Chapter 46:

Aggressive Redecoration

Dark souls is owned by From Software.

"Talking"

"Thoughts"

"Powerful Beings"

"Whatever the Daughters of Chaos speak"

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"Guuh!" the Channeler groaned, doubling over and clutching at the greatsword hilt-deep in its gut. The large, robed being gurgled, going limp as Siegmeyer all but tossed it off his weapon.

Tarkus winced as the corpse fell off the staircase, landing with a sickening crunch. It wasn't so much the scene—he'd long been desensitized to such violence—as the quiet. Something changed once they reached the upper floor via the elevator. Garret's group trusted each other enough to not need to shout out strategies, but neither did they speak during the lulls in action.

It reminded Tarkus of the worst of the purges against Hollows. When everyone had been beaten down over the nightmarish reality of repeatedly having to kill your friends and loved ones…Well, maybe not quite that. None of them seemed suicidal.

"So." Tarkus perked up, turning to see Oscar and Beatrice awkwardly standing beside Garret, the former saying, "That broken necklace will let us travel through time?"

Garret hummed, raising the aforementioned item into the light. "Sort of. The pendant is magical, yes, but whatever it does—or did—it's not time-travel."

"Then…how?"

"Manus—have I told you about him?" Oscar and Beatrice shook their heads. Garret rolled his eyes. "Gotta start writing this shit down—Manus is…it's a long story, but bottom-line is, he's an immensely powerful being that once owned this pendant. He wants it, and because of his aforementioned power, he's able to, quite literally, punch through time and space to try and find it."

"Wait." Beatrice's face scrunched up. "Are you telling me…that your plan is to get captured by this…Manus?"

"And dragged through time to Oolacile in the middle of a crisis, yes," Garret replied.

"Which he can do because he's just…that strong?"

Garret shrugged. "The flow of time is convoluted."

"That answers nothing."

"Look, if I start talking about Manus and how he works we'll be here all day."

Tarkus pursed his lips at his friend's—were they friends? They were certainly friendly, but he wasn't sure if they'd crossed that threshold into true camaraderie. Allies, certainly…Well, whatever they were, Tarkus grew concerned at Garret's words. He had a rather…reckless attitude, he'd noticed. Most Undead, despite their immortality, did their best to not die under any circumstances. Not Garret, though. He ran headfirst into whatever sharp object would help him accomplish his goals. An admirable trait, in some respects, but reckless.

Although…it did fit with the fact that he was all gung-ho with burning himself in order to put an end to the curse. Never did things by half, that one.

"Enough dawdling!" Siegmeyer gruffly called out to them. Tarkus jolted at the cold and urgent tone from the normally jovial man. Of course, his daughter was held captive within Seath's palace, so he supposed there was a good reason for his surly mood.

Siegmeyer didn't wait for them to catch up before he turned to Havel. "Where now?" The Bishop didn't respond. Instead, he turned to the bookcase in the corner of the room. He hefted his hammer and swung it into the bookcase. It shattered into splinters, pages flying everywhere as a passage revealed itself.

"This way," Havel said, stomping through the debris. Siegmeyer quickly followed. Tarkus and the others exchanged wary glances before wading through.

"Well"—Garret scratched his cheek—"this is a lot faster than the other way."

"And what's that?" Tarkus asked.

"Getting captured by Seath and breaking out of his prison in the basement."

Havel whirled around in an instant, grabbing Garret by his shoulders. "You've seen Seath's dungeons?!"

"Havel"—Garret, impressively, didn't squirm under the demi-god's grip—"I get it, I do. But now's not the time." Havel visibly wrestled against Garret's words, but in the end decided the man was right, and turned around, leading them onward.

Garret rolled his shoulders. "There's a Bonfire on the balcony a floor down. It's the only one that's close to Seath's garden, so let's light it and…strategize, I guess."

Oscar tilted his head. "What you mean 'guess'?"

"I mean"—Garret gestured to Siegmeyer and Havel, who were in the middle of smashing one of Seath's crystal minions to pieces—"most of our 'plans' are going to involve letting these two do whatever the hell they want."

Kirk stepped up beside them. "Then why are we all here?"

Garret stared at the Knight of Thorns. "…We do have a nice dynamic going on."

"We certainly did, yes," Kirk said as Garret, Beatrice, and Oscar all winced—a bit harsh, if true. "But Beatrice and I haven't been of much use in here."

"He's not wrong," Beatrice said. She bent her head down, fiddling with the head of her Catalyst. "My spells have basically been like pebbles against the crystalized Hollows and golems around here."

"Yeah"—Garret scratched the back of his head—"but you two will be useful against Seath."

"Oh yes." Kirk strode forward. "Can never have too many meat-shields against a dragon."

"A dragon that lacks scales," Garret replied. "He's strong, make no mistake, but Seath's not as tough—physically, at least—as the rest of his kind. Even against Sorceries, the magic he pioneered." He gestured to Kirk. "Plus, worst case scenario Tarkus and Havel can hurl you onto his soft, fleshy face." Tarkus considered the statement—could he hurl Kirk at a dragon's face? Even if he were able to get a comfortable grip with the knight's thorny armor, could he throw Kirk high enough to reach a dragon's head? How tall were dragons, anyway? They had to be big, they once lived in giant trees. To say nothing of the giant estate they were currently smashing their way through…Maybe if he used his shield as some sort of catapult?

Kirk sighed loudly, bringing Tarkus's attention back to the present. "Sometimes, Garret, I forget how crazy you are."

"I wish I could forget!" Garret declared. He tried for a smile but ended up with a grimace.

Beatrice raised her arm towards Garret's shoulder but stopped just short of laying her hand on it. She ended up awkwardly bringing her arm back down, face twisted into a deep, sad frown. Garret, perhaps wisely, didn't call the action out, moving forward once more.

Kirk, Oscar, and Beatrice looked like they wanted to stop him. But between Kirk's prickly nature and Oscar and Beatrice's guilt, none of them did anything. Tarkus found himself wishing that he'd joined the group sooner. Maybe he'd be more comfortable overtly inserting himself into the drama surrounding everyone. On the other hand, if he'd been with them from the beginning, he'd probably have chosen a side like the rest of them and be left in the quagmire of their fractured bonds.

…At the very least, he could keep everyone alive.

They travelled along the path, Havel occasionally activating switches hidden in the bookshelves to open up the path, down the stairs to the main floor. What few enemies stood in their way were quickly dispatched by Havel and Siegmeyer. Garret led the way to a balcony, where he squatted down in front of a Bonfire, trying to light it.

"That happened to us as well," Havel said as the rest of them drew closer. "Has Seath done something to the Bonfires in his estate?"

Garret stood up, scratching his chin. "Not this one." He turned around. "I just don't ge—"

FWOOM

Tarkus fell on his butt as an explosion of fire burst out from the Bonfire. As he fell, he could see that everyone else, even Havel, was knocked to the ground—Oscar just barely escaping from being crushed under Siegmeyer. Everyone, that is, expect for Garret.

The seer just blinked, staring down at them all, before slowly turning back to the Bonfire. "…Huh."

Tarkus stood up, helping Beatrice to her feet. "That's not the first time this happened, by the way," he said.

"Yeah, it's mildly concerning," Garret said with a nod. He looked back at the Bonfire. "You and I are going to have a talk when things are calmer." Tarkus shouldn't have been as surprised when the Bonfire's flame rapidly grew and shrank, as if it were laughing.

Siegmeyer strode forward, eyeing the Bonfire. "It won't…harm us, will it?"

Garret was silent for a moment. "…No…" Siegmeyer let out a low hum, but sat down at the Bonfire, nonetheless. When nothing happened, everyone took that as their cue to rest up.

Tarkus leaned against the balcony railing. He looked down at the garden below, but before he could fully appreciate it's beauty, he caught sight of the giant mountain of bluish-white crystal far to his left.

Oscar stepped up beside him, letting loose a long whistle. "That's…something."

Garret nodded from the Bonfire. "Yeah, Seath's got a problem. And you know something? I have no idea how crystals work. At all. I mean, there's an ember the the top-floor's library—that I'm not touching until after we're done don't worry Havel—that can be used to crystalize weapons and armor, and a couple sorceries that summon crystals to boost attack. So, I don't think they're natural."

Beatrice raised a hand. "They are, actually. Moonlight Butterfly larva form cocoons out of crystals." Tarkus perked up—Moonlight Butterflies had larval forms? He'd always assumed they were the type of creature that were just born as they were. Beatrice continued, "It did form the basis for the spell I used to safely rest until I could meet you all in this time period, remember?"

Tarkus blinked. "…I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, right," Oscar chuckled. "You weren't there. Beatrice is from the past—I don't know how far though."

