Warning: Disturbing imagery ahead.
It came on suddenly.
Hydron had been floating in this place that was both dark and light, when the pain overwhelmed him.
The veins all over his body seemed to be trying to make an escape, what with the way they rose from his skin. He appeared more like an elderly man that had been through hundreds of wars, than a teenage boy. The muscles on his thin body quivered, becoming tense and un-tense at such a speed that it looked as though his skin was pulsating. His toes curled, nearly breaking through his shoes, and his back arched at an angle that looked horribly unnatural, if not completely demonic. His nails (short stubs, sharp from his constant gnawing in the prison), dug into the palms of his hands, causing blood to ooze out, spiraling down his arm.
But he did not scream. He refused to let himself utter a sound. If he cried out, his father would see him as something weaker than he already had shown himself to be.
Hydron bit into his lip, opening up the old scars that had originally formed whilst he was in the dungeon, pacing, wanting Gus to wake up...
'Where is Gus? Is he OK? I hope he's Oka-WHY DO I CARE?!'
The blood stained his teeth, oozing between the cracks and poisoning his tongue-but it was numb, and all it was to him was liquid to help ease the agony in his dry, dry, burning, throat. When it slowly dripped down his throat, it morphed into lava, that felt it's way into his stomach where it bubbled and burned.
He let himself scream as he felt his stomach lining disappear, the acid working it's way into his heart, his lungs, his very veins, traveling to his arms to his hands to his fingertips to his chest and his legs and his feet and his toes, and into his brain, his mind, his soul...
Hydron's eyes flew open, as the images flashed in front of his eyes, from his youth:
A little boy-himself?-staring at the form beneath blood-stained sheets. They were lifted, covering the woman's head.
His father, sitting alone, dragging a short blade over his thick wrists, tears streaming down his bearded face.
His father holding him, as a small portrait was painted-a portrait that he would keep with him forever, trying to remember a happier time.
HIs father. Over and over again.
The revolutions.
The people walking through the streets, guns firing at the people, his people, and killing them all and the streets-they were painted red.
The executions.
Watching and watching and watching because it was expected and it was his duty to do this but why why why they did nothing wrong and father he has lost it...
The beatings...
The first time was the worst, and it didn't happen again for a while. Not until he was a disappointment, but wasn't he always?
The Brawlers the battles the wars the pain the death he caused that he caused and how could he do that to the people that cared about him but how could they care about him because no one ever had before and did he deserve it and he wasn't sure and he hated them all for alienating him because he just wanted to help and help the kingdom and help his father and help them because they were his friends but were they because they hated him and they wanted him hurt and they wanted him dead and they didn't care that his father hit him right in front of them because they wanted him dead and maybe he wanted himself dead as well-
blood-stained hands shot up, the twitching fingers wrapping around the light blond hair, tugging and tugging, yanking and pulling until the strands broke, snapping like his fragile sanity-his heart, his mind, his body, he was dying-
and he screamed because he wasn't sure if he wanted to die but that feeling that feeling remained and he hated it because he wanted to do something good something actually good that could stop his father that could get revenge but could he do it, to the man who raised him, who despite everything he loved? and he wasn't sure he could do it...
"You can."
That voice was so strange and mystifying and wonderful, and it seemed to come from everywhere, seemed to wrap around him, and protect him...
"You can get revenge upon your father, and take care of the Brawlers, all in one shot."
But are the Brawlers really that bad-?
"YES, they are. If you defeat your father, then they will go for you. You must get rid of them, and you must get rid of them first."
Yes yes yes, no one can get in the way of Hydron-I am-he is-we are powerful, a force to be reckoned with!
"Yes we are, dear boy." Did the voice seem closer?
"HYDRON?!" a different voice? What-?
He looked up, and there they were: Mylene, Shadow, Lync, Volt...They looked surprised to see him.
What is he doing here?
What happened?
His father...
I will kill him.
The father or him?
Both.
W-why is he bleeding?
He's hurt!
I will kill whoever did that to him.
He did it to himself.
I'm sure.
Are you?
No.
Yes.
We don't know.
He needs help.
He'll die.
