Bloodborne - 167 Execution

The highest structure in Cainhurst castle hosted its most well-kept secret. An old, decaying body sat on a chair, a crown in his head. “Is this Cainhurst’s throne room?” asked Surgit. The two hunters didn’t dare go through the door that led to the open area. They still had some matters to discuss. The result of the bet they had made had just become very ambiguous. Surgit turned to look at the old man. “I can’t believe they had made this open place their throne room. I refuse to believe it.”

Francis looked ahead at the body that sat on the chair, crown in head. “The chair he sits on fits the general description of a throne,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “I don’t know about you, but something smells fishy.” Francis was also bewildered at the sight in front of him. “When didn’t things smell fishy in this godforsaken place,” Surgit commented. He still wondered if coming to Yharnam was a good decision after all.

They had reached the roof moments ago. Surgit was first to arrive, Francis running as fast as he could. The loss left a bitter taste in his mouth. However, everything changed the moment they laid eyes on the room ahead of them. The place wasn’t a roof per se. It had its own pathway that led towards a door.

From the place they had climbed over, both men could see that the door that initially led to this place had become a brick wall. People really didn’t want anybody to reach this area. They stood on the pathway, observing the place. In front of them were stairs that led to an archway.

If one went through the entryway, they’d find themselves in an open area, surrounded by conical shaped small towers. Icicles formed at the extremities of each cone, pointing downwards. “I don’t see a queen either,” Surgit observed. Francis had been mulling over this before Surgit noticed it. In his dreams the queen sat in a throne room, fully covered and beautifully ornamented.

“The only mention of a king was when we read those notes in that study,” Francis voiced his thoughts, mumbling under his breath. “If the queen still lives, why shouldn’t the king?” Surgit asked. They came to this place without any real expectations. They thought they’d find a secret passageway to the throne room. At least Francis thought so. Surgit was too busy winning his race to think too much of the matter.

“There’s only one way to find out I guess.” Francis finally found the resolve to cross the archway and approach the decaying corpse. Surgit followed the old man. The cold wind blasted in their faces, blowing their hair away.

“Don’t you find it strange…” Surgit started. “…that we don’t feel cold despite the freezing environment?”

“I just give credit to the blood in our system. I don’t try to think too much of it.” The old man was absorbed in thought. He mechanically answered Surgit. The queen filled his thoughts. ‘Why can’t I find the throne room? I’ve risked too much to reach this place. I’ve even brought this little shit with me, uncovering my secret. Am I even going to find her alive? Perhaps those dreams I had were just hallucinations…’

Francis didn’t notice the blizzard that suddenly sprung up. Surgit stopped in his tracks, observing the scene in front of him. The snowstorm suddenly enveloped the corpse. Surgit squinted to see through the thick snow that surrounded the crown wearing body. He could see old, withered hands crackling then moving. It felt like an old mummy had come back to life.

The mummy held a long staff on its right hand. A blade was crudely inserted at the tip of the long staff, making the whole thing look like a makeshift scythe. Long white hair, carried by the wind of the snowstorm, flowed in the air as the mummy’s body finally moved. The man in front of the two hunters looked like an old wizard. His long robes, wide sleeves and long white beard made him look like the king of wizards.

To make matters worse, the man towered over the two hunters. He was twice as tall as Surgit. He’d have to incline his head at a ninety degree angle to see the wizard if he stood close to him. Bones cracked and the withered body moved. Only flesh, glued to bones, remained. The tall man slowly walked towards the two stunned hunters.

An intense headache made the hunters wince in pain. They had just gained insight. Surgit’s heart raced, he now knew who he had to deal with. He looked at Francis. The old man had an ugly grimace on his face. His brows furrowed, his lips tightened and his nose found its way up towards the spot between his eyebrows.

“Martyr Logarius,” their insight had kicked in and given them the man’s name. The sickle that attached itself to the tip of the staff glowed red. Lorgarius’ eyes glowed red as he closed the distance that separated him from Francis. There was no need to talk about anything, the two knew that they had to fight.

Francis and Surgit had been through many difficult fights in Yharnam. Nothing could prepare them for Logarius’ strength though. Terror was about to be redefined for both of them. Francis had his first contact with Arcane when he discovered the executioner’s gloves. It was this item that saved him against the three gargoyles earlier.

