SOUL CALIBUR: STRANDS OF TIME

Prologue

There was a slight moment of peace, once. It was an unanticipated time where evil was held at bay. The many warriors who fought for their own various causes had put down their swords, for the most part. It was quite obvious, though, to all that the evil that had raised hell upon the earth was still not forever vanquished. Nonetheless, the immediate danger was gone, nothing but sunny days, the reemerging of animal life, and reparations all throughout Europe and most parts of Asia; a magnificent sign of rebirth.

But, like all good things, this small instant of fertility had to be disrupted once more. Many adept heroes, new and old felt this presence. It was a slightly nostalgic one, bringing bittersweet memories to their war-weary minds.

All of these men and women had one thing in common: Soul Edge had impacted their lives in one way or another. But, because of the age they had lived in, it appeared nearly impossible to join forces and regroup to one specific spot. Instead, they embarked in search of this disturbance, hoping in spite of their excitement that it was nothing more than a mere misinterpretation. Soon after, the rumors began. . .

Of course, if this legacy were nothing more than this, it wouldn't be worth speaking of. Other troubles ensued, not just at first world countries, but also in the New World. Things were beginning to get uglier. A new threat loomed over the horizon, and both benevolent and malicious souls became fiercely entangled in what would ultimately be called "The Tek Era".

Chapter 1

The morning was dreary, marked with stains of treachery and death. A faint drizzle began upon the nearby town where many people from all over once mingled. At that moment, only the wind sounded. One man stood proudly in the center of the "abandoned" town. The loud, lucrative bars and the busy markets were just derelicts. The tall, lumbering man could not easily be seen in his armored suit, yet a horrible aura was emitting from his right hand. What he held in it was long, and unusually shaped, its very presence causing death to plant life and animal life nearby.

"Do not leave anybody alive!" he grumbled beneath his unworldly helmet. From that yell, several ninja-like men flew from rooftop to rooftop, scouring the area for any signs of life.

The man was not a fool. He knew that several people had managed to escape the onslaught that he induced. Yet, he was not the least bit worried. Agents were scattered all over to assassinate each and every one of them. They were. . . locked on, for lack of better words. And even if they happened to spread word of what happened, he severely doubted that everyone would turn their attention to them immediately. All he needed to do was to eliminate them and get to his Destined Spot as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence.

"Ha. . . ha, ha, ha, ha!" The man could hardly wait. After planning for so long, his visions would come true! He patted the weapon in his right hand, knowing that he'd never be where he stood if it were not for the day he found it. . .

The harbor was left derelict save for the sounds of two swords dancing. The warriors fought voraciously, their blades causing bright sparks that illuminated the dreary, morning sky. One warrior, a female, used a single peculiar blade, the other, male, used two.

"It's time for you to die, you worthless mongrel!" cried the woman, whose sword was being pressed against one of the man's. He managed to push her off a few feet away, but she only charged once more with greater force. Her attack went high, throwing the man's strike backward.

"Heh, heh, you've improved somewhat since our last skirmish, daughter," he stated mirthfully, "but you have no chance. I've studied all of your attacks. Now, come with me and become a part of my power. . ."

"Never!" the woman protested with disgust. "I came here to eliminate the remains of Soul Edge, and you are one of them!" The man laughed, his swords hovering slowly around him as his arms folded onto his chest.

"Don't make me laugh, oh sweet daughter of mine! If that be the case, let me assist you by destroying you, then!"

"Do not mock me! I will kill you once and for all, and as for me. . ."

The woman trailed off. And with a spin of her sword, the weapon changed from blade to whip, going around wildly as if it had a mind of its own. The metallic segments encircled her body, creating a veil of spiraling beauty. The two swords the man had floating above stopped immediately, the larger of the two, the one that was a distorted Soul Edge fragment, striking down first.

"Spin, my sword!" yelled the woman, actually commanding her weapon. In response, the whip spun around her faster, knocking back both of the swords one after the other.

"You fool. . ." spat the man who's pirate outfit appeared worn and weathered as brighter, unnatural sparks flew from the impact of the evil blade. His swords landed on the wooden pier, lodged into the wood. He frantically raised up his hands and the blades were shuddering, prying themselves off as if his hands were giant magnets.

At the same time, the woman whipped the elongated sword from one side to the other, missing the pirate by inches. He caught hold of the two blades. He was charging some form of dark energy that seemed to turn his pale skin into a purplish pallor. The weapons he held, the evil blade in particular, shone even brighter, an eye opening from its center near the hilt.

The cursed sword! It is trying to regain strength through his fragment. I must not allow it!

The woman, vowing to never let that sword exist, let out a guttural yell, letting all her strength reside in her arms. She pulled the sword back, the whip retracting like a spring. With a charge similar to that of the pirate's, the two were just milliseconds away from unleashing their attacks to the fullest.

"Extend!" commanded the woman, her short silvery, purplish hair wavering from both the strong winds and the dark energy surrounding her. And the pirate, her father, came shooting toward her, spinning at an insanely inhumane speed, his swords outstretched. The impact of her spiraling whip-blade would have torn him to shreds at the speed he was going, but he edged the her left, bouncing off a wall and spinning in midair.

"May you rest in the darkest of seas. . ." the man saluted. The woman turned to see where he drifted to and saw as much as heard the gun go off, the weapon concealed carefully on his smaller blade.

Damn, I forgot, move, move. . .

She somersaulted, landing in a crouch, her weapon weaving side to side in disapproval of the attack.

"Follow him!" again she dictated, and her sword wrapped itself around the adrift pirate's leg. She tugged down, pulling him back into her range of attacks. As he recovered from the fall, she had gained a few meters, enough to unleash her Summon Suffering. With her metal-gloved left hand, she grabbed hold of his throat, her sword no longer needing a command for what to do next. The segments of her blade went wild, slicing in and out of the evil man's abnormally discolored body. Many holes formed in his chest, abdomen, legs, and arms, blood pouring out seconds later out of the sheer speed.

The man fell limply to the ground. His swords, too, fell, as if his life, his soul, were embedded within them. Her sword came back together into one solid blade again. As she neared him, he muttered something, surprisingly not out of anger.

"I-Isabella. . . ? D-don't. . . for. . .give. . .me. . ."

The wretched man was dead, at last. The first thing she did was approach the fragment of Soul Edge he wielded. It took all remaining strength within her as she raised her sword up high.

"As for you, you bastard, it's time for you demise!"

The crunch of the shattering sword seemed to stab at her, too; she also bore the blood of the cursed sword through her veins. But at the end, she'd recover. Despite her fate, which she knew all too well, she wanted to live a bit longer.

She took one last look at the man that was her true father. As an adopted child, she would have felt something of longing and anger for this man. However, her only feelings were that of bittersweet remorse and karmic justice. She had hated the man with all her might. Only a tiny part of her felt even the slightest pity for the demon.

"Good bye, Cervantes De Leon. . ." she whispered, knowing by the change in the weather that she had done this world a good deed. Her duty was almost completed.