A Cat’s Lazy Muse

[Ocelot-1]

Prologue: And Then There Were Five (Part One)​

'Life moves fast.' Callum mused.

Just a week ago he'd been living his life as most people his age did; chasing girls, pretending to study so that his mom wouldn't get mad at him, putting off homework until the last minute, doing chores, and hanging out with his friends.

Unlike most, he was also built different - physically and mentally. He learned at a prodigious pace, breaking down and analysing information so quickly that he quickly grew bored, and thus made way for his lackluster attitude to school, and his physique was leagues above his peers from birth despite his lack of training.

Not too brag, but give him a sport, any sport, then put him in a ring and he would swiftly rise to the occasion. Not enough to beat those who'd been at it for years of their life, bit enough that he would go from a bumbling fool of a beginner, to competent and if he continued learning, the ace of his team.

Much like his schoolwork, this easy brought boredom too.

Not that it mattered now.

'Way too fast.' He thought grimly.

Callum often heard that life was short; that it could be taken away from you at any moment.

One blink is all it would take, and you could be lying at your deathbed, two feet in the grave, only then realising how much of your life you wasted.

Only then realising that you could have been truly great.

It could even be cut short early. Maybe it was a slip where you hit your head the wrong way and bled out. Or maybe you happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, maybe even the right place at the wrong time. The number of ways that a life could end were as innumerable as the grains of sand in the Sahara Desert.

Effectively infinite to the human mind.

The lesson one should take from this is that life is short and if you are among those lucky enough to have won your first race, to have been born in post-scarecity society, then living life to the fullest is a must.

Callum had heard this, nodded, and said, 'Sure buddy.' He was sixteen, still young, and he had doubted his life would be coming to an end anytime soon.

'What a dumbass.' He mused, resisting the urge to sigh, for what business did a dead man have playing at the role of the living?

The thought brought him back to his death.

And what an embarrassing death it was.

A mix of haste and stupidity – skipping a red light with his headphones on; he only noticed the truck's shadow and honk when it was too late. If it wasn't for the music, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe he would still be alive.

But they didn't, 'And now I'm dead.'

He remembered the impact in vivid detail – the slow motion realisation, the useless surge of adrenaline and panicked movement; the wet crunch of bone and flesh against steel, the blur of colour as he was ragdolled into the air, the sickening squelch of his body hitting the floor.

A brief, searing pain. The sharp screams of those around him, drowned out as they were by his agony. And then, darkness.

Now, he was here, a disembodied soul, aimlessly adrift in an infinite void of darkness.

Was this Hell? Maybe, but Callum doubted it. He may never have touched or read a Bible in his life, but this place certainly didn't match its various portrayals in media – there was no fire and brimstone, frost and ice – just… nothing.

He tried to distract himself with memories. His first birthday party, moving to Germany and the struggle and accomplishment that came with learning a new language, making friends, reflecting on his life, getting his girlfriend, the pride in his mother's eyes.

… The grief she must have felt. The friends he left behind. His wife-that-never was, or rather would never get-to-be. The things he put off believing he still had time. Tasks, reconnecting with old friends, keeping in touch with family.

Fuck, the more he thought about it, the more regrets piled up. It made him feel small, his life wasted.

'Hah, how sad. It only took dying to light a fire under my ass and an appreciation for life. Fat load of good that does me.'

Fuck him. Fuck life. Fuck God for taking him before his time.

'It's not fucking fair.' He thought bitterly.

If only he could start over again. Do things differently. Be more.

But Fate didn't care for what-ifs.

On and on he stewed, falling deeper and deeper into the pit of self loathing and pity, before he, slowly, piece by piece, picked himself back up. Rebuilded. And, slowly but surely, he came to accept the truth of things.

He was dead.

There was no changing that. No point in dwelling on the past. In regret.

It was kinda… peaceful, actually. In a morbid kind of way.

His emotions settled. His mind quieted. And time?

