A/N: Okay, for those who haven't read the title and summary, here it is again: it's a crossover fan-fiction of my two most favorite of fictional universes. I own neither of them, and never will. If I did, Fingolfin would not have died after wounding Morgoth seven times, but instead would have castrated that jerk on the one hand; on the other, Teresa would have made Priscilla eat her own guts, then on a rampage, would have caused the downfall of the Organization and all its research forevermore. Enjoy chapter one, everybody!
Dust and grit were the first things smelled and felt. And blood. Lots of blood. It was nauseating. The sound of wind rushing by, blasting the stinging dust all over the place. It stung particularly to the left, where the majority of the coppery smell of blood also permeated. It was then that awareness and a sense of self rushed into the mind, and the individual realized who, what, where, and why it was there. The realization also slammed with deadly force that the stinging, throbbing ache on the left side, as well as the blood, along with the horrifying - and despairing - revelation that something on that side - something extremely important to the individual's person - was missing.
It was then that the eyes of Quick Sword Ilena - she lying in a fresh pool of her own blood - shot open. She gasped audibly, followed by a violent cough. Blood spilled from that cough, spattering upon the dirt, staining the dust. She squeezed her eyes shut once again, a pained grimace on her face. A slight groan escaped, unbidden. The pain that had just moments prior been a dull throb now engulfed her entirely like a raging wildfire spreading throughout every facet of her being. Her body trembled against it, the most acute pain located where her entire left arm should have been.
"Oh gods, what have I done?" she whispered. Attempting to move, she found the feat impossible at the moment. Footsteps, then, were heard approaching. They were in the manner of walking. Ilena feared the worst, panicked for a split second, she laying there, helpless as who-knew-what rushed in her direction. She needed to do something, to act...
To act dead. Shutting her eyes once more and releasing all but a little air from her lungs, she waited as the footsteps drew closer. As they did, she could faintly hear the muffled sounds of someone...panting? Or were they? As the...individual drew nigh, it was clear that this was no yoma or Awakened being, but a young human girl. And she was not panting, but sobbing quietly, almost to herself.
"T-Teresa..." muttered the young voice, and it was then that Ilena knew this girl. As the one she had heard Teresa call Clare began to pass her by, Ilena risked a glance upward at the child. Cradled gingerly, tenderly, in her arms was the head of her mother-figure, the one who Ilena had let die...let die and raised not a finger to stop it. Her friend of many years, who's only reason for living from the day she met Clare had been to live for Clare. What had she, Ilena of the Quick Sword, lived for that could come close to being as just and noble a cause as truly loving and protecting a human life - a human child? She swore on her life and in her agony that redemption would only be possible should she take on that same responsibility, that same cause as Teresa had, and by the gods, live up to it.
Clare passed her by, whatever her destination, and she breathed a deep sigh, letting her weary eyes fully open once more. Working up all the might she could muster, Ilena, with an audible grunt, lifted herself to her knees. Examining the wound where once extended her left arm, she shook her head. There was nothing for it - the limb had been severed, and it was too late to reattach it now, if at all. No, not a chance, she decided. Surveying, then, the surrounding area, Ilena regained her bearings. Not afar off lay the still forms of Sophia and Noel - most likely dead or dying, if not from the wounds themselves that Priscilla had inflicted on them, then from loss of blood, being able to do nothing about it as they both appeared to be immobilized in some way or another. It was inevitable, the moment that unstable girl arrived, but at the time Ilena had not had the wits to see it. Blind pride and empty loyalty to the very Organization which produced such a budding monster as Priscilla had clearly slowed her mind. Not able to bear the sight of her fallen comrades any longer, Ilena turned away sharply, her silver eyes shut momentarily.
Searching the dirt-ridden ground in the immediate area around her, she spotted her claymore not far from her current position. Trembling, aching fingers wrapped around the handle. The wounded warrior jabbed the blade into the ground as best she could. Taking a few deep, shuddering breaths - preparation for the arduous task at hand - Ilena gripped the cross guard as tight as her weak hand would possibly allow. Gritting her teeth, she lunged upward with all her might, pulling at the sturdy weapon to support the ascent, as well as buoy her from falling needlessly.
"Gyeh," she grunted, and with one last mighty shove of her weakened legs, she (somehow) achieved a standing position, if a bit awkward. Her whole body ached and trembled from the exertion, and beeds of sweat dotted her face. Panting, once again regaining her bearings, Quick Sword Ilena swallowed hard and took in her surroundings once more. She took special care not to let her eyes linger on the bodies of Noel and Sophia. Almost satisfied, taking into account landmarks, direction of the sun, et cetera, she later regretted letting her roaming eyes wander too far.
Some distance away, she noticed another form lying on its side, back facing her. Her heart swelled, and she shut her eyes once more. Her head bowed in shame - an emotion she was not accustomed to - she knew that the decapitated body of who she had once called her friend - even Teresa of the Faint Smile - lay cold, lifeless; it was a tragic testament of what she had stood for - had lived for at the last. This scene of carnage only further emphasized the petty nature of her motive behind intending to end Teresa's life; that coupled with allowing Priscilla to run rampant, and ultimately kill her. Curse you, Ilena, she berated inwardly. Curse you to the lowest circles of hell! She didn't quite know why, as she would later recall. Perhaps it was out of a sense of loyalty, or perhaps she was too heartbroken within to do otherwise. Perhaps she had gone mad with grief and shame - who knew? Using her claymore as a support, Ilena made her way slowly to the corpse that had once been Teresa's. Upon arrival, she dropped the weapon, causing her weakened limbs to give. Falling to her knees, she reached out her only trembling hand, turned the stiffened body over, and placed that same hand over the heart area. She then placed it over her own breast.
Again, she would later wonder as to the level of either awareness or sanity (or both) that she possessed at the time, but in the very moment, all that mattered to her was speaking words in a hushed voice, saying, "You, my friend, regained whatever honor you may have thought lost when you deserted the Organization, if lost at all. Your love for that child was more than redeeming. But you're gone now, to wherever or nowhere, I don't know. At the very least, I'm certain you left this world with with peace of mind."
She paused, her eyes shutting. "But I...I have gained nothing. At the last, I realized that your cause held far more value than ours, but by then it was almost too late." Her brow furrowed. "In those few moments, while you hesitated to end Priscilla's existence, for mercy or whatever, I could have done so. I could have...nggg..." She gripped the wound on her left side momentarily, then, "I could have intervened, could have saved your life. But instead what did I do? Like the spectator of a gladiator show, I stood back and watched. I..." She would never admit to anyone what then transpired, but squeezing her eyes shut tight against the strain of the wave of emotion that had swollen within her, causing her throat also to constrict, she gritted her teeth as hot tears seeped out the corners of those eyes - those eyes that never exhibited so much as a glint of feeling; those eyes that held no remorse - that were past feeling. Yes, for the first time in years (if at all), Ilena shed tears - tears of sorrow - and allowed them, if gradually, to flow freely.
"I...have failed you..." She buried her face in her hand and hunched over as her quaking form was wracked with sobs that it was unaccustomed to. Long indeed had it been since she allowed such feelings to overcome her. Always, she had maintained, perfect, strict control over her feelings, they being regarded as nothing more than primal nonsense given to the weak and the childish. She had always been above that. A warrior, a fighter, something more than human or yoma...
Now, though, having come to the realization that the more excellent way would be human, she held nothing in reserve as she mourned Teresa's death, condemning herself and hating herself all the while. "Should have," a sob, "went after her," she whispered, referring to Clare. "But I didn't..."
She fell to her hand and knees, though she had been kneeling that whole time. Her grief completely overtook her. "I should be the lying there dead, not you! I'll never forgive myself! Never!" Her yoki burst to life, and her face contorted into a truly monstrous visage, eyes having morphed into a bright gold. "Gah! Nnng! Haaaah! Graaah!" She could feel control of it slowly slipping. If Priscilla, the cause of her friend's death, was more than a match for Ilena in her regressed form, then how much the less so in her Awakened form? She would raze Priscilla into mincemeat fit for the dogs. There would be no end to the hunt, not until the other lay dead at her feet. Only then would she...
Would she what? Awakened beings neither held nor knew honor, or anything like it. They were animals - yoma, essentially - that delighted in nothing more than to feed and to vie for power amongst themselves. Her aim in Awakening was revenge. What was honorable in that, especially to involve forsaken self and individuality? In the ecstacy that was continually rising as her yoki sped her toward Awakening, Ilena's radiant gold eyes focused once more on Teresa's dead body. She imagined for a moment how her friend would react if she was witnessing this: likely commanding Ilena to stop being foolish, and regressing, or so help her, she would force Ilena to regress. This instant, she almost thought he heard Teresa's voice say.
Ilena's eyes went wide. It hit her like a boulder: this was not the answer, and she was letting grief and loss overshadow reason and good judgement, two qualities at which she had always excelled. This needed to end, and now. But...it felt so good. Her body begged her to go farther, to increase the flow of yoki, which at this point was so intoxicating and inviting. Gone were the initial fears and doubts surrounding the full use of the energy. It was far too pleasant a sensation to release now. The end promised beautiful and wonderful things, things that caused Ilena to shoot straight from twenty to forty percent of her full yoki usage.
Ah, yes! What exhilaration! Why hadn't she tried this before? To think that all this gratifying power had been laying dormant within this long time! Oh, it felt wonderful, empowering. To think that she was close to Awakening, and how free she would feel - she wanted that, and wanted it right away, no questions asked. Always, she had been in control. Always she had been controlled. Well, no longer. As her face continued to distort, tears continuing to run down freely, those were joined by saliva at the level of power she was pushing, still kneeling before Teresa.
Ilena's mind began to cloud over at fifty percent, and it was at that point that something snapped. The ecstasy of Awakening wore off, and became an intense pain. She screamed aloud in a monstrous voice at the agony, but it did not relent. Looking once more at her fallen friend, she seemed to recall that this one meant something to her. Then memory after memory came rushing in at full speed until she remembered who she was again, where she was, why she was there, and why she was so foolishly performing this rather selfish act, an act that would accomplish little. Quick Sword Ilena needed to remain Quick Sword Ilena. Bracing herself against the inevitable rush of sensations, Ilena used every ounce of her strong will to command her yoki back down to forty percent. However, she found that the lower she managed to pull it, the harder it became. At the last, her yoki aura burst out in all directions, spiraling around her like a tornado. Squeezing her eyes shut against the exertion, another feral scream escaped her as everything came crashing down all at once.
Dust rose in clouds from where she had been kneeling. She coughed once or twice; the voice was her own. She felt awareness return to her mind, as well as...strength to her limbs? Odd. It could make sense, perhaps. Yoki, unbarred and unrestrained, had been flowing through her person not moments previous, and lots of it. Relief washed over her like the water of a warm bath. She had achieved full regression from near-Awakening. Not that it would happen again, but she had done so. One of the few in number. Looking once more upon Teresa's fallen corpse, she determined to set to work.
By sunset, three graves were marked. Giving them one last respectful bow of her head, Ilena replaced her claymore and put the tragedy of Teresa behind her, or at least began to. The only question now was: what to do? She could report back to the Organization and relay to them the events that had transpired. They may or may not award the success of the mission, due to Priscilla's Awakening, once they found that out. Which then would lead to either her promotion or termination. The other issue was if they learned that she had nearly Awakened... She had heard by word of mouth among the ranks that those at the top had distasteful feelings for those warriors who had "half-Awakened," and that any and all were sentenced to death without trial or cause, often sending them on suicide missions as a guise to hide the murderous intent. At least that was the scuttlebutt.
Then there was the option of deserting completely, living as a free woman, escaping the life of a warrior. If she did that, though, she would have the Organization on her trail at every turn. At the same time, though, she wouldn't be bound by the stringent rules the Organization beset their warriors with. Considering both options, Ilena continued her march westward. The wound on her left side, a result of near-Awakening, had fully closed and was no more than an enormous scar marking where once extended an arm. It would remain a memento of this fateful day, one that she would never forget.
Her visage had once again assumed the emotionless features that were her norm. Any and all evidence of the previous experience had left, sunk deep down into the recesses of her being. Once again, Quick Sword Ilena was indeed Quick Sword Ilena, minus one arm. That daunted her not in the least. Her right arm - and dominant arm - was her sword arm. That was all she needed. Her stride never faltered as she traveled, pondering which course of action to take. She couldn't quite make up her mind yet, despite the fact that she was leaning toward deserting. There was much to gain going the other route too.
And much to lose, she mused. Taking the desertion route offered much more ample opportunity to attempt to accomplish what she was setting out to do. But even still, indecision and doubt gnawed at the back of her mind. That was changed, however, when she spotted a young woman running toward her, frantic - for her life. Ilena stopped in her tracks, eyes focused, muscles. The other woman screamed in horror as she looked behind her. A rather hungry-looking man was chasing her.
"C'mon, honey, just a mouthful; a bit off the flank, I swear," he cried. Apparently he was enjoying this.
"Stay away from me, monster!" she responded. Upon closer inspection, tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
So, Ilena thought, high hopes for a good marriage, now trampled under the feet of yoma. What next will they conjure up? The yoki signature from the male was slight, but it was there. Planting her feet firmly and drawing her claymore, while crouching, Ilena made ready to spring forward. And forward she sprang. The young woman saw something speeding at her lightning fast, and let out another scream, but moments later found herself surprised and on her rear from the force of...whatever it was knocking her backwards just from passing her by. Turning quickly, she witnessed what had once been her husband engaged in combat with...a Claymore!
This yoma was rather big, standing four meters tall. It roared when she lashed out at it, leaping out of the way just in time. Counterattacking, it sent a barrage of razor sharp fingers that extended several feet longer than they already were. The yoma grunted in surprise when those were rendered useless, made into chips of flesh and purple blood by some unseen force. Ilena never once changed the expressionless appearance that she had ever maintained. The two of them struck, backed out, struck, backed out. The hapless yoma had no idea.
"You're too slow," spoke Ilena, her monotone voice betraying none of the amusement within. The yoma lunged at her, intending to award her with a downward right slash. As its arm came crashing down, however, it just...fell apart. Violet blood, cartilage, bone, muscle, flesh; every tissue reduced to ribbons...by nothing! Supreme shock and disbelief were upon the yoma's face. The Claymore's arm (or any part of her for that matter) had not so much as twitched, the sword still pointing to the dirt, her grip (from the yoma's vantage point) remaining just firm enough on the handle as to maintain the weapon's closeness to its wielder. So it had appeared to the naked eye when just moments previous, the yoma about delivered a rather forceful blow. Deceived into thinking that she was doing nothing in her defense, had a death wish - perhaps because she was crippled - or was just too slow to react, the brutish yoma for the trickery.
"What? It's not...POSSIBLE!" it shrieked. "You didn't even move! How?"
Ilena's brow raised in surprise of her own, the only outward evidence of the feeling. Strange, she thought, initially tuning out her quarry's cries. The Quick Sword has never moved this fast before. It seems...more intense as well. Both likely results of near-Awakening. Not that I'm complaining; I just didn't expect anything in my favor to come out of that hell-pit.
Returning her attention to the maimed yoma, she addressed it, saying, "You look far too surprised. I thought that you would've expected something like that from one of us. I could waste valuable time by going into a lengthy rhetoric about this arm being capable of Awakening on its own - independent of the rest of my body - causing it to move at incalculable speeds, so much so that to the naked eye, it appears stationary. I could go on to explain that as a result, I was a high-ranking warrior in the Organization, making vermin like you hardly a match. Yes, I could do all that nonsense, but to what end? To further deepen your shock and fright? Only against Awakened beings do I go to the effort.
"I will, instead, end your life." She crouched once more. "Miserable wretch," she muttered, then sprang forward. The yoma cried out in fear as its end drew nigh. "Please! Spare me! If you do, I'll not eat humans! Please!" That plea made as she passed it by, seemingly without touching it. The hapless monster whirled around only to see her standing some distance away, back turned to it. The yoma bared its fangs, perceiving an advantage.
"Fool! Didn't they teach you not to turn your back on your oppo - " As the words were uttered, the yoma had begun charging at Ilena, supposing it had the upper hand. It had not advanced three steps when suddenly, its entire body fell apart into thousands of tiny pieces. Purple blood gushed everywhere, and pooled around the remains. Ilena had diced the thing when she passed it by, but from the time it transpired to the time the yoma's body fell to bits, a few moments had passed away. Another attestation to the might and superiority these Claymore warriors held over their full-blooded counterparts.
Turning, then, to examine her handiwork, it was then revealed the stain of purple on the blade of her claymore. In one motion, a flick of the wrist, Ilena rid her weapon of the foul-smelling stuff. A slight nod was the only indication of satisfaction for a job well overdone. The young lady who had believed that the now-dismantled yoma was her husband for who knew how long was down on her knees for shock, trembling from the carnage she had just witnessed. Ilena, experiencing a slight pang of pity, replaced her claymore and approached. It was obvious the other was frightened of her as well.
"There is nothing to fear," Ilena spoke, crouching before the other. "Not from me, anyway. Were I in your position, though, discovering that the one I loved most was nothing more than a beast, pretending love to me all this time, I would be no less traumatized."
Tears welled up in the woman's eyes. Ilena's visage, though, remained expressionless. "I knew he was dead far before now..." the other woman sobbed. "Even though he continued caring for me and the children, he no longer looked alive... The yoma had already taken him; it was only a matter of time..." She sniffled, then, "He needed to truly be set free from the clutches of that monster..." She met Ilena's silver eyes was overcome with emotion. "And the gods sent you..." She buried her face in her hands, weeping a few moments, then, "So many people see you Claymores as monsters, if not something worse than yoma... I don't. To me you're all heroes, blessed with great power to kill those evil beasts who destroy societies and ruin families..." She wiped her eyes, then, "Thank you, Claymore."
That expression of thanks caused a peculiar, gentle warmth to engulf Ilena's heart. That someone would think of her kind as being heroic...that this woman considered Ilena a hero, and thanked her - that came a surprise. A rather pleasant surprise. So much so that she didn't quite know how to respond at first. "It is my duty to destroy yoma. I only do my utmost to accomplish it. There is no need to thank me, however, you are now safe. What is your name?"
"Senna. And yours?" the other asked.
Ilena hesitated. No commoner had inquired of her name before. "I am Ilena. Can you stand?" The other nodded as Ilena herself stood, then, offering her hand, supported the other as she rose to her feet.
"How far to your village?" Ilena inquired.
