotesque body pulsing with rage, ready to crush him into pulp with its massive axe. Seconds dragged into minutes, minutes stretched into hours. Each passing moment gnawed at his nerves, but eventually, the storm of fear began to dull—if only slightly.
He focused on the demon. Its movements, its stance, its form.
"…It looks smaller than the one I saw near the cell," he whispered, narrowing his eyes. "So there's more than one of these things. Great."
The thought churned uneasily in his mind. How am I supposed to take it down? My sword… it barely worked against a hollow. This thing is a monster.
Still, after pacing and muttering to himself, after running out of doubts and fears to latch onto, he came to a simple conclusion.
"Well… there's only one way now."
He backed up, steadied his breath, then leapt off the balcony, sword angled downward.
Time seemed to slow.
Wind roared in his ears.
The demon's single eye widened—and then—
With a brutal crunch, Solaire's blade pierced straight into its eye, burrowing deep into the socket. The creature howled, a bone-rattling screech echoing through the arena.
Solaire hit the ground hard. He rolled, groaning, and stumbled back to his feet. "That's it! Take that, you bas—!"
But before the words could even leave his mouth, he blinked—
And found himself standing back near the fog gate.
"…Huh?" he gasped, spinning around in confusion. "What just happened? I—I had it. I stabbed its eye and then—"
The memory came rushing back in an instant, visceral and terrifying. He began gagging, knees buckling under him.
He had died.
The demon's axe had come crashing down, and in one horrifying instant, he had been reduced to nothing but blood and pulp.
But here he was. Alive.
No, not alive. Not exactly.
"…Oscar… he said we were both undead. He said he'd go hollow." His voice trembled as the pieces clicked together.
"Does that mean… when we die… we come back? But each time… we lose a piece of ourselves?"
The realization rooted itself in his chest like a cold, iron weight. His greatest fear wasn't dying anymore. It was becoming like them—the hollows. Soulless. Mindless. Cursed to shuffle through the ruins of this asylum, no longer aware of self or purpose.
He looked down at his hands.
His skin had darkened. His arms were thinner. The telltale signs were there—he was beginning to resemble the creatures he had fought. Something inside him, something warm and human, had chipped away ever so slightly.
But he was still himself. Just barely.
I can still think. I can still feel. I'm not gone yet.
He knew then: this nightmare had one rule. If he didn't escape… if he didn't defeat the creature at the heart of it all, he'd lose everything.
He would become hollow.
And this place would be his tomb forever.