Avalon:Volume 1 Prologue

Prologue

18 years ago...

It was just another small and cramped room in the orphanage, with chipped creaky furniture and dingy windows. But the boy with pitch black hair and deep-violet eyes didn't care. He came here a month ago, after the death of his parents and the confiscation of all family assets. Today, it would be his last here.

In an age when most children never spent more than a few minutes thinking ahead, he had planned it out for over a month.

He spent a minute rummaging in the huge, messy trunk of miscellaneous goods he had been allowed to bring from the old house, and pulled out the last thing a ten-year-old child should wrap their hands around. As he pulled the black slider all the way back and heard it spring satisfyingly back into place, his best friend entered the room.

Would the blonde-haired boy understand? They had been neighbors, growing up together as brothers for as long as he remember. Even their parents were the best of friends who suffered the same fate.

But... even if he could afford to gamble it, he couldn't. Soon, he would be leaving his sister alone in this world, and he could trust no other to take care of her.

The blond-haired boy stood briefly still at the door, eyes widened in shock, before the boy ran over and tried to wrestle the gun from his hands. But the wielder proved the stronger of the two, and after throwing his friend down to the ground, he stuffed it into his gym bag and ran out of the orphanage.

He took the public transit into the city before stopping at a park to rest, an old place where the three of them would play around in almost every other day. He stayed there, hidden amongst the bushes, until the sun neared noontime, before emerging to loiter about the government building once again.

He knew about the upcoming luncheon from an offhand remark his dad once made. It was monthly.

Soon, seven government and military officials walked out of the building, conversing in casual tones even with the presence of several guards following them. The boy began to tail them at a distance, trailing them until they entered the lobby of a large fancy restaurant nearby. He then circled around to a back alley behind the restaurant, where he pulled out a set of clean and neatly folded dress shirt and pants. He quickly changed into them, then took out a brand name jacket and slung it over his shoulder. Lastly, he pulled out the black pistol and shoved it into the jacket's inside pocket.

Walking back to the front and into the restaurant, he happily told the waitress that his father was still upstairs at a business dinner and he had left temporarily to check out a nearby store to quench his boredom. He was stopped twice more as he skipped up the stairs, but managed to shrug off the waiters with the same excuse. At the third floor, he also told the waitress that he forgot the room number his father was in and requested to check the guest list. Sure enough, 'Kernow' was on it, and only one level above. The boy thanked the pretty miss and bounced his way up another floor.

As he neared the door, he pulled out the gun from his jacket, held it flatly over his shoulders, and covered it with his jacket. Without bothering to knock, he opened the door and strutted in like he owned the place.

But the boy's face quickly turned to feigned surprise as he saw five military officers in uniform and two civilian officials in suits seated around a table. Behind the man with the admiral's insignia and at the two far corners of the room also stood three armed guards. Everyone's attention was focused on the kid as he stopped instantly.

"Sorry, wrong room." The boy said in a half-apologetic tone before he turned around and began to walk back out. As he reached the doorway, he turned halfway around again and grabbed the handle to close it. Yet just as the door was about to slam shut, the kid suddenly pulled his right hand off the shoulders like he was yanking down his jacket, and pointed the covered gun barrel towards the admiral.

The guards took a second too long to realize what was going on. Maybe they were lax because he was just a harmless ten year old kid in the wrong room, or maybe it was because of the public location and they couldn't just finger their holsters over every little disruption. But before any of them even leveled their pistols' sights towards the boy, he had already unloaded half a dozen shots --- needles sent out at hypersonic speeds by the small electromagnetic accelerator built inside the pistol.

But although it seemed the boy had some knowledge in using handguns, his aim was far from perfect. The nearest officer's right shoulder burst with blood as a needle buried into it and exploded. The guard behind the admiral suffered a worse fate as three needles went into his torso, shattering his chest organs milliseconds later. Yet, even though the admiral stared straight at the boy and did not move a single muscle, not one of the projectiles managed to hit him.

Unfortunately for the boy, seven shots were all he had time for. The wooden door before him shattered as explosive needles buried into it, sending splinters out to pierce his body. His right arm was reduced to waste within a second as five more shots flew into it and destroyed both his elbow and shoulder.

He dropped to the ground with an excruciating scream as blood seeped through his white dress shirt, his right arm bent in grotesque angles, two of which weren't even at joints.

Yet, by some miracle, he was still alive when the admiral held up his hand, and both the remaining guards instantly stopped their volley. One of the them kept a watch in the room, while the other swiftly moved over the boy's thrashing body to secure the hallway. Everyone else who had been sitting around the table were now either taking cover behind their chairs or cowering in fear on the ground.

"You sure have a lot of guts, boy," the admiral said in a implacable yet mildly impressed tone. "Who sent you?"

"G-ghost of my father, oath to my mother... sworn in god's name!" The boy spat back as he continued to writhe in pain, spraying blood from his mouth with every syllable.

The admiral stood up and stepped over to the boy, then yanked him off the floor by his hair and stared into his eyes. Although the kid's expression was distorted by pain, his gaze held firm with overflowing hatred as he stared directly into the pupils of his parents' killer.

"The son of Iseul and Nika Simarshall, I see."

The admiral pulled the boy up to face level, lifting the child's feet off the ground. The kid screamed in pain and did his best to kick the admiral, but it didn't seem to inflict even the slightest injury. The same could not be said for the response as the admiral hurled the boy into the room's eastern wall like a rag doll with but a swing of his arm.

Yet even then, in between coughs that sprayed blood onto the carpet, the boy tried to push himself back with his one intact arm.

"Boy, I am truly intrigued by your courage and tenacity."

"I came here... to send you to hell," the kid responded, but his defiance only accentuated the faint smile curling its way into the corner of the admiral's mouth.

"Then how about an offer from the devil himself?" The admiral said as he pulled up a bloody chair and sat down upon it, completely ignoring the other officials still in the room, including the injured one still on the ground. "I will give you a chance for vengeance, for honor, for whatever it is that you wish. I'll provide you the education, the opportunity, the experience. The only thing I require is your servitude."

"Fucking... nonsense."

"On the contrary, I am absolutely serious. After all, I am heir apparent to the position of the 1st District Marshal. Training the next generation of proteges is one of my top priorities, and you, boy, has shown great potential. So here's your offer in full right now: serve me, and you can do whatever your wish entails should you climb to the rank of Marshal... or, you can die in vain right now, and meet the tortured soul of your sister in hell within the week."

The admiral pulled out his pistol and pointed it at the boy's forehead at point blank range.

"What would it be? Choose... now."

The kid's expression was almost frozen, stunned in shock by the sheer inconceivability of what he heard and the clear impression that the man before him was utterly insane...

"Shame, it appears decisiveness is not a virtue. Well, it's been an interesting time, boy---"

12 years ago...

It was a large yet plain basement room: unfurnished, unpainted, with no windows, basic lighting, and a single stainless steel door.

Twelve cadets stood in a line with gaps of three feet. Their bodies in perfect military posture, chests forwards and hands behind.

Arkadi was the seventh in the line, with pitch black hair and deep-violet eyes.

Soon the door opened. Two guards marched in first, armed with polished swordstaves in hand. Yet their presence nearly inconsequential compared to the third, who wore the insignia of a Marshal --- the highest rank within the Avalonian Republic --- and radiated authority as though he was born a god. Twelve more guardsmen followed, each dragging a frail figure behind them: children around the age of twelve, bruised and whimpering under their black hoods.

The twelve cadets did not make the slightest motion. Their faces did not reveal a shred of emotion. To lose composure was to show weakness --- a lesson that was hammered into their minds through years of brutal training, an experience many of their former comrades did not survive.

As the guardsmen forced the children to kneel, one before each cadet, the Marshal began with his deep, imposing voice that sought to crush any free will which stood before him:

"Today is your graduation ceremony. Once you walk out of that door, you shall be Elite Cadres, officers trainees of the highest caliber who will one day uphold the glory of the 1st District. Only one test remains before you, a simple test that demands no mercy, no hesitation, and no weakness..."

