When Gehrman returned to face Asterion, he was faced with a rather grizzly sight. The bodies of the two Shadows were cracked and broken.
Near Gehrman, the torn body of the Stone Saint desperately clung to life. It was literally split down the middle, thin tendrils of True Darkness barely held her together.
A few dozen meters away, Asterion palmed the tiny rubies that made up the "blood" of the stone creatures. He let it fall from his hand, sliding through his fingers. His face was pleasant, peaceful even.
Casually, he raised his foot, preparing to crush the heart of the Shadow Serpent.
In the next moment though, both Shadows disappeared, pulled downward into the fragment of Shadow God's Domain.
Asterion's smile broadened as he recognized Gehrman's return.
"Have a nice break?"
"Sure did. I was able to catch up on all the gossip too. Did you know that Anvil had an affair?"
"It was his first wife that had the affair, actually."
"...huh?"
Asterion laughed, it had more echo than usual. It made it seem he found what he was thinking about genuinely amusing.
"Now then, are you ready to return to your futile efforts?"
Gehrman looked down, his eyes reflecting the white jade sword that had been left behind.
Asterion followed his gaze. His body did not tense, nor was there any other indication he was surprised to see the [Sin of Solace] not returned to its master.
"Futile? I don't know, based on the fact you spent a whole hour against two mere Transcendents, it seems to me that you were acting cautious about something. Of course, it couldn't have been those Shadows."
Gehrman picked up the sword, and he immediately felt the change. A phantom appeared in the corner of his vision. It had been there this whole time, he realized. Only now he noticed it because it shifted to his own form. It already started whispering, but Gehrman ignored it.
"It seems to me that this fine sword can actually harm you."
Asterion's pupils seemed to constrict, emphasizing the golden light in his eyes. Then, he shrugged.
"Define 'harm'."
"Uh, it can fuck you up."
"Haa such vulgarity, you also seem to miss the point, as usual," Asterion's back foot drew backward as he dropped into a combative stance. "It has the potential to cause true pain, it can even weaken me, but in your hands, it can not harm me. Your fight – as it always will be – remains a pointless endeavor."
Gehrman brought the sword closer, his off hand ran across its edge, cutting his finger open and staining the pure white with dripping red.
"What an abhorrent thing you are," the phantom said, already breaking through the Cacophony. "You think that by adding several other screams into your mind that you can shut me out?"
He brought his hand downward, clasping the hilt with two hands.
"Gods, how vile and odious can one creature be? You hold within you an abomination that can end the world, and you selfishly think you deserve to exist? You think you can help? You're a killer. Useless and weak. The world would be better off with you dead, wiped from reality completely."
The blade raised above his head. He allowed the other brains to divulge their rich Madness and explode outward, heavily coating the blade.
He brought it down.
Asterion dodged easily, the attack had been absurdly telegraphed after all. However, that was not the point. What Gehrman wanted to see was the devastation this sword could cause in his hand.
He didn't have any Divinity in his Soul, so that Enchantment was useless. However, he was also the most insane person in the world.
The [Sin of Solace] cut the world itself. The ancient bone of Godgrave had a line drawn through it.
Such a long stretch of the bone had been severed, that the sound and shockwave radiated for kilometers around. The actual cut traveled an entire kilometer, and it dug deep into the Hollows.
A flurry of kill notifications from the Spell arrived in his ears, drowning out the curses of the phantom.
Gehrman let a mad grin tear his face. He laughed loud enough to drown everything else out.
"It may very well be futile, I may gain nothing from this whole thing, but I'll tell you something right now." Gehrman fell into a stance, the cursed blade low and ready to strike. "It won't be pointless; because at the very least, I am going to have a very fun time."
…
There was always an air of peace in New Yharnam. The strange clouded sky that bled with pale sunlight and a mixture of warm colors provided a passive calming sense to all who lived under it. The Old Art was created by a certain young man.
Today was his birthday, and he was turning 18.
It was during this day the memory of Gehrman creating little golems in that soft room played on his head in repeat. It was a time for nostalgia, where he allowed his turbulent and chaotic mind to be still and rest.
