Soul Eater

Myrmidons
*~Prologue~*
I want you to imagine a room painted a garish color midway between green and yellow dotted with
random splats of other colors, the sounds of a Gangnam Style and Linkin Park mash up (yes, I know
theyre like 80 year old songs, shut up) blasting the hallways with the high pitched wailing of a
depressed Korean as a figure looms over you, constantly changing appearance to various fictional
characters and the occasional balloon animal.
But Im getting ahead of myself. Its better to start at the beginning of that year.
I knew that my life wouldnt really ever be considered normal by any standard when the man in the
moon dripped blood from his mouth on certain nights and the sun literally laughed at my pain as I woke
up to go to school, when I could look at my classmates and parents and see their very essence looking
right back at me, when I could manifest a sheet of invisible force that the school bully broke his fist
upon. My parents werent sure what to do. Sure, they loved me, but they never really tried to
understand me. They didnt understand the pain of being Yusei Otehp like Yusei Otehp understood the
pain of being Yusei Otehp. My dad just kept ignoring all the weird stuff I saw and chalked it up to me
trying to get out of studying medicine like him. My grandfather, though, HE understood me. To a point.
Grandpa Solomon was the curator of a museum, and he was the one who cultivated my interest in
archaeology. Thanks to his help, I was able to take part in digs all over the world- and its in these digs
that I felt most alive. Grandpa Solomon was also the only one to take me seriously when I talked about
seeing things inside people and seeing faces on the moon and sun. He told me he could, too. That this
made me special, a unique human being who could channel the power of his soul. It was Grandpa
Solomon who introduced me to Death Weapon Meister Academy. As soon as I could, I transferred out of
the pre-medical prep school my dad enrolled me in and packed my things. I moved to Nevada without
saying goodbye to my parents.
It was sweltering, but then again I was in that phase and was wearing all black, so likely my clothing
was a factor. The entrance exam written test was simple. It was the fact that there was a physical exam
with a fun-sized R. Lee Ermey screaming at everyone that threw me for a loop. Professor Hartman was
wizened, despite looking around middle aged. The sun had darkened his leathery skin, his wrinkles
accentuated by both that and the look of perpetually sucking on a ghost chili. His eyes were sunken in,
glaring with the rage of a thousand slightly miffed kittens. And they were focused on me.
Well sweet blood-orange marmalade on a lightly toasted bagel, I could sever the spinal cord of a
mountain man with your faggot hair!
I would like to preface my response with a little hindsight. I was a sarcastic back-talking idiot sometimes,
and it took about 50 desks to the face before I realized I shouldnt push this guys buttons.
I suppose youre just compensating for your own lack of hair.
His eyes sparkled like a hungry lion staring at a helpless gazelle.
You know, its nice and warm out today.
Were in the desert, of course its fucking warm.
Well, I think youre in need of a bit of a tan.
And thats the story of how I was chained to the center skull of the school wearing nothing but my
boxers.