PANACEA

AN: I don't own nor gain anything monetary from the Soul series. Those spoils go to Namco, LLC.

"What is going on with her?!" Marienbard demanded, skittling back from Amy's chamber. She had made that trek numerous times tonight, as the Lady of the Sorel household was stricken with some calamity that so far, neither her nor Jacqueline could remedy.

Jacqueline let out a sigh. "I really don't know, Marienbard, but one of us needs to find out fast, because Raphael trusted us with her, and I really don't want to see what he does when he finds Amy so sick like that."

Raphael was indeed, a threatening figure by default, an impersonal, calculated man who always had the capacity, the power, the raw will to carry out whatever plan he came up with. But when it came to his dearest one, the singular soul tethering his scraps of sanity together, he was absolutely lethal. Nothing less than perfection was suitable for Amy. And if such perfection wasn't the status quo, he would bend and forge reality until it passed his inspection. For she may have been his anchor to the world, but he was the sails, nay, the vessel itself-that allowed her life in senses both literal and metaphorical.

Marienbard shook her head. "It's not our fault! I'm doing everything I know to do! Nothing I gave her is making her stop hurting! Oh my God, her fever is so high-what if she dies tonight?! What's going to happen to us?!"

"Nothing is going to happen! She's fine. She's so fine." Jacqueline said forcefully. "You haven't tried giving her a little bit of cognac, have you? That might work. It would calm her down and we could just give her more and more and we could say that she's drunk. That she wanted to drink away how sad she was you were gone so long. Yes!" She clenched her fists in excitement at her potentially life saving gambit.

Marienbard paused for a second, considering it. "Ok. Ok. I'll do that. I'll go get some now. Ok." She shakily stormed off, anxious to liquor the ailing young miss up before the Lord of the household saw her state of discomfit.

Behind closed doors, Amy whimpered in the darkness. She felt as if she was roasting on a spit. It was so, so smothering hot her breaths felt like she was filling her lungs up with steam. She was perspiring, her sweat adding a dull sheen to her already dulling pallor. Her feet drug across her bed and her hands tremored and felt at the air for nothing tangible. The nerves in her brain were compressed as if caught in a vice. Her mind swirled and sloshed around like water in a rider's canteen.

"Need to leave…need to stop hurting…tired…help…" Delirium and pain were congesting her thoughts. Her every nerve elected to get her out of bed, out of the castle, out of this cloister. But the weakness and the misery kept her fettered, a monolithic force field that wouldn't go away.

The knob to her chamber opened suddenly, the noise grating to her. Marienbard stood before her bed, brandishing a bottle. "Miss Amy, you need to have some of this!" She cheerily sounded. "This will definitely get rid of that headache, and you'll get to sleep!" She held up the bottle, which Amy recognized as liquor.

"No...I don't want.." Amy feebly spoke.

"But dear, you don't-" A roar cut the lady-in-waiting off.

"YOU...MORON!" The lithe, typically decorous blond lashed out, louder and more untamed than Amy had ever seen him before.

"She's not well, sir! It's gonna help!" Marienbard was trembling.

Raphael's Bordeaux-toned eyes narrowed. His upper lipped diss appeared to show off white, sharp teeth. "You dare make a mockery of me?" He grilled her.

"No, no! She needs-"

"Do NOT try to tell me what she needs! Do you not think, in my years of study, I haven't gained more knowledge than a worthless plebeian like you could possibly possess?" He glared at Marienbard, outraged at her gall, her naïveté.

"Sir-sir..." She pleaded, her eyes filling with tears. "I tried-"

"You...tried..." He spoke hardly above a whisper, letting the words writhe out of his mouth like adders. "'Tried.' 'Tried.' You tried to get her drunk rather than give her adequate care." He advanced towards her quivering form. Wordlessly, he seized the bottle from her grasp.

"Hmm...do tell me...was it your absolute sloth, or your unfaltering idiocy that lead you to do this?" He whispered, smirking wickedly at the cowering woman before him.

"I..I don't know! I'm SORRY!" Marienbard screamed, weeping, shaking.

