DEPRIVED: A Dark Souls Story (As Told by Ashemma)
Chapter Two: The Great Crystal Lizard
→ Chapter One: Cemetery of Ash
The mysterious glow was encapsulated by a suit of rusted armor—Astoran in design, judging from the fluted spaulders, the ornate filigree on the shield, and the detailing on the surcoat. It was beautiful once, I was sure, but now, surrounded by graves, coffins, and ruined stonework... I sighed softly, hefted the club onto my shoulder and walked towards the armored corpse and its strange emanation. I spied a moment out of the corner of my eye. A fraction too late, I snapped my head back and raised the only barrier I had at hand, and narrowly deflected the hooded Hollow's broken sword. It bit into my hand, hard, and stole the feeling from my pinky and ring finger.
In a rush of anger, I swung, pulling the club in a long arc that the slow-thinking Hollow couldn't hope to evade, and smashed his jaw up into his skull. He spat teeth as he fell backwards... and his soul poured out of him and into me, in an instant.
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My little girl. It's still so hard to believe I'm a father.
She's so small! So beautiful! She has Mariel's eyes, but she claims she's got my nose. We'll see, I suppose.
Such potential awaits her. I can't wait to see what the future brings.
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The memory faded and I found myself at the tail end of my swinging arc, and gradually relaxed my muscles, letting my arm fall slack to my side, club tentatively gripped by what strength remained in my injured hand.
No good like this. If more of these forsaken souls awaited, I needed to be certain I had full control of the only weapon I'd yet obtained. I lifted the club, tested the grip of my fingers, and decided there was nothing for it. Well... If I was Undead, then I'd simply have to make use of the fabled treasure the Undead call their own. I slowly inhaled, and dispelled the club into ash. As I exhaled, the ash reformed into the Estus flask I'd claimed earlier. I tipped it back against my mouth, wondering what it might taste like. The answer was immediate: fire.
It tasted like fire. But it did not burn: it was a nourishing warmth like I'd never experienced, giving me foggy reminders of childhood meals of hot soup. As the heat washed over me in a wave, I could feel my injured hand healing, the severed tendons winding back together, sliced or missing flesh reforming in an instant. I released the flask into ash and testingly flexed my hand: back to normal. Now then, for that glow...
I knelt down in front of the presumably Astoran knight and gingerly pushed my hands into the white glow. It reminded me of my own soul that I had collected earlier, though white like the Hollows, rather than the emerald flame I recognized as my own. And yet, it did not "speak" to me the way the Hollows' souls had. This was more like... the ashes of a soul long lost. And as my fingers found purchase on something nestled in these "soul ashes," I reckoned that perhaps these were the material possessions of a Hollow that had found its true death, the same way my own possessions now faded into ash until I needed them. As the glow faded, I pulled my hand back, and within it: another Estus flask?
No, this is different. Where the Estus flask I knew was hot to the touch, a vessel of healing flame, this flask was freezing cold; ice crystals jutted out from its humble stoneware, and a frigid essence swirled in its gray depths, making it glow blue.
I heard the whistle in the air, only just, of a fast-approaching missile. Instinctively, I jerked my head back, and watched as a flame-tipped crossbow bolt pierced the air in front of me, missing my neck by inches. I snapped my head to the side, cast aside the ashen flask into the same unknown depths as its fiery twin, and raised my shield protectively. Where had the bolt come from?
A shadow in the distance, beyond the ruined arches, up the shattered stairs and between the headstone-crested cliffs. A faint flame illuminated its features as it set another flaming bolt to its slender crossbow. Its nose was torn away, all the flesh around its mouth simply... gone. A sudden fear gripped my stomach as he raised the crossbow to fire. I screamed and ran. The bolt shot in front of me. I kept screaming and ran for the nearest shelter I could find, beyond what I recognized now to be a crumbling Lordvessel. The Astoran knight's position there would need to be considered more deeply later; for now, I—
Another bolt, this one slamming into the shield just inches above my hand and jerking my arm painfully. I hissed through my teeth and jumped forward into a sliding leap behind the broken bell tower. I could hear a third bolt whistle through the air, even felt it toss my hair, as I finally hit the safety of the sheltering stonework.
I took a moment to breathe, my back pressed against the corner. Hearing no indications of a further shot, I crawled over to the wall facing the archway, and carefully peeked over the bricks. The Hollow had barely moved, and I could see him preparing to set another bolt into place as his hood turned this way and that, seeking out his target. Apparently not seeing me, he gradually lowered the bolt and crossbow alike, and seemed to go... dormant, perhaps? Are the memories of these Hollows so short that he could so readily forget where I had run?
