Sicarius: Let War Commence

Prolouge

It was on that day that my people remembered the dread that was a life under their rule... They remembered the chaste humiliation of being caged like animals and slaughtered like cattle, without the slightest hint of remorse. A decade later, after escaping with my mother, I still hadn't forgotten.

I lived in a small country where the fear of the manifestation of war never left our presence. We went as those with power dictated, never fighting back. Nevertheless, day after wretched day, we asked ourselves if there was any justice in their slaughter or a trace of integrity in their carnage. The answer was always remained the same: there was not.

War does not commence from the hatred of the people, but by that of the rulers. It is not a choice made by the sacrificial lambs that go to fight in it, or soldiers – as they call them. The blow of two or more blades three sword lengths apart does not instigate it nor does it arise when the enemy shows weakness. The genuine birth of a war is when the dagger of a court assassin lays itself upon the throat of its intended target...

However, the job was not for the weak willed. You had to be shrewd, versatile and manipulative. It was an occupation designed for those who lacked the conscience of the weak and the ordinary. Most importantly, you had to have nothing to lose. Once she died, I had nothing and no one to lose.

A popular saying amongst those in my occupation is that you had to be like a rainbow to do what we did; a rainbow is nothing more than an optical illusion-a deception of the mind so cogent and compelling that a substantial quantity of self-indulgent men, egotistical to a fault, would bet their investments for the future on it without second-guessing. Still, they are beautiful nonetheless. Grasping boldly to the sort of majesty that no human could ever hope to achieve, providing that all the right conditions are met. A rainbow is here, but not genuinely here, there but not genuinely there. I am like a rainbow. I am an honest liar – a shadow of sorts. Truthfully, I am merely a brilliant contortionist of the mind, as is a rainbow. It must deceive in order to exist, as I must deceive in order to survive.

And how they despised me for it.

In their eyes, I shared the same social standings as the most venomous of snakes: potent in poison, plentiful in treachery. In their pecking order, I did not have a place of my own. If I did, it would have been low – several hundred feet below the place of the preponderance of repulsive transgressors. Further down than even demons of the underworld. Demons who were sentenced to eternal damnation, harbouring souls that had been obliterated by their own sins centuries before I came into this world, leaving them bitter, cruel shells of their former selves. Their hatred made it so that even the hounds of hell did not dare to nip at either ankle anymore in fear of the things that would come to be.

Being called a criminal would be the kindest thing mankind could utter in my direction. But what I did, I did to survive.

The whole country was drowning in an endless stream of desolation, submerged by the masses that suffered from deplorable misery. I had no problems admitting to my crimes, misdeeds and felonies. I confessed to being a sinner of the worst kind. It was my occupation.

I never did understand their kind however, so I never held any sorrow for them. They all seemed to fashion themselves in a cocoon that matched their beliefs, ruling out reality and calling it 'morals' that were broken as easily as they were made. They live pampered lives, preaching to their fattened children to treat their neighbours with love. But I was no more than a joke – a joke that stopped on the boundary lines of our two nations. They were the kind to use their memories and the rumours they heard to mould facts, even though the memories of mere humans such as they were highly fallible and plastic. Time and time again, these people did nothing but base their answers on probability, even if it was irrational and illogical. They stereotyped and labelled us. Judged and discriminated, yet, few would acknowledge that they harboured such unattractive characteristics.

I was simply doing them a favour. I was giving them a reason to show the true faces they hid behind their masks. Above all, I was getting revenge.

I felt no remorse as I pressed the blade deeper into his portly neck. He stiffened briefly, knowing what was about to happen, although it didn't stop him from trying to prevent it. "Where is the justice in this death?" He cried. "Is it fair to kill someone like this when they have done no wrong? Your people have no–" I smoothly cut him off.

"Justice? – Justice is what you ask of me?" I questioned him. I didn't wait for an answer-it was a rhetorical question.

"Then, you may get justice you so seek in the next life. In this life, all have sought is your demise." I slashed sharply, slicing his jugular like poultry. Blood gushed haphazardly from his large neck, which, just like the rest of his body, showed that he had been fed well all his life. Covering his mouth to muffle his fading shouts of protest, I looked him straight in the eyes, watching as they lost focus, dimmed. The same look that my mother had in her eyes when the King's Guard killed her in the same manner.

In silent, hurried, steps I left the vicinity, opening the gateway to hell for their former King and knowing I had just started the on thing she had despised the most; war.