"Strength, in a world ruled by the powerful, and the privileged, is the solution to every problem."
To Abraxes, who was born with neither strength nor privilege, such words were a painful truth, a bitter reminder and a cruel reality. Because life in the Purlieus was nothing, but a collar of slavery labelled life, placed there by those who had the power to do so.
He sat within his small hut of clay and straw, on a wooden chair half his size. His gaze was distant, staring at the makeshift door of wood he had made months before, yet seeing nothing.
Today was the day, the day that every person of the Purlieus Epsilon Clan his age dreaded their entire lives. Soon, his door would be toppled, his miniscule belongings taken, and his body dragged out, with neither choice nor chance to reason.
There was no fighting it, so Abraxes simply didn't.
He sat there for hours; his patience being tested in the cold winter winds that billowed through the two small windowless holes of his hut. In his leather breeches, boots and a simple white tunic, he was freezing, but he had nothing else, so all he could do was endure it.
Eventually, the familiar sound of panic and chaos erupting through the streets outside brought him back to reality. Abraxes stood up from where he was sitting, and raised his arms above his head, his palms out and facing the door.
He didn't have to wait long.
The door he had painstakingly spent months building and attaching to his hut was blown off its creaky hinges with no warning, his entire home groaning from the force that was used.
If it were anybody else that had done such a thing, Abraxes would have sworn bloody murder and beat them to a pulp. But he didn't now, because there was no point to it, he would probably never be returning anyways.
Three men, all taller, broader and healthier than him, stormed inside. They were each covered in various types of leather armour and had a blade that glinted bronze from their waists.
They didn't bother speaking to him, and he didn't bother trying to run. He tensed his body as the man in the lead grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and roughly pulled him out of the house, throwing him onto the streets as if he was an annoying animal and not a breathing person.
Abraxes fell to the ground with a small grunt, slowly raising his body on shaking limbs, only to gasp and double over again, feeling a hard boot crash into the side of his chest.
"Get up, rat, we don't have all day," one of the three men growled, grabbing his hair and roughly yanking him up to his feet.
Abraxes had to restrain himself from fighting back, his fists clenching as he winced in the tightening grip. He was pulled forward, a rough shove that nearly had him falling onto his knees again.
'If I survive this, I'll find a way to kill all three of you bastards.' He kept his face controlled, silently gritting his teeth when the grip tightened again and he was forced to stare at the grey clouds above him.
It would have been embarrassing if he was the only one to receive such rough treatment, but he wasn't, if anything he was one of the few who was suffering the least in the physical department.
All around him, men and women were being dragged either by their hair, or their clothes through the streets. Some of there were screaming, shouting and begging, pleading for their lives and grabbing onto anything they could find, all in a desperate attempt not to be pulled away.
He counted at least five arms being chopped off in the span of a few minutes.
The other half, like Abraxes, were silent, having already accepted their fates.
Of course, some were braver than others. One of them had tried to fight back, a baker's son he had known for most of his life, Viridis, but he was cut down and gutted within a second.
'He wasn't brave, he was foolish.' He reminded himself through gritted teeth, tearing his eyes away from the dismembered corpse.
All of it served as an example to the rest of them, as a reminder of their powerlessness and weakness. Of the chains wrapped around their very lives, which could, and would, tighten to end their lives if they tried to break out of them.
Soon enough, they were all silent, a group of numbers being marched to their deaths through bitter acceptance and quiet tears,
It didn't take long for them to reach the town square, or as close as you could get to one. The man holding him by his hair stopped, before tightening his hold on Abraxes hair enough to make him hiss, and roughly threw him to the ground.
Abraxes tasted mud and swallowed another pained nose at the rough impact. He tried to get up again, only to get pushed down onto the ground from another kick to his back.
Abraxes had to stop himself from growling and ripping the mans throat out with his teeth.
"Remember your place, rat, I never told you to get up." The man stomped on his back once more, before loudly spitting on Abraxes, and walking off, muttering something under his breath.
Keeping himself on the floor, he took a steady breath to calm himself, before finally pushing his body up on shaking legs. His face was blank as he wiped the mud off his lips, and the spit on his cheek.
His body pulsed with pain, but it was overshadowed by the steadily building rage in his stomach.
'I don't know how, but one day, I'll gut you where you stand.' He thought viciously, swearing the promise in the privacy of his mind.
"You okay?" a voice on his right whispered.
He glanced at the smaller body next to him, the long scruffy black hair he had grown up with, a familiar sight.
"I'm fine, Keres." He whispered back, keeping his emotions hidden, and his voice hollow.
She subtly nodded, her posture straight and face just as pale as his own. He noted how a bruise was already forming on her cheek and clenched his fists to stop himself from doing something he'd regret.
"Are you okay?" he instead asked, his voice practically a growl than any true words.
Keres didn't say anything back to him, just nodded her head again and moved one of her smaller hands to wrap around one of the clenched fists she could reach.
