Fun Fact: Most people who play as Ivy don't actually know her real name: 'Isabella Valentine.'

Fun Fact Two: It is incredibly hard to describe Voldo's movements to someone who has never seen them. YouTube calls you.

Chapter 1: Soul Edge

"Be careful when you fight monsters, lest you become one."
-Friedrich Nietzsche

The destruction inflicted on the town her. The corpses of men, women, and children littered the ground, mangled horribly, their faces twisted in final grimaces of horror. The low palisade that hard surrounded the town was smashed, and the buildings had faired little better. Clare, number forty-seven in the Organization, walked through this field of death, eyes alert. The yoma could be anywhere, ready to pounce. Then, she would have to fight even though there was no one left to pay. Cautiously, she crouched down by one of the dead.

The woman had been killed with a sword. A long gash ran down her back; she had been cut down as she had fled. Yoma did not use swords. Clare stood, glancing around. Men butchered these people, not yoma. However tragic, this was not the organization's business. Clare stood. Still, something felt wrong. She could faintly detect some yoma energy, but surely it was not enough-

She rolled forward just in time. The sword passed mere inches behind her. Clare turned around and drew steel.

Her attacker a towering, hulking… thing. One of its arms bulged with brown, pulpy flesh, ending in a set of claws. It carried a huge sword, longer than Clare's own, gripped with both hands and carried behind and parallel to the ground. The stranger wore a full suit of blue armor, although its mutated arm could not fit in the suit. A long plume of red hair stuck out of the helmet and nearly touched the ground. It was radiating yoma energy, but it was as no yoma as she had ever seen. Was it some kind of awakened being?

Clare raised her blade. There was nothing to say; one of them would die.

The stranger rushed forward, swinging in a broad arc. Claymore sidestepped the blow and countered. The knight parried, knocking her thrust aside. Clare jumped back as the blade descended. As they fought, she recognized her opponent's enormous with his massive sword. Her arm ached with the strain of warding off his powerful blows.

The knight swung violently. Clare ducked the swipe, and suddenly his sword was high over his head. He would crush her skull, like this.

Her arm surged with power, and she slashed out. She cut his legs out from beneath him. The knight fell down, giving one last haphazard swing; Clare parried and split his skull.

He hit the ground, face down.

The wind whistled through the town.

His sword stared at Clare.

Clare stared back.

She had not gotten a good look at the knight's weapon until now. It was covered with a strange, fleshy substance, and near the hilt a large eye stared at Clare. It radiated yoma power, but it did not seem hostile. Sheathing her claymore, Clare picked up the sword. The eye continued to watch her, inquisitively.

It felt good in her hands. She took a couple casual swipes with it. It was remarkably light, given its immense size. Curiously, she raised it and looked directly into the eye. It looked back at her. Something about that curious gaze reminded her of Raki.

-

A mist had rolled into the mountains. Raki shivered, having only a light, soaked-through coat. His wrists were bound with a long rope that connected the entire line of slaves, stretching down the narrow defile. At the head, the slavers rode, with whips and swords. They were laughing, joking amongst themselves, apathetic to the suffering of their goods. Raki felt envious of their heavy, fur-lined coats and broad hats.

The end of the pass was up ahead. As the long line passed through, Raki caught a glimpse of the end of the line; slavers were back there, too, cracking their whips any laggards. Raki bowed his head.

A small town was up ahead, little more than a trading post. It consisted of a single street running between a few ramshackle business-houses. There was a store, an inn, a stable, and a brothel. Raki looked around. The slavers were leaving their goods and going into the buildings, leaving the slaves with only a few guards. Depressed, Raki sat down. Who knew how long it would be before they would get moving again? He would probably catch cold…

He looked at the townsfolk. Most of them had hurried into their homes and businesses when the slavers came, but a few of the braver ones remained outside. There was only one who stood out: the one who wasn't staring, cowering, or even interested. It was a woman, wearing a heavy coat, sitting on the porch of the store. She was staring at a strange metal instrument, maybe a compass. Raki glanced around. Some of the other slaves had noticed her as well, all puzzled. She was quite courageous for a mountain woman confronted with brutal slavers.

