Is This...? {DSIII Slave Knight Gael FtM TFTG MC}

She can't just die like this. It was right in front of her, the dark aura seeming to siphon the light that she had set up around it in an attempt to get a better look. She found that this thing, this stuff, the strange, blackened "blood" that she had been sent to retrieve, was but mere droplets at the bottom of a small, foggy-glassed vial. Defying all logic, it floated slightly above the pedestal that it had been placed on those many, unfathomable years ago, the limited, mostly-dried contents floating similar to a lava lamp. It was right in front of her, yet her body seemed to be shutting down as she attempted to get closer, having collapsed to the ground and now barely able to move. Her vision was hazy, and she wondered as to how she was weakened so suddenly: Toxic gas? No... Scratching herself on some part of the ruins? No... That thing is floating, it doesn't make sense, could this really be a... a psychic assault?

Psychic assault... That's the only thing that made any sense. No physical force, no poison... Though it definitely felt like those things, especially with the profuse, warm blood sputtering from her nose. Her headache throbbed, mind growing hazy, eyes bloodshot, and her long, dark hair messy from the dark aura, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. She couldn't even remember what the people who sent her to retrieve it called it: Blood of the... It's the blood of the something, at least. She attempts to focus through the pain to remember how exactly she got here.

Hm... Cultists. Everybody hates cultists, even her, and she was born into it. She wasn't sure how she got here, and it became even more murky as the aura pressed on her with more damage. Gainsurel... Named after an ancient "hero" of the cult, apparently, and she always had high standards she was held up to. It may have also had something to do with her being a direct descendant of the cult's leaders, even being trusted with the cult's symbol, being that of a broken sword in the form of a necklace decoration. She was considered a demigod among the cult, but despite such praise, she despised the cult, her beliefs always divorced from those of the cult. She was never superstitious, never believing in magic, as opposed to the various mage-ranks within the cult.

That may have been the reason that she was sent here: They must have felt that her lack of belief made her a magic-immune "null", making her immune to the magic of the place to easily grab the relic. She took the mission, not like she had a choice, but it gave her an excuse to finally be away from the cult. It was a tucked away little corner of the world, too, even with distinct oral instructions, the place turned out to be both distinct and extremely hidden at the same time. They said that they had never seen the place, saying that the only things anyone ever knew of it were from written records, but it was extremely easy to find for her. It was almost like she was drawn to this place, like a lantern in the dark...

She remembered casting away the necklace and its symbol at the entrance of the ruins, spitting on the cult's name before entering into the unknown: Artisan's Will.

Everything hurt. Everything hurt so bad. The supernatural is real, she's dying... But at least it's better than being trapped within the cult.

"Greetings."

What- What was that?

"Cultist."

The word dripped with disdain. It sounded female, though that was the most she could tell about the voice: Surprising that she could make out anything in her crippled state. Her pulse raised slightly as footsteps sounded slowly, growing louder as they seemed to grow closer, before her blurred vision could vaguely make out what could only be assumed to be shoes. The shapes warped unnaturally, periodically being illuminated by what seemed to be flashes of gold light, and she could almost jolt back to consciousness as she heard a series of clinks and clatters on the ground right in front of her. She saw a familiar, silvery glint through her damaged sight, and she attempted to pull herself up to no avail: It was the necklace that she had cast away at the entrance.

"You are going to need that."

One of her hands jerked, grabbing at it with previously-unfound reflexes in her weakened state. The figure chuckled, though it was difficult to tell what kind it was: Warm? Sinister? Jovial? Teasing? She couldn't tell.

"Hm... So it really is your presence..."

Gainsurel weakly lifted up her head, sputtering out what words she could pull from the gargling cesspool of her throat.

"...What do you... Mean...?"

She gagged, throwing up a mass of warm blood, collapsing to the ground again. A sigh emerged from the strange apparition.

"Your name... Upon your dubbing... Hm... It was almost like he had returned again. Your presence, it's identical-"

Gainsurel felt a hand touch the top of her head, rubbing some of the hair.

"-if drained."

The hand pulls away, and another chuckle emerges, still with an ambiguous nature.

"Would you like assistance?"

Her body shook, her chin rubbing into the cold, hard floor as she attempted a weak nod. The air seemed to electrify, the strange figure's presence becoming pressing and looming. She attempted to hold her head up, wheezing as what felt to be pressure began welling up in her chest, her heart beginning to race and her eyes going wide. Her heartbeat beat like a drum against her ears, her voice turning to a whimper.

From her mouth erupted a shriek, and her previously-limp body sprung up to its feet with blinding speed. Her hands seized the left side of her torso, her hands feeling at a warm, wet sensation, hearing a more profuse dripping to the floor. She looked down at her chest, pulling at her jacket to find a large, gaping, lopsided hole taking up almost the entire left side of her torso. Did... Did her chest explode? It- It exploded.

