December 28, 2008 (13 Years of Age)

Prologue: Once Great

~*~
Year 2017, Wish City, Loner Territory, Kittypet range, nighttime.
~*~


Deep in the dark alley ways of the Loner Territory, in the bad part of town where the Kittypets lived, walked three figures.

All were armed and in their early twenties, with one man and two women. Each wore a cloak that swirled around their ankles.

The one that walked in front was the oldest and the strongest in rule. His hand stayed on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes darted back and forth as they searched for enemies. He was the only male of their group and walked like he owned every part of the city, even if he didn't.

Yet.

The one that walked behind the man was the youngest of their group. Though weakest in rule, she was the best fighter, a talent that showed though her tensed muscles, hunched shoulders and the hand that lay on her poach of ninja stars.

The one that walked behind them all was middle in both age and rule and she was the smartest and cleverest. She walked with an unnatural cat-like grace, but still was farther behind then the others, and her breath came out of her lungs loud and harsh, due to past war injures.

The youngest sensed the disappearance of the closeness of the woman and twisted her head to sense how far back she was. Instantly she noted how far back she had fallen.

"Noth oc shenth himoci!"  She hissed to the man. "Tist malee!"

He slowed on hearing the woman's words and turned to wait for the last of their group to catch up.

"Don't think I can't understand what you said," rasped the woman in a voice like the splintering of ice, stopping beside the other two, "it was me who found and translated that language in the first place!"

"I know that," hissed the man, "I know you well, well enough to know we have to stop or risk having you collapse on us!"

The woman said nothing but just leaned against the wall. Her breathing was still fast but was slowing down rapidly.

"Are you okay?" Asked the youngest one, making a mistake she should know not to make.

"Of course I'm okay!" Snapped the woman. "I'll prove it!" And she got up and took the lead, something the youngest one would never have done. At least not these days.

The man glared at the other woman, a scorching look that said he knew they could've got her to stay put for a few more minutes.

The other woman shrugged sadly and waved for the man to go first.

The trio navigated their way though the streets until they reached their destination.

~*~

The man reached forward and pushed the door open, leading the group into a smoke filled pub. The place was full of people who had been rejected from the better part of the city after The War.

The trio made their way though the mish mash of tables, and stopped in front of a door at the back.

"We wish to see Mr. Rimfaxe." Said the man, talking to a teenager drifting around the door.

"Who are you?" He asked, staring at the three.

"Somebody Mr. Rimfaxe will be expecting." Hissed the man.

"Not on my watch, Mr. Rimfaxe said no visitors right now." Said the teenager.

"Do you want to be cut and quartered? Asked the youngest, drawing a knife from her belt.

The teenager swallowed but didn't get the change to answer because at that moment the man in question opened the door to see what was happening.

"Who are yo... Oh! There ya are, startin' ta think you wouldn't show up." He said, eyeing the trio. "Aren't yar a little late?"

"We are never late, nor early," said the man, "we arrive at just the time we want to."

Mr. Rimfaxe eyed them for a moment and then beckoned for them to come in.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, a steel sheet slid over the door and window, sealing the room.

The trio relaxed slightly.

"Sit down, sit down. No doubt you walked far." Said Mr. Rimfaxe.

The man slipped of his hood, showing sandy hair that flopped over his face and gray-blue eyes, before seating himself.

The youngest didn't remove her hood but just sat down.

The other woman scanned the room quickly and then took of her hood, revealing a scarred face with most of the left side covered by a metal sheet.

Her left eye was a red lens and her other an icy blue of the sharpest kind.

Amongst brown, slightly wavy hair were two cat ears, one shredded to pieces and flopping over her head and the other no more then a stump.

These were the most feared Wishers in all of Wish city. Deadly and talented, it was them who had brought The War that had lain on Wish for five years.

They were...

"Lord Scary, Lord Gloom, Lord Adder, shall we get to business?" Asked Mr. Rimfaxe.

Lord Scary, formally known as Scarynose (if you went back about six - seven years), rested on elbow on the armrest of his chair and cupped his chin in a hand almost all covered by metal.

