He looked so happy, he looked so soft. He was wearing a small, black buttoned-up shirt with a ridiculous red tie; his pants resembled a checker board in design as he sat in very small chair. He was squealing in delight at whatever the photographer was doing to grab his attention. Behind him is an iron grey screen that is streaked diagonally like it’s raining. His hair was shaved on the sides of his head which was the ‘style’ back then. The small, chubby hands where resting at his sides. The year and a half baby was in his first official picture and he looked so…weak. That would all change as he aged; the boy would make sure of that.
The boy was born into a pagan family of three brothers and his mother. From his mother the boy would learn all there was about the metaphysical world and magic. The boy will be enchanted by this world of his mother; he’ll study anything dealing in spiritual work; mostly about angels, necronomicon spells, astrological signs, spirit work. The boy did this mainly for selfish reasons though; even now he can’t exactly tell why he lust for power. Along with his brothers he developed a near obsession for fighting. It started with watching Dragonball Z when the oldest brother was nine and the youngest was six months. As the brothers grew in size so too did their rumbles grew in destructuction; they saw nothing wrong with broken windows and caved in walls if they could be easily covered. The boy’s relationship with his sire would be monotonous; the first time they met his sire took the boy’s popcorn which somehow caused the eight month old baby glare… They never seemed to be able to mend that bridge.
As they boy grew into a teenager he became dissatisfied with what he considered to be a human weakness; emotions. To do away with those pesky mortal problems he blocked them out them through excessive mind work. He would sharpen his mind into weapon that would eventually turn him into a clever, bitterly sarcastic person. He would sometimes stay up all night thinking or meditating on ways to banish his emotional side. When he fought with his brothers his fighting style would mirror his mind frame. Although having no advantage in strength or even considered quick-footed he would fight with an intensity few could match. He would eventually refine his style into such a way that he would be able to defeat opponents a hundred pounds heavier than himself. He was silent fury incarnated at his best, borderlining cruelty and ruthlessness that was only matched by his own conscious. When the boy turns sixteen he will pride himself on the potential weapon he becomes, a weapon only to be used by one man; himself.
Although emotions still proves a problem for him, sadness and disappointment being the most prominent. Suppressed emotions are not perfectly bottled up; they just hide until the breaks lose in the most inappropriate time. Negative emotions always seem to be the ones to slip past the boy’s walls. Still he learns to get by, his quest for power helps to guide him and accomplishment, scholar-wise, occupies his time in the present. However, whenever those sentimental feelings return he will sometimes gaze at the picture of his year and a half self and ponder how someone as strong as he was something as weak as that.
Still it must be said, I was a pretty cute baby.
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