Author's Note: Okay, LOTS of stuff to read for fans. Firstly: Talim fans: next chapter should satisfy. Talim gets some time in the spotlight (and some abuse, but that's necessary, I promise). Mitsu fans: chapter after that, more Mitsurugi kicking ass. Then, it gets a bit confusing (some surprises). This chapter is VERY IMPORTANT, so read it. I mean it, this is important. Trust me. It's also my longest chapter, by 2000 thousand words. I also took some liberties with...stuff. Well, you'll see. Lastly, though my word count on Word says this chapter's upwards of 8,000 words, the word count on the ff.net preview/quick-edit says its 7,000. If there are any sections somehow deleted, discontinuous, that is, don't hesitate to tell me. There's some whacky indednting too, but that shouldn't be hindersome, since I think I managed to fix the paragraph formatting. And now, reviewers: jade: Isn't the suffix –chan, used for peers or elders? I thought that was correct use. Serapis, Jay Goose, and myrmidon: thanks muchly for reviews, and making me happy that I actually have a fanbase here. You can look forward to the next few chapters, though they're gonna take a while to come out, because my chapters are getting longer (Chapter 17 might be more than 10,000 words, which would be a record for me). Hope you don't mind my long chapters. Read on, I suppose, and don't forget to review (yea, I know, I'm a review whore, but I'm a man, so I guess I'm a review man-whore).
Disclaimer: Don't own SC2. NO.I.DON'T!!!!!!1!!!!1!!!!!shiftone!!!! Namco does.
Chapter XIV – Of Awakening Demons
"By the gods…Tartarus!"
And it was Tartarus, or Tartarus as far as the frightened Cassandra Alexandra was concerned.
She stood in a great room, which seemed to have no end. It would have been a normal room, albeit very big, except for the fact that it was filled with jets, pillars, bubbles, and bursts of searing, smoggy flame the spiraled up from suddenly empty openings in the floor, filling the room with constant flashes of bright light and obscuring any view of the ceiling or walls with dense thickets of billowing smoke. The floor was made up of small, foot-sized square tiles, countless numbers of them, and the borders of each glowing as if a whole maelstrom of unadulterated was trying to explode from beneath them, which was probably an accurate assumption. Literally every second, several tiles grouped together would peel away and another column of fire would surge up into the hot air, too close to young Cassandra for comfort.
Nervous, holding her shield up defensively, Cassandra Alexandra moved steadily forward, her gaze fixed at a downward diagonal so she could see both the ground and the fires before her. She kept dodging, dancing warily back and forth to get away from the tiles that were glowing most profusely, as they were the ones most likely to open up, and they usually did. Soon, the hapless Greek found her clothes singed, the fringes and edges disintegrating, plumes of steamy gray rippling from her shield, whose lower quarter had begun steadily melting after a direct hit. As she drew slowly towards the other side of the room, she could no longer walk slowly, or take breaks in between the offending blasts, since their rate had increased ten fold. She was sweating madly, and her skin felt punctured by hot needles just being where she was, regardless of the flaming tongues that stabbed at her every second. She was breathing hard, dragging her weary legs as fast as she could, though all she wanted to do was collapse. But, when she neared that point, the fates continued to conspire against her. Not only were the tiles exploding by the moment, but the floor had heated beyond reason and Cassandra felt the soles of her feet, nearly aflame, her blood boiling and her skin steadily crumbling off of weak, stung muscles.
Slowly, she worked her way through the maze of fire. As time passed, the fiery jets would rise even more rapidly, causing her to move faster. Soon she was running, jumping, and leaping in every direction, trying to overcome the unbearable heat and the pain. Her vision was becoming blurry, her senses becoming dull and useless. Smoke filled her nostrils and mouth and ears, but she tried in vain to fend it off. At last, she managed to blink away the wisps of brownish smog and looked ahead of her at the blaring flashes of light, hearing the fanfare of each explosion. Strangely, something ahead of her stood out from all the fire, something darker and paler. It was a figure, a silhouette of black and white (with a color that vaguely resembled purple) emblazoned on the hellish red and gold. It was human, and it could be only one human; Ivy Valentine. Her thoughts again clouded, Cassandra dashed towards the figure until she had neared it and slid to a halt in an area which seemed safe from the fire. Ivy, hearing her footsteps, turned as she strolled to look at Cassandra, who was but a few feet behind her, and hid a delicate snicker. Ivy was untouched by the maze's hardships, but the Greek had obviously suffered.
"You tried to kill me!" roared Cassandra, bearing her hand as if there was a sword in it, though there wasn't.
"So?" Ivy looked unfazed. So much so that Cassandra thought the perturbed vein nestled into her forehead was going to swell and explode right now. "So?" She nearly shrieked, her voice overruled by crackling fires all around. "You don't even care?" Ivy shot her a cold, icy glance as she turned around. Cassandra noticed that her formerly pale skin was, amazingly, just as pale as ever, despite residual scorch marks. Her hair was mussed slightly, but Cassandra couldn't understand how she had gotten so far and looked as if she'd simply come from a sparring session. Of course, when the panting Greek took notice of the prominent burn on Ivy's back, her views on the matter were forced to switch. Musing, Isabella Valentine spoke.
"No, not a bit." She retorted nonchalantly, flicking her wrist, "Should I?"
