Makings of a Monster

Sarevok was in relatively good spirits, his belly full, his stride enthusiastic and confident. So far he had managed to get on pretty well, most nights finding a place to sleep and even fed himself reasonably well. His most basic needs satisfied, he felt a restlessness. So what now? Surely there must be more to everything than just chasing food and shelter. He had seen older beggars, resigned, sad beings who cared for little else than that. But he wasn't like them. He felt his soul burning so brightly, his mind so eager, his body such a wonderful, complicated machine able to learn so much on its own. It was different kind of learning than things he could learn from observing and contemplating.

He wanted to use his skills and develop new ones, but was not sure how and into what direction he should go about it. He had heard bards sing legends of poor boys who "showed talent" and were taken apprentices by great wizards. He smiled bitterly and snorted. In reality the wizards of Ordulin were just as greedy and business-minded as any other citizens. He visualized the scene in his mind. "Good day, mister wizard. I'm a homeless street child and my name is Sarevok. I was wondering if you would take me as your apprentice. I have no money but I show plenty of talent. That should interest a man of arcane lore like yourself more than money!" Depending on the temper of the wizard in question, he would have a fit of uncontrollable laughter, toss him personally out or call the city guards.

And besides, he didn't have that kind of talent. He had no wish to be a wizard. He was too impatient and passionate, he wanted to wield steel and run and jump and grip and slash and hack, not call mysterious energies to his aid. Wizards were powerful, but once they had cast all their spells they were scrawny, helpless men and women. Merchants were powerful because they had money, and could pay anyone to do their bidding. But if anyone decided, for whatever reason, to hurt them or end their life, they were no more than fat, lazy, wheezing bags. No, the only people who could rely on themselves even when all the basis of their power was out of their reach, were those whose bodies were strong, precise and agile, whose mind were alert, quick and unclouded by fear and unfounded feeling of safety.

Contemplating these things and the direction his life should take from now on Sarevok lost the awareness of his surroundings for a moment. And suddenly he felt his hands grabbed from behind and was dragged a few meters, then slammed against the wall. A boy, a lot taller and older than Sarevok, stood before him. The boy was maybe twelve and wielded an exquisite-looking short-sword. It probably had a minor magical enchantment. His eyes were alert and mean like the eyes of a sewer rat. This was no foolish and soft-limbed rich boy who would pee his pants if talked to in a threatening voice.

Not only did he look like one who had fought for his survival before, he also had a group of henchmen with him. A stocky boy who had a dagger, but held his hand in an ineffective angle. A half-elven girl with poison for eyes and skinny limbs. Probably not too strong, but looked mean and quick. And a few others. They were circling behind their obvious leader. Still, Sarevok wasn't exactly scared. This was a new situation to him, and he felt an almost pleasant apprehension. He felt very alive, that every second counted.

- "Well, well. If it isn't the upstart. I know you have been nicking stuff on this area," said the big boy.
- "So?" Sarevok had seen what sewer rats did if one of them was vulnerable. These children were no different, little dirty animals fighting for survival, and so the worst thing to do would be showing fear or hesitation.
- "So?!? So this is MY area, and anyone who nicks stuff from here will give me half of the loot. And no-one does any nicking without my say-so. I'm Urjen, and what I say, goes." He tried to sound confident, but he really was excited and angry and anxious. So Sarevok opted to keep his voice casual and calm.
- "Let me get this straight. You want me to take a risk and plan the deed, then actually do it, and give YOU half of what I get. And not only that, I only get to do what you say, because this is... YOUR area."
The boy frowned, annoyed.
- "Of course. I'm Urjen and this is my area."
- "I heard you the first time." Now Sarevok just looked at him. He knew that his eyes alone made people nervous. Not many people had eyes shining like gold and amber, almost glowing in the dark. But Urjen, apparently, wasn't easily intimidated. He must have had a few battles of will or more in order to make the others go with the "my area", thought Sarevok.