Time marched on.

How long he stayed in that state – minutes, days, years, centuries – he wasn't sure, but then something roused him from his 'sleep'.

He felt a stir, a ripple pass over him, followed by a bright flash of light; and a chill through his being. As if it were reacting to a great tragedy he wasn't aware of.

He blinked. 'O…kay? That was… something.' A little weird, but, not any weirder than ending up here, he suppose-

The thought was cut off as soon as he heard something. Far, distant, but… getting closer?

His metaphysical brows went up. 'Is that… music? No, there's something else in there, too.'

The sounds got closer and closer until he was able to make it out.

It was the sound of lapping waves and, yes, music. Bone-deep, chilling music. Manufactured to cast dread, as if carried the eerie, undeniable weight of Death. But yes, it was music all the same.

'Holy shit.'

His mind buzzed with activity. Several emotions flashed through his mind. First Hope. Then Denial. Disbelief. And finally, yearning.

He crushed the latter as soon it's it arrived, 'No, no. You're deluding yourself. Stop.' Callum self-flaggellated, 'I'm probably just going crazy or something. I already made peace with my death.'

That thought was more preferable than the possibility of having his fleeting hope grinded to dust.

As if to confirm his suspicions, the sounds stopped.

…

'… Yeah, that figures.' Despite himself, there was more than a bit of bitterness in the thought than he cared to admit.

Then-

"Ah, there you are!" A voice called happily.

'Huh?' Callum did a double take. If he had a physical body, his heart would be pounding and his eyes wide.

The voice sounded bouncy, energetic. Like life and zest made manifest. "I was kinda worried that I wouldn't find you on time." It continued casually. "The Young Master would have been so pissed if I didn't. Then again, he did make me zip through four other universes just before this, so… eh. Not my fault if you wound up dying before this. Still, lucky you, eh?"

Was he hallucinating? Broken? Insane? Had The Devil changed things up since he'd gotten over the first hurdle thrown at him?

Or… it – his judging by the tone – words, was this a chance? The light at the end of the tunnel.

Hope.

"I… are you an Angel?" Callum asked. His voice came out strained, gravelly, like a man who was learning to speak again after decades of not using his voice.

"An Angel?" The voice howled, falling into boisterous laughter. " Heh! Hahahaha! Oh, Creator no! I'm not one of His creations, no." The being chuckled, taking a moment to recompose.

"I'm no Angel." He stated, "I'm but a humble Ferryman, you see." He sounded amused, as if speaking of an inside joke. "Now! Usually, this would be the part where I take you to your resting place, but! – lucky you, for some reason, the Young Master is interested in you. Now, I can't force you to come with me, but I can damn well make an appealing offer. And so, I offer thee – Salvation!" He cried dramatically, probably doing some showmanship behind the film of darkness that was the void.

"Salvation?" The word came out broken, like a man who'd had hope dangled in his face, just to see it be crushed in front of him

"Your world has no afterlife." The Not-Angel said, "Some jackass went and killed off the local Gods. Evidentially, he didn't have contingencies in place for the consequences of his actions; the Wheel of Reincarnation went with them, and since said jackass was unable to fix it - now, there's just… this place. A void where all souls go to die."

His voice took on a tone of deep interest, "At least that's how it's supposed to go. Most souls blink out in nanoseconds. I'm sure you felt it. The flash bang of souls that just occurred a bit ago. But you, that didn't happen to you. You've been here for nine centuries. And yet, you're still kicking, still going strong and on track to live a thousand more years from now. Impressive. And oh so very interesting. I can see why the Young Master sent me for you." The Ferryman mused.

Callum's eyes widened, "Nine-!"

"Yep! Now, before you freak out, I'm on a bit of a timer right now - deadlines to meet and all that. So let me just make my offer, and I'll be out of your hair. My Master has a task for you, do so and you get rewarded. Simple, right?"

"I guess?"

