((Hello, world of FF! I am Lucky Flip. It's good to be here, and I hope you like my stuff. :3
This is far from my first fic, I have done oneshots left and right, but this is going to be the first chapter fic I've ever seriously worked on, and the first I've ever posted on the Internet. I am a huge fan of Soul Calibur, and of the characters Yoshimitsu and Cervantes from the series. Yoshi is a real hoot, and Cerv is as evil as it gets!
Yoshi: But I, dear audience, am cuter. Dost thou not agree?
Cerv: Riiiiiiight... cute. Keep telling yourself that.
Yoshi: Well, maybe I will! *pouts with arms crossed*
Cerv: Oy... *rubs bridge of nose* Hay algo seriamente mal con usted...
Yoshi: D'AAAAAAAH! I HATE it when thou speak Spanish!
ANYWAY. On with the tale! This first chapter is Cervantes centered. Yoshi gets his limelight in Chapter 2. Please Review!))
Celestina stared out the window at her husband's retreating back. She should have known... Philip could never stay in one place for long, and his love for her and their son sometimes seemed overshadowed by his love for the sea and gambling. A few tears fell from her brown eyes, and she absently began to play with her long, auburn hair.
"Madre, where is Padre going? He promised me he would stay home for my thirteenth birthday! Why is he leaving again?" A young dark-haired, hazel-eyed boy asked. He would not be a boy much longer, in his father's words. At twelve years old, and soon to enter his teen years, he would need to learn the trade of his father soon.
"Because, child, it is his duty to our King and country. He must go where he is told, when he is told to," Celestina replied. This, she knew, was untrue. Philip was indeed a privateer, serving under the King of Spain, but he also left on 'pleasure trips' more often than not. She knew he was lying when he said he needed to go. He just wanted to get away from Valencia, from land, and from his responsibilities as a husband and a father. It hurt her so much to know that he felt this way, that she and their son were nothing more than an obligation that could be escaped.
Nevertheless, their son looked up to the man like nothing else. He wanted to be like him since he was four years old, when he would follow his father around and ask many questions about his last trip. His father seemed all too happy to answer them, telling tales of his adventures at sea fighting the villainous British, and of course, his victories against his crewmates at various games of chance.
Celestina feared that they would soon pay the price for the dreams of grandeur Philip put into Cervantes' head.
~Five Months Later~
The news was devastating indeed, to both wife and son. The letter had come, and Celestina had assumed it was one from Philip, telling of his impending return to Valencia. But when she opened it and read the first line, a wail of grief rose in her throat.
Philip was dead. Killed in an ambush from a British warship disguised as a cargo galleon.
At the grievous sound, Cervantes ran down the stairs, wondering what was wrong with his mother. "Madre! Madre, what happened?" he cried, rushing to his mother's side. His birthday had come and gone, and he had been attempting to live up to the role of "man of the house" while his father was away.
"Cervantes... your father... the British..." Celestina sobbed. That was all she could get out before breaking down again.
"Padre... he's dead?" Cervantes asked, his voice wavering. In spite of his want to be a man so badly, he could not stop a tear. He vehemently wiped it away, not wanting to cry in front of anyone. In spite of this, more tears began falling, which were removed just as viciously.
"Y-yes, son..."
It was then that Cervantes, young though he was, made the decision that would completely alter the course of his life. If this was what happened to those whose allegiances lay with Spain and its King, then he would have no involvement.
Running up to his room, he began to gather a few belongings, still tearful. He always wanted to sail the seas like his father, to slaughter the British who had wronged Spain so many times, and had now wronged him personally. They would pay. They thought they had won the battle against Philip de Leon, but had instead unleashed something infinitely worse than he had ever been...
~Present~
The rain poured down on the deck of the ship, mixing with the blood already soaking it. Corpses littered the wet wood, most of which were dismembered in some way. The captain cowered back into a corner, seeming quite frightened, with a pistol leveled at his assailant. One of his legs was missing, but he would not back down without taking the demon who severed his limb with him.
"Now what to do with you... Ah! I have an idea! You're a betting man, are you not?" The aforementioned demon grinned dementedly, taking a gold coin out from a belt pouch.
"Wha-what... are you tal-talking about?" the captain stammered.
Cervantes chuckled. It would have sounded genuinely amused, were it not for the grisly situation. "Heads, I take you back to that port there..." he gestured with his head to the port that glowed on the horizon faintly through the deluge, "... and get you the help you would need to survive. Tails, I decorate the deck with your entrails." He idly played with the coin between his fingers.
The captain of the French cargo ship darted his eyes toward the port briefly, then returned to meet the pale, featureless eyes of Cervantes. "Ve... Very well." It was his only chance to live, and he would gladly take it, for the sake of his new wife back in Bordeaux.
"There's a good lad."
The coin flew upwards, tumbling through the air, seeming to take an eternity before landing back in the pirate captain's hand. He peered at it, and frowned.
"Dammit!" he swore as his lip curled up in a sneer. This lit a spark of hope in the Frenchman's eyes.
"What is it?" he enquired.
"And here I thought I'd be able to fight you again. It's tails, lad." His sneer turned into a stomach-turning smile as he tossed his weapons aside. This puzzled the young captain. Was he going to kill him with his bare hands, while he himself was holding a pistol?
As the psychotic sailor approached him, he squeezed the trigger and fired at Cervantes. A smoking hole appeared in the middle of his chest... but no blood flowed. He just casually looked down at the bullet hole, an eyebrow raised.
"What... what are you?"
Looking back up, his everpresent grin returned. "One rotten roll of the dice for you."
Any who came upon the scene would find unrecognizably maimed corpses scattered about... one of which held a gold coin in his nearly-severed hand.
((Cerv: Now wasn't that delightful, readers? ... WASN'T IT?
LF: Please review before he goes Davy Jones on all of us! *hides with Yoshi behind the couch*))
