JohnnyZ
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[My Ending] Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2024-11-28 09:27:57 +0000 UTCRoderika had never been able to boast of courage or strength of spirit. She was a timid, soft-hearted girl, beloved by her servants and family but scorned by the rest of the Lands Between.
Their world was cruel—twisted, grotesque, and unforgiving. It had no place for the weak, and Roderika quickly felt this harsh truth in full.
The Tarnished were outcasts, abandoned not only by their Goddess but by the Greater Will itself. Though fate had smiled upon them again, with Grace returning to many and granting them a second chance, this did nothing to shield them from the universal hatred, suspicion, disgust, and hidden fear they faced.
It was this fear that Roderika saw in her family’s eyes when they realized her fate.
She hadn’t been prepared to be cast out like a broken tool. She couldn’t have been. Life beyond the palace walls was utterly alien to her.
Her only solace came from the loyal servants who refused to abandon their lady to her fate. Together, they set off across the sea in search of a new purpose.
Roderika vividly remembered the man who had advised them to head toward Stormveil Castle. A man in a sinister white mask who called himself Varre.
He seemed to be waiting for them on one of the countless winding paths. Recognizing Roderika as Tarnished, he immediately began to entice her with honeyed words. He spoke of her destiny, instilling in her a sense of purpose, convincing her that she was capable of something great.
Her warriors warned her that he might be dangerous, that he is untrustworthy. They tried to dissuade her, pointing out that the man in the white mask was suspicious—he had to be! But Roderika saw no other path forward, nor could she see the Grace the stranger had mentioned, disappointed by her inability.
Naively, she believed him to be her only option, and her faithful servants couldn’t bring themselves to contradict her.
This was the greatest mistake of her life.
The servants of a vile, monstrous demigod captured them. She managed to escape only thanks to the spirits who had been with her for as long as she could remember. She ran faster and further than she ever thought possible.
When she returned, it was only to find her loyal retainers transformed into a many-armed abomination. The creature recognized her, and its countless hands reached toward her, urging her to flee.
These hands—her servants’ hands—wanted her to join them, to become part of their grotesque form.
Roderika broke. She was too scared, too weak. She fled, even as a part of her yearned to throw herself into the distorted embrace of her servants’ arms. But the pain terrified her. Maddened by despair, she wandered aimlessly around the hill leading to the terrible castle, unable to leave but too frightened to press on.
Ironically, it was on that same hill that she encountered her servant. The maid immediately suggested she travel to the Roundtable Hold, a gathering place for the Tarnished, where she could discover her true purpose.
All she needed was patience. But instead, she had fallen for the words of a fraud.
This realization plunged her further into despair. She refused the maid’s suggestion, though the servant followed her unseen. What was the point?
No ordinary person could survive the place where the broken girl now wandered. The hill was patrolled by the demigod’s servants, and violent winds brought with them all manner of creatures—wild animals and monstrosities that defied description.
She owed her survival, her body, and the scraps of her sanity to the spirits. They had been with her since childhood, though she never thought this unusual. She saw and spoke to them but kept it secret. She simply believed it to be insignificant lamenting over her own weakness, cowardice, and worthlessness.
The spirits didn’t make her stronger. They couldn’t give her the courage of those who had sacrificed more than their lives for her. They couldn’t save the people she loved, being too weak themselves. She didn’t blame them—never.
It was her fault. She was the weak one. A helpless, feeble coward.
The spirits guided her, wandering for an unknown amount of time, to an old, long-abandoned shack protected by strange charms.
Here, she found a brief respite, though it brought her no peace. The image of those reaching hands lingered in her mind. She knew she had to go to the castle, to finish what had begun, to become part of the Grafted Scion.
But the fear of pain held her back.
Coward, coward, coward…
She lost track of time and didn’t notice when someone entered the shack. The spirits alerted her, urging her to look up.
Roderika’s perception was unique. She saw things others couldn’t, and now she noticed the faint outline of a spectral maiden in a cloak.
