Tainted Souls, Tainted Swords

Chapter Thirteen: The Possession

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A thick fog rolled in on a poor unsuspecting city in northern Italy. Strangely, it only covered several city blocks, but never overtook the entire city. It would mysteriously swirl around torches and inexplicably suffocate the flames, cutting off all outside light. But it was not dark within the fog, for it possessed its own dim illuminations that pulsated with like a very slow very dim strobe light.

Needless to say, citizens on the street saw the phenomenon from a distance and most avoided it. Other foolish souls allowed their curiosity (or drunkenness) to get the better of them, venturing within. The most unfortunate souls lived in the area, slept peacefully in their home, and never realized the danger creeping in on them.

--A man opened his eyes, sensing the green light and feeling the weight of another creature upon his bed. And he barely had time to take in his surroundings, barely got a glimpse of the female silhouette upon him before she pressed her lips against his in an tender affectionate kiss. Right away his mind chalked it up to an exotic dream with one of his mistresses, or perhaps his wife. He answered the kiss (closing his eyes again) with intimacy, sliding his hands around the woman of his dreams, feeling the shredded nature of her clothes and the sword strapped to her back.

Confused, he opened his eyes to find she had slipped away. Just vanished into nothingness, so it must have been a dream. But, if that were the case, why was there a fog in the room? and why was it glowing green? Maybe it really happened. Sitting up confused, the man looked to his wife beside him, "Darling, did—" That's when he noticed her half of the bed soaked in blood.

--"Sophia! Gabriele!" A frantic babysitter called out as she wandered timidly through the abyss.

"Aunt Annabelle!" They cried in unison, from somewhere nearby. "We can't see you!"

"I'm here babies!" Why did she insist on going out at this late an hour? And why didn't she see the fog sooner? She had accidentally dropped her money pouch, and scrambled to pick it up (thanking the heavens no one saw or heard the coins in this neighborhood), the street (and both her children) had vanished into the thick cloud. It had just materialized around her out of nothingness, constricting around her, hampering her movement, and now she couldn't locate the children. "Where are you?"

"I'm scared!"

"Me too!"

"It's okay. I'm coming." And the woman felt a blade against her throat, and stopped. Out of the abyss behind her, the shape had emerged with incredible stealth. Annabelle begged, "Please . . . I'll give you the money."

Annabelle felt a hand turn her around, and she found herself staring at an Asian woman marked with the obvious signs of a severe beating. But despite her bloodied and bruised appearance, her eyes were the most disturbing: pure black eyes. No iris, no whites, just a void of black beneath her eyelids. Still pressing the sword against her victim's throat, the Asian commanded, "On your knees."

"Please," she pleaded, trembling as she obeyed. "Don't do this!"

Sliding her fingers down Annabelle's face (forcing Annabelle's eyes closed) the Asian woman said. "Now tell them goodbye."

Hyperventilating, the innocent girl barely managed to get out, "no . . . please . . ." and for a moment, she thought this stranger might spare her. The sword came away from her throat, and Annabelle heard the 'clink' as it returned to its scabbard.

Crack! With a sudden twist, her neck snapped and Annabelle hung lifelessly in her killer's grasp.

--"This is weird," the tall man said to himself, noting how the thick fog felt like lukewarm water. "This is phenomenal! I've never seen anything like this! I wish Marco were here."

"That's great, Nevio" a voice called from outside the fog, his apparent drinking buddy, "But you know, green glowing fog kinda gives me the creeps so could you hurry it up and get out of there?"

"What are you scared of? Like it's going to reach out and strangle me," quoth the dead man as the fog thickened around him.

"It might actually strangle you."

"Whatever."

"It's called poison. Think about it. You're breathing in air that's dense, green, and pulsating. I'm no expert on dense, green, pulsating air, but something tells me it's probably not—"

"Okay! Okay!" The tall man snapped back, "I hadn't thought about that." At which point he noticed a figure in the fog (a sexy feminine figure in the fog.) He stepped towards it, disregarding his friends warnings, "Hey! Miss! C'mon, this stuff isn't safe. It's poisonous, here I'll . . ." The fog opened up around her, bringing to light all of the bruises and cuts on her battered form. He stopped just a little ways from her, holding out his hand, "Oh my God, are you okay? Wha-what happened to you?"

A malicious smile spread across her face, "I'll show you," and she delivered a sudden roundhouse kick that floored the tall man. He looked up confused to find no one, and as if to mock his inferior abilities a kick came out of literally nowhere, knocking him senseless. He heard her crack her knuckles, and felt her drag him to his feet so she could continue to play with his senses – beating him while remaining hidden.

Hearing Nevio cry out, the loyal friend screamed into the fog, "Nevio! What's happening? Nevio!" And as much as the scrawny friend hated to, he entered the fog which swirled around him like the tendrils to an unholy beast, wrapping around him, and blocked his view. "Nevio?" It kept him isolated from the tall man, and he could only hear the faint gasps and pitiful attempts at a plea for help, and the beating. The constant sound of a human body being struck. He knew it was Nevio at the receiving end of a merciless beating.

And after what felt like an hour, the fog opened up, permitting Marco to find the mauled remains of his friend only ten feet away. And for a brief second he swore he saw the outline of a woman walking into the fog, but her laughter lingered. Marco, the 'friend', sprinted in one direction, intending to keep running until he broke free of the fog and could get help. Instead, he ran into a wall and knocked himself out.

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After a few short hours, the fog lifted, leaving behind the massacred bodies of dozens upon dozens of victims. It had, however, left survivors; in fact, it left behind many random survivors. And from the mouths of these few would come the words to nurture the seeds of rumors throughout the remainder of the population.

-- "It was a monster, I tell you! A monster!" A wide eyed trembling blacksmith rambled on to one of the scribes who worked for the city guard. .

The morning had been packed with frantic people just like this guy, and it was beginning to wear down the poor people in charge of recording the information. "Okay, what did this monster look like?"

"It was nine feet tall! And teeth! It had teeth and these huge claws that . . ."

-- Elsewhere in the city, another scribe looked up from his paper, "You saw a woman?"

"Yes!"

"So what? She was probably curious like you were, or she was looking for a way out—"

"It wasn't like that, you see. There was something strange about her, right? She was like a ghost, see?"

-- "She didn't make a sound," Another witness recited, "She was there, and then she was gone. I never took my eyes off her, and she just disappeared into thin air! No puff of smoke. Nothing. She just disappeared. Right in front of me. Hey! Are you writing this down? Don't look at me like I'm crazy."

-- "Stupid lookin'. Yous knows what I'm saying? You knows how foreigners are, right? Right? Her skin was a little darker, and she had these narrow slanties eyes, that just don't look normals. I thinks she was from them Americas."

The scribe set his quill down and shook his head sadly in shock at how this guy could offend not only the American Colonists and the Japanese, but also seriously offend his fellow Italians with his stupidity.

"Oh, and dids I also mentions that—"

"Just go. Now." As the scribe tore up that report, "Before I kill you, myself."

"Buts—"

"GO!"

-- And still, another scribe went over the description one last time before dismissing the witness, "Okay, you're telling me she was Asian. Black hair. Had black, ahem, 'soulless' eyes. Her clothes were torn, and she had bruises and cuts all over her face. Anything else?"

"Uh, she also had big . . . well . . . you know."

"Yes. Thank you. Next!"

-- "Back when this city was just an infant, the townsfolk beat her to death for being different! And every one-hundred years, on the anniversary of that night, the fog rolls in and she rises from her grave to make us pay for the sins of our ancestors!"

The scribe just looked at the old fisherman with a raised brow, "Um, yeah. Thank you. I think you just solved this mystery." Offering a fake smile, and the moment that witness was beyond earshot, "superstitious idiot." He sat back dropped the quill, not caring that its tip left an ugly blot on the page. He rubbed his tired eyes and murmured his own theory under his breath, "Soul Edge . . ."

---

Within the majestic structure of an old church, the city's ruler met with the high priest. "Father," he greeted, kissing the priest's hand as was custom. "I understand you wanted to speak to me about the events of last night."

"Indeed," the priest answered, "I've heard and read some disturbing information about it. What do you make of it?"

"I don't think it's supernatural, if that's what you're getting at. But you've always known that I don't believe God or Satan manifest their powers so broadly anymore. It's the work of a clever assassin, taking advantage of the primitive mindsets – illiterate mindsets – that make up the masses."

The high priest only nodded sadly, "Yes, that is the news that disturbs me the most. Your lack of faith."

"Not every man who cries 'the devil made me do it' is telling the truth, and not every burning bush contains a message from God."

"I suppose emerald fog that glows in the dark is a common occurrence like a mad man rambling about Satan or a family lighting a fire to keep warm."

"We have numerous reports of people seeing an Asian woman with swords in the fog. All of the bodies we found were killed by human hands. She could have burned a chemical or something and made the fog that way. It could've had something in it to make people hallucinate."

"Most disturbing the things you'll accept over your God. I read the reports as well, and a number of scribes added their own thoughts. Most of the scribes, educated men like yourself, believe it has something to do with the demon sword."

"Soul Edge," the ruler sighed, "Look, father, I've heard of strange accomplishments from all over the globe. Medicines from across the Mediterranean Sea, new ship designs from the North, herbs and spices from the far East that supposedly make you live longer. It's not out of the question that last night's phenomena was just something we've never seen before. It is not the work of the devil, nor some rumored spirit sword forged in the hell fires or whatever."

Narrowing his eyes, the priest answered, "It's not out of the question for this to be the work of Satan."

Frustrated, the ruler gave in, "Yes. It's not out of the question."

"Good. Remember that, for your own soul's sake."

"Is that a threat I detect in your voice?"

"A promise to take action should your belief, or lack of, call for it. Conduct your investigation with your resources on your time. However, the masses need an explanation, and you're to . . ."

"I know," he really didn't want to listen to the religious propaganda again, "I know." In the end, it really didn't matter. There were already a number of rumors of every flavor circulating in the streets, and the church's official stance at best would just add one more to the group. The real issue was tracking down the one responsible – and soldiers could track her down regardless of what label she wore – "Heretic", "Assassin", or "holder of Soul Edge." It didn't matter.

The only thing that did matter was that she had to be stopped.

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Finally, after the bard downed some terrible wine, he sat down on the edge of the stage and ran his thumb across the strings of a lute, "Gather 'round, all who think they aren't afraid. I bring a true story of a town not far from here, of a tragedy that really happened, of a ghost that really exists," as his fingertips plucked the individual strings of the chords to a repetitive yet spooky rhythm, he told the tale of a deadly fog that rolled in and how the night, itself, swallowed people into its darkness.

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Author's Note: I sincerely hope no one takes offense at one of the stupider characters in this chapter and more specifically his comments (the one who was intentionally written as the stupidest character in the whole story, I might add.) Then again, another reason this story is under the "mature" category.