Chapter 1: Darkness Reborn

Siegfried Schtauffen lay awake in bed. This was not the first time his thoughts had disrupted his sleep and it would certainly not be the last. And to think that only an hour ago he had been sleeping peacefully. That is, of course, until his reoccurring dream returned for what had to be the hundredth time.

Nearly every night it was the same dream: he stood in a temple, fully clad in armor, wielding the terrible sword, Soul Edge. Thick mist appeared around him. From this mist a man and a women would appear. After a fruitless battle, night after night, he would nearly be slain by the man, and the woman would destroy Soul Edge right before his eyes. It was then that the void would open, swallowing him, a few fragments of Soul Edge, and the women's sword, which he now realized was Soul Calibur.

The void would then seal itself, leaving him trapped within. It was here that Siegfried was forced to experience visions of the countless sins he had committed. Among these was the murder of his father. Siegfried was not proud of these memories. He had, in fact, acted under the influence of Soul Edge. In a sense, he was only partially responsible for these acts — it had been the will of the sword. However, this did little to put his troubled heart at ease.

Siegfried was also furious at himself for falling under Soul Edge's control. He had first encountered the evil sword long ago, lying at the feet of a dead pirate. As he approached, hellfire consumed the corpse, and it sprang to life. Using every ounce of his strength, he succeeded in defeating the being which he later dubbed, "Inferno." With Inferno gone, he picked up the sword.

Although Soul Edge uttered no words, Siegfried could sense that the sword was talking to him. He was sure of it. It asked him to feed it souls, for only then could it grow stronger. It promised to revive his father, so he followed its orders. He was a fool.

Before long, he was completely under the sword's control. He ceased to be Siegfried and became Nightmare — the evil knight that would throw all of Europe into a state of terror. Much too late, he realized that the sword never intended to bring back his father, nor did it have the power.

At the height of his reign of terror, he was defeated and Soul Edge was shattered. And so, released form Soul Edge's control, he found himself lost in the void where he was nearly driven insane.

That was four years ago. Now he new better. Before, he was foolish enough to believe he had seen the last of that fiery creature. Of course, he now knew this was not so. In fact, he was well aware that Inferno was indeed the living essence of the sword taking on a human-like form. He would never be rid of Inferno for it lived on within the pieces of the sword. It would only die if Soul Edge were destroyed.

Unfortunately, he was also aware just how difficult a task that would prove to be. He had tried. You must remember that the pure sword, Soul Calibur, had been trapped in the void as well. Siegfried had attempted to eliminate his fragments of Soul Edge, but to no avail. He feared the reason was that Soul Edge could not be destroyed in its current state. Or perhaps, it was because Soul Calibur was weakening.

Overexposure to the fragments had poisoned Soul Calibur for the last four years. The once good sword was not clearly its former self: it had started to emit an evil aura (though not quite as strongly as Soul Edge) and a monstrous eye had appeared on the blade just above the handle as a mark of Soul Edge's influence. Even now, its power continued to wane.

Siegfried feared that Soul Calibur was his only way of completely wiping out Soul Edge. As soon he had broken through the void, he had hidden it in the very castle where it had defeated him. Finally aware Soul Edge's control over him was growing once more, he Soul Calibur in the castle to prevent himself (more specifically, Nightmare) from destroying it.

It was a good thing that he had done so, for he had nearly collected enough fragments to create a weak version of the malevolent blade. He knew that it would regain its control over him very soon now.

Realizing that his thoughts would not permit him to go back to sleep, he left the room. He headed to the door of the house, wanting to feel the cool, night air in his face. It had been a stroke of luck that he had found this house. The family here had been kind enough to let him spend the night. It seemed as though less and less people were willing to allow themselves to get associated with a man like him, and he could see why.

True, they did not realize that he once was (and was becoming again) the dark knight, Nightmare. No, it had been the mere sight of him that frightened them.