Without the ability to communicate, Milo's true thoughts grew to an inordinately loud volume. His head was a mess, and there was no way to share the exaggerated emotions and ideas.
The sole exception was the Old Arts. At times, his creations felt guided by the spirit of the world, as if nature and reality appreciated his pouring of emotion outward.
He came to a realization a little while ago, that his Flaw – while painful – also greatly improved his abilities. Through building up all his emotion within, their potency was increased and thus more satisfying to the world.
Milo was unsure how the primeval practitioners of the Old Arts even figured out how to find the specific colors, shades, depths, and myriad of other details that were required to actually achieve the random supernatural effects.
In his case, it felt like the Spell had modified his very being in order to be the perfect vessel for the Old Arts. His Innate Ability alone, [Eyes of Total Spectrum] allowed him to see many things that he probably wasn't supposed to. No one seemed to realize the exact level to which he peered into reality, but it was quite close to what Gehrman accomplished with his Awakened Ability.
He could see the Soul Cores of creatures, thus being able to easily grasp the Rank and Class of creatures. He could see the mirror realm that Mordret traveled through. Most importantly though, he could see the spirits of the world.
It was rather odd, like little vibrations or mirages around every given thing. Shapes and designs appeared in those vibrations, providing something akin to a name. Of course, it was not a True Name, he heard those too, though it was naturally impossible to speak them.
These shapes were not runes either, they were more esoteric. They were less like symbols and more like portraits of how the spirit of the thing viewed itself.
There were other things in different realities that also dictated certain details of creation. His favorite was a certain layer in which the world appeared like a sketch book. Everything in shadings of greys and whites. This dictated the depth and form of the art.
Indeed, at times Milo's creations were not simple paintings. In order to create certain things, sculptures or different styles of art were required. Of course, paintings were the easiest still, but Milo had long since branched out into other areas.
Especially since after he had become a Master, he could make permanent alterations to reality. The Old Arts were not a part of his Aspect, but the ability to maintain his creations was thanks to [Reality Resonance], his Ascended ability. It was extremely costly in terms of Essence, but the results were astounding.
Through feeding the spirits of the world enough Essence, he could convince them that their warped form that came from the Old Art was their true form, and thus they remained as such.
That was how the sky was able to be painted, as the heavens above were convinced that this calming state was their natural one.
The Old Arts were somewhat comparable to Sorcery in that it was a system of set parameters with fantastical outcomes if the proper procedures were followed. However, Runes and Shaping were created by the Gods, so there was a clear distinction between those powers and what Milo wielded.
At the same time though, he was the only one who could produce the Old Arts. As far as he knew, in all of the Waking World, he was the only one with the proper affinity.
'You're special, Milo. I know it hurts. What you've gone through isn't something any human should endure. However, you did endure it. You are not broken. And so, you are strong beyond measure. Never forget that.'
Those words from Gehrman played in his head as the world that splayed out before him shifted. The sketch-book like reality smudged in places, and the standard artistry grew darker farther off. It was not a great number of corrupted, but a wave of light.
The record-system that played music throughout New Yharnam was cut off. Oskar's voice came over the speakers, announcing a large scale assault of Nightmare Creatures.
It was a pre-recorded message, that was how it was able to be broadcast in this land with such complex technology. Since Milo suspected there was no message for what was happening at that moment, he didn't feel the need to make a fuss about it.
Not that anyone would understand why he was agitated.
He could make a painting, perhaps, detailing the Raven Queen splitting off and devouring the land. Bitz would probably be able to pick up on his meaning, he had gotten quite good at it, practically becoming his interpreter.
In any case, it didn't make a difference. As the people of New Yharnam ran to their positions, Milo used his Dormant Ability [Vital Instrument] to summon a stylus. From there, he used his Awakened Ability, [World Canvas]. This allowed him to draw upon his shoes, or rather, the air around them. His hands moved supernaturally fast. Not only because of his skill and Rank, but because his skill for the Old Arts allowed a unique happening to occur when invoking them.
Though emotion was a catalyst, it was also a supplement for the arts creation. A single stroke could become dozens of interweaving ones so long as his heart was earnest and doused with the correct emotion.
