A Blackened Heart

Mercury Black was on his hands and knees, blood dripping from his nose, his head pounding with a heartbeat. "Get, up," his father snarled. Shaking, Mercury stood and stared at his father's red face. Red from drinking. Red from anger. The boy's face was red with blood.

But Mercury didn't cry. In all the 12 years of his life, he had learned that crying only made life worse.

With a shout his father ran at him, fists swinging though the air towards the boy's face. Mercury ducked and avoided the attack at the last second. His head still swimming with pain, he tried to punch back, but his father grabbed his wrist, span him around and slammed Mercury against the wall. Mercury gave a small cry and his father pushed harder.

"What was that?" he snarled in his ear. He was so close Mercury could smell the alcohol in his breath. Mercury, his Aura gone, closed his eyes and felt splinters cut into his face as his check was pressed harder against the wall.

"When you attack, I expect you to attack. I expect you to act like a Black, not a sniveling child." Mercury's father pressed him hard enough to constrict breathing, "Do I make myself clear?"

"Y…Yes sir." Mercury stammered. Suddenly a fist slammed into his head, and the same time his father's hand released him. Mercury fell, his ears ringing. He lay on the floor, barely being able to hear his father leave the room.

The boy sat, rubbing his nose with his hand, feeling the warm blood. He knew his father hadn't left from pity; he had probably left because he had gotten bored at beating up his own son.

Unsteadily the boy put his hand on the wooden wall and stood, leaving a bloody handprint.

Mercury glared at the door through which his father walked. While his body burned with pain, his heart burned with hatred. I expect you to be a Black his father's words echoed in his head. Mercury's hands curled into fists. Not a sniveling child. Anger pushed the boy to his feet. "I am not weak," he snarled.

The Black family line had always hid in shadows. Their dark work stretching farther back than anyone could remember. The work of assassins, of mercenaries, of killers. Mercury was expected to carry on that dark tradition.

With a scream of anger the boy slammed his fist against the wall. He was so sick of this endless cycle. His father, Marcus, would leave, sometimes for days or weeks on end, then he would stumble into the front door of this the rotting, crumbing house he called his own, smelling like alcohol, his hand or weapon covered in blood. He would drop his weapon and slam the door to his personal room closed and drink from the numerous bottles he had lying about. Mercury would clean the blood off his weapon, his hands shaking with hate. Hours later his father would stumble out of his room, and beat his son. Beat him until he was cold, angry, and as filled with hate as he was.

Countless times Mercury had imagined beating him just as hard, making him feel the hate that burned from his father's hands.

Mistake, idiot, runt, useless, weak, and now sniveling boy. Mercury laughed darkly, "He's the idiot. I am a Black, and a Black is never weak." Every time he was hit, he just became stronger, smarter, more longing for revenge. A Black could only be pushed so hard before they pushed back. If only he has his semblance, he could fight back.

Mercury woke up on his 15th birthday, his body feeling bruised and broken as usual. Groaning he sat up and ran his fingers through his ash gray hair. He walked of out his small, dark room and into the small house's kitchen. Marcus was sitting on a chair, bottle in hand. The thick, toxic smell of alcohol hung in the air. Pushing down his gaze and his hate, Mercury pulled the cabinet doors open. He was about to grab a can of food when his father's hand slammed against his face.

Mercury stumbled back and stared in anger at his father's tight face. "I was just grabbing food!" he snapped. His father glared at him and took a few steps towards him. Fear thundered in Mercury's chest and he stepped back. His father's ice cold eyes penetrated into him. "Do I need to teach you respect boy?" He spat out the last word like a curse.

"N…no sir," Mercury stammered. "I…I forgot myself." Marcus grabbed his face. "No boy" he spat, "you forgot your place. This is my house, and you are my son. You won't eat until you earn it. I was already making a living for myself at your age. And look at you, small, pathetic, weak. You are no more a Black now than you were as a child." Mercury screamed in rage and rushed forward, slamming his body against his father's. Both fell back, hitting the small, already broken table. Marcus grabbed his jacket and threw his son to the floor, then fell. Mercury swung his legs in a circle, hitting Marcus's feet and knocking him to the floor. Before Mercury could stand, Marcus was on top of him, hands pressed against his throat. Mercury gasped as his throat closed and the air was restricted. Marcus glared down at him. But Mercury wasn't finished, he slammed his fist unto his father's ribs, knocked him off. Both rolled to their feet at the same time.

