Bonds of Darkness: Swordmen's Redemption

Chapter Fifteen: ???

A/N: All rights to the original content are reserved by the respective copyright owner.

Chapter Image Source: Elden Ring, Nokron City

Comment and Vote to show your appreciation, thank you!

---

In the depths of the Shackling Prison, where the wails of the forsaken reverberated through the cold stone corridors, He found himself bound by chains that defied mortal strength. His once-gleaming armor, a symbol of valor and heroism, had succumbed to the relentless grip of Mara, the insidious curse that twisted flesh and spirit alike. It now fused with the iron chains that held him captive, a grotesque fusion of decay and restraint.

The guards stationed in this grim place were no strangers to the darkest corners of humanity, yet the sight of him, their once-revered hero, left them trembling with fear. They longed to flee from their duty, to escape the malevolent aura that now clung to the fallen champion.

But there was no escape, no respite from the relentless descent into madness that had claimed He. His eyes, once filled with unwavering determination, now bore the vacant gaze of one haunted by inner demons. He muttered incoherent words, a disjointed litany of despair and anguish.

As the hours turned into days, and days turned into months, a figure emerged from the shadows, walking with deliberate steps toward the fallen hero. It was the Pontiff, a figure of wisdom and authority. The Pontiff had seen countless souls consigned to the depths of the Shackling Prison; their humanity consumed by the curse of Mara. Yet, there was something different about him, something worth saving.

"My liege," the Pontiff's voice echoed with a profound sadness, "you were once a beacon of hope for this city, a protector of the innocent. I cannot stand idly by and watch your light be extinguished by this curse."

His response was a guttural sound, a mixture of pain and madness. His once-proud countenance was marred by the grotesque fusion of decaying armor and unforgiving chains.

The Pontiff extended a hand, palm upturned, in a gesture of compassion. "I offer you a chance at redemption, my future King. But you must first find the strength within yourself to resist it. It will not be an easy path, but I believe there is still goodness within your heart."

His vacant eyes met the Pontiff's gaze, and for a fleeting moment, a spark of recognition flickered. Deep within the recesses of his tormented soul, a glimmer of the hero he once was remained.

With unwavering determination, the Pontiff began the arduous task of attempting to break the chains that bound He, both physically and spiritually. It was a battle not only against the curse that had consumed him but also against the darkness that had taken root in his very being.

---

In a place where the boundaries of reality blurred and space itself warped into an enigmatic distortion; an ancient city lay frozen in the annals of time. This city, a relic from the first era of life, was a testament to an age long past. Its stones bore intricate carvings of ancient runes and figures, their meaning lost to the sands of time. Hallways stretched endlessly, supported by pillars that seemed to have weathered epochs beyond counting.

At the heart of this surreal city, a soul rested, suspended in a purplish-black void. Dark thorns coiled around it, a haunting shroud that cradled the essence within. Slowly, the soul began to take shape, like an artist crafting a masterpiece from the abyss. It assumed the form of a man, his features obscured by an otherworldly haze.

This man possessed hair as black as the void, a consuming darkness that devoured all surrounding light. His eyes, however, were the most unsettling of all. The irises were like swirling galaxies, their black-gray depths tinged with a haunting shade of purple—a cosmic hue that added an eerie and mesmerizing quality to his gaze.