"Perfect. I take it that's a yes then." Callum went to respond. "Or would you rather stay in this dumpster fire until the next Big Bang?" Callum's mouth closed. "Well?"

"I… deal." Callum said slowly.

The Ferryman chuckled, "Now now, no need to sound distrustful. I'm not gonna do anything to you. Just put in a good word for me, yeah?"

Callum didn't get a chance to respond. He just heard a snap. And then he was elsewhere.

Sat in a a plush chair opposite of a Man-That-Is-Not-A-Man sitting behind a plain desk.

And he knew. On some deep, primal level, that he- this Thing, was no Human; rather, it was a force of nature given form. A being so far beyond comprehension, it was akin to a God trying, and failing, to play at being human.

The Smiling God, his mind supplied, and when the being looked up, a shiver raced down his spine.

——

AN: I now know what a thread mark label is. Anyway, I decided I wanted to improve my writing skills and since the best way to do so is to write and get critiques, I worked up the balls to upload this baby. A bit busy with exams currently, so I'll prolly upload the next chapter a week from now….

Probably.

We'll see.

AN 2: Got some feedback on my writing and it's made me rethink a couple things about my character which I want to incorporate, meaning I'll need to take a couple more days for the next post while I workshop a remaster.

 

[Ocelot-1]

Chi. Ki. Chakra.

Whatever one wished to call it, Callum had watched enough anime and tv shows in his life to know it was present in every facet of life. From human beings, to the animals around him, the trees of Mother Nature and even the odd pebble one skipped through a river.

One need only look inward. Into themselves.

And outward. The environment around them.

Or that was the theory anyway.

This was why Callum had taken it upon himself to begin meditation. One hour at dawn. No people, no food, no movement. Just him, his thoughts and Mother Nature.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

So far, he'd had minimal results outside of the occasional tingle here and there. He blamed it on the admittedly amusing pest that made it her life purpose to find his hiding spots and then annoy him.

"Callum, I'm bored~" The aforementioned pest said, poking his cheek, "Let's go outside and play."

He didn't reply.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Callum!" Her voice grew louder and the pokers harder, "I said I wanna go outside and play!"

Callum sighed, cracking an eye open, "You find me quicker every time, don't you Little One?" He said in bemusement.

"Don't call me that." She huffed, arms crossed as she glared at him. "I'm not little. I'm almost taller than you. I'm almost an adult, even." She punctuated the sentence with a flick of hair. A noteworthy crimson red.

Callum just smiled and patted her head, "Sure you are." He said indulgently.

She scowled and slapped his hand away. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"That! That thing you do, the con- conden, uh…"

"I think the words you're looking for is condescension, no?"

"I knew that!"

"Of course."

"Stop what?"

"You-" Rei scowled and kicked at an errant rock, "Why are you so mean?!" She cried next, sounding on the verge of tears.

Callum remained unaffected.

"Am not."

"Are too!" She shouted back.

"Am not." He said calmly.

"Are too!"

"Am not."

"Hmph!" She huffed at him and stomped away, crouching near a tree with crossed arms.

Callum watched with crinkled eyes, as periodically, she glanced back at him, huffing when he didn't move to soothe her.

'There, that should buy me another hour.' Callum thought, closing his eyes and realising he was feeling just a tad bit too guilty to meditate properly.

He sighed and stood up, "Fine, fine. I can always catch up on my training later. Come on Rei, let's go out and play."

She didn't move.

He did, walking forward and hefting her off onto his shoulder like one would a sack. He heard a small wheezing sound of 'Oof!', which he chose to ignore. She would get over it by the time they made it to the playground.

Just as he would always cave in with her desires to play.

It was routine at this point.

"Sensei?" His eyes snapped into focus, drawn back into the present world by her voice. "Are you okay?" She asked, blue orbs worriedly peering into his own brown.

The girl standing before him now was no crimson-haired brat. Flamme's platinum blond hair gleamed in the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the painful echoes of the past.

His lips twitched, "I am indeed, Young One. Here to report on your progress, I presume?"

She beamed proudly, chest puffed out, "I figured it out!"

His eyebrows rose, "Oh, quite the claim given it's only been a month." Callum said, "You'll have snort problems showing me, then, yeah?"

She grinned, moving into a stance, "Not at all. Get ready to have your ass kicked, old man."

"My, my, kids these days. So disrespectful, I'm only ten years your senior you know." Despite his words, he was more amused than anything.

"Then stop talking like one." She shot back.

His lips twitched and he obliged, rising to his feet, getting into his own stance. Chi sparked around his hands, black in one hand, white in the other. He brought them together in a perfect sphere that formed the image of the Yin-Yang Symbol. The black and white danced like opposites in harmony - destruction and creation, stillness and force. And then, the symbol flared, expanded into a barrier overlaid around them, sinking into the ground and the trees around them.

"The preparations are complete now." He said. The ground had been reinforced to the point not even steel compared to its hardiness, the trees even more so. "Impress me, and I might deign to teach you more of my techniques yet."

Needing no further prompting, she became a blur, flashing into the air before him to lash out with a Touki-clad fist. He blocked it, naturally, with an open palm. The ground cracked from beneath him and shockwaves spread from the point of impact that made her platinum blond hair billow in the wind and rubble blown away.

He grinned, "Not bad." His own fist lashed out, Flamme barely dodging as it swung above her head.

A crack of thunder was heard and then gale-force winds roared from behind him. Trees were uprooted, a trench was carved in a straight path ahead of him, and the sky had been split.

"But you still have a long way to go, Little Flamme."

The winds died down and her long blond hair fell onto her shoulders, her knees shaking and her eyes open in shock, and jaw inching steadily closer to the floor. "W-w-woah~!" She cried out, "T-that was so cool! Teach me! Teach me!" She threw herself at his feet, star-eyed.

Briefly, the image of Rei flickered over her before fading away again. Callum's lips twitched. 'What would she think of you, I wonder.' He mused wistfully.

"Master the Shockwave Fist first, and I just might."

She beamed so brightly, for a moment, he almost forgot it wasn't her.

"Pinky promise?"

Callum said nothing, merely extracting his foot and walking away. "Huh? Hey, get back here and promise!" He felt an iron grip settle over his feet, getting dragged along the floor as he kept walking.

"Hey! Stop ignoring me!"

'Perhaps they would have been the best of friends. Or maybe the greatest of rivals.' He shook his head of such thoughts, 'There's no point wasting time on pointless what-ifs.'

"-p ignoring me!"

'Oh right, she's still here. Hmm, I think I'll let her beg a little while longer.' What for? 'Well, er, character building, of course. Yeah, that was it.'

"Huh? Oi, why are your shoulders shaking? You're laughing at me, aren't you? Stupid old man, when I leave you behind in a nursing home, don't you dare ask me why! Just look at how you treat me!"

This time he burst out into full, boisterously open laughter.

Five years earlier…

The announcement came with the emergence of a wyvern. Diamond scales were its armour and razor-sharp claws and teeth its weapons.

It came with a message.

The sage had moved ten kilometres east of their village. One of the six heroes responsible for slaying the demon king who once ruled over them and their kingdom.

He was looking to retire and train a successor. Anyone could come, be they women or men. All were equally worthy or unworthy in his eyes.

A village meeting was called and by the next day, they were ready to depart. To trek their way to his home and train under him.

The next message came, just as the first, with a wyvern of diamond scales.

"All aspiring acolytes must be forty or below. My bad if some of you got overly excited. See you there = )."

The elders settled back into the village, dejected.

The youth, all those thirteen and older made their way up there.

She was eight and she was a girl. The village didn't allow her to go. She snuck out anyway, trailing her peers from a distance until they made their way to the foot of a mountain. The sage's purported home.

