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[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

To my viewers

Thank you to those who traveled with me through this first “season”; would you be more interested in future episodes, or should I let it end here and now, with the Ashen reunited once more?

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 13: A Triumphant Return

{ some music for the occasion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOtoIBrBAYE \(^0^)/  (start it at the bolded point below) }

Aleorn gasped, falling to his knees, breath steaming in the air before him. Mist and dust mingled in a tempest of searing grit, one nourishing his battered body, the other grinding away at his already badly wounded flesh. Then, the hissing of sand was cleaved asunder by Gael’s anguished screams. At once, the mist cleared, and long forgotten joy flooded through the wounded Ashen; his dearest friend, had returned!

Or’do crouched upon the prone Gael’s back, his hands held out wide like a god embracing the world, mist rising from the Slave Knight’s flesh and pooling in his bare palms. His Lothric armor glimmered like mercury in the faint light, its surface scratched and worn, yet somehow made better for it. Eyes the color of molten gold shone with fury as he glowered down upon the fallen Slave Knight, and mist leaked from his lips with each hateful word that slithered forth: 

“You dared strike him down?! You dared lay low a friend of mine?!” He leapt back as Gael twisted beneath him, slashing the air with a cracked and melting sword, which crumbled away as it passed. “For that, you have earned two things: my respect, for your power must be vast indeed.” He ducked beneath a clumsy right hook, then dashed in and drove his iron fist into Gael’s stomach, his ironclad arm passing through the man’s body and emerging on the other side amid geyser of writhing blood.

“And my fury, for which neither man nor hell has no equivalent.”

Or’do smashed a fist of cold, merciless steel against Gael’s jaw, throwing the massive warrior back as if he weighed no more than the sands that swirled and coiled around him. The motion ripped his other arm free, yet in it he gripped a sizeable chunk of Gael’s flesh, dark vines of blood clinging to the lines of his palm.

He wasted no time casting this aside, and launching himself after the airborne Gael, mist surging out behind him, instantly turning the sand to glass and the air to a caustic tempest that howled and bellowed, cheering him on with it wordless chorus.

Before Gael had the chance to burst apart on the ground, Or’do was upon him, fists blurred into long streaks of light and dark that smashed against the creature’s armored frame with such blinding speed it seemed there were a thousand thousand foes rather than only one. Shards of dark armor mingled with ash and blood as Gael thrashed, spasming beneath the onslaught, convulsing as blows smote him with such speed that air cracked and dunes far below exploded.

Or’do clasped his hands overhead, and drove both down upon Gael’s chest, throwing the warrior earthward with an earthquake’s deadly thunder, and a thunderbolt’s blistering speed. He then called upon the mist once more, and dove toward the sands like a meteor wreathed in flame and ruin.

Gael was crushed by the impact, Void mist fleeing his body along with organs and bone, yet Or’do was not finished. Fist raised high, the furious warrior crashed home, the entire desert exploding, dunes shattering, turning to glass midair, the vast expanse flattened as if squashed under titan’s foot. He stood, mists writhing and coiled around him, Gael’s blood staining his armor dark as pitch, glittering like black rubies as he turned to his weary friend, who had crossed his arms before him when the desert became a sandstorm, and the bedrock itself shattered like ancient pottery.

“In my defense, I did say we would be together again sometime, I did not give an exact date” Or’do called.

“I’ve missed you, my dear friend.”

Or’do smiled, “I know.”

“Welcome home” Tears of happiness burned along Aleorn’s cheeks.

“And what a warm welcome it is”

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 12: VS Gael pt 2

Gael raised glittering eyes, hate clear in those dark, bleak depths.

“Thy soul if ragged and worn,” He took a ponderous, heavy step forward. “Tattered like the cloak of a beleaguered traveler.” Mist curled and lashed around him, unfurling from his flesh and slithering from his bloody maw. “Its sorrowful beauty will complete my lady’s painting.” Gael lunged, fist rushing in like a swinging ram, and when Aleorn caught the blow upon his forearm, its fury lashed out at the earth instead, bathing the warriors in a whirlwind of ash.

“Hand it over!” The Slave Knight threw another mighty punch, hand churning through ash choked air like a thunderbolt rending the heavens. Aleorn ducked, whirling beneath his foe’s arm, then dashing past the hulking Knight.

Why did it fail? The Voidborn spun aside, ash fanning out around him, Gael’s fist a deadly streak as it soared past. Why now? Why him? He sidestepped another blow, then quickly drove his own iron fist into Gael’s jaw, earning only a bellow of rage for his trouble.

Cursing, Aleorn retreated, Void mist writhing around him like a ragged cloak; their slender strands glowing faint as moonlight, cold as frozen seas. At his silent command, the vaporous cords wrapped themselves around his left bicep, creeping slowly down to his forearm where they clung in a glassen vambrace.

This he flung across his face, the deadly force of Gael’s bare hand rolling over him like a hurricane.

Is this how my life ends? Aleorn’s knees shook, his muscles burning with strain. Another blow crashed home, flinging him aside like a child’s plaything, his side aflame with agony.

Is this where Or’do’s memory will forever fade? Aleorn felt horrible pain jolt through his bones as flesh slammed against hard packed ash. Dark flakes swirled around him as he lay, gleaming like shards of obsidian in the cold, frail moonlight.

It’s over Aleorn closed his incandescent eyes. My suffering is finally at and end.

Gael lumbered toward his broken prey, mist swirling around his broad frame. His light flecked eyes glittered ominously in the night, shining with malevolence and hate in equal measure.

Ashen One! The Keeper cried out, desperation fracturing her voice.

Aleorn’s eyes snapped open, light blazing forth like twin lanterns. If I fall now, his sacrifice will have been for naught He realized. Gael drew back his mighty fist, a howling tempest engulfing his arm.

But he is far more powerful than I could ever hope to be.

Aleorn, you can still take up the mantle of flame. It is not yet too late, my Champion

No The Voidborn rolled aside, feeling more than seeing Gael’s fist rush past; ash surging out from the seismic impact.  The Flame tormented me armored fingers dug into the earth, arresting his tumble with a shrill screech. Sealed away my past, effaced the memories of those I loved, of those who brought me into this world, and those who made it beautiful. Mist materialized around him, beading upon his armor, streaming along rugged iron like vines of molten pewter.

I owe the Flame nothing He raised weary fists, glaring with fury and defiance upon the might Gael. But there is one thing it can never take from me

And what is that, Ashen One?

Hate

Aleorn lunged, his blazing fists streaking through the air like falling stars, mist and flame fanning out behind. The Voidborn slammed against his foe with a landslide’s terrible force, his whirling blows crashing against open palms or barricading forearms, filling the air with thunder and sparks. The Voidborn surged on, letting hate and instinct guide him, the Void’s joyous mist elating in his every movement. He swept an ironclad foot through the ash, spraying his foe with blinding grit as he pivoted past, fists flashing like falling stars, smashing Gael’s ribcage with terrible force.

Yet the hulking fiend merely grinned, launching himself toward the wrathful Voidborn without slightest trace of fear; in fact, it was a manic light, not pallid terror that flashed in his dark eyes as he charged. Aleorn ducked beneath a blow that could rend stone, his own fist lashing out with blinding speed, hammering against Gael’s jaw and rocking the massive warrior where he stood.

Or’do’s blood dark on Aleorn’s trembling hands Aleorn roared, his next blow crashing into Gael’s chin, nearly sundering the man’s neck as his head snapped back, teeth clacking audibly. Aleorn waded in with eyes glowing like blazing lanterns, fists a howling tempest before him.

Or’do screaming in anguish as he holds Aleorn’s crumbling, headless body Aleorn turned, ash flaring out, and slammed his shoulder against the Slave Knight’s armored chest, shattering iron and sending whirlwinds of ash rushing past.

The First Flame’s warmth gushing into his cold frame, rousing him from oblivion as a pail of water rouses even deepest sleeper. Flame wreathed Aleorn’s right hand even as knobbed vipers of tar-like shadow coiled around his left.

Or’do standing at his side, fist raised in triumph, merry grin upon his lips  Aleorn raised a forearm of cold steel, blocking his foe’s descending fist with thunder’s voice and lightning’s glow.

Aleorn’s eyes flared like flames doused with oil and he surged forward, his two fists blurring into a thousand strands of light and dark that hammered against Gael’s body, their impacts pealing in the night like shattering worlds, their deafening fury pale and fragile in contrast with the dark wrath that swarmed through his veins and devoured his heart.

Gael fell to his knees, blood leaking from his jaws, then in a sudden burst of strength, rushed forward, ragged splinters of metal trailing from his broken body as he wrapped ironclad arms around his foe, pinning Aleorn against a nearby dune. His neck bulged with muscles strong and sleek as steel as he drew back, then slammed his forehead against Aleorn’s, turning the Voidborn’s vision white, filling his head with the hissing, buzzing insects of agony. Aleorn fell back, and in that one moment where his rage lapsed, Gael gripped his foe’s shoulder with one hand, and thrust the other through Aleorn’s stomach, casting long oily ropes of ripped intestines and sundered bone across the pale grey ash. Aleorn coughed, life spurting from his maw, and fell back, sliding slowly off Gael’s dark, slick arm.

He uses the mists as you do, Ashen One. Just as the Soul of Cinder binds the flame, so to is he the Nexus of Void The Keeper’s voice was weak, pained, but desperate.

The Nexus? Aleorn’s reeling mind slowly closed around the words. That means- He unclasped Or’do’s ashes from their place at his side, and with the last of his strength cast them toward Gael, who merely watched in amusement, letting the pouch strike him squarely in the chest, its contents spewing forth. Aleorn drew back his hand, a white thunderbolt forming in his palm, rippling as he closed weak fingers around it.

“OR’DO!” The world turned white as snow, then black as pitch, the dunes flattened by a percussive boom that pulsed through the arena like a circular tidal wave. Then Aleorn’s vision turned dark, and his world faded away.

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 11: VS Gael

Boss fight coming soon!

Gael raised his weary head, unkempt beard jutting from his triangular helm in long, silver brambles that gleamed like pewter in the glow of his hateful eyes.

(image credit: slave knight gael by eemeling (http://eemeling.deviantart.com/)

Slowly, he rose;greatsword held out wide and glowing like a heated brand.

