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He stalked forward, every step an echo that bounced off the inky walls. Every step a small victory over a man that had made his life hell and every step a tensing of already taunt muscles. Tight enough to snap, they gave him a rigid, stiff momentum and yet somehow, he had all the confidence and dexterity of a feline. Perhaps it was an illusion, a trick of the already dim alley, shadow than light. Or perhaps it was the promise he has held himself to, the burning unyielding stick of revenge that had never stopped prodding him, years, weeks, and days after his release. The picture he held in his mind’s eye, more brave than he, for despite owning it he had never dared to let his anxious counterpart of a heart believe that what he saw there could paint itself into reality. And now here it was. He was steps, mere feet away from this pungent villain, who washed the street in a sticky sour, unyielding smell that had stuck to him like glue. Perhaps his inner evil had originated from this smell, the odor seeping from his nose into the crevices of his very brain, sinking until his mind was a poisoned organ. Or perhaps he was always damned soul whose smell originated from the evil spilling out in its abundance from his pores. Virgil feels the smell slap him in the face as the origin of his sob story lunges forward and claws into his arm, wrenching his head back and his torso forward into the rough, damp embrace he loathed so horribly. The hands quickly slithered their way on his hips, he thought to himself,
I should be feeling the overwhelming, never ending fear this hold, this man bestows upon me without my permission every time I’m in his proximity.
The fear that was there that year, the cold shakes the running heart and the tearing eyes.
But I don’t.
Despite the sinking claws in the soft skin of his hips and the big broken, large-pored nose predatorily sniffing the air, undoubtedly prodding the air for a whiff of fear that would send the devil into perverted self-satisfaction, Virgil felt cold air and moonlight flint off his fangs. His pale lips drew up slightly in self-satisfied smirk. He looked into sharp cold blue eyes, foaming with yellow and observed the disarmed look that overlook them as the man saw the smile himself.
“What is it little omega? Suddenly you don’t weep on the floor for me?”
Virgil chuckled darkly. The vibrations of his dauntless laugh seemed to shake the man across from him, though he stood as if he held all the power, as if he was still in charge.
“You forget that when you met me, you molded a villain with your own two hands. You created your perfect downfall. When you tried to break me it worked. And when you did,your darkness seeped deeper into my soul; creating a monster of destruction that you neither predicted nor prevented. And when you hurt and scared me you brought me to my knees until they broke with blood. And when you threw me I fell, bruising my bones into a blue and purple painting. But you never predicted that my knees would grow tough, my bones would mend, and I would get up. That was your mistake. That was your end.”
Virgil’s hand twitched as he discreetly reached into his pocket, hands locking on a syringe discreetly. The devil saw nothing as his face paled at the resistance before him but did not release Virgil in his arrogance.
“That was all ok. Because I never planned to be, I never believed I could be. You hurt me and it was ok but you’ll never hurt him. You’ll never underestimate how strong you made me Alpha Until you see what you’ve prepared me to do.”
And with that Virgil stabbed the syringe into his unsuspecting forearm with no mercy. The man cried out and fell to his knees, splitting them on impact with the greasy concrete.
Virgil stepped back. He smile never faltered as he saw the man realize his fate. He could never coerce or force again. He was neither omega nor alpha nor beta. Physically his muscles shrank. Chemically he was whiped clean of his overpowering chemicals. He was nothing.
“What have you done!”
“What I always wanted.”