Chapter 7: YAHWEH PRIDE.

  “Radars are buzzing for me.”

  September 15th, 1988.

  A gasp filled the air.

  A clock read 12 PM in the top right of the room.

  Link II woke back up on the floor, the sight in front of him brutal.

  Quickly patting his body down, he felt every piece of blood on him.

  Especially his face.

  Glancing to the mirror on his right, Link II saw the horrifying amount on his face.

  Dripping.

  Coloring his face in blood.

  To him, it felt horrifying seeing how much blood was on his childlike body.

  As he heard the horrified whispers of one person still standing there.

  “God… kid, what have you done?”

  Frozen in fear, the chief stood, aiming his gun towards Link II.

  Trembling.

  Watching as a five year boy killed with, to him, demonic powers from the devil himself.

  While, he slowly walked towards the chief, not to hurt him; but rather took away the gun.

  Silently disliking the pointing of guns.

  Each footstep echoing in blood.

  The chief panicked even more.

  Throwing his gun towards him in fear.

  Accidentally shooting a bullet during his throw.

  But Link II was unfazed.

  Slightly lifting his hand up.

  Grabbing the thrown gun with ease.

  Pausing the bullet as it slowly moved towards him.

  The sound of a speeding bullet in the air.

  Stopping right before his face.

  And putting it in his pants pocket like it was nothing, keeping a bullet for later.

  Simultaneously while the chief backed away, tripping on a bent leg of one mutilated cop.

  Crawling away like a baby in horror.

  Stopping at a wall, bumping his body with a silent thud.

  Trying to turn but too scared to move away from the demon boy.

  As he asked.

  “A-Are you here to kill me, demon?!”

  While Link II looked confused, turning his head sideways innocently like he didn't just kill three men.

  Asking back.

  “Well, aren't you a police officer, Chief? Weren't you taught to not be afraid of anything-”

  Before getting interrupted by the chief.

  “I'm not a cop! I-I just stole a suit and fit in! I didn't even want to be here, demon!

  I just wanted to get some money to skip town.

  Some… actually, why should I tell you why I wanna leave town? You used your abilities, you can't hurt me!”

  The man's face smirked towards him, thinking he had outsmarted him.

  While Link II just stared at his name tag, noticing the small title above it.

  Intern.

  DAVE.

  His emotions in a tornado from seeing a cop laugh at him like blood was a joke.

  Hating the silence, blood leaking all over the floor.

  Sounding like wet concrete spilling out.

  Reminding him of that single birthday.

  The same blood.

  The same tears spilt.

  Link II's hands shook with irritation at the chief, as he grabbed him by the collar tightly.

  That grip comparable to a broken man, and screamed in his ear.

  “YOU THINK YOU'RE FUCKING FUNNY?! GO AHEAD, SPEND YOUR TIME IN HELL WITH THESE RACIST FUCKS!”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Instantly lifting him up unnaturally.

  As the chief pleaded.

  “Please sir! Don't-”

  Before getting thrown through the roof and flying towards a destination.

  Sounding like the same bullet fired towards him, mixed with the scream echoing as the man was flown.

  As Link II began to laugh.

  His laughter sounded filled with hatred.

  And a slight touch of a demonic voice.

  While his laughter tickled his face, making him laugh from a mix of euphoria and true laughter.

  Yet he was only five.

  Stepping out towards the back of the police station with footsteps echoing on the concrete.

  Walking by many prideful folks.

  The same prostitutes and crackheads biking or walking by.

  While Link II smiled through it all like he enjoyed it.

  People immediately noticed the blood he was bombarded in.

  But at that point, too careless to even matter to them.

  Walking through every street like a madman.

  Seeing the concerned glances of children and parents.

  All giving him more guilt than he already had.

  His smiles faded against their concerned faces.

  Their eyes scanned him, seeing the blood on his clothes and face.

  Dripping with it.

  Walking with it.

  Seeing a five year old covered in blood like a combination of something from a horror movie.

  The last things he could see before arriving home.

  Opening the door with a small twist of the doorknob.

  Sounding like metal screeching against metal.

  Link II’s mindscape began to crumble as he stepped through that door.

  Slamming the door.

  And from that slammed door, his memories from the past began to flood back on him.

  He could feel the blood of thousands on him, thoughts of a breeze between blood and gunpowder.

  Looking at his hands, blood covering them, staining both his clothes and his face by each drop of blood on his hands.

  The house had transformed into the same area that it was on his birthday.

  The dumpster where Link II and Samuel were forced to dispose of the bodies.

  Feeling his past self’s inner emotions…

  The fear and confusion at seeing a dead man beg for his life, now mumbling to be released into garbage that smelled worse than a homeless person.

  The smell of a corpse, smelling like a mix of a dead rat and fish recurred to him again.

  Seeing him and Samuel having to throw the bodies above his own height, and the gross plop and the end of each landing body.

  Meanwhile in reality, Link II had fallen to the floor, curling himself into a ball, rocking back and forth.

  Trying to wake himself from this nightmare of trauma, seeing everything flash by his eyes.

  Feeling pain and guilt for something that wasn't his fault.

  He was fighting a storm of his own making.

  Sitting in his memories for a few moments, a song played on the CD player.

  Without him even touching it.

  The lights flickered around him, the static that came from the TV.

  All playing as an theatrical intro to a song.

  The song YAH.

  By Kendrick Lamar.

  It began.

  The lyrics consisted of self reflection and worth being proven by family members.

  But Link II never had a real family, only himself.

  As he sat in his memories, a thought picked up in his mind.

  What is his worth defined by?

  Is his worth made in fame, fortune, or killing police officers for revenge?

  But as he sat, he heard one word that stood out.

  CURSED.

  He didn't know what it meant to be “cursed” like the song spoke of.

  Nor understood the song's actual meaning of burning out of fame and being forgotten by humanity.

  From pondering this question, he was able to wake himself from his PTSD attack.

  Still having rapid panic, but slowly coming down.

  A few moments later, he vomited onto the floor, making a stain on the carpet where he laid.

  Ignoring the stain, he got up from the floor.

  Glancing outside to see the late-day empty streets of his home.

  The houses across from him and beside him, all having families and filled with love.

  While he stood and watched them from afar, united in grief for every dead person he was forced to dispose of.

  For something he didn't yet understand.

  Still confused as to what happened to his house and why it began to flicker like a bomb.

  But also still having questions about his vomiting problem and his constant remembrance of memories.

  Deciding to read some books that talked about survivor's guilt and PTSD, and what it does to the body.

  Secretly planning to activate and confront the void inside him later that day.

  Walking to the bookshelf near the TV, its wooden material reflective against the sunlight from outside his window.

  His hand reached out to grab books like Healing From Trauma, The Pain We Carry, etc.

  All books were filled with true stories of people's tragic lives.

  As he read, share information about tragedies like the Holocaust, almost puking from how badly they treated thousands of religious people.

  Uncomfortable with how in detail the murders were.

  Hating the idea of how somebody could idealize his own hatred of a race to realistic genocide with murderous intent.

  Unsure if he wanted to continue reading to find the cure for his problems.

  Just to realize…

  There is no cure.

  There was no definitive answer to PTSD and how to stop its effects.

  Because if there really was one, why was he reading a survivor's memoirs of a tragic event?

  But most of the books he read pointed to one answer.

  He’ll either be stuck with it or he can talk to people.

  People who probably wouldn't listen to his pain.

  People who would judge him on his appearance.

  People that were monsters to themselves and others, all for small differences of color or how they looked.

  Link II just broke down in tears, confused and saddened by everything.

  Not understanding why he couldn't stop seeing the dead bodies of man and children combined.

  He even tried to use his powers to heal himself within seconds, but stopped.

  Hearing the song again, remembering how he left it playing as he read.

  How it spoke to him, the somber tones mixed with the bleakness and grayness of his home.

  All seeming to tell him one thing.

  “Remembering doesn't define your worth, it's how you deal with it.”

  Taking a breather, he had realised, “My powers… wouldn't help my internal pain, I need to.”

  “I can't just take a healing ability and apply it to my mental… that's the same effect someone does by drinking their sorrows in a bottle or smoking marijuana like Samuel… It's all a mask.”

  Calming down after his meltdown, he got up to make himself food.

  Now having some form of confidence back despite the lack of hope he had.

  As he began to cook some chili and cheese on the stove, summoning the can of chili and cheese.

  His telekinesis allowing him to reach the top shelf where it housed the pans he needed.

  A low hum filled the air as the pan floated downwards towards him.

  His hunger gave him eagerness to cook.

  As he stood in the kitchen, watching over the pan as it cooked the food, he wondered a few questions to himself.

  Wondering if he could destroy everything in the world for bullying him.

  Questioning if he really should do that despite wanting to undo everything that happened to him.

  He had heard of the term "Playing God" but he didn't understand it at first.

  Uncomfortable with the idea of playing god demonstrated by what he read from survivor notes.

  Rather preferring to stay in his own lane than to ruin the lives of millions.

  Because why would someone want to play god in a world that punishes you for your own opinions with bullets?

  He contemplated these feelings of superiority, akin to Pride itself.

  Standing, finally understanding why he hadn't revived anyone, yet conjured food for himself.

  It was about the grief of seeing a dead body, the pridefulness that came with excusing his actions with trauma.

  The chili bubbled in the pan, ready to eat.

  As he ate his chili from the pan and looked outside his window, he kept thinking to himself,

  “Why can't I bring myself to help the dead come back to life so they can have another chance?”

  “Why can't I understand myself and my abilities?”

  Not understanding that these feelings were the beginning of being consumed with PRIDE for the people.

  As Link II began to pass out on the mattress he laid on, he felt an… aether feeling.

  Time was slowing down, his heart rate pumping slower and slower.

  His eyelids were slowly coming down and blinking, seeing such chaotic things as balloons in the snow, question marks everywhere…

  Blowing up with blood, and yet not caring about it.

  Eventually leading to the silhouette of someone he couldn't understand or what it was.

  Slowly closing his eyelids…

  Feeling the breeze of wind across his face.

  Feeling his consciousness die in peace.

  …

  He found himself back in the void.

  Initially panicking, thinking he had died.

  His hands desperately patting himself down, just to realize he was in the void yet again.

  Glancing at the emptiness of the void and its lack of memories.

  Seeing that this was his inner mindscape, trapping him as he slept.