Join my Discord, it's kinda funny sometimes. And I also give pings n shi for the fic, among other things. Join at discord.gg/aWZ9qX9mAW
Glory to my bum ass proofreader: Solare.
"Piece by piece, I'll return you to the craven filth you tried to hide with stolen flesh."
Godrick answered him with a sound that barely qualified as human.
It was a growl, but not the kind that came from a trained throat or a drilled war cry. It tore out of him like something feral that had learned speech only to curse. Wet and guttural, rattling up through misaligned ribs and stolen lungs, it sounded more beast than man. And yet somehow it still managed to carry the petulant, wheedling indignation of a child denied a toy.
John occasionally slipped into unconscious, low-throated growls himself when irritated, but even he had to admit: this was another level.
That palpable fury boiled over when Godrick's gaze lifted from the pulsing stump at his side and found John's face.
Specifically, the smile on it.
John's smirk wasn't big or theatrical. It was small, sharp, satisfied: the kind of expression a man wore when making good on a promise. It was… familiar, in a way that made something ugly in Godrick twitch.
He'd seen that smirk on too many faces; on knights who'd beaten him in contests as a boy, on royal portraits looking down from gilded walls, on the lips of cousins and distant kin who reminded him where, exactly, he sat in the family hierarchy.
On people who thought they were better than him.
He wanted it gone.
All that roiling inferiority solidified into pure wrath.
"How in the hells." Godrick shrieked, voice cracking halfway between a screech and a bellow. "Did this insignificant Tarnished get into my inner courtyard?!" His many arms flexed spasmodically, fingers digging into his axe haft and stump alike. "What in the fuck do I even pay you worthless, moronic peasants for?!"
For a second, nobody answered.
The courtyard froze in a tableau of confusion and fear. Ballista crews glanced at one another, hands hovering over cranks and bolts. Archers stiffened mid-draw. Knights in half-grafted plate shifted uneasily on their feet. The only sound was the whistling of the wind and Sakura's ragged breathing where she lay on the flagged stones.
The soldier who'd just received orders earlier, a young man with close-cropped dark blue hair and the kind of tired eyes that said he'd seen too much and been paid too little, shook himself and moved first.
He dropped to one knee at Sakura's side.
"Easy…" He muttered, voice low as he slid an arm under her shoulders and helped her upright. "Easy, sis. You're alright. Breathe."
She didn't look at him.
Her hands were still clamped around her own throat where Godrick's smaller hand had wrapped around it, phantom bruises already blooming under her fingers. But her eyes… her eyes were locked on the figure standing between her and the Demigod.
On John.
She stared at him like people stared at altars or miracles or sunrise after too long in a cave, pupils blown wide, tears still tracking down her face. Awe and disbelief tangled with relief in her expression in a way that made John's chest tighten even as it made him want to crawl out of his skin.
His smirk widened anyway, because if there was one thing he was good at, it was weaponizing discomfort.
A low snicker escaped him. He didn't bother to hide it.
Godrick's head snapped toward the soldier.
"You!" He barked, all his attention abruptly pinning the poor bastard trying to keep Sakura from collapsing. "Explain yourself this instant! How did this cretin get in here?! What am I paying you all for?!"
The dark blue haired young man flinched as his name cracked across the courtyard. His grip on Sakura tightened for a moment as if to steady himself, then he risked a quick glance up at his lord.
"I-I…" He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Y-You d-don't pay us, m-milord…"
An awkward silence spread through the courtyard, even Godrick blinked.
"Oh…" He said after a beat, in a tone that suggested he'd just remembered he'd left the oven on. "You're right. I don't."
The soldiers nearest him shifted, tension crackling in the air.
The pause that followed was… awkward, in a way that would've been funny even if there hadn't been a severed demigod arm slowly leaking blood on the ground.
John decided to help.
He threw his head back and laughed.
It was not a polite chuckle. It wasn't a restrained "heh". It was a loud, ringing, utterly mocking bark of laughter that bounced off the castle walls and sank teeth into Godrick's already bleeding dignity.
"Oh my god–!" John wheezed, wiping at an imaginary tear. "You're a clown. You're not even a real lord, you're just a budget horror-show in a stolen flesh coat.
Up above, near the edge of the courtyard in his peripheral vision, Marika appeared lounging on a tuft of Grace like it was a cloud, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. She'd conjured herself a glass of red wine from somewhere and was currently taking a long, suffering sip.
"Haaah…" She sighed into the cup, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "What a fool… and he's wielding a fragment of my Elden Ring…"
Godrick's petulant rage, which had stumbled briefly over Shinji's honesty and John's laughter, snapped back into place with a vengeance.
"You…" He snarled, lips curling back over yellowed teeth. "You miserable little grub."
He seized his massive greataxe with his remaining primary hand. The haft creaked under his grip, stolen fingers wrapping around it in a cluster of white-knuckled fury. His extra arms flexed as if trying to take hold as well, but half of them still twitched uselessly in the aftershock of pain.
Then he swung the axe in a horizontal blur of metal and muscle, the kind of swing that was meant to erase. Air shrieked as the blade cut through it, a small gust of wind blasting outward ahead of the steel.
John's smirk didn't falter as he kicked off the stone, body moving before conscious thought caught up, the Commander's Standard flicking up in his hands as he leapt backward out of the path of the blow.
The greataxe hit where he'd been a heartbeat earlier and stone exploded from the impact.
Flagstones shattered under the impact, a crater bursting outward in a spiderweb of cracks as dust and chips rocketed into the air. A small storm of grit and debris billowed up, momentarily swallowing John's silhouette in a choking, grey-brown cloud.
From Godrick's perspective, it was perfect.
"Oh ho~!" He barked, ugly satisfaction curling through his tone as he straightened, dragging the axe back up. "Squashed you, did I? That's what you get for-"
Two points of light burned through the dust.
They were a mix of royal gold and a cold, cutting azure, both slitted in a way that did not belong on a purely human face. They stared at him through the thinning haze with unblinking focus.
"Man~…" John's voice rolled out of the dust cloud, lazy and amused. "I knew you were a disappointment, but missing someone standing right in front of you? That's impressive in all the wrong ways."
The dust began to settle, eddies of grit spiraling away to reveal him standing a few meters back from the crater, not even singed.
He patted his tunic briskly, flicking dust from his shoulder with all the concern of a man tidying up before a date.
"I'm starting to think you should have put more effort into grafting eyes on that sack of insecurity you call a body instead of arms." He went on, his tone mockingly conversational. "Maybe then you'd at least see your own incompetence coming."
A few of the closer soldiers made strangled sounds that were half-choked laughs, half-panicked coughs.
John tilted his head, eyeing Godrick like a particularly sad art installation.
"But of course," he added, voice brightening with false realization, "it's obviously overcompensation. God only blessed you with a two-incher down there, huh? Must be all the inbreeding. How else do you get a face that tragic?"
Something in Godrick's expression… twitched.
It was the kind of twitch that suggested a vein somewhere had popped.
Shinji, still kneeling by Sakura, swallowed audibly. Sakura, for her part, made a tiny, shocked sound that could have been a laugh strangled by residual terror.
"Kill him…" Godrick whispered.
Then he screamed.
"KILL HIM! All of you!" he shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth. His stolen arms flailed, pointing at John like a crowd of accusing fingers. "KNIGHTS! BALLISTAS! ARCHERS! CROSSBOWS! KILL THIS IRRITATING, MONGREL LITTLE WORM!"
The men around them finally snapped out of their paralyzed stupor.
Ballista crews scrambled to adjust their aim, hands fumbling for bolts. Archers yanked arrows from quivers with shaking hands, trying to sight down from the walls. Knights lowered spears and swords, feet shifting on stone as they started to close in.
"O' Giant's Flame, Fall Upon Them!"
The shout didn't come from Godrick, it rang out from above.
John's head snapped up on instinct and the sky answered.
Nearly a dozen orbs of fire bloomed midair over the courtyard, their surfaces boiling with incandescent orange and gold. They hung for half a heartbeat like newborn suns, then screamed downward, trailing long tails of flame.
They hit the ballistas first.
The explosions rolled through the courtyard in a series of thunderclaps. Wooden frames shattered, limbs splintering, bolts flying wild as fireballs slammed into them and detonated, sending gouts of flame and shards of charred timber into the crews. Men flew backward, silhouettes briefly outlined in fire before hitting the ground hard.
Several more fireballs smashed into clusters of archers, wiping whole watchpoints in bursts of heat and pressure. The air filled with the smell of scorched wood, burning cloth, and the sharp, greasy stink of cooked flesh.
John's eyes widened briefly, then he grinned.
"Cavalry's here." He muttered, lips curling.
Marika hummed approvingly in his head. "Just in time, no less," she remarked, that small smile returning to her voice. "I highly doubt thou couldst have dodged a dozen ballistas firing at thee from all directions. Even some of mine own children would struggle to do so unscathed."
John snorted. 'Oh ye of little faith~'
She rolled her eyes so hard he could almost feel it. "Confidence is one thing. Being turned into a pincushion in the name of pride is quite another."
A gesture from the corner of his vision drew his attention upward again.
Marika flicked her wrist, indicating the rooftop John had leapt from earlier.
There, silhouetted against the fading sky, John saw a familiar figure.
Melina stood on the edge of the roof, one hand still outstretched, palm smoking faintly from the last vestiges of flame. Her cloak snapped around her legs in the wind, her hazel eye narrowed in focus. For half a second, her gaze met his across the distance; before she burst into movement.
She jumped, landing lightly on a lower platform, then dropped again to a narrower ledge, making her way down the broken tiers of architecture with quick, controlled motions. Her path curved not directly to him, but toward a flanking position, where she could reach his side without running straight through the mess of knights forming up.
Godrick's growl rumbled across the courtyard like a broken engine.
He watched his artillery die in burning chunks, his ballistas exploding one after another, his archers falling in clusters. The flesh around his eyes tightened.
"Archers!" He bellowed at the ones who still lived along the far wall. "Shoot her down! NOW!" His shorter arms gestured wildly. "KNIGHTS! WITH ME! I'll tear this wretch apart myself!"
The remaining archers lifted bows, fingers finding strings.
A voice cut through the chaos, smooth and theatrical.
"I'll have you gentlemen keep your aim away from the fine mademoiselle, if you don't mind~!"
A slender figure vaulted onto the edge of a nearby rooftop, cloak billowing. His hat's brim shadowed his eyes, but the gleam of a rapier was clear enough as he drew it in one fluid motion.
Rogier swept his blade in a shallow arc.
Several sigils of pale blue light flared into existence around him like ghostly shields. They hung a moment, humming, then elongated, each turning into a spectral sword. A fan of glintblades hovered in the air as their edges turned sharp and hungry.
"Glintblade Phalanx." Rogier said calmly.
The blades shot forward.
They sliced through the air in precise, curving trajectories, each selecting a different target. Archers who had been drawing aim on Melina suddenly jerked as mystical force punched through their chests and throats. Crossbowmen on the opposite wall staggered, glintblades slamming through their breastplates to bloom from their backs in flashes of azure.
By the time the glowing swords shattered into motes, several bodies were already tipping backward off the walls, weapons dropping from nerveless fingers.
They hadn't even hit the ground when two more shadows moved.
One was solid, broad-shouldered, armour clanking faintly as he bounded from one rooftop to another with surprising agility for a man encased in steel. A sunburst tabard flapped over his chest, and his shield gleamed as he drew his sword.
The other was slimmer, smaller, a shadow with a sharp smile and sharper blades.
Millicent landed in a low crouch on a segment of broken parapet, bare feet gripping stone. Her left arm held a katana in a reverse grip, blade shining with fresh blood. Her right shoulder was empty where an arm should be… but that didn't seem to be stopping her.
Because she had a second katana clenched between her teeth.
She sprang before the nearest knight could react.
Her mouth-gripped blade flashed in a horizontal arc, biting deep into the gap between helmet and gorget, cutting through flesh and spine with horrible ease. The man dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Solaire crashed down on the other side, laughter in his voice as he brought his Sunlight Straight Sword down in a brutal, overhead chop onto a knight's exposed shoulder. The blade bit through armour, lodging deep, and with a twist and a shove, he sent the man sprawling, shield clattering aside as blood sprayed.
John couldn't help but smirk.
"You're spry for an undead, y'know that?" Millicent commented, words somehow clear even with the katana hilt wedged between her teeth. She spat the blade up for a fraction of a second, adjusted her bite, and caught it again like it was nothing.
Solaire laughed, delighted. "And you are rather deadly for a one-armed lass! I'm impressed!"
He knocked aside a spear with his shield, stepping into the opening with an easy grace that belied his bulk, sword singing as it slid between a knight's ribs.
John dodged a thrust from a Banished Knight lunging at his side, twisting to let the blade pass by his hip. He snapped his free hand up, claws out, and seized the man by the throat.
The knight's feet left the ground.
John lifted him with relative ease, enhanced strength from buffs and draconic alterations turning the man's weight into little more than a bag of flour in his grip.
'No, seriously.' John thought as the knight's fingers clawed at his wrist, boots kicking uselessly. 'How is she so articulate with that shit in her mouth? When'd she get the time to practice this?'
Marika chuckled, the sound a low, wicked trill in his skull. "I, for one, am feeling a rather odd sense of pride. In spite of how ridiculous mine granddaughter looks swinging swords with her teeth."
'Generational sword-munching.' John joked, thinking of Malenia, bracing his feet. 'Family traditions.'
He exhaled sharply and heaved.
The Banished Knight sailed through the air in an ungainly arc, armour jangling, a strangled yell ripped out of him as he flew.
Godrick, already striding forward with his axe raised for another cleave at John, did not adjust fast enough.
The thrown knight intersected the axe's path.
Steel met steel and then flesh.
The massive blade tore through the poor bastard in a single, brutal line, bisecting him from shoulder to hip. His scream cut off abruptly as the two halves of his body separated, falling to the ground in a wet, clattering mess at Godrick's feet.
For a brief moment, there was silence before one of the soldiers toward the back let out a small, horrified "oh."
Godrick barely glanced down.
'Well, at least Toei isn't gonna hear about this. Those guys are absolutely rabid about protecting their copyright.' John thought with a smirk, watching Godrick yank his axe free from his loyal minion's torso.
Marika sighed, long and theatrical. "...I do not think I shall ever understand how thine mind works, mine Champion. Truly, thou hast a gift for referencing inane things in the middle of a botched raid on a Demigod's castle whilst surrounded by said Demigod and his forces."
John rolled his shoulders, bringing the Commander's Standard back up into ready position.
Rogier and Melina chose that moment to bound across the final gap, landing beside the others in a flurry of cloak and coat. Rogier's rapier was already lifted, arcane light dancing at its tip. Melina's dagger gleamed in her hand, her usual calm sharpened by real, focused intent.
A loose semicircle formed around John without anyone needing to say anything: Solaire on one flank, shield angled outward; Millicent on the other, blades ready; Melina and Rogier anchoring the line.
Godrick turned in a slow circle, taking stock.
Dead and dying men littered the courtyard. Ballistas burned, their crews writhing or already still. The archers he'd ordered to shoot down the "mademoiselle" lay crumpled in heaps along the walls, blue-tinged holes where their lives had been. Knights struggled to their feet or lay screaming, clutching stumps and broken limbs.
He looked at them with contempt.
"Useless." He spat. "All of you."
His gaze snagged on the bisected knight near his feet. A flicker of an idea crossed his face. He reached down with his right hand, fingers hooking into the shredded armour as if to hoist the corpse up.
His hand met empty air.
He stopped, frowning, then glanced sideways at the stump where his left primary arm should've been.
"Oh." He said flatly. "Right."
The stump twitched uselessly.
"You worthless, low-born imbeciles!" He snarled, addressing everyone and no one at once. "It's going to take me at least… TWO HOURS to find myself a new hand!"
The horror in his voice was comical given the mass of flesh already grafted to him.
He paused, another realization striking.
"No, wait…" His eyes widened behind his ugly face. "I'm right-handed—THREE HOURS!!"
He stared at his right hand for a moment, as if it had personally betrayed him, then his expression snapped back to indignant rage.
"You miserable reprobates!" He howled at John and company. "What have I ever done to you?!"
John blinked in confusion.
"...Pretty sure you just tried to have us killed." He pointed out, tone dry. "Repeatedly."
"I meant recently!" Godrick grumbled.
Even some of his own men looked at him like they were reconsidering the concept of loyalty.
"That was like, less than a minute ago…" Millicent said slowly, leaning forward, brows scrunched in baffled disgust.
"Semantics!" Godrick snapped.
A small silence settled over the group, this time laced with incredulity that gave way to amusement.
John turned his head slightly toward his allies and made a small circling motion at his temple with one finger, the universal sign for "this guy's not all there."
Solaire snorted. Rogier coughed into his hand, hiding a smirk. Melina's eye narrowed in a way that technically counted as a smile if you knew her well enough. Millicent openly snickered around the katana hilt.
Godrick's flush deepened, his complexion turning an unhealthy mottled shade.
"Oh, to hell with this!" He snarled, his voice leapt from mock outrage to murderous fury with a swiftness that would've made a psychiatrist write a thesis. "ALL OF YOU! KILL THEM!"
His remaining knights shifted uncertainly. A few took hesitant steps forward, blades rising. Others looked at each other, then at the strangers who'd just dropped from the sky, leveled a Demigod, and turned their artillery into bonfires.
Hesitation itself was enough to enrage him further.
"Move, you dogs!" Godrick screamed. "Do you want me to graft your spines into my arse?!"
John met his eyes.
He let the mocking smile settle back onto his face, sharp and slow, and stared straight through Godrick as if the Demigod was wearing every insecurity he'd ever had like a coat.
Beneath all the bluster, Godrick flinched.
John tore his gaze away from him and swept it across the courtyard instead, at the frightened, angry, cornered men standing between him and the Demigod.
Most of them weren't nobles. Most weren't chosen by Grace. They were farmers' sons and failed mercenaries, conscripted men and volunteers who'd thought "serving a lord" sounded better than starving. Some looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.
John's lips thinned.
"Consider this your final warning." He called, voice cutting through crackling fire and pained groans. "Fuck off or die."
A few faces actually flickered with something like hope, like they were weighing the very real possibility of dropping their weapons and getting the hell out.
Godrick saw it, and the Demigod let out a broken, delighted cackle that scraped along the nerves.
"Oh~?" He cooed darkly. "Is that an ultimatum? I love ultimatums~!"
He spread his many arms as best he could with one missing, grin stretching too wide over his sagging face as he turned that ugly smile on his soldiers instead.
"Here's mine~!" He purred, voice suddenly knife-cold as he jabbed a cluster of fingers toward John, eyes gleaming with manic glee.
"Either die to Him or die to Me!"
John saw it happen, the way calculation slid behind the soldiers' eyes. The way they glanced at Godrick: at the twitch of his many arms, at the weird, obsessive light in his gaze, at the stump where his arm used to be and the way his fingers flexed as if already imagining how they'd feel stitched into his flesh.
Whether they hated their lord or not was suddenly… irrelevant.
Because they all understood one thing with absolute, shared clarity:
Defy Godrick and he would make an example of them, slowly and painfully. In pieces that might end up sewn onto his own body, a constant reminder of their failure.
Fight these invaders and they might die quickly. They might even win. And if they lost… well. A swift cut on a battlefield was kinder than being dragged to a grafting table.
In comparison to the suffering they would surely endure if they refused their lord's orders, the quick death they risked by obeying him and fighting the intruders was far preferable.
One man near the back swallowed hard, fingers white-knuckled on his spear. John watched hope flicker and die in his eyes as he lifted it anyway.
Blades lifted as, one by one, the men of Stormveil chose the lesser hell.
Melina sighed as their enemies approached and muttered. "For the record, I appreciate the fact that we at least tried to do this smartly and hope we'll continue doing so in the future."
Millicent pats her on the back, making her sigh in resignation.
Blades came up. Shields locked. A ripple went through the courtyard as Stormveil's defenders surged forward with a collective shout, their fear pressed flat under the heavier weight of training and terror of their lord.
John moved to meet them but then twisted away, halberd already lifting to taunt the hulking beast ahead.
"Eyes on me, trash king." He called, flashing Godrick a grin that was all teeth. "C'mon. Show me what passes for 'golden' in this discount branch of the family."
He didn't wait for the response and rushed him. Godrick snarled, shifting his footing, greataxe rising again to meet the charge.
They collided in the middle, the first clash was more of a test than an actual attack.
John ducked into range, halberd angling for one of the many joints where stolen flesh met plate. Godrick swept the axe down in a brutal overhead, trusting weight and reach to carry the day. Steel met steel with an impact that shuddered up John's arms, nearly yanking his shoulders out of their sockets.
"Fuck-" He hissed through clenched teeth, bracing.
Godrick was… strong.
Not just "boss with a big health bar" strong. Not just "bigger than a normal knight" strong. His strength felt wrong, like someone had wired too many muscles into the same movement. The force behind his blows was messy but overwhelming, a drunken avalanche that still crushed you if you tried to stop it head-on.
'Alright.' John thought as he let the axe slide down along the halberd's shaft, twisting his body to bleed the impact into motion instead of eating it. 'Clown or not, still a Demigod.'
He pivoted, using the momentum to roll around Godrick's flank, the banner of the Standard whipping around like a bloody comet-tail. The crescent blade flicked out, biting into one of the spidery support-arms clinging to Godrick's side.
Flesh parted. A stolen hand flopped, half-severed, fingers twitching.
Godrick roared, stumbling half a step.
"YOU LITTLE-!"
He kicked.
The boot came out of nowhere, a huge, plated thing that John barely saw before it slammed into his chest. He crossed his arms at the last second, bracing as best he could.
It was like being hit by a cart.
Air blasted out of his lungs as he went skidding backward over cracked stone. He dug his heels in, sliding to a halt just short of Sakura and Shinji, grit gouging twin tracks beneath his boots.
"Ghh-! Haah…" He wheezed, sucking in a breath that burned.
"A Demigod is still a Demigod, fool." Marika said, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Even the most pathetic of that blood is a physical monster. Do not get complacent merely because he is ridiculous."
"Yeah." John coughed, rolling his shoulders as sensation returned in burning waves. "Got that memo, thanks."
Around them, the courtyard dissolved into chaos.
An Omen lumbered into the fray from a side gate, drawn by Godrick's shriek. At first glance, John's heart rose for a moment. It had horns, a hulking frame, and that familiar twisted silhouette.
Then he saw the stumps, every horn had been sawed off.
Raw, scarred nubs ringed the Omen's skull where proud, curling horns should have been. Rusty iron caps had been hammered into the bases. Chains dangled from them, some still dragging on the ground. His eyes were bloodshot and hollow, his shoulders hunched in a way that felt wrong on a creature born to stand tall.
He charged anyway, bellowing, a massive club clutched in his hands.
At his heel padded a huge warhound; a massive, scarred beast with metal plates bolted to its shoulders and spikes along its collar. It barked once, deep and vicious, then lunged alongside its master.
"Oh, that's fucked." Millicent muttered, eyes flashing.
Solaire stepped forward, raising his shield.
"I shall take you." He called to the Omen, voice strangely gentle. "Come, friend. Let us see if we can't end your suffering swiftly."
Millicent spat her katana into her hand, switching grips.
"I got the dog." She said, lips curling in a feral grin. "No hard feelings, pup."
They peeled off together: Solaire meeting the Omen's downward swing with a braced shield and a grunt, Millicent darting in low to intercept the warhound's lunge, blade flickering.
Behind them, Melina and Rogier stepped in to cover.
A Banished Knight broke from the pack, sprinting toward Solaire's exposed flank. Melina's hand shot out, a small seal flickering into existence between her fingers.
"Flame Sling." She murmured.
A compact ball of fire smashed into the knight's raised shield, detonating in a burst that staggered him sideways. Rogier's rapier flicked, a glintblade forming and firing in the same motion, punching through the man's visor a heartbeat later.
"I'll keep the chaff off our backs," Rogier called, voice tight but steady. "You three focus on the big ones!"
"Already on it!" Millicent shouted back, ducking under a snapping jaw. Her foot scythed out, kicking the dog's front leg sideways, sending it tumbling. Her katana flashed, carving a line along its armored shoulder.
John tuned out the rest as Godrick came at him again.
The Demigod barrelled forward on heavy feet, axe sweeping low this time in a brutal, horizontal arc. John hopped back, the edge passing close enough that he felt wind and heat brush his knees.
He countered, halberd snarling as it bit into Godrick's exposed thigh.
The blade scraped along metal, then found a gap and sank into flesh. Godrick grunted, but the wound was shallow compared to the sheer mass of him. He twisted his hips, trying to yank the halberd out of John's hands with the motion.
John let go, the Standard stayed lodged and caused Godrick to stumble off-balance for an instant.
John dashed in, draconic claws blooming along his hands as he raked them across one of the Demigod's supporting arms, tearing through tendon and graft-stitch.
Another limb flopped, half-useless.
"Rrraaaagh!" Godrick roared, head whipping toward John. "Mongrel! I'll graft your tongue to-!"
He stomped.
The foot came down with unnatural weight, an echo of Stormveil's own bones shuddering up through stone. A ring of force blasted out from the impact, a shockwave of compressed air and raw pressure that slammed into John like a physical wall.
He crossed his arms too late.
The force lifted him off his feet and threw him backward again, rolling him across the cracked flagstones. His back hit a toppled crate; splinters stabbed through his coat. His teeth clicked loud in his skull.
Godrick advanced, each step cracking stone a little further.
He swung again, a wide, looping overhead that would have cleaved a giant in half. John rolled aside; the axe bit into the ground where he'd been, lodging for a heartbeat.
John lunged in low this time, aiming for Godrick's ankle.
He hacked.
The halberd's blade bit deep, tearing flesh and jarring bone. Golden-tinged blood spurted; Godrick howled and instinctively shifted weight off the leg, nearly stumbling.
John pulled back, breath coming fast. Sweat stung his eyes. His arms ached from repeated impacts; every time that axe met his weapon, it felt like being hit by a truck.
But he was learning.
Godrick fought like someone who believed his sheer weight and borrowed lineage should be enough. His swings were heavy, devastating… but telegraphed. He leaned into every blow. He overcommitted. His extra arms flailed more than they assisted, trying to grab John, to catch, to crush, but rarely in concert.
