Gabrael, the King of Gods

"His fingers twisted like arthritic hands. While floating in air, he extended his arms and forced them deep into his chest, as if he grabbed his heart.

With a shrieking scream, he extracted a fiery hilt from his cavity. The lava broke into large waves, splashing chaotically. The dark clouds swirled around him as he pulled the hilt out further, revealing a large sword. Its blade moved sporadically like a scorching flame that would randomly stiffen into a solid metal."


"He was the smallest in the Village, his body was bruised, emaciated; his hair was uncombed, unclean. His age was only twelve, and he was underdeveloped, so there wasn’t an ounce of muscle on his body. Nothing had grown. Nothing was really there but potential and heart–two of the most underrated intangibles that defined a true warrior.

I’m ready, he thought as a fierce gust of wind howled through the valley, tossing his dreads across his sunken face.

It was now or never."


"A lot had changed since she made her decision to cut her hair short like the others. Her brunette locks were finally starting to grow back. She saw olive skin, a narrow face, and round eyes, unlike the beautiful, angular ones like most of Fujita. A brown line was painted under each eye. She didn’t see beauty, she only saw different. Cutting her hair short was a difficult decision, but she never folded when it came to dying her hair black with silver streaks. She didn’t want to fit in that much; She hoped that they’d accept her for who she was. But not looking like the rest of them made her time at Fujita very difficult."



"After pouring his heart out for weeks straight, his body couldn’t produce anymore tears. It was then when his heart turned into a block of ice and had never thawed since. His life then became a shattered vase put together without glue, he appeared hardened and intact, but one wrong move and it’d all crumble again."