Once, ages ago, there was a doctor who wished for the world to be better. He traveled far, he traveled wide, he saw so much that it’d be natural for him to forget the wonders he witnessed, and yet he never did, the memories etched themselves onto him, as permanent reminders of who he was. He walked on his path, carrying the full weight of these experiences with him.

It is a tragedy then, that the kind doctor who spoke of a warm world and traveled far and wide with an open heart, exists only in the past, and no trace of the good he did exists any longer.

“Evil, good, such thoughts are superfluous. Everything is a matter of perspective. Even a deadly disease can lead to a great panacea. The world is created, as a result of our ability to create contradiction”

Such words made up the core of that kind doctor, as he searched and searched for peace.

Within the wrecked and ruined old castle that used to stand proudly over the village of Bewit, the conflict continues.

Heacrim’s monstrous eyes watch as the Shade walks into the hall. Its arms are resting lackadaisically at its side, its posture slightly hunched forward. The black exoskeleton that had previously been shattered now once again covered its body, though now its sheen was far more impressive. Its golden antlers shined with the accentuation of the torch light. And its white, shining eyes were focused solely on Heacrim.

Heacrim was the first to make his move, his feet sliding across the ground and his claws braced at his sides.

The claws swing through the air towards the Shade, who steps back, the claws cut only a hair away from the exoskeleton.

The Shade takes advantage of Heacrim’s momentum, slamming its knee into his stomach. A gasp of air comes from the root/covered face of Heacrim, but his body acts through the stunning force of the blow. His other claw scrapes across the exoskeleton, tearing into it but not through to the tree-like flesh of the Shade.

The Shade back ups, kicking out into the chest of Heacrim, who blocks it with his arm, strengthened by the roots running through his body. The black energy emanating from him sticks around the Shade’s wound momentarily, and then disperses quickly, unable to bear being in close proximity to it.

“You amaze me!” The distorted voice of Heacrim comes from beneath the mask of his face. The voice is now even a further cry from his original refined, calm tone. Even his vocal cords have begun to twist and transform in response to his demand for more power.

“I’ve seen quite a lot of creatures, I’ve created quite a lot! But nothing like you! A slender body, condensed with power, and an acute mind! And yet a monster all the same.” Heacrim right claw glows with black energy. It crawls off his claw, eating away at the air around it. The air around him seems to vibrate, as if each molecule of air was trying to run away.

The Shade does not move forward, it simply plants its feet into the ground at the sight in front of it.

The energy seems to build, and build, until it reaches a crescendo, until it begins to replicate a flame, burning off his claw, revealing the human flesh beneath the gnarled and twisted roots that made up his body.

He raises up the claw to his face, his vertical eyes shining through the darkness brought forth by the energy.

“Yes, perhaps its fate that you and I were to meet here. An unnatural abomination such as you, and a man brought to the extremities of the natural world such as I. But unlike you, I am a man driven with purpose!”

Sweeping the claw in front of him with as much force as he can muster, the black energy streams forth, condensing into a larger, physical version of the claw. The claw sweeps to the side, gathering force as it slams towards the Shade. A liquid version of the energy drips off the claw and hits the ground, burning away whatever it hits.

Heacrim charges forwards as well, the claws of his limbs swinging wildly to his side as the larger claw makes its way towards the Shade.

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As Heacrim and the claw pincer the Shade in near perfect sync, it waits, a moment, a moment further, until the claw is only an instant away from its side, and Heacrim is in front of it, bringing both claws forwards with the intent to drive them through its chest.

The heightened senses of Heacrim sense something is amiss, the moment his foot steps within the striking distance of the Shade.

Popping sounds entered Heacrim’s ears, as the four extendable arms of the Shade unsheathe from its body. Each extendable arm seemed to be connected by a wide array of joints, giving them an infinite degree of freedom to maneuver by.

The main arms of the Shade moved first, catching the claw and not moving an inch from its blow. Its hands grip the gigantic appendage with a ferocious grip. The Shade pours power into its arms, and its hand sink into the claw, crushing through it.

The extendable arms, its pinsirs, move momentarily after, their target was Heacrim. Without even glancing at him, the Shade commands its arms, and like spears, one on each side of the Shade pierces through the claws of the approaching Heacrim, anchoring themselves into the ground. The remaining two glide across Heacrim’s body, tearing away at his flesh and the roots that cover his body.

“Beast.” Heacrim spits out, and in response the gigantic claw explodes into a liquid, a corrosive acid that eats through anything it touches. Heacrim’s eyes glow with delight, as he watches the torrent of liquid cover the Shade.

The Shade’s appendages retreat back quickly, the exoskeleton of its body was burning, steam billowing from off the surface. Heacrim backed away quickly, his wounds filling with roots, at an extremely slow pace. His breathing was heavy. His eyes were wavering, as he saw through the steam.

