Title: The Pitfalls of Madness
Chapter 7: The Misery
Author: Alicia "Kamitose" Guy
Summary: After receiving a message from another swords girl to beware of Raphael, Cassandra seeks him out to settle the score once and for all, but is she truly prepared for what she is about to face?
Rating: R, for strong language, violence, and possible sexual situations.
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this piece of fiction belong to me. They belong to Namco. Dronia Fairborough belongs to me (don't worry, she is but a very bit part, I don't even pair her up with anyone. She is not a Mary Sue.)
Distribution: As long as I am credited, and as long as you ask (and let me know once it's posted) then I don't care where it's distributed. BUT you have to ask.
Author's Note: This is my first ever Soul Calibur fanfiction. This site is severely lacking in Cassandra/Raphael fanfiction and I would like to help remedy that.
SPECIAL THANKS TO ANYSIA FOR BEING AN AMAZING BETA READER!
The castle loomed dark and silent as the carriage came to a sudden stop at the main gates. The driver came round to the side door somewhat breathlessly, tugging it open and gingerly receiving Raphael's pale, bloodied form from a still slightly dazed Cassandra. "We need to get him inside," she said quietly, climbing from the carriage and helping the driver to lift the nobleman's unconscious form and carry him carefully into the nearby great hall. A throng of servants stood waiting as they entered through the broad oak doors, talking quietly amongst themselves, fear and anger warring even as several cried out at the sight of their wounded master.
"My God…" a stalwart, middle-aged maid began, pressing a hand to her ample chest. "Who did this?"
Cassandra stared at the servants hazily, still somehow numb and distant. "A young man in the village," she began softly. "He's…he's been taken care of."
She bit her lip as she cast her eyes downward to observe the jagged crystal shard embedded in Raphael's flesh, all blue-tinged glass that still glowed faintly as it fought against cursed blood. That's a holy stone, she realized, fear and horror dawning upon her as she reached to pull it from his chest, only to feel a jolt of searing pain lance through her fingertips as they brushed the cool crystalline surface. Cassandra stared at the shard in shock for a long moment, eyes wide with disbelief, until the severity of the situation came once more to the forefront of her mind, and she swiftly set aside her own fears and misgivings.
"I need someone to remove that shard, now," Cassandra instructed the servants through grit teeth. "But be careful!" A maid and two stewards bowed swiftly and began to extract the crystal shard with excruciating slowness, until the full length of it had been removed and lay darkly-stained with blood on the floor beside them. The scent of blood hung thickly in the air, and the servants fought to close the gaping wound as their master continued to lay silent and still before them.
Cassandra watched the scene before her numbly, absently flexing her fingers, stiffened now by a coat of drying blood. Countless thoughts swam through her mind, countless emotions, until a flash of red appeared at the corner of her eye and she turned to see Amy standing at the threshold to the room, a look of horror upon her normally expressionless face.
"Papa," she gasped, rushing to her father's side and kneeling before him, oblivious to the blood surrounding him. "Papa, please be okay!" She pressed her forehead to the wound upon his chest and felt a desperate cry welling up within her.
Cassandra reached out to run a comforting hand through Amy's hair. "I'm sorry," she began, voice little more than a whisper. "Amy, I'm so sorry."
The girl raised cursed red eyes to meet hers, and Cassandra took a step back. "You're sorry?" Amy repeated, voice tight with disbelief and fury. "You did this to him! You're the one who hurt him!" She stood up, a smear of blood upon her cheek, and pointed accusingly at Cassandra. "This never would have happened if you hadn't come! I hate you! I hate you!" Amy turned on her heel and ran from the room, eyes brimming with angry tears.
"The young mistress is just upset," a maid offered hesitantly after a long moment. Cassandra nodded distractedly and waved her off, watching as the servants finally finished their makeshift dressing of Raphael's wound.
"We'll need to take him to the infirmary for proper treatment," one of the stewards informed her before helping his companions lift Raphael's unconscious form.