It was a humble thing, a simple cottage. The sage himself? Just the same, having chosen to wear the same clothes as the average farmer.

"And so the third group makes it here." He smiled happily, "Greetings travellers!"

"The third?" One boy asked, looking around unsurely, "Where are they now?"

"On their way back." He said, just as jovially.

"On their way back?" It was the same boy again.

"Mm." The sage nodded. "They failed my test. Therefore, they had to go back."

"… All of them?"

His smile remained firm, "But of course, did you really think being my apprentice would be as easy as showing up?"

The youths and men shifted uncomfortably. "… Kinda." One boy said.

The sage laughed, "You wouldn't be the first. Now then, Little One, would you mind coming out of hiding?"

Murmurs of confusion spread throughout the crowd until she walked out of a bush, a bashful grin on her face. "Hey there, Mister! Hi everyone!" She waved casually.

After the inevitable freak outs and exclamations, the sage welcomed them into his abode one by one. It was, as she would later learn, bigger on the inside than out. The boys went first, each coming with a haunted gaze in their eyes and shaky hands, gazing at the people around them with fear and paranoia.

She went in last, looks of pity thrown her way. She understood why they left as they did. The things she saw in his domain, they beggared imagination. An illusion he made to test their resolve, supposedly adjusted according to age. Supposedly.

His parting words?

"Weak." Callum said, "Weak of Will. Weak of Mind. Weak of Body. No Courage. You want to be a Hero?" He scoffed. "Don't make me laugh. You're unworthy of the title. Woefully so."

His words landed with the precision of an arrow finding its mark. Her heart sank. Her limbs felt weak, heavy, as if a mountain were weighing atop her shoulders.

"But, there's still hope. The required traits aren't there, but the beginnings of these traits are." Her eyes snapped up at him, wide-eyed and hopeful. He snorted, raising his hand up, "Five years." He said, "Develop these traits to a satisfactory level in that time, and you might yet a Hero become."

She went silent, fists clenched at her sides, "And if I fail?"

The sage shrugged, "Then you failed. Just as I suspected you would; unworthy, a waste of my time and blight upon my gaze."

She still remembered them. Those words. The callousness. The cruelty.

She had asked herself then, though not in words of such sophistication, 'This is a Hero? This man, cruel, vicious, lacking in empathy and of poor character?'

Was this really the man, one of the legends she grew up hearing stories about and dreaming of meeting and becoming. The kind who looked down on people, on children?

And for what? Her age? Her gender? Wasn't he the one to say anyone could join? Or was it perhaps a matter of talent, inborn traits and the Favour of Mother Nature and the Gods? Is that what it was?

She wasn't born with the qualifications of a Hero. She didn't have the talent to learn what took others months in days and years in weeks like the Sword Saint. She wasn't born with the will to face a Dragon by age five and impress it enough to let her live. She wasn't a monster like them, she was just a normal kid.

But… she didn't have to be a monster, though, did she?

Sure, she wanted to be a Hero. To be a Legend whose name echoed the annals of history. But she didn't need overwhelming talent and potential for that. Maybe she didn't have what it took to become a capital 'H' Hero, but she could still be a small 'h' hero.

All one had to do was look at the local militia to know that. They put their lives at risk to help their own, regardless of their power or skill or talent. She looked up to them and more than once they had saved the village from one disaster or another. Why couldn't she do the same?

If she couldn't reach the great Sage's level, then fine. She would still try, she would still strive, but the scope of her heroism didn't have to be everything she imagined it to be. Just enough to protect her and her own.

So, with those thoughts in mind, she steeled her will and met his eyes.

"Sh-shut up!" She shouted, emptying her lungs out and taking a breath, "Who- who are you to decide if I can be a Hero or not?! You're just - you're just some overconfident old man who bullies the weak!"

