|North of Hell
Author: Jealous Rage PM
A collection of short stories that ties into my story 'South of Heaven'.Rated: Fiction M - English - Supernatural/Fantasy - Chapters: 3 - Words: 4,592 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 07-15-12 - id: 3042089
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The following was originally posted on Tumblr. It was written for the Musedays Week 6 prompt.
When I think back on how it all went down, the thing I remember most is how they all pleaded with me not to do it. The majority of them cried, some of them even fell to their knees and begged. Their fear, it was intoxicating. I've caused a lot of terror, inflicted a lot of pain since then, but I've never felt anything quite like it.
There was a time, when I was very young, when I might have let their words sway me. I was always different, always had that violent streak, but I wasn't always the fucked up monster I am now, the monster they dealt with on that day. It was their words, their actions so long ago that started me down that path.
At any rate, there was no fucking way I was letting them get to me anymore, dissuade me from exacting vengeance on them. By the time I got there, my mind was already made up. There was no turning back. And despite their efforts, they knew it too. I fucking warned them, years before, if they pushed too hard, I would push back. It was time.
Even all these years later, I can still vividly remember two faces that stood out from the crowd. My parents. Fucking traitors. I didn't bother talking to them; I barely fucking looked at them.
I found it incredibly ironic that they showed up. Where were they when everybody ganged up and kicked me out? Where were they when I was forced to live alone, without anyone to talk to but myself? Where were they when I tried to make peace, tried to come back to the place I'd called home for centuries?
They were hiding, avoiding me. They were disappointed in me, they feared me. They said the family didn't need the problems associating with me would cause them. They used my sister as an excuse, said I was a bad influence on her.
Bad influence? What a load of fucking shit that was. I may have been rebellious, more violent than was the norm. But every "bad" thing I did was a reaction, not an action. I only lashed out when someone drove me to it. I would have been a good brother, a good son, if they'd given me the opportunity.
And in the end, their excuse was pointless anyway. I went there that day to kill anyone and everyone who had ever messed with me. Talk about a bad influence.
Anyway, there they were, in the crowd that had come to plead for the lives. They didn't beg, didn't cry. They just watched me. They left my sister at home, I noticed. I thought at the time they were trying to keep her sheltered from what I was about to do. I know now, of course, that wasn't the case.
I remember pushing my way through the crowd, making my way toward the castle. Funnily enough, if they whole group had just attacked me, they probably could have brought me down. I wasn't nearly as powerful as I am now, and there were a lot of them. But I had a bad reputation, and nobody wanted to make the first move.
Once I broke through the crowd, my long legs carried me away from them very quickly. I was eager to reach my destination, the castle. That's where the assholes who called themselves our rulers, our Council, were. They were the ones who had exiled me, they were the ones who had ordered the repeated attacked on me, and who had refused to let me make amends. They were the ones who I was planning to kill first, painfully. Everybody else could wait.
The crowd didn't bother following me. They knew where I was headed, and knew I'd be back for them soon enough. I don't know if they headed home, or waited for me there. Maybe they prepared themselves to fight me; maybe they started praying for forgiveness. I never made it back, so I guess I'll never know.
When I reached the castle, someone was waiting for. You can imagine my shock when I recognized my sister. There she was, just sitting on the ground, in front of the gates. She was watching me approach, a smile on her face.
I'll admit, I was really fucking confused at that point. I was expecting a show of force, an attempt to intimidate. I didn't foresee them trying to use my sweet little sister to try and talk me down, try to break my resolve.
I paused when I reached her. She didn't say anything, just rose to her feet and extended her arms toward me. Her smile widened even farther when I instinctively took her outstretched hands in my own.
"You have to stop this," she said to me, her eyes locked on my own. I remember her eyes well; they were so much lighter, so much brighter than my own. "You need to turn around. We can work this out. I can convince the Council to let you come home. We can be a family, and the bloodshed can be avoided."
For a moment, I considered it. I was lonely, had been for a long time. The appeal of being able to regularly see my family, to interact with some of the people I'd once called friends was strong. But it wasn't enough.
I was proud, arrogant even, and the Council had forced my hands. I'd been pushed, attacked, one too many times. Their actions could not go unpunished.
I let go of my sister's hands and stepped back. She watched me go. I vividly remember the disappointment in her eyes. She didn't say a word, just stepped aside and waited for me to go past her. I paused, tried to think of something to say. But there was nothing, so I started forward.
I never saw her move. I wasn't expecting it, didn't even consider it a possibility. And even if I had sensed it, she was fast. There was no way I could have reacted in time.
I felt the blade of a knife enter my back. It wasn't the first time I'd been stabbed, but I'd never felt anything like it. The sharp pain paralyzed me.
I wonder sometimes how it would have played out if it was the me of today, placed in the same situation. I've been stabbed, shot, burned, and pretty much anything else you can think of since then. Chances are, I'd just turn around and tear her fucking head off her skinny little neck.
By the time I'd regained control of myself, she stabbed me twice more. I turned around slowly, saw the dark grin on her face. I was so shocked, so disbelieving, I didn't even try to defend myself when she directed the knife toward me once again. Time felt like it was moving so slowly, then it hit, and I gasped in agony.
That was meant to be the fatal blow. I still have the scar on my chest, where the knife went in. Trust me, I do not scar easy. The blade when right through my flesh, through bone and muscle, and right into my heart. And I'm not speaking figuratively here; my sister literally stabbed my heart.
I think she was expecting me to die instantly. She let go of the knife, left it sticking out of my chest, and stepped back with a triumphant look on her face. I collapsed to my knees, the pain unimaginable and felt the world start to darken around me. I was gasping, struggling to draw breath, and I legitimately thought that was the end.
But it wasn't. Everything started to pulse around me, the pain started to dull, and the breaths started coming easier and easier. I reached up and dragged that knife out of my flesh. The shock on her fucking face was comical, or would have been if I'd been in a better mood.
I forced myself back to my feet, the bloody knife clutched in my hand and took one jerky step toward her. She was frozen in disbelief, unable to step back or even raise her hands in some semblance of defense. I raised the knife slowly, and stepped closer.
And that's when I felt the spell. The magic grabbed me, halted my movement. I couldn't step forward, couldn't turn my head, couldn't blink. I felt helpless, frustrated and unbelievably pissed off. But there was nothing I could do about.
Looking back, I give the Council credit. The used my sister to get close to me, attempt to kill me. But they were prepared for her to fail. When her killing blow didn't do me in, they took advantage of my weakness, used their powerful magic to give them the edge they never had when I was running at full-strength. It was brilliant.
What happened next? I think that will have to wait for another time. Since I'm telling you this story, I think it's pretty safe to say I survived. They never managed to kill me, though they did royally fuck me up.
The Council paid for it, in the end. They all did actually, my entire pathetic race. But it was not by my hand. By the time I was able to seek my revenge, they were already all gone, wiped out by some catastrophic event. Maybe it was a meteor, or a spell gone wrong. I don't know; I wasn't there.
I think that's why I still think about them from time to time. If I'd had my opportunity to kill them all, I'd be able to put it all behind me. They, the Council and the others, remain the only beings to cross me, over my incredibly long life, and not suffer my wrath for it. They got off lucky.
And if, by some chance, I happen across any of them in the future, any lucky survivors, you can't imagine the agony they will experience before I'm through with them. It will be fucking beautiful. Count on it.