Cold winds of the night woke Theodore, a lanky silver-haired boy aged twelve. The little wisdom the boy had told him that was a horrific indicator of something gone wrong. Upstairs from his room, the smell of iron was ever-so present and growing with every step. His twin sister laid in her bed, sound asleep. The air stood still.
"Wake up, sister." he whispered out. The silence looming from the stairwell crept unto his mind. It consumed him. There wasn't a sound to be heard aside from his own heartbeat. Her breath, he thought. Why's it silent?
The answer was in front of him, but he couldn't accept. He wouldn't. "Open your eyes!" he begged unto her. Tears streamed forming what seemed like it would be a never-ending river. The child took hold of her blood-coated shoulders and shook the life back into her, reanimating her corpse. "You must wake! You must.. We've lessons in the morning.. We'll be scolded if we're late again.." he shouted in confusion and anger in between coughs and mindless whining.
"What is it, Teddy?" a familiar voice came from the open door. "Why are you in your sister's room?" Time froze. Theodore's breath stopped as it felt like his neck was being squeezed shut by a murderous grip. He opened his mouth to speak explanations but nothing came out except for a shallow, shaky breath. He could taste blood.
Despite the lack of light in the room, her intuitions spelled out the situation in blinding illumination. His mother unsheathed a small knife from behind a candle. "You've taken another, this time your own self.. You won't take any more, demon."
"Mother, it isn't what you think!" Theodore pleaded to no avail as his mother charged at him with the knife raised above her head, the reflection of blood filling her bloodshot eyes. The boy raised his hands in defense and squeezed his eyes shut with pursed lips as the knife was swung down towards him.
SLICE.
A cold breeze consumed Theodore's body but spared his mind that was melting over the fires of hell. He opened his eyes to find the blade dug straight through the palm of his hand, the hilt resting on his skin. "Ma . . ." the child spout before a darkness flooded from the seams of his vision. He laid back with a thump on the bed next to his sister, bathing in bloody sheets.
Suddenly Theodore's consciousness sparked, his airway being constricted. Both of his hands reached up to pull at his mother's, wrapped around his throat. The knife through Theo's hand bent forward and back as he put pressure against his mother, fighting for his life.
With one motion, the conflict came to a halt. An arrow plowed through the forehead of his mother, splattering blood over his cheeks. Her hands lost all strength in an instant. The both of them collapsed, Theodore losing consciousness yet again.
Theo woke in a cage he'd never seen before, a lock on the handle for it. He banged on the rails, "Help! Mother!" he whined out. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he felt the pain in his wrapped hand all at once, overwhelming his innocent mind. "Please… I've suffered terrible terrors of the night…"
The clunk of leather boots brought Theo's cries down to a shaky sniffling. His father approached and sat on the floor in front of him. He tossed a canteen through the bars at his son. His father had a shadow of void painting his face before he looked away.
"Father.. Where are they?" was a question that would never receive an answer. His father stood and walked out of Theo's view. The boy knew only the worst must've happened. From that day forward, it was as though his father's tongue had been ripped out.
The father kept the boy in the cage in the hopes he would never have to harm a person again. Perhaps they could come to understand his condition better and could control or eradicate it. Within weeks of being fed various vegetables and soup, Theodore became extremely pale and thin. Anemia. Within the following month, Theodore was on his deathbed, unable to find any kind of appetite or strength.
Theo's father left for what seemed like an eternity while the child rotted away in a cold cell for a large animal. Eventually, Theo's blurred eyes filled with the darkness of his father's robes. His father held a fresh bloody heart through the bars. Theo hesitantly fed from his father's hand, making a mess of himself as he weakly feasted.
His eyes became bloodshot, and the beating of his own heart filled his head, drowning out the constant ringing he'd been hearing. Pure bliss. His father had given him the gift of returning to a conscious state. "Father.." Theo started. "I . . ." he couldn't get out the words.
The boy crawled to the edge of the cage and peered into his father's dead eyes. "What's wrong with me, father?" he asked sincerely. For the first time, his father opened his mouth in response. "Nothing that can't be fixed . ." he whispered hesitantly. Tears dragged down Theodore's cheeks before dropping to the floor.
In the weeks following, several different doctors would visit Theodore's place of holding and investigate his condition, each claiming he had suffered from some kind of insanity episode and that he should be medicated or put down. His father thanked and paid each before sending them away as he didn't want to end the life of his only remaining family.
There was, however, one renowned scientist whose eyes lit up at the sight of Theo's anatomy. He'd noticed extra joints and areas of muscle fibers that he declared signs of evolution. Having recorded everything Theodore and his father said about the traumatic event, he inquired whether he could take the boy back to his laboratory for further studies with the guarantee of his best attempts at finding a solution. His father reluctantly agreed under the additional promise that he could visit whenever he pleased. "Good luck, Teddy. I'll never be far."