"Old man?" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes glowing briefly before he snorted, "I'm ten years older than you. That's not old."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am-" He paused suddenly, cocking his head at her with a gaze she couldn't decipher before before shaking his head and sighing. "I suppose I'll give you some parting advice. Your soul's the colour of coal, kid, bottom barrel in terms of quality." She frowned but said nothing, firm in her belief. "That's not much of a problem though, since mine was too at one point. Diamonds are made from coal, after all. The only question is, will you let the pressure of your ambitions break you or build you?"

"I dunno how diamonds can be made from coal, but what I do know is that no matter what you think or if I pass or fail one of your stupid tests, I'm not going to break."

"Oh?"

The air changed. She felt a weight fall upon her shoulders, forcing to kneel. "I admit… you've impressed me somewhat. Maybe you do have potential, after all. So how about this."

The pressure flared, growing stronger, death lies, more potent.

She realised, instantly, what this was: Killing Intent.

"This is a fraction of what I felt from the Dragon that day. The day it stormed through the gate of my city and turned Paladins into molten steel and ash."

The desire to kill, to slaughter made manifest, not through mystical energies like Mana or Ki, but through sheer force of will pressing down on reality and making it bend.

From the average warrior, those few who had experience and had projected their own killing intent, weaker opponents would feel their hairs stand on end, their heart race, vivid illusions overcome their senses, cuts appear where none were made, and death seemingly reap them from the earth before they were slammed back into consciousness, by will or by steel making illusion reality.

Such was the killing intent of the few elites who could boast the projection and experience of said malice.

The sage's killing intent was on another level entirely, for this was the boy who, at five, stared down a dragon and bent its will to spare the orphanage he guarded; the same boy who five years later stripped that dragon to bone, sustained it with Ki until only skeleton remained, then finished it with his own hands; the one who razed dragon-kind from his kingdom, slaughtered monsters by the thousands, joined the Hero's party by force of legend, killed a Demon King's general at thirteen, and helped fell the king six years later. She could fight. She could beg. She could run. None of it mattered.

He was a monster wrapped in human skin, a war hero, merciless, the perpetrator of genocide several times over.

"Find it within yourself to shrug off that much, and you can be strong. Not great, but certainly strong."

Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

The voice drew her out of her revelry. Instantly, three things were made clear to her.

One, she should have kept her mouth shut. It was all well and good to be wilful, but it didn't matter if she couldn't put her money where her mouth was.

This was a man far too scary, far too cold to disrespect.

The second was the sound of her heartbeat, thundering in an off-tune drumbeat that spoke of deep seated primal fear. To add onto this, was the way her body shook and the weakness in her legs.

The third and final nail in the coffin was the sound and smell of piss, followed by a loud thud as she fell to her knees.

"Remember what I said."

He waved his hand and banished her from his domain. She appeared in a pillar of light, right outside of his home.

The militia and former hopefuls walked home in complete silence, an abyss lodged firmly within her soul

She had gone back home with tears in her eyes and water poured over her flame. Her father didn't bother with a scolding, he took one look at her, comforted her, brought her to bed and cooked her favourite meal.

She found that she couldn't quite enjoy it. She found her mind wandering. Back to his home, back to the illusions, back to his words, back to his presence, supposedly a fraction of the malice he felt from the Dragon that started his legend.

She thought about his parting words, and, after hours of silent deliberation, tossing and turning in bed, ruminating, she closed her eyes and brought herself back to that moment.

To the pressure, the way her knees shook, and her will broke.

Her eyes snapped open with a start, sweating, twitching and shaking.

She recovered, and tried again, and again, and again, until she collapsed and woke at dawn. Then, she tried again, and again.

She failed again, and again, and again.

No improvements were made between attempts. Her temper flared. She hit the wall and felt the weakness of her flesh as it bruised.

'Weak. Weak of mind. Weak of will. Weak of body.'

The words repeated themselves. She snarled, refusing to let that be the end of it. Fine then. If her will wasn't up to task, if her body was too weak, the answer was obvious: she just had to beat the weakness out of her.

