|Tira: A Tale of Torment
Author: wickedmetalviking1990 PM
"Misguided Angel of Vengeance", "Servant of Soul Edge", "Mistress of the Watchers": all these are her titles, but who is Tira? How did she become the servant of Soul Edge, and how did she survive for seventeen years without it? Rated MRated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Fantasy - Tira & Pyrrha - Chapters: 19 - Words: 48,319 - Reviews: 21 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 09-27-12 - Published: 07-15-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8323352
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
(AN: I bet you looked at the last chapter and thought, "Why is this rated M?" Well, you'll definitely see why in this chapter.)
A little girl was being carried to the gallows. The town of Fahrdorf in the Duchy of Schleswig had finally caught the one who was responsible for all the murders. It all happened two years ago, when a little orphan girl was taken in to the town's convent, where the nuns kept a nursery and orphanage for wayward children. Mere days later, the convent burned to the ground, nuns and children trapped inside. Over the next two years, people started disappearing, later to be found murdered in such horrible ways. After the townspeople organized a search of the entire village, they finally found the murderess, a fresh kill at her feet and blood on her hands. No need for a jury, she was caught red-handed, literally, and her denials just made her all the more guilty: the killer would hang today.
Or so the people of Fahrdorf believed. Hidden at the back of the crowd was another little girl, her hair a mopy mess of black strands. She was an orphan as well; in fact, she was the one who was the murderess. After the fire, she left her home-town, whatever the name was, and came to Fahrdorf. The nuns took her in, but when they beat her severely after she strangled a cat, laughing as the thing died in her hands, she burned down the convent, locking them all inside. It was just like how her parents died, so much fun. Then she wandered about the town, doing as she saw fit. When she realized that the authorities were closing in on her, she hid in a house where they also had a five-year-old daughter with dark hair. She killed the girl's parents, slit their throats and made sure the daughter would find their bodies and get their blood on her hands.
Now she watched as the little girl was about to be sent to her death.
"Bedes, bedes, bedes!" the girl begged as she was being carried up the scaffold. "I didn't do it! I'm innocent, I swear!"
"Be quiet!" the guard who carried her up the stairs shouted, cuffing her a sound blow across the face. She was then carried up the rest of the way to the scaffold. Since it was made for someone larger, a barrel had been placed underneath the noose.
"Good people of Fahrdorf," the sheriff of the town began. "On this day, the twelfth of October, in the year of our LORD fifteen hundred and fifty-nine, I, your sheriff, by the virtue vested in me by our lord the Hertug, do order this ungodly, murderous b*tch to hang by her neck until dead!"
People cheered, though a few were sorrowful. Behind the scenes, the little girl was amazed. It made no sense to her little mind. When she killed something or someone, she alone was happy, and everyone else was angry, shocked, afraid or disgusted. Now someone was about to die, and they were happy as well. What this meant, however, would not dawn upon her until much later in life.
At the scaffold, the priest began to administer Last Rites. In the crowd, many began crying out to the priest not to give her the honor of Last Rites: she didn't deserve it, after what she had done. While the priest continued, the executioner was preparing the shroud, when once again the crowd booed. They didn't even want to spare this child the dignity of a death-shroud, they wanted to see the murderess die in every bit of agony. The sheriff obliged them.
"Bedes, I didn't kill anyone!" the girl sobbed. "Bedes, you have to believe me! I'm a good child, I go to church, I say my prayers. Bedes, I didn't kill my parents!" She was now weeping and crying so much, the sheriff ordered the guard to strike her again.
The noose was placed around her neck. She gasped in anticipation, waiting for the final drop. Somewhere in the crowd, a drum went off, pounding away the last final seconds. The sheriff approached the girl, standing atop the barrel with the noose around her neck, and kicked the barrel out from under her.
Suddenly, strong hands grabbed her from behind. She was being dragged away from the sight, just as the little girl was dying and cries of joy echoed from the crowd. A shroud disappeared over her own head, and suddenly her heart stopped. Had she been discovered? Was she about to die?
The shroud was removed. She gasped, her throat was intact: she was not dead. She found herself in a cave, surrounded by dozens of men who snarled at her if she looked at them. After a few moments, a young man appeared before them, wearing a cloak of bird feathers. They were black and so luxurious that the little girl was desirous to run her hands through each and every one of the feathers of that cloak.
"Welcome, baby birds, to the Birds of Passage," a woman's voice said. The little girl noticed that who she had mistaken for a young man was actually a woman in man's clothing. "This place shall be your world from now until the day you die. You are here because we have noticed your particular appetite for murder: you see, the Birds of Passage specialize in killing. You are now baby birds, which means you are initiates into the Birds of Passage. You will kill whoever we tell you to kill, you will kill whenever we tell you to kill, you will kill without expecting a reason or an explanation. After you've killed enough, and if you're still alive, you will become a Bird of Death, and be ready to begin your assignments."
She walked among them slowly and deliberately, eying them all one after the other. Many quailed beneath her steely gaze, but not the little girl. Moderen looked at her, then looked away with disgust, then stood before them again and addressed them all.
