Hello, friends! Here is the first chapter of my SCII fic! And yes, I changed the plot around a little because I thought it was lame. Anyhoo, here's the disclaimer!

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Calibur II and never will, but I do own Jayson because he's my OC!

XDXDXDXD

Angel

Chapter I: Competition

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Transcending history and the world, a tale of souls and swords eternally retold…

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A white-cloaked figure looked over his surroundings. He was in a deep forest with trees of many shapes and sizes dotting the landscape. With so many trees, one might think this forest would be dark and phantasmal. Still, the trees let plenty of sunlight come through, lighting up the forest in such a way that the rays could actually be seen. This brought such an aura of comfort to the white-clad stranger that he felt like he was actually at home in his world. Yet he was not, and he knew there would be no turning back. He had made up his mind to rid this world of the malevolent, soul-devouring sword known as Soul Edge.

Soul Edge…the very name of it brought a chill of hatred and sorrow down his spine. It was because of Soul Edge that he came here in the first place. He was here to eradicate it forever. It killed his disciples; the twelve of them were not only his fierce guardians, but they were his good friends as well. It also killed his mother…his dear, sweet mother, whose peaceful smile, glimmering jaded eyes, and soothing, melodic voice could bring the most troubled of souls at ease. All of them…lost to an evil blade with nothing but souls on its twisted mind. His single eye almost watered in a tear.

He carefully set those memories into the back of his head, for they were temporarily obscuring his current situation. He started walking through the heavily wooded forest, hoping to find no one hostile. Most of all, he hoped not to get himself lost.

After nearly an hour of travel, he was still in the forest.

I am officially lost now, he thought. This forest doesn't seem to end! Help…

Eventually his hopes lit up, for after ten minutes of traveling east, he soon found the edge of the forest. Not only that, he was standing on a green, grassy hill overlooking a medium-sized village. He then looked up in the sky and saw that the sun was at its highest point, marking noon. The stranger figured that he would get there before the sun set. Brushing some of his blonde strands from his face, he walked down the hill towards the town.

"Well," he said to himself, "at least now I know where I am going."

As he moved closer to the town, however, he noticed some storm clouds building up above him. The large, anvil-shaped clouds concealed the azure sky without haste. A flash of lightning, a rumble of thunder, and the first few drops of rain signaled the start of the storm. In no time at all, the small droplets became a torrential downpour.

"Great," he sighed in exasperation. "It's a good thing I have my cloak with me, otherwise I would be drenched." He looked down at his white cloak, which was being bombarded by rain. Thankful for this fact, he pressed onward. In no time at all, he reached a large pair of maple gates reinforced with iron bars and rivets. He knocked on them repeatedly. A gruff man opened a peephole built in the gate and stared at the white-cloaked figure.

"What do you want?" he said in a demanding tone.

"I wish to stay at the inn," the stranger in white replied, ignoring the man's tone of voice.

Suddenly, the man seemed affable. "Ah, yes, yes!" He closed the peephole with an abrupt slam. The sound of clanking metal could be heard as the man swung open the gate slowly. He then urged the white-cloaked figure to come through the gates. He walked through.

"Thank you, my friend," he said to the man. "Can you tell me where the inn is?"

"Down that way," the man replied, pointing down the main street through the wall of rain. "It's the largest building on the right." He then looked up to the sky, which was unleashing its rain without mercy. "You might want to get there before it gets worse."

"Again, I thank you," the white-clad figure said. He walked down the muddy street towards the inn. Strangely enough, people still occupied the road, frantically loading their carts with their provisions, slipping and sliding in the mud all the while. The white-clad figure thought this as slightly amusing as he himself took care not to stumble. He made his way to the inn without incident. Thankfully, the mahogany door wasn't locked, and he let himself in, taking care not to track in mud. He walked up to a man sitting behind the front counter. The man stared at him for a second, and then smiled.

"Good evening, sir," he said. "Caught by the rain, yeah?"

