Winter Lightning Chapter One:

Origins

I always was a sickly child.

For years, I never was able to go outside my room without suffering from some new ailment or issue. The owners of the orphanage I stayed at pitied me, and were the kindest people I have yet to know in the world. Any other child would have likely been abandoned or kicked out; they accepted me, helped me through my fevers and coughs, until I came to the age of ten. When I turned ten, my body became healthier, and I finally went out into the world and learned.

But the biggest happening in my life came three years later.

When I turned thirteen, I came into my heritage.

When I turned thirteen, the King and Queen died at sea.

When I turned thirteen, I fell into a destiny wilder than I could ever imagine.

-Winter Lightning-

I should probably introduce myself. My name is not something I have ever known; the other children at the orphanage had theirs, but to the couple that essentially raised me, I was always 'Child' or 'Son'. Because of this, I chose my own name.

I've never looked back.

I call myself Raiken. I heard this word from a visiting merchant on the docks, and a feeling fell over me. This was my name, my true calling. I asked him what it meant, and he explained that it was the name of his sect's fighting style, the Lightning Fist. I told him about my feeling, and he took an interest in me, and taught me. He was always Sensei. I never learned his name.

He was a Grandmaster in the style, only one step short of the skill of the founder; within two months, I was consistently beating him in spars. Me, a twelve year old child, beating a forty year old martial artist. Pretty comical, huh?

The others in the Dojo thought he was being easy on me, and teased him mercilessly about it. When they would start the taunting, we would share glances and grin throughout it all. After I was taught for nine months, he had nothing left to teach me; he took me to the creator of the style. The journey lasted almost a month. We arrived, and went straight to the temple the Master resided in. He immediately began introducing me and telling the man about me. He said that my body and mind were honed to an edge, but my soul was peaceful, and that he believed that I was worthy to be taught by the master.

The Master's name was not known to anyone. When asked, he told me to call him Kai.

Then came the spar.

He, of course, needed to test my skills to make sure I was indeed worth his time. We walked to the sparring mats, and took our positions, my original teacher standing by to start the match. As his arm dropped, we stood still, neither looking away. As we waited and watched the other, I felt myself slipping into the battle calm. We stood there for five minutes, neither of us moving. Then, as though at an unseen signal, we charged each other.

I don't remember much from that spar; I was so far into the battle mind that I was reacting via muscle memory and instinct only.

What I do remember is coming out of the Zen state with one hand positioned above the man's throat, his hand on my neck, ready to snap it.

Normally, this would mean he had won, but unknown to me, or him, it was the day of my birth, and my gift came to the fore.

During the spar, I had felt- even though the haze of fighting- a charge come over me. It flowed through my veins, sharp and clear.

On my last strike, it manifested as a crackling nimbus around my hand.

On that day, I left the normal world, never to look back.

-Winter Lightning-

-Five years later—

I was at the Dojo, stretching in anticipation of my regimen for the day. I had been training and developing my own style these last few years, incorporating my powers into my fighting and my life. Nobody knew of them, except Kai and my Sensei, although I hadn't seen Sensei in years. I was in my own wing that I had built, decorated sparsely and spartanly- I had never seen the need to show off money or power, although my part time job as a bodyguard paid extremely well for someone of my talents. It was early morning, and I was expecting a day of only practice and meditation.

Imagine my surprise when someone knocks on the doorframe.

In the Dojo, the occupants announce themselves by name when they wish entry. This must be a visitor, they always knock. Curious, I open the door.

A sword arcs through the air towards my throat without warning.

On pure instinct, I throw myself backwards, not quite fast enough to avoid the slash to the throat, but fast enough that it wasn't fatal. As soon as I regained my feet, I settled into my stance and began my flow.

In my style of fighting, there are no blocks, except when you need leverage over the enemy- there is only constant, sharp movements and strikes aimed to kill, no two ways about it.

The attackers were lightly armored, hard leather vests and some chainmail. For them to have come this far, they would have had to come through the others, and as they had tried to kill me without hesitation, they came here to kill us all.

I was going to return the favor.

Shooting forwards, I strike the leader in the throat as he recovers from his swing, crushing his windpipe. Leaving the man to choke to death, I dash into the hall, ignoring my seeping wound. There are two more men there, both standing over the bodies of my fellows. I see this, and my battle calm becomes a battle rage. I sprint over, grabbing one man by the neck, twisting his head so sharply that I turn his head all the way around. The other man hears this, and turns. I throw the other man's body at him, knocking him down and pinning him. I look into his eyes, and for the first time, I let my power out with intent to kill.

