Unstoppable

Prologue

'All men are not equal'

This was the truth he knew since he was five years old.

In a world filled with the extraordinary, the wonderful, the terrifying, the weak die and the strong live. Those with power flourish, and those without flounder to rise from their status.

In a world where power was everything, as one who had nothing, this would have been a death sentence.

Once upon a time, this would have been a story of one who had no power earning his right to it. He would be the bearer of a legacy spanning centuries. This would have been a story of adventure and friendship; of growth...

Sadly, this is not his story.

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Heavy breathing echoed and shadows danced as he ran. Faster and faster he ran down the twisting and turning alleys desperate to escape.

Run...

He could still hear her voice. Terrified eyes shining with tears stared into his as the screams played in his mind in a horrible loop. He could see her, his mother, pushing him away and emerald fire obscured her as they fed on her flesh and bones.

He covered his ears as he ran hoping to block out her final screams and his heart ached at her agonizing end. The villain's laughter filled his ears at his mother's death and rage grew in his chest.

He wanted to go back and beat him up.

He wanted to rip him to shreds--limb to limb.

He wanted to KILL HIM.

But he knew, it was impossible. He was too weak. If he were to go back, he would only get killed. He would be wasting the life that his mother tried so hard to preserve; he would not let her effort be in vain.

So preoccupied was he in stopping his tears and running that he had missed the hand reaching for him.

"What do we have here?"

He felt a hard yank on his collar and his feet left the ground.

"A rat running for his life?"

He was choking as he was lifted into the air but he could still recognize the mocking amusement from the voice.

A hand gripped his head and he had to stifle a cry of pain as he faced its owner.

Green and Black filled his vision and the simmering rage in his chest exploded into a fiery inferno.

The man--for it was a man with how broad its shoulders were and how deep its voice was--was decked in a black ensemble of a simple shirt and cargo pants with a green highlight so dark it blended among the black background and a forest green trenchcoat on his shoulders.

Black hair that was cut unevenly short sat atop his head and his face was a cruel caricature of a man in his mid thirties. His expression lighting up with a sadistic glint.

He recognized him.

He recognized this man.

How could he not, when this man was the reason his mother was DEAD!!

With the fires of hatred in his belly, he fought back as hard as he could. Punching, kicking and screaming for all he was worth to at least hurt the man to give back a taste of the suffering his mother experienced. And yet...

He had the gall to LAUGH.

A slap to the cheek ceased his efforts as he tried to shake off the pain and the darkness creeping into his vision.