Wind of Destruction

by Joshua Spotts

I flew. All the trees and life near me crumbled, dead.

  I broke out of the woods expecting the walls of my former habitation. My gods dispersed and my energy fled from me when I beheld a scene that took a hold of my few memories and wrenched my hate out, replacing it with the peaceful memories. Sweat poured down my brow as the memories rushed back. Then the painful memory hit and cast me bodily to the ground where I writhed in pain, slamming my head against the ground as the face of my father floated inside my troubled mind. I saw his mournful face as I was drug away from him, kidnapped by my enemies. Now my Hate and Revenge rose once again but were cast out by the sight of a house in my mind, the very same homely dwelling which I now lay beside, moaning and yelling in my agony at my hated remembrances.

  “Father!” I cried out. I beheld an apparition of his loving face. As his body materialized in my mind I saw my knife jutting out from his heart, it pointed accusingly at my own heart. In his deathly pale hand he held a long barbed spear. Upon its shaft was carved the word of Vengeance. Its pale lettering glowed scarlet as this frightful spirit approached me. I feared it not and my anger broiled within my hate filled blood. I would not be haunted by some spirit of my own mind!

  So I rose and the apparition screamed. The figure of my father slowly turned into the beautiful form of a young woman. My father’s face was still on this new person and as my dreams slipped away it still remained. Hate, Vengeance, and Memory were teasing me and I had taken enough. Raising my blades I struck down the girl. Her bleeding form I cast to the ground on top of the shattered vase which she had dropped. Her red hair darkened with her own blood, the spear of vengeance became naught but a long staff. I hated my own Hate; I knelt beside the bleeding body and wept over it. It was then I felt his presence, one of the grand masters was near…I smiled. Vengeance and Hate reinvigorated me once more.

  I stood, my swords so covered in blood that they appeared to be bleeding out of themselves. My face radiated with power. I could feel him walking toward me. Soon my enemy would be around the corner and his life would end. Sweet would his death be to me. There my prey, the sacrifice of Hate, the payment to Revenge. He was tall, his keen nose and high forehead showing the signs of a nobleman. His hand dropped to his sword hilt, his eyes darted from the dead girl to me. He knew his doom had come upon him. Out came the sword, its keen blade ringing against the iron bound sheath. I smiled and bowed. He raised his sword but it never came down. Reaching out with my power I cast him backwards, head over heels, his frame crashing against a nearby tree.

  “The sorrow of the wind fills my bones, through me it moans.” I said as I walked slowly toward him. “The rage of the sea wells up within me. The destruction of the storm takes hold of my form.”

  “Who are you?” His voice begged, barely more than a whisper. He did not fool me, my twin swords knocked away his blade as he leapt through the air, the gleaming sword slashing toward my neck. I bent backwards, his body flying past mine to crash into the ground. He was up in the blink of an eye, summoning desperately what power my vengeful soul had not already sapped from the withering grass and crumbling trees which surrounded us.

  “Speak! Who are you?” He cried out once more, holding his sword at ready, eyes closed. I could feel him prodding my mind.

  I sat down and closed mine also. I launched an assault into his mind. His body began to shake as I threw image after image of his own death and the death of his daughter into his mind. He sought and sought to remain calm but his anger rose within him, just as I wanted. When one lives for wrath and another does not, then which wrath is greater? Mine was the greater, my rage defeated his. My ears heard a horrid screech and my enemy crumpled to the ground. His sword became no more than molten metal running down his arm. His once strong mind was now infected with Fear, infected with me.

  I leaned by his ear, his whole body quivering and flinching. His eyes rolled back into his head, his white beard stained with blood. I whispered in his ear, “The unyieldingness of rain, shall through me bring you pain. The power of the sun shall through me cause you to run. The relentless fury of fire shall bring you your funeral pyre!”

  With these parting words I soaked up the power of his fleeing soul. Darkness overcame my mind, no longer was I human, the last Grand Master was destroyed, there were no more to resist me. I could feel it. I had become the Wind of Destruction. That was my name which men whispered in dark corners. Many times when that tale was told, the teller would become fear-stricken. At the mention of my title I would stand before them in their minds. Asylums were established in those lands due to my existence, due to me, due to my being the embodiment of Fear. It was at that moment that I no longer wondered why I had killed my father. No longer did I care who I killed. I killed for the sake of the sweet feeling of another dying by my hands, a feeling that now haunts my every waking moment. Hopeless was I, hopeless am I!

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  A Haunted and Hollow Soul

  Time passed at a slow pace as I hunted down the last of those whom I had once called “brother.” I hold no recollection of how long it took me to slay them all. They had scattered like chaff in the wind. Over sea, sand, and snow I traversed those lands, hunting, always hunting. I always searched for life, some life for me to take. Like a ravenous wolf I devoured all who hindered me or fell in my path. I devoured their life as soon as they served my purposes.

  Armies were gathered against me. Kingdoms crumbled because of me. Lords became beggars all from fear of me. Thousands of men would come against me but none ever returned. Upon the next morning after having gone to sleep, a deep worried sleep, those fear stricken men would find their leaders mutilated and the sentries all dead. Those poor hapless sentries, most little more than boys, I slew them without a thought in the most horrid of ways and yet, I did not care. I delighted in their deaths. Like a sweet tasting flood of wine were their last life breaths to me.

  Continuously roaming, I outfoxed the fox, outhunted the wild wolf, and moved faster than the hunting hawk; I slew the predators of nature to feed me, the predator of mankind. For what I believe now to be years I wandered the world, confident that my revenge was complete but still hateful of all mankind, for all mankind hated me. After the end of those years I no longer remained the holder, the wielder of Fear. The creature managed to gain a foothold against me. A troubling thought sent shockwaves of pain through my mind. A voice told me that one of my former brethren was still alive, that my power had waned from lack of feeding, and that this remaining one was more powerful than I. This haunted me ceaselessly.

  These thoughts crippled me. For days, endless days, for nights, horrid nights I lay in an abandoned shack; The same shack I sit in now, writing this, my biography, the story of my sickening life, though it is not fit to be called a life. Pain racked my body, cold, I shivered, and then hot I burned! The pain was beyond tolerance of any normal human, but I was no longer human. I was…I am a monster, a hideous creature being eaten from the inside out. For many nights I lay, shivering, burning, screaming, sweating, aching, roaring, declaring my pitifulness to the changing moon. No, I was not worthy of pity, I deserved death but my demons would not let me die, no matter how much I wished to.

  It was in this state of utter horridness that I was found. I sensed his presence, the calm peaceful presence. Immediately, though I felt no danger, my twin swords leapt into my hands and I rose from my bed. The brown robed man groaned as he stepped across my doorstep, I was already leeching him. I had started to without knowing it. How I had sunk to such horrid depths I knew full well. It was at that moment, for the first time in a long time I gained control of myself, of my power, and stopped.

  If I had continued he would have died. A second after he entered into my dwelling his face had turned pale and his veins were visible. Yet, his calm presence, even while I did this, allowed me to regain control. If he had panicked he would be dead and would not be standing near me right now. He prays now, how it sooths me. But my resolve is still the same.

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nbsp; I will now describe to you how he came to capture and reveal a part of me which I thought to have died a long time ago. This calm man looked upon me. There was a pity for me in his eyes. He knew something about life that I did not. But at that time I was not even a soul worthy of its container, its fragile jar. But this man was different than any I had ever known before. He was capable of having pity in love not disgust. For the first time in a long length of moons I felt peace.

  He spoke to me, his voice filled with an emotion that I knew nothing of but I know intricately now. In the presence of this compassionate man I felt no more pain in my mind. Those thoughts which had tormented me in the moments, in the days, and in the nights before he arrived, troubled me no more.

  “Peace be unto you,” were the first words he spoke to me. There was no fear in his eyes when he looked at me.

  I responded, my tongue sharp with suspicion, “As long as I live I shall have no peace. I am the enemy of peace, stranger.”

  “Who are you, might I inquire? For it is apparent to me that you suffer. Your haunted and hollow soul is evident in your eyes.”

  “What? Do not play with me; your power is