Accepting the Rock's Gospel
or
The Winding of Threads
By Breaeden Swordwind
Memories were horrible. Tira had always hated them. They ganged up on her when she tried to sleep and made her remember things that she would give the world to forget. Sometimes she wasn't even aware that these memories were playing on her mind, it was all tucked away safely in her subconscious. But they were there and only the more poignant for not being seen or heard. They pervaded her dreams, revealing their heads, bursting through the surface like worms from with a rotten apple. And this was such a night as that. She dreamed and sweated profusely from the weight of the memories.
"What is your purpose for existence? Why did God decide that your pathetic existences were worth putting down upon his holy creation known as earth?" the instructor said to the three students that were sitting cross-legged in front of him. One of them was Tira, her blue mane of set by her gaudy green garb. She was much younger, hardly bridging into adolescence. Her mind was empty of thought, as it always was, void of feeling and knowledge. Only memorization and instinct drove her.
The three students spoke as one "We are to kill enemies of the church those allowing the Holy See to act with less interference from heretics as well as saving the souls of the demagogues from further sin. Our second directive is to find and eliminate all surviving Grigori."
The teacher smiled softly to himself and gaze with pride upon his three students. The three apprentices did not look at one another. They were oblivious to their fellows and treated them as though they did not exist. They were assassins they had no friends, they were instruments of His will, so they had been told, and that their entire lives were a constant striving to be the best servant they could be. None of them smiled, to have pleased their temporal master was meaningless for he would die and rot like all other but there were things that would last for eternity if one dared to reach for them.
They were all sitting in a small room lit by a few torches that gave the room an overbearing heat but didn't seemed to drive away the darkness that devour them. Three torches each slowly withering as the blackness encroached upon them slowly they began to fade, little by little, becoming no more then sparse glowing embers. The students could see nothing save their teacher who still bore a sick pride upon his feature and looked, smirking, at them like small lambs. The master asked, "And what, young ravens, are your names?"
No thought just an answer was elicited, "We have no names, we are merely the Birds of Passage, guiding the sinful to Charon's ferry."
"And why do you kill?"
"To saves sinners from the further committing of sin by releasing them from this world of sin. We grant them salvation by baptizing them in their own blood. We guide them from the temptation of darkness to the purity of the light."
"Good, good, good! I do believe that-" the master began but was cut off when the door to the room opened, flooding the void with the half light of burning torches. It was a messenger and he walked up to the teacher and whispered something into his ear so low that even Tira could not hear what it was he said. It must have been good news though as a smile began to spread across her master's lips as the words enter his ear. After the messenger had left and the room was once again in total darkness the teacher spoke once more, "I have received good news, my ravens. It seems that one of the cardinals will be coming to inspect our humble order and that one of you will be given the honor of demonstrating the prowess of the new generation for him." Tira's interest was picked and her ears quivered slightly waiting for whatever news he would choose to drop for them. "Now I want you to all go to opposite corners." The ravens without hesitation did as they were told. Though there was no light they did not need to feel around, the sound of their own footfalls bouncing off the walls was enough to guide them to their respective corners. They stayed facing the corners and waited, "The last one to loose consciousness will be given the honor of "performing" for the cardinal upon his arrival."
Silence engulfed the room and Tira waited. Silently, she felt no trepidation about the coming battle, no sense of disgust that she would have to severely injure her fellow servants of God, and least of all did she feel fear. She felt nothing; she was a void, an empty shell without feeling. If she had wanted to she could have cast stones into her mind and she would never hear them hit the sides or bottom of her skull. They would have fallen forever, never hitting her conscious mind's cavernous depths.
The teacher's knuckled rasped against the stone wall and she immediately moved sidestepping away along the side of the wall. She could not rush the center yet, if she did she could be surrounded by the other two, she might get stuck between them and she would instantly become to most logical and easy target for both of her fellows. She listened for any footfalls that might aid here in finding her comrades but alas they were as good at stealth as she and they would not make such a mistake.
Suddenly she heard the other two make a move for the center both squared off against one another and she knew she had it won. They fought each other, neither gaining the advantage. And neither would because at the proper times she grabbed both their heads and smashed them together as hard as she could. She was latter told that they had died from the wound, but no one was bothered by this. Least of all her.
"Effective and efficient, using no more effort then was necessary, and of course relying on the foes mistakes to save work and risk for you. Perfectly done I could not ask for more. It will truly be a joy to watch the demonstration. I am sure I don't need to tell you what that involves." Oh no, he didn't. Tira was almost looking forward to the cardinal's visit now. The master continued, "He will be here in three days time. I want you to be prepared to be at your peak for the demonstration. Any slip ups and I can not guarantee your survival."
