It is an achievement to be proud of, to be chosen as the leader of your colony. It is a noble position, of power and respect, and of responsibility. Only the wisest, most powerful and agile Scyther are chosen to lead. Such is our way.
It brings tears to my eyes... to think that once, I, of all the Scyther... I, Sakreth... was chosen. I once commanded this power, inspired this respect... carried this weight of responsibility on my shoulders. But I had thought nothing of turning the leader before me into the wilds, to be rejected by my people. I was immune to the hopeless sorrow in his eyes, wild and desperate for pity. I never comprehended that some day, I would be that Scyther.
I suppose I was to young to understand fully what I was entering into. What my appointed position meant, for everyone, and for me, I did not understand. I did not appreciate it. To me, my foolish young self, it seemed a right, not an honour. Now, I know I was wrong.
When I look back at that day, the day when that honour was taken from me... I can't begin to explain my emotions... my rage, my fear, my insecurity. As my position was given to a younger, more agile Scyther, I was cast into the wilderness, turned out of my own colony, left for dead by the very people I had believed to be loyal to me. My friends, my family, everyone I knew. But such was our way.
I do not remember where I wandered for those cruel, lonely weeks... and I do not remember how I survived. Maybe I should have died. I grew thin, mad with hunger, and my sanity suffered. My thoughts were constantly haunted by my memories of my past; I was a mere shadow of my former self. Slowly, my crazed mind twisted, my memories distorted, I no longer thought of anything but my former position as leader, and how it had been stolen from me. I decided then: I would have it back. It was mine.
But I was wrong. No Scyther can stay within their colony after being cast from leadership, much less return to that role. I was to be alone for life.
Though one day, suddenly, I knew what I would do. I would prove my worth, my power, prove myself.
I would kill a human.
In the shadows of night, when even the moon seemed to have fled, I crept into the humans' village, a trespasser hovering silently on transparent wings. I hid in a pitch black alley. And I waited, listening for footsteps. They came; a human approaching.
Tensing my wasting muscles, I gathered up my strength. When the moment came, I struck.
It was perfect.
His throat was slit before he could scream, the mark of a Scyther's prey, and he slid to the ground, eyes bulging in terror. The blood seeped from the cut, running silently, slowly, into the drain, a sickening trail of crimson.
On seeing this, I smiled. I smiled, insane, oblivious to all reason and sane thought. And it was only when I saw a young street Meowth, terrified, run madly away from me with a wild fear in its eyes, that I realised what a terrible crime I had committed.
Everything I was supposed to have stood for, I had abandoned. I possessed power and agility, but I had misused it in the worst way imaginable. I had been careless and selfish with my responsibility; I was a killer.
Panic swept over me, clawing at my mind, merciless. I turned and fled into the trees, not caring where I went, as long as it was far away... far away from anything, anyone. I could never show my face to another living being again; I wasn't worthy of their innocent gaze. Madly swerving past thick tree trucks, dagger-like leaves slicing at my face and body, my wings burned with a searing pain. But that was nothing compared to the screaming agony in my mind, like a thousand burning blades plunged into my head.
Finally, flailing in confusion, I slammed into a trunk with crushing force, and my world turned black.
I should have died. Twice, I had evaded death. Why... why didn't I die? I wasn't worthy of life, having thoughtlessly taken it from another, and the sweet mercy of death would have been welcome to my painfully writhing mind. But I did not die.
I slipped into consciousness, becoming dully aware of the harshness of cold metal around my limbs and body. Through a murderer's eyes, I saw chains... the ceremonial chains of my kind, salvaged from humans. And I saw other Scyther. I felt the burn of hundreds of eyes, hundreds upon hundreds of furious, glaring eyes. My colony. My family. And I heard a voice above me, sharp and powerful - the new leader. He dismissed the Grovyle servants who had bound my body in the chains, before turning to me. A tense silence hung in the air, as thick as the dense jungle mist that blurred my vision. Then he spoke to me.
"Word has reached us, Sakreth, that you have taken the life of another, that of a human. And clearly not for the sake of survival."
"I don't deny it." My voice was quiet, obedient.
"You know," he continued, "the punishment for such a crime?" I nodded slowly, not daring to look upon him.
"An eye for an eye, a wing for a wing... what is taken shall be repaid," I recited, a tear forming in my eye. It was one of our colony's laws, part of our way of life.
"Yes... that is your sentence, Sakreth."
The gathered crowd watched in deathly silence. I knew as well as any of them what my fate was to be.
An eye for an eye, a wing for a wing, a life for a life.
"So be it."
Now, I find myself with my head bowed low, my body bound in chains and my spirit drowning in misery. My neck rests on a rock, the cold, rough stone chilling me throughout. A dew of icy sweat covers my forehead, and my heart is shuddering impossibly fast, though I know it will soon stop.
And inches above my shivering neck, the sharp scythe of one of my own kind.
An eye for an eye...
I do not resist. Why fight my rightful punishment?
... a wing for a wing...
I await the plunge of the blade.
...a life for a life.
The new leader nods to the executioner, and I know that in this second, I have drawn my last breath.
The scythe will take my life...
Such is our way.