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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and all rights for characters, plots and settings belong to G.R.R. Martin and FromSoftware. I have no ownership.
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The demigods are each and all the direct offspring of Queen Marika. Godrick the Grafted was but a distant relation... The runt of the litter, his divine blood sorely diluted".
Enia
"Hmph, yes, now allow me to furnish you with a little advice. I would take great care to avoid Godrick's Tarnished hunts, were I in your shoes. That depraved lot are obsessed with sacrificing Tarnished like you for the sake of "grafting. Honestly, Godrick's nothing more than a jumped up country bumpkin. Lord? Don't make me laugh.
First, he hid himself amongst the womenfolk to flee the capital, then hid from Radahn in that castle… Then he insulted Malenia, lost to her in battle, only to lick her boots rather than die like a man. Has he no shame, the big girl's blouse? And to think, he's the blood of Godfrey! Last of the golden lineage, though you almost wouldn't know it to look at him. I almost feel sorry for the chap the more I think of it."
Kenneth Haight
"Challenge Godrick the Grafted, lord of Stormveil, to acquire a Great Rune. Decrepit, he may be, but a demigod he remains. And of course, an inheritor of a Great Rune. Worse yet, I hear old Godrick's acquired a ferocious new toy to graft... So. Prepare for the worst."
White Mask Varre
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Limgrave, Stormveil Castle
Shardbearer
He immediately hid behind the wall of a building, and a dozen ballista rounds sliced through the air where he had been standing moments before. He leaned out from behind his cover, keeping one eye on the swarm of Godrick's soldiers and knights filling the courtyard before him.
It was no wonder the grounds around the castle were deserted, since that damned demigod had packed an entire army into the castle. Every square, courtyard, every inch of the walls, every towers—literally everything—was filled with thousands of soldiers.
And the closer he got to the Grafted, the more and more of them there were. There were also many more elites. He saw dozens of well-equipped knights.
Suddenly, he heard the scrape of metal on stone to his left. He looked up, and already more enemies were running up the walls he had just cleared. He felt like gritting his teeth.
He hadn't expected getting to Godrick to be so difficult. His easy victory over the Bolton forces made him forget that his Lands Between were different from his own world. Here, a common soldier was worth more than three Westerosi.
Not to mention the more elite units, such as the Godcrick Knights, who could easily defeat a 20-30-man force from the Seven Kingdoms. They were stronger, faster, more durable, and significantly better armed.
And Bernahl warned that there might be more than one Grafted Scion inside. He hated those bastards and couldn't help but feel disgusted at the sight of this amalgamation of limbs. His first opponent in these lands had left its mark on him.
Wasteless, he summoned the Academy Glintstone Staff and sent several Glintstone Arcs at the soldiers on the walls, which penetrated them like butter.
As his intelligence increased, the power of his spells increased, and thanks to his stronger Mind, the number of spells and incantations he could cast also increased.
Aerion jumped onto a 60-foot-high wall, bouncing off walls with his feet. Once he reached it, he used his most effective method to clear the battlements.
He began spamming Glintstone Arcs, constantly advancing, but never taking his eyes off what was happening on the ward below. There, his opponents began to direct not only ballistae at the walls, but also dozens of arrows and bolts fired at him.
He summoned the Manor Towershield he had found earlier to his right hand and strengthened it with the Scholar Shield spell. Then, crouching, he shielded himself from the onslaught of missiles.
Then he responded with a lightning spear, sending it straight into the middle of the crowd. The seven spears and lightning strike from the sky had a devastating effect, not only incinerating many opponents but, above all, instilling fear in them.
Seizing a moment of respite, he summoned the Grafted Blade Great Sword and plunged into the crowd below, first devastating the ballistae, then exploiting the sheer number of enemies, which made them more of a hindrance than a help, to finish them all off.
Finally, he plunged the entire courtyard into a sea of fire with Agheel's Flame Incantation. The carnage was so immense that at one point, he felt as if he were surrounded by a golden fog composed of fragments of Grace left behind by the bodies.
