Yo there! Hey and welcome to my story! This is my first Soul Calibur fic/onechot. And who would be better to start off my first fic than my fave character, Amy Sorel! *claps* Yes, I love her truly XD.
Anyway, about this fic, I was inspired by Razer Athane's "Silver and Cold", in which the character there is Alisa. I decided to experiment on my style of writing and write more "dark-themed" fics. Hehe
Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Calibur or any of the characters here. If I did, I would change Amy's quotes in her story mode from her in-game quotes into quotes that set up the mood for her story. And I would also give her a COMPLETELY different 2P, not just a recolor. XDDD
Nothing.
She feels nothing. You can see it in her crimson eyes. Nothing. She's a hollow shell.
And yet, when you look at her, you see everything. A young girl whose beauty surpasses the goddesses. Elegance that could make a queen cry. She was a rose in full bloom. A fresh flower in the midst of the dead plants.
But still, she feels nothing. She is cold, ruthless. She doesn't care if you bleed, plea, or die. She is now numb. And you only realize that when it's too late.
Amy Sorel.
She holds Albion by the hilt in her dainty little hands as if she was an expert. And she was. For years she had been taught of the art of fencing by her father. She was quite deadly despite her age. This truly proves she is a rose. She is beautiful indeed, like a rose. But, like any rose, she has her thorns. Albion, her most trusted sword, is her most powerful thorn.
When you lay your eyes at her, you would think that she couldn't cause you a scratch, much less a fatal wound. She was only young. Fourteen years old to be exact. Yet, there's something you feel around her. Her aura had a pinch of hostility and coldness. Silence fills the battle area until she says...
Nobody enjoys losing.
Her small voice resonates throughout the area.
And it was true. Nobody did enjoy losing. And you think, she didn't enjoy losing either. Then you say to yourself, I guess she's not gonna enjoy this fight. You underestimate her. She was only young, and you are an adult, with skills that could make the ancient warriors proud. You mock her. Laugh at her. Encouraging her to give up so she would avoid getting hurt.
She shakes her head and refuses, her luscious red curls swaying around her pale face. She has that look of indifference painted in her eyes. This was quite typical for her. To not show emotion except for her father and guardian.
You laugh at her again. Then, you imagine her limp and bloody body, crawling at your feet, begging for help. You belittle her and discourage her as you admire yourself. She was just a girl, a child. She is weak, you say.
A fatal mistake.
You start by making a swift slash towards her. The slash was powerful, but, where's Amy? D-Did she just evade that fast attack? Then you see her behind you, staring at you with that same emotionless look. She plunges Albion towards your gut. You dodge it, thinking you have just avoided her seemingly "weak" attack. But then it hits you. The tip of Albion scratches the side of your body. You feel white hot pain. You wince. It was only a scratch, but why did it hurt so bad? You touch the wound and feel wetness. You lift your hand to your face and see it stained with crimson that signified pain. Despite that, you still push through. You must not lose.
You turn towards her and see your blood dripping down her sword and on her pale hands. No time to waste now. You step forward and try to stab her. But, to your surprise, she blocks it with Albion. You hear the clank of the two swords and the illuminating sparks of the two blades, yours and hers. You are frozen there in awe. She was trained well, yes. But for her to block an attack that strong and fast? She crouches low and throws a quick lash on your feet. You feel the burning pain and stumble to the ground. You see thick blood ooze from the cuts on your legs.
Realizing your mistake, you try to get up. There, she unleashes her power. Stabs, slashes, and kicks, all executed at great speed! Her attacks showed her grace. It was a mix of fencing and ballet. She sways beautifully, her moves coordinating with her sword. As for helpless little you, you simply struggle, to put it in an understatement. She was hard to fight. Her speed is exceptional, her moves, deadly. Her "Ballet of Death" was too overwhelming.
Thinking quick, you run to her and inflict your best attacks on her. She has no choice but to take the damage. Her dark dress also suffers the same fate. As soon as the fabric was slashes, blood bursts out of her snow white skin and through the dress. But you begin to wonder. Why is she acting like my attacks don't work? She would yelp and groan a bit after being hit, but immediately, she would go back to her stance as if nothing happened. Was she a robot? No, she couldn't be. Her blood was proof of that.
You let out a kick, hoping for it to hit her chest. But as soon as your leg is fully flexed, the young fencer quickly circles around it and slashes the leg again. More blood comes out of the injured leg, and you stumble back, holding your leg in pain. She takes this into her advantage. She uses Albion to slice your mouth. You grab your lips in pain. Blood streams freely down and inside your mouth. You taste the coppery tang, and it stays on your mouth for a while, before you spit it out on the floor.
She then resumes her speed attacks. Her sword sinks lightly on your skin like a knife slicing through butter. You're too tired to dodge it, so your body chooses to endure it.
To protect yourself, you block. You answer her attacks with blocks. Pathetic, you think to yourself. You, the most exceptional warrior of your country, shielding simple sword attacks pitifully? Blocking was part of battle, but to constantly do that? How pathetic. But to survive, you have no choice.
Your eyes meet contact onto hers, and the whole world suddenly stops. Time is seemingly frozen. You see her red eyes that matched the rage of her skill. What's within her eyes, nothing. That emotionless expression was on her face; it was her "signature" look. While you let the tears flow from your eyes due to pain, she continues to stare at you. No sign of love, hatred, pity. Nothing, just nothing.
Soon, you feel fatigue overcome. Her speed was not on the same level; you are slower. You can only rely on your moderate speed and brute attacks, and as such, it is not enough to beat her. Your body slowly gives up. And suddenly...
CRACK
Your armor breaks. It was the only thing that helped you not take in too much damage. Now that your protection is destroyed, you are more prone to danger.
Then, you see Amy twist her body gracefully, similar to a ballet twirl. And before you know it, your painful death begins...
She does a ballet kick, and you have no choice to take it. It had more power, considering she was wearing heels. She then stabs your body swiftly in an extremely fast motion. It hurts. One wound follows another. Pink rose petals flutter out of your body with every stab; this was a part of her finisher. You fall weaker and weaker. You crouch as you slowly drift into unconsciousness, thinking it's over. But then, Amy prepares to strike the coup de grace. She spins her body like a miniature ballet dancer in a music box before thrusting Albion into your head. A fatal strike. You are sent rolling at the other side of the arena. More rose petals rain on the battleground as you hear her words.
Pathetic.
You're practically dead. You are decorated with the deep wounds on your body. Blood flows freely from them. Your vision becomes foggier, your stamina slowly failing. You try to stand up, but you simply can't. You are in too much pain to move. Your life slowly fades away from your fragile and human body. Yet, you can still see her.
Her Gothic Lolita was full of crimson drops. Albion had licks of the thick liquid too. She quickly wiped her blade with her hand. Her face was still pale as ever. But the one thing you notice before breath escapes your body completely are her rose red eyes. They were pleasing, beautiful to look at. But its beauty was never truly complete, because her eyes expressed nothing. No hint of any emotion. Nothing.
She leaves the playground of death. You see her walk towards the darkness until she is no more. The game was over, and you have lost. Sadly, this was not a child's game. This was reality. She won and you lost. Unfortunately, you don't just lose the game, you lose your life.
As you hear the clicking of her laced boots getting softer, you remember her face, the last face you will ever see. The face of numbness. Nothingness. She feels no joy, anger, sorrow, pity, horror, or anything. She feels nothing.
Nothing.
Yay! Finished! So, please R&R. And I accept constructive criticism, as long as it's actually constructive, not flame-y. Oh, and when I was writing this, I imagined Amy fighting at the Throne Room stage in SC4.