The person cloaked in white chuckled lightheartedly. "I guess you can say that. I would like to stay here for a couple of nights."

"Ah, yes. I thought ye might say that," the man replied. "Anyhow, it's five silver a night to stay here."

The stranger before him reached into his cloak and pulled out a red, crescent-shaped ruby no bigger than his thumb and handed it to the man. "This is all I have," he said.

The man behind the counter stared with wide eyes. "Well, normally I wouldn't accept this, but seein' that ye don't have anything else, then feel free to stay here." He then gave a brass key to him. "Yer room's down that hall, second door to the left. Enjoy yer stay."

"Thank you," he replied as he made his way to the room and let himself in. The room consisted of a hay-stuffed mattress on a wooden frame, a side table with a clay platter on top of it, an oil lantern, and an ornately decorated red rug. Smiling, he sat down on the bed and went into deep meditation. He meditated well into the night and then just ended up falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

/\/\/\/\

The rain had ceased overnight, and the sunrise that followed was certainly one to behold. The white cloaked stranger yawned, surprised at the fact that he had fallen asleep. Paying it no mind, he took his cloak and left his room. He entered the tavern part of the inn and saw that many of the people who were staying at the inn had already woken up and were now chatting idly amongst themselves. But then he came across a young woman sitting alone at one of the corner tables.

She seemed to be in her very early twenties. Her skin was slightly pale, but not too much. Her attire looked…interesting, to say the least. She was garbed in a white one-piece sleeveless shirt and skirt that was blue down the middle. A brown leather belt with intricate markings was wrapped around her finely shaped waist. The skirt fell just halfway down her thighs and ended in a zigzag pattern. Brown leggings adorned her legs and ended in white boots with blue fronts. She also wore pure white gloves that took up three quarters of her slender arms' length. Small, metal, circular shoulder plates were tied to the point where her gloves ended with pink ribbons. Another piece of blue hung on her shoulders and split into two at her upper back. It met up at a high, loose collar that was held together by a pink neckpiece with a gold design etched into it. A white tiara was perched on top of her short, light blonde hair, and her eyes were as azure as the sky on a cloudless day. Next to the chair she was sitting on were a short sword and a small blue shield with an unfamiliar yellow symbol etched in the middle.

Interesting, he thought as he made his way to the bar. The man to whom he gave that ruby was happening to be standing behind there, cleaning out a clay mug. The man turned to the white-cloaked stranger, his dull brown gaze fixed on him.

"Oh, it's you," the man said. "Can I interest ye in some ale?"

"Just a shot, please," the white-clad stranger said. "I'm not usually a big drinker."

"I know what ye mean," the bartender replied. "Not many of my customers drink big this early in the morning." He then strolled over to one of the many oak barrels. "Do ye like mild, bitter, or pale?"

"Mild, please," the stranger replied. As the bartender was fixing his glass, the stranger took another glance at that young woman in the corner. However, his attention was immediately broken by a nudge to his shoulder. He turned around to see that the bartender had his shot ready. Thanking him, the stranger downed it immediately, the gentle, sweet taste swirling around in his mouth all the while.

The bartender stared at the stranger for a moment. Then he glanced at an oddly designed sword strapped to a brown belt around the stranger's waist. "Are ye a strong warrior?" he asked.

The white-clad stranger chuckled a little. "I guess you can say that," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, there's gonna be a village fighting competition later on this afternoon," the barkeep answered. "Ye look like a competent swordsman, so how's about signing up?"

The stranger thought it through. He knew he had to find Soul Edge sooner or later, but he also knew that he should not stress over it too often. He should at least a little fun on his journey. If he didn't, then the stress that would weigh him down would be too great to lift. So taking place in this little tournament was not such a bad idea. "Okay," the stranger finally stated. "I'll partake in this competition. Is there an entry fee?"

"No, no, no," the barkeep retorted while shaking his head to and fro. "Anyone who wants to can enter. There's no fee to pay. All ye have to do is sign yer name here." The barkeep handed the stranger a piece of parchment with well over a dozen names scribbled on it in a rather unorganized way. He also handed him a bright red quill pen and a bottle of pitch black ink. The stranger took the quill, dunked it in the oily black liquid, and wrote down his name: Jayson I. Elleck IX.

The barkeep took the parchment, looked over the name, and nodded in agreement. "Alrighty then, Mr. Elleck. The tournament starts at noon today. You'll be notified of who yer gonna fight then."

"Thank you," the white-clad stranger known as Jayson replied. He got up from the stool and headed for the front door. He opened and disappeared out onto the front street.

/\/\/\/\

The young, blonde-haired woman, although sitting in the corner table, had overheard the conversation between the stranger cloaked in white and the bartender. She, too, had also noticed the unusual sword sheathed in a blue scabbard with curving silver markings etched on it. And that snow white cloak he was wearing certainly caught her attention. Could he be another warrior on the frantic race for Soul Edge? If so, what was his reason for doing so? Was it to obtain it or to obliterate it? Is he even that strong of a swordsman? There was only one way to find out. She had to enter this tournament herself. She stood from her seat, picked up her sword and shield, and strode over to the bar where the barkeep was standing.

"Why, hello there, lass," the barkeep said. "What can I help ye with?"

"Are there any spaces left for the competition you were talking about earlier?" the woman asked eagerly.

The barkeep was taken aback. "Well, it's not very often that we have a girl fighting in a competition," he said. "In fact, yer one of the first ones I've laid eyes on."

"Does it matter?" the woman retorted. "Anyway, there is room left, right?"

"Why, of course there is, lass," the barkeep replied. "Yer lucky, y'know. There're only three spaces left, so I think I can squeeze ye in there." He handed her the parchment with all the participants' names scribbled on it and the red, feathery quill. "Just write yer name here." The woman did so: Cassandra Alexandra.

"Alrighty, then, Miss Alexandra," the barkeep stated. "The tournament starts at noon today. You'll know who you'll fight then."

"Thanks, barkeep," the woman named Cassandra said. She then left the inn, leaving the barkeep appalled, yet at the same time confident in her.

"You'll do just fine, lass," he said to no one in particular. "I have faith in ye."

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The sun had dried up the once muddy streets, so travel in the village seemed easier. Consequentially, the streets were crowded in people as markets, smithies, and traveling merchants attracted the villagers from every which way. Thus, traveling in this sea of commoners was made considerably more difficult. On top of that, with the tournament being mere hours away, the crowds were even more condensed near the arena, which Jayson happened to pass by. The arena itself was masterfully built; each stone was placed in perfect alignment with each other and many of them were different colors, forming a circle that had a sort of runic feel to it. If only it were as beautiful as it was when it was first built; there were many nicks, scratches, scuff marks, and small amounts of blood stains from past fights scarring its tawny brown and beige surface. It was centered in a small, man-made lake, not too shallow, not too deep, and the iron bars of a collapsible cage could be seen on the sides. Two drawbridges connected the arena to the audience stands.

"I'll give credit to the guy who built this," Jayson said to no one in particular, "he did a fine job of constructing it." He then looked to the skies and saw that the sun was not quite at its highest point yet. It would still be about two hours until the tournament went underway, so he thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to just linger around for awhile. He chose a suitable spot near the audience stands. He leaned against the warm, tawny stone wall and stared at the crystal clear lake. It reminded him of the man made lake he had back in his world, yet it wasn't.

Some time after he arrived, Jayson was about to doze off into solemn slumber when he saw someone approaching him. Judging from the stiff, brown bag slung over his shoulder, he looked like a courier for the tournament, no older than fifteen. He stopped in front of Jayson.

"This is to determine who your opponent is going to be in this competition," he stated in a businesslike manner. "I'll need your name."

"Jayson," Jayson said simply. The boy started rummaging through his bag. It took a few seconds to pull out the appropriate slip of parchment, but eventually he succeeded and handed it to Jayson.