He only hoped Bernahl had somehow managed since they had separated. The knight intended to enter from the other side, through the route shown to them by Gostock, Godrick's miserable servant. Aerion, of course, chose a frontal assault, taking it as a challenge.
They were to meet Bernahl again before the battle with the demigod began, for the knight wanted to witness it at all costs. So, to give the other side more time, Aerion continued clearing the vast courtyards, rooftops, and left side of the battlements of enemies.
It was, on the one hand, a tedious process, but it also served a purpose beyond defeating enemies or acquiring runes. Just as a swordsman uses a whetstone to sharpen a sword, he utilized the castle's crew to polish his spells, incantations, and the various weapons in his arsenal.
It was one thing to use a spell under normal circumstances, but quite another to cast it while surrounded by enemies in the heat of intense combat. Each defeated opponent was another experience gained.
And he had a lot to catch up on, because, apart from the difference in strength, the demigods, with the possible exception of Godrick, were incredibly experienced. They had lived for hundreds or thousands of years—it was hard to tell—and had fought countless battles.
He never expected to find a friendly soul inside Stormveil Castle. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when he met Rogier, the sorcerer, at the altar of the chapel in the northern part.
However, despite his friendly demeanor, Aerion didn't lower his guard, unable to shake the thought of how this man had gotten through the throng of soldiers filling the castle.
The simplest explanation would be that he had been allowed in, at least on neutral terms with the lord of this place.
So, gripping the Night Rider Flail's hilt tightly, he held his weapon at the ready. The sorcerer nervously glanced at the heavy, deadly weapon that could crush him with a single blow.
"Ah, nice to meet you. Rogier's the name. A sorcerer, as you might have guessed," the man greeted him, to which Aerion, still wary, replied curtly.
"Aerion, Tarnished."
"The pleasure's mine. I'm looking for a little something here in the castle when I'm not hotfooting it from the troops, that is.
Aerion relaxed a bit at this, though still not being caught was quite a feat considering the number of soldiers in the castle.
"But enough about me. What are you doing here in Stormveil Castle? This place is bristling with Tarnished hunters, you know. They sacrifice our kind for grafting. Not exactly a place I'd stroll into without a purpose in mind..."
"Are you Tarnished too?" Aerion asked with a slightly raised eyebrow, genuinely surprised to meet another, so to speak, fellow human.
"Yes, though I admit it's hard to tell at first glance. Everyone thinks I'm Ray Lucaria's ward," Rogier replied with a weak smile. "Forgive me, but you didn't answer my earlier question. Are you also looking for something here?"
Aerion smiled wryly. "You could say so. I'm looking for Godrick's head," he replied, and the other gasped audibly.
"You can see it then, I take it? The guidance of grace. Well, enjoy it while you can. I've seen neither hide nor hair of this guidance for the longest time. Still, I won't forget how it felt when I first came here, to the Lands Between."
The man then nervously licked his lips and added, "So I understand all the confusion and carnage outside is your doing. I wouldn't dare face such a multitude of enemies, but I can help you a little in your mission. I'm privy to a few magical battle arts. Would you care to learn one? As a fellow Tarnished, once guided by grace, I'd love to help you out, if you please."
Aerion, surprised by the offer, looked at the sorcerer in a new light and then replied with his first genuine smile. "I won't refuse any knowledge. Show me what you have to offer."
Rozier pulled three containers filled with blue powder, each with a slightly different shade. from his robes and handed them to him. "Look."
Seeing them, Aerion didn't hesitate. "I'll take them. How much do you want for them?" He looked at him questioningly.
"For all three? 5,000 runes," the man replied after a moment's consideration.
Aerion held out his hand without hesitation, a cluster of runes flickering on it, and Rogier reached for them. Then, surprised, he looked at Aerion. "There are more than five thousand runes here."
He nodded. "Aye, 10,000 to be exact. I'll take it as thanks for your kindness, something extremely rare here.
