Disclaimer: um...Okay, here it goes. I do not claim to own any of the characters from the Soul Calibur and all events in this work are strictly a figment of my often times twisted imagination...

By the Gods that sucked. But I'm sure you get the picture. If not then you need to be beaten with a wet noodle, chained down to a chair and force to watch wrinkly old men belly dance—Naked. Now with that pleasant picture in mind, Enjoy and Review please.

A/N: This story will be leading up to a crossover. With what you ask? Well with ---

I'll give you a hint. Then you'll just have to either wait and see or figure it out.

And now with out further delay I Present to you--- Wait. I forgot. I will be receiving assistance from my co-writer and best friend, Xana also known as Jubilation Overdose. (The bloopers were her Idea. I do the serious stuff.)

Okay now we can move on to the story, that is if you haven't gotten bored and hopped to another story in which case, you suck. –pokes out her tongue-
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Prologue

Chosen by history a man becomes a warrior. Engraved into history a man becomes a hero

--- Song by a 14th century Troubadour

Eyes as black as the night focused on a point beyond the surface of the

obsidian liquid with then the black bowl, carved from wood, then

lovingly painted and decorated by hand with runes and glyphs of

protection. Those eyes watched as one by one, faces materialized and

floated slowly to the surface, dispersing like pricked bubbles only to be

replaced by another image then another, then another. Each image of the

various warriors who sought out the Demonic Blade to either covet or

destroy its great power and vile hold over the world. One by one they

appeared, surfaced, then faded away, and yet still more continued.

These faces were new. Of a different time and place, yet their lives

were destined to be touched by the cursed influence of the blade.

The Hopeless drunk. The Determined Grandfather. The silver haired

assassin. The Ambitious female fighter. The Runaway Ninja. The

Grieving Mercenary. The flamboyant spinner of music. The rebellious

daughter and her irate father and yet still more each took there place to

dance across the water. The Finally the last face appeared, yet instead

of disappearing like the rest, it hovered on the surface and stared back at

the world.

A Child. Hair so black it carried natural highlights of ruby red,

eyes a startling shade of blue that held an underlying current of

something dark, something that threatened to consume the light and

innocence. Power as equally dark came off of him in waves. His was

the ability to destroy, to corrupt. And yet...

"What do you see?" A soft, husky voice asked. Female. Slowly

looking up from her scrying bowl, Rhiana stared across the dimly lit

room, blinking slowly, then turning her head, her gaze met that of her

sister. Somber magenta eyes met hers and saw the answer there before

she even spoke. "Death, Ziara. I see death. A long trail of blood and

destruction that from these times far beyond into another where evil

already runs rampant and free. Evil which will be amplified far beyond

anything you could possibly conceive. All because of this," Rhiana

nodded towards the youthful visage still reflected in the dark water.

"Child."

"There must be something we can do, Rhiana. It is after all only a

child." Ziara protested as she approached the table on which the

bowl rested and peered into the water. Rhiana shot her an ominous look.

"Do not so easily dismiss what I say on the basis that it is a child. Evil

is evil. No matter what the shape, form, or size." She shook her head

and looked away. "No. There is nothing we can do but warn those

Destined to cross paths with this danger. The rest...the rest is up to them.

They can either succumb to their fates or change it. We are not to

interfere. Is that understood?" Ziara looked as if she wanted to protest,

yet the look in her sisters eyes quelled any argument. Instead she sighed

and nodded her head, "Yes. I understand."

"The stage is set then. History's in the making."