"And now you've grown up, with this notion that you were to blame, and you seem so strong sometimes, but I know that you still feel the same." Boyce Avenue, Broken Angel.
They say one mistake can change your life forever.
Throughout my short life I've heard that saying many times, but I'd never given it much thought. I'd failed to see how true it actually was until the day it applied to me.
It only took one decision on my part, one slip, one second of reckless behaviour turned harmless fun into something fatal.
Then, after the realization of what you did dawns on you, comes the "if only's".
If only I had listened to my parents.
If only I hadn't wandered off in the field.
If only I hadn't walked into a hunter's ambush.
If only my parents hadn't come to save me.
If none of those things had happened, I wouldn't be suffering the way I was today. My family wouldn't be suffering the way they were today. If none of those things had happened, I wouldn't be a pawn in a war and my family wouldn't be suffering for my mistake. My twin brother wouldn't be dead, my parents wouldn't be locked up in the basement, my sister wouldn't be broken and I wouldn't be a killer.
I was taken when I was ten, for ten years they trained me every day, all day. It was all I did. I was sent to Japan for the entire time, learning from Master Hayao. I was taught Taijutsu, Kenjutsu, Bōjutsu, Sōjutsu, Naginatajutsu, Kusarigamajutsu, Shurikenjutsu, Kayakujutsu, Hensōjutsu, Shinobi—iri, Bajutsu, Sui—ren, Bōryaku, Chōhō, Intonjutsu, Tenmon and Chi—mon; the ways and skills of a ninja. Cliché right? The ultimate spy, the perfect assassin, the most ruthless mercenary, an undefeatable hunter. A life of lies, espionage, sabotage, infiltration, and assassination. A life I never wanted but had grown to accept.
On my twentieth birthday, the day I stopped aging, I was sent back to Russia and given my first mission. You see, all supernatural creatures are immortal we don't age at all, we stay the age we were turned or if we were born this way we grew to our strongest and stopped aging. I was born a wolf.
I couldn't do it though; I couldn't go through with it. I couldn't pull that trigger and kill an innocent sixteen year old girl in cold blood. I couldn't look into her eyes and watch the life drain from her. I couldn't do that to the people who loved her. I wouldn't do it.
Afterwards I considered running away but I knew that my family suffer if I did. I knew that I would be punished for my failure, and I was right. At my return I was locked in the basement, where I was tortured for months on end— all because I wouldn't kill an innocent girl, wouldn't kill my own kind.
I endured it though. The straw that broke the camel's back came when they made me watch my baby sister, then, an eleven year old child, get raped by a thirty year old man. Only then had I agreed to do whatever they tell me to if they left my family alone.
On my second job it was the hunters who screwed up. They underestimated my mark. Yes they knew that he was dangerous but it was obvious that they were so eager to eliminate him that they sent me in. I was their strongest player, I was a werewolf, able to shift with immense strength, speed and agility, not to mention the heightened senses that I possessed. They seemed to want him dead so badly that they sent me to my death.
I was told to kill the alpha of the Alcaeus Aatu Clan, a warrior pack that was heading the insurgence against the hunters. It was a big mistake to send me, only a young werewolf, to assassinate a seasoned warrior with over a century of experience more than myself, let alone an alpha male. Safe to say that I failed; I barely got away with my life, and added to my collection of scars.
Rieker, the head hunter, was not pleased to say the least; mostly because of my failure, but also because of the injuries I received.
After a week in critical condition I healed fully and was taken, once again to the basement— I thought they would repeat the punishment for failure. Instead my little brother, my twin, my best friend, was run through with a silver sword like a pig.
But he didn't die, oh no. They stabbed and cut him so many times that he looked like a carcass. He lost so much blood that I think he died of blood loss, combined with the silver running through his body.
I screamed and cried as I watched, unable to do anything as I was held back by silver chains and multiple men. That was the price I paid for failing.
As they hauled his body away like a slaughtered cow, blood smeared across the floor, Rieker decided to give me a lesson on emotions; something no spy, hunter or assassin should never show or let alone affect a mission.
He bought out my mother and whipped her to within an inch of her life until she passed out and I was begging for it to stop.
It would remember her screams, her terror, her pain, for the rest of my life.
I guess it all became too much and I snapped. I killed every hunter holding me back, anyone near me. No matter how hard I fought, no matter how many I killed, they continued to pour through the door like a tidal wave and before long I had fifty unmoving, lifeless hunters lying in a pool of crimson gore.
When there was no one left to kill I stood there horrified at both what I had done and what they had done to my mother.
Slow, sarcastic clapping caught my attention and I stared at the man who was single—handedly responsible for making my own personal hell. Rieker stood at the door, clapping slowly and sarcastically, with an arrogant smirk plastered on his obnoxious face.
It was later that they told me that my brother had died and they'd fed his body to the rogues.
From that day I became a cold hearted killing machine—a solider, an assassin in this never ending war and the ultimate weapon.
That was almost exactly seven hundred years ago and now, killing is all I know. I'm the best in the game with a success rate of only one precent of missions failed or aborted—including my first two.
Who knew that this would happen?
I didn't.
