Chapter Five: Heresy

XXXXXX

"Why lock a door in a sewer? What could be down here?" the Ashen One climbed over a now-deceased rat, which had to be the size of a carriage, and approached a door. Backtracking had not been part of the plan (if he even had a plan to begin with) but the shrine maiden had presented him with a key, and a little voice in his head began shouting 'DO IT!' over and over until he accepted it. Now there he was, in a filthy waterway (not that he minded. After all, he regularly found himself coated with blood) going deeper into the darkness. The light was seeping through, but it was far from optimal. He let out a sigh full of irritation, wishing he had brought a torch. Not ten paces in, the tunnel broke off, one going left, and the other right.

He didn't have to debate long on which to take, as choosing right would have led him to a statue and dead end. Walking up to the crafted stone, the Ashen One took in its details. It was a hooded woman surrounded by headstones. Her right hand held a book to her chest, and the left out out the side in a gesture that suggested she was offering a spot next to her. The Ashen One knew that she was a deity, yet he couldn't place a name. Part of him wondered why he remembered the name of Gwyn, and yet this one escaped him.

Deciding that standing around wasn't exactly all that productive, he turned around began down the other way. As he ventured deeper, the light diminished. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A few lit torches were fixated to pillar along the passages. Someone had to have been down there recently; the fires could not have lit themselves. The Champion of Ash found relief in that; at least he was going somewhere not completely deserted. With newfound light, he found that the ground was littered with bones. Random pieces scattered up and down the earthen hall. Just how many corpses had been down here?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something rustling. Turning around, he saw a femur rolling away out of the light and into the shadows. He was fairly certain he had not made physical contact with it. So why was it moving? In the close blackness, he could hear something his ears had never picked up before. When it stopped, something stepped out of the shadows. It was a fully reassembled skeleton hold a sword, and even though it had no lips, the Ashen One could tell it was grinning wickedly.

Grabbing his own frosty sword, he unsheathed and gripped it with a vice. "Okay."

XXXXXX

Soul really wished Maka had done as he wanted and left for home. While he was never one to back away from a fight, the Pontiff was like a stone wall. His size alone made defence an arduous task, and his attacks flowed into each other, almost never leaving an opening.

"If you are what Meisters pass as in these days," the holy behemoth said as he slashed as them, forcing Maka to jump back. "Then your precious Academy will be crushed under my heel."

The threat only served to increase Maka's resolve.

"In your dreams," Soul fired back as his partner tightened her grip on him.

"Impertinent child," Sulyvahn scoffed. "You cannot begin to comprehend my aspirations."

Maka frantically tried to think up a strategy. The Pontiff certainly outclassed her in terms of strength and reach. But speed... He never moved faster than a walk, as if this fight was akin to a night in the park.

"Gnats," Sulyvahn said as she swung at him, only for his greatsword to deflect the attack. Capitalizing, he swung down with his other blade, narrowly missing the girl and driving it into the floor. Seeing the opening, Maka seized it and swung, cutting through his robes and, as far as she could tell, his flesh.

Pain. The sensation had been absent for sometime in the sorceror's life, but he recognized it as all sentients did. Letting out a bestial growl, he pried his sword from the floor and raised both it and the other blade over his armored head.

"Move!" Soul hastily warned.

The self-proclaimed Pontiff swung down hard, but Maka dodge just in time. Not about to repeat his mistake, Sulyvahn began to move with a considerably higher amount of grace. No long did he simply traipse.

Maka gathered her breath as a most unwelcome sight beheld her. No longer was speed her advantage. Sulyvahn seemed to glide across the floor, her eyes only managing to keep him in her vision.

"How can a guy that big move like that?" Soul asked.

Maka didn't offer an answer. She prepared as he advanced on them. As he raised his weapon, so did she, ready to intercept. He brought the fiery sword down, colliding with the joint of Soul's blade and handle, and simultaneously drove his cursed sword forward, gliding it along her side and putting it through her coat.

Quickly seeing that both his swords were occupied, Maka instinctively looked down to see if he had carved into her flesh. He had not, but that had been his intention. Releasing his grib on the cursed sword, he grabbed the Demon Weapon's shaft and channeled dark magic, granting his young foe pain.

