This might be a little disturbing (animal violence), but Kire is a very dark, troubled, yet redeemable Phantom. For all of his faults and anger, I keep going back to what makes him more human than a monster. I would love to hear your reviews!

Giver37

It was dark and tepid when I woke, the sunlight fractured as it cut through the trees swaying above me. My eyes refused to focus, but I sighed at the feel of the cool, damp ground beneath me, which seemed to ease my throbbing skull. The soil had been freshly turned, the scent heady and somewhat pleasant.

I didn't want to think, to even breathe. I wanted to close my eyes and feel darkness unfurl around me, but my head felt as though it had split in two. With a muffled groan I felt gingerly at my scalp and winced at the warm, sticky substance coating my hair and the nape of my neck. I vaguely remembered being struck, though it seemed distant, like the aftermath of a nightmare.

Nauseated, I pinched my eyes closed and took several shallow breaths, panting as I waited for the sickness to pass. Once I felt as though I could move, I tightened my stomach and attempted to sit upright.

"It's awake," I heard a man whisper.

I paused even though I knew they watched me as I struggled to right myself. As my eyes finally adjusted, I realized I sat in the middle of a narrow yet fairly deep hole.

A grave.

I inhaled sharply and wobbled to my feet before they began burying me alive. With trembling hands I grasped at the roots and attempted to find purchase in the dirt walls until I came away with little more than dirt beneath my nails and the soles of my feet.

A man grunted and eyed me from his vantage point. "Awake and rather angry." He took a swig from a brown glass bottle and belched. "You there, what plagues you?" he asked.

Immediately I looked away and pressed my hand to my face, grateful they hadn't removed my mask. I suspected they dragged me to this dark, cold grave and tossed me inside. Perhaps they hadn't bothered to look at me.

"He is dumb," I heard another man shout. "He cannot speak."

The man standing over me shook his head and I glared up at him. Despite the feeling in my gut, the absolute betrayal I felt brewing not only with my insides but also my wits, I made another attempt to free myself from the grave, but I stumbled backward and collapsed with a heavy thud. The world spun around me and I grunted.

"He is determined, I'll give him that." The man peering down at me shook his head and spit something black out of his mouth, which landed with a splatter across from me.

My jaw clenched and I forced myself to stand. No matter how many times I was knocked over, I would make every attempt to stand again.

"Let me out or I'll kill you," I said through my teeth.

My threat was greeted by laughter, which only furthered my anger. Like a helpless creature I continued to jump and claw at the dirt, falling repeatedly until the man who had stood watch shook his head.

"Conserve your energy," he suggested.

I eyed him with wariness and heard shouting in the distance, which only made me more determined to free myself. Just as I began reaching for the roots much to high above my head, I heard a single gunshot followed by a yelp, which turned into an animal crying out in pain.

The sound paralyzed me. Wide-eyed and lips parted, I gawked up at the man who had turned away from me. The injured creature continued to screech, a high-pitched, blood-chilling cry of agony. Before I could question, the man walked away and I stepped back, searching for answers.

"What is that?" I yelled.

No one answered, though it sounded as though there was a great deal of commotion. I pressed my back to the cool, dirt wall and was instantly reminded of how I had ended up in the grave.

The animal continued to protest, the sound becoming incredibly close and more concerning. Gooseflesh rose along my arms as I wondered what was injured.

"Toss her in," someone shouted.

A shapeless mass dropped with a heavy thud at my feet and I blinked, unable to comprehend what had happened. A crimson lump of fur writhed at my feet, its teeth bared and its eyes wild, a rope tied tight around its neck.

"My God," I whispered.

I collapsed beside Girl and attempted to gather her blood-soaked body in my arms. I struggled to untie the rope strangling her and managed to loosen it enough for her to breathe. Blood and dirt coated her side and I knew what they had done: they had dragged her toward the hole where I had been left for dead.

Tears gathered in my eyes, blinding me from her dying form. She snapped at the air, and at the time I thought she had turned on me. It never deterred my persistence, no matter how she drove me away, I would not leave her side.

She had never abandoned me, and her loyalty reverberated through me.

"Stop," I begged. "Please, stop."

She bit me in the arm, and it was only when I cried out that she settled and whined, apparently more concerned for her lost puppy than her own dying self. She licked my face, her hot breaths on my cheek, her body trembling. I tried to hold her, but she was slick with blood pouring from her chest. It was not a wound meant to kill, though I was too young to know it at the time. Whoever had shot her had done so for pain and suffering.

Her heavy breaths turned to gurgled whimpers and I clutched her as tight as I could, willing her to fight a battle she couldn't win.

"What did I tell you? That's his mangy dog," I heard someone say with a humorless chuckle. "The bitch is as ugly as the boy."

Eyes pinched closed, I ignored their voices and the last dying cries of the animal in my arms. I pressed my lips to her maimed ears and sang softly to her, a jumble of words that were so incoherent I didn't understand them myself. All that mattered was she heard me and knew I was beside her. It was as much as I could offer.

For several seconds she fought against me, her legs kicking wildly in one final protest of death. Long after she stilled, I held her in my arms, this animal I had hoped to save, this creature I had damned to hell merely by allowing her to follow behind me.

It was then, as I sat on my knees, I understood mine was the touch of Midas. Rather than gold, however, my touch brought death and suffering, and Girl was my first victim.

I shivered, soaked in my dog's blood and my own tears. Rage engulfed me as I heard men in the distance laughing. No one stood over me, no one watched to see what I was doing in the bottom of the hole. Without a sound I stood, wiped as much blood and dirt as I could, and made a running start toward the dirt wall. By the sheer grace of God I managed to find purchase on the same tree root I had attempted to grasp in vain.

For a moment I dangled, afraid I would lose my hold and collapse once more, but I refused to be ignored. For far too long I had gone unnoticed. The bite to my arm was of no consequence; it merely reminded me of the life I fought to avenge.

I would kill them, every last one of them. I had no concern for myself, absolutely no remorse for my own undoing. With each frantic move, I heard Girl scream in pain, heard her last labored breaths as she died.

They would pay for their actions—and I would deliver as many men to hell as I could before they murdered me.

Nothing else mattered, save revenge.