"What brings you to Stormveil? Are you here to challenge Godrick as well? You've certainly made quite the entrance," Nepheli said, resting a hand on her hip with a faint, appreciative smirk. She had noticed the disappearance of the Omen sentry at the tunnel, which had finally allowed her to breach the walls. However, the sheer number of soldiers was staggering. Though many were mere fodder, there were elite warriors like the Banished Knights among them—warriors who, in her eyes, had chosen a wretched master.
It was thanks to the chaotic wake left by the Tarnished that her path had cleared, and she had wasted no time striking Godrick's sycophants from the rear.
The Tarnished nodded in affirmation. Nepheli's expression darkened slightly. "If you seek to challenge him, call upon me. That craven Godrick... his 'grafting' is an abomination. It is not the conduct of a lord. He has defiled the very wind of this land. Even if I act without orders, I am certain my foster father will turn a blind eye to this justice."
"I appreciate the offer. If the need arises, I'll find you."
"Forgive me, I've talked too much. Since we both walk the path of the Tarnished, let us trust in our respective guidances. I believe that one day, all paths lead to the throne of the Elden Lord." With a wave, Nepheli turned and departed.
The Tarnished watched her go, his gaze lingering. He sensed a complex weight behind her name.
"Nepheli Loux... Storm... Storm King... Hoarah Loux." His eyes sharpened with recognition. "Old barbarian, you certainly left a messy legacy. Fine, since she's of your line, I'll keep an eye on the girl."
As he stepped deeper into the inner keep, a nauseating stench of rot filled his nostrils. He looked up at the rafters, only to find them draped with severed limbs. Some were bone-dry; others were still dripping fresh blood onto the stone floor.
"Good. Very good, Godrick," he hissed, his fury reaching a boiling point. He wasn't a saint, and he didn't claim to be a "good man" like Rogier, but this went beyond war—it was a desecration that crossed his final line.
His eyes fell upon a massive mural on the wall. The subject was unmistakable: Godfrey, the First Elden Lord. In the painting, Godfrey stood with his legendary axe, the Beast Regent Serosh perched upon his back, hair wild and regal.
"You still have the gall to hang his portrait here?" The Tarnished lashed out with his left hand, the force of his strike shattering the wall and instantly killing a Grafted Scion hiding in the masonry.
"The old barbarian's house has fallen into ruin." He looked at the portrait again. The more majestic Godfrey appeared in the painting, the more insulting it was to see it surrounded by the stench of a butcher shop. The descendants of the Golden Lineage, once the masters of the world, had reduced themselves to hunting their own subjects like cattle.
"Right... that 'Little Red Riding Hood' said her comrades were around here. Might as well look for them." Before leaving, he glanced at the portrait one last time, as if telling the ghost of Godfrey: Your unworthy progeny dies today. Just then, a distant explosion shook the castle, causing the painting to sway as if in silent agreement.
The inner chambers were devoid of regular footmen; instead, they were populated by Grafted monsters that mirrored the depravity of the castle. Once a beacon of pride for the Storm King, Stormveil had become a macabre warehouse.
He reached a lift where the smell of rot was thick enough to taste. At the top, he found the primary "Larder."
The floor was piled with countless bodies wrapped in tattered cloth. Dried blood had turned the fabric black. Just as Roderika had described, they looked like pupae—motionless and discarded. At the center of the room, two feral dogs were gnawing on the stumps of these poor souls.
"So this is how he treats his people." The Tarnished's eyes flashed. He moved with lethal precision, carving through the dogs while carefully avoiding the "Chrysalids." He searched through the pile of bodies, looking for any sign of a keepsake. Finally, at the base of a stack, he found a red cloth.
It was made of fine velvet, wrapped neatly around something small. He didn't open it; he simply felt the weight of it in his palm. "This must be it. The legacy of her 'fellowship'." He tucked it away safely.
"Rest now. I will see this returned to her." He tossed a handful of glowing Runes into the air. The soft, golden light showered over the bodies. "I don't know any prayers for the dead, so this old soldier's custom will have to do."
Elsewhere, Rogier was navigating the lower reaches of the castle alone. Thanks to the Tarnished drawing most of the heat, he had managed to reach the depths unhindered.
"A truly formidable person," Rogier chuckled to himself.
"The origin of Those Who Live in Death... the face of the Prince of Death is said to be down here." Rogier leaned against a damp wall. He had tried to get information from the Deathbed Companion at the Hold, but her door remained shut to him.
He sought the truth because he pitied the "pariahs." Those who touched the Deathroot were rejected by the Erdtree, becoming neither living nor dead. To Rogier, this was a cruelty that needed a cure. "I don't know how much I can achieve... but doing nothing is worse. Sorry, D, I'm just built this way."
He found a way down into the darkness, eventually encountering two massive, pale-eyed bats. With a focused thrust of his rapier, he unleashed a Glintstone spear that skewered both creatures mid-air.
Descending further, he found a sewer-like area filled with stagnant water and the sound of scurrying. A pack of rotted, white-eyed rats emerged, led by a monstrosity the size of a carriage.
"The scent of Deathroot is strong here..." Rogier moved with practiced grace, his magical combat arts systematically thinning the swarm until only the giant remained. It was a mindless husk of aggression.
"When I find a way, I will make things right for your kind...!" With a flurry of stabs, he punctured the giant rat's hide until it collapsed. "Phew... I need to get stronger if I'm to keep this up."
He continued deeper into the gloom, following a chiming sound until he spotted a Teardrop Scarab. It fled from him, tumbling into a massive, open cavern at the very bottom.
Rogier followed, but as he landed, the entire sub-level began to shake. Dust and stone rained from the ceiling as a twisted, rotted mass of bark and gold—an Ulcerated Tree Spirit—erupted from the earth.
"What in the heavens is that?!" Rogier recoiled from the primal, savage aura of the beast. The spirit let out a world-shaking roar and crushed the gold scarab into paste. A book flew out from the debris, landing in Rogier's arms. He didn't have time to look at it; the spirit was already charging.
The battle was desperate. Rogier used the height of the surrounding ledges to rain sorceries down, but the creature eventually smashed his vantage point. Forced into close quarters, Rogier leaped onto the beast's back.
"Carian Grandeur!" His rapier was enveloped in a massive blade of blue light. He drove the magical greatsword into the spirit's hide, the mana grinding into its vitals.
The spirit thrashed, coughing out a breath of golden, death-tainted fire. Rogier was thrown back, his weapon glowing dimly as its mana was nearly spent. "One more shot...!"
The spirit finally stiffened and burst into a shower of golden sparks, leaving a Golden Seed behind. Rogier slumped against the wall, clutching a wound on his side. "If that Tarnished were here... this would have been much easier."
He staggered into the final chamber. And there it was.
A massive, distorted, and horrifying face was embedded in the roots. It had no beauty—only sightless eyes, weeping sores, and a swarm of flies.
"Godwyn..." Rogier whispered. He reached out and carefully harvested a piece of the blackened pustule. "If I can study the power within this..."
Before he could finish the thought, a searing pain ripped through his body. "No...! Deathblight! I was too careless!" Thorns of black wood began to sprout from within his skin. He tried to move, but the combined weight of his injuries and the curse paralyzed him.
Am I to die here? For the curse to take me so quickly...
Sorry, D... Sorry, my friend...
Just as the thorns were about to pierce his heart, a violent gale erupted from the levels above. The pressure was so immense it created a vacuum, literally sucking Rogier upward, away from the Prince of Death's corpse.
"What is this... such a powerful storm..." Rogier looked up, dazed. He could see the entire castle being enveloped in a gathering tempest, all of it spiraling toward the heart of the fortress—Godrick's throne.
Rogier fell onto a high ledge, his legs hitting the stone with a sickening crack. He was badly injured, but the thorns had stopped growing. He was away from the source of the blight.
"Is it you...?" Rogier looked toward the center of the storm and smiled painfully. "A truly magnificent feat... haha..."
"Good luck... with your regicide..." He leaned against the wall, watching the wind gather for the final confrontation.