I’m a hunter, not a Haunter now, though they mean almost the same thing in this instance. My eyes scan the phalanx of souls, searching for the face of Nether soul who put me in the hands of such torture. While it’s true that the wall that kept the memories bottled was brought down by Hope, it somehow no longer mattered to me. I just wanted to hurt someone. To make them feel the pain that detonated the volcano of violent emotions. My eyes twitch, back and forth and back and forth, until I find him close to the edge of the crowd, near me, drooling his yelps and yowls. I begin to head for the bastard. My feet are set at a light gallop, barely touching the ground. Which is weird, because I feel like I’m stomping, throwing a tantrum like a three year old.
I claw at his shoulders, turning him to me. His face is scrunched up in agony, the crease between his eyebrows deep as the Grand Canyon. It repels me so much that I forgot what I had wanted to ask him in the first place. My rage soon dulls the shock. Then I remember the story. “She is locked where the corrupted lie.” And I spit at him, “Where is Persephone”? I need to know what it means to be split from a soul. Why Hope has the ability to turn my insides to fire. Why she is set on ruining the world. And why I feel as if I’m at the brunt of it.
I plan to torture it out of this pitiful being, plan to extract the information from him even if it costs him what little sanity he has left. I smack him across his tormented face. “WHERE IS SHE?” He groans at the pain, but remains detached. “WHERE IS PERSEPHONE?!” I nettle him as I beat him with a closed fist. “I need to know! I need to know! I need no know…”
I beat him relentlessly as sobs rack my body. I let him drop, unconscious, to the ground. I drop to my knees beside the soul. What have I become? Then I fall beside him.