Despite his father's words, Theodore had to travel, leashed, for three days to arrive at his new home. The doctor had just happened to be in their area at the time. By the time the boy was able to lay in his new bed, his hand had begun to rot from an infection. Theodore tried to hide it, as trauma lurked around its reasoning, but the doctor had spotted it days previous.
"Let's take a closer look," the man stated in what Theo thought to be a strange dialect. He kept his hand at his side, not wanting to comply. "It's fine."
The coated doctor forcefully grabbed Theo's hand and pulled it into visibility, unwrapping the amateur bandaging around it. A sigh followed as he poked around the incision with a small metal stick of a device. Theodore felt a twinge crawl from his palm outwards, jerking his arm each time the doctor would poke.
"How do you feel about losing a hand, young man?" he inquired. "That's the way it's going, maybe the arm too, before long." Theo pulled his hand away and stayed silent.
"That attitude's got to change if you want my care, boy," the man stared down Theo, met with his cheek in response as he turned away. The doctor walked away, fiddling about in his drawers from what Theodore could tell. There was something inside him that told him to leave, but by now he'd lost the will to act on it.
Before long, the man returned with a large syringe, a liquid leaking from the tip. Theodore readjusted his eyes, leaning away from it. "W-what is that?" he squeaked out. "It'll make your hand grow back together. Don't worry, boy," the doctor replied firmly. The child took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Tssk. The sharp pain from his inner elbow forced out a fearful grunt as Theo tried pulling his arm away, unsuccessful as the doctor suddenly had a hold on it. Before long, his arm felt numb; the feeling stretched over his entire body before his consciousness fell away.
He'd come to with the same numbness filling him; from his peripherals and what was left of his senses, he could tell he was laying flat on a table, strapped down by his hands, feet, and neck. A candle next to his table dimly lit the room. There was a sharp, weird sensation coming from his left hand. He feared the worst, but he could feel his fingers moving. "Dogtor," he called out, his speech slurring.
Theo was left there alone for several more hours before the man returned. "You killed your mother," his voice bounced off the walls of Theo's head. The boy tossed and turned as much as he could, trying to break loose to cover his ears. "You killed your sister," he said. "No, I didn't . ." Theo spat out weakly. The man tightened the strap around the boy's throat. "Admit it."
He continued to fight against it, grunting at the pressure crushing his neck. "I . . did . . nothing," he hissed out, his eyes growing darker. "That's not what your father said, before I butchered him."
Upon hearing the doctor's words, Theodore lost control and began to thrash about, his mouth foaming and a gray haze coating his eyes. The doctor smirked and leaned over Theo in observation. "That's right," he muttered as he observed the activation of the boy's muscle fibers. Before long, the table began to warp underneath Theodore's wrist strap as it was bending the metal. A shock froze the doctor before he quickly administered painkillers that resulted in the child passing out shortly.
In the following months, Theodore grew very close with the doctor, who he learned was called Waylon. The boy calmed down once Waylon brought his father in during the following weeks, to prove he never harmed him; his father was very distraught and decided to stop visiting after saying what came to be his final goodbyes to Theo.
Waylon was in a leading position for the technology of a secret rebel organization, opposing the cultist-ran crown of the land they resided in. Theo soaked up every lesson the doctor gave, quickly learning not to question him. After months of hard work, the boy began to retain memories and even retain simplistic language skills when he had his episodes. The doctor convinced the boy that he had a great opportunity to redeem himself.
The pair had discovered chemical aromas to induce the episodes without having to breach traumatic memories, leading to the start of Theo's training. If Waylon could control him, he could be used as a weapon in the case of an emergency. They began training together on cadavers strapped to poles, when they were finished Waylon would allot him only the amount of flesh he'd needed for his body to thrive. The doctor documented that it was a miracle the boy could stay sane after cannibalizing so much, after having witnessed countless cases go in horrible directions.
Five years had passed from the time Theodore came under Waylon's care, and the boy had become a chained monster that acted on command. Waylon brought Theo around with a chain hooked on a leash for his neck. It originally was around his ankle, but there had been an incident where the boy disjointed his foot and became loose. The two were a collective force to be reckoned with.
Theo's introduction to the rebellion brought upon his first mission, the murder of a man named Ezra, a leader of the cult they opposed. A prophet stated his death would bring good fortune in the wars to come. He agreed without question and was asked to go alone as it was an extremely dangerous mission. Waylon argued he should start with easier tasks, but Theodore assured him he could do it, consumed by delusions of grandeur.
The weather unexpectedly birthed a blizzard during Theodore's travels, it masked his expedition as he could run on all fours like an animal. When the road reached an end, a great wall stood in his path, hiding away a city and a keep. His commands had included discretion, so he followed the wall around to a side that faced a mountain before climbing up it utilizing his claw-like nails.
