A/N: Chapter 1 of Mystical Eye of a Savage Hound. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except my own OC. Revenge of the Sword Clan's Hound belongs to the rightful owner.
Chapter 1: The Hound Returns
Grand Mansion of the Baskerville Clan…
In the grand and spacious room, cries of newborn babies resounded, their wails overlapping as dozens of cradles lay scattered about in perfect rows and columns; the only room for movement were the spaces between cradles. These were the offspring of the Baskerville family, a lineage of iron-blooded swordsmen known for their fierce temperament and unwavering dedication to the craft of combat.
Wh-where am I? My body feels heavy, and there's so much noise around me…I slowly blinked my eyes open, gazing up at the dreary ceiling as my vision came into focus. My ears that were once stuffed and muffled soon opened up, and the sounds of babies flowed in, reverberating around my head to the point of annoyance. A frown formed from my tiny lips, and I took a couple of deep breaths to not get too riled up. Clearly there's a lot to process, and headaches are bound to occur. This is...the nursery where the Baskerville babies are placed in, separated from their mothers and taken cared for by the nannies, guarded by the elites once night fell. So the only logical conclusion is...I have regressed to my early years, practically after birth.
Laying there in silence I attempted to get my thoughts in order and recounted everything that had happened before my regression. My name is Viktoria Van Baskerville, and in my previous life I was ordered by Hugo to kill my brother Vikir Van Baskerville on the account that he was actually a demon sent on an espionage mission. I continued to be as loyal as possible to the clan until my own death by the guillotine. My anger and eagerness to avenge my brother and fulfill his last request coursed through my blood like a raging river, and if I was able to exude an aura it would fill the entire area with intense blood lust. However, because my heart was just a bit narrower than my fellow half-brothers who had wider hearts, there was a restriction on my ability to create aura. That would soon change, perhaps sooner than I think.
Hmmmm, I can't seem to sense his presence in this life. Seems like I am alone here with my previous memories, and he had already moved on. I frowned a bit as the wails continued. As far as I knew, even if babies were born either as twins or triplets or even more they were still subjected to separate cradles for counting purposes. However, I ended up in the same cradle as my brother because the family did not expect the last set of infants to be a brother and sister pair, therefore miscalculating the amount of cradles needed. Inseparable since the day we were conceived, our bound was more special than any other hound had within the Baskerville family. Or perhaps too much time had passed since his death, and he figured he could continue to put his faith in my ability to get the job done...
"Damn lowly things. They don't seem worthwhile, perhaps even worse than the last year's batch of newborns. A gathering of trash." The new voice that was filled with disappointment and disdain belonged to the head clan, Marquis Hugo Le Baskerville. As the family's patriarch he was particularly interested in going through the brood of children, casting a cold and indifferent gaze whenever he performed an initial assessment. He was not a man known to exude any ounce of emotion and feeling towards Baskerville offspring. Something soon caught his attention, and he paused from moving to the next row of cradles. Amidst the sea of crying, wailing infants one of the cradles was eerily silent and still.
So this is Hugo in his younger years, as evident by the lack of scar across his nose. To meet the main culprit behind the false pretense that got Vikir and I killed so early on… I thought to myself as our eyes met. His gaze lingered, and even though it made me feel a bit uncomfortable, I can only assume that there was a little hint of softness in his previously unyielding expression. But it wasn't because there wasn't anything special feelings per say – I was after all, an illegitimate child who didn't deserve to be among the rest of the legitimate children that were already several months old.
"Sir, has this one captured your attention?" One of the helpers whispered as he stood behind the clan head at a respectable distance. "The illegitimate child Viktoria Van Baskerville."
"This one doesn't utter any sound while the others continue to scream. How appealing for a slightly less noisy piece of trash." He frowns for a bit before asking, not even turning to the helper to direct the question. "Why the different colored eye? Do any of the others have it?"
"No sir, none of the other babies seem to have that blue-gray eye. It also doesn't run in the family bloodline, we even looked into the ancestral tree of the concubine you consummated with. In conclusion no one has that colored eye anywhere in the Baskerville family." The helper responded as a matter of fact, turning to look at me with an unreadable expression. "I can only assume that this is either a 'curse' or a 'blessing' from something beyond our understanding."
"A 'curse' or a 'blessing'…" Hugo stroked his chin for a minute, his eyebrows pinched together in thought. Legitimate children of Baskervilles are recognized not only by their combat prowess but also by their distinctive red eyes. Illegitimate children also have the red eyes, so what sets them apart is their lineage and perhaps how much skill and power they're allowed to have in comparison to their competition. With only red eye and one eye whose color does not resonate with the Baskerville family, the clan head can already imagine the harsh and turbulent path I would have to walk.
"I wouldn't dwell on it too much, sir. We could chalk it up as…an unfortunate defect that stems from the mother's line. It'll no doubt draw ire and taunting from the other children, but this is something she'll have to carry on her shoulders till death."
"Mmmmm…." Humming in agreement and with the quick snap of his fingers, Hugo proceeded to issue his next orders to the nannies who stood behind him. "Move the children to the 'Cradle of Swords'." It was a test that all Baskerville children underwent, from the moment they were born until the day they die.
"Yes, sir." The handler replied before barking out the orders to the others who shuffled about, lifting babies out of their only source of false comfort.
What a great opportunity, to increase my strength in the Cradle. I thought as I was lifted out by a pair of strong arms and carried like the others into the open world. The cruel winds of the outside world soon smacked against my face, almost in a taunting manner. But I didn't think any of it, my gaze focused on the barren landscape where the glint of steel reflected the light. The babies were not placed gently into the center, they were merely thrown and left to do as they wish. And I was no exception, but now was not the time to be crying about mistreatment. My survival instincts were beginning to kick in. I must become stronger. Stronger than the rest.
The 'Cradle of Swords' is a ritual unique to the family, and it was a brutal rite of passage. As the name implies countless knives were placed in a circular pattern, forming a deadly maze that awaited fresh meat. Each newborn was placed in the center of the labyrinth, left to their own devices as they wander among the blades where even the smallest misstep can lead to severe injury and even death.
While crawling the babies were tested and forced to confront danger head-on, but the true test awaited beyond the blades. To become a true member of the Baskerville bloodline, the infants must submerge themselves in the Styx, a river that flowed around the outside of the maze. It is a legendary river that can strengthen a baby's body like steel. However, the power is very limited and so the amount of babies able to receive the effect of said power is also limited. Only those who immerse themselves in the riven before their first birthday could benefit from its transformative power, making the stakes impossibly high. Hugo knew the value of the transformative power, and he understood that when a baby consumed the maximum amount of power, the others would have to make do with what was left.
In order to be the first one to reach the river, I need to move in a straight line through the wall of swords. That seems to be the only logical reason I can come up with. I looked around, gathering as much information as I could for analysis. The weapons were placed in a spiral pattern, so it wasn't quite clear how many walls there are. Immediately I willed my body to move forward, placing my little hands directly on the rugged sharp edges of the blades; blood soon spilled and I knew skin had been cut. There was no bell to start the trial, so every minute and second counted; survival of the fittest and everyone around me is my competition. The burning pain coursing through my body is nothing compared to my previous life as Baskerville's hunting dog. Vikir was the only one of the two of us that received less than a quarter fraction of the effect, while I was shoved aside by my siblings. Being the one without anything I struggled through the harsh environment, even having to rely on him for things.
Rocks and pebbles, even small bits of chipped steel embedded themselves into my body as I surged forward, continuing to twist any blades with my delicate hands. Having heard the legends, myths, and ghost stories of the family from the older hounds, I knew what I needed to do for this first rite of passage. The goal was at the forefront of my mind: get out of the cradle as soon as possible and soak in the river for as long as possible to gain an advantage over my siblings. Soon the stench of old, rusted iron permeated through the air, I even began to think that my own spilled blood contributed to the smell.
But it'll be different this time around! I will monopolize the blessings of the Styx River for as long as I can!
On the other side of the Styx…
Hugo watched as his children, including the family's eldest son, cousins, brothers, and sisters, competed against each other with a disconcerting eye. His lips were a thin line, didn't even twitch in the slightest while the nannies stood with anxious expressions on their faces. To him, these fragile helpless creatures that constantly needed care and attention, were absolutely insignificant and unworthy. The only way to toughen them up and stand toe-to-toe against any creature, be it human or demon or mythical creature, was to subject them to this unique rite of passage.
Thirty-two children were born this year, each vying for the opportunity for the transformative power. As they crawled through the deadly maze, the blades led them on a thorny path that would determine their future. The first child to make it through the Cradle of Swords and into the river will secure their place in the Baskerville bloodline without question, the ultimate prize for coming in first place.
The scene had been one of chaos and despair, with infants crying out in fear and agony as they struggled to escape the perilous maze of knives. Some were quick and nimble, crawling with ease as they searched for their nannies, while others were slower and more hesitant, bleeding from the sharp edges. And then there was the one child who seemed to have no intention of escaping at all, very content to lay still and suck on his fingers as if oblivious to the danger all around him. Those who witnessed the carnage could already feel their hearts plummet in disappointment because it seemed as if this batch of babies won't make it, ultimately yielding terrible results and perhaps forcing the Baskervilles to wait another year for a new batch of newborns. They cannot afford to wait another year, and Hugo figured that if none of the babies made it, he'll end up with hounds that won't last long in the field.
Turning his sight away from the swords for a minute, the clan head stared in silence at the flowing river. There was a feeling welling deep within his chest, a feeling of sadness and longing. If he were to soak his own body within the water, there was no doubt he'll become even more powerful than he currently was. If that was the case then he wouldn't need to rely so much on his children.
"Sir!" A voice broke through and he turned to see a commotion roused by the guardian knights who pointed their fingers toward river. A small child, covered in blood from the numerous amounts of cuts all over the face, body, arms, hands, legs, and feet, was making her way through the dense forest of blades towards the river. And she was moving with an agility and determination that no other child had shown before, not even children from the previous generations before her batch. In that moment Hugo's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope, and he knew that this child was special. With a quick intake of air the child scurried towards the edge and plunged into the depth of the Styx with a splash with no hesitation or fear.
Letting the blades to carve deep wounds all over is a great idea, the deeper the better. All around me was an endless abyss of boiling liquid, permeating through bones and intestines from the numerous amount of injuries. The water around me was also dyed a slight red color from the blood. I thanked my past self for a high-level of mental fortitude and pain tolerance, enduring the pain as the effects from the Styx River slowly transforming my small body.
What a huge difference getting a head start makes! This is absolutely incredible! Already I could tell that my body was being strengthened, and I hungered for more. Because I never got to enjoy the full effects in my past life, and due to my illegitimate status on top of very poor talent, I was immediately disposed and discarded by the family; Vikir stood by my side and made sure that I got whatever share of food was left, even if it meant he went days without food. We've ate dirty food, wore dirty clothes, slept in dirty places, and always assigned dirty work that no one else wanted to do. Any achievements and accolades attained by us as we grew up went to others of higher status. I continued to keep my hands over both nose and mouth, doing my best to keep the air bubbles from escaping too quickly. The goal this time: last as long as possible to gain the maximum amount of the river's effect.
I felt my teeth soon grind against each other with intense pressure, the sound echoing throughout my mind. Clenching my jaw tight, the anger within me continued to grow and push the river deeper into every crevice of my body; my bones themselves as they were immersed with the liquid continued to thicken, toughen, and widen. With what air remained in my lungs I removed my hands and began to purposefully swallow the water to strengthen my insides. Slowly I started to twist, turn, and tumble to expose every part and reopen wounds, however in doing so the urge to surface and breathe could not be ignored.
Don't you dare surface! Don't you dare surface! Spotting a rugged rock embedded on the river's floor I made my way over and held on. If only the head is exposed to breathe, then only the head doesn't not receive any protection. And I could not afford to leave any part to be weak, so I dug my fingers in and held on like my life depended on it.
After roughly seven minutes….
"Young Master! You must come out!"
"If you dive more than that, you'll die!"
"Get her out! You must get her out and rescue her!"
From above the voices from those who stood to witness the event grew more panicked, the air bubbles that rose to the surface soon becoming less and less. Since I first threw myself into the river, there hadn't been any other child who escaped the Cradle, so there's a chance that I had indeed monopolized everything, leaving nothing behind. The elite soldiers, nannies, and other figures were urging me to rise, to surface before the river had a chance to claim my life.
"Daughter. Come on up now." Hugo's voice did not shake my determination, in fact it did the exact opposite and I held tighter until the very end. Sensing that his voice only made me madder, the clan head merely let out a chuckle, his red eyes flashing with excitement. He turned his gaze to the butler, "Barrymore, how long has it been since the child had entered?"
"It has been about seven minutes, sir. However, if I'll be frank it has to be getting close to about seven minutes and thirty seconds." John Barrymore responded with certainty. All his years of observing the rite of passage for the Baskervilles allowed him to adequately assess how long it took for a child to hold their breath underwater. To his knowledge, no one has ever surpassed seven minutes or even get close to eight. What they were witnessing may be a once in a lifetime miracle.
"Seven minutes and thirty seconds…she'll no doubt die if she stays any longer."
"Sir…!" One of the soldiers spoke in shock at how easily those words were uttered without much emotion. "It's imperative she be rescued immediately! We can't let this hound go to waste!"
"Daughter. I won't repeat myself." Hugo moved to the edge, his eyes watching like a hawk. In a last ditch effort before I let go, I took in my last gulps of water and my body soon sank, with the last remnants of the air bubbles ascending. The clan head observed the river's surface in silence before his arm shot out, faster than any hound could blink. Raising his arm up, he held my limp body as if it were a prize feet first and head down.
Dear lord, so that's what drowning feels like…I started to cough out any excessive water stuck in my lungs and take in the crisp cool air, gasping and wheezing with mouth wide open. I seriously thought I was going to die...
"Hahahaha, look at this lass. Plunged into the river and even drank it without hesitation, her canines are coming in pretty well." The clan head grinned as he noticed my teeth, the four distinctively sharp canines were the first to catch his eyes immediately. "What's the name of this child?"
"That would be young master Viktoria Van Baskerville." replied John.
The illegitimate one back in the cradle who didn't cry like the other vermin. Hugo mused,his lips drew back in a sneer. "Viktoria… it appears that a very greedy daughter has been born. I have a good feeling about your destiny as Baskerville's hero."
Smile while you still can, Hugo. Laugh while you still draw breath…. Even though I was still unconscious, my eyes were slightly open and unseeing. But I can imagine the sheer delight on Hugo's face as he looked me as clear as day. Now is still time to quietly sharpen my fangs, and hone my skills. But when the time comes that I can finally sever my master's head with a single bite… Baskerville will fade from history by my hands.