Above the Mohgwyn Dynasty Mausoleum, the unblinking stars of the subterranean world vanished behind a thick curtain of blood. The atmosphere turned crimson, and the sky looked so grief-stricken it seemed ready to weep. Then torrential blood rain came pouring down, every drop burning with cursed flame. Wherever it struck flesh, armor grew scorching hot and skin blistered and rotted away.
Mohg, Lord of Blood, bathed in the fiery rain like a black butterfly tearing free from its cocoon and shaking off the slime clinging to its body. Two raven-black wings sprouted from his back, unquenchable bloodflame ignited along his trident, and his eyes blazed with a terrifying crimson light.
Everyone simply stared at him in silence.
Mohg swept his gaze across them as Bloodboon Ritual activated. Three curses triggered in succession, each one supposed to force the blood of those afflicted straight out of their bodies. Attacks that worked from the inside out were among the hardest to defend against. A man might train his flesh until it was as hard as steel, but his blood vessels and organs would remain soft.
The blood throughout the victim's body would boil violently and harden into countless tiny particles, puncturing blood vessels before bursting outward from within. Unless every vein in the body had been forged from adamantine and mithral, blood loss was inevitable. The Formless Mother's Order of Blood governed wounds and vitality, which was why so many of the followers Mohg attracted were War Surgeons. While treating the wounded, they could plant cursed blood directly into their injuries, leaving their victims bleeding endlessly and plagued by disease.
Bloodboon Ritual could open countless wounds across an otherwise unharmed body. Under the Order of Blood, all things and all forms were riddled with wounds. There was no such thing as a perfectly whole, flawless state. The essence of life flowed from those wounds, nourishing the Order and making it ever more vigorous and brilliant. Thus, the ritual not only drained the lifeblood of those afflicted, it also used that stolen vitality to heal the one performing it.
Now the ritual had ended, and Mohg stared blankly at everyone around him.
They stood around him perfectly at ease.
Malenia's prosthetic blade had already pierced through Mohg's waist and emerged from his abdomen. All she had to do was flick her wrist, and she could rip open a massive wound straight through him.
If Godfrey had not been holding Malenia's wrist, she would have already done it.
Millicent's long blade pointed directly at Mohg's heart, though she had yet to thrust it in. The two senior Crucible Knights had likewise positioned their weapons to seal off every possible route of escape.
With everyone arrayed against him like this, even wings would not save Mohg.
He blinked, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
"What did you do? Why don't you have any wounds? Why aren't you bleeding?"
The threefold curse had failed to harm them in the slightest. Even using a Purifying Crystal Tear to cleanse the curse should not have left someone completely unharmed. The curse of Bloodboon Ritual seeped into every opening, and the influence of the Order reached into the smallest crevice and across any distance. No matter how powerful a defense might be, it should have been impossible to seal out its corrosion completely. It could have squeezed a few drops of oil from a stone.
Yet even Millicent, the weakest person present, remained perfectly composed. Her fair skin was smooth and pristine, without so much as a bruise or a single bead of blood seeping from her pores.
Mohg's crimson eyes widened. The shock hit him harder than a savage fatherly beatdown from Godfrey ever could.
Blood rain was still falling from the crimson sky. Skyl stood far from the others and had not joined the encirclement. At that moment, he used partial Transfiguration to turn his head into that of a dragon, raised it toward the sky, and roared in the Dragon Tongue with a thunderous echo.
"Lok Vah Koor! Clear Skies!"
The curtain of blood above the mausoleum vanished in an instant, the clouds dispersed, and the rain ceased. Mohg's magic shattered along with it. The wings on his back abruptly shrank as feathers withered and fell away one after another. His naked raven wings crumbled into ash, and the bloodflame burning along his trident was extinguished as well.
He immediately understood that Skyl had interfered with Bloodboon Ritual. More than that, Skyl had cut him off from the Formless Mother's blessing.
"You! What did you do? Why doesn't the Formless Mother's blood curse work on you? Why don't you have any wounds?" Mohg's voice sounded like two rough stones grinding against each other.
Skyl kindly explained, "Because I had a chat with your patron. She thought I seemed like a pretty decent guy, so she decided not to give me any trouble."