The sharp smell of ozone creases the air as red lightning arcs around my fingertips. The man's eyes go wide in terror, and I bring my hand down. A deafening thunderclap splits the air as his head ceases to exist, becoming little more than red mist and a stain on the floor.

I hear men running to investigate, and let the rage consume me. I fight for hours, using sneak attacks to decimate the men. Finally, as I reach the edge of the compound, my blood loss takes my consciousness. The last things I see are men on horseback, dressed in the uniforms of those who attacked us. As my vision fades, I see the leader; a bear of a man with a scar across his face, and an intricate red tattoo covering his hand, making it look soaked in blood.

-Winter Lightning-

When I awoke, I found myself in chains. Thick, iron chains meant to contain someone twice my size with ease.

There was no way I could break free, so I didn't struggle. A guard noticed my wakefulness after a moment, and left the basement I was chained in, probably to report to his superiors. As I awaited my fate, I inspected my surroundings. I was in a mildewed basement, made of solid stone blocks with a packed dirt floor. I guessed that I was probably in an outpost or similar structure, and that disheartened me; our small Dojo was days away from the nearest settlement, let alone a military outpost. I let out a sigh and grumbled. Or, I tried to grumble. All I got were gasping noises and the sound of wind through a pipe; in horror, I realized one thing.

I was mute. That sword strike must have hit the right angle to damage my voice, and nothing else. A dark smirk comes over my face. At least I won't be able to scream for these bastards.

The guard returns, bringing the man with the tattoo back with him. The tattooed man looks me over appraisingly, and speaks.

"Well, well, it looks like the 'Demon of the Fist' has finally returned to the land of the living! My men had quite the time with you, sir. You killed over a hundred men before collapsing, you know that?" as he speaks, he circles me, inspecting me like I'm a particularly interesting bug. "After killing so many, you have left me in quite the predicament. I was going to use the force you destroyed to attack Arendelle, as the Duke had requested, but after that slaughter I don't have near enough men to succeed. So instead, I'm going to turn you into an assassin, my young warrior."

At this declaration, I throw back my head and let out silent laughter.

The man gives me a dark smile that shuts me up immediately.

"You think I jest? Or is it that you believe that you could resist? Either way, it doesn't matter. You see this tattoo?"

Confused by the apparent non-sequitor, I nod.

His grin darkens further, causing a shiver to go up my spine. "It is an old form of magic; it imprisons the will of the one it is used on, making the man into little more than a puppet, unable to disobey or refuse orders. So you see, now, you WILL be doing what I want. The only flaw, regrettably, is the time limit. Nine years is distant, yes, but you could be useful far beyond that."

He shrugs and rolls up his sleeve, approaching me. I start thrashing, trying something, anything to escape. It's in vain; the chains ground out my power, and there is no way I can break free.

"I guess we all work with what we get, yes?"

He grabs my head with his cursed hand, and my vision starts to grey out.

The last words I hear with a free mind, at least for a long time, echo through my head.

"My name is Czin, Assassin. Remember it."

I black out, and know no more for an eternity.

-Winter Lightning-

As the years wore on, the legend of the Silent Assassin spread. Rulers feared him, and the guards of many a town and kingdom hated him, as he left a large body count wherever he went. Over the years, he had killed many; from kings, queens, and other rulers, all the way down to mean beggars on the street. The only connection that could be made to him, in any way, was that if you wanted to hire him, you told the General of Weseltown. He was the only one who could make contact without turning up as a corpse, and so was suspected to be the master of the man. Nobody could prove anything, though, so he kept his position and power, accumulating wealth and prestige at an alarming rate.

Soon, the man was called to his court on the eighth year of my slavery. The Duke had gotten the trade with Arendelle terminated, and the General was needed to soothe the council. Soon, the man was back in the dungeon, pacing back and forth, sputtering in an incoherent rage.

"That thrice damned idiot! I told him to be careful how he spoke and reacted, but does he listen? NO!"

As his tirade wore on, I sat there unable to ignore or truly comprehend what was happening. Finally, his rage ran its course, and he turned to me.

"Assassin, I have one last task for you. You are to prepare for a long voyage, and a high profile assassination. You are to kill the Queen and Princess of Arendelle, and then you are to end your own life. You are to leave in two months, with a cadre of assistants. The voyage shall take you through Corona so as to take suspicion off of Weseltown. The sea journey from there will take three months, so you will have seven months to scout and kill the Queen and Princess. That is all, Assassin." He smiles a greedy and malicious smile. "I believe that this will be your best presentation ever; the Queen has power over ice and snow, so be careful. Don't disappoint me."

