Another update from me, I do hope you enjoy it. This chapter deals with Nightmare, and pays a little bit of service to the Soul Calibur III game, and in turn LOTR. I enjoyed writing it, Nightmare is almost as much fun as Tira.

I do want to say that I'm not able to read any reviews until the day I post a chapter, and therefore don't get to answer any here until the chapter after I read. In other words, you review 1, I read when I post 2, and can't respond until 3. So if I'm a little late implementing improvements that you suggest, this would be why.

Eurasia, I want to thank you for your well written review. I do not know if it was intentional, but I found it to be quite considerate to my feelings. I appreciate your input a great deal, and as soon as I read it, I immediately began working on the improvements you suggested. I can sometimes be too detailed in my work, so I've been trying to avoid that here, so thank you for pointing out that I've gone more towards the other extreme.

Praise is always welcome (VERY welcome!) but if any of you readers have any suggestions whatsoever, please don't hesitate to review and tell me. You are my client, my 'customer' so to speak, and my job is to entertain you.

Tune in next time for more of Tira's exploits, but for now, let the entertainment begin!

Plains Of Despair

In the months Siegfried spent wandering the dark woods of the German countryside, he slowly began to lose his will to the evil force of Soul Edge. At first, Siegfried did not notice any effects other than a fierce jealousy of the weapon. The very thought of releasing the hilt would send shudders of pain and hatred through his very soul

Then came the dreams, sleepy, floating images of death that danced through his mind. The morning after the second dream, Siegfried awoke and discovered his hands were covered in blood, and he was back in his full armor. He was also several yards away from his tent. When he wandered back into the Black Wind's camp, he discovered a horrid sight.

The camp was a handful of white canvas tents, nestled in a small clearing in the middle of the dark woods. A large fire smoldered in the middle of the clearing, having burned itself out. A single wagon hid itself among the trees on the edge of the camp, laden with boxes of stolen loot.

The entire camp was covered in a crimson red tint, blood splattered on the tents, dripping down the face of the tent like bloody tears. Bodies were strewn all around, littering the ground, hanging out of the tents, and one even drooped over a branch of a tree some twenty feet in the air.

The bodies were all cut down by an enormous blade, judging from the size of the wounds they had suffered. Several of the men had been separated from their appendages which now littered the entire area.

The sight itself shook Siegfried to the core, and he ripped off his helmet to get a closer look at the carnage. He realized the only sword capable of such devastating blows was the one in his hand. He looked down at Soul Edge, and could see the sickly black tar of dried blood coating the blade. He was absolutely sure that no one else had touched the weapon, so the only one that could be responsible for the horror in the camp was him.

He had no memory of what he had done, nor could he explain how he could slaughter an entire camp of bandits in his sleep. Nevertheless, he had done so, and now his men were all dead.

These men had taken him in after he had been ran out of his home and town by the guards, protected him from those that would pursue him. They had become his friends, his family. Then they had made him their leader, showing him that they trusted him and looked up to him.

But now, they were all dead, and by his own hand. What had driven him to such an act? Had it ever happened before? If it could happen in his sleep, who was to say that he hadn't killed wrongly while awake? All these questions plagued his mind, and his memory floated back to the day he had found his father murdered.

He tried his best to push away the idea that was coming to his mind, but he was unable to. Did I, did I kill my own father? Siegfried's mind could not handle the thought of him being the murderer he had sought.

Siegfried fell to his knees, shudders and sobs streaking through him. He desperately denied that he was capable of killing his father, but yet something inside of him whispered that it was true.

He tried to push away the dark voice he heard whispering in his mind, but was unable to do so. His sorrow washed over him, and the voice grew more insistent. When he didn't give into the first whisper, the voice changed. Instead it offered that he indeed was not his father's murderer, and if only he would give in to the voice, he could find the one responsible.

Siegfried grabbed onto this idea, desperate to believe in his own innocence. The voice seemed to sense this, and began begging Siegfried to give himself to the voice and gain the power to avenge his father.

The only answer, the only solution that Siegfried could see was to do as the voice instructed, to submit himself to it, and pray that he would gain the power he so desired. He closed his eyes, and gave away his will, and sunk into the voice, wrapping himself in its inky darkness.

He was still on his hands and knees, and he continued to jerk and shudder, but not from tears. The moment he gave himself to the sword his tears became laughter. The more he chuckled, the more it felt right to him. He closed his eyes tightly as gales of laughter erupted out of his throat.

Once his laughing died down, he slowly rose to his feet, his eyes still closed. After standing fully, the knight opened his eyes. Instead of the usual dark, mysterious brown, his eyes were colored a sickly yellow, with the inner rings colored a fiery red. He brought up his helmet, still gripped in his off-sword hand, and slowly placed it on his head. When he did so, his long blonde hair was washed over with a deep hue, as red as the blood he had spilled.

His armor, a traditional suit of silver worn by countless knights, began to twist and change. It swirled and changed, becoming something twisted and evil. Instead of the classical curves, fitting the knight's form, it became hard and angled. The shiny silver tint was also replaced with a deep, powerful purple.

Another effect of the blade was becoming apparent, as his right hand began to become twisted and sickly from the constant exposure to the energies of Soul Edge. His hand had already been altered to the point where instead of fingers, he had three claws, topped with wicked talons and his skin had turned a ghastly green.

"There's…no turning back" he said to the grisly camp around him. He immediately took notice of the fact that he had never once released Soul Edge. He felt relief at this realization, and could not bear the idea of ever being separated from the sword.

"Sword, give me strength!" he shouted, sweeping the blade around him and thrusting it straight up in the air. The sword flashed with energy and sent an evil surge through the warrior, stripping away the last vestiges of Siegfried, and leaving only the sword's will behind.

His gang had called him Nightmare, a nickname, but at that very moment he truly became Nightmare, the terror of the world.

The sword's possession of Siegfried was complete, though it chose to only direct the man's will. It only allowed him to think what it wanted him to, and nothing more, while imbuing him with its knowledge, needs and desires. Nightmare instantly knew what he needed to do to become complete, and gain enough power to avenge his father.

He had to track down the broken shards of Soul Edge and assimilate them back into the sword itself. When the sword was whole again, everything would be set right. By becoming one with the sword, Nightmare was able to sense the intense evil that usually indicated the general locations of the fragments. Using this ability, he immediately set out to bring together the doom of the world.

The dark knight strode the land, always moving towards any evil he sensed, and nearly always finding a shard at his destination. He was not hampered by any concerns of a normal person, for Soul Edge took away any need he had to rest, eat, or do any other human functions. As he moved about, his goals changed a bit, now he realized that all the shards would not be enough. He also needed souls, numerous souls, to feed into the sword.

Because of the additional need, Nightmare slowed his march toward each target, and took time to annihilate anyone in his path on the way. He laid waste to entire villages, killing everyone in them. Each soul the sword gorged on added to its power, but the sword thirsted for stronger souls, and pure souls.

Nightmare came across the occasional warrior that quieted the hunger a small bit, but no one that was truly powerful enough to satisfy him.

After gathering a half dozen shards, Nightmare found himself marching across a plain of rolling hills and near waist high grass. He was somewhere in central Europe, or possibly as far south as Italy. He did not know nor care, geography was no longer his concern.

All he did care about was his immediate surroundings. The gentle hill country was dotted with a few sporadic trees springing up from various hilltops, and the spaces in between offered nothing else to see than a sea of green. There were no cities here, not even a lone homestead, just an empty, wild land.

Nightmare preferred this kind of setting. Yes, any of his victims could see him coming a long way off, but it also offered no hiding places for them to cower into. Nothing could separate him from his quarry other than distance, and that is something Nightmare can quickly dispose of with his demonic endurance.

His quick step across the plains was suddenly stopped when Nightmare sensed a very powerful presence appear out of nowhere very close by.

"Show yourself!" Nightmare commanded to the empty plains, looking all about trying to find this new threat.

Only silence responded to Nightmare's command, annoying the dark knight a great deal. He tried to focus and get a read on the direction this presence came from, but could not. All he could tell was that it was close by, no more than twenty feet.

A rustle of grass off to Nightmare's left broke the silence just as effectively as any scream could. Nightmare immediately reacted by shoving his sword into the spot with all his might. No squeal pierced the air, nor did he feel any kind of impact other than the meeting of steel and soil.

Nightmare drew his sword back, confused and angered. He peered into the spot he just struck, and felt around it with his foot. There were no holes, or any other means of escape. He did not hear any other movement, so it couldn't have gotten away. But then again, it should not have been possible for whoever it was to get as close as they did in the first place.

Another rustle of grass to Nightmare's right and several yards away drew the dark knight's attention. He whirled around, gripping Soul Edge in both hands in an offensive stance. Once again, there was no one in sight.

Nightmare began forward, his irritation growing to a raging anger. The rustling stopped, and the presence suddenly disappeared. A second or so later the presence reappeared, and the grass rustled another several yards beyond the last spot.

