[Elden Ring: My Ending] Chapter 54

The issue of the Tarnished’s clothing had now become a pressing matter for not just one but two women.

The first had managed to find the Tarnished and bring him to Stormveil Castle, then sought out fabric worthy of demigods and even Goddess Marika—but she hadn’t accounted for the fact that an ordinary needle wouldn’t be able to handle such a special material.

By some miracle and through titanic effort, Boc had managed to stitch together something resembling clothing for His Majesty, but…

The King went and grew! Just like that—he grew! His Majesty wasn’t a child, so why had he suddenly shot up in size?! Or… was there something they didn’t know?

Fortunately, Boc was prevented from sinking entirely into despair.

“Where did you get that?”

“…”

Ranni’s projection ignored Melina’s question and silently handed the golden needle to a stunned Boc.

A needle of pure gold, glowing with the power of the Erdtree. Something so valuable that many lords would have sent their most loyal servants to die for it.

At least, before the Shattering.

The demi-human had no idea who was standing before him, but judging by Lady Melina’s silent frustration, it was someone important.

“I have gathered many things over the years,” the demigoddess said neutrally, folding her hands. “Is that really so surprising?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Ranni’s spectral face, as if she couldn’t believe Melina had spent all this time wandering around with her faithful companion, only ever looking for her future Lord.

Surely, she wasn’t that crazy, right?

Melina, recognizing the implication instantly, pursed her lips slightly in annoyance.

She was just doing her job!

“You should be busy right now. What are you doing here?”

“The tailor you chose is competent, but he lacks the proper tools. I can’t stand watching the future king walk around in rags unworthy of him.”

“I already accomplished the impossible,” Melina replied coldly.

And the Outer Gods only knew how much effort she had put into getting her chosen one to accept clothing at all! This was, quite possibly, the greatest achievement she was proud of!

She heard the criticism in Ranni’s words and was about to retort, but…

Boc, realizing that the two ladies were about to start an argument—possibly not their first—decided to shift attention onto himself and play his trump card.

“You’re arguing because I’m ugly, aren’t you?!”

The two women, just about ready to launch into a heated ‘discussion’, froze and stared at Boc in confusion.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he trembled.

His Majesty would have to call him the most beautiful being in the Lands Between later—to repay him for the sacrifice he was about to make!

Meanwhile, one of the greatest battles since the Shattering was about to begin…

Unlike the carefully orchestrated “festival” that had attempted to take down Radahn, the march against Kosta had no meticulous countdown or scripted event triggers.

At some point, the battle simply began.

A storm of arrows and spells mixed into a lethal cascade, surging toward the half-naked man at terrifying speed.

Seeing the incoming barrage, Kosta pulled a massive shield out of nowhere.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

The worried albinauric couldn’t maintain her composure anymore, not when they were so close to their goal.

It wasn’t about how strong Kosta was. The issue was that they could simply overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

The unshaken man didn’t answer.

A golden glow erupted from his hands, flooding the shield, which immediately began to crack under the weight of sheer casual energy.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Arrows the size of ballista bolts and spells capable of shattering stone walls rained down on the spot where a single Tarnished stood, carving craters into the earth. Dust rose into the air.

Of course, no one expected this to kill one of the strongest beings in the Lands Between.

But at the very least, they had hoped to leave a scratch. To force him to use so much energy that he wouldn’t have enough left for a proper fight…

That would have been enough.

“No.”

The Blood Lord… or whatever he was at this point… frowned, tightening his grip on his trident.

Even with all the preparation, they had still underestimated their opponent.

Slowly, the dust settled, revealing the unshaken, completely unscathed, half-naked madman—holding a shield covered in golden fractures.

The moment he lowered it, the shield shattered into pieces, unable to withstand such massive amounts casual energy.

…perhaps, once upon a time, that shield had belonged to a hardcore purist, faithful to the ideals of difficulty…

Kosta surveyed the crowd, then pulled a staff from nowhere, gripping it in both hands before slamming it into the ground.

