Like Moths to Flames - My Own Personal Hell

By the third time Chi and her brothers shared blood with me I no longer fought it. They had doubled the cords tying me and I hated the feeling of them biting into my skin when I would struggle. The fog in my mind continued to dissipate, becoming less dense with each passing day. Soon it was hardly there at all. I still felt my loyalty to Jevin, the need to escape and return to him, but I also could feel my hate for him growing, burning deep in my stomach and running through my veins. The rest of my emotions were slower to come, but when they did they tore at me just as I knew they would, just like they had the night I was deserted, or the days Jevin had refused me his blood.

The Clan thought my withdrawals were the sole cause of my pain, that I was somehow still feeling the full force despite the bloodletting and sharing. I didn't tell them otherwise. I was too ashamed of my weakness to tell them the real reason. That it was me, my own mind, my own past, not just my addiction that was making me wake with gasps of pain, cringe each time an unwanted memory slunk through my mind, dig my nails into my palms until they bled, just to try and control what I felt. The suffering of my emotions aside, my actual withdrawals didn't seem as bad as the first time, probably from all Chi's Clan had done, but I could sense something coming, a final attack of Jevin's blood on my mine.

After the ninth day they thought the worst was over and untied me from the chair, letting me stand, walk around, lie down. They kept my hands tied together though, just to be safe, just to keep the electrum on me and my powers dormant. After the eleventh day I thought I was just paranoid, I thought Jevin's poison was out of my system completely, but then the madness came. I hoped it would be lessened because of their blood sharing, but it was as if Jevin's knew what I was doing, knew I was straining his poison from myself for the last time.

The attack on my mind wasn't just from Jevin's blood, I knew that much. My mind was already vulnerable because I was alone, because I was broken and bitter and betrayed. It was a terrible mixture of my already damaged mind, plus the added injury of the addiction. I felt more hopeless some nights than I had in the cemetery when I first learned what I was, what he was. I was pathetic and that only added to my hatred of my past, my so called 'family' and my twisted, lying, heartless excuse for a pair. I hoped the anger would help, but it didn't, nothing did. And the realization that it would always be like this, that it would never get better, that I would always be what I was, that he would always be gone, that my family would always be gone, was enough to make me wish for death.

I cried out some nights, feeling a cold, hollowness inside me, convinced it was going to swallow me up and I wouldn't exist anymore. I felt a fiery self-loathing other times, either from my own emotions or the madness, I couldn't tell. Sometimes I screamed at the pain in my mind, begging it to leave me. Sometimes I couldn't even remember what had happened the night before, or the entire day before. That was when I was at my worst, my fear of going insane only fueled my need for Jevin, my drug. I would have given anything to taste his cold, sick medicine again.

Syn rarely left my prison, but sometimes he would, when I would get bad enough, when I would beg him to kill me or at least untie my hands and let me do it myself. He never said anything but I saw softness in his eyes when he would look at me, a deep sadness that made me wish he wouldn't ever have to see me again. I wished none of them saw me like that, screaming at people that weren't really there, memories from my past, swearing at Heaven, Hell, anything and anyone to kill me, to take me out of my misery. I hated them for making me live.

After six days, the insanity slowly left my mind, leaving a dull pain in its wake, but my relief at having my mind back was short lived. The withdrawal was over, but that meant my emotions were back in their entirety, no more of Jevin's blood in my veins, dulling me. I didn't curse at the walls around me, I didn't cry or scream at Syn. I didn't beg death from Chimarah when she would come see me, but the memory of my betrayal hurt more than anything I had ever experienced, maybe with the exception of the Serpentine's poison.

The ache of knowing what I was and finally caring, caring that I was the vilest creature the Earth could house. The hate and rage, the loneliness, the disgust at my own depravity. Then there was the emptiness of no longer having my Pair, my Twin, the man I needed yet hated more than I could fully understand. Sometimes I winced without provocation, like a reflex, like my mind would never forget the things it had been through, like it would never fully recover. I was changed, different on an unseen level, damaged in some fundamental, unalterable, irreconcilable way.

I didn't understand how emptiness could hurt so badly, but it did. It was cold too, like the electricity I had felt so often, the burn of my connection to my partner, his Gift against mine, was now frozen, leaving frostbitten edges where our connection, our shared link, had previously been. I no longer cried out in my sleep, but I hardly spoke when I was awake. Everything hurt too much. I didn't scream for death to take me anymore, but I silently pleaded with the world to find a way to kill me, a way I wouldn't be able to stop. I didn't want to live, but I was too proud to die without a fight.

One day Chimarah came in with the rest of her Clan in toe, even Syn left his guard post by the door and stood before me. Chi had been in to see me often, especially when I had been going through the worst of the withdrawals. Part of me still hated the Clan for making me feel again, for inadvertently causing me more pain than they knew, but how could they know? They simply thought they were saving me from the monster that had been my master, they didn't know I was the one who had sought him out. Another part of me was grateful to them for forcing me to be myself again, for making the haze leave my mind, the apathy that made me not question the life I had lived, that had robbed my true self from me, robbed my mind from me.

