Post by Grendel on Jun 27, 2012 3:24:45 GMT -5
He awoke in a dark room. For a second he thought he had gone blind, but his eyes started to adjust to the queer red light that permeated the space. The light originated from somewhere behind him and he couldn't tell how big the room was, his senses weren't working properly. He was so weak. He was strapped to a sort of table it seemed like, almost perpendicular to the ground. He struggled briefly against his bonds but it was futile. He couldn't make the change. In his weakened state he was unable to muster any energy to fight his captivity. To add to his problems, there was silver inlaid into the steel cuffs that kept his arms against the table.
He could not remember getting here. This was not the Ministry cell he had been kept in, not by a long shot. He tried to think back, but found he couldn't; there was a large blank spot between dinner last night and now. Was it even last night? This was troubling. But not unwelcome. With the Ministry he would have received a mock trial and summary execution. Here were possibilities. Escape, survival.
Footsteps behind him announced the arrival of his captor. “You're awake. Good. I've been looking forward to this, and we thankfully will not be disturbed here.” He could hear a smile in that voice. He didn't like it. The man walked around the table to face him. He was dressed head to foot in black, including an apron. A white surgical mask hid his face. At least it looked white. The red light made it hard to discern colors. He tried to say something but found his mouth wouldn't open. The man spoke instead.
“I'm so glad, and so very lucky, to get to finally meet you in person. I did like your work last year. You chased a man across the Atlantic and killed the person closest to him and framed him for multiple murders? Out of pure vindictiveness? Exquisite. But you went and got yourself nicked before you could finish the job, now didn't you? Pity, that. You'd probably be dead, if it wasn't for me. Consider me your salvation. In fact, after today I think you can consider me your god.”
He stared at the man incredulously. He couldn't be serious, could he? But then again Dark Wizards all tended to be on major ego trips. But salvation. Okay, he could get behind that if it meant survival. The wizard went on, “You haven't been living up to your full potential, Hunter. There's so much of yourself you don't know. I'd like to bring you to enlightenment and enact your transfiguration, like a god should do for his disciple. I had a little poke around your head, no thoughts are secret from your lord, and I can help fill in the gaps.” This alarmed him. He suddenly realized why he had a big blank spot in his memory.
“The facts are these, Hunter. You were born with no soul. The doctors called it autism, and you were home schooled by your mother. You didn't have a soul because that tiny miserable town in Illinois was host to a Dementor nest. What happened to you doesn't happen very often but it does happen. But what shaped you into what you truly are, well that takes a some very unique circumstances. But those tend to feed into the previous circumstances in ways I won't go into. But what happened was well... this.”
The wand was suddenly in his hand and the wizard muttered a long string of sing-songy words that sounded like no language he had ever heard. There was a strange emptying sensation and suddenly it was there. Vaguely man-shaped and pulsing with a sickly orange light that oddly enough didn't fade into the red light of the room. He knew it. It was his soul.
“That is not what a soul is supposed to look like.” The wizard looked it over, poking it with his wand in places. “Your mother did this to you. We are all born into this world with a perfect soul, and it is from birth til death subjected to the stresses and tarnishes of living in this world. You were not. Your father worked long hours and so your mother only had you for company. The other children would not play with you or even talk to you. They sensed your otherness. Children are so good at that, aren't they? Your mother had only you to talk to; to tell her secrets and shames and sins. She poured her tarnishes and taints into you and your body, starving for a soul, gobbled them right up and crafted itself one. Imperfect, made of bad memories. And then came the final secret.” The wizard's eyes lit up in what could only be a smile. He leaned in close to Hunter. “The final twist of the knife. The last big push you needed.” He whispered low but Hunter heard him. His body spasmed as a yellow light stained his soul.
