"Boom—"
With a deafening crash, the door to the chamber was blasted into splinters, and a freezing wind rushed inside.
Elyssa stormed in, Zamor Curved Sword blade in hand.
By now, the once-dense web of blood sigils coating the chamber had thinned to little more than scattered streaks clinging to the walls.
In the center, Lucian knew no pause—locked in a brutal clash with Mohg.
From the neck down, Lucian's entire body was engulfed in bloodflame, yet he still gripped the Banished Knight's Greatsword in both hands, carving deep, bone-baring wounds across Mohg's body. His other greatsword lay embedded in the floor, still clutched tightly by a severed arm.
All across the chamber floor lay scattered limbs—fingers, hands, whole arms and legs—every one of them Lucian's discarded "parts."
Mohg's form, meanwhile, had grown monstrous. Scarlet flames of blood roared from his body, his entire frame swollen and hunched, with jagged horns splitting through the remains of his robe.
After realizing that bloodflame and ranged sorceries could not wear Lucian down, Mohg had gathered nearly all of the blood left in the chamber into himself. His aura surged like a warrior going Super Saiyan, wreathed in a crimson blaze.
He had even abandoned his Sacred Spear, now raking at Lucian with his bare claws. The cramped chamber left little space for the spear's reach—or his wings to unfurl. Every time he tried, Lucian would simply bull through the attack and strike him down.
Perhaps it was fitting—he wasGodfrey's son. Once he abandoned dignity and fought like a beast, Mohg's claw strikes became ferocious and swift, ripping Lucian's body apart, dispersing his regenerative strength and forcing the bloodflame to spread across him anew.
But Mohg himself was scarcely better off. His Lord of Blood's Robe were shredded into rags, hanging from him like a beggar's tatters rather than a lord's vestments. His once-proud horns had been hewn in half, and his body was crosshatched with wounds.
He no longer bothered to mend them all—only the gravest he patched with cursed blood.
This was no longer a battle of skill. It was slaughter. Each tore at the other like maddened beasts, fighting past pain, past reason—until only one would remain.
Lucian's Infinite Health made him a revenant, regrowing every wound as fast as it was struck. Mohg's blood fueled frenzy hardened his flesh and horns to near-impenetrable strength. Neither could land a killing blow.
The clock ticked down: 46 seconds remained on Lucian's Infinite Health. Mohg's cursed blood was nearly spent. The duel was reaching its endgame—whoever's strength faltered first would perish.
And then Elyssa's arrival shattered the stalemate.
She wasted no time wondering who this mutilated man was, or why his severed limbs regrew before her eyes. She knew only one thing; the chamber itself was Mohg's domain, saturated with blood that fed his power. That had to end.
With a shout, she plunged her Curved Sword into the pooled blood at her feet and summoned a howling gale of frost.
Mohg immediately moved to disrupt her, to wrench back control of the blood—but Lucian seized the opening, driving his greatsword upward toward Mohg's jaw.
The blade carved deep across his face, nearly skewering his skull—had Mohg been an instant slower, his head would have been split clean through.
Snarling, he retaliated, ripping away Lucian's left arm.
But Elyssa's spell had already taken hold.
The temperature plummeted, and the blood that still clung to walls and floor froze solid. Freshly raised blood spikes halted mid-flight, encased in frost. Mohg's crimson flames clashed against the storm, consuming his dwindling reserves of cursed blood just to resist the cold.
He knew then; he should have killed her first. If not for his spent reserves, this Zamor exile would never have frozen his blood. Her body would have been skewered, torn apart long before the ice took hold.
But there were no ifs. He had failed to stop her—and his defeat was sealed.
Under the combined assault of Lucian and Elyssa, his vessel began to collapse.
"Tarnished! I will remember you—the Dynasty will remember you!"
"This time, I underestimated you. Next time, I shall return like a storm of thunder!"
With a furious roar, Mohg's cursed blood ignited, reducing his body to ash and wiping away all trace of his avatar. Only a pure, radiant Rune lingered, slowly sinking into Lucian's body.
Luciane exhaled in relief. Just a little longer, and Mohg would have forced him to call upon the Wind Spirit Moon Shadow once more.
Still, Mohg had not surpassed the record of the Grafted Scion.
Infinite Health: 5 seconds remaining.
Enough to purge the last of the flames. Without Mohg's sorcery to fuel it, the bloodflame was nothing more than fire—hardly the sun-blotting Amaterasu of a certain ninja world. Within seconds, it flickered and died.
Lucian glanced down at his body, unscarred—yet strange and unfamiliar, as though it no longer belonged to him. After all, nearly every limb had been torn apart and regrown anew.
Elyssa, seeing his state, wordlessly draped her cloak over his bare shoulders, sparing him the indignity of standing exposed.
—
Far below, in the depths of the Mohgwyn Dynasty, the Lord of Blood himself reeled as his avatar's memories returned to him.
Impossible. He, Mohg—the Lord of Blood, the strongest of the Demigods—had been forced back.
And that Tarnished… what manner of monster could so brazenly defy death itself?
His face twisted into a dark scowl. His visage had been revealed, and that galled him. But so what?
He was Mohg, the Lord of Blood. He feared no one.
Even now, he could rise, banner in hand, and defy the Golden Order outright. The Dynasty's armies could march on Leyndell itself—he knew paths through the sewers that no one else did.
Only one thing had stayed his hand: Miquella. Until his beloved god awoke, fully birthed in blood, Mohg would wait.
But the world was ripe for the taking. Malenia and Radahn had ruined one another, Rennala languished in Caria, betrayed by her Academy, Ranni had vanished, Rykard was reduced to rubble in his Volcano Manor.
And as for Godrick… he was nothing.
No—the only figure worth his concern, the only one who might truly stand in his way, was his brother. Morgott, the Omen King.