His entire right arm, the arm he had used to carry Soul Edge, was mutated beyond recognition. It was nothing less than monster-like, and it was slowly spreading like some terrible disease. On the left side of his chest, there was a single, partially developed eye, which he made sure to keep hidden at all times.

Siegfried was just about to open the front door when something drew his attention. Something was spread across the floor, glistening in the moonlight. He got a closer look and he realized that it was blood. And there, just passed the kitchen table, were the bodies of the residents of the house: a man, a women, and their beloved son. They all laid there, dead, with the looks of utter horror on their faces. Clearly they had been making a run for the door when they died.

He noticed that the man held something clenched tight in his fist. Siegfried pulled it out and dropped it in his palm. It was undoubtably a piece of Soul Edge. He no longer believed to have found the house by luck — it became apparent that he had unknowingly followed the power of Soul Edge. As he held it, the piece began to resonate: he was bathed in red light as it glowed brighter, and then it dimmed. It brightened, and it dimmed. This continued on in an endless fashion.

Again he found himself desiring the destruction of Soul Edge. He deeply feared what it had done to him — what it was still doing. These poor villagers had offered him a place to rest, but in his sleep he was taken over by the loathsome blade only to murder each one of them — all to get yet another piece of the demonic weapon.

Little did he know, but this was just the first in a string of terrible massacres. He could feel the fragment melding with the others. Before his eyes, he witnessed the beginning of a new, stronger Soul Edge. He would have given anything to run away at that moment, but the sword would not so willingly give him up. Siegfried knew — his time was drawing to an end. Soon he would lose all of his control and become Nightmare once again . . . .

Kunpaetku double checked his supplies. He nodded. Yes, he was ready. The high priest stepped up onto the platform, overlooking the alter.

Seven years. Seven years to this date he had first constructed the golem that he named Astaroth. His first attempt at claiming the ultimate weapon, Soul Edge, had failed, but this time things were different. Much different. Before, Astaroth had needed to help Nightmare restrengthen the sword. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. They would wait until it was fully powered, and then steal it from Nightmare. Unfortunately, Astaroth was killed by that fool called Maxi.

Kunpaetku couldn't understand it. How had his powerful creation lose to a weak human like him? Maxi killed Astaroth with nunchaku, for God's sake. Astaroth had been enormous, muscular, and his ax was lethal. So why had he lost?

He shook his head. It didn't matter, he thought. His creature would be stronger this time. Deadlier.

To tell the truth, Kumpaetku had no real interest in Soul Edge. He wanted the sword for another reason. Seven years ago, the God of War, Ares, had commanded him to bring him the evil sword. At the time, Kumpaetku had been to astonished (and frightened) to question the God of War's decision, let alone ask why he wanted it and what he would do once he got it. One thing was for sure: he did not want to disappoint Ares again. And he had a perfect way to make sure he would succeed. He had found several pieces of Soul Edge, and he planed to fuse them with Astaroth's body.

He began the ritual. It was actually fairly simple, although he had done it once before. As he chanted the words, he looked down at the alter below him. A gigantic skeleton littered the floor, with the pieces of Soul Edge concealed within the rib cage. Suddenly, the skeleton began to move. It rose up, hanging in midair as though suspended by invisible cables. Very slowly, organs, muscles, and flesh began to materialize around the bones. The shards started to glow in a rhythmically manner. Finally, at long last, Astaroth took his first breath after four years.

Kumpaetku ran down to the platform, full of excitement. Soul Edge was as good as his. Astaroth would easily collect the scattered pieces, even the ones that Nightmare did not possess. As long as Nightmare remained trapped within the void, nothing could stand in their way, not even that fool of a human, Maxi.

He stepped onto the platform and gazed up at his monstrosity. Astaroth seemed even taller than before. His body was so muscular that it gave him the appearance that he was flexing all of his muscles at once. He wore bizarre shorts, strange bracelets around his arms, and a mask over his mouth. They all appeared to be made of metal. The most unusual feature of the golem was that his heart was on the outside of his body, directly in the center of his chest. There were no veins or arteries attached to it — it was just there. Kumpaetku could hear it beating.

"Astaroth," Kumpeatku greeted him cheerfully, as though speaking to an old friend, "it is so nice to finally stand in your presence once more. I —"

Suddenly, Astaroth's right arm shot forward, grabbing Kumpaetku by the neck. He lifted him into the air. Kumpaetku was terribly shocked. He flailed in the Astaroth's vice-like grasp, and choked out the words, "Astaroth . . . what . . . are you . . . doing?!" He looked Astaroth directly in the eyes, and for the first time he was afraid of his own creation. Astaroth's eyes were pure white. It gave him a most sinister look. Kumpaetku could feel the hand tighten around his neck; he was beginning to have trouble breathing.

Then it hit him — Soul Edge! The shards inside the golem's body had driven him into a murderous rage. There was no other explanation for it. Had Astaroth been acting upon his own, surely he would not attempt to kill his creator.

Astaroth muttered a single word in a deep voice, kind of like a growl. "Kill." Kumpaetku's world went black. He went limp in Astaroth's hand. The golem lost his interest in the man, and flung the body over his shoulder.

Suddenly, he felt lost and confused. He became aware that his memory had faded, and he desperately looked around to find something familiar. As far as he could tell, he had been in this room before, but . . .

There, lying on the ground a few feet away, was his ax. Astaroth recognized it immediately. He picked it up, and his memory flooded back into him. That man he had killed . . . he was his master.

Oh, well. Astaroth felt no regret. No sense of guilt. He simply didn't care — he hadn't been built to have any emotion (except for rage). He remembered that his master has ordered him to bring back Soul Edge. But now that his master was dead . . . he could find Soul Edge and keep it for himself. Astaroth smiled behind his mask. Yes, keep it for himself . . . he liked the sound of that. He hefted the heavy ax onto his shoulder, and walked off.
Cervantes de Leon stared out to sea. Behind him, several bodies littered the floor spilling blood across the deck of the ship. Cervantes did not seem to pay it much attention, or perhaps he did not care. He had been the one who killed them after all. He needed a ship.

It was not like he hadn't done it before. Once he had slaughtered his entire crew to feed their souls to his half of Soul Edge. But that was so long ago. Too long.

He cradled his precious sword, Nirvana in his hands. The old pirate wasn't sure how it had happened. It seemed as though it was only yesterday when he was on top of the world, strengthening his evil sword, preparing to set out to claim the other half. And then, they killed him. Taki and Sophitia. Yes, that was their names. They had made a big deal out of telling him they would be the last ones he would ever see. But they were wrong. Just recently he had awaken to find his demonic blade shattered. Only Nirvana was left.

True, Nirvana was a powerful and unusual weapon. It was a short sword, and it had a pistol built right into the handle. But Cervantes knew its power would never be as Soul Edge. He supposed a few of the shards had flew into his body, finally reviving him after all of these years. Unfortunately, it may be too late. Soul Edge was no more.

He looked down in his palm. He held two pieces of the once strong sword. What could he do with these? They were useless. If he could not have Soul Edge, what was left for him to do?

What point was there in living? He supposed he could always hunt down that pathetic daughter of his. Isabella had made a fool of him before, and she needed to be punished.

Cervantes sighed. Perhaps this renewed life was only temporary? Would it were off soon, leaving him to die again? In a way, he was not truly alive at the moment. Soul Edge had resurrected him into the form of a zombie. He was undead, but he still believed it was possible for him to be killed. He knew he wasn't immortal.

Cervantes looked down at his reflection in the water. He wore the clothes of a buccaneer, including a matching hat. His eyes were a milky, white color. God, it looks like I'm blind, he thought miserably.

Suddenly, the pieces of Soul Edge in his hand began to glow. He looked at them just in time to see them melt together, forming a bigger piece. Cervantes's face lit up, his mouth widening into an evil grin. So, the power lived on in the shards! If he could collect enough of these . . .

The pirate whipped around, adjusting the sail. Life no longer looked so bleak.