Wow, I really appreciate all of the feedback! I'm assuming that this is mostly thanks to Link-the-Lightbringer, for his recommendations, and for that I thank him. (Or you, rather, since I guess you'll also be reading this). Anyway, just a few quick questions; do any of you readers have issues with me bending canon just a little in certain ways? (Ex. Like Tira actually knowing where she's from? I know canonically her birthplace is unknown, but I thought of a good derivative from her birthplace being clearly defined, so...) And also, besides Zasalamel, are there any other characters in the Soul Series that can teleport long distances? Like Spawn or something? I need to know this for later.

Chrysaor hopped off of the stony ledge he stood on just as it crumbled, reaching his arms out to grab onto a similar one above. He sighed, and for the twenty-seventh time wished his angel wing actually gave him flying capabilities. Such a thing would have been very useful for climbing this stupid mountain.

The Sentinel wondered what could be at the summit, as that was where he was detecting traces of an unknown power. Over the past few hours, Chrysaor had toured mainland China, using his nearly limitless stamina and high speed to move ever closer to his goal as he skirted towns and cities to avoid conflict. He had been eager to reach his destination, but after he had determined that it was on top of a mountain, his zealousness had rapidly dissipated.

On the bright side, he was about halfway up; and since he tired much more slowly than even an extraordinary human, he still had plenty of energy for making the rest of the climb. He had contemplated using his Lightning Stream to jump to the summit as he had from the Valiant Gale, but he had decided against it; that method of travel required too much energy and was not precise in any way, shape, or form. And so he struggled to stretch himself up to the next outcropping of stone, praying that whatever was at the top of this treacherous climb was worth it.

Olcadan sat perched on a rock in his temporary cave like the giant bird he seemed to be, meditating on how he would best his rival, the Edge Master, in their next duel. That old geezer was the only one who had ever fought him to a draw, and Olcadan would have his revenge, for his reputation as this era's greatest warrior! If he was capable of doing so with that beak of his, he would've smiled.

But for now, he did not know where the Edge Master was. So he was waiting on the mountain that housed the remnants of the Ling-Sheng Su monastery, since that was the only place the Edge Master was likely to be nearby that he could think of. Therefore, Olcadan waited in a cave that was just a few hundred feet above the ruins of the monastery, listening for the sound of his bitter rival with abnormally sharp ears...

And finally, he did hear something. Two somethings, actually. But neither belonged to his eternal rival. One was incredibly light footsteps, like a ballerina tiptoeing over soft grass. The other was not so quiet, and sounded like the methodical thumping of someone banging against the side of the mountain. Although neither of these things was of particular interest to Olcadan, he was very bored, and therefore decided to investigate this disturbance.

"Are you leaving again, Father?"

Raphael looked back at the sorrowful face of his adopted daughter as Auguste, Marienbard, and Jacqueline readied his things for the quest ahead. He would soon be departing his castle in Wallachia, to set out and find Soul Calibur, so that he could create the perfect world for his beloved foster daughter, Amy.

"Do not fret so," the Frenchman said as he placed his finger under Amy's chin. "I'll be back very soon, and then I'll create a perfect world for just the two of us."

If either Marienbard or her two fellow servants had been paying attention to "just the two of us", they would have been worried. However, they were too busy getting ready, lest they incur their master's wrath.

Despite Raphael's reassuring words, Amy frowned dejectedly. "You're leaving me alone, Father. Again."

That last word cut into Raphael's heart. It was true; he had already left Amy alone once before, on a very similar quest for Soul Edge. And his foolishness had malfested both himself and his beloved daughter. But that was why he had to go. He had to acquire the Spirit Sword for himself, so that he could remake the world as a place that would accept Amy. He couldn't bear to see her suffer from such loneliness anymore. And for that sake, he would abandon her; temporarily, of course.

"I know. And I'm sorry, Amy. But I'll be back, and then I'll never leave your side again."

Amy looked at her foster father with doubting eyes, but before either of them could say anything, Marienbard cut into their conversation.

