Author's Note: Hey, hey, hey. Me again. Alright, I already went over my 'no more daily update' policy, but I wanted to remind everyone that the updates will still be somewhat frequent, unless I'm specific about it. Also, if there was a chapter anyone missed (some came two at a time) I recommend that someone go back and read, cuz this is about to get 'uber' confusing. I cannot stress this enough. Since my storyline is about to split three to four ways, it'll be crucial for you readers to know where I'm coming from. Thanks for reviewing all. Now, my next chappie is nearly ready, but, as much as I hate to leave y'all hanging like this, I'm going to let this fanfic sit for a bit, gathering reviews and reviewers, and just readers. I'm goin' for the big one here. First plot twist comin' up.
Disclaimer: I don't own SC2...Or do I?...No, I don't...Or do I?...No.
Chapter IX – Of Past and Present
It had already been a bad day for Voldo, as he remembered it. Things in life weren't even trying to accommodate him. The ship ride to Venice had been murderous, and he'd barely resisted the urge to drive his katars right through some of the slack-jawed folk who looked at him funny.
For weeks he had searched, looking ever for clues to the whereabouts of the shards, the sword, anything. He had finally found a track to take which, incidentally, had led him right back to the abode of his deceased master, Vercci. Even though the urge to return and continue guarding the Money Pit was vilely tempting, Voldo had to persevere. He wasn't getting any younger after all. Though it had taken some remembering, Voldo had managed to charter (despite being obviously frowned upon bit its crew) a seaworthy vessel whose captain had promised to take him where he needed to go as long as he got a small share of treasure from the Money Pit's depths. Voldo had returned to Vercci's remaining mansion in Naples, furious when he found it in shambles and unattended after all these years. Most of Vercci's treasures had been lost in the Italian Wars, but that did not mean Vercci, such a great and powerful man, could be dismissed as a man of flitting fame. Voldo, suppressing his anger, had searched the mansion for clues, and he amazingly found one. Vercci had a link to another avid collector of curious artifacts, who might have any number of shards. Luckily, he kept most of what he did not need on hand in an unguarded retirement villa in Venice, not too far from Naples. Ecstatic at the opportunity, Voldo followed the trail to find this Massimo Senicci to the home where he might find something he could use.
After his arrival at the mention less than a day ago, Voldo had made short work of the caretaking staff. He now had a headache after the ear-piercing scream of one handmaiden, which frustrated him to no end. After his disposal of the many women cluttering the place, Voldo had begun to root through every corner. When he realized, after hours of precise circumspection, that he'd overlooked the treasure room huddled in the back, his irked demeanor had just been encouraged. Now, he was mere inches from his precious goal. He could see the fragment with blind eyes, hear its temptress voice with deaf ears, feel its presence permeating the room, but another frustration had presented itself, namely Cervantes.
A bad memory, one of an older day, flitted through his mental corridors as he looked on the pirate…
The large-gabled hall with rafters of splintered red fir met the eyes of the eager folk within or entering the cramped hulk of a building. High above, banners proclaiming various endeavors and rewards swayed gently in rhythm with the curling smoke from a large stone fireplace, the fire of which burned with a particular intensity. Its warm cheer illumined face and muse. Benches and tables flanked the walls, surrounded by all manner of food and drink, pot and vessel, paper, book, quill, and quire. There was an insatiable darkness and murk in the habitable dimness around, which was barely augmented by pale firelight that had huddled itself up ignobly in an opposite corner.
Voldo, wrapped tightly in a cottony frock, pulled himself inside, sopping wet as the creaking door slid back into its cracked place behind him, blotting out the sound of heavy rain sheets pelting the barely paved road. The small plaque, withered by daily wind, on the door swung against the boarded wood with several successive thumps. Voldo looked at it, eyeing the blotchy, black paint lettering upon it that spelled out the three, succinct words, 'Black Tail Inn.' Groaning, her turned and edged forward into the shadows, seeing his goal in the corner, more ominous drifts of smoke in plumes wafting around his masked head. Voldo, smiling beneath his own gaudy facial mask, walked more briskly now. He headed over to the wistful figure at his table, sitting idling and smoking a protruding pipe from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. "Excuse me," murmured Voldo's raspy tenor, "you are Cervantes de Leon, yes." Cervantes looked at him darkly. "Who wants to know?" queried back the pirate, his rough tone overshadowing Voldo's. Voldo, tapping his fingers together, calculating, took a solemn seat, leaning forward on the oaken table's edge and looked intently at the narrow-eyed pirate. "I, Voldo, and my master, Lord Vercci." The piratical figure, shrouded in the mystery he'd forged, looked at Voldo with a grin apparent on his fuzzy features. "Ah, the merchant of death 'imself." Laughed Cervantes, his cackle icy and shallow, "now this is an honor." Voldo scowled coldly beneath his gilt mask. "Do not patronize me pirate." he grumbled, steadying himself in the seat coolly, "I don't need your help."