With a chilling yawp, Raphael brought the bottle down on her skull. Shards of glass, alcohol, and her lifeless body all fell to the floor. The heavy, darkly intoxicating scent of the brandy merged with the rusty, strong odor of blood in the air.

Raphael turned his attention to the infirm Amy, his expression suddenly turning to one of fear. His heart rammed against his ribs, and the heat left his body. It was a violation of all the decency in the world to see her like this.

"My dearest one!" Raphael exclaimed as he flew to Amy's bedside, stepping on Marienbard's body as if it was immaterial in the process. He immediately shed his glove and laid a hand across her forehead. He withdrew it, pursing his lips. She was warmer than she ought to have been.

Unpleasant thoughts troubled his mind. Was this a byproduct of the Malfestation? She was growing paler, her green eyes had turned into a rose gold tone that grew redder as days passed. This was a physical transformation not unlike the one he was noticing in himself recently. The Evil Sword's polluting abilities, no doubt. However, he didn't fall ill as she did, and that alarmed him greatly.

Amy, however, was finally experiencing a slight calming in her hazy, feverish thoughts. She thought of how lovely Raphael's cool palm felt on her forehead. A giddiness swept through her. "I'm so sick," she thought, attributing the unexpected shockwave of energy to her diseased state.

"Oh, darling...what on earth is the matter with you?" He asked her, his voice full of concern, slightly raised in panic. He ran his fingers through her hair, marveling at its fine, soft texture privately.

She felt her heart flutter as he stroked. The pain in her head was rapidly being replaced with a pulsating, tingling sensation. Her stomach clenched and she sucked in her breath, making Raphael twitch. "I don't know...I just feel so tired. And…dizzy." Raphael was rapidly scanning her body up and down, brows furrowed. She shut her eyes. Looking at him looking at her with such a critical eye was making her feel very bizarre indeed.

"Amy...you're flushing so deeply right now. I must have a look to see if you have any other discoloring."

Years of studying medicine gave him no comfort, rather, his knowledge of various ailments gave him even more reason to worry. He knew of scores of lethal diseases, and too many of them for his liking started with a rash and a fever. He quickly dismissed these thoughts, and attempted to adopt a mechanical, task-oriented persona. This wouldn't be like any of the other nameless, impersonal cases he'd seen. This was his very own beautiful Amy, and he was finding himself doubting his expertise.

"If I can't treat her," he thought frantically, "I have to risk exposing her to the outside world. Consequences would be disastrous. We are far too conspicuous. The opposition would have a chance to strike with total impunity. But...if I can't treat her, who's to say there's someone more learned close enough?" He looked down at her, her form seeming more petite and delicate than normal.

Rejecting the fear, he shook himself out of his anxiety. He swallowed forcefully, and began unlacing Amy's corset.

She sharply inhaled, her entire body paralyzed as slender, long fingers brushed against tender flesh. His ministrations of the laces were making her corset suddenly draw tighter against her breasts. The fabric shifted and jerked, making them jiggle. Amy raised her chest up towards the pleasurable sensation automatically.

Raphael's eyes widened as he watched the rippling of her skin. He found himself inexplicably mesmerized. He fervently desired to follow all the way through with this particular procedure, and free those quaking little hills out of their silky prison. He found it absolutely charming when he got it for her, now he couldn't possibly imagine why he ever liked it so much, and he found the idea of slashing the damned thing with his rapier highly appealing.

Raphael snapped out of his reverie, thoroughly appalled at himself. He stopped undressing her any more than was medically necessary. Amy felt a twinge of disappointment, and was far too ill to care about being brusque. Or was she? She was feeling queerly invigorated at present.

Raphael could detect no rash. Nor could he detect any imperfections of any kind. In fact, he only saw the perfections of a prominent although not intrusive collar bone, whisper-soft skin, and two heaving perky breasts-was that a nipple pushing against the constraints? "GODDAMN IT ALL, GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF, YOU DEPRAVED LECH!" He scolded himself. He pushed an errant strand of hair back and regained composure.

