Tales From Beside a Dying Bonfire

A hollow clad in rusted grey chainmail approached the yellow flickering of the fire, his shadow cast out several times over across the crusty earth. The bone fist boxing gloves which covered his hands fell limply at his sides, although the fresh blood splattered across their knuckles still shimmered in the moonlight.

"Well, lads, it's time for this year's Christmas Special!" he declared, grinning toothily.

One of the men sitting around the bonfire looked up from the ground, his Skeletor-esque mask disguising the disgust in his face.

"Fuck off, Selfish," he growled. "Can't you see we're all being crestfallen and shit over here?"

Selfish snorted, crossing his arms defensively. "You guys have moped for long enough. It's been over a year since Denizens of Darkness got cancelled for excessive profanity and violence..."

"And whose fault was that?!" Skeletor-man yelled.

"Yours, Scraper."

'Scraper' dropped his hands sheepishly. "Oh, yeah."

"...and since Nameless left Souls to join Optic..."

Scraper chuckled drily. "Nameless AND dickless."

A man on the other side of the firepit wearing a Mensis cage suddenly piped up. "What about me, guys? I'm still here!"

Scraper rolled his hollow eye sockets disparagingly. "Last time I checked you were caught up in your celebrity Youtube career, Hosen."

"What about you, Thomas?" Hosen asked, nudging the lifeless, emaciated corpse sat next to him. "Didn't you have that singing career?"

Scraper sighed so hard the leaves on the grass drifted back a few inches. Selfish, however, tore off his bone fists and clapped both hands together enthusiastically. "Well guys, its time to get off our asses and get back in the Fanfiction game! Scraper, you can kick things off with that erotic Moonlight Butterfly fic you always wanted to write!"

Scraper slowly turned to face Selfish. "Bitch, the good ship S.S. Slashfic has sailed. I write classical poetry now."

Hosen's face went white. "Scraper being all studious and shit? This IS serious."

"We need another Shawn Cooper to point and laugh at," Selfish chuckled.

"Well, you know what this calls for, men."

A gasp rippled through the group as the hooded figure sat on the outer reaches of the flame's orange glow spoke for the first time in nearly half a year.

Hosen's mouth hung open; Selfless shrank several centimetres. Even Scraper, who had long ceased to have working eyeballs, shed a manly tear or two.

"Yes, men, it is I, the original gangsta," Blight smiled, lifting his hood. "I have been deep in meditation, ruminating on past events, but now I have returned - complete with dental qualifications."

Scraper sniffed. "Your breath... it is minty beyond compare."

"We have a new mission my friends," Blight announced, face lit up by the spark of new life (and the bonfire). "We must make the best darn Christmas fanfic of all t-"

"Vendrick's Salty Rampage," Scraper cut in. "Every other fiction is simply vying for 2nd place."

Blight shook his head in disbelief. "The second best Christmas fic of all time!"

The whole group (well, those who were still alive) let out a hearty cheer.

Blight cleared his throat, unleashing a vortex of Colgate-aping odours as he did so.

"I will start things off with one of the oldest tales I know. It is called...

A SOULSMAS CAROL!"

Once upon a time, there was a Gravelord Servant by the name of xxx-SCR00G3McFuck-xxx.

For the purposes of the story, we will simply refer to him as Scrooge from henceforth.

He held fight clubs in the Undead Burg, enlisting cheap white phantom summons to do all of the fighting for him whilst he sat back and filled his own pockets with blood-tainted souls.

One day, when Hellkite dandruff whizzed through the air like flakes of crispy white snow, one of his most favoured summons, a Sunbro by the name of Bob Hatchet, posed him a very insulting question.

"Scrooge, might I have Christmas off this year?"

Scrooge, a lanky, elderly hollow wearing a full Xanthous set, took off his oversized toilet paper hat so that he could make his look of disgust and disapproval completely apparent. "A day off? What's the occasion?"

Hatchet blinked. "Christmas? You know, that time of year when you cast aside your vices and embrace family, good will and Lindt chocolate goodie bags."

Scrooge snorted. "I know bloody well what Christmas is, Bob. Big business. Whether its Souls 1, 2 or Bloodborne, there's gonna be new budding PvPzers to ROFLstomp. There always are. I need you by my side, Bob. You and your filthy, filthy twink builds."

Bob cast a dejected look at the Manus catalyst in his offhand. "But, I've got family, Scrooge. My wife. My little boy, Tiny Thing."