“There we go. You killed her after that. Then your father. Then the town. Andre Skoll found you in Chicago and the rest is history. But if you hadn't been infected... You would have been so much more, my boy. And you can still be that. The unstable nature of your soul allows for some...modifications. Do you see those silver veins running through it?” He could, now that he looked carefully. “That's the lycanthropy. Normally, it's nigh incurable. Sinks it's roots in so deep that to remove it is to kill the host. But this isn't normally and you're far from normal. So I can excise it. Like a tumor. And yes, it's going to hurt. The hurt is good. The pain is holy. This is is your baptism. Oh, my boy, you took the name without ever knowing.” He said a sharp word and a hard blue light appeared on the end of his wand. It looked like a scalpel. He began to cut. Hunter could move his mouth again.
He screamed.
It went on for what seemed like hours. The wizard hacked away at his soul, removing the lycanthropy. He had never felt pain, not this intensely. It had always seemed a dull thing. An annoyance. But it was here, it was immediate and real. Every nerve in his body was on fire. He never stopped screaming.
When it was over the wizard was mad-eyed and sweaty. His next words were huffed out through pants. “And...now...you... take your...communion.” He said these words perversely, a leer in his voice; a joy no man should feel in his eyes. The red light glowed brighter. Hunter became aware of a presence in the room. The hairs on his neck stood up. He could feel it, feel it stalking up to him. And without warning it had hold of him, and this cold, burning darkness slipped into him. It filled his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nostril, his lungs, his heart, his stomach. He thought he would drown in it, felt himself slipping away and welcomed it. But the darkness wouldn't let him go. It started his body moving again. Beat his heart for him, expanded and contracted his lungs. He didn't hear the final word the wizard spoke, but then his soul was back in his body and he was whole.
For the first time in his life. He was whole. He had never felt like this. Whole. It was indescribable. He could feel that darkness inside of him but it was no invader. It was like a brother. It was his other half. The thing the lycan could never be, could never live up to. He stared at the wizard, who was regaining his composure. “My lord...”
The wizard smiled. “Yes. Oh look at you, you beautiful thing. Only one thing missing.” He removed the glove from his right hand. And he pressed it against Hunter's chest, over his heart. There was was small flash of light. The after-image of a hand print faded on his shirt. “Now they'll know. You will spread my word. The word is Chaos."
“You chose the name and you chose wisely. Go forth, my Grendel. To the school.”
He could not remember getting here. This was not the Ministry cell he had been kept in, not by a long shot. He tried to think back, but found he couldn't; there was a large blank spot between dinner last night and now. Was it even last night? This was troubling. But not unwelcome. With the Ministry he would have received a mock trial and summary execution. Here were possibilities. Escape, survival.
Footsteps behind him announced the arrival of his captor. “You're awake. Good. I've been looking forward to this, and we thankfully will not be disturbed here.” He could hear a smile in that voice. He didn't like it. The man walked around the table to face him. He was dressed head to foot in black, including an apron. A white surgical mask hid his face. At least it looked white. The red light made it hard to discern colors. He tried to say something but found his mouth wouldn't open. The man spoke instead.
“I'm so glad, and so very lucky, to get to finally meet you in person. I did like your work last year. You chased a man across the Atlantic and killed the person closest to him and framed him for multiple murders? Out of pure vindictiveness? Exquisite. But you went and got yourself nicked before you could finish the job, now didn't you? Pity, that. You'd probably be dead, if it wasn't for me. Consider me your salvation. In fact, after today I think you can consider me your god.”
He stared at the man incredulously. He couldn't be serious, could he? But then again Dark Wizards all tended to be on major ego trips. But salvation. Okay, he could get behind that if it meant survival. The wizard went on, “You haven't been living up to your full potential, Hunter. There's so much of yourself you don't know. I'd like to bring you to enlightenment and enact your transfiguration, like a god should do for his disciple. I had a little poke around your head, no thoughts are secret from your lord, and I can help fill in the gaps.” This alarmed him. He suddenly realized why he had a big blank spot in his memory.
“The facts are these, Hunter. You were born with no soul. The doctors called it autism, and you were home schooled by your mother. You didn't have a soul because that tiny miserable town in Illinois was host to a Dementor nest. What happened to you doesn't happen very often but it does happen. But what shaped you into what you truly are, well that takes a some very unique circumstances. But those tend to feed into the previous circumstances in ways I won't go into. But what happened was well... this.”
The wand was suddenly in his hand and the wizard muttered a long string of sing-songy words that sounded like no language he had ever heard. There was a strange emptying sensation and suddenly it was there. Vaguely man-shaped and pulsing with a sickly orange light that oddly enough didn't fade into the red light of the room. He knew it. It was his soul.
“That is not what a soul is supposed to look like.” The wizard looked it over, poking it with his wand in places. “Your mother did this to you. We are all born into this world with a perfect soul, and it is from birth til death subjected to the stresses and tarnishes of living in this world. You were not. Your father worked long hours and so your mother only had you for company. The other children would not play with you or even talk to you. They sensed your otherness. Children are so good at that, aren't they? Your mother had only you to talk to; to tell her secrets and shames and sins. She poured her tarnishes and taints into you and your body, starving for a soul, gobbled them right up and crafted itself one. Imperfect, made of bad memories. And then came the final secret.” The wizard's eyes lit up in what could only be a smile. He leaned in close to Hunter. “The final twist of the knife. The last big push you needed.” He whispered low but Hunter heard him. His body spasmed as a yellow light stained his soul.
“There we go. You killed her after that. Then your father. Then the town. Andre Skoll found you in Chicago and the rest is history. But if you hadn't been infected... You would have been so much more, my boy. And you can still be that. The unstable nature of your soul allows for some...modifications. Do you see those silver veins running through it?” He could, now that he looked carefully. “That's the lycanthropy. Normally, it's nigh incurable. Sinks it's roots in so deep that to remove it is to kill the host. But this isn't normally and you're far from normal. So I can excise it. Like a tumor. And yes, it's going to hurt. The hurt is good. The pain is holy. This is is your baptism. Oh, my boy, you took the name without ever knowing.” He said a sharp word and a hard blue light appeared on the end of his wand. It looked like a scalpel. He began to cut. Hunter could move his mouth again.
He screamed.
It went on for what seemed like hours. The wizard hacked away at his soul, removing the lycanthropy. He had never felt pain, not this intensely. It had always seemed a dull thing. An annoyance. But it was here, it was immediate and real. Every nerve in his body was on fire. He never stopped screaming.
When it was over the wizard was mad-eyed and sweaty. His next words were huffed out through pants. “And...now...you... take your...communion.” He said these words perversely, a leer in his voice; a joy no man should feel in his eyes. The red light glowed brighter. Hunter became aware of a presence in the room. The hairs on his neck stood up. He could feel it, feel it stalking up to him. And without warning it had hold of him, and this cold, burning darkness slipped into him. It filled his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nostril, his lungs, his heart, his stomach. He thought he would drown in it, felt himself slipping away and welcomed it. But the darkness wouldn't let him go. It started his body moving again. Beat his heart for him, expanded and contracted his lungs. He didn't hear the final word the wizard spoke, but then his soul was back in his body and he was whole.
For the first time in his life. He was whole. He had never felt like this. Whole. It was indescribable. He could feel that darkness inside of him but it was no invader. It was like a brother. It was his other half. The thing the lycan could never be, could never live up to. He stared at the wizard, who was regaining his composure. “My lord...”
The wizard smiled. “Yes. Oh look at you, you beautiful thing. Only one thing missing.” He removed the glove from his right hand. And he pressed it against Hunter's chest, over his heart. There was was small flash of light. The after-image of a hand print faded on his shirt. “Now they'll know. You will spread my word. The word is Chaos."
“You chose the name and you chose wisely. Go forth, my Grendel. To the school.”