Disc: Nope, don't own Soul Calibur, but MAN I wish I did. lD
Notes: HALLO. Now that teh funneh's over, here comes moar seriousness in all its angsty and dramatic glory. Joy. ALSO--introducing a new pair of 'gals I think we all awaited with baited breath!
Warning!: It's a very AU-ish version to Talim's storyline. I mean, completely AU. So, please, before you get all up on my case about the butchered-ness of it, remember: AU. Thank you!
BIGGER WARNING!: High T, perhaps light M for scenes of gore and implied character death.
TRANSLATIONS (so far):
Evil Spirit: espíritu maligno
Dove: paloma (Sorry Major, I looked it up this time. XDD;;)
--
:Chapter Nine: Sweet Dreams:
–
Tower of Remembrance—Ancient Gate
–
Amidst the hissing pops of the boiling lava just below them, the loud, clanging tones of metal upon metal rang in the air, as clear as church bells. With sparks sizzling between the place where the edges of death danced, Isabella "Ivy" Valentine was caught in the piercing, amber gaze of a predator. Through the gaps of her opponent's helmet, the alchemist could see twin pools of molten fire, narrowed in determination, defiance, and perhaps a bit of battle-lust. The snarling wolf-helm might have intimidated others, but for Ivy, the canine motif served as merely a fancy decoration, one that was not needed on the battlefield.
"My, aren't we overdressed, wolfling?" she muttered, half to herself, half to the young girl before her. An almost growled curse was the armored girl's response, and she lunged farther upon Ivy, spear and short sword swinging, whistling through air. Ivy let up and slid fluidly away from the girl's weapons, unable to resist smirking.
The smirk dropped a bit when pain stung across her left cheek, followed by the slow slide of blood. She'd managed a hit—the little wolfing had managed to land an attack. How...remarkable. Ivy's eyebrows rose as she raised a hand to her cheek to feel the wound. Her lips parted in surprise.
A metallic chuckle rang from within the helm of her opponent.
"My, aren't we a bit underdressed, madam," was the taunting reply. "You dress like a streetwalker, and yet you speak like nobility." And, with a grimmer tone, "Not to mention you fight like a demon."
"Aren't you just a charming little pup," Ivy commented dryly. "You certainly know how to compliment a lady."
"Well," the girl bent into low crouch, once again reminding Ivy of creature adorning the girl's armor. "If you're finally willing to tell me what you know of the Evil Seed and the Evil Sword, I'd be more than happy to give you all the compliments you desire."
"As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I can't do that, wolfling." Valentine shuddered in her grip, and Ivy willed the blade to fall from its solid form to coil around her shoulders, poised like a viper. The girl drew in a sharp breath.
"Fitting," the girl finally said, "for someone like you."
Valentine thrummed, the metal humming in Ivy's ears. "Oh? Does it now."
"Ties the streetwalker theme in quite nicely," the girl said.
And suddenly, words were no longer needed. Valentine shot towards the girl with a mere flick of Ivy's wrist, the separated blades winding their way through the air with serpentine like grace. The girl used the short blade in her left hand to avert Valentine's direction, only to have the snake blade wrap around her armored back in an attempt to trap her arms together. With a loud shout of indignation, Ivy's opponent found herself ensnared in Valentine's coils, her right arm trapped against her side, the spear tossed to the ground.
Then, with a hidden smile that Ivy just knew was there, the girl revealed that, when adverting Valentine's course with the short sword, there was a gap just big enough for the slight girl to slip through and escape.
No one had ever escaped Ivy's hold. Never. Not a single living soul—all except this slip of a girl, clad in a suit armor adorned with wolves and eyes of amber.
"What's wrong, my lady," the girl called out, almost tauntingly, "Not used to having things not go your way?"
Ivy frowned, and the girl froze, as if acknowledging the fact that, with just her short sword as her defense, she was at a grave disadvantage. One that Ivy was all too happy to take.
The alchemist charged forward, a direction that was certainly different from her previous strategy of attacking from afar. The girl was stunned and tried to move towards the side a moment too late; Ivy allowed Valentine to whip out, catching the front of her opponent's closed helm and flinging the armored girl backward, landing with a painful sounding thud upon the stone platform.
Ivy watched with a morbid anticipation as the girl turned onto her stomach and forced herself to her hands and knees, face still hidden. Then, the girl stood. Her hands raised and caught the helm, tugging it upward and allowing a wealth of fire-red hair to tumble around her armored shoulders. The girl turned, and Ivy got a look at her opponent's face.
Her jaw may have hung—Ivy hadn't been expecting to discover her opponent was just a mere child.
Full, lush lips curved into a smile. A dangerous one, Ivy noted. Cunning—almost wolflike, loathe as she was to use the description.
"Surprised, Lady Streetwalker?"
Ivy closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. "A child? What does a child want with Soul Edge!?"
The red haired girl's face shifted and those amber eyes seemed to glow once more, with a bitter, seething hatred that had been tending to for years. A hot, ferocious anger bled into that elegant face. "Is that the name of the sword that left my father a mindless beast? Is that the name of the sword that robbed my kingdom of it's king!?"
Ivy ground her teeth. Enough was enough; Soul Edge had ruined scores of lives, and she'd be damned if she let another child fall victim to the cursed sword. "Leave that sword be, wolfling."
"What do you know of it?" demanded the girl."Tell me everything you know of this Soul Edge!"
Ivy glared harder. "No."
"Tell me!"
"I'll do no such thing!" Ivy spat, Valentine lashing out at the girl. She blocked its strike with the armor of her forearms; sparks flew where the metal collided. The red haired girl managed to stave off Valentine's attack, then charged forward, howling an enraged battle cry. Ivy retracted Valentine and let the enchanted weapon resume its sword form, just in time to clash with the girl's blade.
The force behind the girl's attack pushed Ivy backwards; the silver haired alchemist dug in her heels and pushed back, unprepared for such brutal, angry force. Ivy stared down, and ice met fire.
"Please" the harsh word was spoken between clenched teeth. Ivy drew in a quick breath, startled to see the armored child staring up at her with such intense longing, that it stole her breath away. "Tell me. I just want to save my father—please, tell me about Soul Edge..."
"I can't. I won't let you get entangled with its darkness, wolfling."
The girl parted her full lips. "Please..."
Ivy closed her eyes. Had she once been like that? Had she once been eager to save someone she loved like that? So eager to plunge herself into hell to save someone who was already damned?
Of course she'd been. And look where it'd gotten her.
"No," Ivy replied. "I won't tell you anything about Soul Edge."
There was a choked sigh—and then a whispered, "So be it."
And then an armored fist slammed into her stomach. Ivy let out a hoarse shout, breathless, unable to hold out against the girl's attack. The red haired wolfling sent them both to the ground—Ivy noticed that her head was somehow carefully cradled in a slender palm—and then the tip of a sword was placed at her throat.
She'd just been beaten by a child. A child!
"Yield," the girl demanded softly, and at that moment she seemed to decades older.
"Y-yield?" Ivy coughed, drew in a heavy breath to regain her lost air. Didn't medieval knights used to do this sort of thing?
"Yes, my lady," the girl said in that same, innocently soft tone, slowly letting the back of Ivy's head rest gently on the stone. "Yield. Since you refuse to tell me anything of Soul Edge...I'm afraid I've wasted a great deal of time with you."
Ivy let out a long, slow sigh. Unknown to the girl, Valentine has been released yet again and was waiting for the moment to strike.
"How...chivalrous," the alchemist murmured softly, narrowing her eyes. "My dear wolfling...I've got a bit of advice for you."
And in an almost whisper, Ivy said, "Chivalry is dead."
Valentine wrapped around the girl, securely snapping the girl's arms to her sides. The short saber clatter uselessly to the ground as its owner was ensnared once more, and Ivy sat up with only a slight wince. The girl was soon thrashing in the bladed trap, spitting out curses as Ivy rose to her feet. She quickly put an end to the girl's attempts of escape by placing a booted foot on the red haired wolfling's breastplate, forcing the girl to her back.
The girl's neck was craned to look up at the alchemist. Those pretty amber eyes were practically bulging in their sockets with...terror. Ivy sighed again, frowning. She didn't like that—that pure terror in such a pretty child's eyes made her stomach turn.
"Yield," Ivy said in a monotone voice.
The girl swallowed thickly. "...I yield." And then she closed her eyes, and let her head fall back with a defeated sigh.
Ivy paused for a moment. "I'd have to kill you in order to keep you from going after Soul Edge...wouldn't I?"
"I'm...afraid so, my lady," the girl replied.
There was a lengthy, tension filled pause. The girl swallowed again, and Ivy could see the pulse point at her neck hammering.
"If Soul Edge were to be destroyed by anyone," Ivy began, "would you be satisfied?"
"Yes," the girl answered. "As long as that evil is purged from this world, as long as my father is finally saved from his madness, I will no longer pursue revenge."
She was making a mistake. She knew it.
"Come with me, wolfling."
The girl's eyes widened even more. "What...?"
"Destroying Soul Edge is my purpose," Ivy said. "Come with me and then, perhaps, you'll be able to see your father's damnation purged the world."
The air between them was silent once more. And then, the girl smiled. She smiled so wide it was almost considered to be a grin.
The sight tugged at something in Ivy's chest.
"Yes," the girl said, "I'll join you, my lady."
Ivy finally commanded Valentine to unwind from the girl's body, only to raise both eyebrows in shock as the girl rolled to her feet and...kneeled before her.
"My lady," the girl spoke in a practiced, formal tone that almost made Ivy gag a bit, "for not only sparing me, but for aiding me as well...as the heir to the throne of Wolfkrone, I, Hildegard von Krone, am in your debt."
"Hildegard von Krone, eh?" Ivy rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake, stand up...this isn't the Dark Ages..."
"Ah--" Hildegard stood to her feet, almost appearing to...flush? "My apologies..."
Ivy let out a hum. "Hildegard...? War and protection...odd contradiction you are, wolfling."
"I prefer to go by Hilde, my lady," Hilde said in a light tone, reaching for her saber.
"Isabella." Hilde blinked, tilting her head in a curiously puppy-like manner as she slid the sword in its sheath. "My name. It's Isabella Valentine." Ivy grimaced. "But you'll call me Ivy. I accept no substitute."
There was a light, almost weary giggle from Hilde. "Very well, Lady Valentine."
Ivy let out an equally weary sigh.
Oh, yes, a mistake indeed.
--
Inn
--
Tira opened her eyes slowly, hissing as sunlight hit her sensitive eyes. Blocking out the bright light with a hand, the girl stood to her feet. The red shift she wore seemed contrasted sharply against such a pleasant background. The grass was soft, almost like silk, rippling in luscious waves in the wind. Tira held her breath at the sight. It was beautiful...
And best of all, it was quiet. The voices weren't talking; Tira couldn't even feel their presence inside of her soul. It was...it was a relieving and terribly lonely feeling, all at once.
A small hand slid into her own; a soft sigh met her ears.
Talim stood beside her, her face void of any emotion. A white dress fluttered around the tops of her knees; her hair had been freed, and it danced in the wind Talim adored. Tira's fingers closed over Talim's hand.
"You look so sad." Tira tightened her grip. The younger girl didn't respond. "Talim?"
"You're free," Talim whispered. She closed her eyes. "You can't hear them, can you?"
Tira took a breath. "How did you...?"
Then, the warm wind turned bitter and cold; Talim yanked her hand from Tira's grip, holding it to her chest as she began to back away. Tira turned to face her friend, frowning in concern. "Talim?"
"You're free," the wind priestess said again, starting to shake.
"Talim--"
The ground erupted beneath their feet; branches and brambles shot from the mutilated soil and surrounded Talim, lifting the younger girl off her feet and digging in ebony thorns into her flesh. The branches slapped Tira away, sending her sprawling to the grass.
Talim's pained scream cut into the air; Tira watched in something close to horror as branches split in two, multiplying and growing in number as they wrapped around her arms and legs, tightening until Tira could practically hear the bones cracking under the pressure.
"No!" The word was ripped from her throat in a terrified scream. Tira lunged for Talim's free hand, cutting her hand on the thorns of the black branches. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't grasp Talim's hand; the branches shoved her back again in retaliation.
"Tira," Talim whimpered. Her young face wasn't composed as it had been earlier; terror was the only emotion Tira could see as a branch encircled her friend's throat and dug in. Talim choked out another scream, sobbing. Her white dress was slowly turning red from her blood.
Tira felt an odd sensation; she looked down and drew in a sharp breath. Where Talim's dress was slowly bleeding red, Tira's was slowly bleeding white.
"You're free," Talim wheezed in a hoarse voice.
Tira looked back up, only to see her friend being completely covered in a make-shift bubble of the branches. Talim's screams were muffled, but to Tira's ears they couldn't be louder. Soon the assassin couldn't even see the younger girl anymore.
Then the branches collapsed onto each other, pressing into a tight ball; a sickening crunch followed. The noise echoed in Tira's ear, long after Talim's cries stopped.
She couldn't breathe. The last of her dress was bleached white, just as red started to seep through the branches to pool on the grass below, dripping down in a sick parody of rain.
"We couldn't save her," a small voice said in a whimper. Tira looked to her right....only to see herself. The other Tira was biting her lips as she sobbed into her knees, rocking back and forth. "She's dead, she's dead! She's dead and we couldn't save her, we couldn't do anything!"
