Prologue

Alex was looking at her. It was the fourth day, the fourth session he had since his talk about the past. He had to answer so much of her questions. He knew it was only four days, but it was going too fast. On the other hand he had live a full 24 days, nearly a month, but it was going too slow. He had been ready to tell his story in one go, from beginning to end, without a break, but Nathalie, or Doc as he was calling her, kept pestering him about details.

The important part was that those detail stayed as such only until he talked about it. He did not think he needed to talk about his father, but only by doing so had he learned he could regret, and actually always had regret, being the principal cause of his death. He did not like him, and even despised him, but he was still family. And after all he had done, he did not think he could cry, but thinking about his mother, and thinking about this day… It was virtual tears, as he said to Nathalie, but he could not pretend, at least to himself, he would not have shed them in the outside world as well.

They had talk about nearly every detail, learned about everything about his early years, and even managed to bring back some vague memory about other siblings. But now, it was the important part of the discussion. He now understood every question asked and every answer given were all for this moment. He could feel it in the air: today, he would learn something important about himself.

- That’s the day, isn’t it?

- Which day?

- This day, when your mother died, by the hands of your own father, when your father died, by your own hands, when you took charge of your sister… That is the day you forbid yourself from feeling empathy; the day you created this resolve of yours to do anything, even unspeakable things, for your goals; and the day this unquenchable anger you have inside of you was born!

Alex clenched his fists. He had learn, during long years of training, that he should never let his feelings run free, and he had always done so, except for some rare times.

- I don’t know! I have always been good at controlling myself. I know what my priorities are, and even my affection for Emy would not distract me if something needs to be done. But three times, or two if we count since my training, I have been blinded, by anger, by an overwhelming rage.

- What was the first time?

- Neglecting the death of my father… Not showing feelings is not the same than not having them, but my anger was so much than seeing him dying had no kind of importance to me. I wonder how he could have feel, seeing simply indifference in the eyes of the son who killed him.

- Your problem is that you put too much on yourself. If you don’t learn to release anger by small doses, it is the kind of feeling that’ll overwhelm you, as for the last day of your employer…

- You know about this one?

Nathalie raised an eyebrow, looking at her patient.

- Even with all the things they could see during their years of service, quite a number of the special force have been quite shocked by your display… And I have all the reports…

- He was going to use Emy as a shield.

- I am not here to judge you Alexander, but you can’t simply ripped two arms off a man and go without being noticed. It’s already impossible enough to rip one, but the two at the same time… You won’t make me believe you weren’t angry at the time…

- I was. But it did not last long.

- Maybe. And maybe not. The problem is not the time during which you lose control, but the fact that you lost control of yourself. You have done terrible things in your past, but most of the time, you had no other choice. But we cannot let someone as strong as you are be free if you can go out of control at times.

- … You’re right… but what can I do?

- For the time being, learn to let go a little of your feelings at times. But you have already begun to walk on that road.

- How?

- Speaking with people, sharing some things together, and killing monsters without thinking from time to time.

- That much is fine by me.

- Good! But if you want me to help you, you will need to honestly tell me what happened this last time you lost control of yourself.

- …

- It’s important Alex.

- … I know. But it’s hard.

- Harder than speaking about the death of your parents?

- Yes!

- Why?

- Their deaths were hard to tell because it was hurting, and I was a little afraid of my own reactions to it, afraid of becoming once more the weak boy I was at that time. But that is different.

- What are you afraid of?

- Of what I am. Of what I was able to become that time!

- …

- …

- I will never force you to talk, but I am ready to listen to you with an open mind any time you want.

- I know. At first, I didn’t believe you when you said you would not judge me, but I was able to see that’s true. But that time…

- When was it?

- It was during the final round of my second year championship in the arena. Do you know how it is working?

