Elden Ring: Tarnished Flame Vyke

Nyra nodded, and the two of them mounted Agheel in a fluid motion. As they soared toward the distant castle, the wind howled around them, whipping through their cloaks and stirring the darkened sky above. 

The castle's silhouette loomed ahead, a massive and imposing structure, its towering gates standing defiant against the ominous horizon.

He could already sense Godrick's presence—a bloated, arrogant aura that clung to the air like a smothering fog.

From the sky, he saw Godrick—his grotesque, grafted form—standing in an open courtyard, seemingly absorbed in his work, busy with some ritual or another.

 It seemed like he was toying with the creature he had grafted to his own body, manipulating it with ease.

"Agheel," he commanded, his voice as cold as the wind, "Burn Dogrick."

The dragon let out a thunderous roar that echoed through the heavens. Its massive wings beat powerfully, sending ripples through the air.

Then, with a flick of its ghostly tail, Agheel opened its massive jaws wide, releasing a torrent of spectral flame that tore through the sky. They swept across the landscape, heading directly for Godrick's position with terrifying speed and relentless fury.

Godrick, minding his own business in the courtyard, suddenly felt the shift in the air—like the breath before a storm. His eyes widened in realization as the heat of the flames reached his skin, and the ground beneath him trembled. The very stones of the castle seemed to vibrate as the unholy fire approached.

"Wha—?" Godrick turned, his grotesque body lurching as he instinctively tried to reach the dragon head, preparing to counter with his own flames.

But it was too late.

The ghostly fire surged toward him, and before he could even react, the flames engulfed him. His guttural roar was drowned out by the force of the flames as they consumed everything in their path—his armor, his flesh, and even the very essence of his being.

The grotesque grafts that formed his body writhed in agony as they were reduced to nothing more than ash in the wind.

There was no escape. The burning heat of Agheel's flames scorched him from every angle, his limbs shriveling, his cries reduced to nothing but whispers in the storm of fire.

With one final, defiant gasp, Godrick's form shattered into a cloud of ash, the remains of his body vanishing in the wake of the unstoppable flames. Only the faint glow of the Great Rune remained, shimmering in the ashes, a symbol of his fleeting power.

He looked down at the burning ruins, his expression unreadable. The mission was complete.

"Good work, Agheel," he murmured, his voice cold as the remnants of Godrick's form continued to fade into the winds.

Nyra, who had been silent through it all, finally spoke, her voice tinged with approval. "No time was wasted. A fitting end for a fool."

He gave a slight nod, acknowledging her words, and then reached down to collect the glowing Great Rune from the ashes. As he held it in his hand, the weight of its power settled within him. With it, his next steps were clearer.

"Now," he said, his gaze lifting toward the horizon. "Onward. We've got more work to do."

[Mission: Defeat Dogrick, The Grafted] 

[Completed]

Rewards:

Item Name: Soulstone Elixir

Item Type: Legendary Consumable

He glanced at the mission screen with mild interest but didn't linger on it. The rewards Soulstone exilre is usefull but not usefull now might be in the future 

 ...

"…What is this Tarnished?" The woman in the black robe whispered, her voice barely audible, as she gazed down at the distant ruins. "To defeat Godrick… so effortlessly… Is this the hand of fate itself?"

Her eyes, cold and sharp, followed the last remnants of Godrick's form, now nothing but ash scattered on the wind.

The scene had played out with an unsettling grace, his power consumed by flames, leaving nothing behind but the faint glow of the Great Rune.

She could feel the shifting tides of power in the air, and she knew—this was no ordinary Tarnished.

"Such strength… It is unlike any I have seen," she murmured to herself, her words drifting in the wind.

For a long moment, she stood still, her dark robe fluttering around her.

 ...

Soon, his army of Misbegotten arrived, clearing out the last soldiers in the castle. Stormveil, once grand, was now silent, the sounds of battle gone. With Godrick dead, Limgrave was his.

He sat in Godrick's throne.

"Dismantle it," he ordered, his voice cold. "Turn this room into a bedroom. I want a real bed, something comfortable. No more stone, no more cold. Get rid of everything else."

The Misbegotten nodded, moving without a sound as they went to carry out his command.

He leaned back, thoughts drifting to Nyra. 

And then there was Sellen. Her obsession with Glintstone magic worried him. He couldn't let that become a problem. But that would come later. Right now, he needed to deal with the castle.

"Go collect wood. Enough to make it warm and comfortable," he said, his voice firm. "I want this place to feel like mine."

The Misbegotten moved, starting their work in the far corner. He looked around the room, already picturing the change.

Once it was done, he would turn his attention to other matters. Nyra deserved this moment first.

He ran his hand over the armrest of the throne, now stripped of its former glory. The castle was his now, but this was just the beginning. He would shape it into something new, something that felt like home with Nyra by his side.