Elden Ring: Tarnished Flame Vyke

"Not exactly," he said, letting a flicker of ghostflame dance in his palm. "There's a purpose to this—one that will strengthen this castle and its defenses. Trust me, Edgar. You'll see."

Edgar hesitated, his gaze shifting to the Misbegotten behind him. Their spectral forms were unsettling, yet their loyalty was undeniable. Finally, he nodded. "As you wish. I'll make sure it's done."

"Good," he said, voice sharp. "Have it finished by nightfall. The sooner we begin, the better."

By sunset, the courtyard was filled with the grim remains of the Misbegotten—broken bodies, twisted limbs, and shattered bones piled high, a grim monument to the battles fought at Castle Morne.

He stood at the edge of the pile, flanked by Nyra and Edgar. The skeletal Misbegotten hovered nearby, their glowing eyes filled with faint anticipation.

Nyra wrinkled her nose. "This has to be the most disgusting plan you've come up with yet."

"Disgusting, maybe," he said, steady. "But necessary."

He stepped forward, raising a torch in one hand. "Normal fire first," he murmured to himself, striking the torch alight. "The ghostflame won't awaken without it."

The torch ignited the edge of the pile, and the flames spread quickly, consuming the remains with an eerie intensity. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, causing Edgar to grimace and Nyra to take a half-step back.

As the flames devoured the pile, the charred remains began to shift, the bones growing pale and brittle as the fire burned hotter.

The normal orange flames flickered, then warped, their hue fading to the cold, glow of the ghostflame.

He extended his hand, the ghostflame coiling around his fingers before leaping toward the pile. The ethereal fire surged, consuming the bones and ash with unnatural precision.

A low hum resonated in the air as the first forms began to rise.

From the flames emerged skeletal figures, their glowing eyes burning with the faint light of the ghostflame. These were no longer mere remnants of the Misbegottene.

Nyra watched in silence, her expression a mix of awe and unease. "And what are these supposed to be?"

"Guards," he said simply, his voice calm as he stepped forward to inspect the newly risen creatures. "They're stronger now, more focused. They'll obey without question, defend without hesitation."

Edgar's voice was tight with disbelief. "You've turned them into... soldiers?"

"Exactly," he replied, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "Castle Morne will no longer rely on broken walls and weary fighters. With these, it will become a fortress that cannot fall."

Finally, Nyra shook her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "You're insane. But I'll give you this—you're effective."

He glanced at her, the ghostflame burning steady in his palm. "We're only getting started."

With that, he turned toward the horizon, his gaze settling on the distant mountains where his next target awaited. "Tomorrow, we hunt a dragon," he said. 

 ...

The journey took them a week.

By the time they reached Agheel Lake, the mist clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as the lake stretched out before them. Its surface shimmered under the pale light of the rising moon.

He stopped at the edge of the lake, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade. The ghostflame flickered faintly in his palm, casting a cold, blue glow across the shore.

Nyra stood beside him, her dual daggers gleaming, ready for the battle to come.

"This is it," he said, voice steady.

Nyra eyed him, her expression unreadable. "You're sure about this? Dragons aren't known for going down easily."

"I didn't come this far to turn back," he replied, his eyes fixed on the still waters. 

The lake erupted in a geyser of water and flame. The Flying Dragon Agheel rose into the night, its enormous wings spreading wide as it let out an ear-splitting roar.

The beast's eyes burned with fury, and its scales shimmered like molten metal under the moonlight.

"That thing's even bigger than I imagined."

"Stay sharp," he said, stepping forward as the ghostflame flared brighter in his palm. "I'll draw its attention. You find its weak spots."

Without another word, he extended his hand, and the ghostflame leapt toward the dragon.

The ethereal fire coiled like a serpent, striking Agheel's chest and forcing the beast to snarl in surprise. The dragon reared back, its massive jaws opening as it unleashed a torrent of fire in retaliation.

The flames surged toward him, but he stood his ground, the ghostflame in his palm expanding to form a shimmering barrier.

The dragon's fiery breath collided with the ghostflame, the two opposing forces crackling and hissing as they clashed. The air grew thick with heat and ash, the ground beneath him scorched and blackened.

Nyra darted to the side, her movements swift and precise. She leapt onto a nearby rock, using it as a springboard to propel herself toward the dragon's flank. Her daggers struck true, slicing through the softer scales beneath Agheel's wing.

The dragon roared in pain, lashing out with its tail, but Nyra rolled away just in time.

"Keep it distracted!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

He didn't need the reminder. He pushed forward, the ghostflame swirling around him as he hurled wave after wave of the cold fire at the beast.

Each strike left scorch marks on its scales, the unnatural flame biting deeper than any ordinary weapon.