“Hand it over,” He began the chant, the impossible if not idiotic request that haunted many an Ashen, that rang in the darkness as death took them again and again. Gael stumbled however, choking on his words as he looked upon the wrathful fiend stalking toward him, mist curling from its soles with each step, ash crunching noisily underfoot.

Ever slight of frame, Aleorn was nonetheless imposing as Gwyn himself; in fact it was not unlikely that the gods would have trembled in fear and awe of his power, were they unfortunate enough to face him. He brandished a blazing hand, white fire flowing like pale tar, creeping in thick, white tendrils along his forearm.

“Begone!” His voice was rough, tortured, yet deep and resonant with baleful power.

Or’do laying frail and motionless, the light gone from his once merry eyes.

Aleorn roared, bleached flame swirling around his slim body as he charged toward the hulking Slave Knight, each step sending out a fan of ash and stark white embers, his arms slashing the air before him with thunderous fury. Another stride, another, the land bent before him, sloping toward the mighty Gael like a tidal wave frozen in time. His fist crashed against Gael’s blade with thunderous might, the impact shattering steel like glass, and had the Slave Knight not leaped backward, this battle would have ended in one blow, in the moment when toughened metal splintered and Aleorn’s fist soared through.

It was instinct alone that preserved Gael’s life; jerking his body asie mere moments before Aleorn’s mighty fist roared past, the force of its passage rocking Gael where he stood. The next blow caved his chest, blood erupted from beared lips as muscle tore and bone sloughed away.

Threads of mist swirled from the point of impact, etching a white disk -the Voidsign - into Gael’s trembling, quivering flesh. Gael collapsed against his foe, held aloft only by the iron fist theay slew him.

“Vanish now into the eternal night,” Aleorn rasped, “For thou art no longer welcome in the Light”.

Gael’s eyes glittered like starlit skies; the sign of a thousand worlds’ union. Every plane became one, and in that breathtaking moment, the Slave Knight was complete. Then, he collapsed, falling backward with a ribbon of glossy blood wavering in the space between victim and victor.

Yet this time, Aleorn’s prey did not fall, did not crumble with eyes wide and hand oustretched; instead, he simply staggered back, star studded gaze burning with fury.

Across the realms had Gael been sundered,

And now that he was whole,

Nothing would break him again.

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 10 - Beginning of the End

Aleorn stood at last before the flimsy barrier of fog between himself and this blighted realm’s final foe: the dreaded Gael who had brought a thousand thousand Ashen to their knees, driven ten times so many into the silken void of Hollow madness.

The Voidborn raised his arm, Darkeater Midir’s blood still slick and dark upon the chipped iron. Once formidable, terrifying even to the mightiest of Light’s champions, Midir had swooped down like a merciless falcon, yet this warrior, would not be its prey. One movement, an arm raised with fingers stiffened like spears, and the beast’s life was at an end, Midir’s own momentum impaling his brain upon Aleorn’s arm.  He shuddered, remembering the elastic tearing of flesh, the glass like shattering of ancient bones.

No matter how mighty, all had fallen effortlessly before him; the Void pulsing within him like distant thunder, its endless power faithfully answering his call, ending the lives of all who dared oppose him.

“I will see you again,” he murmured. “Soon. One last fight, and we shall be together forevermore.” His hand sank into the mist, pulling his body with it. “One way or another.”

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 9

Head bowed, ash streaming from his stooped frame like shards of dark stained glass, Aleorn knelt before a Bonfire, resting his brow against the coiled sword.

“What I’ve done can never be forgiven.” He whispered. “You implore me to turn back, ‘O Tender of the Flame, yet you should know better than even I, how impossible that is. I fear no one,” His hand tightened on the Sword’s braided pommel. “But solitude terrifies me.”

“He gave you purpose again,” He felt the Keeper smile as she spoke, yet her heart and words, were both heavy with sadness.”The same purpose I denied you.”

“You sought only to protect this world.” Aleorn inhaled sharply, and as if lifted by his breath, the dancing flames rushed into his mouth, leaving the chamber dark and bleak, its obsidian depths a match for his beleaguered heart. “But all things are meant to one day end.”

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 8

Aleorn peered bleakly into the abyss; standing on a long, slender spur of rock at whose aprupt end a daunting drop loomed. Below, two demons waited; the first of many new foes in this blighted, hopeless realm. Twin demons whose fearsome talons and noxious breath had rendered many an Ashen hollow.

But not this time.

Not ever again.

Aleorn strode into the void, wind rushing past as he fell, flame and pitch trailing from his ironclad frame, his cocked fist glowing like a smouldering lantern. When he struck the earth it was with the force and fury of a blazing thunderbolt, a circular wave of broken rock surging out around him.

“Come to me ‘O hollows cold,” Aleorn stood, eyes burning like pools of flaming oil.

“From cairns deep and graves old.” The Voidborn sank into a pugilists low, powerful stance.

“With sorrows ancient and souls long sold.”

The demons approached, claws leaving glowing rifts in the dark, packed earth.

“Those who tales hall never be told.” Pale mist swirled around Aleorn’s fingers, creeping upward like vines of white and grey. Lightning flashed in his dark eyes as he looked up, hands spreading wide before him.

“Rise now from misery deep, cloying, and cold,” The Demon in Pain brought its immense hand down upon him, wind roaring like damned souls, its cry thundering in his ears as death bore down upon him.

“And be in hate’s glory restored.” Furious light surged from his limbs, werathing his body in shivering flame. Aleorn lunged with blinding speed, smashing the monster’s massive arm aside, and turning as he passed, the warrior thrust his free hand upward, sliding stiffened fingers into its chin; warm flesh snapping and tearing like damp paper. Pulling his arm free with gluid grace, Aleorn turned, a fist of steel crashing against the remaining creature’s face with the force of crumbling mountains and dying stars. The terrible impact flung the beast aside as if it weighed no more than a fallen leaf.

“Forgive me, Honorable Ones.” Aleorn turned away as Voidsigns etched themselves into leather flesh, weaving all worlds into a single, beautiful whole, forever slaying the once eternal creatures.

“But I have come too far, sacrificed too much,” The Voidborn vanished in the deepening gloom. “And you stood in my way”

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 7

Aleorn rose, striding purposefully to the Bonfire, closing trembling hands around the coiled Blade buried within.

“The Void collects at the world’s end, does it not?” His voice was rough, frayed. “I can find again that which I have lost when I gaze into its depths?”

“Yes, Ashen One.” The Keeper’s kind voice was dark with lament. “But the toll it demands is one with which you can ill afford to part.”

Aleorn bowed his head, mist swirling along the blade’s ridged length, pouring over long extinguished coals.

“I was far worse than hollow before I met him, before he woke me from madness’ suffocating slumber.” Concentrating on the Dreg Heap, Aleorn felt himself begin to shatter, broken that he might be reforged on the far side. “So tell me, Tender of the Flame, will I find what I seek at the world’s end.”

“Yes.” She whispered with sadness staining her words. “But you shan’t be soothed by it.”

Aleorn nodded, fading rapidly to nothingness. “Pain is the flame by which I shall be reforged. His troubled eyes closed to radiant crescents. “And for it, I with open arms welcome the scathing touch.”

I’ll find you, Or’do. The memory of his friend’s last smile branded itself across his vision, the scent of blood and ash assailing his senses as clearly as it did that fateful day. And I shall bring you home.

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 6

The Shrine was cold and dark, empty both of substance and spirit. When Aleorn rose from the Bonfire, cowled in soot and sparks, it was a desolate scene that greeted him: dark stones hemmed in shadow where the firelight dared not stray, silence clinging like noxious fumes to the stagnant air.

Welcome home, Ashen One. The Keeper rested an incorporeal hand on his shoulder.

“This place will never again be my home.” He rasped, voice ringing in the stillness.

Then why have you returned?

“To release one of the chains that binds my soul.” Aleorn strode beneath a stone archway. flagstones hissing beneath his boots. He followed the broad path several paces, then turned right and dropped to the ground below.

Past the Pyromancer’s corpse, past the derelict scrolls of a lifeless sorcerer he walked, head down, eyes twin lanterns aglow with mournful light.

(theme music:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXEsU2M8SqI)

Aleorn rose from the Bonfire, Void swirling around his fists.

“Hail and well met,” Leonhard called from above, his words slashing Aleorn like razor edged blades. Hawkwood raised doleful, yet curious eyes as the Voidborn approached, his stare curious yet unafraid.

Aleorn’s gaze hardened, and without warning he lunged, ironclad hand passing through the warrior’s chest, Void mist curling from his open mouth.

Aleorn grimaced, blood dark on the ground, clinging to his boots as he walked.

Leonhard screamed, falling to the earth with Voidsign branded upon his chest.

Tears fell like drops of molten glass, splattering on the fouled stones.

Andre parried the first strike, grief and disbelief on his face, horror’s cold flame burning in those kind eyes. He lasted no more than a heartbeat, Aleorn’s hand rushing through the air with terrifying speed, ripping through the gentle soul’s throat. Behind him the Handmaiden slumped, struck down by the vile mists of his passing. With each blow the Void grew stronger, its hunger only sharpened rather than sated.

Aleorn wept in earnest now, sorrow crushing his heart in its cold, merciless grasp. On the day he lost Or’do, Aleorn surrendered to the Void, and at its command returned to the Shrine. Few Lords remained, yet his comrades, their souls were untainted, strong; no Ashen had successfully devoured them, and thus their power was pure and unmatched. He was more hollow in that moment than every mindless ghoul combined, yet he remembered well the terrible deeds he had wrought, and they weighed heavier upon him with each breath.

He stood before the alcove once occupied by Irina of Carim, his broken heart crumbling, his soulscreaming in agony.

Blind eyes met his, a smile greeting him as she welcomed the Ashen.

“Sweet Champion,” Irina murmured, “Have thee another tomb thou needest read, a tale thou wishes to hear?”

Aleorn’s hands shook as he knelt before her, rage and anguish rendering him mute. Vapor spiraled from his flesh, corroding the stones as hot wax scars ice.

“Champion?”

Ashen One, what is wrong? The Keeper’s voice smote him, the memory of her death assailing him in ruthless clarity. Tears seared his cheeks as he looked up her, unspeakable agony tearing through him.

“I lost someone dear to me,” he whispered.

“They are undead, are they not?” Irina gently touched his cheek, concern coloring her voice. “He will return.”

“Not this time.” His words struck a chord of terror within her, dredged up a faint memory of a most disturbing tale; one that spoke of the inevitable Unmaking, and its harbingers.