The woman snapped the instrument shut and stalked off to the inn. The slaves seemed disappointed; they had hoped for something interesting. However, after only a few moments, the woman came back, accompanied by a slaver. They walked up and down the rows of slaves.

"This one is very fine, madam," said the slaver, excitedly. "She's healthy, has good teeth, strong…"

"And this one?" asked the woman. Her voice was as cold as ice.

"He's a tough old bird. I guarantee you he will last a long time…"

Slowly, the woman and the slaver made their way down the line, until they were in front of Raki.

The woman, he now saw, was a slim, pale woman, with reddish eyes and white hair. Even so, she could not be very old, nor could she possibly be a Claymore. Raki looked straight at her.

"This boy comes from the south… He's a good cook."

The woman said nothing; she just looked straight into Raki's eyes.

"I will take this one," said the woman.

"We've got a purchase!" shouted the slaver, and there was a flurry of activity as Raki was cut free from his bindings, the ropes dropped on the ground. Raki was almost too stunned to notice as he was shoved towards the inn. His former fellows were all envious of an early purchase, an early escape from the long, cold march through the mountains.

The inn was a rickety wooden structure. The floorboards creaked unmercifully, and every time the wind blew with any strength the worn sign outside rattled loudly. It seemed to have very few clients, except for slavers. Raki was seated in the corner, watched by two muscle-bound guards, while the purchase was made.

The woman had pushed back her hood, revealing short white hair. She did not look like any woman that Raki had ever seen before, even considering his journey with Clare. As he watched, the woman deposited twenty-odd beras into the slaver's hand. Raki was a little disappointed that he was worth the same kind of money it took to buy a night at the inn.

The slavers promptly left, no doubt headed for the brothel. The woman watched them leave, then strode over to Raki. She stared down at him, imperiously.

"Raki," she said, slowly, as if she were testing the name.

"Y-yes?"

"I am Isabella Valentine," the woman said. "You will address had as 'Mistress' or 'Miss Valentine.'"

"Yes, Miss Valentine," said Raki, nervously.

"Precisely. As my servant, you will be expected to carry my luggage and prepare my food. Can you do that?"

"Yes," he said. There was a pause. "Miss Valentine."

"Very good. Follow me."

They went upstairs.

Miss Valentine's room was sparse. Her only possessions were a collection of beakers, test tubes, and other strange glass devices. Several of them contained fluids. At her instruction, Raki began to carefully load them into her pack. The liquid substances were drained into tough metal jars, and then carefully sealed.

"If you break anything, you will pay for it," said Valentine, warningly.

-

Raki carried the pack on his back. He climbed along an obscure mountain trail, higher and higher. Snow was beginning to fall, first fitfully and then constantly. Periodically, Miss Valentine would stop, open her compass, examine it, close it, and resume the journey. By the time they reached a high, open ridge, Raki suspected she must have done this at least twenty times. As they climbed to the reasonably flat surface, Raki paused and looked over the great mountains. They were a truly breathtaking sight.

"What are you waiting for?" said Miss Valentine said, sharply.

"I just wanted to see the mountains from high up, Mistress," said Raki.

Valentine took pause. She looked out over the range for a few moments. "Yes, it is breathtaking, isn't it?"

She strode off. Raki found himself struggling to keep up. Up ahead, Raki could see the ruins of a tower and some other fortifications, reduced to mere foundations. Miss Valentine suddenly paused, raising her hand.

"Miss-" Raki began.

"Be silent and stay close," snapped Valentine.

She drew her sword, a short, heavy thing, and stalked to the left, almost like a cat pursuing a mouse. Raki followed her. She crouched down in the snow and ran a gloved finger along the ground. Then, Raki saw it.

Tracks. Some strange thing had been traveling in the snow, recently. It had evidently been walking on all fours; the rear footprints looked human, but the others looked like they belonged to some kind of clawed animal… a yoma?

Raki came up to his mistress's side. "Miss Valentine…?"

"He's here," she muttered.

"Who is, Miss-"

"Voldo. Stay close, and don't let him sneak up on you. I've lost one servant to him already."

