Lachesism

[Strazio Rockwell]

“Once you agree to this contract you can not rescind your decision,” Valerie's voice paused for a moment before continuing, “are you positive this is what you desire?”

Winter's wind whipped through the desolate clearing. Frost gnawed at the edges of grass and rocks, winter's chill had begun its lethargic conquest of summer. Flecks of white clung desperately to the edge's of Strazio's auburn hair, he had recently bathed and his still damp hair became brittle. Naked and cold, the soon-to-be mage watched as his teacher carved ancient runes into the frozen earth. Around young Strazio Valerie formed concentric rings of foreign symbols and inscriptions. The earth was hard and unforgiving, offering Valerie no respite as he used a dull knife to hack away at the earth.

“I have no choice.” Strazio answered through chattering teeth.

“Very well, let us begin.” Valerie's usually chipper demeanor had melted away, revealing one of a worried father, “just do not blame me when you do not find the catharsis you are hoping for.”

A cascade of fiery passionate colours erupted from the frozen earth. Each rune vomited a deluge of ochre, crimson, and amber hues. The streams of magick danced and swirled around the young man. Harmless and curious the tendrils of pigment fluttered in the air around Strazio, occasionally reaching out to warm his skin. Sharp reds and heavy blacks pulsed through the flood. Tonal shift. Harsh colors and angry shades twisted and wormed their way through the vibrant crimsons and ambers. A thin wiry spear of red charged toward's Strazio's clavicle. The sharp wire of pain pierced through the bone, forcing a scream of anguish to escape the poor kid's throat. Another wicked cable of hate lashed out, tearing through his sternum. Ropes and chords of the hateful red gripped and wormed their way into his chest. The dry hollow cracking of bone filled the air, offering a sick staccato to underline Strazio's cries. A sound, not unlike the sound of a sheet of sheering lake ice rebounded off the dead and dying trees.

This was a pinnacle of pain. And it was far from over.

His ribcage was peeled away, splitting half and splayed open like some kind of macabre eagle. Inside the kid's chest cavity sat a furiously beating heart. Every pump forced fear through his veins. The wires of hatred invaded his chest, piercing through organs and other vulnerable bags of meat. They coiled around his beating heart, searing a black spiral of charcoal around the frightened organ. The coils constricted tighter around his heart, hindering its ability to pump precious life through his body. He teetered on the edge of death and life, he stood at the chasm of rebirth. Eldritch runes and ancient inscriptions appeared across the bloody organ's skin. The Rite of Magistry was painfully burned into his very heart.

This was his moment of power, his moment of clarity.

He was no longer Strazio Rockwell, no he was something so much more. He was an avatar of anger, not a man, but rather a proverbial force of furious nature.

But, with so much power at his very fingertips and with so much potential, why then was he so damned afraid?

[Strazio Rockwell]

Choking smoke and flecks of ash burnt Strazio’s lungs. His body was paralyzed, every joint locked stiff and every muscle rigid. Trapped, hopelessly trapped. There was no light here, nothing but an empty void. The occasional gust of fiery wind licked at Strazio’s young form. He tried to cry out against the darkness, but he could make no sound. Hollow silent screams tried to escape his throat. The unbearable weight of the world constricted his body.

“Look at my face and remember it.”

Those terribly familiar words sent pangs of fear charging through Strazio’s body. Around him smoldering flames came to life. Ruined and burning buildings collapsed around him, sending cherry-red cinders dancing into the night air. Strazio could move once more, but his body felt so very cold and the world felt so very large. The raging infernos swallowed building after building, collapsing them in fiery ruin. Before him stretched rows of homes, now nothing more than piles of wood and flame. In the distance stood a figure surrounded by fire and char.

“My name is Damien Alabaster, remember that as well.”

Across the kid’s bare chest a blazing red chevron was branded. The burning mark did not hurt, but rather filled his heart with malaise. Around him the blazing shells erupted into raging infernos. Their flames reached out and chewed at Strazio’s bare flesh, tearing scars and burns into his body. Again he tried to cry in pain, but found no voice to call his own. Instead from within the burning wrecks haunting howls called out for salvation. The horrid wails of people being burned alive cut through the terrified Strazio, forcing his entire body to shake in terror.

“Remember my face.”

The faraway silhouette was no farther than a few paces.

“Remember my name.”

He turned around and smiled at the young boy.

“Most importantly, remember what I am about to do.”