"Not more than five miles from here," replied the other.
"Very well. I will accompany you to the outskirts. Beyond that, I can go no further," came Ilena's monotone response.
Once there, Senna was loathe to leave her rescuer and perceived new friend out in the cold, as day would be approaching night soon. She felt obligated to return, in what way she could, the favor Ilena had done for her. The stoic woman, however was adamant to the contrary. She held to the notion that, should the other commoners of the village see her, they would likely shun both of them. It was then that a stark realization came to her.
"Senna, tell me: do the authorities of your village cast out those whose close relations have been possessed by yoma?" She gazed intensely at the other woman. That same chilling realization seemed to dawn on Senna as well, as her eyes widened, hand covering her mouth. She nodded stiffly. "What now? My children and I will be homeless!"
Ilena then turned to face her squarely. "No. You will not, not while I stand." Gazing into the entrance of town, an idea sprang to her mind. "If they think you are yoma, let them. I will prove them wrong. In the meantime, I need you to cooperate, and obey exactly to my every for a time. Will you do so?" Senna nodded. "Good. It appears I will be boarding at your dwelling after all."
Night had fallen, but a few folk still roamed the market. A piercing cry startled them, alerting them to two lone figures making their into town. One appeared to be supporting the other, who stumbled and limped, as if hurt or injured. Immediately, and without question, the villagers rushed to assist, especially when they identified one of them as Senna. However, the moment they discerned the other as a Claymore, they began to shy away. Why would she helping one of them? A few scoffed. Of course she would. With the ideals and notions she lived by, she might as well help a yoma.
Hearing their complaints, she fumed. "How can you say such things when these warriors risk their all to protect us? She was badly wounded while defending me from what I had believed was Peter!"
"You mean to tell us that you've been living with a yoma all this time?" cried one man. He tromped right up to the two of them. Ilena, putting on an excellent act, met his disdainful eyes, she being under the guise of being in great pain. "How am I supposed to know you're not a yoma, Senna?" he screamed.
That was Ilena's cue. Slowly, haltingly, still playing her part, she drew to her full height, clutching her left side which was once again bleeding (the wound, against Senna's protests, having been reopened for this purpose). She breathed heavily, then calmed, looking the accuser squarely in the eyes. Though she be "injured," supported by the very person he was accusing, that gaze alone was intimidating, striking a deep, icy terror within him that wouldn't relent. His entire form began to quake as she spoke in that haunting, chilling voice.
"And how are we to know whether or not you are the yoma?" That indeed got everyone's attention, as all were under the impression that the Claymore was too wounded to stand straight, much less speak. More intense became the quaking man's fear when Senna released her supposedly supportive hold on the Claymore's single arm, and stepped back. By then, a substantial crowd had been gathering round, mostly people just out of bed. Their tired (yet curious) eyes widened now with shock as their senses came to full alertness for fear. The silver light of the moon illuminating the place seemed eerie, as if to light the path of something ethereal or supernatural, instead of a guide for weary travelers at night. The guide to death.
Both Claymore and man stood stock still for several long moments. In a trembling voice, he spoke saying, "I know you Claymores aren't supposed to harm humans. You wouldn't want to break your one rule and get yourself killed, would you?"
She cocked her head slightly to one side. "Interesting that you know that much about our Organization. Such information is strictly confidential. The general public is not to know such things. Tell me," she said, silver eyes glinting in the equally silver moonlight, "what strings did you pull to get that information?"
"I-I just heard it b-by word of mouth! I don't know anything else, I swear to the gods!"
In an instant, Ilena's visage morphed into one of intense rage, an emotion rare for her. In the next instant, she had him by the scruff of the shirt, her face inches from his. "SWEAR TO ME!" she roared, then released him none-too-gently. Even Senna was taken aback. The crowd gasped and backed away, frightened. The one who accused Senna of being yoma-possessed at on his rear before the feet of that monstrous Claymore. Ilena once again assumed zero expression, and spoke once more. "Before you blindly accuse others of possession by yoma, consider whether or not you are able to pinpoint their yoki auras. We are the only ones that can, and I tell you now: this woman has no yoki signature. None. Understood?" He nodded, got to his feet.
Ilena continued, her voice somewhat hushed, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "But you exhibit yoki as if it were breath. The hiding is over, yoma. You have but two choices: fight or fly, but time grows short, and I am not a patient woman."
The man' eyes immediately morphed into a brilliant gold which shown in the darkness. Followed by that were several other pairs of golden eyes, all unexpected by the majority of the crowd. Ilena took note of each one; there were six in total. Nothing she couldn't handle. Gripping the reopened wound, she forced the cells to repair and close at a pace no normal human could ever achieve, all with her own yoki. Gripping the long handle of her claymore once again, Ilena drew it and assumed a fighting stance, weapon face down to the earth. Had her left arm still been attached, she would have beckoned the now-transmutated monsters onward, taunting them. Instead she merely jerked her head to one side as the crowd dispersed, Senna among them.
"You breathe your last, Claymore scum! GRAAAAAAAH!" roared what had been Senna's accuser, and the apparent leader of this gang. Ilena remained in her crouch until the yoma was almost on top of her. Baring its fangs, it prepared to rip her to pieces, or so was its intent. Until, of course, it was reduced to bloody chunks by the Quick Sword. Wasting no time, Ilena shot forth like a bullet, racing from one yoma to the next. Upon arrival at each beast, they seemingly exploded in a mass of tissue and violet blood. One, then two; three, four, five; the sixth put up more of a fight, being lighter on its feet, but in the end, met the same gory end as its brethren. Finished, she flicked the residual blood from her sword and replaced it with a clank.
A thought occurred to he then. "Often we rid towns of yoma for a fee. There will be no need to pay any amount - either to me, or the Organization I once served." She made certain that last part was clear. As a result, those gathered drew gasps, shock and wonder written on their faces. Ilena went on, saying, "I was sent to execute another rebel - myself and four others. We succeeded, but at a sore price: one of those that accompanied me gave in to her yoma half, and became a vicious monster. She killed the rebel, but having become a yoma, essentially, she lost her mind and killed two of my other comrades. As for myself, she left this memento.
"I could have stopped her before she gave in. I could have prevented the death of that Claymore - as you call us - who rebelled. I say that because she had been a close friend, a companion who I both admired and envied. And yet in my blind obeisance to the Organization, I brought about her demise. I brought that beast with us, and foolishly allowed her to run wild. At the last, when she beheaded Teresa, I stood still and watched, even though by then I knew it was all wrong. I failed her. I failed Teresa, and now I suffer the consequences."
The crowd was silent. No one spoke for several moments. Ilena's face remained a mask of emotionless silence. She too spoke nothing. It wasn't until Ilena felt someone rest gentle hands on her shoulders and bow their head into the base of her neck that people began to stir. She blinked and, turning her head to the right, realized who it was. Senna sniffled a few times before speaking, not wanting her voice to break - trying to be strong.
"Ilena... That means...that means you're alone..." Senna's entire frame was trembling as she spoke.
"Yes. That is my lot," replied Ilena.
"But it doesn't have to be... Look at what you've done for us...for me... You saved our village, unbidden, without the demand of a fee. You've shown us that Silver-Eyed Witches can be Silver-Eyed Angels... Don't be so hard on yourself..."
Ilena remained silent. Had anyone expressed such heartfelt words weaved with equally heartfelt emotions, she would have brushed them off without further thought or question. But Senna's words struck her something profound. Angels... Saviors... Don't be so hard on yourself...
She turned to face the tear-faced woman and asked, "What is it you want from me?"
Senna wiped her eyes. "Please stay for a time... Let us serve you. It would be the least we could do to truly repay you. Our home is yours."
Home, Ilena mused. I have no home - nowhere to find solace, to be at ease. Should I attempt to find such a place, the Organization will surely come knocking at my door. Looking around her, then, at all those gathered, including Senna, all had a look of pleading in their eyes. This was a cause of great puzzlement for Ilena; they...desired her company. Why? What did they hope to gain from having her around? Looking at the faces of those gathered round, she couldn't help but wonder if she, in some forgotten past - some childhood that was nigh beyond recollection - had at one point felt the same about the very hybrid warrior she now was, or if she had feared them like most others. Either way, looking at these folks, almost, she was reminded of the self she would have been had her life not been turned around; of the self that, beyond her current knowledge or realization, lurked deep within.
The self, she would later admit, that she ever yearned to be, hybrid or no.
"Almost, I am convinced that I'm truly human..." she caught herself whispering, then, clearing her throat, she addressed the people once more, speaking only these words: "As you wish."
Without warning, Senna quite literally leaped at Ilena, grasping her in a tight embrace. Shocked and surprised all at once, Ilena gasped, eyes growing wide. The feeling, though, was momentary, and she regained her composure, though she was not used to such displays of affection. Awkwardly, and somewhat stiffly, she returned the embrace.
Parting from it, Senna looked her directly in the face. "You are most welcome here, my friend."
Her friend, Ilena thought. Doesn't seem so bad, I guess.
The stay at Senna's dwelling had also proven to be a not-so-bad experience. The other woman's five young children had taken great interest in the "Claymore Elf," as they had coined her, and despite her misgivings and apprehensions about children, she found their company rather soothing. Despite Senna's offer of food, Ilena declined, explaining that her kind need only consume every once in a while, and then, they didn't eat much. However, at the other's insistence, Ilena demonstrated just how much, apologizing that she could not eat more. There was nothing to be sorry for, as Senna pointed out, and Ilena relayed to her that it was tasteful. She "slept" as all Claymores do - leaned against her sword, it being jabbed into the ground - while the others took to their beds. It was a peaceful night.
She woke the next morning, and bade her hosts farewell. Senna embraced her once more. "Is there anything, anything more I could give you?" Said Ilena as she - if still a bit awkwardly - returned the gesture, "There is nothing you need to give more than you already have. Your hospitality is enough. You have my gratitude." So readily willing to give of themselves... If I am to - She let go the embrace, stepped back a few paces. "Tell the children to leave. Now." Hesitantly, though concern was etched all over her features, she ushered the children out and shut the door behind them.
Spoke Ilena, "Do not cry out at what you see next. It's not going to be angelic." With that, a brief wshh sound washeard, followed by tearing of cloth. The black piece that covered Ilena's neck and sternum - that is, that portion that wrapped around her neck - came loose and she pulled it away. Senna gasped at what was revealed: huge, hideous scars, circling the base of her neck, as well as what portion of her sternum could be seen. What was worse, they appeared to have been caused by incisions, and the removing and grafting of flesh.
Flesh that was not human. "Gods, Ilena, what...?"
"That is how I became what I am now. I was cut open, drained of much of my own blood, which was then replaced with that of yoma. To further the matter, much of the flesh in this area, from here to here," she indicated the area of the scarring, "was removed and grafted with the flesh of yoma. The genetics spread to the rest of my body as the garbage wriggled its way in and fused itself with me. It was painful, sickening, and damning." Lifting the cloth, then, that which bore her emblem in the Organization's ranks, she offered it to Senna. "Take it. As a token. I have no more need or use for it, and am terrible at giving gifts. This was my unique emblem in the Organization, one that identified me as their Number Two warrior, for a time. It's the best I can do. Go on."
Tentatively, Senna took the piece and admired the symbol a moment. "Don't you wish to...erm...cover those?"
A raised brow, then, "They bring no more pain than they would pleasure. They are there: a sure evidence of the Organization's true nature. I no longer care if they show; let them show, as a witness of sorts. Keep that cloth. It's the best way I can express companionship in my own right at this time." Perhaps some at some future time, I'll learn otherwise...perhaps.
"Thank you Ilena. You will be in our prayers to the gods."
Said Ilena, "If that will comfort you, then o so. I must be on my way. I've a long road to follow." Placing her right hand over her breast she bowed slightly. "Farewell."
"Where will you go?" inquired Senna.
Ilena paused halfway out the door. "Wherever the road leads, and wherever my feet wander. I have an entire world to see,"she spoke over her shoulder. Senna and her children, who had burst out, waved a fond farewell to the first ever Silver-Eyed Angel. Upon overtaking the outskirts of town, Ilena was met by the chief of town. He desired an audience with her where they stood.
"Yes?" came her frank question.
"Is there anything else my people and I should know? About this Organization, that is." He was having some difficulty focusing on her eyes, as those scars were so blatantly displayed now - those that were readily visible.
"Nothing more than what I have said already. They are not to be trusted."
Said he, "And...if yoma attack us?"
"Train your folk how to fight them. Humans are capable of that. As far as finding out who is and who isn't...examine their blood. If it is red, then they are truly human." Her head jerked sharply to the right, looking back into town. "If the blood is violet, then they are yoma, and you must kill them right away." Her eyes narrowed. "I must go. They are here, likely searching for me. If I could ask but one favor in return..."
"?Ask many, my lady!" he replied.
"Distract them for the space of two hours. That will be all the time I need."
He gave her a curt nod. "Consider it done. On your way then!" With that, she burst forth onto the road. After traveling like that for the space of fifteen minutes, she broke her run, stopping to rest a bit. The Organization could send warrior after warrior to take her head, but she would ever be one step ahead of them. After a short time, she took up her run again, increasing the pace. The Organization would not stop her from seeing the world they dwelt on...and took for granted. As things rushed by in her flight, she began to notice that they, for the first time ever seemed to have some meaning or other; she understood and realized their functions. Appreciation for all these simple things grew in her otherwise cold heart, and she realized then what she perceived as her purpose. That was enough to drive her onward, to, for the moment, throw aside her previous feelings of self-hatred and pity, and give her motivation.
