"Make me like Mommy."
Clare's life had forever changed that day. On that day, when everything and everyone important to her had been taken away from her, she had walked willingly up to one of the Organization's agents and volunteered to become a warrior. That was the first, and only, time it had ever happened in the Organization's long history, a child willingly choosing to become a "Claymore".
…A child who already needed no help on their part to become part Yōma.
Because she already was.
Clare crashed hard to the ground as the blunted claymore struck her on the temple. She landed with a thud, face in the dirt and her vision swimming with pain. The pain seemed to be worst at her right shoulder; she must have dislocated it in the fall, as she couldn't feel her hand and arm beyond it.
"…Or maybe it's because they used a Warrior's flesh that she's so weak," her opponent was saying, dimly. "She's not half Yōma – more like a quarter. Her strength and endurance are only half of ours." The short-haired girl sneered, "'Special'? More like half-assed!"
Setting her face against the shooting pain, Clare rose, her arm trailing the motion limply. She didn't bother to correct the other girl's misconception; Clare already knew the truth. Let them think whatever they would.
"Are you okay? Your right arm is dislocated, want me to put it back in?" someone else offered. Clare didn't know her name, didn't know any of their names. It wasn't important.
Clare merely shook her head lightly as she moved to a nearby wall. Taking her lifeless arm in her other hand, to everyone's surprise, she rammed herself suddenly shoulder-first into the wall, popping the joint back into place with a loud and violent wrench. The other trainees were shocked and even somewhat awed by the display; Clare had not uttered a single sound.
"Thank you, but no," Clare answered simply as she flexed her hand, testing it to ensure the feeling and control had returned. "I don't need any help for that." Then she bent down to pick back up her sword, and stood ready to fight again.
The other, meanwhile, hadn't bothered to lift her own sword from where it was leaning across her shoulder as she scoffed. "You serious? You're just gonna end up gettin' killed."
Nevertheless, she made to ready her own sword – if the little weakling wanted to get creamed, that was fine with her. Besides, Clare's look was really starting to piss her off, anyway – when she was interrupted by a man's voice.
"I don't recall giving you permission to use a claymore." The warrior-trainees all turned, surprised to see Rubel standing there calmly. "Training is over for the day. Everybody out. This isn't a playground," he ordered firmly. The large number of trainees filed out quickly, as if they themselves had been caught disobeying instructions.
The pugnacious warrior passed Clare with a quiet sneer, but the stoic young woman didn't even bother to acknowledge her, simply continuing to stare forward. Her sword-arm did not lower; she hadn't even moved from her earlier pose.
Rubel sighed quietly to himself. Who knew what was going on in that girl's head? "You, hurry up and hand it over. It must be heavy for you, of all people," he instructed, taking the weapon from her hand. Even as he turned to leave, Clare still was unmoving, staring ahead as if lost in thought.
"Regrets, Clare?" he wondered aloud. "We could have just as easily used a Yōma's flesh, you know." It probably would have been better for all parties if we had, he most distinctly didn't say. Using a warrior's flesh instead of a Yōma's… It had raised all kinds of questions. Questions that Rubel would have preferred to remain as unanswered as possible.
So far he had managed to successfully divert attention away from Clare's lineage. Orphans were hardly rare upon the continent, and as Teresa's former handler, only Rubel himself would have been in any position to notice the resemblance between them. It had taken some doing, but he had convinced the rest of the Organization that Clare had simply been one such orphan, used by a Yōma as a combination of hostage and cover identity until Teresa had slain it. Given that villagers were a superstitious, cowardly lot by nature – no doubt they would have shunned the girl, merely because of her association with the Yōma – Clare deciding to attach herself to her savior would therefore seem only natural.
And the rest, as they say, was history. Teresa had broken the cardinal rule of the Organization, slaying the twenty-some odd bandits who had just massacred the town Clare had been left in – at least, Rubel thought it was twenty; hard to tell with all the murdered villagers muddling up the numbers – then defied the Organization itself by refusing to accept her execution as punishment for her misconduct. Numbers 2 through 5 had been sent then to dispatch her, culminating in Priscilla's Awakening and the deaths of the other top four.
