"Are you ready, Hestia?" Mitranis asked, seeing the woman approach the final Site of Grace before the battle.
They were in a small, secluded chamber. There were no ornaments, no enemies; nothing but the dim light of a flickering candelabra.
"I am waiting for Melina," Hestia replied, her voice wavering.
The maiden manifested, becoming visible to both warriors. Her gaze drifted toward them: first to Hestia, then to Mitranis.
"Please... survive. Do not let your guard down for a single second," Melina said, holding Hestia's hand. "I have offered you the power of the Runes you have gathered, Hestia. I do not know if it is enough; I have done what I could."
"Thank you, dear friend," the Tarnished said, keeping her anxiety at bay. "We will fight and we will prevail, won't we, Mitranis?"
"So it shall be, my dears," he replied with a smile, feigning an absurd tranquility for such a moment.
It wasn't that he was terrified. He simply had a bad feeling. He didn't believe Godrick was more powerful than Margit, he thought. At least, Bernahl's most blunt warning hadn't implied him—only Margit, Radahn, and another demigod of whom little to nothing was known.
"Then proceed, dear friends." Melina smiled, becoming translucent. "I shall see you in that throne room."
With that, Melina vanished. Hestia took a deep breath. It was time to enter the great courtyard that connected the rest of the castle to the throne room of Stormveil. The girl stopped just before passing through that strange mist. Mitranis took her hand. It was only to show her that they were both breaking into a cold sweat.
"Let us enter, Hestia," he said, his gaze serious and reassuring despite the shared fear.
"Let's go, Mitranis," she said with a trace of a tremor, but her face was stern and determined.
They stepped through the threshold and the gold fog. Upon crossing, they saw the vast courtyard. A stone path lay ahead, with gravestones on either side, now covered in grass that may or may not have been tended to.
Beyond... a deformed, strange figure rose, skewered upon a stake. It was the corpse of a dragon. One of those that once soared through the skies of the Lands Between. Not one of the stone and gold-hued ones from the legends. Its face was disfigured, its snout pierced by the great stake that had impaled it.
Then, they both looked ahead. Something was emerging from the throne room: multiple appendages, a slow but relentless gait. A disfigured face, ancient and decrepit, crowned in gold tones. A pair of axes: one even more massive than the other.
It was him: Godrick the Grafted.
"I never expected to receive such... illustrious guests," the being said, looking toward the dragon corpse. "A bit of your strength, most noble kindred, Dragon of the heights?"
Neither warrior spoke. It seemed this individual—or rather, monster—was not in his right mind. He wasn't talking to anyone, not even the dragon. He was simply babbling, a monologue directed at dead, non-existent things.
"Godfrey, O dear hero?" Godrick continued. "Do you see what putrid dregs of the lineage have come? These are no Tarnished; they are mere filth."
"Who are you calling filth, you heap of scrambled corpses?" Mitranis said implacably, raising his dagger.
Godrick halted his conversation with himself, the dragon, and Godfrey. He raised his axe slightly, gripping it with two of his arms, one from each side of his body. He let the massive edge of the weapon face downward.
"I have not given you permission to speak, filth," Godrick said, looking at Mitranis and Hestia for the first time. "I command thee... Kneel!"
A thunderous strike of the axe made everything shake. Hestia lost her balance while Mitranis sought a way to withstand the tremor. He grabbed her hand: another strike was coming. The second blow against the ground was stronger. Finally, a third blow—forceful, fierce, and merciless.
Before the two warriors could regain their defensive stance, they saw the demigod performing a strange maneuver. He spun across the floor, as if walking on every one of his limbs, arms and legs alike. This was the way the creature "ran."
"To the right flank, Hestia!" Mitranis exclaimed, leaping to the opposite side.
Indeed, the first strike of Godrick's giant axe came toward the left. Mitranis barely avoided that crushing impact, which still made the ground tremble. Godrick's strength was greater than anything he had expected. Perhaps Bernahl had remained silent about the enemy's true power—a possible trick test.
Hestia took her staff. She used her Glintstone spells, concentrating her magic for several seconds. The charged spells impacted Godrick, who barely grunted. It wasn't that they hadn't caused damage; it seemed that his grafted body hardly felt pain.
"Hahaha!" the demigod laughed, now rolling toward Hestia. "What pathetic spells, sweet woman! You shall make a fine coat!"
The attack came with brute force. Hestia took the hit, now from the smaller axe the demigod carried. He was only doing it to toy with the girl, to watch her suffer before tearing her apart with his larger weapon.
