((Hey guys, well I got some nice feedback when I posted part one, so I decided to continue on with the story, I also included part 1 for those who missed it. For those who didnt know, this is the story of Rithas my main on Virtue))
History of a Nightmare: Part 1
I think back now...now that I have awakened...back to the day when I was a boy, when my parents were murdered in the house I was born in. Every memory as vivid and real as the day it happened. The quiet footsteps, old hardwood floor creaking ever so slightly under the weight of our unwelcome guests. The door to my parents bedroom whining quietly as it is moved prematurely from its nightly resting place. Then explosions...but not loud, silent...as if someone had clasped a hand over the mouth of a screaming warrior, about to drive metal into the skull of his opponent. I knew my parents had been killed by these men...I did not know why at the time, but I could feel thier souls being torn from thier bodies...into an eternal suffering.
The hardwood spoke again, 'they are coming your way' it said. So I hid...half heartidly in a corner, in a shadow, wanting to be discovered and removed from the misery that had just overtaken my existance. They entered, but my door was much more disturbed by thier intrusion, offering a loud warning to the one who would be sleeping. Reaction was swift as the men quickly raised thier weapons and unleashed seven lead demons into my bed. One of them approached the mound of blankets cautiously, as if afraid that the child they expected to be under the comforter would still live. I was afraid now, wishing I had picked a better place to conceal myself, but there was nothing I could do now other than be still, so very still as not to breathe. The soldier near the bed quickly removed the blankets, careful to keep his gun pointed to where my head would rest. When nothing but a ruined mattress was revealed the men immediately began searching the room. Closet, under the bed, in my toy chest, all of these places were searched, but I was right there in the corner, wide eyed, not blinking, not breathing...they had seen me a thousand times over, but it was as though they seen nothing at all. Convinced I was not in the room, they proceeded to scour the rest of my home. It took them less than sixty seconds to search the house, though to me, it was an eternity. Perhaps because I had not taken a single breath in some time....perhaps because when you are staring your imminent death in the face, even a second can seem a thousand years long.
Only when I was convinced that the mercinaries were gone, did I allow myself oxygen. As quick as the air came in, it was gone, expelled by the heaves of my silent sorrow. Then...the first of a series of changes took place, as I layed in that dark corner of my room, my tears mixing with the dust soiling my face. Sadness, sorrow, and pain twisted and warped within me and became hatred, rage, and strength. With that...I brought myself to my hands and knees and made my way to the room now inhabited by the two corpses that I used to call mom and dad. Upon entering the room, I crawled to the left side of the bed, my mothers side. I made my way along the length of the bed, stoping suddenly when my hands found themselves in a puddle of luke warm fluid. I did not have to look down to know that my hands were in the blood of my mother, but I did anyhow, and as I sat in that cold room, staring at the crimson that coated my hands, I vowed that the next time my hands bathed in blood, it would belong to those responsible for the bloodshed in my home on that night.
Part 2
WIth that thought, that decision, I curled my hands into tight fists and found strength in my legs, rising to my feet. I was dizzy, my mind was consumed with hatred, thoughts of revenge, but not quiet thoughts, they screamed and pulsed within my head, all the things I would do to these men if I found them..'KILL THEM...SKIN THEM ALIVE...RIP..TEAR!'....And somewhere in the back of it all, there was laughter. I tried to silence my thoughts, so that I might concentrate on simple things, a plan, a course of action. I managed to pull a sane thought out of the mess that was my mind, and with that thought in focus I stumbled from the room, down the hallway to the phone mounted midway down on the wall.
The result of that call was much as one would expect. Police, ambulance, fire department and a media frenzy. And me, the "poor child" at the center of it all, with no parents, no home, no direction. Of course I was put into foster homes. The first such case was not successful at all. As nice as the people were, I was on the opposite. My hatred for the men who destroyed my life was boiling over and spilling onto those I was surrounded by. At first it was small actions, insults, pushes and shoves. Then one night as I lay in bed, in the room I shared with Terrance, one of my foster "brothers", something snapped in me. I was trying to sleep, but my mind was wide awake, screeching with unholy thoughts, and on top of this all, Terrance was snoring. I knew that this was something he could not help but those moral, sane thoughts were overrun easily by the demons that controlled my mind. Out of all the horrid and evil solutions to this small problem, one really stood out. Without hesistation, I shot up from my bed, springs creaking loudly as they were relived from my weight. The noise nearly woke Terrance, but even had he been waked, he would not have had time to react. For even as he stirred, I lifted him from his bed and almost with ease, hurled him through the large window on the far wall of our room, our third story room. Even as I heard his body his the ground, and the resulting blood curdling scream, I did not feel sorry. I simply walked quietly over to my bed, and layed myself out in a relaxing position. There I waited, for my foster parents to discover what I had done, for them to call the police as I was sure they would, and for the police to come arrest me.
Due to the maliciousness of my actions, and the severity of little Terry's injuries, I was sentenced to two years in Juvinile Prison. The story there is actually not as one would expect. For I did not get into brawls with other inmates, my thirst for freedom tore me away from these actions. Instead I focused on the schoolwork they had prepared for me. Sometimes I would not sleep, I would sit awake all night in that cold, damp moldy disgusting cell and work. The work seemed to quell the thoughts that would normaly erode my mind and eat away at my sanity. Because of this, I "graduated" in the first year I was imprisoned. After I was throught with schooling, I looked for other methods to occupy my mind, to keep me sane. A book in the library caught my attention, it was an old piece of Oranbegan literature, something that should have rested with MAGI, but somehow it was here in the fiction section. I signed out the book and spent many sleepless nights thereafter studying its contents. The book was a part of a black magic series, this one in particular dealing with minor summons and regenerative spells. Eager to try these things, I began to collect the small elements required to perform some of the rituals and hoarding them in my cell, practicing them only at night, when everyone slept.
To my own amazement, the spells would actually work, I was able to summon small objects from other places in the prison, and heal small self inflicted wounds. Though one night I grew careless, and was caught by the midnight patrol dragging a knife summoned from the kitchen across my wrist. The guard, fearing I was trying to take my own life, immediately rushed into my cell and hit me with a tazer. I awoke that night in solitary confinement, in a straight jacket. The confinement of my arms sent me into rage. My skin began to heat up as my rage grew and I pulled and wrenched with my arms, trying to break free. The sanity left in my mind was pleading with me to give up what was seen as a futile struggle. On the other hand the demons told me to continue on. 'Use it, the anger, the hatred, it is your weapon, your fuel. With it, you can do anything. You can break these chains, and anyone who gets in your way afterward'...at this moment I did stop, because it was the first time the voices that plagued my head had spoken and made any sense to me, so I took thier advice. Chanelling all my rage to my arms I pulled at the jacket and let out an inhuman warcry as my arms broke free. I immediately began to strike at the door of the cell.
A midnight patrol guard arrived just as I smashed my cell door off its hinges. My body was acting on its own now, driven by a mind that was not mine, and fueled by an unholy strength. I immediately grabbed the guard by his throat, lifted him into the air and slammed him against the rear wall of the solitary cell. As I held him in the air, slowly removing the life from his body, I stared into his terrified eyes and laughed, amused by his horror. The laugh was farmiliar, but it was different, unlike my own it was raspy, broken and hollow. The laugh was interruped by a noise I was all to farmiliar with though, gunshots, five of them, I know not because I heard all five, but because I could feel them all in my back. It burned as though firey maggots were eating thier way into my flesh, though pain was not my last memory of that night. My final thoughts before I fell into death came as I heard the guard gasping to regain the life that I had been choking from him, I was thinking, thank god someone stopped me before I could kill that man.