Cassandra was incensed with rage. She was weaponless, except for a ruined shield, but she felt the rash need to knock Ivy back onto one of the flame jets. She should've known that any fight in the middle of a room filled with fire was an unstable one, but she was too filled with raw emotion, augmented by the pulsing pain that slid through her veins uncomfortably. She dove, up and into the air, but as she fell, the refreshingly cold metallic segments of Ivy's bizarre sword wrapped around her arms and waist, causing her shield to nearly drop. But, to Ivy's annoyance, the coolness of the sword gave Cassandra new energy and the young girl kicked forward, hard, flipping backward still in the grip of Ivy's snake-like weapon. Ivy's head flew back, a single, fashionable bead of blood seeping from the side of her mouth, contrasting the pallid quality of her face. When she turned her head back, rubbing her jaw, her sword stopped constricting and Cassandra, who was currently upside down, fell to the ground, bouncing off her shield. As she struggled to get up, the heat of the floor biting at her skin, she found Ivy's blade hovering beneath her throat.
"Kid, you're lucky I didn't finish the job. I could've. Now, why don't you stay out of my way, hmm? Maybe I won't kill you if you do."
Cassandra shot her a defiant look, but nodded in defeat, slowly pushing herself up, still glaring. "Fine."
Ivy looked at her with eyes filled with contempt, but turned anyway. "Now, be careful this time."
No sooner had Ivy uttered those cruelly ironic words, than a vague clicking sounded beneath her high-heeled foot as it fell upon one of the larger tiles. Ivy did not pull her foot back and looked down, dark and shadowy eyes widening, as the tile began to sink into the ground. She instinctively pulled her foot back, but it was too late: whatever trap that had waited there was sprung. As Cassandra, smirking as invisibly as she could, and a horrified Isabella Valentine looked on, the tile peeled downward and fell away, revealing a glowing, bottomless hole filled with fire. Just as suddenly, the tiles around that one slid away too, making the hole greater. It was now apparent that the tiles were broad, cubes of stone that held the floor above what seemed to be a pit of molten fire, raging and spewing forth flaming torrents by the moment. The next few tiles, in no particular order, began falling away.
"Nice move." Cassandra snapped, picking up speed and leaping over the widening hole in the floor, avoiding a fire column.
"Shut up!" Ivy snarled back, doing the same. "C'mon, we've gotta go."
"You think I didn't notice?" The Greek said slowly, growling under her breath, "What about leaving me for dead?"
But Ivy didn't answer, since she was now busy running. Cassandra ventured a glance back and gasped. The floor on the other side of the room had fallen and it seemed that the rising pillars of flame were devouring it. Every time tiles fell away, the fires beneath were let loose and the pit was further revealed. Cassandra didn't hesitate to spin on her heels and race across the floor, which was becoming weaker with each step, dodging the flames, the sparks, and the blinding swords of light that stabbed through what she had thought to be stable sandstone rock. Soon, Ivy had almost completely disappeared from the area, lost in the spurt of fire and the cataclysmic collapse. Her eyes tearing from the break-neck speed she ran at, Cassandra managed to make out the visage of a wall, and with it salvation. She ran, her lugs feeling as if they would give way any second, and her hand shot out as she saw a door set into the high stone wall. She shot towards it and, mustering all her might, threw herself up, landing on her knees in front of the door. Without a moments hesitation, she pushed open the creaking metal window in the rock and pushed her limp body through.
…
She stepped through, very slowly and cautiously. She was in a dank hall, filled with cobwebs, with dark shadows clinging to the sandstone walls. The Greek became acutely aware of lifeless things suspended above and around her, but she had no light to see them by. She heard a vague jingling, but otherwise only a distinct silence. She reached her arms out, the one carrying her shield as well, and felt as hanging items, suspended like useless devices from above, glided off of her as she passed. She stopped, feeling the ground in front of her warily with her boot before taking each new step. Now, the circumspect heroin raised her bare hand and felt the objects. They were solid, sleek, and decayed, covered with residual layers of dust. As she drew her digits down the length of the object, she suddenly knew what it was; a skeleton! She flinched, pulling her hand back as she realized that she was surrounded by them, perfectly intact in death.
Luckily, though it disgusted her, there was an upside to all this, the horror around her. As she reluctantly pressed her hand back, she felt the cold of metal leaves covering the hollow rib cage of the carcass. It was armor. She felt her way down, and her hand, open palmed, alighted upon fine leather wrapped in a band; a belt. Soon, she came across a lacquered scabbard dangling uselessly and, to her slight comfort, a sword still lingered within. Carefully and daintily, Cassandra unsheathed the blade and swung it to relieve it of dust, being careful not to hit any of the fleshless cadavers. She gripped the warm hilt, rusted metal now, tightly, and continued moving diligently forward until she saw a vague light at the end of the tunnel. More warily, her eyes narrowing and ladylike brow furrowing, she edged towards it until; finally, light surrounded her again. She was in another huge room, greater and grander than any before, but it was lit more comfortably, brightly, and bore a cool breeze. She couldn't understand how she suddenly got chills in such a warm place, but she did all the same. Her eyes flitting, Cassandra looked around.
The room was vast, with a high ceiling. As Cassandra looked down, she noticed boundaries of the floor, as if she was on a platform. Below the platform was pure darkness, a bottomless pit. Cassandra walked onto the platform, towards the center, and looked around more. Above her there were many decorative hangings and objects. Statues of armored warriors, their bronze pauldrons glowing still, lined the walls which Cassandra could not reach, since they were far off from the platform's edge. Strange statuary eyes, large with blue-painted pupils, hung from chains, focused and rotating slowly. At the far end of the room was a staircase, broad and short, leading up to a kind of slab, or altar. Cassandra eyed it nervously and persevered, but halted suddenly when she realized that she was not alone. It was the footfall that alerted her.