Atop the wall, Theo couldn't see much due to the storm. He could make out several larger building, and figured the largest would house his target. Once snuck up to the building, he found that all of the doors were locked, but lacked guards. Instead of using force, he crawled up the wall to one of the windowsills and pulled at the seam to see if it would open. Locked. He exhaled over the glass to thaw the glazed ice so he could see through; when it cleared away, his pupils grew as his vision sharpened.
A young girl was stood on the other side, her dark eyes peering into Theodore's. He froze, not being able to help thinking of his younger sister. Shaking his head, he blinked tightly before opening his eyes back up. She remained. Hesitantly, the girl appeared to begin fiddling with the sill before the window sprung up slowly. Theo climbed in to be able to close the window quickly, as he could see the girl was cold.
"Are you a Saint?" her small voice piped up. Theodore crouched in front of her before scanning her over. "A . . saint?" Theo hissed out, unacquainted to a conversation like this. "An angel, from the top point of the star."
Theodore shook his head. "I have to visit an Ezra. Do you know any that live here?" The girl's eyes lit up with excitement, "That's my dada's name!" she exclaimed. Theo smirked. "Could you tell me where he is?" his words were met with the squeak of the bedroom door opening. "Who are you speaking with, dear?" echoed a soft feminine voice. Theodore spun around to see a young woman in a silky white dress unlike anything he'd seen before.
Upon the two meeting eyes, Theodore stood tall next to the child. The room filled with stagnation. The child broke the silence, "He's here for dad, mother."
"Is that it?" the woman replied, not breaking eye contact with Theo. "Yes . . I've got a message for his ears alone." Theo responded with hesitation. He hadn't practiced the art of deception, but he hoped his improvisations would suffice to prevent having to murder these seemingly kind people. The woman beckoned to him, extending her hand out towards the man.
He nervously scratched over his cheek before walking towards her. At the door, he turned to wave goodbye to the child with a small smile about his face. She waved before crawling back into her bed, the door separating the two shortly after.
"Must be very urgent for you to come during the storms," the woman said as she slowly walked through a dark hallway. "Mm," Theo agreed whilst keeping to himself. She peered over at Theodore. "I know why you're here, but . . Please reconsider," she started with a halt to her steps. "Our children need him," her pleads followed. "Take me in his stead . ."
Gravity shifted, pulling the world in circles around Theodore. Why would this woman offer her life in exchange for this horrible man he'd been informed about? It was said Ezra had many wives and tortured those who opposed him, even refusing to allow them death. Was this some kind of trick?
In a single motion, he held a sharp claw to her throat. "Don't move," Theodore threatened. "Don't yell, or do anything." Tears dripped onto his wrist before her shaky words followed, "Plea-" Theo cut her off with a snap as he pulled his hand away, "Let me think, damn it . ."
Before long, Theodore was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Voices in his mind argued so loudly he couldn't think. Visions of his late mother and sister broke through, pushing him over the edge. "STOP!" he screamed in panic as he started pulling on grouped strands of his own hair, managing to rip out some in a blind fit.
A soft, warm hand rested on his shoulder, bringing the silence back to his mind. Tears blurred his sight as he peered up at the woman. "Mother . ." he whined out. "It's okay," her soft voice spoke. She knelt down and wrapped Theodore into a hug. His heart skipped a beat, launching his consciousness into remission.
Sharp claws sunk into the woman's back as Theo tightly embraced her. His tears streamed down between them as he laid his head against her shoulder. Sudden and shaky breaths spat out of the woman's lips before low groaning followed. Confused, Theodore pulled himself back before seeing her face in anguish.
Carefully pulling away, his claws slid out of her flesh. He was conflicted as the lines began to fade. "W-where is a doctor?" Theodore quickly inquired. To no response aside from grunts of pain, he picked the woman up and began running down the hall, peering into each opened door with his peripherals. Fresh blood marked their trail.
People began peeking out from their near-closed doors at the sight from the commotion. "A doctor, p-please . ." Theodore begged. One of the doors behind him swung open before an older man stepped out cloaked in a dark robe with the hood down. He held up a lantern to flood the room with light; his face was pulled down with age and his head barren. "What's happened?" his stern voice asked.
Turning around to confront the voice, Theo presented the woman. "She's hurt . ." he got out. The man peered down to see the trail of sanguine drops before he pushed his door fully open. "Quickly, in here," he beckoned, moving to be clear of the doorway. Theodore complied and hastily carried her to the room and laid her on her side. "Her back . ."
Closing the door, the man opened several drawers with metallic clanks. He took a blade and cut through the back of her dress for access to the injury. Blood coated the entirety of her back, likely due to Theodore's rough carrying. The man began by taking chemicals and dousing the areas before calmly asking, "What happened?" In turning around for a response, the man had seen that Theodore was passed out on the floor.