Raki swallowed, nervously.

They slowly approached the decrepit old tower. Raki glanced around, nervously. Who was Voldo? Why did he leave such strange tracks?

"I don't get it," muttered Miss Valentine. "Why hasn't he struck yet? He has to know we're here…"

Raki glanced up. A strange shape was in the sky.

"What's that?"

"Moved!" yelled Valentine. Raki instinctively stumbled aside as Miss Valentine agilely backflipped away, landing on her feet with her sword at the ready. Then, Voldo landed.

He was the strangest non-demon Raki had ever seen, and he definitely beat out some of the yoma. He wore a skin-tight red outfit, and his entire head was covered by a gold helmet. On either hand he wore three-pronged knife-gloves, the blades splaying forward. He walked with a bizarre, spread-legged gait, his arms swinging loosely by his side.

For a few moments, Voldo and Isabella circled. Then, Raki's mistress swung her sword into nothingness.

Suddenly, the blade broke into sections, connected by a long wire. The whip-sword cut through the air. Voldo bent over backwards as the whip passed over his head and agilely crabwalked away. Miss Valentine rushed forward, whip-sword dancing and twirling in the air around her. Raki was stunned. Voldo could not even get close for fear of being dismembered

Suddenly, Voldo grabbed the wire as it passed and yanked it. Valentine was momentarily lost her balance. The whip went limp, and Voldo rushed in, claws extended. Valentine ducked his first swipe and brought her sword around, but Voldo caught her in a headlock. He had her. Voldo brought one of his knives up towards her throat. Valentine struggled against him, but to no avail.

Desperate, Raki reached into the bag. His fingers closed around the hilt of a sword. He pulled it out and ran towards the battle. Voldo's knife was almost at Valentine's throat, despite her struggling. Raki swung the blade forward and pressed the button at the hilt. The whip-sword lashed forward. Voldo raised his arm; the wire wrapped around his elbow. Isabella twisted free.

Voldo looked at her. Raki yanked on the chain as hard as he could, but Voldo might as well have been a rock. Suddenly, the man slashed his free arm downwards, severing his trapped arm. Raki gasped as his sword went limp. Voldo ran off into the darkness, even as Miss Valentine masterfully slashed after him.

When he got there, she was fuming. "What the hell were you thinking?" she yelled, over the wind.

"I- I was trying to save you, Miss Valentine!" Raki said, startled.

"Didn't you notice I was about to strike his neck?" she demanded.

"Huh?"

"My sword was about to spring open and split his separate his head from his shoulder. If not for your misguided attempt at heroism, his head would be lying on the ground instead of his arm. Now give me that weapon!"

Slowly, Raki handed the sword to her. She stuffed it roughly into her bag. "We'll stay in the tower, tonight."

-

That night, as Raki sat in the corner of the tiny watchtower, his mistress reached into her bag and pulled out an ornate bottle and a small glass cup. She poured a shot of brownish liquor into the cup.

As she drank, Raki glanced out the window into the blizzard outside. Surely, Voldo could not survive out there. Blood loss from a lost arm would be nearly lethal, and total exposure to the elements would surely be fatal. But who was he? Why was he after Miss Valentine?

"Thinking about him?" asked Valentine, suddenly.

"He'll be dead by now, Miss Valentine."

"I doubt it."

She's definitely drunk, thought Raki.

"He's probably alive, huddled in some cave with a fire and some dead thing to eat. He's very hard to kill. I've spent the last five years following him… then you come along and take off his arm."

"But, he took of his own-"

"Quit quibbling."

Raki looked at her. She was flushed, slightly, from the drink. She almost looked human… before, she had looked as though she might have been carved from ice. Now, her eyes were heavy and her cheeks red. Raki shifted, uncomfortably.

"Why are you fighting him, Miss Valentine?"

"That sword," she said, quietly. "That damn sword."

"What sword?"

But she was no longer talkative. After a time, Raki felt his stomach grumbling. "Mistress…?" he began.

"What?"

"Should I make dinner?"

"Go ahead. There's food in the bag," she said, sourly.