Soul's screams brought Maka's full attention back up front, and met eyes (in a sense) with Sulyvahn. She could have sworn she saw his eyes shimmering behind his face protector.

"Let the Dark consume you!" He said, lifting her and Soul up by his handle, and tossed them across the room.

Pain rang up and down Maka's spine. She groaned and kept her fingers wrapped around her Weapon. Looking at Soul she felt fear. Not for herself, but for him. Purple and black veins scattered around him, especially his blade, pulsating in rhythm.

"Are you alright?!" She asked desperately.

"Hurts." The strain in his voice was as clear as the night sky outside. Slowly, the unwelcome coloration faded. "Little better."

Sulyvahn recollected his glowing sword. The spell he had used was a short-term one, but it did its job. He flexed his fingers, testing to see if his hand was completely back.

"Maka..." Soul gathered himself, attempting to ignore the lingering pain. "I think it's time for Witch Hunter."

His Meister didn't like the idea of taxing him right after that horrific magic. "But, Soul-"

"You got a better idea? I can handle it!"

Across the cavernous church, the leader of the Deep was ready to once more combat the students. Returning to a proper stance, he made to return his sight on the soon to be gone disciples of Death, and two most unwanted words filled the air.

"Soul Resonance!"

The sorcerer hated those words being put together. He was unamused as the Weapon's blade grew to irrational size and glowed like a star. The girl let out a shout as she swung, sending an arc of magic right at him. He barely could have reacted before it sliced into him. He screamed as the agony made itself known to his chest and face while the force of it all sent him sliding back and onto his knees.

Seeing the tall freak show fatigue, Soul felt positive for the first time since they had stepped inside. "Finally, we're doing some real damage!"

Maka nodded in agreement.

Sulyvahn coughed. He had vastly underestimated these children. Well, no longer would he amuse himself in this fight. He began to gather up magic from within.

Maka lunged forward, scythe above her head, and brought her scythe down on the Pontiff's head.

Rather than slicing his cranium in half, a burst of blackness came from him, sending her back. Maka wound up landing on her feet, but her lungs were empty from the attempt. Blinking a few times to clear her blurry vision, the Meister saw a thick black fog not unlike the patch from earlier had surrounded the self-described holy man. As it dissipated, she found that he had sprouted black wings; they reminded her of tree branches.

"I've had my fill of you," Sulyvahn stated as he brought up the sword in his left hand up to his face, summoning another wave of Dark magic.

"Yeah sure!" Soul retorted confidently as Maka made to charge towards Sulyvahn once again. "You mean you're sick of losing!"

Another burst of unsavory energy sprung out around the Pontiff, only this time as far as either Maka or Soul could tell, nothing had changed about him. And then he stepped to the side.

Something occupied the spot he had been in.

Another Pontiff Sulyvahn.

As the shock subsided, the DWMA students realized it wasn't exactly a complete copy. The second one had all the original's features, including the wings and swords, but it was almost transparent and had a sickly shade of purple.

Undeterred, Maka ran forward and brought Soul across the geist. Rather than cutting into it, the scythe just passed throgh it like water.

Because she was occupied with his backup, and the helm concealing the real Sulyvahn's face, she didn't see the strain on his visage her attack had made.

The copy slashed at her, cutting her sleeve and arm, making blood drip onto the floor. She couldn't hurt it, but it could certainly harm her. Two enemies were one had been too much. Maka didn't know what to do. She blocked an overhead strike from both of them, their blades striking Soul's curve together. The force felt like it was breaking her legs.

"Aldrich shall enjoy feasting upon you," the original said as he kept her stuck where she stood. The copy utilized its wings and took to the air. It stayed suspended for roughly a second before coming back down with force. Bringing both itself and the larger of its swords into the ground, a massive wave of fire burst out from It. Maka and Soul could feel the heat encompass them; it was like stepping in a volcano. With the real Pontiff keeping them in place, Maka didn't have the strength to escape. They couldn't help but scream.

"I think I'll keep your Weapon, child," Sulyvahn wickedly mused. "He will make an exemplary Outrider."

Before any of them could do anything more, the doors behind Maka flew open, and a bolt of lightning came soaring in, striking the sorcerer directly in the face. As he reared back in pain, Maka finally felt relief as his weight got off Soul. Her legs felt like they were melting and her coat was emitting smoke. Turning her head, her relief could not have been overstated. Stepping through the doorway with the tip of his spear still letting off sparks marched Ornstein. And right behind him, Profesor Stein holding what could only be her worthless father in his Death Scythe form.

"Your Holiness," Spirit sarcastically address Sulyvahn, his voice echoing from the ebony blade. "Would you be so kind to get away from my daughter?"

The leader of the Deep only panted as he clutched his head. His copy stood motionless with its host's concentration broken.

The Dragon Slayer pointed his weapon at the swordsman. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you crawled out of your hole. Aldrich might turn his sights on you if his trough starts getting light."

Stein gestured for Maka to back away from Sulyvahn, which she did without question. Bringing hundred hand up to his head, he gave his screw a few turns. "I wonder if I'll discover the secrets of your longevity when I cut you open, Pontiff."

Shaking off the electricity, Sulyvahn reinforced his control over his phantom and both readied themselves. He was worse for wear and outnumbered. It was time to depart.

"Enjoy this moment, followers of Death," he said as his copy again took to the air. And sure enough it again landed hard and let out a wall of fire, keep the oppostion away for those precious seconds. Behind it, Sulyvahn began to fade in a black fog.

With no host to feed it purpose, the fake Sulyvahn fell to its knees and dissipated into nothing.

With the threat gone, the two Demon Weapons returned to their human form.

"Maka! Are you alright?" Spirit asked with concern only a parent could feel as he lowered himself to be level with his child.

"I'm... fine," she answered, avoiding his eyes.

"The same cannot be said for your Weapon," Ornstein said as he and Stein observed the remnants of Sulyvahn's magic on Soul. It was obvious the scythe was in pain, and the violet webbing across his flesh was evidence enough.

"We should get him to the infirmary immediately," the stitch-covered teacher said firmly.

"Agreed. The Pontiff might return with some of his followers."

XXXXXX

The Champion of Ash let out a nonsensical noise of triumph as he climbed a ladder, leaving behind a horde of rabid vermin and reanimated bones below in the dark. He was all too happy to leave it behind. Reaching the top, he found an archway that, like the entrance, split off two ways. To the left was salvation. Outside once more! And to the right...

A woman, draped in white and tan garments. "Ahh, who's there?" She asked, looking up. "Is someone there, anyone?"

The Unkindled was at a loss. He was directly in her line of sight, and yet he may as well have been invisible.

She continued. "The dark surrounds me, nibbles at my flesh. Little creatures, they never stop biting."

That threw him for a loop momentarily. It wasn't dark by any means around her, and there certainly were not any "little creatures" on her. Then it struck him. Like the Fire Keeper, she was blind.

She again spoke. "Please, hold out your hand, and touch me..."

He didn't need to think about his next course of action. Coming up to her, he knelt and gently placed his armored hand on her shoulder.

"Ahh, yes, there you are, so close indeed. Then I am not entirely alone, just yet."

"No," he assured her. "You're not."

"Praise the merciful gods above..." The Unkindled removed his hand from her and stood up. "Oh, forgive me. I am Irina of Carim."

"No need to ask for forgiveness. I... don't recall my name, but I hail from Irithyll."

"Oh my. Then we both are far from home. I came to this land so that I might be a Fire Keeper. Your touch has freed me from the darkness. You are a Champion, then?"

"Uh, yes," he said unevenly. How is it everyone knows that but me?

"I am weak, and unfit to tend the flames. But if it would not trouble you, might I enter into your service, instead?"

This again? he thought with concern as he remembered Yoel. The Pilgrim had begged death itself to take him before the Unkindled happened upon him. Now the Londor native was content with his lot in life. Perhaps...

"I... accept your offer, Irina."

"Oh, thank you, sweet Champion. I shall take my vows."

"Vows?" The Champion of Ash echoed as his newest associate began to glow.

"I, Irina of Carim, solemnly swear to serve you." When her words had finished, she too vanished like Yoel had.

