Sap: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! You're supposed to be typing up the next chapter
of Adepts in tights! You're supposed to be writing the next chapters of
Journal of Sain and Chains of Ice! Why on hell are you writing something
else?!
Flash: Sap, lighten up. It's just a one-shot.
Zephyr: ...that's going to turn into a multi-chapter thingie. You know bladegryphon. She thinks one-shots are just peeks into the larger story.
Sap: SEE?! Now she'll just be writing the others even less! Besides, there are already about five billion other Jaffar stories out there!
Balm: Will you three just shut UP?!
Me: Heh heh heh. Yeah, I know I should be working on other stuff right now, but I can't help it if really good ideas pop into my head! Anyway, this is only the first part of who-knows-how-many, so enjoy!
............................................................................ ............................................
Kill...
For as long as I can remember, that has been my only instinct, superior even to survival. I remember nothing of my past, at least, before Nergal came. I've been raised to be dead to the world, emotionless, unstoppable. The perfect killer.
I was the only survivor of my village, a lone infant on a bloodstained pile of bodies. Taken by Nergal, he was the one who decided my fate. Even from that early age, I was beaten for showing any emotion. The slightest whimper or giggle meant countless lashings. I quickly learned to accept things as they were, and remained silent, dead to my surroundings. Even when my training involved watching innocents being beaten within an inch of death.
A few years after I was found, I was given my first set of knives and was sent into a room full of children. My orders were to kill every last one of them. I protested, and was beaten until I blacked out, likely even beyond that point. My back is crisscrossed with white scars from that. I awoke too sore to move, bandages wrapped around my torso, and several of the wounds infected. In that state, my knives were again placed in my hands, and the same orders issued. Despite the pain, I didn't dare disobey that time. Only when blood coated the walls was I released.
I remember looking into a mirror shortly after that. My eyes, once warm, were now the coldest I had ever seen, even more so than Nergal's. Before, I would have screamed. Now, I simply accepted it and returned to my room to try to recover quickly, knowing that I would receive no medical attention.
My training continued after that, and the list of things I got lashed for lengthened. Walking too slowly or loudly, using the main hallway instead of climbing the outer walls and roof... it went on and on. By the time I was ten, even the most experienced forces under Nergal's command couldn't tell when I was coming. Not even the thief Legault, or as many called him, Hurricane.
Only three could, but he never let them battle, despite their magical prowess. With black hair, red lips, and golden eyes, anyone could tell they weren't human. They were Limstella, Ephidel, and Sonia, Nergal's magical constructions. Morphs. I heard from others that there was a fourth, but he was considered a failed one. Those were the most powerful of them. Obviously, there were many others of their kind under his command, but none of them were nearly as powerful.
One in particular stood out: Sonia. Even with the distinctive features, she still thought she was human. She was the cruelest of the three, especially concerning her daughter. I'd never seen her, but I'd heard Sonia yelling about her numerous times.
Nergal's men never gave me quite enough to eat, claiming that I would get fat and useless. I wasn't a brilliant thief, but I was good enough to steal food from the kitchens when I needed to, and get away with it most of the time. It was on one of these runs that I met her for the first time. A young child, half my age with green hair, was begging the cook to give her some of the leftovers. Being one of Nergal's men, he refused to and turned her out.
It was the first time in years I'd felt anything.
Yes, I'd killed numerous children her age, but all of them were nothing more than lifeless husks, selves long locked away in their minds to avoid pain from torture. Seeing a poor child like that just sparked something within me. Not much, but it was enough.
I stole a bit more food than usual that night.
She was in the courtyard, sitting on the fountain's edge crying. I walked over to where she was and simply placed half a loaf of bread on the rim beside her. Then I left. I could feel her eyes gazing after me in confusion as I disappeared into the shadows that night. Later, as I was walking along the roof, I gazed down into the courtyard I'd found her in. To my surprise she was still there, but... she looked a bit different this time. A smile graced her face instead of tear streaks.
She almost reminded me of myself, just different. We were both in harsh environments, but she had more freedom than I. And she was far happier than I could ever be, simply because of that one difference.
Perhaps I shouldn't have met her. The day after I'd stolen extra, I was discovered. It was partially because the cook noticed food missing for once, and partially because I had a hard time focusing on my training the day after. I was beaten like I hadn't been in years.
Again I woke on my pallet with bloodstained bandages wrapping my upper torso, yet this time, I wasn't so lucky. I burned with infection, delirious from the fever it brought. I knew that I would have no healer, but I knew that if I didn't get some kind of medical attention, I would die.
But I was too weak to move.
Days and months blurred together in a single, pain-filled haze. My memories did as well. I could no longer remember anything other than my training. Faces flitted in and out of my mind, and I couldn't name any save Nergal. I somehow managed to survive the fever, and was forced back into training the moment it broke.
The harshness redoubled, and I started running obstacle courses with actual people on them, quite unlike the mindless husks from years ago. Time blurred again, but I was too focused on my tasks to care. Missions came and went, and those who resisted me fell and soaked the ground with red. At thirteen, I was already unstoppable. None knew when I would come, and none who saw me survived long enough to tell others. Even my comrades were afraid, gifting me with the name "Angel of Death". Anything I had been before that point was forgotten, drowned by fear. Anything I known before was lost, replaced by that one instinct burned into my memory since Nergal had found me.
To show no mercy to dissenters of his rule.
To kill all in my path.
............................................................................ ...............................
Balm: *sniff* Poor Jaffar! bladegryphon, when you write angst, you really go all the way!
Flash: Like? Dislike? Think a few things could be improved? Say so in a review!
Sap: Remember, more reviews=faster updates if bladegryphon isn't too lazy to write!