The strange figure didn’t speak. Their gazes met, and the maiden seemed momentarily surprised before vanishing in a flash of starlight, leaving Roderika alone. She quickly forgot the encounter, unaware that the maiden was a harbinger.
A harbinger of his arrival.
The sound of approaching hoofbeats reached Roderika’s ears long before she heard the screams of men, the howls of wolves, and the whistle of arrows and bolts. Then came the clash of metal, the rising panic in voices as they gave way to terror.
It seemed someone was running, trying to say something, to do anything. But soon, there was silence again.
Roderika didn’t know what had happened, nor did she care. This wasn’t the first skirmish on these hills.
But she had to pay attention to what was happening when...
Someone entered the shack—someone who had found her, charms and all.
Realizing her situation, fear gripped her, but so did relief. Finally, someone would drag her to the castle by force, help her overcome her cowardice, and let her become part of those she had abandoned.
How desperately she wanted it—and at the same time, how desperately she didn’t.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—her mad hopes were dashed.
The man who entered the shack, ignoring its protective charms, was clearly no servant of the demigod.
If only because he wore nothing but trousers. Barefoot and bare-chested, his body smeared with blood, he looked like a fugitive who had barely survived an attack by bandits.
Gray eyes fixed on a spot near where Roderika faintly sensed Grace. She suspected the shack was built upon its source, but she couldn’t confirm it—she couldn’t see or feel it.
Useless.
Perhaps it was thanks to the Grace concentrated in that spot, sustaining her all this time, that she managed to survive in this forsaken backwater.
No. In this forsaken world forgotten by the Goddess.
‘Is he a Tarnished too?’
It seemed obvious.
The man knelt near the concentrated spot of Grace, stretching out his hand. Whether she wanted to or not, Roderika found herself mesmerized, watching the invisible energy flow through the man, cleansing him of blood and visibly invigorating him.
No, it wasn’t just that. He was doing something far more unique. Right before her eyes, the warrior’s already toned physique seemed to grow even more perfect, stronger, more defined—like a living sculpture. The changes were subtle yet unmistakably apparent.
Here he was, fearlessly altering something so intimate and dangerous right before her. One didn’t need to be a sorcerer to understand how perilous tampering with one’s own essence could be. Carelessness in such a process could easily cost one their life.
‘A madman.’
Oddly, the thought made her laugh. An unsteady, hysterical chuckle bubbled up as her fractured mind spiraled again. The image of countless hands reaching out toward her resurfaced.
This strange Tarnished didn’t fear anything, and here she was—a hopeless coward! Coward, coward, coward...
Refreshed in every sense, the man rose from the Grace, turning toward her with a satisfied stride.
Konstantin had a sudden revelation: women seemed a little unsettled by his habit of appearing before them clad only in a loincloth. This realization dawned on the Tarnished soul somewhat abruptly.
Perhaps Meli-Meli had something to do with it.
Roderika had no idea what thoughts were passing through the strange Tarnished’s mind. When he stopped in front of her, she felt a compulsion to share what had broken her spirit.
For some reason, she sensed that the intruder would actually welcome it.
“All… all of them were grafted. Everyone who was with me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “They sailed across the seas for my sake. Fought for me. And in the end, their arms were taken. Their legs, even their heads…”
Curled on the floor, Roderika clutched her head.
“Fun fact: if you get grafted to a spider, you become a doll. It’s kind of funny if you think about it…”
Another hysterical giggle escaped her.
She didn’t care what the Tarnished might think of her. Perhaps she’d even anger him enough to strike her?
No, no… She didn’t want that. Or maybe she did? No, the pain would be too much. Pain terrified her.
The man sighed deeply, crouching beside her, an expression of genuine sorrow on his face.
“I’ll make sure no more dolls are made.”
Roderika looked up at him with wide, mad eyes.
“You’re… you’re really going to Stormveil Castle?”
