The sound of armored boots clanging on stone echoed through the dark, desolate cavern. Artorias moved with a weight that belied his agility, his massive greatsword trailing behind him, its blade dragging across the ground like a shadow in the dim light. The Abyss had claimed much of his mind, but his body still moved with the same purpose, the same drive he once had as a knight of Gwyn.

He paused, the silence oppressive. The air felt thick, heavy with the remnants of ancient sorrow. His left arm, a twisted, blackened stump of corrupted magic, hummed with a faint, eerie energy. It was a reminder of his failure, of the cost of his sacrifice.

With a low growl, Artorias pressed on, his single eye scanning the horizon, a flicker of blue against the abyssal darkness. He had one task left: to face the corruption he had invited into this world, and to end it—no matter the cost.

He moved deeper into the cavern, where the shadows grew thick, stretching unnaturally against the walls. As he entered a wide chamber, a figure emerged from the darkness, their silhouette illuminated only by the faint, ghostly glow of the Abyss itself.

Artorias’ greatsword shifted, the tip of the blade lightly scraping the stone floor as he took a step forward, eyes narrowing beneath his helmet. The figure turned slowly, their face obscured by the hood they wore.

“You…” Artorias’ voice was a low rasp, thick with the weight of centuries. “What are you doing here?”