The sky was tinged an ominous orange in the wake of the flames that consumed the village below. Smoke, thick and pungent, rose up into the air, coiling around an invisible centre as they reached upwards to taint the heavens. Within the burning village, the screams of its uprooted inhabitants mingled with the crackling of the flames as they chewed greedily into thatched roofs and wooden frames. The hideous creak of collapsing structures rang through the night, for a short moment drowning out cries of despair and fearful screams. The angered shouts of men dwelt among the cacophony too, men who took upon themselves the duty to protect the family they had sent running towards the forest.

Two figures walked slowly through the centre of the small, burning village, their forms wrapped in thick smoke. The men - seven in number - stood opposite them, acting as a the last line of defence as their friends and family took to their heels behind them. They bared the heat of the flames to either side of them, hefting all manner of tools as weapons. They squinted as the smoke passed before their faces, bringing tears to their eyes. Torn cloth tied across their nose and mouth kept them from inhaling the worst of it.

The two figures drew nearer. One walked with a noticeable slump and a seemingly laboured stride, as though they had been injured, for each foot appeared to drag slightly across the ground. A perfect ring of metal looped around the figure, its inner edge resting upon its left shoulder. The posture of the other was upright, normal. At the same time that the waiting men were able to see the twisted shield and sword that the figure grasped in its hands, the smoke uncoiled from about the approaching two and they saw that they were up against two young women. Incredulity overtook the, but for a moment.

Even in the hot, orange light of the surrounding flames, the pale skin of the woman carrying the ring of steel was distinct. When she looked up at them, they recoiled instinctively at the look in her eyes. They were full of madness, devoid of all emotion save a cold spark of hate that twisted her lips into a vicious snarl. But the woman who stood beside her was something else entirely. Her eyes were black like the night sky above, yet utterly devoid of the beauty of a star's light, instead there dwelt pupils of blood, and she gazed at them unblinkingly. Unlike the woman at her side, she did not snarl or growl hatefully at them; she didn't need to. Several of the men found themselves taking backward steps as she turned her gaze upon them.

"Is this it?" she spoke, lashing them individually with a contemptuous glare. Her voice was unnatural; within it they could hear the voice of a young woman and the poisonous, demonic tones of an evil force intermingling, and it was frightening to hear.

"Who are you, witch?" one of the men spoke boldly, though he clutched his weapon ever tighter.

"Witch?" hissed the woman with empty, hateful eyes, lifting a hand wrapped within the layered metal of a gauntlet to the ring of steel at her shoulder.

"Be still", her companion spoke with a tone that brooked no argument, not even glancing in the direction of the other woman. Instead, she seemed to gaze at them all very carefully, as though seeming to make a choice...

"Leave now", another man spoke up, "we won't harm women. Leave now and - "

"Kill them", the sword-bearing woman said coldly, turning away from them, "bring him to me, alive", she added, pointing with her shield arm to the man who had just spoken.

"Mistress", her companion - or rather servant - said as she bowed her head. Uneven, multicoloured pigtails hung down at either side of her face. She did not lift her head again until her mistress had disappeared into the flames from whence they had seemed to initially emerge, and when she did, her vicious snarl had curled into a sadistic, lopsided smile.

"Raaah!"

The woman swept the ring of steel from off of her shoulder, ducking her head as she grasped the inner edge in her right gauntlet and brought it over to the right side of her body. Then, with a fierce cry, she ran and leapt into the air before the men could react. With a swift, complex movement that demonstrated the young woman's mastery of the strange weapon she wielded, she passed the ring blade below her body as she planted her feet against the inner edge - the left positioned behind her whilst the right was before her. Her right gauntlet gripped the ring's inner edge alongside her left foot, giving her solid balance in preparation for -

The man who had branded the sword-bearing woman a witch was suddenly flung backwards. Blood and a sickening shriek burst from his lips as the woman rode the ring blade through the air right into his chest. They hit the ground, the man's body sliding across the ground and shuddering like a rag doll as the woman cackled, hopping into the air as the corpse's momentum came to an end. She skilfully flipped the ring blade into the air with her feet, raising her left gauntlet to neatly catch it before spinning it dangerously close to her face around her little finger.

The men stood in stunned silence; a puddle had appeared between the legs of one.

"You", Tira gestured to the man who her mistress had desired, pointing a sharp finger at him as he clutched a stubby hammer tightly in his hands.

"Come here".

XxXxXxX

Pyrrha dwelt in the darkness of a chamber somewhat deep within the bowels of the castle, sitting on the cold stone floor with her back pressed against an cold, damp and roughly hewn wall. Her head was bowed, her face falling into shadow behind a curtain of dark blonde hair; silently, she cradled her right arm to her chest, running the fingers of her left hand over the hard, mottled, twisted skin. It burned her, constantly. She was never a moment without pain. It was impossible to ignore it, to condition her mind to erase its existence, and so she was forced to endure it. And she did so, in silence. But sometimes, it became too much.

She glanced up - on a thick slab of raised stone, the cold, naked body of a young man she hadn't known or cared for lay, void of life and more importantly, soul. She pulled herself to her feet, walking over to the stone platform. Standing beside it, she looked down at the corpse, running the fingers of her flesh hand across its chest. It surprised her - now that she had a clear head - how unblemished the body was in its peaceful state of death. There were not many who she had left unmarked, perhaps this one had meant something to her. She couldn't remember, but it didn't matter anyway. What mattered was that Soul Edge had been fed, and her pain - if only for a short moment - had been abated.

Naked, Pyrrha left the dark chamber. Tira, her servant, remained without, waiting patiently for her mistress. In place of her trademark ring blade, she possessed a thick and long cloak in hand. Head bowed, she moved forward, draping the cloak across Pyrrha's shoulders.

"Mistress", she murmured, "are you satisfied?"

Pyrrha said nothing as Tira shuffled around her, pulling the cloak around her body. Tira moved to stand in front of her, with tender care securing the cloak with a heavy golden pin. As she did so, she looked up into Pyrrha's eyes, her gaze heavy with longing. Pyrrha knew what she wanted. She liked to deny it often. It gave her some pleasure to watch Tira's eyes dim in disappointment, to see her whole posture slump as she was rejected with a single word. But it gave her brief peace and respite to give her what she begged for, and today, with her whole body aflame, she could not make herself toy with her servant.

She lifted her twisted arm from beneath the heavy, warm cloak, and in one movement brought it to Tira's throat, wrapping long, jointed claws around her slender, pale neck. Tira gasped with pleasure as Pyrrha applied slight pressure, her eyes lighting up as she began to feel the influence of the essence of Soul Edge. Pyrrha leered down at her as she tilted her head backwards, waiting for the briefest moment before joining their lips.

Tira's tongue scrambled forwards to feast on Pyrrha's, and she sighed heavily as she delved deep into Pyrrha's mouth. The constant burn of the pain began to subside within her body, and Pyrrha struggled briefly for a moment to keep a sigh locked within her throat.

For a brief time after she consumed a soul for Soul Edge to feast upon, its influence was strong within her body and thus the pain it inflicted upon her was intensified. Tira seemed to be highly attuned to the essence of the cursed sword; she craved to be in its presence and so would shadow Pyrrha as closely as she allowed. A short time after they had taken residence in Ostrheinsburg Castle, Tira had - seemingly out of the blue - offered her body to her mistress. Pyrrha had blindly refused, in fact she had lashed out at Tira for even suggesting it. Later, when Soul Edge's influence within her body began to send pain prickling through her skin at every waking moment, she yearned secretly for some sort of respite. Tira had again - without being asked or told of Pyrrha's predicament - offered her body to her mistress. That time, Pyrrha gave her a chance to explain herself, whilst she had her claw wrapped around the pale woman's throat.

Her explanation enticed Pyrrha, but she would only allow Tira a kiss; the thought of writhing and groaning beneath her servant did not sit well with her.

The kiss alone was perhaps a mistake. Tira had positively drank in the essence of Soul Edge as their lips met, and Pyrrha had experienced for the first time in days a sense of peace and relief. But she caught herself sinking deeper into the sensation and in fury cast Tira aside. Right now, though...Right now, Tira was a balm she sorely needed. Her skin was afire as the spirit of the cursed sword she wielded fed upon the soul of the corpse that lay in the cold, dark chamber. She could feel it within, twisting and coiling as it sank its wicked teeth into the tender soul, the disembodied voice of the dead man shrieking in agony as he was, at the very core of his being, torn to pieces.

Tira pressed her mouth against Pyrrha's, and her body followed soon after. Pyrrha felt her eternally cold hands push beneath the thick cloak, grasping her hips, roving across her back, seeking her breasts - she grunted as Tira's fingers slipped between her thighs. She stumbled backwards as Tira pushed her up against the wall behind them, throwing out her hand of flesh to steady herself. Her grip around Tira's throat slipped away and she surrounded herself to the woman's mercy. Her kiss was hard and deep, and her fingers were wild.

When it was over, Pyrrha slumped down to the ground, her legs weak and her will weaker. But these were things which she would not show Tira. The woman was at her side on her knees in an instant, subservient in all things.

"Mistress, I hope I have pleased you".

Pyrrha did not understand how Tira was able to siphon the cursed energy from her being, nor did she understand how the pale woman enjoyed it so, when she positively detested it. It would be easy, to take Tira again and again whenever the pain grew great within in her, but she wished to show no reliance upon her servant in that manner. That was why she collected men. Men who she would have Tira drag from their homes, their wives, their brothers and sisters - she kept them in chains when they were brought back to the castle, and when the fires beneath her skin grew too hot, she would take one of them to the castle's cold, dark chambers. Few came willingly, in numerous senses. But it was simple enough to coerce them. Men were weak; many rejected and cursed her, until she lay atop them.

She found it peculiar that her sense of bodily pleasure was greater when she lay with men than when Tira sated her, but the sense of respite that came with it - though a huge surge of peace and painlessness - was fleeting in comparison. There was also the matter of fact that Soul Edge would always consume the man's soul when she experienced her peak. No matter what, she could not prevent or control it in that moment - and she had sacrificed many a soul towards the goal of becoming able to do so, to no avail. And so a bitter cycle had been established of which Pyrrha was completely aware, and yet fuelled nevertheless. It had become almost routine - along with Tira's constant request to truly satisfy her afterwards.

But there had been one encounter that had broken the spell of monotony. One of the men who she had had chained up for a period of several months had somehow managed to procure a thin spike of metal. She rode him hard and they peaked quickly, and in that moment he had rammed the spike into her gut. Soul Edge had cried out in fury as its vessel was harmed, destroying the man in both body and soul. Pyrrha though, had marvelled at the peculiar sensation that simultaneous pain and pleasure brought. Tira had been furious when she saw the blood painted across her mistress' stomach, but she had begged her almost to the point of tears when Pyrrha had expressed the desire to repeat the scenario with other prisoners...

Pyrrha turned to look at Tira...she had not forgotten. None of it. She had kept her alive to punish her, and there had been occasions where her anger and resentment had driven her to the point of almost killing the woman. Yet Tira served her as though a past did not exist between them. Pyrrha had quickly grown to understand that she represented nothing more than the cursed sword to the woman, and it was that which she served with complete and utter devotion. There was nothing she could inflict upon Tira as punishment - even death, for she was sure that Tira would find joy to be slain by the cursed sword itself.

"Mistress?"

Pyrrha drew her claw across the ground for a moment before finding purchase and pulling herself to her feet. The familiar burn of Soul Edge was already beginning to settle in, though now it had finished it's feast, the pain was somewhat lessened. Yet still, Pyrrha forced herself to resist the strong urge to take Tira once again, though it would no doubt help clear her head fully. Tugging the heavy cloak around her body, Pyrrha left Tira kneeling on the floor without responding to her. A moment later, she head the scuffle of Tira rising hurriedly to her feet, and then her footsteps as she trailed in her wake.

Following the path of several corridors that gradually became warmer and less damp as they left the dark bowels of the castle behind, Pyrrha emerged into the soft candle light of the main hall. Aged suits of armour bearing shield and spear lined the walls of the hall, silent and vigilant, the emblem carved into their steel chests long since faded into vague, shadowy blemishes. At the far end of the hall, a large yet simple throne took its place upon a raised platform, facing directly the thick doors that led to the outside world. Here Pyrrha headed and then seated herself, and though she wore a thick garment, took warmth from the numerous candles that stood around the regal seat. Resting her arms along that of the throne, Pyrrha gazed at the doors ahead of her, expectant - or so it seemed.

"Mistress, where do you intend to travel next?" Tira asked, sitting on her knees at the base of the throne and looking up with sparkling, worshipful eyes at Pyrrha.

"West, perhaps", Pyrrha said after a moment and nothing more, still looking towards the doors with a mild intensity in her gaze. Her gaze shifted as the fluttering of wings was heard high above, and Tira rose to her feet, delight upon her face as a pair of her trusted ravens circled around a candle-bearing chandelier before one spiraled down to alight upon her outstretched fist. Pyrrha watched as Tira brought the raven to her lips, kissing its bowed head as she stroked its breast delicately.

The exchange between Tira and her ravens fascinated Pyrrha. She had considered killing them early on, when Tira had shown her affection for them. It wasn't clear, however, if the pair of ravens she always saw Tira attending to were the only ones in her possession, and killing them wouldn't do well for Pyrrha's ability to attain information about the outside world. Now though, Pyrrha watched with an arched brow as Tira's look of delight was overshadowed with genuine surprise as her eyes widened, and then dimmed with worry.

"What is it?" Pyrrha demanded of her.

"Mistress", Tira began, almost hesitantly, "there is...a man coming".

"Oh?" Pyrrha said, raising her claw so that she could rest her chin upon it, "he made it beyond the Cursed Guard, did he?"

"Yes, Mistress".

"And who is he? What standard does he bear? No common fool, I hope".

"Mistress", Tira said with an apparent grimace, "his shield..."

"What about it?" Pyrrha said, and then when Tira did not reply, she favoured the pale woman with a cold, hard gaze. "Speak".

But Tira fell to her knees at the foot of the dais, pressing her face to the ground.

"Mistress, forgive me! There are things I have not told you".

"Then, tell me now", Pyrrha said in a perfectly, dangerously calm tone, "who is this man?"

"He..." Tira began, but could not seem to finish. In fact, she had begun to tremble, as though preemptively fearing Pyrrha's wrath.

"Come here, Tira", Pyrrha said softly, beckoning her with her hand of flesh.

Tira rose to her feet slowly and stepped onto the dais, and like a children before an angry parent, she could not raise her eyes to meet Pyrrha's. She fell to her knees before her mistress, her head bowed low. Pyrrha leaned forward and reached out with her hand, lifting Tira's face with a finger beneath her chin. Tira, for once, looked almost distraught. Pyrrha would usually make contact with her with her claw, as she could put more strength into it if she wanted to choke or strike Tira, the compromise being that Tira would draw pleasure from direct contact with the manifestation of Soul Edge. But there was no such comfort here.

"You would not lie to me, would you, Tira?" Pyrrha asked softly.

"No, Mistress", Tira whispered, shaking her head.

"Good", Pyrrha said, almost absent-mindedly stroking Tira's cheek, "then tell me. Who. Is. He?"

"He is your brother, Mistress", Tira said.

"My brother?" Pyrrha repeated, stroking down from Tira's brow to her jaw, "but, Tira, I have no family. Remember? You told me so, over, and over, and over again".

"I lied to you, Mistress", Tira confessed, trembling as she whispered the words.

"Of course you did", Pyrrha said, her black gaze intense, "of course you did".

Her face was suddenly twisted with rage and hatred, and her hand blurred through the air, raising a sharp crack as she violently backhanded Tira across the face. The pale woman was almost knocked clean off the dais, throwing out a hand to save herself at the last moment. Pyrrha's heel stamped down upon that hand a moment later, and the screech of the ravens perched high above mingled with Tira's scream of pain. Her teeth bared like a predator's, Pyrrha ground her heel into Tira, relishing the woman's cry and the fierce sting that burned through her own hand after backhanding Tira.

"Forgive me!" Tira shrieked, "Mistress, I beg you!"

"Silence", Pyrrha commanded, with an effort returning calm to her voice and face, tugging the heavy cloak about herself as she lifted her heel, "my brother approaches".

A dark, hazy aura had encompassed her claw as she spoke, and now she passed it slowly before her face, a solid form beginning to materialise from nothingness as she did so. Tira's moistened, pain-filled eyes widened with delight as Pyrrha slammed Soul Edge point first into the ground between her legs. She gazed upon the cursed sword with worshipful eyes, immediately forgetting her pain and her mistress's actions.

"Get up", Pyrrha said coldly, "and kindly open the doors for my dear brother".