So it was that in two seconds, ethereal feathers appeared attached to them to the heels of his shoes; with little fanfare, they blossomed into wings about his feet. They were translucent, and looked as though they had been sketched. Indeed, they would disappear in a minute, but the Essence cost was negligible, so it was a worthy trade off.
It seemed that certain parts of ancient human mythologies had some carry-over with the Old Arts. This was an example, the winged-shoes (or winged-sandels) were for whatever reason a recognizable and powerful image that manifested the ability of flight for the human wearing them.
It was not especially fast, just a normal levitation that also gave general direction. However, it was still a useful thing to have.
With the wings flapping he rose to a certain position in New Yharnam. It was in the middle of the vertical city, between the area where the cloud piercing castle stood and the high-ranking officers lived.
Milo's room was in the castle, technically. However he did have a spot on the 2nd layer. Bitz, had one so he could be with the other 1st Generation Hunters. These were the original hundred or so Awakened who had passed their First Nightmare after joining the New Workshop.
Each of them was a powerhouse, and since they were there early, a bunch of them had Caryll Runes.
At this point, only a select few could claim to be Vileboods, with Bitz and Milo being the only youths who could claim the title.
Still, none of them were slouches. After Milo and his cohort became Masters without the permission of the Workshop, a few other groups took the same risk.
So far, none of them have perished.
Still, they had only recently become adults, and so they were not trusted in the field too often. Officially, if such a scenario as this occurred, they were to retreat into bunkers to "protect" the rest of the citizens. Naturally, the older folks just wanted them out of the way and safe.
Bitz complained about it constantly, but Milo appreciated the sentiment.
…that didn't mean he would be running away though.
He looked at the castle, and his worst fears were realized. Song had waited until Caster was gone for something in order to stage their assault. At the moment, the greatest protector New Yharnam had was Oskar.
He was formidable, and since this was his Citadel, it was perhaps the place in which the danger represented by the current master of the Workshop, Eye of Bedlam, was at its highest peak.
At least, that was what the invaders thought.
Six Saints and thousands of puppets. They are mostly of the Awakened and Fallen Rank though. She is trying to overwhelm us with numbers and pick off the Ascended with the Saints. An efficient, quick, and overwhelming takeover.
Milo saw the battlefield in its totality. From his high vantage point, likely saw as much as the Saints did.
His eyes that contained a rainbow of colors swirled even more aggressively as his pupils dilated. The muscles that had steadily developed in his body flexed. From an outsider's perspective, Milo held a rather average height and physique, but in truth his body was cut like a god's.
The training he put himself through lasted for hours a day, and could be considered just as arduous and what Gehrman did. Of course, Milo tried to match everything that Gehrman did in an attempt to imitate his hero.
Milo let out a breath, and let the rage at having his precious home invaded fuel him. The rage at how Song treated Gehrman, who only ever wanted to help people. The rage at not being able to tell him how much all those little visits and talks had meant to him.
The air around him started to blur, as if a heat mirage was surrounding his body. However, it was not heat that was radiating off him.
Milo reached out and summoned another [Vital Instrument], they took the shape of any tool he needed to complete his work, and this time was no exception. Instead of drawing or painting, he carved the air around him. Scraping off the impurities of the air, as one would a metal in a forge.
This took several minutes, and the process was agonizingly slow.
In the distance, enormous explosions ripped through the surrounding plains as Oskar's hundreds of traps were sprung, incinerating the puppets.
The grinding of gears casted a melody of war as enormous ballista rose from the walls of each layer. Spears of bone were loaded into them, those that belonged to Nightmare Creatures. Teams of Hunters worked with Engineers to load the proper ammunition and take fire. Their supply of Fallen ballista bolts were far greater than any other, and they focused that fire on the puppets.
If this was a Corrupted Tyrant, or even a Terror, the defenses of New Yharnam alone would probably have been enough to obliterate it before it reached the walls.
The sky was colored with black strikes as the quick shadows of the spears landed far below causing widespread devastation.
At the same time, Oskar would be up in the castle, utilizing the seemingly useless Component of this Citadel.
The power to alter water levels had been used to produce a great number of things, but it could also be used to slow assaulting forces. At the moment, it was doing exactly that.
Little did they know though, that was what Milo had been waiting for. Even his allies did not know what was about to happen next, they didn't know it was possible.
It was time to show them though, time to prove Gehrman's words right.
'Strong beyond measure'.
Another memory came to him then, this time of Caster. Though the guy could be rude at times, Milo also held him near and dear to his heart. Partly because Gehrman was fond of him. However, the real reason was that he never bothered to give him a look of pity or look down on him.
Milo earned the same general banal disregard as Caster gave everyone else.
He recalled when Caster's room in New Yharnam was being set up. Back then, they hadn't really encountered each other much. Milo was recently Awakened, and things in the New Workshop were transitioning to focus more on the Dream Realm.
Milo silently snooped in Caster's room, just out of curiosity. He didn't know what to expect, but the strange symbols and statues captivated him, and soon he wasn't able to leave. The man had returned, catching Milo, but not admonishing him.
Instead he explained.
"The Han Li Clan, they were everything to me. They…still are my family. Even after all this, even after they disown and claim to hate me. When I wasn't training in my childhood, I was receiving a "Legacy Education". It was more fancy than normal schooling. In hindsight, it was also more useless. However, I did enjoy it. My instructor taught me about the ancient land known as China. It was a rich culture, one that had survived for an impossibly long time. The Han Li Clan can apparently trace our roots back to their Emperors."
He had walked around the room, taking time to admire each piece of art with Milo.
"In ancient times, they had 'myths' to explain things they didn't understand. Like this man here, he is not a Nightmare Creature, though he does somewhat appear as such. His name is Raijin, the Thunder God."
Milo beheld the strange man-demon with wonder. His hair flew upwards and stood tall, a maniacal face and muscular body. What was truly interesting was the circle of drums that floated perpendicular to his back.
"You see these instruments in his hands?" Caster had pointed at the thick sticks with bulbous ends. "He would use these to strike the drums, and when he did, he summoned lightning. The ancients used this to explain the loud clap of thunder and the ensuing lightning bolt."
Milo's eyes had taken it in. Each of the figures and images in that room was still burned deep into his very being. Their shades swirled in his eyes now, coming to the forefront.
Twin instruments effectively came into reality, smooth and powerful. Though they were also temporary creations, they did not look like sketches, and were instead indistinguishable from the real thing. Milo held each in his hands tightly.
Admittedly, Milo didn't know what they were called, as the translation had been lost to time. However, their purpose was just as Caster had said.
He swung the instruments and hit the empty air behind him, but when it reached a certain point, it came to a hard stop. There was a slight reversal in force, as the invisible material pushed back against the instrument.
Then, in a clear and deafening sound, the drum beat echoed across New Yharnam. Everyone, including the Saints far below halted at the sound. It's sharpness cutting through even the calamity of this battle.
From the point in which the instrument struck the non-existent drum, reality started to warp. The sound and purpose was recognized, Milo's emotions gave truth to a masterful piece of art, and so the world responded in kind.
The ancient leather of a long forgotten time and culture spread into existence from a single point. It moved outward until it took on a 3rd dimension and the drum was fully formed.
Milo swung again, and a new drum came to be.
Again.
Again.
The ring started to form.
Again.
Again.
The pale clouds above Yharnam started to darken. Their natural state of supernatural calming had been disrupted by a new piece of art, this one far more violent and sounding of war.
Again.
Again.
Eight drums attached to a circle floated perpendicular to Milo's back. His hair stood on end as the electricity and energy in the air flickered and thrummed, waiting to be released.
Milo paused for a moment. He picked out a single Saint within the invading force. They were all spread out, but their roles were each clear.
He found the one who would be the healer or supporter.
Strength beyond measure.
Milo's arms moved hard and fast, striking the drums to a beat of death and war.
The heavens heeded his song, his Art.
A tree of branching lightning formed in the clouds above, and the lightning struck. It would not stop until his song was over.
That was the day the world would learn the name of the true strongest Master in the New Workshop. Scarred Canvas, the one with a Sacred Aspect, and the 3rd Heir of the Red Judge.