Bob flashed a picture of one of the embryonic Great Ones from Yharnam's Upper Cathedral Ward. Around it's blood-sodden, amniotic fluid-dripping neck was a little white bib that read 'Daddy's Little Angel.'

Scrooge physically flinched backwards a good two feet. "Oh god, put it away! Jesus, take what you want, just never show me that shit again."

Bob broke out in a huge grin. "Thanks, Scrooge. You're the best, man. Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too," Scrooge muttered, watching as Bob stooped down and Black Crystal-ed away.

A deep, weathered sigh left Scrooge's lips. He looked out over the Burg, seeing only bloodstained walls and graffiti scrawls of 'Plz nerf DMB that shit's so OP' - an ode to 2013; an epic gallery of what had once been.

"This place is a ghost town. Time to swap to Dark Souls 2 for some Ratbro lolz."

But as he changed from one loading screen to another, he was assaulted by a terrible set of images. The borders of the game faded away, replaced by a backdrop of fire and brimstone, and a voice that Scrooge recognised from his dreams - and nightmares.

"Scrooooooooooooge."

Scrooge swallowed the boulder of spit building in his throat, and whispered "My Ravelord Nito? Is that you?"

"Indeed, it is I!"

The god of death and disco himself ascended from the ground in a plume of black smoke. As per usual for evening, he was adorned by oversized sunglasses and a purple pimp jacket.

Scrooge bit his tongue fiercely, tasting both blood and last night's curry - like some horrific witches brew.

"But... you is dead... I... uh, killed ya, remember?"

Nito folded his arms and rolled one of his many eyes. "Dude, if you'd killed me, the Ravelord covenant would no longer work. Nah, you just vanquished my mortal tether - but the rave lives on."

"Why are you here?" Scrooge whispered, voice cracking and eyes streaming with tears.

"I come to deliver a message from From Software themselves. You are a greedy, greedy man, Scrooge. You're such a shithole, you make me look like Solaire - and I'm the god of the frickin' underworld, you get me? Well, as recompense for the sufferings of the community, tonight you will be visited by three phantoms..."

Scrooge snorted. "Lemme guess - Fartmoon Blades; or Sentinels of Poo."

Nito punched the ground hard with his fist, causing several rainbows to explode from the earth, and for Scrooge to cower in fear of his master's awesome power.

"Br0, I ain't joking. These phantoms are phantoms in NAME. You feel me? They ain't like anything you ever seen, and they're gonna show you the error of your ways."

Scrooge suddenly noticed the braces around Nito's ankles. "Senpai, what are those?"

The Ravelord pushed his sunglasses down his skull so that Scrooge could see the empty cavities behind.

"THOSE ARE THE CHAINS I FORGED IN LIFE, AND-"

Suddenly, one of the chains was tugged on by a pair of unseen hands, leading Nito to sway uncomfortably, and for a look of sheer terror to compound the Ravelord's features.

"Oh god," he whispered. "It's the missus."

A second figure appeared from the ether - a tall, masked figure wearing a white robe and holding the ends of a pair of chains like leashes.

"Time to go, baby," the Lost Sinner whispered, voice like serrated metal rubbing against a cheese grater.

"Party on, man," Nito said sadly, and, as he was yanked away: "And don't forget what I told you!"

Scrooge chuckled to himself. "Always the comedian, Nito. Thinking you can scare me with talk of phantoms. What game do you think this-"

His words were interrupted as he was suddenly thrown out of the loading screens and into the middle of a grassy alcove. Above him, the sky was grey, and strong winds cracked and whipped at him as waves crashed onto the rocks behind him.

As a stingray casually flew through the sky adjacent to him, Scrooge let out a deep breath.

"Why do I feel like it's 2009, again?" he whispered.

Just as he was starting to regain his composure and get to his feet, a terrifying declaration appeared at the foot of his vision.

"Black phantom Ghost of Souls Series Past has invaded your world."

Scrooge turned around just in time to see a dark-red atrocity striding towards him before the creature of hell was right upon him, breathing hot coals and onion gravy into Scrooge's face.

"Well, well, well, what've we got here?" the demon chortled, unsheathing his long, barbed spear from its scabbard with a gleeful chuckle.

"Wh-what do you want with me?" Scrooge stammered, watching as the phantom lovingly ran its ectoplasmic tongue across the tip of its satanic polearm.

"I've been told how you like to cheese other players with despicable, trollish builds. I am the ghost of Souls Series past - I am the original cheese, and I'm here to grate you."

Suddenly lunging forward, the black phantom stabbed Scrooge with the point of its spear.