For her own part, Clare heard the words being spoken, but in truth she was only barely listening. Her true attention was focused on the right hand still held up in front of her, as if studying it intently. Beneath the play of skin, Clare could faintly sense the Yōki flowing gently through it. She clenched the hand briefly, the joints quietly popping as that flow surged briefly in response to the tensed muscles. The she opened it again, and the flow returned to normal.
Her mother's Yōki, as well as her own. Some days, Clare even believed she could still tell the two apart sometimes. As if Teresa was somehow still alive, guiding her.
"No," she answered finally, her gaze lifting from the hand. "This is fine. This is good."
Rubel chuckled. "Yes, a very unusual one indeed," he smiled to himself, that subtle smirk of his widening ever so slightly.
Shortly after he had given her the pill to suppress her Yōki, Rubel had indeed discovered she was already a natural hybrid. He had suspected as much, certainly, but it was another thing altogether to witness proof before your very eyes – even within moments of swallowing the pill, the central heterochromia of Clare's eyes, irises golden at the center and shading to a darker green further out, faded, replacing the two-tone color scheme with a natural green throughout.
In that instant, Rubel knew he had found something truly both wonderful and terrible; a diamond in the rough, hidden, buried deeply within the offal of this society's refuse, unnoticed and unwanted. It would be his job to ensure that diamond would be polished – sharpened, even – until she could become the tool that he needed to finally put an end to this madness, once and for all.
Keeping her otherwise unnoticed by the rest until they had implanted Theresa's flesh within her had not been easy. He constantly had to make sure Clare was taking the pills, otherwise they risked the Organization finding out the truth. Rubel had also had to make sure Clare never breathed a word of her parentage, and should someone happen to notice too deeply… Well, Rubel had already done many heinous things before, in the course of his duty. What was one more?
Even so, it had not been smooth sailing, even after the implantation had taken place. Clare was never one to simply play by the rules. Rebelliousness, arguing with instructors, picking fights with her fellow warrior-aspirants… Clare was rapidly developing a reputation as a problem-case. It was not uncommon to hear her name being thrown about constantly during Organization meetings, though not in any way that Rubel might come to fear.
But then again, should he really have been surprised? Clare was not the first potential warrior to have acted this way, nor would she be the last. Teresa had acted the same way herself once, rebellious and headstrong.
Quietly chuckling to himself, Rubel stalked out of the room. Yes, Clare truly was her mother's daughter, in more ways than one.
"Alright, listen up!" yelled the instructor. And listen the ten would-be warriors did.
A year had passed since that encounter, and the time for their promotion to a numbered warrior had finally come. Not too far from the training compound were the abandoned and crumbling ruins of a village; probably destroyed during a Yōma attack, was anyone's guess. Among the ten prospective warriors, Clare stood ready, sword gripped confidently in one hand. To her immediate left was that one student she had fought before.
"This is your final test," the instructor continued. "If you pass this you'll become full warriors. The situation will be the same as real battle; it's a group battle using the surrounding ruins. The ten of you will be split into two teams of five. The winning team will be promoted to warrior status.
"The weapons you'll be using are real claymores. You'd better fight well if you don't want to die!" Most of the trainees looked surprised at the news, glancing down at their weapons; a remaining few, Clare included, did not.
Then the instructor suddenly threw a pole at them, its tip jamming itself into the earth between Clare and the other girl, dividing the ten girls evenly in half. Startled, one of the others on Clare's side of the line jumped from surprise.
"This staff marks the division of the two teams," the instructor went on. "Memorize the faces of your allies and enemies right now."
"Heh," sneered the aggressive girl at Clare from across the pole. "Looks like we'll be able to finish that business from last year."
Clare chose not to deign a response, nor even acknowledge that the other girl had spoken, merely looking straight ahead. She had better things to do than cater to that one's ego.
What is this feeling? Clare could feel it, a faint tug, a presence on the far back of her mind. Behind her, she could hear her "fellow" trainees bickering, arguing over how they should go about completing the test, but Clare paid them no mind, focused instead on the sensation.
One of the other girls called out to her as she wandered away, but she barely heard it, focused on the feeling and on following it to its source. For several minutes she walked, unmindful of the ruins or where she was going. Her eyes were closed, so that she could better focus on sensing the Yōki, though every once in a while she would briefly open them, to ensure she didn't run into or trip over something.
And all throughout, that feeling continued to nag at her, subtly. It was most definitely there, absolutely; Clare's senses could tell her that much. But it was like chasing a silhouette in the fog – how far away it was, or how strong, or anything other than a general direction…
This presence… it's almost like…
So intent was she on tracking that elusive feeling, that she did not even realize as she came under attack until she had already reacted. Without conscious thought, she suddenly flinched violently back, her entire body arching low as a claymore sailed past where her head had been, not a second before.
Blade turned sideways, she realized, her mind scrambling to catch up. Had that strike connected, it would have struck her with the flat of the blade, not the edge. Clare's pride briefly flared before she smothered it back down again; if her opponent was so overconfident that she were underestimating her, then that was simply to her own advantage.
"I didn't think you'd come out all by yourself!" a familiar voice crowed, and suddenly it clicked in Clare's mind. That other girl, no doubt come to resume their aborted fight from before. Now it was a sense of exasperation that Clare had to put down, rather than wounded pride – what was that one thinking, bringing up useless grudges at a time like this?
The other girl rushed with quick, fast strikes, eager to put an end to her "weakling" opponent. But Clare was just as fast, however, and her holding her claymore in both hands to the opponent's one meant that the strikes couldn't overpower her defense, either.
Clare's own counterattack was thwarted, too, the other girl leaping back away in a near-blur of speed, both legs crouched against a crumbling wall to leap back into the fray.
"Heh heh, you've gotten better," the girl jeering, pushing off to clash her sword against Clare's sword, pressing into the attack. "But you're still too weak! How do you possibly expect to beat me!"
Clare didn't answer in words, instead parrying the blow aside and using the granted space to grab the waist-high wall behind her and backflip away. For an added bonus, her bare foot lashed out at the time, catching underneath her opponent's jaw and snapping her head back. Angered by the cheap shot, the girl smashed her foot into the wall, kicking chunks of debris at Clare in retaliation, who hastily deflected with her sword.
It was as the girl was coming around for another attack that Clare realized: she couldn't sense any other Yōki signatures, besides this girl's and that other one, the one she had been tracking. Where were the other girls'? "Wait!" she cried out, even as she raised her sword to block another attack from the other claymore. "Something's not right!"
But clearly the other girl wasn't listening, because she scoffed. "Oh, come on! All this time training, and the best you've got is that stupid trick?"
Clare grit her teeth, angered by this girl's obstinacy. Obviously she wasn't going to be swayed by anything except action. Sparing a brief instant of attention, Clare shifted her foot to catch underneath a piece of stone wall and kicked it straight upwards, catching the other in the forehead.
"Gah! You little—!" she, only to find Clare already leaping from broken wall to broken wall, away. Unbowed, she only crouched down and leapt after her, "Get back here, you bitch!" It wasn't even a chase, really. Scarcely a few tens of meters had gone by before she caught up to Clare, who wasn't even trying to run away now. The long-haired girl was just standing there, staring straight ahead with her back to her.
The tall trainee opened her mouth to yell, but stopped as her gaze went ahead of her target to see what lay beyond. Four of their fellow trainees lay slaughtered, surrounded in pools of their own blood. Whatever the girl might have said before, died in her own throat. "Wh-wha…? That's… my team?"
Clare cursed quietly to herself. She was too late. And there was no mistaking now what it was she had felt before. Trainees or not, there were very few things that were actually capable of killing a warrior, let one several of them at once.
Which was why Clare was mildly surprised when she felt herself being jerked upward by the front of her tunic. "Your team did this!" the other girl yelled into her face. "When did they–"
But her rant was cut off, as she was suddenly impaled from the side, five spear-like objects piercing through her torso, hip, and left arm. Her eyes went wide from horror, surprise, and sudden pain.
"Yōma!" Clare cried out even as she pulled away, out of the warrior's grip. And sure enough, there the thing was, standing atop one of the ruined buildings with its limb outstretched, its five fingers hyper-extended to become the weapons impaling the other girl. Even as she watched, it began to raise its other arm as well, to do the same to her.
