Fiction –Working Title
Disclaimer: All the characters used in this fiction are the property of their respective owners, while I'm just borrowing them for this. I'm not making any profit off this – just having fun.
Warning: There's violence, cursing, and some gore.
Author's Note: This is an attempt of mine to create a SC2 fiction that uses all characters – even the console exclusive versions – as integral parts of the story. As such, some character oddities can be noticed, along with a few other things.
Prologue
It began...with a sword.
It was a sword of great evil, sought out by many for centuries.
Many were corrupted or destroyed by it, but that didn't diminish the desire of those who had yet to obtain it.
However, this quest for the sword was not limited by time, space, or even death. Such was the nature of its power.
But it is not necessary for me to explain this to you.
Only for me to tell you of the battle itself.
The battle to determine the possession of the Soul Edge.
----------------
It started long ago, when the Merchant of Death, Vercci, sent an agent to find the Soul Edge, a Spanish pirate named Cervantes. He slaughtered and pillaged in his quest, but find hide nor hair of the Sword of Salvation did he find.
Finally, he found his prize, and grasped the hilt.
That was when the terror began.
---------------
The Soul Edge turned Cervantes into its puppet, using the bloodthirsty pirate to gather souls for itself, and to await the coming of the child of the evil sword. This went on for more than a decade, before suddenly stopping.
Cervantes, and the Soul Edge, resurfaced again, and once more began killing.
This time however, there was a new generation of warriors seeking either the power of the Soul Edge, or the destruction of the cursed weapon.
It was a young woman from Athens, Sophitia, who finally defeated Cervantes, and shattered the Soul Edge, though at some risk to herself.
That wasn't the end of it, though.
There were other adventures, other tales, happening at the same time, of course. One of these was of a young mercenary and thief named Siegfried. He was born of a German father, a kind knight who fought for what he believed was right. He taught his son how to fight, and of the art of the sword, but what he couldn't teach him was the difference between right and wrong, as Siegfried became a thief, leading a band called Shwartzwind.
One fateful night, he and his men attacked a group of weary knights, slaughtering them, Siegfried killing the commander himself.
When the light of the moon hit the severed head in his hands, the youth was horrified to see his father's dead eyes looking up at his.
Siegfried went insane, and began deluding himself, trying to believe that another man had killed his father, and that he needed the Soul Edge to avenge him.
After Cervantes' death, Siegfried found the corpse of the pirate, and what was left of the Soul Edge. When he reached for the hilt, the corpse caught fire, and became Inferno, a physical manifestation of the sword's evil. Even though Siegfried's sword was a massive blade, he wielded it easily, and overcame Inferno.
When he finally grabbed the broken sword, he thought his journey was at an end.
Instead, his nightmare began.
The evil of the blade infested his mind, and turned him into Nightmare, a living, breathing extension of the sword's evil, even more than Cervantes.
For years, Nightmare cut a swath through Europe, claiming countless lives and souls for his sword, before the warriors rose again to battle him.
Unlike Cervantes, however, Nightmare had followers....Ivy Valentine, a young Englishwoman who's family had been disgraced by her father's insanity...Lizardman, once a warrior of the Gods, now a twisted reptilian freak....and Astaroth, a massive bulk of a man, an executioner loyal to his armored master.
It was another warrior who defeated Inferno when he rose again, Xianghua, with the mighty Soul Calibur, the sword opposite to the Soul Edge.
Upon his defeat, Inferno was vanquished, Soul Edge reduced to pieces, and the Soul Calibur lost to the Void.
That still was not the end of it.
That was only the beginning....
---------
Let us now switch the scene to another place, another world.
This world is different from ours, and its development will mirror that of our own, but will also produce much more fantastic things than we can ever dream of.
But that is not now, nor is it this small kingdom.
The kingdom of Hyrule.
-----------
The skies, once clear and blue, are now clouded and dark. Lightning flashes and thunder echoes in the place of the Sun and the sounds of the wildlife, and Faeries. The people cower in terror, and the hope that someone will stop this dwindles slowly.
But, sometimes miracles do happen.
----------
The eye of this particular storm was a wizard, using his magicks to bring Hyrule to its knees. Waves of dark power radiated from his robed body as he floated above the ground. His dark cowl covered his face from view, and his eyes were a dark glowing red.
