Dark Souls III - Witch | 07 - The Dust and Shadows of Carthus

The Catacombs of Carthus were a labyrinth of dust and decay, an ancient tomb that whispered secrets of the long dead. As I stepped through the crumbling arches, the air hung heavy with the scent of dry rot, and my every footfall stirred the ancient dust into ghostly swirls. It was a fitting place for someone like me-half-shadow, half-myth, and entirely unafraid.
The first of the denizens greeted me with a hail of arrows. Undead archers, their sockets empty yet somehow keen, lined the narrow halls. I dispatched them with ease, summoning my Dreg Swarm. The skeletal archers fell like brittle branches, the shadowy piranhas reducing them to piles of shattered bones before they could even notch a second volley.
Further in, the paths grew more treacherous. The bone-chilling clatter of wheel skeletons echoed through the corridors, their rusted rims grinding against the stone. These maddened constructs charged at me with reckless abandon, their jagged wheels biting at the walls. But I was faster. A well-timed sidestep and a blast of shadow saw them crumble mid-spin, their spokes collapsing in a chaotic heap.
The deeper I ventured, the more grotesque the inhabitants became. Rats the size of dogs swarmed in packs, their teeth gnashing hungrily at my robes. I scorched the first wave with fire and turned the rest against each other with Mind Corruption. Their frenzied shrieks filled the halls as they tore each other apart, leaving the path clear for me.
The sludge monsters were next-amorphous abominations that reeked of death, their forms oozing through cracks in the walls. They were persistent, lunging with tendrils of filth. But persistence is no match for intelligence. A steady rhythm of fire and shadow reduced them to steaming puddles of inert muck.
The skeletal swordsmen, however, presented a true challenge. These hulking warriors wielded massive curved blades, their strikes swift and merciless. They moved with an unnatural grace, as if death had honed their skills rather than dulled them. I matched their speed with cunning, parrying with my Hexsword and punishing their missteps with Dreg Swarm. When the dust settled, only shattered fragments of their bones remained.
At the end of the catacombs, the cavern opened into a massive, candlelit crypt. There, Wolnir awaited-a colossal, skeletal king crowned with gold and surrounded by a miasma of death. His bony fingers clawed at the darkness, and his hollow eyes burned with malice. But I saw the weakness in his grandeur. His bracelets glimmered faintly, enchanted with the magic that tethered him to this plane.
Wolnir bellowed as I shattered the first, his roar shaking the walls. The second fell in moments, my Dreg Swarm tearing at it like shadowy wolves. The final bracelet took more effort-his colossal frame lunged at me, darkness spilling from his ribs like tar. But a well-timed strike with my staff broke the last tether, and the great king dissolved into a cascade of ash, his crown tumbling into the void.
As I stood in the silence of his hollowed tomb, I allowed myself a moment of reflection. The Catacombs of Carthus, for all their dangers, had offered little challenge. Their guardians had fallen like the dust they guarded, and their king was no match for the dark forces I wielded.
"Onward, then," I murmured, brushing the dust from my robes. The journey was far from over, and the path ahead was still shrouded in shadow. But I walked it with the certainty of one who fears nothing. Let the darkness come-it has yet to see what true power looks like.
Come to the dark side: • Dark Souls III | Raven...
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