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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine	By : lilwitch Category: +S through Z > Street Fighter Views: 3420 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: WARNING: Graphic violence and abuse depicted in this story. Read at your own discretion! I do not own Street Fighter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author's Disclaimer: This story contains content of a highly disturbing psychological nature that may be offensive to some readers: including but not limited to abuse, rape, and torture/violence. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended! STREET FIGHTER and characters such as Vega are owned by CAPCOM. I make no profit in this work of fiction. For entertainment only.

She came inside and curtsied before the altar before taking her seat in the pew. She ran her rosary through her fingers and began to pray, in between muffled sobs. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and she lifted her head to look through her lace veil. Wearing her usual black lace veil that she always wore to Mass, she looked more like a woman in mourning than a woman who had come to pray. It was in sharp contrast to her pastel blue dress; she preferred blue, and it matched her eyes. This day was no different.
“Are you all right, Mrs. de Cerna?”
“Oh, Father! Yes, I-I’m fine,” and she sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“Come now, Victoria. I know when someone is in pain.” said the priest.
“Father!” she cried suddenly, grabbing the priest’s hands. “It-it’s my son, Vega! I am worried for him. I…it’s this bullfighting! I don’t like it!”
“I see,” he replied thoughtfully and took a seat next to her in the pew. “Is there any reason you don’t like it?” She looked down again.
“He could die! Those bulls are dangerous! I-I couldn’t live if he….”
The priest smiled gently.
“Victoria, how long has he been a bullfighter?”
“Well, he’s been training since he was 13. I never approved but his father insisted on it.”
“And has he ever gotten hurt?”
“I-I don’t know… I never attended. I couldn’t.”
“Your son is one of the fastest rising young matadors in the country! He also has had an amazing record of very few injuries.”
She looked up at him in amazement.
“You…?” she gasped.
He chuckled warmly,
“It isn’t always about sermons and confessions! I do like to get out and about, you know, and I must say, he is very good.” She stood up suddenly.
“But it isn’t fair!” she cried. “Father, you have to tell him to stop! He can’t take his life in his hands like that. It isn’t his life!”
The priest waited for her to continue.
“It's God’s! We are his children. Our souls are not ours, nor our bodies nor minds.”
“Don’t you think you are being a little selfish?”
“Selfish? Selfish! Father, how dare you say such a thing!” she exclaimed.
“Calm yourself, Victoria.” said the priest softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “This is the House of God, remember.” She clinched her fists tight, gripping her rosary with a death-grip, her body trembled, and she burst into tears again. She stumbled back to the pew with her head in her hands.
“I can’t make your son stop doing what he loves, and nor should I. I can only offer my advice.” She sniffed and tried to disregard his council but he continued. “Did you ever consider…that it is within God’s plan for your son? In that your son would succeed in something that would make him great in some way?” Mother looked at him, the tears sliding down her face, and her lips parted in disbelief.
“Do you really think I would not wish him to succeed? I would never be so cruel! I wish for him everything I never had! I lived through the horrors of General Franco and I had nothing. All I could ever want for him is everything.” She looked wistful for a moment and smiled. “If only he could have taken up football.”
I rushed inside the church, making a quick bow to the altar before walking up to the priest and my mother.
“There you are, Mama!” I cried. I saw her face and that she had been crying.
“Father! What’s wrong with her? What happened?” He had a wry smile on his face and sighed.
“Your mother is fine. She was just concerned, that’s all.” I knelt in front of her and took her hand from her face.
“With who? Me?” I cried. “Mama, please, what’s the matter?” she murmured her responses between sobs. I looked back at the priest.
“Father, what did I do?” and then it hit me. I rose slowly.
“Mother! How could you? You are embarrassing me! I told you that I was going to do this no matter what.”
“My son, you have great potential!” said the priest warmly.
“I am the best, aren’t I?” I said with a grin.
“A little humility would suit you, Vega.” replied the priest gravely.
“I came here to get advice from the priest,” she replied to me finally. Her words were soft and choked by her tears. “And to pray you would not get hurt.”
“Why aren’t you listening to me? I am the best! The best and that means I won’t get hurt! God won’t allow it—” I exclaimed, my chest and my ego swelled with pride.
“Vega…” cautioned the priest once more.