'I'm happy to take whatever small relief I might find here,' I thought to myself, turning away to slump back against the brickwork and let out a long, shaky breath. When my eyes opened, I noticed a curious sight: a message wreathed in gentle orange flame, scribed into the very dirt in front of a short and broken staircase.
"The unseen blade cuts deepest," it read.
I'd heard of such things before: messages written with an orange soapstone, a curious relic that could supposedly leave messages that transcend the very planes of existence, leaving their mark on parallel dimensions and alternate realities. There was a great deal of speculation and theory surrounding such things, but this was certainly my first encounter with an actual "soapstone message." But I'm getting woefully off-track. The message itself:
"The unseen blade cuts deepest."
What does it mean? Who would have left such a message here... and why?
I pressed forward in a crouch, not wanting to reveal my head to the distant archer, and peered around the corner that the cryptic guidance had been left in front of.
My eyes met the back of a cloaked figure, leaning against the wall for support, his right hand nestled amongst the dying climbing plants that fell from the cliff above. If this message was indeed from a parallel dimension, it now made a little more sense. This was a Hollow—another lost soul waiting to mindlessly attack any person who might enter his "territory." The message was now a clear sign to attack him from behind, exploiting his vulnerability, before he had a chance to harm anyone else. I crept up the staircase, shield already raised, and slowly lifted my club. And then I noticed it: the Hollow was trembling, as if in the middle of sobbing, his shoulders quaking with some secret misery. My brows furrowed and I lowered the club a fraction.
And then I remembered how I had died. My throat, slashed with a single stroke, leaving me to bleed out in the river, from a Hollow dressed just like this one.
There was no time for sympathy for forsaken such as these, no room for pity. Determination swelled in my breast, and I reared my club back. I stepped forward and swung, smashing it into the base of his spine. He pitched forward and jerked in obvious pain, barking out a wheezing groan. I'd caught him by surprise.
While he was still vulnerable, falling to his knees, I swirled the club back behind my bead, twisting my hips and preparing for a massive strike. Hesitation caught me momentarily, as I questioned whether he deserved this—whether this emaciated, scarred man was indeed a threat.. and then I saw it. The half-broken sword in his right hand, which had been hidden amongst the climbers when I first saw him. I snarled, gritted my teeth, and swung with all my might, crushing his head with a blow of visceral brutality.
Blood and brain matter sprayed me from his crushed skull, and the Undead corpse crumbled harmlessly to the ground. I braced myself as I saw the white ember of his soul depart his body and shoot straight at me, like a moth drawn to a fla—
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She's kissing me. Why is she kissing me? Such warm, soft lips against my own. How can this be? I've been with women before—too many, some scowling old maids liked to say—but I'd never expressed any romantic interest in Giselle before, never *dared.* I'd always thought wooing her would be like muddying a precious gem, that even if I had bedded the world, I'd always leave *her* untouched, so that something beautiful might remain in the world, unspoiled by a man like me.
And now she's kissing me. And I've never felt this warm before.
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... Oh, I thought to myself after a pregnant pause.
I could feel the heat in my cheeks rising in my cheeks, and took a moment to clear my throat and dispel my club just long enough to cough politely into my hand, as society would dictate when confronting an awkward situation. Of course, I was essentially naked, standing in front of the corpse of the man I had just murdered, so it was an absurd moment for such a thing, but it felt oddly appropriate. I turned my head, and saw another staircase, this one leading into an ankle-deep creek. I stepped forward into it and the shadows cast by the high cliffs ahead, past the carcass of an enormous and ancient tree. More Hollows awaited, surrounded by the graves they likely arose from. This time, I would be ready for the fight.
The two Hollows that were lurking ahead both rose to greet me, and I did not back away. Gritting my teeth, I simply lunged forward and smashed into the head of the nearest Hollow, my club careening off his skull with such force that his head spun 180 degr—
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Wow, Lothric Castle looks amazing from here!
I wish I could live in such a place with the lords and the ladies and the Princes and the Queen.
For now, I'm happy just being able to see such a place.
But one day, I'll live there. As King! Just you wait and see, King Oceiros! I think I'll keep Queen Gwynevere, though.