After completing the transaction, the scrolls in his hand dissolved into golden particles, landing in his inventory. He then read their descriptions.
Ash of War: Glintstone Pebble
This Ash of War grants an armament the Magic affinity and the following skill:
"Glintstone Pebble: Skill that employs the glintstone sorcery of the same name. Follow up with a strong attack to chain this skill into a lunging thrust, performed while the armament is still imbued with glintstone."
Usable on swords as well as polearms capable of thrusting (colossal weapons excepted).
Ash of War: Carian Greatsword
This Ash of War grants an armament the Magic affinity and the following skill:
"Carian Greatsword: Carian royal prestige embodied in a skill. Transform blade into a magical greatsword and swing it down. Can be charged to increase its power."
Usable on swords (colossal weapons excepted).
Ash of War: Spinning Weapon
This Ash of War grants an armament the Magic affinity and the following skill:
"Spinning Weapon: Defensive skill employed by Carian princesses. Lifts armament into mid-air, then makes it spin violently. Those it touches will suffer successive attacks."
Usable on small and medium swords, axes, and hammers, as well as polearms and staves (great spears excepted).
"The battle art you've obtained is of the Glintstone family. They were conceived at the great Academy of Raya Lucaria, to the north of this castle. In the past, they obeyed laws which contravened the Golden Order, or so I'm told." Rogier said in an excited voice.
"Fascinating, isn't it? That the Golden Order was pliable enough to absorb practices that contradicted itself in the past. With the Order broken, twisted, and in need of repair, such adaptability is more important now than ever."
"They'll certainly come in handy," Aerion replied, nodding gratefully. "If not today, then in the future... In any case, I must bid you farewell, for a certain demigod awaits me, who's been wanting a beating for a while now. I hope we'll see each other again."
Rogier laughed lightly in response, then replied, "Farewell, then. After leaving Stormveil Castle, I'll probably return to Roundtable Hold; perhaps I'll see you there."
With those words, they parted ways, and Aerion set off towards the northernmost part of the castle, finally reaching the Site of Grace located in a secluded cell.
The first thing he did there was use the vast amount of runes he had accumulated to enhance his attributes. Then he summoned a Claymore from his inventory and rubbed it with a bit of Ash of War: Carian Greatsword. The blade glowed with blue light for a moment.
He surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction, then rose from the Site of Grace and sat against the wall, checking the rest of his equipment and waiting for Bernahl.
However, when the knight appeared over half an hour later, he was not alone. He was accompanied by a rather scantily clad, tall, well-muscled woman with caramel skin and black hair hidden under a strange hood.
"You are here at last, Bernahl," he greeted him, then his eyes settled on his companion. "And who is the lady accompanying you?"
"I am no lady," the woman replied calmly, but beneath it he detected a hint of anger, or perhaps it was simply irritation.
But then she bowed her head respectfully. "Bernahl said you were a great warrior who slew Fell Omen. I am Nepehli Loux... Tarnished and a warrior, like you. I'm here by decree of my father. How utterly repellent this is... This grafting of Godrick's ill befits a Lord. He's tainted the very winds."
"I am Aerion, but you probably already know that from Bernahl. It's good to see another one of us," he replied, giving her a slight nod.
"I heard you intend to challenge Godrick. I ask you to call upon me. The winds run cold with his deeds. I'm a certain father would permit me to aid in the fight," the woman said to him, and he glanced at the knight standing slightly to the side.
"You didn't tell her?" he asked.
The knight shook his head. "There was no opportunity."
Aerion then looked at Nepehli Loux and, in a slightly apologetic tone, replied, "Forgive me, but Godrick is mine and mine alone. I not only came here to obtain the Great Rune but also to test my strength against one of the demigods, even if he is the weakest of them all."
Stepping closer to her, he looked into her eyes. "As one warrior to another, I ask you not to interfere in this fight."
