Author's Note: Apparently, I forgot the disclaimer in the first chapter (damn). Well, here it is. I do not own SC2, or any of its characters, etc. There, happy now? nervous laughter followed by choking
Chapter I – Innocent Nightmare
A cacophonous boom rumbled the peak as a bolt of lightning struck nearby. The storm was tremendous, almost supernatural; as if it was being influenced by something other than nature...
It
was cold; a caustic, stinging, biting kind of cold that was rarely present in
many places. The harsh winters, stabbing like icy lances, were barely
comparable. The sun had long given up and trying to shine through the sleet
rain as a mass of hurricane grey and murky white shot down as volleys of
gunfire, breaking both ground and record with their unwavering force. It was
quite a storm, not as great or memorable for this polar region, though, for all
Oblivion knew, it was not polar. Snow poured down like
a wavy sheet, rippling and cracking Oblivion's line of vision. His glowing red
eyes, dotted with yellow twinges that buzzed radiantly back and forth on the
plate of his helmeted face, concealed behind a shrouding visor sat the slits
that were his eyes, glaring out with ruthless intent at the horizon. The sky
was blindingly blue, though the snow-white seemed to overflow onto it like a
wistful cape which wrapped around the sky, holding the thin layer of blue in
the sky by a thread while the daggers of snow, ice, hail, and sleet berated it
with merciless resolve.
Despite the storm, which
would've continued at any time, it was otherwise a calm, if not arctic day. The
wind was harsh and unsteady as it blasted a smoggy maelstrom of ice particles,
consumed by the zephyr gusts. The only light, other than the searing icy hue of
the watery clouds and pouring wintry mix of debris came from the blood-red hue
of an aura that seethed about Nightmare, flowing through the cracked slits at
his armored joints.
There,
Nightmare stood; "Nightmare," the arbitrary label given to this, puppet, the
demonic soul which controlled the man formerly known as Siegfried found this
notion...humorous. For Nightmare was the being people feared, when the demonic
blade, Soul Edge, was the one actually in control. It was controlling him now.
Siegfried had managed to travel to the peak of this mountain, far away from
human population, but this was merely a small inconvenience for the blade. Soul
Edge forced Nightmare to hold up a shard if itself which they had come across
during their journeys together. This shard was a piece of itself which it had
lost during a battle with two humans whom wielded two very powerful weapons.
Nightmare raised his arm so that the sword may have a better view of the shard
with its enormous eye. More of these shards existed. And these were a part of
Soul Edge. Until they were all together once again and joined to their source,
Soul Edge's power was incomplete. Simple tasks such as manipulating the actions
of its pawn were now somewhat challenging. That is why, during the hours when Siegfried
was completely under the control of Soul Edge, Nightmare would search the world
for the remainder of the sword's being.
'Shards, shards everywhere. So many to find, so many lost, so many
waiting.'
Although the
shards existed in multiple locations, they were still a part of Soul Edge. They
still had the same power to manipulate souls. However, since they were
fragmented, each shard possessed a mere fraction of Soul Edge's true power.
Each shard used what power it did have to persuade people from around the world
to gather them. The easiest people for the shards to manipulate were those who
had devoted their lives to some craft or activity. Strong fighters in
particular were susceptible to the calling of the shards. Fighters who possessed
a strong passion to learning the intricacies of their art had conditioned their
souls to pick up on and synchronize with the ebb and flow of spiritual energies
which existed in the world. Soul Edge's energy was the same as these, and
therefore lent itself to be harnessed by such people. How convenient that the
strongest fighters in the world were the ones gathering the shards. In order to
attain power and longevity, Soul Edge feasted on souls. The stronger the soul,
the more benefit the sword would reap. Taking the souls of the world's
strongest fighters would significantly boost Soul Edge's already tremendous
power. The formula was all too perfect. Soul Edge needed only to direct its
puppet to human populous, and its fragments would return with little to no
effort. Nightmare began his descent to the base of the mountain, from which
he'd make his way toward human civilization. He was currently in Nepal, descending the world's tallest
peak. Soul Edge could sense the signature of its fragments from all around the
world. The quest had begun.
