Disclaimer: Namco owns Soul Calibur 2.

The Final Fantasy Warrior: I love your reviews! You give such a well-rounded account of my writing and advise me to brush up on some things. You're one of the best fans anyone could ask for, thank you very much.

Jay Goose: Yeah, I guess I should add in some pandemonium to get some kicks! Thank you very much for the review!

Mousey13: Glad you like it, I will continue. Thanks for R&R-ing!

Chapter 3

Raphael turned on his side, groaning as he felt a laceration gingerly with his fingertips. Each little touch seemed to send shockwaves of pain rattling through his bones. His pain wasn't enough of a distraction to deter him from thinking about the worst that could have happened. Soul Edge was lost again. And the tearing, scorching doubt was who had gotten it. Would they understand its sheer power, and the darkness which misted Soul Edge like white on rice? It was an undeniably evil sword. It had been a terrific effort, mustering up his etiquette from long ago, hidden in the folds of his brain. As a noble, his manners had developed into a good habit which he couldn't shake. Raphael was still a proud man, and he had surfaced his good habit to converse with the lady.

He didn't know if she was a traitor. Perhaps he was in the Sorel House now, his parents and relatives sharpening swords to plunge into him. Raphael eliminated these thoughts from his mind. She seemed...Raphael couldn't adequately find words to describe it. He hadn't felt anything like that before. Was the gap in his heart to be filled? He knew nothing about Cassandra, save for superficial appearance. Appearance meant nothing. What mattered was she was beautiful from within as well. Just like...Amy. He had loved Amy. And she had been wrenched brutally by the lackeys of death. She...she did not deserve to be murdered by a low-class assassin who had hung back to deal with a demonic fighter, filled with an ever-growing incandescence of rage and grief. An inferno. She...she had been a sweet girl. He remembered the day...the day he found that he loved Amy paternally.

Blood was dripping. There was a steady pit-pit of blood onto the cobbled streets of Rouen. How..!? How...had it come...to this..!? Raphael Sorel was still in a state of disbelief. His disheveled, unkempt hair lined his dirt-packed face. Sweat and blood formed a sickening mixture, the smell bursting into his nostrils, and he gagged. The Frenchman staggered, in an almost drunken way, without an aim. He dragged his numb leg along heavily, which still stung with pain from the rapier strike he had received from Jacques Bordeaux, a second-in-command of the Rouen law enforcers. He felt lethargic. His rapier scraped the ground at intervals. Raphael felt weak. The hunger, something he had never felt in his life, gripped his stomach and twisted it into knots. He could hear footsteps, an ominous sound of evil. It sounded like a guillotine.

Stumbling blindly, he almost collided into a young girl. She looked surprised, but Raphael looked fervently for a hiding place, and walked unsteadily to it. Hiding behind the stone pillar, he perked his ears up to hear for any sounds. He hoped he wasn't breathing too loudly, or he hadn't left a trail of blood behind.

Suddenly, a shocked realization gripped Raphael. THE GIRL! Another mistake from Raphael. Perhaps this one would surely cost him his life.

"Girl, have you seen a man along these roads? He has blonde hair, carrying a rapier and has a cut leg,"

And here, Raphael waited with bated breath, to hear the words that would decide his fate.

"No,"

And Raphael rejoiced, tears of gratitude flowing gently down his dirt-cake cheeks. He knew he loved Amy then. She had saved her life.

"Thank you, Amy. You saved my life. Call me Raphael." he didn't know what he felt then, but it may have been something called affinity.

And she had been killed.

Raphael's hands started shaking, a teetering tremor of anger. He blamed himself. He could have returned in time. Revenge seemed such an empty word now. Soul Edge turned out to be nothing but an evil blade which he could not even control. Keen, poignant agony shot out from his heart, puncturing his feelings. He slipped into a lachrymose visnomy. Again, Raphael wondered how he had survived, only to face the bitter reality that his foster daughter was dead. In a way, she had given her life to save him. If she had handed him over to the soldiers, no harm would have come to her. But only hate would have been on Raphael's face. Now, it was anguish. His wounds were beginning to turn into long scabs. If he went into another fight, he would be at a disadvantage. Raphael had to rest, before seeking out the wielder of Soul Edge. He hoped Xianghua had found it. He hoped Xianghua had shattered it. Unfortunately, this was a time when his hopes wouldn't come through.

Cassandra's face was hot. She felt her face, and it was uncharacteristically warm. She was blushing again! She seemed to be doing a lot of that. Raphael appeared to have a painful past, and she made a mental note not to probe. But...why? Why did she feel like this? Her heartbeat always accelerated, she began trembling slightly and she spoke...in a very different way. She spoke to the Frenchman very differently. With...respect? No, it had a certain depth, beyond respect. Her thoughts were in a whirl. Perhaps she needed something to drink, or somewhere to sit. She was confused, in a fluster. Somehow she felt embarrassed.

Cassandra took the small jug and started pouring the water inside. But thoughts of Raphael's handsome face and sturdy build kept sneaking into her mind. Cassandra didn't know it, but a dreamy, faraway look came into her eyes. Because of this, she failed to notice how the jug was slipping...slipping...

"Ahh!" she gave a short shriek of surprise before snatching the jug up, millimeters from hitting the ground. Whew, she thought. If Sophitia had heard the jug broken...

She smiled again to herself. She had to be careful. Cassandra set her cup upon the table and settled herself in an ornately carved wooden chair. Was this love? The warm feeling bubbling up within her heart...how she had felt something twanging her heartstrings upon first sight...the flower...were this all clues?

"Thank you, Aphrodite." she whispered, clasping her hands in a soft whisper. She needed to find out if he shared the same feelings for her. Had he? She didn't know how to read foreigners' expressions. She didn't care about age. If the God of Love had decided it, then it had to be their destiny.

She had that dreamy look on her face again.

P. S Cervantes is not in this chapter because I wanted to focus on Raphael and Cassandra's developing feelings. Never fear, he will return soon.