Her training intensified over the next couple of days. It hadn't exactly been light and easy before, the average day going from dark in the morning to dark at night. But now they worked her faster and longer, giving her hardly four hours to sleep each night. She would walk the small room she slept in and immediately collapsed exhausted. The room wasn't even her height wide or long and some times she would hit her head in her sleep causing her to awaken and loose even more precious rest.
They particularly focused on increasing her aptitude with her allotted weapon, the ringblade. She had always shown potential with the weapon and was well remarked on for her creative use of its unique shape. Using the hole in the center for grapples, hooks, and parries that perplex those who were used to more standard weapons.
Soon the day approached though, faster then she would have imagined. She found herself on the top of one of the many twisting walls that made up a rather large labyrinth. Its entire size was four acres and she was dead in the center. The labyrinth was square and at each of the corners was a large gate with a rusting iron grating. And in the middle of each side was a wide arching outlet that led to the surface. The surface since the entire maze was located underground with the roof no more the ten feet above her head. Along the rim of the maze were observation galleries and a particular sumptuous veranda over the northern exit. That was were the cardinal was sitting and talking with the leaders of the Birds of Passage, the holy order that she had belonged to for her entire life. If she was capable she might have felt pride.
She could hear their conversation. They were talking about the weak nature of the new pope and his annoying desire to reform the church and put an end to indulgences and other fragrant abuses. The cardinal laughed easily, "I swear he's almost as much an annoyance as Luther himself." The leader of the Birds of Passage, a man with graying hair and a somewhat cold disposition nodded respectfully to the cardinal. The cardinal's red cape and vestments were pure silk and he had a gold-leaf staff as well as several bejeweled rings. He was also astonishingly fat. His robe seemed big enough to cover two men and he was still bursting at the seams. As he laughed rolls of his fat crashed together like cresting waves. The fat though did not soften his visage, the way his plump eyebrows almost covered his eyes so that one could not see them mad him seem incredibly menacing and his laughed sounded heartless.
Eventually the Grandmaster of the Birds of Passage and the cardinal stopped with the idle banter and the grandmaster raised his hand and the four iron-grate doors in the maze's corners opened. She knew what would happen, out of one of the gates would come some random heretic or pagan or other undesirable and she would have to find him and kill him before he escaped through one of the exits. Tira did not know which of the gates had held the victim and there were a thousand paths that he or she could take through the labyrinth. If the heretic made to one of the exits his was saved from death and merely exiled to the Saracen lands. There he or she would probably die and short order. There had been bad blood between Saracens and Europeans ever since the crusades.
Normally there was one release from each corner and she had to kill at least one or two but now it would be tougher she had a large chance of being wrong if she just guessed so she would need to play this strategically.
She jumped from wall to wall. She knew every path had to go near the center so if she watched the core of the labyrinth carefully she would be able to catch and kill her opponent simply enough. She continued circling for about ten minutes when she heard a sound, feet pounding the ground flat in a mad dash and for an exit. It reverberated through the entire maze and the echoes made it hard to accurate place but she pursued its approximate location. Faster and faster she moved as she realized it was getting dangerously close to the exit. Finally she saw him. He was a young man in his prime with a worn and tattered shirt and long brown pants. He was about to pass through the exit over which the cardinal and grandmaster watching. She hurled her ringblade, her precious Aiselne Drossel at the man. It looked like it was going to go wide when it hooked in and embedded itself in the back of him just as he crossed the invisible barrier of the exit.
The grandmaster leaped from the balcony to a wall of the labyrinth in way that seemed to go against his half-gray hair. He hopped easily down to the exit and looked at the body of the heretic and shook his head. Looking over his shoulder he spoke with a commanding tone, "You failed". Suddenly, every assassin on the galleries leaped onto labyrinth and ran to capture her. Tira didn't fight it though, she just let them drag her away to the surface and place her head on the block where thousands of other failures had met their end. She was too much in shock to even consider resisting.
Not at the fact she had failed, she accepted that easily enough. What shock was that inside her head something had will her with sense of sickness. It made the corner of her lips down turn, the joint of her neck weaken causing her head to nestle itself into her chest and made her legs feel like they would buckle under her weight. Not to long after that as her head rested on the wood that would soon be covered with her blood it disappeared and it would be years and months of tutoring before she felt its like again.
