Summary

A Gravelord Servant grapples with the eventuality of killing his beloved lord, or the chosen undead gets boned. He loved him. Not as a servant ought to venerate a lord, this too he felt guilt for, but he loved his lord as one ought to love a husband or a wife. He was not a man of faith, he had never venerated any god, but it was his understanding that the priests living in the high churches of Thorolund did not wish to be held in their god’s arms and feel unyielding bone against their lips.

Those We Must Leave Behind

Killian of Astora washed himself carefully in the waters of Darkroot Basin. It was a bit out of his way but he wished to rid himself of the stench of the Depths before returning to the catacombs. He knew it would be faster by far to gather eyes of death by invading other undead, but he did not have the stomach for curses. There was already too much misery in the world for their kind. Therefore he returned again and again to the sewers, to kill Basilisks and claim their accursed eyes. All for his lord.

They were nearing the end. He had now killed the Three Kings, the Scaleless Duke Seath, and the Witch that had become the Bed of Chaos, now only his dear lord remained, Nito, first of the dead. He felt his chest tighten at the thought. It was truly selfish of him to hesitate now. Killian was duty bound to kill each of the four lords. He had not felt the same guilt and hesitation before any of the other’s deaths. But this was Nito, the lord who had shown him nothing but kindness, given him the blade that had protected him all throughout his journey through Lordran. He loved him. Not as a servant ought to venerate a lord, this too he felt guilt for, but he loved his lord as one ought to love a husband or a wife. He was not a man of faith, he had never venerated any god, but it was his understanding that the priests living in the high churches of Thorolund did not wish to be held in their god’s arms and feel unyielding bone against their lips. He knew that others would not understand. Nito was death itself, the one who would have been tasked with ushering his soul along if not for the curse, but there was something beautiful in that as well. To be held by the very thing he came here to find, the thing Killian had discovered he could never have. No, he would eventually waste away and go hollow like the rest of his kin. He would never feel the cold touch of his lord’s sword lift away his soul and allow it to depart to what came after. Ulric could feel the accusing stare of the eyes of death waiting in his pockets on the shore. He still had his duty to fulfill. He knew he shouldn’t dawdle, it would only make what he had to do more painful.

With practiced certainty he lay himself down inside of the open stone coffin. The first time he’d done so it had been out of fear. The dead of the catacombs rose eternal, chasing him no matter how many times he cut them down. He’d seen the empty coffin and jumped inside out of desperation, hoping the dead would think he was one of their own. Then the lid slid over him and he was absorbed by darkness. He felt it being taken somewhere by its team of skeletal pallbearers. When it finally stopped he’d found himself before the coffin of his lord. He’d flinched as tens of skeletal hands reached towards him. He prepared for the destruction of his body. Killian could not call it death for he would arise yet again at the last bonfire, but it would hurt all the same.

“Hast thou come to offer thine service?” He heard a gentle voice, soft and raspy from disuse. It couldn’t have been the mass in the coffin could it? But when he turned back to look, the jawbone of its central skull opened and the miasma that seethed behind it twisted to form words. “It has been quite some time since I have seen any besides the dead. I thought perhaps I was forgotten by those above.”

“I am afraid I am unsure. I know not whom I address nor what service to you would entail?” Killian was frightened still, but the creature’s soft voice and the melancholy that it belied, somehow captivated him. Something about it made him wish to offer comfort.

“I am Nito, lord over the dead. I would ask thee to bring me eyes of death.” He held out what looked like a small round stone, which Killian realized was a calcified eye. He’d seen one before. He had picked one up in those dreadful sewers. He pulled it from his pocket and gave it to Nito. “Then we have an accord.” Killian could swear the way the miasma seethed the lord was smiling. He reached within the mass of bones and miasma at the center of his being and pulled. Nito slowly drew a curved greatsword from his chest and handed it to his newest servant. “I would also offer thee a miracle of my own creation, that draws on naught but thine own devotion to our covenant, should it please thee.” Killian examined the blade in his hands. The bone edge was razor sharp and the grip felt like it was made for him.

“It would please me greatly to learn anything you wished to teach me, my lord.”

Killian had discovered much about his lord while in his service. For one, he was taken to strange flights of whimsy. Despite his rather dour responsibilities as the bringer of death, he taught his servants acrobatics for his own amusement. He was also prone to creating ludicrous soldiers, like the bone wheels, the bone pillars, and the skeleton babies, purely because he found them endearing. He had also taken steps to covertly protect dear Priscilla, locked within her painted world. The girl had not chosen to be a bringer of death, why should she be punished for the dreadful skill she had been born with? Thus he had secreted a few of his bone wheels into her painted world, with the help of Lady Velka, to aid in her protection. The first of the dead had once had many servants who came to him to offer tribute, but now they were all gone, either hollowed or having left this dying world for younger kingdoms. But Killian stayed. The initial captivation had blossomed into more and more with everything new he learned about his lord. He wished to comfort him in his loneliness, to hold his hand in the darkness of his tomb. He would have stayed by his side forever, if not for his duty.

As he pushed the lid of the stone coffin off his head for what he was sure would be the final time, he saw that his lord was already waiting for him.

“I sensed the death of all the other holders of lord souls. I expected thee to next enter through the gate above, my beloved servant. What has made thee falter?” Killian lamely extended the eyes of death he had gathered. “Thine pact with me cannot be further deepened by these means, my servant. Thou knowest this to be the truth.” Nito accepted the eyes anyway, tucking them away into his cloak of miasma. “Thou’rt the one chosen amongst the undead art thou not? Thine task must be completed, even if I must fade away.” A skeletal hand cupped his cheek. “I knew this when I first retrieved my soul from the first flame. Relics of the old age must die to make way for the new.”

“Then you know I do not wish to perpetuate the age of fire.”

“I would not have thee as my servant if that was thine intent. Gwyn’s age was always meant to end. His foolish attempts at perpetuation have only led to stagnation and slow decay. Things are meant to end, gods are meant to die. There can be no growth, no life without the death of that which came before it.” Nito wiped a tear from Killian’s cheek. He had not realized he had been crying. “So I ask thee again, what is the reason for thy hesitation.”

“I am ashamed to speak the words, for I fear you might think less of me my lord.” Killian held onto Nito’s hand. Fearing the moment it would leave him. When Nito himself would be gone forever.

“When thou first came to my chambers, thou wert but a scared little thing, already half hollowed, and I still accepted thee into mine service. Thou hast since then proven thyself to be an able hunter and stalwart companion. Thou most assuredly hast a good reason for thy delay, I would hear it without judgement.” He gently stroked Killian’s hair.

“I am afraid my devotion to my lord has become selfish.” Killian turned his face away. “I served you out of self interest.”

“Didst thou covet mine power for thyself?”

“No, never!”

“Didst thou seek to steal away one of my secret rites, as the necromancer Pinwheel once did.”

“I wouldn’t dare to.”

“Then what is it that thou hast deemed so self serving?”

“My lord, I- I desire to be in your presence, more than a mere servant ought to. If I could, I would forever renounce the warmth of sunlight and live with you within the darkness of your tomb.”

“But that isn’t possible,” Nito finished gently, “thy duty precludes it.”

“I know it does,” Killian clung to his lord’s dark robes of miasma. If he held on tight enough perhaps Nito would never have to leave him. “But still my heart desires you.”

“Only thine heart, my dearest servant?” Nito’s hand stilled in his hair. “Thou’rt quite dear to me as well. Should it please thee, we could take pleasure in each other once before I go, so that our memories of each other will be shaped by pleasure rather than the violence we will be forced to visit upon each other.” Killian stilled as well. He took one of Nito’s many hands into his own. Before he could lose his nerve, he pulled one of his lord’s skeletal fingers into his mouth. Nito gasped appreciatively as he swirled his tongue around the dry bone. He let the digit fall from his lips and looked Nito in his empty eye sockets.

“It would please me greatly to accept whatever pleasure you wished to give me, my lord.”

“There is no more need for that,” he chided. “I am no longer your master and thou art no longer my servant. In thine hands thou hold the souls of three lords, there is no need for thee to express deference any longer. Let me hear my name fall from thine lips.”

“Nito, my love, I would take my pleasure in thee.” Miasma surged around him, enveloping him in the god’s choking embrace.

“Killian, my beloved, how I’ve waited to hear thee say that.” His many arms lifted Killian to his skulls, supporting him with the flat of his bladed right arm. The undead knight drew his fingers along the line of Nito’s cheekbone.

“And how I have longed to say it.” He kissed Nito’s cold, enameled teeth.

The Lord of Death’s many hands quickly stripped his former servant bare, leaving him shivering in the cold, wet air of the tomb. “I am sorry, my love, that my hands cannot warm thee as living flesh could.” The feeling of bone passing over his naked chest had Killian shivering for an altogether different reason.

“Thou forget that my hands are as cold and lifeless as thine own.” The undead curse gave him a semblance of life, but the blood that sat in his veins was cold and congealed, as stagnant as anything else in this dying world. “Warmth is not something one such as I ought to expect from a partner.”

“Perhaps I can encourage thy heart to beat once more.” Nito pressed a hand to Killian’s sternum. His hollow heart remained still in his chest, but he knew once upon a time it would have been pounding. Nito took his time exploring. His hands were unfeeling, only able to detect the softness of skin or the suppleness of muscle by pressure. As Nito gently kneaded Killian’s body, the chosen undead caressed his many rib cages, feeling how they connected and melded into each other.

He found himself relaxing further and further into Nito’s massaging until he slipped slightly from his grasp. His dick dragged across the bony protrusions of Nito’s bladed hand and he gasped at the intensity. Nito’s miasma shifted slightly. “Dost thou enjoy the feeling of my blade upon thy cock.” He whispered darkly into Killian’s ear. He held him fast and slid the unsharpened back of his sword between his legs. Killian gripped it with his hands and knees to keep steady. “Go on, grind thyself against me. I shall have to end thy life many times with this hand, I would see thee broken upon it more pleasurably first.” Killian began to move, whimpering as the ridges brushed over the sensitive skin. He began to play with himself, supporting himself with one hand. His hand slipped from the now slick bone, but Nito quickly caught him in his massive left hand. “Turn around for me.” Killian obliged, offering his hole to the first of the dead. Nito coated his middle finger in a shifting, iridescent, oil-like, miasma. He allowed it to drip teasingly over his entrance. “Did I bid thee stop?” Killian ground down onto the sword again as Nito shoved his finger inside. “Thou’rt loose.” He curled his finger downward causing Killian to cry out. “Didst thou touch thyself before thou came to grant me tribute?” He nodded, unable to speak. “Was I in your thoughts whenst thou took thyself? Whenst thou spilt thy seed at night? Perhaps even when laying with another?”

“There were never any others.” He choked out past tears. Everything was so much, so intense, more than anything he’d felt. Even more than when he was alive and still had leave of all his senses. “Please.” He ground back onto Nito’s finger, begging for another. His former lord obliged. Each was almost the thickness of his own member and nearly twice as long, but he wanted more. He wanted to take as much of Nito inside of him as he could, even if it killed him. Nito withdrew his fingers. Killian tried to substitute his own again but Nito pulled them away.

“Killian, look at me. I require thy consent for this.” Nito took him in his hands again. The lord kneaded his thighs trying to draw him back down to earth.

“What is it thou wish to ask?”

“I made something, just in case such a situation arose. I would have thy appraisal of it.” Nito reached inside his miasma and pulled, dragging out a cock constructed from an amalgamation of bone. Its tip wept with the same oily miasma that had coated Nito’s fingers. Most importantly, it was sized proportionally to the immense lord. It was nearly half the size of Killian himself. He thrashed against Nito’s grip in his urgency to take it inside of him. “I require from thee a verbal yes or no.”

“Yes! Please!”

“This may very well kill thee. I had no idea thou wert in such a rush to die by my hand.” Nito chuckled.

“I would rather have no other death.”

“Then perhaps as thou endeavor to kill me,” Nito lifted Killian against the side of his coffin and gently pulled his legs apart,” each time thou nearest the end of thy life, I shall fuck thee into the waters of my tomb as thou struggle impotently against me, until my cum bursts from thy throat.” Nito slid the head of his dick into Killian’s gaping hole and waited for him to adjust. The chosen undead struggled to breath out of reflex. He no longer needed to, but his body still responded the same way when overwhelmed. Nito patted his back trying to calm him. Eventually he managed to take deep breaths. “Wouldst thou wish it to be so?” Nito began to force himself deeper. The knobs and ridges of his abominable cock felt like delicious torture inside of him.

“Yes!” He bucked, trying to drive Nito deeper.

“Dost thou wish for me to break thee like a toy?”

“Yes! Please kill me!” Nito rammed his dick the rest of the way in and Killian felt something rupture. He grasped weakly at Nito’s miasma as he felt himself ripped apart on Nito’s cock. His stomach was wet and sticky. Was that his cum or blood that coated his front? He felt himself slipping away as Nito continued to fuck his limp body. Black oil leaked from between his thighs. The last thing he heard before he faded to dust was “I shall see thee soon.”

Nito seemed surprised when the coffin returned a second time. “I thought I bade thee to hesitate no longer.”

“I shall no longer hesitate, my love. I merely wished to say goodbye, and retrieve this,” Killian picked his discarded armor up off the floor of the tomb. “I also thought to ask to hold thee to thy promise while in a more lucid state.”

“And what promise would that be?”

“That every time I near death, thou shalt finish me upon thine cock.” Nito’s miasma seethed and Killian knew that he was smiling.

“I look forward to it.”