Rogue Aristocrat

Chapter 1: Vile Favor

Yes, I did.

I saw everything.

I witnessed chaos.

Matriarchs were killing their own kind, not knowing they have created nothing, but monsters out of the innocents they were before. Blood was spilled everywhere. Even I could still feel my mother's blood's warmth by its splatter on my face, dripping from the under of my eyes, to my cheeks, down to my neck. My eyes were staring straight. They seemed focused, although I had nothing to look at because the place was just... red. Their voices, they were fading away, slowly becoming almost a mere whisper in my ears. If the soldier, having a tight grip on my arms, had not slapped me, I probably could have lost all my senses. It was the first moment I cried a tear from my left eye since the brutal death of every one I ever loved. Apparently, I was strong enough to stop myself from begging for my own demise and hold on to my sanity, and suddenly, crave for a sweet sorrow for all the greedy war gods and soldiers. I lit up and my soul burned for vengeance.

But now isn't the time yet. Not the time to move... yet.

The soldier, who caught me, strangled me with a thick and rough brown rope; I can feel the little constituents pressing against my skin.  I struggled as I looked at him in the eyes. I couldn't let him out of my sight. Never. Not when he was the reason for the death of the people I ever cared about, besides all the mixed dirt and blood on my face and body.

He punched my stomach. I can feel my blood rising through my throat, ready to spit out from my mouth. I gave a smile, and I know he saw it. "You're brave," I said.

He was confused.

"Only when your prey is down," I continued. He punched me for the second time, but this time, in the face, and I blocked out.

I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the floor with other people in a dark brown-walled hall. A girl to my right, lying on the same position as me, was wounded on her forehead; and I thought maybe she fought back. It was no time for chitchatting, but I wanted to know where I was.

"Where are we?"

"I don't know."

Just as I thought.

"Hey you, little twat, get up," a soldier kicked the back of my head. Why do they have to be so rude? Aren't our lives already in their hands? What more could they ever want than to enslave us?

"Well, as you can see, my hands are tied, idiot."

He bended his knees down to my level and said, "Shut your mouth or I'll cut your tongue right then." He cut the rope binding my wrists, then grinned, and went back to walking. Everybody's ropes were cut.

As I stood restlessly in the front row, the guardians stood firmly at the sides of the large wooden door, placing their left arm on their front body and the other to their back. As a clean shaved bearded man entered, walking with the edges of his heavy-looking golden staff scratching the cement, they bowed alternately, synchronizing with the man's steps; and every Matriarch inside the hall fastened their lips. His straight long pure silver-colored hair flowed effortlessly with the invisible air as if it was as smooth as silk, and so did his upper and lower white garment. He looked as perfect as a god.

The soldier that kicked me when I was down went straight up to him and bowed. He kneeled with his one leg before the man, saying, "The captured are ready, my Lord." He turned to all the Matriarchs at the bottom of the floor, and introduced the man, "Give respect to your new lord, Harthellion." Everybody was quiet. Nobody had a deliberate urge to bow before him. The man began to speak.

"Since the death of our beloved Parschaein, the Glorious Matria has never become more silent than how it is now. We have seen violence, greed, and pandemonium. But believe me, I've seen worse. The termination of my people. Their evocative screams and cries. Never heard. I've felt the agony of misery. The very quintessence of melancholy. Don't ever think I don't recognize the same pain. We're all equal, aren't we now?" He kingly coughed. "I've given you – ALL OF YOU – a chance to exist, to live your second life; and all I ask is a favor. A favor, my dear Matriarchs, that, I assure you, will be worthy of your throbbing, something that will stand out from the rest of our history. But, if you resist my offer, then I've got no other choice but to, of course, take whatever is already left of you."

As much as he thought "we're all equal" now, he's wrong. His pain will never equate to any of our suffering. And who the hell would even, in his sound mind, would obey all his unrighteous orders? Well, I can see in the hall, a hundred. How many more could there be outside the door?

"I would rather die than serve your sorry little ass!" Afar, a man in the crowd bellowed. I can hear the fearlessness in the tone of his voice. But, I don't think that's clever of him to speak bravely to a man obviously surrounded by his guarding flocks of idiots that call him 'Lord'.

The soldier looked at the lord. Harthellion flipped his hand, and then the soldier went after the rebel. The crowd quickly spread out to give way. He raised his arms to the level of his shoulders and opened his hands. Without any single touch on the rebel's skin, he dragged the young man with the power of telekinesis into the center where Harthellion could see him.

The lord went down to the stairs while his white cape elegantly dripped. "Young man, you're way too puny to stand against me, but your courage had frightened me," Harthellion mocked the rebel by putting his right hand, palming his left chest. "But only this much."

What does Harthellion want from us if he already has his extraordinary army? Does he think we're a threat?

Harthellion moved his index finger a little bit, and a streak of blood emerged from the rebel's neck. The young man nervously gulped. He angrily looked straight into the lord's eyes. I knew right then that he was never going to apologize and give a vow of genuine service to Harthellion, and so does the war god. Then, the lord moved his lower right arm up and swiftly moved down. The rebel cried out loud.

My nerves were trembling – from head to toe. I can see bloodshed again. His right arm was slashed, divided from the very joints of his shoulder. His bones were visibly showing. His thick blood splattered out to the faces of the other young Matriarchs near him. He shouted as loud as he can. His voice reverberated back and forth.

As he struggled, Harthellion clenched his fist hard. The rebel stopped crying, and started to gasp for air. His heart was pumping fast like it was going to explode. For a moment, the terrifying feeling stopped. Suddenly, his other arm was detached once again. He cried again. Struggling, he said, "No matter what you do, I'll never serve you!"

Harthellion laughed. "Can't you see? Your pain is my entertainment. Your pain is their reminder. Don't worry; you're doing a really great job SERVING me." He emphasized. "But I'm sorry this has to end, our friendship. You're causing a little too much delay on the other half of my speech." He clenched his fist again until the rebel exploded into pieces. Every part of his body and organs blew up into the thin air.

The war god smiled before all of the Matriarchs as if his cruelty were just as normal as every shift of the sun and moon in the sky. "He asked for it, so I gave him what he wanted," he raised his one eyebrow; he continued, "My people, I can provide everything you need, everything you want. But you have to earn it. This is my deal, the favor I was speaking of. Work for me, so shall I for your satisfaction, too."