Chapter Text
“Forward! No quarter, no mercy, for you shall receive none!”
The distant rallying cry rang out, but Knight Finlay scarcely heard it. Her ears were full of the shriek of metal on metal, her eyes full of Redmane Knights, snarling faces behind golden helms. All around her, she could catch glimpses of her brethren in their winged helms and tattered cloaks of white and crimson.
The Sellian field had once been beautiful. But no more. Now, every tree was blackened, every blade of grass trampled, every puddle clogged with blood. The sky itself burned with blood and fire, the Erdtree’s glory turned hellish. The marshy ground of the central lowlands greedily soaked up the curse of war, and Finlay knew that no matter the battle’s outcome, this place would never be rid of its traces.
A Redmane came at her with a cry. She blocked his blade with the small shield affixed to the haft of her spear. A small protection, but it was all she needed to throw him off balance. A swift backstep. A hiss of metal. And the Redmane soldier stared down in shock at the spear haft protruding from his midriff.
He was dead before he hit the ground. Exhaling a ragged breath, Finlay wrenched her weapon free and scanned the surrounding chaos for her next foe. There were so many. Knights in crimson, mighty lions with blades affixed to their forelegs, huge trolls wielding flaming swords bore down upon the Haligtree’s forces.
But these were nothing compared to the mountainous figure of General Radahn himself.
The demigod cleaved through his foes like a scythe through wheat from the back of his scrawny steed. His twin greatswords of black metal were taller than any two knights standing atop one another. Spears and great arrows protruded from his back like a pincushion below the flaming mane of red hair. They may as well have been pins for how little they slowed him. There was no stopping the Carian Firstborn. No mere soldier could match the strength granted by a shard of the Elden Ring itself.
A flash of metal caught Finlay’s eye. A tiny figure darted through the chaos, making straight for Radahn. Or at least, tiny from this distance, but who Finlay knew stood taller than any of her soldiers.
Malenia the Severed, Blade of Miquella.
Her scarlet hair matched that of her half-brother’s. Streaking through the riot of battle as though it were not there, slaying any who stood in her way with a single thrust of the blade gripped in a false arm, she ran with a courser’s keenness for the Starscourge himself.
Another wave of foes bore down on Finlay, and she could watch no further, but as she parried and thrust, she heard a roar like thunder rolling over the battlefield. Malenia had landed her first blow. It would not be her last. But for all her might, could she fell the mighty demigod?
The battle wore on. Foe after foe fell beneath Finlay’s spear, but for every knight she slew, another took his place. She saw more and more of her golden brethren lying motionless beside the forces of Radahn. Neither side was making progress. The distant town of Sellia seemed to watch the battle in snide contempt, the mages within having hid themselves long before the conflict began.
And yet, when Finlay again looked to Radahn’s massive shape, she saw a golden figure flitting about him like a troublesome moth. Malenia sought weak points in the great lion’s armor. The great black blades swung just too slowly to land a hit on her, missing by a hair’s breadth each time, but Finlay knew that even a glancing blow from such unmatched strength would be devastating.
A wordless bellow of frustration burst from Radahn’s throat. His eyes, yellow with Grace, lit with the violet fire of sorcery, and a shockwave rippled across the entire battlefield. Finlay stared, thunderstruck.
Were the very stones...floating?
Then she saw with a flash of horror a familiar shape, ensnared in the grip of gravitational sorcery like an insect in a spider’s web. Malenia hung suspended in the air, immobilized, her hair flaring like a candle’s flame.
Then Radahn thrust his blades into the ground, and all he had captured was sent forcefully earthward with a strength that could shatter rocks. No foe could withstand the gravity magic he had honed to the point of mastery.
Finlay could no longer see Malenia through the chaos. Did she live? Was the battle lost?
In her distraction, a soldier came upon her, and only his battle cry saved Finlay from a deadly blow. She leaped back, but could not raise her spear far enough. The oncoming blade came down on the haft and snapped the already splintered wood into two jagged pieces.
Finlay wasted no time on shock. She cast aside the useless halves and drew her auxiliary sword, parrying the next blow with a ring of steel, all concern turned toward instinct. Malenia needed her aid. But now she must survive.
Only when the soldier lay lifeless at her feet did she again turn to the unmissable shape of Radahn. Her strength was failing; she could feel her weapon becoming heavier in her hand by the moment. She resolved that if she died, she would die with honor, no effort left unspent to aid her mistress.
Reaching down into her reserves of strength, Finlay broke into as fast a run as she could manage in full armor and over uneven, corpse-littered earth, dodging spears and arrows protruding from the ground like spines from the back of some great beast. Grim reality met her as she realized just how few remained alive on both sides. The battle would be decided between the two generals, for better or worse.
And yet, ahead of her, a beacon under the burning sky, Malenia stood, seeming impossibly small before the giant of her half-brother. She should not go against such terror alone, all her armies laid waste. At least, if she should perish, she would perish bolstered by what meager strength a mere knight could offer a demigod.
Finlay had closed no more than half the distance when Malenia broke the standoff. Bracing her false arm, the scion of Radagon and Marika charged. Radahn swung once, and Finlay heard the sickening crunch of rending metal an instant before she saw Malenia’s false arm in pieces, falling into the mire.
But the Empyrean herself continued on. She caught hold of her sword in her left hand before it could fall, without a care for how the hiltless weapon cut her flesh. In a single movement, she sprang upon Radahn’s gauntlet still outstretched, raced up the length of his colossal arm as lightly as a hind, and leaped.
Finlay’s breath caught in her throat. She slowed despite herself. For an instant, Malenia hung in the air like a golden Valkyrie, her blade shining under the blood-soaked sky.
Then she came down upon Radahn’s bent back, sword first.
Time seemed to slow. The demigod himself did not so much as cry out at the blow, piercing the spot where chestplate met pauldron. Malenia’s blood flowed in rivulets down the blade, down into the wound she had inflicted.
For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, brother and sister were locked together, their faces mere feet apart. Amber eyes met rotted ones for the first time in many painful years. For one singular instant, Finlay wondered if either of them wished to turn back time, perhaps prevent all that had happened.
Then, from between Malenia’s bowed shoulders, the scarlet bloom flowered.
The petals unfurled almost slowly at first. Gently, softly, like a lotus drifting across a pristine pond, they folded Malenia’s figure in their fiery embrace. For when she had driven her blade into Radahn, she had used her own body as the hilt, driving the other end deep into the place where her false arm had met flesh.
The place where her true-blood brother had left a means to hold back her curse.
The petals grew. Each was large enough to swallow five men beneath its burning shadow. Like a bloom accelerated, they gathered, coiled, budded…
Blossomed.
Finlay felt the force like a tingling across her whole body. Like fire, like metal on her tongue, her entire vision was subsumed in terror like the sun at dawn, beauty like death itself. Like a tidal wave it swept over her, over the entire battlefield, light and flame passing over and through her, knocking her to the blood-soaked mire. The scarlet rot of Malenia was unleashed, and the earth was tilled with swords, watered with corpses, ready to receive it. To nourish it.
The last thing Finlay saw before darkness took her was that flower like flame ever blooming, ever spreading. Each petal a silken doom that grew and grew. How beautiful it was.
Finlay swam slowly up through a red haze. Bloody clouds drifted overhead. Was she dead? Had Rosus left her behind to wander forever, unliving, undying?
With an enormous effort, she rolled over, gasping at the pain that shot through her at every movement. Far off she could hear the moans of the wounded and dying. But in the immediate vicinity, all was eerily quiet.
Near her lay a figure in golden armor that matched her own. She crawled towards it. The winged helm was crushed, and she dared not consider what the head beneath looked like. Lifeless hands still gripped a scythe bearing the half-halo blade of Lord Miquella. Finlay pried loose the weapon and used it as a support to drag herself upright. Her head spun. She could scarcely see straight to put one foot in front of the other.
The battlefield was truly unrecognizable now. Every inch of earth was scoured bare or trampled to mud. Every tree was dessicated, those who had not had their trunks snapped in two now stood like skeletons, black branches rattling in a putrid wind. The marshy waters were crimson with blood and rot. The once-verdant field of Sellia now resembled a waking nightmare.
A glint of gold caught Finlay’s eye. There, cast half-sunk in the mire like a broken doll, Malenia lay still clutching her sword in her remaining hand. No trace of the scarlet bloom remained visible, but the sight would be branded into Finlay’s mind whenever she saw the Empyrean for as long as she lived.
Finlay started forward so swiftly that her legs could not keep up, and she almost fell before her feet remembered how to support her. Using the scythe as a support, she stumbled towards the golden demigod, all pain cast aside in a moment of terror and hope.
Falling in the mire beside the huddled form, Finlay lifted Malenia’s head clear of the water. Though only a few inches deep, a stray movement could risk drowning. The demigod’s crimson hair was soaked through, plastered across its owner’s face. Finlay felt a rush of relief as Malenia’s mud-spattered lips parted at the movement. She lived.
Across the desolation, a shifting of armor brought Finlay’s joy to a crashing halt. A mountainous figure was pushing his hands beneath him, a low, guttural groan rattling in his throat. Malenia yet lived, but so did Radahn.
Finlay stared in horror. The Starscourge pushed himself onto all fours, swaying like some rabid beast. Then she saw why he did not stand—both his gilded sabatons lay in the mire, separated from his body. Malenia the Severed had delivered that title unto her half-brother. Blood yet poured from these grievous wounds to stain deeper the crimson field.
Radahn’s hand lit with starfire. Burning violet-white, it cast a harsh glow upon his bloodied face. Finlay felt a flash of horror, wondering if he meant to hurl it at them, to finally obliterate his half-sister, and Finlay with her.
But instead, the demigod twisted around and clamped the fire to where blood poured from below his gauntlet.
A bellow of agony seemed to shake the earth. Finlay curled over Malenia’s motionless form, gasping, hoping the sky itself would not rain down and crush them like ants as Radahn repeated the flame on his other leg. The stench of charred flesh assaulted Finlay’s nostrils.
At last the thunderous cries receded into gasps. When Finlay again dared look up, the demigod’s head was bowed almost to the earth. But blood no longer flowed from where his feet had once been.
After a long, bracing moment, Radahn lifted his fiery head. Finlay tightened her grip upon Malenia’s limp form. Weakened though he was, she knew she could not defeat him.
The demigod lurched a pace on all fours. Hands that could have crushed men in their grasp reached out...
...to lift a tiny, withered shape from the mud as gently as a newborn bird. Finlay saw that Radahn held his beloved steed, the one for whose sake the proud demigod had learned the gravitational arts. The one from whom he would not be parted.
The red-maned giant looked up then and saw Finlay, as well as the one cradled in the knight’s arms. His bloodstained teeth bared. Amber eyes seemed to melt holes straight through Finlay’s armor. He wanted to finish the job, Finlay knew as sure as she knew her own heartbeat. Every fiber of his being longed to slay his half-sister and claim her Great Rune.
But a tiny sound drew the Starscourge’s attention. A pathetic whinny rose from the wet bundle clutched in his arms, as thin and wavering as spider silk. Finlay tensed as amber eyes dropped from her, rose, then dropped again. Indecisive. Every instinct straining with bloodlust. But warring against it, with equal strength, was devotion.
Radahn seized hold on the hilt of one of his great swords, using it as a support to pull himself upright. Finlay could not imagine the pain wrought by standing on the freshly-severed stumps of his legs. But the Starscourge was mightier than tongue could tell. He stood, his scrawny steed cradled in one arm, and gave one last look at his hated enemy.
