Well, hello there and welcome to the prologue of these unorthodox chapter that I am making and well, let's just say that I have been so obsessed with Akame ga Kill by trying to make it less cliche and more unique in it's undertone, especially with what kind of story I am seriously planning here.
Now, despite what the Character Profile have suggested, I am going to both add and tweaked something along the way of the story.
Don't worry, I am not gonna make it more blatant and practically make my OC to be some OP mary sue that the story should seriously be revolved around (because seriously, there is enough of that there).
Well, anyway, if you have anymore ideas to help with the story, let me know in the comments below.
And please, no hate and this isn't Twitter. Honestly, wish this website should actually have a delete function, even a block function because of how uncomfortably toxic the internet and it's fans are, I really don't want to handle such a blatant disregard of human decency.
Now, on with the story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Akame ga Kill and 'Akame Ga kill: Return of Red Dragon emperor' by 'animemaster212'. They belong to their respective owners.
Enjoy.
Years had passed since the First Emperor's compassionate reign, when the Imperial Arms shimmered as symbols of hope. But that hope was now a cruel jest, eclipsed by the machinations of Prime Minister Honest, the architect of calamity whose true face was cloaked in deceit. In his grasp lay Child Emperor Makoto, a puppet stringed with innocence, too naïve to fathom the abyss into which he was led.
Beneath a shroud of moonlight, the Revolutionary Army prepared their campaign. They were the fierce defenders of justice, yet blood stained their hands just the same. Among their ranks was Night Raid, a group of phantoms striking down schedules and thieves of life, each with a vengeance marked by their personal tragedies. The streets vibrated with their ambitions, but there was a deeper chaos lurking, a wild card threaded through fate itself.
Nobody knew who this wildcard is but they make no attempts to make any allies and only by his lonesome, taking his lone crusade against the Empire and words has gotten out of the infamy and terror of these mysterious wildcard.
Once again, nobody knew and no one could have possibly known on what is he, other than another victim of the Empire that has now arisen and held a grudge against the corrupt regime itself.
Regardless, the night is coming and the wildcard is about to strike again.
In the heart of the Capital, where the Empire's opulence belied its corruption, the midnight hour cast a deep shadow over the cobbled streets. From the hidden corners, the air was thick with the stench of injustice that hung over the city like a mourning shroud. For the scum that slipped from the political gutters, the night was their hour. Outside a quiet tavern, the muted clamor of late-night revelry contrasted sharply with a grim scene unfolding just around the corner.
In an alley choked with refuse, a merchant named Renard found himself surrounded by three Imperial soldiers. Their armor clanked with a sinister glee, a cacophony of oppression echoing through the darkened streets.
"P-p-please... spare me..." Renard's voice trembled as he clutched the edges of his tattered cloak, desperately trying to shield the few goods he had managed to procure.
The soldiers laughed, each of them bloated with a sense of power that came from their rank. "What's this, boys? A merchant without a proper tribute?" The lead soldier—a brutish man with a scar snaking down his cheek—grinned maliciously, signaling his companions to step closer.
"Looks like you have some nifty valuables here. Why don't we take what you've got and give you a proper lesson on what it means to cross the Empire?" His comrades snickered, their weapons gleaming wickedly in the dim light.
"No... please... don't..." Renard whimpered, his voice cracking as he fell to his knees, desperate to keep his hard-earned goods.
They responded with kicks, and laughter echoed off the alley walls as they taunted him. "Contraband? We'll teach you what happens to scum like you." Eyes glistening with sadism, they readied themselves for violence.
Yet, as the cruel jokes hung in the air, fate had other plans. From the very darkness that cloaked the alley, a piercing object shot upward, impaling the lead soldier with a brutal precision that left the others paralyzed in shock. The jagged spike burst through the soldier's torso, blood spraying as he let out a strangled gasp, eyes wide in horror at the sudden turn of events.
In brutal silence, the spike retracted, leaving the man to writhe on the dirty cobblestones, life ebbing away in a pool of crimson. The scent of death filled the air, sharp and pungent, drowning out the muffled laughter of the tavern-goers nearby.
"Wha—what just happened?" One of the remaining soldiers whispered, the color draining from his face as they exchanged terrified glances.
Before they could react, they were met with the dulcet yet terrifying crunch of bones snapping as something colossal struck the second soldier. The sound echoed like a thunderclap, splattering blood across the alley walls and drenching the last soldier in a macabre shower.
Driven by primal fear, the last soldier turned to flee, heart racing and breath coming in ragged gasps. But his flight ended abruptly, a figure emerging from the shadows just inches from him. In one swift motion, his head flew from his shoulders, the detached body crumpling beside him.
For Renard, who lay trembling on the ground, it was a nightmare manifested; he dared not move, his eyes wide in disbelief as he processed the gruesomeness. Was this revenge from the heavens for all the wrongs he had quietly endured? Finally, he allowed himself to breathe, but it felt shallow and unfulfilling.
As he peered into the thick, lingering darkness, something began to take shape. Through the inky void, a figure emerged, tall and imposing. Long, flowing white hair glimmered like the moonlight, framing an obsidian mask that bore no mouth but two haunting eyes that seemed to pierce through the fabric of reality. The black robes the figure wore fluttered unnaturally, twisting in a wind that did not exist.
In his hand, he wielded a spear, its head glowing with intricate lines that pulsed with a haunting radiance—almost alive. Renard's heart raced; he knew instinctively that this being was responsible for the soldiers' gruesome fate, an instrument of retribution sent from the ether.
"Please... don't..." Renard managed to whisper, his voice a quivering thread.
Approaching like an ethereal wraith, the figure drifted toward him, a palpable energy crackling in the air. Renard shut his eyes, bracing for an end that felt inevitable—a punishment for the life he had led under the Empire's oppressive weight. The spear, glimmering ominously, seemed to beckon even as shadows danced around it.
Yet the moment did not end in violence. Instead, when he dared to peek, the figure had vanished, leaving only the fallen soldiers as stark reminders of their failed cruelty.
A glint drew Renard's gaze back to his cart. In horror and awe, his heart sank as he saw a bag spill open, revealing gold bars, each one glistening even in the dim light of the alley. The voice spoke again, smooth and reverberating, echoing within the recesses of his mind.
"What you need to get out of here," the voice intoned, cutting through the silence.
"Wha—what do you mean?" Renard stammered, bewildered at the surreal turn of events.
"If you wish to sell your wares, do not return to this place. Your life depends on it," the voice instructed, authority permeating every syllable.
Renard understood its gravity, terror pulsing through his veins as he nodded fervently. "Y-yes, I understand!"
"Once more, and I will not save you," the voice warned, the finality striking fear deeper than any blade or spear ever could.
Left with nothing but the lifeless bodies of his tormentors and the fortune that might ensure his safety, Renard loaded his cart, hands trembling as he moved swiftly. In those moments of dark clarity, he realized the power of mercy and vengeance intertwined in a way he had never thought possible.
He fled the alley, vowing never to return. He would take his business elsewhere, far from the Empire's grasp. Behind him, high above on the rooftops, the figure with the obsidian mask watched. There was no triumph, no satisfaction, only a silent resolve that echoed in the darkness—a fate yet unwritten, lurking ever so silently at the edges of the Empire's deceit. As the wind whispered through the shadows, he melted away, a guardian unseen, weaving through the fabric of night and day, planting seeds of fear in the hearts of a crumbling regime.
Well, hope you guys are enjoying the prologue of the story. If you have seen any stories from Wattpad and thought it would have been good if it doesn't have any blatant usage of male readers and blatant disregard of writing and grammar, let me know in the comments below.
As always...
Ciao...