The young man suddenly "awoke". He
regained consciousness, but not from sleep. He was once again in control of his
body, which was being used and manipulated by that...sword. The sword he was
drawn to; the one that compelled his very soul to retrieve it, the sword that
he now held with his horribly twisted and deformed right arm...
Soul Edge.
It all but completely controlled him. Ever since the blade was partially
damaged, Seigfried sometimes gained these brief spans of voluntary control.
Whenever such an opportunity would arise, he would voyage as far away from
cities and towns as possible; for he knew what the sword did when it took
control. It used his body as its servant, as its puppet. When the sword was in
control, the being "Nightmare" came into existence. Nightmare, the monster who's insatiable lust for murder was feared the world over.
The thousands of people who had been slain by the hands of Nightmare had no
idea that their lives were taken to give the blade vitality. Their souls were
the sword's food; they were what was keeping it alive.
Seigfried,
now awake, recalled his dilemma. He needed to start his journey away from
people as soon as he could, for he had no idea how much time he had before
Nightmare would emerge once more. Siegfried was exhausted. Although he had just
awakened, he was never actually asleep. No matter. He needed to move.
He stood up,
shakily. His muscles ached. His head pulsed with pain. No matter. Seigfried
used all of his effort to walk, toting the heavy blade. He looked down at it,
noticing that its enormous eye was shut. Before it was shattered, he thought, it
never needed to sleep. Siegfried wished that he could find those two people who
caused that damage to the sword. If only he could find them, perhaps they could
make the blade sleep forever...
He continued
onward, quickening his step. Just then, he noticed the smell in the air. '...Oh God.' His
human voice uttered softly, choking back the words. He knew this smell. He knew
it all too well. It was the sickening, putrid odor of charred, dead flesh. That
is when he looked down and noticed the enormous amount of blood and small
fragments of bone and innards littered all around his body. The blood was still
warm. Seigfried's heart sank, and he became light headed. Woozy, he lost his
balance and fell to his knees. He began to vomit violently. Coughing and
spitting, Seigfried's chest and throat ached from his wild heaving. He finally
opened his tear-flooded eyes to gaze upon a disturbing sight. He had vomited up
profuse amounts of blood. But wait... this blood...wasn't his. It was speckled
with chunks of flesh…Suddenly, an unstoppable rush of memory flooded into him
as his eyes began to water.
His hand, enveloped in a firm gauntlet, was curled and clenched about the cold steel of his zweihander blade. A rush of adrenaline, a terrible bloodlust fueled him and gave him maddening resolve as combat began, swirling as a typhoon would around him. He yanked the blade left and right, hacking at almost unseen foes. All he knew of these men who fell like wheat before him where that they had fled the wars in the southeast and would be his prey, the prey of the wind he rode upon, the Black Wind, a powerful nimbus that would bear him up to the clouds as he wished it.
He plunged deeper into the shadowed fray, grinning a flawless grin as he heard the gnashing of flesh and the crunching of bone in his great sword's wake. To and fro he hacked, feeling the searing warmth of blood spray over his dented armor and into the metal rivets of his chain mail coat beneath. He panted excitedly, his breath ragged and smoky before him in the cold air as he listened, an odd tranquility descending on him, to the whistle of that blade and the shrieks of wailing agony that were uttered so horribly from the receiving end. He laughed, a cold and heartless laugh that he had never before heard in him…he liked it.
