I was in the shower, scrubbing my body in a desperate attempt to cleanse myself. What I was trying to clean myself of, I didn't know. I scrubbed until there were raw patches of red skin that littered my body.
It all began with my downfall.
My betrayal, my traitorous ways.
It began with the desperation to prove myself, the bitter need to be feared and admired. It was simple to kill my comrades and become the man everyone knew as the Dark Ace. Ace died in that battle and I was reborn into a life of greed and evil.
The lust that drove me to kill began to consume me. And in those flashes where I was sane, I would stare in horror at myself. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't get the blood off my hands. I would scrub til my hands were red, raw and bleeding. I would stare in fascination as the blood would slowly drip out of me and fall onto the ground.
And then the desire for blood would take over me again.
With my blade in hand, I was merciless and ruthless. Nothing could stop me. I was the person in your nightmares you couldn't run away from no matter how hard you tried. Because I was the monster that would hunt you down, tear you to pieces and end your worthless life.
I began my life of servitude, worshipping the woman who had the same goal as I: power. Control over thousands of people, rule them, make their life a misery or end it. It was seductive and tantalising. I wanted it. It was, dare I say, fun to have so much control. I had the entire Atmos at my fingertips.
It all came crashing down my when past caught up with me. Lightning Strikes son, Aerrow had reformed the Storm Hawks. The squadron I had slaughtered. Like father, like son, Aerrow wanted justice and good to prevail.
Stupid, innocent and naive, that was what he was.
It aggravated me that I couldn't finish him off. Kill him. I wanted his blood on my hands. I wanted to see that boy scream for mercy. But I never got the chance because somehow, he was better than me. It infuriated me. I wanted so badly to see him dead. But when sanity crept back into me, I was glad he was more skilled than me. Hadn't I done enough evil? Lighting Strike was the brother I never had – but betrayed. It was good then, that I couldn't kill his son.
The wall I had built came crashing down and I screamed as the emotions that I couldn't control pulled me under. I fell onto my hands and knees and yelled as the pain consumed me. I beat on the floor in agony. I was aware of nothing until I heard her voice.
"Get up."
My throat was aching; I could only rasp out one word. "Master." Weakly I looked up to see Cyclonis watching me with contempt for my weakness.
"This is the fourth time I've seen you like this. Once more, and I will dispose of you." She said her voice hard and eyes watching me maliciously. "There is no room in Cyclonia for such weakness."
I bowed my head in shame.
She began to speak softly to me, sweetly, but her words were laced with poison. No one could trust her, not even I, her right-hand man. She walked over to me, knelt and stroked my wet hair, almost lovingly. "What is the matter with you? Is there something you need to make this problem go away?"
I dropped my gaze down and shook my head. "No Master," I whispered. Almost trivially I pointed out, "You're getting wet." She was kneeling on the shower floor next to my naked form.
"No matter." She stood up and turned around. "Fix yourself up, Dark Ace. I have said it before and I will say it again. Weakness will not be tolerated and dealt with." She spoke with a brisk tone, uncaring, deadpan and with that small smirk in her voice that I hated.
Briskly she walked away, and out of my quarters.
Shaking I stood up, bracing myself against the shower wall. A low moan escaped my lips when I look at my hands and saw their blood on me. I could never wash it off.