The third cadet sucked in a deep breathe. Too deep, as it was audible.

"Those before you are the worthless children of sinners, enemies of the state. When I call your name, draw your weapon and end their unnecessary existence."

Arkadi looked down, straight into the black hood where the child's eyes would have been. The kid was a girl in the early stages of puberty. She couldn't have been older than thirteen. Her hands were cuffed behind her and she was shaking all over, clearly terrified...

"BASTILLE!"

*Bang*

He had forgotten that they were given high-caliber traditional pistols for this exam... the louder noise and heavier recoil of the gun would better carve the moment of the kill into their memories, no doubt.

The lifeless body struck the ground with a thud. The corpse was also headless. The heavy explosive bullet had blown the child's head apart.

"BRYANT!"

*Bang* and the scene repeated itself, with an even younger girl this time.

The girl before him started sobbing loudly. So did all the other children. Even if their ears were plugged, it would be impossible to keep out the noise out entirely.

Arkadi was also the child born to an enemy of the state. Was this a fate that could have fallen upon him? Rather than seeing the girl before him as a nameless, faceless stranger, he couldn't help imagine his very own sister. She had always been a crybaby.

He had no contact for six years. If she was still alive, she would be the same age.

"EBORIC!"

Another deep breathe, and...

*Bang*

But instead of the child's head exploding, it was the cadet who collapsed, her body now a lifeless sack of meat...

*Bang* the child before her then joined her in death.

Marshal Kernow lowered his pistol, a hint of smoke still trailing from the gun barrel.

"HAMILTON!"

For a moment Arkadi zoned out. His focus completely on the hooded child before him.

Could he do it? Without a moment of hesitation?

He had killed before. His first encounter with Marshal Kernow had claimed the life of a guard. It may not have been his target, but it was not an innocent life.

The same could not be said for the life before him.

She was still a kid. She was no older than his own sister! How could she be blamed, forced to take responsibility for the stupidity of her parents!

He realized, for the first time, that his hands were shaking.

(Look at this rationally, Arkadi,) his mind argued with himself.

(You can kill her, or you can both be killed.)

The choice was obvious. But... humans weren't ruled solely by logic.

Arkadi was sure he could do it, eventually. His logic was trained to always win against his emotions. What he wasn't sure was whether he would show weakness, for even a second of indecision constituted failure.

(Backup plan then.)

It was no obstacle for a determined magician whose specialization laid in enchantment.

(Personal Emanate, Imperious Dominate), his mind spoke aloud as he mouthed the same without sound. The words themselves were ultimately unimportant. They merely served as the trigger for patterned actions programmed into his body through countless repetitions in training. Magic-conductive nerves soon opened themselves, forming a magical array within his body that channeled mana one way and ether another.

Control flowed back into himself. Absolute control. Absolute belief. Absolute sense of righteousness.

His mind was relieved once again, everything working in perfect harmony like that of a machine.

"KERNOW!"

It was his surname now. The same surname as the Marshal's. The same surname he had used for the past six years.

With one fluid motion, he drew the pistol from its holster, pointed it at the girl's forehead, and pulled the trigger.

10 years ago...

"Are you sure about this, Arkadi?"

The one who spoke over their private telepathic communication channel was senior by decades, both in life and in career. Yet after merely two years of service, Arkadi Kernow was already his superior. The advantages granted by the Elite Cadre status were apparent.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Isn't your goal to reform the system as well? Are you sure you want to successfully carry out the bombing of Representative Richter's political rally? He's pledging the same goals as you..."

"...Please don't compare me against this bureaucrat who tipped his hand so early and marked his own death." Arkadi cut his second-in-command off in the politest way possible. "If we don't do it, another black ops team would be ordered to. Might as well take the glory ourselves then."

"Why destroy the entire convention center instead of just assassinating him then?"

"Because these fools need a serious warning. They need to be driven back underground, completely, and hopefully stay there until they gather enough strength to actually pose a real threat to the current world order."

