For clarification, this fic takes place between Sleep No More and Face the Raven of Series 9 of Doctor Who. On the Soul Calibur side of things, while this takes place during SCV, it's built off VI and uses many of its story elements while I would discard certain elements from SCV's side. For example, if I were to write Patroklos into this fic, he would be much less of a psychotic jackass as he was in the first half of V's story mode. Fallout's side, well, it's clear in the first chapter.
I can't believe I haven't brought it up earlier. Sorry about that.
Chapter Six: Rejuvenation
Year: 1605
Location: Athens, Ottoman Empire
A clash of blades flashed underneath the bright afternoon sun. The two contestants, locked in combat, struck blow after blow as they were locked in combat. The audience gathered around the ring and looked down below, watching a young man with curly blond hair and pale skin fighting a young woman with olive skin and black hair. They were the finalists in a tournament that honored ancient Greek traditions but with a lack of killing each other.
The young man, Patroklos Alexander, spun his sword around with a confident, and some would say cocky, grin on his face. He raised his shield in front of him, waiting for his opponent to strike. He took a deep breath, then another, to fight off fatigue that had built up throughout this duel. And without missing a beat, his opponent charged at him, kicking the sand around her. He muttered a prayer to the gods. He hoped the training Neve gave him would pay off, as it did so far.
Right as the strike landed on him, Patroklos deflected it with his shield. She struck again, pushing him back with her shield in retaliation. As she swung her sword again, he parried back. With a flick and a twist of his wrist, her sword flew out of her hand. It landed nearby, the blade now embedded in the ground.
The woman knelt. Her brown eyes gave him an almost defiant look as the tip of Patroklos' blade met her neck, pressing at her skin. "Well, would you look at that? I won." Patroklos smirked. "Do you yield?"
The woman sighed before nodding. "Yes."
The crowd above them roared and cheered. "Patroklos! Patroklos! Patroklos!" they bellowed out.
"You fought well, Savvina," said Patroklos as he sheathed his sword into his red shield. He offered the woman, Savvina, his hand and she accepted, helping her get up to her feet.
"Likewise, Patroklos," Savvina replied. "But do you have to be an ass about it?"
Patroklos shrugged. "It's part of an act," he insisted. "You understand."
Savvina rolled her eyes as she picked up her sword. "If you insist."
As the two warriors walked up the stairs out of the arena, the host of the tournament suddenly placed a crown of flowers on his curly head, much to his surprise. At least they smelled nice, Patroklos noted to himself.
He smiled and waved to the crowd as he passed them by. It was nice not to be teased about being the son of Sophitia for once. "Thank you, thank you so much! I'm honored, truly."
What stood among the crowd, was a middle-aged man with a sullen look on his face. He was dressed in blue, a white cloak draped around his shoulders. Blond hair, green eyes, and pale skin were common in Patroklos' family. He and this man, his uncle, were no exception. His uncle's graying hair was swept back, the bangs hanging by the temples of his weathered face.
"Uncle Lucius?" Patroklos approached his uncle. "Did you see me win?"
"Yes, I did. I'm sure your mother would be proud of you," his uncle answered. "But there is something I need to tell you." He took a sharp intake. "Your mother, she—she needs to see you."
Patroklos blinked in confusion. "What? What do you mean, Uncle? Please, tell me!"
His uncle's silence answered his question. His mother had fallen ill months ago and she had struggled to recover ever since. If she needed to see him right now, then…
He couldn't bear the thought of his mother leaving this world.
Patroklos came to a sprint, running past his uncle as he headed back to the city.
"Patroklos, wait up!" his uncle called out, following behind him.
It was all a blur as he dashed down the familiar Greek streets, bristling with activity. He went inside his home, ignoring the scent of baked bread wafting from the oven nearby. He made a quick left down the hallway and into his parent's bedroom.
Inside, only his father, Rothion, sat on the bed by his mother, gently holding her hand. His heart broke upon his mother's gaunt, sickly body. A gray blanket draped over her up to her neck, save for her thin arms.
"Mother, I…" Patroklos ran and sat on the bed by her. He held her hand gently. It was still warm, but barely. She squeezed his hand.
His mother smiled weakly. "It's okay, Patroklos. It's okay." She wheezed as if struggling to breathe. "How was the tournament?"
Patroklos opened his mouth but found himself unable to say a word, if only for a moment, his eyes welling up with tears. Finally, he said, "I won. My opponent was strong, but I prevailed." He smiled. "I… I hope I've made you proud, mother."
"You already have, Patroklos," she replied. "I can only…" She coughed. "…hope you find your sister."
Patroklos clenched his jaw. The thought of his sister's kidnapper, that malfested Tira, made him boil. "I will find my sister and make that malfested pay."
"Promise me. Promise me that you won't let vengeance consume you. Follow your heart, do the right thing. Promise me…"
As his mother drew her breath one last time, she closed her eyes and let go of her son's hands. Patrokolas said nothing. He leaned forward in a crying fit. He wanted her to be healthy, to live out the rest of her life in happiness. But she was happy, wasn't she? All he had were his father giving him a comforting hug. His uncle joined in.
Patroklos heard all the stories of his mother. The adventures she went on, the perils she faced in her holy mission to destroy Soul Edge, and the measures she took for the sake of her daughter and his sister, Pyrrha. He wanted to show his mother that despite not receiving the blessing of the gods, he could live up to their legacy. But fate had other ideas, it seemed.
It was not fair. It simply was not fair. If only that supposed god of thunder did everything he could in his power to save her, rescue his sister, none of this would have happened.
Year: 1607
Location: Veres, Hungary (near present-day Szolnok)
The trip to the town was thankfully uneventful. When they reached the stables by the gate, the guards in simple garments eyed the rogue Cybermen with suspicion. The guards' uniforms were buttoned-up tunics with a pair of loose pants that bagged over their leather boots. One of the guards, weary with squinting eyes, rested his hand over a curved sword sheathed at his hip.
"Not fond of Cybermen, are they?" the Doctor remarked, looking back at the guard. "Or rather, with strangers."
"I heard that, you old twit!" the guard shot back.
"Oh sorry!" Ignoring Kroton's audible groan, the Doctor approached the guard in question. The stench the guard gave off would put anyone else off. Or perhaps it was the stables, and no one bothered to clean them up. "Have you seen a friend of ours? Wears armor, carries a glowing red shard."
"And guns," Kroton added.
The guards exchanged looks before the one with the curved sword and crooked teeth gazed back at the two. "Nah, nah. Want my advice? Try God's Rest. Somebody might point ya in the right direction." He pointed at the opened gate. There, a marble lion statue was surrounded by a cluster of market stalls. The place itself was packed and crowded with customers and traders.
"Has there been anything unusual going around?" Kroton stepped in. The guards jolted back, nervously clutching their weapons. "Maybe like a raven with glowing eyes?"
"Things have been quiet around here, not even Graf Dumas and his forces have passed through here, thank God," the guard with the pike seethed. "And we would like it to stay that way, sir."
"Who is this Graf Dumas?" the Doctor asked.
The guard with the pike glared at the Time Lord. "Graf's the Count of Hungary! Haven't you heard? He was chosen by the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire himself! Where have you been, living under a rock?"
Kroton let out a beleaguered sigh as he brought his hand up to his face. Still, the Doctor ignored him. "Directions? To this tavern?" He pointed past the gate while looking all wide-eyed at the guards.
"Take a right once ya reach the statue, past the slums. You'll know it when ya see the sign." The guard with the sword grunted, and his friends joined him. "And keep your strange-looking friend out of trouble, ya hear?" He pointed in an accusing manner at Kroton.
The Doctor frowned, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrowing. He stepped toward the guard, who found himself caught off guard at how close the Time Lord was to him. It was close enough for the tips of their noses to be centimeters away from each other. The others looked on in a mix of confusion and surprise.
"I want you to listen and listen very carefully." The Doctor seethed through his teeth. "My friend is not here to cause any trouble. Nor is he here to harm anyone. And neither am I, for that matter."
"Doctor…" Kroton called out.
"Little busy here." The Doctor glanced at the rogue Cyberman before turning his attention back to the guard. "Now, I'm certain you mean well, wanting to protect this town. I get that. But I won't tolerate anyone pushing my friends and innocent people around."
"So what are you gonna do about it, ya coot?" the guard with the sword asked, sneering.
The Doctor smirked as he stepped back, his hands in his pockets. "Nothing. But here's something for you to ponder: would you be willing to risk everything to strike down a defenseless old man such as me?
None of the guards, not even Kroton, uttered a word.
"I thought so. Thank you for your help and be on your best behavior, all of you," he said. "Come, Kroton."
