Lion's Infinity
For an extra bit of immersion into this story, I recommend you open a tab to Youtube and play the following song:
Atrium Carceri - Childhood II
Enjoy your reading.
He remembered the very first day that he became conscious about his life, a brat, a child, malnourished and bruised, kneeling on a wooden floor as his parents argued. He remembered only being so melancholic that night, so somber, so sad. He didn't remember much else, living a century often has you forget some things. He, however, could never, ever forget living in that hellhole. Between the father who drunk so eagerly, the mother who complained with every little thing he did, and the brothers who stole the meal that he managed to get. It was all torture, living with them was hell and he wanted out, he hoped for an out.
Even if they suddenly decide to be nice to him, even if his bastard of a father decides to buy him gifts, even if his slut of a mother decides to apologize for troubling him, even if his greedy brothers decide to share with him their portion. It was all false, all fake, all arbitrary and all artificial. He hated their smiles, he hated their eyes, he hated that look of pity.
Pitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypitypity-
He hated it. He hated them.
They were only being nice because it suited them, because it brought him to a false sense of security to make him easier to torment. They never loved him, they never cared, they only cared about their own superiority. Just like the rest of that garbage village, and just like the rest of that garbage country. They all looked at him, sending sympathy his way with their gazes alone. He despised it. Stop looking at him, stop glancing at him, stop thinking about him, don't even breathe in his direction, you pieces of shit, just diediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidiediediediedieidie-
And then that girl appeared. He didn't remember much of her. He didn't remember her name, or her face, or her hair colour or her eyes, he didn't remember whether she was poor or just slightly better off than he was. She talked to him, laughed with him, treated him like a human being, she showed him kindness.
She showed him what it was like to love.
And he only remembered her being the most beautiful thing in that filth-ridden cesspool. A bright light that stood out against the darkness.
Regulus felt hope for the very first time in his life.
A hope that was soon taken away by repeating the days of his infernal life. The days of his 'family' looking at him like he was some sort of sickly animal to be taken care of. Hatred was a feeling that nobody showed Regulus.
Yet it was an emotion that he had learned himself.
Greed was a sin that Regulus embodied since day one. At that age, at that life and at that desperation.
He wanted everything, he wanted a way out, he wanted to make them all pay, he wanted to make them suffer, he wanted to escape, he wanted to show them all he wanted to just be happy please just let him out of this hell.
And then, the next thing he knows, his tiny hands which trembled from emotion, grabbed a small.. black box, almost innocuous. He only remembered being curious.
He opened it.
The smell of fire could still enter his nostrils. The warmth of the flames engulfing his village could still be felt. The screams of the incinerating could still be heard, and the feeling of immense satisfaction.. was still fresh in his heart.
He had stopped physically feeling moments ago, it was an almost empty sensation, of being so free yet so... blank. The very sentiment of his body seemingly never going forwards in time anymore. The fire danced so wonderfully, so enchanting, it drew him in. Seeing them all escape, seeing them fail to escape, seeing the inferno consume his home in such a ruthless and painful fashion for those caught in it's grip? He adored it.
His eyes twinkled with a reflection for the fire that night. He did it. He had showed them all. He couldn't stop the smile that made its grin across his face, which widened when he remembered the looks on their faces.
His mother was first, washing away the dishes so dilligently in the kitchen, and yet the first to make so much noise when her legs were sliced from beneath her, that expression of utter terror that etched into her face would forever remain in his memory. His father came racing through the door seconds later, and seeing him and his dying mother in the same room, with that disturbing smile. It had him draw his dagger.
He didn't know why his father hesitated that night, to draw the knife against him to shed his blood and cut him apart. But he didn't care, nor would he ever, he simply raised his hand and sliced off the man's wrist with the air alone, adding his scream to the soon-to-be chorus of suffering. His mother's screams stopped a second ago though, most likely the blood loss starting to get to her and kill her.
With the revolting sound of something fleshy squelching beneath a superior weight, Regulus stomped his foot into his father's face, spreading brain matter and blood all over the wooden floors, and putting an end to his whimpering.
The blood spread all around.. except on his shoe.
He remembered his brother, having found him already dead in the living room. Regulus now wondered what did him in. This wasn't the first time he saw the corpse of his eldest brother of course, but reality usually has a different view than dreams do. Oh well. No use for him anymore.
With but a step towards him, Regulus kicked the body, the following result was much more explosive than normal. His corpse exploded into a shower of blood particles that stuck to the walls and the sofas. Served him right, honestly. Regulus glanced down at his foot, to find it clean of any blood, of any matter, of anything. Just the way it should be.
He couldn't remember where his other brother went, probably got himself killed. Doesn't matter, although he faintly remembers his second oldest having said something to him that night, but he didn't remember for a while. It was something that enraged him though.
He left the burning home that night, and back into the pit of flames he created. The cage he made for them. To them, this was suffering, to them, this was true Hell.
For him, it was Heaven.
And as his eyes landed on the panicked girl that ran to her home, the girl that showed him love. His smile widened.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her. The next couple of minutes proved true her fate when the despair he crafted reached her too.
He had never heard a girl cry before. Sure, his mother screamed everytime he did something wrong, which usually was nothing too dramatic and yet she screeched like a banshee at him for it, and of course in her last moments. But she never cried, or was he remembering that wrong? Ah well. Never was it embued with such misery and despair than what he heard in the girl's voice.
He never remembered what she said to him, that night, as he spread her living room with the corpses of her own parents. Honestly, he did her a favour. Fathers and mothers were such nags and parasites that just made your life an utter pool of piss and humiliation.
