Chapter Text
The furthest prison cell was his last hope. The iron grate wasn't rusted enough to fall off from a single touch. The key was needed, and the knight searched all over the Asylum to find it.
“What am I doing?” Oscar kept asking himself.
This place was full of mindless hollows, no crumbs of sanity left. But someone here is destined to become the Chosen.
“Can it be me?” his inner voice whispered, but another, cruel and merciless, always answered:
“You are just a pathetic fool.”
It would be his last attempt to free a prisoner.
He chased after the hollow with a keychain. Maybe a long time ago, it was the guardian of the Asylum, who too shared the fate of the undead.
But the knight’s luck ran out: the true guardian of the place, the Asylum Demon, finally noticed a trespasser. Oscar was quick enough to push the corpse with the key inside the hole and see how the person below flinched in surprise, but not to avoid the demon’s attack.
The elite knight, Oscar of Astora, was knocked back by the giant hammer. He heard the sound of his ribs cracking inside. The sharp pain didn’t let him breathe.
The old rooftop collapsed from the sudden weight of the monster. Oscar fell down at the pile of rubble; now the pain was not only in his ribs but in his whole body.
From the broken ceiling, the sunlight's rays illuminated the space. It is, actually, a nice spot to die. The demon was too big to reach the tiny human.
Oscar knew, deep down, that his journey would be a one-way trip. And now, when he fulfilled the only thing he wanted… he can finally rest in peace.
There’s no longer a point in fighting.
He can say farewell to the world.
He can give up, surrender to sweet nothingness.
Accept the hollowing.
The knight slowly closed his eyes. He had nowhere to rush; he did everything in his power. As life drained from his body, drop by drop, Oscar thought about the last prisoner. It must be the Chosen Undead. Otherwise... he didn't want to think otherwise. If he cannot be a hero, then, at least, he will be the one who starts the story.
His life is a small sacrifice, he thinks.
The Asylum wasn’t a quiet place. A distant chorus of groans could be heard everywhere. Some hollows remained where they were, without any danger to the others. Some took up weapons and transformed into violent beasts. Oscar didn't want to cause someone pain, but he was a knight to the core, and holding a sword always meant battle. Even if he were to become just an empty husk of himself.
Any moment now, and hollowness will overwhelm him. Any… moment…
A boulder destroyed the wall. Then he heard a yelp and cry, and shy, hesitant steps towards his final resting spot.
He recognised the tattered robes immediately, even though he glanced at them only briefly. It must be true: Oscar freed the Chosen Undead, indeed.
The prophecy is not an elusive fairytale.
“…Oh…you… You’re not Hollow, eh? Thank goodness…” he forced himself to speak. Even if his time is running out, it would be rude to leave the Chosen Undead without any last direction. It was a woman, if Oscar could judge by her frail frame. Her body already began to hollow, but he saw in her eyes a fire of life, intelligence that was lacking in the other mindless prisoners of the Asylum. And… so much fear.
The woman trembled, falling to her knees beside him, like a puppet with its strings cut.
“I'm done for, I'm afraid... I'll die soon, then lose my sanity…” he continued, warning her.
The woman’s shoulders were shaking. She was silently crying, he realised.
“I wish to ask something of you... You and I, we're both Undead... Hear me out, will you?”
Unfortunately, he couldn’t offer her any compassionate words. Oscar doubted he had a sincere compassion left to spare. Somewhere deep down, he wanted to believe that she was shedding tears not because of her bitter fate of the undead, but because she was mourning him, her knight-saviour.
She sharply nodded, hiding her face behind her hands, where the skin was also shrunk and rotten. And like a rehearsed tale, he told her what was required of her — to ring the Bell of Awakening.
“It’s impossible…” she said quietly, her voice cracked. “Why..? What have I done to be stuck in this nightmare? And the sword.. I couldn’t even lift that damn thing!”
She listened to his speech patiently without interruption, but Oscar couldn’t return the favour. Her sentences were indistinct. He could barely understand her muttering.
“Oh, one more thing... Here, take this... An Estus Flask, an Undead favourite...Take this and go.” He won't need it anymore.
She didn’t want to accept it.
“The flask isn’t empty!” she suddenly raised her voice, jumping back to her feet. “You just told me you’re the undead! Why don’t you heal yourself?! You can reach the bonfire!”
“Please… I.. can’t.”
There’s no point.
If she's here, it means Oscar was never meant to be the Chosen.
“Of course!” she laughed bitterly, but with no actual malice towards him. Just an acceptance. “If an elite knight gives up, what hope do I have here? Guess I’ll wait for my death next to you. Better this than being smashed by that monster.”
He would be more grateful if she pierced his heart with his own sword instead. But she wasn’t wrong: he was an elite knight, the best of the best. And nothing could wash away the shame of his failure.
The woman sat again on the rubble next to him, hugging her knees. She was so close that Oscar could reach her with the outstretched hand.
“You must hurry. I do not want to hurt you once I go hollow.”
She doesn’t need to waste her time with him.
“Then do not go hollow!” she snapped, as if it were the easiest thing to do. “To hell with this dying for the sake of dying! Just keep living!”
The tears flowed with renewed force, and now Oscar was sure it was he who made her cry. Oh, he was worthless! How could he call himself a knight?
“It’s unfair…” she kept repeating under her breath. “Why can’t I wake up from this nightmare? I just want to wake up in my bed…”
Oscar's insides were screaming from pain with each breath, and speaking made it worse.
The constant chatter of the woman kept him conscious, only prolonging his suffering.
“… I’ll never escape the Asylum, I barely ran past the demon, how could I possibly defeat it…?”
Would it be too cruel to tell her to shut up? Oscar wanted to die with hope and peace in his heart, not listening to irritating cries. His existence is over, and he envies her: she is destined for the grand things; meanwhile, Oscar would be forgotten.
But he looked at her once more. The woman was no warrior like he expected the Chosen to be. His envy disappeared — only pity remained. She was an unfortunate victim who was locked up with the other bearers of the Darksign.
She touched his arm, gently, to draw his attention.
Her eyes shone with desperation.
“Please, do not go hollow,” she wept over his broken body. Her words weren't magical, but no one said this to Oscar before. “I need you.”
Isn't it a nice feeling — to be needed?
She's at his mercy.
Her survival solely depends on his decision to get up and keep going.
“Please, Oscar.”
When he was a boy, he loved to read the tales about knights saving ladies. His father and older brothers laughed that he should be practising with a sword instead of useless reading. Maybe if he stopped daydreaming as they were telling him, if he really practised just a little bit more, he wouldn't be in this situation — a total disappointment of his family name, dying.
And here's his chance to be a hero and prove to be useful. He went so far for the prophecy, at least he needs to make sure the Chosen Undead actually escapes for it to begin with.
Her eyes widen when she sees him gulping from the Estus Flask. The fire drink moves down his throat, and he immediately feels relief. It's not enough to heal him completely, but now he can breathe without difficulty. After a moment of braising himself, he stands up, clumsily and slowly.
She tries to help him so he doesn't collapse again. But she's really just a fragile creature — the wall gives him much steadier support.
The water splashes under their feet with each step.
She is shorter than he, which is another disadvantage. Oscar knows his armour is on the heavy side — even another knight may struggle to hold his weight, but the woman gritted her teeth, tensing all her muscles without any complaints. She looks at him as if he performed a miracle, and she's not about to ruin it with a blurt.
It's going to be a very long journey to the bonfire, but at least now Oscar knows why he has to do it.