Series Title: Monstrosities
Author: D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Rating: R
Notes: I tweaked the timeline of Cervantes's profile here. In the game, it gives the impression that Tira came to see him the moment that Soul Edge was sealed by Soul Calibur, which doesn't fit with the story I've made so far. Basically, I split the "stormy night" into two seperate incidents. Read on for more!
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Monstrosities : Gods and Demons
a soul calibur 3 fanfic by d.l. schizoauthoress
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Captain Cervantes de Leon smiles grimly as he surveys the choppy grey ocean spread out before his flagship. The clouds swirl overhead, threatening a storm. Cervantes orders the bosun to seek shelter in the cliffs of a nearby island, which is the northernmost of the archipelago claimed by the British Empire. Usually, the Adrian would not venture quite so close to that nation, an enemy of the crew's own, but Cervantes had become more desperate to feed on strong souls since he'd felt Soul Edge's power sealed and lessened.
A strong wind whips the sails of the Adrian to the tightness of drums, and an eerie howling rises. It sounds like the spirit of the drowned singing a dirge to the sailors aboard the flagship. The mortal men shiver, bending to their tasks at double-time, but Cervantes de Leon merely laughs scornfully and tilts his face into the wind. As his long white hair blows back, streaming like a ragged pennant, he recalls the terrible things that have led him to this place, to this course, to this accursed half-life.
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If there was one thing that Cervantes de Leon, or what was left of Cervantes de Leon, feared, it was death. He had brushed it once, when he'd acquired Soul Edge for his own. The cursed sword, which had formed itself into a matched pair at his touch, had nearly killed him with the memories of massacre and death that it poured into his mind. The injuries he'd sustained at the time weakened him further. But the brush with oblivion that he'd had then, and the abject terror he'd felt, had given him the strength to manipulate Soul Edge's power. The mind of Cervantes, if not all of his soul, returned to his dead body and revived it. And while the dread pirate continued to feed souls to his horrific blades, his body remained useful to him.
His flesh became cold, his eyes became glassy and dead. But he could not be hurt for long. The stolen vitality of the swords promised him that. Cervantes willingly gave his mind, his soul, and his body to the service of the cursed sword, more so than any other who had held Soul Edge. So great was his devotion that he could sense all incarnations of the sword, even after the awful events that tore Soul Edge from his grasp.
Cervantes remembered the Athenian warrior, a young girl of eighteen who wielded blessed weapons, who had shattered the smaller of the blades in Soul Edge's dual incarnation. The fragments had scattered far and wide, some embedding themselves in Cervantes's dead flesh, and in the living flesh of his opponent. Weakened, fueled by rage, Cervantes had nonetheless gone for a killing strike, which would have landed if not for the other woman. An interfering Asian woman who wore a red bodysuit and hid her face behind a mask, who held a sword of considerable power and the knowledge of demon-sealing techniques.
That battle, Cervantes had lost. Even the true spirit of Soul Edge, the fiery creature called Inferno, had failed to defeat the female ninja. And for a time, Cervantes de Leon lay as if in the clutches of death, no more than a charred corpse clinging to the single remaining Soul Edge. It was not long, though, before a young German knight appeared on the Adrian. He had tried to take Soul Edge from the hand of Cervantes, and also vanquished Inferno in battle. But that time...
That time, Soul Edge sang out to its conqueror, sensing a soul in turmoil, a soul to subjugate to its wishes. And Siegfried Schtauffen took Soul Edge away, to begin a new reign of terror on the world.
Furious at the theft, Cervantes de Leon called upon the power remaining in the shards within his body, and regained his former condition. Snatching up a short sword from the body of a former crew member, Cervantes travelled the streets of that Spanish port town, killing all who stood in his path. Soon, he started a quest to collect fragments of Soul Edge, guided by the shards that whispered direction in his mind.
Cervantes was pushed to a state of existence that no man can survive. No man can fall as deeply into insanity as Cervantes did and still be alive. But then, Cervantes was no longer alive and had not been for some time. In his madness and obsession, he even carved a likeness of his old pair of swords in wood.
He now wielded a different pair of swords than he had in the past. One was the Soul Edge formed by the fragments he'd gathered, and the other was one of his own design -- a short sword with a pistol in the handle, which he called Nirvana. Soul Edge shrieked its twin hungers in his mind: to devour souls, and to whole once more. Cervantes sailed the seas in search of more victims, happy to appease his blade if it meant his continued existence.
Death was so empty.
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As the rain lashes down in torrents, most of the Adrian's crew takes shelter belowdecks. But Cervantes is not bothered by the wind and rain, just as he is never bothered by intense sunlight, or -- for that matter -- any change in weather or climate. His crew is assembled of mortal men bound to him by greed and fear -- fear of his wrath and the wrath of Soul Edge, and greed for the treasures that he plunders from the bodies of his victims. Old habits die hard, and Cervantes is first and foremost a pirate.
Cervantes watches the lightning flash across the slate-grey sky, but his mind is elsewhere. Seeking out the main body of Soul Edge, he senses something similar: a phantom of that power, with a 'voice' that is as well known to him as his own. A thousand tiny echoes of that voice, the uneasy murmur of each Soul Edge shard, clamor for his notice. But the true Soul Edge, the mate to the one that he holds, remains muted. Instead, a harsh discord fills his mind as he 'touches' that incarnation -- the 'crying' of something else, like the Soul Edge but also, horribly, unlike it.
Even as he pushes that presence away, Cervantes remembers the night he first 'heard' it...
On a night gripped by storm, not unlike this one...