"Then just what level of strength is enough?"

Arkadi took only two seconds to ponder an appropriate response:

"When they get someone into the inner circle as well as commandeer a few Legions... I guess there is a possibility those circumstances already exist and simply aren't apparent to us, in which case another ops teams may be hunting us down as we speak."

"You think one inner circle member would be enough to try? Even if you take the Marshal's seat, what's to keep the conservatives from simply assassinating you?"

Lieutenant-Commander Arkadi turned swiftly, his deep-violet eyes piercing straight into Executive-Officer Kaplan's dark-blue pupils.

"It's a shot..."

Words that required the essence of hope came from Arkadi's thoughts without a shred of emotion.

"...You have a better idea?"

"You're familiar with human history. Tell me, what put an end to the popularity of Fascism and Antisemitism so quickly at the end of the Industrial Age? What did it take to wake up that world?"

"...Atrocities of the worst scale, publicized for the first time."

As Arkadi realized what Kaplan was trying to say, he felt the beginning of a bottomless pit opening inside him.

"Exactly. Mankind's conscience doesn't thrive on goodness. It thrives on shock and outrage. Look at all the major revolutions throughout history. How many of them were made through mere appeal to ethics? How many of them were the result of bloody massacres?"

"So you believe we need further escalation?""

"Not this time." Kaplan smirked, just barely on his usually expressionless face. "But for once, you seem a bit... troubled by uncertainty. Someone had to play devil's advocate."

(And you took it too far,) Arkadi thought. (Such ideas are nothing short of demonic...)

It took several more discussions and sleepless nights of reading to confirm his thoughts. But before the end of the week, Arkadi would begin brainstorming his initial draft of a strategic plan that would likely escalate the current cold war into a hot one, resulting in millions dead and propelling him straight to the top.

Present day...

Arkadi didn't believe in god. But if there was an afterlife, he should have woke up in the flames of hell, not on a soft bed in heaven.

He managed to regain consciousness without falling to any impulsive actions like moving or springing his eyes open. That was kind of good news, as his last memory was being defeated in combat. It was unlikely that his allies won the battle, so the probable explanation was that the enemy captured him instead of killing him... for whatever reason.

He deserved death. But that thought was nothing new... he realized this ten years ago, perhaps even further back.

Yet for the last ten years, he also saw his path as a necessary evil. But now, at this very moment, he was no longer sure of himself.

His self-enchantments had been dispelled.

Arkadi opened his eyes by the slightest margin, taking a peek at the plain white room his bed occupied.

There was only one person in the room: a girl he had saved just over a week ago, with a petite, frail body and long blossom-pink hair cascading down her back. She sat in a folding chair by the door, leaning against the wall with her head nodding off to the side in a shallow sleep.

Her lapiz-blue right eye soon opened, and her small right hand went up to rub it like a child just waking from a nap. Her left eye never did open, as that was her... Kannon's habit.

Over the years, Arkadi had affairs with countless women, most of which weren't romantic in any way. He simply used his charisma and magic as a medium of seducing women for what he wanted, whether it be information or personal support. It was inevitable that some of these women would see through him, even attempted to turn him away from his path of self-destruction.

None of them succeeded, until...

"Captain," the girl's soft, still-drowsy voice called out. "I know you're awake."

At last, Arkadi opened his eyes fully. There was no point hiding it. In fact, he learned not long after meeting her that there was little point lying to this girl. Somehow, she could always tell.

"Kannon," his cold voice replied. "You've turned traitor."

"And you're a war criminal," Kannon shrugged. "I guess we're even."

"Last I checked, I saved your life."

"And I just saved yours," she declared, "you... still owe me a favor though."

Arkadi raised his eyebrows at her interpretation of events... at least the former. The latter was true; he offered it himself just a few days ago.

"Whether you like it or not Captain, Arkadi Kernow is dead." Kannon stated matter-of-factly, as though the decade-younger girl was preaching him on life experiences. "Please, give your real self one more chance at life."