1Thank you all for reading and to yorukakusaku for the fav! I hope you enjoy the chapter!
"They all failed me. They were strong, but none saw the truth. Will no one ever prove to be different?"
The darkness devoured the serpent's words.
There was no answer, only silence.
Still, cold and quiet.
Though empty, it was not meaningless.
Kaathe listened to it.
Its peaceful beauty was tainted by the sleeping mumblings of his brethren.
He could not see the traitor, nor did he look for him.
The lover of humans was not worth the time and effort.
Frampt's speech overcame the silence.
His words, though broken, were not without sense.
Kaathe had heard them many times before.
He was not fond of them, but neither he took them seriously.
Frampt's disgustingly glorified farce set human souls on fire, but for Kaathe, it was little more than a dull lullaby.
He closed his eyes.
There was no point in continuing his laments now that Frampt had infected the darkness.
Kaathe would sleep until silence had returned.
If fortune was on their side, both him and Frampt would be awakened by the toll of the bell.
Kaathe played with the idea but kept his expectations low.
He knew the odds.
The next Undead that accomplished the feat would likely not be any different than the rest.
Just another sorry fool without the power or soul necessaries to fulfill neither his or Frampt's fates.
The thought was tiring, but not disheartening.
Unlike mortals, serpents knew the true meaning of patience.
And among all primordial serpents, none knew it better than Kaathe.
He would wait for his Dark Lord.
Frampt gagged on a snore and pronounced the king's name.
Kaathe's eyes sprung open.
The word never failed to embitter his mood.
His desire to rest ruined, he stared into the darkness.
Then, he saw it.
Serpents were seldom prone to amazement, especially Kaathe.
But the change, though insignificant and small, was far from irrelevant.
"Pathetic creature lost in the darkness." He reached towards the interloper, his neck stretching across the endless pitch-black void. "Why have you wandered here?"
The presence was familiar.
Nostalgic.
Who are you?
Kaathe hastened his pace.
Is it really you?
Frampt's blabber and snores grew louder, but Kaathe could no longer hear him.
Have you come back to the start?
All that mattered to him was the intruding presence dancing aimlessly amidst the darkness like a dying flame.
Welcome back, furtive lord.
A flickering ember.
Bearer of the Dark Soul.
I'm Hollow.
Their wished had finally been granted.
Their immunity to it had always been a curse more than a blessing, but at last, their mind and body had yielded.
It was all so marvelous.
The Undead became drunk with their new reality. Being Hollow was more fulfilling than they could have ever dreamed.
Nothing could compare to it, except for the knight.
Watching him dance as he continued to block their attacks and counter them with powerful ripostes was the most beautiful image the Undead's mind had conjured since the loss of their former memories.
They knew the scene would, in time, become a precious memory that would stay with them for all time. Their first memory as a Hollow would become their most treasured.
My fellow Hollow.
Every cut, every stab, every injury they inflicted or received filled them with peace and fulfillment.
To the Undead, the frenzied duel was a demonstration of understanding and camaraderie between them and the knight. There was no hate or resentment behind the blood they both spilled.
The act was natural and harmonious. Each strike the elite knight landed on their body was an acknowledgement of the Undead's existence, a token of their fire-forged friendship, and the Undead cherished them as such.
For the first time in ages, or perhaps in all their wretched existence, someone cared enough for the Undead's life to want nothing more than to end it.
Their many past deaths, though hazy and confusing, had an emptiness the Undead hadn't forgotten.
They had all been without a purpose.
Many of them had been accidents, consequences of the Undead's clumsiness or carelessness. The rest, those who had been committed by beasts or people, felt so trivial that the Undead doubted the perpetrators had remembered the killing for more than a few hours.
The knight was different. He attacked them with a passion that went beyond hatred or madness.
The Undead didn't know what to call that sentiment, but they understood it.
They felt the same way towards the knight.
The care and gratefulness they felt for him was intoxicating to their heart, but to their body, being merely the vulgar and weak vessel of their soul, it was overwhelming. It found no other way to convey their wild emotions other than with violence and a thirst to destroy.
And above all, a hunger to devour.
The Undead smiled, their deformed face twisting into a snarl that didn't match with what laid inside their heart.
It wasn't that they longed for the knight's death. Their intention was too pure to reduce it to such term.
Death was not the objective but a consequence of the Undead's true intention.
They would devour the knight, just like the Hollows had done with their face.
The Undead didn't resent the creatures for what they had done.
The act had been torturous, but it had also been innocent and illuminating. Eating was, after all, the greatest celebration of life, and the only way Hollows had left to express what little specks of humanity still lingered within them.
The Undead could now see the truth.
At its core, the Hollows' feasting on their flesh had been an act of love.
What better way to thank the knight for freeing them and giving them purpose than to do the same and devour him whole, entangling their essences together for all time?
The act could appear perverse and cruel at first sight, but just like their blood-soaked duel, there was a deeper meaning hidden underneath their shallow display of aggression.
The Undead didn't bother to formulate a rational explanation to what their hollowed heart and mind knew was true.
The knight's flesh, soul and fate would become one with the Undead. They would nourish each other for all eternity.
Together, they would become a fusion of souls. Loneliness, despair and futility would be concepts they would no longer be able to understand.
They would always have each other.
The Undead would only need to feel their rotten blood rushing through their veins to remember the knight still existed within them in some form, continuing to give them the strength they needed to live on as a Hollow.
If there was a more sincere gesture of care and appreciation, the Undead couldn't fathom it.
The knight charged at them.
The Undead opened their mouth, salivating with anticipation of their first bite.
A lump formed in their throat and paralyzed them where they stood.
My friend.
Had they had the eyes necessary to do so, they would have cried.
The knight's attack reached them before they could snap out of their trance.
The Undead flinched and their weapon escaped from their hand as the knight's coiled black sword pierced their right side with a powerful stab. The weapon cut skin, flesh and bone effortlessly until it reemerged from the Undead's back covered in rotten blood.
There was no pain, not even after the knight used the stuck sword to push the Undead to the floor, further destroying their organs with his violent motions as they both fell to the ground.
The Undead landed on their back. Their vision of the grey sky above was swiftly replaced by the knight's face as he held them down with one knee pressed on their chest.
"It's over." The knight said. Though slightly more corrupted, his face was still more human than Hollow; other than the crazed smile frozen on his lips, there were little signs of true madness in his features.
The image sent a stabbing shiver to the Undead's heart. The unyielding affection they felt towards the knight began to shatter and morph into something else.
Something fouler, something more appropriate to what a Hollow was supposed to harbor inside its putrid soul.
You cannot trick me. You're Hollow, just like me. Stop pretending you're not.
"Pathetic creature, you'll die now by my hand." The knight pulled out the scorched sword from their body. The weapon's tip dripped blood on the Undead's rusted chainmail as he held it right above their chest. "As fate has commanded me."
The knight laughed under his breath.
The Undead laid still. Unless the knight acted quickly, they knew they would have plenty of opportunity to turn the fight in their favor.
Had they wanted to, the Undead could have lunged their mouth at the knight's throat and rip it open with a single bite.
It would only take a second; yet, they waited and allowed the knight to deliver his final blow.
Dying at his hands was far a better outcome than the possibility of their duel and bond as Hollows being nothing but a lie.
If the knight wasn't truly Hollow, then the bond that tied them together would be as much of a farce as their duel.
Without the Hollowing, it all meant nothing.
The Undead refused to accept the idea.
Seconds passed, and the only noticeable change was the knight's sword increased trembling.
Guttural growls only perceivable for the Undead began to form in their destroyed throat.
Do it, kill me. You're Hollow. Why do you hesitate now? Who are you trying to deceive? Who are you trying to impress? Stop pretending and kill me!
The knight's features softened; his smile disappeared.
His expression was not one proper of a Hollow nor that of a man about to kill.
The change caused all the hatred stored inside the Undead to break free, as warm and abundant as the blood leaking from their many wounds.
Stop pretending!
The Undead's words came out as a roar. Blinded by anger and broken by disappointment, they lunged their mouth at the knight's exposed neck. Their teeth pierced his skin and became stuck in his flesh.
Blood flooded inside their mouth. Unlike their own, the knight's blood was fresh and sweet.
It was not the blood of a Hollow.
Why? Why are you not Hollow? Why did you not kill me? Is that not what you wanted, what you warned me you would do at the first chance you got? You feckless liar!
The Undead warped their only arm around the knight's back to prevent him from escaping while they devoured him.
The knight offered no resistance, not even a grunt of pain.
So be it. You may not be Hollow, but I am. I'll devour you until there's no trace left of your sad existence.
They readied their jaw and prepared themselves to start feasting on their willing prey.
Seconds passed.
The Undead remained frozen.
The knight's blood in their mouth became tasteless. The hunger that moments ago had seemed unsatisfiable transformed into disgust.
The Undead held the knight closer to them. Their hold on his throat began to loosen.
Why, knight?
They heard the clinking echo of the knight's scorched sword hitting the ground.
Please, tell me.
The knight surrounded their shoulders with an arm. His grip was strong but not forceful.
Why did you pretend?
The Undead's teeth departed from his flesh completely and chattered.
Why did I?
"You're not Hollow. Neither of us are. It's alright, let's stop this now. " The knight said.
Why did we?
A tearless whimper hatched in the Undead's chest. The world of their fake Hollowing came crashing down.
"Oscar."
"It's alright. Let's just stop."
I'm not Hollow.
Oscar realized without any feeling of shame.
If his attacks were savage and desperate it was because they were driven by an eager ambition to cut down the Hollow and reclaim his rightful place as the Chosen Undead of the prophecy; no matter how erratic his movements and thoughts were, they were still under his control.
It was all thanks to the Hollow.
With their Hollowing, they had given Oscar hope and a new purpose that had kept his corruption from taking over him.
I'm grateful to you, I really am.
The Undead dropped their guard. Oscar took the chance, decided to finish their duel once and for all. It had been amusing, but he had duties to fulfill.
Duties only the Chosen Undead could carry out.
That's why I'll kill you.
He couldn't waste any more time with a crazed Hollow.
He knocked the creature down and immobilize it under his weight. Looking down on his defeated foe, Oscar felt a rush of anticipation reaching all the nerves of his body.
It was over. He needed only to deliver the final blow and his fate would be sealed.
Without the Hollow standing in his way, the prophecy would be his to take and do as he wished with it. He deserved it, he had earned it.
The world owed him that much, and Oscar was ready to reclaim his reward.
There was no shame in his victory or in his actions. Oscar was just a knight about to exterminate a Hollow.
It was his responsibility not only as an elite knight but also as a sentient Undead to rid the world of those foul creatures.
He was doing it for the sake of the land, not only for his selfish ambitions.
There was no shame in the killing of a Hollow.
"It's over. Pathetic creature. You'll die now by my hand ."
Only glory.
"As fate has commanded me."
The laughed that escaped his throat felt foreign.
Kill it. Put this thing out of its misery and take back what's yours. It owes you that much.
Oscar's hands tightened their grip on the bonfire's sword and trembled. He felt like a squire about to commit his first killing after an honorable duel.
He wondered how faithful that scenario was to his original memory. The thought of his lost memories came with a twinge of grief that almost brought tears to his eyes. With great effort, Oscar turned his back on the past and focused on his present.
He could not recover what was already lost, but he still could create a future for himself, one that shone brighter than the incandescent sun.
His fate was at hand, so close that he swore he could feel its weight on his fingertips.
All there's left between me and my fate is you.
Oscar glared down at the Hollow.
The Hollow stared back at him.
In its deformed face destroyed by wounds and rotten with Hollowing, he saw only sadness and disappointment.
Oscar winced, his heart dropped to his feet. He blinked, convinced that his tired eyes were playing a trick on him, but the Hollow's face remained unchanged.
It was unnatural.
A face so scarred had no means to convey any emotion, and even if it had not been half devoured, a Hollow's features were not supposed to demonstrate sentiments other than madness or anger.
It went against all Oscar had learned and expected from the world. He sought for an answer, for any sort of explanation that could put his mind at ease so he could kill the Hollow for good, but he found none.
Unless—
His smile became a grimace of disillusionment.
Oscar had suspected it.
Deep inside him, a part of him had known since the start.
He had seen the truth concealed behind their violence, but he had refused to accept it.
Why should he when the Undead was just as willing and eager as him to play along with their farce?
No, you're Hollow! You must be, I know it!
His lips parted.
Before he could pronounce a word, the Undead lunged themselves at his throat. Oscar felt the hot touch of his blood mixing with the sharp teeth of the Undead as they threatened to tear his skin open.
Oscar clenched his jaw. It was the only reaction his body could muster.
The Undead held him closer to them with their only arm. It was a strong grasp Oscar could have broken if he acted quickly enough.
He didn't.
Instead, he waited.
Not for his death, but for an answer.
Go on. Kill me. You're Hollow, are you not? It should come as natural as breathing to you. You should rejoice in it. Do it now, I will not stop you.
If they were truly Hollow, Oscar knew death was unavoidable by that point.
If they weren't, if being Hollow was only a façade the Undead was willing to perpetuate with his death, Oscar would not run from it.
He had no right to do so, not when he had agreed to take part in the whole charade and had done so with so much pride and fervor.
It was then Oscar discovered the only way for him to die with honor was to perish at the Hollow's hands. A part of him prayed the other would read his thoughts and grant him that last gesture.
I was wrong. The world doesn't owe me anything, and neither do you. I am the one who's in debt with all of you. I've failed so many times and I just keep falling lower. I see the wrong in my actions but I never stop. I never change. I'm a monster. Please, help me make amends. I beg of you... kill me.
Oscar closed his eyes.
He remembered all the injuries he had stricken on the Hollow, each worse and more violent than the last. He had enjoyed inflicting all of them, not out of bloodlust but out of relief.
Each had meant a step closer to his fate.
Why? Why did I pretend?
Oscar felt how the scorched sword's handle started to slip from his fingers.
Why didn't I stop?
The Hollow held Oscar tighter. They remained still; their bite frozen in an eternal moment of hesitation.
It was not an action proper of a Hollow.
You fool.
Oscar let go of his sword.
He warped that same arm around the Undead's shoulders. Slowly, he felt the Undead's teeth departing from his bloody throat.
You're wondering the same thing, aren't you?
Oscar opened his eyes.
"You're not Hollow. Neither of us are." He felt the Undead shaking against him. "It's alright, let's stop now. "
"Oscar."
His name.
Even after all that had happened, they still remembered.
"It's alright." Oscar said. For the first time since the Undead curse had found a way into his body, he felt alive. "Let's just stop."
They both did.
The moment of peace that followed was brief and met an abrupt end at the hands of reality, but it was all Oscar and the Undead needed to realize that whatever fate had in store for either of them, it was not dying at the hands of each other.
For me, that is enough.
Oscar thought just before the raven's cry resonated behind his back.
Perhaps even more.
It was Oscar who gently broke their embrace.
"Listen to me."
The Undead was limp on their knees, their chin glued to their chest and their eyes fixed on the ground.
They didn't look at Oscar. They couldn't, not when the sin they had committed against him was as fresh as the blood dripping from the corner of their mouth.
I'm not Hollow.
The Undead watched Oscar's blood spreading on the snow under his knees. Just how seriously they had injured him was a thought they didn't dare to touch.
But I'm still a monster.
"Please, we haven't got much time." Oscar put his hands on their shoulders. He waited, but he got no answer from the Undead.
It didn't take long for Oscar to stand up and leave them behind, but not before picking up his former longsword, the same the Undead had used to injure him.
I'm sorry, Oscar.
The Undead looked up the moment they felt the absence of Oscar's weight resting on their shoulders. They whimpered, their fear and despair increasing at the same rate of their anxious heartbeat.
What I tried to do to you—No, what I've done to you is beyond forgiveness, I know it, but...
The Undead rested their only hand on the snowy grass in an anguished attempt to find their balance to stand up and go after Oscar. Rather than landing on soft blades of grass, their hand met a sharp, uneven surface that made the Undead hiss with pain.
Instinctively, they looked at what had harmed them.
Oscar's discarded sword. The bonfire's sword.
The Undead grabbed it and held it close to their chest as if it was a charm.
That weapon of coiled and burnt metal would be the only memento they would have left of Oscar once he had abandoned them.
It would be a fitting punishment for what they had done to him. The Undead understood and accepted it, but that didn't make it any less difficult for them to face Oscar's departure.
Their grief over the loss of the only person that mattered to them was too great for the Undead to bother with stoicism or dignity.
Please, don't leave me.
The Undead's breathing became irregular with agitation. They stood up clumsily, their legs shaking and burning with dozens of wounds. They walked towards Oscar, his back turned on them as he tried to free his crest shield stuck on the snow with the help of his sword.
Please, don't go.
The Undead tried to speak, but his damaged throat and tongue could only remember how to pronounce one word.
"Oscar."
Oscar gasped in surprise. He turned around just in time to see the Undead trip over in front of him.
"Chosen Undead!" In the blink of an eye, Oscar was again at their side, kneeling next to them and helping the Undead into their knees. His sword and freed shield laid discarded close by. "You fool, can't you see how badly wounded you are? Why did you—"
Oscar's concerned expression wavered. Seeing his eyes fill with guilt was unbearable for the Undead.
They tried to hold him again, but stopped at the last second, afraid they would not be able to let him go again if they did.
Instead, they put their hand on Oscar's shoulder. He replied to the gesture by putting his hands above theirs.
You don't owe me anything. You have nothing to make up for. I'm not angry at you, I never was. So please...
Oscar gave the Undead's hand one last squeeze before he gently took it off from his shoulder. Then, he picked up his sword and shield.
The Undead grunted, shaking their head and dreading what they knew Oscar would say next.
Don't do anything stupid.
"This is how it must be." Oscar said, trying his best to make his words a comfort for the Undead. "This is how I want it to be. This is the fate I've chosen for myself. Trust me when I say that giving my life for you fills me with nothing but pride. Not only it is my fate, it's also my greatest honor."
The Undead held the bonfire's sword closer to their chest, their head still denying at what their ears heard.
I don't want it... I don't need your sacrifice! I don't want you to do this for me. Not for me.
They opened their mouth, but nothing came out of it other than Oscar's name.
"Listen." Oscar said. The Undead could hear in his guttural voice the tears trapped inside his throat. "I'll distract the remaining Hollows while you and the raven escape. Do not move from here. Wait for the bird to come pick you up. No, I know what you're thinking. It wouldn't work... I'm afraid it is too injured to carry us both. "
Oscar looked at the still ongoing fight between the raven and the remaining Hollows. The Undead imitated him.
Several swords, axes and arrows clung to the animal's body like leeches. The ground of the battlefield was covered with dead Hollows and dozens of its destroyed black feathers. One of its feet was curled and soaked with blood. When it tried to fly, its movement were desperate and heavy, as if each flutter of its wings implied a wave of pain.
Yet, despite its injuries, the raven continued to fight bravely the few Hollows that remained, but what they lacked in numbers, they compensated with ferocity. More than a duel for victory, for the raven the fight had become a struggle for survival.
A surge of sadness stung the Undead.
All this time, the raven had been protecting them and Oscar and it wasn't until then the Undead became aware of the animal's sacrifice.
If only I hadn't wasted our time with my selfish Hollow charade, this wouldn't have happened. If only I...
The Undead looked away, too ashamed to continue watching the trial the raven was enduring because of them.
"I have to hurry, before it's too late." Oscar stood up. "Do as I told you, my friend. Please, it would mean everything to me."
The Undead looked at him.
For a moment, they felt the same way they had back in their cell, when their eternal self-pitying had been interrupted by a mysterious knight looking down at them from the roof as he offered them a corpse with the key to their freedom.
The Undead knew it was this image and not the one they had chosen before which they treasured most.
A light in the darkness, a fire burning in the deepest abyss. That's what this memory is for me. That's what you are for me.
"Oscar."
The Undead grabbed his hand and used it as a support to stand up.
A light that must keep shining.
"Stop this." Oscar tried to push them back on the ground, but the Undead resisted his attempts. For once, they felt glad they had injured him to that extent. Had Oscar been in better shape, they doubted they would have been able to defy him.
A fire that must not fade.
"Stop! You stubborn fool, I won't let you interfere. Just stay here and do as I told you! If I must cut your ankles to make you stop, I will."
Oscar's threat was so hollow it was almost comical.
Astora must be quite the sentimental land for its elite knights to ignore that threats are not supposed to be spoken.
The Undead and Oscar looked at each other. When Oscar was about to continue with his speech, the Undead stabbed him in the stomach with the bonfire's sword.
They are supposed to be acted.
Oscar's mouth opened in a silent scream. His sword fell, but his shield remained firmly attached to his forearm. The Undead pushed the sword deeper onto his belly, hating themselves for what they were doing, but knowing too well they had no choice.
Oscar held the Undead's arm with his free hand, his knees struggling to keep him standing.
"But— " His voice had been reduced to a breathless whisper. His hand slipped from the Undead's arm to their wrist as his legs succumbed to his weight. "But—why?"
Because this is not your fate.
"Oscar."
The Undead gently took Oscar's hand away from their wrist and helped him into a sitting position by making him lean against a rock.
Oscar tried to pull the coiled sword out, but his strength wasn't enough. The sight of betrayal and frustration in his features was too much for the Undead.
They picked up his longsword and turned their back on him without giving him a second glance.
They didn't want to remember Oscar looking at them that way. They erased the image from their mind and replaced it with that of their first encounter.
A shinning peace cleansed their soul from fear and doubt.
As long as I have this memory, it will be as if you were still by my side.
Taking a deep breath and ignoring Oscar's hushed pleas, the Undead charged at the battlefield of the raven and the Hollows.
Somewhere within me, you will always exist. I'm not alone.
The first Hollow that died at their hand never got to know the face of its killer. Its head departed from its shoulders before it got a chance to look at the one-armed Undead that appeared out of nowhere.
The other Hollows were not so careless. One by one, they transferred their attention from the injured raven to their new opponent, one far more interesting to kill and tastier to devour than some random intruding animal.
The raven wasted no time.
The Undead watched it fly away from the gory scene directly towards Oscar. With little elegance, the raven grabbed him with his healthy foot and raised up to the sky with him.
The Undead smiled, uncaring of how the relentless attacks of the Hollows had broken their defense and reached their body in the form of lethal blows.
The Undead collapsed. The Hollows surrounded them.
None of it mattered.
Oscar was safe.
That's enough for me... no, it's more than that.
The Hollows discarded their weapons and threw themselves over the Undead like hyenas, showering them with starved bites and gnaws.
It is everything.
"No." Oscar said, hanging on to consciousness by a thread as he reached his arm towards the distant Asylum.
The cold wind crashing against his body and the pressure of the raven's foot around him had robbed him of whatever little energy was left in his ragged body, but it didn't stop Oscar from screaming when he saw the blurry image of the Hollows devouring the Undead whole.
"No!"
His voice resonated across the landscape, but it was heard by no one other than the raven.
The animal echoed his lament with a mournful cry.
Chosen Undead.
The raven's song was the last thing Oscar heard before he fell into the darkness of unconsciousness.
How could you?
Like most his prayers, the question remained forever unanswered.
