So Much More Than a Man...
I was born flawed. Oh no, beauty had nothing to do with it, I was an attractive child, and grew to be a handsome man.
Inside, I was fractured, fractured of blood, of heritage, of mind.
Many sought to keep me that way, preaching that this was the way of life, that no-one, no matter how talanted, was perfect. That it was dangerous to be anything other than what nature had intended you to be.
Just one of the so-called 'truths' that I refused to accept.
I'd seen through their lies, when one was flawed, one was weak, easy to be controled by whoever had the power, playing on minds and emotions as if one was little more than a living machine, prime for programming.
I am a perfectionist in all things, beginning with myself.
Sharpen the claws of magical skill, before tearing myself apart at the seams and making myself again.
If God made man in his image, then he is a failed, flawed creator best forgotten.
My body is a tool for the mind, and I build my tool to serve solely myself.
Serpent's venom in my veins to damn those who wound me,
Viper's eyes to mesmerise,
Mamba's fangs to poison my words,
Forked tongue for my lies,
So much more than a man...
Blood to mix with to vemon distilled from my own.
Magic distilled from the muggle dregs that once clogged my veins,
A mind honed to shatter that of those who would have used me,
Whiplash reflexes, honed to kill,
A man is fragile, weak, ruled by emotions and so can be controlled.
I rule myself.
None will control me.
I will make my own fate.
None can control me.
I refuse to accept any rule save that of my own will.
Some folk to me, seeing power in perfection. I, on seeing others, see weakness in imperfection, yet power too. I can control my enemies as they once sought to control me. Unlike then, I have a reason other than that of fear or personal gain. A goal...perfection.
Power, freedom, one and the same. Without freedom, there cannot be true power, without power, there cannot be freedom.
Good matters not, evil matters not for they exist solely in the the minds of men as tools of control and fear.
Now you see how I loath the prophecy.
To realise my actions will be controled and have been controled by some higher power is maddening. I wish to rebel against this, but I cannot stand by and do nothing or I will die. The prophecy will be fullfilled one way or another.
But one way or another, I'll make sure there will be hell to pay.
Skull Bearer.