Whoever it was shaking the grass obviously wanted to play with Nightmare. He was not one for games, and was determined to catch the powerful jokester and consume their souls after he punished them for toying with him.

He marched forward, and every time he came close to the last spot that rustled, the presence blinked in, rustled a new spot of grass, and blinked out. Nightmare moved faster and faster, trying to catch up, but unable to do so.

The presence was extremely fast, and with each passing moment, Nightmare believed it was extremely powerful. His lust for this potent soul drove him to single minded frenzy.

The chase continued for days, though how many Nightmare could not say. He barely even noticed the changing of day to night in his relentless pursuit. As the chase continued, the presence allowed itself to be more deeply felt. It was steeped in evil, it was the soul of one who had willingly given themselves to the darkness. It was not as powerful as Nightmare, but was more powerful than anything he had encountered.

On the morning of the third day, maybe even the forth day, the presence disappeared, and the trail went instantly cold. Nightmare stood waiting and listening, but no further indicators appeared.

After a few more moments, it was clear that the presence was gone. Enraged beyond compare, Nightmare roared, a ghastly, malicious sound. The sky seemed to shrink in fear, and the wind died, slain by the killer sound.

When the war cry had torn out of the area and left only silence behind, Nightmare took the time to survey his surroundings. He was still on the plains, but the land in front of him was charred black, burned away by a massive fire. He was facing east, and straight ahead, lying under the withering rising sun was a burnt out shell of a town.

The town had been razed the same as the plains, and Nightmare recognized the place as one of the towns he destroyed to obtain a shard of Soul Edge. The presence had led him here, but he was not sure why. He had left no one alive in the town, and there was nothing else here for him.

Just before Nightmare turned to move away and back towards the southern coast once again, it became clear why he was led here. Around the burnt out hulls of buildings emerged numerous soldiers.

The sun glinted off of scores of polished armors, and the sound of clanking metal filled the air. Swords and shields were immediately brought to the ready, and the soldiers moved quickly into formation on the field between the town and Nightmare.

The group was obviously an army, not just a band of local authorities. Apparently Nightmare had earned the attention of very high powers. They were surely investigating the path of destruction Nightmare had left, and now they had the misfortune of coming face to face with the destroyer himself.

The presence had led him here on purpose, probably intending the army to destroy Nightmare. Whoever it was wanted to possess Soul Edge, but it would take much more than an army to separate the dark knight from his blade.

Nightmare knew he had to slay the force, or else they would be reinforced and hound him constantly. Besides that, soldiers were usually strong souls, not as strong as some of the solitary, roaming warriors, but strong enough to make the battle well worth his time.

One of the soldiers, apparently a Captain or Commander, scurried about shouting orders to the men. They all fell in and lined up in block formations, several rows of swordsmen in the front, and a single row of six archers carrying the rear. When every soldier settled into place, there was a total of four different blocks, somewhere around ten rows deep.

About two hundred and forty men began to march across the charred plains towards the lone Nightmare. It was not a fair fight by a long shot, and all parties involved knew it. Only the soldiers were foolish enough to think they had the upper hand.

As the soldiers moved deeper into the plains, Nightmare began to stride forward as well. He could feel their fear no matter how they tried to hide it. They were right to fear, and Nightmare was about to live up to his name once again.

As soon as Nightmare was close enough to the army to be in range of the archers, the commander ordered the army to stop, and had the archers unleash a hail of arrows. Nightmare slowed his pace only a small bit, and drew Soul Edge around to the right, and held it down below his hip with both hands. As the arrows reached him, he swung the sword hard and high, with the blade sideways, exposing the breadth of the sword to the arrows.

His timing was perfect, and the arrows that would have pierced him instead slammed into the cold steel of Soul Edge and shattered into wispy, harmless splinters that fell to the ground. The archers had not waited to see the results of their attack, reloading and firing as a group as fast as they could.

Another volley closed in on Nightmare just as soon as he disposed of the first. He was still slightly off balance, with Soul Edge off to his left. He did not have time to bring his sword to bear again, so instead he released his right hand from the hilt and threw it back around him in a backhand blow, once again smashing the arrows that were bearing down on him.

Nightmare charged forward, and under the next volley. The archers compensated, and fired shorter in front of him, hoping to prevent him from running again. Nightmare did not charge, but instead brought Soul Edge up in front of him, and began to spin it around his body.

The massive sword swooped past each side of Nightmare's head in succession, spinning wildly but yet always under the dark knight's control. The blade effectively became a whirling wall, destroying the arrows as they intersected its path.