A massive, glowing casual seal formed beneath him.

The cursed son of the Goddess had more than enough time, opportunity and talent to study magic.

So it took him only a glance to understand what the Tarnished was about to do.

“Meteorite of Astel!”

“Fall back!” Mohg’s voice thundered across the battlefield as he slammed his bloodied trident into the ground.

Those who could fly took to the skies. Erdtree Guardians and mounted knights urged their steeds in every direction. Spirits faded into intangibility. The Tarnished were carried off by their attendants, whisked away to safety.

Unfortunately, not everyone was so lucky.

Above Kosta, high in the sky, golden voids tore open into the abyss.

From within, meteors hurtled downward at blinding speed.

For a moment, it seemed as if the entire Altus Plateau had been swallowed by casual light. Explosions roared across the land, shaking those who—just moments ago—had no idea that a casual hardcore player was being hunted.

…or perhaps it was the other way around.

‘I’ve seen Meteorite of Astel before, but one this powerful…’ Morgott shook his head.

He couldn’t believe that not too long ago, the Tarnished and his projection had fought on equal footing.

…or, well, almost equal footing…

…well, at the very least, the gap between them hadn’t been this massive…

The Omen King’s projection scowled.

They had reacted far too late to the emergence of this monster, and now they were paying the price.

A significant portion of the army—once powerful and confident—was simply gone.

The once-pristine golden fields, bathed in eternal autumn, were now soaked in blood and littered with countless shattered bodies.

Survival in an incorporeal state was out of the question. The golden energy that had flooded the land burned away everything, including the spirits who hadn’t managed to escape.

The few who had survived—miraculously—now moaned and gasped on the bloodstained ground.

Among their desperate cries, prayers to the Erdtree and Goddess Marika could be heard.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, only the weaker portion of the army had suffered.

They wouldn’t have been able to touch Kosta anyway.

“Marvelous, simply marvelous, my dear Tarnished!”

Mohg’s laughter rang across the battlefield.

To some, it would have sounded chilling and oppressive.

His trident gleamed with blood-red light, and beneath the true Mohg, a crimson sigil pulsed ominously.

His projection was melting into a pool of blood, slowly seeping back into him—restoring his full strength.

From the very beginning, the Blood Lord had planned a harvest.

Though he hadn’t expected the Tarnished to wipe out so many with his first attack, it was still within acceptable limits.

For the first time, Kosta saw someone steal runes from the enemies he had slain.

It was… interesting.

It seemed like Mohg knew of some unusual farming techniques.

‘Not surprising at all,’ Konstantin thought. ‘His location is literally a cradle of rune farming(1)…’

“Behold, foul Tarnished soul!”

A completely unscathed Varre, somehow untouched by the devastation, emerged as if this were some rehearsed scene.

…For some reason, Kosta could vividly picture Varre standing in front of a mirror, practicing his speech and fine-tuning his dramatic intonations…

“…With your actions, you have aided Lord Mohg the Radiant, the Blood Lord!.. Oh, I see you’re calm now, but don’t think your calm will last! Our Lord—”

“…Are you ever going to shut up?”

Knight Bernahl’s irritated shout cut through the air, making Varre flinch as if he had been slapped.

The man in white had hoped that the miserable, maidenless knight would get crushed by a meteorite.

But apparently, he’d gotten lucky.

The scattered Tarnished began to return. The airborne creatures froze in midair, encircling Kosta, while the riders, as if they had never left, closed in, forming a tightening ring around him.

Not that this fazed the main contender for the throne in the slightest.

His concern lay elsewhere:

“Why did you join them, Bernahl?”

Kosta’s gaze met the old Tarnished’s. To be honest, he didn’t want to fight the man who had once taught countless players some of their most valuable techniques.

“I couldn’t refuse such an offer,” Bernahl lowered his head slightly, almost apologetically.

He, unable to flee like the others, understood why he had been spared.

