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[My Ending] Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2024-11-28 09:57:00 +0000 UTCHonestly, Kosta felt a little uncomfortable. Not because of the strange echo of Meli-Meli’s shout, but because the soldiers had followed him and were now watching everything unfold.
Duels with bosses always felt intimate and personal to him. The rolls, the rare shield parries (when he bothered to use one), the search for the perfect timing, the constant counting of combos, and that unexpected strike the boss hadn’t used in the last twenty attempts...
What could be more intimate?
Of course, Kosta didn’t dwell on these thoughts too much—there wasn’t time for that. And to be fair, he was grateful to the onlookers... the mobs... the NPCs… or rather, the castle servants for deciding not to interfere.
He figured he should probably revise his attitude toward them—at least as long as they didn’t attack him.
With steady steps, and still not bothering to dress, aware that yet another battle awaited him, the man walked through the main gates, finding himself in the grand Stormveil Castle. It was vastly larger and more grotesque than Castle Morne, which now seemed laughably tiny in comparison.
‘This place could be perfect for Edgar and Irina,’ Kosta mused to himself. ‘Of course, first I’ll have to clear out all the junk corroding the castle(1).’
Winds howled through the castle grounds, which was unsurprising given its position atop a hill. Kosta had to admit, the castle was far larger than what he’d seen in the game. For a brief moment, he was at a loss.
Even a moment’s hesitation was shameful for a seasoned Soulslike player.
Who knew? Maybe someone was about to jump out of a random wall(2)! In Soulslike games, you could never relax.
Hesitation is defeat(3).
Luckily, the faint thread of Grace, which became clearer with each level, unmistakably showed him the way.
The castle had not only outer gates but also inner ones leading to its heart. Unlike the open gates through which the Tarnished had practically strolled, the main gates were firmly shut. This didn’t surprise the warrior in the slightest.
Nor did the sudden approach of the gatekeeper behind him.
Tall, pale, and cadaverous, it was clear the man didn’t eat often.
‘And Melina thought I had problems with clothing,’ Kosta thought indignantly.
Stormveil Castle’s gatekeeper looked as though he hadn’t changed his outfit since the fall of the Golden Order. By comparison, the Tarnished’s attire was flawless.
“Kosta the Tarnished?” the gatekeeper asked with a slippery smile. “I would advise against taking the main gate into the castle....”
Kosta glanced back.
“Wait, those weren’t the main gates?”
“They’ve been in disrepair for ages,” the gatekeeper waved dismissively. “Still, I wouldn’t suggest entering through the main gate. It's tightly guarded by hardened old hands.”
This, he explained, was Godrick’s final command before disappearing somewhere.
Coward.
The gatekeeper clenched a bony fist, emphasizing the seriousness of the problem.
“Try the opening right here. The guards don't know about it. You'll breach the castle undetected.”
Kosta scratched his head.
He knew exactly how things would play out but still found it hard to believe what he was hearing. The trap was so obvious that ignoring it would be, at the very least, boring(4).
Then again, in a way, the gatekeeper wasn’t even lying. Either way, he was expected.
“Alright, let’s try it.”
Shiftily glancing around, the pale gatekeeper led him to the breach. They skirted the walls and arrived at a reasonably sized gap, concealed by vegetation.
“Be careful,” the gatekeeper whispered in a honeyed, concerned tone, hunching over. “We’re counting on you, brave Tarnished! Our lord has long since lost his mind; someone must stop him!”
Kosta gave the gatekeeper a skeptical side-eye, narrowing his gaze thoughtfully. From the madman’s stare—clearly debating whether to let him live or die—the gatekeeper felt a chill.
Damn it, could this lunatic at least try to hide his thoughts?
No, it was better not to interfere. Let the mighty crazies deal with each other; he was just a commoner, after all!
Gostoc offered the most servile smile he could muster. It even worked on Lord Godrick himself.
“Of course, it might still be dangerous in there—it is Lord Godrick’s castle... I’ll just… leave now…”
The gatekeeper felt the last shreds of his pride drain away with those words. Luckily, he remembered just in time that he had no pride to begin with.
Kosta stood there a moment longer, then a bloodied sword appeared in his hand.
“I didn’t say you could leave. You’re taking me to the chapel.”
The gatekeeper swallowed hard.
‘Why the chapel?’
It seemed this thought struck both the gatekeeper and Melina—who, unseen, trailed her chosen Tarnished—simultaneously.
