Evios

by Set Lopez

It is the 2nd century and the world is corrupted by war. As it is, several empires begin to rise in power and control. One of which is Evios. Between a period of over a 100 years, this empire had succeded in conquering all others. Then...a meteor strikes.

Introduction

Every glorious era has a humiliating downfall. Most of them are born of rebellion, but others are pure evil. Evil is too strong to control, as well as all good is too boring to bare. There must always be a proper balance between good and evil; there must always be enough good to overcome the evil. Unfortunately, that's not always the case…

Our story began over 2,000 years ago and it isn't over yet. The world was corruptively divided amongst some of the greatest cultures to ever be seen on the face of the Earth. Borders were set based upon religion, culture, color, and other characteristics, such as language. But within all of these boundaries was an empire of justice…and brutality. Its name was Evios (also known as the Evion Empire). The people of Evios were mostly atheist, but there were also some strong Catholic and Jewish peoples, as well. The Evion Empire of Evios had done what no other nation could; it was welcoming to all. Since any person of any race or religion could settle in the country without being prejudiced, Evios grew to have a firm amount of population and a favoring military. As the population grew, territory became more and more demanding. Thus, in response to near-overpopulation, the Evion Armed Forces went on a 200 year campaign to unite the globe. After nearly 197 years of word wars, Evios and Macedonia were the only two civilizations left in rule. It took another 10 years to decide the fate of the world, but in the end, the Macedonian Empire proved itself powerful…but not victorious.

Although there was only one government in the world, there were still many, many voices. Only a few months after the Evion Empire had conquered the world, various small uprisings sprung throughout it. Most of the rebellions were put at an easy end, but one in particular was not yet ready to accept singular rule. Several previously called "Macedonian cities" had formed a fierce coalition against Evios. Though the coalition had little territory, it was vast in numbers, supplies, and morale. This made the Evion loyalists, as well as the Evion government, very furious. Within the next range of 2-3 months, the coalition was warned that if they did not settle down, war would be insured by summer of 231a.d.

It turned into fall, and winter, then spring; still no sign of the coalition resting. So during the early summer of the year 231, war had begun against Macedonians for the second time. Though the Evion Central Academy Unit's base was near Macedonian territory, the determined Macedonians continued to be inspired by the new war. Macedonia may not have its independence on the map, but as far as motivation goes, Macedonia is nearly twice the size of Evios and its grand Evion Empire.

Part 1- Chapter 1: Patriots Or Bandits?

The Han Dynasty, China. The Spartan Warriors, Greece. The Roman Empire, Italy. Alexander The Great, Macedonia. All of these were grand eras, each led by a different mastermind. It's a shame that were all so magnificent, and yet all fell defenseless to the same empire, Evios. The Evion Empire swept away the entire world's past history. The world was meant for numerous leaders, for numerous countries, not one central government for the entire planet. That's my belief. Luckily, I'm not alone.

The Macedonian peoples have finally begun to show resistance against our so-called All-mighty government. Alright, I'll agree, Evios is a pretty strong civilization, but they had no right to destroy any of the others. That's my problem; I never understood war. Why can't we all just get along? Who decided that the world needed borders? What kind of primitive, cowardly, unappealing society invented war in the first place?! Oh, well, I'm only 13 years old. Until I turn 15, my say doesn't really apply to anything. Yet I also don't understand why my parents cheer for a country, and out of all the other countries to cheer for, why Evios? I may be young and probably still don't understand military service, but I thought we were supposed to mourn the dead, not chant, "Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Anyways, besides being confused about war, I usually go out in the fields and harvest corn. It's been raining an awful lot lately, so we're getting lots of grapes and salad, but not a lot of corn. I mean it's nothing bad or anything, but it means I have to find a faster way of obtaining resources. It's difficult enough as it is! What more does this cruel world want from me? Okay sorry, I tend to get angry fairly easy. I'm not sure why, but I always get bugged by the smallest of things. If I see a kid not listening to his/her parents, even if I don't know the darn child, I get mad. If I see a boy being mean or rude to a girl, whether I know the guy or not, I get mad. My parents say that if I ever became leader of a province or district, treason and rebellion would become expectations for the people. I don't get mad when they tell me that, after all, they do have a point.

"Zy! Zy, where are you?" called my dad.

"I'm over here, father, in the cornfield," I yelled back.

"Well hurry on and get in here! It's time for supper," he said.

I quickly put away the cropping supplies and I rushed inside our hut as fast as I could! Dinner is my favorite part of the day! Since I work most hours, I really build up an appetite. Sometimes I get so hungry, that I start eating some of our crops. I've never been caught doing that though. But if I ever am…that's the end of my life.

When I walked inside our hut I could already smell the hot and steamed Chinese meat buns. They look like gigantic fragile snowflakes, but their taste is as heartwarming as a romantic walk by a lake or river. Its taste is phenomenally flower-like with a hint of ginger and other spices carefully fused to create a delicate fragment of nature.

"Zy, may you please come with me to your mother's garden?" asked grandpa.

I looked at my mother, hoping that she would allow me to go. "Yes grandfather, I would love to go with you," I replied.

"I do not see what makes you two think that I will continuously allow this abandonment of family dinner," mother said calmly. She took a deep breath, and then sighed. "Relinquo prosapia , quod unus dies prosapia vadum relinquo vos," she said. I had never heard mother speak in Latin before. It amazed me that she was able to pronounce every word correctly. The only person in our family to have ever supposedly learned Lain was grandpa, but apparently mother spoke it too. Grandpa has been trying to teach me to speak Latin because he says that when the trees talk of the past and the world is spun into turmoil, only those whom speak the language of the elders shall be given further mortality. Honestly, I have no idea what he's talking about most of the time.

"Silentium vestri lacuna! Vos es non periclitor majores!" shouted grandpa at mother. I guess he wasn't much of a good Latin teacher because I couldn't understand anything that he and my mother saying. They continued to trade Latin speech until grandpa finally said, "Vos vadum pereo pro Abyssus!" Then mother's eyes began to water. I couldn't exactly figure out what he had said, but I knew that Abyssus meant Hell. Mother then left the kitchen and went into her bedroom. There was a long moment of silence.

Grandpa then stood up from his chair. "Alright then, let us go for that walk, no?" He seemed calm, as if nothing had happened. At first I wondered why, but then I figured that it was none of my business to interfere in a conflict between other people. "Yes, grandfather," I replied. He then opened the door and we both began walking outside.

"Zy," started grandpa, "I know that you are aware of the current war that our government is in," he said. "Now, tell me, do you honestly think that this empire will last any longer?"

I didn't understand why he was asking me this. No one had ever asked for my opinion on things, especially on grand topics, such as war. Finally I said, "I cannot see the future, but if you ask me, the entire world will fight for their independence. Evios has no right to obtain global dominance."

"Hmm…" grandpa began, "Perhaps the world has a small amount of tolerance, or maybe they have been ignored?"

I was confused. "Grandpa, what are you trying to say?"

He stared at the birds on the trees in front of us. "I have once heard that where there is a will, there is a way. There are several different ways for Evios and its Evion Empire to fall, but there is at least one way for it to succeed." He stared at me with a very serious look on his face. He looked as if he had just looked at Death straight in the eyes and spat in his hooded face. "Nothing is impossible, but some things require an iron-fist."

I looked down at the grass without an expression on my face. I then slowly lifted my head and said, "All of the greatest blacksmiths moved to Macedonia."

Grandpa laughed a little bit and then he smiled at the sunset. As he did this, he said, "May this war be the first of many to come."

I know I don't like picking sides when it comes to war, but I couldn't control myself this time, "Evios shall fall."

The next morning I awoke to the sound of a large bang coming from downstairs. I quickly got out of bed and I picked up my bamboo spear that I had carved one day by the lake. I was really bored and tired that night. During that morning, I had to wake up extra early so that I would have enough time to plant the tomatoes. I was planning on waking up at 5:30, but the noise awoke me at 4:45. I slowly sneaked downstairs trying desperately not to make a sound. I thought that it would be easy to creep around and not be heard, just watch your step. But it turned out to be more complicated then I had interoperated. When I was walking, my toes kept bending backwards because I was walking on their tips. Could I have prevented that problem? I think yes. Why didn't I? Because of basic human reflex, my first instinct was to step on the tips of my toes. In this situation it would sound good during the plotting, but when it comes down to the actual situation, it turns into a masterpiece for disaster.

