I don�t much go in for small talk and I don�t care for rambling, prosaic fluff. I�m far more comfortable with my Katana than a pen; my sword has always been mightier. Of course, in the right hands � mine � a pen can be a lethal weapon.

I am writing this for my children, but I think many could benefit from the lessons of my life. Where my children are concerned I can get a bit emotional. That�s not a weakness though when I was younger I thought it would be. On the contrary, my children � and my love for them � have become my greatest strength.

I will mention each of my children, and in greater detail, in later chapters. As I don�t allow petty jealousy or sibling rivalry, even though this tale is inspired by Ris and Marcus, all four children are vitally important to the success and longevity of my life. Without my children I would be empty. They give my life meaning. Any attempt to get between me and my children will leave the offender either dead or severely� altered. I don�t play fair and I don�t lose.

Carissa is my oldest daughter. She came to me at a time when I needed her most. She is tender and gentle, delicate and kind. She couldn�t be more ensconced in my heart if she carried my genetic material. She is everything I could hope for in a child and she is the only one who has seen fit to gift me with a grandchild. Not that I�m complaining about the dearth of such from my other children or anything�

Leigh is my other girl and third child. She is sweet and hard simultaneously. She got her fierceness and decisiveness from me and her gentle compassion from someone else because there isn�t a gentle bone in my body. She loves fully and completely, without reservation � also nothing like me � and she is dedicated to the welfare of her subjects and nation.

Marcus is my youngest child and a fine son. I truly have no idea where he got his traits as there isn�t a one of us into academics like he is. When it comes to book-smarts Marcus makes Doogie Howser look like Odie from the �Garfield� comic strip. He is intense into his studies and already, at the age of twelve, has attained four separate scientific doctorates. He is going to change the world in his own way, that�s for sure.

Finally, my firstborn; Lukan Kyro Chiron. Though I love all of my children and wouldn�t trade a one of them for anything else, Chance � Lukan is his formal name � has always been seen as my favorite. He is me, younger and male. Chance looks like me, acts like me and thinks like me. He works, plays, loves and definitely hates like me. When he fights, like me, he does whatever it takes to win. To watch him kill his target is simply art in motion. We both agree that the only fair fight isn�t a fight at all. If you want fair try a boxing match, otherwise� well, whatever it takes to win.

To my children:

Learn something from my life.

I came into this world in an odd and truly foul way. I�ve debated how to describe my beginnings and still haven�t decided between a no-frills recitation of the facts or a more �reader friendly� story-teller style. When an individual hates their origins as intensely as I do, it�s difficult to spill the tale without also disgorging the contents of one�s stomach.

To be sure you fully grasp the depth of my loathing let me give you a look into the very heart of me. I abhor those involved in my creation so completely that if they weren�t already dead, I would spend years slowly and methodically peeling each separate layer of skin, fat and muscle from their bodies until they had screamed their vocal cords into eternal silence. Then the real pain would begin. But I don�t hold a grudge. Much.

Mother was a weak-willed and stupid girl of fourteen when she ran away from home � her grandmother was queen of Strathmore � and took up with a mage by the name of Claylin Sartras. Claylin was bad news and had long before been exiled to a barren mountain at the northeastern most point of Strathmore. His main skill was spell creation/casting, but he also dabbled in hard science.

Mother volunteered for Claylin�s experiments and he took full advantage of her foolishness. Over the course of a year or so the mage found and catalogued each of her latent magical abilities, discovered which genes were responsible for what attributes and began experimenting with manipulation and mutation of her genetic material. � Okay, so maybe �dabbled in hard science� is too mild a description.

Regardless, over the next year or so, Claylin developed a specific spermatozoal formula and, after countless failed attempts, finally used it to impregnate Mother. Throughout the first two weeks of gestation the mage continually altered and manipulated the genetic material � me � until he was satisfied with his creation.

Though he had researched every conceivable aspect of his work-in-progress, he had forgotten to take into consideration what his mutations would do to my growth rate. He expected the full nine-month gestation period common for human fetuses. His plan was to spend that time weaving a specific bonding spell � a cage of sorts � in and through me in order to render me his puppet. He didn�t get nine months.

Due to Claylin�s work I was fully sentient by four weeks, in the womb. His manipulations had enhanced my empathic and shape-shifting abilities and sharpened my reactionary, rage-centered emotions. The result of that portion of his work had me conscious of what was going on around me, what Mother was feeling � both in general and in regard to the monster growing in her body � what Claylin was feeling and what I was growing to be. I was well aware that I was not just another being� that I was, indeed, designed to be a monster.

As an aside, I don�t suggest advanced awareness at that young an age. Not only because you don�t yet have the life experience to temper what your senses are telling you, but because there are some beliefs set in place by your sensory experiences which are both wrong and virtually impossible to eradicate later. It took a great many years before I was able to even notice the �programming� let alone deal with it. I don�t recommend adept level empathic attributes before birth either. The scars can last a life-time.

Anyway, throughout the fifteen weeks that I took up space in Mother�s womb my rage intensified so greatly that Claylin could feel it emanating toward him. He worked hard on researching and preparing a spell of sufficient strength. Yet, he was still too vain to watch his words.

You see, Claylin loved telling Mother just what was happening within her. He would describe, in great detail, just what he had done to her, how he had twisted her genetic material, spliced various other genes with hers and created a pet for his pleasure. The bastard also described what kind of things he would employ me to do, one of which was to rid himself of all the individuals who had ever pissed him off.

Bragging about his skill was not his only pastime. Claylin also boasted about the strength he had set up in me. It was possible, of course, that I wouldn�t hone the abilities� that like Mother, I would allow my skills to become dormant, eventually slipping into atrophy, but he had great plans for his little assassin. How proud he was of his �perfect killing machine�.

And I hated him for that.

The more he bragged, the more Mother loathed the �thing� inside her. The more he bragged, the more rage I felt. I was enraged with Claylin for thinking I would be his little toy. I was furious with Mother for being so damned stupid that she had volunteered for this. And, I was livid with myself for having such fantastic abilities and being helpless to use them.

So, I did something about it. I initiated labor.

To be honest, I�m not exactly sure how I did that. I was more intent on the result than method. Claylin had been regaling Mother, and me, with yet another tale of his genius. He launched into a long tirade about how he would own every aspect of my existence. Mother was angry but also aroused at the humiliation and helplessness. Claylin was sadistically gleeful, practically humming with his anticipated glory. I was pissed.

I began shifting within that tiny space. At first neither Claylin nor Mother knew what was happening, but within a few short moments Mother felt the first jolt of intense pain and screamed � having a squirming thing inside you, shifting from human to great feline to lupus, will do that to a mere human. My sharp claws ripped at Mother�s internal organs and she screamed again. Claylin finally realized what was going on and let out a bellow of rage. With hands shaking from the intensity of his emotion, the mage threw together spell components, intent on stopping the labor.

I felt a surge of self-satisfied pride at realizing I�d thrown both of them into a panic and I redoubled my efforts. That was my first, small taste of power and I loved it. Though Claylin worked quickly, it wasn�t quick enough. By the time he�d completed the spell, I was on my way out. He threw the concoction to the side immediately beginning to chant. Fear and apprehension darkened his voice as he scrambled to get the bonding spell in place before I was completely free of the actual birth process.

I could say he failed. I could say that I won, killing everyone there and razing the entire dungeon. I could vow that with my superior intellect and skill, I had been born, put on my cape and boots and flew off to save the world in my invisible jet with the golden lasso of truth. But, that would be a pile of lies. Besides, there�s only room for one Wonder Woman in the human world.

Claylin completed his hastily chanted spell the second I dropped onto the bed Mother had been reclining upon. Mother bellowed out a growl of intense pain which morphed into a scream of revulsion as soon as she saw me. The mage instantly threw the binding spell at me and while I was still reacting to the confusion of being born, the pain of being so absolutely rejected and abhorred by Mother and the feeling of residual rage rippling through me, I found myself suddenly able to do nothing more than seethe in helpless anger.

�Welcome to the world, my little pet.� Claylin rasped at me. �You�re mine. And always will be.�

I hated him. I hated him more than I hated Mother. I couldn�t move, but I stared at him with the glare of a tiger that had tasted blood and was hungry for more. Then, at the outer-most edge of my awareness I felt it; a weakness in the spell. I promised myself at that second that at my very first chance I would get away from the bastard. Then, I would kill him. I would destroy him completely.

�Welcome to the world.� I thought. �I will be your death.�

What's that? You can't tell that that chapter was nicer than the original story? Hey, I tried.

*chuckles*