The abomination found herself once more in a cold and lonely world. The view ahead was a vast field of coal-black sky, shining cobalt under the light of an enormous crescent moon. Though snow blanketed the ground far below, this was not the condemned world of Ariamis. Instead of a ruined fortress, beyond lay a ruined town. It didn't look the part, certainly, with its beautiful windows gleaming in the moonlight and its streets illuminated by lamps.

Yet the crossbreed had the eyes of a Raven and plucked at the strings of life itself. All that lay below was twisted and defiled. Her blood ran cold, and she gripped her vorpal scythe until her knuckles were whiter than the virgin snow which hid such monstrosity. It was not the forsaken city below that drove her to such fear. The scales prickled on the back of her neck, but she dared not turn around for fear of what she might see above.

So overwhelmed by this unfathomable presence, she nearly failed to notice as a smaller life approached her from behind. The slow patter of bare feet sounded subtly, and in the stillness of the night, shallow breathing could be heard. She forced herself to crook her head for a look. What she saw from the corner of her eye was impossible.

"Name thyself, stranger," said the warm, entreating voice.

The world's only half-dragon inhaled sharply. The younger woman behind her wore a gossamer veil which did nothing to conceal her features. Plainly put, they were her own father's. White scales flecked the girl's cheekbones, and curling tendrils trailed from her neck, half-hidden amongst blond tresses. A quick glance to the ground revealed a split tail with three ends.

"W-who art thou?" the elder monster stammered, her unsure speech contrasting with her strong features. "I am called Priscilla. My father was Seath, Duke of Anor Londo. Couldst thou be another child of his? I had thought myself alone."

The younger girl looked up in awe. Clearly, her heritage was divine, and she was a head taller than the average demigod, to say nothing of the human pygmies. Yet the mistress of Lifehunt was bolstered by the enormous power of her heritage, born to an ancient dragon and the most powerful goddess to ever live. This girl's head rose only to the level of Priscilla's bust.

"I am Yorshka, Captain of the Darkmoon Knights. I do not know who I was before I met my brother, but I dearly hope any family I might have had were as lovely as thee. I have never seen another like us. Thy father, who I resemble – what is he like?"

Priscilla's eyes went wide at the mention of that forbidden Covenant, and her expression hardened when her father was mentioned.

"Thou art better not knowing if thou hast yet to meet him. He would surely harmeth thee in trying to learn about thine appearance. He was Duke for aiding in the Lord's rise; his nobility was only ever a rank."

"Oh," Yorshka said, at a loss for words. "I'm sorry for asking."

"Thou couldst not have known," Priscilla said softly.

She'd responded curtly out of reflexive ire toward her father, but the frail young girl so much like herself seemed to take it harshly. She stopped leaning on her scythe and patted Yorshka's head.

"I too have a dear brother whom I met late in life. We share our mother, though we do not like to think much of her. We are not much alike in appearance. Ist thine own brother like thyself?"

"Not at all. He found me, and told me that he would be my brother and named me."

At first, Yorshka seemed happy to speak of her brother, but then her voice dropped.

"My position as Captain was once his. He was stricken by illness, and leadership of the Knights fell to me. Then, Sulyvahn wrongfully proclaimed himself Pontiff and took me prisoner. Oh, where could my dear brother be…"

"Thou art prisoner here?" Priscilla said slowly, feeling lightheaded.

Another seeming half-dragon imprisoned in a tower above a snowy waste was beyond belief. A "recurrence," she remembered. "The Eternal Return."

"This tower," Yorshka said thoughtfully, "this prison, stands tall and solitary – the contraption bridging its lower reaches long unmoving. That bonfire had long remained cold until thine arrival. I suppose now it will be forever so."

Priscilla glanced down at her bare feet. The coiled sword rested on the icy stone, the bone ash of the bonfire scattered across the balcony. There was no way back, then. She stepped past the girl to observe her surroundings. As she put the tower behind her, she stuttered, gasping.

She might have noticed it earlier and unconsciously suppressed it, but she knew the grand buildings before her. She had lived here as a child, before her exile, before she knew her mother's loathing. Ahead lay Anor Londo, City of Sunlight, frozen and dark. It was in the heart of the Great Lord's own keep that the wicked presence lurked.

"How?" she eked out, her voice cracking.

"I beg thy pardon," Yorshka said, walking around. "Thou must have come from afar to see the grossly incandescent city of the First Lord. I am afraid it has been dark since my brother fell ill. Oh, I hope he won't mind me speaking of this to one who is not of our company, but I feel I can trust thee. My brother is the Dark Sun Gwyndolin, shadow to Father Gwyn and Sister Gwynevere."

Priscilla began to take short, shallow breaths.

"Truly, thou art my sister, even if we do not share a father." she said between breaths. "Gwyndolin is my brother as well."

"Oh!"

The implication slowly sank in.

"A sister!"

Facing good news for the first time since before the Pontiff's rise, she threw out her arms and dove to hug Priscilla. This snapped the elder girl back to reality. Quickly, before they could touch, she vanished, gliding away with a rush of air. Shocked, Yorshka stopped in place, looking about.

"Sister, I pray I have not offended thee!"

Priscilla appeared just out of reach.

"No," she said, more or less back to normal, "it is I who must ask forgiveness. That is an old habit of mine."

She fell to one knee and extended her arms.

"Thou mayst hug me anytime thou wishest."

Yorshka grinned from ear to ear and jumped into the elder girl's fluffy coat of white fur. Being what she was, she didn't mind the cold even in her silken gown. Still, the warmth of the smothering sleeves and the newfound family behind them caused her pale skin to gain a bit of color.

"Art thou ready to leave this prison, forever?" Priscilla whispered.

"Where shall I go, Sister?" Yorshka asked, excited but hesitant.

"First, we will go find our brother and do away with this wicked Pontiff," she said, glancing up at Gwyn's keep. "Then, we will bring back the sun – the real sun – to Anor Londo."

Yorshka gasped in excitement.

"Sister, how will we do all of this? I have been long trapped here. This tower stands apart, and I cannot operate the bridge mechanism from this side."

Priscilla smiled and rose to tower over her.

"As your elder sister, I will pass on to you words once toldeth to myself by one very dear to me. To begin this journey – to begin any journey, we must take the first step."

She extended her hand but took a step backward.

"Art thou ready to begin thine own journey?"

Yorshka took a deep breath, then nodded twice.

"I am ready, sister! I cannot keep waiting for Brother while the Darkmoon Knights are memberless."

She took Priscilla's hand, and the larger girl pulled her forward, hefting her onto her back.

"Ensurest thou dost not let go."

With that, Priscilla hurdled over the railing. As Yorshka screamed in terror, she dug her powerful fingers into the stone of the wall below. With the grip strength of dragon and raven, she kicked and clawed out her own footholds as she descended the sheer stone prison. With every other move, her wicked scythe stabbed a hole in the wall as if the structure were made of water. As she climbed onto the roof of the building below, she glanced around. There was no obvious way back up to the rest of the City of Sunlight, save passing through the lower town.

Scowling, she descended to the building's courtyard and put her sister down there. As she had seen from above, the streets were utterly abandoned, only the whistle of the wind for sound.

"That was amazing, sister!" Yorshka shouted.

"Shh," Priscilla hissed quickly, putting a long finger to her lips. "We do not wish for thine enemies to discover us yet. Havest thou a weapon?"

"I have a powerful chime Brother gave me."

Priscilla shook her head.

"That must doeth for now. Miracles can healeth thee, but a weapon could preventeth the injury. When we see combat, thou must stay clear of danger and support me, understand?"

"Of course, Sister," the younger girl said seriously.

If nothing else, Yorshka was well-acquainted with her own weakness. Even if she had a weapon, she likely would not have been able to wield it effectively. Despite her size, she was a frail girl, unsuited for direct combat. Priscilla led the way toward the enormous cathedral that overlooked the defiled town. They kept to the shadows, following the line of buildings and stopping to wait as patrols passed.

Soon, a gate barred their path, but there was no physical barrier that could stand against the infinite sharpness of her wicked scythe. She quickly swung it not only through the brass bars but through the stone wall as well, cleaving through a pair of invisible hollows on the other side. Such tricks wouldn't work on one who could perform them as well. Beyond the gate and up the stairs, they waited for a skull-faced knight to pass and hurried through the fog and into the building.

The interior of the cathedral was beautiful, though its color had dulled with time. Where they hadn't cracked from cold, the stone tiles shone so bright as to reflect the majesty above. Grand chandeliers crossed the room, which was illuminated by moonlight streaming through stained glass that covered much of the upper wall. At the far side stood four enormous statues of an androgynous robed deity.

"Brother…" Yorshka murmured.

Priscilla didn't quite recognize them. Setting aside that even more of the deity's face was obscured than she was used to, this Gwyndolin was many years older than her own. Still, the Dark Sun's royal scepter and unique sorcery catalyst was unmistakable. She grit her teeth. A man stood alone in the center of the room.

He held a greatsword in his right hand and a longsword in the left. He was clad in ragged white robes that had once flowed and shone, and atop his head was not a papal crown but a regal one.

"Oh, it is only you, young Lady Yorshka," he said with a voice like rich flame, "I am beside myself to see you have made a friend. But my Lady, it is not safe outside your tower. Even now, I watch in pain as our brave Outrider Knights fight for their lives against foes who would destroy our very way of life. It will be long afore it is safe for you to walk even the guarded streets of our fair city. Come, I will take you back now. I shall personally see to it that your friend is bestowed with Irithyll's utmost hospitality."

"I am no fool, Sulyvahn," Yorshka said spitefully. "I know what thy hospitality means. Thou art no Pontiff! If my brother were here, he would not stand for the indignities thou hast piled upon our people!"

The Pontiff waited patiently for her to finish, resting his swords on the tiles but not putting them away.

"Oh, I am quite aware of the Dark Sun's position on these matters, young Lady Yorshka. We spoke at length on them. In the end, I was made Pontiff. What more do you wish of me? What can I say to convince you that all which has come to pass is the will of the gods?"

"Set me free. Release the slaves that were once free men before they were needed to fuel your wars with the outside. Tell me where my brother is. Then perhaps I will find it in myself to give thee the benefit of the doubt. If thou can do none of these, then let my sister pass so that she can search for Brother in my place."

"Oh my," the Pontiff rumbled, "a sister, you say?"

He drew closer but also subtly moved his swords to the ready. His expression couldn't be seen through his faceless shroud, crossed with brass like the roots of a tree. Still, he clearly hadn't expected this. He wasn't angry or frightened, but a dangerous sort of interested.

"Yes, I see the resemblance now. Not so much in the face, but the heritage, certainly. I am Sulyvahn, Lunar Pontiff. May I have the pleasure of your name, dear Lady?"

"I am Priscilla, daughter of Duke Seath and Witch Velka, half-sister of the Dark Sun. In my name, my brother's, and my the Great Lord's, I demand thou freest thy prisoners. I am not so naive to think it can be done immediately, but if thou carest in the slightest about the gods' will, thou willt heed my command. If the city hurteth, speakest only what it needeth, and I shall see it delivered. If thou seekest only to rule, then I shall depose thee on my brother's behalf."

The Pontiff was unfazed.

"My Lady Priscilla, it pains me that our first meeting must be under such circumstances. Surely, you will allow me a chance to explain myself, as I did to the Dark Sun. I am wholly certain the two of us will come to the same understanding he and I did. If it is for the young Lady Yorshka that you worry, fret not. I shall arrange for the tower to accommodate the two of you. Say only the word, my Ladies, and it shall be done."

"Forgivest me," Priscilla said coldly. "I listened to the gods speak when I was very young and heard too the words of the Serpent. Thou speakest not half as many truths as that creature. Thy tongue is forked as my father's tail."

"Dear me," Sulyvahn sighed. "Here I had hoped for the blessing of a free meal. It seems that I shall have to work for this one as well. Let us hope you put up a better fight than your dear brother."

Without incantations or gestures, he set his greatsword aflame and his longsword alight with magic. He held the larger sword forward as a cautious defense while the smaller was drawn back to lunge if the opportunity presented itself. Priscilla brandished her long scythe in one hand. As commanded, Yorshka stepped back from the violence to come but readied her sacred chime. The Pontiff opened with a room-crossing sweep with his flaming blade.

Such an obvious attack was no trouble at all. Priscilla simply vanished and slashed at him from behind. He shrieked as blood was torn from the wound as if by a vacuum, devoured by the power of Lifehunt that flowed through the scythe. Yet a moment later, he was laughing heartily.

"I see! You are more than you appear! Another Devourer! I am a fool! Surely a power as rapacious as Flame would have a Devourer all its own! In that case…"

Priscilla was quick and could vanish from sight. The Pontiff, however, could seemingly vanish because he was quick. Before she had time to react, he had Yorshka at his mercy. He still wielded his flaming sword defensively, but now he had the younger deity pinned to his chest, the sorcerous blade rising against her neck.

"Sister!"

"My dear Lady Priscilla, you must forgive me. I would never resort to such disgraceful tactics… ordinarily. You, dear Lady, are no ordinary goddess. I am loath to admit it, but I would hardly stand a chance against you otherwise. You see, it is my duty to 'tenderize' Lord Aldrich's meals."

He paused.

"No, I don't like this at all. Let us change the rules of this game, shall we? You play the hare, and I'll play the beast. It is your duty to protect the sweet young little hare from my predations, even at great personal cost. Understand?"

He chuckled and shoved Yorshka toward Priscilla. The older girl dropped her fighting stance to catch her, but the gleaming blue blade dug into her side as she did so.

"Yes, this is much more sporting," Sulyvahn chuckled, streaking away as a blur of red and blue light.

He lunged toward the pair again, leading with a wide sweep of his larger sword. Priscilla batted it away with her scythe. Though the hungry energy that cloaked her body licked at the flame, it was at once neverending and overbearing, scorching the fur of her coat. He followed up with a thrust of the smaller sword. Instead of dodging and putting Yorshka at risk again, Priscilla caught the blade in her powerful grip.

She bled the thick blood of gods for only a moment before her own power lapped it up, and the energy of the sword sparked and resisted. With the Pontiff inside her scythe's range, another attack would be more suitable. She took a deep breath, and unleashed a deadly crystal spray. While her father's breath carried the power of the stone dragons and could petrify the living, her own dragon breath was aspected to the horrid power for which she was bred. The Pontiff shrieked as the glittering shards tore through his robes and flesh, devouring his blood from the inside.

He swung blindly with his greatsword and shook his longsword vigorously, digging deeper and deeper into the crossbreed's palm. Flinching, she let him go, and he quickly hopped out of the immediate danger.

"Sister, just a moment!"

Yorshka raised her chime with a golden light. It rang out with a pure tone, and a holy aura enveloped the two of them, healing Priscilla's hand.

"Thou hast my thanks, Yorshka."

"I only do as thou said, Sister."

Some distance away, Sulyvahn was bent over in agony. Darkness burst from his back like soot, and wings of gnarled, twisted roots sprouted from his back.

"Haaaah! Ha!" he panted and laughed, nearly choking. "You nearly made me lose it! A shame! That will be the last chance you had to kill me!"

He raised his magic sword to his face. After a moment, he began to shimmer and split. Another moment, and a hazy phantom of him appeared. Just as swiftly as it had manifested, it leapt into the air. The real Pontiff followed immediately after, and both dove at the crossbreed pair with their flaming swords.

Priscilla held herself and waited. The phantom broke against the power of Lifehunt that filled her presence, and at the last moment, she rolled out of the way of the real attack, taking Yorshka with her.

"Interesting!" the Pontiff laughed madly. "If that approach won't work, then I shan't waste your time with any anymore!"

He kicked backward, gliding through the air. At a safe distance, he thrust his magic sword forward. It flashed and unleashed an off-color soul spear. Priscilla deflected it with the blade of her scythe, but the weapon simply wasn't meant for defense. Though some of the energy reflected, much of it blasted straight through to her.

Yorshka healed her again without missing a beat, but the elder deity could almost taste the rogue Pontiff's unseen smug grin as he prepared to fire again. Prsicilla was trapped, and he knew it. Even in his more powerful state, she could easily kill him alone. The question was whether she could kill him before he severely injured Yorshka. Undead could afford to take risks; the two very much alive demigods lacked that luxury.

She had been too headstrong. It would have not been so difficult to slaughter the monsters of the city like they deserved and hidden Yorshka somewhere safe. She would certainly get an earful from Sir Ornstein when he heard of this. If she survived, anyway. The Pontiff shot again, then dared step closer, sweeping the sword sidelong to unleash a short-reached crescent of power.

Priscilla snarled at him but didn't move, shielding Yorshka with her body even as the younger deity healed her.

"Thou won't be able to keep this up," the elder whispered. "Even if we moved forward, I am not sure we could corner him with wings like so. How well canst thou run?"

"Do not worry, Sister. I will take care of myself. It is long overdue."

Priscilla nodded.

"Be careful."

She rushed the Pontiff without warning, enduring the next blast to cover Yorshka's escape. Her scythe cut a swath through the priest's torso, but he quickly retreated.

"A changing situation calls for changing tactics," he taunted as he raised his magic sword again.

As his phantom began to flicker into existence once more, Priscilla rushed him to shatter the illusion. Only, instead of hiding behind the copy as he had before, it broke away backward. While he occupied the true threat, it could easily deal with the fleeing Yorshka. It hammered its flaming sword down with enough force to shatter the stone tiles. Some of the errant shrapnel slashed the unprepared deity's skin as she scampered over the iron pews in search of cover.

With no choice, Priscilla doubled back. The real Pontiff lunged after her, trying to swipe her legs out from under her with his larger sword. He dashed the blade into the cathedral wall to swing himself forward, stabbing her in the lower back with his magic sword. She grunted and tore herself free of the blade, sliding through the benches and kicking them at the Pontiff behind her. Close enough at last, the phantom priest evaporated once more, but she was hard-pressed to block an overhead sweep with both blades.

They ground against her indestructible scythe, but her strength was waning. Though initially human, the Pontiff had taken on a scale to match her own. He had momentum driving him forward and the weight of his own weapons. Priscilla was never one for direct confrontations, and with that last injury, it took all the more effort to stand under such force. With one final exertion, she threw the swords aside and rolled over in the air, lashing him back with her tail.

She tried to follow up with her scythe, but the Pontiff had learned all he needed by now. The pair was cornered. They couldn't try splitting up again, but without any sort of ranged weapon or spell, that also meant they couldn't attack.

"Come now," he said gently. "I have no desire to continue this futile struggle. Surrender yourselves, and I will spare your suffering. Lady Priscilla, you have a unique gift. Help me.

Lord Aldrich sees that an Age of Deep Water will replace that of Fire. I see no reason why a new power should snuff out the old, save poetic justice. Together, we could enter the new Age without losing all of this – everything the gods have built."

"What dideth our brother tell thee?" she spat.

"Well… He told me quite a lot of things. But he's in no position to speak now."

"What did thou do to Brother!" Yorshka demanded, peeking out from under Priscilla.

"Oh, it's not what I did. Lord Aldrich was quite famished from the journey here. I merely… introduced the two of them."

"Thou art a beast!" she spat.

Priscilla only looked grim and used the extra time to try and think of another plan.

"Yes, that was the role, wasn't it? And it would seem our hunt is come to an end. The vicious beast has cornered the two little snow hares. Now, only to devour them."

"Yorshka, stayest thee close," Priscilla whispered.

A soul spear came, and the pair ducked and rolled away. A crescent slash followed, and they dove to the floor beneath it. Now, they had reached the fog wall again, and there was nowhere for them to dodge. Something shattered. A moment passed as the Pontiff searched cautiously for the source of the noise.

Bits of colored glass rained down, shredding Sulyvahn and Priscilla's flesh and robes, Yorshka safely tucked away under Priscilla's larger body. The elder crossbreed quickly regained her feet and swung her scythe up it sparked against the Pontiff's magic sword as he deflected the clumsy blow. He didn't hear the jingle of the chandelier. The demigoddess stomped into it, throwing the Pontiff back. He didn't hear leather on stone.

He coasted through the air comfortably, utterly confident in his ranged advantage. He didn't see the weapon drawn. Without warning, a blade appeared in front of him. The Pontiff screamed again as syrupy blood began to stain his white robes. He clutched at his heart as its contents rushed out in spurts.

He screamed again as the blade jerked out the way it had come. He whirled about to see the cause of the injury. A rush of wind, and the perpetrator was gone. He was fast, but not fast enough. He turned around again, paired swords ready.

He found another pair ready to face him. The Pontiff had been human at first, but towered over his own pygmy kind with the strength of his soul. Weapons that would break a mortal's arms to lift, he could whip about with ease. Yet here was a normal human, with a normal saber and dagger pair, who had inflicted such a grave injury upon him.

"This is absurd! Do you know who I am?"

"Pontiff Sulyvahn," she said with a slight, unfamiliar accent. "First, you discovered the secrets of the Profaned Flame. Then, you discovered the secrets of the Deep."

The people of the Boreal Valley were terribly pale. Like the deities of old, it is said – only the ones remaining were of defiled stock. So too, any human so terribly pale surely had bad blood.

"Oh, I know very well," the woman continued. "How the secrets beckon so sweetly."

The Pontiff slashed his flaming sword in an arc so as to clear the area around him. The woman in the leather tallcoat simply vanished. Her boots clicked on steel as she danced atop the burning blade to get a better shot. She fired her matchlock pistol into the mail on the Pontiff's neck, then slashed at the weakened chain. A jet of blood sprayed from the wound as he furiously swung the greatsword to unsettle her.

She simply flipped off, landing gracefully before disappearing. The Pontiff spun full circle with the greatsword, then hacked backward again as an impenetrable defense. Catching sight of the woman again, he twisted and smashed both swords down from overhead. She simply vanished again, appearing to one side and slashing both her blades across his side. He quickly contorted and jabbed his smaller blade forward, but she quickstepped to the other side and slashed at his already wounded stomach. Furious, he swung at her blindly as she kept backing off, growing closer to the door again.

"Are you ready, Lifehunter?"

As one particularly violent greatsword swing arced overhead, the woman in leather fired her pistol again, blasting the Pontiff in the face and throwing him off-balance. Priscilla stepped forward and swung her scythe underhanded. The wicked occult blade arced up through the wound it had left before and dug deeper, shredding his innards before bursting out the back. It tore upward, eventually ripping free at the shoulder. Either half of the Pontiff's body slumped over, blood spraying through the air before being absorbed by the scythe.

The moment passed, and the ancient sorcerer dispersed into souls. Priscilla breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yorshka, art thou-?"

"Sister, thou art the one who is injured!"

The Darkmoon Captain rang her chime again and again, until any possible internal wound was certainly healed.

Priscilla smiled faintly.

"Thou hast my thanks, Yorshka. Might I introduce thee to Maria? I had come with many companions, but we were separated somehow. Maria wath among them. Maria, this ist Yorshka, who this world's Gwyndolin adopted as sister."

"It is a pleasure to meet one of Sister's companions!" Yorshka said, curtsying and clearly quite excited for having a record amount of social interactions despite the near death experience.

"Likewise," Maria said, nodding politely. "You have not found any of the others, Lifehunter?"

Priscilla shook her head sadly.

"I met Yorshka immediately after arriving."

"We just missed each other. I began exploring immediately after arriving, but when I returned, I could smell your scent had passed by. I chased as quickly as I could and climbed to the windows for a better look."

"Thine intervention was timely. I shudder to think what wouldeth have happened had thou not arrived. Yet there is one strange detail remaining. How didst thou know about ourn foe?"

"Knowing one's foe is vital, Lifehunter. I learned everything the Prophet had to tell about this land before we arrived."

"The Prophet?" Yorshka chimed in.

"The Prophet of Slaanesh," Priscilla said. "He saved every one of us. We followed him here for that same purpose."

"I see," Yorshka said, still not really sure.

"How will we regroup?" Maria asked. "Have you given it any thought? There is something at the top of this city which we must hunt. I was hesitant to attempt this myself, but with you, I have more confidence."

Priscilla nodded.

"Whatever this presence ist, we must destroy it. We must also find Gwyndolin."

"I will help you as best I can," Yorshka added excitedly.

"Then we are agreed," Maria added, ending the discussion.

With that, the three abominations exited the far side of the cathedral in search of the greatest monster of all time.