“I would have loved to cross blades with you in a fair duel, Konstantin, even if it meant losing instantly. But your very existence threatens my goal. The strong kill the weak; the weak unite and kill the strong. Surely you know this, Tarnished?”

Konstantin raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to go for the basic ending. Who said I was going to obey the Greater Will? Your waifu threw herself into the flame(2), and I completely understand your grief, Bernahl. The deaths of the few beautiful things in this world will not be forgotten.”

Kosta’s eyes burned with the light of a waifu fan—the brightest light he had ever shown.

Bernahl, clearly not expecting that kind of response, froze, scratching his helmet.

“My… waifu? You know about my servant?!”

A moment of clarity washed over the Tarnished’s mind. The light of waifus, stronger than any sorcery, seeped into his thoughts.

“Enough talking!”

The Blood Lord’s roar echoed across the battlefield.

It seemed Mohg had taken offense at how the Tarnished had completely ignored his dramatic transformation.

Which was a shame—because there was a lot to look at. Black wings had sprouted from the demigod’s back, his body pulsed with blood-red energy, and even his horns seemed to have grown longer!

“…Did you just skip straight to phase two?” Konstantin muttered in surprise.

Apparently, yes.

Having gathered enough casual energy, Mohg, recognizing Kosta’s strength, had decided to go all in from the start:

“Hear me! On my count! Trēs!”

Blood-red energy surged into the sky.

Konstantin felt a foreign casual force wrap around him.

The now-familiar energy, inaccessible even to demigods—one capable of suppressing the Sun burning within him—was the clearest sign yet of an actual blessing from the Formless Mother(3).

Kosta’s mood improved even further.

‘I wonder if she’ll have her own questline…’

If not in the game, then at least here.

His inner lore scholar was dying to learn what the game had never told.

Though, first… he had to finish the main quests.

And now that he thought about it, there weren’t that many left.

A cracked great club materialized in his hand.

Konstantin wasn’t the only one who had realized the scale of Mohg’s power.

Morgott’s projection, observing from the sidelines, gritted his teeth—fighting the urge to join Konstantin and beat the absolute crap out of every single traitor.

All of them!

And then, out of the Tarnished himself!

‘Traitors… Nothing but traitors all around me!’

Having closed the distance, the Erdtree Guardians launched their assault.

Konstantin, glancing behind him, suddenly pulled out a whistle and summoned Torrent, who snorted in irritation.

The spectral steed—having received a nice buff—immediately showed that his leveling hadn’t been for nothing: a powerful kick from his hooves sent not just one Guardian flying, but also his mount.

Jumping several meters into the air, Torrent, satisfied with his contribution, disappeared—allowing Kosta to land directly on another Guardian, knocking him clean off his horse.

Not giving his opponent a chance, Kosta raised his club.

WHAM!

Konstantin landed just beyond his now-defeated enemy.

The Guardian’s horse, letting out a sorrowful huff, approached him and began nuzzling against him.

The scene sparked… certain memories.

“…No true parries until the time is right,” Kosta declared sternly, swatting the horse away.

It could mourn its rider after the battle.

If there was even anything left of the Guardian by then.

There was a very real chance his body wouldn’t survive what was about to happen.

“…Duo!..”

Konstantin felt the foreign power tightening around him, as if trying to crush him.

Mohg’s next roar served as a command.

Dragons opened their maws, unleashing torrents of fire.

The undead survivors from the Tarnished’s last attack charged forward, completely unbothered by the fact that dragon fire would consume them just as readily.

Visibility dropped to near zero.

A sea of flame swallowed the battlefield, painting the sky red.

The screams of burning undead filled the air as they hurled themselves through the inferno toward the Tarnished.

Somewhere in the blazing storm, the dead bird screeched.

The battlefield—where an army led by a demigod faced off against a single casual-hardcore player—would never be the same again.

And Kosta’s next move only solidified that fact.

“…Marika’s tits…” Bernahl muttered, scratching his helmet.

His thoughts, suddenly cleared by Konstantin’s words, told him that, perhaps, it would be wiser to leave these allies behind and just… observe.