"Of course." Cassandra attempted a small smile, but tension remained thick in her blood, and she finally slumped her shoulders in defeat before turning to the remaining servants. "Do you…do you think I could be alone for a moment? I appreciate your concern, but…I just need…"
"Say no more, Lady Alexandra," the stalwart maid said comfortingly. "If you have need of us at a later time, please call upon us." Cassandra nodded absently as the servants then swiftly dispersed, the heavy oak doors settling with a dull thud behind them.
The hall was suddenly, profoundly silent, and Cassandra was left with only her thoughts.
"I'm sorry," she repeated quietly, eyes moving slowly over the stonework of the great hall before coming to rest, finally, guiltily, upon the small pool of blood where Raphael had lain.
A dull throb pulsed through her throat then, strangely irritating. Cassandra ran her fingers absently over the still-healing wound Raphael had inflicted upon her, still gazing distantly at the blood before her and faintly, faintly recalling the taste of the village boy's upon her lips, sweetly metallic, and she realized that she wanted…
My gods, what's happening to me? Cassandra thought desperately, dried blood taut upon her hands as she balled them into tight fists. This isn't right…it's not natural…it's not human…
But she wanted it. By the gods, she wanted it. Cassandra knelt carefully upon the floor and reached out one trembling hand, dipping her fingertips into the sanguine liquid before bringing them to her lips with a fearful quiver. Slowly, very slowly, she began to lick the blood from her fingers, a strange lust beginning to burn within her as a pleasurable shiver coursed down her spine. Her eyes fell closed as the taste lingered sweetly, tongue still moving over pure pale fingertips for any remaining traces.
More…I want more…
Desire coursed swiftly through her veins, desperate and unyielding. More—she needed more, and she fell to the ground, bracing her weight upon her wrists and leaning to lap up the rich red blood upon the stone floor, drinking deeply, sweet copper and iron upon her tongue. She was frenzied, caring for nothing but the blood before her, craving more deeply than she had ever felt, her mind reduced to a reddened haze whose focus was to drink, to partake, to sate her desperate needs.
"What are you doing?"
A soft yet painfully familiar voice whispered through the silent hall, and Cassandra awoke sharply from her bloodlust, eyes wide with horror and fear as blood dripped down her chin. She turned, glancing desperately around the room, but she stood alone, bloodied clothes stark against milk-pale skin.
"Cassandra..." the whispered voice began, and Cassandra jumped as Sophitia materialized before her, pale as death, blood seeping from a horrific wound upon her throat, trickling down until it ran red upon the cold stone floor, mixing with his cursed blood.
"Why must I die every night?" the specter asked angrily, reaching with one pale, bloody hand to grasp Cassandra by the throat and hoist her into the air. Cassandra let out a choked whimper as her nails scrabbled against her sister's wrist, feet kicking helplessly, her lungs protesting from a lack of oxygen, eyes rolling back as she fought to maintain consciousness. Sophitia's dead eyes burned a fiery red, blood continuing to seep from her wound. "Why are you a monster?" she asked in a detached, haunted voice that seemed to echo eerily throughout the hall.
So-sophitia! Stop this! Cassandra thought desperately. She could feel her life slipping away, her vision blurring as she fought—
And then, as soon as it started, the vision was gone. Cassandra fell heavily onto the floor, her head swimming and throat raw as she lay in a collapsed heap upon cold stone. Her eyes darted fearfully around the hall, but it was once more silent and calm, and she was alone. Just a vision, she thought, suppressing a shudder and pressing one hand to her throat as her ragged breathing began to normalize. Horror dawned over her as she remembered her actions before her sister's specter appeared before her, and Cassandra raised one trembling hand to wipe the blood from her chin. Revulsion spread swiftly through her as she remembered, remembered kneeling like a wretched dog and drinking deeply of his blood… Her hands flew to her mouth as she fought to suppress a pained cry. It's all right, she thought, slightly panicked. It's all right…
But the taste still lingered upon her tongue, sweetly tempting, and horror dawned anew within her.
After a few minutes, Cassandra stood upon shaky legs and wrapped her arms around her small form. She was tired, she was scared...but worst of all, she felt completely and utterly helpless, and that feeling alone was nearly cause enough alone to send her to tears. Fighting back the urge to burst into heavy sobs, Cassandra slowly made her way to her quarters, stripping quickly out of her ruined clothing. The water in the basin at her bedside soon turned cloudy and red as she attempted to wash her bloodied hands and face, the cold temperature of the water a welcome jolt.