Hestia's shield seemed to deform under the attack. She used Mitranis's jump technique to disperse the impact's power, but it wasn't enough. She was repelled backward, rolling across the ground as the only way to land effectively.
"Shit!" the woman cried out after rolling. "Every bone in my body hurts!"
A laugh erupted from Godrick, his smile turning more sadistic. Without him noticing, Mitranis appeared at his left side. A slash from the dagger, imbued with the heat and flames of lava, severed one of the arms. It was only an accessory limb. It was meant as a distraction to keep him from killing Hestia.
"Fight me now, you bastard!" Mitranis exclaimed, standing in front of Hestia.
"Haha!" the demigod laughed again, confident. "As if the smallest of my appendages were anything to grieve over."
Mitranis parried the attack of Godrick's smaller axe, then climbed onto it and jumped. He was using his acrobatics merely to buy time. All that mattered was for Hestia to charge her best attacks, and she was doing just that.
"Foolish boy!" Godrick shouted, now attempting a lateral sweep with his Great Axe.
Mitranis had to cancel his jump, rolling to the ground at high speed. He nearly didn't make it. But he had given Hestia enough time. Concentrating, she held her staff in a specific way: she was charging her most powerful spell: Loretta's Greatbow.
The attack hit Godrick square in the chest, forcing him back. It had struck right where the horrible creature's heart should be. He seemed to fall to his knees, paralyzed for an instant.
"Heh, heh..." the laughter of the hideous deity was heard. "Hahaha! Did you think my heart was there? I'm sorry to say, children, I have more than one."
Godrick stood back up. He tried to attack with his Great Axe. However, a gust of wind struck him. Then, a forceful slash tore off another of his accessory arms, once again as a distraction.
It was Nepheli. She had kept her promise: she defeated the Troll and joined the fray.
"Thou shalt never be Godfrey, O deformed beast," the woman declared, taking a battle stance.
Suddenly, she lunged at the demigod, wielding her axes in a unique way. She raised them, spinning them over her head. A powerful gust of wind emerged, like a small tornado or cyclone, but with enormous force.
"Eat this, pig!" she screamed, releasing the whirlwind to collide with Godrick.
The gust greatly destabilized the Grafted, giving Mitranis the chance to use his dagger, piercing his belly. Blood gushed out, and the creature let out an almost agonizing groan. Immediately, another wave of Glintstone Pebbles impacted along the length of the gash.
"Dammit!" Godrick screamed, feeling pain for the first time.
The demigod remained hunched, staring at the ground. After groaning and panting in pain for a few moments, he stood up. His hideous laughter returned. With his right arm, he grabbed his left, and with a scream of agony, he proceeded to tear off his own limb.
Then, he approached the dragon corpse. He looked at it and shoved the stump of his left arm into the creature's maw.
"O Dragon, grant me thy strength..." Godrick was heard saying. "Let me crush these insects with thy power."
"Shit..." Mitranis whispered, shocked.
Things were about to get truly horrific.
"Hahaha..." the demigod laughed with that hideous edge. "Now, my ancestors, those of my Golden Lineage... Witness the glory of the Golden Power!"
Then, following those words, the demigod lunged at the three warriors facing him.
If Godrick had moved fast before, he was worse now. His rolls across the terrain were swifter, and his final leap toward his enemies was more powerful. There was nothing left to do but dodge the blows. Now, he charged with his axe held in his right hand and the dragon head that formed his left arm.
The first axe strike was aimed at Mitranis. He barely managed to deflect it with his dagger, jumping backward. The impact sent him crashing into some gravestones, breaking one or two of his ribs.
"Dammit!" he exclaimed, finally rolling onto the stone path that crossed the great courtyard.
The next victim was Nepheli. She tried to repel Godrick's onslaught with the gust produced by her weapons, but it was impossible. She received another forceful blow from the demigod's axe, which she managed to block, though her axe shattered from the impact.
The woman was also repelled, but with better luck than Mitranis, merely rolling through the grass. The third victim... was Hestia.
The woman tried to dodge the demigod's attacks. However, he was hot on her heels. She aimed her staff at the dragon head, trying to weaken it. She did not expect that the creature would actually come to life upon being assimilated by her enemy.
The creature opened its maw, and from it erupted hellish flames. Although she managed to coat her shield in Glintstone magic to repel the fire, it wasn't enough. Her body still suffered horrific burns, which weren't even mitigated by her Carian armor, designed to resist magic.
She was paralyzed, dying of pain that wouldn't even let her breathe. No; she couldn't breathe because it felt as though her lungs were burning, as if they were about to melt. Next... a crushing blow from the dragon's snout.
The woman rolled across the floor, her body burned and disfigured by Godrick's horrifying power. He approached slowly, almost savoring the woman's agony.
