Sister Friede thrust her hand out wide. A crescent of murky flame rippled in its wake, hardening into her scythe of starlight edged in black. Her blade flashed toward Noraan with impossible speed, diving beneath his warding hand, ripping a gash from hip to shoulder; flinging him onto his back. The tremendous impact cracked stone and shattered bone, paralyzing him with agony. Warmth trickled along his heaving chest as warm and dark, his life spurted forth.
Steam hissed from his jaws as Noraan heaved himself over, balancing precariously on hands and knees, fingers digging into the crumbling earth, blood gushing from his torn abdomen and rolling like beads of dark mercury over his lips. Shivering violently, he crawled perhaps a half pace before Friede's foot crashed against his ribs, grinding bone to dust and filling him with jagged spears of white hot pain. The blow spun him into the air, slamming his fractured spine against the unforgiving stone, sundering it in two. Half his spine erupted from his chest like a fingerless hand, the other simply quivered as if mourning its lost twin.
Noraan could do no more than watch as she advanced, casting her scythe aside, its glimmering edge bright with malice as it lay upon the stark grey dust. Black fire writhed between her fingers, slithering between her knuckles, pooling in her palms.
There was about her a sorrowful reverence as she knelt beside him, cupping his chin in her left hand, as her right drew back, a serpent ready and eager to strike. Her words were not mere bluster. Noraan realized. The other Ashen laughed off her claim, her vow to extinguish them forevermore. I know not how my world differs from theirs, only that here, she speaks the truth. Friede's hand crashed against his breast, his armour fracturing like a pane of glass, cascading away in glittering streams and laying bare the faint light of his Darksign. Fear blazed through him, a flare of frost pure and keen. She would end his Undeath, leave him without answers, without the ability to regain the memories rebirth had stripped away. He would never redeem himself.
My life was worthless. He realized. Every hour was spent in vain. Her index finger sliced a dark rent through the Flame's brand, and almost at once he began to wither around it, his flesh turning to ash that caved beneath even her light, surprisingly gentle touch. Iridescent fire seethed from the top of her hand, its pale glint spreading across her skin, carving the mark she stole from him.
You gave me one day of purpose, Or'do. One moment in my long, futile life that I did not regret. He strained, but his limbs would not answer his call. I praised the Sun, but I should have praised you. Darkness stole his sight, cold emptiness taking his body. You were after all, the Light that guided me when even hope had fled. He slumped against the earth, his neck unable to support him. The spire of coiled bone that was once his spine sloughed away, turning to grains of ash that thickened his blood into a foul, revolting mire. You had about you a great darkness, so much like mine. I wish I could have burned away your hopelessness as you burned away mine. The tear he shed as Death descended upon him, was not the first since his Undeath, but it was the only he could remember weeping for another.
Light, heat, anger blazed through the chamber. Friede jerked upright, staring at something above and beyond the prone Noraan. A gash, a wound that wept tears of molten light, had been torn in the air, and from it a familiar figure lunged. Or'do's steps melted the stones, his breath filled the air with glowing mist, veiling his features yet failing by far to hide the rage glowing in his eyes. His hands clenched at his sides, fire dripping between and splattering upon the floor.
In one step he had crossed the chamber, seizing Friede's wrist, the sheer force of his grasp cleaving through flesh and bone, dropping her hand to the ground. He twisted closer, driving his elbow against her jaw, snapping her head back with the clack of clashing teeth. One foot tangled with her legs, tripping her as she tried to retreat, one hand reaching for the discarded scythe.
"Noraan!" Or'do's bicep glowed, veins of magma shining along his swollen musculature, igniting with pale light the bones below. He surged forward, driving his fist into her stomach with a thunderous retort, the earth itself quaking in fear, the ceiling bleeding rivers of silt. Friede folded atop his arm, the breath driven from her lungs. Or'do flung her aside like a limp rag, throwing her to the chamber's far side where she slumped against the wall, her blood painting an elaborate fresco.
He was upon her again before she had time to draw breath, much less defend herself; his hand closing around her face, fingers burning through her skin, tendrils of steam wriggling forth. She slashed his arm with her remaining hand, stiffened fingers tearing through his flesh layer by layer until they grated against bone. Or'do reeled, and in that moment she lunged, palm smashing against his Lothric armour, shattering it like glass, questing fingers boring into the Darksign beneath. At once, Or'do was moving again, ducking beneath her outstretched arm and driving his shoulder into her, lifting the trembling woman off her feet and flinging her once more into the now badly damaged wall. He waited not a breath before surging in, fingers of unyielding iron passing through the center of her chest, spearing her and the wall beyond. She slumped, then vanished in a radiant flare.
His strength spent, Or'do fell to his knees, clutching his head in both hands. Sorrow swelled in his chest, despair tearing at him with ragged claws. "Forgive me." He whispered, knowing that Noraan was far beyond hearing. "Please," his voice cracked, riven with anguish. "Forgive me."
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