My fire was back now, my defiance, my pride. I would never be owned by another, used by another. I couldn't believe I had been to begin with. It was like a terrible dream. Even the memories of my six weeks with Jevin faded, as if they were disappearing along with the fog, being pulled away along with his blood. The only proof my nightmare had been real were the marks, the deep scars his teeth had left when he would bite me for his sadistic amusement or passions. They were permanent stains, always showing on my skin, my shoulder, my chest, my ribs, a constant physical reminder of my hatred for him. It had been a trance in the deepest form, but now I was free and I was never going back.

Chimarah spoke first, as I had come to expect when she was accompanied by any of her Clan. Despite her size, she had a presence that demanded attention and obedience, though I doubted I would obey her, or anyone, after my previous tastes of authority. Her young age sometimes showed through and I could often tell she was nervous, but I assumed that wasn't her usual nature and more related to the fact that she had held a Halfling hostage for the better part of a month.

"You seem...recovered."

She spoke slowly, watching me for some reaction I wasn't yet sure of.

"I hope you know that we did this out of...respect for you. You-we've heard that you are different than others of your...lineage, and I for one believe the rumors ta be true. I've never seen a...I've never met a Half like you. I'm sorry for what you went through and I'm sorry we had ta be a part of your pain, but what Jev did was unforgivable and..."

She seemed to think a moment before continuing, changing her mind about what she had been about to say.

"I first stole you from him because I couldn't believe what he was doin' ta one of his own kind and because I was afraid of what someone as ruthless as he would do with the kind of power you could give him. I've heard stories of him, rumors that he was...deteriorating. I would have done this for anyone, but...but at this point I'm glad I did it for you because you are more than what he would have used you for. Some are content under others, some are even better there, you aren't. I-I do not trust your...I'll never trust a Half, I would be a fool ta, but I hope you will see the last few weeks through our intentions and not hold it against us now. I hope-"

"You don't want me to kill you when you let me go. Like releasing an animal back into the wild and hoping it will run into the jungle instead of attacking the ones who open the cage."

I smirked up at her, though I had no intention of killing them.

"I can promise you if I kill tonight it won't be your family. I will only kill those that deserve it, and from what I've seen, none of you deserve death."

A thought came to me then, one I had thought of many times, but never wanted to speak out loud. Now seemed my last chance and I couldn't lose it.

Chimarah was already leaning forward, a jagged knife in her hand, one that could snap the wires that tied my hands. I couldn't wait to be free, to breathe fresh air, to see the sky again, the snow I was sure was covering the city. I needed to see anything but the dull grey cement walls of my prison, but I needed to see something else first.

"Wait. Before you...let me go, can I speak with Syn for a moment in private?"

Chi gave me a look like maybe my mind wasn't completely back yet, but Syn put his large hand on her small shoulder, completely covering a good portion of her back as well, and nodded down at her. She and the others left quickly with only a couple furtive glances over their shoulders before the heavy door clicked closed.

"I need to see him one more time, please. I need you to show me the man you were in the ally, when you tricked me. I don't know how I'll react, so I'd like you to step back, but I want to see his eyes just one more time."

I meant to ease into the subject, to not come right out and ask to see him again, but the words tumbled from my mouth. Syn had a sad look in his eyes, but he crouched down before me, his face level with mine where I sat on my cot, and then it changed. First slowly, just his light brown eyes darkening, almost like the beginnings of a Shift, but then they turned a deep, dark navy, like the night sky or the middle of the ocean, so blue it was unnatural. I couldn't look away from those eyes, from James' eyes, Gabriel's. I missed them so much, their knowing look, their beauty, the memories they brought, but at the same time I hated them, their deceit, their lies, the pain. I dropped my gaze as I felt wetness on my cheeks. I shook my hair from my face so it wouldn't stick to my tears as I wiped them away hastily.

"Thank you."

My words were barely above a whisper, but he was already making his way to the door, and then ushering the others in. Chimarah had a strange look on her face when she came back in, but I knew she couldn't have heard us, not through the thick door, not when I had spoken so quietly. She walked across the room swiftly and cut the thick wires without any pretense.

I knew she had brought the whole Clan with her, even Horn and Halo who I had rarely seen more than glimpses of during my time, to try and discourage me from attacking them. Hoping that a five-on-one scenario after I had been in captivity for weeks would be enough to make me think twice before trying to kill them.

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It feels like the good old days, though I never thought I'd be calling them that willingly. But I have to admit there is a certain freedom to this life, a certain draw to choosing your own rules, your own morals, and it's even better because I can defend them. Killing's wrong, you say? Only armies and juries can take a precious life? I politely disagree.

Death isn't a cruel and unusual punishment, its fair payment. Torture isn't a war crime, its atonement. Sometimes a swift death isn't deserved, sometimes it takes more to satisfy the appetite of justice. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you? No, thank you. Do unto others as they would do unto you, as they would do unto others, as they have done unto others? My pleasure.