Later, as she passed a wet wide-toothed comb through her tangled hair, she gazed at her reflection in the luxurious glass mirror before her, noting the disquieting darkness that seemed to have seeped into her normally bright-green eyes; there was a distance to them now, a lifelessness that seemed to reflect the weariness she'd felt throughout her body since she first entered this cursed place. Another shiver down her spine, and she knew that somehow, her continued exposure to it, to him, had changed her, and she was frightened, until she remembered…
The holy stone, she thought suddenly. The holy stone! Used to purify evil, to ward off demons and wicked spirits…perhaps it could reverse the changes she'd suffered as well. It seemed unlikely, perhaps even impossible, but she'd found a thin thread of hope and soon clung as desperately to it as a drowning man to a line. After washing the remaining blood from her arms and hands, she began to search through her dresser for her traveling clothes.
Cassandra first stumbled across a white outfit, perfectly pure and neatly-starched, that seemed the antithesis of her current mood. It was followed into the discard pile in short order by an assortment of bright colors and rich patterns, slender tops and skirts, and Cassandra felt her lip curl in disdain. I don't know why I'm being so picky, she groused, until her hand brushed across a fold of dark material folded deeply within the dresser. Raising a curious eyebrow, she reached in and retrieved a dark black jacket and a pair of fitted black pants. She held them up before her and, after casting a critical eye over the ensemble, smiled faintly. Perfect.
Once she had dressed, observing with a note of satisfaction the wonderful fit of the clothing, Cassandra slung her cloak around her shoulders and, with a slight shrug, fastened it with the silvered broach Raphael had given her several days earlier. Tugging her leather boots onto her feet, she stepped out into the hall and, moving quietly, made her way to the armory.
Her weapons lay by the forge, still battle-scared and unusable. Another sword and shield lay half-forged beside them, and Cassandra stared at them curiously before turning her attention to the broad walls of the armory, stretching high and fairly covered with an array of swords, knives, pikes, halberds, and weapons she couldn't name with any degree if certainty. Chewing thoughtfully at her lower lip for a moment, Cassandra finally reached up and grasped a wicked, black-bladed kris in her hand, turning it over and watching as the torchlight reflected over the obsidian surface. This should work, she thought—intimidation would likely be key if she were to obtain the knowledge she sought, and the blade in her hand would no doubt serve that purpose. Cassandra tucked the small sword into her belt and left the armory, shutting the doors softly behind her.
To the village, now. The boy who had attacked them had been in possession of a shard of the holy stone—perhaps there were more to be found in the mountain village. Perhaps she could use its innate purity to heal the damage this wicked place had inflicted upon her… But her thoughts of the village soon grew sour, and Cassandra found anger rising up in her belly as she thought of the villagers, wretched, terrified, of the pained, shocked look in Raphael's eyes as her gazed dumbly at the crystalline shard protruding from his chest, and she started as she realized that she wanted to know where it came from, where the boy had gotten it—why he had acted so.
Disconcerting thoughts, and Cassandra absently toyed with the hilt of the kris at her belt as she made her way to the gates. Why did she care what the boy's motivations were, where he'd obtained a holy stone and why he'd plunged it into Raphael's chest? For that matter, why did she continue to worry for him, to feel fear and pain rush through her as she thought of his wounds? Why had she held him in her arms as they rushed swiftly back to the castle?
She wasn't sure what curse he'd placed upon her body, but she was beginning to suspect he'd worked some dark spell upon her mind as well.
The night was silent and dark as Cassandra strode across the sweeping castle grounds and entered the stables. The carriage stood outside the wooden structure, a pair of horses munching contentedly at a large bale of hay beside it. The carriage driver, clothes still lightly stained with blood, eyed Cassandra warily as she came up to him, her eyes glinting with purpose and determination. "Take me to the village," she said shortly, voice darkly commanding.
