Not since the death of Sir Stefan at the hands of his traitorous Captain had Ostrheinsburg Castle been alive with soldiers. The air in the valley below was filled with shouts and harsh laughter, and the ringing of metal on metal, the clatter of hooves and tramp of marching feet filled the air with the ambience of war. These fighters, however, were not the disciplined retainers that the castle has housed in the past – instead of the armored footmen under Sir Stefan's banner, these men were wild and rowdy warriors. Savage berserkers from the west and north lived next to Italian renegades, French rebels, and English pirates, brutal killers all, clad in scavenged armor and wielding a wild assortment of weapons.
As fearsome as these men were, however, the most terrifying soldiers in this horde lived in mud huts on the ruined castle's parade field. These were the elite troops, savage monsters known as the Lizardmen. They were far more sedate than the men in the valley, but much more menacing. The center hut housed their leader – a monster larger and more fearsome than the rest, and possessed with a devilish intelligence. Rumor stated that he was a man once, a warrior cursed by an evil god, and all knew that he was fearsome, and loyal only the leader of the fell army.
Up behind the ruined castle stood a burned-out chapel, where the leader made his camp. None of the warriors in the army dared approach, for it was a cursed place. Only the captains and their leader's personal guard were allowed to climb the steep path that led to the chapel door, and the Nightmare was not one that any sane man would cross.
The two armored men jogging up the hill were enormous, hugely muscular men. Despite the weight of their armor and tremendous weapons, they moved at a surprising pace; these two men were the captains of the army in the valley, and they had been summoned by the Nightmare to an evening council. And when summoned, you were well advised to make no delay and presenting yourself to the Chapel.
The berserker at the doorway to the chapel raised his fist in salute to the two captains, and then jerked a thumb towards the threatening sky. "Lord Azure is on the top level, mein kompanileutnant[i]," he rasped. The two men nodded, and slung their weapons behind them – one a broadsword and shield, the other an enormous hammer. The Nightmare had been known to react badly to weapons out and about in his presence, and it had led to one bodyguard killed already. No sense in taking chances, after all.
The first thing that a new bodyguard or captain thought to themselves when seeing the Nightmare out of his armor was how young he was – how could it be that the Scourge of Europe, the most powerful warrior in the world, could be this handsome, callow, blond-haired boy? The second, of course, was the corruption on his body – his sword arm was enormous and deformed, ending in a demonic claw and covered with tough hide and evil looking ridges. His face was equally arresting – his eyes were always bloodshot, it seemed, his face was noticeably scarred, and many swore that his teeth were sharp fangs.
When he talked, however, any doubt that the youth reclining in the chair was indeed the Nightmare was dispelled – it was that deep rumble that struck terror into foes and gave such heart to his own troops. That deceptively handsome face looked up at the two captains and he nodded. "You have arrived, and we can begin," he murmured.
The two clenched their fists in salute. "Yes, Lord Azure."
The captains took their seats at the table, eyeing their companions. There were three others already present – one, a slender man with a thin black beard, wearing red and green robes etched with eldritch symbols. This was N'Brid, Priest of War and the leader of the Nightmare's small force of sorcerers, demonologists, and occultists. The next was wrapped up in an armored leather bodysuit, all black as night. He was Bertrand "Le Nuit Toxique[ii]" D'Bergeron, a French assassin who oversaw the Nightmare's scouts and spies, and, it was rumored, dealt death personally to those within the army who displeased the Nightmare.
The third – thing – at the table was the captain of the Lizardmen, a vicious monster who fought with a gladius and small shield, and who was regarded by the humans with a mixture of fear and respect. Unlike its monstrous soldiers, however, this Lizardman could speak languages that men could comprehend – the captains had heard it hiss in German, English, Greek, and an Eastern language they didn't understand. It flicked its forked tongue out at the armored men as they say, its version of a friendly nod.