"Master Raphael-!"

"What?! You fool, can't you see that I'm in the middle of something!?"

Marienbard bowed and muttered a quick apology. "I-I'm sorry, Master Raphael, but you told us to tell you when the preparations where complete..."

Raphael scowled, caught contradicting himself with a previous command. "Well then, complete your preparations at a more tactful time! Take our things outside, I'll be there in a minute!"

His three servants rushed to gather the needed supplies, yet somehow, Auguste ended up carrying fifty percent of the luggage.

Turning his crimson eyes away from the three bumbling oafs, Raphael faced his daughter; but it was obvious that she no longer wished to talk. Amy turned away from him, and left for her room at the top of one of the castle's many spiral staircases. Raphael watched her bobbing pigtails silently as she went, and knew that that last conversation was indeed the last one to be had before he departed on his quest.

Finally wrapping his fingers around the last ledge before reaching his goal, Chrysaor effortlessly pulled himself up and over the obstacle. He took a moment to relax after that strenuous climb; even though he tired more slowly than normal, he had just climbed a rather large mountain, and it still had some effect on him. However, a few moments of rest was enough to ease his fatigue entirely, and he rose to his feet to observe his surroundings.

Before him was the desolate ruins of some sort of temple. A few skeletons were littered about the area, half buried under stone or dirt. What parts of the ruins were wooden were rotted and covered in mold, and several rocks were likewise covered in moss. Several shattered pillars stood around the ruins in a pattern that was difficult to discern without the pillars being whole.

This was the place that housed the evil energy Chrysaor had been directed to? Sure, the place was eerie, but it didn't seem evil. The Sentinel of Lightning decided to investigate further, and he began walking towards what was left of the temple's main building. He was about halfway there when he sensed something... sinister.

Chrysaor stopped in his tracks, staying completely silent as he listened for anything that would signal imminent danger. Within a few moments, the absolute silence was interrupted by the barely audible sound of footsteps on wood, and it was coming from almost directly above him.

Reacting quickly, Chrysaor pointed his finger at the source of the sound on some wooden scaffolding above, shooting a small bolt of electricity towards it. The lightning spark impacted the scaffolding with relatively low power, but the rotted wood crackled and ignited when hit.

The tiny explosion and ensuing fire startled whoever had been hiding up there, and they fell off the scaffolding and to the ground on the other side of a pile of rubble with a thud. Strangely, a cluster of ravens also scattered from the fire that was rapidly consuming the scaffolding they had been resting on.

"Owwie!"

Chrysaor cocked an eyebrow upon hearing the light, perky voice that uttered a tiny cry of pain. It sounded like a young girl, but Chrysaor couldn't think of any reason for anyone being up here. The armored Sentinel calmly walked over to the rubble that obscured this stranger, and lay eyes on her, as it was definitely a girl, when he stood on top of the stony debris.

Before him was a very interesting individual. She had raven black hair bound up in twin-tails, violet eyes, and wore a strange scarlet outfit that bared her midriff, thighs, and chest. A collar of green feathers rested around her neck, she sported claw gauntlets, and she carried some sort of chakram-like weapon. The peculiar girl sat rubbing the back of her head, where Chrysaor assumed she had whacked it when she fell. Despite his serious demeanor, Chrysaor couldn't help but be smitten with how cute this girl was. She seemed to be completely ignorant to his presence as she cradled her head in her hands.

"Ow... what the heck was that? Came out of nowhere..."

Once she was done complaining to herself about her situation, the girl finally noticed the armored figure that stood before her. Her uniquely colored eyes widened in surprise as she realized her failed attempt at stealth.

"Uh oh... you weren't supposed to see me..."

Chrysaor cocked his head at the girl. "Oh really? And why not?"

The girl fidgeted with her fingers as she fumbled for a response. "Uh... well, um... Nightmare said..."

Unable to discern the meaning of her words, Chrysaor had no choice but to ask. "This Nightmare; from the way you are talking it sounds like a person. Who is this creature with such a foul name?"