We need to get away from him.
We need to go to him.
His eyes...
What's wrong?
He needs help.
We can give it to him.
We can't give it to him.
Look where we are.
We're dead.
No we aren't.
What's behind him.
It's dangerous.
It's bad.
He needs to get away.
He needs to become one with it.
NO.
"Hydron!" Lync shouted.
"Get away from that!"
"It's dangerous!" Shadow and Volt had shouted, nearly at the same time.
The Vexos continued shouting warnings and questions and things Hydron didn't understand, couldn't understand, because there was like a filter in his mind, blocking them out. He whirled around, twitching and wondering where the hurt where the blood and gore had gone...but he couldn't see what was causing them to worry.
"Hydron! Get away! It-OH MY WAVERN-" Mylene screamed recoiling. The other Vexos screamed in horror, before running-or rather floating-away.
He didn't want to be alone not again and they were his friends or at least he wanted them to be and he was so sad and mad and happy and there was so much hate, but he didn't know why and it made him feel like he was choking nd drowning, though there was just space, so much space around him and he wanted them back, and he wanted them to be like they were in real life, or even in those dreams where they cared, where someone anyone actually cared about his happiness or well-being, and he wanted to cry but he couldn't because he had to be strong and brave and he had to-
He had to complete His mission.
Hydron lifted a hand up, looking at the red gauntlet gloves, that had seemed to grow from his very skin. His hand seemed longer, somehow older. His arm was larger too, and it had muscles. He was no longer wearing the torn prison garb-it had been replaced by a long white coat, that had several straps similar to his own coat, only his was warm and soft, whereas this was cold and stiff (much like a lab coat). The pants were a deep, velvet-y texture, and were colored such a shade of purple, tat it could even rival the shade that tinted the finest grapes of Vestal. The shirt he wore beneath the coat was a grayish-blule color, that (should he choose to remove the coat), wouldn't cover nearly enough skin for his liking. He liked the short boots, for they had a similar feel to his own (tight at the ankle, wider further up), though they seemed to have harder soles than his own. The only thing that truly bugged him was the fact that his arms weren't covered more (he didn't want anyone to see his scars), but if he pulled the gloves up just right, the scars caused by those brutish guards were not visible.
Suddenly, the world around him seemed to dissolve, and he reappeared in a dark room, that seemed to have little-to-no furniture in it. It was completely dark when he first arrived, and a bit of panic seemed to build up within him, because he hated the dark, like the darkness in the dungeon, the fear and the pain, and the loneliness-
but he wasn't alone; he never would be again. At least not until his task was completed.
And then he could die.
A few moments after he appeared, however, a single ray of light-the source from which it emanated from being unknown-landing on the floor not too far away. The wall beside the dot of light was shiny, near luminescent in it's reflectiveness. It wasn't blurred or unclear as it had been the first time he saw it-now it was similar to that of a verticle pool, shimmering and rippling, ever so slightly.
His feet moved, as if not controlled by himself-but that's OK-until he was standing in that little bit of light, staring into the looking glass.
His hair was similar, if only a bit longer, and a rich golden color. His skin was the same, baring the same marks inflicted upon him, though it looked healthier than it probably should have been, considering where he had spent the last few weeks. The shape of his face was like his body: More muscular, older, and fuller. The smile upon his lips looked wrong, in a way-it wasn't really his own, and it looked a little mad (but you're far past madness, Hydron).
The mask that covered his eyes was bulky, and tinted a bit oddly. Briefly, he wanted to remove it before that desire was dashed from his brain. This mask was who he was now, and who he was to be for the rest of his forever.
"I am Masquerade," they said.
A/N Are you confused? Did your mind just explode? Are you guys okay? Not sure I am; even writing this made me feel as though my sanity was leaking out my ears... XD If you are confused about the first half of this, it was just Hydron going even more insane. Don't look too much into the run-on sentences. XD
Any guesses what happened in this chapter (though I tried to make it obvious at the end)? The second part at least. XD
Also, I made your Vexos have their first appearance! Bet you're happy!
Thanks for all the follows/favorites/reviews! \m/
Please review!