She should have thanked him really.
He didn't remember her doing so though. He loved her, he truly did. She was the one person he didn't want to raise a hand against.
But she was making this all so complicated, so difficult.
Why would she ever lie and say that she loved her parents? She never did, nor did they her. Regulus was honestly stumped at such stupidity. Perhaps she was brainwashed and he was the only one who managed to see the ugly truth for what it is? Yes, that must be it.
He had to save her from that horrible fate. He had to pull her out of that gray, wretched world just as he pulled himself out of.
He had to show her the truth. Even if the truth might hurt a little.
Or as her pleas for help and mercy soon filled the room..
The truth might hurt a lot.
Is this what happiness felt like? Sure, this little shack wasn't much, but it was certainly cozier than home. And much more comfortable for the both of them, for him and his wife that is.
She did everything so diligently, just like his mother, yet no scathing comments were laid on his person, no complaints, no frustration for something he didn't do. Just a blank stare, and an even colder tone of voice towards him. He never did mind though, he had to accept her for what she chose to be, anything else was just invading her privacy, her emotions..
Her very rights as a human being.
And so with a smile, he merely nodded to her.
A year passed, and Regulus never felt as joyful as he was in that time. It was the anniversary, and he had decided he would be the one to surprise his wife this time.
He made her a cake. Something to celebrate their wedding day. The last few years were normal, even if he was sometimes displeased with how little she reacted to his generous acts of affection. But again.. He didn't mind.
It's what made her so great.
When she got home from gardening, and laid her eyes on the cake. Regulus could see a shimmer of... something glint across her eyes. He didn't know what that was, and he never would. She simply walked past him and went to her room.
Although later, he swear he could hear the sounds of a woman sobbing.
He can't remember the exact time that passed after, but the next time he remembers anything significant happening in their life was when he was looking at her corpse.
She was laid out gently on the grass, which was blowing in the windy day. His eyes looked between her body, her slit neck and the bloodied dagger that was next to her hand. He didn't cry, he didn't smile, he didn't rage at the world nor did he hide his emotions, or pain, or suffering.
He simply felt... absolutely nothing.
He never remembered why she did do such a thing, but he does remember one thing. It was a sound, before he found her on that grass with her throat slit. A sound so ugly, and so wretched that it made him sick to his core this very day.
It was the sound of a woman laughing. As if she had won.
Her gravestone was nothing to look at. It was normal, it was dull and it somehow suited her. Yet to Regulus, it might as well have been the most important object that he could be looking at.
Beneath that mound of dirt was his former wife, the supposed love of his life. Yet the process of losing a loved one was nothing like Regulus had heard, there was no pain or sadness to go with her loss. The only thing he was upset by was that sound.
Still, she would have at least appreciated the fact he went out of his way to bury her. Or at least he liked to think so, it was the least he could do for her.
He walked back into his shack, and on his way to the bedroom, he caught himself looking at the mirror on the hallway, specifically at himself. Not a single shred of difference. His hair was even the same style he left it.
As if those years meant nothing to his appearance. He was still so average-looking.
The trip down memory lane wasn't something Regulus expected, nor did he expect it to go by so fast. His name was Regulus Corneas, the Sin Archbishop of Greed who had walked amongst this world for a hundred years, always atop it, always perfect.
He butchered his family when he was younger, he butchered his childhood crush's family in front of her and then he shattered her mind and forcefully married her. She was the only one he buried when she died.
He had the pleasure of marrying almost three hundred women in the time he has lived, and he killed two hundred and thirty eight of them for angering him.
The Witch Cult was an organization of fanatics and buffoons.
Even dangerous.
Demented lunatics and sadistic murderers that rallied under one banner.
Petelgeuse Romanee-Conti, with his Authority of Sloth, the Unseen Hand, he could wipe out an entire group of Knights while his Fingers distracted them, without anyone knowing. With such an incessant fervour for the Witch herself, he terrorized the world on a daily.
Lye Batenkaitos, and his siblings, controlling four-hundred year old Whale, along with their own powers to erase people from existence as well as their memories, leaving few a sleeping shell of their former selves. Never to be woken again.
Sirius, who stalked her obsession so eagerly, so disgusting yet so strong. Sharing her emotions of death and destruction with everyone around her, all in a bid to steal the heart of a madman.
And lastly..
Capella Emerada Lugnica. The worst of them all, monstrous to every single being that crossed her, and with laughter and a childlike glee so unbearable that he had painted the floor red with her so many times. Perhaps she was the most dangerous.
But not to him.
Regulus was the strongest. The unrivaled paragon of satisfaction who walked against the tyranny of time.
And she wouldn't change that either.
The Witch of Vainglory, Pandora, whom so enigmatically hid behind the shadows of the Cult she directed. Influencing the events of the world to go her way, no matter what. He hated her smile, he hated her face, she was so ugly and so disgusting that he wanted to pulverize her into a shower of blood again and again.
But not even her Authority was above his. She could transport him to anywhere on this world and it wouldn't change a thing. He would always stand above mankind in his own way, how he represents the simplicity of the human being yet is so content and satisfied with it. There were none like him.
Not in this world, or the other.
He represented what it meant to be truly human.
A/N: So, this is my first fanfiction in a while. I'd love to hear opinions on what I should do to improve.
This is only going to be a one-shot, as I wasn't really thinking of extending a story beyond this.
With that in mind, I hope you've enjoyed.