Son of the Wicked.

Was this what I was always meant to be? I looked down at my hands soaked through to the bone with the blood of the countless. In a way, I felt relieved to finally have some semblance of clarity. As shitty as it may be. Now, at least I know where I, no not where, what I am.
The son of the wicked.
However, the pastor certainly seemed to be shining a rose tinted light on the prince of darkness,  for a man of the cloth. He knew too much to be a regular Priest. An old and withered hand rested on my forearm.
‘I know son, the truth can both set you free and improsen you to the inevitability of self fulfilling prophecy. You do not always get to choose.’ I pulled my arm away from him before responding.
‘And how is it that you have all this knowledge of my…heritage?’ He laughed a horrible choking gagg which resulted in a long hawked out ball of bloodied phlegm.
‘Something amusing to you?’ I snapped, half concerned.  He couldn’t die now, I needed answers!
‘Ahhh, just you. And how you assume.’ His eyes flashed at me again causing the hairs on the arm closest to him to raise. I pulled my arm away from the draw that resonated from him, again.
Assume? You lost your mind Priest?’ I teased as I rubbed the hairs down on my arm.
‘You will see. But first you need protection from the spectres. I am aware of your…travels. ‘ I looked at him again, but this time I saw something different, behind the veneer of vulnerability, behind the facade of age. This was no ordinary priest. I’m not even sure if it was Human.
‘I, ahhh, I don’t know what you-
-come off it!! You think that your evil deeds go unnoticed? You think that your actions go unnoticed by him?‘ For the first time in over four hundred years I felt like a child again being chided by the monks for some wrong doing. I smiled, but the way he said the word ‘him’ sent goose flesh up my arm again.
‘By ‘him’ you mean-
– I mean the devil, your true father.’ I sniggered before responding.
‘Now that you mention it, I don’t suppose I did, no!’
‘Do not mock!’ He spat before turning away from me,’you were created for more than this…existence. You were meant for more than the what you are now, a mere puppet for the world’s greater evils.’
‘Really?’ I let the question hang in the air but I hadn’t finished and the priest knew this, ‘So what was I meant for?’ The priest fished inside his loose black robes and produced a brown leather book. A pentagram was branded into the front cover. He held it out toward me.
‘You were meant for this. The world and everything in it, my son.’

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About Henry Game

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