Water splashed against the cargo ship's hull as two dark figures were fighting on top of cargo containers, one wielding a rapier, the other wielding a scythe.
The guy with the rapier had the stature of a tall middle-aged man with a gruffled beard and a big red nose like that of an old fisherman. He had skin as rough as hide and a toughness emanating off of him like his presence or something, he had long curly hair as white as snow. He had on overalls with an-under buttoned-up shirt that was the color of a divine yellowish white.
The man with the scythe had the stature of a 14-year-old, 5,9 ft scrawny child that looked like you could poke right through his stomach, his delicate skin looked frail and fragile, his hair was a deep black with accents of purple in it. His clothes bore that of a detective's clothing with not much else to say about it.
The Fisherman, whose name Was Fred, used the flexibility of his rapier To unexpectedly pierce my right thigh. Blood trickled down my leg, as I clenched my teeth. I retaliated with a horizontal slash coming from my scythe, just barely grazing his throat.
Both of us jumped back, ready to strike again. Fred moved with a delicate touch of erratic movements along with a straightforward approach. I, the one who had to face these blows, moved with swift and chilling grace to the side.
I then proceeded to dash at Fred with the intent of killing. We clashed with weapons together and knocked each other away, still being at a stalemate.
But why bother with this when you haven't even heard my story yet? It all started a long while ago, when I was three.
The people in this world had it rough. The world was on the brink of devastation. But then these deities descended upon us earthly beings and granted us the power of all 16 factions. I'll get more into that later.
All you need to know is that I started out in the faction of death. Born and raised there, toddlers really didn't do anything at the beginning of their lives because come on, their toddlers.
Each Faction waited until you were at least able to walk, run And talk. All the necessities for being a killer. At least for deaths requirements.
By the time I was 3, I could do all three things, so I started pretty young, relatively young. You will be surprised by what we were actually taught. We were taught flexibility over strength, mind over manner.
So we began training in ways like pouring steaming hot water on our heads to sitting under a rushing waterfall. We had sessions that involved flexibility of no comparison. We were even taught how to dislocate every bone, and every joint. We were also taught the basic understandings of the human body.
We were pretty much taught everything that didn't involve strength training, and so through the grusome years of training we reached the ripe age of 15 which was when we all had to go our sepreate ways, to learn our own fighting Styles and what not.
They asked us what weapon we would like to use. I choose the scythe because scythes are f-ing cool. So I started to use the scythe, and well damn, scythes are difficult to use. No wonder nobody chooses them. They were as dangerous to enemies as they were to your own skin.
So, before I even did any fighting with the scythe, I trained. Now remind you, we were still amateurs at being weapon-wielding masters and our knowledge of fighting was very inexperienced, to say the least. I spent at least a month training the basics of wielding a scythe, and throughout this month I can not tell you how many times I cut myself. I bled more than my target most of the time, but eventually I got used to how the scythe moved and felt, and It got to a point where I thought I was good for now, and went to find trouble.
Sadly, there was none, none that I could find. So I went out into the wilderness to find monstrosities to level up my experience with fighting. I first found this wolf-looking thing, which I thought would be easy, but boy was I wrong. This little devil had the speed of a cheetah and the strength of a rhino.
The wolf dashed to my side in a blur, just barely registering it. I shifted my weight and spun my scythe towards the beast, hoping to cut it. And it did, even if only barely.
The tip of the scythe grazed the beast's ankle as I backed away. I looked at the beast with a calm, decisive stare deep within my eyes. Barking at me, the beast lounged at me with a trackable speed. As the beast approached, I moved the scythe behind my back and held it with both hands. I twirled and spun, bringing the scythe momentum as I transferred the energy from 2 hands to 1.
The scythe stretched with my arm as I swung the scythe horizontally while I spun. The blade connected to the throat with a small But noticeable crack bringing along with it blood gushing From its head like a water fountain as I had cut his head clean off. I proceeded to end the twirl and swipe my scythe through the air to whip the blood off, just then a voice resonated in my head.
Oh yeah This voice is my inner soul and everyone has one. Each one is different because they reflect your true self.
[Finally, it wasn't even that difficult of a beast, anyway here's your choices for the next enhancements you can get]
[Deadly dance]
[This enhancement gives you the the starting basics of a battle art lost in time that was once used by the deity of death, you'll still have to evolve it to your own liking but you'll manage]
[Radiant blood]
[The more you bleed the more powerful you get, one who faces danger is always Rewarded]
[Soul slaver]
[Anyone you kill. You can turn them into a slave at your will but they will only match the power you have right now And grow stronger the more stronger you get]
I pondered on the choices for a minute or 2 and chose the deadly dance. The other options either didn't fit my style or didn't suit my morals. Like Radiant blood, I'm a hedonistic person, so that wouldn't suit me well.
And Soul slaver sounded good, but I like working alone. Mind you, I was 15 at that moment in time. I slwas still st the age of being indecisive.
"I choose deadly dance," I said, fascinated by the description of the enhancement.
[Alright then good luck, you're going to need it]
Just then a flood of memories hit me like a train, only they were distant and foggy, almost like forgotten memories. Still, the initial shock of the memory made me reel with a sharp pain in my temples.
"Ouch, that hurt. God damn it. You could have warned me," I said with an agitated tone.
[I could have. But I didn't.]
"Ugh, my head aches." I said, sitting up and rubbing my temples with a woozy expression.
After a minute or two of recovering from
All the memories. It's time to unpack them.