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This message Nihilist #1 was posted by on Wednesday, April 24, 2002 at 22:53.
broken bruised forgotten sore
too fucked up to care anymore
poisoned to my rotten core
too fucked up too care anymore
in the back off the side far away is a place where i hide where i stay tried to say tried to ask i needed to all alone by myself where were you?
how could i ever think its funny how everything you swore would never change is different now like you said you and me make it through didn't quite fell apart
where the fuck were you?
Nine Inch Nails, "The Fragile", "Somewhat Damaged."Nihilist #1:
Invocation of Deplority
The breathing reminded him of molten lava being poured down his neck. Dramatic, yes, but vaguely eerie. Life dictated that normality was an alien concept for him, but experiments of this nature, on his own body, only made him feel worse. It began to feel, however, as if his body was going through a state of disunction, which played havoc with his psychology.
He turned to see the mad grin of his father, who winked at him as the experiment entered its final stages. He knew only terror and uncertainty, now, as its effects were irreversible, and his physicality was for sure nothing remotely resembling humanity.
His eyes couldn’t handle the light anymore, so he shut them. Drawing from memory, he tried to stand, keeping in mind that the table he was on was levitating five feet from the ground, and he tried to keep gravitational perspective in mind, but rage drove past his caution. His legs ground into the floor, oddly not breaking, and he lashed out at the light switch. He could see in the dark, finally, and his father loomed before him.
Fifteen feet of something out of Dante’s Hell glared down at him. Every haunting rumor he’d heard of the damned couldn’t prepare him for what his father had become, in exchange for the knowledge he now had. His father wasn’t just superhuman, he was essentially immortal, though in eternal debt to his benefactor. Summoning some of his ill-gotten power, his father cast him aside as if he was a mere paperweight, and walked out of the room.
It was with trepidation that the not-quite-human-any-longer son of Nicolae Anton got to his feet, and opened the door that Nicolae had slammed shut. He could tell by the shadow that fell upon the window that his father was on the roof, sunbathing his grotesque form, and enjoying the shocked glances of passersby. He frowned, and walked on out the door, into the one city on earth that made him feel as if he’d entered the lowest pits of Dante’s Hell, lower than the infamous fifth center of Hell, in which people were forced to bathe in, and consume, their own excrement.
Granted, portions of this city weren’t so bad, and were really quite financially profitable, as the rising towers made of pure marble and the statue of the mayor, made of pure gold, were testaments to. Szandor Anton knew for sure that whatever forces drove the universe made the rest of this city to be unbearable, to act as a manifestation of Murphy’s Law. It was here that murders and rapings seemed tame. No, it was a far worse crime to be sacrificed to demons, and have them feast on your living entrails as your life seeped from your body. It was a far worse crime to be injected with battery acid, to the point that the veins in your arms were literally eaten away. True, it wasn’t like Szandor hadn’t tried to stop these hideous acts, but there seemed to be outside forces that kept him inches away, tantalizingly too late to do anything but watch with a disgusted grimace.
True, he had to admit that even in these parts of the city where hope seemed to have shriveled and died, the mayor made a point to visit, now and again. The fern-portions of this man struck him as a bit weird, but then, after the transformations the experiment had put him through, he wasn’t so sure that he had the right to pass judgment on anyone’s eccentricities.
He knew his son hated him. A fool could’ve seen the disgust that flared through Szandor’s eyes when he’d realized that against his wishes, the experiment that would transform him into something from the gods was carried out against his will. It was of no consequence to him, though… as a practicing doctor, he was well used to not always being in conjunction with the wills of others. Such things were the stuff of pacifists and unimaginative cretins. There was the secret, terrible knowledge that he’d gained to consider, as well… if he’d been willing to stay within the box, play by the rules, he’d have never figured out how to cure Parkinson’s or cystic fibrosis (child’s play, really…), but he stopped thinking about that. Nicolae was a man of brooding, methodical action. This was mere second-guessing, nothing to stress over.
It was time, he decided. Time to visit the Crying Clown. The Master demanded so, and he wanted to see this legend of the underworld in action, before his inaction.
Ultimately, his son’s transformation was for the best. If Szandor was unwilling to see this, then it wouldn’t be any different than when his wife had misunderstood her need to be married to The Master, which was part of his deal. If she was unwilling to leave the physical realm to accomplish this, then that was her concern, not his. The demonoid crossed his arms over his shoulder, which activated his transformation into a more human form—leaving him at only around seven foot tall, with fiery reddish brown hair that came to his shoulders. His beefy, intimidating frame was wrapped in a black leather trenchcoat, and the sneer that crossed his lips served to shoo away any passersby. For, after all, he was to meet the ruler of this town, supposedly, and invite him to an eternal dinner with the ruler of his soul.
As was to be expected, women crowded around him, drawn irresistibly by his magnetism, but flashes from his eyes were like kidney-punches to their souls, and they were only too happy to flee.
Szandor stepped out into oncoming traffic, which drove through him with no consequence. The burning on his flesh pointed out to him that he’d gone intangible, seemingly, though it was playing havoc with his biochemistry. Or it would have pointed this out to him, but the experiment made his mind go into a state of schizophrenic shock, and he started questioning the existence of reality, of himself, and of the existence of God. It was extremely circumspect, to him, that any God would allow something as insidious as his father to gain the power he’d had… that He’d allow someone like Szandor to live in such a deplorable area, and that He’d allow one of his supposedly beloved children to become mutated into some hideous thing, if all this had actually happened, and wasn’t just a psychotic breakdown on the part of Reality itself.
He made it across the street, and sat down and put his hands on his knees (or so he thought, though the delusions told him otherwise, and he was trying his best to ignore those), and closed his eyes and waited for the shade to fall on him, so that he’d regain his physical form.
He spat onto the ground and hugged himself tighter, as passersby pushed past him, occasionally throwing garbage and excrement on him. He whispered to himself, almost like a mantra or a magic charm, “You’ll take my revenge to the grave…you’ll take my revenge to the grave…you’ll take my revenge to the grave…”
His physical form improved his sanity, but he still looked deranged, as scars covered his gaunt face, and the blonde, stringy hair that covered his bluish green eyes gave him a refugee look.
He composed himself, and began walking towards a building that called itself the Squire, when gunshots rang out, splattering the Squire with bulletholes and curiously not harming Szandor at all. If anything, they only infuriated him, as they gave him a resounding migraine.
The mafia hitmen involved looked at the stringy-haired madman and laughed, as if to dare him to do anything… and laugh they did, until their car was consumed by brimstone and hellfire, seemingly straight from its bowels.
Szandor was on his knees at that point, crippled by the migraine’s terrible pain, and passersby screamed as the car exploded…
To be continued…
This poster posed from 150.131.229.70 when they posted
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