She just had to train.

And so, she volunteered to join the militia. They laughed at her, so she asked to observe their training instead. This time they shrugged.

Flamme watched, went back home, and tried to copy them from dawn until dusk. From there she would close her eyes and relive the scene of his killing intent.

The next day she did the same thing, and the same the next week, the next month and the next year.

She challenged a trainee in the next. Lost. The next day she came back and challenged him again. She lost.

Day by day, week by week, month by month, she trained herself, tempered her body, her will and her mind, until eventually, she won.

When she next asked to join the militia, no one laughed this time, and the began to train her proper.

The lessons were harsh. Harsher than they should have been, harsher for her specifically as opposed to those around her. Flamme didn't complain. The sage had managed to endure worse at age five. She could manage this much.

Flamme didn't complain. Instead, she trained, and trained, and trained. Flamme didn't break. Instead, she grew stronger. She asked for advice, challenged the best of the best, and slowly, she began to excel.

Such was how she spent the next five years of her life, stretching limits, bending limits, breaking limits.

She still couldn't endure the sheer weight of killing intent she faced that day. But she could bear it ever so slightly better, she could bear enough of it to create a will of steel surpassing any other within her humble village. She could grow strong enough to become a prospect for the eventual rank of captain, she could grow strong enough to become the most powerful and skilled among their soldiers.

Then, one day, this pattern of growth and development came to an abrupt halt when rumours of a veritable army of marauders and bandits reached village ears from travelling merchants, followed by grim tales of adventurer and soldier both failing to stop the tide, until eventually, an army was at their door steps.

An army composed of cruel and greedy monsters who wore open lust on their sleeves. They offered the village two choices: surrender or death.

The first would mean giving them food, money and their choice in women, no matter the age. The men would be spared however, and the village alive to fight another day.

The second would mean they would fall upon her village like the monsters of yore, killing all the men, plundering the village of its spoils, and sullying their women before, even they were killed.

If anyone were to live, it would be the youngest of their children; still malleable enough to be shaped to their designs, to join their band and expand their army.

They were given one day to decide.

The village leaders argued with one another, generals were called to offer their expertise and divy out their knowledge of their chances against these men; they weren't good. On the third day, the village hung its head low as they prepared to secede to their demands.

Flamme wasn't having. She stomped out of the gate with shaking legs and an even weaker voice, loudly proclaiming a one-on-one challenge with their leader. The winner takes all.

The villagers tried to stop her. The men of the opposing army laughed at the absurdity of it all. A child, no older than thirteen, and also a girl, challenging their leader to a duel? Utterly absurd.

The outcome had already been decided.

It was just a matter of how long she would last, given of course, that their leader humoured her in the first place.

He did, and so, despite the words of her peers and elders, Flamme found herself gripping the best steel the family could afford with tight knuckles. Still scared, but resolute.

"You are brave, girl. I respect it." The warlord said, "I really, truly do. Enough so that rather than break my word like I planned to, when I win, I shall only kill the eldest of your men and leave the children untouched." He paused, "Mostly. Any girls of age shall be taken with."

Flamme had a lot to say about that, instead, she offered a bow of respect she did not feel,

"Thank you for mercy, Warlord."

The warlord grinned and hefted his blade, "Hah! You remind me of an old friend. He's dead. I killed the poor bastard, and I don't regret it." He paused, then sighed, "I do miss him, though. Oh well, I don't know why I'm wasting time telling you about my life story. You'll be joining him soon, anyway."

He hefted a great sword from his back, as long as she was tall, and sharper even, than the teeth of a wyvern.

She raised her own sword, and on an unseen command, the two mo- fast!

Flamme didn't even realise when he moved, just that one moment he was still at least two paces away from her, and the next a long slab of steel was running through her body.

