I would like to say that I do not own x-men, white wolf, or slayer.

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The night howled with thunder and lightning. A torrential downpour accompanied the cacophony of sound emitted by the skies. This was a night that no sane creature would be seen. However, one creature was out there, and the violence of the night did nothing to quell the fear that was swelling inside him. Inside an abandoned warehouse in Bayville's dock district sat a poor, downtrodden creature, abandoned by god to whatever that horrible demon wished to do to him. The idea of that twisted fanged visage bearing down on him brought out of him the greatest terror that his soul could evoke.

He found himself in a dark room, alone with only himself and the booming thunder outside. He tried to move, when he realized he was tied down. As he tried frantically to wrestle his way out of his bonds, the ropes rubbed against his wrists making them hurt terribly. But that pain was inconsequential, as long as he got away. He had to get away. He felt like a caged animal and his instincts took over. He knew no matter what, he had to get away from that thing. Why did this have to happen? He thrashed once again at his bonds with renewed spirit and determination to escape. He halted as a flash of lightning outside revealed his surroundings for only a moment. Boxes, many of them, in a desolate room with a big ceiling with many girders. A warehouse…fitting, no one would hear him scream. Another flash made his stomach sink as a pair of fangs flashed at him from the dark.

"So how does it feel? Getting a mutant perspective now?" a mocking voice slithered at him.

"Look man. I...I didn't mean it, honest!" The boy was cut off by another flash of lightning now revealing a pair of golden eyes. Those eyes…those horrible eyes. A demon's eyes.

Ahh the demon inside cooed…I love it.

The figure came closer and put his face nearer to the teenager's face and stared into his eyes for a bit. The teen recoiled back in pure terror.

"Stop! That look! Ahhh…I love it. Terror can never be correctly expressed by words alone, it is the eyes that really speak the truth. Eyes never lie."

At the next flash the teen could see that his assailant had moved away from him and picked up something. The sound of wood knocking against the floor sent chills up his spine. The next flash revealed the demon was once again by his side, now wielding a wooden bat. The teen let out a quick prayer and almost as an answer to his prayer, the demon opened its mouth to speak.

"I wonder…how many swing does it take to split a man's head…hmm?" The kid was too petrified to speak.

"Well if your not going to answer then I am just going to have to find out, ja?" At that moment, the wooden weapon was raised and crashed against the teen's skull. The kid's head felt rattled and he was having a migraine. He tried to look, but blood had trickled into his eyes, stinging them and making vision impossible.

"Why me!" the teen whimpered in between blood soaked sobs. The demon stopped for a second and cocked his head like a confused dog, then regained his composure.

"Why you! Come now, are you usually this slow, or perhaps you just can't think straight anymore. You make others lives a living hell, but when retribution comes for your actions, you plead for your life."

"Wait, I know that voice. Kurt!? Kurt, Kurt! Please, don't do this! Look I can make it up to you! I promise to be..."

I've heard enough.

With that, the demon raised his bat again to finish the deed he had started. The bat came at the kid's face with a massive amount of force. His eyes widened to an inhuman point as the bloodied wooden object came smashing into his face. At the last blow the face plate caved in with a resounding crack. A lightning flash revealed to the demon a splattering of blood against the wall.

"Hmm I'm stronger than I thought." The body was laying there, most of its brains spread out amongst the smashed-in corpse. The bat was still covered in a mixture of blood and cranial organs as it lay near the meat sac that it had used as a punching bag. A painful death indeed.

In a flash, Kurt found himself back at the mansion. The smell of brimstone hung in the air from the teleport. Somehow, Kurt had grown to hate that smell. Brimstone…he had never considered why it had been there; it had always just been. The truth hurt. Kurt slumped against the wall of his room. He slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor, leaving a bloody streak on his bedroom wall. Kurt barely remembered what he did…it had all been a blur. Kurt took a quick glance at himself in the mirror in his room. He was curious because he didn't notice before that the fur around his cheeks was matted down. Had he been…crying?

"Cursed," Kurt said quietly to himself. "I'm cursed. This life is a cruel trick...God hates me."

You sure showed him, the voice said, trying to reassure him

Kurt shoved his inner demon way down. He had already had enough exercise for tonight. Kurt got up quickly and smashed his fist against the mirror, shattering it into many pieces that became strewn across the floor. Kurt felt the urge to shout, to break things, to hurt someone, to just do something…he felt ready to explode.

"What the fuck!" Kurt shouted at the top of his lungs towards the ceiling in his room. "What the fuck is your plan huh!? I tried so hard, so hard to become what you wanted me to become! And I became THIS!"

Blame it on God…right. Whenever anyone is downtrodden someone blames it on God, or looks to God to make it better. People use God like a tool. Kurt sighed. He knew he was just angry with himself. He had let everything get out of hand. But damnit, this shouldn't be his to handle! Kurt slumped back against the wall, this time bawling his eyes out. Kurt cried like a young child. In between sobs he begged for everything not to be true, for this to be just a nightmare. For anything else to be true…just not the truth. Eventually, Kurt became too tired to cry and too hoarse to shout and beg. He just lay there, quietly moaning.

Happy? You pathetic creature, I try so hard and you reject everything I do for you.

Great, now even his bad conscience was howling in his ear. Kurt was too tired to either rage or bawl in self pity, so he decided to lie down. Kurt noticed his stomach rumbling and in a flash found himself downstairs in the kitchen. He opened the fridge and began to eat and eat, even beyond his normal boundaries, which in most cases, was an entire shelf worth of food. Kurt put down the sandwich he had been eating.

"Food…my last vice left. Where have I heard that before?" he sighed slowly to himself, He knew what he was doing. Kurt wrapped up the last of his meal and put it back into the refrigerator. He then sat down at the kitchen table. The way his tail was slightly swaying back and forth indicated he was in deep thought. He thought he could control himself, but obviously he couldn't.

Kurt's eyes moved towards a large kitchen knife on the table. He felt he could not trust himself anymore. He was tired, tired of having to deal with everyone, tired most of all of having to deal with himself. If he could stop feeling…stop being…it would be bliss.

You're a fighter. That's a coward's way out. How childish of you to even consider it..

It was true.

"What am I supposed to do? How did this happen!" Kurt slammed his head against the table, then laid his injured head back down, cursing his now uncontrollable temper.

" Why did this have to happen to me…". Kurt started to feel groggy when he was quickly startled completely awake by a sound at the door. Oh no! They came back! They are going to find out, oh God, they are going to find out.

You sure complain a lot. If you don't want them to find out, just run.

Kurt did just that, he quickly teleported out of the mansion. He looked down at his watch to make sure it was still running. When he saw that his identity was still shrouded behind his hologram he bolted off into the night.

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