He released a silent breath, unfurling his fist to give her hand a small squeeze before gently pushing it away. If anybody saw the small gesture of affection, they kept quiet, everybody knew what would happen if one of the Legionnaire's found out about it.
Keres didn't say anything after that, and he followed her example, staring silently at the broken and chipped well sat centre of the town square.
They didn't have to wait long, because soon enough, the Archon arrived.
A man who looked to be in his late twenties, he was dressed in lavish white robes, accented in cerulean colours. His face was sharp, and his hair was as white as the snow around them, but it was his icy blue eyes that showed his true nature.
After so many years of seeing the man, everybody here knew his name.
Lord Nero Ti Gelid, of House Gelid.
The man was silent as he made his way to in front of them, a cheery grin on his face as he waved his hand over the ground. Instantly, the world around them grew far colder.
Abraxes shivered from it, feeling his developing bruises pulse in pain, and watched as ice began to form rapidly below him, shifting and forming into a crystalline slab that grew to stand above their heads.
'Another power play,' the bastard wasn't even trying to be subtle about it either, purposely putting himself above the rest of them as if he was some king overlooking his subjects.
'Except, there were no kings in this world, only nobles with the strength to make us lessers think they were the rulers of this world.'
"Attention! Attention! My rats! The man sounded far too cheerful, almost gleeful as he spoke. "I do not doubt, that you all know why you have been rounded up…but, if we jumped right in, where would we gain our entertainment! Watching you all grow paler and filled with despair is the epitome of humour, after all!"
The Archon laughed, a single, high pitched, fake laugh that made Abraxes want to punch him and break his teeth, maybe his nose too.
"So, I must congratulate you all! It is quite impressive, after all, that you have all managed to reach your majority. Seventeen, what a truly great honour for you all it must be, to have outlives the majority, to have beaten the weak, who usually fall at the age of ten."
Nero had a sharp smile on his face, as if it brought him no greater delight than to speak of their low morality rate.
'I'll be sure to wear that smile, if I ever get to drive a blade through your heart.' Keres slammed her elbow into him, and he forced his face to relax. It was better for them not to see any emotion on him; it only made them interested, and that was never a good sign.
"Now then, for the true purpose of why you have been summoned, dragged and caught like the rodents you all are," he grinned with too many teeth. "Our lives, our very planet, it at risk of another collapse once again."
He began to walk across his platform, a swagger in his step as his voice rose.
"Tartarus Gate after Tartarus Gate, each deadlier than the last, and appearing more and more often. As you can imagine, it has been quite a rough time for us, losing all our brilliant scouts and foot soldiers! But fret not, all hope is not lost, because we have you!"
Nero stopped, and spun from where he stood, throwing his arms out towards them. Abraxes saw more than a few people flinch at the action.
The Archon frowned at their silence, shaking his head and tutting audibly at them as if they were children.
"Ah, and I expected such enthusiasm from you all. You are going to become the heroes of humanity, after all, such a thing is to be celebrated! Yet I see not a single smile in the crowed!"
He sighed, placing a hand on his waist.
"It's almost as if you think we're sending you off to your deaths!"
'You are,' he couldn't help but snark in his mind.
"Oh well, I did try, but you truly are just a bunch of boring rodents. It's quite sad, how miserable you are, you there- "he pointed at one of the armoured men standing to the side.
"-Would you so kindly, kill him? His face is quite expressive, I could have sworn he's wished for my death at least a dozen times over by now" the Archon said with a laugh, pointing behind Abraxes.
He didn't dare turn around to look, keeping his spine straight even as he heard a panicked scream and the thud of something heavy dropping to the ground.
"Ah, thank you, my friend. Now, where was I?" he clicked his fingers, the same fake smile from before back on his face. "Right, in just a moment, my wonderful assistants will be with you all shortly, sparing you all but a single drop of Sacral Essence."
Nero clapped his hands, closing his eyes with another smile that had too many visible teeth.
"You best hope to move quickly, miss your chance of gaining Enlightenment, and you'll be as alive as that man." He cheerfully pointed behind the group, to the body which now made the world smell of iron.
With another wave of his arm, the same people who had beaten and bruised them began to advance once again. Nobody dared to run, each of them rooted to their spot.
Abraxes watched with a tensed body, seeing as one after the other, the people around him were either slapped or punched, each falling unconscious not a second later.
Quicker than he would have liked, it was his turn next. He prepared himself, pushing his eyes down as the same man from before appearing before him with a smirk.
Faster than he could react, the man punched him in the stomach, knocking all the breath out of his lungs and leaving him to fall onto his knees.
Abraxes heaved, falling to the ground and feeling his mind begin to disassociate. He felt it, the single drop of foreign mystical power beginning to invade his body.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he clenched his eyes shut and focused his entire mind on that single drop of Sacral Essence burning through him.
The last thing he heard before everything went dark was Nero speaking.
"Do hurry up, Ασία will not save itself, after all."