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This is the tale of a boy who became a god.
A story that crumbles the heart and makes something truly otherworldly.
A child born into the world of poverty and abandoned at the age of five by his mother who favored whoring over motherhood.
At a young age, he grew to know the reality of humanity.
It was not a kind thing nor did they care for a stranger with a long forgotten name. No, the boy carried on with his life the best he could for someone with no knowledge of how. He learned to steal properly only after being nearly beaten to death a few times - then did he perfect the skill of not being caught. To become the shadows. He learned early on not to cry because crying was for the weak and that's what called the wolves to play. He did not like them and soon learn to climb where no one could reach him. The wolves were frightening with their lies and sharp nails that tried to grab, to shred.
He was a skinny thing, frail, shaking in clothes tattered and torn during the harsh seasons but he made no attempt to climb down from his hide-hole. He did not want to meet the wolves.
He knew better.
People like him - Outcasts - were unwanted because they have nothing to offer.
He often observed the world watching as the poor suffered and the rich laughed and scoffed at whom they considered fools. There was nothing he could do but try to help those that were injured by others and hope for the best.
He learn that kindness was for fools as well.
Those he helped often retaliated back in ways of aggression he was all too familiar with. People did not change and it was the first time he felt something sharp attempt to cut into him. It had been some rustic excuse of a blade that he was [i]just[/i] strong enough to resist and easily fend of the attacker. He left his assailant to the wolves as he returned to the shadows to nurse an added scar to his collection from many others. It was a hard life but one he knew too well and it wasn't until much later that he learned to truly despise humanity.
He was so forgotten that he didn't even consider him something alive. A monster of sorts, maybe?
He was almost fifteen when he met [i]them[/i]. His curiosity too strong to ignore. The ones that took him in as every instinct told him to [b]run[/b].
Something deep inside of him had rooted him to the spot and welcomed their soothing voices. Kind smiles that his eyes could detect not reaching true sincerity. He could not figure out what was different about [i]them[/i] when he was around, but his mind always seemed foggy. For once he had something warm to eat. Real food that didn't belong from the trash or left overs he stole from people's homes. A place that warmed away the chill that never left his skin these days despite every bell in his head telling him to get out, to run, to be anywhere but with these women who's eyes reminded him of serpents.
Time and time again he would brush it off when his thoughts started to turn to survival. He would blink and the thoughts would dissipate as if he never thought about them in the first place. By the time he grasped an understanding - it was too late.
Too late to run, to scream...to fight.
The fifteen year old boy was at their mercy.
Eyelids grew heavy as distorted cackling fell on deaf ears.
When he awoke, he was cold. Thick dark shackles grasped at his limps as he was dressed in attire that his eyes did not recognize. His head pounded out from whatever they used to render him unconscious and his throat dry as if he had been drinking from the ocean again after a long day. He heard the whispers as he struggled against his bindings. He swore that they tightened around his captured limbs with each struggle but that could be the fear that laced his frame. It wasn't until the first prick of something sharp dug into his body that he could truly see his culprits. His eyes were wide as he constantly questioned what they were doing in hopes of trying to figure out - why? Why, him?
Why a nobody?
Maybe that was the reason...he was a nobody. One of many forgotten souls that plagued this universe.
They did answer him as one of them yanked his head back to pour something down his throat. He gasped choking on the substance that burned down his throat, burning. It felt as if he swallowed an ember from a freshly lit fire. It settled down in his gut as he gasped for air when the skinnier woman of the four released him. Tear seeped into the corner of his eyes as he tried to cough up what was forced down.
It held no taste but it burned.
He wanted it out.
[i][b]This was only the beginning.[/b][/i]
That was what they told him. He tried to ask the beginning of what but their frames just turned as they surround a dagger that glinted in the moonlight. He learned that he did not want to know because he'd rather be back in his hide-hole observing the world from something he knew was [i]safe[/i].
It was too late.
When they came towards him, he continued to fight now immune to whatever witchery that obscured his view from before. A hand grasped his head twisting it to the side as he felt the cold bite of stone against his cheek before flinching at the touch of a blade soft but sharp against his throat. At the same time he felt something else start to slice through the fabric above his ribs and only then did he scream out. The draw of something more dangerous sliced against his flesh where he knew his blood would flow freely.
They carved, slice, burned at his flesh. His screams ringing into the night as he continued to struggle...to be free. His screams grew hoarse as they started to chant some unknown language to the point that he just wanted it all to end. He wanted to die. He needed it....he needed the relief of death but all they did was carve and paint him in his own blood. His eyes grew distant as he slowly became a shell to their devices as his cheeks were stained with tears mixing in with the blood they drew. He did not know how long this went on for only that it felt like eternity.
When their chanting grew distant did he feel something akin to ice water slip across his form shrouding him from the world. All he could smell was copper and salt. This time when he tried to breath whatever life still in him, did he choke as water filled his lungs. He struggled and gagged only for it to be futile in the end. Things went black as he found the weight getting heavier and wonder if they decided to drown him.
Let lose his body to the waves to swallow whole to be forever lost.
A perfect method to finish off what they have inflicted.
He thrashed as everything clung to his cold body until he embraced it. It was odd how easy it was to embrace once he stopped struggling and allowed it to rock around him. He drifted in nothingness feeling himself merging with the wetness of the inky black waters.
It was not water but something else - something more powerful that slowly gained a violet hue as he found his eyes adjusting. When he looked about, at himself, he realized there was not a sign of the damage he endured. Of the pain and torture that he tried to remember as it was washed away from his mind as he moved. Was this what death was like? He did not feel hunger or thirst or whatever else humanity had dawned on him. He did know vengeance and rage. The ideal of making those [i]witches[/i] suffer and the world that he was in - The Void - sung its tunes of red in the blues and violets to reflect him. He learned that he could watch people and influence what happened and so he did.
His eyes glowed with delight as he watched the women torn to shreds by their own creation, by the shadows that were his own. He did not know what he was now but he knew he was far from man's reaches any longer.
As time went by, he gifted those he deemed interesting with his Mark allowing them power and they all disappointed him in the end. They all turned to corruption and it was never interesting to watch events repeat themselves over and over. He watched as great Empires came to be and fall in disaster. The hum of people stealing from one another, or kicking those already low even lower, or watching others take advantage of their duties to harm others. None of this was impressive and lacked the ability to keep his interest yet he continued to watch. He continued to lend his powers to those he thought worthy only to take their souls once they passed and send them to damnation for boring him.
The first time humanity hisses against him causes a smile with too many teeth to form in the lonely home of his. They start to curse him and blame him but how ignorant did someone have to be that it was [b]humanity[/i] that made him into this. Of course he was someone long forgotten over the decades only to be remembered as something new. People worshiped him, cursed his newfound name to the high heavens and back, tried to gain his favor, or try to become his downfall but no one could reach him if he did not wish it. He influenced the whales therefore influencing the ocean to wreck ships and watch those die all the same. To see those suffer the way they could never even begin to reach the point of suffering he had endured.
He continued to watch the world struggle in its fight for survival with the title that [i]mortals[/i] had given him.
A title most befitting.
One that would last for millenniums.
The Outsider.