Once, when he was far younger, his father had asked him what he thought death was. Back then, like many other children his age, he didn't truly understand the concept.
So, he had given a simple answer, a childish answer. A skeleton covered in robes and a heavy scythe which would greet and take them to the afterlife. Once upon a time, that was what many believed after all.
It was a story his mother had once read to him after all.
His father—someone that he would grow to despise in the following years of his life, but a man that he had believed hung the very stars in the sky at the time, had only shook his head, a rueful smile on his face.
That day, he had sat Artorias down and told him the truth of death.
It was the end.
The end of a story. The end of memories. The end of laughter and love and hate and revenge. It was the natural end of everything, from the ants outside to the universe above.
One day, everything would simple grow old and die.
He hadn't much thought of it when he was growing up. But when his mother had passed from childbirth, and he was left in the cold vacant halls of his home. It was the only thing he could think about.
Because it was true.
His mother had died, and her love had died with her, her life had gone with her. Her memories lived within him and all who she had touched, but her story had ended, in blood and in pain.
Her absence, her end, had haunted him as much as his fathers' words had. Because now, no longer were they just some simple words. They were the truth of the world, of the entire universe.
He grew from those days, of course he did. He changed as a person too many times to count, and he knew that he would many times more. But some nights, it kept him up until dawn rose, and some days, it followed his every step.
Death was his shadow…
…but shadows, they were now his life.
Because death was no longer just an unreachable concept for him. It wasn't some skeleton in robes and a heavy scythe; it wasn't the end of everything.
No. Death was a vile abomination which had tricked him. Death was a creature that was made of corruption and had marked him. Death was twisted intelligence marred with madness.
Death had haunted him since he was a boy, it had been his shadow since he could understand words and stand on his own two legs. Because of that, he had been averse to them, he had been frightened of them.
But the shadows had saved his life, they had taken him into their terrible absence of warmth and granted him a second chance.
Artorias would grant them an apologise with the blood of death itself.
The darkness which had stolen his sight parted like water, revealing the lightless world once more. The Corvus Spawn, its twisted inhuman head turned to face him in an instant, its six eyes burning with malicious glee.
It screeched at him, a promise of his demise. He met it head on with a poised longsword and gritted teeth.
"Come, bastard…"
It lunged at him once more, four serrated claws poised to tear him apart. He met it in a clash of speed and strength.
Two claws went for his chest, another for his head and the last for his leg. He positioned his blade in a block, ready to stop at least one of those claws from reaching him.
Its eyes burned with satisfaction.
Satisfaction which he would never grant it. He stepped through the shadows at his feet and reappeared behind it within an instant.
So confident of its victory against him, it had overextended its reach and put all its force into forward momentum, counting on his lifeless body to stop its movements.
That never happened.
Instead, Artorias moved with the shadows, flying out of them with the speed of a cannonball. His blade sang through the air, cutting through feathers and bones alike.
Two wings, each on the right side of its body fell to the ground in the same instant the abomination did. The rooftop beneath them shook, spiderweb like cracks forming beneath it.
Its glare was as vile as its body, and he met it gladly as he advanced upon it, his sword flashing once more and meeting one of its claws in a clash.
"Dumbass bird, I'm going to enjoy killing you," he was gleeful when he spoke and sounded unhinged even to his own ears. But with how much hate he was feeling at the abomination for making him face his fears, he learnt that he didn't care how he sounded.
He wanted it dead, and he wanted it to know.
It growled at him and lashed out with another claw. He pushed himself away from the first set of claw, using the momentum to avoid the second within that same moment, and positioned the blade quickly enough to slice up.
The offending limb of the vile bird sailed through the air in a spray of tarlike blood.
But it didn't let the loss of a limb stop it. With three remaining bony arms, it struck the ground beneath them with a victorious screech. The already ruined rooftop buckled beneath them with no warning.
Faster than he could react, the shadows had already taken him away. Darkness greeted him once more, and he could practically feel their glee growing with him.
When he re-entered the world of the living again, it was to a mess. Seeing the abomination clawing its way out of some rubble, he risked a glance up, finding that their fight had now transferred to two levels below the rooftop.
"Hey dumbass…" he called to the weakened abomination with an unnatural grin. "How was the fall with those wings of yours?"
If looks could kill, the glare he received from five of its six burning eyes would have turned him to dust. But they didn't, and he instead revelled in one of its eyes being injured.
The abomination, now seemingly fuelled more by rage and anger, lunged at him once more. He would have almost believed it, but it had caught him once by tricking him already, he wouldn't be making that same mistake again.
Falling into the shadows, he became more wraith than human once again.
With them being in such an enclosed space and with plenty of shadows available for him to traverse through, the abomination had greatly miscalculated in its attempt to gain the upper hand.
In the hallway of the ruined building they were in, Artorias had changed how the rest of this fight would go.
Whilst the Fallen Spawn held the advantage of superior versatility, its meagre spark of intelligence couldn't handle the overstimulating of fighting Artorias in an environment which favoured him so heavily.
"Where am I bastard?"
It turned suddenly, all five of its eyes trying to see him through the darkness, only to receive a cut along its lower back.
"Over here."
It turned sharply, trying to find the voice, only to lose a wing in the process.
"Maybe here?"
It screeched at where it heard the voice come from, the sound so loud that it shattered any remaining windows left on this level.
"Missed again bastard."
His voice was vindictive as the abomination slowly became overwhelmed. He took another arm faster than it could react, using the shadows to propel himself forward before vanishing into their infinite abyss.
"To your right."
It turned sharply, all five of its eyes narrowed. He was like a bullet, appearing from its own shadow and swinging up, taking three more of its eyes.
The abomination screeched in pain, falling to the floor and raising one of its two remaining arms to its bleeding eyes.
They were, after all, its most useful tool for survival.
It was ironic. Before this fight took place, his only two options were either death or injuries so severe that he would be picked off later by some other abomination.
Oh, how the tables had turned.
He stepped through a shadow on its right; it's new blind spot.
"Don't tell me your giving up?"
He vanished and reappeared behind it.
"You were so happy to try and kill me, weren't you?"
He moved through the empty abyss, appearing where he had originally stood in front of it.
"Come on, you vile bird. Where has all that anger from before- "
His words were cut short, because the abomination had been binding its time. It was no longer a fight for survival; it hadn't been for a while now. With its eyes destroyed, and most of its wings gone, death was all but a surety for it.
But it was a creature of madness, a creature of hate and hunger. In its twisted mind, it had accepted its own demise and had settled on revenge. It wouldn't let Artorias leave this ruined building without at least one deliberating wound.
'It was almost inspiring,' Artorias mused, letting the shadows take him once more.
He appeared above its body through the shadows of the ceiling an instant later, his blade position over its head. Faster than it could react, he pushed off the surface and let gravity take care of the rest.
He and it hit the ground with a terrible crash, denting the floor beneath them with another layer of spiderweb like cracks. His blade, now slick with blood as black as the night, lay imbedded in its head, and he was left standing on top of its body as the clear victor.
Before the light in its remaining two eyes faded, he spoke:
"I am Artorias au Mávros, first of his name and of House Mávros. In this world, nothing but death itself will kill me."