Down an old dirt road walked a short figure clothed in black, a white marble stone shaped in the form of a Celtic cross hung down to the middle of his chest. His hair white as snow, and clothes blacker than the darkest pitch. He was easily noticed for what he was... a Confessor. A dagger strapped at each of his sides at arm's reach.

As he walked his hands at the ready knowing he would have to use them soon enough, as his pursuer were closing in on him. He knew he would have to use them for what would be probably the last time...

The quad chasing him was getting ever closer, just a minute or two behind him. He could almost hear them breathing down his neck. He had difficulty breathing filled with so much fear and pain not knowing exactly when they would strike. He could feel his heart beating faster and faster as he began to lose all sense of time.

It was beginning to get unbearable now; a stone began to grow in his throat. Constricting him from berthing. He tried desperately not to show any emotion, hiding his fear with all his might. Keeping his lonely gray eyes ahead, avoiding any rocks he may other ways trip over.

A tear trickled down his cheek, and up and around his chine till falling to the ground. It was too much for him, they were right on top of him. They were right there surrounding him... waiting for him, they had the advantage, they could chose when to strike at their best interest.

A twig snapped, his heart skipped a beat. Time just suddenly seemed to stop all around him. They had made a mistake. On pure impulse the dagger was in his hands and sent threw the air into the bush. He stood in place waiting patiently for what felt like forever. For the body to hit the ground. As soon as it had, all time began to move again, and he was surrounded by three other men. He had an opportunity to live another day, and he would be dammed before ignoring it.

There were three of them now; there was a small glimpse of hope left. They drew their swords. And the boy his remaining dagger at his side, as well one that he kept tucked under his black clock.

They came at him swinging there bulky swords at the chilled... at the confessor.

There blades met repeatedly, neither of them able to make contact with one another. Two, one on each side began to swing at his legs; the daggers clenched in his hands went downward. They collided with harsh ringing sounds rampaging all around. The Confessor swung each blade upward, one clockwise and the other counter clockwise. Bringing the two swords with his own through the air. There was a loud clanging noise all around them ringing firstly coming from all four blades hitting one another all at ones, the two broadswords wedged to gather by the daggers. It was over, he had won this fight. And would be granted another day at life. He spun 360 degrees bringing the four hunks of metal with him, yanking them out of the hands of the two men, his hands came down slightly letting the swords go in whatever direction they wished, and plunged the daggers at the two men who were foolish to come so close to a confessor with nothing to cover their skin. The two small blades landed at their feet instead of threw their flesh. They were at easy reach for both of them to pick up and us against him.

Before they were able to blink his hands were grasped around there thoughts. The fear in their eyes grew, they were so afraid you could feel it flowing off of them, like water down a fall. They new... from a single thought from the Confessor and they were finished. Their souls would be consumed, torn from their very existence.

The young boy exhaled... slowly, as though it were the first time he had breathed in a long time... as though the burden was simply lifted off of his shoulders. There was a small crackling sound that ran threw the air, followed by two impacts to the ground one right after another. Like lightning... with no sound.

The boy looked to the men, he was holding their thoughts, he swallowed as his mind began to race. He was over filled with guilt from what he had just done, his mind racing with what these two foolish men must have been thinking when they realized what was about to happen, He hated his power... the power of a confessor...

A single touch from a confessor you were bonded to them till death. You will obey any order that is given by the confessor with no questions asked. If the confessors power was strong enough, and they ordered you to drop died... you would simply fall to the ground lifeless dead on the spot. The confessed only have one thing on their mind at all times how may I please my mistress or master.

The third man who had been chasing stood motionless paralyzed in fear, he could see that he had lost. He slowly began to shake a little he was not sure he could fight his own comrades if it came down to it.

The confessor let go of the two men he was holding. They dropped to their knees, heads down facing the ground. They slowly looked up there gaze meeting the child's eyes. Just before speaking the words "command me... Father Confessor."

The boy smiled down at them, though over filed with guilt with what he had had to do to these men. He kept a straight face... the face of a confessor. His hand moved down so that it was under the one closest to him, under his chin. He put a little bit of pressure lifting his head slightly more, so that they would remain eye to eye. His voice was calm, with no expression.

"I want you and your friend to go over and kill this man who has been pursuing me, intent on taking my life." He explained gesturing to the third man shaking in traumatizing fear. As he knew he was going to die. If he tried to attack it would be a sure death. His only chance was to run... if that was even a chance at all. But it was better odds then fighting. If this man had been told that it was a mail confessor he would have never taken the job... no female confessor could have confessed two men at ones and still stand as though nothing were wrong even after confessing one person, a confessor would become weak until they had recovered from using her power... but a male was different... that is why... they were always supposed to be killed at birth by their fathers.

The third man turned dropping the sword at the same time so nothing would slow him down. He ran off of the path and into the surrounding forest.

The boy looked to the two men he just finished confessing and spoke again with no expression.

"Get him when the task is complete... take your own lives" He ordered.

The two men looked to one another and then the boy.

"Yes father confessor, as you wish my master!" they both said before getting up from a bow and vanishing into the bushes to do as commanded. The words echoed through his mind as he walked onward "confessor" that's all he was to world. Not a child of the age twelve, not a human being. But a confesser, the last confessor... the father confessor...