Tira felt her breath catching. "No..."
"Dead dead dead, all because we couldn't..."
"No!"
"Deaddeaddeaddead--
"NO!"
--
The dream shattered like glass—Tira's eyes snapped open and a scream was caught in her throat. She was shaking, her muscles convulsing in waves. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, her stomach rolled. She swallowed the lump in throat and took a few, gasping breaths. Keep calm...keep calm...it was a dream, it was a dream...
"Tira?"
Talim--
Tira's eyes shut tightly. Her chest seemed to contract on itself, her ribs squeezing on her heart.
"Tira, you're shaking."
Stop, just—just calm down. Calm down, calm down. Stay in control. Stay in control, please, just don't let them come out again...
Soft, cool fingertips glided along her cheek, then up to her forehead, brushing away a few, sweaty strands of hair.
"It's alright."
A sob tried valiantly to make it's way out of her chest, only to be thwarted by a well timed spasm of the diaphragm. Tira's eyelids pressed tighter together, and her teeth sunk into the inside of her bottom lip.
"I'm here..."
And reality began to shift into focus again. The sheets bunched beneath her back were coarse, with a texture similar to that of a potato sack. The air smelled like dust and old wood. She could feel a slight weight on her torso, anchoring her to this gritty, filthy reality.
Tira opened her eyes again. She bent her head down and Talim's eyes met hers.
For a moment, they didn't say anything.
"You had a nightmare," Talim said, then glanced down at Tira's collarbone, as if ashamed to have spoken the obvious.
"Yeah," Tira said thickly, then glanced up at the ceiling. She said nothing further, and Talim didn't press.
I dreamed that you died.
The words pressed against her teeth, begging to be released—perhaps if Talim knew just how utterly warped and twisted and malformed her mind was, maybe then...maybe...
Maybe she wouldn't be in danger.
But...was her dream a vision? A warning? Tira wasn't a prophet. She'd never had any dreams of the future; most of her dreams were fragments of her past, if she even had one to begin with. So, logically, this nightmare wasn't a warning—it was a nightmare. A dream. Something her wretched subconscious—more affectionately dubbed as the Other—whipped up to torment her with.
And, dammit, it was working.
"Tira," Talim's voice said sharply, and Tira's eyes widened when the younger girl balanced herself on her elbows, so that her face hovered a good six or seven inches away from Tira's.
Only a few, mere inches away... a darkening sky highlighted the young curves and dips in Talim's small face. A particular sense of déjà vu washed over her—hadn't the sun shone on Talim once before, just like this? Hadn't her breath been stolen away before, just like this?
No, it was different—Talim's eyes weren't like fire, this time. They reminded her of warmed cinnamon, almost. Or even the color of the earth after a spring rain...or something similar to that. Tira stared into them and felt overwhelmed by that look of determination that Talim often held in her face at these moments. Her chest seemed to contract even further at the sight.
"I'll stop this," Talim said, her small voice strong and firm. "I won't let you hurt like this anymore."
"Why?" Tira croaked out. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
"Because--" Talim stopped. "I...I want to help you. You don't deserve to hurt like this."
And that was the farthest thing from the truth. Talim may not have known what Tira's past contained—but Tira knew. She didn't deserve salvation, of all things; that was for people who hadn't killed as much as she had—for people who hadn't sinned as much as she had.
She tensed when Talim's forehead lowered onto her own. Every muscle locked firmly into place, every movement stilled. Talim seemed not to notice; the younger girl just kept staring. Tira didn't want to even think about breathing—everything seemed to hang on this one, breathless moment. Talim's eyes closed; her face lowered. Time crashed to a grinding halt.
Tira felt her lips gently press onto her cheek.
She took a sharp breath through her teeth at the tenderness held there; the warmth that was starting to spread all across her face from that one simple gesture. Had...anyone ever done this before? Ever? She couldn't remember—and in fact, she didn't. Because, if she remembered one tidbit from her past, what would stop other memories from resurfacing. Memories that she'd rather stay forgotten; memories that the Other would delight in.
And besides; the thought of Talim being the first one to show her this sort of kindness...
She liked it.
"Sweet dreams, cuervo," Talim whispered into her ear.
Tira's eyes closed, and a small smile spread over her face.
Maybe she would have sweet dreams. Just...maybe.
–
To be continued...
--
Notes: To my knowledge, cuervo is Spanish for 'raven'. Correct me if I'm wrong.