Chapitre 1: Prologue: The Impalement of Child
"Bladi bastad..." He exclaimed in pain. Standing in the very center of all these onlookers, these treacherous little bastards, his mind was of a complete blank. Men, armed with crooked weapons, adorned with unmatching outfits. Whom smelled like ale and reek of sweat. All of which, however, aimed to kill.
One-versus-five, what kind of a fight is this?
"Argh..." Blood kept pouring out of his wounds, those red blackened wounds. They dripped upon the cold grounds, however, making no sound as they go. The stone floorings, yes, littered with red, smeared with blood. As the blood dribbled his throat, he choked on it, coughing all-year-round.
Compared to those men, the obvious insufferable was the crippled him.
He didn't want to die, no matter what, the boy didn't want to die. But facing these animals with haziness, he couldn't do. His ragged clothing was then softly tugged from behind. Frustrated, he slapped the little one behind him.
"Fhukhin shat!!! This's all bhecaus a' ya!!!" The bleeding boy swore out loud, blaming the one innocent for no reason. Slapped, the little girl in rags tugged down to the floor. Her cheeks, bright red, but not blushing.
"Useless fhukin whor!!! If it whasn't for ya, I'd probly be livin in a castl. I'd probly be fhukin rich without you. I'd be fhukin hot, beautifal wamen without ya. I'd be..." The boy kept pouring insult after insult. The little girl, however, just sat still. Blanketing the blemished cheek with her hands. Looking at the enraged, suffering, troubled boy, she cried but not whimpered.
Over the unheard sonances outside her ears, she did not care. Over the seeing of the boy in front of her, whom which had slapped her unhesitatingly, she did not mind. Over gazing at the wounds the boy suffered, tears fell down her dirty face.
Then, the boy finally kicked her down. His feet, one full of scallops, pushed the little one. Her facing up towards the skies, chest ached wildly yet she couldn't scream. After being kicked, had trouble breathing, but not necessarily the reason why she couldn't scream.
The moment she rose her head above the ground in pain, to see the face of the one who had kicked her just now, she stared at point blank. Those instances where one receives shock, and therefore, a latency in reaction. Her pupils throttled unusually at the sight before her.
The boy floated above ground. His chest growing silverish branches that did not look like ones from trees. His mouth, blood flew down from it like a river. The little girl, unable to bear the shock, unable to describe the scene, unable to blank out.
Impaled with swords, lifted above ground by the strength of five, the boy lost his life.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone