Written for the Danny Phantom Day of Angst 2012
Disclaimer: This is a Danny Phantom fan fiction. Fan fictions are not made by the owners. 'Nuff said.
The sad truth about both heroes and villains is that often times, they begin as ordinary people who experience a horrid tragedy. Heroes start helping people because they know the excruciating pain that the death of a loved one brings. Super heroes and super villains, the kind that usually only exist in comic books, have the same problems, and only differ from everyday ones in the fact that they have more physical power.
With heroes, many can only begin to come back out of their shells of misery with the help of people who love them. Before they start saving others, heroes themselves have to be saved.
But what of those who have no one to help them? What if, because of their abandonment in their time of need, they want everyone to feel their pain? That's when they lash out at others, hating the world for being so cruel. They become villains. They're the ones who were shown no mercy, the ones that could have been helped, but weren't.
The world sees villains as horrible, having no place in society. In reality, it's the world that creates them in the first place.
More often than not, villains are the heroes that were never saved.
The sinister tyrant grinned in sick glee as he looked down from his position far above the decimated streets. His dark red eyes sparkled with excitement at the view beneath him. He took in the sounds and sights of the crumbling city below, taking his time inspecting every little aspect of his unique, masterful artwork. A few days ago, he'd finally, finally been able The sky was a beautiful crystalline blue, dotted with light, fluffy clouds, the sun shining merrily down on the earth, oblivious to the destruction its light made visible. Other than the soft, cool breeze and the occasional creak of metal from the now useless building supports settling a bit more, the area was absolutely silent. It was all so serene, so peaceful. And every once in a while, that's how he liked it. But when it was time to work on his creation, his ears reveled at the screams and cries of each innocent little child, the cackling of flames as they obliterated everything in their path; those sounds were so…absolutely delectable.
He brought his focus back to his present surroundings, and continued taking in the sight below. His mind tingled with delight at seeing the carnage that was spread out before him. It was perfect; the way the blast marks that littered the brick walls left wonderful imitations of spider webs crawling out of the edges, the sharp twists and turns of heat-softened steel. The fresh, oozing blood splattered and smeared across the cement of the once-proud city's sidewalks. It was the blood that really brought the killer's art to life; it glistened beautifully, its deep ruby color glittering oh-so perfectly in the light of the afternoon sun. Deciding to back up a bit to examine a larger portion of the subject of his highly uncharacteristic mood, the powerful assassin almost lazily willed his body to elevate several hundred feet higher into the air. The virtually unquenchable flames that served as his hair flicked down the sides of his head slightly as the wind pushed it back. As the being responsible for the town's demise slowed to a halt in the sky, he was now high enough that he could see not only the latest addition to his collection of blood-painted cities, but dozens of miles surrounding it on every side. Before coming to the town he was currently hovering over, the color he wanted to create was black, the look of the land mixed with the usual deaths that accompanied all of his work. And what made a better dark and deadly outcome than an uncontrolled, raging fire? He evaluated the charred, slightly smoking land starting in the town's outskirts and spreading out from there into the horizon, making sure that its look fit his personal liking. He was pleasantly surprised to find that a section of the far-off earth was still smoldering with the remnants of toxic green fire. His grin widened slightly at the added bonus before he alternated his position to face the previously unseen section of his field of destruction, checking the dead landscape in the same way he had for the first part. He scanned the practically bulldozed area, looking at each perfect detail in absolute satisfaction. That is, until his unnaturally sharp vision rested on an almost unscathed house, hiding within the meager cover of a burned forest in the distant horizon. The tiny cottage was only one story tall, and it sagged slightly with age. But it was still standing.
Taking a closer look, he even spotted a hand-full of children and a young woman cautiously walking together in the shadows, with little more than a few cuts and bruises! The monster's lips pulled back and he gave an animalistic snarl, his long, razor-sharp canines and slightly flattened point-tipped ears only reinforcing his predatory image. He rocketed toward the speck in the distance with alarming speed, nearly breaking the sound barrier in his rush to fix the imperfection in his masterpiece. His landing shook the earth beneath his feet and created a crater more than 40 feet across, but it didn't faze him in the least. After all, you can't single-handedly crush every inhabited city on earth without having a bit of physical resistance. His head, which had previously been lowered as he stared in mostly feigned interest at the spider-web patterns in the crushed ground, suddenly shot up, and the frightened humans' uncontrollable whimpers were replaced by shrieks of fright as they proceeded to scatter, preservation instincts caused them to forget about each other and anything other than the need to run.
The demented murderer chuckled a bit at their useless attempt at survival. He watched them stumble over the rubble a few more seconds, his eyes dancing with amusement at the sight. Finally, he lunged in for the kill.
The little group didn't even stand a chance. Within moments, they had been reduced to bloody, mutilated piles of bone and flesh, the newest additions to his constantly growing collection of such things.
The rush gone, the hut splintered and the humans taken care of, the fanged killer flew back at a more leisurely pace to his spot high up in the sky to resume his observations. As he again looked down at his huge kingdom, a rare contented sigh escaped his lips. The wonderful image was now either flawless or very close to it. He'd have to check up on it later, just to make sure.
Or maybe he'd move on to another place that'd had time to change from its wonderful look when he'd left it as to its old self. It'd give this area time for more materials to grow so he'd have more to work with. He stroked his small goatee in thought, undecided as he floated in the air. Finally he made his choice; he'd come back to this place later. With renewed excitement, he shot off into what had been the western states of the US before he'd altered it to his liking. There would be many more tools and plant growth there than when he had left it. He sped up a little at the thought of new material to use for his work.
Because to him, that's all that the earth was: a huge collection of highly interesting objects and colors just waiting to be used in his masterpiece.
Death was his inspiration, the might of his power was his brush, glistening human blood was his paint…
…And the entire world was his canvas.
I… didn't even know that I could write something this morbid...
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