I am here for thee, and thee only.

The nexus sits, a place independent of time and space. True to this, it stays much the same. The last sanctuary of the handful of survivors, from a kingdom that once housed ten thousand. A place that can house the souls of the dead, and return them as ghosts, but very few, and only the most precious. It has been said that not even kings have qualified for such treatment, and that only those the monumentals have deemed worthy may possess such immortality.

And out of one of the stone faces, their champion exited.

But he did not exit, he fell.

His body hit the ground with a resounding clank as the plates of his armor rattled. Blood leaked out of the gaps in between the mail. Blood. He had forgotten how it felt. Forgotten how his armor felt. Forgotten the cold of the steel against his body. Being purely ethereal was easy in some ways, especially for a warrior. There was no pain when he was hit, only a sound like wind, and an expulsion of ectoplasm.
But now his body was back. Each time it came back, the scars were gone, and each time he lost it, he felt himself scrambling for it in the dark.

Because as much as being a soul removed the pain, it also removed everything else. He prayed to the God of Miracles that no other man should ever be forced to feel such emptiness again, once the Old One was slain.

When he finally looked up he saw them staring at him. Their eyes followed him with a simple question: is he okay?

He stood up, his entire body heavy from the weight of his armor. Flesh wounds, that was all they were, and he'd be able to convince Saint Urbain to heal him. It was the least the holy man could do, despite his grumbling about using Demon's Souls, he'd see it when Urbain turned from him, when he thought he wasn't looking: he was just as scared as everyone else. Just as scared the demons would find the Nexus, that they would all die.

It was a thought that The Champion didn't concern himself with.

He didn't remember when he had lost his real name. Perhaps at some point along the line of the countless deaths, the frequent resurrections, the time when all the energy of the souls of others began to swirl around inside him, so much so that he occasionally felt he would vomit.

By god. He would think to himself, as the voices spoke. How could an entire Kingdom do this?

It was true. Boletaria was being punished for its sins. But that didn't mean that the rest of the world needed to die with it.

He needed to absorb their energy again. That last fight had been too close. He needed to be stronger.

He looked for her. Asking around never seemed to help much. No one kept track of her. They all seemed to stick around in their usual haunts. She alone explored the Nexus, walking up and down its vast halls, being found in a different place every time. He'd tried to ask her questions, before, but had gotten nothing. Her strange speech spoke of a different time, and her accent spoke of a foreign place.

She sat there, on the stairs, her feet idly drumming on the stone. She was barefoot and dressed in rags. Clearly, she had once been beautiful, but her eyes, along with huge chunks of her face, had been covered by pieces of leather that had been stitched into it. Who had done this? Why? Something told him that asking her would get no results.

"Hello," he said, approaching her.

She looked up, as if she could actually see him, and her blindness seemed even more disturbing, her soft lips opened and closed gently, as if the words were flowing through her, and she was allowing them to, rather than actually speaking.

"Thou seeketh soul power?"

He hesitated, "yes…but first, can I just ask some questions?"

She turned away, "The monumental shalt explain all to thee."

He sat down next to her, his legs dangling over the side, like hers. It was hard. His greaves weighed him down and threatened to pull him over the edge. But his strength—enhanced by her power—held him up.

"I know that. I asked him all of the questions he could answer, but there were some he couldn't."

"The Monumental is wise beyond thy ken. He understandst more than thee canst ever comprehend."

"Okay, I get that," the Champion said, leaning back so he didn't have to strain himself so much. "But then I asked him about you."

Her body went still.

"All that he told me was that you were a powerful demon…one of the most powerful. But that makes no sense. If you were, why would you help me? Why would you help humans?"

She didn't respond.

"Well?"

"Thou hast asked thy questions. Now doth thou seeketh soul power?"

"I implied I wanted an answer," he said.

"Thou ist free to. I cannot prevent thee from wishing."

He sighed, this is how it was. She hid behind the veil of her old-timey speech and he wasn't sure if she was really being evasive or if she just didn't understand. It seemed like there were times when she couldn't grasp some of the things he was trying to tell her. She was from a different time, and clearly a very different place.

"Can I ask questions, not about you, will you answer them?"

"The monumental-"

"I don't want to speak to the monumental. I want to speak to you."

"Thou mayst speak."

"Will you answer."

There was a pause. Then he heard her soft voice.

"Mayhaps."

He sighed. That was the best that he was going to get. He started with his first question.

"Why do human souls make people…I don't know…stronger? How does that even work?"

"A soul ist the purest form of energy. It ist what separates life from death. Thy soul distinguisheth thee from a rock, from a grain of sand."

"From a tree?" he asked.

She shook her head, "No, even a tree hast a soul, it is just weak, very weak. The soul groweth strong from accomplishment, great deeds. The soul of a hero ist worth a thousandfold that of a commoner."

"But where does that energy come from?"

She turned her head downward, and he could swear that she was looking into the glyphs that blocked off the core of the Nexus…but that was impossible.

"Existence," was her answer.

"So…souls are basically energy. The energy that gives life to things…and when I use them I'm absorbing that energy…the energy of the things that people have accomplished, because that's what makes a soul stronger. I'm taking that I'm making my muscles stronger, my mind more intelligent…sometimes impossibly so."

She nodded, "And that ist what demons do. They takest the souls of men and absorbst them for The Old One. The soul arts are just your kind learning to do the same."

"But then what's the difference between a practicioner of the Soul Arts, and a demon?"

"Only whether he serveth The Old One."

"…Then if you were a demon…"

"I still am. I servest The Old One."

He stood up in a flash, and drew his sword, backing away toward one of the monoliths.

"Thou ist startled?" She said, standing up, turning, looking toward him without seeing.

"I don't believe it. You've been helping me this whole time," he said.

She nodded.

"Why? Why have you been making me stronger, when my goal is to destroy it?"

She cocked her head, "Thou doth not understand thy goal, then. Thou wast never meant to kill The Old One. It canst not be killed."

"What do you mean it can't be killed!? Are you saying that my entire quest is a waste?"

She shook her head, heavily, and her long braid flowed side to side. "No. The Old One ist to be lured into an indeterminable slumber. So that it mayst rest, and be at peace. Such ist my duty. But I am blind, and weak, and so I haveth chosen another."

He lowered his sword, "me."

She nodded.

"But why? Out of everyone, why me?"

"Thou art strong, but that ist worthless. Thou art brave. Thou camest to us when the strongest heroes of the land, far stronger than thee, hadst already failed. Strength canst be given, as long as there ist will."

"So…me. You bound me to the nexus, so that I couldn't die, when everyone in this kingdom was already dying. You made me stronger…because you thought that I would have the will, that I would keep fighting, that I wouldn't give up."

She nodded.

He stared at her, then sheathed his sword, and nodded back.

"Ist thou ready?" She asked

The Champion nodded again.

"Then Kneel."

He did so.

And he heard the words, the ever familiar ones, as she grazed her hand over his head. Her rod grew, and power, power from all the souls, filled his veins.

"Soul of the mind, key to life's ether.
Soul of the lost, withdrawn from its vessel.
Let strength be granted, so the world might be mended.
So the world might be mended."