She didn't feel weakness, her headache slowly ceasing and her vision starting to clear. She looked up, preparing to ask numerous questions to the strange figure, finding herself glaring at a faceless, dark being, periodically illuminated by golden sparks: A living, three-dimensional shadow, seems like. The figure was also... smaller than anticipated, but still seemed to emote regardless with body language. It looked rather smug, and one of its hands held the vial of dark fluid.

"I did this for a reason. This... thing..."

It gestured towards the vial with its other hand, swirling the black fluid.

"...Is completely worthless. This vial keeps it at stasis, perpetually at the end of its life. When those that you have grown to distaste open its contents, time will catch up to it at last and it will dry...Hmhmh, heh, not like you were ever going to bring it back to them in the first place."

It points to her face, her finger lowering to the massive chasm that had just erupted.

"But you, you are something special. You are going to be the start of something great."

The vial trembled in its hand, the hand seeming to grip it harder. Its faceless head turned slightly, looking over to the vial, before its gripping hand slowly loosened.

"Oops."

The vial started to slip from between its fingers, and the world seemed to move in slow motion as the glassy container fell, Gainsurel lifting her hands and lunging at the shadow figure. The crash rattled through her head, and she somehow managed to knock the wind out of herself despite her great functionality while lacking a lung. She rolled on the floor, scrambling and her eyes widening as she attempted to look for the contents of the vial. She felt her hands over a cold aura, finding her fingers touching nothing more than ashen-black dust. She beat her fists on the ground, her hands being jabbed with the scattered glass shards, her voice emerging as a furious roar.

The shadow, who's figure phased through hers on the ground, waved her now-free hands in a deflecting manner.

"I didn't mean to!"

Sarcasm. She could tell that was sarcasm. Despite her rage, her body temperature was plummeting, the hole in her chest sparking with a small, luminous, ring-shaped glow deep within, the hand holding the necklace bleeding from gripping the sharp decoration with such stressed tightness. She hissed behind bared teeth, seething, turning her gaze up to the shadow's head, the shadow's body language now looking anxious at best and terrified at worst.

Good, thought Gainsurel. As Hell hath no fury than a purposeless one with nothing left to lose.

Blood squelched as her necklace-gripping hand was sliced further from an increasing grip, the shadow teleporting to the entrance of the door that she came from. She felt something heavier in her grip, though she didn't exactly focus on what. A superhuman strength coursed through her, before finding herself propelled towards the door at high speed, her vision filled with a red aura as she lunged at the figure causing her fury. Her body surged with pain again as she faceplanted into the wall behind the shadow, having phased straight through it like one would any shadow, and as she attempted to recover she found a massive weight within that hand. She turned, finding the necklace itself gone, though the sword ornament remained, though it would be rather improper to call it an ornament anymore. It was massive, possibly even bigger than she was, making it a wonder that she was able to crash into the wall without tearing the arm from its socket entirely, the blade covered in damaged details befitting for its lack of a complete blade and a much more aged appearance.

She loosened her grip on the blade slightly, making it easier to roll her aching shoulder, her hair standing on end with the red aura's increasing presence on her arm. Her entire arm ached, bones cracking and her flesh feeling as if being pulled throughout as it became longer and larger overall. Her palm widened, fingers becoming more square, before being covered in a thick, brown, cloth glove and a heavy, intricately-decorated, silver gauntlet. Up her now-much larger arm formed more protective pieces forming up her forearm, elbow, upper arm, and shoulder, with protective wrappings under it and miscellaneous ragged cloth snagged on the outside of some pieces. The pauldron looked to be made of multiple plates and lame, all intricately engraved with filigree, and she winced as she found herself weighed down my the much much heavier arm and its armor. She held her head, wincing as her shoulders cracked and pushed outwards, becoming much broader and larger, the armor and growth starting to spread across and down her other arm.

She felt the cold of the metal on her face, pulling her hand away and holding it out to get a look at it. She felt a numbness throughout it, like when a limb falls asleep, opening and closing it multiple times, hearing the clinking of metal as it moved. She looked dumbfounded at first, though her face dropped to a more deadpan, irritated expression; for everything that has happened within the last few minutes, especially her chest exploding like some kind of horrific meat balloon, some other changes were to be expected. She expected more of a "being healed and sent on her way" than a "growing and gaining armor," however. She felt a horrible stinging as strength grew, gaining a layer of bulk that wasn't outwardly visible through the armor, though made her arms look thicker. She didn't feel burning, it was like she couldn't.

The light in her chest flickered brighter, her torso growing larger and longer, bones cracking and skin stretching while adjusting to the tension of the growth. The chasm in her chest didn't heal or vanish, instead seeming to grow proportionally to the rest of her torso, though still keeping the same shape. Her remaining breast melted into her chest, and over her chest and general torso-area formed an ornately-engraved cuirass-and-faulds set, though the hole still remained, as if melting through the metal. The faulds fit a bit awkwardly tight at first, before she found herself releasing a yelp as her hips compressed inwards with a series of cracks; along with her broader shoulders, this ended up giving her a more square or rectangular body shape. Connecting to the faulds formed a culet set and tassets, and a sudden pain surged through her belly, causing her to gag at first from intense nausea, before her knees buckled and she keeled over in in pain, trying to restrain herself from throwing up: Her physical body had shifted from female to male. She used her free hand to grip her belly, hissing swears under her breath.

