Ch7 - Purple Freak

I refuse to conform. I have always been a freak, and I always will be.

The purple neko sat examining a piece of of leather.

It had a metal backing, as he then set it down to work on it more.

Another teen sat down next to him, holding a letter.

"Hey, Damiaan, you got a letter from the prince.

I didn't open it... Okay, maybe I did.

Not that I could read it.
Written in some language I don't know."

The neko gently reached and took the paper from the other.

With a slight quizzical look...

If he could not read it how did he know it was from the prince?

"Is that a piece for your armor?

Looks sturdy.

Did you decide on your look?
I think I got mine planned out, decided on a green detailing.

Match my hair.

Gotta have something that will make you stand out.

But different enough so you aren't recognized out of uniform.

Maybe you should go with purple.

Matches your... well... Everything.

You're purple dude, take advantage.

Make people fear the purple"

The guy chuckled, sticking his hand in his pocket.

"Oh," he pulled out a torn envelope.

"Here's the envelope the letter was in.

Nearly forgot. Anyway, good luck." he said setting the envelope down and walking out.

The neko squinted a bit.

Why did the male act like they were friends?

Surely he had done nothing to earn a friendship.

He looked to the envelope, there was a torn wax seal.

The royal family's.

No wonder the male had guessed it was from the prince.

It was barely a month since the prince's visit.

And not even a week since the school had received the contract agreement from the prince.

It ensured no other royal members would be allowed to even hear his name.

Though, essentially Damiaan worked for the prince in name only.

He was his own agent, least after he graduated.

It wouldn't be long.

He was already approved to move into the third tier.

He simply had to create his 'assassin garb'.

Those in the third tier were assassins.

They took contracts, and began making a real name for themselves.

This meant they had to be in assassins garb.

Partially because the third tier allowed various guests and clients to visit.

Walking around in 'street clothes' opened the possibly for recognition.

Plus sometimes people didn't know who they wanted to hire yet.
And occasionally would pick an assassin, based on appearance.

He groaned at a realization.

'purple neko'
As the prince had said, purple was an extremely rare coloring for nekos.

Only those of royal blood had the coloring.

Perhaps he was best dying his hair.

At least to hide the color.

He held up another piece of armor, and looked at the reflection of the metal.

He met his own gaze, before an idea struck him.

He would test his theory later.

He looked at the letter from the prince.

The letter was in the neko language.

The main gist was that the prince intended to send possible representatives.

They were to meet, and Damiaan could decide if he liked/trusted them.

Also, that the reps would use a code word.

So that Damiaan knew who they were, without the school or other students realizing.

It suggested the code word be Heartless.

He scoffed, yes, very subtle.

He intended to write back, agreeing to meet with the reps.

And stating the need for a better code word.

About a week later, he had the armor ready.

He was trying it on, he adjusted certain pieces.

He was standing in the empty dueling arena.

It was the emptiest place in the school, if there was not a duel occurring.

A good place to try on armor and have space to test it out unobserved.

He looked down to his armor.

It had a light chest piece and various pieces of stronger leather about.

Yet wrapped about his arms, and the chest piece was white cloth.

He had comfortable purple pants with dark leather shin guards.

His tail was pulled about his waist, it's normal bright purple.

He pulled out a dirty cloth, and used it to tie down his ears.

But the cloth stood out against his purple hair.

He pulled a light and stretchy brown fabric up over his nose.
It covered his mouth but still allowed him to breath effortlessly.

He pulled his long hair back with his hands, preparing to tie it back.

Yet he paused.

It was time.

Time to move on, his mother was nearly seven years gone.

He had to accept his part in his mother's death.

Had he been down in the kitchen watching his siblings like he was asked...

Had he not been so absorbed in showing off his new found hiding ability...

Had he realized the house was burning...

or that his mother's shouting was not fueled by playful searching but by panicked searching...

The frantic shouting of a mother who could not locate their last child within a burning home...

If he had done any of those things, perhaps his mother would still be alive.

His first victim was not the child from the exam.

His first victim was his mother.

He closed his eyes, in mourning.

Then opened his eyes, now red.

A sudden flurry of blood rose from the ground.

Starting from his legs, it absorbed into his armor.

It soaked into the leather, the cloth, staining every piece it's dark crimson.

His tail was stained red, the purple gone, and his tail blended into the blood.

Every piece of cloth and armor began to match.

Finally it soaked his mask, as it climbed his arms.

He was still holding his hair, and the blood quickly sliced thru it.

It left his hair just passed his ears, the blood chopping up more of it as it turned everything red.

The purple hair fell to the ground abandoned.

The rest of his hair was stained red

As was the cloth hiding his ears, though it seemed to disappear.

His eyes quickly returned purple.

Finally he examined his now bloody armor.

This would work.

He looked to the purple hair on the ground, splattered with blood.

He walked away from it.

He had become numb to everything else.

Why had he allowed himself to hold onto such remorse and guilt for so long?

He walked out of the arena, and picked up the bag he'd left.

He excited the hall he'd lived in for nearly three years.

He went to the last tier.

There was a door.

He opened it, and walked into a small room with a door opposite.

A speak sounded, "State your name."

He rolled his eyes, why did everything want him to 'state' his name?

He instead threw a plethora of blood at the wall.

It stuck and spelled out his name.

It was quiet, and he crossed his arms.

There was a chime, "Proceed' the voice announced.

He pulled the blood back in, and walked to the door.

It opened with ease.

Standing was a teacher, with a file.

"This has your room key, and map.

You will have your own room, and are authorized to meet potentials clients there if you choose.

You will graduate on your nineteenth birthday.

And no earlier, there is no exception.

You should also attempt to decide on your assassin name, if you have not already.

Your room will not have a name plate, unless you add one."

The teacher offered him the folder, and he took it.

"Good bye." the teacher said, walking away.

He opened it, and examined the map.

His time training here had given him the rather useful ability to memorize maps.

So, he put the map away, and took out a key.

It had his room number on it.

So he want along.

Doors were decorated in various ways.

Most were just trying to distinguish themselves.

He finally came to his door.

It was black, and plain.

As was the norm.

He unlocked it and went inside.

The main area had a couch, and chair, as well as a table.

This was for meeting clients.

It was rather plainly decorated, given he'd have three years perhaps he'd decorate.

He went to a door to the left, and looked inside without entering.

Inside was a general bedroom.

A decent bed, closet, and dresser.

There was place for displaying armor, as well as a door to the bathroom.

He shrugged, and looked to the other door in the main area.

He went over and opened it.
It was a practice area, there was a mat, training dolls, and racks for weapons.

He nodded, and looked at the chair.

He sat down, and thought to himself.

He needed a proper way to communicate with potential clients.

And a way to communicate with the future rep.
A proper rep would allow him to minimize meeting with clients anyway.

He looked about before spotting a symbol carved into the wall.

He got up, and went over to examine it.

He then looked annoyed, it was the symbol for the god of blood.

A god to many assassins, and long ago... most blood demons.

He went to where he'd dropped his bag, and searched thru it.

Finally bringing out a small can.

He opened it to reveal purple paint.
He then grabbed a paint brush.

Parting gifts from 'friends'.

He used it to paint over the symbol.

He did not care if there was any sort of divine punishment.

He then examined his little can.

He could paint other things purple.

He rolled his eyes, and set the can and brush down.

His mother had been a seriously bad influence on him.

Author's Note

I do hope this chapter isn't boring.
I wanted to establish the last couple chapters.
And I'm only imagining a total of 10 chapters.