The bridge stretched before me, shrouded in frost and silence. Beyond it lay Irithyll, a city of cold beauty, its towering spires piercing the night sky, bathed in an ethereal blue glow. Snowflakes drifted like lost souls, and the air carried the scent of ice and old magic. But the stillness was a lie. I could feel it—something was waiting. Watching.
As I stepped forward, the mist thickened, swirling in unnatural patterns. Then, a guttural snarl shattered the silence. Out of the fog, a beast emerged. Twisted and monstrous, its pale flesh stretched over a sinewy, serpentine form, its glowing eyes burning with hunger. Sulyvahn’s Beast.
It lunged. Claws raked the stone where I had stood a heartbeat before. I rolled aside, my scythe slashing upward, carving deep into its shoulder. It shrieked, its maw opening unnaturally wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth. The air itself seemed to tremble as it roared, its breath misting in the cold.
It attacked again—feral, relentless. Its tail lashed out, sending shards of ice skittering across the bridge. I dodged, slicing at its exposed flank, drawing black ichor from its cursed veins. The beast howled, coiling back, its body writhing in agony. It was fast, but I was faster. As it lunged one last time, I drove my scythe into its skull, twisting the blade until the creature spasmed and fell still.
The mist swallowed its corpse. Only silence remained. I crossed the bridge, stepping into Irithyll’s frozen heart. The city was a contradiction—haunting and beautiful. Towers of white stone, domes capped with frost, bridges arched elegantly over frozen rivers. The streets gleamed under the pale moon, yet darkness slithered in every corner. I was not alone.
Shadows moved between the archways, figures draped in flowing robes, their eyes burning with cold fire. Wraiths, remnants of a forgotten age. They whispered in a language I did not understand, their words like the rustling of dead leaves. They struck without warning. Their blades, long and curved, hissed through the air. I countered, parrying, my scythe weaving a path of death through their ranks. They did not bleed. They did not scream. They simply faded, swallowed by the very darkness they served.
The deeper I ventured, the more the city revealed its horrors. Phantoms drifted through the halls, lingering remnants of a time long lost. Great staircases spiraled into the unknown, their marble cracked with age. Statues of forgotten gods loomed over the streets, their faces worn away by time and sorrow.
Then, I reached the cathedral. Its doors yawned open, revealing a chamber bathed in an eerie light. And there, upon a dais of cold stone, he waited – Pontiff Sulyvahn.
A towering figure, draped in flowing robes of midnight and gold. Twin swords burned in his grasp—one wreathed in frost, the other ablaze with dark fire. His eyes met mine, and I knew this was no mere man. He was a tyrant. A god-killer.
He moved first. Faster than I had thought possible, a blur of steel and flame. I barely parried the first strike before he spun, his second blade slicing through the air. I leapt back, my scythe deflecting his relentless assault, but each blow sent shudders through my arms.
Sulyvahn was a storm. His power was overwhelming, his magic entwined with his every movement. A spectral image of himself tore from his form, mirroring his strikes. I dodged, barely avoiding a fatal blow as the phantom’s blade passed through me like a whisper of death. I needed to be faster.
I struck, aiming low, my scythe carving a crimson arc across his robes. He staggered, just for a moment, but it was enough. I pressed forward, my blade finding purchase again and again, cutting through steel and flesh alike. Then, he roared. The cathedral trembled as dark fire erupted around him. His magic surged, his phantom growing stronger, moving in tandem with him, his fury manifest. He attacked with renewed wrath, his twin swords a blur of destruction.
Pain bloomed in my side. I had misstepped. His blade had found me. But pain was nothing. I had endured worse. I gritted my teeth, countered, and in one swift motion, I severed the spectral form from him, disrupting his magic. Sulyvahn faltered. And that was his undoing.
I drove my scythe deep into his chest. His breath hitched. His swords clattered to the ground. He staggered, eyes burning with disbelief… and then he fell. The light in the cathedral dimmed. Silence. I stood over his body, my own blood mixing with his, and for the first time, I breathed. Irithyll was quieter then before now. But I knew this city held more than just ghosts and tyrants. It held secrets. It held a path forward. Beyond the cathedral, the moon shone over the frozen land. The journey was not over. Not yet.
Lythias bloody journey can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQRPy70pDgKVEzqUBOLF7KTHCTDX4riF7
#DarkSouls3 #Irithyll #IrithyllOfTheBorealValley #Lythia #GreatCorvianScythe #Scythe
