02-24-2014, 08:06 AM
Four Years Ago
The iridescent glow of Power had flicked the switch in his mind. After the second encounter, Damien assumed a more animated existence not unlike the days he spent in London. Word had spread of the incident and the prisoners stepped lightly around him with equal parts superstitious fear and sullen resentment. He sensed the time would come when they attempted to exact revenge and he resolved to be ready for it.
It took them longer than Damien had expected to overcome their trepidation which served only to decrease the likelihood of success. By the time the attack came, Damien had already asserted an imperfect control over the light. It now came to him if he was in great need. Day by day the urgency needed was whittled down so that he had more than enough time to respond to the three thugs who cornered him in the gym. The fact that the guards were conspicuously scarce confirmed his suspicions but he had a infinitely greater shield.
When Damien had walked from the room he encountered no more inconveniences. It gave him the opportunity to focus on mastering the wayward power. In between the necessities of everyday life and his pursuit he found himself thinking of Elli and opened his mind to the events that had transpired.
Time once again drifted without meaning. It was no longer spent in the haze of a dream, or rather, a nightmare. It now passed beyond his notice. He had failed to control himself once before and he would not stop until that was remedied. It was the least he owed to the girl’s memory.
When control finally came to him, it was not through any need of his own.
Three years in the pit of degeneration has inured him to the savage primacy of the inmates. Blood and anger could be found in abundance and Damien left them to their fate. It did not matter to him if they consumed each other in the reciprocal fires of what they called the ‘rules’ on the inside; a pathetic attempt to justify sating their own lust for cruelty and violence which the guards seemed content to allow and even encourage.
That day, however, marked the beginning of something new. There had been several murders since he had arrived and countless before that. It had the sickly cast of tradition.
The showers were almost always deserted by the time Damien was allowed in. He had been labelled a danger and his movements severely restricted after the previous incident. That day, fate delivered four men into his hands.
As he entered the nondescript room he could already smell the sharp scent of fresh blood. The sound of running water and strangled cries caught his attention. Three inmates surrounded another who lay on the floor stained with the blood he had smelled. The three men set about their task with barbarous glee.
Damien turned to leave before he caught a glimpse of a youthful face through the red and bruised mask. This ‘man’ was nothing but a child; he could be no more than eighteen. His pathetic sobs stirred Damien to action. The moment was incredible in its simplicity. The light and power flooded him with life.
He struck the first man with inhuman strength which sent him crashing into the wall. The other two had little time to react before they were dispatched with similar ease. Such a defining event lasted mere seconds and left him dissatisfied.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,”
the boy repeated over and over with an outstretched hand.
Damien looked at the pitiable youth for a long moment, watching the blood and water stream down his face.
That day he did not have the chance to shower. He returned to his cell and sat, revelling in his new found control. The commotion that was raised when the guards found the four men was barely perceptible.
Damien drank deep from the light, drank until it diffused his whole being. This was how it was meant to be.
Edited by Damien, Feb 24 2014, 08:07 AM.
The iridescent glow of Power had flicked the switch in his mind. After the second encounter, Damien assumed a more animated existence not unlike the days he spent in London. Word had spread of the incident and the prisoners stepped lightly around him with equal parts superstitious fear and sullen resentment. He sensed the time would come when they attempted to exact revenge and he resolved to be ready for it.
It took them longer than Damien had expected to overcome their trepidation which served only to decrease the likelihood of success. By the time the attack came, Damien had already asserted an imperfect control over the light. It now came to him if he was in great need. Day by day the urgency needed was whittled down so that he had more than enough time to respond to the three thugs who cornered him in the gym. The fact that the guards were conspicuously scarce confirmed his suspicions but he had a infinitely greater shield.
When Damien had walked from the room he encountered no more inconveniences. It gave him the opportunity to focus on mastering the wayward power. In between the necessities of everyday life and his pursuit he found himself thinking of Elli and opened his mind to the events that had transpired.
Time once again drifted without meaning. It was no longer spent in the haze of a dream, or rather, a nightmare. It now passed beyond his notice. He had failed to control himself once before and he would not stop until that was remedied. It was the least he owed to the girl’s memory.
When control finally came to him, it was not through any need of his own.
Three years in the pit of degeneration has inured him to the savage primacy of the inmates. Blood and anger could be found in abundance and Damien left them to their fate. It did not matter to him if they consumed each other in the reciprocal fires of what they called the ‘rules’ on the inside; a pathetic attempt to justify sating their own lust for cruelty and violence which the guards seemed content to allow and even encourage.
That day, however, marked the beginning of something new. There had been several murders since he had arrived and countless before that. It had the sickly cast of tradition.
The showers were almost always deserted by the time Damien was allowed in. He had been labelled a danger and his movements severely restricted after the previous incident. That day, fate delivered four men into his hands.
As he entered the nondescript room he could already smell the sharp scent of fresh blood. The sound of running water and strangled cries caught his attention. Three inmates surrounded another who lay on the floor stained with the blood he had smelled. The three men set about their task with barbarous glee.
Damien turned to leave before he caught a glimpse of a youthful face through the red and bruised mask. This ‘man’ was nothing but a child; he could be no more than eighteen. His pathetic sobs stirred Damien to action. The moment was incredible in its simplicity. The light and power flooded him with life.
He struck the first man with inhuman strength which sent him crashing into the wall. The other two had little time to react before they were dispatched with similar ease. Such a defining event lasted mere seconds and left him dissatisfied.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,”
the boy repeated over and over with an outstretched hand.
Damien looked at the pitiable youth for a long moment, watching the blood and water stream down his face.
That day he did not have the chance to shower. He returned to his cell and sat, revelling in his new found control. The commotion that was raised when the guards found the four men was barely perceptible.
Damien drank deep from the light, drank until it diffused his whole being. This was how it was meant to be.
Edited by Damien, Feb 24 2014, 08:07 AM.