I like villains and I like the magic class. Put them together and you get a wizard called Casimir. Enjoy.
Musings of a Monster
What makes us human? What really makes us the things we are? Why is it so difficult to explain what makes us human? I tried once. Not a single word formed. When I wonder what makes a monster, the words flow freely. Can anyone tell me why it's so easy to describe? Shouldn't it be the other way around? We have a choice, when we gain awareness, of being human and being a monster. Sometimes, we are told what to be and the answer is always the same. We are human.
For so long I felt nothing. A child that feels no joy in anything is no child at all. I looked on at the other children, wondering what it was they found so…amusing. I never joined in their games or stupid conversations. I was above them. I was better than them. Yet, I felt nothing and they felt everything. Mother worried that something was wrong with me. Father said I was merely a quiet, shy child. They were both wrong. Nothing was wrong, nor was I quiet or shy. My instructors said I was a brilliant boy and would grow into myself so my parents stopped worrying. I was perfectly fine so I watched the other children play and continued to feel nothing. I simply appeared to be an antisocial eight year old.
I never cried. Not once. If a bully came up to me and threw idiotic insults and curses at me, I threw them right back, but so much worse. I always had a way with words. The bully was the one to cry and run off. On that day, after the other boy had run off sobbing, I felt the strangest thing…a light feeling in my chest and the upward curve of my lips. I had smiled and I was feeling a tinge of joy. To be human is to feel happiness, among other things, isn't it? This was what I was always told. I walked home that day with a smile and it shocked my mother. I told her what happened and she assumed I was happy because I had stood up to the boy. She was right, wasn't she? Not quite.
Two days later, the boy returned but he had two friends with him. This boy and his friends were a couple years older than I was but his intelligence was certainly lacking. The three of them were swordsmen in training as I was a mage. Surely no match for them, right? The boy I had insulted soon hurled a fist toward my face. How interesting, I thought as I watched his fist connect.
He hit his target and I only took a step back, analyzing the pain shooting through my jaw. I tasted the coppery flavor of a bloody lip and raised my hand to inspect the already swollen flesh. I pulled my fingers away to see a scarlet smear. I grinned once more. This time, it was because of the pain. I liked it. I wanted him to hit me again so I let an insult fly. This time, all three lunged and tackled me to the ground. This was day that I discovered my irresistible liking for physical pain. The more they hurt me, the more I grinned and laughed.
Slowly they stopped, staring at me with disturbed expressions. These boys couldn't figure out why I was laughing hysterically and carrying on as if they had been tickling me. I was bruised, had a bloody lip and nose and two lovely black eyes. How good it felt. I sat up, still smiling broadly and asked them to keep going. I must have scared them because they backed away and fled. I had never felt as good as I did. Pain made me happy and it made me feel alive. I had never felt anything until then. Who knew pain would awaken my feeling?
I walked home again, this time frightening my mother. She wanted me to tell her who fought me but I refused. She also wanted to know why I was smiling and not crying. I said nothing. I knew she thought it strange but for some reason, I wanted to keep her in the dark. I wanted her to worry. It was another small joy for me. My father just watched with indifferent eyes. He waved it off as a typical boyhood scuffle. Very little concerned that man.
From that day on, things began to change. I picked fights and let the others beat me. Six years go by and I earned myself a strange reputation indeed. I was often called weak, worthless and strange. I was constantly in fights and there was never a day that went by where I didn't have a bruise of some sort. I was no small boy by any means and I even had a few muscles to boot. My father had insisted that I get into shape and win once in a while. How trite, but I did as he asked. My mother worried more and my father insisted she was worrying over nothing. Another two years went by. Very soon, I discovered something else.
I was in a particularly nasty mood one afternoon and went to look for a fight. I had little trouble finding one. The local bullies were always my favorite to coerce. This time, I ran into my old nemesis. I rather enjoyed his particular beatings. He was so rough and merciless. This time, though, he wasn't doing things the way I wanted him to and it made me unhappy. It made me feel that detestable feeling of nothing again. I needed the pain. For some reason, he acted as if he was tired of the fight. All at once, my patience snapped. I balled my fist and landed a punch sharply in his jaw.
Something snapped. I froze.
My dear bully froze as well. There was no doubt that I broke his jaw. The crack of bone…I wanted to hear it again. He stared at me with wide, dare I say, frightened eyes. He lifted a hand and felt his jaw hanging slack, his eyes misting. I couldn't help myself. I launched myself at him and swung behind him, pulling his arms with me. He wasn't fighting back. Interesting. I saw his head hanging, his chest heaving. I lifted my leg and planted my foot against his back and pulled his arms and until I felt them beginning to give. He emitted strangled whimpers and then a screech of agony as his shoulder joints gave way. The sickening pop was musical to me.
I let him fall to the street, sobbing. His arms were utterly useless and his jaw was cracked and dislocated. I never knew that being the cause of pain would be better than receiving it. It filled me with indescribable glee. I was nearly trembling with excitement. I stood for a moment, reveling in the consequence of my actions. Unfortunately, someone would surely try to put a stop to my fun if they knew what had happened here. I was no fool, even for being sixteen. I knelt next to my beloved bully and whispered a few simple words.
"Tell anyone and I'll make it a hundred times worse next time." He shrunk back from me fearfully, much to my satisfaction. Perhaps it was time to make a new reputation for myself and I did. One year later, I was the one they called a bully. Every shriek and cry and groan of pain I caused, gave me pleasure. I was addicted to something everyone tried to stay away from. I never touched a girl, though. I was always told it was wrong but then…why should they receive special treatment? There was a girl, not the first, certainly not the last, that was intrigued by me. Most of them, unfortunately, were afraid of me.
I can't recall her name, but she was pretty. She was two years older than I was and she said she had watched me from afar. She admitted that she was afraid of me but not enough to keep her away. She was a fellow wizard; I had become one myself a year and a half ago. She followed me one night, she made sure I knew she was there. I didn't acknowledge her but I let her follow. I was autumn then and the Prontera air was chilly enough to see one's breath. I had turned down an empty street and of course, she followed.
Finally, I came to a halt and turned to face her. Waves of silky black hair came just below her shoulders. She held her tan cloak close to her, trying to block out the cold. I motioned for her to come to me and she did. What a good girl. Very obedient. Too bad for her that I was in need of some enjoyment. I could at least get more than one type of use from her. She approached and said my name in a breathy voice that carried a double meaning. I grasped her arms firmly and pressed her against the brick wall of a building. She smiled, oddly enough. Interesting girl.
She whispered something but I was far too wrapped up in my thoughts to hear her properly for a moment. She said it again and I heard that time. She wanted me. It was her lucky night, it seemed. I pressed my lips to hers roughly as my hands flung open her cloak. She let out a hiss as the cold air hit her skin. Typical wizard uniform, shorter than most, though. I have an appreciation for the female body and I choose to let them know it. My fingers nimbly found the zipper on her front. Suddenly she squeaked and pulled her face away from mine.
I had bitten her lip harder than I thought since she was bleeding. She began to say something but I silenced her with another kiss. I could taste the metallic flavor of her blood and continued my ministrations. Her body was as pretty as her face it appeared. She gasped at both the cold and my fingers brushing over her breasts. She moaned my name and I snapped. I was never in control of myself in these moments. I needed to see blood or hear bones break. I pinned her arms above her against the brick wall, sliding them slowly across the rough surface.
She then realized something was wrong. I was hurting her more than she thought I would. The bricks caught on her lovely pale skin and made her arms bleed. She began to struggle and almost succeeded in wrenching herself away from me. I grabbed her and pulled her back toward the wall. Sadly, she was a clumsy little thing when she panicked. She tripped and fell against the wall, hitting her head first and slumping down to the street. I smiled. I had heard her skull crack against the brick. Such a wonderful sound.
I gazed at her limp form sprawled on the street. Blood pooled around her midnight hair and her chest remained exposed. I felt mild disappointment that I had hurt her too quickly. She was alive for the moment but would soon bleed to death. She was the first one I killed. It was exhilarating. It topped that of hurting people. I had found a new joy. With one last look, I stepped over her body and walked away through the empty street.
Most recently, there was the church in Prontera, many years and many deaths later. I had come to know that I had been blessed by Loki with his chaotic magic. Fire had fascinated me particularly. I also had to prove my loyalty to the great god of chaos. I knew exactly what I had to do. I entered the church in the evening and walked to the chapel. I stared at the little figurine of Odin standing on the altar, hating it more with each passing moment. Suddenly there was a scream and then another. The priests were alarmed until they were screaming for the same reason.
I turned to see the frenzied scene behind me with a smirk. I had set them each on fire. Howls of agony filled the air as priests and acolytes alike frantically tried to douse the flames. No use, silly children of God. They knew it was I that had done this to them and they cursed me through their cries. I watched until the last had fallen into a heap of ash and embers.
So what makes us human? I could never tell you the answer. I'm not human. I am truly a magnificent monster. Please, give me pain and I'll return the favor tenfold.
A/N: Casimir is from my story Gotterdammerung. He's one sick puppy. Anyway, I think the rating is okay. I think o.O; I s'pose I can change it if need be.