The woman looked at him silently for a moment, as if searching for something, then nodded and held out her hand. "Fine. I understand the need to prove myself. And since you aspire to the title of Elden Lord, it's even more justified."
Aerion grabbed her forearm, and she grabbed his in a warrior's grip, and they both smiled faintly.
"If it doesn't bother you, I'd like to watch this fight. It's a rare sight to see a demigod in combat, and a Tarnished fighting one who even managed to reach him, even less so," Nepheli said with respect, and he had no reason to refuse.
"I have no objection. It's even better to have another witness to the fight, to carry the news of my victory to the Lands Between," he replied. "In any case, I'm ready. I suggest you go upstairs. It's better to watch the fight from the top of the gate."
Bernahl nodded and then said, "Remember, kid. A sword wields no strength unless the hands that hold it have courage."
Aerion laughed lightly as he moved to leave the cell and said as he left, "Why so serious, old man? I'll be back."
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Limgrave, Stormveil Castle
Godrick the Grafted
With a gentle, almost tender gesture, he ran his fingers over the dragon's rough, scaleless hide. 'Beautiful,' he thought.
He felt the power he craved, latent within the dragon's dead body, just waiting to be claimed for himself. He didn't know how much time he'd spent admiring this magnificent creature.
He tried to remember what he'd done before. Oh yes. Upon hearing of the new Tarnished, guided by Grace, who was wreaking havoc in his kingdom and murdering numerous of his servants, he ordered all his soldiers gathered in the castle.
No, he wasn't afraid of this lowly Tarnished. He was Godrick the Golden, Demigod and Shardbearer. He feared nothing.
But deep down, he knew it was a lie. The disgusting, humiliating memories of his escape from Leyndell, his groveling before the cursed Malenia, and his plea for her to spare his life surged forth as if on cue from the depths of his mind.
He gritted his teeth in rage. He would show them all yet. They would yet grovel at his feet. He knew what they said about him. Runt of the litter. Lesser Shardbearer, false demigod. How he hated it.
And now some lesser being, a lowly tarnished one, had the audacity to roam his domains. When he possessed the dragon's strength, he would personally deal with this worm.
His soldiers, to his fury, had proven too weak. That was why, by then, he had ordered them to gather in the castle. If Tarnished had slaughtered them one by one, who would Godrick have sent to control this land?
He shook off these thoughts, and his gaze fell once more on the dragon's lifeless body.
Mighty Dragon, thou'rt a trueborn heir. Lend me thy strength, O kindred. Deliver me to greater heights," he whispered tenderly, feeling a renewed excitement and desire welling up within him.
Suddenly, the sound of a gate opening tore him from his concentration. Who dared? He had forbidden himself to be disturbed. Was it that worm, Gostock?
He spun furiously in that direction and, surprised, froze suddenly as a figure appeared in the open gate, clad in the armor of one of his knights, but it wasn't them. Short silver-gold hair, a young face. Eye. EYE.
He felt the power emanating from the eye, so familiar, yet so different at the same time. Stronger too... Great Rune. At his fingertips. It had to be that damned Tarnished. Pretender.
He rose, stretching completely, his grafted limbs unfurling around him. He grabbed his beloved axe, standing nearby.
"...Well. A lowly Tarnished, playing as a lord," he said, glancing at the man calmly approaching him.
"Godrick the Grafted, I presume," the other spoke, uttering the title he hated so much. He felt his fury rising at a terrifying rate.
"Honestly, you don't look like a demigod, more like a monster. Indeed, just as they say. Runt of the litter," the other added, and Godric suddenly saw everything red. His anger exploded.
He grabbed his axe and slammed it to the ground, shouting, "Lowly creature! I command thee, kneel! I am the lord of all that is golden!"
Tarnished, however, stood unfazed. A sword, a claymore, appeared in his right hand, and in his left, a Seal, belonging to the Dragon Communion, gleamed. He had been searching for one himself.
His gaze focused on the object for a moment, but before he knew it, both the Seal and the man holding it vanished, and Godrick felt something strike him in the face with tremendous force.