Her gaze darted about nervously, and the image of the man in the white mask flashed through her mind.
“Surely you’ve been convinced by the words of that man in the white—”
“No,” Konstantin interrupted, grimacing. “We’ve met, but I broke his mask along with his face. (1) Sadly, I didn’t have enough levels back then, so he managed to escape. I’m going to the Castle on my own terms.”
His words left Roderika frozen in surprise, staring into his gray eyes.
From her hidden vantage point, Melina blinked.
‘How did I miss that?’
At the very least, she had to admit that her champion’s speech had grown much more coherent and sensible. The contrast with this broken woman made it even more apparent. For some reason, the faux Finger Maiden felt an odd sense of pride—and quiet joy—for him.
And the fact that he didn’t remove his pants this time…
Melina squinted her single visible eye with satisfaction.
Bliss.
“On your own terms?” Roderika echoed. “Do you really want to merge with the spider? Then we’re two of a kind. Only I lack your courage.”
Oh, how she lacked it.
“It’s terrifying, you know. Losing your arms. Or legs. Or your head. I want to be like everyone else, but I’m too scared. I’m just a coward, plain and simple.”
She couldn’t believe for a moment that he intended to defeat the Demigod. The very idea seemed impossible.
Konstantin, observing her trembling figure, sighed again with unexpected sorrow.
“You poor waifu…”
Now it was Melina’s turn to sigh.
Roderika, regaining some composure, looked up at him again. He seemed to genuinely empathize with her.
How pathetic she was.
“You came here covered in blood,” she murmured. “You can’t defeat the Demigod. If you don’t want to merge with the spider, then leave. Please.”
Konstantin scratched his head in confusion.
“That wasn’t my blood. I’ll be fine. Just wait here until I’ve taken care of everything. Or until Meli-Meli comes for you. It won’t take long.”
Roderika had never heard such confidence in a person’s voice before. This stranger declared his intention to face a Demigod on their own turf as if he were off to gather apples.
How she envied his absurd confidence.
“Tarnished soul…”
“Konstantin. Just Kosta will do.”
Roderika smiled faintly, reaching out to the spirit that had protected her all this time—the ghostly jellyfish, small and defenseless like her, yet surprisingly venomous.
“Konstantin, will you take this little one with you? The poor thing deserves someone braver than me… The spirits seem to like you. I think it’d be happy in your company.”
The spirits did like him. With her unique perception, Roderika could see and feel an unmistakable aura around the Tarnished. She couldn’t describe it, but she knew the spirits were drawn to him. They seemed ready to bow to him if he so wished.
Perhaps he wasn’t even human? If not, then what was he?
“We’ll do the opposite.”
His unexpected words caught her off guard. She stared in confusion as the man produced a bell and rang it a few times.
From the bell emerged the spirits of wolves, their otherworldly howls echoing in the air. They were ready for battle.
Konstantin scowled at the wolves, who cowered under his gaze, instantly losing their bravado.
Melina shook her head, silently pitying the poor creatures.
“Protect her while I’m gone. If a single hair falls from her head, I’ll toss this bell—and you—with my own hands into the depths of the Lake of Rot. Got it?” (2)
The wolves whimpered pitifully.
Konstantin glared at the trembling jellyfish.
“You too. We’ll have words when I return. Understood?”
The jellyfish nodded hastily, its spectral body quivering.
The strange man stood, heading for the exit. Roderika, wanting to say something to him, was cut off by his parting words:
“I’ll bring you your dolls. Just wait for me a little, okay?”
Mounting his spectral steed with a whistle, he rode off. The Castle loomed closer than ever, and he had no intention of stopping.
Roderika, against her will, rose to her feet and ran unsteadily after him. She wanted to stop him, to talk him out of it, but…
As she left the safety of the enchanted shack and ran far enough, she froze.
Before her stretched a trail of corpses, piled high along the path.
Some had been skewered by swords, others smashed with maces, and still others bore flaming arrows embedded in their flesh.
