I don't own Soul Calibur, its characters, anything. I don't even own the game! All I own is this feeble excuse for a fanfic. Enjoy!
Prologue: River, Cloud, Curtain.
The Soul Edge can be yours. Follow our instructions. There will be bloodshed.
Yoshimitsu sat, unmoving, the scrap of paper lying in his lap. His sword was lying next to him, sheathed, and to any onlookers it would appear as though his gaunt figure was that of a samurai who had been honored in life, now adorned in full armor, masked and flagged, ready for the funeral pyre. He sat deep in the void of himself, meditating and awaiting. Already he had learned what the writers of the note intended for all of them: a bloody, to-the-death tournament for control of the weapon they all sought for good or for evil.
Already the sword had corrupted the life of the man known as Siegfried. Could it be allowed to do so again? Yoshimitsu sought the Soul Edge for the same reasons as many of his competitors did – to destroy it. But he was unsure. It was a demon weapon, that was for certain – a blade of the oni. Once he possessed it, how sure could he be that it would not possess him?
A river of grass. A cloud of wind. A curtain of birds. The familiar images recurred in his mind, blocking out all thought. He was at one with the world and the world was at one with him. He was no longer Yoshimitsu, but rather particles of his former self, scattered through the void, yearning and seeking, ever desiring, because desire was the root of suffering. The river desired fullness, the cloud, emptiness, and the curtain, nothingness. Only the void was without desire, and only the void was without suffering. A sound pierced the void, like glass pebbles thrown at the sun. It echoed dismally, and then receded. But it was enough to bring Yoshimitsu out of the void, for he knew his ally had arrived. The curtain parted, the cloud dispersed, and the river dried: Yoshimitsu returned to himself and the void coalesced, spiraling into a thimble of everness.
Yoshimitsu nodded as his senses swirled into refocus. "You come bearing news, do you not?" he asked. Behind him, a slight scraping noise and a rasp emanated. Yoshimitsu had sensed this man's suffering instantly. He was bound mouth and eyes, only able to hear. But Yoshimitsu harbored no illusions about the man he had taken as his ally. He sought the Soul Edge as well, and in a moment's notice he would betray Yoshimitsu to obtain it. But it was better to have a source of information as well as a potential ally, for the time being, and so they cooperated. "Speak to me. Sing to my soul," Yoshimitsu commanded, and summoned up the litany again in his mind. The river. The cloud. The curtain. The void. He passed into semiawareness, hovering, and then plummeted into the depths.
Voldo inclined himself towards the barely breathing samurai. Hissing around his mouthbind, he spoke to Yoshimitsu, his noises skittering across the surface of the void, dropping like molten teardrops into a bonfire. The samurai's soul opened, madly swirling, and Voldo grasped it in both hands, spreading the covers of the man's awareness, and he read what was written there. And he wrote.
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Coming next: Chapter One: The Circle Opens.
