Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the mesmerizing scene, the young man's eyes settled on the reinforced wooden door that stood ominously behind him, adjacent to the chapel's exit. With a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, he approached the door, his hand reaching out to grasp the cold metal handle. He attempted to pry it open with a forceful tug, but to his dismay, it refused to yield. The door remained steadfast and impenetrable, mirroring its inaccessibility within the game.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, the young man muttered under his breath, "Of course it's locked, just like in the damn game..." Disappointed yet undeterred, he reluctantly turned away from the door, his mind set on exploring the path ahead.
His gaze shifted toward the stone steps leading downward, winding their way along the cliff's edge. Each step resonated with a dull thud as he descended, his anticipation mingling with a sense of foreboding. The young man's heart pounded in his chest, knowing what kind of monster awaited him at the end of the path.
Reaching the bottom of the steps, he found himself facing a worn and weathered wooden bridge. Its aged planks creaked under his weight, swaying slightly with each step he took. As he advanced, the young man couldn't help but feel a knot tighten in his stomach, a mix of fear and nervousness intertwining within him.
The bridge stretched out before him and seemed endless, leading to a foreboding walled-off area, its sole entrance an archway flanked by two statues, shrouded in mystery. Shadows danced along the path, their shifting forms evoking a sense of unease. The young man's grip tightened on his broadsword, his knuckles turning white as he contemplated the impending confrontation with the fearsome Grafted Scion.
The mere thought of the monstrous creature waiting for him at the end of the bridge sent a shiver down his spine. The Grafted Scion was known for its ferocity and relentless attacks. It was an almost unbeatable boss designed by the game developers to put the exited new players in their place.
Despite the trepidation that coursed through him, the young man steeled himself, reminding himself that he had come this far and had no choice but to move forward. If he was experiencing a dream, then that horrifying creature was bound to shock him awake. If not, then facing the monster was the only way to go.
He passed through the archway, transitioning into a somber cemetery stretching from the entrance to the cliff's edge. The stone road lay before him, flanked by six weathered graves, three on each side. Time had taken its toll on the tombstones, their surfaces worn and chipped, bearing the weight of countless years.
The path ahead had gnarled trees, their branches twisted and contorted, bent to the side by the relentless force of the wind. The chill in the young man's spine intensified as he walked along the haunting path, the eerie silence broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant echo of his own footsteps.
As he neared the end of the stone road, a peculiar sight greeted him—a circular clearing with a towering statue at its center. The statue depicted a woman, Queen Marika, with her arms stretched to the sides. The positioning of her limbs gave an impression of crucifixion, although there was no cross. A certain beauty emanated from the stone figure despite the woman's unusual pose, giving a sense of regality.
Gritting his teeth, the young man pressed forward, his eyes fixed on the statue, only to halt as the ground beneath him trembled and the air crackled. The long-awaited moment had arrived—the Grafted Scion emerged, descending from seemingly thin air with a thunderous impact. Debris and dirt flew in all directions as the colossal entity took place before the young man.
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The Grafted Scion was a nightmarish amalgamation—a spider-like mass of bodies, limbs, and grotesque appendages. It wielded two swords with deadly proficiency and carried a formidable great shield. However, Its face presented a stark contrast—a visage of a beautiful child, innocent and untouched by the horror around it. The rest of its body, save for the ghastly limbs, was shrouded in a flowing black cloth, accentuating its monstrous form.
As if declaring its arrival, the Grafted Scion let out a screeching shriek.
Startled by the shrill screech that almost ruptured his ears, the young man stumbled back in a hasty retreat. His fear and nervousness had peaked, but an unexplainable instinct had compelled him to reach for his broadsword and kite shield. Though he had never swung a sword or held a shield in his entire life, they felt oddly natural in his hands, adding to the confusion that swirled within him.
Before he could fully process the situation, the Grafted Scion lunged forward with a mighty leap, its grotesque form propelled toward him. Reacting instinctively, the young man leaped backward, narrowly avoiding the creature's lethal assault.
The Grafted Scion crawled with incredible speed, its swords thrusting savagely at the ground while using its shield as a hammer, attempting to crush the young man under its relentless assault.
Unfamiliar knowledge and muscle memory surged within the young man, guiding his movements. He raised his shield, successfully blocking the thrusts of the Grafted Scion's swords while swiftly sidestepping to evade the powerful hammering strikes. Panic still coursed through his veins, but a growing urgency prompted him to take the initiative.
Seizing the opportunity, the young man counterattacked with calculated precision. His broadsword sliced through the air, severing one of the Grafted Scion's grotesque limbs. Each strike carried a mixture of fear and newfound skill, as if he had tapped into a reserve of hidden potential.
As the fight continued, the young man's confidence grew. His fingers recalled the proper gestures, and arcane energies flowed through his hands as he retrieved his Finger Seal. Instinctively, he chanted the incantation of Catch Flame, channeling his will into the spell.
With a wave of his hand, a small cone of flames erupted from his hands, directed toward the Grafted Scion. The creature recoiled from the searing heat, its flesh singed by the magical fire.
Step by step, the young man gained the upper hand, his movements becoming more fluid, more precise. His combination of swordplay and spellcasting created a dance of danger and defiance, his every action guided by an invisible force.
However, just as victory seemed within his grasp, the Grafted Scion let out an ear-piercing scream, its intensity resonating through the young man's very core. The soundwaves crashed against his senses, momentarily stunning him, causing his movements to falter.
The Grafted Scion, seizing the advantage, mercilessly slashed the young man with one of its swords. The blade cut through his flesh, creating a deep, bloody gash across his chest. The force of the attack sent him hurtling through the air, his body colliding with Queen Marika's statue.
Pain surged through the young man's broken bones, making any attempt to get up futile. Determined to survive, he reached for the finger seal, his hand trembling with pain and desperation. Clutching the seal tightly, he focused his remaining strength on invoking the Urgent Heal incantation.
As his fingers performed the intricate gestures, golden rays of healing energy radiated from the finger seal, washing over his battered form. The restorative magic mended some of his injuries, alleviating the pain and offering a glimmer of hope in the face of overwhelming odds.
But it was too late. Even as the healing energy enveloped the young man, the monster closed in with relentless, horrifying persistence. The Grafted Scion thrust its swords into the young man's shoulders, impaling him against the unyielding stone of Queen Marika's statue. Agony surged through his body, a fiery torment threatening to consume him.
With a slow and deliberate movement, the Grafted Scion raised its shield high, casting a menacing shadow over the young man's fading vision. The great-shield descended with a savage force, aiming directly for the young man's unprotected head.
Helplessness washed over him as he caught a glimpse of the shield hurtling toward him. His consciousness wavered, the edges of his vision growing dim. In those final moments, a bitter smile played upon his lips, and he mustered his fading strength to utter his last words, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and defiance.
"Well, isn't this just perfect," he muttered through gritted teeth and bloody coughs, his words laced with irony. "All this effort and I won't even get to see the damn death screen. Thanks, Elden Ring!"
His bitter quip hung in the air for a fleeting moment, a fragment of gallows humor in the face of imminent demise. The young man's fading consciousness grasped that morsel of irony, refusing to surrender to the inevitable without a trace of defiance.
But as the shield crashed down upon his head, darkness engulfed him completely, swallowing his sarcastic remark alongside his fading existence. The echoes of his final words faded away, leaving only the haunting silence of a life extinguished. The Grafted Scion stood victorious, its menacing presence looming over the fallen young man.
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