Stomping of metal sabatons replace the usual upkeep talk in the merchant district as three town guards run after a child carrying a basket full of various goods, through the secter of town. Attentive to his surroundings, the boy hops over a nearby shop stand knocking over jewelry all over the floor.
"Fuck this shit!" One of the guards exclaims as he proceeds to stay behind protecting the dropped goods from the stand.
Eyes widening and now focused, the young thief dashes slipping into an ally way jumping over boxes and trash bags, turning a corner and opening a shop gate, slipping inside and waiting.
After hours pass and the glistening crystal placed underneath the land that makes the capital above levitate slowly dims giving a beautiful hue of green shining over the city making some of the shadows off of the building a dark green, giving this city which was abandoned by most a nice view only to those who live there.
Walking for some time, the child walks up to one of many mud brick houses looking as if they are going to crumble at any moment. Entering his home the chaos instantly hits him as his siblings are playing throwing rocks and toy soldiers at each other, barely noticing their brother who had just entered the house and emptying the basket which was not filled with jewels but instead fruits, bread, and a small container filled with purified water.
The kids rush towards the food, taking what they wish, leaving little to nothing left for the little thief, yet he gladly takes the scraps of bread and a piece of apple and goes into his him, pulling out one of his journals and proceeds to draw legendary colossal monsters that wander the world causing chaos. More time passes and the crystals that light up the sky fade to darkness almost as a pitiful attempt to apologize or give something to those who are nothing for covering the sun they wish that covered them instead.
As the darkness enters every house, the child tucks himself in and prays that the next day will be a better one. A sharp pain stings his cheek followed by him slamming into the ground, the child swiftly awakens to find his hands, feet, and neck chained up as documentation lies within their parent's hands along with five silver pieces as a man who was "well fed" yanks the chain also pulling the boy back as his parents continue with their lives, closing the door as he is dragged outside until they reach a carriage where grown men reside inside also chained.
Loaded onto the carriage, the man heads towards the helm and strikes the horses with the lead sending them off to a destination most likely filled with pain and death.
The inevitable fate the boy was facing was dreadful, but instantly distracting the boy from his woes were rays of the sun shining upon his face blinding him as he squinted, tearing up either from the beauty or from the scorching rays entering directly into the poor lad's eyes.
Days pass by and with nothing to do the child who was once filled with plans lied in his seat in utter defeat, eyes dried and throat sore from his screaming and crying the previous days.
Tap Tap
Tap Tap Tap Tap
The noise of tapping pestered on for maybe 5 minutes, yet felt like years for the young lad, to quiet the noise and to let himself loath in peace he turned his head to see a white-haired child with bright violet eyes right next to him playing with a twig with his toes that most likely fell off a tree when they passed through a forest the previous days.
"Quit it" The boy murmured under his breath, yet the boy continued to tap away, almost as if he forgot the situation he was in, although surprised to see another child.
Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap
The boy explodes yelling at the white-haired child, as he jumps back in fear, losing the stick as it flies off the carriage.
"Hey shut the fuck up back there or no food for the next week!" The driver said angrily swinging his dagger in the air in frustration as he slumped back down.
Looking back at the white-haired boy, he sees him utterly destroyed after losing his only means of fun, and left to slowly sink into his situation as the rest of them. A few minutes of quiet was all the time needed to make him feel bad, proceeding to apologize for yelling at him.
"It's ok, I'm sorry for being loud with it." the child says sadly, still distraught over losing his valuable. This sparked from time to time conversations between the two prisoners over the next few days to escape their inescapable fate with conversation and laughter.
"Hey! What's your name!" the white-haired child exclaimed at the realization of never asking it all this time.
Remembering being sold by his family the young lad stays quiet at the question wondering why they sold him, and if they sold his sibling as well.
The loud silence ended with one simple word, Bruise, spoken by the white-haired child.
In confusion the boy asked what he meant by Bruise, and and gained the explanation to the name all because when they first met he had a big bruise on his head.
Somewhat annoyed with this Bruise looks around for something to call him, smirking as he calls him Skye, following up with saying it's a girl's name, but Skye couldn't care. The young boy born in poverty, scrounging for scraps on the daily to survive, parentless, finally earned a name that gave his life and himself meaning in life.
More time passes, with Bruise and Skye's relationship growing closer into a brotherly bond as suddenly the carriage halts.
Gaining the attention of Bruise and Skye, they both look up front only to see a man in a black cloak and covering his face, a light teal-scaled dragon mask.
In a swift motion, it proceeded to rain red as the driver was beheaded. Screams of the children fill the area as the carriage explodes bursting into flame.
Only awakening to the deathly screams of the men screaming, Bruise found himself unconsciously holding himself up on a branch, also securing a severed adult foot from his ankle bracelet dangling below a ravine caused by a colossal long ago. The metal clanking from the boots of the man are heard as he glares over the ledge pulling Bruise up only to stare into his eyes deeply. The man dropped him swiftly as a dagger from the driver flew towards his head that Skye threw it at him, his entire body shaking from fear.
Within a moment, the masked man was clenching the child's throat, salivating from his mouth as he glared back at Bruise. Flame... Flame and the screams were the only thing heard before the bruise ran as fast as he could into the forest, and never stopped running for as long as his legs could carry him. Exhaustion and hunger took over the boy over the next few days as he lew next to a mapple tree having a giant hole hallow middle in the center awaiting to die as he knew he would before he heard the crunching of leaves.
The boy hid inside the tree shaking remembering what happened to Skye, the flame, the smell as he stared horrifyingly outside the tree.
"Hey bud, you ok." Said a man unrecognizable due to the glare of the sun behind him.
~~One year ago in lands that can grow no green in the midst of a battle~~
The Slushing sounds of gravel rummaging against the bottom of boots, the toe-curling aura surrounding the dark grey sky and lands which can grow no green, awaken a boy, no older than nine to a fierce battle brewing.
Barely able to stand, wielding a shortsword nearly engraved in his flesh, he watches as men clash swords and shields amongst the blades of soldiers, skin rotting off revealing bone and dark mush hidden within the bodies of those who have been taken over by a skeletal figure staring over the battlefield on top of a hill wearing a black cloak, wielding a staff with a bright glinting orb.
Being pulled backwards as a man rushes forward only to be beheaded and be replaced by another man, the boy is faced by an old man, scarred severely from what looked like fire that left a deep red imprint singed onto his forehead.
"Boy, this is no time to be searching for rainbows! Run away or go fight and fill a hole with your damn body for us to walk on!"
Pushed back on the floor where he once wakened a few minutes ago, he stood using the shortsword, wandering around the battleground without a thought, almost as if he was an undead himself.
As blades clash, more death is reaped and sown into husks to kill those who once considered them friends, and the sound of a sweet soothing chime flowing into the wind can be heard across the land. The clashing of blades and shields ends only to be followed by the shattering of bones and flesh being severed as the undead once dominating the fight, stand in place unable to swing their weapons as the men avenge their fallen brethren.
The cold crystal blue flames embedded within the skeleton's eye sockets amoke the hill connect with the child, as the mudded ground embewed with blood crumbles as the short victory of the men turns into yet another battle, not fought by an endless foe, but by a singular soldier-like entity who escapes from the confines of the ground bursting into the air, looming in the sky almost godlike before succumbing to gravity, crashing into the ground.
The boy's eyes filled with ambition focus on the soldier, clutching his shortsword as he catches the gaze of the skeleton who had been staring at him. Blood gushes from bodies flung from men who dare clash their blades against the monster's longsword.
"R-Retreat! Retreat!!! This guys to strong!" A man amid the battlefield cried out.
"Fall back to the line and await the guild's reinforcements!"
A hoard of stampeding men laid waste to no corpse, friend, or foe still standing, slammed into the graveled mud being ran over with no remorse, losing teeth in the process, the boy shakily stood with the help of his shortsword, heart pounding in his chest almost resurrected in a sense, as he leans off his sword, and makes his way to the hill, guarded by the soldier. A sensation filled his body that was not fear nor was it bravery, yet the eagerness to clash iron with iron with the foe he knew was much stronger than him and could end his life in a mere moment.
Taking step after step closer the soldier who was dressed in rusted armor with a crest in the center symboling a forgotten family with golden specks peeking through cracks that the rot has yet to consume, stands in his place, his longsword stuck in the ground and his hands onto the hilt awaiting or guarding something that will never return in this life.
In flicking range, the soldier does nothing to the boy who has approached him, and so the boy walks up the hill and is met face-to-face with a creation of life from death.
No words were said, yet an entire conversation was spoken as they stood there for an unknown amount of time before a loud horn rang out into the grey sky as crows followed. Both the skeleton and the boy's attention fade and turn to the noise, showing a small militia of strong-bodied men, few on dire wolves and horses, some wielding giant clumps of metal broken off of carriages and armor and some wielding halberds and swords.
