The flames. The destruction. The death. The screams of thousands of men, women, and children as their skins melt and their lively bodies turn into ash filled corpses. The skies were black and the streets were painted red by the carnage. I stood watching it from afar, listening to them as they begged. As they pleaded. It was a sight that even the strongest would break looking upon. I could feel their fear rippling through my skin, begging for someone to save them. The looks upon their faces as they met their end. The tears in their eyes as they realized that they would never see the light of this world again. That everything that was them, and everything that ever would have been them was about to be wiped from existence. It gave me intense displeasure at the same time making my joyous. Ecstatic at the destruction before me, yet appalled that it wasn't my doing. Disgusted that someone else had claimed the fear of these wretched beings.
I watched as someone else attempted to claim my ambition. But an ambition such as mine can only be claimed by one. For fear is absolute. Only one can be the demon that holds the reality of your wake, and the dreams of your slumber, replacing aspiration with despair. Only one can break a will and crush the ideal of something that isn't. I will keep them inside the darkness. I will be the center of their fear. I will destroy everything they hold dear. And only when they have felt my pain. Only when they know what it is to be on the verge of losing the one thing you hold dearest, will I become slightly satisfied. There is no hope.
In this society, there are two main categories of people. Those who pull strings, and those who have their strings pulled. The problem with that is that is these weaklings believe that order is power. They believe that their rules keep them protected. That by hiding behind the numbers of their military and the influence of their leaders will make them stronger. And I laugh because they believe that they struggled. They think their lives were tough because their fathers scolded them, or their mothers told them they couldn't date. In my world, it was survival. True power is taken with one fist, and held with the other. It belongs to the one who is alive. They have no power. The only reason they are alive, is because I allow them to live.
I have no memory of a father, and my mother-
I'll never forget what they did to her. I grew up in the slums of Arkna, the only city on Planet Di'Capor. Not much of a place for scenery. It was an ocean planet, known for it's constant thunderstorms and rare water minerals. Only one part of the city contained wealth, The Governor's District and I didn't see much of that. Everything else was run down and destroyed. Abandoned skyscrapers, homes, businesses. We had to scavenge for our survival. The Market Districts were the only other parts of the city worth mentioning. Small stands would set up shop to sell whatever produce they could mop up from the season's crop. Crowds of people would gather to scrape the bottom of their pockets just to buy enough food to feed themselves. Crime was as just as common as drawing breath. If you wanted to survive here, you'd have to do more than learn to fight. You'd have to draw blood. Gangs fought for influence all over, and anyone was eligible for an early death, whether it was for supplies or just to prove how insane you were. My parents both belonged to a clan known as The Hidden, a group known for sticking to the shadows. My father died before I was born, and my mother not long after I was born.
Despite my dim circumstances, I honed my skills. Darkness became my consolidation. In the shadows, I make my living, and destroy others. Killing is an art. Everything from the weapon you carry, the equipment you use, the armor you wear to the route you take. It's not just mass killing. It's planned, coordinated, quick, efficient, and most importantly, chaotic. I don't do this for the money, I do this to strike fear. This is my essence.