It was then that Finlay saw the rot in his eyes.
The demigod turned away. He limped from the site of ruin, slowly, every step a tremendous effort. Finlay let out the breath she had not realized she was holding. The battle was over, though no lord had emerged.
“Soldier?”
The low, husky voice brought the knight’s attention crashing back to the one cradled in her arms. Malenia tried to lift her hand, but could not unwrap her fingers from the blade clutched in her bloodied grasp. “Soldier...what has happened?”
Finlay swallowed. She had never been addressed by Malenia herself. A sudden crushing weight of unworthiness bore down on her. She wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t meant for her. She was supposed to be among the ranks, a faceless weapon, with the glory going to the commanders, to Malenia herself.
“You…” Finlay’s voice trembled, but she steadied it. “You bloomed, my lady.”
Malenia stirred, trying to sit up, but could not manage the effort. “Mine arm...I must have mine arm. I am not defeated.”
“Nay, my lady,” Finlay agreed quickly, startled by this apparent bloodlust just as strong as Radahn’s. “You are not defeated. But if you continue the fight as you are, you will be. We must withdraw. Your forces…”
The knight raised her head and looked around. The field of battle was almost bereft of any living soul. Far off, a golden figure could be spotted here and there limping among the dead, but other than these lonely wanderers, only circling crows remained alive.
“There is no victory here, my lady,” Finlay admitted, bowing her head in shame. “But neither is there defeat. Radahn himself had withdrawn. ‘Twould be wise to do the same.”
Malenia’s face remained perfectly impassive. For a beat, she was silent, and Finlay wondered if she would continue the fight regardless.
Then she commanded, “Bring me mine arm.”
Finlay obeyed. After helping Malenia to sit up and ensuring she would not topple over, the knight hurried into the blasted field left by the blooming, scouring for any glint of metal. Her entire body tingled like pinpricks the deeper she drew into that blasted site. But she pressed on.
By good fortune, the arm was not shattered into many pieces. The joints had come away cleanly, with only a few dents that would require hammering out. Finlay gathered up the scattered segments and returned to Malenia, laying them out for her to inspect.
“Is this every piece, my lady?” Finlay asked as the scarlet demigod ran her fingers over the burnished metal. Malenia’s face was almost eerie in its composure, rotted lids shut tightly over sightless eyes behind the visor of her helm.
At last she said, “Didst thou see a small piece, as of a needle of unalloyed gold?”
Finlay’s heart sank. “I saw no such object, my lady. I fear something so small is lost in the swamp. Shall I search for it nonetheless?”
Malenia shook her head. “Nay. I have no further need of it.”
She swayed. Finlay caught her before she could crumple into the mire, the tatters of her ruined raiment catching on the knight’s armor plating. Her head lolled, blood oozing afresh from her wounds.
“Soldier,” she said, her low voice scarcely above a whisper, “what is thy name?”
“Finlay, my lady.”
Malenia gave a small nod, but even this seemed a tremendous effort. “Knight Finlay, the scarlet slumber calls me. I know not if I shall awaken, but if this be mine final command to thee, let it be this: bear me back to the Haligtree. Bear me back to my beloved brother.”
Finlay could muster no response for a moment. The crushing weight of responsibility drove every ounce of air from her lungs. Take Malenia back to the Haligtree? Alone? How could a single knight possibly to cover such a distance, succeed against the horrors which surely lurked along the way?
But there was no one else left. No one else to whom she could look to for leadership. She was a knight of the Haligtree, oathbound, trained in the ways of war. She must rise to the task. She would deliver her mistress unto Lord Miquella once again, or perish knowing every drop of her blood had been spent in the attempt.
“Yes, my lady,” Finlay said, pressing a fist to her heart in salute and hoping her voice did not sound as uncertain as she felt. “As long as there is breath in my lungs and blood in my veins, I will deliver you home. Let Destined Death claim me ‘ere I fail you. This, I swear.”