"I WILL RULE EVERYTHING!" he bellowed, making his way towards the castle town. He was closing in on it when the drawbridge was raised in an attempt to keep him out.
"Do you honestly think this...piece of mere WOOD can hold out one such as myself?!" he laughed, lightning flowing between his fingertips, sparking and flashing as he pointed at the barrier before him.
A flare of blinding white light, and an explosion followed.
When the flare died away, the drawbridge was completely destroyed, flaming pieces of wood and melting chain links falling to the ground and in the moat, sending up gouts of steam. The armored guard behind the drawbridge blinked, then ran for it, screaming in terror.
Still guffawing, the magician floated to the entryway, when suddenly something whished through the air and struck a part of the wall next to his right hand. Looking, the floating being saw an arrow, still quivering, embedded in between two of the large stones that made up a part of the wall. He swiveled around, and glared as a figure on horseback rode towards him, lining up another shot.
The figure was a young man with blonde hair framing his face, a pointed green cap that fell back over his head, long pointed ears with sapphire earrings, a deep green tunic, white pants, a white shirt, brown leather boots, similarly-made leather gauntlets with the top halves of the fingers cut off, and a black belt around his waist. Strapped over his chest was a leather belt attached to a sheathed sword that hung from his back, and a shield was strapped over that. The horse was a deep brownish-red, with a white/black mane and a fierce stride.
"Stalling for time, huh? Should've known..." the mage grumbled, turning to face his new foe. "They send you out to get me because they can't do it, right?"
Another arrow went flying, this one striking the sorcerer in the chest, directly above his heart. He just yanked it out, a crimson flower spreading across his chest. The Hylian on horseback yanked back on the reins, stopping his horse and blinking his deep blue eyes.
"Is that all you have, Hero-boy?" the mage replied, his voice beginning to bubble. "You've got to have something better than that."
With a cry, the green-clothed youth leapt off of his horse and drew his sword and shield, staring down the magical creature with all his might. The other landed on the ground, coughing faintly.
"Come on...brat...show me what you've got..." he wheezed, hand over the still- bleeding chest wound, as he began to move forwards.
The young man slowly began moving in a small circle, shield raised to defend himself. The sorcerer sent out a weak blast of lightning that carried through the metal, and shocked the swordsman. He let out a weak cry, and fell to the ground, wisps of smoke rising up from his body.
Incredulous, the wizard walked over to the body, and shook his head, rolling it over with his foot.
"I didn't think he was that wea—UUKK!!" he gurgled, as the Hylian's sword plunged into his chest, a shocked look on his face as a trickle of blood ran over his lips. He staggered back, the sword pulling free, as the boy stood, a grim smile on his face. The magician fell to the ground, moaned, and then died, his blood pooling around him.
The swordsman sheathed his weapon, and walked over to the body, his eyes sad and his shoulders slumped. The royal guard peered out, and, with a note of awe in his voice, began to tell the others.
Soon, the sounds of loud cheering could be heard.
Cheers for the hero of Hyrule, Link.
---------
It was later, after the skies had returned to normal, and the harmony of nature had been restored, that Link could be found in the Temple of Time, fingering a small metal fragment and studying it intensely.
It was most definitely metal, but it also had an organic, living quality – for it pulsed in his fingers, and grew larger after the death of the man who had possessed its power.
There was only one explanation: The fragment had been responsible for the chaos in Hyrule, not the late mage. All of Link's research (done in the castle's library) only produced vague answers....references to a weapon known as the Sword of Heroes, and how all who possessed it failed to control its powers.
Link could feel the evil emanating from the shard in his fingers, something far greater than anything he had encountered before...worse than Gannon, worse than Majora...something that not only endangered Hyrule, but also another world...
His empty hand trailed down to his belt, where his Ocarina was tucked, and brought it out. The youth's eyes went from the shard, to the Ocarina, and back to the shard again.
He knew what he had to do...
Mere minutes later, the sacred temple was empty, save for the faint, fast- fading notes of an Ocarina...
-----------
In yet another time, another place, a man is betrayed, and killed by those he followed with near-blind allegiance. But that is not the end of his story.
No, it is merely the beginning...
------------
The man and a great Demon – a Lord of Hell – are striking a bargain, to make a deal that suits them both.
"You shall lead my army, and in return, I will return you to the land of the living," the demon says. The man, his skin burnt away, with blackened muscles and veins very visible, but not in pain, nods.
"I will lead you army...anything for her..."
"Excellent. But before I fulfill my part of the bargain, I want you to bring me something very...special...something that doesn't exist in this time." The Demon rubbed its massive hands together, grinning evilly at the charred figure before him.
"What?"
"The Soul Edge...bring me the Soul Edge! And I will complete my part of the deal!"
Then, with a flash of light, the not-man was gone.
----------
When his eyes opened again, the not-man's eyes opened, one of his hands going to his head.
"What the Hell...was that?" he muttered, a stabbing pain coursing through his mind. He tried to remember, but...his mind was almost a near-blank. Frantically he went through his memories, and found himself forgetting more than he could remember.
He stood, and looked around, a sickening sensation rising through him, the urge to vomit coming upon him.
He was...in what looked like an old cathedral...
It was made of stone, but many parts of it were ruined, and there was no roof over his head. Looking around more, he saw that a deep chasm ran through it...a space where the floor on his level had been destroyed, resulting in a very steep fall that would turn anyone into pizza.
He also saw that somehow, many of the stained glass windows had survived whatever had happened...
"What...?" He saw something then, in one of the windows. Walking forward, he found himself standing in front of it, and...
"Dear God, no..."
He saw his reflection, a nightmarish vision that defied all reason.
Over his face was a black mask, with two large white patches that resembled the wings of a bat, and a black costume with a large white M on the chest that connected to one on the back. Two skulls were on his upper chest, just below his collarbone, with a thick chain running from one mouth to the other, and a slightly-tattered red cape around him, moving as though it were alive. Another skull was on his waist, two chains hanging from it but not touching the ground. His right arm wore a heavy red spiked gauntlet, and a chain wrapped around his biceps. His left bicep had a band of red leather with spikes emerging from it on, and his left arm had two more straps of similar design, and a smaller one around his hand, two spikes rising up from it. His right leg had only a large red spiked boot, thick as a tree trunk at the base, but growing smaller as it neared his knee, and his left had a large, plain-looking red leather strap around the upper thigh, a chain looped around his lower thigh, two spiked straps around his lower leg, and another plain one around his foot.
He pulled off the mask, and swallowed heavily, his green eyes staring into the face of a corpse...a living, breathing, rotting corpse.
He fell to his knees, and screamed.
"WANDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
-----------
In yet another place, another warrior is drawn into this tale of souls and swords.
This place is a mountain hot springs resort, and the warrior is a man known around the world as the "King of Iron Fist."
His gray hair points up in two directions, his eyes fierce and glaring, his body muscular and tanned, scarred from decades of combat in the arena of the world. His clothing was simple, a pair of gi pants, wooden sandals, and matching armguards.
His name is Heihachi Mishima, and he is a great warrior, one of the most strongest men to walk the Earth.
Accompanying him is a large brown bear wearing a red kerchief around its neck, looking around with its dark eyes and wearing as much of a smile as any bear could.
Heihachi looked over at Kuma, his faithful pet and sparring partner, and grunted, "So what do you think?"
The bear looked thoughtful, then shrugged, and moved forwards, entering the resort. The sounds of screaming could be heard, but that mattered not to Heihachi Mishima as he walked inside, content with his pet's decision.
--------------
Later, Heihachi was resting when he became bored. Kuma, on the other hand, was asleep, and his master was content to leave him thus.
Walking around, Heihachi found himself standing before a small shrine, faded and dirty. Something inside called to him, and, without hesitating, he slid the door open and walked inside.
Resting on a small pedestal was a piece of metal, old and tarnish from the centuries. Around it were many wall scrolls, all telling more or less the same tale.
Heihachi's pulse quickened as he read them, and looked back to the metal.
According to the scrolls, it was a fragment of a weapon called the Soul Edge, and many battles had been fought over it.
He reached out to touch it, but in his haste he threw caution to the wind, and cut himself.
He brought his hand back, amazed, then felt his head swim, and fell to the ground, unconscious.
It was many hours later when Heihachi awoke, but he did not find himself in a small shrine. Instead, he awoke in a massive temple.
Looking around, he looked at the rich tapestries, and the scrolls, and took in a deep breath.
Heihachi was a man of privilege, and the world.
He knew that these things were all from the 16th Century...but they did not bear the damage and wearing that the ones he had seen before had...which could mean only one thing...