- Please explain me…

- There are two kinds of events in the arena. The first ones are the tournaments fights. The strongest fighters around the world gather. It is the Death Tournament. Those fights should decide of the strongest true fighter, and each should put his life on the line to win it: some are like me, and do not have the choice, others want the glory, some want the thrills of the fight, and others to show their might.

- What is the second kind of events?

- Display. They are shows for the wealthy, advertisements for each of the fighter aiming for the Death Tournament. Those shows depend on the characters of the fighters. Some did not happen in the arena directly but were broadcasted inside, like murder challenges, or aerial fights.

- And you?

- My shows were called “labors of Hercules”! They liked to give me seemingly impossible things to do, like fighting 50 criminals or 3 hungry grizzly bears… This one nearly got me killed!

- And how did that brought your anger?

- During the finale of the previous Death Tournament, before I was ready to fight, the champion was critically injured. So my “employer” decided it was a good time to start. And I managed to win the first tournament without serious injuries.

- How was this old champion?

- Strong. Really strong. And for the second tournament, I had to fight him in the final round. My “employer” had been ready and had brought me to one of his shows… That is not a good memory… Even with all that I saw… Even with the disgust that I felt toward some of my own action… Nothing was as nightmarish as his shows… His shows were neither display of strength, nor of might, nor of ability… They brought him some prey… There are no other words I could use to describe, as they were neither criminals nor fighters. They were just normal people send him to let him show his cruelty…

- I don’t think they could have been interesting with non-fighter… And every fight in this arena was cruel…

- Right! That is how one could see it. But I, for instance, have learned to kill people in a quick, efficient, but showy way. My enemies neither had the time to understand they were dying, nor the misfortune of suffering. But the spectators liked it, so there was no problem. My predecessor was, on the contrary, a specialist at making people die slowly, with intense pain! That is why his shows were about him carefully torturing of his prey for nearly two hours. And it could have last longer if it weren’t for the management of the arena…

- And?

- I saw him “taking care” of a teenage girl, and I began to lose my calm. I was ready to fight and kill, but this man was enjoying the pain he inflicted on others… But I kept myself in check. I had learned that strong emotions would blind you, and kill you during a fight, so I forced myself to forget about that, and I prepared myself for our fight…

- And at that time…

- I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I knew I had been used by my “employer”. The fact remains that this man knew I had a sister…

- …

- He told me he would take care of her after dealing with me, and I could so clearly remember the tears and screams of this teenage girl from the other day… I snapped. When I came back to my sense, my right arm and left leg were broken, and I had a large slash on my torso. And I had been pinned against a wall by five armored men, while five others were on the ground, injured or dead.

- What about your… opponent?

- His legs were chopped off, he no more had eyes or fingers, and it would seem I broke his spine at 14 different places.

- Do you know… why?

- Why?

- Why did they stop you? The Death tournament as no rules, especially against killing, disabling or torturing your adversaries…

- I learned it later, the same way I learned that all of those events had been scheduled by my “employer”. My opponent of that time wasn’t a normal participant. He was in fact a wealthy sponsor of this arena who liked to go in for his hobby and for showing his might. And he was in competition for some business against my “employer”. They stopped me because they could not afford to let him die…

- That’s…

- That’s hypocritical, isn’t it? That was to be a death match… But he finally lost the match, parts of his body, his autonomy and all the presence he had managed to earn by going in the arena. He was still rich, but utterly humiliated. And I don’t regret it… Except that it is the time I earn the title of Dark Lord: the one reigning on those hellish lands and punishing the foolish who did not comply with their rules. That’s how they saw me…

- Do you know… who he was?

- I did not bury his name in my memory… I was afraid of what I had been able to do because of my rage, but he truly deserved it… He was Aaron, Aaron the Butcher…

There for a short prologue, or you can say a kind of follow-up from the epilogue of the first arc.

Now for the sad new: I will go somewhere I won't have an Internet connection for some time. It should soon be resolved, and I will continue to write, but i can't tell when the next post will be.

But Alex will come back!!!!!

Thank you once more for reading it and for your comments and reviews!