????, Notebook

  A cage fight. What a way to start a story. I guess, if you weren’t reading my story. My name is Kenku, a simple person, who got wrapped up in lots of trouble. Let us start here, shall we?

  Lights flared angrily as I looked around at the crowd, jeering, hollering, angry, drunk. It was a festivity of human nature, the urge to fight, the bloodloss, the killing, the unrestrained desires of those who had imbibed. It was no surprise that I'd gotten wrapped up in it, like I always do. A moth towards an angry flame. I just hoped that no one would catch wind of my recent predicament, not now.

  The chants grew louder and madder, and I balled my fists. I guess, up against the puppets of Ver, this wasn't the worst. You might be asking, might be pondering, or even possibly imagining that I was some sort of hero. Which you would surely find, would be wrong.

  I was fighting a hero, I was not one, that is an important distinction, especially regarding me. The crowd whistled, a moving, swarming flowing mass of flesh and bone. Demanding, always clamouring for attention. Crying, always sometimes heard in the whispers.

  A high pitched noise pierced through the crowd, and the chatter stopped, you could almost hear the breath of the wind before they spoke. “Today, in the pits, we have the mighty, the illustrious, Flamethrower Dave! And on the other side, we have the heart of evil, a villainous man who is being sent to justice, the revolutionary, Kenku!” He says my name sharp, as if the words themselves may poison his tongue, not caring whether they are heard, so long as he stops talking my name.

  “Puppet.” I mutter under my breath, as a barrier constructed around the cage, protecting the ‘civilians’ (more like the nobles) from either one of the fighters (me). Dave started. A rookie move.

  With his nervous moves and half hearted attacks, he’s new, definitely. A jab, a throw of flames. It was as if he was putting on a show than executing some justice, for all the announcer preached about it.

  I dodged, weaved, threw a punch, or two. But I was not invincible, and I was not magical. For all people read of stories, they want to find one to escape, but this is not a book for escape. It is a book of escape. You should learn that, otherwise you might later be drowning in the depths of words that people can no longer hear.

  The hit jolted me, and my head was thrown way back. I put my foot behind me, trying just trying to stabilise myself as the man got giddy off a good hit.

  That was one thing I could use. His ego. He was confident, almost too much, and I would twist it away from him. Getting in his face, he grinned, gearing up for a fire fist as I then grabbed his hand, ignoring the searing pain as I flipped him around, twisting his arm to his back and pressing down. He fell to the floor abruptly, groaning in pain at the sudden turn.

  He floundered for seconds, and my face went neutral, pressing a secret dagger across his throat, and blood bubbling up. I found no joy in it, but there was no choice. For an enemy left is often a bigger problem later. But then I heard the thud of boots.

  Please note, when one of high command is in trouble, others that rule over the common folk will often flock to help, despite rules or obligations if the person they’re against is believed to be evil. I find this to be an intriguing thing. The morality and honor of it was simply complex. But if you catch them off guard, you can often escape before they believe you’ll run.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I stood up, defiant, challenging. They opposed me, looking menacing and fearful. I felt as if it was all hopeless, but then, I ran.

  Dashing through them, they turn around, words escaping their lips, and my ears too, a world of sound not needed. No, not when you’re escaping. All that matters when you get away, is finding the exits, and avoiding the sentries.

  My legs pounded against the sand. No shoes, no socks.

  ‘Not one of us. Not a hero, not a human, and never, ever, someone who should, or will succeed. It’s not colour of skin, it's not anything like that. Its power, its ability, and it's the strength of those above us. When the tiniest, smallest whisper of voice can’t be heard. It’s those unable to ever use magic. The Null and Void.’

  People jeered, people yelled, maybe a sob of pity for the dead man. The arena man, the justice enforcer that had gotten killed by my hands.

  Fire erupted around me in a circle, ice swirling into shards above me. It seemed impossible to escape, like a dog trapped in a cage. But you know what dogs do? They still fight.

  I kept going, dashing through the pain as I bit my lip to stop the ache from flowing out, wanting, gasping for air that is not intoxicated with smoke, with laughter, with despair of all. A tear trickled down my cheek, I remember it distinctly, and all they did, the people above me? They simply laughed and pointed to the poor Null, an evil person, who did not fall just yet.

  And that, would be their mistake.

  ‘Remember, Kenku, for as long as you live, for as long as your body remains trapped in mortal form, you can fight, you can continue to rise up, protest against the Puppeteer. People like us don’t get the privilege of a good life, and so, why live a bad one? Gather people. Teach others. Because the Power of Humans, is lost on the Magical.’

  My body, running on adrenaline and pure spite, managed to escape the building, and step out into the cool, frigid air. Some of the younger Puppets try to follow me, try to hunt me down, but the older ones shake their heads. ‘Don’t bother.’ They say, over and over again, that I hear the words echo in my dreams. ‘A Null can’t do anything, it's just a rat in a sewer, an annoyance, not an issue.’

  I stumbled over the footpath, into the pathways of the dark, where kids lay on cardboard mats, and others not much better.

  Some sat around begging the people of power, and I ignored it, as I ducked into an alleyway, out of sight, out of mind, and not a bother to the populace. A rat back to the black tunnels of night.

  I stumbled myself into the tavern, worn down by age and use, smelling like alcohol even clean, as the stench wore itself into the very framework of the building. It was simply impossible to imagine such a place as anything different than what it was at that very moment.

  “Heyyyyy~” I slurred my words, staggering over to the front bar, as I plopped myself onto a seat, first falling as I missed it, before finally sitting down, practically spreading myself over the bar as I can barely keep my head up in my act. “I heard a story about youuu!!”