She spun, shooting her sword out ready for battle and…lowered the blade, staring wide-eyed.
Before her stood something she hadn't thought existed except in dreams…or maybe nightmares. At its centers was an eye, with a delicate. Fiery pupil and a fleshy exterior for protection, floating and beating with the resilience of a heartbeat as constant surges of electrical energy burst from it, coursing over its 'body.' It has segmented limbs, bony and thorny, that made up a skeletal form. It had arms, legs, a head, fingers, many things that humans possessed, but it certainly wasn't human. It shined a fiery reddish-gold, like the very tip of flames, and its bony parts were rough and dark. It had great, long talons stretching from its cracked palms and a single claw on each foot, jutting forward. Its arms were raised, but soon lowered slowly to the thing's sides as its eye beat continuously. Angered and dazed, Cassandra raised her sword again.
Suddenly, a voice, a terrible voice that gritted like nails on stone, rang in her head, chiming mercilessly. It was like every voice she'd ever heard in her life melded swiftly into one spasmodic sound that cooed softly as if it held emotion. The voice struck her, as it came from nowhere, and filled her so she could not hear her own thoughts for a moment. She heard its words, echoing in her. "Ah, a warrior, are we?"
"What the…" her stammering voice withered and died in her throat. "How…how do I…" The demon's voice in her mind answered the question she'd been thinking, the voice seeming to hum silently as it became more audible, less painful to hear. Though it was impossible to tell, it seemed to be coming from the demon, though it was in her head. As it spoke, his eye beat with each syllable. "You hear me, child, because, like so many others of your race, your mind is an open book to me." Cassandra tried to adjust to the voice, which she couldn't ignore, and spoke back aloud.
"Who?...What are you?"
"Call me Charade," said the demon's voice, "if you must pin a mortal label on me to know me by. Yours is Cassandra, yes?"
"How did you know that?" the Greek queried, trying to join the 'conversation' more openly, bewildered still.
"I do not relish being repetitive, young one." Retorted the demon, "You hear my voice in your mind because that is where I am. You may see me before you, standing here, but my presence is more multifaceted than you give it credit. Now then, back to matters at hand. Your name is Cassandra Alexandra, sister of Sophitia Alexandra, from Athens?" she did not answer, looking hard at the cycloptic demon, gesturing with his clawed hands, the demon, Charade, continued, "Your parents must have had high hopes for you to give you such a name, or none at all…" again, his voice in her head faded as she stood, looking at his eye defiantly, but he resumed again, actually starting to pace, "Named for a Trojan girl from forgotten lore, the offspring of King Priam, blessed with the gift of foresight but cursed by the eternal ignorance of others…A pleasant name, indeed."
By now disgusted by the demon's insinuations, Cassandra's blade shot up, swerving in front of Charade as he paced nonchalantly. "Get out of my mind, demon!" she said, with an air of command. The demon turned, his eye filled with a look of amusement. "And you would expedite me from it, child?" his voice chanted, with a melodious tone, but suddenly became loud and forceful."Proud and arrogant girl, I do not bow to mortal whims!"
"I said, get out of my mind!" Cassandra lunged with her sword, swiping at Charade nimbly. Charade, to her amazement, bent backward, flipping beneath her blade as it cut through the air. He, or it, somersaulted backwards under to singing blade, landed on his left foot, and axed his right foot around, bashing it against Cassandra's side, which was injured from the incident with Ivy before. She winced and pulled up her shield just as Charade's talons dug deep into the metal, puncturing the other side of the buckler. But, the distracting blow from the left caused Cassandra to look away, and she didn't have time to deflect Charade's claws, which raked across her upper chest, cutting three, neat, red lines in her outfit. She staggered and Charade stepped back to admire his handiwork. In her head, Cassandra heard something that sounded like a chuckle.
"Come now, dear, you can do better than that. You have your sister's tutelage under your belt, or is it all worthless?"
At this Cassandra's eyes narrowed into a pair of fiery slits, rage beginning to well up in her as she spoke, to both her infected mind and the demon standing in front of her. "You don't know my sister! Use her name again and I swear I will kill you where you stand!"
"A bit belligerent today, I see." Laughed the demon, "Maybe we should resume later, after you've collected yourself."
"Shut up!" Cassandra lunged again, raising her weapon, but Charade's talons, crossed in front of him, caught her new sword quickly between his intertwined fingers. "I'm not the one talking, Miss Alexandra, you are. Now, have you any more vapid retorts?" Maddened beyond reason, Cassandra yanked her sword free and hacked at him repeatedly, driving him back, though the demon managed to lithely dodge every one of her anger-induced attacks. She spoke, in between sharply taken breaths. "Get – out – of – my – mind!" Suddenly, as she seemed to be forcing him away, he halted. She watched, horrified, as a sleek, silvery sharp object began to coalesce in his open palm as he curled his fingers around a hilt that seemed to bloom from his hand, like a metal flower blossoming. As the demon clenched his fist, the blade sharpened and straightened while a circular object began to twist out of his left lower arm, growing into the exact likeness of her shield. She gasped openly. "How did you do that?"
"You ask too many question, girl. What words have you with your sword?" Strangely, Cassandra had almost gotten accustomed to the voice by now, but that didn't stop her from reacting rashly. "My sword will find your blood, hellborn!"
She dove in again, her sword flying down diagonally, but it glanced harmlessly off Charade's replica of her shield. She stumbled on her feet, but ducked, jumping and falling, as Charade's sword whirred above her head. She shot up and stabbed at him, but he evaded and his arm laced around hers. Before she squirmed away, his shield struck her back, sending a jolt of pain through it. Grunting indignantly, she spun on her heel, flinging up her foot, and her toe found its mark in the squishy substance that made up Charade's eye. But, the electrical lances radiating from the retina struck her back, singing her foot and leg, which she was forced back. She looked up to see Charade moving back, nursing his injured main organ.
"You're not as juvenile as I had first surmised, child." His voice muttered pleasantly, "There's hope for you yet."
"If you call me 'child' one more time, I'll-"
"Do what? Drive your little knife into your skull and try to purge me from it? Your thoughts are becoming almost comic in their stupidity." Enraged, her eyes nearly aflame, Cassandra plowed forward, taking the demon off guard as he realized the point of her blade was hovering dangerously close to his unblinking pupil. "Why are you here?!" she roared, "Why do you hinder me?" He pushed her off, slashing at her and cutting her sleeve as he stood, glaring. His voice's volume grew malevolently, swelling at an alarming rate in Cassandra Alexandra's head. "I keep this place from imbecilic mortals from above who would come here and take what I guard."
"And what do you guard, hellspawn?" she hissed.
"Something that no one wants, but has made need for itself."He shot back, with wicked nonchalance.
"Stop speaking in riddles!"
"Need I remind you that I am not speaking?"
"WHAT DO YOU GUARD!" she cried, losing herself in her anger as she raised her blade. "I know not now, and I will not unless it is taken."
"More riddles! Tell me!"
As she spoke this final time, his voice grew, swelling and contorting madly until she was driven back by its noise, its cacophony all confined to the structure of herself. Nearly dropping her sword and shield, she pressed her hands against her ears, trying in vain to hold back a scream that forced its way out of her throat. She collapsed, kneeling, quaking on the floor as the horrific voice filled her. "FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF!" it cried, the sound grating on her very soul as the demon, suddenly wreathed in a cold, bright fire, with pulses of lightning cascading off him. "GO ON, HUMAN FILTH, AWAKEN HIM!"
"Awaken who?" she cried meekly, clutching her pounding head. "WHO?"
"AWAKEN HIM AND BE THE DOOM OF US ALL," the demon roared. Even though his voice was in Cassandra's head, it filled the room, echoing off of every wall as the eye of Charade pulsed faster and faster. He moved forward, each step burning the rocky earth beneath it like a branding iron and leaving a steamy plume of smoke behind. Bearing down on the girl, seething and blazing, he moved towards her. "IF YOU SO DESIRE! IF THAT IS NOT YOUR PURPOSE, LEAVE THIS PLACE AND NEVER RETURN! ONLY THE HOPELESS COME HERE, FOR HERE IS ONLY HOPELESSNESS! WHOEVER BREAKS THE BARS OF THE PRISON I HAVE BUILT, THAT MORTAL FOOL SHALL BEAR THE CONSEQUENCES!"
Suddenly, it all became clear with the demon's poem. Still kneeling on the ground, Cassandra Alexandra, her fit of painful paroxysms ended, looked up at the demon, her mouth open noiselessly and wordlessly. "You…you wrote the poem…on the door…didn't you?" Her small, pitiful voice was easily overruled by his tremendous blare as he walked on. "LEAVE THIS PLACE! LEAVE NOW OR DO WHAT YOU MUST!"
Despite the pain, the voice was driving her insane. Cassandra's last jolt of energy sent her onto her feet and flying towards Charade. "GET OUT OF MY MIND!" Her voice, at last, blocked out his voice as it lurked and spoke inside her. The noises faded, replaced by the bewildering clang of Cassandra's ancient sword upon Charade's rippling shield. The demon pulled back, blocking Cassandra's next attack precisely with his blade. He drove his own sword forward, clipping her uninjured arm. She almost jumped as a mild but shocking lance of pain pricked the hewn veins, but she continued doggedly, her face twisting into a defiant but unbecoming scowl, which seemed, oddly enough, to be unmoving to the demon. He continued, driving her back this time, as his entire form fizzled and radiated with brilliant, sinister color, a gratuitous lightshow that bathed the sand-colored room in hues of red and gold. The floor was speckled as if thousands of sparkling rubies littered it, each shimmering with more malevolence than beauty.
Cassandra, though persevering, could not help but be overtaken by a spasm of fright. At first, Charade had only been an ominous harbinger, abnormal, but not necessarily frightening. Now, as fire spewed up from his every orifice like hellish fountains, she found that she no longer wished to look at him…or it (she had not yet deduced what gender it was, though its voice was more reminiscent of a male). She backed up, edging down the length of the platform with Charade hammering away, denting her shield beyond repair and chipping the withered blade until it was no more than antiquated junk, crumbling more with every swing. Finally, as she held her hand out weakly, no longer even trying to parry, his blade beat down on it until it cracked, the rusty metal shriveling before her horrified eyes. She released the hilt, with no steel attached, and let it clatter uselessly onto the stone tiles beneath her. Cassandra grabbed her shield's edges with both hands, holding in front of her to take the face of every attack, maneuvering it from side to side. Suddenly, Charade's weapon poked through, slicing her chest barely. Then it poked through again, missing her flesh, but cutting cloth instead. The shield was soon riddled with holes and Cassandra was forced onto her knees, praying that the buckler could last until she thought of something.
She looked around frantically from behind the circular obstacle, hoping to see something. All she saw were the decorations, treasures laid on the platform, statues in the far corners, the hanging eyes…the eyes! With a swift-thinking glint, her gaze darted up at the many hanging statues that depicted narrowed, single eyes, suspended from the ceiling. She had only one chance, and it was a complete shot in the dark, but she had to take it. The shield wouldn't hold out much longer. As it began to crack and buckle, her eyes returned to Charade. Taking sharp, wheezing breaths, she perfectly timed her next maneuver. Just as Charade drove down a mighty hand, intending to cleave the shield in two, Cassandra ducked. The demon halted for a moment, confused, which was all the time Cassandra needed. She grabbed his thorny legs and pulled, yanking them out from under him. As he was thrown up, she dove towards him, bashing hard with what remained of her shield. Disoriented, the demon flew back and crashed onto the tiles, sending dust and send up in a meager spray around him. He looked up, dazed. Cassandra took the opportunity to set her plan into action.
As a young girl, like many folk of her city, Cassandra had been tenderly, though carefully taught to throw a discus, just as she'd been trained to battle with sword and shield, run with the speed of a deer, cast a javelin, and leap like a rabbit. She had never thought she'd need the talent of discuss throwing, which she'd never been particularly good at, but she surely needed it now. She leveled her shield, letting go with one hand and holding it horizontally. She aimed, closing one eye, at one of the stone eyes, one hanging right above where Charade had fallen. Concentrating hard, she whipped her arm forward in a fluid arc. The shield, just like a discus in shape, soared forward and upward. Though it was weak, it easily severed the chains holding the statue when it hit them before flying past and slamming into the opposite wall, which cause it to shatter. But the job was done. After creaking noisily for a split second, the eye fell, plummeting down. The hapless demon on the ground let his unblinking eye look up and widen with a look of surprise, confusion, and annoyance in it as the huge stone object closed the distance between him and it.
Cassandra fell back as a blinding light, less red and more white, surged through the room. The stone eye crashed onto Charade with an ear-splitting crunch. His eye, as the stone drove it into the ground, quivered madly, ferociously, like a foaming-at-the-mouth canine, shaking vigorously and violently from one side to the other inside the demon's chest. His bones wavered and cracked as electric bursts shot from him like firework sparks, darting across the room and bouncing on the platform floor. Each of the fragments that made up his body, all shaking with tremulous verve, separated, glowing. They hovered, separated from the ones they'd been affixed to, still shivering in mid-air, and suddenly flew every which way as a light more blinding than the first filled the room, causing Cassandra to fall, clasping her hands over her eyes until a loud, multifaceted crackling sound resonated through the room, drumming in her ears, and all went dramatically silent. Slowly, she removed her sweaty palms from her face and looked up.
At the center of the room, where Charade had been, lay an unholy scorch mark that bruised the stone. The eye of Charade was gone, but the segments of his body: arms, legs, fingers, and the rest, lay splayed out on the floor around. As Cassandra leaned forward, she found herself face to face with the demon's whole arm, which was wrenching from side to side, the fingers of his hand opening and closing. She held in a scream, but a muffled yelp escaped her. Like some animal, the arm seemed to notice and, with the last of its waning energy, seemed to leap at her. She grabbed it in mid-air and forced it away, but suddenly, it went limp and, right in her grasp, exploded weakly, sending all the sections of the arm away. The thing's index finger bounced off Cassandra's nose, which wrinkled in disgust as she dropped what she held, the stump of Charade's right arm.
Gasping for air, though she had plenty, Cassandra staggered forward, around the sizzling scorch mark, weary beyond reason, but strangely captivated. She walked towards the slab on an altar, at the top of the broad stairs, near the center of the platform but aligned away from her. Upon the center of the new, elevated platform, the altar-like object sat a rectangular slab of crystalline stone, glassy and like some kind of great gem, its edges sparkling gently and glittering as gold would. It was colored deep red, as if the slab had been cut from a wall of the reddest rubies. It fascinated Cassandra, though she wasn't sure why, but its cold, deadness soured the taste of victory. Its gleam, though, tantalized her, pulled her toward it, the bright crimson of the crystal substance became even brighter as she neared it, her arms hanging and swinging at her sides.
"You killed it?" The voice of Ivy Valentine pulled her violently from the strangely surreal experience. She turned, slowly, but only her head. Her body still faced the slab as her foot fell on the first of the four steps. "I don't think he's…its dead." She said, after a brief pause, noting that Ivy was inspecting the central scorch mark curiously. She realized that she was still unsure of the demon's gender, but he had seemed male before, so she had not considered the repercussions of calling him a 'he.' But, soon enough her attentions were diverted when the pale Englishwoman headed past the remains of Charade and toward the stairs. Her voice was just as cold and toneless as it always was. "Doesn't matter to me."
She slowly marched up until, her eyes straightened into two slits, she stood right beside the slab, looking at it intently. It glittered more fervently as her hand moved out, passing over it. There was a frosty sensation, like snow on her hand, which ran through her arm steadily while she ran her palm across the smooth coffin-like block. A flicker leapt in her expression as her other hand slid up, bearing her snake sword in it. She raised it, glowering down at the slab, which was now resonating, its surface beginning to ripple noticeably like water, its edges glowing and beginning to crackle with very slight jolts of electrical energy. Suddenly, Cassandra, realizing what was about to happen, ran forward, her fingers closing tightly around Ivy's wrist.
"Wait, what are you doing?" she exclaimed, barely knowing what she was saying but coming to the startling and plain realization that whatever was in that opaque slab was the thing Charade had warned of, the thing he'd been protecting, the thing he'd been so adamant about keeping safe. She wasn't sure if the demon had simply been trying to deter her from getting the object, but it was still the temptation of the slab that drove her away. Usually the most tempting things were the most dangerous, as Cassandra's sister had often told her. Her self-consciousness actually alarmed her, but she did not hesitate to continue to hold Ivy's hand back. Ivy's head swiftly turned to see the obstacle behind.
"Getting what I came for." She said, with disgusting nonchalance.
"No!" Cassandra's voice swelled, leaping up an octave to gain volume as she held Ivy's hand and wrist more firmly, "He…it said that there was something horrible in here…" she paused, her grip loosening involuntarily. "I think…we should leave."
Ivy's composed face suddenly narrowed fully at Cassandra; angry sparks lighting in her eyes of snowy cold, and a jolt of anger pulsing in her. She spun, batting Cassandra away by pulling her blade down and ramming it harshly into the younger girl's head and neck from the side. The Greek staggered and fell, tripping down the stairs and landing in a heap at the bottom as her gloved hand moved to the red lump forming on her head. "Have you gone insane, girl?" cried Ivy, her voice huge and magnificent so that it filled Cassandra's ears, "I came all this way, and I'm not about to leave now."
Slowly, Ivy turned, her fluid arm stiffening as it rose over the glassy, fog-filled slab, high into the air, her eyes widening and lip curling in evil satisfaction as her goal, sitting beneath her, rose to meet her blade. Suddenly Cassandra was shooting forward, still weaponless, bounding up the brief staircase, and she darted in front of Ivy, pushing and pulling her sideways, grappling with her. "NO! DON'T!" she shrieked, her eye color dimmed and tainted by a pale, deep cerulean that was certainly abnormal. Her voice seemed different as well, colder and somewhat metallic. Ivy stared at her for a moment, shocked and appalled, but knew that she would not, could not be hindered.
"Out of my way!"
Ivy's blade fell swiftly, with ruthless efficiency, slicing Cassandra's skin at the shoulder. The light in her eyes diminished, she stumbled and fell, gasping for air, agonized and injured. Ivy, seeing the moment rise before her, ready to be grabbed and taken, spun to the slab, yanked up her blade and, with time that seemed to take years, plunged her unfurling snake sword into the crystal brick.
She plunged back, lifted by unseen arms when her blade crashed down. The invisible gripping objects propelled her up, hovering for a second, and threw her backward towards the other end of the room as it filled with a mixture of heavenly and hellish light. The slab rippled uncontrollably, twisting back and forth as pieces of it seemed to rear up, groping at every reach of the room as the block glowed madly, giving off thousands of electrical sparks and bolts of dark lightning that struck and scorch the floor. Like the other room, the tiles of the floor glowed madly and began to be pushed upward by bubbling, billowing flame, though it was flame far redder than normal flame, tinted the color of blood. Slowly, at the center of the lightshow, the slab cracked, shattered, broke, and crumbled, pieces of it chipping away and shooting in every direction as the light became greater and greater. It swelled to such magnitude that there was nothing in the room, nay, the whole crypt underground but blinding, untainted, unadulterated, incomparable light.
And then the world went black…
…
When the world went black…
Cervantes de Leon, his whiskery sideburns rippling in the sea breeze, stood, his foot raised and positioned on the furnished prow of his ship, the Charybdis, posing for no one to see. His arms were crossed impatiently across his chest, the feather in his piratical cap whipping aimlessly from side to side. His eyes, lifeless orbs swimming with the absence of color, rolled sideways into the pockets of dead flesh beside them as his lips curled into an indignant scowl. Uncrossing his arms slowly and sliding his armored leg off of the prow, he turned, letting each eye settle back into its appointed place, and looked out with an expression of seething frustration, over the crowded main deck of his ship. For a moment, he looked onward, those eyes taking in the sight of the frothy tips of each Mediterranean wave as it smashed helplessly against the iron-fitted hull of the Charybdis.
On the deck he looked down on, men had alighted like hungry crows, pecking at the surplus food and entertaining devices laid out. They were gathered, huddled into messy groups, some toying with small pewter dice that jingled annoyingly as they rolled across the planks of the deck, some throwing down torn playing cards, many ripped and ragged beyond measure, and throwing their worthless copper coins onto ever-growing piles of the same as they gambled. Many were guzzling down gallon after gallon of tasteless, flavorless grog with what little rum that could be scrounged from the storage rooms below deck mixed in to create quite a caustic, malodorous concoction. The smoky smell wafted over the whole ship, twirling up into the air as the sails billowed without a care, the oceanic wind pulling the hulk of vessel along through the foaming waves. His eyes continued their unsettled scan, looking towards every section of the beast that bore him to his destination and beyond.
Suddenly, his gaze settled on a bobbing dot that had materialized beneath stormy clouds on the distant horizon. His scowling mouth twisted and contorted into a murderous grin as he walked towards the ship's railing and let his gloved fingers loop around it. It was another ship that he saw, the small visage registering instantly in his mind. A course, gruff chuckle sounded in his rumbling throat and he turned, walking along the railing but still eying the other vessel as it drew closer. It had small sails, and was relatively large, but not imposing. Probably a Turkish merchant barque, or at least that was Cervantes' highly educated guess. Cervantes, the dread pirate, finally turned, headed over to the railing of the steering deck and looked down on his unwary crew, still grinning widely, though that expression soon became darker, more serious. One hand moving to his blade, the Soul Edge, he thumped a gauntleted hand, clenched tightly into a fist, on the railing, alerting his crew of brigands and felons.
"C'mon, ye scurvy dogs," he bellowed, knocking each and every buccaneer from their drunken stupors, "Ship off the port bow! We'll be feastin' and drinkin' again tonight if we take this one!" Slowly but surely, and soon with more obvious enthusiasm, the pirates began to scramble up oafishly and scurry across the deck, below and above, to their appointed stations. "Get up, all ye bilge rats, and get to the guns!" On command, they sprang into more speedy action, looking like furious ants as they hurried about, pulling all of the rusted cannons to the side of the Charybdis and dragging sacks of black powder and rolling pitted cannonballs towards the port railing. Cervantes' serious grin contorted into a bizarre grimace as he hopped from the steering deck onto the main one nimbly, the sabatons strapped to his feet clanking eerily as his unsheathed his blade with an elegant flourish. The dread pirate ran forward, brandishing his weapon merrily until…
A wave, unfurling like a watery tidal wave in the air, surged over the sky and the sea, causing everything in its wake to fizzle and ripple as if it was all a great tapestry, torn asunder. The wave wiped over everything, painting it all black, blacker than night, black as starless space. The Charybdis was black, the water was black, and Cervantes' whitened gaze was jet black and dark as the throes of death. A ceremonious gasp of confusion tried to rise, but was muffled by a gratuitous, fluctuating thump that echoed and remained, a shrill caw filling the air for the span of many moments, that could've been mistaken for the passage of several slow millennia. The darkness, shriveling up every aspect of light and turning it to black, overwhelmed the seascape, leaving no rock or frothy wave unturned, no solitary pigment untouched by the deathly pallor until, at last, the wave passed, leaving naught but silence.
The silence was broken by one of the oafish crewmembers.
"Umm…sir? What the hell was that?"
…
When the world went black…
Beneath a blood-red sky, its edges tinted dusky blue as the sun, murky and watery, was clouded over by the thick cloak of night as it swept up from the horizon, stood a young man, in his twenties, set in a battle stance with a furrowed brow, tight and serious. He clasped in his hands, each wrapped in tattered bands of crimson cloth, a long staff held at a diagonal, which he was prepared to use when the moment came. He paused momentarily, his hand shooting up to his face to flick a loose strand of hair from it, which was hovering distractingly in front of his deep eyes. As he did this, his line of sight returned to the bearded man, muscular and steady, who stood across from him at the opposite end of a courtyard plane. The two, the young and the old, looked at each other intensely for more than a minute, hovering in place and ready to strike, waiting for the opportune moment.
Suddenly, the young man's foot skidded back and pushed him forward. His scarf-like cloak, trailing in the air, he leapt forward, pulling his arms back as he soared towards the other. The old man sidestepped with amazing ease as the young one, suddenly yanking his bo staff forward, crashed into the smooth, slightly shimmering alabaster ground. The old one turned, his strong, hands clutching a great blade in a vice grip, and wheeled around, his legs and feet sliding beneath him. The young one reared up and pulled back, spinning his staff up until it was at a diagonal in front of him and took the brunt of his foe's attack, causing the rod to waver temporarily before its owner had to step back. A second later, he plowed onward, avoiding a gargantuan arc made by the other blade, and struck. His attack was parried as the old man whipped his sword around, but he continued to hammer each side of the enemy, forcing him backward along the court. He continued attacking, thrusting and jabbing with the long staff as sweat began to form in rapidly falling beads on his tanned forehead and face. His arms became weary as he continued without fail to smite that same spot. Suddenly, as his attacks reached their greatest speed yet, his foe surprised him, spinning lithely out of the way and pulling his blade in a full arc, the whole way around him, and slammed the flat of the broadsword he gripped with both hands into the younger man's exposed back. The boy tried to steady himself, but failed, and fell forward, spitting blood onto the pure white ground as the air began flowing back into him.
Slowly, he brought his bandaged hand up and slid along his face, wiping the clots of blood from his chin and nose. Adjusting the mirrored sash hung over his shoulder with neat precision, he stood, leaning on his weapon, the bo staff. He looked solemnly, panting with rhythmic timing, at the man who'd defeated him, who stood up to his full height, his long, braided beard of cloudy grey and ivory white blew backward in warm Indian winds. He lowered his shimmering blade, the lengthy, broad metal filled with the sunny reflection that lingered, imparting little light to the darkened area as dusk and night set in, the careless veil of which was being tightly drawn over the heavens at that very moment.
