Point of No Return

Anak stormed out of the palace ground as Tzipora jogged to catch up. After finally bursting through the outer gate, Anak paused and put his hands on his knees, the boiling rage in his chest threatening to spontaneously combust. Tzipora came up behind him and placed her palm comfortingly on his back. He flinched involuntarily, but at her touch soon calmed enough to breath.

From behind the gate, Prince Sig watched sneakily with amusement. He was tailing the couple in hopes of stirring up more trouble when they were alone.

"Thank you, Tzipora," Anak whispered, but his heart wrenched when he looked in her eyes. She too was awhirl with rage and sorrow, but in her the depth of these emotions was clearly greater. Anak embraced her closely, and she rested her head on his shoulder. They took the moment to comfort each other, before walking down the path back to Anak's home.

On the way, Anak couldn't help but see the slaves in passing, laboring on one thing or another. They were frail, without exception, stumbling about with heavy burdens or weakly tapping out carvings on buildings for enchanters to later imbue with magic.

A loud 'CRACK!' echoed through the air as a whip made of divine copper landed solidly on the back of a slave hauling a heavy box. A red gash split the slave's scarred back.

"Faster!" The noble behind him, presumably his master, barked impatiently. Divine copper whips were popular amongst the nobility because they were just as flexible, but caused more pain, and the divine properties of the metal actually filled those struck by it with energy, like a powerful stimulant. The thickly-bearded man arched his back in agony, making sure not to cry out. His hands desperately clutched the handles of the box, trying to hold on through the pain. The stimulus effect helped him not to drop it, and he walked at an even brisker pace after recovering.

Watching this scene Anak clenched his jaw. He looked away sharply, only to see an old woman looking his way, with hope written across her expression. Slaves everywhere knew Anak, especially after the Emuri. They knew he planned to use his favor with the king to free them, and Anak had just come from the direction of the palace.

Seeing the look on the face of the wrinkled lady, tears threatened to erupt from Anak, and he looked away in shame. Seeing this, the hope on the old woman's face crumbled. She dejectedly turned around and shuffled back from where she came.

"Young lord! Young lord Anak!" suddenly a cheery yet sleepy voice called out from ahead of them. Aru burst through the crowd of pedestrians on the road waving excitedly at Anak.

Anak sighed, lacking the patience for the enthusiasm in this person's attitude, "Hello, Aru." Even the man's name couldn't cheer him up. It just brought back to mind Urmu.

"What's wro- ah. I see." Aru nodded in understanding. He recalled the circumstances in which he'd met Anak, and the young man's ambitions. Seeing the direction he came from he understood. Aru shook his head, deciding not to mention the subject further. "Well, I just wanted to thank you. Your recommendation went so perfectly I was not only re-assigned, but promoted. You've changed my life you know."

As Aru went on, his voice began to effuse enthusiasm again, much to Anak's chagrin. He looked to the side in an attempt to ignore this untimely expression of gratitude, when a commotion in the distance caught his eye. The bastard guard, Bian, was berating a bald slave with ruddy features, who had collapsed to the ground with his cargo in tow. It was Susiki.

"Get your act together, slave! On your feet!" Bian threatened with a whip, not made of divine copper, but twisted thongs of leather and thorny vines. This was the standard issue for slave-masters.

The weakened Susiki struggled to his knees, but then the whip came cracking down, sending him sprawling to the dirt once more.

"What good is a weak thing like you?!" Bian began incessantly beating Susiki on the back, thighs, arms, and even his bald head, tearing skin and turning him into a bloody mess.

Anak looked in horror at the scene, "Susiki," he whispered. He recalled the jovial bald man, who had taken the initiative to thank him with all his heart. The anger that had simmered down in Anak's sternum erupted all at once at the sight, "Bian! You son of a bitch! Let him go!" Anak screamed as he tore off in a sprint. Tzipora saw this and followed swiftly after, though she cold hardly keep up.

However, whether he was ignoring him, or just didn't hear, Bian repeatedly lacerated Susiki's flesh mercilessly. Susiki's screams grew weaker and weaker; he was about to die.

Anak's heart was pounding. Susiki was dying, and he wouldn't make it in time. Anger, fear, concern; these emotions exploded from his heart and soul, and thunderously Anak roared,

"BIAN!! DIE!!!"

His cry shook the heavens and the earth, as the space around Anak warped and wavered, the mirage-like phenomena now explosively twisting the world under the influence of Anak's wrath. Bian, the target of his shout exploded into a pieces of meat, bone, and blood shrapnel. Susiki, coated in this flesh paste, was left trembling in a fetal position on the ground, awaiting a blow that would never come.

Prince Sig, who had continued to tail them even at this moment, had a rock sent straight through his eye, killing him from where he spied. Anak wouldn't find out until much later that he'd killed the prince in this way.

As Anak's vision cleared, and the warped air around him subsided he noticed his surroundings. It was a picture of devastation, the surrounding buildings twisted out of their natural shapes, debris littering the streets, and the surrounding people lying dazed or unconscious on the street. "Tzipora?!" He whipped his head around, and saw her lying on the street as well.

Anak rushed to her side and held her head up, checking her pulse. It beat strongly, she was definitely alive. He looked at her brow, and noticed a cut. Her blood dripped from the wound onto the hand holding her head up. Anak slightly trembled at the sight, and he gently lay her head back down.

Raising his hand back up, Anak saw the droplet of blood flowing down the rivulets in his palm. 'What did I do?' He thought to himself. As his breathing steadily grew shallower, he looked over at the bloody pieces of Bian. "What am I?" he spoke aloud.

"You are a living weapon." A flash of blue light exploded out from behind him, as an authoritative voice echoed through the ravaged city block, "and you're my son."

Azazel's avatar placed a hand on Anak's shoulder. "I made you to fight the Demon King. Not knowing the level of authority you would come to possess. It's... too much." Azazel sighed.

"A living... weapon?" Anak breathlessly responded. He looked back at his hands. He suddenly felt filthy and horrid. He looked spitefully at Azazel and laughed bitterly. A weapon couldn't have friends, only owners. A weapon wasn't supposed to feel, only destroy. A weapon couldn't love. A living weapon was an awful paradox, and the knowledge that this was his purpose for existence tore at his soul.

"I refuse!" After a brief moment of doubt, Anak glared undauntedly at Azazel. "I'll just leave this place. I won't endanger anyone! And when I die," Anak looked for the last time at the pool of flesh and blood representing Bian, "My death toll will be two. He and I."

Azazel clenched hard onto Anak's shoulder, as he felt all his plans being threatened. "You... you could break the curse on this world! You can beat the Demon King!" He bellowed.

Anak shrugged off Azazel's hand and sneered, "With your help? Unlikely." Anak took off in the distance at an impossibly fast sprint. Azazel was staring dumbly at his hand in shock. Anak had thrown off his strongest grip with the slightest effort. Had he already fully come into power?

Far away, Anak came to a stop. He sat beside a river leading to the Sea of Non, and cried into his hands. He thought of his parents, Edo and Eva. He thought of his home, he thought of the slaves, and most of all, his thoughts lingered on Tzipora. The last image to come to mind was her bleeding brow. With a determined expression, he jumped to his feet.

Looking around, Anak spotted a one-man canoe on the shore. He quickly absconded with it, pushing it out onto the river rapids, before leaping in with an acrobatic display. He rowed his way down the river in the direction of the sea. He began his escape, from Ischuros, from the Haskud Kingdom, and from his awful destiny as one soaked in blood.

As Anak sailed away, towards the setting sun and a sky covered by dark clouds, he laughed. It was a laugh containing both sorrow and relief.