His heart pounding in his ears, he ran outside, and, to his ever-growing excitement, not a trace of the resort did he find.
It was true.
He WAS in the 16th Century!
He continued to think, and realized that he was in the era of the Soul Edge, when great battles were fought by near-legendary beings.
He also realized he had to get home...
But the thrill of worthy adversaries called to him, and he continued to walk, a growing smile on his face.
--------------
Elsewhere, in the same era, but in a much different place, a small town is laid to waste by a dead man.
Everywhere there are bodies strewn about, flames licking at the sky, and the cries of the dying and injured fill the air.
Standing in the midst of this is the dead man, his skin purple, his hair a deep white color, his clothing black, the outfitting of a Spanish brigand, a dark hat with a large feather on his head, and a slightly-lighter toned jacket hanging around his shoulders as he grips a long sword in one hand, and a pistol sword in the other. The long sword has an organic look to it, and a faint blue energy crackled around it.
"What a paltry offering..." he muttered loudly, his voice accented. "These souls are pathetic...not worthy of you, my Soul Edge..."
His eyes were glowing, and he turned on one black-booted heel, walking through the flames.
He is Cervantes.
He will once again hold the complete Soul Edge....but this time, HE will be its master, not it his.
-------------
In a darkened place once used for worship, a young man cries, lamenting his fate.
His right arm is a brown and red twisted thing, with three claws instead of five fingers, and he wears a suit of blue armor, his long red hair emerging from the back of his helmet, his skin a dark color, and a large sword in his hands.
The sword is massive, with a large eye near the base.
It is the Soul Edge, and the young man in a knight's armor is Nightmare.
He is at war with himself, the part of him that is Siegfried at war with the evil of the sword that he still holds in his hands.
He is losing the battle, as he has been slowly for four years, the part of him that is still good becoming overwhelmed by Nightmare.
Tears run from his blood red eyes as he finally lets go, letting the evil control him again.
With only the sound of his armor shifting, Nightmare stands, and turns, walking away, holding the Soul Edge in his normal hand, his gaze no longer sad, but determined and angry.
The Soul Edge calls for souls, and Nightmare will collect them, as well as the missing fragments of the sword that has taken away his humanity and his soul.
Disclaimer: All the characters used in this fiction are the property of their respective owners, while I'm just borrowing them for this. I'm not making any profit off this – just having fun.
Warning: There's violence, cursing, and some gore.
Author's Note: This is an attempt of mine to create a SC2 fiction that uses all characters – even the console exclusive versions – as integral parts of the story. As such, some character oddities can be noticed, along with a few other things.
Prologue
It began...with a sword.
It was a sword of great evil, sought out by many for centuries.
Many were corrupted or destroyed by it, but that didn't diminish the desire of those who had yet to obtain it.
However, this quest for the sword was not limited by time, space, or even death. Such was the nature of its power.
But it is not necessary for me to explain this to you.
Only for me to tell you of the battle itself.
The battle to determine the possession of the Soul Edge.
----------------
It started long ago, when the Merchant of Death, Vercci, sent an agent to find the Soul Edge, a Spanish pirate named Cervantes. He slaughtered and pillaged in his quest, but find hide nor hair of the Sword of Salvation did he find.
Finally, he found his prize, and grasped the hilt.
That was when the terror began.
---------------
The Soul Edge turned Cervantes into its puppet, using the bloodthirsty pirate to gather souls for itself, and to await the coming of the child of the evil sword. This went on for more than a decade, before suddenly stopping.
Cervantes, and the Soul Edge, resurfaced again, and once more began killing.
This time however, there was a new generation of warriors seeking either the power of the Soul Edge, or the destruction of the cursed weapon.
It was a young woman from Athens, Sophitia, who finally defeated Cervantes, and shattered the Soul Edge, though at some risk to herself.
That wasn't the end of it, though.
There were other adventures, other tales, happening at the same time, of course. One of these was of a young mercenary and thief named Siegfried. He was born of a German father, a kind knight who fought for what he believed was right. He taught his son how to fight, and of the art of the sword, but what he couldn't teach him was the difference between right and wrong, as Siegfried became a thief, leading a band called Shwartzwind.
One fateful night, he and his men attacked a group of weary knights, slaughtering them, Siegfried killing the commander himself.
When the light of the moon hit the severed head in his hands, the youth was horrified to see his father's dead eyes looking up at his.