"Then why are you here?" posed Cervantes, still grinning lazilly as he sat, leaning back sluggishly and oozing into his chair. "I've got a job for you, from my master." Cervantes considered momentarily, laying a gloved hand, wrapped in warm fur, on the table. "I'm listening, go on." Voldo grinned undetectably as he leaned in, his vocal volume lowering conservatively. "My lord desires something," began the servant of Vercci, calm and collected as he issued his edict to the pirate, "a fabled weapon, a sword. He has many mercenaries searching the globe for it, but he suspects a buccaneer such as you would be most successful. I assure you, if you find it and return it to him, there will be a considerable reward in it for you."
Again, Cervantes contemplated his rugged, stubbly face pensive. "So, this Vercci wants my aid, does 'e? I don't usually work for pay." Voldo nodded in understanding, but saw the use of simple heckling in this matter. "As said, the rewards shall be very great, very great indeed. Vercci is a rich man, Cervantes." There was a considerably longer pause. Voldo, trying not to look eager, hovered on his rickety chair's edge. Cervantes pulled up his open hand and waved it around, signaling for more drink to be brought. As a husky, scantily clad maiden plopped some tankards down with a satisfying clank, grinning a wily grin, and turned to stroll calmly off as Cervantes leaned in, nursing his frothy drink. "Well, I need not the money, but such a hunt could be enjoyable. You've got yourself a deal, Voldo"
"Indeed. It's a pleasure doing business with you, Cervantes de Leon." Their hands went up simultaneously, Cervantes' large one closing on Voldo's miniscule one, and they shook on it.
Now, the blind, deaf, and mute Neapolitan was staring up, with an irked look invisible on his face, into the colorless, dead eyes of Cervantes de Leon. He knew immediately who it was. This was that wretched pirate who he himself had recruited to hunt for Soul Edge, volunteering him at the Black Tail Inn in Spain many years ago. Now, the pirate had Soul Edge as promised, but didn't look ready to hand it over.
Cervantes, on the other hand, was just as eager to get this fragment, its lingering aura gesturing to him, but he had had a fine day so far. He was ready for another fight and, grinning a grim grin, showing his pale yellow enamel, pulled up his blades and closed tight fingers around each hilt. He felt the cool metal resonating, quivering in anticipatory glee. His grin widening, the ghastly expression marring his dead flesh, Cervantes advanced and charged.
Voldo, exercising nimbly, flipped, backward in mid-air and landed firmly on his feet. His left katar, its blades gleaming fervently, flew forward and bounced off Cervantes's hooking blade as he swung the other in another great arc. It missed as well, traveling slowly through the air, and impacted the ground with great strength, sending up a cloud of dust a debris as it dented the floorboards beneath the two combatants. The female blade of Soul Edge, wielded masterfully by Cervantes, swung again and again, the blade thinning and growing longer and the arcs and swings becoming greater. Voldo thrust his lithe and compact weapons, each in hand, upward and caught the weapon of his opponent as it spun, the chain that flung from his wrist and glowing, curling around the staff of that sword and pulled forward, sending Cervantes sprawling onto the carpet and into a ruffled heap of satiny cloth. His female blade thinned into the shape of a more slender sword with a jagged hook at the point, by now crackling with coursing lances of fizzled electrical energy, and yanked at the sword as he rolled onto his feet and jumped back, away from the blade of Voldo, which crackled in eerie unison with Cervantes' weapon.
"You're going to pay dearly for that!" roared the dread pirate as he continued. The male blade cracked tirelessly, slashing at Voldo's arms and legs whenever he shifted his attention. He was soon covered in minor gashes from the lashing, pulsing cudgel of metal. Voldo's right katars found their mark as Cervantes spun the weapon and slashed a deep cut in Voldo's upper leg. The pirate staggered backward and slipped, but his sword lashed out another time at Voldo, cutting him across the chest and sending him back as well. Slowly but surely, Cervantes felt his gathering conglomerate of wounds sealing themselves up. Strangely, Voldo seemed just as barely effected by his injuries as the immortal Spaniard. In an instant they were both up, Cervantes rolling forward into a crouch and Voldo practically levitating up over the ground before falling into a contorted stance that resembled the arched walk of a crab as he skittered across the floor. They fought back and forth, swerving in different directions as the dashed in every direction through the swelling pit of room debris. The backed up towards a the wall of the room, Voldo at the receiving end of Cervantes' weapon, the great sword, larger than Voldo's, in one hand, and the gun-sword Nirvana in the other, thrusting and jabbing madly at the floating creature. The female struck the wooden walls of the mansion room nearby several times, breaking through the weak material. Voldo turned as Yoshimitsu turned and his blade cut a deep gash in the wall, which began crumbling. The gun-sword drove forward and glanced off the wall, cutting another slash in it. Cervantes's sword then met Voldo's two katars, crossed, and the three combined weapons drove each other's weapons into what remained of the structure. The room's wall collapsed beside them, ruined wood and mortar, shards of oak and plank and fanciful wallpaper fell about them as their two great weapons slashed crazily at each other in endless succession.
