The Bloodline

We have secret enclaves throughout the nations that we may save the world. We are humanity's secret weapon; the last true heroes. At least, that is what we are told.

So the bloodline is not compromised, we do not leave the mountain until our power manifests at the sacred ceremony. Those who return never speak of it. Though their eyes are haunted, they return with wakened blood. Mind controllers, force field wielders, time alterers; the list goes on. But I am different. The power my blood birthed has not been seen in a thousand generations.

At nineteen, I was sent to the sacred cave at the top of our mountain. Masked figures, lit by flickering candles, awaited me. Animal faces with bloody teeth or human masks contorted with terror, greed and lust. No softness. No mercy. No humanity. As the figures moved inward, the circle shrank around me, tighter and tighter. Hands reached out; ravenous, ripping, shredding my clothes and body. Over and over again, they raped and brutalized the body and blood they had told me to protect for purity's sake.

When they finally finished, I burned. Fear, shame and, hungriest of all, rage consumed me. I lashed out and the masked figures ignited. I ignored their screams as they had ignored mine. Leaving them to burn, I strode down the mountain. Everywhere I extended my hand, fire laced with lightening streaked out; engulfed the world. I left our village a smoldering ruin. They were all complicit. Yes, there is power in our blood, but it only wakens by violence done to our bodies.

I will find every hidden enclave, every sacred cave, every fanatic shaping our bloodline to their will. What does it matter if I am your villain or your hero? I will burn it all down.