I grabbed my mother’s wrist and began to drag her towards the exit.
“Let go, Vega! Let go right now!” exclaimed Mother, pulling back.
“We’re going, Mother.” I hissed. The priest stepped between us and tried to force my grip from her wrist.
“Do as she says, Vega. Let go. You can’t tell her what to do. ‘Thou shalt honor thy Mother…’”
“’Honor?’” I exclaimed, stopping in my tracks. “I worship her!” my eyes flashed intensely as I looked at him and she jerked away angrily. I could see however, that my words did nothing to soothe the priest, who folded his hands before him and regarded me warily.
“She can’t make me stop bull fighting! She can’t.” I cried.
“And he can’t make me worry like this! I won’t lose my only son! It isn’t fair to me!” replied Mother.
“Now both of you calm down, please! Vega, can I speak with you a moment?” said the priest, putting his arm around my shoulder and leading me a few steps away from her. The priest rubbed his mouth thoughtfully a moment.
“Vega, have you ever noticed how much time you spend with your mother?”
I knew what he was insinuating and I rolled my eyes. It sounded as if my father had been talking to him lately.
“I do plenty of other things. Besides, I have to take care of her. If I don’t, Father will.” I knew he understood the state of things at home and there was no denying what I meant.
“Yes, I am aware of the awful things your father has done and I have done all I could to help her. I’m afraid I couldn’t do more without sanction from the Church.”
I glared at him.
“Then, you haven’t done enough.” I said coldly. I knew I could never turn my back on God, especially since He had given me such wonderful gifts but the Church had failed us. My mother was a model parishioner and a good, obedient Catholic woman to her faith and the Church, and yet she was rewarded with nothing but hate and violence from her husband; a man she swore to love and honor for all of her days, no matter how bad. The Church turned a blind eye to it all. As I grew, so did her bruises and that was when I knew I had to protect her. I would become her savior when no one else would.
I looked at him indignantly, and went to rejoin my mother. I tried to take her hand but she whirled around and slapped me.
“How dare you disrespect me like that, in front of our priest? Before God!”
“Mama--” I stuttered, rubbing my cheek.
“You will not touch me, Vega Fabio de Cerna!”
She walked ahead of me, opening the door to the front seat and she sat next to the driver.
I sighed and sat in the back seat, and the front of the car closed, blocking her from my view.
I knew then she was angry and that at that moment, there was nothing I could do. Soon, we were back at the mansion and she quietly went to her room, taking off her veil and laying her rosary on her bedside table next to a statuette of the Virgin Mary. I followed her, to apologize.
She lay on her bed, sulking.
“Mama,” I said softly, kneeling at her bedside. She turned her back to me.
“If you want to die by a raging bull, fine. I cannot stop you. Go on! Forsake your Mother, Vega. Go! ” she cried, “Get out!” I slowly rose and did as I was told. I shut her door and paused in thought as I rubbed the back of my head with a heavy sigh. I could never forsake you, Mama...

I stood at the mirror, brushing my long golden hair and I smiled, admiring myself. The warm sun shone on it through the adjacent window, as it always seemed to and it shined like gold. Carefully, I ran the coarse-bristled brush through my hair, and I savored each stroke. Then I began to work it into a braid. I ran my hand delicately down my face, my fingers tracing each curve, each angle of my flawless face. Yes, my adolescence was kind to me it seems, or shall I say, my skin.
Today my victory was eminent and I was perfect. This was not just any mirror I stood before, but my mother's. You see, her room had the best lighting and the best mirror for my features and looking my best was always the most of importance to me, especially before a bullfight.
Mother came in, wrapping her arms around my waist, as it was all she could reach, now that I stood nearly a foot taller than her. I looked down at her, which I was used to doing by now, and smiled. Her familiar scent of roses and powder wafted up to my nose.
“Hola, Mama.”
“Vega, why are you in here? Shouldn't you be in your room getting ready?” she exclaimed warmly.
“Sorry. It's just that your room has much better lighting and it's easier to brush my hair in here.” I said.
“Mhm and you've been using my brush I see,” she said, picking up the brush and running her fingers over the smooth wood. She turned to me and smiled.