"Heh!" Scrooge laughed. "That barely hurt at all. If that's the best you got, I-"

Scrooge yelped as the buckle on his trousers exploded, causing them to drop down to his ankles.

"Dragon Age: Inquisition underwear, eh?" the phantom chuckled. "Interesting."

The phantom struck him again, and this time Scrooge felt something in his inside pocket shatter. Feeling inside, he felt his heart sink a little as he pulled out a collection of shattered pieces.

"My pendant..." he whispered. "You monster!"

The phantom laughed. "Even it had more of a use than you!"

Before Scrooge could protest, the invader had lunged forward and stabbed him in the groin.

To no apparent effect.

"Hmmm," the invader mumbled. "Explains a lot..."

Scrooge turned to run, but in an instant the phantom was on him, glove over his mouth. Within seconds, the hand started to glow bright white, and Scrooge instantly began to feel woozy.

"Feeling a little... lower?" The phantom cooed, as he released Scrooge and stepped back.

Coughing and spluttering, the dishevelled Gravelord Servant gazed up. "W-w... What did you do to me? My head..."

"You just got soul-sucked, sucker," the phantom cackled. "Now you're at SL68..."

Scrooge's eyes filled with tears. "Do you know how long I worked to have all of my stats align perfectly? How many hours of my life?"

"Get a new hobby, bitch," the phantom laughed, jumping atop a stingray and flying away into the night.

The world around Scrooge started to shift and transform. The xanthous-clad elder attempted to stand, but tripped on his downed trousers and ended up face-down upon the kaleidoscopic surface below.

When he raised his head, he was now in a wildly-different location - an office room decked with computer monitors and several glorious swivel chairs.

"Where am I now?" Scrooge pondered aloud.

"Welcome to From Software."

The voice from behind him made Scrooge nearly squeal out of fright. It belonged to a short, besuited Asian man wearing a pair of black and gold-rimmed glasses.

"Miyazaki?" Scrooge whispered faintly.

The man shook his head. "No. I am the ghost of Souls series present. Any resemblance to Miyazaki-san is purely coincidental, and unworthy of a lawsuit."

"Are you here to beat me up?" Scrooge asked, wincing as he stood up unsteadily.

The man chuckled ominously. "In a manner of speaking, yes. But not with fists... with words."

"The most dangerous weapons of all?" Scrooge asked, sounding meeker still with every breath he drew.

"No, that would be a +10 Mundane Handmaiden's Ladle," the man retorted. "But it's a close second."

Scrooge felt an insatiable urge to run away, but the very second he attempted to move his legs, he found them stuck.

"Terminate file 'Player leg movement'," the Miyazaki phantom said, slowly walking towards Scrooge. "Run file 'FML'."

Without warning, an enormous gangly figure drew up behind Scrooge, screaming in a high pitch and, frankly, maniacal tone.

"Run file 'OrphanOfKos infinite health'," the ghost boomed, laughing horribly now.

The Orphan, still dripping with the contents of its dead mothers womb, took its shrimp-placenta in both hands, and drew it back, sobbing and giggling simultaneously.

Miyazaki's eyes met with Scrooge's, and the old ganker saw the emptiness in the Souls creator's eyes. As if realising this, Miyazaki smiled gently.

"What, did you think I would go easy on you? People like you are the reason that I get emails every day asking me to 'Nerf dis shit ' and 'ban dis accunt.' Well, no more."

The Orphan let out a trickle of vomit from the corner of its mouth. The insatiable grin on its mouth was the very image of sadism.

Miyazaki shook his head. "No. No mercy. Merry Christmas, my friend."

And with a clap of his hands, he unleashed hell.

"Run file 'Anal annihilation'."

The Orphan lunged forward, screaming bloody murder, his placenta blade sliding up the folds of Scrooge's tender ass and-

"Waaaaaaaa!"

Scrooge sat up, panting heavily. His eyes were streaming with tears, the phantom pain in his ass far from subsided.

When his brain had finally adjusted to the volatile change of location he had just undergone, his eyes adjusted to the sights around him.

He was lying in a long empty patch of soil. Strewn all around him were simmering, smoking scraps of metallic rubble, which reminded Scrooge of cars from his true world. There was a strange sound like the gunfire of Bloodborne in the air - but it didn't sound like guns.

Scrooge recognised the sound anywhere.

It was the sound of light-sabres.

As Scrooge leapt to his feet, a man came running round the corner. He was dressed like a character from Star Wars, with robotic armour plating and a glowing blue broadsword at his hip.