As soon as they showed, they rushed the battlefield charging the lone soldier, as it removes its blade from the dirt from which it came and readys itself. The familiar sound of screams and the clashing of blades were now a familiar sound for the boy, not having recollection of anything before he woke up from his tomb in the mud.
The skeleton focuses back on the boy extending its hand to the child with a book in it. Confused about the notion the boy takes the book, and examines it showing the blackish brown cover with multiple small faces on it, locked with an odd keyhole.
Flames erupt in the sky as an explosion goes off catching the necromancer's attention. The lone soldier, multiple blades and spears protruding from its body, chestplate blown open showings its chest cavity completely empty, with a black outline resembling the body who once fought in that armor, rips off a passenger on top of a wolve slamming him onto the ground and punches a hole through his chest, letting the man feel the pain before bleeding out as a cost. The reinforcements send a barrage of holy-infused explosives at the undead leaving very few to remain behind.
Enraged the skeleton raises its hands, as a dark circle with red flames floats above its head slowly growing in size gaining more power as the soldiers who slew the lone undead flee the impending attack ready to be fired off, as the skeletons head flys off its soldiers, as it only sees the boys slash midair, removing its head from its body in one clean movement.
The head rolls towards the child's feet as the magic the skeleton nearly fired is dispelled. Like the unspoken conversation prior, they stared into each other's eyes once more, before the boy's foot came down crushing the skull, as the body and remains of what was left of the crushed disintegrated with black flames leaving nothing behind of itself. The same could not be said for the bodies piled up, dismembered, and currently being eaten by the crows, as they pollute the land, showing the loss and horror that this battle has added to.
Alone with a book in one hand, a blade in the other, the boy fell to his knees, heart pounding through his chest and the heat of his body feeling like it was melting every inch of skin that was on him. The boy not certain if he was dying or just exhausted, proceeds to rummage through the cloak that remained after the skeleton's disintegration, to find the staff that was once bright, now broken, with a small piece of glass not of the broken staff.
Grass and sticks crunch under the boots of a presence approaching the boy, yet still not able to stand keeps to his knees and awaits who is to come. A man covered in scars, wearing an albino wolf pelt on his shoulders and a long black drape on his back appears and walks towards the boy, holding a giant great sword infused with a light orange glint on the edge of the blade.
"Did you cause all of this?" The man said with his chilling voice.
Unable to voice himself due to whatever was happening to his body the child shakes his head rapidly giving himself a little nausea as the man stares for at him... Then proceeds to sigh and walk away before the boy collapses.
Fading in and out, the boy's burning chest dwells down into a cold shriveled amber once more to be rekindled once more after time.
A faint hint of purple flame filled the boy's empty void of slumber giving a ghastly smell of blood and rot embewed with an odd taste that could only be described as regret yet necessity. For what felt like centuries of being stuck inside this sleeplike state, his eyes open. His body feeling like the weight of seven tons, the boy stumbles outside of a tent and sees a small camp surrounded by a thicket of forest with trees taller than any building he would ever see that covers a sky that is bright blue and filled with clouds.
Stumbling around the encampment the boy was approached by the same man who appeared on top of that hill, yet doesn't say anything to the child for an uncomfortable amount of time, before laughing and slamming his fist on a nearby table containing a large cup of Ale as it flys into the air, making it rain on a nearby soldier from the battle before, but instead of getting mad, the men join each other laughing at the situation before the table is flipped and the man suddenly start fighting. The man with the white wolf pelt gets slammed into a nearby tree, giggling to himself, the man with ale poured on his head, arm pressed against the man's throat, other pressed against his chest, but in the blink of an eye, the man's arms are thrown upwards into the air before receiving a palm that slams its way onto the man's chest, pushing him backwards, rolling onto his back.
After the commotion slowly dies out, the man with the wolf pelt comes back to the boy, still in sheer confusion, leads him towards his quarters.
"Sorry about that, the lads are usually excited or drunk or maybe both after we win a battle and get some money. Don't you worry your head kid, they'll die down in a few days and settle down." He says still walking towards his tent.
Reaching the tent, the man asked the child question after question expecting to gain an answer besides "I don't remember" in vain.
"Do you at least have a name?"
Silence fills the air, followed with the same answer given to all the previously asked questions.
After a grunt and groan at finding out the child's age, the man stands up placing both his large hands that could crush the child's shoulders with ease, and proceeds to name the child Goliath.