The development of Nightmare's consciousness was a process that had lasted centuries.
As the sword was used to shed blood across countless battlefields for countless years, it was bathed in death, drenched in murder, soaked in slaughter. The remorse, suffering, and pain of its thousands of victims clung to the blade, and built up over the course of its long history, until the sword itself was enshrouded by an aura of evil. Any who touched the blade's hilt would feel a desire to swing it, to carve flesh, to draw blood. The bloodier the blade became, the more its wielder craved blood.
The sword continued to retain emotional and physical residue from its victims, and eventually spiritual residue as well. Eventually, not only did blood and hatred cling to the sword's blade, but souls too. Flesh adhered to the sword and became one with it, and the sword became alive. Although the blade now 'lived', it was nothing but a beast, an animal with a thirst for blood and a bizarre influence over the man holding it. As it continued to develop into a living, abominable monstrosity, it became a more effective weapon in combat. The more men it slaughtered, the more efficiently it consumed its next victims. At the height of its use, the blade consumed hundreds of men per day, but even then, it took centuries until an actual consciousness began to develop inside of the blade.
As flesh and souls alike built up on the sword, it became a more complex creature, capable of comprehending the world around it, observing the location of others relative to itself. It discerned the most efficient routes between itself and its next meals, using its grim influence to override its host's decisions to make more prudent choices instead. The intelligence of the sword developed over time until it grew sophisticated enough to analyze situations and use logic and previous experience to determine the best course of action.
And yet, for all its psychological development, the sword never developed emotions or a conscience. It was like a machine that performed one task perpetually, an insatiable beast that sought only its next meal. It was simply an intelligent beast, one capable of rational thought, a thinking creature that was bereft of emotions or mercy - and that made it the most dangerous kind of monster.
The only emotions that Nightmare had ever known were satisfaction, desire, and rage. He desired souls, was satisfied when he consumed them, and was enraged when something stood in his way.
When Nightmare heard the meaty thump of Raphael's head striking to the ground behind him, he felt satisfaction. He was pleased with the elimination of one of his only obstacles, and felt a new sensation - appreciation - for the servant whom had completed this task. The words "Well done, Slave." emanated from Nightmare's helmet as though he had manipulated a vocal chord, tongue, and lips to speak them, but he simply created the sounds through the power of his will.
Tira took a long, deep bow before returning to an upright position, ready and willing and eager to hear and obey Nightmare's next command.
If Nightmare had lips to curl into a smirk, he would have done so. No human had ever shown him compliance before. Schtauffen body had obeyed his commands, but all the while his mind was fighting the control. This girl was a human body that he could manipulate and command at will, not unlike the host bodies he had inhabited up until now. A remotely controlled host body. A useful resource, to be sure. And she was capable of slaying one such as Raphael, as well. He decided that he would keep this girl after all.
"What is your next command, Master? Will I get to kill someone again?" Tira asked, her eyes wide with anticipation and enthusiasm.
Nightmare pondered the question. He had a willing servant at his ready - but what tasks could she fulfill? He conducted no business beside the mass consumption of souls. What were his other needs? Did he even have any? What were the remarkable things that existed in this world beside souls?
A scarce number of matters grasped Nightmare's attention, but those matters were grave. His first concern was to re-unite with his original vessel. He was now a soul without a body, a spirit clinging to discarded armor...his flesh and his origin, the blade of Soul Edge, was now separate from him. He longed to be one with it again, to be whole with his true form. But there was an obstacle in the way...
That man...
...that blade.
"Schtauffen." Rumbled the voice from the helmet, dripping with venom and hatred. "The holy sword." Never before had the word 'holy' been spoken with such revulsion and disgust.
Nightmare sensed anxiety in Tira's soul. She looked tense, apprehensive at the mention of those two subjects.
"What about them, Master?" She asked, her cheer and enthusiasm gone.
"I want them destroyed."
Sadness, remorse, longing from Tira.
"Emotions? Weak." Nightmare spat. "What causes you this sorrow, Slave? Will this obstruct your service to me?"
"No, Master! No! Nothing will get in the way of my servitude to you!" Tira said desperately.
Nightmare could feel that she was lying, and he long since developed powers of deduction. "...What connection do you have to my former host?"
"None whatsoever, not anymore." Tira lied. "He was my former Master – former! I no longer serve him." She said. "I feel nothing for him anymore. I have no opposition to obeying any orders that harm Siegfried." She lied.
Nightmare growled. "You promised loyalty to me, yet you would oppose my will if my will is against your own!"
"No! I am loyal to you, Master Nightmare! I will obey your will, no matter what you ask of me! How can I prove my loyalty to you, Master? Give me any task! I will obey!"
Tira awaited Nightmare's reply in tense silence. The Azure Night was quiet and still as he contemplated an adequate test. After what felt like ages, his reply came at last.
"Cut off one of your fingers."
Tira became stiff and rigid for a moment - then, she knelt down, placed her left hand on the ground in front of her, and raised her ringblade with her right hand. She took aim, held her breath, and swung her weapon downward.
--
All Siegfried Schtauffen wanted was to be alone. At least, that's what he thought.
From the moment he laid his hand on the hilt of that cursed blade, he had spent three years of his life without the ability to control his own body. His state had been practically vegetative - unable to move a single limb, unable to lift even one finger - but he had spent the entire time conscious and aware. During this vegetative state, Siegfried had not been limited to the sight of darkness, the back of his unopened eyes. Instead, he had been forced to watch gruesome scenes of mass murder day after day, visions of killing and slaughtering and massacring and slaying and butchering - all conducted using his own hands. He would have preferred blindness to those sights.
He had been trapped, trapped within his own body, unable to move or control the limbs that had belonged to him for so long, unable to do anything but think and watch himself strangle the life out of innocent victims and despise the force that had taken control of his body.
That hatred, that loathing, that furious, fuming scorn for the blade was the only thing that had kept him sane. There was nothing else to cling to, no hope, no future, no chance to be free again - the only thing he could do was hate the force that controlled him.
Perhaps this hatred for the sword, this intense desire to extract revenge, was the only reason that Siegfried actually possessed the resolve and willpower to stand up and move his limbs again, after he had been freed from the sword's control, after the past three years of his life had been nothing but constant, perpetual torture.
He had almost forgotten how to use his own body, since he had been robbed of it for so long, but against every odd, he forced his body to stand up and move again. At first, he was overwhelmed, completely unsure how to determine what to do with his life from that point forward, but he discovered his destiny quickly - every time he slept or fell unconscious, lingering remnants of the evil force in his body would take control of him once again. Even if he was an independent man when he was awake, he was a slave again in his sleep, until one day, the force controlled him in his waking hours as well.
And he spent the next four years in that prison, that vegetative state, that absolute slavery. Another four years of the torture he had barely escaped, another four years of watching his own hands carve through the flesh of innocents. There is no way for anyone to know what such an experience is like - no one but Siegfried himself.
Seven years total. Seven years as a vegetable, as an absolute slave, as a tortured man...and he had spent every moment of those seven painful years with company. Company he could not ignore or send away, for his 'guest' resided within his own body. The cruel being mocked him, taunted him, laughed at him the entire time, only ceasing to torture him mentally when it was time to claim more lives using his body. He had not been alone for those seven years, spending every minute with the soul of that evil blade inside of him, beside own mind.
