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In the land of Oolacile, a lone warrior writhes in his madness. His name is Artorias, one of the Four Knights of Gwyn, a legend in his own right. His ramblings are soon interrupted by the loud footsteps of a man entering the vicinity. The Ivory King, they called him; he who plunged deep into the heart of Chaos and was charred beyond recognition. The two warriors locked eyes. The Abysswalker, sworn to eradicate the creatures of the Abyss, and the Burnt King, he who built his throne atop the fires of Hell; both consumed by the very powers they swore to destroy.
The King raised his sword in silence, understanding his adversary's plight. The Abysswalker did the same. The two men would attempt to save the other, releasing them from the shackles that bind. One will stand, forced to carry their burden forevermore, and one will fall, laid to rest after a lifetime of servitude.
The King raised his sword in silence, understanding his adversary's plight. The Abysswalker did the same. The two men would attempt to save the other, releasing them from the shackles that bind. One will stand, forced to carry their burden forevermore, and one will fall, laid to rest after a lifetime of servitude.