A sigh in the air, birds chirping here and there, the bustle of the rustling leaves, composing a beautiful melody written by a master artist. Nature was wonderful, truly so, but every beautiful tune hides pain underneath.
Sorrow underneath.
And no matter how small the misery may be....It rarely gets hidden only buried temporarily.
A swish in the air, and a grunt, as a boy was sent flying like a toy handled by a toddler towards a upright tree with fire upon the top. Blood was coughed out, crimson greeting the vision of the young boy who had hit his prime seventeen just a few months back. Stumbling and whimpering, but kneeling wasn't his identity, so he rose with stumbles for his legs were weeping in pain.
Tatters and rags served as his clothes, scorches on the side and cuts on various parts. It seemed as if a thousand arrows had rained down upon him, yet he remained standing for his pride was a lion. He was tall, not extremely, but enough to be called so. Shoulders were broad, back straight, muscles on his build, and teeth gritted. A warrior's descendant who knew all about the world.
Held in his right hand was a hilt, descending down was a silver blade that seemed to be pristine albeit with crimson even when its owner wasn't. He gripped it tightly, as his eyes reminding one of the soil(a mix of brown with a dark tint) looked in front, at the one responsible for his fatal state.
Not only of his, but of his village, Northern Frontier Village named by a Duke who had conquered this land when it was fertile and left it to them in a barren state. A coward who didn't know how to lead a village.
"Our village.....filled with mere commoners, what harm could it ever do to you?" He asked slowly, keeping his breath steady and gripping one of the larger wounds with his free hand to lessen the bleeding. He didn't want to die. No he didn't...Even if the great heavens wanted him executed, he would have rebelled, it was in his nature to rebel.
He was filled with rage, hatred and other emotions that would've made anyone lose their mind, but he was calm, his mind was cold as he tried to see the reason. Curiosity overtook him. Good looking people were always the most curious, his mother used to say in reference to a tale she told him when he was a toddler.
The winds were serene yet they felt as if they were tearing through the dark flowing strands of his hair, pain gripped him yet his gaze never faltered from the man who stood tall and floating in the air as if an angel who was taught in hell.
Armor covered the man from the neck to toe, filled with paintings of a war long forgotten and plating made from the scales of a red dragon, it oozed off the smell of misery and was frightful to eyes.
The destroyer of the village was pale in tone, eyes that seemed to be a pair of the sun, hair white as the midnight snow and smalls cracks spreading through the skin. A ghost in human shell. The destroyer on hearing the words of the young boy smiled. A chuckle left him as he tilted his head to the side and twirled his trident around. The blades glowed with an ethereal light and the body seemed to be a serpent, twirling like chains around the gauntlet of the destroyer.
"Your voice matches that of a warrior who stands tall even in the face of death, and such a warrior deserves an answer before his demise yet I am not someone honorable enough to answer. Sorry little child, but ask it from THE MAKER when you meet him." The destroyer answered, his tone mocking yet respectful, as he descended from the air and appeared in front of the boy in an instant.
The steps faltered back, as the boy bit the inside of his cheek and without a word shared more, drew his sword and slashed!
CRACK
The sword shattered as the destroyer just smirked, while the boy felt extreme pain yet not a single scream, only a grunt and his leg gave up on him as blood splattered on his face.
The eyes went towards the arm, not only the sword, but his dominant hand was ripped and only blood remained in place. No muscles, no bones, nothing but blood.
"Admirable pain tolerance. You would have made for a fine subordinate. But unfortunately your birth rank's defect made you a casualty." The destroyer laughed once, before he became completely cold, and the head of the boy flew away as the body fell down.....
[The mortal shell has fallen]
[The fire of pain consumes the soul]
[Sorrow, Misery, Courage. All fuel for revenge.]
[The King's Bloodline Respects Your Inner Strength]
[Subject 0942]
[Granting Portion Of Blood]
[Success]
[Requirements matching]
[Matched]
[Revival?]
[Granted]
---
My name is Sathan Rodriguez.
The Heir Of Rodriguez Tribe.
A tribe of scholars, leaders and priests.
The next-in-line to be the caretaker of the Northern Frontier Village.
But....The divinities above have a fun way of giving surprises
Hatred. I don't feel wrath. I feel hatred. Unadultered Hatred.
The fire which have consumed, the swords that tore me and the winds that mocked my stature. I want to conquer it, dominate it all and reign over it all. Tyrant, a tyrant is what I seek to become, maybe not in this life....But if the next life exists, a tyrant ruling over the gods themselves, will be what I become.
Nothing more is left in me, save for the will to dominate. The will to attain power. The will to rule.
---
A gust of wind, clouds stormed above, and the fire left nothing but ashes to the barren land. No homes, no corpses, completely barren and still. Everything was gone....
But there was something.
Something which had survived,
Something which had roared in the face of death,
A tyrannical will.
The boy was still there. His eyes opened as he stared at the grey clouds above with blankness as his dominant state.
"I am alive?" The thought passed as he continued to stare, pondering about the absurdity of it all.
[Yes, you are]