The stranger before him blanched as she realized that she was giving away valuable information without even thinking. She panicked for a moment, but then smirked confidently as she reached for her weapon. "Sorry, but I've said too much already. Regardless of what he wanted, Nightmare can't complain if you're dead!"

With that, the girl leaped towards Chrysaor and viciously swung her ring blade at his head. The Sentinel ducked just in time, avoiding the blow, but his opponent twisted in midair and slashed her weapon across his back instead. However, the glancing blow failed to penetrate, and Chrysaor turned to face the girl as she nimbly landed on her toes. She was quite agile.

Chrysaor withdrew Naegling from its sheath, but the dusk of the day coupled with the gray stone around him caused the blade to lack any real luster; it was instead a dull gray with a slight metallic sheen. His adversary looked at Chrysaor irritably, angry over the lack of damage caused to her target. Chrysaor hopped down from his rocky perch to face the girl.

"I'll forgive you for that if you stop now. I only want to ask a few questions."

His efforts yielded no results, not that he had expected them to. His opponent was clearly in no mood to talk. "Well the only thing I want is turn your body into a pretty corpse!"

With that she dashed forward again, spinning her weapon around her body with flair. Chrysaor blocked the initial attack with ease, but it was soon followed up with several more blows as the girl whipped her weapon around her waist and arms like a hula-hoop. Chrysaor managed to deflect or dodge most of the blows, but the attacks were difficult to predict, and a few of them scratched against his armor. This girl was no amateur.

Chrysaor wanted to go on the offensive, but he was afraid to injure his opponent, who wore almost no armor. He needed her alive and conscious if he was going to question her. Still, as the girl swung her weapon overhead and caught Chrysaor in the middle of the circle, it was obvious that some degree of offense would be necessary sooner than later. She dropped her weapon down to his ankles and flicked it upwards, flipping the Sentinel upwards and upside down. He landed on his back with a crack of metal on stone.

The girl giggled at the sight of it, and Chrysaor angrily swiped at her feet with his leg, hard enough to twirl his opponent completely upside down so that she would have landed on her head. However, she saved herself from the painful landing by sticking her arms out and catching the full weight of her body in a handstand like fashion. Having done that, she back-flipped away from Chrysaor and returned to her feet a yard or two away.

Chrysaor rose to his feet, muttering angrily to himself all the while. "Awfully lithe, aren't you?"

The girl smiled slyly, apparently pleased with that remark. "Well aren't you sweet? Still, flattery won't get you anywhere you know."

She placed her unique weapon over her sleek shoulders and began to ramble. "Besides, do you have any idea how loooong it took me to get so limber? Hours and hours of stretches and jumps and all sorts of things, and sometimes I would land on my butt and stuff and that would hurt, so it wasn't easy-"

Chrysaor curtailed her little monologue before the girl became too engrossed in it. "While I'm sure your ordeal was difficult, I would appreciate it if you refrained from sharing it with me."

"How dare you interrupt me! I was in the middle of something!" Chrysaor ducked under a wild swing at his head as his adversary ran towards him again. He noticed that the attack had been much more sloppy and inaccurate than the girl's previous ones, and a new plan formed in Chrysaor's head.

"Was that your best? Even though you look weak and disheveled, surely you can do better?"

"What did you say you miserable piece of garbage?! You think you can run your mouth at me?!

She swung her weapon at his feet this time, but it was poorly timed and Chrysaor easily hopped over the attack and leaped away from his opponent. Temporarily at a safe distance, he continued to falsely malign the girl.

"Even your hair is completely lopsided. You barely look like you can take care of yourself, never mind me."

"You-! Just shut up and die already!"

Chrysaor easily dodged another flurry of sloppy attacks, many of which left his target open for counter-attack. Still, he waited until he had an opportunity for one incapacitating strike.

"Furthermore, your outfit seems more suited to a circus clown than a warrior."

This time his foe forewent words in favor of an angry snarl. To be insulted like this was driving her over the edge.