"I'm sure you've noticed by now the transformation, due to the influence of Soul Calibur. Are you feeding adequately? And by adequately, I mean are you drinking human blood? You needn't feel badly about it. If you want to avoid killing, it's a trivial matter of hitting the correct vein and knowing when to draw back."

Amy blinked slowly. She didn't realize until now that her desire for blood could only be satiated by that of humanity. "Well...no, I haven't tried drinking from people yet. Why can't I just use animals?"

Raphael shook his head. "Has to be from people, dear. It's not an issue of nutrition. Animal blood is practically identical to ours, nutritionally speaking. It is more symptomatic of our changed nature that we now must prey on others."

"How do you know so much about blood?" Amy inquired, now wondering about the finer details of his exploits.

"Before this whole contrived issue of Soul Calibur, I studied medicine. Not casually, either. If I wasn't training with a rapier I was cloistered with a reference book, or shadowing a procedure, or something of that nature."

"Wow. What made you want to do that?" She asked curiously. She knew of Raphael growing up in nobility and riches, why would a person dedicate themselves to such a demanding profession when they have a comfortable life before them?

"Fascination with the topic. The body is fascinating, truly remarkable." He smiled at her, satisfying her on some deeper level she couldn't describe. "The environment I was in made it very easy to pursue. There wasn't many interruptions in the way of family. Yes, my family was as vapid as they were wealthy, the very pink of the idle rich, I'd say." His expression became contemptuous at this recollection. He turned towards the wall, one hand coming up to absent-mindedly run a finger across his lips, the other arm folded across his chest, as if he was about to be called on to make an important decision and he was reviewing his options.

Amy thought on this. It was odd, yet somehow comforting to think of Raphael being as lonely as she had been. After a brief moment, Amy broke the silence. "So if I just, um...drink some blood I'll feel better?"

Raphael glanced over his shoulder. "Hmm? Oh yes, dear. You're simply underfed, thank God," he beamed at her. "Shall I remedy the situation? I feel as if our Marienbard needs to do a little penance for you." He smirked darkly at the prone, lifeless mass on the floor.

"Oh no…I'm still so tired, too tired to think about it. And I'm still so hot..." Amy was guiltily reveling in Raphael's nursing. She was eager to see what other treatments were down the line. So, she decided to try her luck.

He frowned. "I don't know why that is. Here, let me check your glands." He placed his ungloved hand around Amy's throat. She involuntarily slung her head back, his cool touch chilling her neck almost torturously. His jaw dropped. SURELY this was a hallucination. Surely Amy wasn't writhing like a cat in heat from such a trivial contact. "Dear, are they tender?" he asked, struggling to keep a level voice.

"Hmm?! Oh. Oh yes. Throat. Very tender." She dreamily replied, savoring the look of such concern on his handsome, sharp face. It wasn't a lie at all though, because her entire body was aching so subtly, yet so pleasurably. She had been in great want of Raphael's attention due to his excessive absence, and she fully intended to milk tonight for everything it was worth. He sat down beside her. She could smell his succulent fragrance, and like a sot faced with a whiff of booze, she impishly schemed to get her fill.

"You know…my legs have been…really sore." she propped them up, and opened them quite widely. Raphael wasn't even surprised anymore, merely bemused. "It's almost as if this is deliberate. If I didn't know Amy better, I would say she was trying to seduce me!'" He reckoned. "Well," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Overtraining is the likely cause of that. Maybe there's a bit of muscular tension there." A wicked idea came to him, and the ease and speed which it did made him not a little horrified.

"Let me see if you've got knots or tension." He deftly squeezed her thighs, one in each hand, letting his fingertips sink into creamy, toned flesh. He stared unblinkingly into her eyes, and she did not falter under his lancing gaze. So it was true. Amy was desiring him carnally. She was wildly ecstatic, internally on fire at his reciprocation. She seized his shoulders and pulled him on top of her.

Raphael was stunned by her brawn and her impulsiveness. He pushed himself up by his arms, covering her. He slid a finger over her bottom lip. He tilted her chin up, maneuvering her around, as much resistant as a rag doll. His cornsilk hair fell into his eyes as leaned in. Amy could have died at that moment, all was perfect in her world.