The roof of the villa nearly imploded, the rafters plummeting downward with one whole wall removed. The other three walls stood as the roof slipped from its hold and crumbled inward over the corridor and mansion's inner rooms. The villa's end was still habitable, with the general roof remaining and three and a half walls, but was in disarray. Cervantes made the situation worse by lunging through the debris and swinging a huge sword arc which impacted Voldo's arm and katars. He parried well, but the force of the weapon sent him crashing one of the remaining walls. He peeled himself off it quickly and flipped forward back into the dust and smog-filled street outside, almost slipping off into the watery roads as gondoliers and passersby suddenly took drastic notice of the combatants. They fought again, Cervantes's sword seeming to shrink as he switched to jabbing with his other arm. The sharpened tip struck Voldo several times in non-vital locations, as did Voldo's blades, clashing and emitting powerful waves of sound and strength that rippled through the town like a stone in water.
And still they fought, dueling madly like men…or beasts possessed…
They fought their way right off the edge of the last land sidewalk, both warriors splashing down awkwardly into the water. They grabbled beneath the waves, sending up a hail of foamy spurts, but soon separated as Cervantes flew back and up. His swords glowing beneath the surface, causing the froth to boil and bubble, ominously, Cervantes shot up, bursting through the plane of murky blue, as water spilled around him, he fell like a bird of prey, thumping raucously into a gondola. The hapless gondolier, shocked into stiffness, didn't even look up as Cervantes quickly parted his head from his shoulders and ran down the length of the gondola, his blades aflame completely. He saw Voldo surface, crawling weirdly through the wavy roadways until he flipped himself onto a gondola, twisting his back grotesquely, and kicked the gondolier from his perch.
Cervantes, growling like a lion, leapt from his gondola to the other, dragging his swords behind so they each left flaming tails of singing lightning that zapped the left behind gondola. In seconds, the wood was eaten away by the energetic glow and, much to the surprise of anyone in a thirty foot radius, the vessel cracked and splintered apart into thousands of flaming wood slivers. Cervantes cackled maniacally as he brought his sword down on the next gondola. Thankfully for Voldo, the contorted Neapolitan hopped out of this boat as well to another just as that one burst apart, showering the area with jagged splinters. Cervantes fell back into the water, groaning in mere annoyance as the wooden shards honed in on him and pierced his chest and arms. Ignoring the pain, he clawed his way to the water and pulled himself up onto the next boat, soaked.
Now the dread pirate had time to notice what was going on around him as this new gondola swerved madly forward. Among the awestruck crowd's faces, he saw the littered visages of his crewmembers, weapons ready and faces scrunched into scowls. He smiled, the toothy grin widening ominously, and hopped onto another gondola nimbly, roaring at them. "READY YOUR WEAPONS, LADS, THERE'S BLOOD TO BE SPILT 'ERE!" he thundered, his maniacal laughter swollen to the breaking point.
The pirates took the hint just as Voldo made his way onto the roadside, land at last, and stood up straight for once. One pirate, a rigid, curved blade whirling in his hand, plunged through the scattering crowd (some of which scattered right into the water) and leapt at Voldo. The Italian's blind face looked up at the plunging form and speared him as he fell with both katars, spinning the bloody corpse into the water road beside him. As another stabbed at him, he lopped off the offending, hairy, bristly hand and watched the pirate who had it kneel, wailing in pain. Voldo wasted no time in decapitating the miserable buccaneer and heading towards Cervantes de Leon. Cervantes just scowled, his twirling blades still wreathed in demonic gold, and parried the attack. Grinning murderously, he sliced at Voldo. He managed, to lasso an arm around the enemy and spun on his armored heel, flinging Voldo into the water again. He brought up Nirvana, jerking his thumb back and squeezing the trigger of the hilt-built gun spontaneously. A smoggy flash exploded from the muzzle, the bursting pellet slammed into the water with a tremendous splash. "WHAT'RE YE WAITING FOR," he boomed at his gathering crew, "BLOW 'IM OUT OF THE WATER!"
