One year ago…
People are lying upon the ground. A teenage boy sprints past their bodies, treading upon some. Even if some may seem to be sleeping, he realizes they will never rise again. I cannot help but ponder upon when I will join them.
The ground is dyed red from the excessive amount of blood that has been splashed over it.
“Protect the King!” screamed a soldier standing in front of me. The boy cut off his head, charging past as a fountain of blood appears. If he would have paused to look, he would have been able to see as the soldiers blood went from blue to red, due to the sheer speed with which the man’s head had been separated from his body.
Looking behind him, the boy sees a city painted over with fire. Looking forward, he can see a group of soldiers rushing towards a castle in front of him. The boy jumps into the air, leaping across buildings to pursue the fleeing party. All of his squad mates have been left behind him, attempting to stave off the rest of the soldiers that are coming to assist the fleeing party.
Finally, the boy manages to catch the party, leaping in front of them. Looking through the few members of the group, he sees a man wearing a golden ornate crown, and a young woman, around his age, standing next to him.
“The king and his daughter, I see,” he thinks to himself.
He calls out to the man he presumes to be the king.
“Are you the king? If you are, as long as you surrender your head, I swear upon my name I will spare your daughter and the men with you.”
The man in the middle glared at the young man. “Aye, We are indeed the king. Boy, who are you? Haven’t your parents taught you that it’s only proper to introduce yourself, when asking for another’s identity?” Although the king said all this, he knew that he could only hope to buy time. For the boy to be able to make it past all the guards behind him, coming for reinforcements, he couldn’t be any average soldier.
“Stalling for time? Fine, I will play along for now,” came the boy’s reply. “I am Vorse Fulmen.”
“The Lightning Reaper?!” yelled one of the soldiers.
At this point, the king knew he had, in all likelihood, reached a dead end. He knew well of the exploits of the young boy before him, as did many in his country. Although, according to the spies he planted in the boy’s country, many didn’t believe he was the one who accomplished all that he was credited for.
“Yes, now, are you going to surrender, or will I kill you all?” asked Vorse, as if he was talking about the weather.
The soldiers around the king looked at each other, and charged at Vorse, attempting to surround him. Before the king could tell the soldiers to fall back, he received a mouthful of warm fluid. It tasted coppery. The king quickly spat it out.
Looking down at his once immaculate golden robe, it was now dyed crimson, as was his daughters white dress. Vorse had sliced apart all of the soldiers as they attempted to take a step forward, splattering their blood all over the king and princess. Looking at the boy’s unmarred face and untouched clothes, the king thought “They were all adept level swordsman, how could he kill them so quickly?”
“Fine boy, We will give you our head. But as a king, We cannot just stand here and allow Our head to be chopped off. Do Us the honor of fighting this one last time,” said the king, as he drew his sword.
“So be it. I will leave your daughter out of this fight as well,” replied Vorse.
“We appreciate your consideration. We also ask, should We lose, please, look after her,” requested the king.
“Your last request? Fine, if you can leave a mark, I will do my utmost to ensure she lives through this untouched, this I swear upon my name, and my honor,” rejoined Vorse. “Now, come at me, old man.”
That day, a king died, slain by the hands of a teen.