Disclaimer- don't own TT yadda yadda.
Life was good, there was no one to bother him, and he had a fear-induced respect amongst his peers.
Then why was Chester 'Cryptic' Ulan so miserable?
Cryptic had been a name other had given him, and he seemed to like it much better than his birth name.
This was a question worth pondering over, and that is just what he did. Though no reliable answer brought itself forward. And no matter how hard and long he sought, Cryptic was lost in the maze of his own mind.
The now fifteen year old Cryptic stretched luxuriously on a park bench, his silver eyes emotionless lost in into the oblivion of thought. His fingers moved without his knowing, fumbling boredly with a lighter. His eyes snapped to the flame, drawn towards it in an uncanny way.
Death by fire... how easy would it be?
Cryptic snorted at himself for such a thought, even though he could be called a murderer– He was perfectly sane. In his own opinion that is.
Yawning he pocketed the lighter and looked over himself. Oh how he'd changed. Cryptic ran a hand through his black hair, it was spiked naturally as it had always been, but the tips were bleached. His clothing was decent for a boy who lived of his thieving exploits, a black t-shirt and baggy many pocketed pants. About his neck was a multitude of necklaces, ranging form his favorite and simple dog collar, to a chain which held a tag with his name. His wrists were similarly outfitted.
Cryptic's face hadn't changed much. Other than the several new piercings, eyebrow, corner of his lip, and one ear, which had black loops in them varying in size. His face was still deathly pale, with the scar running form his eyebrow and along his jowl, even to the unmercifully cold silver eyes that had only grown worse and worse as years passed.
Reminiscing his first year or so on the streets, Cryptic stood and started to walk through the park.
Life had started off rough, and he had spent many a time hidden away to heal his numerous wounds. Though soon he became to be respected by others, in such a way no one tried to harm him any longer.
Without thinking Cryptic touched the scar on the side of his face and instantly hating the flooding memories of his Father. He was dead and gone, how did this still bother him?
Cryptic paused in his stride and gave a milk-curdling glare at the ground. He hated emotions, he hated them all! They seemed to enjoy twisting his mind, he should have been normal, like like... Like those damned 'titans' that proclaimed they were so special.
Oh how Cryptic loathed those 'crime-fighting' heroes. They thought they could do anything, even the dark one, Raven, was a goody twoshoes. They were all so cheery and lead such wonderful lives, being completely famous and adored. How Cryptic wished he could have been a part of that– though after the thought he cursed himself.
That could never happen and it NEVER would, he'd refuse to even side with them. Even if he did have powers.
The sky darkened as a cloud passed over the sun, and immediately Cryptic went rigid as the soft pitter-patter of rain came ot his ears. He dodged into the depths of the park, and found a crop of trees more solitude. He leaned against one just as disaster happened...
Lightning struck the ground, illuminating the darkness of shadow for several seconds. And there, there in the scorched up churned dirt... A spark caught. The shock sped into Chester's body and he instantly collapsed unconscious
Soon a small flame had formed, consuming the dry leaves and needles about it, its hunger eternal. From the fire, came ashes, and form those ashes life brewed. But how was this possible, life from fire? It was simple, Cryptic had a small glimmer of power inside him, and it was using that to create something... something to give him more. Intensified by the rapid heat and growth of the fire, the creature needed one last thing to complete its existence.
Emotions to feed from, and manifest it's mind. And who would be better than the hate driven– Cryptic?
The boy who, from his very first breath, infused his every thought and action with his burning animosity for anything that breathed. Whose name fit him so perfectly... Cryptic: of an obscure nature, 'a deep dark secret,''in it a mysterious past it encompasses all the dim origins of life.'
The fire grew drastically it's colors churning and shifting, the flames lapping at the tree nearby. Until... suddenly the flames spluttered and died, leaving only a pile of blackened ashes and the heavy smell of burning pine...
The rain started to slowly diminish, the occasional drop managing through the thickly wooded glade, and plopping unto the ashes. It stirred them up, with a soft fizzling, but they soon calmed. Until a small wind seemed to pick up about them, and they lifted into the air and fell, as if the gray and black ash was reanimating the flames that created them.
Though, there was no wind to disturb the remains of the fire, but they kept moving nonetheless. It was soon apparent there was some other force giving life to the ashes... Or creating it.
When something is born from ashes, the majority of people would instantly think of a Phoenix. Though, the phoenix is an entirely good creature, wise and strong. And what was formed at this instant was nothing near that, when good can be made– so can evil.
A black tendril stretched out form those ashes, and soon others followed. They all entered Chester's limp body, through anywhere possible. They seethed over him, like a thousand rabid snakes all wishing to get to their meal first.
When Cryptic finally awoke, there was something strange about him... There was... A, presence, to use the term lightly. He rubbed his eyes and glared at the ground, his thoughts tingled and there was a new ferocity to them.
A new.. Strength to them.
Cryptic peered at himself, he felt so strangely changed. A jarring pain flashed through his mind and he dropped to his knees, clawing at his temples. Images flashed before his eyes, of things so horrid– even he couldn't ever imagine doing them. His eyes and nose, pinking at the edges until the point of blood vessels bursting. Blood ran form his nose, and his eyes were open wide, the veins flaring.
It was over in a matter of minutes, and there Cryptic lay, curled up on the semi-damp ground.
Something had happened– and he was bound to find it out the hard way.