Maidenless No Longer (Elden Ring)

Chapter 30: Melina

Yes, Morgott's story was a sad one, by all measures. Melina knew it, though she wasn't sure how many others did. His tale was... pitiable. The son of Godfrey the First Elden Lord and Queen Marika the Eternal. But... born a graceless Omen, he never had a fair chance in life. Normally, an Omen baby, curseborn and misbegotten as they were, would have each and every one of their horns excised. Most of the time, this proved fatal.

However, when an Omen was born to royalty, they did not have their horns removed. Morgott, specifically, did not have his horns removed. Instead, he'd been tossed into the sewers beneath Leyndell, locked away underground, a dirty filthy secret kept away from the eyes of the masses. He would have likely remained there, imprisoned for all eternity, unbeknownst to anyone... if not for the Night of the Black Knives.

Godwyn's death and everything that had come after had given Morgott an opportunity he would not have otherwise had. The Omen had risen up from the sewers, taking charge of the panicked armies in the Royal Capital. In the absence of both Marika and Radagon, yes, he had named himself King... but even Melina could privately admit that he might have been the only one to deserve it.

Graceless and spurned by the Erdtree, unloved by the Greater Will, the Omen King had nevertheless STILL charged himself with the duty of becoming its protector. He'd stepped up when no one else would, when his half-siblings fought and squabbled over the Lands Between and done everything in his power to safeguard the very same Erdtree that had shunned and spurned him, all his life.

And even now... twas not as if Grace had miraculously come to him. Even now, Morgott was curseborn and misbegotten. And still he stood here, in their way. Admirable, to say the least. But ultimately... foolish.

"Have it writ upon thy meagre grave: Felled by King Morgott! Last of all kings!"

The air itself rents as Morgott swings his cursed sword. Snarling, the Omen King stalks forward, his intentions quite clear. Finally, the Tarnished moves. Melina moves with him.

What else can she do? She was the one who asked her Tarnished to call upon her. She was the one who had wanted to be here for this, the so-called final battle. She'd thought maybe it would take some of the sting away, at least for her personally, if she helped her Tarnished through this challenge, even if the very next thing to happen would be him discovering the way was blocked and he was not to become Elden Lord just yet.

Now though... she's regretting it, just a tad. As they join battle with Morgott, the Omen King swings his Cursed Sword far faster than he ever swung it as a walking stick... and the Tarnished simply sways out of the way, his naked skin no less than a hair's breadth away from the sword's sharp edge, but nevertheless far enough not to be hit.

Then, he leaps and brings those hook claws of his down upon the Omen King's flesh. Morgott snarls, and the battle is joined in earnest. In truth, Melina can only do what she can do. The kindling maiden's Blade of Calling swipes to and fro, as she darts back and forth. Her blade digs into Morgott's flesh at times, and at others she misses. She's not used to missing, but it's been an awfully long time since she fought anything, to be fair.

More than though, Morgott is an incredibly fearsome opponent. The Omen King has had much longer than her to train his skill with the blade, and even his misbegotten nature has not stopped him from honing himself into a weapon. This is the creature that defended Leyndell against any and all onslaughts, even turning away General Radahn and his armies. This is the creature that named himself the protector of the Royal Capital and the Erdtree DESPITE his hideous and shunned nature.

He was never going to be a pushover, so Melina knows she really doesn't have to beat herself up about finding a challenging match in him. It's just...

For every blow Melina DOES land, the Tarnished lands five more with those hook claws of his. A decidedly less intuitive weapon than her dagger, and yet one might call him a maestro with them. To say nothing of his mastery over himself. If Morgott has honed himself into a weapon, then her chosen champion sets out to show that it was all for naught.