At long last, he found the sound he searched for. A clean sweep, a gnashing slice, and a sickening little pop as the body in front of him clattered unceremoniously to the ground in a limp heap. He stepped, ambling calmly, over the beheaded body. He knew this corpse belonged to the leader of the brigade his knights had overrun. Now, the sounds of battle were echoes as the clock of the world slowed around him. The fight was won, and the severed cranium of the loser was his to claim. Laughing fully and proudly, Seigfried Schtauffen lay down his hand on the sweaty hair of that head and yanked it up, swiveling, and producing the head to see for all his cheering mercenaries around, celebrating their victory.
Suddenly, the creeping moonlight, pale like a lamp and shining down only in a number of slender beams, hit the knight full in the face and swiveled up until the ray bathed his arm and the head he held in a ghostly light that augmented the dead man's colorless pallor. As Seigfried's eyes flitted slowly to the face, the horrible look plated on that face, his face slated and went livid, the color draining from it as well as he recognized the flowing hair, the elegant moustache, the kind demeanor, and the calm look of a warrior that had curled over dead lips…the lips of his father, Frederick Schtauffen…
His eyes bulged open, staring with a fixed and almost awestruck gaze at the visage of his own parent's decapitated head. His grip sagged and his fingers scurried apart, letting the head plummet and bounce a single time on the ground. He looked down at it a moment longer, staring, as he began to back up. His men, the men of the Black Wind, were completely oblivious to his plight, still cheering and hollering like maddened wolves at the cold moon above. They barely even noticed as their leader, eyes wet and red, turned, roaring in anguish at the clouds, and took off into the forest behind, holding his head in agonized hands as he sprinted deeper into the waiting darkness.
With his now hysterical tears; Seigfried now forced himself to vomit even more. He just realized what had transpired. That hideous monster, Nightmare, had feasted upon the flesh of his most recent human victims. That accursed blade had turned the youth into a cannibalistic murderer. Seigfried cupped his hands around his face, horribly uncomfortable, and still weeping. 'What a monster...' he uttered to himself weakly, talking so not even the clouds could hear. Doing his best to pull himself together after the jolting revelation, Siegfried forced himself to stand. He needed to find a way to keep this from ever happening again. Until he could figure out a strategy, however, he had to remove himself from his current close proximity to humans. He tried his best to jog, and made his way into a down through the mountainous crags. Siegfried was in bad shape, and he knew it. He was completely exhausted, having not slept for probably days, and he had no sustenance within his system. Still, he did his best to move. Amongst the jutting outcroppings of rock, he came across a small stream running with crystal clear water near the grand geographic structures base. He stopped here, intending to take a drink. Before he could even lower himself to his knees, Siegfried collapsed unconscious.
He was up again in an instant, his eyes glowing again with a more fervent pulsation then before. Coolly, he flexed an armored muscle and pulled the hulking zweihander upward to his face. He eyed the deformed, crackling metal before him and hefted it expertly onto his shoulder, a thunderous chuckle emitting gutturally from him as he marched on, right through the clear water, watching a sickly black spread though its icy depths and taint it with putrid sable that seeped up and down its length. The snow still poured in surplus sheets down upon him as he donned his helm anew, sifting it calmly onto his head as his laugh grew, swelling as the wind's shrieking increased by a hundred fold, lashing out with furious resolve.
'No more of Siegfried, Nightmare, expel and forget. Go on, take the power around you.'
Time to make Soul Edge complete…
There was a town not far off, more of a village, utterly shrouded from view by the snowy rain. Thatched roofs, rent haplessly apart by the gusts, stood in the distance, nestled cozily into the snowy depths, surrounded on all sides by mountainous, ice-capped ridges that met the mortar walls of the buildings around and slid gently against them as the hail berated their sides intensely. The dark knight headed towards it, dragging Soul Edge in tow.
'Souls. More souls, Nightmare, so many for the taking, go NOW!'
He headed onward, dragging himself restlessly through the crunching snow.
'I am Nightmare!' he thought, 'I am the one, the only, the destroyer…and my time has come to take what is mine!'
He had not even considered that he was not the one, the only…but his time had come all the same.