Lust
.
.
.
It was in His blood,
His nature,
His very being,
To seek Battle.
It is who is he is,
What he yearns for,
What he breathes,
And what he lives for.
To fight powerful opponents,
To fight the best of the best,
And to test his abilities against those of the very best,
So that he may push himself further,
And reach greater heights,
And surpass himself again,
And again,
And again.
. . .
But most of all . . .
He would indulge himself in the thrill of combat,
So that he may satiate his thirst,
To fulfil,
His Desire.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
He was seen as psychotic . . .
Cold and apathetic to everyone,
And everything.
He showed not an ounce of feeling,
Nor concern,
Nor remorse,
None of it.
He showed nothing at all to those of the fallen.
. . .
But why should he . . .
After all,
He was the one who slaughtered them.
. . .
He was merciless.
Spilling the blood of those who opposed him,
And who he opposed.
. . .
There were many,
Countless in number.
Squads,
Platoons,
Battalions,
Brigades,
Army's,
All of them stood no chance against him.
He alone
He was a Squad,
He was a Platoon,
He was a Battalion,
He was a Brigade,
He was a walking Weapon,
A One-Man Army,
A man so young brimming with such power,
Such prowess,
Such potential,
Such focus,
. . .
And yet . . .
He didn't seem human,
At all.
. . . . . .
Even on the brink of death,
The stubbornness of these poor souls wouldn't allow them to quit.
He had to give them credit for their resolve,
It was most admirable.
Not many would have the will to continue when all hope was lost to them.
And for that . . .
He would spare them.
. . .
Not because of sympathy,
And certainly not because of guilt.
. . .
It was because,
In his eyes . . .
They weren't worth it.
In his eyes,
They were pathetic.
In his eyes,
They were nothing
. . .
But trash.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
How long had it been . . .?
Since he last felt such,
Elation
. . .
He didn't know.
He couldn't remember when fighting became such a bore to him,
Or how long it had been since he started holding back in all his fights . . .
Anything to make them last longer.
They were all so weak,
So outclassed,
That if he tried even a little,
It was already over.
He would crush their spirits,
And he wouldn't give a damn.
. . .
However,
For those stubborn fools who refused to see sense and end their futility.
. . .
He would,
Without hesitation,
Kill them.
It was with these countless acts,
That he was revered as Heartless,
Soulless,
Mindless,
. . .
A Killer
. . .
Or so they thought.
. . .
There were only a handful of people,
Who had been able to push him to the absolute limits,
The absolute max,
Of his power.
Both in Mind,
Body,
And Soul
. . .
But he wouldn't stop there.
No
He wasn't one to believe in 'limits'.
When he would reach a new pinnacle,
He would push forward,
Draw forth more strength,
More power that he didn't seem to have,
And his tenaciousness would spur him on,
And surely kill him if he wasn't careful.
But like they say,
"What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger"
. . .
And stronger he did indeed become.
. . .
Too strong.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Once again another waste of his precious time,
Well whatever could be classed as 'precious time' nowadays.
Left unsatisfied again,
And again he had yet to have his fill . . .
For a long time.
He became sour,
Bitter,
Irritant,
None of them were worth the time of day.
None, of them.
No amount of training could fill the emptiness of his desire,
Not even the endless heaps and scraps of metal could do anything to relish his craving.
He couldn't even savour the taste of a good fight anymore,
As well as a victory.
. . .
His instincts had never,
Never,
Failed him before . . .
So why now?
Why now was he lead to facing petty competition that did nothing to benefit him?
Why now were his skills left to tarnish for all they were worth?
Why?
"Why? Damnit Why?"
At first there were no complaints because there was always someone, and something worth fighting.
. . .
But,
The more battles he fought,
The less worth they had,
Till it reached the point that they,
Altogether,
Were worth,
Nothing.
. . .
"Is everything okay?" asked a feminine voice.
Snapped out of his grievance he looked over to the women who sat herself beside him. His apathetic red eyes met her dull blue with a calculating stare.
"What do you want?" he speaks rather coldly, shifting his eyes away from her so that he may empty his mind from unsettling thoughts that swam throughout his conscious.
"I... was concerned" she answers very reluctantly from being in her friend's presence, feeling his animosity flare around him like a blazing light.
"I didn't ask for you concern" he says in a bold manner keeping his focus adrift.
"I know..." the women speaks in finality as she bows her head, feeling best not to talk anymore and hoping her presence doesn't annoy him. If not further if it hasn't already.
. . . . . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . . . . .
"I keep telling myself... that, it'll come to pass. That eventually, I can enjoy fighting again"
Yes, she knew. She may understand how he feels but he she, better than anyone else, knew just how much he loved to fight.
Always seeking the next challenge, fighting every battle as though it were his last, just... living in the moment.
The battlefield is his home,
His playground,
It is where he felt most alive.
Where he truly felt he belonged.
. . .
But... now . . .
Now he was a shadow of his former self.
Whereas as before he would become ecstatic when faced against a strong foe,
And showed respect for those he slayed . . .
Now, he just displayed senseless violence,
Toying with his opponents and when he had enough,
He would deliver the killing strike.
When she thought about it,
It was as if his love for battle,
Had turned against him.
. . . . . .
". . . I know it's hard... and I can't, I won't promise you that everything will work out. But, but I genuinely believe... that it will get better".
The raven-haired male stayed quiet, and took his friends words to heart . . .
Well, what was left of it at least.
As odd and... weird, she tended be. She was the one person who'd stick by him, even when he tended to act like an asshole sometimes.
. . .
Still . . .
. . .
"Thanks, but... I'm just not so sure anymore"
She watched as his head rose. His face was stoic, and void of any feeling.
But what attracted her most, was his eyes.
They were much colder,
More... hollow
. . .
Dead
They frightened her, so much, that she'd frozen in place.
In her vision she saw him rise to his full height, towering over her, and walked off. A cold, dense aura lifted itself from his form.
. . .
What would happen now?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
To this day,
He continued as he did.
Fight after fight,
He continued to dominate,
Remained unmatched,
His strength immeasurable,
And his power,
Ever growing.
No more would he prolong his fights.
No more would he toy with his opponents.
If his challengers couldn't last long enough against him,
Then he'd finish it in an instant.
. . .
But he still remembered how things used to be,
How he fought for the sheer pleasure of it,
How he revelled in the excitement,
Not thinking about winning,
Or losing
. . .
He would just fight to his heart's content.
. . .
It was a long shot,
But he waited,
And hoped for the day,
That someone,
Anyone,
would bring him back to the battlefield,
His sanctuary,
Where there he could fulfil,
His Happiness,
His Love,
His Desire,
. . .
His Lust