Futurism logo

'Soulcalibur'

Fan Fiction: Sophitia

By Alexandra RoybalPublished 6 years ago 7 min read
Like

Prologue.

1564

Lightning flashes. Pale blue streaks jump across the dark grey sky as the thunder booms. The tense ocean mist swallowing everything. Harsh rain pours over the seas, descending from the billowing clouds. The waves grow rapidly inch by inch. Tides rise and fall back again, crashing onto The Adrian, a strong vessel sailing in its waters. Raging currents hit against the large ship, as its watery edges fizz over the wooden barrier and whisks through the air.

The ship did not submit. Crewed by ravaging, hungry men, their heavy black dreadlocks tied behind their haggard faces. Droplets trailed down their bare, muscled backs, their wet soothed bodies covered with leftover scars from their voyages, letting out deep, gasping breaths from the extensive sailing, their spiteful eyes filled with blood-lust. They scatter across the deck, grasping the slippery ropes and hoisting the blowing sails, battling against the watery winds.

Boots stomp over the deck, making way to the wheel. A large man, robust with a shadowed high-cocked hat with faded gold trim surrounding the edge, long silver hair and a stash to match, and flaring blue eyes stare beyond the rough sea. He grabs hold of his ship and gazes over the heavy scene, piercing through the water drops and spuming sea air, searching the waves.

“Captain!” He raises his head to the lookout, “There she is!” he calls out and points to a distant passenger ship. The ship’s silhouette was hidden in the shadows, but its lantern lights shone brightly, seeping from the inside.

“We found her, men! Bring her to harbor! Now!” His pirates holler triumphantly as they make their way toward their mark, pushing towards the passenger ship.

“Ready the cannons,” the Captain said. The men below aim the cannons at the helpless vessel. “Fire!”

The cannons muffled sounds echo through the storm. The Adrian picked up speed as the passenger ship halted in its slow, damaged state. The cannons made a direct hit to the side of the ship. Steering close to the submitted ship, the men hold onto the ropes and swing across onboard, unsheathing their swords and pistols out. As the ship is overtaken, a few English sailors dressed in white puffed shirts and long white stockings tucked underneath their black trousers scatter trying to hide while the few British soldiers on board ready their long muskets.

“Kill anyone in your way! No mercy!” The Captain points his long sword up to the heavens.

He grabs hold of one of his men by the collar, “Find me that sword.”

“Si, Captain.”

His men fight anyone who faced them. An English man pops a light, shots fired from the back while another corpse struck in front falls overboard. Some break down doors into the upper ship’s quarters, others run down below deck, looting one of the ship’s storage rooms and ransacking the weapons. At the end of the ship, in a closed off room, an Englishman with his wife and young son hide from the chaos above.

The husband removes his long, finely embroidered coat and sets it aside. “Stay here. I have to go above,” he whispers.

“No, don’t. Stay—they won’t find us.” His wife grabs him by the arm, begging him with her frightened gaze as she pulls his puffy sleeve tightly.

“They will destroy the ship either way. We have to find a way to get off.” He pauses, then leans close putting his hand gently on her face. “I won’t let them harm you.”

He bends down, looking into his young son’s eyes as he holds his mother’s smooth, ruffled dress. He kisses his forehead, pressing his lips firmly between the ends of his messy brown hair and baby skin, not wanting to let go. He rises again and puts his hand on a brown cloth covering a long triangular object on the table behind her.

“If something should happen, use it.” He steps away, closing the door behind him, and locks it.

The husband walks through the ship’s wide corridor, hides behind a wall and waits. He hears loud stomping and heavy snickering from the end of the corridor. The pirates lower their voices as they step down from the stairs and walk in. The husband sneaks a peek before hiding back against the wall. At least three men come down, all armed, one holding a Spanish sword, while his tall friend holds one pistol in each hand, and the other with large muscles and nothing but the brass knuckles on his bare fists. He lays his head back, breathing softly and whispers a prayer as he holds tightly onto his pistol. He cocks the safety lever, turns slightly, and aims.

The wife hears faint gunshots behind the door. “All right, my dear. Stay low and do not come out.” The boy couches under the table, bracing his knees to his chest. His mother unwraps the cloth around the large object, letting the edges fall around the counter. She pauses, admiring the magnificent weapon. She shakes her head, then grabs the hilt tightly and drags the sword off the wooden table, barely keeping it steady in the air. She let out a grunt, as she draws whatever strength she can muster as she readies her stance; hunched on her left with the weight of the sword, the tip touching the floorboard, ready to swing the sword up. She lets out quick, short breaths as footsteps come closer.

The door breaks open. The woman flinches before seeing the robust man with the shadowed hat and silver hair at the entrance. She lets out a terrified grunt, bringing the sword up, but before she can land a blow, the Captain stops the blade with his own and flings it to the ground. The woman drops to her knees, already tired from the weight of the blade.

The boy underneath the table sits guarded against the edge of the legs and the wall behind him, witnessing his mother quiver under the gaze of the scary pirate.

“W-where’s my husband?” she demands, voice etched with fear.

The Captain chuckles, grinning under his whitened stash. “Dead.”

The woman lets out a slight whimper, then stands up. In that quick moment, the Captain sticks his sword in the woman’s gut as she looks upon his face, tears trailing down her cheeks. The Captain pushes her to the ground, unsheathing his sword from her body, blood staining his blade and seeping from her wound, covering the hardwood floor. The Captain looks at the huge blade lying before him. The centerpiece between the hilt and blade seems to be a large eyeball. Astounded by its wicked red veined appearance, one of his men reaches for it.

“Don't touch it!” The Captain roars. “I will take it.”

The Captain grabs the sword by the hilt and stretches the blade out in front of him, releasing tired and gasping breaths. “Finally. This is it, The sword I have been looking for...and it’s all mine.”

The Captain leaves the room, his men following behind him. Coming onto the deck, his first mate quickly briefs him. “Captain Cervantes, we have found all their weapons and merchandise. What should we do with the rest of them?” He looks at the Captain’s new sword.

“Is that it Captain? Is that what we have been looking for?”

Cervantes snickers at the blade, then looks over to his confidant with a wicked grin.

“Soul Edge is our prize! The rest goes to Midas!” Cervantes bellows into the heavens as he raises the mighty sword.

His crew cheer, roaring through the intense rain and thunder. They pack all their loot over to their ship, leaving the survivors tied to the mast, and then sets the ship loose. The Adrian sails away from the burning ship, now sinking to its watery grave. Cervantes and his crew shout in victory, brandishing over at their spoils. Suddenly, Cervantes lowers his bestowed trophy. He screams in agonizing pain and falls to his knees, rambling in twisted tongues and uncontrollable madness.

“The voices! The voices!! Make them stop!!!”

“Captain! What’s wrong?” His first mate stares at his fallen captain.

Cervantes puts his head to the ground, seeing the sword right beside him in the corner of his fuming, desperate eye.

“You want souls?” He says under his breath as he reaches for the ominous sword, his hand an unnatural purple tint, trembling before finally grasping the hilt.

“I’ll give you SOULS!!!”

The sky turns into a black smoke covering the ship overhead, not letting even the slightest light to come through. The storm grows worse and the waves more enraging, the madness of the Captain gains control of the sky and seas.

His dark blue eyes absorb into yellow and the outer layer into blackness. “YES!! YES!! With this sword, Soul Edge and I, we will make our own infernal paradise!!”

The evil spirit of the wicked sword devours his mind and drinks heavily on Cervantes’ soul. Leaving only the howling wails and shrieks of his own men, and his psychotic screams carry through the air.

At the end of that dreadful night, nobody heard from Cervantes ever again.

fantasy
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.