Right before he reached her lips, he stopped. He looked remorseful, guilty even. He caressed her face in a way so heartbreakingly gentle she wanted to cry. "This is wrong. I hope you'll forgive me. Please forget I was ever so brusque." He said contritely.

"Oh, no! Please don't stop!" Amy interjected. "I want you to!" She cried out. She didn't know what pray tell she wanted him to, but whatever it was, she was confident it would be wonderful. She clasped her hands around his neck, wordlessly begging for more of his touch. There would be time for rationale later. Presently, she wanted to take him, make him truly her Raphael and dissolve all hesitations or tensions.

He did not return to her lips, but instead moved down to her neck. He exhaled sharply, causing her to writhe under his weight in delight. He finally made contact with her skin, forming a seal. He tapped his tongue against her flesh. He proceeded to suck, ever so gently, too gently to be tolerable. Amy grabbed greedy handfuls of his hair and moved his head down lower. His face now hovered over her partially undone corset.

He resumed his earlier work with a different tool. He began to bite through the laces, employing his fangs with dexterity. When he finally freed her breasts from their casings, he took a nipple between his lengthy canines and bit with the deliberateness and precision befitting a fencer and a physician. She grunted in half-pleasure, half-frustration he was taking his sweet time. To expedite the process, she snaked her hand down the front of his pants. He gasped at her forthrightness. Her hand found what she was looking for, rendering him awestruck at his very own sweet Amy's bottomless gall.

Her tiny fingers ran across it, almost as if she was checking for corporealness, proof that this wasn't a devastatingly vivid fantasy. She squeezed and ran her hand up and down, slowly at first, picking up momentum as she went. He moaned with abandon, surrendering himself to her commanding touch. She pulled it out with absolute authority. That belonged to her, and her alone.

He raked his tongue like a feral cat down her chest, her midriff, stopping before he reached her pulsating fruit of a clit. But Amy would be having none of that nonsense whatsoever. She took both hands and forcefully planted his face in her throbbing hole. Raphael happily served her, licking and sucking like a dehydrated wanderer who finally found water. Her cream, deliciously enveloping his tongue, was an absolute delicacy to him, sweet as she. She continued stroking him intensely, loving the warmth and the subtle twitches.

Amy was to the point of near completion in a matter of seconds, so adept was he at hitting all the correct nerves with just the right depth and speed. She had to finally, really and truly, consummate him, mark him, bond him to her. She snatched his head away, grabbed his shoulders, and decisively pinned him underneath her. Never in Raphael's mind did he ever picture her being able to grapple so finely. She had her full weight on him, and even though that was a minute number, he couldn't have bucked her if he wanted to.

She ground her wet lips across his defined abs, leaving a trail of moisture shining against alabaster skin. She perched above his stiff dick, whipping his hands above his head. With little art or fanfare, she shoved him inside her, and sat directly down. She cried out, adjusting to the overpowering sensation. She leaned in, and kissed him with more tenderness than she had displayed all evening. Slowly, she began to ride. First a prance, then a canter, a gallop, then a full blown racing pace, her kissing matching in intensity. Raphael thrusted in kind, experiencing a greater physical and emotional fulfillment than he ever had before. He couldn't cry out, her needy, demanding kisses muffled every sound.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and she leaned back away. He rubbed her back as her thrusts became slower and deeper. She was moaning with the slightest movement. He took his near-completed dick out of her slowly, rubbing it against her pink fleshy entrance, resting at the clit. There, he rubbed vigorously until she convulsed her hips for the final time, her legs crushing his hips in a marvelously painful way. She lowed, and finally, all noise and movement from her save for her labored breaths ceased. He sucked air through his teeth as he came, coating her flat stomach with his hot, dripping seed. It ran slowly down her skin, pooling in her navel. She looked down at his work, deeply satisfied with an outward mark of her status.

She laid her head down on his chest, breathing in his wondrous, quelling scent. She wrapped an arm around him. He wasn't just here, he was here with her. He ran his hand along the curvature of her back again and again, well contented with his Amy. They were chained and bound to each other in every way, for all time.

FIN