Chapter 1: The Man in Chains

They say that when an executioner has their axe to your throat, nine times out of ten, you're gonna die. But in other times, something extraordinary happens...

...You Survive.

This is the story of a man who lost everything, and almost lost his life, too. But, as with all good stories, there's a bit of a twist. After all, we can't have his life being predictable... now can we?

He walked. And walked.

The people behind him claimed to be escorting him, but they thought him an extremely dangerous criminal, and therefor followed him with swords drawn. Every once in a while they'd poke him with the tips of their blades, prompting him to walk faster. He would.

When they finally arrived at the location they needed to go to though, he could think of nothing more than, "what's next?". When the executioner drops the blade of his axe and kills him, what happens after that? Would he go to hell? Heaven? Would nothing at all happen? Or maybe a different religion was the correct one. Who or what would he see when he died? The only thing that was for sure was that he would indeed die—there's no way he wouldn't.

Right?

They finally arrived in front of one last door. The man in the front of the group stepped up and opened it, revealing the inside of an enclosed stone building. Walking inside, our main character was forced to kneel and offer his head to the executioner on duty. That's when something unexpected happened. Lord Regent Hiram Burrows barged in through the door, and demanded that everyone stop.

"We have a new order for his death," he said.

"But sir," one of the guards responded, "The kid's been scheduled for execution by axe for months now."

"Don't question me!" Hiram yelled.

"Sir, yes, sir!" everyone shouted back.

"He is to be at the public execution site in no more than ten minutes."

"Got it," one guard responded.

Not even a whole five minutes later, they had arrived at the public execution site. But there were already plenty of people around. From nobles to the poor, there was a huge crowd there to watch him die. Well, at least he'd die popular.

They put him up against a wood wall, chaining him up to it with... well, chains. He couldn't do anything now but helplessly look at everyone around him, just wanting them to get it over with. He didn't have all day. Quite literally. They, apparently, wished for the same thing, as the next thing he knew there were exactly ten archers lined up on a platform across from him, all with bows drawn and arrows knocked. This was an interesting way of execution. Perhaps they feared him? But it matters not, for he has no way to defend himself.

"Archers!" a voice behind him yelled, "Ready your weapons!"

They did so.

"Take aim!" it continued, which they did. "And, fi—"

Everything stopped. The crowd stopped cheering, the man stopped yelling, the metal round his wrists stopped hurting. His ears rung with the silence. Perhaps he was dead now? No, he could still feel his body and breath and think... there was no way he was dead. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, showing the last image before his death as nothing more than a teasing shout about what he will remember his death as. Or perhaps something beyond his own comprehension... but what could it possibly be?

"Hello, Kysem," a voice said. With that voice, a plain-looking young man in a brown jacket, a pair of jeans, and a pair of black boots appeared in front of Kysem, who greeted the young, floating man with gusto.

"You are in quite the predicament, aren't you? Blamed for the murder of not just someone close to you, but your own parents and younger brother, when in truth it was someone working behind the lines. Truly, your death would be a terrible fate. But I find you interesting. I think I'll help you, under one condition. What do you say?"

Kysem nodded eagerly in response.

"Good. I will give you the powers to get out of here and escape into the world if you just give me some entertainment. Truth be told, I've got three televisions... one is turned off. Just give me some fun and I'll give you your life."

Kysem nodded again.

"Right. When I let you go, you'll be able to control time, teleport, and move the metal of any chains surrounding you, even going as far as to make some. And it will all be possible with my mark."

A complicated design appeared in the form of a tattoo on the back of Kysem's left hand, burning it only just enough to cause a bit of pain. Nothing worthy of a shout, though.

"I am the Outsider. And that, is my mark."