Woohoo... My first fanfiction posting ever... Hope this isn't too boring. Anywho, I realize that there are some annoyingly vague references to my OC's crummy story, but I'm too lazy to sit down and work it out... Oh and behold my crappy attempt at Tira's character. Oh well, just a pointless story that I felt compelled to write down and allow to ferment for about a year or so... Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Soul Calibur (c) Namco.

She trudged her way through the forest, wondering how her body was holding together at all. The force and power of the warrior's ring blade simply tore through Jo. She stopped her futile trek to nowhere, and stood in the darkness, as difficult as it was to stand. Her consciousness was slowly slipping away; she was expecting to feel the crash of her limp body against the forest floor any second now. If she fell now, it would all be over; no more wandering through life trying to right the wrongs; no more fighting against the demon that had hold of her. Then again, gone would be the hope of ever seeing him again. Well, she thought, I am overdue for a nice, long nap--even if I don't wake up from it.

The black silhouette of her attacker stood in front of her watching. Though her entire body was shrouded in shadow, Jo could sense a maniacal grin creep onto her attacker's face. The figure swung her ring blade around herself and slung it onto her shoulder.

"How sad," she began in a disturbingly sincere tone of pity.

"How pathetic," she continued, her tone darkening.

"How simply annoying," she finished with a slight growl at the end.

The figure crept up closer to Jo until their noses were almost touching. She wore a murderous scowl on her face. She grabbed Jo by her chin, her fingers and thumb digging into the sides of her cheeks. She could hear the ragged breathing of her seemingly calm victim; she could see the blood streaming down her fingers, glistening in the moonlight. With a smirk of amusement on her face, she gave Jo a hard shove and down went the poor wretch.

The ringblade slid off her shoulder.

"Kinda like a cockroach--same color too!" She let out a squeaky chuckle after her sentence.

She held the blade over her head. In the most ironically gleeful tone of voice ever she smiled and said, "And you know, I've never let a single one go." Just before she let the blade fall, she stops as if some far off voice in the wind called to her. She lowered her blade and turned away. "Oh, looks like we've new friends to play with." She leaps away and out of sight.

"Crazy bitch..." Jo muttered. Shortly after, she blacked out.

It was a good thing Tira was subject to such changes in mood. Even then, whether Soul Edge had been calling Tira or not, an opportunity for Tira to kill was never passed up. Tira thought to herself some more, or rather the polar personalities within her happened to be in consensus at the moment.

"Don't worry about that bug. It's as good as dead--"

"Oooh like a big brown bloody roach!!"

"Yes...except worth much, much less."

"We have killed Mast--"

"Fool! She was never our master! She was merely a puppet through which Soul Edge lived, our real master; not that disgusting human trapped within."

"Yes, yes, Tira is right. But why have we left her alive?"

"...I don't kn-- WE HAVEN'T LEFT HER ALIVE! If she is not dead, she will be!!"

"Tira still feels confused. She was beautiful at killing."

"Yes, Master was excellent at killing... "

"I thought she wasn't Master."

"I mean, she isn't!! Forget about that thing! It's dead now and we are on our way to more important things for our true Master."

"Still, Tira misses her."

Tira stopped in her tracks. She was suddenly in a humongous amount of pain. Her head throbbed; her neck stiffened; her chest felt tight. Her opposing personalities accidentally stepped into the part of her that harbored emotion. For a moment it felt to Tira as if her personalities reached out and touched each other. Seconds later the pain disappeared and her personalities snapped back to their respective regions of her psyche. Tira continued forward unfazed by the occurrence; not even aware that anything happened at all.