War of Madness

In a formidable city, home of war industry and surrounded by gigantic walls, there was a clear wealth subdivision. At the center stood proudly the Army Parliament and the mansions of every Officers who had a seat. The work of architecture was grandiose, majestic and reminiscent of the old antic style, full of hundred foot-tall columns surrounding a giant plaza.

This place laid in front of the Parliament entrance, guarded by honorific soldiers dressed in tight black combat suits and carrying each a fear inspiring automatic riffle. But those guards surely had an easy job, for there would be no fools on this earth who would risk to attack the Raging Tiger Country Parliament.

But it wasn't the soldiers who truly inspired fear in the hearts of the people. Because the officers who seated at the decision-making table were highly trained soldiers, capable of detroying alone an entire army. Of course, some had forgotten the taste of blood by staying too long far from the battlefield, softened with a life of luxury and feasts. But as soon as someone would show them some threat, they'd turn back into fierce animals endowed with a natural instinct for battle.

They were proud, arrogant and merciless to anybody who would stand against them. They were this country's nobles. They called themselves gods.

Outside the inner wall expanded the vast empoverished suburbans. There were no laws in this part of the city for it served as a soldiers making nest. Every child had to defend themselves a least once in a fatal fist fight in their life. Clans would form, spreading their influence and growing, until sometimes, they'd give birth to a genius.

When that arrived, it'd mean everything for a family or the clan since it'd perhaps give them the right to move in the inner city. And that was equivalent to soar into the skies as a dragon.

For the vast majority of the population that extended to hundreds of millions however, it was only a beautiful dream. In the outskirts, children wore rags and fought to the death constantly for a piece of bread. Only to survive, their best options were to serve as mercenaries or soldiers in the Raging Tiger Army.

Recruiters would often come, enticing them with words of glory, power and most of all, easy money and food. If, by the greatest chance, a recruiter spotted a talented youth, this lucky guy could access to one of the Army's School, giving him the opportunity to leave with a head start.

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Sitting on a pile of garbage, there was a young boy. The dirt on his face made it difficult to guess his age, but neither did he know. He was only a toddler when his parents died for some obscure reason, as it always happened in this part of the country.

For all he could remember, he should be around 12 years old. An age pretty well advanced in the life expectancy around here. The fact that he was still alive was something he only had to thank the strength in his fists for.

Disregarding his surroundings, he was staring at the stars that illuminated the night sky. In his eyes, however, there could be spotted no wish for a childish dream. Only a strong resolution was imprinted in his pupils. A promess. There would be a day when he stands above everything else, looking down upon the world at his feet. And he will not owe anything of it to anyone.