Clare didn't give it the chance. She immediately spun, bringing her claymore up and around to slice through the digits pinning the other girl in place. The Yōma recoiled, and Clare rushed forward, grabbing the other girl by her back plate, even as she collapsed.
"So how is our latest batch of trainees doing?" Rubel wondered aloud, strolling down from the main complex toward the testing area.
Seated on the ground so he could observe, the instructor blinked, faintly surprised to find anyone besides himself here. "Oh, Rubel. Didn't know you were here." Briefly he shook himself, settling back down to answer. "Not so good, considering. I always tell them the test is the same thing as a real battle, but still so few of them listen. Most of this batch of girls has already been killed!"
Rubel nodded absently, that subtle, ever-present smirk of his on his face. "And that test-subject girl we had this year… Clare, I think it was? How's she doing?" As though I don't already know, he declined to add.
"What? You mean that girl where we used another warrior's flesh instead of a Yōma's to make her?" the teacher snorted softly. "Believe it or not, she's actually the best-off of the lot, the only one who hasn't taken any damage." His lone uncovered eye focused ahead, "Near as I can tell, either she caught onto its presence right away, or else close enough after that it doesn't make a difference. Left her group to try and track it, probably the only reason she's alive. Same goes for the other girl, only she was tracking her. Talked about 'finishing their fight', before the test started."
"Hmm, you don't say…" Rubel muttered absently. He had been keeping a close eye on Clare for the past year, since that fight he had stepped in to abort.
In all truthfulness, the past year had been something of a disappointment to Rubel. When he had brought Clare to the Organization, he had believed that using Theresa's flesh and blood in order to change her should have had some kind of synergistic effect, making Clare even more capable as a warrior, not less. After all, was that not the whole basis of the idea behind Alicia and Beth's creation, the same flesh in two bodies synchronizing together? And as her mother, was not half of Theresa's flesh already within Clare?
But instead, rather than rising to the very top of her class, Clare was at the dead bottom, the least capable out of all of them. Her Yōki reserves were miniscule, compared to those of the other trainees, and even her strength and speed were below average. Perhaps his own theory had been wrong, after all, and all that truly mattered during the implantation process was simply the "purity" of the flesh used.
All in all, Rubel had worried that his grand "experiment", his intended trump card against the Organization, was going to turn out a dismal failure, worthless to his purposes.
Until now, that is.
Clare's prowess might be useless to his plans, but if she had actually picked out the Yōma's presence before anyone else… At the very least, her Yōki-sensing abilities were turning out to be as good as he'd hoped. Perhaps not as exceptional as Galatea, the newly-promoted 'Eye', but still excellent nonetheless.
Besides, she was still young yet, not yet fully matured as a warrior. Perhaps there were other things about her that he had overlooked? He would have to keep an even closer eye on Clare from now on, to know for sure. Perhaps once she passed this test, Rubel would request to be her handler. It had been a number of years since he had been in the field, after all.
Anyway, that was for later. Focus on the now, as his own instructor had taught him, so many years ago.
Besides, he still had plenty of other cards to play, should this hand turn out to be a bust after all. Miria was turning out even better that he had hoped –not only had the girl accepted the information he had passed to her, about the truth behind the Organization and the world beyond this continent, but she had even begun to formulate her own plans to bring down the Organization. Even better, if not for the fact the he had been the one to give her that information, Rubel would not have even suspected the current Number 6 had turned traitor against the Organization itself.
"Interesting…" Rubel murmured quietly to himself, his smirk widening unnoticeably. The instructor gave him an odd look, but ultimately said nothing, turning back toward the ruin.
"Let go of me!" yelled the irate girl as she was dragged ignobly across the ground. "I'd rather die than be saved by you!"
Clare let go, but she did so by hurling her forward against a wall. The warrior winced, her wounds healing but still pained, but before she could do anything more, Clare pressed her foot hard enough against her chest to keep her pinned down.
"Don't be in such a hurry to die," Clare said, coldly angry. "What good do you think your pride will do you, after you're dead? No matter how bad or shameful your situation, what is most important is that you stay alive! Stay alive, and keep fighting until the end."
It was her own alarm at the long-haired girl's tone that snapped her out of her foul mood, more than anything else. Until now, Clare had always acted aloof, as if everything and everyone else was beneath her – that was exactly what she had always hated about the other girl, why she kept putting her into her place. For Clare to speak so seriously, so angrily…
A sobering silence fell over the two of them, only the taller girl's pained breathing standing out in the quiet; it wasn't until a loud creak sounded, that that silence was broken. Clare's eyes widened for a brief instant, followed by her glaring and gritting her teeth in a held-back growl. The long-haired blonde rushed at a nearby wall, ramming her right shoulder against it to relocate her limp arm. The short-haired one scoffed – why did it have to be the weakling that she had to work with, here?
"So what now?" she wondered. "I'm still too wounded; you're too weak—"
One of the walls crushing inward cut her off, the Yōma plowing through the cloud of dust and debris. Clare spun, raising her sword into a defensive stance. She clenched her teeth, carefully watching the monster's movements. This close of proximity, Clare could sense the beast's Yōki in much greater detail, but that in itself was a double-edged sword – it became much harder to read the Yōki flow, to anticipate its moves, and when it actually did move, she would have even less time to be able to react.
The beast itself laughed, raising its unwounded hand to point towards Clare. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," it said, and then the fingers shot forward.
Clare twisted aside, the spear-like digits missing, braced herself against the floor, and charged. She did not make it, though, as even maimed, the damaged hand still swatted her aside; backhanded, Clare tripped against the ruined carcass of the windowsill, and tipped over backwards, falling out into the street. The Yōma followed, a pair of wings sprouting from its back as it leaped onto and through the sill itself.
The short-haired warrior blinked, and then grunted, annoyed that she had been left behind. "Well, great. Now what do I do?"
The instructor blinked, his uncovered eye straining slightly to follow the scene. "Huh," he wondered aloud. "This Yōma seems a lot more aggressive than the ones we usually get."
"You don't say…" Rubel mused, making sure to keep his satisfied smile from showing. He certainly wasn't going to admit that he himself had substituted the original Yōma to be used for this test, for an older, more experienced, more aggressive one.
After all, he needed to make sure his intended trump card had been worth the time and effort he had invested in her!
A crumbled wall of bricks was all that separated them. Clare kept her labored breathing calm, although that was only to ensure she didn't give herself away. Blood leaked from a scalp wound into her eye; she thought it may have been from when she had skidded on the ground after that fall, but she wasn't sure. Her claymore was out of reach – her grip had slackened unintentionally during the brief freefall, costing her her sword. It lay on the dusty road nearby, several feet beyond her reach. No way for her to reach for it without being spotted immediately.
If not for that she constantly kept her Yōki suppressed anyway, as Mommy had taught her always to do, it would have probably been even more difficult to hide. But even that advantage would not last forever, she knew – the Yōma had other senses to be able to hunt her with.
"Come on out, little bitch!" the monster singsonged, its voice guttural and unpleasant as it hoped to lure her out of hiding. Its mangled hand, severed fingers already slowly beginning to regenerate, crashed into a wall, crushing the crumbled stone and mortar. Still several feet away, Clare judged the sound.
"You're so weak you actually have to resort to these cowardly tactics," it mocked. "I thought we were supposed to fear your kind, half-breed!"
Another wall came down. It was stalking around the area, hunting for her. Soon enough it would come close enough to smell her, and the blood running down her face. Already, Clare was running through fast scenarios in her mind, ways to be able to kill this Yōma without being killed herself.
Clare's heart skipped a beat as the winged Yōma perched atop her hiding place, brick crumbling from its perch to land atop her head; Clare went very still, eyes straining upward to see without actually turning her head. The beast hadn't actually noticed her yet.
Her sword… Slowly, Clare began to inch her way towards it.
Until a twinge in the back of her mind made her flinch violently out of her hiding place, five fleshy javelins stabbing into the hard-packed dirt where she had just laid. Out in the open, Clare dispensed with all finesse or planning and just lunged forward, reaching for her sword.
She came up just inches short, as her head was yanked violently back by her long hair; Clare automatically knew without thinking that the Yōma had grabbed hold of it. Her fingertips scraped the hilt of her sword, unable to reach any further or do any more than touch the weapon.
