Elden Ring: My Ending

At first glance, he seemed ordinary: the simplest of men.

A young man, likely not yet thirty, holding a sword. Well-built, though he hardly looked like a warrior or a sorcerer (and given the sword in his hand, probably not the latter). His deep-set gray eyes and slightly grown-out dark hair lent him an unremarkable appearance. There was nothing noble about his bearing—how could there be, when he was stark naked?

Melina sighed. Her long search for someone she could serve had led her to this peculiar Tarnished.

Most Tarnished at least donned a loincloth, at worst. But this man…

It seemed he preferred his recently reanimated body to breathe as freely as possible. She could only hope he wouldn't catch a cold.

'Flow of Grace, have you erred?' the ethereal girl wondered.

Still, she had to confirm for herself.

To his credit, despite the bewildered look in his eyes as he slowly surveyed his surroundings, as if marveling at his ability to move at all, the Tarnished did not appear lost. In fact, Melina saw a strange familiarity in his gaze. It was as though he beheld something achingly familiar, unable to believe he was seeing it again.

The dazed state didn't last long. The moment he arose from the Chapel of Anticipation, where he'd been reborn, the Grafted Scion emerged to greet him. A monstrous amalgamation of countless Tarnished, created by Godrick the Grafted, a mad and terrifyingly powerful demigod. This world showed no mercy to the weak, least of all to the Tarnished who sought to claim the throne.

But death in the Lands Between was hardly an escape.

When the Tarnished saw the grotesque creature appear as if from nowhere, he did not flinch. His gray eyes lit up—not with grace, but with something else. There was a warmth to his gaze, as though he recognized something oddly comforting in the abomination before him. Melina could not fathom how this man could see anything but horror in the Grafted Scion, but she had no time to ponder: the creature howled, an otherworldly wail from the depths of nightmares, before charging at him.

Melina expected any number of outcomes—none of them favorable. She braced herself for the Tarnished to be hacked to pieces or to reveal himself as a hidden sorcerer, turning his blade into a staff and unleashing powerful spells.

What happened surpassed even her wildest imagination.

The Tarnished, snapping out of his stupor as the many-armed, spider-like monstrosity lunged at him, made a smooth ROLL.

By the Greater Will, Melina had never seen such a roll.

Flawless, calculated to the last muscle. The charging behemoth slid right past him, momentarily baffled by what had just transpired. Perhaps only the Goddess Marika herself could answer how many rolls he'd executed to perfect such a… specific skill.

The battle paused, as if in reverence.

The Tarnished smiled, stepping back with a calm that betrayed no fear. Then, to Melina's astonishment, he bowed. A deep, noble bow, one only a seasoned duelist might offer to a worthy opponent. (2)

'A noble Tarnished?' Melina whispered.

The Grafted Scion, however, did not share her thoughts. It did not ponder the bow; it simply howled louder, swinging its twin blades with renewed fury as it charged again.

And again, when it seemed the fragile man must fall to its onslaught, he…

Rolled.

"Paired strike, left to right."

Roll.

"Third and fourth, separate."

Roll.

"Final—overhead swing."

Roll.

Strike!

Melina could scarcely believe her eyes. Though the Tarnished's voice was soft, she heard every word. This strange man predicted each of the Scion's attacks with unerring precision, as though he'd fought it dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Exploiting even the briefest pauses, he landed precise strikes before retreating to safety.

He might not have the body of a warrior, but his skill defied reason.

The Grafted Scion, now missing one of its many arms, still fought on. It did not yet grasp the gravity of its foe. No one did.

Melina could not say how long the duel lasted. She held her breath, watching as the Tarnished evaded countless strikes with uncanny timing, punishing every mistake with surgical precision. The once-majestic abomination was left bloodied and dismembered, its severed limbs strewn about.

The Tarnished himself emerged unscathed.

In the end, the Scion could fight no longer. Bleeding profusely, the creature made one final, desperate lunge. And, as before, the man rolled. With a decisive strike, he ended it.

The Grafted Scion, terror of the Tarnished, collapsed in defeat. The young man—his figure suddenly appearing far more commanding to Melina—stood over the vanquished foe. Its once-beautiful face, now a grotesque blend of features, gazed up at him with a silent plea for release.

Understanding, he nodded solemnly and swung his sword one final time, severing its head.

All would have ended there… but then...

Melina blinked in astonishment.

The sword vanished from the Tarnished's hand. Still stark naked, he raised his arms skyward in an absurd pose. Maintaining a deadly serious expression, he bellowed:

"PRAISE THE SUN!"(3)

Melina glanced up at the sky, devoid of sunlight, then down at her spectral steed. The horse, utterly unfazed, pawed the ground contentedly.

Pressing her lips together, she silently prayed her chosen Tarnished would find some clothing soon—even a loincloth would do.

After all, she had no choice, did she?

________________________________________________________________

(1) The Tarnished are individuals who lost the grace of the Erdtree and were consequently banished from the Lands Between by Queen Marika the Eternal. Following the breaking of the Elden Ring, the Tarnished were beckoned by lost grace, fragmentary divine light from the Erdtree, to return.

(2) Emote from Elden Ring

(3) Emote from Dark Souls series