Disclaimer: Nope! Soul Calibur isn't mine (and neither is Soul Edge for that matter). I don't make money from their existence or this story's existence—I just write mediocre fanfiction.

Notes: I just...adore Talim's ending, because I think it's the only one that gives Algol a happy ending.

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A god, a being of such pure and unstoppable power, was kneeling in defeat before her. And she could only feel sympathy and pity for such a creature. Here, at the precipice of the god's tower, he was on his hands and knees, shaking in pain and maybe even shame. Wounded body, wounded pride; to a god, it was undoubtedly all the same.

But a thought soon came to her mind, as the adrenaline left her weary body and she lowered Syi-Salika and Loka-Luha to her sides. This was no god. This was a man. A man ravaged by a bitter, cold pain that had eaten him away, body and soul, until he was became so filled with hatred that he had bent Nature to his will, disrupting Her methods and causing the cries of the Wind and the stars. She knew, without a doubt, that this was the man who had caused it all; this man was the defeated King who had led Yunseong astray, who had spread Evil all across the globe, who had ravaged her own mind and body for three days and three nights and hurt the children forgotten by all.

She would be justified in killing him. And in doing so, she would be seen not as a murderess, but a hero, for striking down the cause of such horror and such suffering.

But she did not even raised her blades in preparation for such a thing. She merely clipped them to the straps cleverly hidden at her hips, allowing the ceremonial weapons to sway lethargically in the newfound breeze. In respect, she turned to the side, casting her gaze off from the trembling man and stared off into the horizon of a fresh sunrise, rays of gold peeking cautiously over the eastern horizon. She allowed him to catch his breath, to recover, to accept his defeat. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him raise his head, felt his dark and ruthless glare burn into the side of her head.

"I place no blame on you," she told him. And, nodding towards the two weapons lying on the ground between them, she said, "I won't even question what these swords are."

She wouldn't question, because she knew. One sword reeked with evil and horrible things—a foul, distorted wind surrounded it, identical to the ones she encountered when fighting the child with raven hair, the golem, the fallen mother. A demonic, bleary eye rolled in the socket at the hilt, glancing between herself and the King, blazing with greed and malice. Soul Edge.

The other sword was the very one that had been in her dreams constantly, the one made of crystals and ice and, on the surface, purity. But the Wind knew better, and as a result, she knew better. There was nothing truly pure about this sword; it still devoured souls, it still tore apart Nature and let Her cries grate upon her ears every waking moment. This was no light of humanity. This was Soul Calibur.

"However," she continued, crossing her arms behind her back and holding them tightly together, her short nails digging into the back of her hands, "they threaten the very fabric of nature."

And then she turned to him, watched his scarred and hardened face. She saw his eyes, a startling shade of white. "So I'll return them to their true forms."

Then she smiled, the action as natural and warm as breathing, spreading her arms wide in a gesture of welcoming, of reassurance. "...And you, as well."

The Wind began to thrum with energy around her, catching at the ends of her hair and the scarves at her waist, persuading them to join the dance, to join Nature. Her fingers tingled as she lowered her arms, eyes open and piercing into the eyes of the King. The true form of the King, of this man, was that of a father, aching to see his son once more. The Wind guided spirits in an endless whirlwind of rebirth, coaxing pure souls from tired bodies and granting peace. And it was she who could speak with such a great power, it was she who could ask it to grant a wish made by this man.

She did; and by her side, dressed similarly to the King, stood a young man. On his face was a forgiving and warm smile, and she turned her head to look at him just as he gave her a passing glance, eyes full of light and gratitude. She followed the spirit as he walked towards the King, felt the Wind coo and swirl around the two of them. Welcoming them into an embrace, offering them peace at last.

"Father," said the spirit, breaking the silence.

"My son..." the King replied in a choked voice. She saw them grasp hands; the Wind grew warm, very warm, and tightening its current around the King and the Prince, warping their figures until their silhouettes remained, and even faster until they vanished from her sight altogether. She heard the King's voice from the last wisps of the air currents.

"Thank you."

And she raised a hand to her heart as the Wind carried them away, off into that realm of peace. Their fates would be left to the Wind, and whatever judgment it held for the wayward Prince and the cruel King would be dealt. She was not disillusioned. They both held many sins to atone for, and they would; but the Wind was fair, and their sufferings and their trials would be taken into account as well. She prayed for a happy ending to their tale, wished them a better and brighter rebirth.

"What will you do now, child."

The voice was feminine and cold, echoing inside of her soul and resonating within her mind. She turned toward Soul Calibur, and gazed at the Spirit Sword neutrally.

"Will you take me," asked the Sword, "and finally put an end to Soul Edge?"

She did not answer; such a stain and malformation to Nature was not worth speaking to. She walked towards the swords, focused on Soul Calibur.

"Or, perhaps," the cruel, masculine growl of Soul Edge spoke up, "will you take me, my power? Why serve the Wind when you can master it, bend it to your will. Think about it, child."

She didn't. She bent down and took Soul Calibur in her left hand, the cold handle of the sword burning her hand like ice and fire all at once. The feeling spoke of the underlying evil that dwelt within.

"A wise choice," Soul Calibur praised.

She lifted the crystal sword up, as if it weighed no more than a feather. Soul Calibur's pleased murmurs were thick in her mind as it morphed into an intricate, almost fragile replica of Loka-Luha. She could feel the limitless, endless abyss of power that she held now, even as the sword began its subtle attempt to bind itself to her soul, to devour it. She kept her mind clear, kept the Wind at her back, cool breezes flowing over her shoulders and skin.

She approached Soul Edge. The weapon glowed bright red, and Soul Calibur began to shine azure in response.

"Even if you end me, my legacy will not end. He was an example."

She stood over Soul Edge, the cursed sword's twin held tightly in her left hand.

"Strike true, child," Soul Calibur commanded, "into the core, where the Evil views the world and its destruction."

But she did not strike. She reached down and grasped the handle of Soul Edge, almost doubling over as the vile feeling of the sword's existence entered her body.

Soul Edge was lifted just as easily as Soul Calibur, and it morphed in a twisted replica of Syi-Salika just as fast.

"You think you can master us both?" Soul Edge cackled, and she could feel the weight of its evil press upon her. Soul Calibur was ice cold, and its presence in her mind and soul was just as horrific as its twin.

"You're nothing but a child," Soul Calibur suddenly snapped, and she felt a frgid sensation creeping up her left arm. "If you cannot make the choice, I will gladly make it for you."

She closed her eyes and concentrated on her job, on her duty. Purification. The Wind lapped at her torso and legs, spreading over her body yet avoiding her arms.

"You can do nothing," Soul Edge said in a roar, "You are nothing. Humanity is nothing but fodder and you are no different."

"Guide me," she said to the Wind, closing her eyes and ears to the voices in her head. "Please, guide me."

"You stand against the Light of Humanity and bathe yourself in your own, demented shadow," Soul Calibur said, "I had hoped to be apart of you fairly. But if you will not accept me, I will have no choice but to take you." And then she felt it creep over her soul, ice and crystal and death, clasping it tightly like a fist. Soul Calibur was showing its true colors at last.

"Guide me," she repeated, breathless from the cold.

Soul Edge laughed loudly again, and she felt something black and vile slither around the ice, crack it, and try to devour her soul as well. The voices of the soul swords were pounding in her head as they began their own battle for her soul. Her legs shook and it took every ounce of remaining sanity to focus completely on the Wind.

And then, she thought of Yunseong. She thought of Seong Mina. She thought of the fallen mother. She thought of the killing raven, who's blood red eyes and maniacal smile caused her heart to break. She thought of the man forever attempting to reach his salvation, the man who had once been the Azure Knight. It was because of the very objects she held in her hands that had caused such suffering.

She was going to save them. She was going to save them all. She opened her eyes, with newly steeled resolve, and held out Soul Edge and Soul Calibur. The burning sensation of fire and ice were shoved from her soul at last, and the Wind, with a shrill cry of anger, began to swirl around the soul swords. Shards of crystal and blood stained metal caught in the torrent of wind, blazing hot white and clean and sparkling. The voices bellowed their rage inside of her head as they were purified, slowly, agonizingly slowly.

She wanted them to feel the pain of the lives they had ruined. Let them hear the angry, brutalized voices of their previous victims. Let them suffer. A loud snap cracked in her ears, in the very core of her being, causing her back to arch and her breath to catch as the sensation of freedom flooded her body.

And then, the Wind stopped. Her hands were empty. And the world was free from the grip of the soul swords.

Exhausted, Talim fell to her knees, felt tears, hot and wet and salty, stream down her face. The Wind was warm as it wrapped around her body, trying to heal wounds that were at real and fake, all at once.

And again, Talim heard the King.

"Thank you."

She smiled.

–

Notes: ….What is this, actually. Pfff, I don't even know.