A foot stomped down on her shoulder, slamming her down into the ground.
"Out of all these other bitches, you're the only one who actually managed to give me trouble," the Yōma half snarled, half sneered, pulling hard on the girl's hair so that she whimpered out in pain. "This close to so many of you filthy Claymores, I've actually had to waste time, hunting you down. Guess that means I'll should be quick about it… But why bother?" it sneered, switching off hands so that it was the damaged one holding her by the hair. "After all, it's not like we should really fear you half-breeds!"
Clare scrabbled, clawing at the ground for her sword. She could feel the giant blade's hilt with her fingers, just two inches… just another inch until she could close those fingers around it! Clare desperately pushed down the panic she could feel happening, as she those fingers above her reshaped, sharpening, the Yōma obviously delighting in her desperation as she squirmed.
No! She had came too far for this! All she had worked for, everything to become what the monsters themselves were afraid of… Only now a Yōma was about to kill her?
No. No! I won't let it end like this!
Desperate, Clare let completely go of the reins she had always carefully held on her Yōki, diving headfirst into that power that was her birthright. Immediately, she could feel the onrush of pain and ecstasy and the strength that came with it. Her eyes changed immediately, silver washing out to gold as her pupils somehow seeming to invert themselves, stretching to become a vertical slit. Pain vanished immediately, and the Yōma's foot holding her down may as well be a feather pillow now.
Now it was the Yōma's turn to panic. It knew that feeling! Without hesitation it fired its fingers downward, but suddenly the little bitch was no longer there! In its other hand, a handful of severed blonde hair, limp.
Sword firmly in hand, Clare seemed to almost teleport into place behind the Yōma, so fast did she move. The Yōma tried to turn, to counterattack, but Clare's attack was already underway, sword hurling horizontally around. The blade caught above the beast's upper lip, dense metal carving through bone and foul brown flesh with barely any resistance.
In that final split-second, the Yōma finally understood the answer to its question, why their kind should fear Claymores above all else. Then it all went black.
"Well!" Rubel smiled widely. "So she managed to survive. That deserves some praise, doesn't you think?"
"I suppose so," the instructor hummed, though with more curiosity than enthusiasm. That last part had been… odd… to watch.
"The life of a warrior… I think she'll take to it quite well." After all, as they say, Rubel thought, like mother, like daughter. He even supposed he could see a bit of Theresa in the way Clare carried herself, though he could just be imagining that.
Below, the two of them could see Clare helping to carry the injured other girl out of the ruins, the taller girl leaning on Clare's shoulder for support. There was a small bit of blood caked to the side of Clare's face, but given Claymores' regenerative capabilities in general, it wasn't so odd to find no wound on her. Her shorter hair, on the other hand, did not go unnoticed.
Still, Rubel was pleased. Immensely so, at that. Clare had proved she still had use, but how far that use stretched, Rubel wasn't completely sure. Mentally, he shrugged; time would tell, he supposed. If there was anywhere Clare would be able to prove herself, that would be out on the field.
"You felt that too, didn't you?" the other instructor spoke up, curious, garnering the handler's attention. "When that girl used her Yōki. It felt… different… than a usual warrior's. Not as chaotic."
Damn. He'd noticed. "Yes, actually, I did," Rubel kept his features neutral and seemingly curious, even as he fingered the concealed knife hidden in his clothing.
He would have to make this look convincing. After all, Yōma were considered highly unpredictable to begin with…
Author's Note: Well, Chapter One was pretty quick to come out. Chapter Three also happens to be in the works currently. And for those of you who are familiar with my chapters and how long I can be, these chapters will get longer. I have to get into the swing of writing a Claymore story.
If you guys read one of the four extra chapters, you should be familiar with what you read and what the differences are. With Rubel taking such a high interest in Clare I imagine him keeping an eye on her, and testing Clare in his own unique way.
I've hinted towards several things in this chapter, but you'll have to wait and see as to what they mean.
Originally, this was slated to be an extra chapter. However, due to my lack of updates and this being the only story of mine with only one chapter, I decided to post it as the next chapter. It's more linear than I wanted, but it'll do until the next chapter is finished.