After Raphael had inadvertently freed him from Soul Edge's power, and the two swords had gone silent, and his body was once again his own, Siegfried could think of nothing but leaving the stage of this tragedy forever. He didn't want to have anything to do with Soul Edge anymore. He didn't want any more fighting, any more bloodshed, any more strife. He just wanted peace, to have a normal life, to regain the seven years of his life he had lost. He wanted to go as far away from Soul Edge as possible and just live in peace.
But, he knew he could not do that. He knew that if the sword was not destroyed, then the same slaughter and death would one day return to the land, and that if he left the stage now, he would not atone for his sins; for killing his father, for being the vessel for so many deaths. He knew what he had to do. He knew that he could not leave this stage before the tragedy was over. He knew that, unless he brought closure to this matter, it would never die.
He was broken, he was tormented, he had just awoken from six years of torture, six years of his own limbs refusing to obey him. But even then, this man refused to run away, refused to abandon the swords and leave the task to someone else, refused to shirk responsibility for his sins. Instead, even with a mind as tired, weary, damaged, and broken as his, and a body that he had almost forgotten how to control, he pushed himself into motion, took up the Embrace, and embarked on what he knew would be a long, difficult, and dangerous journey.
He ignored and avoided everything that did not further his goals. "Leave me alone" was his mantra, the first phrase he learned in every language he was forced to pick up, the only thing he said to other people unless he was seeking information from them. He did not want any more company. He wanted to enjoy solitude, a life free of the company of others. He only wanted to finish his duty, to redeem himself, and then live alone, in peace.
And he was alone, until he met her. And in the blink of an eye she became an irremovable presence in his life, just as Soul Edge had been - except instead of torture, she brought him pleasure. She calmed him and soothed him and relieved him physically and psychologically, bringing him satisfaction and contentment. She removed the stress that had piled up in his body for so many years and introduced him to a part of life he had never known. This new experience - this wonderful, beautiful, thrilling ecstasy - became his shelter, his haven, his sanctuary. If ever he felt sorrow, he would run his hands across her body and feel happiness. If ever the guilt of his sins was too much to bear, he would take her many times a night until his sins were all but forgotten. If ever he felt remorseful about his wasted youth, he would make up for lost time by laying with Tira as often as possible.
The man who once sought nothing but solitude and peace had become dependant on the presence of another person - and now, he had lost her. He had accumulated more company on his travels, but none of them were quite like her - and he didn't want them; he only wanted her. He had come to understand the value of loyalty and the joy of emotional attachment to a solitary woman. He did not want to share his bed with anyone else; he only wanted Tira. But he could not have her. And the one whom had kept him enslaved for so many years, the one whom had mocked him and taunted him almost perpetually, the one whom was responsible for all of his suffering, was the one who had her now.
Siegfried didn't care about anything anymore. He just wanted to finish his duty and then lay his sword down forever. He just wanted to finish atoning for his sins, complete the journey he had set out for, and then retreat from the world and live in peace and silence. He was done, done with this adventure, done with life, done with everything. He was simply coasting forward toward his destination until his deed was complete.
And yet, even now, a familiar impulse began to rise within Siegfried. For a long time now - almost a year - he had been relieving his anguish by taking hold of Tira's body. The experience had caused him to go through a multitude of emotions, from ecstasy to shame. He had found himself questioning whether sex was dirty or healthy, whether he was a lecherous pervert or a very fortunate man. At every hour of the day, he was surrounded by beautiful women with luscious, curvaceous forms. His heart belonged to one woman...but that woman was gone to him now. He did not know if he could ever manage to persuade her to return to him. If she had pledged herself to Nightmare in the same intimate ways that she had for him, he did not know if he could ever stand to take her back, either. The knowledge that his most hated enemy could be ravishing his lover's body brought him intense anger and envy and frustration.
He had spent so much of the past few months struggling with his sexuality, coming to terms with desires and emotions that he had never felt before. Most of this time was spent on guilt, shame, and regret, believing himself to be a perverted, sex-crazed deviant without self-control. In order to improve himself and remove this guilt from his life, he had become determined to end his dependence on sex. He ceased using Tira for selfish purposes, but still he did not treat her fairly - and it was only after she abandoned him that he realized his heart belonged to her and that he wished to be loyal to her.
Now his love was in the clutches of an abomination, and he had no woman to pledge himself to. There was no longer a reason to remain loyal to Tira, and thus there was no reason to remain celibate for her sake. His months of soul-searching and self-analysis had led him to the conclusion that sex was not filthy or depraved, but a natural act, a normal desire, something that is universally understood and felt by all people. There were women around him whom had sought his embrace before, and he knew he could have them again if he chose to. It felt bizarre to think of sexuality in such a casual way when previously it had been a source of great stress for him - but perhaps mutual physical comfort was exactly what he needed to relieve that stress.
Siegfried knew he could restrain himself if it was necessary. His willpower was superhuman, almost godlike - he had endured seven years in the worst imaginable torment, and had escaped the ordeal with enough sanity to continue functioning as a normal human being. Compared to his time as Nightmare, to be celibate was a mere discomfort. He could abstain from sex if he had to, he could be celibate if needed - but was it really necessary?
He knew that it was not shameful to be physically close with another person. None of his traveling companions would have laid with him if they had found such intimacy to be repulsive or unnatural.
Siegfried's eyes rolled over the slender and womanly forms of his companions, their figures full, voluptuous...and his for the taking.
Was it solitude or company that he desired? Isolation or closeness? Self-restraint and decency, or harmless indulgence and comfort?
--
Isabella Valentine was displeased.
How many months now had it been - eleven? Eleven months, and what did they have to show for their effort? The distances they had traveled, the continents they had crossed, the money they had earned and spent, the languages they had learned adequately, the locals they had questioned, the libraries they had scoured for information, the dead-end rumors they had looked into, the fights they had gotten into, the lives they had been forced to take - what did they have to show for it all?
They knew that the Embrace was invincible, and that only a sufficient amount of evil or holy energy would break the stalemate that kept the swords trapped within one another. Either that, or the power of that despicable white-cloaked moor.
Holy artifacts were rare, and although shards of Soul Edge had been widespread in years past, now it was nearly impossible to track down a part of the evil blade to purify. It would take ages before they could locate enough holy items to influence the status of the Embrace, and even then they had decided not to instigate a separation until they were certain that their holy energy would be enough to overwhelm and defeat Soul Edge before it could cause any further disasters.
Most of them had devoted nearly a year of their past lives to their mutual goal, and yet for all their blood and sweat and injuries and effort, they were only a fraction of the way to the destruction of the evil sword. Isabella was not pleased. She was quite dissatisfied, indeed.
And yet, her current course was most likely the most efficient one. What else could she do? In all their travels and research they had not learned of anything else with power equivalent to the two blades, anything else that could destroy the Embrace, seal it away for good, render it impossible to retrieve. Ivy had experimented extensively on the Embrace and had found that none of her alchemy or combustive agents could scratch it. She wanted to abandon their futile quest and take matters into her own hands, but there were no measures she could take.
There was nothing she could do but remain in the group and hope for the best. They traveled to lands previously unvisited and followed the traces of evil energy in search of shards to purify, but remarkable events were spaced apart by weeks. During those lulls in between action, there was scarcely a single thing to do, aside from fraternize with her uncultured companions.
Siegfried was a respectable man. He had his vices, but that was to be expected. Soul Edge had robbed him of the opportunity to become an educated or learned person. She appreciated him in a tight spot, but he was no conversationalist. The same could be said of most of the group. Sophitia was intelligent, but far too naïve and idealistic to see eye-to-eye with Ivy on any subject. Cassandra was a stupid girl who decided one day to grab a sword and have an adventure, knowing nothing of the consequences involved. Setsuka, although clearly an intellectual and easily the most sophisticated member of their group, lacked the English vocabulary to express her intelligence. Taki kept to herself, and frankly made Ivy uncomfortable.
Seung Mi-na had become something of a hobby to Ivy. She seemed no different from Cassandra at first - a chirping little brat who was far too enthusiastic about everything - but she actually had potential as a combatant and as a woman. She was emotional, let words get under her skin, and got excited over petty matters, but she was one of the finest warriors Ivy had ever fought, and in the short time Ivy her known her, Seung Mi-na had matured quickly. Ivy had taken the girl in as a protégé, teaching her how to become more effective in combat and how to remove her less desirable habits. Ivy nearly felt proud of the girl for the progress she had made, but she still made some of the same stupid blunders in combat, and still had a personality that got on her nerves. Ivy had no emotional attachment to the girl, but was spending more and more time with her in recent days, if only because it was a satisfactory way to pass the time.
And then, there was the newest addition to their rainbow coalition of love and joy, the aristocratic little rose named Amy. Ivy saw much of herself in Amy, and perhaps that is why the timid, shy little girl unnerved her. Ivy's foster father was a nobleman who had indulged and pampered her - the same was true of Amy. Ivy's father had been corrupted by Soul Edge, and passed his corruption down to her - Amy now suffered from the same affliction that her 'Papa' had acquired. Ivy's father had been killed and then kept alive by the influence of the evil sword, and Raphael had been an undead being, as well. The blood that ran through Ivy's veins made her a perfect host for Soul Edge - Amy's curse made her an ideal vessel, as well. There was only one thing to blame for all of Ivy's suffering; Soul Edge. This parallel extended to Amy, whose life was now in shambles thanks to the actions of Tira - who was tied to Nightmare - who was tied to Soul Edge.
For Ivy, looking at Amy was the same as looking a young version of herself. Her face housed the same demure and resigned expression, her body was adorned with the same aristocratic garbs unbefitting of a warrior...her heart was imbued with the same burning desire to have vengeance and justice, and her hand gripped a blade with the same determination and resolution. Ivy could see the girl becoming exactly like herself in a few years - perhaps not in appearance, but certainly in misery and character.
Ivy connected deeply with the girl, and perhaps that is why she felt so terrified of the scrawny lass. She had never felt attachment to anyone but her foster parents, never felt commitment toward anything but her mission. Even Seung Mi-na, her apprentice, was only an acquaintance to her. But this girl, this Amy, she felt a connection to. It was new to her, unfamiliar to her, frightening to her.
Half of Ivy wanted to embrace the girl, share her misery, comfort her, steer her away from the wretched path that she walked, give her the upbringing that both of them had been robbed of. The other half of Ivy had no time to mother an orphaned girl, no time to deal with yet another lost little girl whom had wandered into their league despite her uselessness. Ivy could not afford to let herself break down, become emotional, become weak. She had to remain the way she was, the way she had always been - strong, resolute, unwavering, unflinching - for if she allowed the façade to lower for even a moment, she would never have the strength to raise it again.
As Ivy looked at each of the faces of the members of her group, she wondered which of them were truly necessary. As she looked between the faces of Seung Mi-na and Amy, she wondered which of them deserved her attention more.
--
Sophitia had been chosen by the gods.
The gods themselves had selected her. The gods. Supernatural beings, omnipotent deities beyond her comprehension. These transcendent entities had judged her to be worthy of fulfilling their will. She was a member of an elite class, held a title that only twenty-four other warriors had been granted. Her mission was divine. Her journey was holy. The gods themselves watched over her, protected her, guided her, and lent her their weapons, their armor, their strength.
She had no reason to feel fear, no reason to feel uncertain. The gods would not have spoken to her if they had intended for her to embark on a mission in vain, or fail. What reason did she have to worry, when deities were her guardians? What reason was there for anxiety, when holy beings were there to support her? She was justified in having absolute confidence in herself. She could allow herself to be completely self-assured, without any doubts or uncertainty.
Sophitia missed those days. She had been so young and full of energy back then, so innocent and naïve. She thought she was invincible, and for all the times she had escaped battle unscathed, she very well could have been. Her mind and body were still youthful, and she thought she had been granted an honor that few other mortals had ever obtained in the entirety of all history. It was such a romantic time for her, a time when life was magnificent, a time when every day was spent undertaking a hallowed task given to her by those whom she worshipped.
But things were different now. Everything was different now.
Every day no longer felt like a grand adventure. She no longer felt as though she was part of something special. She was on a quest to destroy the cursed blade once and for all - but it was a quest of stagnation. There was no holy grail, no tangible treasure that they sought; their goal was ambiguous, their target rather abstract. They had the very thing they sought to destroy, they simply could not destroy it. Not even the power of the gods themselves had phased it at all. They knew how to dispose of the abomination, but it was a task that was achingly slow, painfully sluggish.
They had already exhausted all venues and had only found one way to destroy the sword, one that required even more traveling and searching than they had already done for the past year. At this speed, it was impossible for Sophitia to feel as though she was on a thrilling adventure, or as though there were powerful guardians who wanted to see her task completed.
They dwell safely above the clouds while we mortals are forced to do their dirty work...some gods they are.
Sophitia was no longer a stranger to blasphemous thoughts. Previously, when she was devout and pious, sacrilegious thoughts were unknown to her. Even before she had seen proof of their existence, she had utmost faith in the gods, unwavering belief in their existence and power. After the gods had shown themselves to her, her devotion had multiplied further, and she had dedicated her life to serving them. However, in the years that had passed since her initial journey, she had slowly been loosing her conviction for the gods. She could not doubt that they existed, but she no longer had complete faith in their potency.
Why had they chosen the daughter of a baker, a young girl with no combat experience whatsoever, to become a holy warrior? Why had they not bestowed such a title on one whom was suited to the job? Did they choose her because she was so faithful to them? Did they choose her because of the potential in her soul? Or did they simply choose her because she was one of their only choices? Were there truly so few believers left that a baker girl was the best pick of the lot? The symbol on her shield - Omega - suggested that she was the very last fighter chosen to aid the gods. Was she the last resort, then? The bottom of the barrel?
Hellenistic religions were practically dead at this point - belief in the ancient Greek pantheon had been extinct for over a thousand years now. At a young age, Sophitia had become so enamored with the romantic and fantastic myths of the ancient Greeks that she did not want to believe that the gods had never existed. She clung tightly to the hope that they had been real - so tightly that she refused to give up hope even into her teenage years. If she had simply been a more rational girl with less naiveté, she would never have believed in the gods, and never have been dragged into this mess.
Hephaestus had told her that Soul Edge was a threat to mankind. She believed this, because she had seen the suffering and destruction that it caused firsthand. Hephaestus had also told her that it was blasphemous for a weapon that powerful to exist, that such weapons were meant to be the creations of gods, not men. After considering the jealousy, envy, resentment, suspicion, and distrust that was rampant in Greek myths, Sophitia realized the truth: Hephaestus was ashamed. The God of Fire and Forge was embarrassed because there existed a weapon more powerful than anything he had ever forged himself. The almighty deity was humiliated because he had not been the one to create such a powerful weapon. He wanted it to be destroyed simply because it was not his.
Sophitia had also received the backing of additional gods, but she did not suspect that their motives were any more pure than Hephaestus'. The sword had been in existence for hundreds, possibly thousands of years - why seek to destroy it now, when their power was weakest? The answer was obvious: they sought to destroy it now because their power was now at its weakest. The gods, with only a handful of believers left, now considered an imaginary relic of the past, had lost their power. With no one to worship them, their once omnipotent abilities had waned until they were at last susceptible to destruction. They did not fear for mankind's safety - they feared for their own. They wanted Soul Edge to be destroyed before it destroyed them.
The gods were legendary beings, but they were selfish and cowardly, shadows of their former selves.
Sophitia no longer winced at her own sacrilege when she thought such things. These thoughts had become commonplace to her. She had become jaded, cynical, exhausted with the gods. She no longer wanted to be their puppet. They had transformed her into their servant simply because she had refused to give up hope that they existed. They had rewarded her devotion by ripping her from a comfortable, happy life and throwing her into a world of bloodshed and combat. What reward was this, for all her faithfulness? A mind and body scarred by combat, a boring trek across the known world, a fruitless journey that dragged on endlessly, her loved ones as distant as possible?
The thought of Sophitia's family brought a sigh to her lips. How was her father Achelous doing? He was an old, old man, his time almost up - what if he had died in her absence, before she had ever gotten a chance to say goodbye? What of her mother, Nike? She had always been a frail and sickly woman - what if she was now ill with no one to care for her? And Lucius - she had not spoken to her younger brother in ages. What was he doing with his life? Her heart ached so painfully when she thought of Patroklos and Pyrrha growing up without their mother. Her own children would most likely be strangers when she finally returned to them, if she ever did.
And then, there was Rothion.
He was the love of her life. She had been married to him for almost five years, the five happiest years of her life, at least when she had actually spent them at his side. She had enjoyed nothing more than his company, his attention, his embrace. He was her ideal man, the man she had always dreamed of meeting, the man she thought she had no hope of ever finding - and she had found him, and he had loved her. She could not have wished for a better partner, and not even in her most wild fantasies could she concoct a better man. He was everything she wanted in a companion and everything she needed in her life. He was compassionate, generous, strong, dependable, fair, respectful, good-natured, pure-hearted, wise, thoughtful, and brought her to incredible levels of ecstasy at night. But the trait she had valued the most was his faithfulness, his devotion to her and only her, the knowledge that she would never have to worry about his eyes or hands on another woman.
Sophitia missed him so much. She missed having him and knowing that he belonged only to her. She missed watching sweat dripping off of his shirtless, bronzed chest as he worked feverishly at his trade. Her disappointment in the gods, her exhausting and tiresome journey, and the distance between her and her loved ones was nothing compared to the knowledge that her husband had embraced another woman - how many times? For how long? How many other women? Had he done them the same special favors that had once belonged to her alone?
When Sophitia thought of Rothion, she felt many emotions. There was a feeling of loss, and a feeling of betrayal. There was sorrow, and there was also anger. She blamed herself, she blamed the gods, and she blamed him. She had left him alone with no knowledge of whether or not his wife was alive. She had left him involuntarily celibate with no recourse but to find another woman to ease his yearning. She had left him alone for years at a time because a voice in her head told her to do so. Those voices, those gods...why did they have to ruin her life? Why did they have to take a daughter from her father, a wife from her husband, a mother from her children? Now her marriage was quite possibly ruined and there was a chance she would never be able to return to the man she loved more than anything else, the man who had stabbed her viciously in the back when she needed his support the most.
With all things considered, Sophitia wondered if there was anyone who could blame her for taking solace in Siegfried's bed. Her spouse had ceased to be loyal to her, so was it not fair to be disloyal herself? But two wrongs do not make a right. She had already caused her husband enough pain. If she wanted Rothion to forgive her, then she was only making things worse by taking revenge upon him. But wait - she was the victim here! He was the one who would have to beg for her forgiveness, not her! She had no reason to feel guilty when he was the one who had broken his vows! But she did not want to be angry at him. She did not want to betray him. She just wanted her husband back, her children back, her life back.
And sometimes it was too much to bear. Sometimes her suffering was too immense to endure. And so she laid with that man, that tall, strong, beautiful man, who could please her even more than Rothion could. And then she felt content, pacified, soothed and comforted. She was at peace in mind and body, her revenge taken sweetly and her desires more than satisfied. And she was happy for a time, but only until the guilt began to mount, the guilt on top of everything else. And every time had she slept with Siegfried again to stifle her emotions, her guilt eventually returned even more potent than last time.
Sophitia had to make a decision. In truth, she had a lot of decisions to make. Was she going to stay loyal to the gods? Gods whom were weak, cowardly, terrified, and all but completely forgotten? Was she going to remain a part of this languid, futile quest? Or was she going to return home to her loved ones? Was she going to forgive Rothion? Was Rothion going to forgive her?
Sophitia's life was in shambles. It was so difficult to remain a compassionate person, so hard to remain kindhearted. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to endure the life she led. She just wanted to return to Athens and raise her children. She just wanted to forget all about this sword nonsense. But could she just abandon the journey? Could she give up after coming so far? Could she just quit after enduring so much? Could she just leave before seeing this journey through to the end?
...could she?
Or would she?
--
Cassandra felt like everyone was special except for her.
Siegfried was their leader. He had never said so himself, and there had never been a vote, but everyone accepted him as the person in charge. They all respected him for what he had been through, and considered him qualified to decide the fate of the swords and the direction of their journey. He had never let them down, even after that creepy girl of his ran away.
Even though Cassandra despised Ivy, she had to admit that they were lucky to have the arrogant woman on their side. She was easily one of their best combatants, and her vast amounts of knowledge had been of use in every land they'd traveled to. She was more educated in various languages than anyone else in the group, and often she was their interpreter and translator. The group would have struck many hurdles if it were not for Ivy.
Even Cassandra's own sister outranked her now. Back home, Cassandra had always been better than her own elder sister at so many things - Sophitia was coming to Cassandra for help, asking her to teach her something basic. But out here, Cassandra learned why Sophitia wasn't as good at cleaning and cooking and sewing as other women her age - she had spent her formative years learning how to strike an opponent's vitals, not how to thread a needle. She had thought of her beautiful elder sister as a ditz and a klutz, but among warriors she was respected and valued. Meanwhile, it was Cassandra who was always making herself out to be the fool.
The only person that did not put Cassandra to shame was Setsuka. The Japanese woman was only slightly more experienced than she was in combat, and did not even have a personal reason to see Soul Edge destroyed! And yet...she was probably the most well-liked and favored member of the group. She was an entertainer; she could sing, dance, play a variety of instruments, and had an endless repertoire of anecdotes and tales. She had not played a significant role to them after they had left Japan, but she had never disappointed them, either. She always gave them something to listen to, something to think about, something to laugh about. She made sure that their long, boring, uneventful journey was lively and spirited, and for that, even the most cynical members of the group appreciated her.
