Chapter One: Rebirth
The sound of the soldiers drifted away. Their heavy footsteps pound barely hearable now. And the clang of their steel fading. Soon they would be long gone, and would forget all about those they brought here. It was just another day for them. Something they would do a hundred more times.
`It hurts..`
`by the gods, it hurts!`
The frail boy coughed in pain; the heavy feeling on his chest growing stronger. His scarred hands inched upward seeking to escape their prison relentlessly. With every moment they reached closer, yet it was not nearly enough to make it. Not before his lungs would give out and his ribcage cave in.
`I have to…`
`I have to live!`
`I must wake… up another day, and the ones after that as well. Until there are no more days left and time disappears from the world.`
So, the boy struggled, and the boy cried. He ached and wheezed, yet, he never quit. Finally, he managed to free his hands. As they felt upward pushing through there was nothing but solid masses littered on top of him.
The boy pushed; with all his might he pushed. Harder and harder until each mass rolled away with sharp thuds. A grotesque pile that had turned into a tomb for a half dead boy. Yet was it not in his nature to survive? Do all humans not cling to life with all they have? But of course, that is what reminded him. He was human. And he would survive. Even if he could do nothing else after survival.
As the last one fell, air assaulted the boy's lungs forcing him to cough viciously. Forcing life into him as though it was an old friend desperately attempting to save him. Still aching in pain he crawled out into the world above. It felt fresh and serene, yet the unmistakable stench could not be masked. The boy darkly understood what this meant.
`Bodies…`
`I'm in a pile of bodies. And I likely don't look half off from one myself.`
As he crawled over fumbling and falling nearly every movement forward he landed on the dark, wet, and above all else cold ground. With every moment he shivered, but it was nothing compared to how the rest of him felt. As he brushed it off, he then tried to recall what happened before.
As he thought to himself a horrible pain was inflicted onto his head. An attack on his mind making him vomit onto the nearby grass. Whatever it might have been he had thought of before. It was forgotten, like a fleeting thought falling from his brain.
`Ah, but of course. I've always been like this.`
`There was….no… Nothing came before this moment.`
His fingers danced across his body. And patting himself down he felt strange. Was he always this mangled? And why was it so insidiously dark? Finally, his hand rested on a mysterious orb-like shape. A shadowy gem without any imperfections. In the soundless dead of night, he could hear a beat come from it. Like a strange heart with no need for a body. He had no memories of what it was. But felt an instinctual urge to protect it. Like a mother looking after her child. It was his one and only treasure. It was a precious thing worth more than anything in the world to him.
Eventually, his rough hands finally reached his face. Tracing out scars on his cheeks and neck. As well as a sharp curving line cutting through his lip. As they moved up towards his eyes he felt a sense of dread. It was as though he already knew what he was going to find out. Steeling himself he knew he had to know for sure. As he felt for them he laughed. It was not a happy laugh, and there was no joy in its sounds. He cackled on to the darkness like a madman. For wasn't this all so hilarious? Where his eyes were supposed to be there was nothing more than mush and blood. No semblance of a past eye even lying inside the socket. It was the worst joke life had played on him yet.
With time, the choking laughter of the mutilated boy died down. And was replaced with a terrible and deep sense of dread, but also, a hatred so strong its presence might be fatal to others. A hatred for life. A hatred for Misfortune. And a hatred for anyone or anything that would allow this outcome to happen.
His hoarse and shaky voice called out. Ignoring the pain from his throat. With a brutal tone. Beckoning the darkness to listen. It was wrapped around him like a warm coat waiting for his words to come out.
"I promise that one day I will get back at the thief that is life. The vile villain pulling the strings of existence and thrusting me into this cruel fate."
"I'll swear it upon my name, even."
And yet the boy had no name. None he could remember at least. It was a frightening thought. That he didn't have a name. After an unknown amount of silent contemplation he decided. If he did not have a name he must simply choose one. Any old one would do. All that mattered was that he had one. After all, what is a human without a name?
"I swear my revenge upon my name! I swear it upon the name of Wren!"
It was not a name of glory. And he felt no sense of strength in it. Yet for some reason he knew this was the one he must have. The name of a broken boy burnt and scarred and stained in blood. His voice was a cruel screech. It was a voice fit for a beggar. A voice fit for a mutt. As though he was a rat with half its paws missing limping for food. But pushing through the shaking and the rasps and every other dying sound he made he found conviction. A conviction fit for the noblest of heroes and most vile of villains. So he screamed at the darkness. Cursing and shrieking. And somehow… through the tenebrous lightless haze… the darkness listened.