You stood before the mirror, admiring the gleaming gold armor you’d just slipped into. The craftsmanship was astounding, every detail of the Ornstein 'Replica' suit accurate to the finest crack and tarnish. It had been expensive—ridiculously so—but worth it. You’d been a Dark Souls fan for years, and this was the perfect outfit for the upcoming con.

The moment you fastened the last clasp, though, something changed. The room seemed to darken at the edges, and a strange weight settled on your chest. Your breath quickened as you felt the armor tighten, not uncomfortably, but like it had come alive. You tried to lift your hand to remove the helmet, but your body... didn’t respond. Your reflection blurred.

The air around you shimmered, reality distorting as the ground fell away beneath your feet. For a split second, you felt like you were falling, weightless, and then—thud—you landed on cold, stone ground. The air was heavy, oppressive, tinged with a metallic scent. Slowly, you rose to your feet, the armor clinking heavily.

You weren’t in your room anymore. Your heart raced as you looked around, recognizing the architecture instantly—the grand, cavernous hall, the broken pillars, the distant sunlight barely piercing through high windows. Anor Londo. You'd seen it a thousand times, but this was real. Too real.

A voice echoed inside your mind, deep and ancient, vibrating with power. "Ah... so this is the soul that dares don my form."

Your eyes widened beneath the helmet.

"You sought to become me... and now you are bound to my fate." The voice was unmistakable—Ornstein. But it wasn’t just him. You could feel him, his presence, crawling under your skin, deep within your soul.

You tried to move, but your limbs were no longer entirely your own. Ornstein's strength surged through you. Your hand instinctively gripped the Dragon Slayer Spear strapped to your back, the familiar weight of it now terrifyingly real.

"You will fight. You will face them, as I once did. You will learn why the name Ornstein was feared..."