Give Soul Of Artorias 소설 & 이야기

Looking up at the sky with the sad smile plastered on his face he spoke up, "Why so hatred for me, ya Rab?" Miles away from him the girl with a cuddling baby in her arms uttered looking up at the sky, "I express my deep gratitude to Y ou for sending this angel to me, Ya Rab." 

I said then I let go even though I was still crying, I asked, "What- Why are you here? You can't be here. This is the human realm... right? How are you here?" Arthur glanced at the horizon as if someon was there, then he averted his gaze back to me, "Tate... he uh... got my dragon soul in exchange of my mortality." "You... gave up all that for me?" Arthur smirked, "Of course I would. You know I would without hesitation." "Tate... is he... Is he okay?" I said worrying, "He got rid of my memories of you because I asked but he... used his soul, didn't he?"

Arth was left with no choice but to free the sword from his grasp. He fell and hit his back against the ground. Looking up, the Sathir slowly climbed higher and higher. “You’re not getting away,” Arth said as he pushed himself on his feet, spread his arms on both sides, and cast, “Glacies Materia.” Copying Frostcalibur’s form, Arth replicated ten ice swords that flashed and appeared around him, all pointing upwards. He aimed them all towards the beast right above him, then fired. The swords sped upward and found the Sathir. They plunged through its wings, gut, chest, neck, and legs, causing it to lose balance and fall. The ground shook as the enormous body landed, orange blood spilling and f

Victor wanted to reluctantly argue, blinded by what was really happening but the next second his breath hitched in utter disbelief at the sudden occurrence flashing before him. “No… No!... im... impossible! It must be the drug… you must have released the fumes in here… yes! That has to be it… this was all part of your plan… have the others distract me… while you were secretly waiting to take me out…” The agitated man reasoned; clearly in denial as he stumbled backwards pressing on the wall behind him for support, his eyes intently glued to the scene of the glitching figure several steps ahead. “I… can assure you… this is no drug… and I am… Mike Rayburn… a soul with a vengeance.”

He held my hand as I looked in his eyes. “I know… they eventually will, though I’ve tightened the security. We’ll know if they try to invade.” He sighed taking me away from Elinor’s room. We walked in the office where he sat me down. The reel whirred and I saw the familiar face. “The soul sorcerer has 5 tiers. Poseidon, Hera, Hestia, Demeter, Hades.” Zeus began talking. “All are---” I managed to speak when Arthur intercepted.

“Whatever-the-fuck. Anyway, I been watchin’ from here almost every night since then and he’s always gone real late on Wednesday nights. I’m goin’ in there and I’m bustin’ inta that stone chest . . . ” He reached behind him, unzipped his backpack and pulled out a short-handled, hand-held sledgehammer. He hefted it, like he was Thor and it was Mjölnir. “I’m bustin’ in there and gettin’ that box and I’m crushin’ all those tiles to fuckin’ powder. I dunno how I know it, but I do. Dad’s soul is trapped in them things, and I’m gonna let it out.”

--- Back in Ember Hollow, Cathros felt the ripple. “She touched the Root,” he whispered. Catherine’s eyes widened. “Then she knows who she is.” He shook his head. “No. Not yet. But the next move must strike her soul. Not her flesh.” He turned to the bound spirits of the fallen Chosen, their forms writhing behind his throne. “Unleash the Sorrowing Choir.” --- At the edge of the Root, as Arthur sat awake for the first time in days, a song began to echo.

The digital realm of the Ark-Devourer was a sensory deprivation chamber built of infinite, blinding white light and cascading streams of violet data. In the center of this sterile infinity, the Prime Architect sat on a throne of woven fiber-optics, his hollow eyes locking onto Scarlett. "A soul projection," the Architect’s voice echoed, devoid of inflection but heavy with ancient arrogance. "A crude, outdated algorithm. You think you can infect my mainframe with spiritual superstition, Anomaly?"

One came at me with slashing claws, but I ducked, rolling with Valen’s flame held tightly against my chest, and my arm hugging the soul. “Foolish girl!” the Vel’sothar howled through its mouth. “Only gods decide the fate of erased souls.” “Not when his fate is still tied to me!” I screamed back. “Die with him, then!” he grated, charging at me with heavy thuds. In a flash move, Hera tripped him, and he stumbled close to the edge of the bridge. I cradled my mate’s soul in my arms and got to my knees on the cold, stony bridge, legs shaky, lungs on fire.

I can only stand here, hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I watch the man I love offer himself to a demon. Arlo’s voice is steady, resolute. “Tell me what you want as payment for ending Morgana.” Astaroth pretends to think about it, “Your soul, and then your life. You could be a useful guard dog in the underworld. I have many enemies down there. Demons who are jealous of my success.” No. No, no, no. Arlo nods calmly, “Fine. But only after our daughter is born and I know she and Hilda are both healthy and safe, and Morgana is gone.”