"Theodorix, hero of the Trolls," the tumor whispered, its voice now entirely replacing that of the priest. "Heh. Even if that Troll were still alive, he would have no choice but to submit before me, let alone a mere imitation. Compared to the true Flame of Ruin, this simulated mortal fire is a pathetic joke."
Suddenly, a massive amount of pest threads erupted from the priest's back. Instead of shooting toward the Troll, they pierced into the skulls of the surrounding Kindred of Rot. Almost instantly, the insect-men withered, their flesh forced into a desiccated state as their essence was drained. The power of corruption surged through the threads, feeding the priest.
"Kneel!" the priest bellowed, his hands weaving shimmering silver wires from the air. These silver lines extended rapidly, coiling several times around the Troll's knees before abruptly snapping taut.
Unlike the various insect silks, these silver wires possessed a terrifying erosive power. After only a brief moment of friction, they bit through the dragon-scale leg guards and sliced deep into the flesh. The Troll let out a guttural roar. His footing became unstable, and he leaned heavily on his iron hammer, yet he forced his body to remain upright.
A horrific grinding sound echoed through the street as the silver wires scraped against the Troll's leg bones. The flesh around his knees began to peel away, exposing stark white bone. His entire weight leaned on the hammer's handle, but he refused to kneel.
"More... I need more..." the priest muttered to himself. More threads connected to the heads of the Kindred, accelerating their mummification. His fingers danced with uncanny agility, the dried mushrooms on the back of his hands not hindering his movements in the slightest.
The silver wires flashed with light and vanished into the flanking towers. To Raven's amazement, the upper sections of the towers began to tilt at an angle; the silver wires had sliced through the entire buildings with cuts so smooth they looked polished.
Amidst a world-shaking rumble, the two massive sections of the towers crashed down upon the Troll. A furious howl erupted from the dust. The Troll slowly raised his head, looking for a moment as if he would push the collapsed buildings off himself, but his damaged joints could not take the strain. With a thunderous boom, he was forced down onto one knee.
"Yes, exactly like that—Wait!"
Black flames ignited beneath the priest's feet. It was as if he were standing atop an erupting volcano. His feet turned to ash in an instant, and his body was tossed into the air by the geyser of black fire.
Two dozen meters away, Raven maintained the Black Flame Ritual, his eyes fixed on the Troll. He watched as the Troll swung his iron hammer down upon his own knee with bone-shattering force, snapping his own leg. Jagged white bone fragments jutted out. Though he was pinned to the ground by the debris of the towers, he thrust his severed leg high into the air as an offering.
A spark flickered upon the severed limb.
In the next moment, fire reached for the heavens.
The sliced-off sections of the towers were tossed aside like scraps of paper. The Troll leaned on his hammer, standing straight on one leg, the single eye on his chest blazing with such intensity it seemed the fire would burst forth. Flames overflowed from his pupil, swirling toward the priest who was still tumbling amidst the black fire.
"More!" the priest roared.
"More!" An identical roar echoed from the depths of the distant Lake of Rot. By the time the sound reached the surface, it had lost its linguistic meaning, turning into a grand, thunderous reverberation.
The surface of the Lake of Rot churned violently. Stone palaces slowly rose from beneath the water, scarlet lake water cascading from the structures in hundreds of shimmering veils. Stone pillars also emerged, forming a street that led straight to the palaces. A monument stood there, inscribed in the language of the ancient dynasty: The Way of Sacrifice.
Under the command of a group of mushroom-men, tides of Kindred of Rot ascended the stone path and entered the palace gates, kneeling in prayer beneath the falling water.
Inside the palace, a crowned figure seated upon a high throne stood up in the darkness. Countless threads erupted from his back, piercing into the insect-men to greedily siphon their flesh and blood. Carrying a scepter, he strode out of the palace and spread his arms toward the southeast—toward Nokstella—and intoned a blasphemous prayer.
Just as the priest was about to be annihilated by the Godskin Black Flame and the Giants' Flame, Raven suddenly noticed the starlight around them growing dim.
He looked up and saw that a thick, churning layer of scarlet clouds had somehow covered the sky above Nokstella.
Splash!
A torrential downpour of scarlet rain fell, its sheer weight suppressing the flames of both Raven and the Troll.
Sensing the dense power of rot within the raindrops, Raven frowned. He was forced to abandon the Black Flame Ritual, darting through the wall of an abandoned house to find cover. Standing inside, he watched the crimson deluge outside. The world was a sea of scarlet, as if the entire Lake of Rot had been inverted over the city to pour its contents down.
In the center of the street, the priest bathed in the rot-rain, his broken body rapidly knitting back together. Two large bulges swelled on his back, eventually bursting to reveal two layers of mottled wings. Raven narrowed his eyes, realizing those wings were made of countless fungal mycelia.
The priest's state seemed unstable; his body constantly collapsed and regrew, with bits of rotting flesh falling away. Yet, it appeared that as long as the rain continued, he could maintain this form indefinitely.
Scarlet water poured into the ruined house through the hole Raven had made, only to be pushed back by a blue light glowing on the ground. Raven struck his staff down hard, expanding a Terra Magica sigil, carving out a circle of pure land amidst the churning red waves.
His staff pointed toward the priest in the rain as he began to charge a star-calling spell. Unlike a normal spell, a swirl of ink-colored wind billowed around Raven, and the blue light at the tip of his staff was tinged with a layer of black.
The priest spun around, his rot-wings unfurling like those of a dragon, but his expression was one of sudden alarm.
"Primeval sorcery? No, this power... Who exactly are you!" he bellowed in fear. "Are you His apostle?"
"Apostle?" Raven narrowed his eyes.
"I have seized the authority of God! I am the King of Kings, the King of all Kings!" the priest roared. "I shall never enter the dream; you cannot influence me!"
Following the priest's roar, the scarlet clouds in the sky began to rotate, manifesting a blurry human face that spanned half the dome. The God-King of the Lake of Rot looked down at Raven. Countless mycelia sprouted within the scarlet rain, condensing into thousands of tentacles as thick as water barrels that reached for Raven.
"Now!" Raven shouted.
Pfft!
The tip of a halberd erupted from the priest's chest. He looked down in shock as the blade twisted, carving out a hole large enough for an adult to crawl through. He spun his head around in a rage, mouth opening to spit a curse, but his head was already leaving his shoulders. Simultaneously, his limbs and wings were hacked away.
Number 404 stood behind him, having delivered seven strikes with lightning speed. He swayed for a moment, planting his pest-glaive into the ground to keep from falling. He, too, was connected to the priest's threads; half of his body was withered like crumpled paper. He had used this state to deceive the priest, and with Raven drawing all the attention from the front, he had successfully executed the assassination.
Raven fired the star-calling magic at the face in the clouds, his own body wreathed in a shroud of black flame as he charged through the rain toward the priest. He unleashed a Carian Slicer, severing the threads connected to 404, then slammed his shoulder into the insect-man to knock him out of harm's way. He crossed his fist over his chest, initiating the Black Flame Ritual once more.
The priest's remains lay scattered, squirming as they tried to reform, only to be swallowed by the rolling black flames. As the remains turned to ash, the mycelia growing in the rain ceased their movement and rapidly withered.
"I will remember you!" the face in the clouds roared before being dissipated by the star-calling magic.
With a thunderous boom, the stars exploded into a massive void within the red clouds. The starlight of Nokstella shone down once more. The rain stopped, and the scarlet-stained world returned to its original hue.
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Elden Ring: The Unborn One's Journey Through Elden Ring
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