I couldn't hear anyone speaking and I had already walked around the entire upper level and the kitchen. Where the noise could have come from? I honestly had the slightest of clues, but I did know one thing: someone or something in my house had been wondering around the hallways. Already knowing that much information was enough to make me wonder that maybe, just maybe, there might be a burglar or intruder of some sort in my house; terror.

My eyes began to water and I was trying to hold back from crying. I was so terrified that I didn't even know where I was anymore. Then I saw a shadow of what appeared to be a tall man with long hair. I was standing by the edge of the kitchen wall, silently looking into the other room. I couldn't remember which room it was, but it wasn't that big. It was fairly small but there was no furniture in it, making it look a little bigger. I looked with one side of my face over the side of the wall and I could see a tall man wearing dark-red armor. He was also holding a long sword and he had what looked like knives strapped onto the sides of both his legs. I knew he was a soldier that belonged to either the Mesopotamian or Evion armed forces.

It wasn't until another man dropped from the ceiling that I knew they were Mesopotamian. My grandfather had always carried The Mark of Evios on his bald head. Though I could barely withstand the sight of my dead grandfather's body lying on the floor, I managed to stay where I was and not make a peep. The tall man then began to turn in my direction, so I silently, but quickly, ran outside the already opened front door. I then sprinted for the corn fields because I knew that if the man was to walk outside, he wouldn't be able to see me hiding in the tall fields.

It took me only about ten seconds to reach the fields; I'm fast. I then ducked under the crops and went deep into the center of them. Having the eyes of a hawk, as my grandfather used to tell me, I could see up to a mile and a half away. The crops were only 25 yards, so I still had a clear site of my house. I had only been hiding for about a minute when I saw the man walk outside of my house. He did not walk outside alone though; he was holding my mother by her hair. He was pulling her and dragging her along the grass. She was still alive, I could tell by her yelling, but the man looked ready to kill. I wondered if maybe this had to do with what my grandfather said about me. Maybe I am a chosen one, or maybe this was all in an attempt to make my training with him less confusing. I don't know, but I honestly want to find out. The only person that I knew that had ever called me a warrior was grandpa. But now, he's dead.

I tried to concentrate on what was going on with my mother. The man had just let go of his sword. I thought he might want to…want to… no. No, it can't be. I know that some people in the world are crazy and do…things to other people, but not to my mother. Please, no. I had a sigh of relief when he took out a rope and tied my mother up in a tree. I thought he was going to…never mind. Anyway, when I looked again, my mother was helplessly tied to a tree and the man was walking towards his sword. Now I had a new fear, was he going to kill mother? It obviously wasn't bad enough that he had to kill grandpa because now he's going to kill my mother as well. He picked up his sword, rose in the air…then called his horse and rode away. Why would he kill one family member, but leave the other one stuck in a tree? I began to walk towards the tree, when all of a sudden I saw the man again, except this time, instead of a sword in his fist, he held a torch.

I struggled to stay quiet but I managed to stay still again. The man held his torch firmly and he got off of his horse. He slowly walked towards my mother, laughed as he did. I tried to hold back tears but I couldn't anymore. I was silently crying as I saw the man light the tree. He stood there laughing at my mother's shrieks and terror. He left. This time I ran towards the tree and crying with my mother.

"Get out of here, Zy! Get out!" she yelled while she cried.

I knew she was going to die soon. Those flames rose like dragons and roared like tigers. "But mother, I cannot just leave you hear to die! I must at least try to save you!" I yelled back.

"Zy, they will hunt us both if the find out I didn't die. They want you to suffer. They want you to kill yourself."

Now I was really scared. "Don't worry mother, I'll save you!" I quickly found a thorny branch along my feet and I tried to cut the thick rope with it. Nothing was working. I tried desperately for two minutes but by now the flames were so hot, that my thorny branch caught on fire as well. I stood there, not knowing what to do. Mother was now beginning to catch fire. She sobbed in pain as the flames roasted her feet and began to shoot embers.

"Zy, don't allow them to find you! Don't allow yourself to die! Please Zy, live!" Mother knew that she had only a minute or so left of life. I knew that too.

"Mommy," I began, "Why didn't the man hurt me?" I sounded like a five-year old, but it was the voice I could speak in.

"He didn't hurt you because he knows that you're stronger than him! You're stronger than his entire army united!" she responded while yelling. "I love you, Zy! Be strong! Live on! I love you, Zy! I love you!"

"Mom, don't go! Don't leave me! Please mommy, don't go!"

By now the flames had engulfed her in a fireball. The entire tree is now suffering the pain of the flames. My mother began to turn a dark black as the fire burned her to a crisp. I was just standing there, watching her slowly fade away. She looked like a dead angel with burning wings because of the branches behind her. And I just stood there, stiff and confused. I watched her go through what seemed like hell, but I knew that in return, she would rise into heaven. I felt as if it was my fault that she had been burned. I felt guilty for being trained like a warrior. I knew that I would never forgive myself. I watched her and the tree both turn into ashes as the wind carried them away into the sun. They looked like little birds flying into the sun with grand anticipation.

Though the site stung my heart, I felt as if my mother wanted me to see this glorious view to give me hope and motivation. And though my eyes did like the view, this was my mother's body and organs floating in mid-air. How can I enjoy the site of my mother's disintegrated soul? Exactly, I can't. How could anyone enjoy watching a family member being killed? Now I felt guilty at the fact that I thought the ashes were beautiful. This was the day my mother had died, thus this is a day of enormous sorrow.

I kept thinking to myself, that man was alone. He was alone, meaning I could've killed him myself! But why didn't I? Grandpa always told me to never let fear take you over. It is a deadly force that only panics us. What happens when we panic? We become more vulnerable for death.

I remember asking him if it was possible to train someone to fend off fear.

"The best type of training is experience itself," said grandpa.

"But is that not dangerous?" I asked him politely.

"Dangerous? Danger is the very element of skill and anticipation, when it is used properly," he barked at me, his face turning a bright-red. "There is an alternative, though," he started again. "With danger comes pressure and with pressure comes panic." He sounded and looked completely serious. I knew that he meant what he had said, but it was all in an attempt to motivate me to do my best. Good intention or not, both his voice and words were making me terrified of going into battle, even training. What if I got killed while practicing duels with him? Would he care? Would he consider me a failure to him? I tried as hard as I could to hold back on my questions, but being only eight-years old at the time; I asked him whatever questions came to my mind.

"But grandpa, what if I…what if I die?" I asked him with a frightened but curious look on my face.

He stared at me blankly for a brief moment, as if he was expect that question to come out of a three-year old, not an eight-year old. Finally he said, "If you are to die in training, then die in training you shall." This time he shot me a stare of disappointment.

"So you'll go easy on me, right?" Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why would I ask him that? I already knew that he was beginning to get mad at me, but asking a foolish question like that could make him furious! But instead of looking angered at me, he looked calm.

"The reality is that I don't want to die just as much as you don't want to die," he responded with a surprisingly soothing voice. "No one wants to die, which is precisely why our opponents must," he said solemnly. "If you don't want to be killed in battle, then you must eliminate your threats by defeating or even killing them," he said. "In order to achieve victory, you must make your opponents suffer defeat." This time his voice sounded more serious than ever. It was almost as if he thought of me as an adult, even though I was still only eight.

I had already gotten a little bit lucky when he didn't go berserk on me for asking the first couple of questions and I wasn't about to take the risk of being massacred by my own grandfather just for asking a silly question, so I decided that the hour of asking was over; it was time to fight.

"Here," said grandpa, "take this." He tossed me a wooden-bokken which was what we used, and use, to train or practice. It was about the size of a regular-sized sword and a lot less deadly too. The particular bokken that my grandpa always wanted me to use was a light-weight bokken made of oak. He had made me carve it out of an oak-tree one morning during my first week training for a martial art that he calls Vomica-Veneficus. It's in Latin and it means Plague of Poison.

This particular martial art was invented by my grandpa himself. It was based off of lightning-fast reflexes and vitally-quick strikes; deadly.

For three weeks, I had to read a training guide handbook that he had written for Vomica-Veneficus. The text reached the very edges on all five hundred seventy-six pages. The book wasn't boring though, for it had very interesting phrases and quotes. I had never been so enlightened in my life until after I had finished reading that book. The book, by the way, was titled 形容词, meaning Sacred Sword. My grandfather had titled it in a way that was supposed to sound secretive because the fighting style was to only be taught to me and my sons that I hoped to one day have. No matter how many sons I have though, I am only allowed to teach one of them the Vomica-Veneficus fighting-style. Thus this pattern will hopefully continue throughout the generations of my family.

