ACT II : BIRTH
"Siegfried!"
Their voices didn't reach his ears. If they did, he took no notice.
Siegfried Schtauffen was preoccupied with staring, in disbelief, at the decapitated body of his father, and his father's blood on his own sword, dripping off his blade onto the dark earth.
An accident... A simple accident...
But with such catastrophic consequences.
"Siegfried?" The older boy. They'd been friends since before they could walk. Why couldn't he remember the boy's name? Why did his voice, which had a mere minute ago sounded so familiar, sound so foreign now?
"Sieg. Put your sword down. Come over here and sit down. It's okay." The girl. Her name wasn't there either. Her words didn't register, and he began to walk away from them.
They called out to him, but they did not give chase. He walked through the light, drizzling rain for what seemed like an eternity before it all slammed into him-
Someone... someone killed my father... my father is dead! No! No!
The rains washed the blood from the blade in his hand, and so too was the memory of his own sin washed from his mind...
The legendary blade stood, embedded in the soft wood of the dock, resplendent in its promises of power.
Siegfried glanced at the pile of bones that he had felled to win this blade. The Sword of Legends... with this, if the stories were true, he could resurrect his father. With a confident step forward, he reached out and gripped the fleshy hilt of the blade.
Awakened me so soon?
Siegfried jumped at the sound of the voice. It seemed to come from nowhere, yet it came from everywhere. He could not distinguish if it was male or female, young or old, friend or foe. All he could tell was that it spoke.
You would seek to use my power, human...
The grotesque eye above the hilt stared at him knowingly. It was a gaze that peirced right through him, through to all his thoughts, all his secrets.
"Y-yes. I do."
Very well... However... I ask of you in return that you allow me to use that body of yours as a vessel... for which to channel my power.
"Your... Power?"
The souls of the living... The eye of the blade narrowed with pleasure at the thought of consuming more essences. You must kill humans... Harvest their souls... When you have gathered enough, I shall bring back your father.
"My father! You can... you can do that?"
Nothing is beyond my power, mortal... Nothing. Now, accept the darkness into your soul...
Heheheh... Fool human. Those whose souls are lost to death can never return. Now, look upon true fear! Remember why your kind fears the darkness...
Death! Death to them all!
The essence of the dark that was housed within Soul Edge was thinking. Pondering. Musing. Mulling over the complications these human vessels always seemed to have. Septimus would have been a loyal servant if not for his love for the priestess woman... It had made him weak... And in the end, it was she who killed him. The next vessel, the warrior woman, had thought herself the protector of everything. She refused to comply with any of the blade's orders. And so it went.
Love...justice...vengeance...power... Every one of the sword's wielders so far had an ulterior motive, something to distract them from simply slaughtering any who crossed their path without question. This fool who had just taken up the hilt was no exception.
But... If he were to create a new being... One who existed only to serve him...
A look of smug satisfaction sparked in the blade's eye.
Awaken, puppet.
Flame-colored eyes slowly opened to the sunlight. A massive, clawed hand rose to shield them.
He blinked a few times until the light was bearable. Slowly, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking around the dock where he sat. A newborn entity, he knew nothing, and without moving he began to take in his surroundings. The smell of seawater, the slight chill of the early autumn air, the dim light of the stormy sky, it was all unfamiliar.
Then, he saw the sword.
Somehow, though he knew nothing yet, he did know that this sword was what had created him. The eye was familiar, the only familiar thing here, and when he looked at it, he knew. Like an infant could recognize their parent, he knew this blade.
Though merely a newborn demon, he had the look of an older human boy, save for the twisted, leathery flesh and gargantuan claws of his right arm. Eyes that burned like live coals, and a brilliant shock of blood-red hair.
Welcome, my puppet... Welcome to the world of the mortals.