The Nightmare stood and leaned on the table. In the torchlight, his blond hair was the color of blood, and his eyes glowed red as he spoke. He spoke in German. "I was… contacted… a few days ago by a woman, who wished my assistance. She spoke to me in a vision, saying that she wished to join me, as another of my Captains. She called herself the Countess Valentine." The Nightmare looked at each man around the table in turn, gauging their reactions. The two armored warriors glanced at each other, the sorcerer smirked, and the assassin and beast looked on, their expressions indecipherable.
"Perhaps I can enlighten you, Lord Azure," the sorcerer said, his oily voice a sharp contrast to the Nightmare's growl. "This woman," he said contemptuously, "is a known dabbler in the Arts, and supposedly has a following England."
"She is a sorceress, then?"
"Hardly, my lord. She is an alchemist," he practically spat the word as if its mere mention befouled his lips, "who plays with steel and chemicals. Hardly a true magic user."
"Yet she seems to think she has something that I need – this intrigues me." There was silence about the table for a moment, and then the blond man glanced the man in black to his right. "What do you know, Poison?"
The assassin nodded briefly. "I know nothing of magic, my lord, but I know beyond a doubt that the woman is one of the finest swordsmen in Europe. Her reputation is beyond question – not only is she known for her wealth, beauty, and keen intelligence, but for her victories with her sword. The weapon itself is unique, as well, a mechanical toy that can, with the right skill, become a steel whip." The two warriors at the end of the table glanced at each other again. "For myself, my lord, I would very much wish to speak to Lady Valentine, and perhaps learn the secrets of her blade."
"Very well, I am decided. Priest, contact Valentine and tell her that she is to meet me here, and that she is to come alone. Bertrand, may speak to her only after she has provided her assistance to me. Captains, I want you each to choose four of your best fighters and have them ready at any time – we will see for ourselves if she is as good as her reputation claims." The three captains bowed their heads in acknowledgment, the Night Poison smiled slightly, and N'Brid pursed his lips in distaste, and then nodded as well.
"Now leave me," the Nightmare growled. "Have the guard send up Anika."
Even with the demon-fire raging in his brain, the man Siegfried was capable of resisting the evil of the Soul Edge. When Inferno was distracted, or the sword was damaged, Siegfried could regain control of the body for short periods of time – dangerous diversions that had cost Soul Edge souls, and had nearly gotten the host body killed on one occasion.
It was because of this internal battle that Inferno had the witch Anika tend to him when the body rested. The woman's magic had the power to affect the spirit, and Inferno needed her help to keep Siegfried Schtauffen dormant. The fact that she was a beautiful and strong-willed woman was inconsequential to Inferno; let the captains think what they would about their leader demanding the woman in his bed at night, he didn't care. All that mattered to Inferno was that the Soul Edge be fed without tiresome, mortal distractions.
Furthermore, though it galled the demon to admit it, the force with which he drove the body was exhausting, both to it and to him. Without the woman's ministrations, Inferno would have been forced to seek out a new host after he had killed the body of this one from overwork.
The demon lay the massive form of the Soul Edge against the wall, and stripped its host body down to his worn undergarments. Inferno congratulated himself on his excellent choice for host – this one was young, and unbelievably strong. His old host was too old, too worn from years of battle to properly support him, but this mortal… the demon was almost impressed.
Inferno lay the body on the bed, suppressing with a trace of irritation the stirring of the mortal's free will. The mortal had been relatively quiet, lately, but this evening it had snapped at its chains a bit, and the buzzing in his head had been a distraction throughout the evening. The sooner that the witch benumbed the mortal, the better.
The demon sensed the witch enter the room, even though the mortal's eyes were shut. Her soul was very strong, and the Soul Edge desired it, but her services were too valuable for her to be used as feed. "Attend to me, witch," the body rasped from its position prone on the bed.
"Yes, Lord Azure."
Silently, the woman walked over to the bed and pulled out her medicine bag. A variety of herbs and salves were discarded before she found the one she wanted. With surprising strength, she began to rub the ointment into the host's back, easing the aches of the muscles and healing the tiny tears that formed inside the mortal's flesh.
After a long time, Inferno felt the stresses of the body ease, and jerked his host's head to indicate that he was physically fine, and that the witch should move on to the next phase. She lifted her hands from the small of the back and placed them on the host's temples. That irritating buzzing of the mortal's soul was instantly silenced, and Inferno allowed himself to rest.
Dealing with strong-willed mortals was exhausting, to be sure. That pirate was much easier…
Anika plunged through the spiritual darkness, clutching the golden thread of Siegfried Schtauffen's soul until she found herself in a metaphysical room somewhere deep within the spiritual world.
"You are getting much stronger, Herr Schtauffen," the witch purred. Her German was thickly accented, but far better than her companion's Nordic. "It is not as much so far to fall, this time."
The room itself was unremarkable, bed, chair, desk, flagstone floor, similar to one might find in any castle in Europe. What was unusual was its sole occupant, a blond-haired young man who was looking at her with a weary smile on his face.
"Meinedamme Anika[iii], if that is so then it is you that I must thank," said Siegfried with the highest formal courtesy.
Anika sighed. It had been weeks since she had made contact with his spirit, alone in the void and raging against the demon, and still he remained so formal. "I am glad to be helping you," she said carefully, fighting her away around the unfamiliar language. "Kjærsiegfried[iv], you must not call me 'milady.' I wish to be your friend, not so distant."
At this, Siegfried smiled all out, and stood to clasp her arm. "Yes, it is so. Very well then, Anika my friend, how long until I am close enough to break free from this prison and send the monster back to Hell?"
At this, the witch's face fell. "It will to be a long time, I am thinking. You must try not to resist him so much – he can sense when you are active, and if he suspects that I am helping you he will kill me without a second thought." She laughed bitterly. "Though that would kill your body for certain – the extra weight of the corrupted arm is tearing you apart, Siegfried. The human body is not designed to hold so much weight so far from the center of the body. If you weren't so strong, or if I couldn't go and repair the damage, your body would be crippled in a bed somewhere because of that stupid beast in your skull!"
Surprised at her own vehemence, she looked up at Siegfried, who was flexing the fingers of his right hand and wincing. "If I… when I break free from Inferno, will I be able move my fingers again? I know I can do it here, but 'here' isn't a real place. It's a figment of my gottdammen[v] imagination! Back when I could be in control, just for a little bit, that cancerous arm was a constant reminder of the demon. When he is gone, will I have my own body back, again?"
She looked grim and sad, and Siegfried looked away. "I don't know."
The young man's face might have been carved from stone. "We will burn that bridge when we come to it, then."
"Aye, that we will. I must return to the physical world. Continue to train your mind, and I will bring you back soon. When that happens, you must remember to seize your own mind and keep hold of it until I can draw the demon out. You must be strong."
"I will be. Farewell, Anika. And… thank you. For hope."
It should not have been possible for tears to form on her eyes, here on the spiritual plane, but she felt the stinging nevertheless. Impulsively, she grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. Before he could react, she had reached out with her mind and followed the golden cord that led back to the Ostrheinsburg Chapel and the monster that lay within it.
Be strong, kjærSiegfried. Be strong.
A/N: Oy, that was hard to write. I've been working on this off-and-on for nearly a week. Anyways, this is definitely a Nightmare/Siegfried fic, with Ivy, Astaroth and a few OFCs playing strong supporting roles. Much of the rest of the SC1 cast will be making appearances, and I'll make sure to keep this as close to SC1 and SC2 "canon" as possible.
[i] German. "captain of my unit"
[ii] French. "The Poison Night"
[iii] German. "My lady Anika." Very formal.
[iv] Norwegian, "Siegfried, my dear" Very casual and affectionate.
[v] German. "God-damned." A curse.