Beatrice shrugged. "Rumors of the two bells in Lordran had reached the public."

Now Kirk spoke up. "Wait, was this before or after New Londo was flooded?"

"After," Beatrice replied. "And funny you ask, because my original purpose for studying Moonlight Butterfly cocoons was to see if I could fashion a sort of magical armor to let me traverse the flooded ruins."

"Now why would you do that?" Tarkus asked.

Beatrice shrugged. "New Londo was home to their own brand of sorcerers. Even if the Four Kings went mad, I was certain there was stil—"

Sw-Krsh

A sword slamming against the ground killed all conversation. All eyes turned to Siegmeyer, who stood tall, raising his sword from the deep gash he'd made in the floor. The Catarinan knight took a deep breath. "Need I remind you all that my daughter is currently held captive by the mad owner of this estate? We don't have time for meaningless drivel!"

A little harsh, but he had a point. Tarkus could only imagine how fraught with worry he'd be if a member of his family was trapped so close by.

Garret nodded gravely. "Right, right. Of course." He turned to the building, gesturing to the right. "There's an exit to the gardens this way. We all good?" No one said otherwise. "Good. Stick to the walls and follow me."

Thankfully, none of their resurrected foes attacked them. Tarkus thought it was a good thing, at least. Siegmeyer, body tense, hands in a bone-crushing grip around the hilt of his blade, very much wanted to kill something. Garret led them under and archway, which opened to yet more books upon bookshelves. Tarkus couldn't help but wonder if Seath didn't go mad from the identical scenery of his home, if nothing else. But there were a couple of chests on the floor that broke up the monotony.

As Garret pulled a lever to the side—a section of the floor slowly sinking into the ground—Tarkus walked up to one of the chests. He bent down—

"Woah!"

And fell back as he was shoved away by Garret.

The rest of the group surged forward, weapons at the ready. "What is it?" Oscar asked.

Garret sighed, holding a hand out to Tarkus. "Sorry, about that, Tarkus," he said. "But that's a Mimic."

Tarkus frowned as he accepted the help up. "A what?"

"A mimic."

"Those're real?"

Garret blinked. "Yeah. You've never come across one?"

"Nope."

"But I—oh right, you guys weren't at Sen's Fortresss with me, duh."

"There was one at Sen's fortress?" Havel asked.

Garret shrugged. "There's four in Anor Londo…Where all our friends are…Shit."

Oscar surged forward. "Is Ana—Are the others in danger?"

Kirk stepped up beside him, practically walling Garret. "Yes, are they?"

But Garret wasn't cowed by the two knight's aggression. He just tapped his jaw. "…Not unless they're fond of opening random chests they come across—in which case, you two, at the very least, have nothing to worry about." Garret turned his gaze to the side. Tarkus followed it, and saw Siegmeyer, impatiently waiting at the top of the newly made staircase. Ah, they really needed to stop all these distractions. Especially with the man's daughter so close to them. "But we can worry about that later. We do have more pressing concerns right now."

"Agreed." Havel said. He did, however, step up lengthwise to the Mimic. He raised his hammer high and swung it down with all his might. The chest caved-in on itself with a fleshy crunch, a low, gurgling whine escaping from the cracks in the wo—well, Tarkus highly doubted it was actually wood. Most likely some sort of camouflaged flesh.

A bright flash of light burst out from the creature, and when it vanished, the chest was opened, a large, pink, bulbous tongue fenced in by dozens of razor-sharp teeth. In the middle of the tongue lay a falchion.

Garret easily grabbed the blade, before tossing it to Beatrice. "Here. This thing deals magic damage that gets stronger the more intelligent the wielder is. Upgrade it when we have the chance."

Beatrice grimaced, holding the blade out between two fingers. "Gee…thanks."

Garret ignored her, closing the…head…and holding it aloft. There was a large hole in the center of it—almost large enough for someone to slip their head in.

"You cannot be serious," Oscar said.

Garret shrugged. "…Later." He opened his satchel, defying all laws of physics as he stuffed the corpse-helmet inside it. "We've got a daughter to save."

"Damn right we do," Siegmeyer growled, stomping down the stairs.

Garret rushed forward. "Siegmeyer! There's an enemy—" he was cut off by the sound of crystals shattering, and Tarkus felt a small amount of souls seep into his body. "…Never mind."

Tarkus and the other followed Garret down, finding Siegmeyer standing before a Fog Door. "What creature lies behind this?" Siegmeyer asked.

"Nothing," Garret replied. He walked into the fog, dissipating it, and revealing the garden they'd seen from above. Garret motioned them onto the small wooden pathway jutting out from the wall, a ladder leading down to their left. When they'd all climbed down, he said, "I don't know why there's a Fog Door here—maybe to keep the things down here from entering the main building."

"I don't care," Siegmeyer huffed. "Where's my daughter?"

Garret nodded. "Over here." He led them deeper into the gardens. In the distance, they saw a massive golem made of gold crystal. An extra-large crystal jutted out of it's back, and Tarkus could just barely make out some sort of round shape within it.

It just stood there, like a statue.

Garret sighed, gesturing to the creature. "Remember when we saved Dusk? Same thing."

Siegmeyer nodded. "I see…Havel, may I borrow your hammer?" The Bishop didn't even hesitate to hold the weapon out. Siegmeyer sheathed his blade, grabbing the hammer in both hands. He tested its weight and settled it against his left should with both hands "Thank you."

He marched towards the golem, the rest of the group following close behind. Tarkus swept his gaze around—he could see a few of the regular, blue golems milling about. He tightened his grip on his sword and shield.

Siegmeyer was just feet away from the Golem, it's back turned to them. He took a loud, deep breath. When the Golem started to turn, quick as a flash, Siegmeyer swung Havel's hammer at its legs. He easily broke through the crystal, glittering golden shards scattering everywhere. When it fell to the ground, Siegmeyer raised the hammer overhead, and pummeled it into the dirt.

The other golems leapt into action after that—some of them literally. Garret stopped two in their tracks with a large blast of black flames, leaving them free for Oscar and Kirk to cut to pieces. Beatrice blasted another with sorcery. It didn't do any real damage, by the look of it, but it did leave Tarkus free to slam it into the ground with his shield and run it through with his sword.

Havel was left to take care of the last one. For a moment, Tarkus was worried—even though Havel was almost twice as big as most of them, he was still weaponless. But the demigod proved very adept at crushing the golems to powder with his shield.

Tarkus's vision exploded with bright white light, the golems all dissipating into mist. He always thought it was weird, that sufficiently large creatures would just vanish like that. Maybe Garret knew the answer.

The light vanished, and Tarkus turned towards Siegmeyer. He was kneeling, and had another person wearing the round, white 'Onion' armor of Catarina in his arms. He took off his gloves, and fiddled with the other person's helmet, letting it fall to reveal a pretty young blonde woman, eyes closed and face slack. "Sieglinde?" he said, desperate and shaking her lightly. "Can you hear me, child? Please, wake up!"

Sieglinde groaned, eyes fluttering open. "F-Father?" Siegmeyer let out something similar to a sob, propping Sieglinde up and holding her as close as their rotund armor would allow.

She gasped. "Father!" She wrapped her arms around him—in fact, now that she was moving, their armor seemed to fit together a little. Not enough for them to hug as if it wasn't there, but closer than Tarkus would have thought possible in such hefty armor. Catarinans could be clever when they wanted, it seemed.

Sieglinde pulled back first. She tore off her gloves undid the clasps on her father's helmet. When it fell away, Siegmeyer wasted no time in pulling her close once more and kissed the crown of her head.

Tarkus wondered if letting someone else take off your helmet was significant in Catarinan culture. A show of trust and vulnerability. Or maybe the armor was too bulky to fiddle with the delicate straps without taking everything else off first…He hoped it was his first thought. That second one was boring.

In any case, Tarkus's mood lifted at the sight of the father and daughter's loving embrace. It was a nice reprieve after all the drama that'd unfolded following his and Garret's return from the painting.

Unfortunately, it couldn't last.

Havel sighed. "Who's going to break them up?"

"I'll do it," Garret strode forward with a sad smile. "I'm already the bad guy in this situation, after all." Tarkus winced—more so at the easy admission than the dubious truth of his words. Personally, he'd never met a more noble soul. Would that they'd arrived at Lordran at the same time…Ah well, like his mother always said, no use whining over crushed fruit—of course, crushed fruit still have use as a food source, and are infinitely more delicious. She would always smack his shoulder with a wooden spoon whenever he pointed that out.

…Gods, he missed her.

Garret stopped a bit before Siegmeyer and Sieglinde. The latter noticed him first, hastily pulling away from her father. "Wah!" She grabbed one half of her helmet, holding it over her face—so it was a cultural thing. "W-Who are you?!" she shrieked.

