Author's Note: Before you get to accusing me of ripping off another fanfiction author, YES I AM AWARE OF THE FANFICTION DARK SOULS: DERP EDITION. NO, I AM NOT RIPPING HIM OFF. In fact, I would say that that well written story is what inspired me to write something silmilar. That out of the way, lets start this bitch.

Chapter one: Prepare to Die? I'll pass, thanks.

The sun shone. albeit dimly, on the world of Lordran. The First Flame had begun to fade once more. A thousand years after Gwyn sacrificed himself to the Fire, it started to fade. The light fell on a crumbling ruin, high on a mountain in the North. The crumbling prison was packed with the Undead, a resort taken by the Way of White long ago. Inside one of the cells, a lone being sat up. "Ugh," he groaned softly. "Note to self. Don't eat breakfast pizza and have root beer right before bed." He quipped this, for his sleep was awful. "Or maybe I need a new bed. The springs were..." His voice trailed off as he opened his eyes, and noticed his situation. "What in the fuck...?" Large stone walls, a stone floor. An iron door made of bars was his only exit. Well, unless you counted the hole in the ceiling. The one that was completely inaccessible from his current position. The "bed" he had been resting on was little more than a thin, threadbare rug, with any patterns or colors long faded. It was the same color as the floor; greyish brown. Where in the hell am I? thought the man quizzically. The place was strange, and yet... familiar.

Standing, which took more effort than he believed it should, he stood, and placed a hand on the stone of the wall. "Hm. Too sturdy to even think about trying to break it down. Solid craftsmanship, built to last. Wait a fucking- WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY HANDS?!" His hands were decayed, sunken. It reminded him of an unwrapped mummy, all fluids drained from the body. Starting to panic, he flung two fingers to his collarbone, feeling for a pulse. I can't be dead, he thought to himself. I can't be-

If he wasn't dead, then where was his pulse?

Shaking, the lone corpse sank to the ground. "Okay. I'm fine. I need to get ahold of myself. Get my bearings. Get ahold of yourself, Thomas. Get ahold of yourself." A sudden thought struck him. If his hands were rotted... If he was decaying... He started fumbling with his pants, checking his most precious asset, when he stopped, dreading what he may see. "Some things are better left unanswered," he thought to himself.

Then, a body fell from the ceiling. WHUMP! Thomas sprang up at the noise. As he looked up, he saw a knight, looking down at him. The make of that armor. Where had Thomas seen it before... oh. Oh. OH. "Dark Souls." The moment the words left his lips, Thomas shuddered, knowing exactly what lay ahead now. "and judging by all the everything, I suppose that makes me the Chosen Undead. FUCK. THIS. SHIT." For all his swearing, though, Thomas recognized that the key to his freedom lay on that corpse. Literally. Taking the cell key, Thomas unlocked his door, and headed off, picking up a broken straight sword hilt. Looking down at himself, he checked his gear. "Sorceror class, eh? Well, I suppose it could be worse. I could be deprived." The thought of going naked and afraid through Dark Souls with only a stick for a weapon worried him, so thankful he was for that. Plus, he had a long range attack when he got his catalyst. Leaving the docile hollows alone, Thomas proceeded, giving a glance at the Stray Demon in the area beside. He'd have to be careful for any nasty surprises from that one.

He came at last to the Bonfire, and wondered how he would light it. Sure, the animation just makes one hold a hand over it, before boom, but still. There had to be more to it than just that. Staring at the Coiled Sword, Thomas wondered what to do when, of it's own volition, almost, his hand rose over it. No way it can really be that easy... Fwoosh. A small flame leapt forth, almost reaching to half the Coiled Sword's length. "Bonfire lit," he whispered, and immediately sat down. Gazing into the small, fragile flame of the Bonfire, Thomas contemplated his next move. "Probably like I would do in every new game. Fuck the Demon's Great Hammer. I have no need of it. And it's not like I have black firebombs anyway." A thought struck him. What gift DID he have, anyways? He partially hoped it was either the Master Key or Twin Humanities. He did like him some humanities. Patting down his body, he found two pouches at the back of his hips, one just behind his left, another just behind his right. "I suppose that these are my inventory weapon slots?" he joked. One for each hand. Now, how to manage this... Thomas blinked, and a sort of screen popped in his vision, like it was inlaid in front of his vision. Okay fine, that's easy to access, but "Even here the User Interface has to interfere with my vision." Looking at his rings, he noticed it was the Old Witches' Ring. "Could be worse," he muttered. "Could have been the fucking binoculars." He blinked again, and the vision vanished. He'd have to explore this later. At Firelink. But for now...

He stood up, and almost instinctively, he reached for his pouches behind him. His left hand found nothing, but his right pulled out the sword hilt. "Useless", he muttered, tossing it aside. He had no need to keep it, seeing as he knew where some better ones were. Going to the great doors, he gave an experimental push. Stuck. Wait. STUCK? The doors were never stuck. Or maybe that's why the Chosen Undead needed such effort to open them. The doors were flush to the ground, and with doors that large, and that heavy, it actually kind of made sense. Kicking at the door in frustration, he was surprised to see it budge. "All right. Let's try that again..." Lifting his foot, Thomas aimed a precise kick between the lines of the door, and gave a good, solid kick. They didn't slam open like they would for War from Darksiders, but they creaked open, and were loose enough he could push through them, with effort. "All right, with that done..." glancing up on the demon on the roof, he growled. "If you're wise, you'll stay up there..." he muttered, before beginning a jog, which he picked up to a run, and then a sprint. The demon jumped, and landed on the ground with a earth shaking THUD, a roar announcing it's presence. But it was too late to do anything, as Thomas had already taken the little exit from the room. Jogging on, Thomas came to the next Bonfire, and decided to try something different. "How effective of a weapon can it be," he thought. He'd already seen the boss of Dark Souls 3, though he had yet to beat the Soul of Cinder himself in the game. But the idea came to him nevertheless. And besides, this little bonfire was of absolutely no consequence. The only use for it was if you were a new player who didn't want to avoid a boss every time they died. But Thomas was not a new player, and he wasn't going to be dying anytime soon anyways. Gripping the handle of the sword, Thomas lifted.

Or... he tried to. The weapon remained firmly planted. Hmm... Placing a foot on either side of the unlit bonfire, Thomas lowered his body, both hands gripping the handle, and attempted to lift, using his knees. Not his back. If this works, he thought to himself, I'm going to experiment the hell out of it. Would I get the greatsword? Straight sword? Spear? Curved Sword? Catalyst? All of the Above? He lifted, attempting to draw it like some sword in the stone when...

Nothing happened. The sword remained firmly in the ground, unyielding to his pitiful attempts. Multiple theories as to why this is ran through his mind. Maybe he had to be unHollowed. Maybe he could only take a certain bonfire's sword. Maybe he didn't currently meet the stat requirements. Maybe the bonfire had to be lit before he could take it. Or maybe... just maybe... I can't take it at all. Damn. Well, it was worth a shot. He'd try again some other time. Some other place. Maybe different circumstances...

He rounded the corner, and looked at the Hollow Archer, seemingly resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to be making any friends here. Thomas charged forward, ducking under an arrow before picking up the leather shield, then charged some more, not sprinting to conserve stamina, but he ran. after observing the archer turn, Thomas blinked, opening the User Interface, praying he didn't trip over something as he quickly equipped the shield. Reaching behind him as he blinked the UI shut, he reached into the pouch at his left hip. It felt empty, and yet his hand closed over a handle nevertheless, and he pulled the shield out of a pouch much too small for it. I have got to figure out that magic trick, he thought to himself. That would have to come later, however. As of now, he scooped the short sword from the ground and reopened the UI, equipping it as well. Armed and at least slightly dangerous, Thomas drew his weapon, a sheath for it appearing at his side as well. Not pausing to contemplate, he rounded the second corner, narrowly missing another arrow as he bolted up the stairs. Turning his sword so that he held it like a dagger, he gave an uppercut motion with his sword hand, slicing upward at the Hollow, which tried to use it's pitiful bow as an acceptable excuse for a defense. Phah. He cleaved through the bow, and sliced into the unprotected chest of the Hollow. Leaning back, using his upper body as a counterweight, he lifted his leg, coiled it to his body like a snake, and then lashed out, crunching his boot into it's ribcage. Ragdolling, the living corpse smashed it's head against the floor. Thomas quickly moved over, and stepped on it's weapon arm, as it was reaching for a sword hilt. Time to finish this. Raising his blade again, he stabbed it into the Hollow's forehead. Standing, the Sorcerer drew his blade from the corpse, examining the weapon for any blood to clean off before sheathing it. That's when he saw it.

A pale mist, rising from the multiple wounds the Hollow suffered, which funneled together, and bolted at him. Stumbling backwards, Thomas fell on his butt as the mist entered him, passing into a hole at his neck that he didn't even know was there. With the mist entered, Thomas felt stronger. Not much, maybe, but just a little bit. Why was this? "Souls," Thomas muttered. "Sovereignless souls will become thy strength." A line of dialogue from the Dark Souls 3 Firekeeper. Sure, this was Dark Souls 1, not 2 or 3, but the line remained accurate. Thomas shook his head. "I'm an idiot. Of course those were souls. What else could they be? The Abyss? Candy Corn?" Standing, Thomas moved towards a staircase, a large rock ready to slam into him, he knew. It'd be the only way to get Oscar. So he baited the rock, and the Hollow waiting to push it. As the rock rolled by, Thomas watched the wall crumble. "Oscar's not going anywhere," he muttered, "But I have a loose end with the Hollow." He strode up the stairs, eyes dark with determination as the mindless hollow looked on. When he got close enough, the creature raised it's blade, and swung. Lifting his shield, Thomas caught the blade and, with a bit of redirection, parried it. He then carefully angled his sword, aiming the blade, and stabbed, the tip puncturing the Hollow's throat. Kicking the undead off his sword, Thomas turned, satisfied, though he did shudder slightly as he absorbed more souls. I'll get used to this little thing eventually, I'm sure. Stepping into the previously sealed off room, Thomas took a moment to admire the setting. Dark, save for a single light, falling onto a tragically broken man in his final moments. Miyazaki, you sure could make a death poignant...

"You..." Oscar of Astora looked up at Thomas. "You're no Hollow, eh?."

"No. I'm quite human," Thomas replied. He came closer, kneeling on one knee, his sword sheathed at his side. Thomas knew without doubt that this man was doomed. VaatiVidya was clear on the Hollowing process. It wasn't so much the brokeness of his body that doomed a man. It was the very spirit. When all purpose in one's life was exhausted. All hope lost.

"I'm done for, I'm afraid. I'll die. Soon. Then... I will lose my sanity." Oscar began, solemnly. He knew his own fate as well as Thomas did. "I have failed," Oscar said, more to himself than to Thomas, when he reached out, suddenly gripping Thomas' arm. "We're both Undead, you and I. Please, hear me out. I beg of thee."

Thomas put a hand on Oscar's gauntlet. "I knowest of thine mission, Oscar of Astora." Thomas didn't know why he started speaking like some Shakespearean nut, but whatever. He felt it appropriate. As though reciting from a memory older than he, Thomas spoke. "Thou who art Undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh Pilgrimage to the Land of the Ancient Lords. When thou ringest the Bells of Awakening, the Fate of the Undead, thou shalt know." Oscar sat up.

"How camest thee upon my name? I gave it not."

"That is because I know already. I was gifted with... a measure of foresight." Thomas responded. Yeah. Foresight. Let's call it that. Better to write it off like that as opposed to explaining that, where he was from, the dying man he was talking to didn't even really exist. "I know of your fate. You fall here, defeated by a demon, but offer a mission to an undead who, incidentally, happened to be me. After a brief conversation, you finally pass. This is your fate." A thought struck him. "Unless you seek to change it."

Oscar lifted his helm's visor, and Thomas could see the hollowed face of the man. "How? How does one know all this? Wherefore did a Prophet come unto Lordran, unto me, in my last hours?"

Thomas simply shrugged. "Such knowledge is, unfortunately, beyond my vision at present. I know this, however. You only will Hollow, if you lose all sense of purpose. By passing your purpose to me, you would have exhausted all else left unto you. Unless you seek to change it."

Oscar stared. "What do you mean, change it? My purpose? My fate?"

"Yes, and yes." Thomas thought for a moment. "What if I told you that you can defy your fate, and that you can reach the land of the Ancient Lords. What if I told you that even the Chosen Undead must not go alone. What if I told you that your destiny is yours to command, and not mine or anyone else's?" Standing, Thomas spread his arms wide, as though he was doing the "Well? What is it?" emote, but he was less condescending. "Thou'rt a Knight of Astora," he cried, voice slipping into the old tongue once again. "A great warrior, amongst a proud and mighty people. Thou be'st undead, but this meanest only that thou may try without ceasing! That where others would but fall, thou wilst rise once more, to challenge thine foe again and again until they lie beaten and broken beneath your boots! Proud Knight of Astora, I bid thee rise, and take up thine sword. Your doom would be to fall here, in the dark, forgotten and alone. I say no! Taketh thine fate, and cast it aside. Embrace a new fate. One of glory in the incandescant rays of the Sun!" As the sorcerer spoke, his voice rose. Soon, the Asylum echoed with the sound of his voice. The power of his proclamation. Oscar stumbled upward, pulling out a small green flask and taking a sip. He still leaned on the wall, but at least he stood.

Thomas raised his hands upward, his feet coming together as he stood on his toes, his arms making a V as he looked Skyward in a gesture that needed no name. Completing the stance, Thomas normalized his posture, lookin at Oscar. "To think," the knight spoke. "The gods saw fit to send to me a man who was not just a prophet, but a prophet with such a gilded tongue..." reaching out, Oscar gripped Thomas' arm. "I wilt follow thee. To the depths of the Gravelord and back, if need'st be."

Apt oath, that one, Thomas thought to himself. They'd have to face Gravelord Nito eventually. But for now... "Come. We've got a demon to fight. And, you have some payback to deliver. He won't know what hit him. Until I tell him."

As the pair went up the stairs where the rock rolled down from, Thomas offered his "foresight". "Okay, past that door, we'll come around a bend. There will be three hollows. Two with broken swords, one with a bow."

"The one with a bow should prove no match against my shield."

"True. But we can even the odds even further. The archer tends to stay where he is, while the others can be lured out from under his cover. Then, after we deal with the two hollows, you can turtle up, and take down the archer. Sound like a plan?" Thomas held out a fist for confirmation.

"Sounds like a good plan. Why is your hand out like so?"

Right. He should probably explain fistbumps. "Well, to be frank, it's a culture thing from where I am from. You bump your fist with another to show agreement, camaraderie, general awesome and good vibes." The fist remained offered.

Tentatively, Oscar bumped the fist. "Hm. Your culture is strange... Prophet, I never did get your name, or homeland."

Another "Oh, right" moment for him. "Well, I'm Thomas, of..." He had no idea what to say here. His hometown from the Real World? His state? His country? Planet? He could probably say "Oklahoma", "Earth, "Midgard," "Hyrule," fucking "Dunkin' Donuts", and it would be equally valid to Oscar. "Thomas, of Earthrealm." Yeah. A Mortal Kombat place. Sure. Why not.

"Earthrealm. Explain what the land is like. I have not heard of it."

"Later. We still have a task before us."

"Right."

They walked forward, when Thomas held up a fist, signaling a halt. Creeping to the wall alone, Thomas peeked around at the other side. "Peek-a-boo, motherfuckers!" he shouted at the Hollows. As predicted, the two melee ran forward, while the other drew an arrow, firing at him. But he had already gone, backing towards Oscar as he grabbed a sorcerer's catalyst by the walkway. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter," Thomas chuckled to himself. "Pardon me?" Oscar asked. Thomas waved it aside. "Nothing," he said, drawing his sword. "Inside joke." He pointed his catalyst at the first Hollow, a bolt of blue energy flying forth as the Soul Arrow ripped into the Hollow's skull, causing it to explode. Oscar went to work on the second one, charging into it with his shield up, and crushed it against the wall. As the body slumped downward, Oscar slashed it with his Straight Sword, just to make sure. Raising his shield, he then pressed onward. The plan dictated that he lead, and take on the archer. Thomas stood behind, sword and staff ready.

To be honest, not much needed done by the Sorcerer, as Oscar had the situation totally in hand. All arrows bounced uselessly off his Crest Shield, and the sword made short work of the pitiful archer. "Now, for our next step," Thomas said. "We're going to kill an armored Hollow, and I'm going to take his shield. It won't be much, but at least the 100% physical damage protection will be useful. Will carry me for some time. And who knows, maybe this one will have an estus flask on it."

"You don't have one?" Oscar asked, almost shocked that someone so apparently wise had not the most useful item an undead could ask for. "Duh," Thomas responded. "If I allowed fate to take it's course, I would have one, but you'd either be dead or without a flask yourself. But thankfully, a large amount of undead also carry a flask. Surely, I can... convince one to part with it." At this, Thomas gave off a dark chuckle. Facing the shield bearing undead, he motioned to Oscar to be at ease. "I got this." He shot a bolt at the undead, which effectively got it's attention, and he pulled out his shield. Parrying the strike, Thomas then kicked it in the chest before following with two slices. One went upward, from the Hollow's left hip to it's right shoulder. Thomas then spun counter-clockwise, two handing the weapon as he sliced downward, from left shoulder to right hip. Worn metal slightly dented, an X shaped wound on it's chest, the Hollow fell backward, pulling a green flask out. Now! Thomas charged forward in a burst of speed, and chopped upward with his blade, aiming for the shoulder. Catching the hollow in the armpit, Thomas continued the cut, and sliced the arm off at the shoulder. Picking up the dull flask, Thomas turned it downward. "No estus, eh? I'll just have to refill at Firelink." Thank the gods he was below 25% equipment load. "Now. A Demon." Blinking the UI into his field of vision, Thomas alloted the empty estus flask in it's normal spot: The very first slot on the Utility Belt. Picking up the Hollow Soldier Shield, he assigned it in place of the leather shield, and then blinked out. "Ready?"

Oscar nodded. "All right. Follow my lead." Thomas walked through the fog door, looked down at the Demon, and leapt. "EARTHREALM!" Landing atop the Asylum Demon's head, he stabbed downward, momentum lodging the blade in deep. The demon gave an earth shattering roar as Thomas hitched his shield on his back, and used both hands to draw the blade out. Exulting in the moment, Thomas then punched the wound, adding insult to injury. Unfortunately, this had a side effect; the beast threw his head backwards, and Thomas rolled down the not very smooth back, falling flat on his face. "Ow," he whimpered. He rolled onto his back, and saw the shadow of the demon over him, hammer raised to crush him flat. Move, his mind told his body.MOVE! He moved, rolling aside as the blow landed right next to him, causing him to flinch. His sorcerer's garb was simple cloth. It would provide no protection against such a weapon. Been a while since I died to the Asylum Demon. Then another shadow appeared. "ASTORA!" Plunging from the balcony, Oscar followed Thomas' lead, stabbing it in the head with his own blade. Getting up, Thomas switched out his shield for his catalyst as he backed away, firing Soul Arrow after Soul Arrow.

It was almost tragic, really, the fate of the Tutorial Boss. Two plunge attacks, and a shower of Soul Arrows, and it was quickly reduced to naught. Souls rushed into Thomas' Dark Sign, and both he and Oscar recieved a Humanity for their efforts. Thomas looked into his Humanity, peering into the depths of the fragment of the Dark Soul, and then popped it. It was an... odd sensation. For a brief moment, he felt a little clearer. His body felt a little warmer, even if just a moment. "Sorcerer?" Thomas turned to Oscar. "Now what?" Thomas reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Big Pilgrim's Key, automatically added to his inventory when the demon died. He grinned. "Now, the real adventure begins."