Siegfried went insane, and began deluding himself, trying to believe that another man had killed his father, and that he needed the Soul Edge to avenge him.
After Cervantes' death, Siegfried found the corpse of the pirate, and what was left of the Soul Edge. When he reached for the hilt, the corpse caught fire, and became Inferno, a physical manifestation of the sword's evil. Even though Siegfried's sword was a massive blade, he wielded it easily, and overcame Inferno.
When he finally grabbed the broken sword, he thought his journey was at an end.
Instead, his nightmare began.
The evil of the blade infested his mind, and turned him into Nightmare, a living, breathing extension of the sword's evil, even more than Cervantes.
For years, Nightmare cut a swath through Europe, claiming countless lives and souls for his sword, before the warriors rose again to battle him.
Unlike Cervantes, however, Nightmare had followers....Ivy Valentine, a young Englishwoman who's family had been disgraced by her father's insanity...Lizardman, once a warrior of the Gods, now a twisted reptilian freak....and Astaroth, a massive bulk of a man, an executioner loyal to his armored master.
It was another warrior who defeated Inferno when he rose again, Xianghua, with the mighty Soul Calibur, the sword opposite to the Soul Edge.
Upon his defeat, Inferno was vanquished, Soul Edge reduced to pieces, and the Soul Calibur lost to the Void.
That still was not the end of it.
That was only the beginning....
---------
Let us now switch the scene to another place, another world.
This world is different from ours, and its development will mirror that of our own, but will also produce much more fantastic things than we can ever dream of.
But that is not now, nor is it this small kingdom.
The kingdom of Hyrule.
-----------
The skies, once clear and blue, are now clouded and dark. Lightning flashes and thunder echoes in the place of the Sun and the sounds of the wildlife, and Faeries. The people cower in terror, and the hope that someone will stop this dwindles slowly.
But, sometimes miracles do happen.
----------
The eye of this particular storm was a wizard, using his magicks to bring Hyrule to its knees. Waves of dark power radiated from his robed body as he floated above the ground. His dark cowl covered his face from view, and his eyes were a dark glowing red.
"I WILL RULE EVERYTHING!" he bellowed, making his way towards the castle town. He was closing in on it when the drawbridge was raised in an attempt to keep him out.
"Do you honestly think this...piece of mere WOOD can hold out one such as myself?!" he laughed, lightning flowing between his fingertips, sparking and flashing as he pointed at the barrier before him.
A flare of blinding white light, and an explosion followed.
When the flare died away, the drawbridge was completely destroyed, flaming pieces of wood and melting chain links falling to the ground and in the moat, sending up gouts of steam. The armored guard behind the drawbridge blinked, then ran for it, screaming in terror.
Still guffawing, the magician floated to the entryway, when suddenly something whished through the air and struck a part of the wall next to his right hand. Looking, the floating being saw an arrow, still quivering, embedded in between two of the large stones that made up a part of the wall. He swiveled around, and glared as a figure on horseback rode towards him, lining up another shot.
The figure was a young man with blonde hair framing his face, a pointed green cap that fell back over his head, long pointed ears with sapphire earrings, a deep green tunic, white pants, a white shirt, brown leather boots, similarly-made leather gauntlets with the top halves of the fingers cut off, and a black belt around his waist. Strapped over his chest was a leather belt attached to a sheathed sword that hung from his back, and a shield was strapped over that. The horse was a deep brownish-red, with a white/black mane and a fierce stride.
"Stalling for time, huh? Should've known..." the mage grumbled, turning to face his new foe. "They send you out to get me because they can't do it, right?"
Another arrow went flying, this one striking the sorcerer in the chest, directly above his heart. He just yanked it out, a crimson flower spreading across his chest. The Hylian on horseback yanked back on the reins, stopping his horse and blinking his deep blue eyes.
"Is that all you have, Hero-boy?" the mage replied, his voice beginning to bubble. "You've got to have something better than that."
With a cry, the green-clothed youth leapt off of his horse and drew his sword and shield, staring down the magical creature with all his might. The other landed on the ground, coughing faintly.
"Come on...brat...show me what you've got..." he wheezed, hand over the still- bleeding chest wound, as he began to move forwards.
The young man slowly began moving in a small circle, shield raised to defend himself. The sorcerer sent out a weak blast of lightning that carried through the metal, and shocked the swordsman. He let out a weak cry, and fell to the ground, wisps of smoke rising up from his body.