He realized his feet had left the ground, and his body had fallen backward, then landed heavily on his back. What's more, one or two of his grafted limbs had broken under his weight.
He immediately jumped to his feet and roared in disbelief. Where he had stood before, Tarnished now stood, smiling. Had he just kicked him in the face... IMPUDENT WORM?
Godrick gripped his axe tighter and then lunged at him with all his might. He nimbly dodged his blow, jumping back. The axe struck the ground, shattering under its force.
"AAARRGGGHHH! I'LL KILL YOU. I'LL SPLIT YOUR LIMBS!" he roared in fury and swung again, but his opponent dodged the attack.
Godrick peppered him with a flurry of blows, all of which he dodged. Fool. Was he trying to wear him down? Him? In possession of the Graet Rune?
He had to admit that this Tarnished was faster and stronger than the others, but it would be useless against his own strength. It would have been better if he had used the weak incantations he had learned immediately.
But then something happened that shocked him. As he struck, Tarnished, instead of dodging, brazenly and with remarkable fluidity parried the axe blade to the side, causing Godrick to lose his balance for a moment.
Suddenly, a blue light flashed before his eyes. Trying not to fall, he looked at his opponent, his eyes widening in fear as a great blue blade materialized in his opponent's hands, growing larger with each heartbeat.
A moment later, towering even over himself, Tarnished swung, the blade heading straight for him, about to split him in half. He recognized the famed Carian Greatsword from Ray Lucaria.
Desperately, he threw himself to the side, desperate to avoid being cleaved. When the blade fell, he was certain he had succeeded, but a moment later, a searing pain gripped him. He glanced at his right hand, which held the axe, but all he saw was a cleanly cut stump ending just below the elbow.
He grabbed his severed arm, roaring in pain, but fear quickly overcame the pain as he saw the tarnished claymore in his hand begin to glow with blue energy again.
He desperately lunged for the axe lying nearby, still clutched in his severed arm. He grabbed it in his left hand.
Thoughts raced through his mind. It was impossible. How could this lowly tarnished one have hurt him? How could it? HOW?
His gaze quickly fell on the dragon's carcass lying nearby, and he ran toward it, glancing back. But the tarnished nullified the Ash of War and simply stood there.
Godrick, wasting no time, fueled by anger and terror, hastily reached out with the stump of his severed arm, plunged it into the dragon's neck, and ripped its head off, grafting it to his hand.
"Ahh, truest of dragons! Lend me thy strength…Nnngh!" he cried. Then, feeling the strength surging through him, he lifted himself high, and a jet of fire erupted from the dragon's mouth.
"Forefathers, one and all… Bear witness!" his cry echoed. Suddenly, he felt his senses begin to scream, warning him of danger. And he heard what sounded like the chirping of a thousand birds.
He looked at Tarnished, standing about twenty meters away. A long golden lightning spear gleamed in his hand, and points of golden light flashed around him.
Godrick could only watch as his opponent threw the lightning spear at him, traversing the distance between them faster than he could blink.
He felt an impact in his chest, followed by a terrible pain, and his eyes were blinded by a golden glow. Then came several more blows.
He felt himself fall onto his back, his eyes widening with both pain and shock. Suddenly, another light, even brighter, blinded his eyes, and then he felt a terrible heat crashing down on him.
He didn't know when he'd fallen to the ground. He didn't understand what had happened to him. Had he just lost? Was he dying?
He felt his strength draining from him. He couldn't see anything. He saw only darkness.
How he longed once more to see beautiful Leyndell bathed in a golden glow, so similar to the light that had just slain him.
"...I am Lord of all that is Golden... And one day, we'll return together... To our home, bathed in rays of gold..." he rasped in a voice he didn't even recognize.
He thought he heard a voice say, "Well, I guess I'm Lord of all that is Golden now."
Then he took his last breath.
Thus fell Godrick, Demigod, and Shardbearer. Many more were to suffer the same fate.