Taki was...Taki. Perhaps second only to Siegfried in fighting skill, she surpassed everyone else in combat experience, physical endurance, and supernatural ability. She handled most of the work in the scuffles they got into, she was never tired by the time the others needed to stop and rest, and she seemed to be capable of generating explosions and orbs of energy from the pure force of her will, whereas even Ivy required chemicals and substances to do so. She spoke less than everyone else, but when she did speak, pure wisdom poured from her lips. She was in charge of purifying the shards they located and generating an energy field that protected them from evil energy, a feat that required constant concentration and exertion, yet she never complained or shed a drop of sweat. She was their most valued member by far.
At least Cassandra had a friend in Seung Mi-na. Although her vocabulary was limited, their personalities were similar and they didn't always need words to get along. Cassandra liked Seung Mi-na because she didn't have to feel inferior to her - she almost had less to do with Soul Edge than anyone else, and got on the others' nerves sometimes, too. Still, she was almost a match for Ivy in combat, and was usually too busy receiving training from the white-haired witch to hang out with Cassandra. Cassandra was jealous of Seung Mi-na for being a stronger version of herself who got way more attention.
Even that little girl was more special than Cassandra! A host for Soul Edge, daughter of the man who liberated Siegfried, and too dangerous to let out of their sight for fear of what she might become if left on her own. She had no business tagging along, had no direct connection to Soul Edge outside of her affliction, and was probably even less skilled than Cassandra, but she was still more important and the others actually felt obligated to keep her around! Would anyone raise a single objection if Cassandra voiced her own desire to leave?
Every member of the group contributed to their journey in some way, or otherwise had value and a reason to stay - every member but Cassandra, that is. She really only insisted on tagging along because she had fallen in love with the romantic idea of having an epic adventure...and because she had developed feelings for Siegfried. But the man paid her no more attention than he did anyone else, and the one time he had been intimate with her, it had been cold and meaningless. She wasn't enjoying the journey she had once been so enthusiastic about, and there was no potential for a relationship with Siegfried, who had responded to her advances with indifference and unresponsiveness.
Cassandra was the least important member of the group. She knew it, and so did the others; while only Ivy was outright rude to her, the others obviously did not value her or respect her. Even her own sister, who had once been warm and kind to her, was now distant and detached. It had started when Cassandra gave away the fact that she had slept with Siegfried, but Cassandra could tell that other things were on her sister's mind that caused her disposition to deteriorate.
Cassandra was inferior to everyone around her in some way, and had no value or worth compared to her peers. She contributed less than everyone else - she almost did nothing at all - and she had no serious reason to travel with them on their journey.
The group's travels would bring them near Greece before long. Their next destination after that would most likely take them further away from Cassandra's home - if she was going to leave the group, she would have to do so when Greece was closest.
Cassandra had no reason to stay. In fact, maybe everyone else would be better off without her. One less mouth to feed. One less childish little girl to worry about. Maybe Athens was where she belonged, cooking, cleaning, doing the things she was actually good at, even if they were not extravagant or romantic.
Cassandra began counting the days until Greece was near.
--
Setsuka had finally found happiness, but she knew that it would not last much longer.
For as long as she could remember, her life had seemed like a cruel joke. Although she had not been born terribly disfigured, her Western features were foreign and unnatural to the people of Japan. She did not understand what she was or why she was so different from everyone else - and neither did others. For much of her life, she had been exposed only to disdain, hateful words, and violence because of some irrational reason she could not understand. She never known acceptance, never felt at home or as though she belonged where she was.
There wasn't a day that passed that Setsuka went without remembering her caretaker. The only person in her life ever to treat her as though she had value and worth. Only in his company had she ever felt at home, as though she had finally found her place, where she belonged. A cold, unfeeling world had shunned and hated her, but she had found warmth and comfort and love in the care of this wonderful man.
When her caretaker had been killed by Mitsurugi, all of the hurt and anger and grief from her childhood days came flooding back, many times more potent than before, as if to make up for lost time. Once again she was alone in the world without anyone to love her or appreciate her, without security or a home to return to at night. Her life had been shattered and broken, and the man she loved above everything else was dead. Her heart held nothing but hatred and fury and rage, and she became consumed by the desire for revenge.
The day finally came when she tracked down the man she was looking for. She had her chance to take his life, to avenge the death of her caretaker, to put an end to her suffering and thirst for retribution. And yet, she had spared him. She had come to her senses, realized the foolishness of bloodshed in the name of bloodshed. She realized that the death of another person was an absurd cause to devote one's life to, and had decided to choose more noble and virtuous ambitious.
Without any particular motivation or direction for her life, Setsuka had no idea what purpose she wished to dedicate herself to. However, as she spent more time assisting Siegfried and his companions during their tenure in Japan, she came to view them as friends rather than customers. She had never become very familiar with other people, due to her appearance and a difficulty in trusting other people. She performed her duties as an oiran exceptionally well, but companionship did not come easy apart from paying customers. Genuine friendship was alien to her, perhaps because her profession was one of brief closeness and temporary companionship.
But things were different for her among Siegfried and the others, while in Japan. She could tell that they appreciated her guidance and assistance, without need for a forged friendship. They did not look upon her with disdain, did not cast judgment on her. They were each foreigners from a different corner of the world, as alien to Japan as Setsuka was. Around them, nothing felt forced, only natural. She felt a sensation she had not experienced since her time with her caretaker - she felt at home, as though she had found her place, where she belonged.
They were a stressful lot, each with their own tale of woe to tell. Even worse, they had traveled hundreds of miles across the Earth with virtually no entertainment to keep their spirits up. They could speak to one another and spar, but had little else to do, especially for leisure. Setsuka could not stand to spend a single moment idle, and if she was not working, she wanted to be entertained, or to be entertaining. During lulls in their trip across Japan, she began to perform for the others - simple things, just songs or dances or tales - and found that the others were very grateful. She continued to entertain them whenever she could, her only payment being the satisfaction of amusing a group that desperately needed something to smile about.
She could not solve their problems with her routines, but her performances took their minds off of their troubles for a short while, and simply lessening the tension and anxiety in the group was greatly appreciated. It was not long at all before the group was treating her like a longtime friend. She felt comfortable among them, wanted, appreciated...almost loved. She brought them something they needed more than anything else, happiness. They were a grim and dismal lot when she had first met them, but she could tell that just her companionship had done wonders for them, even if they had not become a union of delight and bliss overnight.
It was true that she had developed an infatuation with Siegfried, but her fascination with him had dulled over time to friendship. He had many traits that she found endearing, but a relationship was not meant to be. The appreciation she had found among her new friends had given her confidence in the idea that one day she really would actually meet someone who would love her; she did not need to desperately cling to the first man who seemed to reciprocate her feelings.
She did not remain with Siegfried because of the spark of romance between them, but because she felt at home among his group. She did not want to leave them; she had finally found where she belonged. The woman who for so long had been alone and unwanted finally had a place, had friends who were grateful to have her. They all had their flaws, both minor and not, but she adored each one of them. She didn't want to leave them, and didn't want them to leave her...
...but she knew that day was coming.
Their every effort was spent furthering a goal, and although their progress was slow, they were drawing closer to their objective. Any day now they could stumble across the artifact that would led them to destroy the sword they feared and hated so much, and even if they would never find such a thing, they gradually collected the fragments necessary to tip the balance in their favor.
