Hello people, apologies for the slow update but yeah shit happens. Anyway, this is my new semi-but-not-quite-full-maybe-ish crossover between Dungeon and Salt and Sanctuary. There not being a Salt an Sanctuary category either does not help. So until I receive confirmation or FF add a Salt and Sanctuary category, this is going to remain as a non-crossover but that may change.

My other story is not dead; I'm just trying to figure out how to balance the power scale between Issei and the rest of the universe. I mean shit son, Io apparently governs more than half of the four fundamental energies of existence. Who in the hell could stand up to that!?

On another note though, I do need to find a beta at some point.

Enjoy.

"Uggh." Bell groaned as he slowly returned to consciousness, seawater dripping off him in small rivulets as he did so.

Wait seawater?

Crimson eyes shot open as he started to look around in panic. Where was the boat!? Hadn't he been sailing the way to Orario to fulfil his ambition of being an adventurer?

But then a more urgent question came to his mind as he gazed around the desolate beach.

"Where am I?"

His question echoed across the sands only to be met with the sound of the waves crashing on the empty shore.

A shiver wracked his frame, the unnatural chill of the black sea sinking into his bones. He stood up shakily. He needed to find shelter. Fast if what he'd learned about hypothermia was true.

"Well, hello there." a new voice broke in suddenly causing the white haired boy to jump in fright. He whipped his head around, hand shooting to the handle of his dagger only to relax when he laid eyes on the speaker. It was an old man, dressed in rotten brown rags and leaning against a long roughly hewn wooden staff.

A crooked grin spread across his bearded face.

"Tell me" he asked, his salt-caked rags shifting in the sea wind, "do you keep the new gods?"

Another Retchfeeder fell, bursting into a fountain of gore and waste as Bell's Pessclaw dagger rent it's screeching head from it's shoulders. A quick follow-up bursts of Flashfire from his antler wand quickly reduced the corpse into ash leaving behind a glimmering pile of white dust.

Dust which soon found itself being syphoned into his body as though swept up by an incorporeal gust of wind.

A sigh escaped his lips as he felt the familiar sensation of salt empowering him. How long had it been since he had arrived on this god forsaken island where only monsters trod? This island which appeared to use salt of all things as a substitute to the soul gems!? Time was hard to keep track of when the sky refused to shift from it's perpetually clouded setting. By his estimation, it had only been at most a few days since he had first dubiously taken up the creed of the Lady of Light and set out to explore the island. He had yet to see any signs of a viable escape method.

There were others on other than himself on this island; the strange masterless knight he'd met on the bridge between the Sodden Knight's castle and Bandit's Pass for one. He'd been so hopeful at meeting another sane human being at first. But his brief hope had been dashed when the knight told him he knew of no way off of the island, nor any knowledge of where the island itself was. He had however offered some valuable knowledge of how to access the vast castle further up the pass and of the village which lay beneath the banquet.

He shuddered as the memories of that horrid place surfaced in his mind. The 'smiles' in the name 'Village of Smiles' did indeed refer to the villagers; only said villagers were dead. Men, women, and children alike hung crucified to the walls with their mouths cut open in twisted parodies of grins. And even now, the gaping visage of the Queen of Smile's jawless face would haunt him from the black depths of his mind. His breath started to come short, as though a great weight was pressing down around him, the very atmosphere seemed to drown him in despair as he started to sink to his...

"No."

He straightened, fists clenching beneath the rouge armour he'd plundered from the festering castle. He'd sworn by the name of his late grandfather, that come hell or high water he would escape this murky purgatory. Sworn that he would escape and fulfil his dream becoming an adventurer and attaining a harem. Not that the former part wasn't technically already fulfilled he thought with an ironic chuckle. He bet that his grandfather would never have expected him to experience an adventure quite like this; hell he doubted anyone, not even the gods would have been able to fathom such a place.

"▃▃▄▄▅▅▅"

A roar bellowed across the cobbled keep as the Kraekan Cyclops let loose a cry of rage and challenge, daring Bell to pass the demonic candelabra not two feet away which marked the edge of it's domain.

His hand shook briefly as the roar penetrated the light armour, rattling his bones and shaking his resolve before he steadied once more.

He took a deep breath and let it out gently. The Pessclaw dagger and Antler Baton which he usually favoured vanished into glowing orange embers. The rules of the island were different from his world, that much had been obvious to Bell when he absorbed the salt of the first rotten walker he had killed. Food and drink also seemed to be unnecessary, his body sustaining itself somehow without any form of nutritional intake.

But the greatest boon he found himself possessing, was that of the ability to 'store' his equipment away.

The precise mechanics escaped him, but he did figure out that any equipment he possessed but was not presently using would dissolve into glowing embers as soon as it left his person. Should he have need of that same equipment, all he had do to was will it to come forth and the embers would appear once more to form into what he desired.

In this case, the embers reformed into a single-edged great sword. The very great sword which the Sodden Knight had once wielded, recreated by the hands of an alchemist using the ashes which Bell had harvested from the great knight's corpse after he slew him on his tower.

Quickly tying on the mossy charm he had found in the Watching Woods for some added speed, Bell hefted the heavy Shrouded Bulwark upon his shoulder and stepped across the border.

A battle cry of his own tore from his throat as he strafed to the side of the cyclops's axe and drew first blood by carving a deep rent into it's thick leg. The spine covered giant roared and slashed at the leather clad albino with it's tree sized axe, sending cobblestones flying as it tore a jagged trench into the ground.

Bell simply rolled to the side, his superior agility allowing him to easily avoid the brutish swing before leaping up and hurling a Birian Firepot at it's exposed back.

"▃▃▄▄▅▅▅"

The cyclops screamed as the burning tar like substance seared it's flesh and swung wildly with it's fist, catching Bell right across his midsection only for him to bounce right back after quaffing a bottle of red water.

Again and again, adventurer and beast clashed. Neither willing to kneel to the other.

How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Years? Bell no longer knew as he perched on a shining platform of blue light. The mysterious block of hardened moonlight glimmered beneath him, made corporeal by the burning torch in his hand through the power of the Hardlight brand.

Down below him, the spherical protrusions of the Dome of the Forgotten gleamed dimly, forlornly. Even now he could hear the faint, mournful whispering of the Whispermen and Whisper Ladies. Forever bound to roam the accursed halls which they once walked as the clergy of Devera.

"Why does this keep happening?" he asked into still night air, almost as though he was begging the starlit sky to answer him.

Why did everything keep coming back? Every time he purged an area of the beasts which populated it, they simply reappeared when he returned to a sanctuary.

He glanced at his hand, where Luna Sage had burned the Hardlight brand into his flesh; just as the Jester, Mirekeeper and Despondent Thief had seared their own brands of power onto different parts of his body.

The sage, much like the rest of the people he met knew very little of the island as a whole. What he did know however was the history of the hallowed domes which bell found him in.

A frown of confusion marred his face as he recalled Luna Sage's explanation of the history of the Dome. Something wasn't right with how the information added up. As a follower of Devera himself, he had gained the innate ability to recognize the faint presence of her light in places like shrines and sanctuaries.

"So why," he wondered aloud "can I not sense even a scrap of the light's presence in a place as holy as the Dome of Light?"

Before it became known as the Dome of the Forgotten, it was known as The Dome of Light, a sacred place dedicated to the worship of Devera. Even when reduced to its present state, there should have been at the very least some residual divine power, yet there was none to be felt.

Another odd discrepancy was the presence of the Bronze Knights which dotted the halls. He had yet to find information regarding any possible historical existence of the silent sentinels. Which begged the question as to why they kept appearing in places they had no link to. Everything else had at least something to connect it to the place it occupied; the armour mites were cave dwellers and as such resided in Hager's Carven, the Whisperfolk were bound to the domes by their slayers when they were still clergy, and the colossal Armour Guardians were commissioned by the king of the castle they guarded.

So where did the knights fit in? More importantly, why were they the only ones other than the area guardians that stayed dead after he killed them?

He shook his head. Pondering that mystery now would yield nothing more than a headache without more conclusive evidence.

Absently, the Masterless Knight's words started to drift into his mind. How he described his heart being the most at peace during a quest.

Well...it couldn't hurt could it? There wasn't exactly anyone around who would judge him for his choice. But what should his quest be? Bell wondered before laying eyes on the Dome once more.

Of course.

"I, will save you." he declared without ceremony to the emptiness around him.

This island...simply escaping was no longer a viable option; not now that he'd learned there was a chance that every monster was actually a poor soul. Dragged into despair and corrupted by the island. Bound to forever roam its desecrated shores.

"I promise," he continued resolutely "that I will become strong. That I will gain the power to free you all and destroy this forsaken place." He held out a fist, as though daring the island to rise to his challenge, "This I swear upon the name of Devera, who's light I follow. My quest shall be to lay them all to rest. So mote it be."

He pumped his fist heroically into the air. The same way he did all those years ago, when he had childishly sworn in front of his grandfather to gather a harem. Good days, he thought, smiling stupidly all the while.

Suddenly the air grew warm, curling around him as though it were embracing him. The sound of thousands of shining bells seemed to fill his mind.

'I hear your words, Child of Light, and I accept your oath.'

'Wha...!" Bell nearly dropped the torch in shock, looking around wildly for the invisible speaker.

When it was evident that none would show themselves, he finally settled his highly strung nerves (born of avoiding many tripwires and other traps) enough to truly ponder what he'd heard.

"What did it mean by 'Child of Light'? Was it referring to me?" he muttered to himself. "If so, then it would have..to...be..." His eyes widened at the fantastical conclusion he found himself coming to about the identity of the speaker.

"No way." he uttered in shock.

There was only one person who was said to be able to directly commune with Devera: Alasdair, True Priest of Light, Voice of Her Voice and, later, The Untouched Inquisitor. The one responsible for the desolation of the Domes.

But that was impossible, for the Inquisitor had fallen at his own hands only recently. Burned into ashes by blasts of arcane fire.

Which meant...

He was so caught up in his pondering of the possible implications of this revelation that he'd forgotten to monitor the level of his torch.

The platform shuddered, the torch which sustained it flickering as it started to burn out.

"...Crap."

He fell.

Again.

Never noticing how the irises of his eyes briefly flickered to burning white gold.

He was close, he could sense the dark root of the island's power nearing. Each step through the moss covered Crypt bought him nearer and nearer to the wretched being which had dragged him and so many others into this cursed purgatory.

Time no longer mattered to him. Every place he travelled through, every pitiful creature he slew only tempered his resolve to bring an end to the island.

The truth, it was clearer to him now than it had ever been. The Black Sands Sorcerer had confirmed his theories when he shared that all the places on the island; The Sodden Knight's Castle, The Sunken keep, The Castle of Storms... They were all real places, copied or more accurately 'collected by the island'. His inability to remember the exact circumstances of arriving or his past only cemented it, for it would seem that the island did not just collect places but people as well.

They were the dead; drowned at sea and their souls claimed by the island to appease it.

Except for him.

In his haste to escape, he had not noticed the lack of what he considered common knowledge.

Askaria, Coastrock, Kulka'as. Saltborn, creeds, new gods, old gods, the Kraekan...

They were all supposedly well known terms but Bell had never heard any mention of them before he ended up on the island. In turn, he made his own enquiries about common terms from his own knowledge; terms like 'adventurer', 'familia' and 'Orario'.

Not one person he asked could answer him, which lead him to the most horrifying conclusion he had ever faced.

Different places, different gods, a different system of belief...

He was in a different world. It was the only explanation which explained why nothing was familiar to him and why nobody knew about something as famous as the dungeon city.

The monsters which he slew, save the kraekan, were the souls which had already surrendered to the island, had knelt in defeat and been consumed by its insatiable hunger.

Peasants, nobles, kings, gods...

It made no difference to the island as it devoured them all. Even The Three, the trinity deities of The King, Knight and Judge had been claimed. He'd seen the truth of their faithless existence with his own eyes when he traversed the aptly named Tomb of the Dead Gods.

Killing them had been an act of mercy, freeing them from their tormented existence.

Had he himself knelt that day, that day with the Kraekan Cyclops which seemed so long ago, he too would have been no more. Merely another thrall like poor Broken Cran had become.

But no more. Bell thought as he weaved around another blast of lightning from the Kraekan Lord Skourzh's trident. Soon, he would bring this all to an end.

His muscles flexed and heaved beneath his armour as he brought the titanic bulk of the great Earthsplitter to bear against the storm summoner's thick hide.

"RAAAH!" He screamed as the colossal great axe, augmented by a thick coat of burning Pitchfire, managed to brutally amputate one of the greater kraekan's tentacles before crashing heavily against the damp stone.

Blinded by pain but still cognisant, the kraekan seized his moment of weakness and started to charge a roar of pure electricity within it's maw.

"Hah...Hah..." Bell could only look on, resigned, as the torrent of storm wrought power thundered towards him. He had no stamina left to attempt a dodge; not with the mountainous weight of his weapon dragging him down. Quaffing a vial of blessed water might save him but even then, his current equipment was simply not fitted against a lightning user of this calibre.

So instead, he settled for some thing else.

"I am coming for you!" he screamed out in Old Dialect, the strange language of the island which he had learned from the Sorcerer of Black Sands. His words echoed around the vast chamber which housed the kraekan lord's massive bulk, resonating down the dark passage which it so meticulously guarded.

For an instance there was nothing.

And then, the air trembled.

Just ever so slightly as though it had heard him.

Bell smiled, a small crescent of self-satisfied defiance.

And his world exploded into crackling light.

"It's time you knew my name." the old man said as both he and Bell stood at the precipice between the Crypt and the Still Palace.

Bell merely nodded at him from beneath the angled helm of Carsejaw the Cruel. The armoured plates clicking against each other beneath the thick black mantle as he did so.

"There was a time when I held many titles. Men knew me by other names as well. But titles, fame, infamy... it is worthless here. On this island, Jaret is my name." The newly minted Jaret took a breath to compose himself before continuing.

"Envy is such a thing. A man envies his neighbour, whose wife is very beautiful. A lord envies a king, who commands nobles. A king envies a god, to whom all men must bow." nostalgia tinted his tone as he turned his gaze down.

"And a god envies... a god envies what a god cannot have." He looked up, regret radiating from his onyx eyes.

"I wanted so much from life. Satisfaction eluded me. And the things I prayed for... well... would you believe a god actually answered my prayers?"

Bell said nothing, merely standing as a silent witness to Jaret's confession.

"These things... this life... this island..." he gestured mockingly around them "Such is my reward. Fantastic power, a lifetime of servitude, and a purgatorial existence in this still place."

He turned his back to Bell, to face the snow white visage of the inverted palace.

"The god of this island is the god that answered my prayers." he stated causing Bell to jerk sharply. The first movement he'd made since the impromptu confession started. "His existence is one of insatiable lust for something a god can never have: to be born of light. He preyed on the greedy, collecting on the debts of kingdoms and countries in some mad, mad hope of collecting that thing he shall never have."

He turned back to Bell.

"Alas... we are born of Salt, bound by Sanctuary. We are the eternally dead. All except for you." he stated.

"This island lies deep beneath the depths of the sea, it is everywhere and yet nowhere. All who meet their end at the hands of the sea are drawn to this island, to this drowned purgatory. But you... you are neither born of Salt, nor are you born of light; an existence which should not exist in this world."

He grinned, not the crooked grin which he had greeted Bell and so many others with, but a genuine grin of hope.

"An existence which even He could not predict." he declared grandly before his eyes hardened.

"This god... this demon... I want Him to remain nameless. His lust for power is fueled by terror and infamy. Men at sea can fear the Kraekan, but give this vile god no name."

For a long time, all Bell did was stare at the old man. The white dust which so fell like snow from the black sky, nestling in the fur of his black mantle.

And then, he spoke. A single phrase of Old Dialect, causing The old man's gaze to bore into him, judging him beneath ancient scrutiny.

"...Once you go down, there will be no going back. His foul energy cancels the power of the Bells and Horns. As the absolute ruler of this island, even sanctuary cannot save you from being slain..." he stated with no emotion in his tone.

"...So?" came the confused reply.

"...Heh."

The old man chuckled, his mirth shaking his frail body before finally erupting into a joyous exclamation of mirth. He laughed like he had just been told the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, the foreign sound echoing out across the vast space that so enveloped them both.

"Of course you would say that." he replied at last through his laughter "You are the Child of Light after all."

Even as he slowly disintegrated away into particles of salt, his raucous laughter still lingered before petering off into the void.

For a while, Bell simply remained standing stoically. Head angled to the black sky which so gently wept white tears. Simply enjoying the silent tranquillity and, dare he say it, peace, that existed around the Still Palace.

How long he stood, he did not know; time having long since lost it's meaning to him and his unaging body. He had no idea how long he'd been on the island. But be it years or even centuries, it was soon going to end.

Slowly bringing his gaze back to bear at the white archway, he took a deep breath and released it gently, sending the white particles fluttering around him.

"..."

Resolutely, he strode into the darkness. Not so much as a shred of hesitation to be found in his stride.

He was going to end this. One way or another.

Every place on the island was unique in it's own way. From the Shivering Shore where he had first awakened to the bizarre Crypt of the Dead Gods; each inspired it's own sense of twisted wonder within Bell as he traversed them.

It therefore spoke volumes when Bell found himself struck silent with awe at the monochromatic interior of the Still Palace. Thousands upon thousands of candles lined the many alcoves in it's reversed walls, a gesture he now recognized as a symbol of what the master of the island desired the most: a candlelit soul.

He wondered if the strange jester who wielded the brand of Vertigo would've liked it here.

"..."

"Pfft..Hahaha!" he shook with amusement as the preposterous image of a confused jester trying to work out what was up and what was down appeared in his mind.

"Hah~" he sighed "I needed that. Been too long since I had a good laugh." A statement that rang only all too true. With no need to for sleep or sustenance, the only thing he could do to keep himself sane was to keep killing monsters and growing stronger.

He tilted his head slightly.

Now that he thought about it, wasn't that what would drive people insane in the first place? But then again, when you've reached the point where the default course of action when confronted with a locked chest is to attempt to kill it in case it mutates into a tentacle monster, sanity was probably a relative concept.

Shrugging his plated shoulders, Bell decided to enjoy the scenery for a bit more before confronting the supposed god of the island. Maybe make one last tour of the island again as well, seeing as he was facing a god.

Time, was one of the few things he had an abundance of.

The drop was a lot longer than he expected, thought Bell as he peered carefully down the sheer drop which lay past the all too familiar candelabra. The torch which he had thrown down had been choked to death by the darkness long before he heard it hit the ground. Even the second one which had been augmented by a small Lantern charm tied to it did not fare better.

Well...that left one option if he didn't want to break his legs the moment he landed.

He held out his hand, the familiar embers coalesced to form the Mosaic Culverin, a large hand cannon which he had obtained by giving an alchemist the fragments of The Coveted he had managed to scavenge after it shattered.

Instead of loading it with ammunition however, he instead summoned one of the grenados he had and carefully removed the fuse before tipping almost all of the black flash powder into the barrel. Discarding the empty shell, he next brought forth a glowing orange flask of liquid fire; something he had learned to create during his brief stint as a Keeper of Fire and Sky. Carefully, he poured a measure of the volatile substance in to mix and solidify with the flash powder.

Checking that the mixture had properly solidified, Bell let out a sigh of relief.

Normally, he had enough skill to be able to directly summon ammunition into pistols directly. But the exponentially more powerful flash powder and liquid fire combination had to be done by hand due to the volatile nature of both concoctions.

Pistol Air Braking was a technique he'd developed to help deal with the many sheer drops which barred his way. The first pistol he'd found had been horribly inadequate, the shot had a wide spread but did little damage to what it did hit. What he did notice however was that it did have quite a bit of knockback. And so, after some extensive testing and broken limbs, the Pistol Air Brake was born.

Originally, he had to use two of the original flintlocks to compensate for the force of gravity. But with the large lodestone augmented Mosaic, loaded with his special 'Impen compound', he was confident that he could jump down the centre of the Red Hall of Cages and survive. Of course the deceleration would probably tear his arms out of their sockets, but he would survive.

The black abyss yawned at him, calling him.

If he descended, there would be no going back.

A sardonic smile graced his lips.

"It's time my quest ended, and another begins." he said to himself. Despite what he had been through, despite the vile and twisted sights he had witnessed after when he made his oath to himself and Devera, despite all this... he was happy.

The quest he had embarked one was neither easy nor glorious. No-one would ever know of what he had done, what he had sacrificed.

But it was a quest he could be proud of. And even if he fell against this last adversary, he could honestly say that he did not regret his promise.

He would regret not picking up any girls though. There wasn't exactly a wide choice on the island as every person he knew was technically dead.

And with that cheerful thought he jumped.

The air whipped around Bell as he fell, sending his black mantle billowing around him like the feathers of a great crow. The Mosaic was grasped firmly in both of his gauntleted hands as he struggled to keep the bulky hand cannon pointed down between his feet.

"Wait for it..." he muttered, the words devoured by the wind around him.

BOOM!

A conflagration of celestial fire and flash powder exploded with the wrath of an angry god beneath him as he pulled the trigger, the recoil nearly dislocating his shoulders as he was violently decelerated from free-fall.

Dismissing the smouldering weapon, he landed nimbly as his greave encased feet impacting the stone floor with a terrific crack.

He looked up, and saw Him.

Dull silver plates of arcane metal covered every inch of the being, the light of the candles which lined the chamber reflecting dully from them. A tattered cape similar to his own was clasped to the arcing ribs of metal which protruded from His pauldrons. But what truly cemented the identity of this being was not His armour nor the red great blade which He wielded.

It was the vast, unlit candelabra which was fixed to His back. The symbol of the one thing that He coveted most: a candlelit spirit.

The oppressive miasma which the island was so heavily steeped in poured forth from the hulking being in front of him, rolling off like waves of venomous fog. Here stood the heart of the island's power, the linchpin which kept it's existence anchored into reality.

Before him stood the Nameless God.

The last and final foe in his quest.

Slowly, the turbaned helm lowered it's gaze to his easily dwarfed form.

The crimson slab of a great sword shifted in His grasp.

With a flurry of orange sparks, both the Leviathan and Scharfrichter blades appeared in Bell's waiting hands.

A few muttered words of prayer caused both weapons to light up with shining yellow light as Devera's blessing was channelled into them.

The ground cracked beneath two sets of armoured feet.

And the two titans clashed.

Black Umbral metal met red as the ivory edges of the Scharfrichter clashed against the Nameless God's own Blade of Envy. Neither fighter willing to give so much as an inch to their adversary.

"Damn...it!" Bell cursed as he abandoned the Leviathan blade to put both hands into wielding the pointed Scharfrichter. This fight was taking far too long to end, he'd already gone through almost all of his cloths and waters of blessing. The thrice-damned god simply wasn't taking enough damage. What was worse was that he could feel the aura of despair which cloaked his foe slowly wearing him down. Just being able to stand required immense mental fortification let-alone lasting for so long against him in close combat.

His forcibly stilled his trembling hands as he tried desperately to think of anything which might work. Fire, thunder, holy, arcane and poison had all proved barely effective against the hulking giant. Even the triangular great sword he currently wielded, said to be sharp enough to cut space, only nicked the god's armour.

Blood dripped down from between the plates of his own protection. Water of Blessing only healed to a certain extent, and was incapable of healing serious injuries without repeated usage; something he could not afford with his already mostly depleted stores.

Suddenly the god screamed, an inhuman shriek of rage, and sprinted at the momentarily stunned albino. A white rain of arcane light flanking Him.

Bell swore, rolling to the left as the red sword came crashing down and in the same split-second summoning a silver shield to block the arcane projectiles. As soon as he felt the rain cease, he quickly dismissed the shield, rolled to the side of the expected slash and let loose with a swing of the freshly summoned Bonebreaker. The clang of the blow was music to his ears as the Nameless god was sent flying back into the stone wall.

Normally, the god would have simply shrugged off the blow and peeled Himself from indentation His body had caused.

But it just so happened, that the section of wall which He was slammed into had already been weakened by the repeated strikes laid upon it. Thus instead of simply cracking more, it partially collapsed instead; trapping the god in a mound of stone.

Capitalizing on the opportunity, Bell called the Mosaic to his hands once more and fired it behind him, sending him catapulting forward with a blast of flash powder.

"RAAAGH!" a battle cry tore from his lips as he poised the Tainted Ranseur he'd summoned in his other hand to stab into the blackness which lay behind the turbaned helm.

"Please, please, please..." Bell begged to Devera as the razor sharp tip of the corrupted poleaxe drew closer and closer.

CLANG!

What!?

Bell had aimed true, the five-pointed head of the polearm had penetrated deep into the Nameless God's helm.

He twisted the shaft.

The spearhead turned easily, meeting no resistance in the helm.

As though there was nothing there.

Something heavy settled in Bell's stomach even as the Nameless God wrenched a hand free of the rubble and began pulling at the spear. If the helmet was empty...What if there was nothing inside the rest of the armour!?

The poleaxe was suddenly dismissed, and in the momentary window of confusion he replaced it with the clawed Staff of Saira, jamming the magical implement into the helm as deep as he could.

"BURN!" he screamed, pouring everything he had into the infernal staff.

Dragonfire spewed forth from the clawed end, blasting deep into the interior of the armour and causing gouts of white hot fire to burst from every joint.

The Nameless god simply took hold of the staff like He did the spear and resumed trying to yank it free of His helm. His empty helm, uncaring of the searing torrent which was coursing through it.

'What do I do? What do I do!?'

A combination of panic and despair began to cloud Bell's mind as he tried desperately to keep the staff wedged in the god's helmet. The stream of fire was beginning to splutter as his willpower faded.

For the first time since he had arrived, Bell fully comprehended the despair which had claimed so many before him.

A weight descended upon him as he began to kneel. His strength leaving him as the dead staff clattered to the ground and dispersed into red embers.

Darkness closed in on him.

The Nameless God had finally freed himself of the rubble and raised His crimson blade above him, like the hanging blade of a guillotine.

Bell lowered his head.

...

But then he heard them.

The peals of a thousand bells surrounded him once more, banishing the despair which had flooded his mind and replaced it with warm strength and resolve.

'Do not give up, Child of Light.'

The voice, Devera's voice rang from within him like the chime of a great bell, repelling the darkness which dared to encroach upon him.

As the darkness retreated, memories began to flood his mind.

The death of his parents.

The smiling face of his late grandfather.

His decision to become an adventurer.

His arrival onto the nameless island.

The horrors he had faced.

The promise he had made.

As though sensing his change, the Nameless God quickly brought down His blade, seeking to cleave him from shoulder to hip.

CLANG!

Only for it to be blocked by single, glowing white blade grasped in his foe's gauntlet.

The blade was not one of the many which Bell had found, nor was it one that he had created from the remains of his enemies.

It was the same humble dagger which he had been carrying when he first arrived on the island. The single weapon which lay outside of the island's domain.

The weapon which carried within it the memories of Bell's grandfather; the one who had bequeathed the blade to him.

"Heh. That's right isn't it." he muttered, a sardonic yet resolute smile forming beneath his helm. "I swore to save you all." Slowly he began to stand, the red sword above him straining as it was pushed back by the tiny knife.

He raised his head proudly, crimson irises igniting into burning circles of white gold fire causing the eye holes of his helm to ignite into white circles.

He smiled.

"That includes you." he flicked his wrist and with a great scream of metal, the red blade was cut in two as the dagger neatly bisected it like a knife through butter.

"▁▂▃▃▄▄▅▅▅"

An inhuman cry tore through the chamber, a roar of rage and pain as the Blade of Envy started to break apart. The malignant miasma which seemed to naturally exude from Him burst forth like a sudden flood, saturating the very air with rage and despair.

Any other being would have been crushed, drowned beneath the almighty, all encompassing sea of wrath and grief.

But Bell...Bell stood tall, as though he was completely at ease in the torrent of malice which he was submerged in.

Even as the Nameless God made one last desperate lunge with His outstretched hands, he simply turned aside slightly, letting the candle imprinted gauntlet fly wide before swinging round with the still glowing dagger, lodging it where his spear had previously failed to find purchase.

"..."

With a hollow clunk the god fell to His knees, arms hanging limply at His side, the dagger sticking into the now tangible blackness which lay within.

From the side, Bell watched on; a small, sad smile on his face despite knowing that none could see beneath his helm. White motes had begun to flake off of the kneeling figure as pale fingers of light grew from the joints of It's armour. Bit by bit, flake by flake, the defeated giant broke apart into particles like the white snow which fell from the sky above the palace. Soon, the last of the god had broken apart, leaving the chamber alive with millions of white luminescent specks.

Each speck rode on an invisible wind, dancing to an unheard symphony. And suddenly as though by a conductor's command, the sea of white funnelled itself directly into Bell's unsuspecting chest causing him to stumble at the sudden intake of salt.

Steadying himself, Bell turned his gaze to the black archway which had not been present moments ago.

He straightened his back.

"Once more into the abyss."

Stopping only to pick up his lone dagger, the mantled figure slowly staggered into the darkness. Crimson flowers of blood dripping in his wake.

More candles.

Hundreds upon thousands of ashen cylinders surrounded him, burning with bleached candle fire upon the unending black plane which he stood upon.

It was like a sea, a black sea filled with millions of flickering white stars.

And it struck Bell silent, robbed him of his voice.

This plane, this sea of eternity...

It was, without doubt, the most beautiful place Bell had ever seen.

For a moment he contemplated stopping, simply lying down to finally stop.

At that moment he could think of no better resting place for himself.

But he could not rest. Not yet.

Reluctantly, his gaze left the wonder around him.

There was a well, the path of salvation.

He looked beyond.

The Scarecrow, mouthpiece of the Nameless God, stared back at him from beneath the god's turbaned helm.

The foe he had defeated was naught but the avatar of the Nameless God, his envy and avarice given form.

What now hung crucified before him, was the true wretched form of the Nameless God.

Forever bound and chained by his lust for the one thing he could never had.

Forever a prisoner of his own desire.

The path of dominion.

With measured steps, he stole forwards.

Past the well.

Bell raised his arms to the helm, articulated joints clicking as he gently caressed the metal helm.

If he did this...there would be a price to pay.

With careful hands, the helm was pried from the twisted effigy.

"Be at peace."

His own Umbral Visor vanished, and Bell donned the turbaned helm.

The candles flickered.

And he knew pain.

A tortured scream ripped from his lips as soon as the helm had covered his face. He did not notice that he was slowly being pulled onto the wooden crucifix, did not care that his umbral armour was slowly dispersing into familiar arcane metal. All he could focus on, was the hellish pain his chest as something burned itself onto his flesh.

Each second stretched into an infinity as he writhed on the wooden cross, hands straining against the mysterious force which kept his body anchored to the wooden beam.

Finally, it stopped. The immovable force which had held him so firmly vanished, dropping him to his hands and knees with a dull thud.

Breathing heavily, Bell pushed himself to his feet calmly; as though he had not just suffered like the damned.

"...I understand now." he said softly, raising the familiar candle engraved palms of the Nameless God's gauntlets to his eyes.

This place... The monsters...

They were all memories, harvested from the minds of those who had already yielded to the Nameless God. Nothing more than old horrors granted life through the power of a mad god.

He would know.

He was now that god.

Peering at his reflection within the well, he saw the Nameless God staring back at him.

The invisible presence of the island which had once threatened to devour him now embraced him, comforting him with silent empathy.

He was the master, no, the god of the island now.

Everything that was the Nameless God's was now his. Usurped by the right of dominion.

He was tired.

One last thing remained to be done.

Sitting down gently on the large stone rim of the well, he drank in the scenery one last time. Engraving the sight forever into his very soul.

He called a Bell of Return to his hand.

Even now he could feel the trickle of souls being fed to the island.

No more.

"Devera, deliver me."

The bell rang, a single clear note which echoed across the vast plane.

A tremor shuddered through the horizonless plane.

Bell smiled, the tiny golden chime shining in his hand.

He was still smiling when he leant back and let himself fall into the well as the island collapsed.

Ageless solace

Clasp'd by death

Curs'd no longer

Gasping breath

I seem to have a knack for making up new crossovers. Read and review.