The Balance (First Draft | Discontinued)

Prologue

The man could see the glow of the flames burning around him and could feel the heat rippling through the air, but he paid no attention. It wasn't his camp. He could hear the screams of the wounded and dying, but he didn't care. They weren't his men. All of his focus was on the wiry boy in front of him, who, for all of his strength and speed, was going nowhere.

The boy's dark hair clung to his forehead with sweat and blood, and he shivered, both from the cold and the blood loss. He was slumped against a tree, white uniform stained red and grey. Any other enemy would have ended him then and there. The man did not. When the boy slowly struggled upright, clutching at his left arm, the man did nothing. Even when the boy closed his eyes in concentration, the man did not move.

A burning sensation swept over the man's body and he let out a hiss— it wasn't nearly strong enough to cause serious damage, but it did sting. The boy screwed his eyes shut even further, breath coming in shallow pants. The burning worsened, feeling like the top layer of his skin was being peeled away, but it was still not enough to debilitate the man.

The man snarled. It was taking every bit of self-control not to finish the boy where he stood. His fists were clenched until the knuckles were bone-pale and he could feel the blood thrumming through his veins, practically screaming for him to fight. Don't, said a small, quiet part of him. Don't do it, don't—

He darted forward and slammed the boy against a tree, fingers pressing into his throat. The boy gasped and his eyes flew open; the burning feeling faded away. The man knew that with enough pressure, he could crush the boy's neck to pulp.

"I'm just like you," he growled, lifting the boy to eye level. "I've had the same training, only years more of it. This is your only chance. Either I drop you and you run, or I'll kill you."

The boy glared at him. Up close, the man could see that his eyes were the same color as hers. His grip tightened until he could feel the bones in the boy's throat, fragile under his fingers. Just a bit more and the boy would be dead; those eyes would dim. It took all of his willpower to release him.

He did not turn as the boy limped past him. He stared forward, still seeing himself pinning the boy against the rough bark. His fists clenched and unclenched.

Then he heard the crunch of a boot against snow and a sharp whistling sound. He stepped aside as a flash of silver flew past him and buried itself in the tree with a dull thunk. Snarling, he whirled around to face the boy, the foolish boy with eyes like hers. He had another knife in his hand, but the man ignored it as he lunged at him.

The boy was fast, slashing down with his knife. He was faster. He grabbed the boy's wrist, blade inches from his face. Her eyes met his, wide with fear and pain, and he felt a surge of satisfaction. Pulling one fist back, he brought it crashing into the boy's chest. Bones crushed into fragments beneath his hand. The boy slumped to the ground, chest caved in and blood running from his nose.

But it wasn't enough. He hauled the boy up, lashed out at him again and again. He knew the boy was dead; even with his abilities, there was no healing from that, but it felt good to keep hitting. The body flopped around like a dying fish under his blows, and warm droplets of red sprayed the man's face as he turned the boy's face into a raw, mangled mess. The skin of one of his knuckles tore on the boy's teeth, but he ignored it completely. Nothing mattered, nothing but those eyes-

It was only after he kicked the boy's wrist that he stopped: his foot had hit the metal bracelet that every soldier like this boy wore. He'd worn one once, had looked at it often enough to know what the engraved script said word for word, had traced his fingers over the wolf emblem so many times that he could draw it effortlessly if he wanted. He slipped the bracelet off the boy's wrist and slid it inside his coat.

As he turned to walk away, he tried to think about how young the boy was, how he had been in the same situation once, how things would have been if the boy had just taken the chance and run.

Instead he remembered the crunch of bone and how gratifying it was to see those blue eyes dimmed.

All right, so here's the deal for this. Odds are that updates on this will be slow, for the following reasons:

1. I'm a busy person. Homework, homework, essays, tests, homework, projects... did I mention homework?

2. This is intended to be a novel-length work, so some planning has to go into that.

3. Honestly the biggest reason right here. I'm nervous.

Some additional notes about this work... it'll be more violent and all around more mature than my other work (Divided), so if that's something that bothers you, don't read it. If you do choose to read it, then thanks. I don't particularly care if you vote or not, but feedback. Please. Feedback is golden.