Me: -___-* Sap, shut up. Remember, all flames will be snatched by Sap for world domination plans, and we reeeeeeeeeeeeeally don't want that.
Flash: Sap, lighten up. It's just a one-shot.
Zephyr: ...that's going to turn into a multi-chapter thingie. You know bladegryphon. She thinks one-shots are just peeks into the larger story.
Sap: SEE?! Now she'll just be writing the others even less! Besides, there are already about five billion other Jaffar stories out there!
Balm: Will you three just shut UP?!
Me: Heh heh heh. Yeah, I know I should be working on other stuff right now, but I can't help it if really good ideas pop into my head! Anyway, this is only the first part of who-knows-how-many, so enjoy!
............................................................................ ............................................
Kill...
For as long as I can remember, that has been my only instinct, superior even to survival. I remember nothing of my past, at least, before Nergal came. I've been raised to be dead to the world, emotionless, unstoppable. The perfect killer.
I was the only survivor of my village, a lone infant on a bloodstained pile of bodies. Taken by Nergal, he was the one who decided my fate. Even from that early age, I was beaten for showing any emotion. The slightest whimper or giggle meant countless lashings. I quickly learned to accept things as they were, and remained silent, dead to my surroundings. Even when my training involved watching innocents being beaten within an inch of death.
A few years after I was found, I was given my first set of knives and was sent into a room full of children. My orders were to kill every last one of them. I protested, and was beaten until I blacked out, likely even beyond that point. My back is crisscrossed with white scars from that. I awoke too sore to move, bandages wrapped around my torso, and several of the wounds infected. In that state, my knives were again placed in my hands, and the same orders issued. Despite the pain, I didn't dare disobey that time. Only when blood coated the walls was I released.
I remember looking into a mirror shortly after that. My eyes, once warm, were now the coldest I had ever seen, even more so than Nergal's. Before, I would have screamed. Now, I simply accepted it and returned to my room to try to recover quickly, knowing that I would receive no medical attention.
My training continued after that, and the list of things I got lashed for lengthened. Walking too slowly or loudly, using the main hallway instead of climbing the outer walls and roof... it went on and on. By the time I was ten, even the most experienced forces under Nergal's command couldn't tell when I was coming. Not even the thief Legault, or as many called him, Hurricane.
Only three could, but he never let them battle, despite their magical prowess. With black hair, red lips, and golden eyes, anyone could tell they weren't human. They were Limstella, Ephidel, and Sonia, Nergal's magical constructions. Morphs. I heard from others that there was a fourth, but he was considered a failed one. Those were the most powerful of them. Obviously, there were many others of their kind under his command, but none of them were nearly as powerful.
One in particular stood out: Sonia. Even with the distinctive features, she still thought she was human. She was the cruelest of the three, especially concerning her daughter. I'd never seen her, but I'd heard Sonia yelling about her numerous times.
Nergal's men never gave me quite enough to eat, claiming that I would get fat and useless. I wasn't a brilliant thief, but I was good enough to steal food from the kitchens when I needed to, and get away with it most of the time. It was on one of these runs that I met her for the first time. A young child, half my age with green hair, was begging the cook to give her some of the leftovers. Being one of Nergal's men, he refused to and turned her out.
It was the first time in years I'd felt anything.
Yes, I'd killed numerous children her age, but all of them were nothing more than lifeless husks, selves long locked away in their minds to avoid pain from torture. Seeing a poor child like that just sparked something within me. Not much, but it was enough.
I stole a bit more food than usual that night.
She was in the courtyard, sitting on the fountain's edge crying. I walked over to where she was and simply placed half a loaf of bread on the rim beside her. Then I left. I could feel her eyes gazing after me in confusion as I disappeared into the shadows that night. Later, as I was walking along the roof, I gazed down into the courtyard I'd found her in. To my surprise she was still there, but... she looked a bit different this time. A smile graced her face instead of tear streaks.
She almost reminded me of myself, just different. We were both in harsh environments, but she had more freedom than I. And she was far happier than I could ever be, simply because of that one difference.
Perhaps I shouldn't have met her. The day after I'd stolen extra, I was discovered. It was partially because the cook noticed food missing for once, and partially because I had a hard time focusing on my training the day after. I was beaten like I hadn't been in years.
Again I woke on my pallet with bloodstained bandages wrapping my upper torso, yet this time, I wasn't so lucky. I burned with infection, delirious from the fever it brought. I knew that I would have no healer, but I knew that if I didn't get some kind of medical attention, I would die.
But I was too weak to move.
Days and months blurred together in a single, pain-filled haze. My memories did as well. I could no longer remember anything other than my training. Faces flitted in and out of my mind, and I couldn't name any save Nergal. I somehow managed to survive the fever, and was forced back into training the moment it broke.
The harshness redoubled, and I started running obstacle courses with actual people on them, quite unlike the mindless husks from years ago. Time blurred again, but I was too focused on my tasks to care. Missions came and went, and those who resisted me fell and soaked the ground with red. At thirteen, I was already unstoppable. None knew when I would come, and none who saw me survived long enough to tell others. Even my comrades were afraid, gifting me with the name "Angel of Death". Anything I had been before that point was forgotten, drowned by fear. Anything I known before was lost, replaced by that one instinct burned into my memory since Nergal had found me.
To show no mercy to dissenters of his rule.
To kill all in my path.
............................................................................ ...............................
Balm: *sniff* Poor Jaffar! bladegryphon, when you write angst, you really go all the way!
Flash: Like? Dislike? Think a few things could be improved? Say so in a review!
Sap: Remember, more reviews=faster updates if bladegryphon isn't too lazy to write!
Me: -___-* Sap, shut up. Remember, all flames will be snatched by Sap for world domination plans, and we reeeeeeeeeeeeeally don't want that.