Her legs lengthened with similar snapping and tearing as her arms and torso, along with similar bulking of mass. Over her thighs formed ornate-shaped - and, as expected, engraved and filigreed - cuisses, along with large knee plates, and from there down formed more standard armor pieces. While armor formed over the lower legs, a covering of sagging brown cloth also formed over it, dragging slightly on the ground as she rolled on the floor in pain. Most of her old clothes were gone, having been converted into armor, though her jacket remained, quickly being consumed by chaotic red energy. Though already torn apart and haggard as-is from her growth to a massive size, the ragged clothes ripped further, seeming to be pulled apart and growing in their own right, wrapping themselves primarily around her neck and shoulders. They stretched down her back into two ragged tails, and unnatural, misshapen, almost organic-looking lumps, and she found her hand seizing the back of her neck as a horrible pain surged through her body from that area; the tails seemed to spring to life, wriggling and flapping like fleshy wings. The remains shifted to a red color similar to that of the aura's, and still continued to grow, forming a simple red hood, obscuring many details of her face.

She gripped at her throat, it flexing as it thickened and gained a more-prominent Adam's apple, deepening her pained voice: It sounded significantly older, too. Her face twisted awkwardly, bones cracking and reshaping, jaw becoming thicker and more square. Her hair paled into an aged silver-white, looking scratchy and old, and most of the hair on her head falling out, though on her face would form a long beard and longer eyebrows, though everything from the beard-up was obscured by the red hood. The skin on her face, though obscured, looked greatly aged, though she surprisingly didn't feel that age in the slightest: She felt stronger. She slowly stood up, hand still on the hilt of her massive broken blade, and looked herself over, at least after rubbing her head after hitting her head on the ceiling.

Hm... Massive, covered in armor, cloak seems to act as an extension of her body... Male...

She looked ahead, or rather, down, to see the wandering shadow standing idle. She found the blade much easier to wield now, holding it up with only one hand. She scowled, taking the leap in a high-speed thrusting lunge towards the shadow, before her vision went yellow. She still kept her speed and momentum, however... to her detriment, as she found herself yet-again faceplanting into something, this time the grassy ground outside of the ruins where the blood of the something was located. Her landing position was comical, too, her legs bent above the rest of her body, which was firmly shoved into the dirt. She saw the shadow zip by her for a mere moment- wait, where's the sword? The sword was in her hands, and then it was gone, wha-

-Aaaaaaand she just got stabbed with her own sword, just wonderful. It his right in the chest wound, too, like a bullseye, perfect! She yanked the blade from the hole in her chest, which turned out to not hurt nearly as much as anticipated, and she readied for another attack. The shadow stood right in front of her, the scene illuminated by twilight.

"Go to Hell!"

She paused, clearing her throat. That might take some getting-used-to. The shadow panicked again, waving its hands.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't attack me for this! I'm just doing my job! I can explain, even!"

She lowered her blade slightly, the shadow relaxing.

"Alright, so, erm..."

...Go on?

"When your parents gave you that name, that 'Gainsurel,' the aligning of it with that hero..."

Hm.

"...You never had your 'own' soul in the first place. 'Your' soul is actually 'his' soul, which is technically 'yours'..."

Now this is just getting complicated.

"...Your presence within the relic appears to have awoken the past, your legacy as the hero..."

She didn't respond. The shadow's body language showed confusion with a head-tilt.

"...Do you even know anything about the hero?"

She shook her head.

"Hm... So, your name is an overly-complicated and long female variant of 'Gael.' Hear how I said 'female variant'?"

Gainsurel paused, before clutching the sword's hilt harder.

"Exactly. It even looks like your memories are coming back! You work that cloak and leap like a champ!"

She growls, preparing to initiate a lunge, before she noticed a dripping sound. She looked to her blade, gaze drawn to the ashen blackness of what was previously a silver blade, the red aura dancing across it like cinders and hazy steam. She retched, feeling a bubbling in her throat, before she yet-again threw up warm, crimson blood. No, no, this isn't right...

It was cold, and a horrid, unnatural black. It radiated a distinct, familiar energy, the surface of the puddle radiating a dark haze. She held her head, closing her eyes as she attempted to sort through the information in her head, a headache starting to well in her skull.

Her name is... is Gainsurel... Her name is that of Gael... Gael... Her name is Gael, as she has his soul, wait... His name is Gael. She was sent here to seek out blood, which belonged to something... The blood of... Hmmh... The blood is dark, and his blood has grown identical to it. Soul, blood, dark... He has the...

His hunched stature straightened, energy coursing through his body as he slowly opened his eyes. Though obscured otherwise, a smoky, cindery energy emerging and radiating from them, flowing upwards into the darkening sky. He used his free hand to feel the wet wound taking up the left side of his chest: Is this the blood...

"The blood of the dark soul?"