The driver stared at her for a long moment, faintly recognizing the tone as strangely reminiscent of the master's, before speaking. "I'm sorry, Lady Alexandra," he began, attempting an apologetic voice. "I'm afraid I'm under strict orders to ensure that you stay here within the castle."
The driver felt a slight shiver down his spine as Cassandra narrowed her eyes darkly at him. "Fine," she said in a deceptively cheerful tone. "I wouldn't want you to disobey orders."
"Thank you for understanding, Lady Alexandra," he said uneasily. "Good evening to you."
Cassandra smiled noncommittally and started off towards the castle, casting furtive glances over her shoulder until the driver finally turned back to his horses, absently scratching one behind the ears. A window of opportunity opened, Cassandra moved swiftly around the side of the stables and slipped inside the structure, the smell of horses and warm hay quickly filling her nostrils. She moved quietly from stall to stall, examining a pair of geldings, a towering, fairly ill-tempered stallion, and a quiet young filly before coming across a midnight-black mare, coat glossy in the torchlight, eyes shiny and inquisitive, already tacked.
Cassandra smiled slightly and reached out one hand to affectionately scratch the mare's neck. "You'll do nicely."
The driver rested wearily against the carriage, his head bowed and arms crossed irritably as he cast a glance towards the stained interior. It would no doubt take untold hours of scrubbing to remove the quickly-setting bloodstains upon the rich upholstery—assuming it could be done. He frowned deeply as he thought of the unpleasant task of asking the cleaning ladies for their expertise, but better their wrath than Lord Raphael's when he discovered that his prized carriage had been damaged.
The sound of thundering hooves and a high whinny jolted him from his thoughts, and he turned disbelieving eyes towards the fields to see Cassandra astride Raphael's most prized mare and rushing swiftly past the stable gates. He watched her retreating form for a moment, fear seizing him as he imagined her to be the horseman of death riding to herald the Day of Judgment. Stumbling slightly over his own feet, he ran quickly towards the gate keep to alert the guards.
Cassandra flew as if the hellhounds of Hades nipped at her heels, her black cloak billowing behind her. She rode the mare hard, digging in her heels and leaning forward in the saddle until they finally arrived outside the village parameter. The night was silent and dark as she dismounted, patting the horse's flank before tying her securely to a broad oak. Eyes dark with determination and a hint of anger, Cassandra set her jaw and entered the village.
The streets were quiet, only a smattering of people still milling about, given the late hour, but those who had remained after the execution looked fearfully to her and swiftly gave way when she approached.
"One of Death's agents," one whispered, "come to claim an unfortunate soul."
"The young woman with the wretched lord, wasn't she?"
"Look at those eyes—I'd bet you anything she's one of the strigoi. Best move inside tonight, lads, keep an eye on the livestock and womenfolk."
Cassandra ignored their swift Romanian chatter, gazing around at the few brave souls who still gathered outside, finally coming to rest upon a stocky middle-aged man, all beady eyes and wispy white hair. He stared back at her, hatred and anger burning in his gaze.
Ignoring his baleful stare, Cassandra strode over to him, eyes dark and determined, never breaking contact with his, and shot her hand out to firmly grasp the collar of his grubby tunic.
"You were there when Raphael was attacked," she said emotionlessly. The man continued to stare at her in stubborn silence, even as she shook him once, twice, hard. "Silent type. I see. Let's take this conversation elsewhere, shall we?"
Cassandra tugged sharply on the man's shirt and dragged him into a nearby shadowed alley between two squalid homes. She pushed him ahead of her before swiftly moving to press the glinting obsidian blade at her belt to his throat, a scowl overtaking her features as she felt him tremble beneath her restraining hand. "Now listen carefully," she began, voice low and dark, "because I'm only going to ask once. Who gave that boy a holy stone?"
The man swallowed hard, a strong shiver running down his spine as he struggled to answer. "Strigoi," he said finally in a hushed voice that became a choked intake of breath as Cassandra pressed her blade more firmly to his throat.
"I keep hearing that word," she said irritably, "and it means nothing to me. What in Hades is a strigoi?" The man began to speak quickly in Romanian, and Cassandra sighed in frustration. "Of course—you don't speak Greek. I've gotten so used to speaking to the maids in Greek, even if they only speak a little…I keep forgetting that you peasants don't speak it." She narrowed her eyes. "No matter."
Cassandra grit her teeth and tightened her grip upon the wicked kris. "But maybe I need someone to talk to," she began, voice tight with anger. "Maybe I want to be able to talk to someone about what's happening, what's happening to me." She felt the stirrings of tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she twisted the man's arm back slightly.
"Do you know what it's like," she said, anger now threading with desperation in her tone, "having visions of your dead sister plague you when you sleep, even as you wake? Do you know what that does to a person?" Her voice was uneven, a breadth of suppressed emotion threatening to finally spill over her weakened defenses. "I left home knowing full well that she was alive," she continued, a tear slipping down her cheek, "and now…now I don't even know. Are these visions trying to show me something? Is my sister dead? Or are they telling me that I'm going to kill her? Do you know? Do you?"
The man struggled in her grasp, shouting fearfully in Romanian. There was something in the way she spoke that was threatening, even if her words were incomprehensible. A note of madness was evident within her tone, and this, more than anything else, frightened him. The man cast his eyes towards the heavens before shutting them tightly and beginning to whisper the Prayer of the Heart, begging God for mercy.
Cassandra stared at him for a long moment as he continued his desperate chant, and she started slightly as she recognized the posture, the piousness of his tone. "What are you doing?" she asked in disbelief. "Are you praying?" Cassandra failed to suppress a short laugh, half-crazed and disdainful. "A lot of good that'll do you," she said, still laughing, crying, utterly coming apart.
"Go on and pray!" Cassandra shouted through her tears. "See if your god answers! I've prayed to the gods every second of every day since I came here, prayed for them to save me, to take me out of this miserable place. But I'm still here, aren't I? After everything my family has done for them, everything we've suffered for, they abandon me." She tugged sharply on the man's shirt before leaning to speak into his ear. "My sister was a chosen one. Chosen by the gods. She fought for them, heeded their words, did everything they asked of her…and it nearly killed her. There's your sympathy!" she shouted, voice breaking on a sob. "There's your thanks! There's your caring god! So pray, goddammit, pray to your useless god! He won't listen to you, he won't so much as blink if I strike you dead right here, and do you want to know why? Because the gods don't care! They don't care!"
Cassandra felt her whole body quake, from overwhelming emotion, from taxing herself so, but also from the sudden, cold realization: the Gods didn't care. They didn't care now, and they very likely never had. She'd been hurt, scared, left alone with a madman who likely wished her dead, and still she'd prayed, prayed desperately for divine aid that had never arrived, not when the gods cared only for themselves, for their pride.
If they don't care, she thought desperately, angrily, if it doesn't matter what I do, they won't intervene one way or another. It doesn't matter.
Cassandra raised her eyes to the heavens, to a dark sky mottled with gathering storm clouds, and a dark scowl appeared upon her features. "You don't control me anymore!" she shouted through angry tears. "I'm finished with you! I won't be your pawn, you hear me? I won't play your games! I won't!"
The clouds grew darker as if in response, a sharp thunderclap splitting the still night air.
Cassandra's tears rushed down her cheeks, but still she turned hateful eyes to the sky. "So this is how it must be." She felt warm liquid run across the fingers gripping her blade and scented the metallic odor of spilt blood. The man squirmed helplessly against her grip but only succeeded in driving the wicked blade more deeply into his flesh. "I suppose there are worse things," Cassandra whispered darkly, the familiar stirrings of hunger and madness beginning to overtake her. "After all…I could be you."
The man let out a piercing scream that quickly faded into a pained whimper as Cassandra swiftly ducked her head and began to drink from his wound, teeth embedded in his flesh, blood pooling around her lips and rushing down her throat, deliciously sweet, unbearably sweet, and she drank greedily of it even as the man tried to wrest himself from her grasp. Eventually, he became pale and drawn as she gripped him tightly, finally going limp in her arms and falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.
