With a heavy BANG!, the church doors slammed shut.
Everyone collapsed against them, gasping for breath — no energy left to even light the lamps, let alone inspect their surroundings. Lungs burning like something on fire.
Outside, the cries of countless monsters carried through the night — terrifying, warped, the kind of chorus that suggested every demon and ghost in the region had gathered to run loose in the dark. If they'd all charged at once, they could probably have leveled a small town.
Tusk sat on the floor, desperately trying to steady his breathing. Only one coherent thought registered.
Running actually works.
They'd been genuinely lucky. The church had stayed visible at the end of the western avenue the whole way — a few steps, a corner, and they were in. On top of that, Matilda had used Hell March to hold the horde back while Aleya planted trees mid-sprint to slow pursuit.
That combination alone had gotten them through the door.
Adventuring, it turned out, required equal parts skill and luck. Missing either, and you were finished.
The words Church of Yorshka materialized before them.
Fingri lit the bonfire at the center in the same motion, and warmth spread through the space instantly. Standing beside it, everyone felt genuinely safe for the first time in what felt like hours.
"Don't make noise yet. I'll check outside."
Fingri climbed up to a small window near the top of the church and peered through.
Once the bonfire caught, the monsters gathered outside began dispersing on their own. Even the most aggressive Pontiff Knights stopped several paces short of the entrance, waved their weapons a couple of times in visible frustration, and retreated without further pursuit.
"We're safe. For now."
Fingri noted that some hadn't actually left — mirroring the reluctant Pontiff Knights, several had simply tucked themselves into shadows around neighboring buildings, waiting for the group to walk back outside eventually.
They'd essentially built their own trap for later. Fine by him.
He shook his head and turned to examine the church properly.
Church of Yorshka.
He had no context for the name — sounded personal, like someone's actual name rather than a title. Based purely on appearance, though, the space left him with exactly one impression.
Ruined.
No light source of any kind existed inside — just the thin, pitiful moonlight bleeding through from Irithyll's sky, barely enough to identify the space as a church at all. Dust coated the floor. Spiderwebs had accumulated thick across the ceiling in every corner.
"Abandoned?"
If this was meant to worship someone named Yorshka, that particular god had drawn a genuinely short straw. The neglect ran deep enough that nobody had bothered maintaining it in what looked like a very long time.
Where had the congregation gone?
"I assumed they'd worship Gwyn."
On reflection, though, Gwyn, Lord of Cinder, didn't fit Irithyll's aesthetic at all. Made sense his presence wasn't here.
Numerous statues lined the corners — Fingri examined them and found every one depicting young figures holding swords, matching the Small Doll's design exactly.
"Apprentice knights, then?"
He couldn't determine which faction, exactly. Pontiff Knights? Or Darkmoon Knights? Given that the Pontiff had distributed the Small Doll originally, maybe these apprentices belonged to his side specifically.
Out of some sense of respect, Fingri left the statues untouched.
Though it was easy enough to picture — the moment more adventurers made it into Irithyll, these would probably start turning up in the merchandise market before long.
"There's an altar back here."
"Coming."
He took a last look at the statues and moved deeper into the church.
An altar sat in complete silence at the back. Above it hung an unusual symbol — a greatsword piercing through a ring, or possibly meant to evoke the shape of a moon. It radiated something cold and vaguely violent.
"I've seen this before somewhere…"
He worked at the memory until it surfaced.
The crazed werewolves bound to wooden frames back in Farron Keep — this exact symbol had marked them. The frames themselves had been shaped to echo the emblem.
Beneath the altar, something small caught his eye, glowing faintly. He picked it up.
"Whoa!"
An unpleasant surprise.
An ear. Severed.
[Proof of a Concord Kept]
A token proving a Darkmoon Knight has hunted down a Dark Spirit standing as enemy to the gods.
Corpses left without ears inspire fear — a clear message to anyone considering opposition to the gods, marking the vengeance carried by the Blades of the Darkmoon.
This is the founding mission of the Dark Sun, who established the Blades of the Darkmoon: preserving the gods' dignity, and sustaining the Link of the Fire.
Looking at the severed ear, Fingri could easily picture what opposing the gods actually cost you.
You died.
And then someone took a trophy off the body.
Not much distance between that and outright scalping, honestly.
Nobody wanted to hold onto a stranger's oddly textured severed ear longer than necessary. He tossed it to Tusk immediately.
The instant his hand touched the altar, glowing text appeared before him.
[Will you swear the covenant of the Blades of the Darkmoon and become a Darkmoon Knight, delivering vengeance upon the enemies of the gods?]
"A new covenant?"
Fingri's eyes lit up.
Finally — something genuinely new, right at the leading edge of Sein Dungeon's exploration frontier. Currently confirmed covenants stood at three: Warriors of Sunlight, Mound-makers, Watchdogs of Farron.
Now a fourth.
The Blades of the Darkmoon.
"Vengeance on blasphemers — sounds straight out of myth."
He didn't hesitate for a second. Accepted on the spot, moving fast enough that Tusk barely had time to react.
"Mr. Fingri — you didn't even think it over first?!"
This was a covenant. The Watchdogs of Farron had made theirs a genuine ceremonial decision before ever approaching the Old Wolf.
Fingri missed the complaint entirely. The moment he'd committed to the oath, an entirely new scene replaced his surroundings.
He found himself standing inside some kind of magnificent hall. A doorway sealed with white fog stood ahead, obscuring whatever waited beyond it.
His perspective sat oddly low.
Was he — kneeling? On one knee?
A gender-neutral voice drifted from beyond the fog — cold, dignified, carrying the settled weight of someone who had held authority for a very long time.
"O faithful servant of the Dark Sun, come hither and hear my words. Your arrival is most welcome."
"If you carry the resolve to swear an oath, to become my blade — to punish those who oppose the gods, to serve as the shadow of my father Gwyn and my elder sister Gwynevere — the blade that hunts down heresy…"
"Then I shall protect you, and grant you the power of the Dark Sun and the Darkmoon, to overcome your enemies."
Fingri braced himself, half-preparing to deliver something theatrically heroic in response.
In practice, he genuinely had nothing worked out — his working knowledge of the Blades of the Darkmoon amounted to almost nothing. But the moment clearly called for a response.
Except the choice wasn't even his to make.
He heard his own voice say, entirely on its own:
"I am willing to become a Blade of the Darkmoon."
"Good. From this moment forward, you are a Blade of the Darkmoon. By the power of the Dark Sun and the Darkmoon — hunt down all who oppose the gods."
For reasons he couldn't articulate, once the oath actually took hold, the voice felt strangely, immediately familiar. Genuine warmth toward whoever it belonged to settled into him unprompted.
Followed by something else —
A pull toward wanting to help this voice — Dark Sun Gwyndolin — defeat her enemies.
The scene dissolved.
Fingri returned to the present.
This time with a ring settled on his left ring finger, and a deep-blue orb held tight in his grip.
[Darkmoon Blade Covenant Ring]
[Deep Blue Eye Orb]
The moment he registered both items, full usage knowledge surfaced in his mind automatically.
Wearing the Covenant Ring meant: any time an invasion occurred within Irithyll or Anor Londo, Fingri could be pulled into that world to eliminate the invader directly.
The Deep Blue Eye Orb allowed active invasion — targeting anyone who had previously invaded someone else, regardless of their current location. A successful hunt yielded a Proof of a Concord Kept, exchangeable for divine rewards at the covenant altar.
The Blades of the Darkmoon had been established by Gwyndolin specifically to punish disrespect toward the gods. Following the original Dark Souls III rules exactly, though, the covenant would've stayed functionally decorative until adventurers unlocked Anor Londo proper — no real content to engage with before that point.
So Wade had adjusted the Deep Blue Eye Orb's rules: anyone who had invaded someone else, anywhere, became fair game for a Blade of the Darkmoon regardless of location restrictions.
Highlighting the gods' universal reach, as it were.
The Covenant Ring existed for narrative purposes. The Orb existed to make the covenant actually playable — filling a genuine gap, too, since nothing else had specifically targeted invaders as a category before.
"This just got considerably more interesting."
Fingri was, at his core, a genuine troublemaker. The moment the Deep Blue Eye Orb settled into his grip, he activated it without a beat of hesitation.
Blue light erupted from his body, drawing everyone's attention instantly.
When Matilda pieced together that he'd already sworn a full covenant without discussion, she came close to genuine fury. She grabbed his collar directly.
"What the hell were you thinking?!"
Fingri didn't answer.
He was staring intently at Tusk — more specifically, at the Proof of a Concord Kept still sitting in Tusk's hand.
"An ear — huh? You want this?"
Tusk handed it over immediately.
Fingri accepted it as though receiving genuine treasure, tucking it carefully into his pouch with real reverence.
For reasons connected entirely to the fresh covenant, the ear had somehow become — oddly endearing to him.
He wanted more of them.
"I understand now. This is me — yearning to earn merit for the gods."
In truth, he knew almost nothing about the Dark Sun specifically. He was simply saying the words that fit the role, immersing himself the same way he had back at the Cathedral of the Deep pretending to be a devoted believer.
"Don't worry — I can sense this covenant isn't dangerous. I wouldn't do anything that puts me at real risk."
He offered Matilda that reassurance right as the blue light wrapped around him began flashing in a distinct pattern.
He'd found a target.
"Back soon — rest up while I'm out!"
Full energy returned instantly. Before anyone could object, he vanished entirely.
Transformed into a Blade of the Darkmoon and pulled into someone else's world to hunt.
Matilda couldn't help wondering — who, at this exact stage of exploration, could possibly already qualify as invadable inside Irithyll?
Meanwhile, Fingri had already reformed as a dark-blue phantom inside a stranger's world.
"Alright, alright — let's see who's been invading innocent adventurers lately. The Blade of the Darkmoon has arrived!"
He wandered through Irithyll's streets until voices reached him nearby.
Familiar voices.
Too excited to slow down and place them properly, he leapt out into view, shouting:
"HAND OVER YOUR EARS!"
"Ah… Fingri?"
Leon and the others blinked, staring blankly at the blue-tinted figure standing in front of them.
"…"
Fingri went quiet too.
Leon. You look like such an honest, upstanding guy. And you've been invading people too?