Posted in SteelRazor

52: Isfet

He is no magician, nor half-blood. But he feels the same turmoil. Something writhing inside him, tearing his soul apart. Eating away at his heart, fighting to turn him insane. The snake, beast, creature, whatever it is that is slowly wasting him-is working hard. But he cannot fall now. Not yet, at least.

There it is again, the familiar ache in his chest, as if a giant steel hand was crushing his heart. It intensifies as he urges on, oblivious to the aftereffects of his self-torture. He could be left alone without anyone to comfort him in the end. But then again, that is what he wants. Pain. Suffering. Torment. Chaos. Preferably eternal.  He wants his soul crushed and buried so deep, no one will ever get him back again.

Even that one ray of light that could have saved him-that one string of hope-had turned out to be a deathly strike, pushing him further instead of pulling him up. Tired, tired, tired… so tired, he moans.

Even Carter Kane couldn’t have felt this much.

At least he had Horus to keep his mind intact. But I don’t have a god in my head… just my other, silly, stupidly kind alter-ego.

Back then, he wanted to survive this pain, this isfet, so he could live a normal, happy life. But as the weeks progressed, his hopes kept getting dashed one after the other. So much hopes shattered around him that in the end, he looked up to the sky, clenched his  fists, and uttered, I am done. No more fighting. There was nothing more to fight for.

His one tough ally could take care of himself. That was good enough for him. As for the one he covets… she will have to find her own way, alone.

The suffering and pain lodged in his chest again, like a rock blocking the natural flow of a river. The dam, once powerful and regal, was now cracked and old, pieces of it shattering every now and then, flooding his mind with intense emotions. But this time, he couldn’t let it break. Errands to run, stuff to do. It won’t do much if he was going to stare into a glass window and cry like an idiot. Save the tears for later… it will be your only companion. Trust me. I know.

Seeing others’ battles, his sigh echoes in his ears. Only if his own battle was as easy as theirs. If only he could find a way out of this mess. But no… he was trapped. Trapped between his ego, the infinite lies, loneliness, the pain and suffering, and himself. “To live, is to fight,” someone once said. Apparently, to him, it wasn’t applicable. There was nothing worth living for. Dying for-maybe.

He slumps back in the chair, tired of his own voice resounding in his head. He decides to at least spill a tiny portion of it, to make good use of his anguish. His feelings evolve into words… which he entitles… Isfet. Chaos.

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With my pen, the world sits in the palm of my hand.

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