"Good luck, Mr. Jayson," the boy said before taking off. Jayson unfolded the parchment and beheld one name: Yunsung. He hummed thoughtfully at the name.

"I look forward to this…Yunsung," Jayson said.

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Cassandra looked to the sky to see that it was almost noon. She had to make it to the arena soon, otherwise she'd be disqualified! She pushed and shoved her way through the crowded streets, receiving the occasional "Hey!" and "Watch where you're going!" She ultimately made it to the arena, just as the courier boy was about to leave. She almost ran into him, but stopped herself mere inches away from him. Sure enough, the boy was caught off-guard.

"W-whoa!" he shouted as he almost toppled backwards. He caught his footing just in time.

"Oh, gods! I am so sorry!" Cassandra apologized frantically.

"D-don't worry about it," the boy said in a calming voice. "Are you another one of the participants?"

"Wait…oh, yeah!" she exclaimed. "I'm Cassandra." The boy sighed and rifled through his bag. He then pulled out a slip of parchment and handed it to Cassandra.

"Good luck, Miss Cassandra," the boy stated as he ran off. Cassandra opened the parchment and read the single name that was on it: Sebastian.

"Sebastian, huh?" she hummed. "It doesn't ring a bell…well, whatever."

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As the sun reached its highest point and stared mercilessly upon the earth, the roars of the crowd reverberated throughout the arena. The fights immediately went underway as fighters and swordsmen, amateur and professional alike, entered the arena, two at a time, and clashed their fists, swung their blades, and spilled their blood. The crowd was entertained, but Jayson was bored beyond reason; he had obviously seen better back at home. The sword swinging was half-decent, but it was lacking any special moves; they were just slashing wildly. He was about to doze off out of plain boredom when he saw that blonde-haired woman enter the arena. Jayson had a feeling she would participate, for she seemed to be a warrior of exceptional skill. He sensed great promise in her.

"Whoever you are," Jayson said in a barely audible voice. "Good luck."

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Cassandra entered the arena, taking a glance at her opponent, Sebastian. He was about thirty, that much could be said about his unkempt cinnamon beard and untidy hair. He wore no shirt, exposing his relatively muscular body that bore a few scars. The only item of clothing he wore was a pair of loose, brown pants. He held in his hand a broad sword of simple design. His vomit-colored eyes emanated no comfort. Just from the look of him, one could easily tell that he was an amateur.

"Heh, heh," the man known as Sebastian growled, "I'm gonna have fun with you." Cassandra was unimpressed.

"Ugh…you're definitely not my type," Cassandra teased.

"What'd you say? Say that again!" he snapped.

"Normally I would, but I'm afraid that little pea-brain mind of yours wouldn't be able to understand," Cassandra mocked, sticking out her tongue.

"Fighters ready? FIGHT!" an announcer shouted. The fight began almost immediately as Sebastian ran towards Cassandra, rage evident in his vomit-colored eyes.

"I'M GONNA DICE YA UP!" he yelled in hysterics, his face contorted in anger. Cassandra brought up her shield in time to block a horizontal strike. The sound of metal against metal rang out through the arena as the crowd cheered wildly. Cassandra took this moment to thrust her shield forward, thus releasing it from the sword's grasp and sending it right into Sebastian's rib cage. All of the wind was knocked out of him as he was blown back a few feet. He then regained his ground and saw Cassandra trying to rush him. With a yell, he swung his sword horizontally with great force, aiming right for her neck. She jumped back half a second too late as the sword nicked at her left shoulder. The cut wasn't deep, but blood was slowly trickling out from it. When Cassandra saw this, she gave a shout of anger and ran for Sebastian again. He hefted his sword again, but was too late as Cassandra gave him a front kick to the gut, causing him to keel over while clutching his stomach in agony. This left him vulnerable to a stylish back-flip kick, which nailed him right in the jaw and sent him on his back.

"Agh! Dammit!" he managed to yell from his now-broken jaw. He got up again and charged at her, his sword high above his head. He swung his sword with a beast-like force down on top of her. At the last second, Cassandra raised her short sword above her head. That irritable clang of iron against iron sounded as the audience stared in complete awe at the scene before them. Sebastian let out a grunt and was surprised at the result of his bone-smashing downward slash; Cassandra held the blade in place with her short sword, not budging even once. Everyone was appalled at such a feat; how could a woman stop a swing so strong that it would crack the earth? Sebastian was so surprised that he had no time to react as Cassandra came in with her shield once more and struck him in the rib cage. A few unsettling cracks signaled that some of his ribs caved in. Sebastian screeched in agony as he grasped his chest, kneeling down as he did so. That was not a smart decision as Cassandra stepped to his right and saw that his leg was in perfect position for her to perform one of her nastier moves. She stabbed her sword right through his lower leg and into the ground. The crowd winced as Sebastian gave out a heart-stopping scream loud enough to wake the dead. Then Cassandra did everyone a favor by slamming her shield over his head. The resulting clang shut him up immediately, for it knocked him out cold. He collapsed to the ground with a satisfying crash. Cassandra yanked her sword from Sebastian's leg, the blood oozing down from it like oil.

"NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE…ZERO!" the announcer counted down. "MATCH OVER! CASSANDRA ALEXANDRA WINS!" The audience was eerily quiet for a moment. Yet the silence was instantaneously broken as the crowd roared in applause and approval. Some cursed their luck, for they had hefty bets placed on Sebastian. Either way, they loved Cassandra's performance in the ring.

Cassandra turned to the now-unconscious Sebastian. "That was all too easy," she taunted, even though he probably couldn't hear her. "You make me laugh." She then walked to the drawbridge and made her way to the mainland. It felt good to beat the crud out of a wannabe swordsman. She then remembered the wound he gave her and glanced over at her shoulder. Judging from the fact that the bleeding had already stopped, it wasn't anything major. She simply chose to ignore it as she walked by the audience stands, receiving compliments, congratulations, and good comments as she did. Then she came across that stranger in the white cloak, leaning up against the tawny stone wall, his face concealed within the shadows of his hood.

"I must say I am very impressed with your performance," he said as she walked by him. Cassandra stopped a few feet away from him.

"Uh…thanks," she hesitantly responded. The stranger pushed himself off the wall and brought himself face-to-face with her. Cassandra couldn't make out anything from under that hood of his; only his mouth and a few strands of blonde hair could be distinguished. "Who are you anyway? When I saw you at the inn, I couldn't take my mind off you."

"I'm Jayson," he replied. "Uh…Cassandra, right? You're quite a strong warrior for a woman."

"Heh, you have a problem with that?" she asked.

"Not at all," Jayson retorted. "Where I come from, women are just as capable at wielding a sword as men are. But from the way you handle your sword and shield…" he paused, glancing at Cassandra's sword, which was clean from blood, and at her shield, which, despite that fight, still looked like it was newly forged. "…I must say that you are an exceptional fighter."

"Good," Cassandra stated. "Because people look at me strangely, as if I were crazy or something. It unsettles me whenever they give me those stares."

"I don't think you're crazy," Jayson said. "I think the path you chose was a good one, and that you should keep following it. It's like what an old friend once told me, 'Be yourself, no matter what they say.'"

"Thanks…I guess," Cassandra said. "I'll keep that in mind." She paused to think anything else to ask him. Then the thought of Soul Edge hit her; with that cloak of his enshrouding his identity, he looked like the type who would know a lot about it. "Say," Cassandra continued, "Do you know anything about—." As if on cue, a man nudged Jayson's shoulder, signaling that it was Jayson's turn to fight.

"Well, it looks like I'm up. I better get up there," he interrupted. "Wish me luck, though with my skill, I might not need it." He whirled around to the direction of the stage, his white cloak flowing behind him. Cassandra was slightly annoyed about being interrupted and silently cursed the guy who told him it was his turn. Yet she was also dumbfounded. His skill? Was he as powerful a warrior as he claimed to be? There was only one way to know for sure, and that was to watch the fight for herself.