His eyes lit up when he saw Scrooge. "Man, we are fucked."

"What's going on? What is this place?" Scrooge managed to grunt.

The future soldier laughed heartily. "Why, this is New New New New New New New New Londo, my friend. Ya know, from Dark Souls XVI?"

Scrooge sighed. "Even I know where this is going."

A loud crash that shook the earth confirmed Scrooge's fears. A harrowing cry that sent dust and earth pirouetting back only deepened the feeling of dread in his guts.

"Well, nice knowing ya, man," the future soldier said, whipping out a laser pistol in his offhand.

The ground broke open viciously and explosively as an enormous steel creature prised itself from the earth. As Scrooge watched, the metal behemoth turned to face him, eyes lighting up with a red blaze of hatred and training on his quivering form.

"It's the Demon of Dubstep," the soldier sighed. "The final boss of Dark Souls XVI."

The demon opened its maw wide, revealing a set of whirring gear teeth and, more confusingly, several amplifiers.

"ART THOU READY, KNAVES?" it roared, voice so loud it actually blew back the folds of Scrooge's yellow cloak.

"Time to buff," the soldier remarked, pulling out a strange dial and using it to coat his gun in a strange green hue.

"What's that?" Scrooge asked.

"Aromatic Ooze, from underneath the armpit of the Great One boogie2988. It bestows a great power - a nerd rage, unlike any the world has ever seen. Guarantees no-scopes."

"I see," Scrooge said, not really seeing at all.

The Demon of Dubstep stamped its feet. "Alright, mofos. Time to blaze up."

From the back of its throat, a terrifying, sonorous sound began to play. Plumes of orange and blue flame lit up all around the cavernous entrance.

Scrooge fell to his knees, his feeble mind unable to comprehend how he had come to be facing such an obnoxiously-loud death in such a foreign and peculiar environment.

Head drooped back to look at the spaceship-strewn sky, he let out a pitiful cry.

"I get it!" he cried. "This is the ghost of Souls Series future. I've suffered enough! Please, take me home!"

"Wub-wubs at 67%," the demon boomed, the multicoloured lights at the back of its throat growing brighter and brighter.

Scrooge started pounding the floor with his fists, yelling every Souls-related obscenity he could think of.

"Git gud, casul! If you can't take the heat, stay out of the Keep! Ebrietas' butthole is better looking than yo momma!"

"91%" the demon continued, now transforming its rear body into a cannon, with an enormous barrel emerging from its mouth.

Scrooge's fist hit the ground one more time, but suddenly, it was no longer the ground but the reassuring feel of his own pillow. He was strewn out across his bed, sweat-sodden clothes creating a damp outline upon the mattress.

"Is it over?" he panted. His breaths came faster and faster, so uncertain and frightened was he.

"Fraid not, bro."

Scrooge spun around to see Nito standing across the room from him, shades perched upon his head. He did not, however, appear to be in the mood for any sort of raving.

"What more can there possibly be?" Scrooge squealed, leaping off the bed and advancing on Nito. "I met all your phantoms!"

Nito shook his head. "No. You haven't met the phantom of Souls Series future yet."

Scrooge frowned. "Well, who is it then?!"

Nito sighed, holding up a mirror to Scrooge. "It's you, man."

Scrooge recoiled at the sight of his own reflection, his tattoos of 'Dark Souls 2 and B Team are shits' and 'From Software, duhhhh!' sticking out like sore thumbs after a fight with Manus.

"But... I don't understand..." Scrooge whispered.

"Yes you do," Nito said, before proceeding to explain it anyway. "You reflect the path that the Souls community is going down. A whiny, selfish road of self-entitlement and complaining. People like you are destined to destroy this beautiful series if you do not deter from this path."

Scrooge's eyes grew wide and fearful. "And what happens to me then?"

Nito held up a framed picture of Chris-Chan, and Scrooge fell upon his knees, sobbing despairingly.

"I can change, Papa Nito, I swear it!" he whimpered, clutching the Ravelord's cloak. "Don't take me! Give me a chance! Give me a ch-"

Scrooge came to upon the floor of the Undead Burg, exactly as he had left it. Nito was gone, and Scrooge was alone in the crumbling city.

"Just a dream?" Scrooge asked himself. "Just a dream?! No, not a dream. A message! I MUST CHANGE!"

He rose to his feet, brushing down his coat. "It's time to make a positive difference in this world. Time to bring the community back to life!"