At the end of her flight, she doubled over, breathing heavily. After a few moments, Ilena raised her eyes to see something grand (and truly the end of her flight): the sea. Traveling westward, she had finally reached the sea...and freedom. True, unfettered freedom, which lay waiting in one of the many vessels docked at the harbor. Figuring she couldn't simply commandeer one of them away, she began, then, to inquire if any were setting sail, preferably to distant lands. When asked how distant, she iterated that it did not matter, as long as it was away from this land. All who she asked gave a quizzical look at her physical appearance, but realizing her sincerity, most of them looked past all that. Finding the captain of a small vessel who was, indeed, not sailing to any other portion of this land, but hailed from a different one altogether, she joined with him, and it was not long after that they set sail.
It was not three hours into their voyage that a great tempest struck them. The crew of the vessel remained calm, however, seeming to have had experience in storms at sea before. Ilena was urged to go into the captain's quarters, which she did. What safety, though, would she possibly find there? Up to that point, the trek at sea had been rather bereft of eventfulness, and a strange excitement rose within her at this new challenge – that was having to survive a storm at sea. But to do so within the safe walls of the captain's quarters? Whatever. Not like it hasn't affected them any, having a Claymore around and all. The prejudice and somewhat discriminatory nature of the common folk toward her kind – two traits that before held no sway over how she felt – was beginning to unnerve her. There was little for it, though. To act up about it now would not be very wise, especially in the current circumstances. The vessel rocked violently in the waves, and the crew's shouts became more and more desperate. The storm was worsening, and they were failing in their attempts to weather it. She had to do something. Something. Rising, she rushed to the door, burst through. The rush of rain-swept air hit her like a boulder, but she was not phased. Seeing several men attempting to pull the main sail into place, she made her way there. Gripping the rope in a fist of iron just above those of the man at the forefront of the line (the which dispersed when they saw the Claymore approaching), and – with eyes blazing gold, face contorting monstrously, and veins bulging everywhere – she yanked with all her might. With that, the sail was tightened, and he who had been waiting at the top lashed the last bit of the cloth secure. Regressing once more, she turned to see the frightened crew staring at her.
"What, you didn't think a Claymore (that being the first time she directly referred to herself by that title) would help you out?" she shouted over the howling wind, which whipped through her long, back-length hair.
At that moment, the brightest flash of light bore down upon the ship, one such that none aboard had ever witnessed. Most of the men either died or went blind. Ilena was knocked to the deck floor, arm covering her eyes. The clap of thunder that followed that strike caused, seemingly, the entire earth to quake. Ilena cried out against the loudness, her sensitive ears throbbing with pain from the shear volume. It rolled and exploded across the sky, traveling first from one end, then to the other, and back. When that faded (thank the gods), Ilena could still see light through her still-closed lids. A strange smell wafted to her nostrils, as well as a roaring that didn't quite sit well. Opening her eyes, she welcomed with the horrid sight of flames as high as the ship's mast. Why wasn't the rain putting them out? Looking up, her throat tightened when she saw bright stars and the moon through the many windows in the dark clouds. She needed to act quickly.
Not quickly enough, though. Before she knew it (and instinct kept her from losing her sword when she gripped the handle tighter than an iron clamp), Ilena was flying backward, off the ship entirely, and splashed heavily into the ocean. She gasped when she came up, and, after having retrieved her bearings, she swam as best she could to the nearest chunk of driftwood and seized it fast. Looking back, she could now see that the ship had been split into two places by the lightning strikes. But the sky had been clearing! How could it be that another had struck so suddenly? Incredible.
Ilena remained afloat for days, letting the current take her, which, she noted, seemed to be going the same general direction that the ship had been going in the first place, and where she had intended in the first place. On the morning of the fifth day, the current, she could feel, had stopped. She was stuck. In the middle of the ocean, no ship, no way of getting a hold of any known person (or any being, for that matter), and like a sponge was extremely saturated with water. She breathed a deep sigh. She needed to do something, and soon. Something sparked her attention, however. A dot on the horizon. Someone? Or some beast? Who knew. She couldn't wave to it, because she was holding fast to the driftwood with her one arm. Otherwise, she would sink to the depths from the weight of her claymore (which she wasn't about to release from its latch) and what remained of her armor. As the speck drew closer, however, her vision began to blur, and her limbs go numb. She was tiring, and she knew it. Closer and closer it drifted, and she could tell, more and more, that it was a vessel...of the strangest make. It appeared, for all the world, as a...swan? Then again, her vision was swimming like the water around her. Her grip on the wood was loosening. The biting cold water started to feel almost...warm, then. So warm, and inviting. Just to let go, and sleep...so tired... She let go her grip, finally, and nearly submerged when the vessel – which was indeed shaped like a swan as she had perceived – reached her very location. In the last vestiges of consciousness, Ilena thought she heard a voice call out to her, and barely perceived a mighty grip on her right wrist as whatever had stopped her descent began to heave her upward into that vessel. Beyond that, her entire world went black, and she dreamed for the first time in years.