"Heh..." Godrick was heard laughing, as if he felt pity for Hestia. "I hoped to use your pretty skin as a graft for my face. It surely would have rejuvenated me quite a bit... but now you are just a disgusting raisin. I think I shall crush you..."
With that, the demigod raised his axe, aiming directly at Hestia. He kept his eyes closed, almost feeling the delight and morbidity of destroying the woman.
His swing would be true. Then, his axe descended while he looked toward the sky. But when it hit the grass-covered ground, he did not hear the crunch of bone and armor metal. She wasn't there.
"By Marika..." the demigod questioned, looking around.
Hestia was at the other end of the field, now held by Nepheli. The agile young man had picked the woman up while Godrick was enjoying what he thought would be his first kill.
Godrick didn't hear what the warriors were saying. Mitranis was kneeling before Nepheli, giving her instructions. The man's face was no longer the same. His expression was cold, pale. Something that made Nepheli shiver.
"Take all the Flasks of Crimson Tears Hestia is carrying from that small bag," he ordered in a deeper voice. "She will recover. Use the Cerulean ones too, so she can finish healing herself with her incantations. I trust her to you, Nepheli. I will buy you time."
Without waiting for an answer, Mitranis stood up to grab a sword buried in the grass-covered ground, surrounded by gravestones. It was a massive sword, a Zweihander, just like the one Bernahl carried.
Then, Mitranis turned around, looking directly at Godrick. The demigod understood the challenge. However, he only saw the situation as more entertainment. The dragon's power had revitalized his body, and now he was stronger than ever.
"So you are to avenge her..." the Grafted said with a haughty face. "You have no idea whom you face."
Mitranis, without changing his facial expression and almost ignoring Godrick, ran his left hand along the entire edge of that colossal sword. In doing so, he did something he had learned on his own, only to later discover it was an Incantation. The lightning inherited from the dragons coated the blade of his sword.
"You are the one who has no idea," Mitranis declared.
Then, the young man disappeared. Instantly, by mere instinct, Godrick looked down. There the boy was, putting his weight on his right leg, kneeling. The sword was held with power. The attack was coming.
Godrick's resistance was futile. By mere defensive reaction, he tried to block Mitranis's attack. A grave mistake. The arm carrying the demigod's Great Axe was torn off clean, along with his weapon. The pain was not just physical, but psychological. The demigod's ego was wounded, shattered.
The axe didn't even hit the ground. Now Mitranis held it. He cast the Zweihander aside. He rested the massive axe on his right shoulder. He looked at Godrick with hatred and a sort of pity.
The attack with the sword had revealed the power of Mitranis, the Recusant. It was the incarnate power of his master. He was Bernahl, made into younger flesh.
However, the moment the boy took hold of Godrick's axe, something changed. It was no longer the power of a Recusant, of the disciple of that imposing warrior. There was... a potent aura. Something that felt heavy and overwhelming. That was how Nepheli felt it.
Of course, Godrick felt it too. But for him, it was even more overwhelming, terrifying. It was because that presence was no longer that of the youth. It belonged to someone who shouldn't be there. A presence that had been devoured by absolute void and death.
Mitranis's eyes no longer showed his determination or his desire to defend his companions. Now there was something else... a truly golden glow emerged and possessed his irises. A different sneer took over his face. There was contempt. Pure and simple contempt.
"You..." Mitranis said as he approached Godrick.
He carried the golden axe, enormous, bearing the symbol of the lion; of the Golden Lineage.
"Haha..." a laugh that showed more than just anger erupted from the man's lips. "Is this disgusting beast the last remnant of the Golden Lineage?"
Godrick retreated by instinct. His face no longer expressed determination. Now, it expressed a terror he hadn't shown in a long, long time. A remnant of the Shattering, when the woman who knew no defeat prevailed over him and subdued him.
"You are nothing," continued the man speaking in Mitranis's place. "I cannot believe that Godfrey's lineage... it sickens me that my lineage has rotted in this way. You are no golden bough; you are a pestilence!"
The warrior adopted a different stance. He held his axe, but now not with both hands, resting it on his shoulder. He held it as if it were a one-handed weapon. From that hand gripping the massive golden axe, lightning erupted, covering the weapon and dancing through every curve of it.
"Fight, cockroach," he declared, ready to begin. "Let me see... if any remnant of gold remains in your pathetic existence."
Nepheli, who was there, didn't know which side to pay attention to. She remained crouched, assisting Hestia, slowly giving her those Flasks of Crimson Tears that should be mending her wounds. But they acted slowly, very slowly. There was no way to know if the woman would truly recover.