Unable to even think of refusing, I nod and walk off to begin preparations. As I mechanically go about my task, a corner of my mind that is still my own starts slamming against the mental chains even harder. Czin's orders to kill myself give me more room to work, as it is a clear dismissal of service. Slowly, I erode the control spell as my body rolls on, preparing, travelling and planning with the other cutthroats.

Even as I struggle in my own mind, my body goes on. The months pass, and the day of the attempt is upon me. My role is to punch through the castle guard, and the 'assistants' are to position themselves in the throne room, so even if I fail, they can fill the Queen with bolts. As I breach the castle, all is quiet and I don't run into a guard for a long time, just as planned. My mind, screaming and nearly ripping itself to shreds, strains against my mental prison. The bars crack, and I manage to only knock the guard out rather than kill him outright. I maintain my pressure, managing to spare the men in my path as I widen the breech in my mental prison. All too soon, I arrive in the throne room just as court begins. And as I arrive, the sight of the Queen and Princess steals my breath, even though the cracked bars of my mind's cage. As the court bows and business begins, I take idle note of everything said. Her people love her very much; it is only the Duke and General that have any problem with this country and its royals; all that means to me is that I like them even more. Determined to break free of my control, I do something I had only tried once since my slavery; I slip into my flow, and channel my power through my body. When I was bond, it would never work, only causing an uncomfortable prickle in my mind. My new but limited freedom allows me to do this, and as my mind goes into the serene state of moving meditation, the spell in my mind loses its weakened grip, shattering like glass struck by cannon fire, and disappearing like it never existed. Stumbling, and now free of the control for the first time in forever, I take a deep breath, and submerse myself into my power and my meditation.

The other assassins, seeing my stumble and subsequent halt, take that as a sign that I've been compromised, and rise from the crowd and fire.

The Queen's eyes go wide at this, and I know that she can't stop the bolts in time. So I drop my cloak, showing myself in the outfit I had come to be known in.

I was dressed in bleached white leather armor, with a facemask covering my mouth, nose and throat. On my feet were painted white greaves with steel plates attached to cover the tops of my feet. Otherwise, they were bare.

Only my eyes and hair were showing, my hair sticking straight up with my power being channeled, the white strands standing on end, as stiff as steel.

My eyes were wide, the violet pupils blown as my power circulates.

With a snap of discharging electricity, I appear in front of the stunned Ice Queen, and I raise my hands into my first form, named Imp, after the myth that ball lightning was created by imps playing in the clouds. I reach out and catch the crossbow quarrels as they come, my power boosting my reactions and speed well beyond anything seen before. After a couple of seconds, the incoming fire stopped as the men ran out of bolts. When they lowered their weapons to inspect the carnage, they were surprised to see the Queen, unharmed, standing behind me.

And the sight of me, holding their bolts in either hand, scares them shitless. Without another option, they all charge, hoping to get me and the Queen with numbers and surprise.

Numbers they may have, but I have lightning. Angry beyond words, not that I could speak anyway, I unleash a single bolt into the air, balling it up and holding it like one would a poisonous snake; cautiously, and aimed away from your body. I let out a silent chuckle- these bastards were part of the attackers that destroyed my Dojo. I would enjoy this.

Looking back at the Queen, I mime closing my eyes tight. She was still in shock, but does so. Now assured that the flash wouldn't blind her, I reach out and crush the balled power. With an enormous boom of thunder that cracks every window in the room, a chain of lightning arcs out and spreads through the attackers, leaving most of them as smoking, twitching corpses. The remaining ten arrive on the dais, and I flow into my second form, the Arc. This form was centered on defending another, and emphasizes mobility around a fixed point, and is perfect to guard an entryway- or person- from multiple attackers. As the men sweep in, holding swords or daggers, I move.

Sweeping aside their attacks by slapping the broad sides of their swords or tapping their wrists, I whirl into a bone-snapping typhoon, always keeping the 'center' in sight. In under a second, two attackers are down, clutching broken chests and crushed throats, all fatal wounds the way I dealt them. In the next three seconds, four more attackers lose their lives, two from me manipulating their swings into their comrade's, and the other two from a variation of the Raiken's signature move, 'Shattered Water'. In shattered water, I have two attackers, both rushing in with a weapon from opposite sides. I disarm both, breaking the wrists, and grapple one around so he slams into the other, back to back. Then, I leg sweep both, placing my knee under the bottom man's throat, and use an open knife-hand strike with my body weight to hit the other in the throat. The effect is that both necks are broken at the same time with a doubly-loud 'crunch', and I am in a leaping position, ready to move. The last five are attacking from all around, and I only get one more, leaping behind him with supernatural agility before breaking his neck in a simple twist, before the Queen works her magic. Faster than a heartbeat, the last four are frozen in place, the ice only having breathing holes around the nose.

It was over as fast as it had begun. Taking a deep, bracing breath, I turn to the Queen and bow low, respectfully. She gives me an uncertain smile back, and asks a question.

"Well, thank you for saving my life sir. Although I do not know why you would, as you match the given description of the Silent Assassin. Are you he?"

Inwardly, I wince. This might not go well, but I won't lie to her. I nod, making sure she understands it is the answer, not just an acknowledgement.

Her expression twists, and before she gets it under control, I spy fear, anger, relief and a dozen other emotions.

Composing herself and taking a step backwards, she clears her throat, and in a slightly unsteady voice speaks once more.

"Well, as I am not dead, can I assume you do not mean me harm?" The way she said it was timid and fearful, so much so that the image of a powerful ruler I had built in my head shatters instantly. I throw my head back in silent laughter, and she takes a further step backwards, frowning.

"I don't understand why you use that affectation; you can answer me, you know. I will not imprison you, as you have not done anything against Arendelle."

That was a shocker to me. Not the affectation comment; she couldn't see the scar on my throat. No, the fact that she was essentially offering me ASYLUM froze me on the spot. This was unexpected, and I half believed it was a trap, before thinking it through. After a moment of contemplation, I bow to her in the manner of a guard offering respect. At this, she raises an exasperated eyebrow, thinking that I am mocking her. My next action removes that thought with prejudice.

I remove my mask.

This may not seem like a big move, only a nicety. However, in the Assassin's circles, and in the higher courts, it is well known that a higher-skilled assassin will only reveal his face in two incidences.

One, when killing a reneging client, and two:

When greeting someone they wish to swear fealty to.

The Queens eyes grow comically wider as she processes this, and then they narrow a bit after taking in the scar on my throat.

"Well, then. This is certainly something of import. Will you please place your mask back on and wait inside my study for me? After I finish with the court duties, disrupted as they may be, and the issue of these prisoners, I would meet with you and my sister in private.

I bow deeply, showing acceptance, and move towards her study. The crowd parts around me, silent as a grave.

As I move into a corridor, I begin to remember all I have done under Czin's control. Although muted by the knowledge that I couldn't stop myself, it still has impact enough to make me physically ill. I barely make it to one of the guard bathrooms before I take my mask off and retch, the remains of what was supposed to be my last meal escaping my stomach. After processing the images and memories a bit, I feel well enough to go on towards the Queen's study. I assume it will be locked and guarded, so I walk in plain sight, guessing that she will have sent a message ahead. Apparently, it had arrived only minutes before me and the guards were visibly nervous. They let me in without a word, and I sank gratefully into a chair I moved into a corner, for safety's sake.

What, can you really blame me?

To pass the time, I mold my power through the inside of my body and outside, feeling the current flowing. It is different from before I was enslaved; more powerful and unstable. I can still control it easily; the only leakage I might get is if I get angry or sad. Giving a silent chuckle, I laugh at my thoughts. I was going to be very sad AND angry soon, if the sisters reacted like I expected.

Still, I need to try to salvage my life.

I look around for a paper and pen, and find plenty of blank paper, but the inkwell is dry. Letting out a small huff of frustration, I try to figure out how I will communicate my intentions. My irritation causes a static snap between my hand and the paper, leaving a darker brown spot. Seeing this, I grin happily and begin writing out all I meant to say, as well as answers to possible questions.

Finished after a half an hour, I settle in to wait, the complexities of what I was planning whirling through my head.

My life was about to make a big change, regardless of what happened. The question, however, was much simpler;

Would it be for the better?

Or would it darken the final chapters of my life?

-Winter Lightning-

A/N: WHOO HOO! YEAH! Here we go, something that will be different than my normal "savescarebest friends" sequence of character development.

I hope you enjoy this!

Oh, yeah: The theme for Raiken is Battle Born, by Five Finger Death Punch.

The theme for Czin is… up to you! I have one in mind, but it doesn't quite fit. So, send me some suggestions in reviews and BOOM! You might just get it!