Despite her Tarnished’s relentless ability to ruin the image of a noble swordsman, Melina remained in an oddly good mood.
So good, in fact, that she nearly appeared before him to whisk him away to the Roundtable Hold. But she stopped herself just in time. First, she reminded herself that he wasn’t alone. Even the Fingers’ true attendants never showed themselves to anyone but their Tarnished. And she was fake. She had to maintain her cover as much as possible.
Not to mention, Konstantin wasn’t finished with what he’d started.
The gatekeeper, suddenly fearing for his miserable life, transformed before Melina’s eyes into someone who could rival the stealth of the Black Knife assassins. Where Kosta would simply charge through, the terrified commoner dragged the bewildered man into hiding, weaving through the castle in a way only a gatekeeper familiar with every stone—and holding keys to every door—could manage.
When forced into open corridors with no way around, the gatekeeper nearly begged the madman to wait behind a wall while he rushed ahead, shouting and cursing, to send the soldiers guarding the path off to the main gates—where the insane Tarnished was supposedly about to appear.
For some reason, the man remained in a state of disbelief throughout.
It seemed he had expected the gatekeeper to simply lead him and not be this helpful...
Melina couldn’t understand why her Tarnished was heading for the chapel until they finally arrived.
Once again, her chosen one proved how unnatural his knowledge was.
Curiously observing the architecture, a man in aristocratic garb and an impressively large hat (it seemed sorcerers were fond of hats?) turned his head toward them in surprise.
The gatekeeper almost swore.
The Tarnished intruder acted as though Stormveil Castle wasn’t a fortress teeming with soldiers, but his own manor’s courtyard, casually strolling around!
Kosta exhaled in relief when he spotted the familiar figure. His timing was perfect—he'd caught him just in time.
The gatekeeper's unexpected actions completely threw the poor Soulslike adventurer off. Gostoc seemed uncharacteristically active and, oddly, afraid for his life.
"Konstantin, isn't it?" The Tarnished immediately recognized him. "The pleasure's mine."
With a warm smile, the man tipped his hat and offered a graceful bow. His voice was calm, soft, and steady, as though he weren’t skulking in a castle filled with hunters eager to turn him into a mindless monstrosity.
"Rogier's the name. A sorcerer, as you might have guessed," Rogier declared proudly, though without a hint of arrogance.
However, his smile faltered slightly when he noticed Kosta visibly grimacing as though "sorcerer" was synonymous with "terminal illness."
Rogier cleared his throat, trying to recompose himself. Clearly, he enjoyed playing the part of a performer. He treated Gostoc like a decoration, which the gatekeeper didn’t seem to mind one bit.
"You're curious, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes..."
Rogier’s confidence wavered for a moment when he caught a glimpse of Kosta’s expression.
"Let’s assume you’re curious," Rogier decided, cheerfully waving his hand. "I'm looking for a little something, here in the castle. When I'm not hotfooting it from the troops, that is."
The eccentric Tarnished chuckled and shot Gostoc a knowing look.
The gatekeeper didn’t know how to respond.
‘He’s openly admitting he’s here to rob the place!’
Kosta shook his head.
"It’s not ‘a little something.’ It’s a giant corpse, and it’s going to get you killed. Be careful."
Rogier’s smile froze.
Gostoc opened his mouth as though to speak but decided against it.
‘What corpse is this lunatic talking about?’
"What are you talking about?" Rogier finally asked.
Kosta shrugged.
This casual stranger wasn’t a waifu. On top of that, his questline foolishly implied he could outplay one of the most manipulative and beloved waifus in the Lands Between. Naive.
Kosta had no intention of wasting his energy on Rogier, though he didn’t have anything against him either. As far as mages went, Rogier wasn’t the worst—especially by Interlands standards.
Kosta had recently improved his social skills, going from zero to barely functional, but this situation was beyond him.
"When you find the corpse, don’t approach it. No matter what," Kosta said firmly.
Rogier had heard of the new Tarnished. It would’ve been strange if he hadn’t. In fact, when he learned someone was storming Stormveil Castle alone, Rogier couldn’t help but admire the warrior’s insane courage.
He had wanted to meet him.
Who would’ve thought it would happen like this? A miracle worthy of a poem: a castle teeming with hunters, a cowardly demigod too afraid to leave his lair, a warrior sowing fear among their ranks, and a sorcerer hiding in the shadows…
This could’ve been the start of a beautiful friendship!
If only the conversation had gone as Rogier had hoped.