Not waiting for further instruction, every pirate in the crowd pulled out, the crew on a whole bristling with sword and firearm each. Wheel-lock muskets and pistols leveled at the water, countless clicking noises of cocking hammers sounded in eerie unison. A wave of fiery smoke billowed, drowning out the excited and confused screams of bystanders. The water below Cervantes sprayed up as at least twenty spherical bullets penetrated surface. As the smoke wrapped around everything and the water settled, silence managed to return.
…
Cervantes panted very softly, concealing his weariness and chuckling in his raspy throat. He walked over; hopping from ruined gondola to gondola until he'd forded the roadway and neared the mostly destroyed mansion. He looked over his shoulder at his anxious crew, smiling. "Go on, boys," he said grimly, "They're all yours…"
He turned back, listening happily as his crew immediately pounced on the watching Venetians. He stalked over, through the smoky wisps and piles of bulky rubble. He leaned down, half kneeling, and began to rummage through the rubble for the wanted shard. He found the small, leather, sealed pouch it was in and lifted it up into the air, smiling. But his smile suddenly faded. There was no substantial thing in the pouch, no weighty object! Looking dark, he reached inside and pawed around madly. That damned Voldo had taken it when his back was turned to the pirate and escaped into Venice, probably having fled the gunpowder blasts. Cervantes managed to tear a small, shriveled note from the pouch as he ripped it angrily to shreds. Letting the sounds of death behind comfort him, Cervantes, with angrily shivering fingers, unfurled the note and leaned in close to read it.
To Milord Baron Massimo Senicci, Venice, Italy,
I have thus enclosed one of my findings at the excavation site as a thankful gift for your funding of my project. At first, I thought your supplies would never come, but the vessel bearing them docked into port at Suez last week and has arrived here in caravan yesterday, much to the merriness of my workers. To be honest, I did not expect so much in the way of food for my crew, and I thank you all the more. I will be issuing in new laborers from some of the poorer cities around; many of them do not need pay, so I will be less pressed for your funds. The workers seem to be pleased with their duties, and there have been no complaints as of yet. Your suggestion to allow them into Cairo once a week was simply brilliant as has kept them all in good spirits. Only the archaeologist you employed seems displeased with anything, and he is ornery in general. I believe that, if your friend were not so good in his trade, I would have sent him on his way by now. Most others seem just as annoyed as I by his crabby disposition, but it is not a major issue in any respect. Within in this pouch lies on of the many objects I found. Keep it where you will, it may not have value to you, but it does to me. If you desire more of these fragments, I assure you there shall be many found at the dig site, I can guarantee that, milord. The digging on a whole has been going very well, in my opinion, and some considerable progress has been made. New sections of the tomb in question were unearthed thre days ago and two whole fragments were found. This venture will doubtless be a success!
Most Sincerely, Countess Isabella Valentine, Kurhkek Dig Site, Egypt
…
On the other side of town, after navigating a maze, a complex of road waterways, the soaked and bleeding toothpick of a broken man yanked himself from the water and onto the alabaster, sloping sidewalk, where he floundered back and forth like a fish. At last, his bizarre floundering subsided as Voldo began to gather himself up, standing, as a vast puddle of water gathered beneath him. He shook himself off like a soaked canine, water mingled with strands of his scarlet life fluid flying all around in a neatly cropped radius. He was covered in sores, wounds, cuts, and every kind of painful blow dealt to him in the fray, but he was a resilient and sturdy being. Though the blows stung, biting like wretched insects, he ignored their coupled presence and let the injuries tend to themselves.
Though he could not see, the pupils of his dead eyes, hidden beneath a cloth band, looked down in sensory anticipation at the small, glowing, jagged chunk of metal sitting, clasped in his bony, wrenching fingers which uncurled with a graceful slowness, allowing the cooling glow of the fragment to resonate, beating with a soothing rhythm that mimicked the racing tune of Voldo's enervated heart. He squuezed those talon-reminiscent claws of digits over the item, suddenly feeling a faint but revolutionary surge through the veins and ventricles of his hand which lanced up the length of his emaciated arm. His heart's beat sped nimbly, quick on new, mercurial feet that sent his echoing organ into a melodious succession of thumps that made him feel a youthful vigor that he had not before known. It was refreshing, like a summer breeze, a ray of sunlight...or, to Voldo, the calming relaxation of silence, darkness, and peace that was now present in his mind and body. He felt numb, but still mobile, and blinked his unseeing eyes.
Voldo, servant of Vercci, looked out at the city of Venice, stetching near and far around his cold, hunched visage. Still dripping, the aged vassal began walking, dragging his flexible legs behind, along the sidewalk road, looking down through his blind, pupil-lacking orbs into the suddenly calm water which had settled in the wake of his ascension from it. He dragged his legs faster now, pulling them fully in front of him as he hunched over forward, arching his back towards the earth as he began to bound across the tiles and cobblestones, crawling and leaping like a savage animal...the savage animal that he knew himself to be...