Author's Note: It touched me when I saw Pyrrha's story as she struggled with her compassion for people and the persistent killings she was forced to perform. This ficlet revolves on the scene when she was first introduced.
Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Calibur and its characters.
The smell of soot and burning lumber, cloth and flesh permeated her nostrils. Embers all around her added an orange hue to her skin covered in sweat and grime and droplets of tears... and blood. She sat there in front of the door of a burning house—a mansion where all its luxuries had been consumed by the voracious flames—weeping bitterly and endlessly. The crime that mired her pierced her heart so that no amount of tears could wash the guilt inside.
Her sword lay carelessly in front of her, thrown disdainfully because it was the object that gave her power to her felony that seized the lives of hundreds. It reeked of the sour smell of blood that stained its once shiny blade and which still dripped every minute on the ground.
The sky was smothered by the smoke of the burning town adding to the gloom around her. The crackling of fire and the harsh howling of the wind added a deathly music like a dirge for all those lives lost. They were all around her—corpses—like the debris of stones and wood.
At the center of them all was her.
The cause of it all...
"It wasn't me, it wasn't me," she repeated over and over again like a chant, trying to convince herself against all odds; trying to deny in vain. Her voice cracked because her throat was dry and covered with soot. Her mind screamed furiously inside her. She wanted to bash her head to shake off what she saw. She felt like her head was going to crumble, her mind unable to take in everything.
"Maybe it's just a dream. Maybe I'm having a nightmare. Maybe after a while if I keep on believing I would wake up and forget all of these. This can't be real! I'm not a killer. I couldn't kill them. I'm not a killer! I'm not a killer! Somebody... help me!"
She shook like someone shivering from the cold although the true cold was her loneliness and confusion. She could not understand why there were so many dead bodies around her as she stood disoriented among their pile with the scarlet stained sword in her hand and a dying man clutching his bleeding chest collapsing and breathing his last. That was her first memory when she arrived in this town.
A whistle was heard in front of her, echoing hollowly through the street where she sat forlorn. Soon after, the sound of footsteps approached her in slow intervals.
"Well, well, Pyrrha. Not bad!" The new comer came to her, cold evil in her eyes staring approvingly at her as if her felony was her greatest achievement. Pyrrha lifted her head: eyes red, face pale, lips trembling and body shivering. Her blond hair scattered messily on her face.
"No, no, it wasn't me," she denied, her tone at first uncertain but finishing with forced confidence which failed to mask her doubt in the ears of her listener. "I would never do this to the people of the city."
The new comer, Tira, picked up the bloodied sword on the ground and approached her.
"Ofcourse I forgive you!"
Pyrrha turned away, shielding herself with her arm, like a frightened animal about to be devoured by its predator, as Tira drew near to her. She anticipated a blow to her head or a slap in the face but she received none. The approval was genuine. Slowly, she came to believe that this woman did not come to punish her for her sins. The guilt remained however as the fright diminished by a small quantity.
"You were just protecting yourself from those nasty people who were trying to kill you. They were the bad guys."
The crying girl wanted to believe that with all her heart. She tried to swallow it but her thoughts rejected it like a boy gagging when the bitter syrup was forced into his throat. It was her absolution. It rationalized her unremembered deed. It could take away the gnawing guilt that crushed her heart.
But it seemed wrong to her.
How could a massacre be justified? she thought. How could the ransacking and the burning of this town be called self defense? Why would my survival be at the expense of hundreds of people? Of the innocent men and women, children and infants?
She reflected these all the while never facing her consenter. She feared that the ideas the wicked woman was trying to insert into her would succeed to persuade her if their eyes met—
"There she is! It's her! She's the one!" a voice echoed from afar which made Pyrrha jump and turn towards the source of the sound, her heart stopping as fear once again arose.
"Careful! She's a monster!" added another voice. Her breathing became shallow as the helpless feeling attempted to drown her. Her eyes stared hollowly at the three men sprinting toward her like a beast dashing after its prey. She felt her sanity escaping her as she struggled to keep it intact.
Tira bent toward her ear. "Oh look! More humans that misunderstand you. Better kill them first before they kill you."
Pyrrha's sword was presented to her. It took her an eternity before hesitantly she took it, mouth agape and eyes shifty and throat dry. Weakly she took her sword of crime and guilt which she had thrown away earlier. Once again the reason of survival and sin argued violently in her mind, survival winning the battle.
Voice quaking, she half whispered: "No! I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to die."
She got up, shield and sword awkwardly in place, left alone again, she called out: "I want to live! Please go away!"
Shaking and trembling, knees ready to give way, sword and shield about to fall of from her hands, her eyes stared at the silhouettes of armed men coming closer. She feared for herself. But she feared more for these men.
She feared that the beast inside her would awaken.