The grandmaster took his place beside the block with her blood coated Aiselne Drossel in his hand. Without further ceremony her lifted it into the air, preparing to use her own weapon to end Tira's life. That's when it happened. A glow filled the sky and it would later be known as the Evil Seed. The assassins of the Birds of Passage stood mesmerized by the surging spectacle in the sky. The way the light from it hit the objects in her view made them all look sinister even the more innocuous things like a tree or a blade of grass.
Once it was over all hell broke loose.
Everyone started killing one another. It was once gigantic melee and Tira was caught in the middle. She rolled off the chopping block and lay prone on the ground. No one seemed to pay her any mind as the covered her and the grass with each other's blood. Suddenly the grandmaster's face fell right in front of her not an inch away. His eyes were already starting to glaze; a knife protruding from his back and still clutching his hands was her Aiselne Drossel. She grabbed the ring blade and fought her way free from the chaos.
She traveled for the longest time. She had no direction, no desires to steer her along in life. When your life has been built around doing what you are told, how do you deal with freedom? Sometimes she would find her body releasing the contents of her stomach when she though about that but she did not know why her body would react like that to a mere thought.
She had been bred to grant redemption by blood and so as she passed through the world she killed as she went. It gave her a sensation that tasted delicious and she had always been told that it was just to kill people as it prevented them from committing further sins against humanity. She never though why it was just what she had always been taught and never had she felt a desire to do anything else, so she kept killing.
It was a month later that she was wondering wounded through the streets of an ordinary city. She had decided to attack a group of drunks for the stimuli their deaths would bring her but two of them not only been sober but skill warriors. She had killed them all but she was loosing a lot of blood from the wounds they had given her. Her knees gave out and her left hand found the mud and supported her while her right clenched close wound on waist. She was feeling dizzy and sick. As she lost consciousness two pairs of hands grabbed her.
She woke up and found herself in bed. She didn't know where or whose it was and looking around she also noted she was in a small room. It wasn't cramping but it was intimately compressed and there was little furniture outside of the bed. A small foot chest inhabited a corner and that was all.
The wounds she had taken were covered with fragile scabs but she could not afford the take the time to let the skin grow over them for she did not trust who ever owned this house. She didn't trust anyone. All people were sinners, herself included.
The door to the room was closed so Tira slipped out of bed to find herself in bed clothes. She had never worn anything like these which were of wool to keep out the cold. She had always preferred to sleep in her own cloths and not bother with the waste of changing. She also did not see her Aiselne Drossel any where and she could no just leave without her ring blade. Moving as quietly as she could she walked up to the door. She had no idea who had brought her here or why so she could not take enough precautions until she had gotten her ring blade and left. Getting clothes that were more battle ready also took a priority.
Looking out the gap between the door and the wall but she could not make out anyone in the adjacent room Quickly and quietly she opened the door. She gave the room an brief glance to make sure no one was there and moved on. There was a window on the opposite wall and from that she could discern that this family had some wealth own a two-floor house. Not riches but better then most. There was a closet in the corner and from it she was able to retrieve some clothes, which would be better for traveling. She ripped off the wool nightgown and quickly rushed into a blue tunic and a pair of brown leather pants. While changing she could feel just how tender her wounds still were. No Aiselne Drossel yet but the search would continue.
Opening another door revealed a stairway and she descended down it. As she entered the bottom she glanced to the right but heard a gasp to her left. She turned on her heel and was instantly set to kill who ever it was with her bare hands.
It was a woman who had seen middle age pass her by. Her black hair had a few strand of gray running through it and the corners of her mouth had wrinkles around that were the only remnant of a thousand smiles. Her brown eyes were wide and her hands were covering her mouth. The women spoke through her hands with a kindly aging voice, "Oh my! I thought you were still asleep! Are you alright?"
The women began to approach and Tira jumped back to regain some distance. With her landing she felt a wound reopen around he calf and blood trickled down her leg.
The woman stopped advancing and put out her palms in a gesture of peace, "Please I didn't mean to startle you but I do not believe that you are in any condition to be jumping around. Here I'll take you back up to bed where you can rest." Tira hesitated as the one-day crone began to near her. Instinct told her to stay and rest so that she could leave later but something intangible told her to run.
The only thing she could think to say was her first concern, "Where is Aiselne Drossel? Where is my weapon?" Without that weapon how could she redeem people and get that sweet ecstasy that only being an almighty redeemer could provide?
"Don't worry about that, child. Now we need to get you back up to bed. "
Little more then a month passed. The family had taken to Tira and when they learned she had no family they adopted her. The family consisted of the old woman and her husband who was a member of the Blacksmith's Guild and had some dealings with muscling out the upstart individual blacksmith's who tried to go against the guild. They also had grandson who lived with them and whose parents had died due to disease shortly after he was born.
Living with the family was a strange experience. They would often smile and laugh when certain things were said or done but at other times they would pout and cry. There seemed to be a correlation between how good the event was and how much they smiled. There was a similar relationship between how bad an event was and how much they cried. When the boy skinned his knees he had lain on the ground sobbing but when his grandmother picked him up he stopped crying and by the end of having the wound washed the boy even showed a small smile. Tira didn't understand what caused them to smile like that.
She had been feeling alone for sometime since flee from her order. She had gradually come to realize there was absolutely no one like her in the world. Before she might have been indifferent to her fellow assassins but at least they were similar to her. Now, however, she was unique and being unique and special was not a burden she wanted to bear. Maybe if she could be like this people and smile when good things happened and frown when times were bad she would be less of an individual. It was either that or servitude but when she tried to convince the family to make her a slave they wouldn't listen to her.
She tried but no matter what happened to her she was never inclined to move her features in response. It must not be subconscious, she determined, and so whenever even the smallest good happened she laughed and jumped around in fake jubilation. When a daily tragedy struck she acted moody and bitter. But it was all fake and overdone. Many people began to believe that she was crazy.
She continued to kill though, throughout her life with the family. She found Aiselne Drossel within a large chest in the houses attic and every night she would go out and kill the thieves and women of the night to save their soul from their continued sin then returned home and slip the Aiselne Drossel back into the chest. This continued for several months.
One day, the family asked Tira to watch over their grandson while they were out for a few hours. Tira had never been trusted to watch over the boy alone and so this was a great investment of faith on the part of the family. Tira accepted the charge without emotion and cool determination to see that to boy was safe. However, she was not able to contain the boy's energy through words and gestures alone and she did not believe that the family would take kindly to a use of force. The boy ran around and ran around.
He was dashing around upstairs when finally Tira decided to give up. She turned her back on the boy and suddenly, heard something fall crashing down the stairs. Bolting to the top of the stairs, she looked down only to see the boy in a mangled heap unconscious on the floor. She internally she was calm but acted like she were distraught. The door to the street opened, causing Tira to actually feel something gnawing at the inside of her at the prospect of having to explain to the adults what had transpired.
When the saw the boy on the floor the women gave a shriek and ran to the boy while the man tried to extract from Tira what had happened. The boy began to come around but no sooner her had he then the wife began berating Tira on her lack of responsibility. The father added his own criticisms to the mix so that Tira was soon wreathing under the couple's thumb.
She felt deep inside her belly a feeling she had not felt since she had failed to kill the peasant before he crossed the line out of the maze. It made her feel worthless and subhuman. Her necked bent and she could not hold the gaze of either her elders. She didn't like this feeling. It was worse then painful. It was like being devoured alive by something you couldn't see, but you could still feel it grasping your heart as it rammed you down its throat. She never wanted to feel this again, no, she was a good helper. She didn't mean to fail again, she wouldn't fail again. NOOOO!
For a moment she blacked out and when she came the grandparents were dead on the ground, their life snuffed out with the precise hands of an assassin. The boy was still lying on the floor in shock but began to crawl away, frantically hoping to escape the girls clutches. No, thought Tira, You made me do this boy! You will not soon escape!
The family was found later that week killed mercilessly with no signs of forced entry or intrusion, No one knew who the murderer was.
She knew now she could not live with people as their equal. She was too different. The only way to snuff out her individuality and become nothing more than a number was to become a slave. No one cared about slaves and she would be able to finally be able to commit suicide of character.
She still tried to feel though. To become more like everyone else and have their emotions, but she failed and could only manage a overdone facsimile. It became second nature to fake it and soon enough she became lost in her sea of conscious emotions and unconscious thoughts. All most to the point of no longer being human.
One day, she heard rumors of a knight in azure armor who traveled the countryside slaughtering men, women, and children. She also heard rumors that the knight stole the souls of those he slew and on the spot. Instantly she knew she would serve that man. Who better to serve the someone who freed so many from the endless torment of hell by killing them and absorbing their souls?
When she woke up she could not recall, consciously, many of these memories. Her mind protected her from their conscious burden only let them play where she could not recall them.
She had been following the boy and a knight for sometime now. The boy had fought her not to long ago and she was amazed to find that there was someone stronger and more capable then herself. She would kill him eventually though. But one thing intrigued her. When she had been about to be killed by him, or so she thought, she had felt that feeling in her stomach that made her feel weak and pathetic. Maybe that was an emotion? If so then maybe that boy could teach her how to feel them. It was cause for thought.
The good part is that it did not conflict with her master's orders. He had merely said to continue following the path of his "master". She didn't know which of the two was the master that hers had referred to but it didn't matter to her, all she cared about was that she was supposed to track them while her master looked for Soul Edge and its fragments.
Abelard entered a medium sized trading town and instantly noticed something amiss. He was used to crowds in these places, going to wherever their business took them but never had he seen so many people just standing and talking. The entire town seemed to be in an uproar and Abelard was immediately curious as to what had caused it. If the Lord smiled on him it might even be the ones he was looking for.
His feet were weary from the constant travel and his stomach famished from the poor meals but he did not let it bother him. Abelard kept firm in his mind the maxim that He would provide. He entered the crowd and asked the first person he came to what was happening that everyone would be talking. The man looked at him and responded, "Well, traveler, a boy came not yesterday. He could manipulate the flames of Hell and according to the people he was carried off by the Black One himself. There are even tales of a succubus who traveled with him out of the town. What times are these that demons walk the earth so freely?"
A woman who was standing next to them pitched in, "Bad times 'ndeed. 'specially with some of the other things that are 'appening. I 'ere tell that there are no births but that they are still. The demons have grown so strong because of our sinful decadence with the Old Church that we are now vulnerable to 'aving are souls, stolen away while still in the womb. And it's only going to get worse! You 'ear about the fighting that's started in the north? Seems that the Duke of Brandenburg is moving forces to the north and Hamburg whispers of opposing him."
"Bah that's just rumor…" the voices faded away as Abelard continued through the crowd. So the boy had passed through here. At least he was still on the right track.
Jenell ducked behind the remains of broken wall. She was breathing heavily and rivulets of sweat were making there way down from her temples. They had been chasing her for at least an hour, worst part was that she didn't know who they were. All she could discern was that they were men with wings of ivory fire.
She didn't know where she was either. Suddenly, after the knife she was going to use to commit suicide with had found its place in her bosom because of an innocent collision with Luzifer; she had appeared here with an amulet around her neck and weird men chasing after her. An ancient city seemed to lie around her, dead and decaying from years of disuse. Many of the buildings had fallen in and streets were littered with rubble. The wind that blew through the necropolis was a sirocco of dust and little else. Occasionally, during brief moments of rest such as this one, she would catch a glimpse of a great mountain, which on its ascendant peak bore the most massive temple ever seen by man or, for that matter, woman.
She had little time to dwell on it though, as she had to keep all her wits focused on staying ahead of her pursuers for another few minutes. One of the winged men passed over head, his great, white, burning pinions flapping as he stayed aloft. She stood deathly still and prayed to whatever god would listen that it would pass over and not notice. It did not but no sooner had it then she could her footsteps coming from behind her. She ran from the wall and slipped behind a large rock. At the base of the boulder, partially covered by the stone itself was a door that seemed to lead into the ground. However the boulder covered the handle and opening it did not seem a possibility so she did not pay it any attention.
The two angels drew closer and closer and began to walk around the stone to see the other side. When they looked though she was gone, and neither of them believe she could have slipped through the half-covered door on her own without breaking it.
They were, in many respects, right. The door had opened from the inside and someone had grabbed her leg and pulled her in. Quickly shutting the door behind her, the person covered Jenell's mouth and held her still. Once, the men had passed Jenell began to squirming out of the persons gripped and in the process of being held tight discerned that her capture was a woman. The woman let her go. "Shhh. Don't worry I'm not going to hurt you. I saw you were being chased so it decided to grabbed."
Jenell was not persuaded by that, "How did you know? Why? Who are you?"
"These tunnels go to many places and some have views of the surface which those not actively searching for them on the surface cannot see. And even if they did they would not see me or have a way to get into the tunnels. The reason, I helped you was because it was the same with me. One moment, a boy was holding me in his arms begging me not to die and the next I was running away from fire-winged men with this strange amulet around my next." She then pointed to the talisman around her next and the two sigils that hung from it. The first sigil was like a triangle point down and from the top most corners were two lines that went through the center and then crossed out of the triangle At the very tip of the triangle was a V. The other was an A inscribe over a G.
"And my name? You may call me Blasa."
By Hephaestus, this place is a mess! Sophitia thought as she entered yet another town in similar condition as the last. Everyone was walking around, going about there business normally. Children played in the streets, some were having a game of tag and another group was taking turns trying to see how far they could hit a rock with a stick. Women were gossiping in there little huddles and some carpenters were carrying a load of wood to a new house that was being built across the street from their workshop. A merchant was buying a load of crops from a farmer and there was not anger between them. The merchant was not trying to exploit the farmer and the farmer was not feeling exploited. All taken together it was a pastoral scene of a small town near the border between Germany and the Ottoman Empire's holding of Greece.
On the surface at least.
Everyone had one of two badges sewn onto the chest of his or her shirt. The two badges were either R or P. In other places, the exact letters might be different but they always had the same result. The creation of a thinly veiled war.
The children who played only played those with the same letter as them and if one of the opposite letter came close then they would throw rocks at him. The women were similarly segregated and when those of the forbidden letter passed they would go silent and stare daggers at the new target of their day's bittersweet talk. The carpenters were all Ps and the merchant and farmer were both bearing Rs. The merchant would not deal with Ps or if he did he would offer poor prices.
The entire town was an open jar of naptha, if even the slightest spark were to touch it the village would burst into an unquenchable fire that the water used to placate it would cause it to burn brighter.
A few towns back Sophitia had asked what the letters meant. In that town the letters were C and P. She asked a man and he said that the Cs were Catholics (he had included some less then flattering terms along with that as he was a P) and Ps were Protestants. He then asked which she was a part of she had answered that she was neither. The man continued to press her for her alignment and when she continued to hold to her silence the man yelled that she was a heretic. She had to run for hours before the town gave up on getting itself a scapegoat to make both factions feel a little bit better about themselves.
This town, being dangerously close to the border of another country and one of a different religion at that, was surrounded by a large wooden wall with two gates on either side so traveling traders could go through both ways and continue on their way. She had come through one end and wanted nothing more then to leave this place so that she could get on her way.
When she arrived at the opposite gate, she was unpleasantly informed that as of five minutes ago all roads out of the town were closed by official order of the mayor. Apparently, there had been a fight between members of the two factions and they did not want the culprits escaping. Hephaestus save me.
Siegfried looked over at Luzifer. After he had come back from burying the girl they had left. Siegfried had noticed that Luzifer was holding something in his hand, a knife. The girl's knife. Luzifer promptly put the knife onto the belt around his waist, on the right side of his hip. Siegfried knew that since his left hand was dead it would be difficult to draw from the right hip. Somehow, though, Siegfried didn't think Luzifer was going to use it.
Now they were traveling along the road. The day was noticeably cooler then the previous few but Siegfried didn't seem to notice it. Neither did Luzifer, who was walking with his eye closed as though he did not need to see in order to walk the path they were treading.
They stopped at a river that ran through the woods to drink the cold water that flowed through it. Siegfried drank just enough of the chill water to sustain him. Luzifer, however, drank deep of the half frozen liquid. Siegfried knew what the boy felt as he drank. He had done it once himself.
Siegfried drank at the pond and feeling the icy waters him he smiled and drank more. He kept drinking till his burning heart became frozen and solid. Cold and dead to the world around him. He accepted the blazing sensation of chill water into his chest and could feel it lingering there.
It was later that day that Siegfried, along with his cadre of thieves known as the Schwarzwind, ambushed a caravan of soldiers returning from the crusades. Siegfried walk amidst their victims screaming out, "Leave none alive to tell the tale!" One man stumbled out in front of him and begged Siegfried for his life but Siegfried cut off the man's head. Hefting the head up he howled his bloodlust out into the night to be absorbed by his subordinates.
The moon came out from behind the clouds and gazing at the severed head, strangely looking not unlike a skull due to the effect of the pale moonlight, realization and recognition struck Siegfried with equal force.
This was the head of his father.
That was all that Siegfried could remember of that night. When he had woken up he believed that someone else had murdered his father. So painful had idea of him killing his father been he could not let his conscious mind know of it. He eventually regained his memory of killing his father but only after Soul Edge had goaded him along as its host under the belief that it would resurrect his father. Still, Siegfried was glad he did not have to remember how insane he must have been that night, after he killed his father, to reshape his mind into believe someone else had decapitated his father.
So much pain was tied to drinking too deep of the freezing waters. Luzifer stood up and opened his eye to look at Siegfried. And those eyes were cold and dead.
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