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That time, the Adrian was caught unawares, and all the crew struggled to find a port, any port. They were far south from Spain then, off the Gold Coast of Africa. Cervantes ordered them to head for the cliffs, where he knew there were shallow caves that would offer at least some shelter from the winds and waves.
The sails were taken down and the oarlocks opened. The crew and the few prisoners aboard the Adrian struggled to move the huge flagship through the violent sea. Cervantes lent his unearthly strength to holding the tiller steady. The ocean battered the sides of the ship, knocking a few holes out of it -- any hands that could be spared were sent below to check the damage. A cannon was lost, and a good measure of the provisions, but at least the holes were above the regular waterline. When the storm passed, there would be no chance of the ship taking on enough water to sink.
Finally, the great vessel slid into one of the cliff-caves and found relief from the merciless ocean. Cervantes staggered away from the tiller, intending to head for his cabins. He had barely walked ten feet before a terrible pain gripped his entire body. The pirate captain fell to his knees and screamed, joined in his agony by the unholy voice of the Soul Edge blade sheathed at his hip.
In desperation, Cervantes tore the sword from its scabbard, only to find that its aura was steadily dimming. Unlike most people attuned to the cursed sword, Cervantes could see the energy it emanated, which appeared to him like flowing blood and flickering flame all at once. The pain was like a spear of ice through his chest, like an unbearably bright light searing his vision. Through that pain, though, he could see his hands, trembling as they clutched his Soul Edge. His flesh was crumbling away, revealing blackened bone that glowed with cinders in places beneath the ash that had been his muscles. Soul Edge, all of Soul Edge, had fallen completely silent.
Horrified, his mind filled with terror at the thought of death coming to claim him, Cervantes had struggled to his feet, aware that little time remained to him. The first living creature he encountered, he slew with his bare hands, slashing at the veins in its neck with his sharp fingerbones. As the blood washed over his decaying, crumbling flesh, Cervantes felt that stolen life renewing him. A murmur of interest in his mind, as his Soul Edge tasted this new soul.
Cervantes snatched up the cursed blade, and somehow found the strength to cry out in his twisted, death-tangled voice, "Souls! More souls!"
The crew hurried to do his bidding, ignoring that he'd just killed his second-in-command. Screaming, terrified prisoners were dragged up from the hold, each dying the quick, agonizing death of having their souls ripped from them by Soul Edge. All of them were dead by the time that Cervantes had regained his old form.
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It hasn't been so long since he last killed to stablize his body, but Cervantes notices right away when he begins to break down. The rain is washing away ash that had once been the skin on his hands and arms. Cursing under his breath, Cervantes turns to go down to the hold where the new prisoners are.
"Wow," an unfamiliar, laughter-filled voice calls down to him, "looks like you're in trouble!"
Cervantes whirls around, drawing his swords as he moves. His gaze settles on the topmost mast, where a girl clad in strange green clothing is perched, surrounded by a huge flock of black birds. "Who the hell are you?" he demands roughly, angry that he hadn't noticed her before.
The girl reaches one gloved hand down to grasp one of the ropes and slides down it, until she hits the rigging with its mesh of crossed rope. She swings around and sits on one on the horizontal ropes as though it were a swing. A flash of lightning illuminates her face, showing purple eyes as expressionless as his own, half-hidden behind the platinum-blonde hair that dripped sodden with rain.
"I guess you could say I'm a servant of the cursed sword. Call me Tira."
Not taken in by her friendly, cheerful tones, Cervantes notes the large circular blade slung over one of Tira's shoulders. His swords seem to shriek in nearly human voices as he clashes them together and shouts at her, "The cursed sword takes no servants but me! For those lies, you die!"
Tira glares at the undead pirate and leaps down, landing on the deck heavily, in a cat-like crouch. She stands and holds her silver Aiselne Drossel in attack position. She will get no pleasure from killing this dead thing, but if he persists in not listening, she is willing to do it. Tira scoffs, "I don't even feel like killing you, idiot."
She knows that he is suffering from the degenerative effects of having the main Soul Edge sealed. His attack, spurred by her insult, is far too slow. Nimbly, she dodges his stab, and slaps the side of his head with the flat of her ringblade.
"If you listen to me, I can tell you how to free Soul Edge." Tira snaps impatiently. She can tell that he is getting interested, so she continues, "My master, Nightmare, escaped being sealed with the body of Soul Edge. Siegfried Schtauffen used the spirit sword, Soul Calibur, to seal the cursed sword away. That's why you have been falling apart, Cervantes, because the swords have nullified each other."
"How do I know that you're telling the truth?" Cervantes demands. He has no intention of allying with this irritating little girl, whoever her master might be. But he knows that his existence is inextricably entwined with that of Soul Edge.
Tira smiles again. She lifts her arms and twirls before him, showing off the reddish scars on her body, visible through the tears in her green outfit. Normally, they are covered by purple body-paint, but the rain has washed that away.
"See these? Nightmare has gifted me with many shards of Soul Edge. You should be able to sense them." Her voice drops low, becoming playfully seductive. "Well? Can you feel it, Cervantes?"
Cervantes narrows his eyes in annoyance at her flippancy. It is true that, now that he listens for it, he can sense the whispers of the fragments inside her body. The Soul Edge in his hand moans eeriely, longing to be joined with those shards.
Before Cervantes can attack her, however, Tira backflips out of the way and is swarmed by her murder of ravens. She vanishes under the cover that they have provided her, leaving Cervantes alone on the deck.
The immortal pirate flexes his grip, little more than a skeleton now, on the hilt of Soul Edge and heads for the prisoners. While he now has a new quest to consider undertaking, the demands of his dying flesh must be met before he can do anything else.
TO BE CONTINUED...