If you would like to read the first four parts of Wanda's journey, covering the game's opening cinematic to the sixth colossus, you can find those parts in my Mobfeed or here: I, II, III, IV
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Dormin’s warning speaks of a thunder that lurks in the deep. I immediately conjure up images of the mighty Kraken that once terrorised our trade ships. I remember the beaches just south of home, bodies strewn across their sands, rings still attached to fingers, fingers still attached to hands. Those beaches attracted all sorts of men, who tore gold from the hands and teeth of the deceased. They became known as the Killing Sands after, when I was only a child, a man had returned to our village, barely alive, his wounds cauterized by the sea itself. He stumbled through miles of forest before collapsing at our gates. He whispered to my father, the first man to meet him, that the Kraken had risen, bisected the ship with a thunderous clap of its limbs and swallowed whole the stern. My father lugged many men from the shore line, where they had washed up, to the village. He smelt of Death for weeks, even the soothing water of the Onim Waterfalls did not cleanse his skin. When Death finally came to meet my father, I am sure he still smelt the stench of the Kraken’s casualties on father’s broad shoulders.
My mind had wandered considerably, but the thought of the Kraken drenched each firing neuron. If a beast can ruin a ship with such ease, I would merely evaporate under the weight of the creature. It didn’t matter, for the fight can only be fought, not avoided, if I wish to bring her back. I imagined the Kraken drumming up storm clouds in the deep, and the lightning sparking from the trenches of night to the relative calm of the ocean roof. The storm clouds blew in again, yet now they rested above my heart and each pulse pressured the cloud’s hinges.
We set out, as we have always done, by following the Ancient Sword’s light. We become lost as the scenery blends into itself and my memory becomes hazy. Have we visited here before? Are these footprints my own or another’s? Do they belong to man or beast? I will Agro forward with my heel and he neighs in acceptance. After losing track of the Ancient Sword’s light we double back a few times hoping to find the path to the seventh beast.
We eventually come across a great lake and I leave Agro at the water’s edge. He does not drink but whinnies as I run my hand across his jaw, gently patting his nose. The lake is vast and dark yet there is no sign of the creature. The Kraken resides in the deep, as close to the badlands of Hell as possible. The hollowed out alcove in which the lake resides is reminiscent of the bird’s lair, ruined, empty, uninviting. A great bridge draws me to the centre of the lake and a giant corkscrew stands erect at its core. I dart around the stone screw until I reach its apex and glance at the lake below.
It is then I notice the lights, not vibrant like the sun, nor golden like a bride’s hair, no. The storm clouds that had settled above my heart disappear as I realise that the Kraken shall not be my rival on this day. The lights slither through the water, not quite deep enough to be invisible, but deep enough to be impossible to reach. I decide to take a running jump and dive feet first into the water from up high. The cold, as it does, hits me first yet as I slowly ascend through natural buoyancy I notice the snake. A hydrus, though exponentially larger than the ones that occupy the freshwater streams of home. The beast is magnificent and placid, ignoring my presence in the water at first. Even as it approaches me it does so without malice, as if offering its hand and inquiring about a watery dance. I decline.
It surfaces occasionally and I realise that is my only opportunity to grab on. I feel drained, sculling in the cold and if not for the sparks that constantly fire from three spikes of its spine, I would not suspect this creature is even the one I seek.
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I intercept the creature on its next pass for air and it senses me immediately. I grab a handful of its slick hair follicles, slimy and unclean. The creature undulates in its attempt to dislodge me, splashing walls of water on each of its flanks and every now and then slipping underneath the water. It’s spiny lightning rods spark ferociously and as I traverse it, I take a hit of electricity straight to the heart. There’s those thunder clouds again and this time they’re firing directly into each ventricle. Purkinjie fibres spasm under the strain and I lose my breath momentarily. The Kraken flashes in my mind, so does she, so does my father. Everything flashes. The purest of white veils the scene before the purest of black. Greys gradually fade in and somehow, like always, I am still holding on. I’ve become accustomed to that.
The closest spine of electricity can be disabled, and I plunged my sword deep into the beast. The next time I find myself under the water, I remain out of harm’s way. As soon as the Hydrus surfaces I dash toward spine two, take out my blade and carve a hole in the spine’s base. It gushes slightly, but the darkness fades into the surrounds. Two spines down.
The beast plays one more trick, one that I am sure it learnt from the great white whale’s of the sea. It plunges deep, far deeper than my mind is willing to go, but not deep enough for me to let go. Yet, unlike the beast, my breath is delicate and controlled. I cannot hold it for long. I let go and wearily climb to the surface, to the light. I gulp in air as if I haven’t tasted it before which causes my breathing to become heavy and disjointed. I relax.
The beast remains calm as it approaches, even though I have done wrong by it, and by the gods.
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I climb back on as it makes another pass and this time, head straight for the last spine. I fear that it may again descend far too deep for me to travel, but my fears are allayed as I plunge the Ancient Sword into the final lightning pillar that protrudes from the beast’s spine. I can reach the head from here, where the sigil shines bright, where the blue light that speaks to Death emanates. I imagine Death here now, far from the Killing Sands, holding me to his breast.
I plunge and the beast sings to Defeat. She only holds her blinded head high.
I wait for the darkness to descend. The hydrus is defeated.
I pull myself together upon hearing the crumbling of stone. Another idol, another pile of rubble to add to my collection. The chamber floor is warmer than I remember, as if life has started to roll back into it and slither through the cracks in its veneer like they are arteries clotted. She still lies there. Gentle. Quiet. Beautiful. All the things she was in life. Dormin gives me the next task, the eighth, as the doves rest by her side.
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X: Kuromori
I am guided toward the south east by the light of the Ancient Sword. Seven colossi later, it shines a little brighter. As Agro gallops away from the temple where she lies motionless, I feel the sting of time lost against my fingertips. The light guides us toward a canyon and with a left we find ourselves in a cave. It is lush and green and I can hear the waters flow; hear the rocks absorbing the slaps of a cold, wet hand. The waterfalls that embellish the cave’s innards sculpt the rocks, carving their name into each slippery face.
Descending further into the cave I must leave Agro behind. I come across a large cavern, a ring of water surrounding a ruined temple. I jump into the water which seems much cleaner, and far more inviting, than any other water I’d yet embraced. My eyes wander around the borders of the cavern, in case the next colossi is to take me by surprise. They dart upward, then downward. Nothing.
I reach the island in the centre, marked by the stone temple and skirt its outer edge for an entrance. The entrance is clandestine, a place where the shadows do not dance like they are alive. I slip into the temple and descend down a stairwell, dusty, cold, rotting. There are insects that dart into crevices along the wall, looking for shelter. A reminder of myself in each scurrying step. A reminder to run and hide when your survival is compromised.
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A reminder I swiftly ignore.
The stairwell leads into an open chamber, pillars to my left and right. I notice the handholds made by the stone and ascend the pillar to my right, following the stone path around and down another stairwell. The roar of the colossus bounces up each stair, and the insects have already fled. As I reach the bottom, I find myself in a large spire, perhaps seven stories high. I can hear the beast, but it is not yet visible.
I am reminded of Dormin’s words about the beast “… a shadow that crawls on the walls”. Nothing moves, not even the insects. The spire has a hollow centre that the sunlight strikes and bounces off of. The stone radiates a vibrant white, not a sign of pallor, but life. The insects in those walls surely thrive. To my right a large section of the inner spire wall has crumbled, leaving a gaping hole unceremoniously carved into its being. I stand in the opening and take in the depth of the tower, scouting its inner walls for any shadows. Nothing. No shadows.
The inner walls drop the entire length of the spire, and meet the floor several stories down. The beast resides there, dormant, not having noticed me yet. It, like all the colossi, is made of stone arranged in various configurations, some more menacing than others. It is only then that I realise stone is a construct of man, not beast, and thus these creatures may have had a guiding hand during creation. A guiding hand that reflects the same image as my own.
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This creature lies low to the ground, four-legged, like a lizard. As it lumbers around at the bottom of the chamber, its legs dart in and out, just like the newts I’d catch by the waterfall. Its tail is more reminiscent of a lobster, broad and with stones made to look like scales. I whistle, as I would to get Agro’s attention, and the creature cranes its neck in recognition.
The shadow that crawls on the wall comes at me, scampering up the spire’s innards with ease. I imagine myself as one of the insects upon the wall, slipping into the cracks to escape the wrath of a larger being. I dart around inside the cracks of the spire as the colossus begins to fill my floor with hot gas from its throat. It stifles my lungs and I feel it prickling the hairs on my legs as I flee, making a mental note to avoid it. My throat fills with phlegm, a protective layer that I can feel sliding over my vocal cords. I could not yell out even if I needed to.
I descend down a stairwell that fits into the outer wall of the spire and end up directly beneath the creature. Its four legs cut into the stone walls, supporting its incredible frame against the pull of gravity. I imagine it like myself, the spire its colossus. It does whatever it can to hold on.
It doesn’t notice that I’ve flanked it, so the momentum of the battle shifts toward me. A tactical edge, an opening, an advantage. Its legs glow a dim yellow, the colour of vulnerability, the colour of weakness. The tip of my arrow craves the wound and I alleviate its lust.
The left hind leg of the beast dangles from the wall and I draw another arrow. If I can land a shot on its left leg, it may succumb to gravity. I fire, and miss horribly. The shadow on the wall flails but I get another shot off and arrow meets flesh.
The beast falls, dislodged from the spire wall.
The fall is heavy, and I can feel the rocks and stone that melt together in the spire rubbing against each other like hands in the cold as the beast its fate is sealed. It is defenceless, lying on its back like a turtle, limbs flailing to right itself. Turtles that get stuck, often get unstuck. I quickly dart toward the opening in the wall and plunge down several floors, catching my hand on a ledge and cutting my palm. I hang, swaying gently from the downward momentum, and watch the blood trickle down my arm, collecting on the cusp of my shirt.
Looking down, I decide to drop and fall directly into the beast’s arena. It not only flails but cries and I feel sorry for it. It reminds me of the boar, though it is aware of its fate. I crawl up the tail of the beast and plunge my dagger through its fleshy underside, now facing the sky. Its first sigil disappears quickly, gushing black. The shadow on the wall no longer casts a shadow on me, instead, I stand above it, blackening its flesh with my own.
The second sigil spills its black into the sky and the beast, defenceless, is put out of its misery. I await the darkness and my return to the chamber where she lies.
After eight colossi, she sits up at the altar, yet the light is so radiant it makes it hard to make out the expression on her face. Is she okay? Is she suffering?
I awake, again, to the sound of collapsing stone and rush to the altar.
She still sleeps, motionless, white, cold.
A dream.
I press my hands against her cheek and hope the warmth reaches her. Hope fills the air, like the wings of the dove. Buoyed by the dream, I listen to Dormin and set off again. Eight colossi remain.
I'm halfway home.