text: The rain swept over the city with an aggression seldom seen in the desert. The pariahs stood in the streets and accepted the downpour. It was a gift from their forgotten God. That welcomed yet deafening patter of raindrops covered the sound of approaching of boots. Before the townsfolk would hear the quickly closing soldiers, they would feel the sharp point of arrows aimed for hearts. It was mayhem in the shanty town. Men, women, and children alike were running like their lives depended on it. Their lives did. They looked much like a colony of ants does when one steps on their anthill. No rhyme or reason to the directions they chose to run; simply the animalistic principle of survival. Unfortunately, no one would escape the execution. Save for one. One child. One boy would rise from the devastation that beseeched the muddy ghetto. That worn down collection of shacks that he had called home. One child would remember the colors and emblems displayed brazenly upon the combat armor of those mindless soldiers. Blood red, the color of power accented by three white stripes to signify the three legions they represented. One child would grow up knowing only revenge. Revenge for the family he lost and the innocent people that were butchered before his very eyes. The prophecy of the Pariah King would be alive and well even after the execution ordered by Emperor Cairo. Ironically enough, the Emperor was the man who birthed it into existence. It has always seemed funny to me that Fate has a way of intertwining itself into the minds of weaker men whilst disguising herself as Free Will. Yet, before our Pariah King would ever stand face to face with Emperor Cairo at the top of the steps of the mountain built of fire, he would first have to pull himself out of the mud. Asher's rags clung to his skinny frame like a second skin. They were saturated and heavy from the blood and water. He was no more than 12 years old. Alone and scared he managed to stand himself up. His feet began to carry him forward before he even knew where he was headed. Fate wouldn't let him die this day, little did he know, she had much for him to do. He walked for what seemed like an eternity. His feet hurt nearly as much as his shattered heart. He had rid his body of every last tear in the first few hours. He was an empty shell, wandering through the desert. He hadn't even stopped to think of where he was going. He hadn't stopped to think of anything, really. He didn't even hear the shouting for a few moments. The feeling of cool grass between his toes brought his attention back to the world. "Stop where you are," an indistinct yet powerful voice called out. "We will loose these arrows!" "Lower your bows. He’s a child you idiots," came an assured and lighter voice. "He poses no threat to us." Behind Asher came a whisper. “Better safe than sorry.” Asher had barely registered being struck before everything went black.