The archers and all the soldiers stood in awe, watching the blade spin. With the size of Soul Edge, there was no way that anyone could do what Nightmare was doing. Such a maneuver might not have been impressive if he was wielding a bamboo rod instead of a massive zwiehander.

When Nightmare ended his impressive sword spin display, he was very close the soldiers, too close for the archers to mass fire at him. One archer came to his senses quicker than the rest of the army, and stepped out of formation and loosed an arrow directly at Nightmare.

Right as the tip of the arrow reached Nightmare's armored chest, the dark knight snatched the arrow out of flight. He inspected the tip, a well sharpened piece of metal. Satisfied with his inspection, Nightmare quickly drew the arrow back behind him and threw it at the archer with all his might.

The projectile flew true, and tore through the man's throat, right above where his chest plate started. The arrow did not stop there, instead the force of Nightmare's throw carried it through the soldier's throat, and emerged out the back. The arrow flew on and impaled itself on the wooden remains of a door frame several yards behind the group of soldiers.

Surprise lit up the archer's face, as he realized that a gaping hole had appeared in his throat. He attempted to speak, but nothing but a gurgling breath emitted from the wound. As soon as he failed at his attempt to make a sound, he crumpled to the ground, and life fled him.

This inspired action into the rest of the group. The soldiers immediately fanned out and surrounded Nightmare. They closed in, swords at the ready. Nightmare smiled to himself, reveling in the coming battle.

At first, the soldiers only jumped forward in small packs of four to five at a time. Nightmare whirled about, swinging Soul Edge with abandon. Soldiers were split in two, or choked by Nightmare's gauntlet clad fists. The dark knight made sure death came to every soldier that dared approach.

Once nearly half of the army had fallen, the remaining force finally wised up. Instead of approaching in a small but constant stream of men, they realized that the only hope they had was to completely rush with every single man available. The commander shouted the order, and the entire remaining army charged.

Nightmare cut down several of the charging soldiers, but was overwhelmed. A little over one hundred armed soldiers piled on top of the dread knight, forcing him to the ground. For a few tense seconds, there was no movement from inside the massive pile of steel and flesh.

The silent moment was broken by a single, blood curling howl. With the force of an erupting volcano, soldiers were flung into the air, as the entire pile of men disintegrated. Bodies flew every which way, straight up, off to the sides, and every angle in between.

Nightmare tossed away the soldiers as if they were nothing more than dust covering his armor. He then struck at the rain of men falling around him, slaying several before they ever hit the ground. The remaining soldiers that were able to avoid the dark knight's attack and scramble to their feet immediately charged back into the fray. Only by pressing the attack could they have any chance at victory.

The dark knight was done playing with these fools. As the soldiers charged at him, Nightmare called forth all his might and swung Soul Edge. The blade impacted into the scores of men, and tossed them away like rag dolls. Soldiers flew through the air once again, the force of the blow sending half a dozen of them at least twenty feet into the air.

The soldiers could not afford to stop the attack, so they continued to charge at Nightmare, and continued to fly off to their doom. Within moments, there was no one left to charge the dark knight, and the battle was over.

Nightmare wandered about the charred field, and killed anyone he came across that still drew breath. Soul Edge had gorged itself on each soul that died by its blade, and was satisfied, at least for the moment.

Nightmare reveled in the sight of the battlefield, with some two hundred bodies littering the burnt ground. Blood flowed like water across the entire field, crimson mixing with the blackened landscape. He had gained a great deal of power, and was much closer to obtaining what he needed to avenge his father.

The glory of the battle was almost enough for him to forget the annoyance of the presence that led him here. He would find and kill that person, whoever they were, but because they had led him to such a glorious fight, he might just kill them quickly.

His gloating thoughts of death and souls were interrupted by a new presence in the area. Movement caught his eye, off to his far left. Nightmare turned, and peered into the distance. A good stretch away stood a small clump of short, twisted trees. Standing by one of the trees was a young woman, clad all in green. She seemed to be watching intently, but not making any aggressive moves towards him. Nor did she run away either.

This girl was not the same presence he felt in the grass. She was powerful, that he could tell, but not on the same magnitude. She was tainted as well, a deep and dark evil swirling inside of her.

Something about her presence resonated within Nightmare. He felt something familiar about her. Instantly an idea sprang to mind, he would spare her life for now, if she dedicated herself to serving him. He needed someone to help him track down the remaining shards while he searched for the presence in the grass.

With this thought in mind, Nightmare began towards the knotted clump of trees to either gain a new apprentice or a new soul to consume.