Surgit’s only knowledge of Arcane came from the Tonitrus and Darkbeast Paarl. Logarius drew an arc in the air, using his glowing long sickle. Red skulls immediately rushed from the weapon towards the two hunters. The skulls were different from what Francis could produce using his executioner’s gloves. They formed a large sphere, orbiting each other as they traveled forward.

Francis immediately sensed danger and quickly backed away. Surgit dashed to the side, trying to use the small conical towers as shelter. The skulls had targeted Francis and chased after him. Surgit found another surprise awaiting him as he reached the mini tower.

An old dried up face peeked from around the tower, showing its crooked blackened teeth at Surgit. He barely had enough time to bring the sword in front of him, reducing the damage from the kick that broke two of his ribs.

Francis was backing away, the skulls still chasing after him, when a body slammed against him. The skulls reached the two hunters at that moment then exploded. Surgit was propelled into the air, his body filled with burns and holes. Francis almost fell from the roof. The impact of the explosion had dealt considerable damage to both hunters.

The fight had just started and they were at a considerable disadvantage. Surgit could barely move his burnt fingers, fumbling in his vials’ belt. Francis recollected himself, shot a vial in his bloodstream then ran at Logarius. He wasn’t willing to lose without even landing one hit.

Fortunately for Surgit, Logarius was distracted by the old man’s speed. Francis quickly reached the martyr. His katana slashed the air as the withered mummy jumped backwards. Another explosion occurred. Francis’s hair was burnt to a crisp, his clothes but tatters. He clenched his teeth then dashed forward.

Surgit stood after recovering. He immediately reached for the hammer on his back then flung it at Logarius. He hoped to slow him down to allow Francis to land his first attack. The martyr suddenly jumped high, avoiding the hammer. Francis stood there, astonished at the tall wizard’s speed.

Francis was fast, faster than Surgit by a long shot. But he couldn’t avoid what he didn’t see in advance. The vanishing of Logarius revealed a large marble slab, heading his way. The old man could only watch, helpless as the hammer hit his chest. The impact propelled him backwards, blood seeping from his orifices.

Surgit watched, dumbfounded, as his attempt to help was turned against them. Francis was badly injured. The Kirkhammer dealt significant blunt damage. The old man’s legs shook as he struggled to stand up. He searched his pocket for a blood vial. He wouldn’t give up, no matter the cost. He’d finally reached this place after facing so many gruesome monstrosities. He wasn’t willing to give up just yet.

“Klang!” Francis’ body was pierced through with the martyr’s red glowing sickle. Logarius held his long staff high, Francis’ limp body still attached to the mysterious blade. He flung the body towards Surgit.

Surgit was in deep shock. Francis had been disposed of quickly. Logarius didn’t even break a sweat –if he could do so that is- as he disposed of the first intruder that dared disturb his long slumber. Surgit’s body moved, albeit with great effort, to avoid Francis’ body. Logarius had vanished into thin air again.

The martyr slammed his weapon down at Surgit, going for the same execution he performed on Francis. Surgit dodged in the nick of time, swung his sword and slashed a red glowing skull. The explosion that ensued broke the remainder of Surgit’s fighting spirit. The withering mummy slowly walked towards the injured hunter, sickle in hand.

Surgit quickly stood up, unwilling to give up. ‘I only need to put some distance between me and this monster. I just need time to think this through.’

A fraction of a second, to most people it flashes by without being noticed. At that moment, the fraction of a second lasted longer than a lifetime for Surgit. As he backed away, looking at the freakishly tall walking wizard-like cadaver, Surgit felt his feet touch nothingness. His mind raced. He couldn’t look down. He had to keep his eyes on the approaching doom. But his feet somehow managed to find an empty spot.

It felt like he walking on air. A fraction of a second went by like eternity. Surgit’s mind processed the information, but gravity was faster than his thought processing. He saw Logarius’ feet get eclipsed by roof tiles. He saw the rooftop on which a beautiful throne was erected vanish, replaced by a gray brick wall.

Surgit plummeted down to his death. In his despair to get away from the martyr, he didn’t notice that he’d reached the edge of the roof. He fell down, cursing loudly.