Garret made to speak, but Siegmeyer's booming laughter cut him off. "Don't fret, Sieglinde. He's a friend—they all are."

A weight seemed to lift off Garret's shoulders—one he didn't even know he had, by the look of it. "What your dad said." He waved. "Name's Garret."

Sieglinde slowly peeked out from behind her helmet, face bright red. "Hello." She turned her gaze to Tarkus and the others. "All of you." Tarkus waved back, but no one said anything—they could save the introductions for later.

"Now"—Garret held his hands out—"why don't you two get up out of the dirt and we get you somewhere safe to heal up?"

Siegmeyer nodded. "Of course." He picked up the other half of Sieglinde's helemt, putting it on for her. "We must get you out of here, Sieglinde. I don't want you anywhere near this place while Seath still breathes—and after, if I'm being honest."

Sieglinde frowned as Siegmeyer closed her helmet. "Seath—the dragon? Why would—wait?" She looked around. "…Where are we?"

"We're currently in the back of Seath's estate in Anor Londo," Garret supplied.

Sieglinde, in the middle of piecing her father's helmet together, froze. "Anor Londo? But I've just arrived to Lordran!"

Garret huffed. "Long story short, you were kidnapped by one of Seath's golems that wanders Lordran. Don't ask me why you were kidnapped—you do not want to know."

Sieglinde nodded. "Okay, but can my father and I have some privacy?" She drew inward, wringing her hands together. "There's something…private, we must discuss."

Siegmeyer sighed, clasping his hands over her own. His voice was soft and soothing. "I would love nothing more, my daughter." He set his shoulders, voice dropping to a growl. "But it will have to wait. I have a dragon to slay."

"What?!" Siglinde drew back. "Father that's—I'm safe! Don't commit suicide in some attempt to avenge me!"

"Oh no." Garret slid in with a shake of his head. "We're not killing Seath for your sake—well, only for your sake." He shrugged. "It's a long story. But…" He turned to Siegmeyer, a frown on his face. "Are you sure you don't want to wait? Sieglinde's…got some very important news."

Sieglinde stared at Garret. "Wait, how would you—"

"Another long story," Garret cut her off, not looking away from Siegmeyer.

Siegmeyer took a deep breath. When he spoke, he sounded so small "In truth, if I think about it for a moment—why my daughter would be here of all places—I can piece together what she wants to tell me. But I cannot. For if I speak with her, if I think about it, then all this rage and drive I have will sputter away to nothing." He clenched his hands into fists. "And I can't let that happen. Not while that snake still draws breath."

Sieglinde raised her head to speak but paused. "…I understand, Father," she eventually said. She bowed lightly. "I'll wait for you to finish your business…And give that snake a deep gash for me, eh?"

Siegmeyer let loose a booming laugh. "For you, my daughter, I'll bring back his head! Assuming Havel doesn't ground it to a pulp."

"I'm already saving a bit of his tail for Garret," Havel called out. "That's more than enough."

"In any case"—Garret gestured to Sieglinde—"come on. I'll teleport you to Anor Londo proper, introduce you to the others and let your rest up."

"Absolutely not," Siegmeyer said before his daughter could respond. "That method of travel is painful, and I will not allow you to subject my daughter to it."

Garret frowned. "Right, I still need to figure that out…Okay, let's just escort her back."

Beatrice stepped forward. "I have another idea. Hi." she waved. "I'm Beatrice. I'll escort you back to the rest of our friends in Anor Londo and get you healed up."

"Are you sure?" Garret asked with a frown.

"Of course. It'd take too much time for us all to go and come back."

"I'll go with them," Oscar said. "Besides, someone needs to inform Ornstein, at least, of those mimics within the castle."

"Not a bad idea," Garret said. "Anyone else want to go? Kirk, I know you've been wavering."

Kirk shook his head. "Superfluous as I think my presence is, I won't pass by a chance to eke out some extra humanity."

Garret shrugged. "Fair enough. Just do me a favor"—he turned to Oscar and Beatrice—"don't activate a Bonfire until we get back. Don't want everything we kill to come back to life and surprise us."

"If the Bonfire would even let them," Tarkus replied. He'd meant it in jest, but Garret grimaced, bending his head down and tapping his foot.

Whatever he was thinking, he dismissed it with a shake of his head. "'C'mon," he said, gesturing to all of them. "We'll at least see you all off at the ladder."

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A/N: Oh god there's so many things left to kill in the story.