Demon
The Sword Demon, Karel, is insane. But then, you probably knew that already. Spoilers for Karel's support conversations (aka the talking about having to kill anyone who was strong... --;;) Remember when reading this that this stuff doesn't ever happen in the game (thankfully).
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His sister was dead. She lay in a pool of her own blood, blood that he had spilt. He had killed his sister. He had killed his sister. He had killed Karla. He had tainted the blade of his sword with her blood, bathed his hands in the warm, dark liquid.
She had become too strong. She had forced him to kill her. If she had remained as she was, he would have spared her. She knew what drove him to be the best, uncontested and unchallenged. When he was the best, he could finally find what he sought. When he was the best, and there were no more challengers, he could find the peace he had longed for all his life. She knew what would happen to her, and yet she continued to further her skill. Foolish, foolish girl. Bonds of family were no shelter from his blade.
He had killed the boy whom he had trained in the art of the sword. He, too, had become too powerful. He lay beside Karla, blood staining the bright patterns of his Sacaean-spun tunic a deep red. He had had promise, but the demon inside of the man he revered cut him down before he had a chance to blossom into the greatest swordsman the world had ever seen.
There were others lying there, too, those who had shown even a hint of strength. He had let the weak ones go. If they became stronger, he would hunt them down and kill them as he had his sister and his student. But not yet. He would wait until they had become worthy opponents.
He was alone now, yet he still longed for the feel of flesh parting like silk under the blade of his sword, longed to watch his enemies dance with fluid grace before he halted their beautiful movement forever. It was a pleasure to stab, to slice and slash, but not so at the empty air. It only whistled in mockery as his weapon cut through the air - the one thing he had never been able to hurt.
But the air surrounding him could not hurt him. It was not strong; it did not challenge him for supremacy. He was the best, the greatest, the strongest.
He bent down to look at his sister's face - even in death, it was calm and serene as marble. She had not tried to resist - she hadn't fought back. At last she had known herself to be unworthy of fighting him. Yet...it had puzzled him, the look in her eyes as he had bared his sword, a deep sorrow in dark eyes that were mirrors of his own. Had she...had Karla still loved him? All her life she had followed in his footsteps, hoping to stay with him. He had told her when she finally caught up to him that she should leave. She should have left before he had had to kill her. She hadn't been afraid. Somehow, she had believed to her last breath that he still loved her and the blood they shared would stop the madness.
But by then, there was no hope left for her. The madness had already consumed him. The madness had consumed him a long, long time ago. He was the madness. The demon inhabited his mortal shell, had begun to gnaw away at his mind many years past.
He was fatigued with the long years of fighting, yet he had only realized it when that follower of Elimine had so gently pointed it out. He had been braver than most to approach him, but bravery was not strength. He had not been a worthy opponent, and most likely never would be. Karla had become a worthy opponent, as had Guy.
And they were dead now. He had killed them.
He had murdered them.
No. It wasn't murder. He had fought each of them in a fair duel. He had easily won, but that made no difference to the demon.
They were dead.
They were all dead.
The ground was awash in their blood, red, red, red. Dark red. Crimson. Ruby-red. Dark, thick, and still warm. Warm, even though the life had left it. They were dead now. Their deaths were only another red stain on his soul.
And he didn't care. He had let the demon take him over, and he didn't care. He carefully wiped a smear of blood from the corner of Karla's mouth. He dropped his sword on the blood-tainted ground, falling to his knees beside the bodies of the dead.
And he smiled.
And he laughed.