Elden Ring : Godrick The Golden

Thy wings may be true, yet only Angels may fly. My Angels.

The words echoed in her ears as she sat before the being who called himself the God-Emperor. Psychotic was what she would have liked to call him, but his power didn't lie.

Physically weaker than Godfrey he might have been, but his presence was far more blinding. She had stood before an empyrean once, and the Emperor's presence was merely a few notches below, which was saying something. An Empyrean stood as the nearest thing to a god, their power nothing short of terrifying.

"I refuse. I shall not pledge myself to another. Never again," she mustered up the courage to growl her denial to the Emperor. "And especially not to a self-proclaimed Emperor without an Empire."

She even removed her helmet, revealing her blackened countenance and blood-red eyes in an attempt to dissuade him further, but his expression remained as it was.

"Speak not in absolutes," he said, towering over her, flicking a finger and casting a [Heal] so bright that it outshone the sun for but a fleeting moment. "This, surely, is wisdom thou dost possess well, given the long years that mark thy age."

Unnatural vigour filled her body as she got to her feet in the crater made by her body. Defiance remained in her eyes, yet she dared not meet his. The despair she had felt nearly scarred her soul.

Just who was this being?

"I ask not for much. Walk beside me for a time, and from that, draw thy conclusions," he intoned softly, his vast hand extending toward her. "I demand not thy oath upon mere request, for an oath given in haste beareth no weight. Know this: an Angel is not forged so lightly."

"Why?" She clenched her weapons, feeling uncomfortable at the lack of a helmet. She had not felt the touch of wind on her skin in centuries. "Do not take me for a lost dog in search of a new master. Why must I follow thee? Why must I give up my freedom for servitude?"

She spoke her mind, not caring for the consequences. If he killed her, it would be a relief. Wandering the Lands-Between as a lost soul was preferable to this monotonous existence or becoming an 'Angel' - whatever that was.

"What do I gain from this?"

The Emperor gave her a once-over, his faint halo shining in spite of the bright rays of the Erdtree before speaking.

"Purpose."

***

Godrick believed he had impressed himself upon Quilath enough, but the holes that she was burning on the back of his head as they walked made him think twice.

'Ah well, it's not so easy to change the mind of somebody so old. Somebody who had been betrayed.'

Their journey back up the walls was...odd to put it nicely. Godrick had to physically dig his hands into the cliff and walls to vault himself over while Quilath merely used a few flaps of her wings.

"So much power, yet you can't fly?" a red-eyed, charcoal-skinned woman greeted him as he climbed over the golden peaks of Stormveil, batting away a few overly curious hawks. The wind was strong enough here to rip a person into shreds, but neither he nor Quilath were ordinary mortals.

"Power is for guiding, not for soaring—besides, I prefer my feet on solid ground," Godrick shrugged. "Though I would not say no to learning the Aspects of the Crucible, they seem most useful."

"They are." Quilath raised her brow as she watched Godrick vault over the other side and fall hundreds of feet to the Grand Courtyard. Peeking over the side, she saw numerous pinpricks moving about the castle akin to ants digging out their burrow.

Since when was the Castle occupied?

[Observe]

(Character Sheet

Qualith The Unburnt

Age: Eleven thousand three hundred and seven years, three months old.

HP: 430

FP: ????

Strength: 37

Dexterity: 39

Endurance: 34

Vigor: 43

Mind: ???

Intelligence: 13

Faith: 44

Skills:

[Sword Mastery (Passive) Level 8: Highly proficient with swords.]

[Shield Mastery (Passive) Level 8: Highly proficient with shields.]

[Blacksmithing (Passive) Level 9: Masterfully proficient in the art of Blacksmithing.]

[Masonry (Passive) Level 7: Highly proficient in the art of Masonry.]

[Trial Of Crucible (Passive): Tested by the source of all life and found worthy, your body is reconstructed and with the power of the primaeval of the Crucible is rebuilt. +20 Strength. +20 Dexterity. +20 Endurance. +30 Faith. +100% Resistance to Fire and Heat.]

Incantations:

[Aspects Of The Crucible: Ancient Erdtree Incantations. These are manifestations of the Erdtree's primal vital energies - aspects of the primordial crucible, where all life was once blended together.

-Horns: Creates a mighty horn on the caster's shoulder to gore foes from a low stance. Charging allows the caster to barrel into foes before delivering the final attack.

-Tail: Creates a supple tail that sweeps through foes before the caster. Charging enhances potency.

-Wings: Grow a golden pair of wings that you control at will.])

Godrick led his newly acquired minion through the bustling castle whose torches were beginning to be lit. He glided past crowds of his soldiers and staff, his speed enough to flash by without a speck of his gargantuan frame peeking out while Quilath followed from above, hopping from roof to roof.

