Bang!
The onslaught of spears struck true, little to Claude's surprise. A shriek erupted from the site, followed by a cloudburst of dust and blood, billowing into the air and blotting the battlefield from view.
He had already discerned the truth behind William's movement. He depended on direct line-of-sight to the shadows he leapt between.
Still, Claude narrowed his eyes. He did not, even for a second, believe such a foe would fall so easily.
And, unfortunately, he was right.
As the dust settled, the horrific scene unveiled itself.
William, or what remained of him, stood tall. His body was riddled with spear wounds, dozens of them. Shafts had torn through his chest, perforated his legs, and even gouged through parts of his face.
One had pierced through his left cheek and exited behind his ear; another jutted from his thigh. A third had embedded itself near his heart, though the organ itself no longer seemed to beat. It should have been impossible for him to remain standing, let alone smirking.
And yet, no crimson spilt from the myriad of wounds.
Instead, a thick, dark mist oozed out—inky and cold, drifting into the air like a poison. It coiled around William like smoke.
"Ahaha—HAHAHAHA! Oh, oh, this is it! Power!" William's voice cracked with manic delight, his fists clenched as he trembled with glee. "So much power! Hah—HAAAH!"
"See this, boy? Your attacks, no matter how great, no matter how strong, cannot touch me!" His wounds began to stitch themselves shut, slowly at first, then rapidly as the mist thickened around him, wrapping him in an unnatural cocoon of regeneration.
"But still... this farce must come to an end."
He muttered the words through gritted teeth, one hand clutching at his disfigured face. His eyes flicked from place to place, scanning the strewn corpses of cultists before locking onto Claude.
Before Claude could react, William's body was engulfed in a writhing shroud of miasma, like a cocoon spun from shadow and sorrow. And then—just as swiftly—it was over.
But William was gone.
In his place stood something else.
Its form was a nightmare made flesh. It constantly shifted: at one moment coiling into serpentine tendrils, the next sprouting insectoid limbs bristling with barbs whilst plates of bone-like armour jutted from its spine.
It held no fixed shape—only a terrifying certainty that it did not belong in the mortal realm.
"A new Hollowed One...?" The creature hissed, its tongue slithering in a language no man should know, yet Claude understood it with chilling clarity. "He would be pleased by the progress in this world... unlike the last one."
Then its gaze locked on Claude.
"You must be the cause of my summoning. Very well. Let me dispose of you... And then, perhaps, our plans can finally proceed."
The air cracked.
With a pulse like a heartbeat, the creature exploded into a cloud of pitch-black smoke, and from that void surged forth chains, thick and jagged, like they were forged from the darkest obsidian.
Claude's pupils shrank.
His boots dug into the thin ice beneath him, and then he bolted, skating across the shimmering frozen field.
Crash!
A tremor rippled beneath his feet. He glanced back mid-sprint and felt his stomach twist.
The place where the chains had struck was annihilated. What should've been a mere impact crater was instead a monstrous chasm, easily fifteen meters wide and just as deep, with shattered cobblestone and fractured ice flung in all directions.
And that... was a casual attack.
Still, the chains didn't relent. They chased him like predators, slamming into the ground mere feet from his heels, sending up eruptions of crystal shards and black steam.
One struck the ice directly beside him, shattering it, sending a sheet of jagged glass flying skyward like shrapnel.
Despite this, another chain struck him. And, unlike the prior one, this one was not going to miss.
Crackle!
A bolt of lightning shot out before Claude's extended palm.
The force propelled Claude sideways, allowing him to scrape past the chain, which embedded itself in the ground, shattering the ice in its path.
Squinting his eyes, he made a sharp turn, twisting back and rushing headlong towards his foe.
"What a fool." The monster snorted, its disdain was all too clear.
It did not relent in its attack, chain after chain snaked towards Claude.
Suddenly—
Claude turned around, sparks of lightning bursting to life before him that soon arced towards the oncoming attack.
However, his foe soon noticed something amiss.
"What is he doing? Has he given up...?" It's scratchy voice sounded.
Its motions were slow at first, however, when it saw where its attack was heading it began to rush and scream.
"No! Hold your place, mortal! Do not—!" The scream arrested itself as the monster bore witness to the aftermath of Claude's attack.
The electrical arcs were not strong enough to mitigate the chains, immediately fizzling out upon collision.
However, that was not Claude's aim.
Clank!
The chains of smoke whilst prevailing in the confrontation were not unaffected. Deflected by Claude's spell, their path was deformed, and they soon surged towards something else.
Something other than Claude.
Claude smirked as he saw this, immediately rushing away on the ice, gaining distance from the now raging monster.
"Dammit! Dammit! How could this be!" The monster writhed and twisted, rage and agony swarming its body and mind alike.
It could only watch helplessly as its own attack smashed through the crimson pillar at the heart of the ritual circle.
Clink!
Like the crisp toast of a pair of glass cups, the crimson beacon died.
Wretched screams echoed in the air, from the thing that was formerly William, from the Bloodborne and ghosts rampaging in the vicinity and... from something in the tear above.
The monster, once avid in its pursuit of Claude, stilled. For the first time, a truly human emotion could be felt from its amorphous form.
Sorrow.
"Have we failed again... Is it truly impossible for Him?" The monster mumbled, its shadowy form softly undulating. "No. Even if this is a failure, that vermin will pay the price. After all, we can try again and again until we succeed now that we have a new Hollowed One..."
Immediately setting about accomplishing its new task, the monster glanced to Claude's now retreating figure.
It would not allow his foe to escape.
***
For Claude, nothing has changed. Whilst the tear in the sky slowly mended, the crimson light bathing the world slowly retreated. He was still fighting for his life. Escaping the onslaught of chains.