The only intention of this tradition was to keep the Vomica-Veneficus deadly and feared. According to my grandpa, the only fighting-style that is invulnerable is the one that cannot be tamed nor taught. But in order to keep the style alive, he needed to make an exception, so he decided only one of the current martial artists's sons may be taught the style. Personally, I think that this plan is rather too exclusive. I mean, what if maybe we can train the whole family? Why are we only allowed to train one family member for every generation? What if that one son is to die?

I took the bokken from grandpa, and as I did, I fixed my posture and I swear I felt as if I was already seven-teen! I felt so strong and mature and I think I looked it too because as soon as I looked at grandpa, he gave me a shocking expression that read: is this really an eight-year old?

"Uh…umm..." he was having trouble speaking (probably because he was so astonished of my image).

Already knowing what he was going to say, I said it for him, "Shall we begin?"

He looked at me rather stunned, but I don't blame him. "Little Zy, I do not think that you are yet ready for this level of teachings yet."

I could not believe what he had just said to me. I know that he thought I looked like a strong and willing young-man and I know that he really knew that I was far more than ready for simple bokkens. So then why did he say that I wasn't ready? He knew he was wrong, and I could tell from the trembling sound of his voice that he didn't mean what he said. So why had he said it? Why would you say something that you don't mean? And even if grandpa did have an excuse, my comeback would be that he is already fifty-six years old. He was an elderly man whom only has so many years left in him. So if grandpa is the only man whom knows, and the only man whom can teach me the Vomica-Veneficus, why does he hesitate to teach me the damn fighting-style? Hey, old-man, you don't have much time left, I thought to myself.

"But grandpa," I began, "I am ready to learn further instruction. I am ready to finally begin real training, and I am ready to fight!" I wasn't just mad at him, I was enraged. "You think I'm not ready even though you know deep inside you that I am and have been ready to fight!" I had lost my temper, just as little children do.

"Zy, I'm sorry. You think that you are ready to fight, and yet you are fueled by anger," he said in a disappointed voice.

"But I thought you said that the Vomica-Veneficus is powered by anger, did you not?" I spoke to him angrily, yet my questions became more sophisticated than I had ever imagined they would go.

"Silence, child!" snapped grandpa at me. "You are ready when I say you are ready, 'hear me boy?" He was just about as angry as I was.

I knew that he was still holding some of his temper back, for I had seen him kill people that had angered him far enough. I knew that I needed to back off; he wouldn't hesitate to kill me either.

I grunted at him, slammed my bokken on the floor, and left his dojo with my arms crossed.

Several months after that incident, he began trying to train me to become more calm and aware of my temporary state-of-mind. In order to successfully do this without any flaws, he began teaching me Tai-chi by the lake. He said that the water is especially good for getting in touch with my inner chakras. He had placed candles on top of the plain grass on Mondays, rocks and dirt on Wednesdays, and we practiced the art in the shallow part of the waters on Fridays. Saturdays and Sundays were the days that I go to the local market to purchase some ingredients for some of mother's dishes or maybe new tools to help me with her gardens…mother.

I stood by the tree as the last flame died out. The final memories of my grandfather were Tai-chi lessons by the beautiful lake. I remember waking-up extra early just so I could catch dawn's reflection in the crystal-clear waters. The sounds of the elegant doves circling around the balanced-landscape soothed me and the music that the waters played whenever there was a gentle breeze was absolutely breath-taking. The lake had helped me fall in love with nature and all of its magnificent creations. I suppose that my bond with its waters was far more intense than I had thought. I still remember the trees swaying above me and the fields devoured by the number of butterflies. I had never been more fascinated by the sights of the outdoors but on the days that grandpa and I went to practice Tai-chi.

As for my mother, the few memories that I had of her were simply small conversations that we used to have as I helped her in the gardens or in the fields. But besides that, we didn't really have any time together.

And as for my father...wait a minute, where was father? He didn't get killed and he didn't run. Where is he? I slowly made my way to the front door of my home and opened the door. I searched all of the rooms and still found nothing and no one. Suddenly, I heard a loud bang...