However, the warrior knew that inside, Hestia was fighting. There was no doubt about that.
"Come on, Hestia... this won't beat you," whispered Nepheli, who divided her attention between the woman and Mitranis.
On the other side of that great courtyard, Godrick retreated one step and then another. An immeasurable fear invaded Godrick. He had felt it before, the result of a demigoddess's power—she who had yet to know defeat.
However, he never thought, never imagined that a mere mortal would cause him that same fear. His grafted body, made in the image of his predecessor, Godefroy, was in danger. His original essence felt it.
"O dear one... forgive this weak sprout, O golden bough," Godrick finally said, as if it were a plea to someone he had known.
Of course Godrick knew him. It was the golden tone that had appeared in Mitranis's eyes. It was that crushing presence, between stern and serene. The defiance in his presence. It was that murmur of lightning surrounding the axe that the demigod had carried until moments ago. A lightning... of gold.
Only a few could carry that axe with such ease. Only those belonging to the Golden Lineage. There was no doubt; something in Mitranis was tinged with gold.
"Forgive me, O Golden Bo—"
The demigod could not finish speaking, giving way instead to a desperate scream. His left arm, that dragon head, was no longer part of his body. Enormous pain, agony, terror.
"AAAAGH!" Godrick's shriek seemed audible in every corner of his castle. "Dear heir... stop!" Godrick pleaded, desperate, retreating without pause, crawling.
"Heir? What delusions are you speaking, filth," Mitranis said, approaching again with the axe resting on his right shoulder.
The Recusant kept walking. He could not recognize that golden glow in his eyes and barely noticed his body covered in golden lightning. However, for any individual who was part of the Golden Lineage, it was very clear who he was.
"Well, do you want to say anything else?" the Recusant asked, his face somber in expression despite the golden glow of his eyes.
"Mercy... MERCY!" Godrick begged.
Mitranis walked a few more steps.
It was a sentence. It was unstoppable.
"Mercy... Very well."
And then, Mitranis extended his arm with his axe in an instant. A single lateral cut was all that was needed to apply the mercy Godrick spoke of.
Godrick's head flew through the air. He was the judge, and he was the provider of mercy and justice.
"For Hestia," Mitranis whispered, hatred in every murmur of his voice.
The demigod's body fell; his form slowly faded away. From his open eye, a few tears flowed.
"Now... the gold will return," the murmur of Godrick's voice was barely audible. "I wish I could have been there to see it..."
Amidst the dust and ashes, there remained only a withered, ancient figure. A scrawny individual; a disfigured and mutilated corpse. That, finally, was Godrick. A remnant of the Shattering. Not even truly a Demigod. An opportunist and ambitious soul who believed himself to be at the level of the lineage he tried to represent.
His head turned to dust that vanished. The crown simply lay aside, due to the difference in size.
Mitranis slowly walked toward the two women. He felt his body was shattered. Halfway there, he dropped that massive axe. He could barely feel his arms and legs.
Looking at Nepheli, his eyes had returned to their usual brown tone. Those eyes only aimed at Hestia. The murderous coldness of his expression was replaced by one of anguish.
Nepheli, watching Mitranis approach, understood perfectly what that expression said: that man was terrified by the mere thought that he had lost that woman.
Suddenly, Mitranis fell to his knees on the stone floor, his hands braced against the ground so as not to collapse.
"Will she..." Mitranis tried to say, breathless. "Will she live?"
He looked at Nepheli as best he could. A plea in his face spoke for him, saying more than any possible request or demand.
"I hope so," replied Nepheli, speaking with a vulnerable voice for the first time. "I don't know much about it, but I believe the Grace that still guides her can help her... or so I experienced once, before I lost my Grace."
"There is a Site of Grace nearby. Hestia used it before the fight. Let's go, quickly. I fear that..." Mitranis looked at the floor again. "I fear this experience might make her give up on her Grace."
"He truly cares for her. He cares more than a Recusant should for a Tarnished. It is somewhat disconcerting," Nepheli thought, nodding to Mitranis's direction.
A few coughs were heard. Hestia was breathing with difficulty, and the internal burns that had not yet healed caused her to choke and spasm.
As the warriors stood up and carried Hestia to that Site of Grace, someone watched from afar. A familiar figure. One who, now, could only think about what had happened with the Recusant.
"So... that abominable corpse was not all that remained of you, brother," that presence with a solemn voice was heard to say. "Will you awaken and impose yourself upon this mortal shell?"
After those words, Margit left Stormveil Castle. Or rather, the distant manifestation of Morgott, the last of all kings.