"Good, Kilik" said the aged man, nodding his bearded head swiftly as his muscles' tension relaxes and the veins standing out on his neck and bare forehead settled, "very good, but you focused your steady attacks too much. Once you have found an opening in your opponent's defenses, you should pursue that opening to its logical end, but do not lose track of the openings that may have developed for them. Always be wary of your weaknesses, even if you are concentrating on your enemies, for their weakness might be yours as well, if you are not careful."
"Yes, Edgemaster," replied Kilik, nodding his head with a dignified bow, "I shall remember that."
He walked slowly towards his master, contemplating in total, immobile silence, as he let the staff sit loosely in his relaxed grip. Edgemaster turned from him, sliding the broadsword into a sheath on his back, and looked down the length of the courtyard. Suddenly, his two focused pupils dove up, looking at the sky in the distance. His mouth fell open and he froze in mid-step, staring at the horizon. Kilik, walking beside him, stared as well as a sudden, dark wave rippled across the sky, momentarily shrouding both of the men, the master and the student, in pitch blackness. They stood completely otionless as the ebony shockwave whipped around and over them, and did not move for many moments after it had passed.
"Master! What was that?"
"I do not know, Kilik. I truly do not know."
…
When the world went black…
In the city of Katmandu, the small country of Nepal, the screams of women and children tainted the air, and the color of wet blood marred the clear, crystal white of the crunchy snow. Every which way people ran; many covered with blood that wasn't theirs, fleeing and shrieking madly as they tried to find refuge from the creature that was slaying everyone they'd ever known. Their lives were being systematically destroyed, and most taken, by a monstrosity who had materialized in their midst and had not stopped to say a word before his rampage, his killing spree, began. He had ravaged and roared, decimated the town, which was ablaze around him as he wandered its ruins, killing heedlessly and without a care in the world. It had not stopped for hours, and showed no sign of stopping until the last living being in Katmandu had been brutally, senselessly slain.
At the center of the town, standing in snow so red it could no longer be called snow, was an azure figure, caked with splatters of dried life fluid, his chest heaving wildly beneath a rusted, dull-colored breastplate. His eyes, red and glowing furiously, radiated with microscopic lances of energy that zigzagged through the pitch darkness concealed beneath his visor. A sound seemed to be forcing its way steadily from his ragged throat, but he couldn't be sure whether it was a grim laugh or an equally grim sob. He wasn't sure he cared either. Nightmare was used to killing people, very used to it, and it had never elicited second thoughts from him before. Thus, he didn't plan on developing sudden qualms about killing. His grip on his blade, which now was resting on the bloody snow, seemed to be loosening, becoming unstable as it quivered. As his helmeted head turned to it, he saw that its length was vibrating strangely, but he ignored the bizarre sensation, hefting Soul Edge up and moving towards the last survivors.
He saw, through that dank visor, shrouding the atmosphere around him to hazy, midnight hue, the last remnants of life. A woman, still young, probably in her twenties, clutching a child in the wrinkled rags of her shredded clothes sat huddled against the crumbling ruin of a wall, no longer with walls alongside it. Nightmare, in his helm, could not force a smile or a grin as he neared her, dragging his armored legs and blade, pulsating frustratingly with anticipation, on the rocky crags of earth. As he neared her, she turned from him as best she could and curled into a protective position around the confused child, who was crying noisily. She was sobbing, loudly, and for good reason. She'd probably seen most of the townsfolk brutally slain by Nightmare. Now, there were none left. Every citizen of the city had been murdered in cold blood, exorcized of life by the demon knight.
Nightmare became aware that she was saying something, probably to him, since she had looked at him again. Probably begging for her pitiful life, he reckoned, and continued clanking towards her. She turned again, looking away from him. Her mouth was still moving, but Nightmare could not hear her word in this state of relieved ecstasy. His pace slowed as he realized that she must be praying, praying to whatever she believed in. Again, the well of pity jabbed at him, but he pushed it aside and continued. The shrill squawk of the young one wrung in Nightmare's sensitive ears, but he ignored the pang of pity that his inner self was feeling. As he done with so many, he uplifted his weighted arm, decked with azure plates, letting rivers of blood flow down the length of Soul Edge. He raised his blade over the weeping female and the bundle she protected, readying himself for the annexation of another soul.
Before the blade fell, just as it had swept into motion, darkness took the world, the same darkness seen by Cervantes, the dread pirate, and so many others, everyone on the planet's face. Nightmare loved darkness, but not this darkness. It was horribly unsettling as the clouds of it filled him, seeping like fluid gas through the cracks in his armor and wafting through. Just as it had been everywhere else, it was swift. The darkness evaporated back into red, deathly light after but a minute, but a left a stomach-wrenching feeling inside the azure figure. He looked down, through new light, to see his blade hovering but an inch from the sobbing woman's head, completely motionless. She was quivering with deep-rooted fear, but was still using herself to shield the now silent child bundled up in her thin arms.
Though he didn't know why, Nightmare pulled the blade back. For the first time in a long time, he felt as if he was full and could devour no more. The darkness passing had ruptured his constant hunger. Lowering Soul Edge, which protested with metallic roars, he turned and walked through the snow, the rocks, and the carpet of corpses on the pure white earth, heading towards the entrance to this city where he'd first appeared. He ignored the quieted sobs of the female, and the refreshed giggling of the child, who didn't seem to comprehend what had happened at all.
The woman looked after him, still weeping. She was, perhaps, the first and only person to survive an attack by the monster wielding Soul Edge.
Something terrible had happened; something that would change the world forever…