'He's a walking DPS check…' John thought, ducking under a flurry of smaller arms grasping for his throat. 'If I didn't have stats, I'd be paste already. So thank fuck I took my time coming here. But technique-wise…'
John pivoted around another lunge, planting the butt of the Standard and using it like a pole to spin himself out of range, the banner snapping overhead.
'He's trash, even compared to me.'
Trash that could still flatten him into a smear if he got cocky for even a second, but trash nonetheless.
He feinted another low cut at Godrick's leg, then twisted at the last second, bringing the blade up in a diagonal slash that carved along the Demigod's side instead, slicing free a strip of stolen armour and the flesh beneath.
Godrick reeled, shrieking.
"I am a Demigod!" He howled, voice breaking. "I am LORD of all that is GOLDEN!"
"Yeah?" John panted, circling and taking the small pause to down a swing of his Flask of Crimson Tears. "Then why's your castle full of other people's body parts and daddy issues?"
One of the lesser hands grabbed for him as Godrick lunged at him, fingers like white spiders.
He slapped it aside with his scaled forearm, claws gouging trenches in grafted skin. The hand spasmed, tendons cut.
Off to his left, Solaire grunted as the hornless Omen brought its club down. The impact rang off his shield like a bell, the paladin digging his heels in, sunlight sigil flaring on his chest.
"Haah!" Solaire laughed, pushing back. "You hit hard, friend! Allow me to respond in kind!"
His sword flashed out around the shield, the thrust punching into the Omen's gut.
Millicent darted under the swinging club, her katana-in-hand opening the warhound's belly in a single, vicious swipe as it lunged. She spat the mouth-held blade back into her palm, spinning, and drove it through the beast's throat as it turned, ending its pained snarl in a wet gurgle.
"Sit." She muttered as the dog collapsed.
Melina and Rogier moved as a unit, a surprising rhythm growing between them despite having never fought side-by-side before. When a knight broke through toward Millicent's blind side, Melina's dagger met his thigh, hamstringing him. Rogier's glintblade followed a heartbeat later, punching through his visor as he dropped.
"Left." Melina called once, nodding toward a pair of soldiers about to flank Solaire.
Rogier's rapier flicked, sigils blooming.
"Carian Greatsword."
A massive spectral blade erupted from his swing, its ghostly steel cleaving through both men in one sweeping arc, sending their upper halves tumbling one way and their legs collapsing another.
"Remind me to never stand in front of you," Millicent muttered, impressed.
John couldn't spare much attention for them; Godrick kept dragging it back.
The Demigod's swings were getting sloppier, more enraged. Wounds littered his stolen flesh, sap-like blood dripping. But his raw strength hadn't diminished. If anything, his rage made him more dangerous, less predictable.
He slammed his axe into the ground again, this time twisting as he pulled it out. Wind screamed around the blade, a cutting gale whipping out in a crescent. It tore through the courtyard, shearing chunks of stone off nearby pillars.
John ducked, the edge of the invisible blade clipping his shoulder. Pain flared hot along his skin as his coat was shredded, a line of blood welled.
"Ghh—!"
"He has some small command of the storm." Marika noted tightly. "Old echoes of the Storm Lord's gifts. Be wary."
"Yeah, no kidding." John hissed, grinning despite the pain. "Little bitch's got tricks."
Godrick's breath rasped.
He glared at John with wild, bloodshot eyes, chest heaving, stitched flesh straining. Some of the smaller arms twitched uncontrollably now, damaged nerves misfiring.
He was losing ground.
He knew it.
Something mean and clever flickered behind the panic.
"ENOUGH!" Godrick roared. "I grow tired of this!"
He sucked in a breath that sounded like someone trying to inhale around a collapsed lung and bellowed toward the nearest hall.
"Come forth, my precious child!" He screeched. "My Grafted Scion! Aid your lord!"
John's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."
The answer came in the form of a shudder.
The stone wall of one of the adjoining halls bulged, dust streaming from the cracks. Then, with a sound like a building coughing up its own bones, the wall burst.
Stone exploded outward in a spray of rubble as something massive forced its way through. Limbs, too many limbs, scrabbled at the broken edges, fingers digging in and pulling.
The Grafted Scion dragged itself into the courtyard.
It was a nightmare in motion.
A central mass that consisted of a twisted, bloated body, with a dozen mismatched arms radiating from it like obscene petals. Each arm ended in a grasping hand clutching a sword, an axe, a spear, a broken shield. Its head was small by comparison, perched atop the mass like an afterthought, face twisted into a permanent rictus.
It let out a piercing screech that made teeth ache and gave him flashbacks of his first few minutes in this world.
"Now…" Godrick said, pointing at John with a blood-slicked hand like a child tattling on a bully. "You wait right there, little worm. I'll be back to kill you in a moment."
He then turned...
And slunk away deeper into the castle, his gait a half-limping waddle, multiple legs and arms pushing him forward as he fled, a tide of still-standing soldiers peeling off to follow him down the inner passage.
"Are you fucking serious?!" John shouted after him, incredulous. "You cowardly sack of shi-!"
He didn't get to finish as the Scion was on him.
A flurry of blades came down like a metallic waterfall, a storm of mismatched steel aimed to shred him into fine adventurer paste. John brought the Commander's Standard up just in time, bracing the haft horizontally above his head.
The first impacts nearly drove him to his knees.
"Ghh—!" He grunted, boots skidding as the force of the Scion's assault crashed down. Steel shrieked against steel, sparks exploding. One sword slipped past his guard, grazing his ribs; another clipped his forearm, drawing blood through scales.
"Johnathan! Are you alright?!" Melina shouted, spotting his new struggle from the corner of her eye.
"Little busy!" He yelled between clenched teeth.
The Scion screamed again, pressing its advantage, all its stolen arms working in horrifying unison. It tried to roll forward, to crawl over him, to smother him under its bulk and carve him into ribbons.
John dug deep, muscles burning, Flame and banner-buff and dragon grafts all singing in painful harmony as he shoved upward, turning the overwhelming downward force into a sideways shove instead.
The Scion staggered, its center of mass shifting.
He rolled out from under its reach, the Standard clattering as he reoriented, chest heaving.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fallout of Godrick's command.
Most of the surviving troops had followed their lord, a grim tide of steel disappearing into the castle's guts after him. But not all, maybe 20% percent had stayed, forming a rough cordon around the courtyard edges, ordered to keep the intruders pinned here.
"Of course…" John muttered. "Of course you're gonna kite me with adds, you MMO reject."
Solaire tore the Omen's club from its slackening grip, shoving the creature's corpse aside with a murmured apology. The warhound lay still at Millicent's feet, tongue lolling, chest unmoving.
"Godrick's running." Melina snapped, already moving toward John. "He means to retreat to more favorable ground."
"Then we make this quick." Rogier said, eyes darting between Scion and remaining knights. His rapier spun, another array of glintblades forming around him.
"On it!" Millicent called, kicking off the ground.
They moved as a unit now.
The Grafted Scion lunged for John, multiple arms stabbing downward, but Solaire barrelled in from the side, shield first. His Sunlight Shield crashed into a cluster of limbs, sending three of them reeling, blades clattering from nerveless fingers.
"Have at thee, foul chimera!" he shouted, sword flashing as he hacked at exposed joints.
Millicent slid in low behind the Scion, blades flickering. She slashed at the tendon-like grafts connecting limbs to the central mass, carving through them in rapid, surgical cuts. A stolen arm dropped, then another, severed hands clutching their weapons even as they hit the ground.
Melina darted in and out of reach at the back, her dagger seeking vital spots with frightening precision. Every time a blade swung toward Solaire's unprotected flank or Millicent's exposed side, she was there first, hamstringing a limb or driving her blade into the Scion's "knees," such as they were.
Rogier stood back, staff in hand now alongside his rapier, his voice low and intense as he wove sigils into the air.
"Carian Piercer."
A massive spectral lance erupted skyward from his thrust, impaling three of the Scion's upper arms in one go, pinning them back against its other limbs.
"Now!" He barked.
John didn't need telling twice.
He sprang forward, inhaling sharply as he did. Cold gathered in his chest this time, not heat—a frigid, biting pressure like swallowing a winter gale.
A torrent of pale-blue frost burst from his mouth, roaring out in a wide cone that bathed the front half of the Grafted Scion. The air crackled, moisture crystallizing instantly; ice crawled across the creature's flesh in jagged, rapid patterns.
The Scion shrieked, its many limbs thrashing, then slowing.
Frost sheathed its skin, thickening in seconds. Its movements turned sluggish, then jerked to a halt as joints seized and muscles locked. Icy shards formed around blades and fingers, locking them in place like they'd been dipped in liquid nitrogen.
John cut the breath off just as he squeezed every last drop of mana from his body, coughing as the last of the mist dissipated. Frost rimed his lips, his breath steaming.
The Scion stood like a grotesque statue, encased from crown to lower limbs in thick, cloudy ice. Only its eyes moved behind the frost, wide and wild.
He swung.
The Commander's Standard came down in a full, committed overhead, every scrap of strength he still had poured into the blow. The halberd's blade hit the frozen central mass with a sound like a bell being cracked.
For a heartbeat no one moved or spoke, before small cracks formed along the impact.
Deep fractures raced through the frozen flesh, radiating from the impact point. The Scion let out a muffled, strangled noise as the ice shattered, taking its body with it. Limbs exploded outward in a storm of icy shards and frozen chunks of meat.
When the frost settled, there was nothing left standing. Just a pile of scattered limbs and icy rubble, steaming in the courtyard air.
John panted, chest burning from cold and exertion. His arms felt like rubber.
He fumbled his free hand into his inventory and yanked out his Flask of Cerulean Tears.
The draconic warrior grunted as he tipped it back, chugging a long swig. Cool, sweet energy flooded down his throat, chasing away the worst of the frost-burn in his lungs, smoothing jagged edges of his mind and refilling the hollow where mana had been.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then tossed a quick swallow from his Crimson Flask down as well for good measure, feeling warmth spread through aching muscles.
He straightened, breathing hard but steady.
"We need to move." He said, voice hoarse but firm. "Godrick's running. If he gets to his usual arena, he'll have home-field bullshit."
Millicent snorted, flicking frozen gore off her blades. "Can't have that."
Solaire thumped his shield with his fist. "Agreed! Let us not give the coward more time to prepare."
Melina gave a short nod, hazel eye sharp. "We go."
Rogier adjusted his coat, fingers tightening on his staff. "Next room, then. Before he decides to redecorate with dragon parts."
They ran.
The inner corridors of Stormveil blurred around them; stone arches, hanging banners scorched by stray flame, overturned tables, bodies. Lots of bodies. Some were split in half by the Scion's escape route, others slumped where John's earlier rampage had wrecked assorted enemies. Blood smeared the floors in streaks, both fresh and drying.
As they pushed deeper, a new pattern of corpses appeared.
Warhawks.
Their twisted, armored forms lay sprawled in awkward heaps along the hall, wings broken, blades still strapped to their talons. Many had deep, clean axe wounds through their torsos; others were simply crushed.
"Shit." John muttered, stepping over one ruined carcass. "Guess he decided his pets were expendable."
"Or they were in his way." Rogier said quietly. "The man does not strike me as… careful."
"Why's he leaving so many behind?" Millicent asked, scanning ahead. "He just panic-cleave his own air force?"
"Godfrey raised those beasts." Marika murmured, voice tight. "He trained them alongside his men. For Godrick to slaughter them so carelessly…"
There was a hint of genuine disgust there that had nothing to do with grafting for once.
They rounded a corner and got their answer.
Further down the hall, near a set of half-open doors that led to one of Stormveil's side courtyards, a lone figure fought against two Banished Knights.
A woman, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark skin and braided hair pulled back into a practical knot. She wore armor marked with a lion crest, cloak singed at the edges, and wielded a large battleaxe with practiced ferocity.
Warhawk corpses lay around her in a loose circle.
She was already moving before they could fully take in the scene.
One of the Banished Knights lunged, spear stabbing toward her chest. She pivoted sideways, catching the shaft under one arm and yanking, hauling the knight toward her. Her axe swung in from the other side, slamming into the gap of his helmet with enough force to send him crumpling bonelessly to the floor.
The other knight took advantage of the moment, blade lancing toward her exposed flank.
"I've got it!" John shouted, sprinting ahead.
He closed the distance in a burst, the Commander's Standard coming up. The knight barely had time to register the movement before the halberd's butt-end smashed into his wrist, knocking the sword aside. John twisted, following through with a sharp kick to the man's knee.
Bone cracked; the knight went down with a strangled cry.
Solaire was there a second later, sword dropping straight through the exposed visor.
The battlefield fell briefly quiet.
The woman, Nepheli Loux as John recalled, straightened, chest heaving slightly. Her gaze flicked over the group, sharp and assessing.
"You're a sight for sore eyes." She said, voice low and steady. "You lot must be the ones Godrick was frothing about." She jerked her chin back toward the deeper corridors. "He tore past not long ago with dozens of his men, cursing about some upstart Tarnished and their 'mongrel allies.'"
Millicent snorted. "That's us."
John inclined his head, trying not to stare too obviously. Seeing her in full color and motion instead of as a NPC model did things to his brain.
"Johnathan." He said simply. "And yeah. We're the problem he's running from."
"Nepheli Loux…" She replied, chestplate rising and falling as she caught her breath. "Warrior, and… currently very invested in seeing that bastard fall."
Melina dipped her chin in a short nod. "We are aligned in purpose, then."
Rogier bowed slightly. "Sorcerer Rogier. A pleasure, under the circumstances."
Solaire stepped forward, helm tilting in what was definitely meant to be a charming angle. "Solaire of Astora, warrior of sunlight!" he declared. "It is always heartening to meet another stalwart spirit."
Before anyone could say more, the castle answered.
Laughter rolled down the halls.
It wasn't nice laughter. It was high and cracked and full of glee that had nothing to do with joy. It echoed off stone, mingling with a new sound: a deep, roaring rush, like a furnace being stoked past safe limits.
Then Godrick's voice, distant but unmistakable, bellowed.
"FOREFATHERS ONE AND ALL! BEAR WITNESS!!"
Flames followed.
A gout of dragonfire licked the sky above the keep's inner yard, visible through a distant window as a brief, bright flash of orange-red.
John's lips curved.
He knew that cutscene.
"Alright…" He muttered, rolling his shoulders as adrenaline surged anew. "He's grafting the dragon. Everyone get ready."
Millicent glanced at Nepheli, eyebrows lifting.
"You in?" She asked, casual despite the stakes. "We're about to jump a screaming meatball with a dragon head. Could use another axe."
Nepheli's answering smile was fierce.
"I would be honored. I owe him. And I owe my lineage more than watching another Loux fall to a pathetic wretch like him."
Solaire laughed, elated.
He lifted his sword and slapped it against his shield in a steady rhythm, a makeshift war drum that echoed down the corridor.
"Let us go to battle, friends!" He cried out cheerfully, voice ringing with bright fervor.
"May the Sun shine upon the Lord of Cinder!"
John snorted despite himself.
'Wrong franchise, but I'll allow it. Just this once.'
--------------------
Author's Note:
GIMMIE YOUR POWER STONES!!!
Maaaan~ What a day. The next chapter is finally gonna be the first Great Rune and Demigod death.
Been a long path, huh? Only took more than a year to get here. And honestly, I thought it'd take a year less than it did but here we are lol
Also, for the record! I really didn't think that many of you on QQ would catch the Fate reference in the last chapter XD it's kinda making me wanna write a Fate fic, but I'll save that discussion for later lol
It's also making me nervous/excited for the next chapter, I kinda made it in a really TYPE MOON heavy part of my life LOL. I had just finished Witch on the Holy Night and the Fate/Stay Night visual novels! Not to mention the countless other TYPE MOON properties I consumed at the time
…
Next Chapter Title: The Speedrunner's Guide to Killing a Demigod.
…
If you want access to all my stockpiled chapters, up to 16 chapters ahead (140k words ahead),you can go do so on my Patreon!
Join at patreon.com/Helios539