"Yes, Mr. Rimfaxe, I think we will." Scary answered.

Gloom lifted her head and stared at Mr. Rimfaxe with her good eye. The icy blue depths was as hard as ice and filled with loathing and the need for revenge on the one who had done this, the one who had destroyed her body.

Blizzard von Clawen and the rest of Wish City.

She was ready, they were ready. Years they had waited for this and now the time was right.

Soon Blizzard and the rest of Wish would pay for everything the three had lost.

Gone were Scarynose, Gloometh and Addeh. These were power-hungry, revenge-filled, blood-thirsty Wishers; Scary, Gloom and Adder, ready to try and take over Wish a second time.

[UNSURE] Somewhere between July 17, 2009 and January 7, 2010? (13-14 Years of Age)

Chapter 1: Once Great

~*~
Year 2017, Eethen City, Shack Town Area, nighttime.
~*~

It was cold, very cold.

Winter nipped at uncovered skin and pressed its face against the windows, seeming to leave a message in the frosty patterns it made there, warning people against going out into the November air.

It hadn't snowed yet this year, despite the warning; winter always came late in Eethen. But the dark clouds seemed to taunt the few people who trod through the cold, as if to say that it could snow any old time it wanted to, but it was just saving it for a very good day.

Deep in the dark alley ways of one of the many territories that split the city into pieces, nicknamed "Shack Town" by the few that lived there, muggers and thieves did their dirty work in the shadows, and the poorest of the city's people lived as well as they could, there were three who, despite the cold, were out on this freezing night.

At first glance, their cloaks were just for protection against the wind and nippy weather, but a more skilled person, the kind that didn't even live in this area of town, would have noticed the way they walked, and known they were trying to hide something.

Powerful bodies, hardened by battle and war, moved silently through dark alleys, each movement carefully covered by black on black clothing. Under their clothes and coats, they were armed with sharp, deadly knives and handguns that were built to be soundless, which were placed so perfectly that the three knew it would only take a moment if danger threaten to pull them out and use them.

They were in their early twenties; still in their prime. But war had left its cruel mark, and it could be seen in a slight limp here, a scar there. But they were still capital of doing great damage - or worst - to any who crossed their path.

In the light of a street lamp that flickered and dimmed on occasion, a man stepped out on to the cracked sidewalk, his strong shoulders hunched forward and his sharp eyes darting. Behind him, stood two women, a little younger then the man, but just as capital.

The man was called Kassian.

He had no last name, at least… not any more. Kassian wasn't even his real name, but it suited him fine. He was the oldest and the strongest in rule, a fact that he upheld with sheer determination and maybe a little ruthlessness. His eyes were dark with the cool blankness of a man willing to do anything to get what he wanted. Murder, thief, lies… nothing was beyond him.

The woman that walked behind the man, this Kassian, was the youngest of their group. Her clothes were slim cut over a beautiful body, though her face looked as if something had thrown itself at her in a frenzy fit, tearing at her until long scars ran from her forehead to her chin.

Her name was Keir. It wasn't her real name neither, but maybe that didn't matter.

The last woman that walked behind them all was middle in both age and rule and her mind had the sharpened edge of someone who knew everything, even if it was now clouded with the blood she had spilled. Her long, thick coat quivered as she walked with an unnatural cat-like grace, though every other step was a limp. Something about her was wild, something that made you tremble and want to scream; something that couldn't be controlled.

Maybe that was why she had changed her name to Kayos.

For a moment, they gathered in the dark edges that hung around the pools of light left by cracked streetlights. They watched for a opening, a moment when the feeling was right and the nigh dark enough for them to run.

For a minute or two, they didn't move at all, then the man named Kassian hissed something and suddenly, the three darted across the road, their fear of exposure ridged in every line of their bodies.

The darkness of the alley across the road welcomed them like a mother welcomes a child back into her arms, and their dark clothes made them blend in with perfection.

The woman called Keir, sensing the lack of wheezing close to her, turned and noted how far back her companion had fallen, while still keeping one ear on the man.