"I am not a child!" Mercury screamed as he swung at his father again and again. With a sick smile Marcus avoided hit after hit. Grabbing Mercury's hand, he slammed his knee into his son's gut. Falling to the floor, Mercury cried out in pain. Marcus grabbed his son's face and forced him to his feet. Blood flung from his father's face.

"You are what I say boy. Don't forget it." Then he dropped him and walked away. Mercury stood, shaking. With a slight smile he rubbed the blood off his face. Marcus Black is losing his touch, Mercury thought with scorn. I'm getting stronger as he gets weaker.

That night, Mercury woke as pain exploded on his side. His eyes flew open to see Marcus standing over him, his shirt wet with alcohol. Grabbing his son, Marcus flung Mercury to the floor. "Learn you're place boy!" Marcus shouted. "You are mine. And until you are stronger, you will be nothing but a weak little boy!" Mercury stared up at his father, shaking. His anger finally breaking.

"I. Am. Not!" he screamed, leaping to his feet. "I am not weak! I am Mercury Black! I don't care who you are! You are weak! When I have my Semblance I…"

Marcus burst out laughing. "Semblance!" he shouted. "A Semblance is a crutch! People need it to feel stronger!" Slowly he pulled a gun from his back pocket. Mercury's eyes widened and he took a step back.

"Only the weak need their Semblance. Maybe without it, you'll finally become a Black."

The gun fired.

Pain slammed against Mercury's ribs, pushing him back. His Aura was almost gone. Before Mercury could stand, Marcus slammed one hand to his son's chest and head. His hands began to glow.

Suddenly the glow spread to Mercury.

Pain exploded thought his body.

Mercury screamed and tried to pull away but his father held him down. Agony seared his body. A black shadow seemed to grab his mind and cover it. A hole appeared in his mind, in his soul.

Slowly Marcus stepped back. Lying on the floor, Mercury gasped, his body empty of energy, feeling like something had been torn from him.

"What…what did you do?' he stammered.

"Taught you a lesson," Marcus snarled. "Your Semblance is gone. Now you can start acting like a Black."

Mercury stared at him.

Gone.

Gone.

He could feel where it had been.

Mercury pushed himself to his knees. "Give it back!" he screamed.

"I'll give it back when you prove it's not a crutch. When you're strong." Marcus then turned, and left his son's room, slamming the door. leaving the shaking, crying form of his son alone in the dark.

Mercury stood over the bleeding form of his father. He could feel the heat from the fire he had set behind him. His legs shook, screaming in pain. But he stood, he stood over the man who had tortured him throughout his life, stood over them man who stolen a part of his soul. He spat blood from his mouth, and stared down contemptuously at Marcus Black. "You called me weak my whole life father. But look around you! I am stronger than you, than you ever thought I could be! You are cowering on the floor, as I stand over you! How does it feel to know you were wrong? Give. Me. Back. What you stole."

Marcus smiled, blood dripping from his mouth. "Killing me doesn't make you strong. It just makes you a weak, desperate little boy still needing his Semblance to feel stronger."

Mercury Black dropped the dead body of what was one Marcus Black onto the floor, his body crying in pain, his legs shaking with agony. Blood dripped from his hands and down from his mouth. The hollow ache in his chest, the hole in his soul seemed colder and emptier than it ever had. His Semblance was sill gone. He had killed Marcus and it was still gone.HisHieqifwiohohviw

Suddenly he heard footsteps on the path. Panting, he looked up to see two women walking towards him. One was a beautiful woman with short, black hair, golden eyes and an air of power and pride. The second walked in the first's shadow; she had green hair and red eyes. She walked with weakness, cowering under the dark haired woman's shadow. Mercury snarled at them. This should be interesting he thought.