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—ees, and he collapsed into the water with a splash. I charged at the other Hollow, who stepped forward with barest caution, his broken sword raised and ready. His hood opened wider with his movements as I neared striking range, revealing his face—though the left side of his face was almost human despite his Hollowed state, the right side was a stark contrast. The lips were gone entirely and all the flesh was torn and angrily scarred, as if burnt by flame and poorly healed; the eye socket was swollen with tumorous growths beneath a prodigious brow, and his teeth were crooked and jutting in a fearsome grin.
He wasn't a Hollow—he was a monster.
I jerked back in horror at the sight, instinctive revulsion coiling up my stomach. He took advantage of my vulnerability—and even seemed to grow more vicious in the face of my fear—and slashed out his blade in an overhead slice, cutting across my chest. Hot blood splattered across my chest and drained down my chest. I touched my hand to the wound, stunned. Nearly too late, I lifted my head to look at the monster, only to find him hefting the sword high over his head, his maw open in a wheezing roar as he prepared to bury the weapon in my breast.
I screamed, mingling terror and defiance, and fell to one knee to give myself just enough time to raise my shield to catch the blade. It worked, but only just—the notched and rusted blade pierced the shield and my shield hand alike, buried between the finger bones, and got caught by its guard on the wood planks. I needed to act, or death would welcome me into its cold embrace once again.
I rose as anger surged through me, and kicked him in the stomach as hard as it could. He buckled with a coffin-dry gasp, and I stole away his breath and blade alike, wrenching the stuck half-sword out of his grasp while it was still buried in my shield hand. Loosing an angry roar from my chest, I brought my already-bloodied club down in a brutal overhand arc, colliding with his face with such force that I was sure nothing would remain—anything to destroy that terrifying visage. My hand briefly numbed from the impact.
As I took a moment to breathe, pain from the still-stuck blade jolting up and down my arm, my weapon arm slowly falling, I noticed the faceless corpse slump into the water. A white spark glowed in him, and I realized what was coming. I wanted no part of this.
N-no! I don't want any part of this monster's memories! Don't make me li—
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Stop crying. Stop it. You have to stop crying. Crying solves nothing. What would Mother say?
“Life is what you make of it,” she liked to say, whenever I'd come home crying after being teased about my disfigurement by the other kids. "You're only sad if you let the sadness in. Try letting in a little joy instead."
Joy is spare these days... and sadness is in abundance. I miss you, Moth—what's this?
... A little dog has come to greet me. Did one of the guard's wolfhounds have a litter? If he's wandering around in this part of the city, then... Abandoned, just like me. And yet...
He seems happy, in his own way. He's not even scared of me. He just... He just wants a friend.
Hahaha! That tickles! What an affectionate little pup!
I think I'll name him Keff.
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I was slumped in the river now, club fallen away into ash. The pain of my left hand was distant, as the new memories remained fresh in my mind. I was staring at nothing, my mind awash with a mixture of unexpected sensations. Guilt. Regret. Shame. I had been so quick to deem him a "monster" and yet... Something compelled me to turn my head, to scan the creek's edge. There, but a few feet from where the Hollow had been seated before I came crashing through the creek: a simple, clumsily put-together grave marker. A cross made of simple branches tied tight with dried vine, with a hoop of slender branches wound around it. It could've been put there by anyone, but I knew. I knew who put it there, and why.
That was a memorial to Keff. The last act of a desperate Hollow, clinging onto the memory of his beloved—and only—companion in his final days, the only joy he could call his own. I let out a sharp cry, unexpected in the depth of emotion it carried with it, and found myself trying to choke back sobs as another's memories surged into me, a few scattered moments of happiness in the Hollow's life that he had shared with his dog. I couldn't hold them back. I covered my eyes to hide the marker from my sight and broke up into wet sobbing, my heart crushed. I sank onto all fours as tears furiously fell down my cheeks and mourned a friend I had never known.
I cried. I don't know for how long.
I was only woken out of my reverie when I heard a dangerously familiar click. The memories instantly fell away and everything snapped back into focus. I glanced out from between my fingers, and my stomach plummeted. It was the crossbow-wielding Hollow from before, and he was too close to possibly miss me at this range.
He fired. I gritted my teeth, mustering my strength in the frozen instant that the flaming bolt was crossing the distance between us, and barely managed to raise my shield. The bolt collided into the planks, scant inches away from the bolt that had pierced it a short while earlier. Rather than try and fight this better-armed foe... I turned and ran. I ran as hard as I could in the opposite direction, passing the great tree from before on its other side now. I pushed through waist-high water as bolts whistled past my ears, narrowly missing, and forced my way down a winding passage between the cliffs, deep shadows cast by the rock walls on either side of me. I ducked behind the first barricade I could find: a headstone, the name worn away on its surface.