- "Look. This is a magical short sword. And I can use it very, very well. Also Detlev and Sarri here will do what I tell them to. You're just a little shitty kid. How old are you, baby? Six? Five? Already out of your diapers?"
His taunts meant nothing to Sarevok. He understood that Urjen tried to upset him, but didn't understand his method. He knew well enough what he was and had confidence in that. What did he care about the juvenile attempt to make him feel small and inferior? But the situation WAS somewhat worrying. They were many, and they were armed, and they were a lot bigger than Sarevok. Well, except Sarri. No WAY was he going to do this boy's bidding. But he had to get him off his back somehow.
- "Urjen. You look like skilled fighter. I want no trouble, after all you are such a big boy." Apparently pleased with himself Urjen let his grip of the sword loosen a little. He eyed Sarevok with gloating smile and stepped forward.
- "I knew you weren't that thou... GAH!"
Like a flash Sarevok punched his stomach with all his might, grappling the wrist of the sword hand with his other first. As Urjen bent he jumped on his back, bringing the sword hand with him so that Urjen had no leverage. Swift and cruel twist at the wrist, a yelp of pain and the sword clattered on the cobblestones. Sarevok grabbed it and retreated into fighting position to ward of Detlev and Sarri who had recovered from their surprise and advancing. Detlev was scared, Sarri was not. Both had daggers, but they were of lesser quality than the sword. The sword was almost alive. It was like a natural extension of his body. It was as if an underground, dark river was flowing in his ears, his heart thumping with joy, the odd presence of his dreams guiding his actions.

- "Back off, both of you, or I kill you", he growled. He knew there was no anxiety of excitement in his voice, just a statement of a fact.
Detlev hesitated, but Sarri only narrowed her poisonous eyes and gazed him alertly. She was not stupid enough to do the first lunge. For a moment they just looked at each other, neither moving. And then Sarevok felt, rather than heard or saw movement from his back. Urjen, trying to sneak up on him. He still had one good hand, two feet and teeth. As Sarevok whirled around and ducked, Urjen's punch missed its goal. The older boy lost his balance and fell flat on the ground. Sarevok jumped on him and grabbed his hair from behind, placing the sword on his throat.
- "I. Won't. Give. You. Anything. Anything. At. All. Is. That. Clear?"
He broke the skin on Urjen's throat.
- "... oh... oh... ohkay..."
- "As for the rest of you, back off, or this one is dead."
They did. Sarevok could physically feel the resentment radiating from Urjen. He was defeated in front of his lackeys, and would seek revenge. He WAS a lot bigger than Sarevok, and would hate him from now on. Still...
- "... kill him..." it was Sarri, mouthing the words.
Sarevok knew this was a deciding moment. What had he just been thinking? That there must be more to life than seeking food and shelter. If he let Urjen live, it would be even more difficult with having to run from him and his lackeys. If not... maybe this was the way. He sliced, and felt how the living boy transformed into a lump of meat. The blood flowed in the street and he could hear the underground river flowing harder and harder.

As for the rest of the kids, they were stunned and horrified. Sarri was smiling and watching him with a new appreciation. Sarevok sure didn't like the girl. Detlev was wailing "You didn't have to kill him... " and the rest of the kids just stared.
- "No, I did not. Regardless, I did. Do not think to cross me again." By looking their eyes he could see they certainly wouldn't do that.
- "So. Is this your area now?", asked Sarri in a matter-of-fact tone. In truth, Sarevok hadn't given that thought. But... it certainly was a possibility. He'd have to think of it some more.
- "Yeah. My area now. Now leave me be. I want to be alone."

Sarevok tried to sleep, but couldn't. What have I become? I'm only 7 years old and I'm a murderer. Why does it have to be so? Why do I end up choosing between miserable existence, humiliation, being at other people's mercy, and murder? I'm scared of myself and what I have become. Sarevok wanted to weep, to remind himself he still was a child, and a human, but the tears wouldn't come. They just wouldn't. His eyes dry and heart heavy, Sarevok lie awake for a long time still.