'Ah, damn… so this is how it ends. Fuck me, I guess that old bastard was right, after all. I really couldn't be a Hero.' Her knees shook, head hanging low and vision going blurry as-

A warm hand landed on her head, stroking softly.

"Well now, aren't you a surprise." Melodic laughter reached her ears as she realised there was no pain anymore, and after blinking, she realised there was no sword running through her anymore. Just… blood.

Lots of it, and most of it wasn't hers…

She looked up slowly and met his eyes, the man who had rejected her, calling her unworthy. He was looking down at her, not with cold apathy but with a warmth in his gaze she had only ever received from her father. Pride.

… It was his.

A thump brought her attention back to the battlefield, she saw the warlord bisected in half, strewn atop a pool of blood. His men stood frozen in the distance, the villagers watched on with stunned disbelief behind her.

The world seemed to hold its breath. The winds stilled. The birds went quiet.

"Scared, were you?" His voice brought her attention back to him and she nodded slowly.

"Still am." She muttered.

He smiled and stepped forth, lazily carrying a now deposed warlord's sword on his shoulder, "Don't be. I Am Here Now; there is no greater security than that."

His eyes fell upon the gathered army and his eyes hardened into that of steel; a familiar wave of pure, unfiltered, and unquenchable killing intent washed over them.

Strangely enough though, it had no effect on her. It simply brushed past her like wind did on her skin.

Its effect on the environment however, could not be understated. The sky darkened. Gravity quivered. The Earth shook.

And the sage, he moved.

With swiftness and suddenness of death itself, he turned into a blur; a spectre of death that reaped souls with the efficacy of the End itself.

Three minutes was all it took. His sword-arm fell like a hammer, crashing down with the weight of a mountain. His sword cut with such precision, such power that it cleared through chainmail and full-plate alike.

Craters formed, trenches were dug up from men getting through earth, and shockwaves followed in his wake.

His legs carried him with the swiftness of the wind, effortlessly weaving through arrows and crimson drops from the rain of blood he painted red sky and earth.

In the three minutes it took for him to decimate the opposing force, his endurance was such he still took steady breaths. For so effortless was the carnage he had wrought, to him, it was the equivalent of a short walk.

Finally, his eyes fell upon her. "Girl, you stood up when no one else would. You took the field knowing you were to die, and still did so with a raised chin. Why?"

She tore her gaze away from their remnants. The gore that littered the floor. The horror-filled gazes etched into their eyes. The bone left where previously flesh stood dominant.

She swallowed deeply and met his gaze. The warmth was still there from earlier, but this time it was weighing. Awaiting judgement.

Because you said I couldn't do it was her first response, but, no, that didn't feel right either.

"Because no else would."

"I see." His lips twitched. "I see." He said again, nodding to himself, as if putting together the pieces of a puzzle only he could see. "Very well. I have decided. Stand proud, girl, for you are worthy. Pack your bags. Training begins tomorrow. We'll be moving to my personal mountain. Meet me at the gate around… six." He decided, turning around and walking away.

She blinked, "Huh?"

He kept walking. Her mind stalled. For anything, a lifeline. Control.

"Wait!" She called out.

He paused, glancing back at her, one eyebrow raised in askance. "Yes?"

"… It's Flamme."

"Hm?"

"I said, it's Flamme!" She shouted, "You best remember it because it's the name of your future successor!"

His lips twitched, "If you say so, Young One." He disappeared with those parting words.

Her nostrils flared, "I'm not young. I'm almost grown, practically an adult." She muttered.

And the rest was history.

AN: not sure what I was smoking when I made this, but hey, it worked I guess. Disjointed, lot to improve upon, characters to flesh out, scenes to draw up so there's less telling and more showing, consistent characterisation to improve upon I terms of Callum's voice, maybe different parts that need to be separated into their chapters to be given full focus, but hey, it's something. Not the best work around, but I'm happy with it.

Hopefully I can keep this momentum and make a second chapter for my first snippet after I do some reworking on it.