Godrick dragged himself from the dirt, his face twisted into a snarl. To rise from the ground—such a simple motion, yet for him it was humiliation itself. A memory he had carried for years, and now, once more, it returned to mock him.
Redd's words struck deep, brushing the reverse scales of his wrath. Godrick bellowed.
"The glory of the Golden Lineage—I have never forgotten it!"
"Redd! By what right do you condemn me? Do you think cowering in Stormveil, hiding in its shadows, is what it means to safeguard our honor?"
Hatred seared in his eyes as he glared at the knight before him.
"I shall return! Return to Leyndell, the Royal Capital! That is where the Golden Lineage belongs, and that is where I must go!"
"It is my birthright, my HOME! Why... why should I be cast aside, when I am TRUEBORN of the Golden House? I bear a Great Rune as proof, as evidence of my rightful place!"
He raised his voice, desperate, ragged.
"I know well that grafting is a blasphemy, a crime. But it is the only path left to me—the only way I can stand beneath the Erdtree once more!"
Redd's reply was quiet, even, yet unyielding.
"You have been blinded by the lure of power, Godrick. Grafting's deceitful promise has led you astray."
"Cast it aside. Return to who you were. You need no stolen limbs to grow strong. Your blood itself is your strength—believe me."
Godrick broke then, laughter bursting from him—wild, jagged, half-mad. Tears streamed down his cheeks, so tangled with his cackling that none could tell if he laughed, or wept.
"Do not deceive me! Do not lie! I know! I have always known!"
"I was born without talent, without a gift for sorcery, incantations, or even the blade!"
"My Great Rune... It lies dormant. Powerless in my hands. Impotent! A mocking reminder of my failure…"
His voice cracked, torn between rage and grief.
"But still... I only wanted… to go home."
Godrick said no more. With a slow, steady motion, he raised his left arm—the dragon's head grafted there. Its jaw yawned wide, hot flame gathering in its throat.
Words had failed. His path had long been chosen.
Seeing this, Redd landed beside Lucian, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Tarnished. Elyssa, her foes already cut down, strode forward as well.
Across from them, another Crucible Knight silently placed himself before Godrick, shielding him with his own body.
"You watched him fall deeper and deeper into grafting, yet still you stand at his side?" Redd demanded.
The Crucible Knight gave a single, grave nod.
"This is his will. His choice. You, Redd… you never cared enough to understand."
"Perhaps it is you who must wake, and see the truth—that the 'glory' you cling to is but a phantom."
Redd fell silent.
Then came the thunder of hooves.
Clang, clang—
A towering Tree Sentinel, led by Godrick's knights, burst into the fray. Behind him marched the last of Stormveil's soldiers, gathered to their lord's side. Though many had already perished beneath Lucian's storm, still their numbers were formidable.
Godrick looked upon his mustered host, drew a deep breath, and raised his dragon-arm high. Flame roared skyward from its jaws.
"One day, we shall return to the shade of the Erdtree—our home!"
"Warriors of Stormveil, fight with me! For the Golden Lineage, for our birthright!"
The soldiers roared in answer, weapons thrust high, voices echoing his fury.
But Godrick was not the only one with reinforcements.
"The time has come to restore the Storm's true line! Rally to the Tarnished, chosen of the Ancient King!"
A young knight, wielding staff in one hand and blade in the other, led dozens of Banished Knights to Lucian's side. They were not all who remained within Stormveil's walls, but their number was great enough.
"Good… we made it in time," he breathed.
Lucian did not know whence they came, but their aid was undeniable. He raised his blade toward Godrick, the storm swirling around him, lashing over the gathered Banished Knights. At long last, the boon of the Storm was theirs again.
"Banished no longer… Storm Knights, once more!"
"Strike down Godrick! Reclaim Stormveil!"
A unified roar answered him.
Flame met gale, Godrick's dragon-fire clashing with Lucian's storm. The battle's curtain rose.
The Tree Sentinel charged, his colossal halberd cleaving a Storm Knight aside, but Elyssa leapt upon his steed, driving her blade deep. Thrown clear, she landed on her feet as the Tree Sentinel turned his full focus upon her.
Redd and the Crucible Knight clashed, their blows collapsing stone and timber alike, too fierce for any to approach.
Storm Knights and Godrick's loyalists met in bloody melee. Nepheli and the young Tarnished fought beside them, blades flashing, while the staff-bearing knight and his company held back the press of soldiers.
And at the heart of it all—Godrick and Lucian.
The arena was vast, enough for both to unleash themselves fully. Without another word, they clashed.
Godrick's grafted body surged with stolen skills. He swung his axe with the techniques of others—Spinning Slash, Ground Slam, even Lion's Claw—each art a stolen flame upon his hands.
He raised dragon incantations, too—the claw, the maw—his dragon-head belching fire as twin sacred seals flickered in his grasp.
Yet Lucian held fast. His storm raged, shielding him from the flames. Each blast of wind stripped more of Godrick's armor away, until Lucian saw the truth beneath: grafted heads, the dead affixed to his abdomen, their eyes sealed shut. It was through them he channeled sorceries and prayers alike.
Lucian danced through the storm of blows, deflecting what he could not evade, striking when openings came. Each cut severed one of Godrick's stolen hands, silencing its borrowed power.
One by one, the arts deserted him. His strikes grew slower, weaker.
The soldiers fell first, crushed beneath the Storm Knights' relentless press. Then the Godrick Knights faltered, their ranks broken.
Only the Tree Sentinel still held, surrounded by Storm Knights, yet locked in brutal combat with Elyssa.
Godrick's fury rose to desperation. Yet still, he could not bring Lucian down.
Then, as the dragon-head snapped in a reckless lunge, Lucian struck.
He unleashed a hidden art—a blade of wind that extended beyond his sword, carving clean through the dragon-head.
The strike was born of the serpent-hunter's craft, made for foes of vast and twisted form.
"Aaaahhh!"
Godrick howled as Lucian struck again, another storm blade tearing through his body.
It was his death knell.
But the Crucible Knight broke away from Redd, throwing himself into the path of the killing blow. The strike cleaved into him instead, saving Godrick by the breadth of a heartbeat.
Staggering, Godrick fled.
Redd hurled his foe aside, and Lucian gave chase.
The Grafted Lord stumbled to the edge of a bottomless chasm, his form broken, desperate.
Lucian poured every shred of sorcery into his two blades, unleashing his mightiest stroke.
The storm cleaved him in two. His body, halved, fell into the abyss.
Down, into Stormveil's lightless depths.
—
Broken, bleeding, Godrick dragged himself across the stone. A crimson trail marked his crawl.
There, in the shadows, a vast, rotting form stirred—its body of wood, its surface blackened with decay. A spirit of the Erdtree, corrupted and vile.
It did not strike him. It felt his blood—the blood of the Golden Lineage—and let him pass.
Godrick collapsed before a colossal, twisted visage, a great face carved from death itself.
He raised a trembling, ruined limb toward it.
"O Ancestor… great Godwyn the 'Golden'…"
"Grant me leave for this blasphemy…"
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
[T/N: Lorewise, Godrick the 'Golden' did kneel before Malenia, the Blade of Miquella, after suffering a humiliating defeat. Multiple sources, including the in-game lore and character Kenneth Haight, explicitly mentions that Godrick insulted Malenia, lost the battle, and then begged for mercy, with some accounts suggesting he even licked her boots to save his life. This defeat is a significant part of Godrick's backstory and is 'believed' to be the reason for his intense obsession with the "Kneel!" command during his boss fight.]