The Red Scorpion, Chapter 1

2010
The trapdoor
A small inconsequential village
France

Gunshots assailed the air. The stench of death and blood overwhelmed the senses. The village was ransacked down to the last measly cottage. Smoke and fire rose into the heavens like a beacon of despair. None survived but for one kid, Nicolette Joanne Delacroix Blanchfleur.
As the ruckus died down, the little girl, no more than six, peeked out from under the trapdoor she was hiding. The sight that greeted her would forever be etched into her mind. The tragedy and horror she witnessed that wretched day erased any fragile blissful memory she carried.
The sound of hoof beats sent her scampering back down to her hiding place. Afraid of what might happen to her, she curled up into a tight ball, fervently wishing this nightmare would be over. She curled up into a tight ball, hugging her knees to herself on that dark dank place. As she slowly drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were that of revenge.

2011
The orphanage
France

“Déjeuner!!”
Nicolette inwardly groaned. Oh no, not again. The lunch bell trilled, sending chills down her spine. She rolled to her back and sat up from her bed, rubbing the sleep out her tired eyes. She looked around and sighed wistfully, wishing, more than anything, that she was back at home. A home burned down to the ground by a bunch of dim-witted maniacs riding atop jet black horses. Who rode horses while ransacking villages nowadays, anyway? The same questions ran through her befuddled mind. Same unanswered queries she faced each day. A routine that plagued her every waking thought.
Almost a year had passed since her village was raided and the memory brought painful waves that slashed at her, more painful than the bruises she receives on a daily basis inside the orphanage.
She was pulled out of reverie when another call sounded, making her flinch at the shrill sound that echoed around the orphanage. Wincing at the pain that shot through various parts of her already-black and blue body, she threw the covers off her, stood up and trudged out of the room.
The ‘orphelinat’, as it was called, was more of a slaughter house than any. It housed the rowdiest and meanest of kids fit to be compared to criminals. They stole, fought, and, if necessary, killed. Here, mercy meant nothing; survival meant everything.
A sharp pain in the head caught her unawares. Reflexively, she turned around, her body tensed and poised for battle, arms raised to brace herself for another blow. A familiar arrogant laugh made the hair on her neck stand on end.
“Too slow, petite fille,” a rough voice boomed, followed by two sinister cackles.
‘Just my luck. Malory, that big fat idiotic bully. All muscles, no brains. I can take him down easy.. and before breakfast too,’ she thought to herself, eyeing the insanely overweight bully and his two cronies. A smile crept up her lips as the thought of getting practice early in the morning brought a wicked sense of elation no seven-year old kid should feel.
“Bullying Nicolette again, Malory?”
The soft silky tone behind her made her jump, sending chills down her spine.
“N-no, of-of c-course n-not Al-Alast-taire,” Malory trembled, quickly backing away and running off, fear evident in his tone and face.
Nicolette watched them run, disappointed that her hunt was taken away from her. In sheer irritation more than anything else, she whirled around to face a smirking Alastaire. She poked him in the chest, pouting, “Just coz you’re 3 years older than I am doesn’t mean you get to take my fun away from me.”
He smiled, throwing his arms good-naturedly around her shoulders, leading her towards the dining area, “Fun? Ha! They’d slaughter you.”

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