The two went through the gate. Inside the town, as they neared the fountain, a massive building rested up ahead. The chatter around them was immense, as most of them were from traders showing off their products. As the Doctor no longer heard the clanking sounds of Kroton's footsteps, he stopped and turned around. Kroton was still at the fountain, staring at a tall white church with a bell on the rooftop. Even if he were a Cyberman, the Doctor could tell something was troubling him.
"Something wrong?" the Doctor asked.
Kroton looked at the Doctor. "Is it necessary for you to antagonize them?"
The Doctor scoffed, the corners of his mouth curling slightly. He went on down the slums with the Cyberman close by. "Well, yes. They're being rather unbecoming towards you."
"I'll manage, but this is not like you."
That last sentence by itself caught the Doctor off guard, dropping his shoulders. But he recovered as he straightened his posture. "I'm… worried about our new friend. I'm not even sure if she's alive or not." His voice quivered, just a little bit.
"Is there something else that's making you all tense?"
The Time Lord's face fell. He paced around with his hands on his hips. "Clara. I almost lost her when she had been exposed to an infectious signal on Neptune. It's a hell of a miracle she was cured so soon."
"Look, it's clear you care about her but she's human. She won't be around forever," Kroton pointed out.
"Yes, I know that." The Doctor sighed, rubbing his face down. "God knows what I will do if anything happens to her."
"I wouldn't want to find out either. I'd say none of us all would want to," Kroton commented.
The Doctor said nothing when the two saw the sign mounted next to the entrance of a tavern, the words "GOD'S REST" engraved on a wooden sign. As they went inside, they found the tavern was anything but quiet.
Rowdy, unruly men sang and drank to their hearts' content while the maid fetched for more drinks. To their left, the bartender cleaned the serving table after spitting on it. At the other end of the room was the fireplace, burning dimly as it emitted a bit of heat. Everything about this tavern, from the stone walls, the stained-glass windows, to the stone floor with wooden columns made this tavern look like it came straight out of a fantasy novel.
As the Doctor scanned the place, a roar of laughter broke his concentration. His face followed an empty glass as a somewhat plump man with a bushy beard threw it across, hiding the edge of a table at the far corner. The recipient, a rosy-skinned woman with ruffled black hair and high cheekbones flinched as the glass bounced off the table then landed as it shattered into pieces.
The woman grunted in annoyance. "Bloody hell! Somebody better clean this place up!" she said, still holding onto her jug.
The Doctor's eyes widened in surprise. Not only did he recognize her voice, but her space-age tailored suit also made her stand out. She was an archeologist but probably not the one he was expecting.
"Benny? Bernice Summerfield?" the Doctor called out as he and a curious Kroton approached her. Most of the patrons here ignored them, the few eyeing the Cyberman with suspicious looks.
When the Doctor last met with this face, they were in Sydney in Australia dealing with a strange pyramid.
Bernice looked back with her hazel eyes. She blinked, and in an instant, she recognized him in return. "Doctor? Well, this is a surprise. And you have a Cyberman with you. Friendly, I suppose."
"You take this rather well," Kroton commented.
Bernice gave the Cyberman a curious look, her head tilted to the side. "Huh. You talk like a normal person. Not that monotone nonsense." She shrugged and set her cup on the table. "Eh. It's been an eventful day."
The Doctor nodded in agreement. "Likewise, Benny. Likewise." He noticed there were empty seats at the table. "Uh, mind if we…?"
"Oh, sure. Go ahead," Bernice answered, making a quick gesture.
The Time Lord settled in his seat next to hers, scooting into the table. Kroton had to adjust the staff latched onto his back to set properly across from her.
"So…" the Doctor began as he placed his arm on the table. "How exactly did you get here?"
"Funny story, that," Bernice answered, leaning in. "It all started with your average archeological dig into ancient ruins. Well, average for me. Till I find this." She dug into her pocket and placed a red, glowing object on the table.
The Doctor stared at the shard. It was in a slightly different shape. Jagged and less pointy, yet it was the same fusion of flesh and metal, and the same hellish glow it emitted.
"Let me make a hypothesis: You found it and it brought you here," the Doctor stated.
"Yes," Bernice replied. "How did you know that?"
"Because it happened to an acquaintance of ours," the Doctor answered. "Do you happen to know where she's at?"
Cool yet gentle winds bushed against Patroklos' hair, the late-afternoon sun basking on his long white coat as he paced around the busy Hungarian streets. His narrow red shield, his sword sheathed behind it, hung around his left wrist. Ever since his mother passed away, he left his home in search of his sister. But like many places he had been to, she and her kidnapper remained elusive as ever as he looked around seemingly many of the streets and corners of this town.
Passing by the fountain, he stopped in his tracks when he noticed what appeared to be a man in solver clothing and armor, his strange helmet resembling more like a mask than anything. The man gazed up, entranced by the tall white church nearby. Patroklos looked on. He wasn't sure what to make of this when a pale old man with a mop of wild, silver hair and unusual clothes approached the man. The man in silver struck up a conversation before they sauntered off toward the slums.
As he stepped forward, the two men were nowhere to be seen.
"Dammit!" He sighed, bringing his hand to his hip. Those two were definitely not the townsfolk, and he missed his chance in finding out if they knew anything about his sister's whereabouts.
"Is something wrong?"
His heart jolted for a second as he turned to see a rather wide woman. She stood a little taller than him, clad in a suit of light-gray armor made of a material he did not recognize, her shoulders draped in a green scarf.
"Ah, I'm looking for my sister here, but I haven't had much luck," he answered after catching his breath.
"Maybe I can help. What does she look like?"
Patroklos gazed at the stranger with suspicion. "And why should I trust you with this? People who claimed to know my sister's whereabouts tend to be liars and thieves, including the Graf," he said. Even he began to believe the information given to him by Schwarzwind made him wonder if they were lying as well.
"I'm sorry, who?" the woman asked, confused.
His nostrils flared as he frowned. Of course, she had to bring up a sore topic. "If you must know, I'm talking about Graf Dumas. The Count of Hungary, chosen by the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire himself." His tone could come off as condescending to most people, as he could tell by the squinting look the woman gave him, but he was not in the mood to be reminded. "Just another sniveling bastard who's more concerned about hoarding wealth and power, if you ask me."
"I see. I'm sorry to hear that," she replied. "Look, I can understand why you're like that. I'm starting to get out of that position myself, but you can't find your sister if you keep viewing everyone with that attitude. You need to have hope."
He closed his eyes with a grimacing look on his face. Hope. Like the myth about Pandora's box, it only led to disappointment and grief, but maybe she had a point. With debilitation, he sighed and opened his eyes. "Okay, I believe you. For now. Her name's Pyrrha Alexandra. She has blond hair and green eyes. She also wears a white dress with long boots."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah, there is." He lifted his shield and pointed to a pair of golden elk horns inscribed on his shield. "She carries a sword and shield that used to belong to my mother. Her shield's blue, but it should have a similar emblem like mine."
The woman nodded. "Okay. I can't promise anything, but if I see her, I'll be sure to point her in your direction. By the way, what's your name?"
"It's Patroklos, uh… Patroklos Alexander," he answered. "What's yours?"
"Jocelyn Song," she answered. "I'm just a wanderer who happens to be stopping by."
"Alright. Thank you." There was an uplifting feeling welling within him. Perhaps this wanderer here might be his best shot. "If you see her, tell her…" He couldn't help but give himself pause, his lips trembling. "If you see here, there's usually another girl with her, carrying a ring blade. She's a dangerous woman and must be stopped. Do what you can to save my sister."
"A ring blade?" The woman gave him an incredulous look. "Is it what I'm thinking? A ring that has a blade on it or a blade the shape of a ring?"
"…Essentially the latter, yes."
"That's not the weirdest thing I've heard in the past couple of days. It won't be the last, I'll bet," she remarked. "Well, be seeing you. Maybe."
Patroklos could only watch as the woman sauntered toward the church. He was grateful someone was willing to help, but who exactly was this woman, anyway?
The journey to the town took her and the other two days. As promised, Maxi and the others went off to meet with their contact, whoever they were. "Meet ya at God's Rest," she remembered Maxi telling her before they parted ways.
Soon after meeting the young man, whom she thought was rather intense, Jocelyn took in the sight of a tall white church in the middle of the town.
She sauntered inside, walking in the crack between the giant, open doors. Ahead of her were rows upon rows of plain, simple wooden benches. At the other end of the church was an altar, draped in a white blanket, crowned by a cross. The windows that reached near the ceiling had cast a bright, almost twilight light. The other source of illumination was the candles mounted on the pillars, the smell of melting wax whiffing in the air.
There were several occupants, many of them appearing to be peasants in simple and colorless garments, praying in the church. Compared to every other building back in her world, the church was very much intact. While constantly being in danger was familiar to her, she had to admit this was a nice change of pace.
"Err, excuse me?"
She looked down to find a boy looking up at her. Pale and dark-haired, he wore a pair of green trousers to go with his fluffy white shirt. He couldn't be older than… six, maybe seven?
She knelt beside him with a smile. "Hey there. Where are your parents?"
"Well, my parents told me to wait here in case I get lost." The boy twiddled his thumbs together. "So, um… are you here to slay a dragon, like the knights in shining armor in fairy tales? Because you, uh, seem knightly."
"I, uh…" She hesitated. "Maybe. It's been a while since I did that. Slaying monsters, saving lives," she answered. "Until recently, I've been helping people by doing small favors for them."
Her answer brightened the boy's face. "Then are you here to stop the malfested?"
Jocelyn looked back. "They're the ones that used to be human, right?"
The boy nodded rapidly. "Yeah! I hear some of them get big. Like, really big!"
Before he could say more, Jocelyn stood up when a man and a woman approached them. The man wore a ruff collar around his neck, a tell-tale sign of his nobility aside from his tights and his puffy shorts. The woman's dress was simple yet elegant, having jewelry laid out on her sleeves.
The man went up to the boy with open arms, a joyful smile appearing on his face. "Oh dear God! Your mother and I have been looking for you!" He picked up the boy and gave him a firm hug. By the look on the child's face, he was happy to see his parents again.
"I miss you too, father. I was so scared."
Jocelyn stood up and met the mother. "Thank you so much for finding him!" the mother exclaimed.
"Actually, he happened to find me," the Lone Wanderer replied.
The father had put the boy down and took his hand. "We'll be best on our way, then. Best we tell our boy not to wander off like that!" The family turned toward the exit after making eye contact with Jocelyn. The boy groaned, mumbling about not looking forward to being disciplined.
"Do be gentle with him; he's just a boy!" the mother protested.
"Even little boys have to grow up to be men," the father retorted.
The Wanderer's eyes followed the family until they were out of sight as they walked through the door.
"So… are you here to attend? Confess your sins?" a familiar, Scottish voice called out. The tone was sardonic. "I know I have my fair share."
Jocelyn's heart leaped out and she turned around to see the Doctor leaning against a nearby pillar, his hands in his pockets.
"Oh hey, Doctor," she said. "How did you get here?"
The Doctor smirked, standing up straight. His hands out of his pocket, he paced around a few steps. "It's a long story. Maybe I'll explain later. Maybe not. I'm quite pleased you were able to understand what anybody was saying. Have you noticed they were not speaking English?"
"Okay, what?" Jocelyn stared at the Doctor in confusion. "I thought it had to do with trade languages, not… this. How's that possible? Translator microbes?"
"Less with brain germs and more like a telepathic field that digs inside your brain. Wait, that does sound like a brain germ, doesn't it?" The Doctor waved his finger around. "Ah, forget it. It's a translation circuit from the TARDIS. That's why everything sounds English to you. Long as I'm conscious, it will work."
"That is probably one of the craziest things I've ever heard about your universe."
The Time Lord let out a small chuckle with a toothy grin. "I have seen things in my lifetimes that defy logic and reason. You think you would get used to it by now, but you being a human with a finite life expectancy, I understand."
"You know that's condescending, right?"
"Obviously."
She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Alright… So now what? Where do we go from here?"
"You always find something over there. Some drinks and rumors spread around like wildfire... long as you know where to look. I'd like you to meet up with the others."
"The others? You got someone else?"
"Yes. An archeologist from the far future named Bernice Summerfield. She goes by Benny," the Doctor answered. "She got here like you did. I'll explain more at God's Rest. It's a tavern with… tavernous stuff."
"Okay," Jocelyn replied before chuckling. She couldn't help but find this convenient. "Lead the way." As she began following, she paused midway before turning around.
"Something wrong?" the Doctor wondered.
"There were buildings like this. Back before the Great War," she answered. "Churches, monuments, museums, schools… All of them were gone in an instant when the bombs fell. All that was left were ruins, corpses, and silhouettes of people who didn't make it. Not a whole lot of intact buildings left." She sighed, letting her shoulders drop. "I miss living in the Vault. It wasn't perfect, but it was home. I really do."
The Doctor unfolded his arms and stood up. "I can relate to that. Sometimes I ask myself why I left Gallifrey."
"Why did you?"
The Doctor said nothing as he bowed his head, even as he left the old church.
"Walking away is not an answer, you know!" she bellowed.
"Yes, it is!" the Doctor retorted as he continued walking. She could swear he was grinning smugly.
Jocelyn couldn't help but roll her eyes as she caught up to him, not far behind.