The Zenin estate loomed ahead, its towering walls and traditional architecture exuding prestige and an unspoken air of hostility.
The weight of countless expectations seemed to hang in the very air, a suffocating presence that neither Veilhem nor Makima paid their mind to.
As they approached the entrance, two guards stepped forward, spears crossed in front of the gate. Their expressions were rigid, their gazes sharp.
"Halt. State your business."
Veilhem barely spared them a glance, but Makima stopped with a pleasant smile. "We're here to meet the head of the Zenin clan."
The guards exchanged glances, their grips tightening. "Outsiders aren't permitted without invitation. Leave."
Makima let out a soft sigh and took a step closer. "Surely, there's no need for such trouble."
She murmured, her voice velvety smooth. "We wouldn't have come all this way if we weren't invited."
The guard who had spoken hesitated, blinking once as if processing her words. A flicker of doubt passed over his face, his previous certainty wavering.
"That's… right." His grip on his spear loosened slightly, but he sensed something was wrong.
"It's fine." The first guard interrupted, voice oddly firm. He turned back to Makima with a curt nod. "Go ahead."
His partner frowned. "Wait, we don't—"
"I said it's fine man." The first guard reassured him, placing a hand on the other guard's shoulder to stop him from causing a ruckus.
Veilhem watched the exchange with mild curiosity. The tension in the guards' shoulders had vanished, their expressions subtly shifting from suspicion to quiet acceptance.
The second guard still looked confused, as though he couldn't quite understand why, but he didn't object.
Makima merely smiled and took the lead, stepping past them without a second glance.
As they entered the estate, Veilhem leaned in slightly, voice low. "I hope you know how eerie that was."
Makima let out a small chuckle, hands folded neatly behind her back. "Oh? Did you think they were going to make us fight our way in?"
Veilhem rolled his eyes. "No, but I wouldn't have minded."
He glanced back at the gate, where the guards resumed their post as if nothing had happened. "You just… rewrote their thoughts. Subtly, but effectively. Correct?"
Makima cast him a knowing smile. "People are quite predictable when you know how to speak to them."
Veilhem huffed but said nothing. The heavy gates shut behind them with a dull thud, sealing their path forward.
_____
The interior was adorned with the weight of tradition. The air carried the scent of old wood and incense, a lingering reminder of the clan's rigid discipline and long-standing legacy.
A young attendant had been assigned to guide them. He looked nervous and clearly unsure how to behave in their presence. He kept glancing at Makima with wary curiosity but dared not meet her gaze for long.
"This way, esteemed guests." The attendant muttered, leading them through a long walkway lined with finely sculpted pillars.
"The Zenin household is divided into several main sections—the residential quarters, the training grounds, the main hall, and the archive. Only family members are permitted in certain areas."
Veilhem barely listened, his eyes scanning the scenery with mild disinterest. The estate was impressive, but it carried the air of a place drowning in its own pride, much like Anor Londo.
Makima, on the other hand, took in everything with keen interest. "A family built on strength and lineage."
She mused, glancing at a series of intricate calligraphy banners along the walls. The inked words spoke of honor, legacy, and unwavering discipline. "Old-fashioned despite the change of era."
The attendant stiffened at her remark but bit his tongue, choosing to ignore her words and moving along instead of commenting on something unnecessary that could get him killed.
As they turned a corner, they stepped into an open courtyard where several young Sorcerers were sparring. The rhythmic clash of wooden swords against each other filled the air, alongside the occasional grunt of effort.
Veilhem watched them with mild amusement. "They're disciplined, at least."
Makima tilted her head, observing the way the fighters moved—not just their form but their hesitation, their stolen glances toward an older man standing nearby.
A superior, no doubt.
Their movements weren't just for battle; they were meant to be judged.
"They're performing, not sparring?" She said, as if reading his thoughts.
Veilhem stole a glance at her but hummed in agreement. His own battles had never been weighed down by such tradition, and there was no practicality in flashy moves.
Life and death didn't care for how graceful a swing looked, so he always fought with everything he had, even if it was dishonorable.
"I'm no knight, eh?" Veilhem chuckled at his little thought.
The guide cleared his throat, eager to move on. "The training grounds are one of the most active sections of the estate. Combat ability is highly valued among our members."
Makima smiled faintly. "Of course it is."
They were soon led past the residential quarters, where traditional decorations lined the long wooden corridors. A few children peeked from behind the sliding doors, whispering to one another before scurrying away.
"Outsiders don't often get this close to the heart of the Zenin clan." The attendant admitted, his wariness barely concealed.
Veilhem shot him a dry look. "Then you should've stopped us at the gate."
The guide faltered, clearly recalling the way Makima had convinced the guards. "I-It's not my place to question."
She chuckled softly, patting his stiff shoulder. "Good mindset."
Their final stop was the main hall. An imposing chamber lined with towering columns and dim lanterns, their glow stretching long shadows across the tatami floor.
At the far end, a few figures sat in quiet discussion, their voices hushed. The moment they noticed the newcomers, sharp gazes replaced subdued murmurs.
The tour had been less of an introduction and more of a performance, carefully displaying the Zenin Clan's prestige. Veilhem had seen more than enough noble houses in his time to recognize the air of superiority, the polite smiles laced with barely concealed disdain.
The guide swallowed hard. "T-Then I shall take my leave. If you need anything, please let me know."
Makima merely smiled, unfazed by the weight of scrutiny pressing in around them. "Oh, how unfortunate, but I guess we can't do anything. You can leave us alone."
As always, she observed with quiet amusement.
____
But before they could continue their sightseeing, a small figure peeked out from behind one of the towering columns.
Veilhem had noticed her a while ago. She wasn't exactly… subtle as she thought she was. Her head would disappear behind the pillar, then pop out again moments later, like she was debating whether or not to approach. After another pause, she finally stepped forward, looking determined.
She was a child, not more than 6 or 7, dressed in training clothes slightly too big for her, with a wooden spear strapped across her back. Her dark hair was tied back messily, a few stray strands sticking to her forehead. Despite her size, her stance was firm, arms crossed tightly, chin lifted in defiance.
Veilhem didn't miss the way she glanced at Makima before her sharp eyes settled on him.
"You've been staring at us for a while." He said, tilting his head. "See something interesting?"
Maki narrowed her eyes. "No."
He let out a short laugh. "How heartless."
Makima, standing just behind him, chuckled softly but didn't say anything. She was content to watch for now.
Maki's gaze flicked toward her, lingering a second longer this time, before snapping back to Veilhem.
"…Who are you?" She asked, tone just shy of demanding.
The knight smiled, crossing his arms in a way that mirrored her stance. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
Maki frowned, as if deciding whether or not to entertain this conversation. Then, with a huff, she muttered. "Maki."
Veilhem nodded. "The name is Veilhem."
He gestured slightly toward the red-haired woman beside him. "And that lady over there is Makima."
Makima waved back with an eerie smile.
Maki barely spared her a glance. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know." Veilhem said, his tone was casual and easy. "Taking in the sights, meeting some people, getting stared at by a suspicious little kid."
Maki bristled. "I'm not suspicious. And I'm not a kid!"
"Sure thing, kiddo." Veilhem mused. It was funny to tease a stubborn kid like her. "Then why were you hiding behind a pillar?"
Her face twitched. "I wasn't hiding."
"Right. You were lurking. That's even worse."
Maki's scowl deepened, hands balling into fists. "I was scouting."
Veilhem stroked his chin, pretending to think about it. "Scouting, huh? Sounds very official. So, what did your scouting mission reveal?"
She squinted at him, clearly debating whether to answer. "…Still deciding."
At that, Makima let out a soft, amused hum.
Veilhem grinned. "That's fair. It's always good to take your time with important decisions. Though I doubt you even know the meaning of scouting."
Maki shot him a scornful glance at but the latter still acted like nothing was wrong here.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "Want a tip?"
Maki blinked but didn't step back. "What?"
"If you want to get good at scouting." Veilhem said, lowering his tone conspiratorially. "You should probably work on being a little less obvious."
Maki's face twitched again. "…I wasn't obvious."
Veilhem nodded solemnly. "Of course. That's why I saw you five minutes ago and waited for you to come out."
Maki's face reddened in embarrassment, but he didn't refute it this time.
Before she could say anything else, a sharp voice called her name from across the hall.
She flinched.
For a second, she looked like she wanted to stay. But then, with an irritated huff, she turned on her heel.
"Tch. Whatever." Without another word, she stomped off, her oversized sleeves swinging as she went.
Veilhem watched her go, shaking his head in quiet amusement. "That kid's amusing."
Makima finally stepped forward, her gaze still following Maki's retreating figure.
"She's going to be interesting." She murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Veilhem glanced at her. He knew that tone… It was the same one she used when she saw something worth keeping an eye on. And for some reason, that made him feel just a little sorry for Maki.
Suddenly, the quiet murmur of the hall stilled as another presence approached.
Unlike Maki, there was no hesitation in his steps. His long grey hair was slicked back, and his sharp features carried the weight of experience and authority. He was old but not frail, his posture still exuding the confidence of a seasoned warrior.
Naobito Zenin.
Veilhem recalled the information about the injured Sorcerer back at the alley. If he was correct, the man in front of him should be the head of the Zenin Clan. A person who prided himself on tradition, power, and control. A man who did not take kindly to those who walked into his home and acted as if they belonged there.
Makima, as always, remained unreadable, standing just a step behind Veilhem.
Naobito stopped a few feet away, arms tucked into his robe. His gaze raked over them both, not with curiosity, but with expectation.
"You're the outsiders. How dare you walk in here without any manners?" He said flatly.
Veilhem smiled, tilting his head. "We were enjoying the hospitality."
Naobito's lip curled slightly. "Hospitality? Hah." His voice was laced with contempt.
"This is the Zenin estate, not some roadside inn."
Veilhem didn't flinch. "Good thing we're fast learners."
That was the moment Naobito's patience visibly thinned. His sharp gaze flicked to Makima.
"You." His voice was laced with disdain now, perhaps. "You're the one doing that weird little trick."
Makima smiled lightly. "It was more than a trick, though."
Veilhem huffed a quiet chuckle and nudged her. "So it's you who drew their attention, not me. And here you were telling me to blend in."
Makima tilted her head slightly, feigning innocence. "It can't be helped. Some things are simply too radiant to hide."
She even fluttered her lashes at him for effect.
Veilhem sighed, shaking his head. "Ah, yes. The tragedy of unmatched beauty."
"Exactly." Makima responded, not really caring about Naobito, whose anger was reaching its peak.
Naobito's fingers twitched, his irritation barely masked. "Do you think this is a game?"
Makima replied without looking at Naobito. "A game implies a level of fairness."
That was the final straw.
Naobito's jaw tightened, his patience snapping like a thread pulled too taut.
"I do not entertain insolence in my house." He said, voice low, sharp. "You walk in here unannounced, speak as if you hold any weight, and yet I see no reason to tolerate this nonsense."
He lifted his hand, a slow but deliberate motion.
"Kill them."
The words were simple.
The room shifted, and a dozen Zenin Sorcerers moved immediately, some from the shadows, others stepping forward from the hall. Their movements were precise and efficient. These were men trained for battle, hardened by their clan's relentless standards.
"Well. That escalated fast." Makima didn't move.
"And who was the cause of this?" Veilhem deadpanned at her.
"You obviously." Makima averted her eyes, much to Veilhem's helplessness.
The first attacker lunged. But then, he stopped abruptly.
His body froze mid-stride, his muscles locked in place as if unseen hands had seized control. His blade, meant for Makima's throat, wavered in the air. His breath hitched, eyes widening not in fear, but in sheer, incomprehensible dread.
"Would you kindly kill yourself for me?" Makima said casually, her expression never changed a slight bit.
Then, with a slow, jerking motion, his own arm betrayed him. The sword twisted in his grip, its point pressing against his throat.
A strangled gasp left his lips as he forced his own blade through his neck.
Splash—
A sharp, wet sound followed.
His comrades barely had time to react before the next man moved. His arms, trembling against his own will, lifted his weapon and drove it cleanly through the throat of the man beside him.
A gurgling choke then a thud. Blood pooling across the mats.
Like dominoes tipping over, each Sorcerer fell to their own hand, their movements eerily synchronized, their faces twisted in horror as their bodies refused to obey them.
One clawed at his face, fingers digging into his own eyes, nails tearing skin apart in a grotesque display of self-destruction. Another lifted his sword in a perfect, practiced arc—only to bring it down upon his own neck, severing the arteries in a single, clean motion.
Not a single scream of resistance.
Only the dull sounds of bodies hitting the floor, one after another.
Makima stood in the center of it all, pristine and untouched by the carnage around her. Her golden eyes half-lidded, watching the massacre unfold with the same mild interest one might give to an evening drizzle against a windowpane.
She did not flinch as the last remaining Sorcerer wrapped his own hands around his throat.
His breath came in panicked gasps, but there was no defying her will.
He squeezed harder against his will. His own nails dug deep, breaking skin, leaving red crescents on his neck. His legs kicked uselessly, his eyes bulging.
Until—
A sickening crack.
And what followed was silence.
The bodies lay motionless, blood seeping into the floor like ink staining parchment.
Veilhem, who had remained still throughout, let out a slow whistle. "Well. That's one way to clear a room."
Makima exhaled softly, as if she had merely adjusted the sleeve of her coat. She stepped forward, the heel of her shoe pressing into a pool of blood—yet she didn't even glance down.
She looked up, her gaze locking onto Naobito.
His expression was no longer composed.
He was enraged, not because they killed his men but because they were the Zenin's properties, nurtured through the years, and now, they were utterly slaughtered like pigs. It would take a huge time and resources to train back that squad.
Makima had already read what thought was running through Naobito's mind right now and tilted her head slightly, as if studying an insect beneath her boot.
"That was disappointing."
Her tone was flat. She wasn't mocking Naobito's rage, but her cold, detached attitude felt as if the whole ordeal had been nothing more than a slight inconvenience.
Naobito's fingers twitched, veins pulsing with Cursed Energy. His breath remained steady, but the fire in his eyes burned bright. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from sight.
In contrast, Makima stood in place.
A gust of wind followed Naobito's burst of speed. In the next moment, he was beside her, his palm slicing through the air like a blade.
His hand descended like judgment itself, fingers poised to crush her throat with cold precision. This technique, refined over generations, surpassed human reflexes.
There was no escape.
His fingers sliced cleanly through her neck, the motion as effortless as a hot knife through butter. Blood sprayed in a violent arc, painting the ground crimson as her body crumpled lifelessly to the floor.
Naobito exhaled. That wound was fatal, it was undeniable. Without sparing the body another glance, he turned to face Veilhem.
But Veilhem remained eerily composed, watching with unsettling calm, as if the death of his companion meant nothing. He pointed at Naobito's back and leaned against the wall.
Then, something impossible happened.
From behind Naobito, the chilling sounds of bones snapped back into place with sickening precision. Torn flesh wove itself together, as though time itself had been forced to rewind at her command.
Makima rose to her feet with unsettling ease, her movements smooth and unhurried. She dusted off her coat. If anything, she was more concerned with the bloodstains on her clothes than the fact that she had just died.
She straightened, tilting her head slightly in a gesture that was almost…curious. The emptiness in her gaze sent a cold shiver down Naobito's spine.
"...Hmm, what should I say? Surprised?" She murmured, though there was no pain in her usual flat tone.
Naobito's breath quickened. His instincts screamed at him to run, to escape, but he quickly crushed the thought before it could take root.
He was a Zenin. And a Zenin did not retreat.
Naobito's Cursed Energy flared, veins pulsing with raw power as he turned around.
"So that is how the so-called Cursed Technique worked. Hmm, impressive." She murmured to herself.
Naobito's heart pounded. He had seen regeneration before, but this wasn't normal. It was as if the damage had never existed in the first place.
He gritted his teeth, shifting into a defensive stance.
Makima took another step.
Naobito moved or tried to move, only to find his body unresponsive.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
A crushing force pressed down on him. His muscles locked. His bones creaked under the pressure.
Makima raised her hand.
"Bang."
Naobito's body twisted unnaturally, a sickening crack echoing as his right arm snapped backward. His ribs collapsed inward next, his vision flashing red as blood poured from his mouth. He fell to his knees, gasping, his world crumbling around him.
_____
Veilhem, who had been watching in silence, let out a low chuckle just as a sharp sensation bloomed across his throat. Black blood oozed from the wound, soaking into his tattered cloak.
'Ah. So this is how the contract worked.' He thought. Being an undead, this much wouldn't be enough to kill him. Heck, even if his neck was nearly severed, he would still linger for a long while before returning to ashes.
Veilhem exhaled slowly, tilting his head as black blood dripped from his open throat. The gash was deep enough to make any other being collapse instantly. But for him, death was never more than a fleeting cold embrace.
A flicker of ember ignited at the edge of the wound. Tiny flames, no larger than candlelight, curled around the torn flesh, dancing like fireflies in the dark. The blackened blood sizzled as the wound began to seal itself, muscle and skin weaving back together as if time itself had just rewound.
He lifted a hand, tracing a finger along the closing wound. "Hah… It always stings a little."
The last of the flames faded, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. He rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers as if testing his restored body.
Then, his gaze flickered to Makima. A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he turned his gaze to Naobito. "But this pain also reminds me to realize that I'm still alive."
The head of the Zenin clan lay crumpled on the ground, his body broken, his vision flickering between consciousness and oblivion. There was no fighting it, no escaping the fate that had been carved into his flesh by Makima's authority.
Then something shifted.
A cold sensation crawled into his mind, slow and methodical, like fingers pressing into the deepest corners of his thoughts. His memories, his will, his very sense of self unraveled thread by thread, and before he could grasp what was happening—
Everything was quiet.
Naobito exhaled softly. He no longer felt pain. No broken bones, no torn muscles. He rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his robes as if nothing had happened. His posture was perfect, composed, his expression eerily calm.
He turned to Makima and bowed.
"Understood." He said smoothly, as if the battle had never occurred. His tone carried no resentment, only certainty.
Makima nodded, satisfied by his obedience.
Naobito's gaze swept across the ruined battlefield, then to Veilhem, whose wound had already closed, his cloak still damp with blood. There was no need for words.
The pact was absolute.
"I will make the arrangements." Naobito continued, his voice steady. The very thought of disobeying Makima simply did not exist anymore.
"The clan will do as you say without resistance."
_________
(A/N: I change it slightly from the original after replaying DS3 and saw the guy before Gael's boss room.)