Mohg froze.
Naturally, the truth was nowhere near as simple as Skyl made it sound. Through his spiritual intuition, Skyl had established contact with the Formless Mother and greeted the Outer God somewhere in the endless depths of the stars.
The Formless Mother was hardly some kind and benevolent deity. Fortunately, Skyl had always been exceptionally good at winning people over through the sheer force of his character.
The Formless Mother had been so moved by his personality that she had almost been swallowed by the Silver Order, so naturally she had decided that making peace was the better option. (TN: From now on, I'll use "Silver Order" and "god of Order" instead of "Silver Law" and "god of Law" to avoid confusion and better match Elden Ring terminology)
At this point, Skyl understood the Formless Mother better than Mohg, the Lord of Blood who had received her blessing. After all, one of them was a desperate simp, while the other was the guy who had kicked down her front door.
Mohg stepped forward, letting Malenia's prosthetic blade slide through his body. His breathing was heavy with pain, but his footsteps remained steady. Millicent, standing before him, glanced back at Skyl. When she saw that he had no intention of stopping Mohg, she stepped aside as well.
Godfrey still gripped Malenia's wrist tightly, finally preventing her from taking advantage of the opportunity to attack.
"Mohg," the old man urged quietly, "surrender. Come home with me."
"Home is nothing but a fantasy, Godfrey." Mohg turned his head and gave a quiet laugh. "I don't waste my time imagining things that have never existed in my life. Only strength is real. Only strength can be seen and felt. The strong possess everything, while even the fantasies of the weak are decided by those stronger than them."
After saying that, he spoke no further to Godfrey.
He walked up to Skyl and looked down at the completely ordinary human before him.
"You possess an Order too. I can feel it. Hotter than blood, deeper than any wound. What is it?"
The intensity of Mohg's stare made Skyl's skin crawl a little. Was this old bastard actually hitting on him?
"Doors. Do you know the difference between wounds and Doors?"
"...I would like to hear it."
"Wounds always take. Doors connect. I closed the Doors within their bodies, so naturally they couldn't be wounded." Skyl pointed toward the gaping wound through Mohg's abdomen. "That's a Door too. If I close it, you'll heal. If I open it, you'll be torn to pieces. I can take your soul through a Door, or I can pour mysteries into one."
Mohg stared at Skyl. The human was standing right in front of him, yet he seemed as distant and unreachable as the sun on the horizon or moonlight reflected at the bottom of a well.
His eyes grew brighter and brighter.
Without the slightest hesitation, Mohg dropped to his knees, bowed his head, pressed both palms against the ground, and pleaded with Skyl.
"Grant it to me. Grant me those mysteries. I will worship you as my god and serve as your king."
"What kind of joke is that? I'm gonna puke."
Skyl shook his head and burst out laughing. He might be a god of Order, but he had no need for a king, because everyone in the world was his king.
Mohg's face turned livid.
For a proud king, bowing his head and submitting was already humiliating enough. Volunteering to become someone's lapdog only to be rejected was an even greater disgrace.
His hard, malformed face twisted with resentment and unwillingness before gradually settling into complete calm.
He had long since grown accustomed to being abandoned. Every Omen was born with nothing. When the Golden Order abandoned him, he sought out an Outer God. He abducted Miquella. Now the Formless Mother had abandoned him as well, and Skyl had rejected him.
For Mohg, it was merely the same pattern repeating itself yet again.
He had believed that by founding his own dynasty, he had finally stopped being a rat hiding in the sewers. Now it seemed life had simply gone in one enormous circle before coming back around to slap him across the face.
"You're not a good man, Mohg. I just find the way you do things filthy. Those who worship strength eventually encounter defeat. So don't be too upset. You should start thinking about how you're going to stay alive."
"You are a god, yet you care about the moral judgment of mortals? To you, what difference is there between the evil I commit and ants killing one another? You need a powerful proxy. I am that person! Morality means nothing next to practical value!"
Skyl had already started toward the Cocoon of the Empyrean, intending to check Miquella's condition, but those words made him stop.
He turned around in surprise.
"Since you're a mortal, am I supposed to judge you by the morals of a god? Are you even worthy of that?"
Only then did Mohg truly fall into despair.
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