Cassandra observed his lifeless form with dispassionate eyes, absently wiping a smear of blood from her mouth. A sharp cry sounded behind her, and she turned to see a few villagers staring into the alleyway, eyes wide in abject horror.
A wicked smile crossed Cassandra's features, and she crossed her arms easily across her chest. "Now," she said, "who's next?"
Amusement and madness glinted from within blood-red eyes.
Raphael awoke slowly, still firmly entrenched in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness. A surge of pain lanced through his entire body as he attempted to sit up, and he bit back a loud curse as he fell back against the pillows. Wretched peasants, he thought angrily. He'd see them drawn and quartered for daring to stand against him so.
…but perhaps that won't be necessary. He felt a dark smile appear at the corners of his lips as he distantly remembered Cassandra shielding his wounded form, standing fiercely before his assailant, sword at the ready as she prepared to defend him, to save him from those who would strike him down. My lovely girl…there may be hope for you yet.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, frantic rapping upon the doors to his quarters. "What on earth do you want?" Raphael asked, clearly annoyed.
A voice sounded from the other side of the door, high and rushed with a sense of urgency. "Lord Raphael!" the voice cried. "Please, it is an emergency!"
Raphael sighed irritably and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Then you had best come in here and tell me what it is," he said. "I'm not known for my patience."
The door opened with sharply, crashing into the wall, and the leader of Raphael's private guards entered, bowing quickly before speaking. "My lord," the man began in a rush, "the Lady Alexandra has fled the castle on your most prized mare!"
Raphael bolted upright in bed, cursing loudly at the white-hot pain shooting through his protesting body. "How could you imbeciles have let her escape? Where was she headed?" he asked angrily, gritting his teeth against fury and pain.
The guard stood steady despite his master's anger. "The horseman said she had demanded he take her to the village. She was armed."
Raphael stroked his chin absently, frowning slightly at the day-old stubble. Perhaps she hadn't run away after all. Perhaps she'd merely… A look of dread concern crossed his refined features. No, she couldn't possibly…
With no small amount of effort, Raphael pushed back the covers and pulled himself to his feet. "Send my best guards to the village," he instructed the guard in a low voice.
"Your best? How many, my lord?"
Raphael looked to him, eyes dark and firmly set. "All of them."
A small troop of guardsmen arrived in the village, weapons drawn and at the ready, only to find bodies carelessly strewn about in the streets, bloodied. A sharp scream radiated from the town center and they rushed in, brandishing swords and halberds, only to find Cassandra standing beside the executioner's platform, lips reddened with blood. Another body lay crumpled at her feet.
"What is man, do you think?" she asked suddenly, staring at her bloodied hands, refusing to address the guards directly. "Really, where do we draw the line between man and beast? And what happens when that line blurs?" Her breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving slightly with exhaustion, but still she spoke. "When a beloved pet grows feral, we strike it down. When a man commits heinous crimes, we execute him. What's the difference?"
Cassandra finally turned blood-red eyes to the soldiers, confusion and anguish playing across her features as blood dripped down her chin. "Why am I a monster?" she asked, voice barely a whisper. "Why am I like him?" She turned blood-red eyes to the soldiers, watched dispassionately as they fearfully raised their weapons. "Why do I give into these urges? Why do I let myself give into them?"
She stopped suddenly, one hand pressed against the still-healing wound Raphael had dealt her, pain suddenly shooting through it, and she fell to her knees. "Why is this happening to me?" she asked in a broken voice. A scream rose to her throat as a cavalcade of voices tore suddenly through her nearly-broken mind, shouting, crying, whispering dark words alongside her name. Malcontent…
Cassandra protectively wrapped her arms around herself, nearly screaming as sharp pain overtook her body, her limbs, her face, even her teeth, aching fiercely. Her eyes burned and she tugged desperately at her hair as her body shook terribly. "What…what has he done to me?" she cried, before shuddering once and collapsing.
A/N: That is the end of Chapter 7. This was officially the hardest chapter ever! OMG! I hated writing this chapter. It was made of evil and tears. Anywho, thanks to my friend David and of course Anysia for helping me figure out how to fix my problem with this chapter. And the damn formatting got fucked up. Gah! Stupid word program