"Well, Jayson…whoever you are, take him down," Cassandra said to herself.

/\/\/\/\

Jayson made his way to the center of the arena to confront his opponent, Yunsung. He was a tall, well built young man of about eighteen whose skin was slightly pale. He was garbed in an assortment of whites, oranges, and blacks; the left part of his shirt was orange and had a short sleeve. It overlapped its right side, which was white and had no sleeve at all. The shirt itself stopped just at his abdomen, exposing a relatively muscular stomach. Adorning his forearms were white cuffs with orange ends and three golden orbs on each. His white, loose-fitting pants had black markings on the knees and on the ends, and they ended in black shoes. His hair was like fire, short and spiky, and his eyes were a burning red. In his hand was a curved sword with a golden base that seemed to be carved into the shape of the heads and manes of two ferocious lions. Jayson could instantly tell this was a hardened warrior who possessed a great amount of skill.

The young man known as Yunsung snorted. "Heh, so you're my opponent," he said cockily. "You don't look so tough."

"Looks can be deceiving, Yunsung," Jayson replied with a quiet laugh. "Maybe this look will change your opinion." He grabbed the scruff of his white cloak and hurled it off of him. The cloak flew across the lake boundary and landed on the mainland. Yunsung, the audience, and Cassandra took in the sight of the man under the white cloak:

He was a tall, slim young man who appeared to be no older than seventeen, his skin not too pale, nor too dark. He was garbed in a scarlet short-sleeved shirt underneath a blue vest with silver shoulder plates gleaming in the sun. Turquoise bands wrapped around his forearms, their feathery ends hanging freely. A periwinkle scarf lined in gold looped around his torso, its golden tassel end flowing like water in the wind. Tied to it was a blue sword scabbard lined in silver. Deep blue pants adorned his legs, with bright silver greaves wrapped around the shins, and ended in white boots. A sapphire, tear-shaped pendant hung on a thin, silver chain around his neck. His bright blonde hair was long and straight, and was tied into a low ponytail. His right eye was concealed by a bang of his blonde hair, but his left eye was a beautiful emerald green. Yet the two blood-red lines that scarred it somewhat tempered its beauty.

And even though nobody seemed to notice, Cassandra saw the one distinctive trait of Jayson that no one else could make out: his ears. They were long and pointed. She gasped in shock, but to her surprise, no one was staring wide-eyed, shouting, or running away. She thought this as odd; could no one see his ears but her? Deciding that shouting would arouse suspicion, she decided to keep quiet until she could confront him after the fight was over. For now, Cassandra would see what this guy can do.

"Well, Yunsung?" Jayson stated. "Does this suit you better?"

Yunsung snorted. "Somewhat. But you still don't look strong. Do you seriously want to fight me?" he replied while stretching his legs left and right.

"Don't underestimate me," Jayson said. "Doing so would be a grave mistake in your part." He then reached for the scabbard and lashed out his weapon. It was a longsword of unusual design; the blade itself was long, sleek, and had the color of quicksilver. Its deep blue base was diamond-shaped and had three golden orbs embedded on either side of it, forming a triangle. A silver piece of metal curved up from the base and snaked its way down the parchment-colored hilt, ending at a bright topaz encrusting its tip, forming some form of knuckle guard.

"Now, prepare yourself!" Jayson exclaimed as he got into a most interesting fighting stance. His sword was in his right hand, his thumb facing the end of the hilt.

"Alright, let's do this!" Yunsung shouted as he himself got into a basic fighting stance.

"Fighters ready? FIGHT!" the announcer cried. No sooner had he said those words, Jayson and Yunsung leapt into action.

/\/\/\/\

Yay! A cliffhanger! Hee…I just love leaving people in suspense, but no offense, really. Anyhoo, please Review! Friendly, and I mean friendly criticism is always welcome! And no flames!

Lightpaladin;)