The Universe was a cruel place, people didn't understand compassion anymore. Freedom was non-existent. Governments watched over their populace like Hawks, choosing the beings to take for feed in their cruel regime. The regime of the Lord, the Watcher, the Dictator. It was something that everyone hated, people could tell themselves that their government wasn't corrupt, wasn't evil but they'd be wrong. It was all the regime, the conditioning, it was everything what was wrong.
It was because of this that Mikal believed that he existed. It was his job to break the Regime, to bring peace to the realms with any method possible... and that meant violence. Mikal knew that he was breaking his own promises by doing this but that wouldn't matter when it was all done.
The Justicar was standing away from the prison just now, the verdant grass rippling around his feet like waves from a sea. Around his calves flapped a long jacket, black leather reaching up and covering his body, unbuttoned at the front however. The leather was fine quality, looking almost new and unused but it was old, held together by good manufacturing and magic. The cuffs were held together with shimmering gold cuff links in the shape of a pair of wings. Under the jacket there was a rather simple shirt, done in matte black with shiny gold buttons down the front, polished to a high shine. There were no pockets on the shirt and the top three buttons were undone, exposing Mikal's chest. On the Justicar's legs were a pair of glossy black trousers with wide bottoms, moving around in the wind along with his hair, coat and the grass. Shining on his neck was a gold chain, with a shining symbol on it; a winged cross in a circle made of gold. His face was not visible however as a mask covered it, a white mask with a mouth in a large grin painted on it, fangs jutting over its lips and painted blood dripping down its chin. Eye holes were cut out and through them blue eyes peered out to the world. Above these eyes was black hair, waving gentle in the breeze blowing past.
There was one other thing on this male's body, a sword strapped to his right hip, a katana to be exact. It was in a red leather sheath with a long, black ribbon hanging from it, also fluttering, and gold coating the end. The handle of the actual sword was covered in red fabric with a gold pommel spike and guard. This weapon was tied to its wielder's hip by a long, flowing, red sash.
Staring calmly ahead, this individual knew he was ready for what was coming. The muscles in his legs tensed and he started to walk, one leg in front of the other, step by step. His feet took him forwards, towards the prison, towards his destination, towards the people that needed to be saved. His hand came down and grabbed the hilt of his sword, feeling the rough texture of the fabric covering it, the familiar feeling of the criss-crossing material over the entire hilt. It was something he was so accustomed to that it felt like another part of his body and as soon as he touched it, it became an extension of his body. He could feel the invisible threads of magic and power sliding into his hand and wrist, the pain was there as always but it was a good pain, a pain he knew and he let it in, let his body become one with Hametsu. The magic of the blade flowed into him but she was strangely silent today.
A quiet shing echoed out across the plain as Mikal's hand moved back, drawing the blade from its sheath. Silver metal gleamed in the sunlight slashing down and reflecting it into prismatic light beams across the entire plane. The Justicar's hand drew the blade across his body and held it out at a right angle to his side, blade to the side.
"I judge thee, for thou hath sinned and shown thyselves unworthy of sparing. Thy lives and thy bodies are mine own, thy spirits and thy souls will go on and thou shallst cease to be when I wreak mine vengeance upon ye." A voice called out, booming and crystal clear, ringing over the guards like church bells in their ears. "Thy lives are forfeit for thy misdeeds, surrender unto my blade, do not fight me or thou shallst only prolong the inevitable. Thy blood shallst soak the earth and water the seeds of thy sin."
Sword still pointing to the side, Mikal walked towards the prison. His magic was focused and his eyes were closed but he didn't need them to see the sinners before him, he knew they were there. He knew everything...
