The Color Red

The Color Red

A Story by Scooter
"

The boy was completely tainted, a killer. The Demon was a thief, who was caught. Their lives are thrust together and the boy has a clean slate. Will a wiped memory be enough?

"

He came awake slowly to a throbbing inside his head that matched perfectly with his heartbeat. It took him a few seconds before he finally tried to pry his eyes open and when he managed it at last he was rewarded with the inside of a tent that was filled with exotic scents and stacks of books. Curiosity filled the boy and he tried to stand only to discover that his hands were bound behind his back. Childish anger and frustration built up inside of him. It. Just. Was. Not. Fair! His stomach hurt, his hands were caked with dried blood, and how his head hurt! On his birthday no less!

The boy whined.


"Oh, come now. It's not as bad as you're making it out to be. Okay, well that's a lie."


The boy's blue eyes darted to the left and lit upon a figure tied just as he was, save for a brown collar dotted with gold and silver around his throat. The creature, because that's what it was, had hair that stopped just below its shoulders with a color that reminded the boy of the silver moon. Its eyes had a glint in their silver depths that spoke of countless mischievous deeds. The creature (Demon, that is a Demon, thought the boy) had no shirt and therefore exposed a scarred chest and stomach that showed a design colored a deep red. That design is what held the boy's attention. It reminded the boy of a flower at first, but there were two extra lines at the top of the stem, one angling down and to the right while the other angled down and to the left. There were two other lines then, each going in the opposite direction of the first two lines. Finally, there was the flower portion, though it looked like a single petal, though the tip was pointed just like a knife.


"Look, kid, I just want to make it clear that you are not my type."


The young boy blinked and turned his head back to the front in disgust. He heard the Demon laugh.


"Oh boy. I don't think they'll have much fun with you, kid. They'll probably kill you quickly. As for me, I have something else coming."


Gods this guy was annoying. The boy wanted to be free of his bindings and kill this Demon! He could not think through its constant babbling, then it said something that piqued his interest.


"Dark magic users, all of them. I mean, I ain't an angel or anything, but this is just nuts. I'm a killer, but not cold-blooded like these guys."


Cold-blooded? People have called me that. Am I like them? The boy licked his suddenly dry lips and swallowed, unused to the sudden feeling in his chest. Wh-What is this? I don't remember feeling this before . . . what am I feeling?


The boy did not want to meet these magicians.


"Wonder why they nabbed you, though. They must've thought you were dangerous for some reason. No way, though. . . ."


"How do you know?"


The boy's voice was slow, as though he had to carefully think about each word before he spoke. As slow as it was, though, it was cold and hard. The Demon's silver eyes narrowed.


"So that's why: you're already a killer, aren't you?"


The flap of the tent opened and a tall man clad in black entered. His head was covered by a hood and his face was obscured by shadows. The man looked first at the Demon who had gone silent. The two locked eyes and the boy counted the two minutes that the staring contest lasted before the man walked over to the Demon and touched his index finger to the brown collar. The gold and silver jewels started to shimmer and spark, and the Demon gasped and clenched his teeth, tossing his head back as pain coursed throughout his body. The Demon started to speak through clenched teeth.


"Tch! You guys are morons! D'you honestly think this s-stupid thing'll steal my powers?!"


The man frowned and stepped back from the tied Demon who was now gasping to regain his breath.


"I guess Demons are quite stupid, aren't they? I'm just weakening you. You will be less trouble that way."


He turned to the boy, then.


"It is a pity that you will have to die as well. . . . You certainly would have been a great addition to our ranks."


The man knelt behind the boy and undid the bindings that held the boy to the pole. The young boy immediately tried to dash away from the man only to find that his hands were still bound. He whined in childish frustration for the second time that night. He struggled and flailed, finally able to name the unknown emotion he had felt earlier.

Fear.


He was afraid of this man and he was afraid of the other people here. Dimly, he heard the Demon yelling something and everything just suddenly went silent and black.


The Demon had tried to tell the boy to stop struggling, that it would only end badly for him. The Demon shrugged and sighed as the tall man knocked the boy out cold. The tent flap opened again and a second tall magician entered, turning his attention to the bound Demon and approaching him. Said Demon knew that his time had come, that things were going to end in a way that was most likely very bloody. It was just a pity that the boy had to die as well, though the world would have one less murderer to worry about.


The first magician was carrying the boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes while the second one tugged the Demon along like some kind of misbehaved dog. The silver-haired Demon was shoved into a circle that had been marked in white on the ground. The circular design had two other circles inside of it and next to each other, and the boy was deposited in the circle opposite the Demon.


Almost as if it had been rehearsed, the boy sprang to his feet and clenched his bloodied hands. His blue eyes were set in a 'deer-in-headlights' look and he frantically looked around at the numerous, tall, robed figures. The brunette made a dash to the edge of the circle but was repelled by some invisible force. He cried out as he fell back, but was on his feet seconds later and tried to break through what had halted him. His fists met with solid resistance. He started to scream.


"Let me go! Let me out or I'll kill you! I swear that I will kill all of you!"


The Demon sighed and shook his head; he'd already resigned himself to his fate. The robed figures paid the boy's screams and frantic pounding no heed as they positioned themselves around the circular prison. The chanting fell on one pair of deaf ears and one pair of tired ones. The chanting increased in tempo and the edges of the Demon's circle began to emit a light purple glow and slowly started to crawl inside. The Demon twitched as if he was considering fighting back, but just when he actually moved, the light finally reached the center. The Demon's body went stiff as a board and his mouth opened in a scream.


The sudden scream, which was louder than his own, caused the boy's attention to snap to the Demon. Blue eyes widened in horror as they witnessed the slow deterioration of the Demon.


It began at his feet and was slowly climbing up, literally leaving nothing in its wake. The Demon's body was vanishing. Slowly. Painfully. Sparks shot out from the fading body, becoming greater and greater in intensity. Panted pleas fell from the Demon's lips and what remained of his body (torso and above) began to convulse and the boy could do nothing but observe. Through his horror there was a morbid fascination. A part of him was scared, but there was another part, a darker part, that wanted to see more. The young boy covered his eyes when the Demon emitted a final scream and his body completely vanished to leave a small yellow sphere hovering about two feet in the air, shimmering slightly.


The boy was captivated.


Until the robed figures turned to him.


A low murmur slowly rose from the magicians that grew gradually louder. The circles that the boy was standing and where the Demon used to be standing vanished, leaving them in the one larger circle. The yellow sphere bobbed a few times before making a slow advance on the boy. He ran to the edge of the circle, his bloody hands starting to pound again on the invisible wall.


"Let me out! Let me go!"


The chanting halted.


The boy turned slowly to discover the sphere was only a half foot away from his face.


One of the magicians stepped forward.


He spoke.


The sphere jerked forward.


The boy's head was thrown back as the yellow sphere collided against his chest and vanished.


He thought his head would explode from the sudden pressure that was slowly building up within his skull. His knees grew weak and he fell to them, clutching his head and shuddering like a leaf in the gale. Gasps were ripped from his throat and his hands began to itch slightly. Hair fell over his fingers, growing longer and he collapsed fully to the ground then, one hand still clutching his longer hair while the other clawed weakly at the ground. Small, frightened whimpers and prayers fell from trembling lips, the words breathy and pained. Shimmering blue eyes locked on his extended hand which had turned pure white like freshly fallen snow, with the bloody red design etched onto the back. Dumbfounded, the horror struck boy looked at his other hand. Or what he believed was his hand: everything began to get hazy and the boy saw a mix of green and brown, with a large white splotch in the middle that was dotted with red. His muscles were taut with the agony but still he raised his head and the magicians saw not the cold, blue-eyed boy from before, but a Demon with silver-blue eyes.


The boy slowly stood upon shaking legs, having to use the invisible barrier as a support. His un-earthly silver-blue eyes searched over robed figures but clenched tightly in frustration due to the inability to see clearly. A low rumble began in his chest just like a lion, and his chanting turned to wild yells.


"I swear that I will feel all your blood on my hands. . . . I swear to God I will kill all of you!"


Energy radiated off of the shuddering youth's body in waves and the barrier wavered for a few seconds before shattering. The black clad magicians took a step back as the young boy swept his right hand down in a movement to begin a spell.


He halted, silver-blue eyes wide.


There was a hole there. . . .!


How could he kill them if he had forgotten his magic? How had he forgotten his magic?


The boy stood there for a moment, his silver-blue eyes narrowing in a squint of the blind and with his chest heaving. Then the pain began anew, waves sweeping through his hands, and he tucked them against his body tightly. A desire swept over him like a tsunami and his head shot up, faint blurs shifting in and out of his vision. The boy jerked, hands clenching. A familiar feeling of destruction overtook the boy and he lunged forward, his hands ahead of him as if he was going to use them to break a fall. The second that his already bloody hands tore into the flesh of one of the magicians, felt the warm blood spilling over his fingers. . . .


The second that happened the boy died.


~*~*~*~*~


Being a Demon, he had had a long life. Having had a long life had allowed him to meet a lot of different people.


But he hadn't met a lot of people like the boy.


He had been tainted, twisted from the age of two by his parents. The boy's father dealt in the usage of dark magic and his wife let him, just like nothing was actually happening. The father had started to take his son with him on jobs, saying that it was good education and let the boy see the world. The abuse had started when he was two and a half. His first lesson had been that the strongest would be the one to survive.


The mother had died first. The boy had killed his father later that same night with magic almost the instant he had walked in the door, and had sat in their blood until he was found the next day by the authorities due to the fact the door was open. Two policemen died that day at the hands of that tainted and twisted ten-year-old boy.


His first kill had been two years ago, his mother, and the boy had not gone a full week since then without spilling the blood of something.


The silver-haired Demon looked at the memories and noticed that his parents had given him one thing. In the first year of his birth things had been peaceful, and the boy had been given his name.


"Really, the kid's innocent, isn't he? Kids are how they're raised and he was raised in an environment of poison." the Demon closed his eyes and looked around, resting his attention on a sort of screen. "And he's going to do it again, isn't he?" He looked back at the small lights that were just hovering in the blackness and the Demon extended his hand, capturing a few of the lights in his palm.


"His memories. . . ." The Demon was struck with an idea and he hurriedly gathered all of them.


"You of all people I've met are deserving of a second chance."


If asked what he was doing, the Demon would reply with a terse 'How the hell should I know? I'm not a goddamned expert in mental exploration!'


The Demon brought the lights to his chest and hesitated for a moment before pressing. The images and feelings became seared into his mind and, ignoring the fleeting urge to cry, he turned back to the screen and through it he could see a hand that was covered with a red coat. A red coat that the Demon knew full well to be blood. The Demon clenched his hands to fists, not even noticing the sparks shooting from them. If something wasn't done then the boy's memories would once again be tainted with a dark red stain. The hand in the screen began to move and shifted up to allow the Demon to see the magicians. The black hoods had fallen back from some of their faces, proving that they had not expected this to happen. The emotion he had seen on the boy's face was reflected in each of theirs.


Slow and uncertain steps brought the Demon to just in front of the screen, and he saw the carnage as the boy looked around. Once or twice his gaze passed over the last remaining magician, and on the third look past, the Demon saw the magician make a hand motion that was the start of a spell.


The boy would die.


He could not see the magician.


"HE'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, KID!"


The screen shook for a few seconds before looking straight ahead and beginning to move again.


The boy had heard. Somehow the Demon's words had been heard. Silver eyes watched impassively as the bloodied hands were coated in a fresh red coat.


A hand slowly reached towards the screen.


~*~*~*~*~


The boy looked - or attempted to look - at the two blobs of red that used to be his hands. He could not explain why, but the feeling of excitement - the feeling of pleasure - had stayed with him throughout the entire act. The exhilarated feeling was slowly pushed to the side by a profound fear and nausea. Hands were raised to just in front of his eyes as they began to sting.


Tears.


Tears streamed down his cheeks and even as he bawled, a laugh erupted from deep within him. Everything was confusing and mixed up! His head was blank like a clean slate and yet he felt as if he should know something! Suddenly there was something, something other than the desecrated bodies around him and the stench of blood in the air. Something other than that mixed copper taste in his mouth and the blurs around him.


It was a voice, and it was coming from inside his head.


You've been through hell, kid. I only wish it hadn't happened to someone like you.


The boy's body moved on its own then, as if the voice had jump started it. Shaking as bad as he was, the young boy did not make it very far before falling to his hands and knees and vomiting. Weak giggles and sobs broke free, breathy and weak. Silver-blue eyes closed tightly and the instant he did so, everything went suddenly dark. There was a dull 'thud' as the boy's body toppled to the side, completely unconscious.


~*~*~*~*~


"Who. . . .?"


"Hm?"


"Who am . . . I?"


The Demon looked at the small boy in front of him who was huddled in a fetal position and quivering.


"Your name is Ian."


The silver-blue eyed boy - Ian - blinked up at the Demon owlishly. The Demon was thankful for the surrounding darkness; that would prevent the boy from seeing the blood on his hands. The Demon had already established that he was trapped within Ian's mind, and that he would be staying there. He had stolen Ian's memories and given him a rare second chance at life all together. But now the questions would come and the Demon would have to think fast.


"Why . . . Why am I here? What-What was I d-doing in that forest? Those people. . . .?"


A heavy sigh escaped from the Demon. Gods, he was not made for this!


"One at a time." The young boy blinked rapidly, probably believing that something was in his eyes to cause them to be so blurry. "You were on your way to the town beyond this forest."


Confusion lit Ian's face and he struggled to sit up on still-shaking limbs.


"B-But . . . why?"


Because you're a magician."


The curiosity dimmed, replaced now by a look of sickness and fear. "L-Like th-those--"


"No."


Ian flinched back away from the Demon with a quiet noise and tucked himself up again. A hand passed wearily over silver eyes and bare shoulders heaved up in a loud and heavy sigh.


"You are not like that scum, ki--Ian. You use . . . eh. . . ." He didn't really like how expectantly the boy was looking at him, face brimming with emotions. "You specialize in defensive spells. Yeah."


The Demon sank to the ground and passed another hand over his face.


"Let me take control."


"E-Eh?"


"Your body. Let me get you somewhere sa--"


"Did I kill those men?"


The question was sudden and the Demon hesitated for a moment.


"No, kid. I did. Now stay here and sleep; I'll get you somewhere safe."


The Demon had no experience with kids, but he did know that they enjoyed asking questions. Lots and lots of questions. Yet Ian was tired and so he would sleep now, saving those questions for later.


Of course then the Demon would have to tell him the rules. Rules of his hands, that they must always be covered lest the urge to kill presents itself. The need for glasses because the boy's sight is now damaged. The silver-eyed Demon turned but was halted by Ian's voice, heavy with sleep already.


"What . . . What are . . . you?"


"I'm a Lightning Demon."


"Oh." Silence. Then: "Name?"


"Name's Arai, kid. Now get the hell to sleep."

© 2010 Scooter


Author's Note

Scooter
This is a sort of past story about two of my characters Ian and Arai. Obviously. This isn't my best work, and it could use some revision, but if someone would mention any mistakes they catch, that would be awesome! I always manage to miss some sometimes.

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Added on August 11, 2010
Last Updated on August 12, 2010
Tags: Demons, magic, fantasy, magicians, thief, dark, memory
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Scooter
Scooter

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Hey. I'm Scooter and I was completely right in my assumption.... My motivation AND inspiration were all trapped in school. I guess I'll be writing more, again. Anyway, I probably won't be putting .. more..

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