For some reason, he didn’t resist that feeling.

And just like that, he silently vanished.

In the chaos of battle, the disappearance of a single Tarnished wouldn’t change much.

And it was, without a doubt, the right decision.

Pillars of blood-black fire erupted into the sky.

Morgott was not easily frightened.

Angered? Absolutely.

But not frightened.

In his long life, he had seen horrors beyond what even the worst monsters in the Lands Between could imagine.

And there were many of them—this was a Soulslike, after all!

Yet, even he felt a chill run through his projection.

Somewhere, at the edge of his consciousness, he felt the heat of the rising flames—flames unlike anything the Lands Between had ever witnessed.

As if alive, the fire latched onto the dragons’ breath, devouring it, before turning on the rulers of the skies themselves.

A wail of agony echoed across the Altus Plateau as the oversized lizards struggled in vain to rid themselves of the monstrous flames.

The undead were slightly more fortunate:

They were incinerated before they even realized what was happening.

But no one had time to process any of it.

“…Ūnus!..”

Konstantin’s blood-black flames… vanished.

The man, still engulfed in fire, stared at his hands in surprise.

He could feel it—reality itself had constricted around him, sealing all his power deep within.

There was no exaggeration in saying that the demigod, having consumed the blood of a third of the army, had surpassed even the Godskin Duo.

Kosta was definitely enjoying this upgraded version of the boss(4).

‘Now it’s the Tarnisheds’ turn,’ Morgott narrowed his eyes.

There were no more than two dozen of them left—perhaps even fewer—but each had survived countless battles.

Failures, stripped of grace, yet given the chance to become a Lord.

Some had spent their eternity studying magic.

Some had chosen the path of the warrior.

Some had gone even further, mastering both in different forms and variations.

Every Tarnished was unique, and though they didn’t possess the raw destructive power of dragons, they had been forged for one singular purpose—to hunt down the very beings they were never meant to defeat.

After all, each of them had once been given the chance to become a Lord.

Now, with the Kosta’s primary strength restricted, that chance had only grown.

Or so they thought.

Countless blades surrounded the charred man, who—despite everything—still wore the same simple cloth around his waist.

In an instant, they struck.

Piercing through vital organs.

Tearing his body apart, flooding it from the inside of the wounds with their own casual strength.

Golden-tinged blood poured from the man’s wounds, and those who had dared to get close felt an instinctive, primal shiver.

It was too familiar.

Too much like Grace.

Dense, foreign, as if it had come from some distant cosmos—existing on a different plane of reality.

The golden glow in the man’s eyes began to dim, revealing dull, gray irises as life drained from them.

Even his great club slipped from his grasp.

For a moment, there was nothing but suffocating silence.

‘Defeated?’

In one form or another, the thought passed through the minds of all who witnessed the scene.

The terrifyingly fast and agile Tarnished had finally made a mistake.

It was hard to believe, but their strategy had been far more intricate than anyone had expected.

They had exhausted him.

Restrained him.

Drowned him in dragonfire.

Surely, that was enough to force an error.

‘No, this isn’t right…’

Morgott couldn’t believe it had been this simple.

It couldn’t have been this…

Well, not simple, but…

Something whispered to him that this wasn’t how things ended.

Not in their world.

“Well, well, little lamb… how did it come to this?”

Judging by his tone, Varre had a very different opinion.

Stepping forward, the man in white, now standing beside his Lord, walked toward the dying figure without hesitation.

“He might still—”

Varre waved off the words of some lowly Tarnished with irritation, stopping directly in front of the burned, bloodied madman.

“You’ve been eating well, little lamb,” Varre grinned widely. “But even a starving wretch, when fed to the brim, remains a starving wretch.”

Reaching out, he barely managed to pat the Tarnished’s face—almost like a scolding parent disciplining an unruly child.

He had dreamed of this moment ever since he first saw that filthy Tarnished shatter his beautiful white mask!

A pathetic madman who couldn’t tell friend from foe.

