When Lightning Strikes: The Cosmic Soldier

1. The Harbinger of Death

Clashing of blades was the only sound that pierced through the peaceful, silent streets of Revulea. Anbu was on the verge of collapse, narrowly dodging another one of Amal's flurry of attacks. The younger boy grunted, forcing the entire weight of his single-edge sword onto Amal's kunai. Disadvantaged appeared to be the older one; the larger sword would surely win. However, the older boy's movements were comparable to the strike of thunder; expeditious, fleeting, and immensely powerful. Anbu collapsed to the ground and surrendered with their hands raised up high. His sword clattered to the ground.

"Okay fine, you win! You're too strong..." The child crossed his arms and pouted, staring at the ground. Amal grinned and extended a hand. A sheepish grin replaced Anbu's sulking expression, as the older one helped him up.

"You just need more practice." He grabbed Anbu's single-edged sword from the ground and handed it back to the younger boy. "I was just like you, remember?" Anbu nodded and glanced at Amal's blade. The kunai reflected the light from the blazing sun. Sweat trickled down his back, cooling him down.

"Why do you use that, the kunai? That's all you use..."

Amal stared at the sky. Clear blue, it soothed him. Casting him in a state of solace. It attempted to push his thoughts away from the countless bodies he'd slain using that blade. He instinctively wiped the blade against his black robes, as though he were getting rid of the nonexistent blood that splattered on the blade. He raised it higher, letting the sunlight reflect off the gleaming blade. Light. The blade was an instrument, a tool to ward off darkness. To destroy the Aerul and bring peace to the village, the boy thought. He simply smiled and shook his head.

"It's an incredible weapon for stealth, and so much more. Just watch this." The boy whirled the blade in his hand from the hole in the hilt, searching for a target. There, he zeroed in on a point.

The kunai shot out of his hands like a bolt of thunder, zipping through the air. POP! CRASH! In the streets of Revulea, a little girl tearfully glanced at the remains of her torn balloon. The blade had travelled further; A man, presumably her father, watched as he held only the handle of his destroyed mug, which was shattered into several pieces on the ground. The kunai finally struck the wall of a tea stand; the hilt embedded an inch away from a familiar girl's face. Amal widened his eyes in realization, hiding a smirk. "Jasmine... uh-oh," Anbu whispered.

He watched as Jasmine stormed her way over to him, her eyes piercing through him. Sharper than any blade he wielded. "One day, you're gonna kill me! One day, and I'll haunt you in your dreams!" She was wearing a sleeveless tunic, one that showed the tattoo on her shoulder. The symbol of their clan, Anduru; A striking raven, surrounded by leaves. It was the same symbol on his robes, the symbol he'd fought for with pride. He'd fought many battles, slain hundreds for his clan. It turned him into a ruthless killing machine. But now all his battle skills had fled in fear, and the boy stood petrified as she marched towards him.

"Comrade or not, you mess around like that again and I'll throw cold water at you in your sleep!" The boy stepped back in alarm; she'd done it once, and it certainly hadn't been pleasant.

"Hey, I didn't mean to do it! I was aiming it at..." He struggled to think of a clever reason.

"Stop trying to make excuses. You always hit your targets." Amal shrugged and nudged Anbu, who cleared his throat.

"Anna was just showing me how to throw blades! He didn't mean it, I swear!" She eyed the two of them, shaking her head as she turned away. The girl turned a corner and soon disappeared from view.

The two boys cracked a grin and fist-bumped each other. "C'mon Anbu, I'll buy you a drink for that!" The younger boy punched the air with joy.

In what seemed like seconds, the sky grew darker into noon. Amal sat alone, watching the stars twinkle above as he sipped on a piping hot cup of tea. His hand shook; the muscles in his forearms trembled from the heavy boxes he'd been carrying to Rembaka, a village completely controlled by Anduru. He watched as his comrades in Anduru robes stood at attention, eyeing every villager with suspicion and scorn. As if the inhabitants of this village were beneath them. The boy ignored them and drained his cup.