Initium

The dark planet hangs in the far reaches of space, hanging alone in a universe known as Prospicentric. It is far away from any other entity, especially any earthen vessel which would defile…

Of course, sometimes exceptions must be made.

The dark planet, otherwise known as Kreliv, is home to one of the most feared aliens in the Prospicentric universe. The empire of the Kreliv spanned star cluster over star cluster, nebula over nebula. Sector-planets like E'Roaf and ecumenopolis Za' Tar showed the extent of the Kreliv machine of war. The Kreliv people were conquerors and did as conquerors do: capitalize on their colonies. This mentality, alongside the ruthless warriors and tactics used by the Krelivs, kept them on top of their game and away from other alien races. Unlike the saint Tavars or the sporadic Lukidorians, the Kreliv would fight… Then ask questions. All of that is just to give you a little image of the Kreliv taste.

The roar of a nine-year-old boy echoed throughout the dark training chamber which was barely lit by torches, all placed at strategic intervals. Armoured guards attacked the young child, sici-pikes in hand, knocking him down to his knees. The young boy roared again, dropping to the sanded floor of the training chamber. The child absorbed blow after blow, demonstrating an ability to withstand the worst of pain. The guards continued to bludgeon him with their separate sici-pikes, slamming the dull ends into his chest and face, drawing blood and bruising his pale white skin. The child quivered, kneeling trying to minimize the amount of damage to the rest of his exposed body.

Releasing a roar of amassed fury, the child threw his arms out. A burst of white-hot energy shot from the child, emanating from the tips of his fingers throwing back all of the guards. The boy quickly shot up to his feet taking up a defensive stance. The guards, only after seconds of disorientation, climbed back to their feet, the metallic taste of blood in their mouths. They slunk towards the boy circling him, sici-pikes whirling acrobatically in their hands.

The first attacker lashed out with his sici-pike horizontally, trying to strike the child squarely on his jaw. The youth, demonstrating insanely fast vigour, stepped backward and lashed out with his foot. The child's foot connected with the attackers standing foot as the boy pivoted. Instantly, a loud crack sounded as the child's foot smashed into the attacker's planted foot, snapping his ankle. At this, the rest of the group advanced.

Of course, to any simple or subtle parent, allowing your child to be beaten and attacked by armed men with weapons of war, would seem…

Senseless.

But to the Kreliv, the Trial of Acrimony was the difference between life and death. But the patriarch of this child, clad in skintight armour and a cloak wrapped around his shoulder. He stood straight, his arms behind his back clasped together. He watched his child out of his obsidian black eyes, his gaze impassive.

Of course, nothing else is expected from the king.

At last, the furor of the attack stopped and the young boy stepped away from the writhing pile of bodies, his back turned to them. He peered at the view box, noticing his father's impassive look.

A movement came from behind the boy, which quickly spun, slamming his fist into the attacker's stomach. The instigator doubled over, and the child brought up his knee. The attacker cried out as his nose cracked, feeling the full force of his nose pushing into his brain. The figure flailed backward, dead before he hit the ground. Another assaulter, trying to take advantage of the boy's distracted mind, made a mad bull charge at the boy. The child dropped to the sandy floor and quickly flipped back onto his feet, fists spread in front of him.

"Finish him…" came the cool, profound voice of the child's father.

The boy looked over at his father, who was now passive once more. His eyes flitted to the crimson-robed priest beside his father, who nodded gently. Then turning his attention, he returned his gaze to the final opposition. The person started to stare, trying to impose his will on the boy and intimidate him. The boy then made up his mind. The young child dropped his fists, pretending like he was giving up. The last attacker charged toward the boy, victory seemingly in his grasp.

The boy stared at the rushing person and time seemed to be slowing down. He heard the footsteps of the figure, heard the breaking of the air, and felt the attackers' intent. The boy held out an open palm, his gaze settling on the rushing person. The man, groped by some force unseen, was lifted off the ground and flung back into the wall. His breath cascaded out of his lungs, and he felt his ribs crack with the force of the blow. Seconds later, the boy closed his fists and the weapons from the fallen warriors rose into the air. Then waving his hand, they shot forwards toward the attacker.

The weapons slammed into the attacker pinning him to the wall of the training chamber. One struck the joint between his left shoulder and his collarbone, rendering his left arm useless if he got out of this situation alive. The next sici-pike slammed into the same spot but the opposite side, causing him to give a mutilated scream of pain. The child gave a wicked smile of pleasure, snapping his fingers. Two more sici-pikes slammed into the attacker's legs, ramming into his knees and pinning him to the wall in four different places. The figure cried out once more, this scream marred by almost unconsciousness

Then came the death blow.

The pike shot forward with a sickening pace, slamming into the figure's jugular vein. Instantly, bathed in a spattering of blood, the life in the figure's eyes died. The lifeless body hung against the wall, a stream of blood running from the entry points of the sici-pikes.

The young child turned, his heterochromatic eyes, flickering in the dim torch light. The youth faced his father and the priest, knowing that the battle he had just fought was well won and over. He brought a small, bloodied hand to his face, wiping the matted black hair from his eyes as he faced the view box waiting for the priest to speak.

"Prince Sebastian," the priest croaked. " You have completed the Trial of Acrimony. You shall no longer be known as Sebastian… But will forever go down in the antiquity of Kreliv, as the conqueror known as Klub."

The boy showed no sign of emotion. The only thing he was thinking about was how disgusting his trainers had fought.

"Damn cowards," he thought, "Attacking me while my back was turned."

"Your father, My Majesty, the King Kourious, is in your presence. Lashes will be given due to impudence on the prince's part." the priest croaked once more, looking at the boy with prudence.

"It shall not be needed Soloviar…" came the king's profound voice. "You were once a child too… Were you not?"

"Y-y-yes your Majesty. How utter mockery did I think of.." the priest stammered.

The boy looked at his father, not surprised by the steely gaze that was now bestowed upon him. The boy quickly saluted, dropping down onto his left knee, signifying his respect for not only his father but for the King of Kreliv. He kept his gaze low, peering at the edges of his father's kre-boar cloak.

"Rise, my son… For you are truly worthy to bear the title of the son." the king said, his gaze resting on the top of the child's pate.

The boy rose, standing on his two feet. His gaze was still low, for even royalty had rank.

"Look upon me boy!" his father snapped at him roughly.

"Yes father." the boy replied haughtily, bringing his gaze up to his father's eyes.

The child raised his gaze, thus bringing his heterochromatic eyes to look upon his father's face. His dual-coloured eyes flickered, taking in his father's grizzled visage. The king's hair hung low, resting just below his jaw. The jet-black hair flickered in the dimming torchlight, the flecks of grey hair seeming more prominent. His pale, white face was offset by a full black beard. The king's obsidian black eyes were eerie in the torchlight, making him look sinister.

"Soloviar… You are dismissed back to your clerical duties. I shall be calling you when you are needed." the king said, not taking his eyes off his son.

"Yes, My Lord." the priest said bowing low.

The boy watched as the priest scrambled to make an exit, clearly frustrated at himself for making such a mistake. The boy smiled inwardly, thinking about the cruel punishment that Soloviar would get for threatening the king's son.

And finally, the child thought, I have been claimed…

I am Klub, the future King of Kreliv.