Making a large, powerful, yet clumsy overhead swing, the girl vied to punish Chrysaor for his insolent slander. Finally, the Sentinel found the opening he needed. He sidestepped the attack with inhuman speed, and before his attacker could even finish her current move, he slammed his elbow into the small of her back, causing her to flinch and arch her body in a painfully wrong angle. A stifled cry was all she could utter as the scarlet-clad girl fell towards the ground, though Chrysaor made sure to catch her limp body before she collapsed.

A quick check over the girl's condition showed that she was unconscious; and that Chrysaor had, fortunately, not broken the her spine. He had been very careful in gauging the strength of his blow, but he felt that he had still unintentionally applied more force than was necessary.

As he rose from the fallen warrior's body, Chrysaor was surprised to find his eyes lingering on her. Strange feelings welled up inside him that he had not felt for many years. He thought this girl was attractive. Nothing foreign to a grown man like himself, but in Valhalla, he had not experienced such thoughts and emotions. The Sentinel shook his armored head as he recalled the rampancy with which this girl attacked him just moments ago, not to mention the glaring instability of her mind. Cute or not, those two flaws, and they were very big flaws, were quite discouraging.

Finally done expelling frivolous thoughts from his mind, Chrysaor wondered if he would have time to finish investigating the temple before the girl woke up. Of course, he doubted she would be able to move very much, if at all, when she awoke, but he would need to determine the extent of her internal injuries as soon as possible, and to do that, he'd have to ask her.

Debating over this little dilemma, Chrysaor was briefly distracted, and therefore oblivious, to the sound of feet approaching from behind him. When he finally noticed them, they were already within dangerous proximity. Chrysaor whirled around with Naegling at the ready to face... an owl. Or more precisely an owl's head. On a shirtless man's body.

"...What?"

That was all Chrysaor could say as he analyzed this... creature. After finding words to actually utter, he spoke more to himself than to anyone else. "What... is it?"

Surprisingly, the hybrid thing answered him. "I am not an it! I am Olcadan!"

Chrysaor cocked an eyebrow, despite the fact that such an action was hidden behind his helm. "What's an Olcadan? I've never heard of that species before."

The half-human, half-owl creature clenched its human fists. "I am not an animal, you fool! I said I am Olcadan, not I am an Olcadan! There is only one of me!"

Chrysaor frowned, wondering if he was hallucinating. After all, he was talking to a man with an owl's head. Surely that was not normal.

"So if you don't mind me asking Mr... uh... Olcadan. What... are you?"

The owl's head was not capable of showing facial expressions as Chrysaor understood them, but the tone of Olcadan's voice was well enough to discern arrogance among it.

"What am I, you ask? Have you no shame!? I am Olcadan, strongest, most skillful, and most devilishly good-looking warrior of this era! And yet you claim to not know me?! Surely you jest!"

Chrysaor scoffed upon hearing,"most devilishly good-looking". Eros' Sentinel was sure that the whole owl head thing was a pretty big turn-off for the ladies. As if the creature had mentally heard Chrysaor's disbelief in his claims, it drew a staff from who-knows-where and pointed a finger at Chrysaor accusingly.

"You fool! How dare you mock me! I will teach you the error of your ways! Now we fight!"

Chrysaor thought that the thing was joking, but when he was forced to barely dodge a horizontal strike at his head, he realized this was untrue. Not really looking for another fight, he somersaulted away from his assailant, but when he turned to face the owl creature again, it was already in his face. He/it/whatever it was possessed surprising speed, and he swung his staff with great speed and precision. Before Chrysaor realized just how fast his opponent was, he had been whacked along the head and torso six times.

Realizing the crazy difference in speed in the girl and this man, Chrysaor adjusted the speed of his own reflexes to match his opponent's. His enemy did not have such an easy time landing hits after that. Sure, he still knocked Chrysaor on the shin or forearm every once in awhile, but for the most part, the owl-man's attacks were deflected by Chrysaor's equal speed.

Once Chrysaor had finally found an opening for counter-attack, he jabbed his arm forward at lightning speed, only to be evaded and countered himself. His enemy jumped over Chrysaor's head, ran up his back, and launched his staff like a missile, smashing into Chrysaor's back in a similar fashion as he had done to the girl that had been his previous opponent.

The difference in damage was much greater though. Whereas the girl had been incapacitated immediately, Chrysaor merely shot a veiled glare at his opponent. The two of them took a few steps forward to reach each other, and they battled once more.

Kalnypolok and Kalnypalk, two of the few surviving priests of Fygul Cestemus, looked upon their newest creation with delight.

Kalnypolok commented on the nature of the creation. "A perfect soldier... without a soul, it will undoubtedly complete its mission without fail!"

Kalnypalk nodded in agreement. "Indeed. With this, Astaroth's core will be retrieved in no time. We finally have the perfect tool to eliminate that traitor!"

"But what shall we call it?"

"A good question, my friend. Although it makes little difference..."

Both of the priests fell into silence as they contemplated a name for their creation; the perfect warrior to retrieve Astaroth's core.

Kalnypalk started, "Why not Ashlotte-"

And Kalnypolok finished for him. "Maedel?"

Both priests nodded in agreement, and Kalnypolok rubbed his bearded chin in thought as he focused his eyes on the iron maiden before him, whose sole purpose was to destroy Astaroth and retrieve his core. "Ashlotte Maedel... hmm... a good name... a good name indeed."

Much to his chagrin, Chrysaor was knocked to the ground for the third time in his hour long battle with Olcadan.

"You have speed and power, but your skills leave much to be desired! You have yet to touch me!"

Chrysaor noted this fact with frustration. While he was virtually unharmed physically, he was greatly fatigued, and he was being defeated by some stupid owl thing. Rising to his feet again, Chrysaor swung his blade in a flurry of slashes and hacks, all of which were negated by his adversary.

"Ho ho, you lack rudimentary training! How shameful!"

Chrysaor, wary of his enemy's taunts, was careful not to fall into the same trap the scarlet-clad girl had when he fought her. He would not be goaded into reckless action. However, less than a few minutes later, Chrysaor found himself on the ground again, with Olcadan readying himself for a painful looking move.

Olcadan twirled around his staff and stopped with a handstand on top of it, while Chrysaor gathered electrical energy around himself. As Olcadan leaped off the top of his staff and swung it at his opponent, Chrysaor took all of his gathered energy and launched it outwards in a repulse of sorts.

"Enough!"

The blast of electricity sent Olcadan flying several yards away, and the owl-man landed with a thud on his rump. However, minus a few singed feathers, he seemed unharmed. Chrysaor wrapped himself in more streams of electric energy, knowing that if he so wished, he could blast this whole temple to smithereens, and his skills compared to this owl thing's would be a moot point.

However, Olcadan rose to his feet and chortled, seemingly depositing his weapon into thin air. "Oh my, such power! Have I angered you?"

Chrysaor did not deign that question with a response, and Olcadan continued. "With training, you could be a very powerful warrior... but for now, you are not worthy of battle with me."

Chrysaor was about to make a retort about the extent of his awesome powers, but a strangled cry of agony from behind him kept him from doing so. He turned to face the girl he had dispatched earlier, regaining consciousness and struggling to rise to her feet. Chrysaor would get to her in a moment. He turned to face Olcadan once more, but when he did, the bird creature was gone.

Both disappointed and relieved, Chrysaor turned his attention back to the girl on the ground who was writhing in pain. He walked the few yards necessary to reach her and knelt down over her body. Her violet eyes were squeezed shut in pain, and she apparently didn't notice his presence.

"Tell me where it hurts."

Finally aware of the Sentinel above her, the girl glared at him balefully, but said nothing.

Chrysaor cocked his head to the side. "Do you find this pain enjoyable?"

The girl grimaced as she struggled to answer. "N...no..."

"Then tell me where it hurts."

After a few moments of deliberation, she answered churlishly. "It hurts... where you hit me... dumbass."

Chrysaor sighed. As if he couldn't have figured that out himself. Running his hands along the slim girl's spine, he quickly located the dislocated vertebrae in her lower back. "This is going to hurt. Don't bite down on your tongue or anything."

Before she could respond, Chrysaor popped the bone in question back into its place, followed by an agonizing scream from the girl he was treating. She bit down on her armored gauntlet as her eyes welled up with tears. Chrysaor waited for her to finish letting out her pain before questioning her condition. "Better now?"

"I still can't...move..."

"But does it hurt less?"

The girl nodded bitterly. "Y-yeah..."

Chrysaor nodded as well, and rose to his feet. "Good. Then I guess we'd better get going."

"We?"

"You and me makes we. Two people, not one."

The raven haired girl glared at him. "What makes you think that I'd go anywhere with you?!"

Chrysaor shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. But I assume that it would get pretty cold up here at night, and it's already evening. You can hardly move at all, and you'll probably freeze if I leave you."

A look of defeat crossed the girl's face as she realized the truth of his words. "Grr... fine. But just wait until I can move again! I'll cut your heart out!"

Chrysaor crossed his arms. "If you choose to believe that, you will be sorely disappointed... anyway, I'll carry you on my back, alright?"

The girl looked at his metal armor with disdain. "That looks uncomfortable. It's all hard and pointy and stuff! No way!"

Chrysaor sighed, and for the first time in ten years, prepared to remove his armor. While he normally would have been reluctant to do so, just talking with this girl was tiresome, and he didn't want to waste time arguing with her. He summoned the power he needed, and his full suit of armor appeared to vaporize into glowing blue particles, leaving a brown-haired, blue-eyed man with ordinary clothes behind. He'd be able to recreate his armor when it was needed. "Is this acceptable?"

The girl to whom he was offering his aid blushed a little at the cheeks as her eyes roamed over the body of her enemy. Surprisingly, he wasn't incredibly muscular, as she had expected someone with his strength to be. In fact, he looked like an ordinary, average man, although he was quite handsome. "Uh... yeah... I guess."

Chrysaor nodded with satisfaction, and bent down to carefully lift the girl onto his back. He held his arms under her thighs, careful to avoid her well-toned rear, and she feebly crossed her arms around his neck. Chrysaor briefly wondered if the girl would attempt to strangle him, but he noted the weakness in her arms and concluded that she would be unable to even if she tried.

Chrysaor, now seemingly an ordinary man with a peculiar girl on his back, looked for a natural path to take that would lead him and his cargo off of this mountain. His search was interrupted as soon as it had begun when the girl he carried pulled on his hair with what little strength she still had.

"Hey, pick up Drossel! We can't leave without it!"

"What's that? What's a Drossel?"

The girl tilted her head towards the ring blade she had fought him with. "That! That's Drossel! Go get it!"

"Surely you're joking. I see no reason to bring something you could kill me with along."

"Please, please, please, please, pleeease? It's really special to me, I can't leave it! It's... a memento of my mother!"

Chrysaor sighed, unable to argue with the deceptively sweet voice of this girl. He moved over towards the ring blade and bent to pick it up, tossing it over both his shoulders as well as the shoulders of the slim girl on his back. Finished retrieving the weapon, he once again began to search for an exit to this place.

"One more thing! Archy! C'mere, mama needs you!"

The girl whistled as she finished, and Chrysaor eyed a black raven with a white streak down its chest and forehead as it perched itself on top of Drossel.

This has to be a joke of some sort...

Caw!

"Alright, now we can go! Onward, my noble steed!"

The girl he carried feebly kicked him a few times in the ribs, giggling manically despite her injury. Honestly, Chrysaor could only guess what was wrong with her mind. More importantly, he was already regretting his own compassion for her.

Sorry if this chapter was a little rushed at the end, I just got tired of writing, but I wanted to go ahead and finish.