Now, the chains burning with black flames rushed towards him like a tide, attempting to drown his lonely figure.
Clank!
The piercing sound of collision rang out as Claude cast a massive lance of ice at the chains. Nevertheless, while it stopped one chain, more took its place.
As for the spell?
It had already died. Its icy form melting under the searing black flames.
"Damn!" Claude grit his teeth, swooping down as a ducked a swinging chain.
Crash!
The chain smashed into a nearby building, its impact demolishing it as its black flames licked the stone and brick, melting them like candle wax.
Still, as Claude steadied himself, he didn't falter.
Every breath burned. His muscles screamed, the toll of maintaining his Mental Energy mounting with every heartbeat. But with each dodge, every perfectly timed sidestep and glide, his resolve hardened.
'It should be happening any second now…' Claude grit his teeth, his mind racing even as his body danced between death.
Then—
Clank!
The chains froze mid-air.
And dropped. Their bodies still. Their flames snuffed out.
Like puppets with their strings cut, they fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, clattering against the cracked ice.
Shhhh...
Smoke curled upward from the links as they slowly dissolved into nothingness.
Claude skidded to a halt, breath ragged, eyes locked on the source. Turning back toward the square, he cast the Air Telescope spell with a swift flick of his hand.
Through the magical lens, he watched as the mist once more congealed.
It choked, wheezed, and coughed—until it collapsed inward, folding back into the broken form of William.
Claude dispelled the spell, exhaling through his nose with a sharp scoff.
He sprinted back over the ice, expression cold and calculating, eyes fixed on the battered husk before him.
Kshhhhk!
Claude skidded to a halt, boots scraping across the stone floor. The sudden noise drew the attention of the hunched figure before him.
"Heuk!" William coughed violently, dark ichor splattering from his lips. He gave a crooked grin. "Poison? Really? Is that the best you've got?"
But Claude remained unmoved as he dispelled the spell Breath of Plague.
'So it still works on entities touched by the Subspace,' he noted silently. 'Or perhaps it is due to William still retaining his human form...?'
He had cast the spell when William transformed, back when he realised brute force wouldn't win this fight. Not against that.
Claude stepped forward, voice calm and resolute."Unfortunately for you..." He shook his head slowly. "This is the end."
Above him, a great spear of ice condensed, whirling rapidly as it angled toward William.
"Heuk... Heugh..." William staggered, collapsing to his knees. His bloodied eyes rose to the glinting tip of the spear—and yet, there was no fear. No desperation. Only that same unsettling calm.
Claude frowned. Something felt... off. A tremor of doubt held his hand mid-command.
Why was William still so calm?
He had sensed it from the start, the strange undercurrent to this confrontation, a shadow behind William's actions.
'Whatever it is,' Claude told himself, 'I can't let it cloud my judgment—'
Then it hit him.
A shiver slithered down his spine. His pupils shrank.
Memories. Not new ones, missing ones.
In all the fighting and scheming, in all the fury, Claude had forgotten. Forgotten what he couldn't remember.
Memories that had begun to stirr again the moment he had laid his eyes open the inhuman visage of the figure called Hugh.
"Hugh, you bast—Heuk!" William's voice cracked as he hacked up more black fluid, yet he smiled with manic delight. "Still waiting, are you?"
Immediately, Claude gave up his hesitation, and his spear shot towards William, slicing through the air with a deafening shriek. Frost hissed, and wind screamed in its wake.
But then, it stopped.
Mid-flight, the weapon hung suspended. An unseen force wrapped around it.
And then came the whispers.
They slithered through Claude's thoughts, subtle at first. A breeze across a meadow of dying flowers. A lullaby hummed through rotting teeth.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You've seen too much."
"You forgot us."
Each word layered over the last, growing in number and volume. Whispers gave way to murmurs. Murmurs to voices. Voices to screams.
A thousand languages Claude had never learned rasped in his ears. Voices of children sobbing beneath floorboards. Soldiers are cursing battles that never ended. Mothers calling out to sons who had never lived.
He clutched at his head as agony bloomed behind his eyes. It was as if a hand of rusted iron had reached inside his skull and was prying his memories apart like pages in a book. Every whisper pulled, tugged, ripped.
He collapsed, legs giving way, crashing onto the stone floor like a puppet with its strings torn out.
And in the swirl of voices, one rose clearer than the rest.
"Do you remember that day?"
That voice, it wasn't his. Yet it knew him.
Then the whispers stopped.
Silence fell like an executioner's blade. It didn't bring relief, only an oppressive void, like the world had been turned inside out and nothing remained but memory.
Or lack of it.
Through the haze, he saw a shape. A silhouette that stepped into view like a marionette walking through smoke. Half of its face glinted dully—steel plates fused to sinew. The other half smiled.
Hugh.
Claude's heart clenched. An instinctive loathing welled up—an aversion so fierce it made his skin crawl. It wasn't just hatred. It was recognition buried in revulsion.
He wanted to scream. Ask what have you done to me? But no sound escaped.
Hugh moved his lips. Claude could see them form words, but they were drowned in the phantom silence.
Then came the visions.
They spiralled through him like a current. Disjointed scenes—flashes of faces, cities, rooms without light. Things Claude could not recall but which felt carved into the marrow of his being.
A room. Endless. Lightless.
A cell. Ageless. Suffocating.
And him—chained.
Bound in silence. Screaming with no voice. Crying with no tears.
No one to hear him. No one to help him.
That was the final scene. It did not fade. It lingered, burned into the back of his skull as the only truth he could grasp.
And as that memory threatened to return, Claude felt everything slip away.