A bolt pinged off the other side of the headstone, broken in half by the impact, and fell harmlessly. I peeked around the corner of the gravestone, watching the shadowy bowman down the narrow passage and waiting for him to forget what he was doing and wander back. As I waited, however, an ominous shadow fell over me.
And then everything went black.
I awoke to dreary midday light pushing against my eyelids.
My name is Ashemma. This is the story of how I died.
I was back in the coffin. I had died again. I slowly sat up, trying to comprehend what had just happened to me. I gripped the sides of the coffin, my eyes wide and mouth dry—I realized then that my mouth had been open, jaw slack with shock, for some time. I ran a hand through my hair, closed my eyes, and tentatively made sure I was still intact. The blood that had stained my flesh from my encounters with the Hollows—gone. My wounds, completely gone. My body was as untouched and unscarred as when I'd first awoken in this... "Cemetery of Ash."
I drew in a breath and a measure of determination, and called forth my club and shield once more. I stepped out into the hostile wilderness of the ruins once more. And I turned a corner and saw that first Hollow—my murderer—once more. He was where I had first seen him, his head turned, still gazing between the cliffs, at the noontime sun, once more. I lowered my chin a fraction, gazing at him from half-lidded eyes, knitted my brow in frustration, and huffed out a breath. I didn't want to deal with this again.
With his memories in me now, it feels... wrong, to consider killing him again.
Rather than face him again, I turned and ran, my feet splashing through the haphazard puddles around the ruined courtyard. I don't know if he noticed me or if he tried to pursue. I doubt he had the reaction time to follow. It was the same for the Hollow that lurked in front of the broken Lordvessel. If he noticed, I didn't hear any indications. I ran until I reached a familiar patch of stonework, and looked up the stairs, between the archway a short distance away. The crossbowman was there, crossbow at the ready.
I narrowed my eyes and snapped up my shield, just in time to catch his bolt.
This one I'll allow, I grimly thought, gripping my club tight and breathing an angry grunt.
He set to work nocking another bolt, but I wasted no time in charging ahead, my bare feet thudding solidly on dirt and ancient stone. I raced up the shattered stairs, held my club out—and then brought it in with a twist of shoulders, waist, and pivoting ankle, the combination bringing to bear a mighty blow that rocked the Hollow to his core and sent blood spewing from his tattered maw. Blood once more splashed across my skin, splotching my skin with dripping maroon patches. The soul came to me in an instant.
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So young, and yet my son had managed a rare feat: three bull's-eyes in one go with the crossbow! Practically unheard of among his age bracket. I knew I'd trained him well, but I didn't know he'd take to it this naturally.
"I'm so proud of you, my boy."
He beamed up at me, his cheeks red with modest humility as his peers pointed and shouted in amazement at his accomplishment.
He will make a fine guard for the Queen in due time, of that I'm sure. I couldn't be more proud.
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I stared into the middle distance for a time, letting the memory sink in and then slowly fade, and then I turned to my right. The creek was that way, where I'd encountered the two Hollows... and Keff's grave marker. I blinked back a tear that threatened to come to the surface, and focused. More than that, more than the Hollows... that is where I had died. For the second time. Some portion of my soul—of all the souls I had encountered thus far—lurked there, waiting to be reclaimed.
The image of that... thing... rose up to the in my thoughts like a kraken breaking through the surface of the ocean. Shadowy tentacles of fear snapped around my heart, and I turned away from my lost souls with a shaky and trembling breath. I took a step away, moving to step over the corpse that lay at my feet.
I stopped, and felt a coldness seep into my heart, my shoulders slumping as the loss weighed me down. I stared at the ground for a time, trying to come to grips with my decision. I turned my head, looking out at the creek again. The Hollows there, I could see all three—the forsaken souls I had killed, either pre-emptively or in self-defense. I closed my eyes, gathering my thoughts, and looked again. No, not Hollows—I could see them clearly: the lover, the dreamer, and the "monster" who wasn't a monster at all, just an unfortunate boy who desperately wanted a friend.
A memory came to me then—not one of theirs, but of my own, something I had heard once, an excerpt from some ancient text.
... to be Unkindled is to be a vessel for souls.
Is that what I had become? Not just Undead, but this fabled Unkindled? Could all Undead see the memories of those they killed, of the souls they collected, or was I alone in this? And if I was alone in this...
Is this my responsibility? Is it my duty to act as a vessel for these souls, to treasure these precious memories the Hollows have fought so hard to retain?
I let the thought echo in my mind, to sink into my heart. Something caught my eye: an orange glow in the periphery. I glanced down at my feet, where another soapstone message waited to be seen in its archaic writing.
"Face thy fate with hands united to know thy weapon's true worth."
The rest of the message was too cryptic for me to readily puzzle out, but those three words were clear enough on their own. I knew what I had to do.
I narrowed my eyes and set my jaw grimly. I gripped my club tight, and turned towards the winding passage beyond the creek. I ran, as hard as I could. My feet thudded on the bricks, then threw up arcs of water as I sprinted past the Hollows, who had only just begun to rise by the time I had reached the deeper portion of the path, fording through waist-high water. I noticed another glowing message from the parallel dimensions.
If only I'd noticed that in my frantic flight before. I can't turn back now. I raced up the dirt path, out of the water, dead and dry grass raking across my ankles and dismissed my shield. I bent and swept out my shield arm, gathering up the lost souls as quickly as I could, and subdued the memories that threatened to surge to the front of my mind. I called back the shield as soon as I'd gathered up every last soul, bit back a sob as an isolated memory of Keff fought to the surface, and then turned with club ready and shield raised to face my fate.
There it was, curled up in the darkness among the gravestones, as if it laired among the dead. Great crystals dotted its spare lizardlike frame like glimmering armor. A massive tail, maybe longer than it was tall, was curled around its body like a shield, its vast spikes large and lethal. The thing was practically glowing in the gloom, radiant with power... and malice. And it was now aware of my presence.
Why did I wait? Why haven't I just run?
It slowly lifted its giant head to regard me with unseen eyes, its crystal-crusted skull glimmering ominously. It shifted an arm, pressing a five-fingered paw into the earth to push against the soil for leverage.
Because this is something I have to do. If I only run, I'll never survive.
It pressed another paw into the earth, rising up a fraction further, its maw never turning away from me.
I have to fight. I have to get better. I have to do the impossible, because that is what is required of me.
And then it rose up to its full height on its too-long legs, its great tail flicking behind it, and revealing its tightly-coiled musculature: rippling underneath gravestone-gray skin riddled with ancient scars, as tough as stone, to say nothing of its crystal pelt. Six arms. It had six arms, and it was three times taller than I was. Its tail was three times longer than I was tall.
The great crystal lizard, for lack of a better name, suddenly crashed down in a fury, his forelimbs stretched out. I barely dived to the side as his claws plunged into the earth—and an instant later, enormous crystals shot out of the ground, nearly taking off my leg. If I had been hit directly by that, I would've been killed instantly. That may well have been what killed me earlier, in fact, but it was difficult to be sure—it was as if my mind didn't want to comprehend what had happened to my body.
The creature's right leg presented itself as a target of opportunity, so I smashed the club against the jutting crystals, shattering several and cracking others. The lizard jerked in surprise, and then turned in anger. With a sweep of his hips, he slammed his gigantic tail into me, narrowly avoiding impaling me on the crystalline spikes and instead just hitting me with the broad side. The strength in just his *tail* was such that the breath was instantly knocked out of me, along with a spurt of blood—my guts were certainly injured—and I was flung across the graveyard into the far wall. I felt my back explode with spasms of pain, felt the skin break and blood spill onto the wall as I slid down onto my rump.
My mind was fogged and I was in a daze, but I knew I didn't have much strength left. That one blow was far too injurious to leave untreated, so I immediately dismissed my club and called upon the reliable power of the Estus, downing a great swig as fast as I was able. As soon as I could muster the strength to open my eyes, I found myself staring at the lizard at far too close a proximity... especially with the way all three arms on his left side were reared ba—
Pain. Pain like nothing I'd ever felt before surged through my body as he raked three sets of claws in a fierce slash across my entire body, from the top of my brow all the way down to my shins. Blood sprayed out of me in a wave, and for a moment death was almost considered a preferable alternative to the pain that was wracking my body.
Every inch of my body screamed at me. I felt weak from the sudden and explosive loss of blood. It was as I'd been instantly flayed in a single swipe from this monster, and I regretted, down to my very core, ever facing him. I could barely muster the strength to breathe; blood poured out of my mouth, down my face—I was terrified now that one of my eyes had even been torn out, because I could no longer see out of it, and it hurt so terribly. I hoped in some corner of my mind that didn't want to deal with the nightmare before me that maybe, just maybe, it was just because there was too much blood on it.