The Ashen One stared at the spot she had occupied not a moment ago, and quickly turned in his heels towards the steel cell gate that led outside. Opening it, he took in a deep breath. The smell of surrounding death from the settlement was scarcely better then the sewer, but better nonetheless.

"You've gone and rescued her, have you?" A jaded voice asked from the right. The Champion looked over and saw that the knight with the dragon helm he had so readily left alone days ago was still in the exact same spot. "How very quaint, pitying creatures that are beyond help."

Sixteen words, and already the Unkindled decided he did not like this knight.

"Very well. I'm sick of looking after her at any rate. I am Eygon, a knight of Carim. I am allied to you as long as you assure the girl's safety. And only for that long..."

"I understand." The Ashen One said in a tone with obvious negativity as he crushed a Homeward Bone in his fingers.

Everything became a haze for a moment, and then there he was, standing next to the Fire Keeper.

"Welcome home, Ashen One," she greeted.

"Salutations, Fire Keeper," he replied with a friendly tone before turning off to greet Yoel.

The Pilgrim was in his usual isolated corner, and upon seeing the Ashen One, eased himself. "Oh, our Champion of Ash, welcome back. I would do anything for my master, just say the word."

Our Champion? And still with that "master" talk? the Unkindled pondered internally. He had the strangest feeling that he was missing something. Another puzzle piece to add to the pile. Getting a metallic taste in his mouth, the Ashen One turned himself and spit out a mouth of blood before returning to the conversation. "Can you still do that "drawing true strength" ritual?"

With more and more people rallying, he could not afford to be weak.

To his relief, Yoel nodded.

"Shall we begin?" He asked eagerly, offering a hand. The Unkindled took up the offer.

The ordeal only took a few seconds, but its results were the same as the last two times they had partaken in it. The Unkindled felt stronger, but that wasn't the only effect of it. He found that each time Yoel drew out whatever was inside him, the voices that came from his rings grew more and more quiet. Right now they were hardly a whisper. That side effect was one he was happy to have.

The rings...

He looked at them, and they looked back, mumbling to him but he drilled them out as he tried to recall how he had gotten them. Where Irithyll was. And why he had been buried in a full set of armor. He grit his teeth and dug his armored fingers into his scalp, forcing his thoughts to go back as far as they could. But it was fruitless. He sat down and put his back on the wall.

"You wouldn't happen to have a spell that can lift the fog from my memories, would you, Yoel?"

"Forgive me, Champion of Ash. I do not." He paused in deep thought. "But I think I can scrounge up something that might help."

XXXXXX

Deep within a more untouched part of the Earth stood a Cathedral unlike any other. It was the size of a decent city and was occupied a very motley assortment. Giants, zombies, thrall slaves, hulking knights, countless Deacons, and even a lost goddess could be found in its walls. In the deepest chamber was a massive coffin, one specially designed for the Saint of the Deep faith. But Aldrich was not in his resting place. No, in fact the entire chamber was deserted save for Pontiff Sulyvahn, or so he thought.

The recently bested Pontiff leaned on the stone sarcophagus, catching his breath. He did not like the feeling of defeat.

"Enjoying the splendid taste of failure? Finally seeing just how below invincible you are?" Someone asked. The sorcerer looked up and saw his most recent acquaintance had somehow made his way into the haven for the Deep with that a massive crude slab of titanite that barely passed for a sword.

"You dare insult me, Raime?" He had no patience for this today.

"I like to think of it as casting light on you illusions."

"Why, you-!"

"Now now, boys. No reason to fight," a seductive voice filled the air and echoed off the walls.

The Tyrant of the Boreal Valley felt something move along his foot. Looming down, he was repulsed to see a black snake hiss at him before slithering towards the Fume Knight. Up it went, along his armored leg, torso, and finally shoulder, upon which was another familiar face. Medusa Gorgon grinned at him as the serpent evaporated into her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sulyvahn asked with a neutral tone. He did not like either person before him, but they had done both him and the entire Deep a great service. That alone was why he had agreed to the Witch's so-called favor.

Medusa put on a grin that was absolutely wicked. "Are you interested in extending this partnership? I have big plans for the future, Pontiff. Very big plans..."