The madman had orchestrated a slaughter without so much as batting an eye.
A terrifying, haunting sight. Terrifying, haunting, and in its own way, enchanting.
The Lands Between loved the strong, and that applied just as much to those who dwelled within it. In this cruel, unjust world—where the very concept of true death had at some point ceased to exist, and where anyone could grow stronger by consuming the runes of the fallen—it couldn’t have been otherwise.
Roderika glanced down at the spectral wolves that bounded over to her, grinning broadly.
She would listen to the Tarnished and wait.
Melina, invisibly trailing her chosen companion, cast a disapproving glance at the girl in the crimson cloak.
The primary motivation of this Tarnished soul troubled her more and more.
"You must be careful, Konstantin," Melina murmured softly, but loud enough for the man to hear. "You’ve drawn far too much attention. I sense an Omen of Dread."
Seeing that the Tarnished paid her words no heed, somehow maintaining control of the situation, Melina decided to hold back and merely observe.
She would intervene only if she sensed her chosen one was about to lose.
No one else managed to stop Konstantin on his march toward the Castle towering at the hill’s peak. He flew past the final line of defense on Torrent, breezing by countless soldiers powerless to stop the Tarnished and his spectral steed.
The soldiers were lucky, truly, that the madman didn’t bother stopping.
Eventually, Konstantin found himself standing before the gates.
Empty, open for reasons unknown, they seemed to beckon the man inside. Rushing through all opposition, Konstantin honestly hadn’t expected the main gates to be unguarded; he had grown accustomed to the idea that not all things worked as they "should."
But that didn’t mean he would hesitate. No, this only drove him forward even more.
It is not he who is being lured into a trap, it is he who lures the trap to himself.
Sliding off Torrent, he patted the loyal steed on the neck.
"I’ll handle the rest myself. Thank you."
Torrent, seemingly satisfied with the day’s adventure, disappeared back into the whistle. The Tarnished strode forward into the Castle with firm steps.
He already had a good idea of whom he’d encounter.
And honestly? He couldn’t wait.
Konstantin raised his gaze to the wall, where a swirling stream of Grace coalesced into the form of a giant, glaring at him with hatred-filled eyes.
The illusion of a Demigod could never have imagined that one day, such a brazen Tarnished would appear before it. So audacious and…
Mad.
The illusion had not wanted to manifest here, not like this, not right at the Castle’s threshold. The lowly Tarnished wasn’t supposed to know that his… his Rune was guarded. But this madman’s actions had forced its hand.
"Foul Tarnished…"
Konstantin looked up at the illusion of the Demigod.
His pants suddenly vanished, leaving only a loincloth in their place.
After all, this wasn’t a waifu he was dealing with. He had to give his absolute best—anything less would be disrespectful to his opponent.
A peculiar, blood-stained sword appeared in his hands, which he leveled at his foe.
Already stunned by this display, the mighty illusion was entirely thrown off by the Tarnished’s next words:
"Put these foolish ambitions to rest." (3)
And with that, the madman gave an unexpectedly graceful bow. With all the dignity and honor of a knight, he acknowledged and respected the Demigod, as though he knew exactly who he was.
The illusion of Morgott nearly toppled off the wall.
Their battle promised to be legendary, and those who bore witness to it would undoubtedly spread the tale far and wide across the Lands Between.
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(1) Varre: The first NPC players meet in the Elden Ring. While his purpose is to introduce players to the game, his questline increasingly makes you want to take him out.
(2) Lake of Rot: Legend has it that the Lake of Rot was personally designed by Hidetaka Miyazaki, who poured more soul into this location than the rest of the game combined. Unfortunately, this remains unconfirmed.
(3) "Put these foolish ambitions to rest.": A line spoken by the illusion of Morgott when defeating players during his second phase. Dedicated players of Elden Ring may have heard this phrase more times than their own mother’s name.
Lake of Rot:
