The Scarred Father

Basically, I meant to put this in as a prequel. Forgot about it, so yeah, here it is.

The man awoke in agony.

It was natural to him now, almost as if it were dress clothes he had grown to love. His head was covered in a hat of torturous headaches, his torso covered in a vest of burning wounds, his legs concealed by breaches of weakness and bruises, and his feet and hands had long since stopped feeling anything. He, of course, did not wear anything other than a loin clothe. He didn't deserve anything more.

Yes, his very existence was agony itself. But, he didn't mind it. He deserved such a fate, after what he had done. After what he had done..... 

The man stood, fighting to make it to his feat. His legs were pathetically weak, but they still worked, unlike his hands. He stood in his cave, his dark lonely cave, and rested from the effort of standing up. 

At the entrance of his cave was packed snow from the night before. The man couldn't allow that, however, as he liked to see the sun. Concentrating on one part of the packed of snow, the man heated the area intensely, melting the snow and revealing the dull sunlight hidden by clouds.

The man concentrated once more and created a flame in front of him. The fire flickered, kept up by the man's power, deemed the Mytics by his children, and he smiled softly. He did not deserve anything like these powers after what he had done, yet the Great Lord saw fit to give him power.

'It was thou's forgiveness that I craved, brother,' the man thought to himself as he walked toward the back of the cave.

Towards the back, the man found what he searched for: a small puddle of water. Kneeling, he made the water float upward and into his mouth. His abilities were useful and he did not deserve them, but the man used them when he could. He needed to show appreciation for the Great Lord's gift.

The water burned worse than any fire ever had when it went down his dry throat. the man took the pain calmly, just like he did every morning. Eventually, he reached his limit and headed toward the front of the cave once more. 

There, he found that his stone chair lay in pieces on the ground. Had he broken it in his anger again? He could not remember doing so, but he could not remember a great deal, these days.

Accessing another of the nine powers he had been gifted with, the man lifted the fragments of his stone chair and floated them in front of him. He pulled on another power to alter its shape and merge the fragments back into what they had been: A stone chair of dull design.

The man sat down after placing the stone chair on the floor before him. It was a relief to be off his feet, but now his back and arse writhed in pain. He was use to this too, though, so he ignored it.

He then began his daily ritual of thinking on his crime. It hurt worse than anything he had ever gone through, thinking about it. At first, his anger and jealousy had blinded him, then he had been distracted with his wife and children. After his wife had died though... He had lost it.

A thought occured to the man just then. He wondered how his descendants were doing. He hadn't checked on them in almost one hundred years. Though, what was the point? To them he was just a figure of legend, a man to learn from. They had dubbed him the Scarred Father, an example of what one mistake could do to a man.

It was fitting though, the man supposed.

The man sighed, only to discover that he lacked a voice. When had that happened? Then again, when was the last time he had talked? The man realized it had been when Murdos, his youngest and only living daughter, had visited. She hadn't said much, but he could still see her silent pleas for him to re enter the world. Of course, he had declined.

Reaching out with his mind, the man examined all the minds he could find. He could not see the world, but with all the minds he saw the man had a good enough picture. The world, it seemed, was dying. 

Resources ran out, causing a country to attack it's neighbors. Another country had all but been taken over by a dark force. Roving groups of bandits roamed, killing and pillaging throughout the lands. It was chaos compared to the last time the man had seen it. 

The man sighed, again finding he had no voice, and thought over things. He should help them, but he knew they did not deserve guidance from a man as pathetic as himself. All he could do was watch.

The man noticed something. There was a mind closer than the rest. Maybe just a few leagues from the man's cave. The mind was filled with rebellious thoughts and grand ideas. It seemed this mind wanted the man's help.

The man grew nervous, something he wasn't used to. Why was this person wanting the man's help? He didn't deserve to help anyone. He was just a sinner with a pathetic past. What could he do to help this person.

'...help... him...' A voice said. The man froze. He knew that voice. It was his brother's voice...

The man grew determined, then. He would do his best to help the approaching person, as the voice had commanded.

Cain would do whatever Abel asked of him.

The End

2 comments about this story Feed