Boom.
Boom.
"Hah!"
Godfrey raised one leg high and brought it crashing down. The instant his foot struck the ground, the earth shook violently, as though a demolition crew had just rolled into the neighborhood.
Skyl and Millicent crouched on the cliffside to enjoy the show. The swordswoman kept her legs together and rested both hands on her knees, quiet and still like a sleepy owl. Skyl, meanwhile, squatted comfortably beside her with his phone held out, recording everything so he could post it to Instagram later.
He had never cared much about appearances. Those who knew what he was capable of called him free-spirited. Those who didn't thought he was frivolous. Either way, other people's opinions had never made much difference to Skyl.
"King Godfrey, you really are one hell of a powerhouse," Skyl marveled.
Behind him, many of the Haligtree soldiers were struggling just to stay on their feet. The First Elden Lord's stomps were terrifyingly powerful. The man was practically a walking earthquake.
Across the blood marshes of Mohgwyn Dynasty, countless tiny droplets leaped from the surface as though rain were hammering down from above. A distant shock wave swept across the lowlands, blasting the droplets into crimson mist and carrying a reeking gust of blood through the air. The roots of the dead trees standing in the pools snapped one after another before the trunks toppled over.
Sleeping Albinaurics rolled around in panic. Rotten Strays and giant crows along the road howled and shrieked before charging madly toward Godfrey and the Crucible Knights accompanying him.
One of the Crucible Knights invoked Aspects of the Crucible: Horns. A translucent golden horn erupted from his shoulder as he lowered his body and charged forward, smashing through everything in his path. From the cliffs above, Skyl could see a deep furrow being carved across the ground. Every Rotten Stray caught by the horn shot into the sky as though someone had stuffed a firecracker inside it.
The commotion was so immense that the towering Mohgwyn Dynasty Mausoleum itself seemed ready to collapse.
Mohg was currently at the highest point of the mausoleum, beside the Cocoon of the Empyrean, sharing his slumber with Miquella while their blood and consciousness intertwined.
His entire being had dissolved into blood and spiritual awareness before entering Miquella's swollen body, joining him in sleep in a manner difficult to even imagine.
Spiritual intercourse was probably the closest description.
The entire island shook so violently that Mohg was finally jolted awake from the Empyrean's dream.
His first thought was pure irritation.
Who the hell is making this much noise first thing in the morning?
Some lunatic had apparently come looking for death.
Fine.
He would slaughter them all.
The Cocoon of the Empyrean was enormous, almost the size of a small house. A crack had split across its surface, and from it extended one long, slender arm, raised toward the heavens as though pleading for salvation.
Miquella's arm was shriveled like that of an ancient man. The bones beneath its dark purple skin were clearly visible.
As the Lord of Blood awakened, the Empyrean's arm slowly fell, hanging toward the floor as blood began seeping from its dry flesh.
Thick, dark-red blood spread across the arm in branching streams before dripping from the fingers and edges of the palm.
The pooling blood spread across the pale limestone floor of the mausoleum, illuminated by its sickly yellow flames.
Mohg's true body emerged from that pool.
His muscular frame rose from the blood, gripping a great trident and radiating overwhelming authority.
Like Morgott, Mohg had been born an Omen beneath the Erdtree. His skin was likewise a dull bluish gray, resembling old, dust-covered iron. He had a broad skeleton, a powerful physique, and a body covered in scales and twisted horns.
Omen bodies looked almost as though their development had gone wildly off course, retaining a human shape while displaying numerous traits belonging to something distinctly inhuman.
Legend held that before the Age of the Erdtree, such traits had actually been regarded as sacred blessings. They were remnants of the primordial Crucible of life, a chaotic mixture of countless forms of existence.
Such beings possessed physical strength and vitality far beyond ordinary people, along with exceptional healing and resilience. In an age dominated by hunting and warfare, those advantages would naturally have made them highly respected.
Unlike Morgott, who had deliberately cut away many of the excess horns growing from his head, Mohg openly embraced his identity as an Omen.
Even though several of his twisted horns had grown across his face and obstructed his vision, he had never considered removing them.
Over this monstrous body, he wore elaborate ceremonial robes worthy of a high priest, black cloth bordered in crimson and embroidered with golden thread.
He looked every bit like a ruler who intended to unite throne and religion beneath his authority and reign for eternity.
Mohg stood facing Miquella's hanging hand with his back toward the entrance of the altar chamber, silently waiting for the invaders.
He seemed utterly unconcerned that his subordinates were being slaughtered outside.
He intended to become a king.
Once he possessed true power, heroes and champions would gather beneath his banner without end. Why should someone destined to soar above the world concern himself with insignificant vermin crawling beneath his feet?
Mohg pressed his hideous face affectionately against the back of Miquella's hand and sank once more into his obsessive fantasies, shutting out everything around him.
Boom.
Boom.
The stomping grew steadily closer.
It sounded like a pile driver approaching from just outside the room, or a freight train whose horn was growing louder by the second.
After a while, the explosions and tremors became somewhat muffled.
That was because the Godfrey Express had entered the tunnels.
What had previously sounded like thunder cracking beneath an open sky now became a succession of ominous, muffled detonations reverberating through the mountain.
The cavern leading toward the summit was completely dark, without a single natural source of light.
Sanguine Nobles lurked within that darkness. They served both as guardians of the passage and jailers for the prisoners kept inside.
Among those prisoners was a Nomadic Merchant.
He had spent so long huddled quietly in a corner that he had long since forgotten how much time had passed. Most days, he simply slept.
He could barely remember what the outside world looked like anymore.
Then Godfrey came stomping through the mountain.
The sound was like the creation of the world itself, splitting open the merchant's foggy mind and allowing a long-forgotten breeze of freedom to slip through the crack.
"What's happening?" he hurriedly asked.
The Sanguine Noble standing before him gripped an estoc. Even the dim crimson aura surrounding his body was trembling.
Then the noble suddenly spun around and thrust his sword toward the merchant.
Apparently, he had decided there would be no witnesses.
"I'm dead!"
The Nomadic Merchant curled into a ball, covered his head, and waited for the blade.
Bang!
Blood sprayed everywhere, soaking him from head to toe.
The merchant slowly raised his head in confusion.
A magnificent figure stood before him.
An ancient knight clad in reddish-bronze armor shone with brilliant golden light. With a single swing of his greatsword, the Crucible Knight had cut down the Sanguine Noble.
To the imprisoned merchant, it looked like an angel had descended from Heaven.
The sight frightened him so badly that he started hiccupping.
"Y-you, hic, you..."
The Crucible Knight silently raised his greatsword again.
This time, it was aimed at the merchant.
The Nomadic Merchants had long been associated with the Frenzied Flame, and the Frenzied Flame was considered an enemy of all life. Their people were therefore despised almost everywhere they went.
Going hungry was normal.
Encountering Leyndell's soldiers usually meant getting cut down first and never being given the chance to explain anything afterward.
"I'm dead!"
The merchant collapsed flat against the ground and squeezed his eyes shut.
But the sword never fell.
Godfrey had caught the Crucible Knight by the wrist.
He glanced at the merchant, then shook his head.
"The Erdtree is already gone. Leave them be. Whatever happens to them now is their own affair."
Godfrey continued toward the summit with heavy, measured strides.
Whenever an enemy appeared, he didn't bother with conversation. First came a kick, then an axe.
If they somehow survived the first swing, he simply gave them another.
The Axe of Godfrey was nearly as broad as a door. Anyone struck by it looked as though they'd been fed into an industrial press.
If the victim somehow managed to leave behind an intact corpse, the only reasonable response was to praise the durability of their bones.
At the cliffside plaza leading toward the altar, Skyl and the others had departed later but arrived first, securing the best seats in the house well ahead of Godfrey.
Malenia traveled with Skyl and Millicent aboard a flying carpet, while the Haligtree army advanced methodically behind them, rounding up and securing the Albinaurics along the way.
Skyl looked around the plaza and sighed nostalgically.
"We're about to meet the manager of the rune bank. Man, this place brings back memories."
He searched around the altar and found a pale, diamond-shaped stone inside an offering chest.
"That's a Somber Ancient Dragon Smithing Stone, a scale of an ancient Dragonlord," Millicent immediately recognized it. "It's an exceptionally rare smithing material. I've only ever heard about them in legends. Many smiths spend their entire lives searching for something like this because it can be used to create weapons capable of slaying gods."
"The bank manager really does give out the best bonuses. This place is full of memories."
Malenia turned her head toward him.
"You know this place well? Is that why you knew Miquella was here?"
"Not in the way you're thinking. Strictly speaking, this is the first time I've ever actually set foot here."
Godfrey eventually arrived with his enormous axe resting across his shoulder and called for everyone to accompany him to the altar.
They boarded the lift.
It could carry more than a dozen people at once, although their party wasn't particularly large.
They were only bringing one First Elden Lord, one Empyrean, one true god, the true god's companion, and the two highest-ranking Crucible Knights.
Hardly excessive.
Mohg still had his back to them.
As though gradually awakening from a beautiful dream, he softly bid Miquella farewell.
"Dearest Miquella, please wait for me a little longer."
He kissed the back of Miquella's hand before slowly turning around.
For all his grotesque appearance, the majesty radiating from him truly belonged to a king.
"Honored guests have arrived to witness our magnificent dynasty..."
Mohg stopped.
His expression froze.
"Dad? When did you get here?"
Godfrey smiled with the kind of warmth that promised immediate and catastrophic violence.
"Yes, my son. I love you too."
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810