When their journey was complete, then what would happen? Their partnership was not one of choice, but one of convenience. Even after so many months together, few of them were personally close to the others. Once their ambition was fulfilled, they would no longer have a reason to stay together, and they would go their separate ways, return to their old lives...but Setsuka had no life that she wished to return to. This was her life: being among friends, being accepted, being wanted. She had nowhere to go, no home; already, she thought of 'home' as simply with these people. There was strife and tension and so, so, so much traveling - but she could not think of any place she would rather be than with these people...entertaining them, making them happy, and receiving their friendship and thankfulness in return.
But what would happen when it ended? Siegfried might return home to his mother. Ivy alluded often to herself as being something that was dangerous, threatening - would she choose to live her years in solitude? Sophitia and Cassandra had a family to care for. Taki had been a fugitive for several years now, and her old clan had recently been decimated...she was just as lost as Setsuka was now, and a native of the same country. But Taki was not talkative enough to discuss her future plans, if she had any. Seung Mi-na was only clinging to the group because of Ivy and because she did not want to simply leave Soul Edge in the hands of someone else...although she also claimed that she would not return home until she had found someone whom she was looking for.
The young Amy had lost her father, and was now an orphan without home or love. She would likely be shunned by the world because of her affliction, unless it could be cured. Setsuka could see in the girl's eyes that she had suffered a great deal throughout her early childhood. Setsuka knew what it was like to grow up surrounded by hate and violence, and doubted that the girl was capable of opening her heart or trusting others. In addition, she was infected with the same disease of the mind called 'revenge' that Setsuka had once known. She felt an overwhelming amount of sympathy for the girl, who had likely known a childhood even worse than hers, and now felt a thirst for vengeance even younger than Setsuka had felt it.
Setsuka wanted to save this girl. She wanted to raise her lovingly and craft her into a fine woman while she was still young and developing, before it was too late to save her mind. Eventually, Setsuka would have to say farewell to her friends, but she needed someone in her life - someone to love, someone to care for, someone to love her back. Was Amy that girl? Was it fate that this young orphan had come into their care? Setsuka felt compelled to help her, obligated, as though it were her destiny, her calling - or maybe it was just her deep-rooted desperate desire for company, and her immeasurable sympathy for a girl whose life had been even more difficult than hers, and whose future appeared even worse. Perhaps she had become so enamored with the idea of rescuing this girl because it would conveniently fulfill her needs...but even so, Setsuka could not be sure that she would ever have such an opportunity ever again.
Setsuka was afraid, unsure of what the future held. She had found the life she had always longed for, but she knew that it was temporary, an ephemeral dream. When it ended, who would she have, where would she go? Who would Amy have and where would she go? If she could secure the girl's trust, then she could become close to her and raise her...and then she would never be alone again.
If she could rescue that girl before it was too late, then she would never be alone again...
--
Her journey would last a long time. Her task would be difficult. But Taki was patient. She could endure it.
Her energy was returning to her. It had required much concentration and effort to constantly sustain a field of holy energy around the fragments of Soul Edge that the group possessed. It was a task that drew from her strength every hour, but she had recognized it as necessary. She was patient enough to endure it as long as she had to.
Now, their collection of shards had all been purified, resulting in several small crystal-like items. It caused Taki some irritation that these shards were now being worn on the chest of a little girl like jewelry, but she understood that this was necessary. The shards negated the girl's influence on the Soul Embrace, keeping it under control for now. The girl's aura might contaminate the shards with time, but if this happened, Taki would simply purify them again. It would be inconvenient, but necessary. She could endure the exertion of energy it would require.
Taki mourned the loss of Mekki-maru. Although it was only a weapon, she had a sentimental attachment to it as a tool that had aided her for many years. Perhaps once the Soul Embrace had been broken and Soul Edge and Soul Calibur were free, Taki could retrieve the Mekki-maru from the Soul Blade that had become lodged between them in Japan. However, it was a trifling matter. Taki knew that it was foolish to mourn a mere blade; she did not allow herself to dwell on the subject for long. The loss of her most treasured possession was saddening, but Taki could endure it.
Shards of the blade were few and distant from one another. The wait and the travel between shards was irksome, but Taki was patient. She could endure it.
One of Taki's companions seemed to be a womanizer. Some of Taki's companions were loudmouthed and arrogant. Some of Taki's companions were naive and idealistic. Some of Taki's companions were too weak to participate in such an important mission. However, Taki had enough patience to deal with them all. Several of them could be irritating at times, but none of them were too bothersome to tolerate. Taki could endure their company.
Taki's only concern was whether or not her companions would have the patience and endurance necessary to complete their journey.
--
Dear Diary,
I'm not really sure if I belong here anymore.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I still really enjoy traveling with these people. It really beats traveling alone, for one thing. Between every one of us, we know enough tongues to travel anywhere without a language barrier. We pool our money but I don't have to contribute very much since there are a lot of us, so it's also cheaper than traveling by myself. My only real complaint would be the food, though. Nobody is really good at cooking except Cassie (or Sophie but only if it's bread) and sometimes we have to eat dead animals! Well, all meat is dead animals, but it's just not as appetizing when you have to help kill it and carve it open.
So anyway, I'm having a great time here for the most part, but I just don't know if I should really be traveling with these people. I don't really connect to anyone here except Cassie and Setsky. Everyone else is such a killjoy. Sieggy is really hot, but he's so serious all the time, and that's no fun. Sophie is nice, but she seems depressed all the time. Cassie's great, but I don't get to hang out with her nearly as much as I'd like to, and even then there isn't much to do around here and I don't know enough words in her language to say very much, either. I was kind of scared of Setsuka at first because she's Japanese, but she's so awesome! She's definitely the coolest person I've ever met, but she ran out of new dances and songs a while ago, so she's starting to get kind of boring. Oh, and Taki never talks, so nothing to report there.
I guess that leaves Ivy, or "Mistress Ivy" as she makes me call her. "If I'm going to train you I demand respect blah blah blah." I can't tell you how weird it is to run into someone after only meeting them once a few years prior. She actually came to mind pretty often, since I really regretted losing that fight, but it was how I wound up meeting Kong. It made me think stuff like, "What if I should lose battles on purpose because it might lead to some opportunity I wouldn't have found otherwise?" But then what if winning a battle was instead what would lead to the better opportunity? How am I supposed to know what potential event I am unintentionally missing out on at any given time because I couldn't possibly have known about it, but it's only a few moments away if I make the right choice? I think about this kind of stuff all the time, you know. Sometimes I feel like I'm so deep and smart and nobody else realizes it. That's why I write down all my smart thoughts in you, diary!
But yeah, I'm getting off-topic. So anyway, I'm learning some really important stuff from MISTRESS Ivy. She may use a different weapon than me, but most of the same rules apply to combat no matter what weapon you use. I haven't even known her for very long at all but already I've picked up so much and become so much better. I can defeat everyone in the group now except for Sieggy and Taki! I even beat Ivy half the time, but she refuses to admit that I'm at her level yet. Ivy's also tried to give me advice on being a woman, but I don't really want to take womanly advice from somebody who dresses the way she does. I kind of think that "flaunt it if you got it" mentality is kind of arrogant, you know? Not that I'm jealous or anything, I love my body, and I know Siegfried does too because I catch him peeking sometimes!
By the way, I hate Ivy's name because there is no way to shorten it and give her a cute nickname, since it's already really short. I learned her real name was Isabella and I started calling her Izzy and then she told me to stop or else she'd carve my eyes out. And she looked like she meant it, too. What a bitch, right diary?
Oh my god, Siegfried just walked by and saw me writing so I closed my diary as fast as I could so he wouldn't see the part about me saying he's really hot or catching him peeking but then I remembered he can't read Korean anyway and so I laughed. He didn't know what I was laughing about and gave me a funny look. I bet he thinks I'm a ditz now.
Anyway, yeah, the part about me not belonging here. So besides not being able to relate to anyone and the bad food and all the walking, almost everyone here is totally serious and dedicated to stopping Soul Edge. I know it's a really really big deal, but I don't really feel like there is much I can contribute. I mean, I'm the third best fighter (I'm TOTALLY better than Ivy, she may have more wins than me so far but that's only because she uses so many dirty tricks) but it seems like everyone else has superhuman strength or the protection of the gods or magical powers or something. I feel like once we start fighting something serious (even more serious than the lizard man, WOW that was scary) I'm really going to be in trouble. I don't want to die, diary! I really don't!
But it's not just that I'm scared or anything, I just feel like I have less of a right to be on this journey than everyone else. I don't want to say "Oh well" and go home just because someone else is on the job; I think that everyone else is more dedicated and more suited to the job than me, and that I'd just get in the way when things heat up. Some of these people have REALLY good reasons for wanting to stop Soul Edge, like they personally suffered from it and stuff, and meanwhile I'm just after it because I know it's a bad thing. This group is already pretty crowded as it is, they don't need another mouth to feed if that person isn't going to pull their weight.
But I'm definitely not going back home until I find Yun-Seung again. Who knows what that stupid idiot will try to do if he somehow manages to get the sword from us? He's so stupid that even if he knew how evil and dangerous it is, he would probably STILL want it. Someone needs to smack some sense into him, and I'm just the woman to do it.
Wow, I wrote so much! I wonder if the others even have as much to say as I do? Well, anyway, diary, it's late and I'm sleepy, so I'm going to call it a day and get some rest.
Good night, diary!
--
Amy could tell that they were good people, but she was still scared of them all.
The big, strong man was scary because he was a big, strong man. He was huge, or at least he seemed to be a giant from Amy's diminutive perspective. Siegfried's hands seemed big and strong enough to crush every bone in Amy's body with a single squeeze. Amy did not understand how he could possibly carry a sword that seemed to be almost as big as he was, or walk around in heavy armor that looked as if it weighed tons. All Amy could look at when she saw his face was his scar, which conjured visions of some monstrously violent battle, blood flying as both combatants sliced through one another's skin, leaving long scars just like the one on Siegfried's face until one was too injured to live. Siegfried seemed to personify a barbaric and brutal style of combat, the exact antithesis of the beautiful, elegant style that Raphael had taught her.
The white-haired witch was even scarier than Siegfried, despite being a woman. When sparring with the others, she shed her simple traveling clothing and donned a frightful ensemble that revealed every rounded curve of her body, yet still managed to look sharp, jagged and dangerous thanks to her long, golden-clawed gauntlet, and slithering, winding, whip-like sword. Appearances aside, she was easily the most aggressive and hostile person of the group, always confronting and challenging and arguing with the others. She was especially antagonistic toward Amy. She lowered her eyes whenever the woman's gaze turned her way, as though she might disappear as long as she could not be seen. She felt as though the woman hated her, and Amy wanted to be as far away from her as possible.
At least some members of the group did not make Amy feel as uncomfortable. The golden-haired sisters were kind and compassionate toward her. The elder one treated her tenderly and caringly. Amy knew she could always go to her if she had a question to ask or needed help with something. The younger one - unintentionally or not - treated Amy as though she was several years younger than she actually was. Although she might have been slightly condescending, this sister was good-natured and high-spirited, and always knew a joke or game that could make Amy smile for a moment. Amy had spent many years wondering what it would be like to grow up with a mother or an older sister. After meeting these two women, she thought she knew what it was like.
The woman in the long beautiful dress captivated Amy. She prized and treasured the elegant garb, and kept it in the best condition possible. As a result, she always stood out from the rest of the group and their often-drab surroundings. Her voice was soothing, her dances were enchanting, and her music could invoke any emotion from happiness to tears. She was far more entertaining than any of the jesters Raphael had kept in his castle, and Amy always looked forward to her next performance. The woman seemed to show a particular interest in Amy; she treated her kindly like the elder blonde sister, but was fun and entertaining like the other sister. Amy felt privileged to spend time with the woman, but felt as though it would be greedy to approach her for her company, so she did not spend as much time as her as she would have liked to.
The thin-eyed woman who wore skintight clothing during combat was unnerving. She only spoke when it was necessary, her every movement was as minimal as possible, and she kept to herself while the others were enjoying themselves. Although she had fashioned Amy's crystalline 'necklace', Amy saw her doing very little beside simple chores and duties to keep the group running smoothly. Despite her apparent inactivity, the rest of the group treated her with utmost respect, as though she were their most valued member. Even the white-haired witch did not taunt her, and when she did attempt to draw her ire, the silent woman would immediately reply with a response so shrewd and sharp of wit that the other woman could not devise a more intelligent retort, and was forced to back down. Amy even found herself learning to respect the woman for her efficiency and apparently clever mind. She had a feeling that the woman's true value would become apparent the very moment she was called into action. If nothing else, Amy could already ascertain the woman's value as a combatant; when sparring with the others, the thin-eyed woman was a beast, a demon, something inhuman and ruthless; but as soon as her victory was apparent, she would stop, bow, and return to her resting spot without a word. Her power was unmatched, except by Siegfried, the only one who could stand victorious against the enigmatic woman.
The enthusiastic woman in orange clothing was very cheerful and lively - almost too much so. Mistaking Amy for any other girl her age, she had tried to make friends with her new companion, but her overzealous attempts had only served to make Amy feel uncomfortable. She was not ready for such close friendship, and the woman's bubbly and bouncy attitude contrasted sharply with such a quiet and demure girl. Amy had come to appreciate peace and quiet, calmness and tranquility, something that was shattered by the woman's loud laughter and playful manner. Most of the group did not get along with her very well, but they could not fault her simply for being happy and lighthearted. At the very least, she improved the atmosphere of such a grim crowd, but Setsuka had that job and did it better. She seemed out of place to Amy, as though she did not belong on a quest of grave importance.
And last was Amy herself. She had become used to a life of inactivity since her days as an orphan when she would spend almost every waking hour in hiding, only emerging from concealment when there was threat of being discovered or when her hunger was too much to bear. Even in Raphael's care, she spent her time in almost complete dormancy; her most demanding activity was reading, a favorite pastime of hers because no movement was required beside what was needed for the flipping of pages. She was unaccustomed to moving unless it was absolutely necessary, because much of her life had been spent fearing that the slightest movement would reveal her location. She had never gorged herself on food, always eating sparingly so as to have leftovers to consume later when provisions were scarce. The result of this lifestyle had made Amy dreadfully malnourished and frail. Raphael's training in the use of the rapier had taught Amy how to get the most out of her tiny frame, the minimum exertion necessary for the most effective attacks. The rapier was a weapon that did not required broad swings, but precise thrusts - the weapon did not slice or cut, only pierce and stab. It was the perfect weapon for Amy, who hardly had the strength to cut her own food.
Amy's new life was anything but inactive. There was walking, so much walking. Although sometimes her group could procure horses and a wagon, it was too expensive to maintain such vehicles and animals, and when weeks away from civilization, horses were more valuable as a food source than as steeds. The group had become too large and carried too much equipment for each to have their own separate horse, especially when an additional mount would be required for supplies alone. The result was frequent travel by foot, which - for Amy, who could sometimes get through a day with less than 100 steps - was torture.
The first thing that went was her hair. Even as an orphan, she had prized her hair, the only part of her that had any sort of charm. She found it to have an appealing look when styled by Raphael's handmaidens, and was fond of admiring it in the mirror.
When the group stopped by a spring to bathe, Amy disrobed and entered the water, eager to cleanse and sooth her weary body, without any thought as to what would become of her hair. After spending quite some time in the water, gazing at the naked bodies of her traveling partners and feeling quite inadequate as a result, she noticed the presence of sticks and leaves in her hair. Her alarm at this discovery was noticed by the other females, who looked on disapprovingly.
In their months of travel, most of the other women had ceased to keep up their appearances, as the only male present frequently saw them all at their worst, and it was pointless to spend time on aesthetics that would be ruined within minutes by the harshness of their environments or combat. Most of the women were naturally gorgeous, without need to apply any cosmetic changes to their person in order to radiate beauty, but even then, a quest to save humanity from an evil abomination was no place for make-up or styled hair. The women of the group no longer considered appearance to be important, which is why Amy's alarm at the state of her hair was a sign to them that she was not mature enough or ready for this journey.
"If you're going to panic at a twig in your hair, you do not belong here." was the white-haired witch's opinion. She lectured Amy and told her that she could not count on having beautiful spiraling pigtails anytime soon, that hair provided no advantage in combat, that the rest of her journey would be spent bereft of handmaidens and make-up. Ivy's chastising sermon erupted even though Amy had not so much as implied any beliefs to the contrary, but the rest of the women did not stop her speech, knowing that these were words that Amy would need to hear.
Amy finished bathing in embarrassed silence, and when the others were not looking, she cleaned her hair of twigs and tried to fashion it herself. She could not forge a satisfactory shape, and left it hanging straight down. After she had dried off and dressed herself, she was approached by Sophitia in secret, who generously offered to assist her with her hair. Amy happily accepted her offer, but was not satisfied with the resulting pigtails - they reminded her too much of her hair as an orphan, and were nothing at all like her hair during the brief window of time in her life when she was almost close to being happy. She thanked the kind woman for her efforts, and settled on a ponytail that gathered her hair at the base of her neck.
Later, she was approached by Cassandra, who was clutching assorted cosmetics that she kept hidden from the others, even her sister. She offered to return Amy's cheeks and eyelids to their previous colors, but Amy declined - she admitted that Ivy was right, that this journey was not a time for pretty hair and make-up. There was no purpose in styling her hair nor applying substances to her face; these were trifling matters, insignificant in light of her Papa's death or the existence of the abominable sword that had poisoned him. She would abstain from prettiness and focus on more relevant affairs for the time being. Cassandra was visibly disappointed, but also proud of the young girl, who had proven herself to be more mature than previously thought.
Amy re-considered her wardrobe, but decided to keep such extraneous garments as chokers and fishnet stockings because these were a part of her identity, and more importantly, gifts from her foster father. She would not discard his memory by discarding what he had given her. Still, she took on a mantle to cover her shoulders and chest, and had Sophitia tailor her a skirt to cover her thighs.
The issue of combat was not so quickly remedied. The other travelers soon discovered that they could not spar seriously against Amy without seriously injuring the delicate girl. They resorted to safe training exercises instead, sending attacks for her to dodge and evade. She was always safe during these drills because non-bladed weapons were used for their exercises, but each time she was struck she was told exactly what kind of injury she had just sustained, what kind of pain she would feel, and whether or not she would die of it (and whether she would perish slowly or quickly). Amy gave her best effort, but was unaccustomed to sparring with a partner who did not wield a rapier. Her first session ended poorly with looks of disappointment from the others, but this only caused her to develop a strong desire to improve and try harder.
She swore that next time she would impress them. She had nothing else to devote herself to; there was nothing she could do about her affliction or her homelessness, and even less she could do about the dreadful woman whom had taken her Papa's life. If she could not even dodge a few lackluster training blows, how could she ever stand to defeat a woman whom had bested Raphael? Self-improvement was the only goal she had complete control over, and she intended to improve in whatever way necessary. She had never had motivation or direction or a driving force in her life before, not until she had lost the most important person in her life, the only person in her life, the only person who had ever loved her aside from parents she had scarcely known. That woman would pay for Raphael's death tenfold no matter what the others tried to tell her about abandoning revenge, and no matter what Siegfried said about the woman being his concern only.
Amy would become accustomed to this lifestyle. She would because she had to, because it was the only option.
Amy would become stronger, fit enough to evade the others' attacks, quick enough to parry, skilled enough to return their strikes with strikes of her own. She would because she had to, because she would never avenge Raphael without strength.
And Amy would kill that woman, end her life just as she had ended her Papa's. She would because she had to, because she could not live knowing that Tira lived as well.
--
"Enough."
Tira felt a twinge of pain as her ringblade nicked her finger just below the knuckle. Had Nightmare spoken a moment sooner, she would not have been able to react fast enough to stop.
"I will not have you harm yourself. I would not want a servant who is not able bodied."
Tira sighed with relief and stood up.
"Your loyalty appears genuine. I will accept your vows."
Tira's spirit soared with elation.
Nightmare considered what orders to give to his slave. He did not want to go near the Soul Embrace nor Schtauffen...yet he wanted both to be destroyed. He still did not fully trust his slave with the task of dispatching the latter - but did she have any attachment to the former?
Nightmare extended an arm, unfurled a long, claw-tipped finger, and pointed into the distance, where he sensed the disgrace that his vessel had become.
"I wish to be reunited with the weapon that I was forged within. You know who is currently in possession of that weapon - do you not?"
Tira slowly nodded.
"Bring me Soul Edge. If it is still regrettably intertwined with the other sword, so be it; I shall separate them myself and destroy the holy relic. I do not care whether Siegfried lives or dies so long as I hold that blade once again...but exterminate him if possible."
"Yes, Master." Tira said, bowing deeply. "You'll hold Soul Edge once more."
--
In the sky, a dark-skinned man draped in a white cloak sat cross-legged, floating in midair, his wrists resting on his knees with his hands upturned. He was accustomed to entering this position when he wanted to focus and enter a peaceful frame of mind. He needed his mind, body, and soul to be as still and calm as possible in order to detect the faint energies that he was seeking.
In the east, he could sense Siegfried and his band of misfits. He could sense the Embrace in their possession, and although it was composed of equal amounts of opposite energy that canceled and negated one another, his soul was able to detect the immense amounts of energy and potential locked away within the dormant swords. More energy than he had ever been able to find in all his hundreds of lives, energy that grew by the day as it slowly fed off the discord and friction of Siegfried's growing mob. Little did the fools realize that even as they quested to destroy the sword, they only increased its power.
And in the west, he could sense their destination. The group was moving toward a large concentration of evil energy - nothing like the land that had been polluted by Raphael, but still remarkable and detectable across countries, by those who knew how to sense it.
And there, in the middle of that evil energy, was a girl who had potential to ruin everything.
The one who can straighten what is crooked. The one who can fix what is broken. The one who can mend what is fractured. Their path with cross hers soon. The sword may very well be purified as a result. The Slave heads that way, as well.
I will have to intervene.