When entering the most beautiful forest anyone could imagine, you wouldn't expect to find what any soul could find at this tragic moment. The black forest wasn't exactly where you'd want to go very deep into, especially at this time of the night. But hearing the blood-curdling screams could make anyone nearby curious enough to go find the source and help, especially the intensity of the reason the screaming had been happening. Or to whom it was happening to. But it's too bad no one was close enough to hear these screams, or recognize the voice the screams had belonged to. The voice most likely belonged to the little boy tugging at his own bloodied ankle, screaming at the pain it had poured through his body. How had this child been bound to a large tree trunk by barbwire, was a question anyone could have thought.
Anyone besides said victim, that is.
"Eridan! Eridan come back I'll kill you! ERIDAN I SWEAR COME BACK PLEASE!" The boys strained and struggling voice screeched into the emptiness between pitch black trees around him, his extraordinary violet eyes searching through the vacant area. "Eri-" he cuts himself off with a long pitch-changing hiss, echoing through the darkness as he brought his even bloodier hand to his mouth, licking the fresh blood from one of his finger tips. Something in his mind clicked and he hurriedly reached the hand down to his pocket, rummaging around through it until a metal object came out, glinting in the moonlight through the leaves blocking most of the light above. "Eridan! YOU BETTER NOT TELL DAD YA HEAR ME!" He called over his shoulder, towards the leaves that had already been crunched by smaller feet than his own. He rubbed the knife's blade against the rough barbwire, which only made an evil screaming sound, causing the boys ears to ring. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the situation around him, trying to imagine something happy. He was able to imagine a better world than this, where he wasn't a stupid prince or whatever he was to this damned country and its entirety. A place where his family wasn't famous. A place where he wouldn't have to worry about being hunted by predators. A place where he didn't have a bounty over his head, around the darker areas that no one bothered to go through. Yes, a bounty where whoever molested the boy first would get a load of money, before running to another country, or something even more drastic. His mind went blank, and his eyes seeped shut, closing out the world around him, and In this imaginary world he was surrounded by unfamiliar faces, smiling and lit up. Probably something he had caused, by the attention he was being given by these happy strangers.
The faces called out his name, and spilled admiration to him. They said things like "What could we have done without you?" and "You're our hero." He started smiling, in the real world that is, laughing along with the laughter of the others around him, his light voice echoing through the dark emptiness around him. But soon everything was fading, the laughter turning back into the sound of the barbwire rubbing against the metal, before the screaming had stopped and he opened his eyes, tears filling them almost immediately after they had been uncovered. The knifes sharp blade now lay pressed through his horrendously pale skin, staining it with more of his crimson blood than it had been covered in already. His arm slung back, and he ripped the blade out quickly, biting his lip to fight from screaming again. The blade had dug into the top of the tree trunk, and he used it to pull himself to his feet by pushing down into the wood, lifting himself from the floor. "Eridan! Eridan please come to me! Please Eridan! I need you!" He let go of the blades handle and moved his uninjured leg forward, leaves crunching under his heavy foot as he did so. The sound repeated shortly after, but it wasn't in front of him, and he hadn't caused it.
His breathing stopped, and he felt himself go more pale than he had been naturally, if it was possible in any way. He wondered if someone was behind him. If it was worth it to turn around. He had only been 9, so it wouldn't be that likely for it so be someone younger than him, especially in this area of his property,at this time of the night. His head turned slowly, his somewhat-pointed nose revolving 90 degrees when he saw a quickly stopping shadow. There was a quick crunching sound in the distance, but the shadow didn't move. It loomed over him, feet taller than him. It was a size large enough to overpower him easily, which frightened him to the bone. He wanted to run home, but what if this wasn't his imagination? What if something really had been there, ready to hurt him. The sound in front of him continued, but he didn't trust the shadow. Especially since it hadn't a certain silhouette, and was just a blob. But it remained still, facing him , even when he heard his name called from ahead of him, a familiar voice. "Cronus Riese Ampora! What did you do to yourself!? Are you out of your mind!?" Cronus' (the boys) head snapped around as he was lifted quickly off of the floor, into his fathers arms. "Sorry papa...It's Eridans fault! I swear! He ran through the garden, and I tripped on something, and my foot was caught in barbwire and... THE SHADOW!" He pointed back to where the pure darkness had recently stood, and nothing was there. "Oh..." He seemed upset, turning back as the back of his fathers large hand pressed under his loose-falling hair, feeling his forehead. "Cronus this is very weird. You're not sick, neither did Eridan leave. He was with me the whole time." His father's voice sounded a mix of disgusted and confused, which even he hadn't understood himself.
He turned around and walked back in the direction he came, wanting to go home. He didn't stop his movement when his son gasped, gripping his shirt tightly in his small hands. "What is it Cronus?" Drache Ampora asked, hugging his son tighter in his arms, ready for anything to jump out at him. "Papa...Eridans foot prints aren't here anymore. I swear they were here Papa, I really do!" "Cronus, calm down. This is all a bunch of nonsense, so you're going to bed right away, and tomorrow we'll talk about what you did or didn't see."
The bright and colorful shining lights of the manor met Cronus' tear filled eyes, blurring his vision even more, so he closed his eyes. His purple orbs ached and strained, like a pain pulling at his nerves to make him go completely blind. He felt a thumb rubbing his cheek roughly wiping his tears, so he opened his eyes, allowing the tears to build up more. His scrawny arms moved up and rubbed his eyes, and he paused. His glasses. Where were his glasses. Cronus wiggled and pushed against his fathers forearm, trying to break free. He kicked his feet and thrashed his shoulders, the world seeming to move faster than his mind could process around him. "Cronus we're in your room already calm down." "NO MY GLASSES!" "We'll get them tomorrow." "BUT MY-" "I said we'll get them tomorrow." Cronus sighed, knowing if he argued he'd get another one of his books taken away. Yes, he preferred books over toys, unlike his brother who insisted he have every toy imaginable. His father pushed the covers on his bed back, and set Cronus down gently, then allowing him pull the violet satin blankets over himself.
Drache leaned down and laid a kiss down on the scars of Cronus' forehead. Cronus worried why his father wasn't saying anything about the blood pouring from his ankle and fingertips. But he'd rather not burden his father, especially at this time of night. His father stood leaned over him, closing the curtains that were over the window by Cronus' bed. "Goodnight Cronus." He whispered, walking to the doorway by the pair of lights witches that were both on.
With a swift motion and a 'click' the room fell dark, Enveloping Cronus, making every bit of his young soul uncomfortable. "Goodnight, Papa."
Once the door had been closed and all light was gone from his large room completely, he fidgeted, and rolled over. Curiosity got the best of him and he reached his hand down, bending his knee so he could get his hand closer to his ankle without hurting his back. He froze, letting the darkness encase him, and get the better of him.
His ankle hadn't bled at all, and all that was there was the scar of where a gash may have been years before.
The only thing that could have caused this gash, was the contact with the knife earlier, and that wasn't enough time for it to be a scar. The only scar Cronus knew he was able to have was the time he became obsessed 'saving the world' and that one kid had to go and mark him up with a knife, telling Cronus it was a tattoo.
You can only imagine how upset Cronus had been when he learned it wasn't, and that he'd be stuck with two lightning bolt shaped scars on the right side of his forehead, both completely identical. That didn't fight the fact that these were now just scars, and no blood had dripped from them since the shadow appeared, from what he could remember.
And that was only the start of it.
Cronus Ampora sat up in his bed, covered in a thick cold sweat, his white shirt clinging to his body. "Fuck not again." He groaned, slapping his hands onto either of his cheeks, rubbing them down his face, pulling his face in an odd way. His hands dropped to his sides and his face took its normal shape again, and with a sigh, he thought of this nightmare. It was a dream from his childhood, the life he swore he'd never think about again. But seeing as though dreams are uncontrollable, he was stuck with harsh nightmares sometimes, the memories of the reason he had to move to this stupid city,state, and country in the first place. He liked Germany better, but people only faked respect towards his family there, where now the respect they got was all based off of their actions.
Cronus' mind couldn't stop remembering himself as a child, still confused to this day why the man did what he did in such a creepy-loving way to an innocent child. Why ANYONE would love his little nerdy self at the time, what with all the idiotic decisions he made for himself. As a child he could have worn the finest top-rank designer clothes. What did he choose to wear? Stupid button-ups with little sweater vests over them. Or those lame dress shoes that always battered and bruised his feet, along with those slacks that were hard to move in.
His whole life confused him, and he wished he had always been the way he had been now. He was forced to have a new personality, and he refused to be anything like his brother, so he chose the 'cooler' path. It's a little too bad either way he'd turn out to be the most hated member of the nationwide-famous Ampora family. And even THAT was an understatement.
Life had gotten better since middle school though. In middle school he was the total nerd, top of the class, tattle-tale wimp. Yea sure he had muscle, and could fight most people off, but that didn't mean he'd WANT to. Now he didn't care about what people thought, and he played it off as a cool guy. Some people respected him as the gifted student, and some for him being the captain of the swim team. A majority of people hated him though, he hit on practically everything that moved, and for being 'a total show off' because he had money.
It wasn't HIS fault people called him a show off. It was Eridans, he was always waving money in peoples faces like nobodies damn business. But at the time the rumor had started, Cronus was desperate for attention. He hated being ignored and left out because he was the new kid. But once the attention came, in beatings and harsh words, Cronus wanted his independence back.
Being alone is the safest feeling in the world. No one can hurt you. You can't hurt anybody. And you don't have to have people worry about you. It's perfect, it's like one of those white-padded walls they had at mental hospitals. It was fool proof, and nobody could deny that in any way.
Except Cronus of course, he abused his privilege of being alone, which is far worse than something a fool would do. Cronus honestly saw himself as a pure reject, and even he saw through his cool guy act. Everyone knew deep down he hated himself, and hurt himself mentally. And sometimes physically. He used to throw himself into things, getting the pain he claimed to deserve. Sometimes he'd even knock himself out, just to feel like he could forget about things.
And Cronus knew why he hated himself.
It was because the man, the prize winner of the bounty, told him so. That man had caused the lines and lines of indented scars on Cronus' torso, wrapping around with a larger indentation on his back, where everything tied together. That man was the reason Cronus and his family had to move, and the first year of their new life, Cronus had to go through intense therapy. Someone to teach him that it was okay. Someone to tell him that the dreams were just dreams.
When one dream started, he usually had all six of his evil dreams in a row, the worst one waking him up screaming and crying each time. It only went up a step if Cronus hadn't a good day after his nightmare. He needed to get outside and find someone to cheer him up. Someone to talk to.
Someone to tell him it was okay.
But, who was that someone?