- Long ago, in a time before our own. Before television, before automobiles, before firearms, there lived a boy and his mother. His name was Mikeal, hers Julliana. They lived peacefully in a small country house on an island off the coast of what is now Italy. The boys father had been called in to fight in what was known as the Great War. Three months after the war had been officially declared over, the boys father returned home with an uncureable sickness that almost always resulted in death. This man was no exception. Julliana knew that there was nothing she could do to save her husband from dying, but she did everything possible to ease his pain. As he lay on his deathbed, the man called to his son, "Mikeal, my son. I want you to take this sword and make a name for yourself in this world of ours." He died in his son's arms. As the boy greived for his dead father, loud knocking was coming from the door. Julliana rushed to answer it, curious as to who would be here at this late hour. She opened the door to three large figures in bloodred cloaks that hid their faces. A silver glint streaked out towards her. She gasped in pain as she looked down. The stranger had stabbed her through the chest with a long blade of the finest quality. She turned and called to her son. When he saw what had happened to her, he rushed to the doorway, only to be stopped by the advancing figure. The silver sword pulled out of Julliana's body, gleeming with wet, red blood. There was a soft thump as the woman's body fell to the floor. The intruder rushed to the boy, stopping mere inches from his frail form. "Poor, poor boy. Do you miss your mommy? Does it make you cry knowing that you'll never, ever see her again?" the cloaked figure spoke in a taunting tone. "I'll tell you what. If you can land one blow on me in a one on one fight, I'll bring your mother back to life and you'll never hear from me or my minions again." the demon rasped at Mikeal in a voice that was chilled him to the bone. He removed his hood to reveal a pair of sharp, spiraling horns and a row of long, sharp teeth. The boy knew that this could only be the Devil Himself. The Devil jumped back a step, readying his sword as he shouted. "On guard, boy!" The boy feebly rose the sword his father gave him as the Devil rushed at him. "Time to die, whelp!" the Unholy One shouted as he lunged forward. The Devil suddenly stopped, a look of fright on his hellish face, and gasped with pain. The boy opened his eyes and looked down the length of the sword. The Devil had impaled himself on the sword in his rush to get at Mikeal. The boy's face beamed with glee. He let go of the sword and jumped up and down with joy. "Now you'll bring mommy back right? You promised." He told matter-of-factly to the Devil. A deep-red cloud of smoke appeared, completely blinding the young one. "HAHAHAHA!! Did you really think that I, the Father of Lies, would ever keep a promise to you, a mere mortal? You're a very naive child aren't you?" The child fell to his knees, out of breath and eyes spread wide. He dropped the sword to the ground beside him. His head shot back, and he sreamed out in pain, though his body untouched by the Devil's blade. Tears poured forth from his eyes and his throat continued the ear peircing howl. The Devil stood where he was chuckling to himself with an evil look on his face. The horned Hellspawn knelt down to the ground and picked up the boy's blade, sheating it at his own waist. The child shouted out once more, crying "Noooo!!", as he lunged forward for the sword, only to grasp at thin air. He looked down, and in place of the sword his father had given him the Demon had left his own silver blade. The sword was thin no more then an inch in width. A ruby gleamed in the silver hilt, in the center of the crossguard, surrounded by an inricate design of stems and thorns. The handle itself looked as if to be made of vines, spiraling and circling to the pommel, where they joined into a single rose bloom. Mikeal slowly lifted the sword, and an overwhelming feeling of completion filled his entirety. A wisp of smoe floated y his face, and he quickly looked down at the source. Burnt into the stone of the floor was a message, addressed to Mikeal. It read: 'Mikeal. My name is Reine. Memorize it, for I shall approach you once more in exactly thirteen years. Train well. I look forward to our next battle.'
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