“Dear Champion.” She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, holding him with strong arms as if with kindness’ warmth she might heal the cracks in his soul. “Thou hath lost thy way.”

Aleorn closed his eyes. “And never again shall I find it.” His fist of cold, merciless iron ripped through her chest. Her lips worked noiselessly, sorrow and fear etched across her face. Then she was swept into the void along with what little remained of Aleorn’s weary heart.

Standing before her, Aleorn felt again the anguish of that day, the pain of rebirth, of sacrifice in the name of power.

He knelt at Irina’s side, resting his brow against hers, molten tears scorching the earth. Then, the grieving warrior noticed her hand, congealed blood clinging to her fingers like tar. Cautiously he opened her fist, and at once felt his soul burn to nothing, consumed in sorrow’s hellish blaze. Carved on her palm with her own bloodied index finger, was the glyph of forgiveness.

And that hurt him far more than her rage ever could.

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 5

There were but three creatures left in this bleak, sordid realm: Aldritch, the Soul of Cinder, and the harrowed warrior who slaughtered everything between. Mist curled from Aleorn’s body as he strode up the broad stairs that lead to the Devourer of Gods’ domain, the silken strands corrupting stone with its foul, caustic caress.

He paused on the threshold, gloved fingers sinking into the fog, its tendrils shying from his touch.

“Foul Lord,” Aleorn surged through the shimmering veil, its clammy film evaporating upon his luminescent flesh, beading like mercury upon his battered plates.

“You do not deserve the fate I shall lavish upon you,” He raised molten eyes, steam rising from his jaws. “Yet I shall deliver it all the same.”

***

Aldritch rose upon knotted, festering coils; pale, angular features blanchign all the more as he gazed upon the solemn figure. At once, the Devourer slashed the air with his blade of lavender, unleashing a broad shaft of blinding light that roared through soot speckled air, smashing against Aleorn’s outstretched hand where it burst apart in a spray of dim, harmless sparks.

“Know fear, Great One.” Aleorn whispered this, his palm flaring with mottled light. “And in its unhallowed fires be consumed.”

A single bolt of flame and dark surged from the center of his palm, its pillar of braided tar and starlight spearing Aldrtich’s withered heart, branding the Void’s damning sign upon his breast. For one rapturous moment, all worlds were one, and Aldritch was at last whole. Then his eyes turned dark and the Cinder Lord knew no more.

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 4

Aleorn fell to his knees, the Invader’s ashes warm and soft on his shaking hands. His breath raked ragged talons along his throat with each gasp, his shattered heart breaking all the more. That look of supreme terror painted across the man’s face had etched itself into his mind, rising like a vengeful phantom each time he closed his eyes.

Streams of grey flowed from his fingers as he clenched an iron fist, feeling a new Darksign curl across his palm.

“Did it hurt?” He rasped.

Not for long. His pain would have been blinding, yet it would soon burn away like a flame cupped in cold hands. The Keeper projected a sense of soothing, of a hand on his shoulder, her brow against his. I tried to warn you.

“And I ignored you, cast you aside.” Aleorn’s voice broke. “I felt your pain, your helplessness as if it were my own.”

You were distraught.

“I was drunk on hate and self loathing,” Aleorn interjected. “And in my despair I destroyed one who sought only vengeance; vengeance I deserved more than even he knew. My cowardice slew Or’do, my rage slew this man, whose name I shall never learn.” The Voidborn rose, stolen vigor flooding through his body, thrumming in his veins like a caged tempest. “When I find the Void’s nexus, I shall undo the first sin.” He strode onward, stones ringing underfoot. “And cast myself into it as penance for the second.”

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 3

Aleorn staggered from the wall of fog, his foe’s blood cold and dark on his hands. Tears of hate and sorrow traced steaming vines across his blazing flesh, his dark heart cracked as the worn flagstones, its light leaking away with each weary breath.

Then the mist at his back turned solid as a wall of mortar and stone, its once soft tendrils rebuffing him gently yet firmly with its thousand thousand phantom hands. An Invader had trespassed upon his world, the allure of ember’s heat far too great to resist.

Ashen One The Keeper’s voice grated on his bare nerves like shattered rock. His fist tightened, the Void’s mist swirling between his fingers. Don’t! The Keeper cried out in agony as he cast her presence aside like a bothersome thought.

White mist swelled around him as all the rage and loathing locked in his heart for so long, sprang from its cage. Runes bleak and dark appeared upon the stones, their geometric lines stained the colour of moldering blood. From that foul patch rose a slender figure clad in crimson plate and ragged cowl; the Soul of Cinder’s own mien stolen by a mere Child of Ash.

“Are you him?” The man’s voice was coarse, hollow. “Are you the reason my dearest friend went mad, his shrine empty, his heart shattered?!” Lightning flashed along the Invader’s slender blade, gleaming like liquid amber on the mirrors of his battered plate. “Are you the Voidborn that killed the only thing I ever loved?”

Aleorn fell into a pugilist’s low stance, eyes dark and hard as obsidian. “Yes.”

Screaming in hate, the Invader lunged, slashing wildly with blade of flickering light. Aleorn retreated, giving ground readily, vapor rising with each step, slowly melting his foe’s armour like frost retreating from candle’s warmth. He twisted aside, one hand snapping up with the blurred speed of a diving hawk, fingers of knobbed steel crushing the man’s wrist like a bundle of fragile twigs; momentum as much as strength ripping muscle and shattering bone, taking the Invader’s arm from his body with a horrible, sickening crack!

Pain glinted like shards of flint in the murky pools of the Ashen’s eyes, yet he managed still to bring his remaining arm up, an orb of black fire streaking from his palm, smashing Aleorn's chest and flinging him back, his chest crumbled and threads of blood trailing from his mouth.

Ashen One, please!

“I am no Ashen.” He staggered back, ribs reforming and scorched flesh weaving itself anew. “Not any more.” Aleorn surged forward, batting aside his foe’s trembling hand and plunging a fist of red hot iron through the man’s chest. “Not ever again.”

When the Invader collapsed, Voidsign etching itself into his ragged flesh, it was not Aleorn who wept, but the Keeper, for even without eyes she could see the sorrow lying in wait,

And could only watch as Aleorn blundered into its lair.

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Post 2: A New Tale Begins

Aleorn rose, ash streaming from his body, heart dark and cold as the ruined world around him. Grooves in the stained iron of his armour wept tears of soot, the remains of his dearest friend now as lost as everything else that once gave Aleorn joy.

“Keeper?” He spoke more to break the silence than anything else, knowing that she would hear him whether his words were conveyed upon breath or thought.

I never meant for this to happen. Never did I think my selfishness would end his life, ruin yours. The Keeper’s voice was frail with sorrow, its soft tones sounding a fractured plate appeared: weak and trembling, on the verge of irreversible ruin. She was in many ways as broken as he, distraught for she felt his anguish as her own, and knew that her own avarice, her blindness had destroyed that which she sought only to preserve.

“Now is not the time for sorrow,” Aleorn rasped. “Only vengeance.” Or’do crumbled away beneath his touch, ashes swirling into a small almond shaped orb of soft, pale light. This Aleorn took in reverent hands, casting it into the vast reservoir where his armory dwelt, its glow ebbing like frail breath, its dim moonlight fading to nothing between his dark, ironclad fingers.

You cannot remake him; death is permanent for those who lack Signs

“Or’do cared not for this world’s rules.”

But he is bound by them all the same.

“When blades shatter, where are they taken?”

Andre?

Aleorn snorted, envisioning Or’do lying upon Andre’s anvil as the confused blacksmith stared on as if his lap had caught fire or his legs had turned to writhing tentacles.

“He would not appreciate that.” A flash of embarrassment emanated from the Keeper’s presence.

What were you expecting?

“’Forge’, I was expecting you to say forge.” Aleorn chuckled. “Take fractured steel to the proper flame and it can be restored.

Or’do is not steel. She said flatly.

“No, yet Flame restores us, and the First is mightiest even among these.”

Us perhaps, but not him.

“Light collects in the Kiln, Dark in the Deep Sea, and Void at the fringe where worlds fray. If I seek the world’s end, the Dreg Heap and the squalor beyond, I shall find the Void’s last wisp, and from its ruin dredge life.”

You will find only pain in those foul places.

“Pain is the price of redemption.” He turned, striding into the bleak night. “And it is one I will gladly pay.”

A new world lay before him, its scent a cloying mixture of steel and blood. The Lords had crumbled before him like sculptures of sand built too close to the shore, each branded with the Voidsign, ending not only their lives, but those of every copy across every world. Now - in astonishingly quick fashion - he stood before the Gate to Pontiff Sulyvahn‘s domain.

It was here that he froze, remembering the first time Or’do spoke.

“You’re shaking, dear Host.” Or’do observed. The pair stood before Pontiff Sulyvahn’s domain, Aleorn regarding the gate of fog with no meager amount of trepidation. “Of what could you possibly be afraid?”

“Death is not permanent, yet pain, pain lingers.” Aleorn murmured. “So many times have I fallen.” He turned, his features grey and gaunt, nearly hollow. “I cannot summon the courage to face him again.” Behind those dark eyes a deep, horrible pain gleamed. “You might as well be on your way, Phantom Or’do. There is no victory to be had this day.”

“Well there is where you are wrong.” Or’do said with his characteristic mirth. He smiled, eyes two almonds of glittering amber beneath his gold tinged helm. “But there is more to life than conquest; you are neither the first nor last to seek another path when the one ahead is too much to bear.”

“If I do not fight, I do not live.” Aleorn’s voice was troubled, his warring emotions clear in the tremor of his breath, the fragility of his words. “My purpose is slaying Lords and Linking Flames. Without those things my life has no meaning.”

“An absence of detection is not an absence of condition." Or'do said, chuckling at Aleorn’s confused expression. “Just because you fail to notice something does not mean it does not exist.” He paused, contemplative. “Look not on my, not on the world, but on your own heart, and you will discover your purpose.”

“It is not that simple.” Aleorn’s voice was bleak, empty.

“Oh it is.” Or’do said conversationally, striding through the veil of mist and thereby casually defying this realm’s most basic rules. “Pain is worse than death, my friend. If you fear it, you are not weak but sane. Think on that a moment, you will see its soothing truth in time. Meanwhile, I shall crush the Pontiff. No one can hurt my friends without swift, relentless retribution, and from the sound of it, his is long overdue.”

Or’do had followed through on that threat, caving Sulyvahn‘s chest with a single, barehanded blow. Perhaps it was his kind words, or merely the allure of his awesome power that had shown Aleorn his purpose. It mattered little. From that day forth he fought at Or’do’s side, and for the first time in his long life, he had lived.

The familiar mists parted around him, whispering incoherently as in long ,vaporous serpents they slid across his battered armor.

This world is not like those before it. The Keeper warned. As you near the Origin, foes of ever mightier caliber will seek to stop you.

“Let them try.” He felt the Bleak Blade Lacrimosa straining within him, a palpable energy arcing along his arm, distorting the air like sun baked pavement. Rows of ornately carved pews stretched out to either side, ranks bracketing the path to Sulyvahn, who stood with blades of shadow and flame crossed over his chest, a foul eagerness glinting in his merciless eyes.

Aleorn rested a hand upon the ashes of his dearest friend, their cold stillness filling his veins with dangerous heat. He stalked forward, and in a swift, fluid motion drew Lacrimosa, its slim form broadening as he fixed an image in mind, its length splitting in two and widening still, forming two rough hewn greatswords that despite their size, weighed no more than Lacrimosa. Flame wept from its edge like worms shaken from soil, splattering in writhing heaps upon the tiles as he brandished both, fury turning his muscles to steel and his eyes to cold, hard frost.

He charged, tears of hate trailing like falling stars, their light a stark contrast to the darkness that filled his breast.

Steel clashed with steel, the fury of their union nearly jolting Lacrimosa’s left half from Aleorn’s grasp, his arm falling limp and numb at his side. At once, the blade crumbled back into marbles of shadow that evaporated before they struck the floor.

Before his eyes could register the flash of descending steel, a deadening impact crushed his ribs to dust, tearing muscle and doing far worse to the bones beneath. His Unkindled flesh reforged itself swiftly, but not swiftly enough.

Relentless, merciless, the blows rang against his ironclad body, stripping muscle from bone, smashing organs apart. Aleorn’s vision flickered and he fell to his knees as if genuflecting in solemn reverence. Blood gushed between his lips, trickled from the cracks in his armor which while battered was sufficiently intact to hide the ruin beneath.

Not here. Aleorn’s arm blurred as it arched overhead, and upon his forearm he caught the Pontiff’s flaming blade; sparks rippling over his buckling plate, rivers of metal branding themselves into his flesh.

Not like this. Tattered and worn, his muscles screamed in protest as he heaved and strained, throwing the immense weapon aside, wrenching Sulyvahn‘s arm from its socket with a sharp, sickening crack.

Or’do dodging between blows, graceful and swift as wind. Perspiration beaded upon his brow like globes of glass, yet upon his lips was a broad grin, in his eyes a strange, soothing light.

Is this hope? Aleorn had wondered. How have I lived so long without this? His iron fingers creaked as he curled them against his palm. And what will I do when it is gone?

Like a jagged edged spear, a scream of fury and sorrow shredded his throat, startling the wounded Pontiff, raking claws of razor frost through his ancient heart. For the briefest of moments, Sulyvahn‘s eyes showed true, primal fear: the terror of a cornered beast as its hunger descended. Then Aleorn was twisting forward, driving his fist through the man’s jaw, spraying blood and splinters of bone against the far wall. Around Aleorn’s buried wrist, a Voidsign blazed. In that instant all worlds were bound, a whole cloth woven of a thousand disparate threads. Then, Sulyvahn was slumping to the ground, flowing from his armor in long rivers of pale white ash.

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Lorian, Elder Prince.

By: http://www.deviantart.com/art/–645964366

[aleornheirofcinder-blog]

Summary of Book One

I have moved from blogger to tumblr; the original blog is available at darksouls3fanstory.blogger.com. If you desire more than a summary can provide, feel free to visit!

Part one

Aleorn was an Ashen like any other: lost, forlorn, alone in all things. His Darksign was the bond of his servitude, and like many before him, he sought to erase it; for while it was the exultant glory of life everlasting, it was also the cold, cruel shackles that bound him.

He was not quite hollow – his gaunt yet human features attested to that – yet he strode nigh senselessly through the bitter realms, for his was a life neither lightened by purpose nor driven by hate, but something far different and altogether worse: empty. Aleorn has no reason to live, and therefore he drew breath, his heart beat, his eyes glowed with life, yet he was no more alive than a carving of stone.

Then, he found purpose and hope again, a fellow Ashen garbed in the golden raiment of the Sunlight covenant. Twice he appeared before Aleorn, yet it was not until the Cinder Lords lay slain that he offered to remain by Aleorn’s side indefinitely. Aleorn assented without pause, for this was a chance to again know friendship, joy, and meaning; and these were more valuable to him than all the souls in Lordran. The Ashen adventured for a time, laying low even the mightiest of foes, sharing cries of triumph, and laughter once forgotten. These days were the most previous of all,

and like all things that we love,

Fate was all too happy to destroy it.

Part One

There was about Or’do a strangeness, a mysterious feeling of wrongness that defied reason; his infectious grin and easy laughter quickly dispelled the notion, yet it was always quick to return. Aleorn forcibly ignored it however, for he feared more than anything the loss of his only friend.

Lords fell and worlds were conquered, yet of course nothing changed. Or’do, distant at first, grew closer, warmer, yet the darkness around him only deepened. Then at last he revealed his secret, his smile fading and eyes cold, shadow clinging to him in spite of the bonfire’s comforting glow.

“There is no point in all this.” He murmured, gaze downcast, studying the embers.

“Of course there is.” Aleorn knew his words were hollow; they fell cold and empty from his lips, how could they ring any differently in the ears of his friend?

“No, and not even you believe that. Each world is only a gateway to the next, every foe a marionette that rises again as soon as our back is turned.”

Aleorn sensed that Or’do was goading him, that there was a response for which he yearned, but one of which he could not speak.

What does he want? He thought, confused.

“The cycle enslaves us.” Haunted eyes locked with Aleorn’s. “But I know how to end it.”

Aleorn felt a surge of frost pour through his veins. “Why?! If you end the cycle, return the void that lay before,” He trailed off. “So many would perish.”

“Aye.” Or’do’s eyes darkened. “I thought you would say as much.”

“But countless more would suffer if the cycle persisted!” Aleorn blurted; he did not believe the words he spoke, yet he forced them past his lips all the same. At first he did not realize why he cast forth the lie, yet of course when he reflected upon this moment in the dark days that followed, he knew at once the reason for his deception: fear. Not of Or’do, but of losing him.

Through this world of pain and darkness he had long stumbled, despair consuming him, devouring with flame cold as ice. He was hollowed not by madness, but anguish, for there was naught but pain in this world bleak and grey. Then this warrior of Sunlight has risen from the stones, beckoned to another solemn hour, yet jubilant as if each step was itself a wondrous thing, that all in this world merited laughter and hope. Aleorn was stunned by this outlandish man; it was not for some time before he realized that Or’do was his impeccable twin – if in appearance alone. Perhaps in his desperation, he had created the very saviour for which he had so long yearned.

Perhaps Or’do created him.

That infectious laugh and easy smile was to him a light brighter than the Sun itself and thrice so warm. Even these few days had mended his soul, had given him back the hope he had for so long yearned. To lose Or’do was to become again that dark warrior who stumbled through endless war, raising his eyes to the heavens only when he wept.

He was a man enslaved, bound as much by friendship as fear.

“I owe the Flame nothing” I cannot become that man again “It stripped away my identity, made of me a mindless wraith.”

“True, yet if you quench the Flame, eliminate the Darkness, your darksign will fade, and with it so shall you.” Or’do did not meet his eyes as he spoke, seemingly ashamed or perhaps mistrustful.

“When the cycle ends, so shall thy life.”

“What I have no is not life.” Aleorn stared into his hands, as if there lay an etching of awesome profundity upon his palms. “I am lost, mad, besieged with despair.” He looked up, locking eyes with Or’do. “But you have given me something to fight for, restored the purpose I lost so long ago.”

“Then you would renounce the Flame?”

I cannot be alone again “Yes.” He murmured. I cannot endure the despair, the solitude. “I forsake the Flame, as it has forsaken me.”

“Good.” Or’do sounded relieved. “Then I’ve a task for you.”

“Name it!” Aleorn flinched. Not so eager he chastised.

“Return to your shrine, and slay its Keeper.”

Aleorn stopped short. “Why?”

“She is a servant of the cycle, exists to ensure its continuity; need you a reason beyond that?”

Yes “No,” He lied. “I merely wondered at the reason.”

Or’do softened. “I do not command you, Aleorn, merely pose a request; those can be denied, my friend. Yet until you slay her, you will be unable to gain the power I have.”

“You” Aleorn thought. Thy peculiar manner of speech has already begun to corrupt me; could this be another – albeit subtle – act of defiance against the flame? “How will her murder strengthen me when she is the means by which I glean nourishment from devoured souls?”

Or’do extended a hand, and upon his palm black fire curled, hardening into a ring blacker than starless skies, baleful as gleaming steel. “You like I have reached the pinnacle of Ashen might; no matter how many souls you offer, she can strengthen you no further. You are in her eyes a blade honed to perfection; yet if you take her soul upon yourself, I can teach you to unlock your strength without her.”

I cannot “Is her death necessary?”

“Yes. Without it, the cycle will not end, for your potential will remain forever untapped. And, since she serves the cycle, if she learns of our treachery, our progress will be at least slowed by her attempts to stop us.”

She was the first creature to smile when she looked upon me. Her kindness gave me hope, if only for a moment. “If such is the price of ending our torment.” Aleorn rose. I sought for so long to repay her, yet now I must end her life; how can I do something so deplorable?

“It is.” Or’do rested a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “Slaying her is the first step toward freedom, the first riven link that causes the chain to fail.”

Forgive me. Aleorn’s heart turned cold, his eyes hard as flint. My fear is too great. He nodded, then placed a hand on the coiled sword’s pommel, willing himself back to the nearest thing he had to a home. As the world faded, he felt part of himself darken with it. It is for the best, he thought. My betrayal would pain her more than steel ever could.

***

Why do I toy with him? Or’do rose, not banished from Aleorn’s world even when he himself had left it. Why can I not bring myself to destroy him as I have so many others? Absently, he scratched at his left forearm where two dozen stolen Darksigns lay.

I am a child of void. He closed his eyes as if this alone would quench the cold fire devouring his heart. I exist to slay their kind, to end the cycle and return the reign of emptiness forevermore.[/i Fingers of iron clanked against his palm; nails nigging into his flesh. [i]So why does it pain me? He raised his eyes heavenward. Why do I hesitate? Black flames rippled along his forearm, fanning around his trembling fist, dripping like blood from his knuckles.

Why do I care for him? A flash of memory, cold anguish crushing his heart.

Or’do lying on the stones, his body crumbling, his Voidsign sheared in two. The Soul of Cinder towers over him, blade held out wide, edge slick with his spilt life. Fear siezed him, yet he could not muster the strength to do anything more than raise a trembling hand. He watched with dimming eyes as the Soul drew back to strike, its gaze impassive, deadly.

In desperation he cried out to the Void as a child screams for its mother; he felt the wounded Sign, seared by Light, corrupted with Flame’s smouldering brand, spasm and convulse, straining to answer his plaintive cry. His vision turned black, then became speckled with points of light like bloodred stars: fallen Ashen whose corpses had not yet faded. The glimmering blade swept down from on high, hissing through the air like a striking viper, trailing a mist of glowing embers that stared upon him in silent condemnation. Its chill edge bit flesh, its frost slicing through him and bringing with it a world barren, black, and cold.

He woke with a start, leaping to his feet, stumbling as the unfamiliar legs betrayed him. A body he had stolen, a vessel whose master had departed. Or’do raised hands that were not his own, and stared into their worn palms. Sorrow drove its fingers of ice and fire into his heart, tearing from him the last spark of hope. Already kneeling, he had not far to fall when he collapsed, and with last breath pleaded Death take him.

Leather creaked as Or’do clenched his fist, bones grinding, tendons straining. Blood welled around his fingertips, staining black cloth a shade darker still. In that moment, I cared not for the fate of any beyond myself, but I knew at once what it was like for all those I had killed. Agony keen and fierce smote him like a tide of shattered glass. I gave no thought to your fate, perhaps I believed your false life would end at my hand like so many before you. Even when I rose upon your legs, took a breath with your lungs, I felt not the palest shade of remorse. He straightened, forcibly casting off guilt’s leaden mantle. And that is how it should be.

***

The Shrine seemed dour where once it was welcoming; its darkness deeper, its Bonfire dim and fitful. Light flared from the pile of smoulder bones, and amid those radiant tendrils, iron suddenly gleamed.

Aleorn rose smoothly, Or’do’s ring shimmering upon his fingers, gleaming like spilled blood as he closed his hand into a fist; yet try as he might, he could not summon the hatred that once fueled him. Ten steps he took, each heavy as crumbling towers, his heart growing colder with each beat, his eyes darker with each thought that flickered within.

When I stumbled here, the Soul of Gundyr burning within me, I was lost and afraid. He knelt before her, hand raised palm upward. I knew naught but pain and cruelty. Luminescence pale and innocent as virgin snow blazed in his hand; souls without their sovereign, straining to answer the Keeper’s call.

Then I looked upon you, my heart dark and barren, my world a tempest of blood and steel. He looked up, breaking his reverent stance.

I flinched when you met my gaze, Aleorn closed his hand, rising calmly, slowly, a tidal wave whose langour belies its might. But you smiled all the same. His hands shook, the ring’s power screaming to be unleashed. My world became warm and bright again. He clenched his fist tighter.

But you are a servant of the cycle, the reason for my suffering. Aleorn called to the ring, and at once it responded: strength surged through him, thrumming in his veins like four hearts beating in unision.

The cycle ends here. His heart felt as though its would tear itself asunder.

She was the only creature in all my travels to smile when she looked upon me. He wavered, yet the ring’s power would not be denied. Before he registered the movement he had werathed his hand in black fire, and thrust it into the space between her breasts, ripping through flesh and bone with so little resistance it seemed he struck nothing mroe than air. She gasped in pain and slumped against him, features contorted in agony. Around his arm, upon her flesh, a strange symbol appeared: a halo of white that reached with wispy arms in all directions – the Voidsign, a brand that would end the Keeper’s life, and prevent her from ever rising again. She cried out, and sorrow overwhelmed him, freezing his blood, stealing his strength.

Both collapsed to the stones, Aleorn tearing his hand from her crushed chest, holding her close as life fled.

This is how I repay her kindness? Her breaths – shuddering and weak – misted against his breastplate. What have I done?!

He felt her trembling in his embrace, shivering like a withered leaf upon long dead branch. She slumped against him, slimp and frail, her face pressed against his neck, her skin pale and cold. Then he felt her lips curve into the same gentle smile that once brightened his world, yet now only thrust it deeper into darkness.

She struggled to speak, and while the words had not breath to grant them substance, they smote him as if wrought of stone: “I forgive you, Ashen One.”

Then she was gone, and Aleorn was alone with his despair. He held her lifeless frame until all warmth had fled, and even still he clutched her, his shattered heart cold and hollow, its fractures deepening with each labored beat.

He knew not how much time had passed before he rose, carrying her from the Shrine like an infant curled in his arms. In the same grave from whence he had risen, he laid the one creature whose death had ever pained him, praying that she would find a more lasting rest there than he had.

“I’ve sacrificed you, that I might grow stronger, that I would never again feel the agony of loneliness.” He knelt beside the makeshift tomb, eyes closed and tears glimmering on their fringes.

“You forgive me,” He buried his face in his hands. “But I can never forgive myself.”

***

When Aleorn returned, it was in a mantle of darkness cold and heavy as lead. If he was surprised to find Or’do waiting for him unbidden, he hid it well, for he merely fell to his knees at the bonfire’s side, and stared into its glowing embers.

“It is done,” He rasped. “The Keeper’s soul is mine.”

“It hurt, did it not?” Or’do’s words were soft, kind. He knelt at his comrade’s side. “Her death pains you.”

“Yes,” Aleorn whispered. “I’ve killed thousands, devoured entire nation’s worth of souls, yet her death,” His voice broke and he turned plaintive eyes upon his companion. “Why does it torment me?”

“Because she was kind where so many were cruel. In a world bleak and dark, her smile was a breath of warmth and peace, a solace fleeting but no less lovely.”

“When we stride on to the next of these countless worlds, we shall find there another precisely as she was.” Aleorn wrung his hands, gaze haunted. “Her loss is temporary.”

“Strange, is it not?” Or’do rested a hand on Aleorn’s shoulder. “Flame sustains us, yet lies still burn our mouths.”

Aleorn looked up, confused.

“There will always be more Flames, and Keepers to attend them; yet none can replace what we have destroyed, not as she was. Our lonely hearts clung to the hope she represented, and any other bearing her face, speaking her voice, will be more insult than comfort.”

“Then why did we destroy her?!” A flash of light in his weary eyes. “Why did you demand that I take her life?”

Or’do merely gestured to the obsidian ring. “You have taken her soul, have you not yet used it?”

Aleorn shook his head. “How could I?”

To this he received a knowing nod.

“The pain will fade. You have done what was needed; pray claim thy reward, lest it wither forgotten.”

Upon his finger the ring gleamed, eagerly awaiting his decision, seeming to grow warm against his flesh, as if it were a thing alive, furious and desperate, struggling weakly. Indeed, he felt a faint pulse from it, light as the Keeper’s final breath. Sorrow washed over him once more, and he crumbled beneath its suffocating weight.

“I cannot.” He whispered. “Every time I try, I see her smile, watch again as it turns cold and still with death.”

“I understand.” Or’do silenced him with an upraised hand. “Torment yourself no more then.”

Aleorn nodded gratefully.

“Are you ready for one last fight?” Or’d asked, receiving a confused look by way of reply. “One last battle as an Ashen,” he clarified, “before you become something far stronger.”

“When I become that of which you speak, will I feel this agony still?”

“No, you will be consumed with unimaginable power, and in its razor edged tempest lose yourself if only for a moment.

A fist tightened in determination, a pall of darkness clouding once bright eyes. “Then let us be on our way.”

End of Part 1

Part 2

Aleorn smashed a fist of iron against a gaunt hollow, feeling its bones shatter like porcelain, its flesh tearing and sloughing away. The monster crumpled where it stood, dust fanning out from its crushed features, dark blood pooling around the ruin atop its withered neck.

"A potent blow" Or'do called; his resonant voice losing no volume despite the formidable distance it crossed. Or'do stood near the Dancer's gate, hands cupped around his mouth to magnify his words. At the stairs' end, where a secnod gate loomed, several hollows lay in scorched ruin, the force of Aleorn's flows nearly severing their heads, the impact alone cracking armour of boiled leather, turning it and the body beneath into crumpled heaps that lay dark and melancholy upon the stones. "Yet you can do better."

In the days since the Keeper's death, Aleorn had not drawn upon her powers, at least not by conscious design. While he sensed not her strength, he felt his reservoir of souls diminish slightly with each blow. In an exchange of some sort, the Cinder within him flared with life and his attack gained cataclysmic force, yet the lives within him were burned away. No flame could burn without fuel, however, and the price was far outweighed by the reward.

I cannot do this. Aleorn nodded silently, sinking into a pugilist's stance. On the ground before him, the slain hollow twitched, glowing from within as if a bonfire had been kindled among its ribs. Its chest exploded, flame and gore erupting as clawed fingers thrust forth, yellowed nails digging into the stones with sickening shrieks. Another hollow dragged itself into Aleorn's world, drawn from one parallel by Or'do's baffling power. Aleorn knew not how his comrade did this, and in truth, he cared little.

Her death has strengthened me. His fist crashed home, flattening the creature's face with a reverberating crunch!

He turned dark eyes to the hill's crest where Or'do stood, nodding his approval.

"Better still! One more, then we test thy newfound might upon a creature of more adequate strength."

Aleorn bent in a half bow, unconsciously wreathing his hands in serpents of fire as he pivoted back to the many times reborn hollow. He wove fingers strong and cruel as steel into a two handed fist, and with its immense power staved in the hollow's grey scalp before it had taken so much as a single step into its new world, a single breath of blood clogged air. It collapsed sidelong, thin wisps of smoke trailing from its seared flesh.

Without warning, the fog door vanished, recoiling as if burned, its absence revealing the broad, empty chamber beyond. Aleorn was quite familiar with the Boreal Valley's Champion, Vordt; yet he was all the same caught off guard when in a whirlwind of polar fury lunged out of that chamber, falling upon Aleorn in a steel edged dervish.  A reflexive swipe of his flaming hand flipped a rather surprised Vordt aside, hurling him against the far wall with terrible force. Yet even as his body shattered, the Lord was reborn, bursting frmo the ruin of his predecessor. Aleorn blocked the monster's slashing mace - which dwarfed even the largest of men - upon his upraised forearm, twisting beneath and driving his iron fist between those eyes of arctic blue, crushing Vordt's ursine features and freeing another twin from its cocoon of steel and bone.

Or'do looked on grimly, arms folded behind his back. Troublesome thoughts swirled like angered locusts caged within his skull. Slaying the Keeper was uneeded; even now her strength alone was not what fueled those cataclysmic blows. Aleorn could never learn of this deception; it would destroy him as now blade ever could.

Below, Vordt fell again, yet almost as quickly was in a geyser of gore and frigid wind born afresh. Each time he rose it was with greater strength; having been drawn from a plane parallel where stronger beasts dwelt.

As he observed the seemingly endless battle, Or'do's mind strayed into ever darker reaches of the hell behind his pale eyes. Aleorn had wept, true sorrow clear upon his bleak features, yet it should not be possible; the mere fact he had returned defied logic. No Ashen was capable of slaying the Keeper however mad or apathetic they were; she would merely rise again, hiding well her disdain beneath a mask of concern.  Yet there was no duplicity in Aleorn's eyes; few Ashen pursued deception as it was, for what one desired could be taken by force more effectively than guile; the oft broken Patches attested to that.

"How?" He whispered. Even the Voidwalker's band was noting more than a death sentence; the fatal blow Or'do could not bring himself to deliver. The ring permitted, or compelled rather, its wielder to etch the Void's mark upon their foes, yet in so doing would excise the Flame's brand. Aleorn should had fallen where he stood, severed from the Flame, his death as certain as that of a mortal deprived breath.

Unless he was already Voidborn.

"I tried to murder another Solitude Strider?" He felt a chill slither along his spine. "How did I fail to recognize one of my own kin?" Or'do asked the wind, yet he recieved an answer all the same, spoken in his own internal voice. Because he has not yet realized it himself.

Aleorn whirled beneath his foe's mace, the air roaring, light dancing along its cruel edge. Flame seethed from his fist as pivoting still, he delivered a right hook that flattened the Boreal Gladiator's face, his arm a blazing pillar, his eye cold and hard.

Or'do exhaled softly, his feature troubled. Initially, slaying the Fire Keeper was naught but a death sentence in the guise of a test of loyalty. This task however, was far from meaningless.

"Go on." He closed fingers of iron around his forearm. "Show my thy true strength."

Aleorn felt rage consuming him from within, its searing heat devouring his sanity, screaming for vengeance with its thousand baleful voices. Unbidden, a roar burst from his lips and instead of retreating when the mace came arching down from on high, he merely raised one hand overhead, and with blinding flash, thunderous report, caught it. His hand glowed like smelted iron, and like a dagger slicing fat, cleaved the weapon in two. Flame surged within him, gushing from his flesh in glowing scythes as he twisted beneath the shortened weapon, his hand a falling star that slid through the crouched Vordt's throat, filling his lungs with ash and death.

Madness.

Aleorn paused not a moment before clasping both hands overhead and with terrible force smashing Vordt's skull like a gourd flung from great height. The Boreal Champion rose again, vapor hissing from its jaws, eyes of arctic blue shining like fractured sapphires.

Madness!

Aleorn felt an alien power swell within him, clamping fingers of molten steel around his heart, crushing him from within.

Madness!

His fist lashed out, his arm a silvered blur that roared through the air, hammering against Vordt's jaw, a spiral of flame rolling out from the point of impact, a hurricane of light that ripped through flesh and ground bone to motes of dust. Yet still even as Vordt's headless corpse slumped forward, clawed paws erupted from the ragged stump of its neck, screeching across the bloodied cobblestones and spraying long scythes of sparks in their wake.

Aleorn pivoted, adding momentum to his titanic strength. His hand was a blazing star set upon pedestal of glimmering marble; yet this time as Vordt was thrown back, lifted from the earth as Aleorn's punch slammed home like a thunderbolt, a cyclone of dust and debris roaring past, the Ashen twisted closer, free hand engulfed in stark white mist. As Vordt slumped to the earth once again, Aleorn dashed forward, gloved palm crashing against the monster's brow and from the terrible impact swelled a globe of swirling mist. Beneath his hand a Darksign appeared, yet its colours were wrong, white where they should be dark, its fringe unraveling like fraying rope. Vordt's eyes widened in shock, then glittered with sudden depth as if a thousand thousand minds peered through those azure portals. Aleorn felt his heart lurch, siezed by phantom hands; that fear, that certainty had shone in the Keeper's eyes. There was some significance in this, yet addled with hate and grief as he was, Aleorn could think of naught but all consuming rage.

Tilting his head back, he unleashed a roar of pain and despair tempered with suffering, made strong by his anger, sharpened by his anguish.

He is Voidborn Or'do thought, relief flowing through him. I am not alone after all.

***

In the days that followed, a thousand Lords were cast to the stones, cracked apart beneath blows swift as lightning, heavy as landslides. Or'do no longer seemed weary or distant, indeed at the fireside, when Lords lay slain, Or'do often joked in raucous tones, made of each moment a festival all its own.

Yet within his skull, dark thoughts reigned still. He does not yet know. He is lost and without purpose, an ember that fades in the gloom. Yet I cannot give him his true place, cannot bestow the mantle his very breath has earned. Aleorn must learn on his own the nature of his strength.

When they entered new worlds, neither the Keeper nor Vordt awaited, and slowly, as Aleorn became stronger, each Lord was wiped from the slate of Creation, Unmade upon every plane at once. Aleorn had noted the Lord's absence with marked apathy, yet when he learned of the Keeper's permanent death, it naerly destroyed him.

Yet in the forge of grief was he remade; when he recovered it was without warning and a power that eclipsed any he had displayed. Little did Or'do know: Aleorn no longer grieved, for he felt her presence at his side. She was within him reborn, and her forgiveness had healed the wounds he so long carried.

***

The Soul of Cinder rose, ironclad soles striking sparks from the stones as in ominous silence it advanced. Or'do and Aleorn stood just beyond the threshold, both wielding not but their fists; for any other weapon would be ground to dust beneath the force of their blows.

A thousand times had they fought this guardian, and a thousand Flames had they linked; yet this time, something was different. There was a palpable charge in the air as the Lord advanced, a titan in vestments of flame. Around its feet spiraled pools dark and cold; mist of ebony rising in long, curious tendrils.

It surged forward without warning, blade of bloody flame arching through the air, time seeming to slow as it batted aside their mighty fists, drove back the Voidborn with furious strokes. Relentless as a hurricane it advanced, sundering rock and setting the bare earth alight with the sheer, sinister heat of its blinding blade.

Thou hath reached a Nexus The Keeper's voice rang in Aleorn's mind, calm in spite of his mounting fear. A rift where those who tread upon path of solitude and shadow may at last grasp the extent of their err.

Aleorn ducked, yet the starlight blade came crashing down upon him, momentum halted and reversed with impossible speed; belying the monster's unfathomable might.

Is this what thou sought? Aleorn pivoted where he stood, letting the Soul of Cinder strike naught but a protuberant stone, the blow showering him with sparks, shredding his calf with barbed shards.

You know what I sought. Turning still, dust and blood fanning out behind, he drove a fist strong as steel, unstoppable as a landslide, into the Soul's stomach, receiving not faintest sign of discomfort, much less pain for his trouble. Solace from a life of torment and desolation. He darted aside, torn muscle trailing like ragged tassels from his torn leg, pain wracking his body, yet the movement spared him a devastating collision with the monster's blade, the wind of its passing raking razor talons against his neck, heat searing his flesh, melting his armour.

And to that end I sacrificed the one thing in this world for which I cared.

He felt the Keeper smile, grim yet ever hopeful.

Thou knowest not thy comrade's nature; yet it is between thy bodies shared.

A blade bright as dawn, chilling as dusk, sliced the air a finger's breadth from his cheek, blinding him if only for a moment. The Keeper could speak, yet the effort taxed her greatly; he sensed whatever it was she wished to impart would either be lain bare now, or not at all.

What are we? Aleorn had lost track of his comrade, and was thus surprised when the Soul lurched, rocked by a siesmic impact. Or'do lunged beneath its slashing blade, ramming his fist into its gut, then darting out of its reach as without slightest wound, the Cinder's champion turned in pursuit.

I know now whether he shares they power, only thy curse.

The Darksign?

The Voidsign; thou art both sons of chaos, conceived to bring ruin and desolation. He felt her grimace, sorrow cold in her immaterial veins.

And I hid this from thine eyes, praying that thy nature would wither forgotten, would vanish if not attended. Anger, frustration, despair, stained her phantom voice. Mourn not the death I recieved, for it was duly earned.

No! Aleorn gritted his teeth, flame leaking between his lips. No one deserves the death I lavished upon you. I struck you down without mercy. I saw your heart break before I tore it apart.

When she did not respond, Aleorn knew that once again she had succumbed to the eternity of suffering within him, had faded like embers in cooling hearth. Then a whisper came weak and frail:

Slay this Aspect of Eternity, and from its death thou shalt learn the meaning of suffering; this is the toll that understanding demands.

Then she screamed, a horrible, weak, pitiful sound that resonated in his bones, and within them kindled the indomitable flame of rage. He lunged, fist of iron slamming against the monster's ribs, bone bending, flexing beneath his knuckles, and from the point of impact a sinister Voidsign curled. Yet it did not fall, instead lunging toward him, strands of blood and ash unspooling from its crushed ribs, its sword a sunlight glimmer in the smog choked air as it bore down upon him. Without thinking, Aleorn threw himself to the side, one hand coming down upon the weapon's flame cloaked plane, the other swiping up from below. Between his hands the sword cracked asunder, its midsection ground to dust beneath the impossible force of its unmaking.

Aleorn wasted no time with awe or satisfaction, merely pivoted around the Aspect, foot sweeping its legs as he passed. In his hand an obsidian dagger gleamed, its edge alit with baleful luminescence. It hissed across the Soul's throat as he twisted past, spilling a ragged fan of silken blood in its wake, then as if overcome with grief, exploded into wisps of black mist.

Shock clear upon its gaunt features, the Aspect collapsed, arms falling limp at its sides, ashen blood gushing from its sundered throat, splashing into its palms and pooling around it. Then, a disk of intricate, spiral runes swirled out from its ironclad knees as if it was into a spilt of oil that the Soul of Cinder had collapsed.

Mist dark and bleak as starless night, writhed from the flagstones, nebulous hands snaring both Voidborn with grip of iron. Their prison faded like a candle's uncertain flame and in its wake crept Sleep, sister of Death, bearer of Oblivion. Beneath her phantom touch they crumpled, falling into the void below.

***

The Keeper was right, if only in part: truth did indeed wait in that silken shadow; yet so to did unspeakable pain. It was to a realm of fear and despair that they woke, a land of eternal night governed by twisted titans. As different as this place was, it all the same evoked a sense of familiarity; it to was home to a Shrine, if in purpose alone; a crumbling mansion tended by an immortal doll. Within waited Gehrman, Eldest of the Deep Champions; a formidable foe whose scythe of solemn moonlight took Aleorn's head from his shoulders while Or'do was engrossed in his own travels. Distance mattered not, however, for he was Voidborn, and thus sensed when his brother's bond was extinguished. Lord's of Deep were able to effect Signs of Flame or Void; this Or'do realized only when he held the cold, ruined remains of his dearest friend.

Why does his loss pain me so? Or'do wept bitterly, bowing his weary head until his brow rested upon Aleorn's motionless, crumbling chest. The answer was obvious, at least in the eyes of another; whether Aleorn realized it or not, he was the ember that warmed Or'do's cold, solemn heart; he was a brother in arms whose quiet nature and reserved smile were brighter than the Sun itself.

Robbed of his Brand, Aleorn was no less mortal than ordinary man, yet as Or'do held his lost friend, watching through dark eyes as the Voidborn's blood drifted into the emptiness around him, he noticed upon his comrade's chest lay the Darksign, not the mark of Void, and it was this, not the Voidsign that had been erased.

Confused, Or'do drew a gloved finger across the pristine Voidsign, half expecting it to come away like damp paint. The Darksign granted a Voidborn greater strength, yet was not his bond to the world; it was little more than a blade or bow, a tool whose loss weakened but yet could not of itself destroy.

He laid a hand atop Aleorn's silent breast, his own heart ripping itself in two, his vision filled with bright memories; the triumphs they shared, the sense of belonging Or'do had for so long languished without.

"What are you?" He whispered, voice cracking with sorrow. A Voidborn he could save, yet those who dwelt in the Dark, worshiped the Light, were naught but prey to him. Then a thought came, as troublesome as it was wonderous.

If I can steal Darksigns, perhaps I can bestow them as well He drew back his sleeve - gauntlets only shattered beneath the force of his blows - looking upon the dozen signs etched across his flesh with newfound hope.

You cannot. A voice whispered; it took him a moment to recognize it as his own. "You are a Flame that consumes, devouring without bestowing anything in return."

Aleorn and Or'do stand upon an outcropping of stone, gazing into the chamber far below.

"Perhaps I should fetch a ladder" Or'do muttered.

"Who needs ladders," Aleorn bounded off the edge, a grin upon his lips, flame unspooling from his limbs. "When you have these knees?!" He vanished into the void below, fading like a fallen torch.

"Aleorn?" Or'do leaned forward, as amused as he was concerned. From far below a thunderous impact boomed, grinding through stone, thrumming in his bones.

"I think I need new knees!" Aleorn called.

Or'do had laughed then, yet he only wept at the memory, for it was as warm and bright as he was cold and dark. In desperation he called out to the Void, pleading for salvation, straining with powers that now defied him. It was perhaps like attempting to bend one's leg sideways; the muscles were capable, yet the mind rebelled, grappling with the traitorous body for every agonizing inch.

Aleorn sat at the bonfire's edge, lost in sorrow and desolation. He knew now what terrible fate his fear had bestowed upon the Fire's Keeper, and this knowledge seared him from within like molten edged caltrops rolling through his veins. There was about him a mantle of darkness, an emptiness in his eyes, a melancholy note to every word.

All that had given his life purpose was now stripped from it; Or'do was the last sliver of hope left in his squalid life, yet he was the force guiding Aleorn's hand; Or'do's will had cut short the Keeper's false life, severed her link to the Flame and cast her forevermore into the abyss that lurked in the shadows beyond life.

Or'do gritted his teeth, staring skyward with eyes that burned like coals set in his skull. His fingernails dug into his palms, blood welling up around them like pools of dark oil.

"It hurts, does it not?" Or'do knelt at his comrade's side. "I made you do this. Her death is my fault not yours."

"I wish I could hate you." Aleorn turned eyes of cold, dark fire upon his friend. "Yet I cannot."

"I deserve whatever wrath you can muster."

"Not this time." Those fierce eyes dimmed, turning bleak and hollow with anguish. "You asked of me, yet I could have defied you."

"Why did you not?"

Aleorn faltered, and deep in those melancholy eyes, in the depths of his dark soul, something broke. "Because I was afraid."

Or'do slammed a bloody hand against his comrade's motionless chest, staining the sundered Darksign with his steaming life. Tears seared his cheeks like rivulets of molten steel, glittering softly in the fitful life.

"I betrayed you." He whispered. "And you forgave me still." His voice fractured, rent asunder beneath the weight of despair. "I do not deserve your kindness."

"Cling to hope, my friend." Pain tore through his body like a whirlwind of razor edged blades.

"For no matter how dim its embers are," Upon his chest the Voidsign glowed, its light somehow conveying emptiness like none mankind could fathom, its pale white radiance prophesying a day when the world was forevermore clad in mist and silence.

"For it is always warmer than despair." Or'do screamed in a harrowing mixture of pain and sorrow, the Void's brand flaring brighter until to look upon it was to ensure blindness, and silken mist rose from its shimmering perimeters.

One of his stolen Darksigns blazed with light, Or'do's flesh shivering and rippling beneath its flame kissed shores. Slowly, it faded, leaving a disk shaped scar upon his skin; the sigil of Flame's dominion melting into long threads black as starless night that flowed along his forearm, spooling around his fingers, digging barbed edges into Aleorn's crumbling body. The Ashen's Darksign remained wounded and inert, yet a hand's span beneath it, a point just above where the leftmost kidney rested, a new Sign branded itself upon his flesh.

At once, Aleorn's eyes snapped open, breath rushing into his lungs, blood flooding his veins, the parts of his body that had shattered and drifted away instantly reforming. Confusion clouded his eyes only briefly before being replaced with icy sorrow.

"You sacrificed your sign for me." His voice was choked, empty. "How are you still at my side?"

He did not ask why. Or'do thought. Because he knows that if I fell, he would do the same.

"The Flame sustains my life, yet does not command it. I admit, without the Cycle's brand, death is permanent; it was but a small sacrifice however, for it brought you back to my side."  He chose his words carefully, not certain why it was that he felt his nature was best concealed rather than spoken of, only that there was something strange about his companion, a Voidborn who was bound not by the Unmaking but the Maker.

Aleorn's eyes grew hard and keen as flint.

"Then I shall let no harm befall you."

***

In the days that followed, Aleorn did all he could do uphold that pledge; they were trapped in the heart of the Deep Sea, a series of dungeons whose mouldering depths typically opened only with the whisper of a chalice. Within these foul walls thousands of Ancients languished, and only with their death could freedom be attained.

Sacrificing the Darksign had diminished Or'do's strength, if by a nigh imperceptible margin: his blows still resonated in the stones, his wounds still healed almost as swiftly as they were produced. From Cinder, from Void, and from Deep could Or'do draw strength, yet as they progressed, it became clear that Aleorn could not do the same. He grew frail and weak, his breaths flecked with blood, his steps faltering, legs barely able to hold him aloft.

Or'do felt a pain worse even than that of tearing free his Darksign, a crippling sense of helplessness as his friend died before his eyes. They had almost reached the lair of the Pthumerian Queen, Enlightened Lord of the Deep; yet Aleorn seemed unable to press on any further. He crumpled there upon the stones, laid prone before the rugged portcullis that stood vigil over Dee's slumbering soverign, and with trembling, delerious voice begged of Or'do perhaps the one thing he could not grant.

"Please, Or'do." Aleorn lay limply upon the stones; a marionette with severed strings, his hand cold and feeble in Or'do's desperate grasp."I need to see the Sun again," He whispered, dark eyes closing in weariness and surrender.

"One last time."

Or'do's heart sank and he felt his throat constrict, crushed by the iron hand of sorrow.

"You shall see the Sun again." He felt the lie heavy upon his tongue, scalding his lips as it passed. "Once and forevermore."

Aleorn smiled, slumping back against the stones, his breath shallow and eyes closed. There was upon his face a peace like none his troubled life and permitted; a certainty that his eternal suffering would end. When Or'do rose, it was with the ominous languor of a tidal wave, lightning convulsing in his dark eyes, his fingernails slicing into his palm as he clenched fists of iron. In spite of the Darksign, his comrade had perished; his body eroded by the Deep Sea as dunes of sand were swept away beneath tempestuous winds.

There was but one way to escape Gehrman's prison: slay the Sovereign of the Deep. Gehrman had cast them here in certainty that they would never emerge, that they could never again threaten this strange land's true Lord.

He had erred. Or'do had fought scores of Unkindled, tore their Darksigns from withered flesh and made of them an immense cache of power. The claim of frailty he had made was intended only to pacify his comrade; an Ashen could not long survive without the Flame's Brand, a certitude with which Aleorn would be well acquainted, and without such claims, his vitality would a suspicion foster.

This realm's ruler must fall, for such was the price of his friend's survival. Some part of him rebelled as he brushed bloodied fingers against the gate of fog, having already passed through the portcullis, shouldering through it without pause or resistance. He sensed beyond the Servitor of Deep that lounged beyond; it was unquestionably powerful, stronger perhaps than anything he had faced in his long, tortured life.

Yet it stood between him and the joy of friendship made stronger by the pain it endured. There was a terrible sense of foreboding about that chamber, yet he cared not. Through the mist he passed without another breath wasted in hesitation. For perhaps the first time in his sordid existence, it was neither greed nor disdain that raised his flame wreathed fists, but fear for another.

And perhaps that is why this of all battles was to be his undoing.

***

The Pthumerian Queen would to many be a horrifying sight indeed: her features pale and gaunt, eyes sunken and hollow with anguish. Her vestments of white clung to the swell of her stomach, indicating that a child dwelt within and perhaps this was the source of her anguish: the Deep Sea would soon roll forth, devouring the world beyond, and her child would be the heir to the shattered ruin it left behind.

She stepped forward, head bowed, hands clasped as if in prayer; tendrils of darkness visible only to Or'do's Voidborn eyes welling up from the ground around her, encircling her like a her like a dead flower's brittle, crumpling petals.

Aleorn's breath hissing softly, faintly, his gaze distant. Or'do lunged, slashing wildly, stiffened fingers ripping through her flesh, smashing bone into coarse dust, spinning her where she stood and spraying long crescents of blood across the stones. The Pthumerian Queen made no attempt to evade, merely suffered the blow, let its impact resonate through her, a hushed grunt her only complaint.

Aleorn laughing, his eyes sparkling in the firelight.

Fury crashed over him like a tidal wave of ice and fire.

Aleorn thrusting a fist heavenward, a cry of triumph ringing through the still air.

Or'do's fist rained upon her, swift as wind, heavy as a rushing avalanche. Even now, battered and bleeding, the Queen showed no trace of fear, only sorrow, only remorse for what she had done.

What she must do.

In his anger, Or'do had become blind to the nebulous mist surrounding her, had suppressed his warrior's instincts,and thereby allowed his guard to fall. The Queen wasted no time with her retaliation.

Razor edged tendrils slashed through him, impaling every organ, splintering his ribcage and shattering his spine. Blood clogged his throat, coppery and warm, spilling over his lips along with a strangled gasp. Nearly four dozen vipers of mist and steel had pierced him, and now they were all that held him aloft. Every Darksign and the mark of the Unmaking was sundered, and their pain tore through him like a thousand cruelly edged glaives.

"I care not where we are." Aleorn gestured to the snowy hills of Ariandel. "Only the company in which I travel gives my life meaning."

I feel the same. Or'do realized. "Oh come now, Aleorn, surely I do not mean that much. I am but a phantom to aid you, nothing more."

"You are far more than that. Had I not met you, I would wander still, mindless and frail. You freed me from that waking slumber, gave my life meaning again. For that I shall forevermore in your debt be."

But you did the same for me.

Or'do wept a single tear as the ashen tendrils slid back, retracting with a damp hiss. He felt no pain when he crumpled, vision dark and body distant, only a terrible cold and a sorrow keener than the blades that laid him low.

***

Aleorn slammed an iron palm against the ground, cracks spiraling out from the impact. Or'do had not cried out when he fell, yet Aleorn sensed his peril all the same. Conflagrance! Flame wrapped around his body, curling over his armour like affectionate serpents.

My weakness has already eneded the life of one I loved. He stood, eyes bright as stars, smoke rising from his smouldering flesh. The Cinder within his breast had grown cold and dark, for he had but few souls with which to stoke it. Yet he cared no longer for his own fate; it mattered not whether he lived or fell, only that his cowardice would not claim the life of his dearest friend.

He flung the last of his souls into the Cinder, and let its inferno devour him.

***

As Or'do lay, life pooling around him like spilled oil, he felt a sudden warmth fall over him, a light at the fringe of his vision. His world snapped back into focus as Aleorn surged past, streaking toward the Deep's Queen like a falling star, lightning flashing from his limbs, exploding beneath his feet. Evert step bore him nearly fifteen paces, hurling him forward with roaring force of an almighty gale.

His fist came up, flame trailing behind in a long, ragged edged fan, ash swirling around his emaciated frame. The Queen smiled sadly, sunken eyes dark as starlit seas. She gestured, slashing the air, and invisible to Aleorn's Ashen eyes, a halo of keen edged tendrils rose around him, and like a flower spurned by light, its crescent petals snapped closed.

"Aleorn!" Or'do managed only half the word before his voice failed him and blood rather than breath spurted over his lips. He could do no more than watch as his comrade charged headlong into certain death.

Aleorn had not time to register his death before it was upon him. With soft hiss and moist crack the thin blades tore through him, his own momentum forcing them deep, shattering his bones, sundering brands of Flame and Void alike. He stood frozen, blood leaking from his thousand wounds. Then, in the oblivion of instant death, he heard the Keeper's voice.

"Do not give up, Ashen One. For our kind death is seldom the end."

"I feel strange." He murmured, not realizing that he lacked a voice with which to speak. "Different somehow."

"You are suspended between undeath and the fate it was spared you." She faltered. "You are not of the Flame, Aleorn. I knew your true nature, and I-" He sensed her discomfort, her regret. "I hid if from you."

"Why?"

"The same reason I forgave you when at his behest you slew me. When I looked upon you I saw the torment on your face, the pain in your soul. I knew that the truth would destroy you, that if you hunted down the Ashen, alienated the denizens of these endless worlds, you would become far worse than hollow: a sane man pleading the Gods to strike him mad, if only to ease his suffering.

Yet the life I gave you was no better; you suffered still, yearned for the purpose I denied you. Then, you found Or'do, and for the first time in so long, you smiled. I realized then how wrong I was to deny you the joy of purpose, and when you came to destroy me, I knew my death was duly earned."

"No one deserved the death I gave you."

"I lack time to debate this!" The Keeper's voice cracked and only now did Aleorn sense the pain within it. "You are neither Ashen, nor a child of Void, but something far stronger, something that can end the cycle or let it persist until time's wheel grinds to a halt."

"What am I?"

"To Or'do, the Champion of Unmaking"

"And you?"

He felt her smile fall upon him, warm and soothing as sunlight.  "The Heir of Cinder."

Aleorn slashed a hand across the spears that held him aloft, striding forward even as they fell away. A single flaming tear traced his jaw, curling around his forearm in a thin wisp of fire. It flowed between his fingers, lengthening into a long, slender blade of piercing light edged in solemn darkness. Lacrimosa the weapon's name rang through his skull, a one words chorus over the slow thunder of his laboring heart.

What? Or'do felt a surge of hope then, as his comrade took one slow step toward the Queen, scythes of flame taering through his flesh, wisps of the Unmaking's coarse, grey mist hissing from his wounds.

Aleorn sank into a sprinter's low stance, Lacrimosa's shores of starless oblivion darkling before him.

He is not the Champion Or'do realized. Yet neither is he the Heir.

"By the strength of Void," Aleorn's voice was rough, grating. The Queen cared not for theatrics, however; a simple slash of her arm sent vipers of mist arcing toward him, and in spite of himself Or'do cringed, expecting but not relishing his comrade's violent demise. Yet Aleorn, even badly wounded as he was, whirled forward in a tempest of soot and cinder, his blade a silvered gleam that wove pewter strands through the air, ripping through tendrils of mist and grinding across the stones below, molten earth fanning out in its wake.

"The sorrow of a fading Flame" Aleorn surged forward, every step flinging him some ten paces, each blood flecked breath glittering like embers in the smoke clogged air. Now, the Queen did retreat, desperately slashing with keen edged crescents that bit only air, or clashed with and shattered upon tempered steel.

"And the fury of their clash," Upon his breast a new sigil blazed to life as if branded from within: a disk of shadow filled with wisps of pale mist. "Shall you be destroyed!"

Or'do's vision turned black, his life long gone from his veins; yet it was with a smile that his life ended, for the last portrait his eyes painted was of Aleorn, tears of fire streaming from his angular face, blade of light and shadow fading into a long, indistinct blur as it cleaved the Queen from hip to shoulder, ignoring her outstretched hand and the web of mist that armoured her. For once in his long life, Or'do was truly happy: this time his hate, his greed, his worthlessness had not claimed a life, but elevated it.

And that meant more to him than all the souls in these foul lands.

***

No sooner had the Deep's Queen fallen, than the dungeon was crumbling away, tiles fading int ofrail stalks and pale bloom, arched ceiling shattering to reveal heavens grey and bleak. Gehrman, Lord of the Deep, stared on in shock, fear, and perhaps awe as Aleorn strode forth, eyes dark and downcast, bloodied sword thrust out wide, black tendrils weeping from its edge.

Or'do falling, a strange peace softening his features. Aleorn gritted his teeth, blood pouring over his lips as shards of ivory sliced his mouth, teeth shattering like porcelain.

Or'do lying in his arms as the world fades. Gehrman barely registered the movement as Aleorn rushed forth, blade shrieking as it arced in from below. It was primal reflex and nothing more that tugged the Deep Lord's scythe into the weapon's path, their clash reverberating through the still air. Steel grated against steel, cracks spiraling along Gehrman's blade. Now, and for perhaps the first time he felt true, abject terror: here was a foe whose power so dwarfed his own that even the earth charred and cracked beneath him, the Lord's flesh sloughing away.

His scythe shattered into a blizzard of starlight fragments, and a mere breath later, Aleorn's blade tore him asunder, snapping his spine like a brittle twig. At once, the Deep Sea vanished, replaced with the Kiln's familiar scent of char and despair, its earth no longer clad in grasses but in stark grey sands. When Gehrman opened his mouth in a scream of horrible pain, Lacrimosa glided over his lips and vanished into his throat, connecting his severed boy with a thin column of steel.

Ignescence! Flame coursed through Gehrman's veins, igniting his bones, smoke spurting from his eyes, fire gushing frmo his shredding flesh.

Aleorn released the embedded blade and fell to his knees as if in reverence. Tears of flame streaked his features with molten rivulets, their heat and light a stark contrast to his frigid, barren heart. The only friend he had known now lay dead upon the stones, granted a long deserved and hard won peace, yet Aleorn wanted only to take it from him.

He rose, leaving the impromptu bonfire and staggering into the darkness, motes of light and ribbons of ember speckled ash drifting from his stooped, beleaguered frame. Aleorn knelt at his comrade's side, backlit by the steady glow of ravenous flame, and took Or'do's hand in his own, closing his eyes and bowing his head as if this alone would wake his dearest friend.

Slowly, a glimmering tear traced his jaw, falling like a bead of still molten glass and bursting upon his comrade's motionless chest.

"Do not weep for me." Or'do whispered. "I do not deserve it."

Aleorn opened his mouth in protest, yet Or'do interjected: "I am tired." He sounded confused, dazed. "Allow me a moment's rest," his eyes closed to faintly glowing crescents, a smile still upon his bloodied lips. "And when I wake we shall be together again."

Then he was gone, and Aleorn wept until the world rotted to nothing around him.