“My, how handsome you are!” and she reached up, standing on her tip-toes to put her hands on my shoulders. I had donned my Matador outfit with one of my most favorite jackets—it was black with gold embroidery and beading. Mama ran her hands down my arms, feeling the texture of the beads and embroidery work. She wrapped her arms around me and laid her head against my chest with a sigh and I held her tight.
“Do you think I am beautiful?” I asked as I gazed down at her.
“Yes, yes you are my beautiful, beautiful boy!” my heart pounded a little in my chest to hear her say that, as she had said it a thousand times before.
“Do you think I am a god?” I asked, my pulse seeming to raise, my eyes flashed. My lips could not hide such irresistible pride. She stared up at me a moment, somewhat perplexed, and reached to stroke my face.
“No, Vega. You are Apollo, Adonis, Narcissus himself, my darling, but you are not a god. ” I sighed in annoyance. She had already said it once before but now she chooses to ignore it? Now, of all times when I was the most perfect being standing before that mirror and she denies it! How could I tell her it would never be enough to hear such perfection come from such a beautiful, perfect creature as herself. For I knew I was as beautiful as she, and she as beautiful as I was. The only possible person to ever be more beautiful than myself...
“Will you go watch me today?” I asked.
“No, Vega,” and her expression now looked more serious.
“But Mama, you must!” I cried impetuously. She scoffed,
“Ai, I don't know why your father insisted you be involved in something so-so...barbaric! He wants to turn my son into a monster!”
I smirked,
“Mama, do I look like a monster?” I saw the worry and the guilt slowly creeping across her face.
“No...” she replied quietly, staring down at the floor. I smiled, swallowing a laugh, and I flipped my long braid behind my shoulder. I took her hand and moved behind her, moving my hand to her shoulder.
“Come with me,” I whispered. “Please, please, please!” I pleaded with her impishly, and I nuzzled against the nape of her neck. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to slink away from me. I was beginning to feel impatient and I turned her to face me.
“Mama, I want you to come.” I said gravely, stroking her cheek. She began to shake her head and I held her chin. “I won't take 'No' for an answer!” I searched her face, her eyes, frantically waiting for her to respond. “I need you.” I said, and she gasped, her mouth sputtering but said nothing. She frantically shook her head, tears beginning to form in her eyes and fall down her perfectly pale skin. I rubbed them away roughly with my thumbs.
“I can't,” she cried and closed her eyes, trying to make her fear go away. I held her for a moment, trying to make her stop crying—I could not bear to see her crying, for any reason. “She will be there, with him...” she murmured. I sighed heavily. My father was a bastard but he always attended my bullfights. I don't know why he loved them so much, but he did. I suppose it was all the violence involved that excited him, as violence often seemed to and of course, he always stringed along a young pretty woman.
“Oh my sweet mother,” I cooed seductively in her ear, and my blood began to rise.
“Please Vega, please. Respect my wishes respect me. I don't want to go,” she moaned as she held onto me, her voice muffled against my shoulder. I could feel her trembling slightly.
I grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the wall next to her mirror. She let out a surprised yelp.
“This isn't about you!” I hissed. “It is about me!” her eyes regarded me tearfully with shock and fear.
“Don't you want to see that your son, your Adonis—your savior—succeed? To see them worship me as I know you do...” she was still quiet, save but to whimper.
“Come with me, and I swear—I swear—I will make them worship you as they worship me. All my glory will be yours!” I felt her writhing beneath my grasp and her expression turned to anger.
“God damn you, Vega!” she screamed. “Look what he's done to you!”
Angrily, I threw her back and she landed against the side of her bed, mostly cushioning her fall. She gasped and stood up slowly, glaring at me as she wept. My chest was heaving and I went to the mirror to smooth my hair and check my face. I then went and knelt before her, holding her so she would not fall.
Mama slapped me across the face with a furious cry and I raised my hand reflexively. She flinched and cowered down. I could feel my heart dropping into my stomach and I reached to touch her, but she pushed me away, and I fell to my side. My face still stung with the impact of her blow and I glanced in the mirror over my shoulder to see the red mark forming across my face, and then to my mother, who was still crying and trembling.
