The room was dull and yellow. The ceiling was high . Both things I didn’t like . I’ve always felt a high ceiling meant you had enough money to spend on something useful but you used it on a ceiling . Wasteful. As for the light , was this really what the best and brightest minds of the witch folk could do . 

Yellow lights ? 

I had hoped when magic became more dominant in Artua it would change some things . Make life exciting , give passion to the world . But what’d we get . 

Yellow lights . 

Didn’t even look magical

Just dull and wasteful. 

Is what it is I guess. Normally I wouldn't have enough time to think upon this but as it were I had all the time in the world . 

Waiting to die will do that to you . I had committed high treason . Not sure why they call it high but yes treason . My crime a simple one . I killed the king . He deserved it though , heathen he was . Taking from the people and giving nothing back . His son though, he was a good man and would do the kingdom justice , keep pushing us to a logical magical strong kingdom . 

His only flaw that he didn’t have the balls to kill his father . But that’s alright all people had a purpose and his was to rule as mine was to kill. 

They had trained me for it for years , picking me up as an orphan hopeful. One out of five born with a gift of sorts . I was sent to the academy. A place where gifts blossom , grow , are groomed , then planted into the body of War. 

I wasn’t good in the academy . I barely scraped by, my gift measly under the criteria of what it means to be powerful. The gift of sight was not a contender to be considered strong. 

Well at least not compared to the physically enhanced or the elemental infused counterparts I was surrounded by. 

The professors at the academy didn’t think so either . Which is why instead of sending me out at the age of fifteen a requirement for the gifted . I was sent to war at thirteen. Well at least just about . I don’t know my exact age and neither did they . But they gave me three years of training. So its probably the justabouts. 

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But enough of that . 

The battlefield. 

One gifted soldier is required to go out with a platoon of ten regular soldiers. 

Normally the soldiers are ecstatic to have a gifted ,the gifted bring strength. The soldiers crowd around to see us turn our hand to fire or punch holes through trees . Amping themselves up on our strength relishing the battle ahead . 

No one relished over me . 

I was small compared to the normal gifted being released from the academy early and my eyes weren’t that impressive. I could only see a few seconds early . Which while impressive to a normal man . Only made me a little above average to a soldier . Weak among gifted . 

I’ll leave out the soldiers' disappointment and the dreary atmosphere as we marched to the battlefield and start with my fist kill . 

It was an enemy soldier , his armor blue and his hair brown . He swung high . I saw it before it landed slid to the left and stabbed him in the neck . 

He died and I moved on. 

The fight with the enemy gifted was not so easy .

Imagine this . 

You strut forward with a bloody sword a little to long for your body . The battlefield even in its eruption parts a little seeing a crazy gifted who’s hands burn through armor welding flesh with steel. 

That gifted gets a wide birth . His allies look upon with glee . His enemies , your allies look upon with fear giving you a wide berth . They say nothing but mentally push you forward . There’s twenty steps to your enemy . The space around you is enough for a small house . 

He rushes . 

You rush . 

As we met in the middle I dodged left,right,up,down, zigzagged left , rolled , away , anything to not let those hands hit me . The heat took my breath away . The running made me tired . I would die if I didn’t attack . So I attacked . I swung my sword  anticipating his catch that would melt it on impact and rushed him tackling him to the ground. 

I was prepared for him to reach up and grab my head and burn it to chunks because I had foresaw it . I foresaw my death . My fate must have had other plans that day because somehow my tackle landed his neck perfectly onto a rock which killed him instantly.

Yea . Life . 

As he died I looked into his eyes and mixed in with his fading life I saw it . His gift a fading blaze which called to me . I don’t know what possessed me but I felt I needed it and without hesitation I plucked out his eye and ate it . 

The warmth of the battlefield turned cold . No one likes a cannibal . Even in war there is honor to be upheld. They would have killed me if not for one simple fact . My eyes glowed a burning red . 

The red of the dead man's fist . 

My life changed after that . The evil eye became my name and many a year later I killed a king and ended up here in this dungeon. With a yellow light and a high ceiling. Don’t worry though I was just taking a breather . Here we go.