Suddenly, a red phantom vaulted the wall at the top of the stairs and landed in front of Scrooge. Anyone could tell he meant business as he drew out an enormous Demon's Greataxe and coated it with the blue shimmer of Darkmoon Blade.

"Gravelord motherfucker, how many red skeleton dogs did you spawn down there!?" the invader screeched. "I'll never get through there - unless I kill you!"

"Wait!" Scrooge cried, raising his palms high to show he meant no harm. "Before you kill me, I wanted to give you something."

The invader snorted. "Oh, yeah? Like a Christmas present?"

Scrooge nodded. "Yes, exactly like that." He started to reach into his Bottomless Bag.

The invader watched him with narrowed eyes. "The second I see your hand reaching for a summon sign..."

"I won't, I promise," Scrooge said, setting down a gift-wrapped present in front of the invader and taking several steps back. "Go on - take it."

The invader tentatively walked to the present and picked it up off of the floor.

"A Titanite Slab? Wow, thanks dude!"

Scrooge's face lit up with a big smile.

"Merry Christmas my friend. Merry Christmas one and a-"

"Too bad I megamuled," the invader cut in. "Got 99 of these already, bitch."

Before Scrooge could protest, the invader had swept him off of his feet and over the railings with an uppercut swing from his greataxe.

When the bedraggled Gravelord Servant came to by the nearby bonfire, he felt disappointed, but not discouraged.

"So, there's one piece of shit in this community. So what? I'm sure the others are perfectly reasonable..."

- Fourteen Hours Later -

"FUCK THIS COMMUNITY!"

Bob Hatchet smiled sympathetically as he continued to bottle-feed the infant Tiny Thing in his arms. The contents of the container were a murky-red, but nobody wanted to ask what it was.

"Don't get yourself down. You did a good thing by trying to make people happier, Scrooge. Your now in that 1% of the community who aren't complete dickfags."

"But then I don't understand the point of making me go through all of that if it made so little difference to the world."

Nito spoke up. "We'll get there, man. One Christmas at a time."

Scrooge sighed. "Well, Merry Christmas everyone."

"God bless us, everyone!" Tiny Thing gurgled, dribbling red down its chin.

"But fuck Santier's Spear," Nito said quietly.

A rumble of approval rippled through the others. "Oh yeah, fuck that thing."

THE END

Scraper let out a sniff, wiping his eyes with his skeletal sleeve. "That was beautiful, Blight."

"DR. Blight," the storyteller corrected. "And you're very welcome."

"Hey, are you going to tell us more stories?" Selfish asked, leaning in hopefully.

Blight chuckled like an old, wise sensei. "Maybe just one more, my child. It all starts in-"

"Fallout is better than Dark Souls."

"Excuse me?!" Selfish screeched, head spinning wildly to identify the sinner who had said such a filthy thing.

Hosen stepped from the shadows, and the others saw his face.

"Oh god, he's hollowed!" Scraper squealed. "Whaddawe do, guys?"

"MINECRAFT IS GAME OF DAH YERH, EVERY YERH!" Hosen warbled, closing on the troop.

"Run, mofos, run!" Selfish yelled.

And so they did, scattering and fleeing into the trees, abandoning the gentle flicker of the bonfire in the centre of camp.

When he was sure they were gone, Hosen stooped to his knees, and pressed a finger to the dying wick.

"Lights out," he whispered, giggling maniacally.

Miyazaki turned to the packed show hall, processing the affection on their faces as they took in his presentation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... the Dark Lord - the Final Boss of Dark Souls III, and Souls itself!"

Hosen looked the camera straight in the eye, causing several male members of the audience to shriek.

"See ya soon," he whispered, before the screen finally cut to black.

Somewhere else, some other time, Gehrman emerged from a portal, hitting the ground hard and rolling into a wall.

"Where now?" he asked, standing up and rubbing his head.

A voice boomed from beside him. "Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer!"

"Heil!" A huge crowd roared.

Gehrman turned to see a man dressed in brown clothes with a short moustache before there were suddenly cries of "Halt!", and some rather advanced guns were pushed in his face.

Men wearing black uniforms with strange red, white and black symbols forced him to his knees in front of the ground. As Gehrman looked around him, he had a vague recollection of something someone had said to him once after they had died and been returned to the Hunter's Dream.

"God, those hunters in Ya'Hargul are worse than Hitler."

TO BE CONTINUED! (Probably not)

Yeah, if you don't understand what the f this bit is about, go read my other story 'Gehrman's Marvellous AFK Adventure.' And sorry for the plug :)