Unfortunately, the lunatic’s progress had been so relentless that Varre had never gotten the chance to punish the wretched fool himself.

Fortunately, their wise Lord had seen the problem as well.

Varre’s smug grin froze in place.

The Tarnished’s eyes.

The man’s gray eyes, which had seemed lifeless just moments ago, suddenly lowered—locking directly onto Varre’s.

“Huh?”

That was the first and last thought he managed before a fist came flying at his face.

The unexpected punch sent him soaring, the remnants of his once-pristine white mask shattering like it had never existed.

With that single strike, a surge of energy flooded Konstantin’s body. His eyes blazed with renewed light, and his scorched skin began to heal.

If Sekiro had taught him that he could parry the air itself, then Bloodborne…

It had taught him that lost health could be regained—if one was aggressive enough.

A faint aura of energy coated Konstantin’s body. Ignoring his wounds, he lunged at the now-screaming Tarnished, snatching up the gift from his waifu in the process.

He had barely used the great club so far, and that needed to change.

In the next moments Morgott had witnessed a massacre.

A brutal, merciless slaughter—devoid of beauty, grace (or even rolling).

A wild beast, paying no heed to its own wounds, trampling over more than a dozen battle-hardened warriors and sorcerers as the few who remained watched in stunned horror.

Whether he liked it or not, the demigod saw something in the Tarnished’s form—something that reminded him of the first Elden Lord.

And he felt something strange.

Something unnatural.

Something deeply, crushingly unsettling.

With every bone-shattering swing of the club, Konstantin’s burned body healed more and more, until—barely a few minutes later—he was almost completely unscathed.

Even the force restricting his power had begun to weaken, allowing a fraction of his casual strength to spill into the world.

And when the last Tarnished fell…

"Nihil! Nihil! Nihil!!!"

Mohg’s final trump card came into play.

The veins in Konstantin’s body burst open, sending blood spraying as an unnatural force tried to tear him apart from within.

But the man, as if completely unbothered, pressed forward—marching directly toward Mohg.

And when he reached him…

He swung his club with everything he had.

The impact shattered the weapon, sending golden shards flying in all directions.

The massive demigod was launched several meters backward, tumbling across the ground.

His trident—his sacred weapon—remained lying at the Tarnished’s feet.

And Konstantin had absolutely no reservations about picking it up.

"You...!"

Drenched in blood, Konstantin first glanced at the weapon—then at its owner.

“…No bleed resistance, if I remember correctly(5)…”

With an effortless motion, he twirled the trident like he’d been using it for years—before raising it high and piercing the very air itself.

Mohg’s eyes widened in terror as his own blood—blood he could not control—began gushing from his body.

He, the one blessed by the Formless Mother, the Lord of Blood himself—

Was bleeding out.

At a pace so absurdly fast that the mere thought of how this would be remembered in history filled him with sheer dread.

The spirits would never let this be forgotten.

The Lord of Blood died of blood loss.

No.

Not like this.

Never!

“S—Stop… My sweet M-Miquella, he—”

Konstantin raised the trident again—and once more, pierced the air.

"Kkh—a…!"

More blood erupted from Mohg’s body.

“S-Stop…!”

The unshaken Tarnished barely spared the demigod a glance before repeating the attack, driving the trident through space itself once again.

A mere minute ago, the once-mighty son of the Goddess had been at his absolute peak.

Now, he lay collapsed in a pool of his own blood, staring blankly at the sky with dimming eyes.

“…Miquella…”

Konstantin, realizing that one more strike would finish off the demigod for good, discarded the trident like trash.

He didn’t even bother acknowledging the voice calling him out from the weapon.

“…Honestly, I have mixed feelings about this,” Kosta admitted.

“On one hand, you were the victim of a evil little boy, which is arguably a fate worse than any death—even the most gruesome one.

On the other hand…

Even without his influence, you did enough on your own that trying to talk things out with you would have been utterly pointless.”

He looked around.

The restrictions on his body had lifted, restoring his casual prowess to its full extent.