"There is no place for weakness in the Birds of Passage. There is no god, no law, no king or country that can save you: while you are here, you belong to us, and you will kill for us." She then looked off into a cave passage and shouted orders in a loud, stern voice. Two men in black appeared, dragging a man between them.
"You might be asking yourselves," she said, looking down at the man brought before her. "Who this man is, and why he has been brought before you." Swiftly, Moderen drew forth a dagger and cut the man's throat. Several of those around the little girl cringed, or cried out in fear or disgust.
"Reasons don't matter. Killing is a part of your life now: shy away from killing and you are weak. The weak do not survive around here, and, be assured, we will beat the weakness out of you with our own bare hands. You will kill and you will watch your comrades kill, you will become so filled with killing that you will love it! If not..." She eyed the dead, bleeding man at her feet. "If not, then you will die for the sport of others. Dismissed!"
One by one, the others were being led away from the group by guards, all of them dressed in black. Just as one was about to send the little girl away, Moderen stopped him and walked towards her.
"And what the fuck are you?" she asked condescendingly. "Solnhofen!" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a man appeared at her side, saluting her with hand raised outward, palm open and extended.
"You bring me a fucking child!" she growled. "Do I look like some kind of wet nurse?"
"No, believe me, she's killed at least seventy-five people in two years," Solnhofen continued. "I've been watching her actions, and I highly recommend her."
A sneer crossed Moderen's face, which then turned into a smile.
"Very well," she said. "Since you recommend her to me, you won't mind ridding her of certain...unnecessary things."
"What are you saying?"
"You know perfectly well what I'm saying."
"But she's a child! We don't usually do that until they're at least thirteen!"
"She is weak," Moderen said. "Feeble, innocent. You have to take that away from her early on." She looked down at the little girl. "Come back to me when you've done the job."
The two were sleeping on the ledge of a cliff high in the mountains. Tira had chosen this spot because it was frequented by the birds. She always liked birds, perhaps that was why the first name she remembered was Eiserne Drossel, the Iron Thrush. She always loved birds: they were free to go wherever they wished, do whatever they wanted, kill whatever they wanted and learn whatever secrets they wanted without reprisal from the weak, land-bound creatures.
Fly fly, pretty birdies, her happy thoughts sang in her head.
Just shut up, the angry, darker thoughts replied. Get some sleep.
But we're not sleepy, it was true. Tira could not fall asleep. Something was bothering her, but she just couldn't put her finger on it.
Hey, here's a thought! the happy thoughts declared.
Slowly, her hand reached over to the sleeping Pyrrha. She was young, so innocent, so fair. She couldn't be allowed to continue like this, it was her right, her duty, her responsibility to introduce her to the world as it was: and what better way to do it than that? She didn't really know what would happen if she tried that on her. She was five when she was first touched: it had been against her will, something the masked man did to break her innocence, her weakness. Even eight years later, when her breasts started growing, she tried it, out of curiosity, just to see what would happen: the result was something weak, pathetic and tame. She didn't get as much enjoyment out of it as she did out of slitting someone's throat, watching them choke, gargle and drown in their own blood.
But what would happen if she did that to someone else? She had seen it happen with other young girls abducted into the Birds of Passage, and they didn't like it any more than she had. She recalled listening to their screams and cries, how it made her feel: it seemed to hurt them, or so she believed. Maybe if she did it to Pyrrha, she could hear those screams again, just to pass the time before her next kill. Her hand had already rested on Pyrrha's thigh, crawling its way south like a spider.
What the hell are you doing? the grumpy thoughts bellowed.
I wanna see what will happen!
Idiot! You know what will happen. But it's no use with her: she won't scream, she'll just whine and cry and say "I'm sorry" over and over until we're both so annoyed at her, we'll want to rip her throat out! She's vital to our plan, we need her to trust us.
Aww, we never get to have any fun! the sad thoughts pouted.
Don't worry. The next time we're among people, we'll kill someone real slow-like. We'll drain their blood, drop by drop, with an ear to their chest as their heart gives out.
It'll be so much fun!
Mercy is for the weak. That was one of the first lessons she learned in the Bird of Passage. It was easily learned and easily applied: she never gave a single thought to her victims. She was ordered to kill them, killing them made her happy, ergo killing without mercy came naturally. This moment, she had shown mercy to her pet out of nothing else than boredom, or was it really boredom? Could it not be because she herself knew how painful it had been that first time, all those years ago?
Am I weak? her happy thoughts asked worriedly.
(AN: An interesting chapter here, to be sure.)
(I've always thought that Tira doesn't really know what sexual orientation she is, because her desires are killing and causing people pain. Of course, the many slashers on her would love to see her doing naughty things with the Azure Knight, but the thing is, she would do those if the host of Soul Edge were a woman. Her passions lie with killing and causing pain, not really with her body.)
(A rare moment where we get to see Tira actually show mercy to someone, and a moment of self-doubt. Is her mercy truly altruistic, or is it motivated purely by her lusts for an adequate torture-high, which her gloomy side doesn't believe Pyrrha can give her? Something to wrap your minds around while I get to work on the next chapter.)