I ran into her bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to make it come off the hinges. I turned on the faucet and splashed the cool water over my face. I looked into the mirror. I smashed it with my fist, and I felt warm, angry tears falling down my face. I wiped them away with my sleeve and came out of the bathroom, quietly. Mother stood up slowly, cautiously, and I could see her fear.
Suddenly she gasped and ran to me, taking my hand in hers. It was not until I looked down I saw that I was bleeding...
I studied my hand, and small rivers of red that ran down it, dripping to the floor. I brought it to my lips and licked it. Appalled, Mama covered her mouth with her hand. I smirked at her expression.
“It's only blood, Mother.” I said calmly.
I could taste the warm, bitter liquid on the tip of my tongue, tangy and almost sweet. I looked at my mother and I wondered for just a moment what she would taste like. I licked my lips in thought, and she shone like an angel in the afternoon light.
Such beauty must make you taste so sweet...
“Vega,” said Mother, her voice raised in concern, disturbing me from my thoughts. “We-we have to fix your hand, dear,” she said softly, but I could still hear the wariness in her voice. We went into the bathroom so she could dress it. She looked at me seriously as she wrapped some gauze around it.
“Do you think they'll let you fight today?” she asked.
“I don't know. Maybe...I am their star, you know...” and I grinned and she nodded quietly, looking down as she worked. She wrapped it firmly around my hand and I winced. I felt the warmth of her hand covering the bandage and she looked back at me, still the uneasiness showing in her eyes, mixed with her motherly concern for my well-being.
“My baby,” she whispered wistfully, kissing my bandaged hand. I studied her face a moment and then smiled.
“I’ll be okay, Mama.” I reassured her, standing quickly before she even finished tying the bandage. I grabbed her hand and we hurried out the door.
The fight was the best yet, and knowing my mother was there, watching me from some of the best seats, made me even happier. She sat through the fight anxiously, biting her lip and gripping the end railing in front of her. Once I was able to glance back at her, to see her crossing herself with her rosary. I do not know many more times she had done it during the fight—I am not even certain she was watching if she was so busy with her rosary!
The crowd cheered as I stood before the fallen bull, a rain of red roses fell upon me. I smiled and waved to the thronging crowd. Mama stood from her seat in the front of the area and watched, though she did not smile.
“Vega! Vega!” people screamed at me, in an echoing ocean of sounds. I saw the lights flashing as a million cameras seemed to go off at once. I saw Mama standing motionless in the bleachers and I knew this would not do. I grabbed her hand and she let out a cry as I lifted her onto my shoulder.
“Vega! What are you doing?” she cried. I swung her around with a smile.
“Vega, do you have a moment?” said a member of the press. “Who is she?”
“Who's that woman?” a collective echo among the crowd.
Mother looked around frantically, overwhelmed by the millions of people who seemed to descend upon me. I smiled and waved to the crowd as photographers scrambled to get me to look their way. I lifted Mama off my shoulder and held her against me proudly. I kissed her cheek, looking at the camera from the corner of my eye. Then I caught a rose that came my way and handed it to her.
“She is my mother!” I said and the crowd cheered again.
“Mrs. de Cerna, over here, over here!” they cried. She looked at me, her blue eyes blazing.
“See, Mama...I told you they would want you.” I whispered with a grin. “Look how those lights flash. They want you!” she blushed.
“No, Vega. They want you. You are the star; I'm just your mother.” she said quietly.
“The Holy Virgin was not just any mother. She gave birth to the Lord Himself! For this, we praise her. You gave birth to me! You gave me life—tell me why you are not as important as I!” She looked at me and tried to smile, though uncomfortably.
“No. I want them to see you.” I said, taking her hand and leading her to the center of the arena, taking a bow. She seemed to be suddenly mesmerized by all the flashing lights, staring into their abyss.
“You wore heels and pearls in your hospital bed, Mother. Don't tell me you don't like looking good. You want them to see you, the same as they see me and you always have! Where do you think I've learned to take such pride in my appearance? Look at them with their flashing lights, and this shower of roses.” I exclaimed, turning to her, “They are a mirror for us—a mirror, showing us the truth of our beauty.” I caressed her cheek lovingly, and she took my hand, squeezing it tight, smiling finally.
“Yes, beauty is the only truth in this world.”
From that moment on, I knew that’s how I would live my life—in beauty. Those who did not, were not worthy of life.
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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine