PAIN (2) *

Look within your pain. Look within the feeling that demands to be felt. Look within the feeling that makes you squirm, wince and grimace. Look within and find your cure, for it is the only place where solace can be found.

***

Alan's mind turned blank. He ceased struggling as the absurdity of the situation started to sink in. 5 men had barged into his home, assaulted both him and his mother, and to make matters worse, the tall man, who seemed to be the men's leader, referred to him as 'Brother'. His eyes weren't red like Alan's, instead, they were chasmic black. The only way he could've been his brother was if he was conceived by his father, someone whom his mother had never spoken about his entire life. He had never really thought much about his father. He had never been a part of his life, so he pretended he never existed, but why was his supposed 'brother' currently attacking both him and his family? Did he hold a grudge against his mother? And was he even his brother in the first place?

"I guess this will convince you a little," the tall man, Amund, murmured before raising his hand to his face and undoing his cloth mask, revealing a handsome face with dark golden hair, gleaming with a metallic shine, that was all too familiar to Alan.

He slowly walked toward him, his every footstep firm and steady, as though he was savoring the shock and fear Alan was feeling. His hand shot out grabbing Alan's throat, lifting him up into the air, reminiscent of the monster in Alan's nightmares.

"I've never killed a Djinn before, a shame really. I wonder, will your head pop like any other? Will your screams sound the same? Will your blood have the same flavor? So many questions...so many indeed," Amund sneered tightening his already iron-like grip, his fingers sinking into Alan's neck. Alan's face reddened, and he frantically hacked at the man in an attempt to free himself, but he felt as though he was fighting against a metal wall for every kick seemed to hurt him more than his assailant.

Amund's eyes narrowed, "You are weak. Why are you weak?"

*Slam*

"Gaah!"

With a flick of his wrist, Alan was sent flying into the wall behind him. He gasped as he tried to sit up, his bruised body shaking uncontrollably.

"You are a Djinn for fucks sake, not a worm. Get up, this should be but a mere scratch to you."

Alan did not respond. More like he was physically unable to, which further angered Amund.

"Where is it? Where is your strength? WHERE IS YOUR BIRTHRIGHT?", he roared, his eyes flickering with insanity.

"I...I..have no ide..idea", Alan groaned, his body still refusing to listen to him.

Amund whirled around, glaring at Layla, who was still pinned down by two men, "NO IDEA? Was this bitch's blood so dirty?"

He crossed the distance in a blink of an eye and knelt down, grabbing Layla's hair.

"Aaaah!", Layla screamed in pain as he held her up.

"NO! let...her....go!", Alan screamed forcing his battered body to stand, trying to steady himself as his legs wobbled dangerously.

He was just a 10-year-old and he knew very well that he couldn't do anything to this monster that stood before him. Just yesterday, he was a sheltered boy, his world only consisting of the grimy slums and the cobbled streets of Frysta. All he knew of the outside world was from the stories Grandpa Joe used to tell him after dinner, of heroic knights against evil villains and how they always won in the end. But no matter how much his mother and Grandpa Joe tried to sugarcoat it, he knew the world was a cruel place. He had seen commoners getting beaten to death for accidentally bumping into carriages owned by the Gnotts, which had erased any notion about the world being fair, filled with happiness and rainbows. He also knew he could meet the same fate, dying a dog's death if he accidentally hurt someone's ego. But even so, even if he would be beaten on the streets, even if he was threatened with death, he would do anything to protect one of the only people who had showered him with unconditional love and affection, regardless of whether he would succeed.

"Hoho! A momma's boy are you? gonna cry?", Amund taunted Alan as he struggled to stand up. He grinned, raised his hand, and lightly slapped Layla's face, his palm still carrying great strength. Layla winced as her cheek swelled, a vivid bruise starting to form.

"Stop it!", Alan yelled leaping toward Amund in desperation, but his legs gave in, causing him to fall face first onto the ground.

"Alan! Just run. Forget about-...Ah!", Layla's anguished pleas were cut off by another slap.

"Shut up. You were not given permission to speak", Amund growled.

"Why? Why are you doing this? Just let my mother go! Please!", Alan cried out as he was dragged back by the same two men, his face now covered with dirt, tears streaming down his face.

Amund sighed and held out his hand toward one of his men, "I'm getting tired of this shit, let's get this over with."

The man unsheathed his sword and placed it in Amund's outstretched hand. Amund gripped it and drew his arm back, staring at Alan with a malevolent grin, his eyes desiring the sadistic pleasure he got from breaking his victims, both mentally and physically.

Alan's tear-stained eyes widened as he realized what Amund was going to do. His muffled screams grew in intensity and he fought against the two men harder than ever, before his limbs collapsed from exhaustion. Amund snorted and with a single fluid motion, drove the sword up to its hilt, into Layla's stomach. She gasped and her eyelids trembled as a glistening drop of blood slowly trickled down from her mouth to her chin. She raised her hand toward Alan, her fingers trembling, before it dropped listlessly at her waist. Amund let go of Layla and her body fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

For a few seconds, no one spoke and Amund gazed at Layla with a bored expression, as though the whole ordeal was only a game to him. The sounds of her coughing echoed in the room, each cough stabbing into Alan's ears. His pupils shook as his brain slowly comprehended what he had just seen. His mother, the person whom he loved the most in the world, someone who he cared for more than even himself, someone who had sacrificed so much just to see Alan smile, stabbed in the stomach by his so-called 'Brother'.

"NOOOO!", Alan bellowed, his eyes turning bloodshot and veins popping out on his face.

Rage.

Boiling hot rage flowed through his veins. A wave of unadulterated, visceral anger erupted within him. He wanted to rip these men apart piece by piece. He wanted to cause them so much pain and agony that death would be an escape. He wanted to make them feel the pain he was feeling.

Something shattered within him and his vision turned red. He grabbed the arms of the two men holding him and snapped them. Power coursed through him. Power he had never felt before but one that felt right, as though it was something that had returned to its true owner. He felt like a fish in water, finally able to breathe.

With a simple throw, he shrugged off the two men with ease, his blood-red eyes coupled with his veined face giving him a demonic aspect.

He would show them his strength.

He would teach them his pain.

He would relish in their agony.