Elden Ring: Tarnished Flame Vyke

She let out a slow breath, her fingers brushing the hilt of one of her daggers. "You're not afraid this is going to mark you as a outcast or somthing??"

He turned to her, the ghostflame flickering weakly in his hand again. "Fear doesn't change the outcome, Nyra. Either we master this, or we remain pawns in a system that doesn't care whether we live or die."

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, Nyra pushed off the wall and walked closer. "You've got your work cut out for you," she said, her tone softer now. "But if this starts going south, you'd better listen to me when I tell you to stop."

He nodded, the faintest smile touching his lips. "Fair enough. But for now... I need more fuel."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I'll scout the area. You can keep playing with your cold fire."

He watched her leave before turning back to the skeletal Misbegotten. The ghostflame flickered once more, its faint light casting jagged shadows across the stone walls.

"Let's see how far you can take me," he murmured, his focus sharpening as he summoned the flame again. This time, it obeyed, albeit reluctantly, its cold light coiling around his fingers like a serpent waiting to strike.

He sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, the faint glow of the ghostflame illuminating the darkness around him. The skeletal Misbegotten loomed silently nearby, their forms flickering like phantoms, waiting for his command. He extended his hand, letting the ghostflame coil around his fingers again. It pulsed faintly, almost as if testing him.

"Alright," he muttered to himself. "You're stubborn, but so am I."

He realized the key was understanding its nature. Ghostflame wasn't like normal fire. It wasn't just heat or destruction—it was pure essence, a mix of death, memories, and pain. Its resistance wasn't just energy fighting back; it was the echoes of countless souls, each carrying its own story and sorrow.

But could it compare to his own? He had lived through countless deaths and remained sane.

He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. If he was going to command it.

As the cold light spiraled around his hand, he reached deeper into its essence, sifting through the fragmented emotions that surged within it.

Images flickered in his mind—fleeting glimpses of battles fought long ago, of warriors who had fallen with unfulfilled purposes, of anguished cries and bitter ends.

The flame flared suddenly, burning brighter. His eyes snapped open, and he felt a surge of understanding.

"It's not just about commanding it," he murmured. "It's about giving it focus."

He rose to his feet, the ghostflame coiling obediently around his hand now, no longer fighting against him. The skeletal Misbegotten shifted slightly, their glowing eyes locking onto him as if sensing the change.

He turned to the nearest one, extending his hand toward it. The flame leaped from his fingers, wrapping around the Misbegotten's form like a shroud. The creature twitched, its ethereal frame pulsing with newfound energy.

"Let's see if this works," he said under his breath.

He focused on the Misbegotten, willing it to move, not as a mindless specter but with intent, with purpose. The creature stepped forward, its movements more fluid, more deliberate than before. The faint light of the ghostflame burned brighter within its chest, a sign of its strengthened connection.

A slow smile spread across his lips. "That's more like it."

Nyra returned moments later, her figure slipping through the shadows like a wraith. She stopped at the edge of the hall, her gaze narrowing as she took in the sight of the empowered Misbegotten.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice low and guarded.

"Improved it," he replied simply, motioning to the creature. "If you give it the right focus, it enhances whatever it touches."

Nyra studied the Misbegotten, her expression unreadable. "And you're sure it won't turn on you?"

"It won't," he said confidently. "Not as long as I control the flame. The bond is stronger now—it listens."

She crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the wall. "So, what's next? More testing?"

"Exactly," he said, the ghostflame in his hand flaring brighter. "If I can refine this further, I won't just be using the Misbegotten."

The room fell silent again.

Watching as the Misbegotten took another step forward, its glowing eyes burning brighter. 

 ...

The first light of dawn broke over the walls of Castle Morne, cutting through the mist that lingered on the ground.

He stood in the courtyard, waiting as faint sounds of movement came from within the fortress. Behind him, the skeletal Misbegotten stood in eerie silence, their ghostly forms flickering as the night faded.

He turned as footsteps approached. Edgar, the warden of the castle, strode toward him. 

"You called for me," Edgar said.

"I did," he replied, his voice calm. "There are Misbegotten bodies scattered all around this castle and the surrounding lands. Gather every corpse, every scrap of flesh and bone. Bring them here."

Edgar frowned, confused. "And what do you intend to do with them? Burn them, like the rest?"

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200 Power Stone For An Another Extra Chapter? Can we reach that?