"Slow down, she's fallen behind!"  She murmured quickly to Kassian, a hint of worry and annoyance in her voice. Again! She silently added.

He slowed on hearing the woman's words and turned to wait for the last of their group to catch up.

"Don't think I can't hear you!" rasped the woman called Kayos in a voice like the splintering of ice, sharp and hard; wore by endless screaming from some ordeal. She picked up the pace for a stride or two, then it became too hard, and she slowed, stopping beside the other two, "I'm not completely deaf!"

"I know that," snarled Kassian, trying to stop his hands from curling into fists, his eyes flashing with anger, "But you're resting anyway. I'm not going to bring back your body if you drop dead on us!"

The woman said nothing except to give a little growl, and leaned back against an alley wall. Her breathing was still fast but was slowing down, rasping through her injured lungs loudly. Her chest still heaved for breath, and she stared at nothing, struggling to pull air through a mangled body.

"Can't we go any where without you two arguing?" Asked Keir, her neck prickling from the tension and annoyed with the snapping and sharp words that had been exchanged the whole journey.

The older woman, Kayos, growled again, and closed her eyes, stressed and tired. Too tired for a woman who had barely walked a mile.

Kassian folded his arms across his chest and ruffled up the collar on his coat, trying to keep the winter chill from his bones, but standing still wasn't doing much, and after a few minutes, he hastily muttered it was time to go.

Kayos, her energy mostly recovered, pushed herself off the wall and took the lead for a few seconds, before Kassian shoved her out of the way and lengthened his strides, taking the place as leader.

The call of a owl screeched through the night as the trio slithered through alley ways and side roads, as quiet as cats, but as deadly as snakes.

~*~

The pub was old, there was no doubt there. Still it had been there before The War, and it was still standing after The War. And it would probably still be standing after the next war.

Kassian looked up at wooden sign that swung in the light wind for a moment, noting the words Last Stop Inn & Pub written in black letters on a dark background, telling everyone where they were.

His eyes darting around in search of enemies, Kassian reached forward and pushed the door open, leading the group into a smoke filled pub, loud with the noise of voices roughened by age and scars, and the singing of an old band no one listened to anymore coming from the radio.

The place was full of people who had been rejected from the better part of the city after or before The War; rebels and Elite Force supporters, thieves and pickpockets. A haven for bad acts and bad people.

The trio made their way though the mish mash of tables, stepping on a few toes and angering more then a few, though no one dared say anything, for fear seemed to come from nowhere as they turned their head to snap, only to have the feeling of the hair on the back of their neck standing up stop them, or the evil that slid from their invisible faces stop them from saying anything, but turning their faces back to their alcohol, not looking again long before they stopped in front of a door at the back.

"We wish to see Mr. Rimfaxe." Said Kassian quietly, talking to the teenager drifting around the door with a bored look on his face.

"Who are you?" He asked, staring at the three with guarded curiosity.

"Somebody Mr. Rimfaxe will be expecting." Growled Kassian, grinding his teeth at the teen's ignorance.

"Not on my watch, Mr. Rimfaxe said no visitors right now." Said the teenager, sure now that he wasn't aloud to let them in.

"Do you want to be cut and quartered?" Snarled Kayos, drawing a knife from her belt and hissing like a cat. A few people looked up quickly, but decided they didn't want to be witnesses if there was a murder and turned back again to their drinks.

The teenager swallowed, now worried, as the youngest, Keir, put a hand on the other woman's chest to stop her doing anything, but neither party got the change to speak because at that moment the man in question opened the door to see what was happening.

"Who are yo...? Oh! There ya are, startin' ta think you wouldn't show up." He said, eyeing the trio nervously, like a cat eyeing a dog. "Though you were coming earlier…"

"What time we show up is not something you need worry yourself over Mr. Rimfaxe." Said Kassian, keeping one eye on the heavy-set man, while the other scanned the pub for danger. "Your job is to supply information, not worrying about how late or early we are. Be thankful we didn't show up tomorrow, or yesterday for that matter."

