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It’s a slightly silent yet cold and dark night. The chatters of the village seem distant from the 098 house-hold. Nothing really mattered from the outside world besides a scythe prodigy and his father clashing their weapons so violently yet elegantly all at once. An sacred art passed down from one generation to another, and to master it and perfect this ancient art at such a young age is a blessing within this family. Yet, what happens to the son who are on the opposite spectrum and feels like they can never master this art?
The son lived his entire life living up to his families high expectations. His destiny was fabricated since birth, as he trained for the day he could get a scythe. But this fabricated fantasy could not accept his skill as by the time the son turned 14, he couldn’t reach his dream. Beaten by his brother, the prodigy of the twins, he saw him as an inspiration of some sort. Driven by his brother and his destiny, re-took the trials for the past 3 years, but no matter how hard he tried, how hard he trained, he could have never passed.
Eventually after his 3rd retry, he was sick and tired of this endless cycle he had to go through every year. So at the age of 17, his 3rd failure, he just sat in his room and cried. He couldn’t take it anymore, was the art made by his ancestors morally flawed and incorrect? Was he just not good enough for this family? As the son moped his failure, someone or something was there to benefit from his anguish.
A blurry human-like figure looks at the son, towering him as he lays on his bed. The son looks upon the figure in awe and fear. It’s wide, magenta eyes open up and it starts to whisper. “Quit your moping, weaking.” It says. It’s feminine yet dominant voice being the only thing he could hear. The son just kept staring, he was left breathless at it’s presence. “Coping will get you no where towards what you want to achieve.” The voice speaks again “Especially towards that little scythe you want, isn’t that right Wincar?” He heard his own name, how did it know it’s name?
Wincar sat up straight and said “How do you know my name?” “I know more about you more thank you know yourself.” It replied, “I know what you desire and I know what you fear.” “I understand that your jealous of your brother and his skill.” It says. “What?” Wincar says, “I’m not jealous! he’s my brother…well..maybe a little bit jealous.” The figure grows a smile and replies with, “Your thirsty for revenge.”
“Doesn’t your mortal mind understand? Your jealous of an ability that rightfully belongs to you. You desire that taste of getting revenge.” It states. “Revenge?” Wincar asks, “How, I’m not a monster and plus how can I if I’m the weak one in this family?” The figure leans close to Wincar and says “I will do the work, just give me time.” Wincar thought about it for a bit, he didn’t want to hurt anyone but the way that this entity was putting this sounded so good. Wincar signed and said, “Fine. Do it.”
And as soon after he said that, the only thing he could feel is an inexplicable amount of pain. Some could describe it worst than death, others would describe it as how it feel to loose a limb. It felt like a migraine all over the body. Wincar was in such pain, yet he couldn’t find the ability to scream or shout. He could only just feel the pain while he was morphing with this mysterious figure.
Then, it went silent. Wincar looked at himself then looked at his mirror. There it was, a black linear scar on his now glowing magenta left eye. It had looked like the badass ones from the movies. But his father didn’t know about this, he probably would have scolded him if he saw a scar like that on his face. So he hid it with his hair, praying he wouldn’t notice.
The voice from earlier whispered, “Go see him, get what you want.” So Wincar did just that. He came out of his room to see his brother, Failboat, and his father, Failwhale, all sweaty and exhausted yet seemingly happy from battling. He looked in slight sadness as he looked at the pair laugh and chat anf thought he had been forgotten by his two family members. Then suddenly, his father looked at him.
“Son, what’s wrong?” He says, his masculine and fairly deep voice filling the room with silence. Wincar just stood there looking in slight sadness and overgrowing anger. “Still upset by your loss? It’s ok you can try again next year, maybe your just a late bloome-“ Failwhale said before interrupted. He couldn’t hold the anger growing inside him any longer, he had to let it out. “No.” Wincar interrupted with an attitude, “I’m not upset.”
“I’m tired of this, I’m angry!” Wincar said in the fit of anger, “Do you know what it’s like having to train and train every year to get absolutely nothing? Of course you wouldn’t, you’re favorite son is a fucking master and has since 15!!” “F-favorite?” Failwhale questions in shock, “What? No son what do you mean, I never pick any favorit-“ Wincar started to get physical as he grabbed one of the training scythes and threatened him with it. “Be quiet, please!” He yelled.
“Listen to me, please Wincar.”
“You’ve always treated me like shit because I was the weak one in this family!”
“I didn’t know you we’re going through this, you could have told me!”
“I’m done with this ritual and I’m done with this stupid fucking family!”
His scar and purple eye now showing, his eye glowing brighter than the moon at night.
“…Oh no..” Failwhale said in shock, “Look, son. We can get this fixed up as soon as possible.”
“No!” Wincar yelled again, “You can’t ‘fix me’, not you or not anyone else. So, just GET OUT of MY LIFE!”
He forcefully swings the scythe towards his father’s chest and the scythe goes through his chest, leaving a bloody and scarring wound. Failboat stood there in shock, tears starting running down his eyes. Wincar retraced the scythe and watched as his father fall over to the ground, blood on the floor.
In a desperate impulsive act, Failboat comes over to comfort his father in his last living moments. His salty tears clashing with his satin red blood, he was the last thing his father would see before becoming heaven’s new angel.
Wincar just stood in silence. He watched from afar as his father passed away. Externally he felt as cold and dead as the night, but inside he felt so relieved. The figure that came to him in the night was right, revenge is what he needed, and it felt like he finally was doing something right for himself. At that very moment, he could have never felt more alive.