No, more than that—

He could feel it.

A massive influx of runes, flowing into him from the countless fallen enemies.

His body felt lighter than ever—overflowing with power.

Of course, at his current level of overleveling, this didn’t really change much in the grand scheme of things.

“…Miquella… ah, Miquella…”

Kosta raised an eyebrow at Mohg’s pitiful state.

After some thought, he decided not to dispel the demigod’s delusions.

It was better for a casual blood-loss abuser to die thinking of his brother with unnatural warmth and affection…

…rather than spend his last moments consumed by horror, disgust, and hatred.

Soulslikes already had more than enough suffering for everyone.

A mundane sword materialized in Konstantin’s hand—one so completely worthless that, by the Outer Gods, it would break after a single hit.

Originally, he had anticipated a one-on-one duel with Mohg.

But the demigod decided to surprise him—throwing an entire army at him while severely restricting his power, even at the cost of his own mobility.

For such a generous gift, Konstantin figured he owed at least some respect to the casual blood-loss abuser, now dying to blood loss.

“You’ll die by the sword, not by bleeding out,” Konstantin said quietly, raising the golden-cracked hunk of metal above his head.

In Mohg’s dimming eyes, for just a moment—

A flicker of gratitude.

Then, as the blade pierced his chest—

It disappeared.

Together with a massive surge of runes—

And yet another Great Rune—

Another child of the Goddess had fallen for good.

It should have been a glorious victory.

But…

“…You could have warned me, Konstantin…”

The Tarnished blinked in surprise.

For the first time, there was not just disapproval, but actual anger in the albinauric’s voice.

As if that wasn’t enough, Kosta turned—

Only to find Melina and Ranni standing before him.

Their stares made him feel like something inside him had died.

Several times.

“… … …”

“… … …”

“… … …”

The gazes of the waifus promised to haunt his nightmares.

Kosta barely managed to squeeze out:

“…I broke your gift, Meli-Meli…”

But unfortunately, Melina wasn’t even remotely moved by his confession.

In fact, she didn’t even react—

She just kept looking.

Konstantin’s mouth opened slightly, but the words never came.

The feeling of victory vanished completely.

Morgott, watching from the sidelines, hurriedly dispelled his illusion, feeling, for the first time in centuries, a very real fear for his own soul.

The foolish Tarnished had dug his own grave.

Now, he would have to lie in it.

Meanwhile, poor Sellen—who was, at that moment, being mercilessly cuddled by a dreaming Rennala—stared in shock at a tiny version of the Tarnished…

…curled up in a corner, rocking back and forth.

Whatever had happened…

Had definitely been brutal.

(1) A high-level farming zone—Mohg’s domain is crawling with enemies that drop a significant number of runes. There are more than a few methods to efficiently farm in this area, but one of the easiest and most popular is right by the Site of Grace. Here, players can repeatedly kill an unfortunate bird alongside a small group of albinaurics who wandered into the wrong neighborhood.

Truly, the cradle of farming.

(2) There’s a mention that Bernahl chose to serve a blasphemous Lord specifically to defy the Greater Will, which had decreed that his servant be sacrificed in the flame.

It’s likely this was meant to be part of an actual questline, but—like an ocean of other cut content—all that remains are scraps.

(3) The Formless Mother—presumably an Outer God who actively meddles in the Lands Between.

Mohg received his power over blood from her.

It’s likely that this Outer God was supposed to have a major questline, but—like so many other stories and characters—was left behind, reduced to little more than fragments.

Sure, those scraps can be pieced together into something coherent if you really try, but at that point, you might as well sit down and write your own original novel from scratch—there’s just that little information available.

The poor lore enthusiasts are left with scraps of scraps.

(4) In-game, Mohg doesn’t actually restrict the player’s abilities.

The only thing he does is drain HP while restoring his own.

For the sake of the fanfic, this power has been slightly reworked.

(5) The Lord of Blood actually doesn’t have any resistance to bleed.

Which is… weird, but… fine. ಠ_ಠ