Mr. Rimfaxe swallowed and tugged at his shirt collar, trying to let some air through his throat. "Of course, of course, my mistake…"

"Pray it doesn't happen again!" Snarled Kassian, shoving his way past Mr. Rimfaxe into the room and beckoning the women to follow him.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, steel sheets slid over the door and windows, sealing the room and making it soundproof.

The trio relaxed slightly.

"Sit down, sit down. No doubt you walked far." Said Mr. Rimfaxe, still nervous and still swallowing lots. The room seemed very stuffy, though a ceiling fan was cooling the already perfect air.

The man slipped off his hood, showing sandy hair that fell over his face and neck and gray-blue eyes, as sharp as flint knives, before seating himself.

The youngest took off her cloak completely, and put it on the coat stand near the door. Her curly brown hair was streaked with almost invisible strands of blonds, and her eyes were hazel but strangely blank. If you forgot the scars over her eyes and face, she looked very beautiful.

The other woman scanned the room quickly and then pulled her hood down, revealing a scarred face with most of the left side covered by a metal sheet.

Her left eye was a red lens and her other an icy blue orb split with a cat-like pupil.

Amongst dark brown, tangled hair were two cat ears, one shredded to pieces and flopping over her head and the other no more then a stump. Around her legs curled a black and white tail, thick with fur and roughened by the years. When she growled, sharp fangs, many of them replaced with fake ones, shone beneath her lips. She seemed like a demon, only partly human.

These were the most feared Eetheners in all of Eethen City. Deadly and talented, it was they who had brought The War that had lain on Eethen for five years.

It was they who had to pay for all the dead that lay in their graves, for the injured who limbed the streets.

It was they who were supposed to be dead. They who had struggled to survive for nine years.

"Lord Kassian, Lord Kayos, Lord Keir, shall we get to business?" Asked Mr. Rimfaxe, putting his finger tips together and coughing slightly.

Kassian, his face grim and tight with control, seated himself and lay hands covered in metal glove like things on the armrests.

"Yes, Mr. Rimfaxe, I think we will." Kassian answered, after briefly looking at his companions.

Keir, the youngest, sank into her seat, ready to listen and remember. Her hair ruffled in the air stirred by the fan, and she had half her senses trained on Kayos, who had taken the last chair, and was staring at the floor.

Kayos lifted her head and stared at Mr. Rimfaxe with her good eye. The icy blue depths was as hard as glass and filled with loathing and the need and lust for revenge on the one person who was responsible for every mistake and mess-up in her books; Sahayra von Clawen and the rest of Eethen City.

She was ready, they were ready. Years they had waited for this and now the time was right.

Soon Sahayra and the rest of Eethen would pay for everything The Three had lost.

Years ago, those adults had been almost care-free teenagers, now they were evil, and deadly, and there was no room in their mind for anything put revenge and power.

And nothing anyone said or did was going to move them from their bloody path.

August 25th, 2010 (14 Years of Age)

..::CHAPTER ONE; If the Moon could speak

It was cold.

Not cold in the sense that was the quiet whispers of the October air, not cold that was the wind nipping at any face not covered by scarves, or that was the jack that left pretty frostings over grasses and glasses, on the panes of windows and well kept lawns.

No.

Cold was the ice that pumped through battle ready veins; through hearts so still they did not feel.

Cold was the blood that would freeze on the ground by the time the moon ended her dance across the heavens.

The moon would be the only witness to this crime, because only the moon couldn't be killed.

Only the moon couldn't have her throat split in the early hours of the morning. Only the moon couldn't feel the life force being choked from wounded lungs.

If the moon could cry, she would weep red tears, to mirror those she had seen spilled.

She could see them. See them all. The good, the pure, the just. The damned, the broken, the lost.

A whisper; a breath drawn in wary silence, was the only notice — the only warning — against what was to come.

Had people been able to speak to the moon, they would have told her that they would have given anything, anything at all, to hear that little whisper.

Because in the end, it was the only warning they ever gave and ever got. The only warning they never saw.

Hands snaked from the darkness, shining white with pale light, fingers shifting as they worked cold and frost from strained joints and gloves frozen solid from the harsh pre-winter wind.