The sorcerer cast a contemplative glance at the serene yet half-naked warrior, pondering his motives.
Frankly, Kosta looked so suspicious that he looped back around to being unsuspicious.
‘A madman?’ Rogier wondered.
Who else would storm a heavily guarded castle half-naked? Only a madman. And madmen rarely lied. Fanatics lied constantly. But madmen? Never.
Rogier, having given it serious thought, made his decision. Perhaps he’d been too eager about infiltrating the castle.
"But enough about me, what are you doing here in Stormveil Castle?" Rogier asked, donning an even friendlier smile than before.
"Here to kill the boss," Kosta answered bluntly.
The Tarnished’s eyes gleamed.
"You can see it then, I take it? The guidance of grace. Well, enjoy it while you can.”
Rogier removed his hat, gazing at it wistfully.
“I'm Tarnished, like you. But unlike you, I've seen neither hide nor hair of this guidance for the longest time. Still, I won't forget how it felt when I first came here, to the Lands Between.”
Rogier closed his eyes as if recalling the path of Grace he once walked.
Then, shocking both Gostoc and the stunned Melina, he donned his hat again and smiled like a seasoned merchant about to strike a deal.
"I'm privy to a few magical battle arts. Would you care to learn one? As a fellow Tarnished, once guided by grace, I'd love to help you out, if it please." (5)
Rogier clapped Kosta on the shoulder as if they were old friends.
He pulled scrolls from his bag and began waving them proudly in front of Kosta.
It wasn’t every day someone made such an offer. And considering the absurdity of their meeting…
What warrior wouldn’t want to broaden their skills with a spell or two?
Melina, unseen, mentally screamed: ‘Fly, you fool!’
Kosta glanced at the scrolls, inhaling deeply.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
With each breath, Rogier’s smile dimmed.
It seemed he was starting to catch on.
"I need your help," Kosta said calmly.
Whether he liked it or not, Rogier straightened up, ready to work. His instincts warned him this was serious—perhaps even life-threatening.
"A waifu is searching for dolls. You want to make some coin and explore this place, right? I’ll pay you in runes."
Melina nearly opened her accursed eye again. Rogier, equally stunned, stammered:
"D-dolls?!"
Kosta left the chapel fully satisfied. Following him was the utterly shell-shocked gatekeeper and the unseen Melina.
Waiting for them outside were countless soldiers, surrounding them.
‘Looks like someone spotted us,’ Gostoc sighed with relief. ‘Finally, this nightmare is over. Am I free?’
Gostoc considered slipping away when Kosta drew a club and shield, clearly intending to fight.
To make matters worse, an axe suddenly flew into one of the soldier’s heads, scattering their formation.
From the shadows emerged a savage clad in crudely sewn hides, her calm demeanor belied by the fiery battlelust in her eyes.
Surely the demigod had been waiting for them long enough.
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An inexplicable fear. The demigod felt it growing stronger with each passing moment. Godrick had long forgotten what it was like to feel like prey with a predator closing in on him, but the arrival of this Tarnished…
The pathetic demigod felt the presence of the Fallen Omen. He couldn’t not feel it—a brief flash of the true power of the golden lineage, a power he had never possessed. A power that vanished as quickly as it appeared, as if it had never been there at all.
The eldest of their kin had tried to protect him.
And failed.
The Tarnished must have already infiltrated the Castle.
Godrick was consumed by resentment—bitter that he hadn’t had time to finish his masterpiece. He had discovered a path that could grant him the strength of a true demigod, had come so close to achieving it, but just as he needed peace and silence, another insane monstrosity had appeared, thirsting for his death.
And soon, that monstrosity stood before him.
As if mocking him, the intruder appeared wearing nothing but a loincloth, a bloodied sword in hand. Like a loyal servant, a dusky-skinned warrior trailed behind him, gripping an axe. In her eyes, Godrick saw a strange, childlike delight directed at the Tarnished.
And behind them stood the silhouette of a spectral maiden, her body long since burned. An incarnate spirit, one that refused to die. For a brief moment, their gazes met.
“Melina,” the demigod seethed, impotent rage flaring within him.
For some reason, an eerie calm washed over Godrick. He lifted his gaze to the head of the massive dragon, locking eyes with its empty sockets.
In their world, death had long since lost its meaning. It no longer carried the weight it once held. Even in dying, something of you always remained. In the Lands Between, they were all martyrs, doomed to live in death.