"Are you sure about this?" Quilath said softly next to him as they looked down at the foggy clouds that obscured Stormveil's depths. They were near the Liftside Chambers, worryingly close to people, overlooking the abrupt drop whose opposite lay a few deeply scarred ruins.

"I am sure about a few things," Godrick replied, cracking his neck. "Especially in these troubling times."

With that, he leapt off the bare edge, his form disappearing into the fog, leaving behind an exasperated Crucible Knight with the notion that he liked to dramatically leap off cliffs.

The overgrown, ruin-filled ground met her feet as her wings set her down in the depths of Stormveil. The air smelt thick here, and the sounds of rotten flesh were prevalent. Small, waning torches of Ghostflame barely lit the sides of the area they were in, but it was enough to let her see the bloodied figure of the Emperor discarding two mutilated corpses of massive, overgrown rats.

"Did they give thee a tough time?"

"T'was tougher than thee."

That shut her up.

And so their exploration continued while her eyes never left his back, climbing over and under piles of rubble and growth.

Just what was he aiming to do here?

They continued to push through for nearly an hour, and the Emperor's previously golden-white toga was now nearly black with the amount of blood on it. Even the faint golden light he emitted was muffled by the red that coated his skin.

Eventually, the ceiling expanded, large, thick roots hanging off it as the fog nearly obscured most of it. Piles of bones, human and animal, were clumped together around the soft, mushy ground that had become tinted red.

"Surely, this is most suspicious," she frowned as she hefted her weapons, her wings springing out her back once more. "There is something dange-"

The rumbling of the ground cut her off, throwing her off balance.

The ground trembled, a low rumble that seemed to pulse from the roots beneath. Then, with a sound like tearing flesh, the earth split apart, and from the wound in the soil burst the Ulcerated Tree Spirit.

Twisted roots writhed as though alive, tangled with sinew and charred wood, its grotesque form heaving with an unnatural fury. Embers smouldered in the hollow of its gaping maw, a sickly light casting jagged shadows as the beast rose to its full, towering height.

Its limbs, gnarled and crooked, clawed at the sky, shaking free clods of dirt and the shattered remains of bones buried deep. The air grew thick with the stench of rot and decay as the spirit twisted in a maddened frenzy, embers flaring with each tortured movement. It roared—a sound both primal and pained as if the land itself was screaming. The ground quaked beneath its weight, as if unwilling to bear the burden of such corruption any longer.

And still, it rose, but the Emperor didn't seem to want it to.

Quilath watched with morbid fascination as the Titan dismissed his Greatspear to Marika knew where before leaping onto the beast akin to a rabid animal.

Flames, roots and limbs mashed together in a frightening mesh of raw, unbridled power. The Spirit could barely keep up with the stupid amount of strength that the Emperor had, and it showed with the way the Demigod was tossing it around.

Crazed laughter escaped him as he tossed the spirit and was tossed around by the spirit, but no matter how hard his punches were, no matter how big the chunks of bark and flesh they ripped off the sickening creature, they always seemed to grow back much to the Emperor's joy.

Qualith wondered for a brief second if she should join in, but centuries of experience had trained her not to interfere if someone had that maniac look in their eye.

What is it with Godfrey's blood that his insanity bled over into his descendants?

After a few minutes of the two wrestling with enough force to make the ground shake, the Emperor seemed to lose the initial sense of joy.

"Move out of the way, lest thou wish to feel the pain of burning once more."

The Emperor's voice reached her ears and she immediately complied. Her wings gave one mighty flap, pushing her far, far away, but even that did nothing to obscure the power of what she was about to witness.

It was as though an Ancient Dragon itself descended from their home beyond time to smite the spirit she was about to witness.

It was a crimson flash, a burning streak that split the ceiling with a hiss like distant thunder. Thick coils of Ancient Dragon Lightning, reddish-gold, not unlike that of her armour, rushed out akin to a hungry, serpentine monstrosity.

They twisted and writhed within fractions of a second, forming into a blinding Glaive whose blade could barely contain the lightning.

When it struck, the world held its breath. The impact was not a crash but an explosion of pure, destructive force. The spirit was split in two, obliterated in an instant. The power of the glaive rippled outward, a shockwave that flattened the earth, bathed in blood-red light. Everything around were silenced—no roar, no scream, just the awe of something greater than mortal power at work.

When the light faded and the dust settled, there was nothing left of the beast but a smouldering crater. The ground still hummed with the aftershock of the Emperor's wrath, as if the land itself had been humbled by his might.

"My Lair required cleansing. It has now been cleansed."

***