All I'm doing is what the world should have done generations ago, but everyone only talks, everyone is too scared to get their hands dirty, to do the work themselves. Humans think sending a soldier into a third world so he can put rounds into a gorilla fighter's home and children is decent, a necessary evil, but killing a killer without a trial isn't? I politely disagree. Even my own kind have failed on this point. They've gotten so caught up in sides, with labels and their own quarrels, they lost sight of what they began the war for; wiping out those that don't deserve to be in this world, killing those who are better suited to burn than breathe.

What I have planned is something quite different from the squabbles of my ancestors; obliteration. Not of a certain kind, not of a certain side or percentage or rank, but of the evil, the vile, the guilty. The disease this city is full of but no one, Darkling or human alike, seems to be willing to amputate. Call it a swifter version of justice, call it an inevitable subculture in today's times, all I know is I've restrained myself for too long, only saving those I saw in a dream, or when I would happen to stumble upon someone in the act. Only going after my own kind once their death toll reached far more than it ever should have, but not anymore. I'm proactive now, hacking away at the evil souls I cross even before they grow into action.

I can't heal humanity, but I can do my best to burn away the disease, the cancer that bureaucracy has allowed to thrive. It's beautiful to me, a release of everything I've held in for years. This was what I was made for. It almost makes me sad to think of the time I wasted playing house, pretending to be something I could never be. Better to bury my emotions and use my raw nature than to cripple myself with morality, with mercy. Those I kill didn't show mercy to the people they hurt, so why should I? Burying my emotions, though necessary at the time for different reasons, has proven to be the greatest of tools to me, it has given me a new perspective, a new purpose.

I have no one, nothing, no reason to control myself beyond leaving the innocent to live out their lives unscathed. Could it even be considered wrong what I'm doing? Maybe my practices could be looked at as a bit indulgent, but my end result brings the city ever closer to being free of those whose version of a normal evening is a mutilated body left in a gutter. There are so many who treat the lives of others like trash; Vampyres, Shifters, Darklings, the demons they command and all the variations in between. It seems due time that someone would give their life, all that they are, to destroying creatures like that, to treating them how they treat others.

My kind isn't supposed to exist, so the loss of its dark and dirtiest shouldn't be mourned. I'm not killing father figures and volunteers, I'm killing the creatures the rest of the world doesn't even know exists, in parts of the city its better-off inhabitants have turned their backs on.

Should I feel guilty? Should I feel guilty for these sins? Should I feel anything for the demons I've sent back to their home? Maybe, but it's hard to feel without a heart. Without a heart there is only nature, instincts, and mine are telling me that I can do more good as I am now, a monster hunting monsters, than I could ever have done if I'd kept my humanity close, protecting it like the crutch it was.

When only nature remains, you begin to see that there are many rights, but most are so afraid of making a mistake, of going to whatever afterlife they believe the guilty end up in, that they decline to attempt a balance of the scales. I, on the other hand, already know exactly where I'll be spending my eternity, so I might as well bring in as many others as I can. I expect a welcome party when I arrive, not necessarily of friends, but at least I'll be known, at least I can die with a smile on my face as I remember all the filth I cleaned from my city, from every city, any city.

I'll be able to look back on my life and know I tried to do right in my book, which is the only one that matters to me in the end. And if there ends up being a god and he judges me harshly for those I've killed, then I will gladly accept his punishment. I will deserve it, but never regret it. It's beautiful in a way, the freedom of truly doing what you want, what you believe you should, because you know it won't change where you end up. No matter what there is after death, I know it won't be pleasant for things like me, so why hold back? Why vainly try to please the Heaven which judged me before I was even created? I'm doing what I believe I should, killing those that deserve it, and if I take pleasure in my work, all for the better.

If the city called Jordan Mors, I wonder what my name will be? I'm partial to King, of course, it already has an advantageous record, already gives the guilty an innate dread that will be difficult to recreate, but I know that people are already calling my little show at Jevin's a copy-cat. Maybe the city's Under and Overworlds truly believe that King isn't back, or maybe they're just refusing to admit the possibility, regardless, it feels good to let my nature drive me again.

It has been so long since I truly enjoyed my work. I always took pleasure in the little things, of course, but now I can finally let my needs out completely, no fear of opinion, no fear of moral backlash, no one to be an example for. All there is is myself and my victims, and their sins and screams and the sweetness of their deaths, of justice. Justice is finally back. And though I am far from blameless, at least I'm willing to see my soul burn if it means I'll have company. At least I know I'm damned. What is more noble than that?

I crumpled the page in my hand, staring at the fire before tossing the paper in, watching it ignite and then fall into itself until I couldn't discern its ashes from the rest. I had written it the night before, after another killing, after I had taken out a Darkling I should have years earlier. Though my words were true, at least many of them, it still felt wrong to write them, to add the page permanently into one of my journals.

I enjoyed hunting down the creatures that didn't deserve breath, but I didn't actually think my means were justifiable. I just couldn't fight it anymore. And why should I? I had no one, nothing. That part was true. All I had was a goal, and until I found him, I didn't see any reason I should let evil run rampant in the city. They were my practice, the stone I would sharpen myself on, harden myself against. And if I killed them in ways that made others cringe, turned the stomachs of better-bred men, so be it. I wasn't fighting myself anymore. I had only one enemy.