The Shade walked out, the damage to his exoskeleton evident. It was thinner, there were melted sections all over its body, its extra appendages stuck to its body, wrapping the most severe places. But it walked with strength, each step cracking the ground. Its eyes glew bright white, and they focused on Heacrim with an unspoken intensity that denied him the ability to look away. The Shade’s antlers maintained their gold, their dominant appearance. They came away unscathed from the corrosive attack.

“What are you.” Heacrim’s words contained no fear, only contempt. The Shade that stood in front of him, repulsed him to his core.

The Shade stopped at the utterance of the words, its eyes narrowing, its body moving, its arm raised slowly upwards from its side, one, long finger rose as well, in front of its body. The Shade, with a head turned up and to the side, pointed towards Heacrim.

With this, Heacrim’s anger rose to the peak. “You think we’re similar!?” The wounds writhed, roots spread, now, there was little left of Heacrim that remained a human. Only his shape, and the two eyes in the center of his face. “In what way, monster!?” Black energy gathered itself onto Heacrim’s claw, and he slammed it towards the ground.

“It is obvious, you are something sick, something demented! Whereas I… Am a man with a divine mission! You can’t imagine what fuels my actions, mindless beast!” Underneath Heacrim’s palm, black energy pulsed outwards across the ground. “Just as they did, I shall as well! I’ll take the life of everything in these castle walls, and use it for myself!” His eyes were squared directly onto the body of the dead Bloodsucker on the ground. A demented, sick, twisted laugh came from Heacrim, echoing throughout the hall they were in.

Heacrim’s root like appendages sunk into the ground, and began to spread, using the preestablished pathways of constant usage to construct his own network to eat away at everything within the castle. Whereas Miede relied on the amplifications of the runes and Proses assistance, Heacrim simply sunk more of the demented energy into the spell that he made use of, its source seemingly endless.

The roots sped forward, and instantly stopped, as they were overflooded with something unexpected, Beneath the ground, parts of the Shade had planted themself, and spread outwards, wrapping around Heacrim’s.

Heacrim did not have the omniscience, the absolute closeness that Prose provided for Miede with the spell, he did not feel every movement of the roots, or their individual experience, or the vastness of his own technique, he simply felt the power return to him in greater quantity as it ate away at what it could.

But the Shade’s roots, they sent no such thing as power. They sent something different, an overflow of information that seared itself into Heacrim’s brain, shattered memories of himself, and of something else, something he couldn’t understand.

“As I walked, I heard of the village curse of rain.”

Heacrim’s own voice entered his ears, his mind.

“As I walked, I heard the farmers clap for it, dance to it, and sing for it.”

“In this duality, I understood that the world was built on perspective. I walked along, looking for the good, the bad, all that I could see. I wished to know, undeterred by the rules of absolutes. In that understanding, I would create a world that serves all.”

Heacrim’s roots stopped extending throughout the ground; he was overwhelmed. His own voice, once again, rang out.

“It sits within my heart, telling me the truth of my own words. For the sake of betterment of my craft, my ability to help others, there is no greater achievement than accepting my methods are greater. It speaks within my heart, telling me that it is so. It is my right, as he who sees the world.” These words were spoken by him, and they were forgotten by him.

“Thank you” These words were spoken, and he could not forget them. They were the ones that accompanied him, from day to night, they became his reason for continuing.

“Thank you, for blessing me sight beyond my eyes. Thank you for allowing me to see. Thank you for choosing me. You… who rest in my heart.”

Heacrim felt himself tear in two, he felt the past and the present begin to meld. His reasons for being, his attempts at changing, everything began to centralize itself . He was unable to trust his sight, he was unable to trust his own thoughts. Even with the voice echoing inside his heart urging him to fight on, to resist the confusion and to tear away at the world indiscriminately, he was paralyzed.

And then, Heacrim bore witness to a remnant, a memory long lost to even the Shade made itself known to him. Why, he did not understand. The memory was not like his own, it was not a mere repeating of what had already happened, not an instant of remembrance, no, he felt himself within the very memory itself as it played out. His eyes witnessed the scenery, his body felt the bone chilling cold that covered the area.

Heacrim, doctor of old, slave of the divine flesh, found his eyes turn upwards within the event from the past, and within their sight was a creature, sitting upon a throne, looking downwards in disregard. Its eyes were black, its flesh was silver. The very light of the world was eaten by its presence. Its throne was made of a material that was unfamiliar to Heacrim, unperceivable to him. All he knew was that what was in front of him was a Tyrant, a hegemon, a conqueror.

“My sons.” The voice echoed out from the creature clad in silver flesh. “Lower your heads, for you are in the presence of your father, your king, your lord, your master, I, who stand above all”