Blackheart's P.O.V.
The horde of savage beings I conjured in a matter of seconds swarmed my sister. At first, I was pleased. But I soon felt something was amiss when I no longer heard the girl's screams. I descended from the windstorm, down into the throng of husks.
"Get out of my way!" I growled, pushing them to the side. They just bumped into one another like the mindless drones that they are.
I felt my decayed heart stop when my gaze rested upon my deceased sibling. A puddle of scarlet surrounded her tiny frame, her back had multiple stab wounds giving off a pungent odor that was too powerful for even the pouring rain to smother. Her brilliant green eyes were half opened and her mouth was frozen in a haunting scream with a small trickle of blood running down her lips.
This gruesome sight, it...it wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to happen! I told these mindless creatures to maim her! Not kill her! I didn't want her to die!
I looked up at all of the shades surrounding me, standing at the ready, obediently awaiting orders. My pale fists crackled with black electricity. I shot my fists at one of the husks standing in front of me. The electrical current went through his body, leading into the next one, and the two behind it, and so on until the lightening tore through ever demon, evaporating them into a cloud of purple smoke. They didn't move. They didn't even flinch, like good soldiers. I wish they did, I wish they screamed! I still can't believe those bastards killed my little sister!
I should have never summoned them! I should've known I couldn't control that much power! I was so overcome with anger and sorrow, I released an echoing scream into the dark, tempest, sky. I stared straight ahead, taking deep, growling, inhales as the downpour continued to drench my clothes. But amongst my blind rage, there was one thing I couldn't quite piece together.
Why did I care so much?
I mean, shouldn't I feel victorious? Why is there no sense of accomplishment in eliminating another obstacle on my path to world peace? Buttercup wouldn't shed a single tear if she killed me. She probably wouldn't even give it a second thought. But still.
Why did I care so much?
I've killed thousands while smiling. Hell, she's not even related to me! Then again, they aren't related to anyone but eachother. Yet, father sees these abominations as his daughters, and that makes me their 'brother.' They're still part of the Utonium family, as if they were adopted...
I gave a slight chuckle at this realization. Is this it? Is this why I am so opposed to letting my 'sisters' die? Because some small fragment in my brain is telling me that they're still family?
How weaker could I get? Family doesn't matter anymore! My own father stabbed me in the back! My mother turned me into a mutated freak, and I killed her for it! And my deformed piles of scientific waste attempted to blast me off the face of the planet! They're just being heroes, so self-righteous! I swear on my parent's graves that I will teach them a new kind of pain: loss.
I cackled like a maniac into the sky as a clap of thunder rolled through the clouds. No normal person would laugh at this. But then again, I'm not normal. My laughter came to a halt. I feel the need to write in my journal.
Entering the mostly intact lab of my home, I walked over the filthy tiled floor towards the table that had my little journal laying on top with a blue pen on the right. So many painful memories coming from this booklet. Father gave it to me as a present about a week before...the incident. I didn't write anything in it at the time. I didn't feel the need to. But after I got my powers, I decided to start.
I wanted to chronicle my journeys, as a lasting reminder to anyone about what it was like to be a god. I sat on the top of a building, uncapped a blue inked pen, and began to write. I only managed to fill one page:
April 22, 1998
Don not listen to what the government tells you about me. The only way to gain the facts is by reading this journal. My journal. The world should know who I am, what I am capable of, and what it's like to be in my position. That is, if someone manages to end my life. I'm not sure why me, out of all the people in the world, was chosen to do this. But there must be a reason. There's a reason for everything. I am the blade of the lord, and may he use me to purge this hate-filled planet of evil. There is no name for what I am. But there was a name I was once referred to as: Chester Henry "Blackheart" Utonium.
Everytime I open up to that page, it flashes memories of that painful day in rapid succession. I didn't write anymore after that entry. I was dead before the sun came up. But once I was reborn, I found it in Father's trunk in his closet. Leather bound, small, and initials in gold wrote C.H.U. Though the letters became faded over the past five years. Every day since then, I wrote an entry giving every detail on the fights outside, and the ones inside my psyche. I don't know why. I just knew that if somebody manages to kill me, the government will try to cover this up. The world doesn't want to know Chester Utonium came back from the dead, for fear it might happen again. Word probably didn't even leave this town's borders yet. I sat down with my back to the wall and opened up to a fresh clean page.
June 17, 2003
My sister is dead. Buttercup Utonium, aged five. I didn't want that to happen. I couldn't even control the power. It was too much. But I guess that proves even the most powerful of men can't handle supreme power. I usually take joy in seeing the life drain from someone's eyes, but with my sisters it's different. Look at me! Listen to how I sound! Why would anyone enjoy killing? I need help! But it's too late for that now. The damage has been done. Everybody wants me dead now and it's only because I can't control my own bloodlust. Or maybe I'm just crazy, with all these chemicals and maggots swimming around in my brain.
I stopped writing for a moment, thinking if I left anything out. And in fact, I have. Something the world desperately must know if I am ever defeated by my siblings.
In my free time, I am either writing in this journal, or eavesdropping on the military using my attuned hearing abilities. The general is planning to take the "Powerpuff Girls" into custody once this is all over. They apparently broke out of prison and is the reason I am alive. Lies. All lies. I am able to walk once more because this town had so much negative energy in it, and that reacted to my Chemical X filled corpse, as I have explained several entries ago. The general is actually taking the girls into a research facility, where they are to be prodded and sliced open to find out just what makes them tick. I refuse to let that happen. Death is a far more peaceful fate then that, and I shall make that happen. If I am killed by my sisters, which in all honesty, I think is a 57% chance of happening, I want whoever finds this to get the word out. Please, just put them out of their misery if there's no alternative. No one deserves to be tortured like that. And that's why I believe the government is far worse than I'll ever be. I liberate people from their torturous lives while the 'suits' prolong that as agonizingly as possible. Trust me, I've looked into that general's mind. I've seen the things he's seen. It's not pretty. This stupid pen is running out of ink, so I must stop here for now.
-C.H.B.U.