Arms, glad in black to match dark gloves and darker hearts, followed hands as they worked to loosen sore muscles, stiff from hours of stillness and cold.

Arms were followed by shoulders, hunched forwards in warrior readiness, and then the sharp gaze of eyes looking, searching, wanting.

They were three.

A small whisper of air being released from held lungs brought forth the youngest of these three.

She could be considered beautiful, with a slender body, soft hair drawn up behind a heavy hood of her dark green coat, and smooth pale skin, broken only by...

Broken only by her eyes.

Red flesh, marred by the melted black marks of stitches that had kept her eyelids from falling apart altogether, covered by more old burn marks, were all that reminded of the windows of her soul.

She was the expendable, the first to be ordered forward, a safeguard for the other two. They didn't care if someone was waiting out there for them, if she got to them first.

She knew this.

That was why her hands were steady and her mind clear as she tilted her head to the side and listened.

Some would have said that having a blind guard was stupid — like giving a mental impaired person a deaf, mute and blind caretaker.

But Keir, eighth member of The Three, was the best there was.

She had survived the massacre of what some called The End. She had been the best of the force, and now served the first of The Three, Kayos of The Elite Force; death and disorder in a barely human form.

Black hair fluttered in turmoil, a dark gloved hand cutting through the strands as they reached for the revolver tucked into the breast hoister of her coat.

A small muffled click followed, as she loaded the next bullet. The revolver was a Haze.32 - designed for silence — one of the few guns known for that feature - and for it's illegal status.

A deeper whisper, a quiet unspoken question, called Keir to nod her head and signal the all-clear.

The man that stepped forward to join the woman was very different from the slender, beautiful Keir.

His dirty blonde locks fell over a handsome face, and his dark shirt and military gab fit well over a warrior fit body.

He was the speaker, the warrior, the one who always stepped forward to speak to the people, who led the lines into war, who some said was responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong.

Those people were wrong — he was simply usable; a man who followed the words of another. He was the fifth of The Three; one of the longest surviving partners of his master and warlord.

Body poised, center of gravity lowered, and fingers, laced with metal bands and straps, wrapped around the handle of a short barrel rifle, he was ready to fight.

Sharp grey eyes, protected and enhanced by night vision goggles, picked details out of the darkness that Keir could never see. The way shadows rippled over bushes, the fluttering of darkness, the  signs if someone was about to attack; so easy to tell after all these years.

He ran his eyes over the area once, twice, once more... His hand went up, fingers laced with silver flicking a military signal for the last member of their motley crew.

Some said she wasn't human.

But Kayos, first and in some ways last, of The Three, was very much human.

A deep hood was pulled down over her face, the cloak she wore instead of the coats her two companions had donned hanging in thick folds to about her knees. Her hands, gloved and with long fingers, extended towards the man's arm, until she had a grip on Kassian strong enough to support her.

One finger tapped on the left side of her face, and the muffled tap of metal against metal echoed for a second then the sharp beam of cyber enhancements cut through the evening mist.

Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she wasn't all that human after all.

Metal limbs, cyber enhanced organs, her metal incased face; it was a few of the things that were not all that human with Kayos.

A few too many slip ups here, a carefully placed explosive there... They had all had a hand in creating this mechanical monster, this master of death, of destruction.

She was the beginning and the end, of her Elite Force, of her plans, of the schemes that had cost hundreds of thousands of people their lives.

She was the puppeteer, the master who pulled the strings of Keir and Kassian, her little dancing dolls. She was the leader, the planner, the victor.

Some called her a monster. They called her correctly.

Kayos was the first to speak, her voice low and yet strong, and icy, like splinters of ice that drove deeper into the skin with every word.

"Where is he?"

Kassian moved aside, unwrapping her fingers a second before he stepped. "I don't know."

"You should." Kayos's words came out also as a hiss, and her cyber eyepiece flipped around the area, the beam scanning the area for life signs.

Suddenly, she stopped, focusing on a building that sat low, almost directly under the moon. Her thermal imaging eyepiece had revealed what Kassian and Keir's warrior training missed.

Somebody was here to say hello.