Eleanor's body crashed hard into the snow while an explosion of debris fired out in all directions around her.
At the last second before the axe had collided with her head, she had mustered every last bit of her strength to push herself off the ground in a half-flip.
There had been only a slim chance of success, yet luckily for her, those odds became reality at that very moment, allowing her a brief safety from the madman.
It did not last long, however, as the man hurriedly pulled his weapon out of the icy terrain and raised it above his shoulders again.
Not allowing him to get the jump on her again, the blonde-haired girl leaped to her feet and watched carefully as the man breathed heavily.
Looking at her attacker from the head down, she realized in one quick beat that he was almost double her height.
A-A giant?
At a glance, she could estimate his height anywhere between 2 and 2.5 meters, with a head attached to his shoulders that had disgusting, infected stitches connecting the two like they had been jammed together by a toddler.
Large rolls of fat covered a large portion of his body, while a white beard that gleamed like snow clung to his round jaw.
His attire was similar to Eleanor's: a heavyweight jacket, gloves, boots, and a hood.
The only difference was that the girl chose to wear a covering over her face while he did not.
His piercing whitish-blue eyes stared daggers at the small priestess as he took a hard step forward, shaking the ground as he did so.
I-I left the Aether back at the cabin, and it's too far to signal for help…
Realizing that her careful determination in finding a safe space for her meditation had been for nothing, she continued to back up with only a frown across her face.
The giant of a man did not relent, though with his pursuit, his steps only became greater as the seconds passed.
Think, Eleanor, think!
Her heart pounded as the man swung aimlessly with his axe, creating divots in the layer of ice beneath them.
They did not stand above a lake; however, she was not ready to test what lay beneath the scales of a once-living demigod.
I can't turn away or else…
Even for the brief seconds that she had fallen out of the way of his strike, she had been horrified by the soundless void that had consumed her.
While her eardrums might've been repairing themselves, they were certainly in no place to hear anything over the storm.
Therefore, if she were to turn and run from the man like she so very wished, she would be blind to his location, allowing another sneak attack to become possible.
Also…
Her eyes narrowed as she examined the man's own actions carefully.
He doesn't seem to be in his right mind.
Whatever creature, man, giant, or zombie that was now attempting to cut her like a log was certainly either a lunatic, a murderer, or both.
Either way, his movements were too unpredictable, and to risk turning her back on her enemy was not an option.
T-then must I fight…?
The sight of the man repeatedly slamming his blade into the ice flashed in front of her view once more, sending a sharp pang through her chest.
Each time he did so, he held it there for a moment before retracting it as if awaiting a reaction from what he had just cut.
Yet, the 'deceased' continued to provide no such response, and as such, he removed the axe and raised it back to his shoulders, where he would slam it again in a random interval of seconds.
Breathing heavily, Eleanor slowly began to calculate his motions more carefully, understanding not just his mind, but also his physical prowess.
It takes him two seconds to remove it from the ice, but only one to slash into the ground…
Biting her lip until blood was soon to rush out, she felt a plan begin to stir in her head.
It was utterly ludicrous and downright suicidal; however, was now really the time for doubts?
Watching as the man raised his arms again, with a smile flickering across his face, she made up her mind with a weak grunt.
Right as the man's arms arched downward in a slash into the ice, she leaped in, attempting to close the distance as fast as possible.
The man reacted fast, though, already partially done removing the weapon and only another second away from its full removal.
C'mon!
Reaching out with her short arms, she just barely managed to clasp her right hand along the wooden handle of the axe.
The giant's eyes widened in surprise as he pulled not just his tool above his head, but also a girl who was as light as a feather.
Taking the opportunity to its fullest, she released her grip on his axe and clasped her legs and arms around his skull.
Then, squeezing with all her might, she tried to choke the man with her own body weight alongside gravity.
For a moment, it appeared to work; the man's body lurching to the side and the axe falling from his grip.
Yet, as the seconds passed, her power waned, and the man's posture began to return.
No! No! No!
His massive hand reached around his back and grabbed onto the girl's long blonde hair, pulling hard until it felt as if it might rip.
Eleanor's grip did not wane, though, for if it did, it would mean certain death at this point in the battle.
Still squeezing with all her might, thoughts of endless spells rushed through her head.
If only she could conjure a Holy Bullet, or even a Holy Arrow.
They were taught to her not by Godrick, but rather Lady Strixen, and now was the time she could use them, yet so viciously they were ripped away by the mana-sucking storm above.
Is there anything that I—
The man's grip wavered, but then shifted to her neck with his hand coming together with all his strength.
His grip reduced her breathing to shallow, desperate gasps for any air she could get.
The carefully maintained hold over the giant faltered immediately, causing her to now dangle in front of the man by only her neck.
Pale skin turned a sickly purple beneath the face covering that she wore, and her vision swayed blurry.
Regardless of that, her mind continued to look for any solution among the ones available.
Time was running out, though, and the man's patience was only growing thinner along with it.
His hand tightened again and again until the girl thought she was going to pop like a balloon; nevertheless, she held on with all her remaining spirit.
C-could he be…
Her eyes instantly flashed with an idea, and the hands that clawed at her throat dropped limp to her side.
Mustering the last of her strength, she chanted a phrase she had wished to never utter in the face of another man, woman, or creature ever again.
She wasn't certain it would work, and from everything she had been taught, it wouldn't even touch a living being.
However, out of options and on the verge of death once more, she choked out the words that haunted her in her nightmares.
"Ashen… flame… doth… consume… thee…"
The Emblem of Circe burned with such ferocity that it felt as if a flame had burst into existence upon her flesh.
Color swayed into existence, and an explosion of crimson flame erupted underneath where the man stood.
His eyes widened in horror as he tossed the girl away in shock, his whole body shaking like a terrified lamb.
From a short distance where he had thrown the girl, Eleanor watched with agony and shame coursing through her as a ritualistic circle appeared from within the flame.
She did not look away, however, for this was her own doing.
Pitch-black, rotten hands reached from the ground, clawing at the man's form, calling for his arrival.
He tried to run.
A foolish mistake.
His leg popped off before he could make it half a meter, while his exposed bone turned to dust only a second later.
What followed was the slow and painful disintegration of flesh, muscle, tissue, and bone in a process one could only describe as death itself.
His form flickered and overlapped with an elder twice his age, rotten, dead.
Then, after the last layer of flesh and blood was peeled off his still-moving form, the pitch-black hands burst from the sigil and lunged at the remaining form.
There, at that time, the man was consumed completely, with his entire existence fading away and his soul entering Hell itself.
An undead…
Eleanor did not blink, nor did she allow a smile to creep over her face.
She was the victor, but the cost was undeniably dark.
With her life on the line, she had cast the most horrific spell she knew; it was a spellform that defied law and drew on her fraction of the Divine Authority of Death inscribed into her Mark of Souls.
It was her darkest secret that she had hidden from even Aaron, and more than that, the thing she could never forget.
For if she were to wield that divinity that was inscribed into the Emblem of Circe, then she had to know the price for miracles.
There would always be a burden or a tradeoff that she would face, with the one for that power being the banishment of another to an eternity of suffering and damnation by her own hands.