This was the essence of grafting. He could take from the dead what belonged to the living. Condemn their souls to torment, gaining the strength of the fallen in exchange. Was this not magnificent? Was this not the true path to power?
Then why was he so hated and reviled for doing what everyone else did in their pursuit of strength?
The Tarnished made no rush to attack, staring at him with a calm, cold gaze. Though his appearance didn’t inspire fear, Godrick couldn’t help but see the forms of Radahn and Malenia superimposed over this pitiful Tarnished.
The demigod sighed, stroking the head of his masterpiece with a twisted tenderness.
“Mighty Dragon, thou'rt a trueborn heir. Lend me thy strength, o kindred. Deliver me unto greater heights. Hrm…”
Godrick turned his gaze upon the insolent Tarnished. Rage began boiling in his soul, growing fiercer with each passing moment.
Some insignificant (and half-naked) warrior couldn’t possibly compare to a demigod! He couldn’t!
“A lowly Tarnished, playing as a lord.” Godrick snarled before roaring, “I command thee, kneel!
I am the lord of all that is golden!”
Countless arms of fallen warriors, hidden beneath his robe, began writhing grotesquely. In his hands, he held two axes that had felled countless fools who dared to challenge him.
This one would be no different.
To Godrick’s horror, a joyous smile spread across the lunatic’s face. He raised his bloodied sword toward the demigod and then…
The madman sprang forward without a trace of fear. The warrior woman remained behind, watching in fascination. This would be their greatest mistake!
Unfortunately, the pitiful demigod hadn’t yet realized the true scope of his misfortune.
Godrick swung one of his massive axes with a savage howl, sparks flying as the weapon sliced through the air, aimed directly at the insolent insect. Morgott had taught him a devastating technique—a treacherous delayed strike! While he hadn’t mastered it to the extent Morgott had, he was still a demigod!
Or was he?
“Delayed axe strike.”
Roll.
Strike!
Godrick choked out a pained gasp as the blood-forged blade tore through his body. Ordinary weapons couldn’t harm him, but the bloodflow…
Special weapons, forged and tempered by skilled smiths, could sometimes cause bleeding even in spiritual beings!
Rage flared anew within the demigod. He raised his axe over his left shoulder to…
“Strike.”
Roll.
“Strike.”
Roll.
“Delayed overhead strike…”
Roll, roll…
Strike! Strike! Strike!
The Tarnished read every move. Commented on them, mocking him all the while. Toyed with him like a child, rolling to and fro.
Godrick’s blows were fast and powerful—so fast and powerful that no elite warrior could physically avoid them like this. Especially not, for the love of all that is golden, with a roll!
But no one had informed the madman of this. Like a gust of wind, he slipped past every attack, showcasing the pinnacle of roll-dodging artistry the Lands Between had never seen before and likely never would again.
Generations would etch his likeness into stone, rolling away from storms and lightning. If you couldn’t roll away from your problems, it simply meant you weren’t rolling well enough.
Hesitation is defeat.
“Vertical strike.”
Roll.
“Jumping strike.”
Roll. Strike!
“Forward leap.”
Roll, roll, roll, strike, strike, strike…
At some point, Godrick lost all semblance of reason, wildly flailing his axes. It felt as if he were swatting at a gnat buzzing around him, one that could inflict wounds that bled more profusely with every passing second, hastening his inevitable demise.
For the first time during the entire duel, the demigod felt that his attack would land without fail...
And then, in the hand of the Tarnished appeared a small shield. With it, trampling the remnants of the golden-blooded one’s pride into the dirt, he deflected the blow. Not absorbed it—which would have instantly destroyed both the shield and the insolent Tarnished—but redirected it, shifting slightly to the side. He nudged it exactly in the direction where Godrick’s strike had been aimed.
The demigod's poise was broken.
For a moment, the giant lost his balance. He faltered, exposing weakness. Unlike the Tarnished, who calculated every movement of his body, Godrick had been using his full strength throughout the battle.
And Konstantin could not let this opportunity slip.
Godrick felt the blood-soaked blade pierce him. The pathetic demigod met the gaze of the calm Tarnished. The gray eyes consumed him, dragging him into the deepest depths of madness.
He saw millions of rolls and countless parries… Too many rolls, too many parries, too much hardcore…
Impossible.
‘This is not human,’ came a terrible thought in Godrick’s mind.
Who had Melina found and disguised as the Tarnished?! WHO?!
And though Godrick himself did not know the answer, Konstantin—if he could hear the demigod’s question—would undoubtedly respond:
Meli-Meli found a Souls liker and waifu enjoyer.