Incredulous, the wizard walked over to the body, and shook his head, rolling it over with his foot.
"I didn't think he was that wea—UUKK!!" he gurgled, as the Hylian's sword plunged into his chest, a shocked look on his face as a trickle of blood ran over his lips. He staggered back, the sword pulling free, as the boy stood, a grim smile on his face. The magician fell to the ground, moaned, and then died, his blood pooling around him.
The swordsman sheathed his weapon, and walked over to the body, his eyes sad and his shoulders slumped. The royal guard peered out, and, with a note of awe in his voice, began to tell the others.
Soon, the sounds of loud cheering could be heard.
Cheers for the hero of Hyrule, Link.
---------
It was later, after the skies had returned to normal, and the harmony of nature had been restored, that Link could be found in the Temple of Time, fingering a small metal fragment and studying it intensely.
It was most definitely metal, but it also had an organic, living quality – for it pulsed in his fingers, and grew larger after the death of the man who had possessed its power.
There was only one explanation: The fragment had been responsible for the chaos in Hyrule, not the late mage. All of Link's research (done in the castle's library) only produced vague answers....references to a weapon known as the Sword of Heroes, and how all who possessed it failed to control its powers.
Link could feel the evil emanating from the shard in his fingers, something far greater than anything he had encountered before...worse than Gannon, worse than Majora...something that not only endangered Hyrule, but also another world...
His empty hand trailed down to his belt, where his Ocarina was tucked, and brought it out. The youth's eyes went from the shard, to the Ocarina, and back to the shard again.
He knew what he had to do...
Mere minutes later, the sacred temple was empty, save for the faint, fast- fading notes of an Ocarina...
-----------
In yet another time, another place, a man is betrayed, and killed by those he followed with near-blind allegiance. But that is not the end of his story.
No, it is merely the beginning...
------------
The man and a great Demon – a Lord of Hell – are striking a bargain, to make a deal that suits them both.
"You shall lead my army, and in return, I will return you to the land of the living," the demon says. The man, his skin burnt away, with blackened muscles and veins very visible, but not in pain, nods.
"I will lead you army...anything for her..."
"Excellent. But before I fulfill my part of the bargain, I want you to bring me something very...special...something that doesn't exist in this time." The Demon rubbed its massive hands together, grinning evilly at the charred figure before him.
"What?"
"The Soul Edge...bring me the Soul Edge! And I will complete my part of the deal!"
Then, with a flash of light, the not-man was gone.
----------
When his eyes opened again, the not-man's eyes opened, one of his hands going to his head.
"What the Hell...was that?" he muttered, a stabbing pain coursing through his mind. He tried to remember, but...his mind was almost a near-blank. Frantically he went through his memories, and found himself forgetting more than he could remember.
He stood, and looked around, a sickening sensation rising through him, the urge to vomit coming upon him.
He was...in what looked like an old cathedral...
It was made of stone, but many parts of it were ruined, and there was no roof over his head. Looking around more, he saw that a deep chasm ran through it...a space where the floor on his level had been destroyed, resulting in a very steep fall that would turn anyone into pizza.
He also saw that somehow, many of the stained glass windows had survived whatever had happened...
"What...?" He saw something then, in one of the windows. Walking forward, he found himself standing in front of it, and...
"Dear God, no..."
He saw his reflection, a nightmarish vision that defied all reason.
Over his face was a black mask, with two large white patches that resembled the wings of a bat, and a black costume with a large white M on the chest that connected to one on the back. Two skulls were on his upper chest, just below his collarbone, with a thick chain running from one mouth to the other, and a slightly-tattered red cape around him, moving as though it were alive. Another skull was on his waist, two chains hanging from it but not touching the ground. His right arm wore a heavy red spiked gauntlet, and a chain wrapped around his biceps. His left bicep had a band of red leather with spikes emerging from it on, and his left arm had two more straps of similar design, and a smaller one around his hand, two spikes rising up from it. His right leg had only a large red spiked boot, thick as a tree trunk at the base, but growing smaller as it neared his knee, and his left had a large, plain-looking red leather strap around the upper thigh, a chain looped around his lower thigh, two spiked straps around his lower leg, and another plain one around his foot.
He pulled off the mask, and swallowed heavily, his green eyes staring into the face of a corpse...a living, breathing, rotting corpse.
He fell to his knees, and screamed.
"WANDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
-----------
In yet another place, another warrior is drawn into this tale of souls and swords.
This place is a mountain hot springs resort, and the warrior is a man known around the world as the "King of Iron Fist."
His gray hair points up in two directions, his eyes fierce and glaring, his body muscular and tanned, scarred from decades of combat in the arena of the world. His clothing was simple, a pair of gi pants, wooden sandals, and matching armguards.
His name is Heihachi Mishima, and he is a great warrior, one of the most strongest men to walk the Earth.
Accompanying him is a large brown bear wearing a red kerchief around its neck, looking around with its dark eyes and wearing as much of a smile as any bear could.
Heihachi looked over at Kuma, his faithful pet and sparring partner, and grunted, "So what do you think?"
The bear looked thoughtful, then shrugged, and moved forwards, entering the resort. The sounds of screaming could be heard, but that mattered not to Heihachi Mishima as he walked inside, content with his pet's decision.
--------------
Later, Heihachi was resting when he became bored. Kuma, on the other hand, was asleep, and his master was content to leave him thus.
Walking around, Heihachi found himself standing before a small shrine, faded and dirty. Something inside called to him, and, without hesitating, he slid the door open and walked inside.
Resting on a small pedestal was a piece of metal, old and tarnish from the centuries. Around it were many wall scrolls, all telling more or less the same tale.
Heihachi's pulse quickened as he read them, and looked back to the metal.
According to the scrolls, it was a fragment of a weapon called the Soul Edge, and many battles had been fought over it.
He reached out to touch it, but in his haste he threw caution to the wind, and cut himself.
He brought his hand back, amazed, then felt his head swim, and fell to the ground, unconscious.
It was many hours later when Heihachi awoke, but he did not find himself in a small shrine. Instead, he awoke in a massive temple.
Looking around, he looked at the rich tapestries, and the scrolls, and took in a deep breath.
Heihachi was a man of privilege, and the world.
He knew that these things were all from the 16th Century...but they did not bear the damage and wearing that the ones he had seen before had...which could mean only one thing...
His heart pounding in his ears, he ran outside, and, to his ever-growing excitement, not a trace of the resort did he find.
It was true.
He WAS in the 16th Century!
He continued to think, and realized that he was in the era of the Soul Edge, when great battles were fought by near-legendary beings.
He also realized he had to get home...
But the thrill of worthy adversaries called to him, and he continued to walk, a growing smile on his face.
--------------
Elsewhere, in the same era, but in a much different place, a small town is laid to waste by a dead man.
Everywhere there are bodies strewn about, flames licking at the sky, and the cries of the dying and injured fill the air.
Standing in the midst of this is the dead man, his skin purple, his hair a deep white color, his clothing black, the outfitting of a Spanish brigand, a dark hat with a large feather on his head, and a slightly-lighter toned jacket hanging around his shoulders as he grips a long sword in one hand, and a pistol sword in the other. The long sword has an organic look to it, and a faint blue energy crackled around it.
"What a paltry offering..." he muttered loudly, his voice accented. "These souls are pathetic...not worthy of you, my Soul Edge..."
His eyes were glowing, and he turned on one black-booted heel, walking through the flames.
He is Cervantes.
He will once again hold the complete Soul Edge....but this time, HE will be its master, not it his.
-------------
In a darkened place once used for worship, a young man cries, lamenting his fate.
His right arm is a brown and red twisted thing, with three claws instead of five fingers, and he wears a suit of blue armor, his long red hair emerging from the back of his helmet, his skin a dark color, and a large sword in his hands.
The sword is massive, with a large eye near the base.
It is the Soul Edge, and the young man in a knight's armor is Nightmare.
He is at war with himself, the part of him that is Siegfried at war with the evil of the sword that he still holds in his hands.
He is losing the battle, as he has been slowly for four years, the part of him that is still good becoming overwhelmed by Nightmare.
Tears run from his blood red eyes as he finally lets go, letting the evil control him again.
With only the sound of his armor shifting, Nightmare stands, and turns, walking away, holding the Soul Edge in his normal hand, his gaze no longer sad, but determined and angry.
The Soul Edge calls for souls, and Nightmare will collect them, as well as the missing fragments of the sword that has taken away his humanity and his soul.