And then I saw what the lizard was doing: it was on all eight limbs now, looming over me. Its great head was raised, mouth open... and air was rushing inside its gaping maw, its throat swelling to contain it all. I was vaguely reminded of textbook imagery of dragons and their elemental breath that could lay waste to armies, and I suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. I desperately got on all fours and jumped under his head and between his arms as he lowered his head and blew. A wave of freezing cold touched me even there, and I saw great spikes of crystal explode into existence wherever it breathed, piercing the wall, slicing the air. If I hadn't moved, it would have torn me to shreds if it hadn't crystallized me entirely.
I needed to stop the beast now, or I would die again. I went for the leg I had attacked earlier, hoping to tease out some vulnerability. Its lower legs seemed the weakest spot, the least armored in spikes and also of the sparest muscle. The delicate ankle bones, if I could shatter those... I began swinging at them with wild abandon, slamming my club into the ankle of his right leg with what meager strength I could muster. He didn't like it, but I was in a position where he couldn't hit me with his tail. Harder!
Break! my mind screamed, and I shouted as I swung again, smashing my club against the other side of his leg. The bone crunched with a satisfying crack on my fifth bow, and the great crystal lizard howled in sudden agony.
The abomination felt to a knee, his right leg no longer able to support his weight. He was trembling, actually stunned at what I had managed to do. But it wouldn't last—I only had a moment to exploit the monster's momentary weakness, because the next blow it could bring to bear would be sure to kill me. There'd be no time to take another drink of Estus, not when he was that close, not when he'd proven his reflexes so readily before. I had to finish the fight here, and now.
I remembered the message I'd seen when I made the momentous decision.
"Face thy fate with hands united to know thy weapon's true worth."
Could it be that simple? Was it being literal? I swung out my shield arm, slinging the plank shield away into ash, and I grabbed hold of the club with both hands. The hint of a memory came to me—mentions in old texts of the virtues of the simple club. Simple and bladeless, and yet it could crush the guard of an unwary opponent, leaving them vulnerable; occasionally wielded by primitives, who shouted in defiance of seemingly superior opponents with such ferocity, that they actually seemed to grow stronger and more vicious—the weapon of a berserker. I didn't have much choice.
I let the anger boil up inside me, my anger and indignation at being killed by this thing once already, and now at being so thoroughly humiliated by its ogrish might. I refused to die, not here, not to this thing's bloodstained claws that had killed so many before. Anger turned to rage. Rage turned to power.
I screamed, long and loud, harder than I ever had before, and I felt power well up inside me from a wellspring I didn't know existed.
The great crystal lizard trembled in the face of my warcry.
I shouted and swung the club with both arms, feeling the air ripple under my assault, and slammed my deceptively simple weapon against the monster's mouth. Crystalline teeth splintered and broke apart, and still the club surged forward, all the way to the back of his jaw, where his entire body shook from the impact. My arms were numb and my body screamed at me; muscles tore from the strain. The great crystal lizard's jaw was likely broken, judging from the deeply satisfying crunch I heard. I couldn't afford to relent; it wasn't dead. I pulled the club back, trailing the creature's blood in a stream, and screamed in rage.
His muscles tensed all at once, his uninjured leg shifted, and he looked like he was about to push forward into me and try to crush me with his bulk.
I didn't give him the chance. I brought the club down as viciously as I could on his lowered skull, and crushed the upper half of his maw into the lower half with such force and such fury it shattered apart in a thick spray of viscous black blood. I never stopped screaming.
Like ripples in a still pond, the crushing blow I'd dealt to the monster's jagged brow sent fractures spiraling throughout its crystalline armor. Its pelt was breaking apart like I'd removed the keystone from an arch. It reared back, trailing a spray of dark blood, covering me in its oily ichor.
The great crystal lizard suddenly exploded, crystals shattering and disappearing into motes of light, and his emaciated, overlarge form erupted in a blinding flash. Even as spots played in front of my blinded eyes, I became aware of numerous souls rushing out of the disintegrating monster, only for them to crash into me all at once. I cried out in shock at the overwhelming sensation, and slumped to my knees as darkness washed over my sight. I waited for my consciousness to fade and the memories of the dead to claim me once again.
→ Chapter One: Cemetery of Ash