Someone who embodied both their best and worst traits.
Fear returned to the Many-Limbed One with renewed strength. His heart raced, his worthless demigod's body shivered with chills. The Tarnished withdrew the blade from him, allowing the demigod to stagger back.
Godrick clutched his stomach. The blood showed no signs of stopping. While such a wound still couldn’t kill the pathetic demigod outright, the outcome of the battle was becoming clear.
No—it had been clear from the start.
Seeing that the Tarnished was in no rush to attack again, Godrick fearfully turned his gaze to the corpse of the dead dragon.
He desperately needed help, even if it would cost him his life.
"Ahh, truest of dragons. Lend me thy strength… Nnngh! Forefathers, one and all… Great King Godfrey… Bear witness!"
The demigod, enduring the pain, unexpectedly swung his axe and severed his own arm, plunging it into the dragon’s corpse. In its place, the reptilian head emerged, fusing grotesquely with his body.
‘What has he done to himself, the wretched coward…’ Melina turned away in disgust.
He had not only betrayed the Golden Order; he had disgraced it. This was not something that could be washed away with blood, even if the Golden Order were one day restored. Forever, Godrick the Grafted would remain a coward, a traitor, and a worthless being undeserving of the title of demigod.
The dragon's head suddenly came to life, its eyes opening, writhing grotesquely on the demigod’s form, as if trying to break free. Godrick raised his new head, which began to spew dragonfire. The flames burned and poisoned him, heralding his inevitable demise, but Godrick refused to understand this. He didn’t want to understand.
Nepheli, realizing what was about to happen, wanted to stop the noble Tarnished, to tell him to hide, to take cover. But as soon as the Tarnished saw Godrick raise his hand, he rushed forward.
The fire burst forth from the dragon’s jaws, engulfing everything in its fiery madness. But unfortunately for the demigod, Konstantin, knowing exactly what would happen, managed to close the distance faster than the flames could reach him. At the last moment, he rolled through.
“Ha…”
Godrick's eyes began to roll back. The Tarnished, deciding to end these mad games, once again drove his blade into him, but this time deeper, further.
This time, he pierced his heart.
The dragon’s head slumped. The wretched demigod, realizing how pitifully he had lost, lifted his gaze to the sky.
Perhaps, if he had once more fallen to his knees, the Tarnished would have spared him? Perhaps he should have trusted his instincts again and forgotten his pride? But it was too late to think about that now.
“..I am Lord of all that is Golden.... And one day, we'll return together...To our home, bathed in rays of gold…”
The Grace began to rapidly leave his body, transferring to its rightful victor. Everything that was his by right of blood and everything he had stolen from others.
Along with the Grace, the rune began to emerge from him—a Great Rune that had given him an illusory sense of power, now taken…
Taken by a half-naked Tarnished who performed rolls.
Why this obscure madman…?
"Rolling… True art…"
This was his final thought before his consciousness finally faded. Although death was relative and it was entirely possible he might return in some form one day, Godrick the Grafted was no more.
And never would be again.
Kosta stood silently for a while, gazing at the defeated opponent. He felt something immaterial awaken within him, something unimaginably powerful, carrying the very concept of the world itself. Then, putting away his sword and shield, he raised his hands to the sky.
The warrior woman, who had been obediently watching the duel unfold, involuntarily raised her hands to the sun as well.
In the next moment, the man shouted, praising the sun, and Nepheli cried out with him.
All the while, Melina, who had been invisibly observing her Tarnished, didn’t even notice when she raised her own hands to the sun.
It seemed she was starting to get into it.
The first demigod, Godrick the Grafted, had fallen, and soon all of the Lands Between would know of it.
______________________________________________________
(1) It is suggested that beneath the castle lies a body identical to that of the first slain demigod, which cursed him.
(2) As you explore locations, no matter which Souls-like game you’re playing, enemies will ambush you from random hiding spots. In the worst situations, at the most unexpected places. Such is the way.
(3) The main rule and motto of Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice.
(4) Gostoc invites the player to pass through a massive hole in the wall directly across from the gate, claiming the guards are unaware of it. Even setting aside the game logic, the gatekeeper’s suggestion sounds, at the very least, suspicious. The majority of players take the detour, fully aware of the potential trap. The location isn’t going to explore itself!
(5) Rogier really does offer to bargain with the player right in the middle of infiltrating the Castle.
Rogier:
Godrick:
