I won't let them beat me. Not yet. I'm relentless, no one can overcome me. Psycho-analysis treatment is nothing compared to what I've put up with the last few years. I've tried to kill my own family - which was a failure where my father and brother were concerned - and now my twin brother - of all freaking people - is holding me hostage.
The dark figure behind the screen growls again, his voice deep, gravelly, foreign - German, perhaps, or maybe more Russian?
"What is your name?"
I don't have to answer that. My arms are stretched above my head, chained towards the ceiling. My silver hair is scruffy and messy, my bare arms, torso and face covered in blood and fresh bruises, deep, bleeding wounds down either side of my face and arms. It doesn't really hurt, though. I never feel real pain; I've taught myself to bear it, built up a resistance to it, being the way I am and all.
I scowl darkly towards the dark-tinted, window-like screen.
"I will ask you again. What...is...your...name?"
This foreigner definitely isn't my brother, anyway.
No comment. Why don't you go do one and shack up with Satan or something?
I know the demon can't read my mind or it wouldn't have to ask me questions. Demons never waste their breath on useless phrases; they know fine well that in this world, every one could be their last. Especially with the way I'm headed.
"What. Is. Your. Name?"
I feel power raging through me, the cross-bred animal within me battling with the sheer humanity.
I ready myself as I slip slowly into demon mode, not exactly feeling like a demon, but just feeling...that sense, in a way. That I'm inhuman, not exactly your average, everyday, hormone-crazed teenage male. I know these chains will snap at even the slightest tug, now, and I try not to pull down too hard.
I growl lowly in amusement, and he asks me the question again.
"What is your name?"
I glance around the room; three demons scattered around the room. The walls are a brown-red colour, the colour of crusted blood, and my own blood is smeared almost creatively across the concrete walls, a bright crimson streak against a dull maroon slab.
I narrow my eyes. I grip the chains tighter, my hair falling over my face, my eyes flashing their light blue colour, filled with fake innocence and masked with such foul and putrid loathing. My voice is quiet and harsh as I speak, a slight hiss in my tone.
"My name is Darius." I pull myself up, the chains snapping as I back-flip, spinning backwards. I land on my feet gracefully, and as the demons advance towards me I pivot, the chains still attached to my wrists whipping out around me. I grin wickedly, spinning quickly, the chains lashing out at the demons.
Silver... The demons scream, blood pouring from every pore and orifice in their bodies, their eyes oozing gorily. Classic horror movie material.
I'm only half-demon, thanks to my being tainted by a lycan as an infant and my mother being a naive human, so silver doesn't affect me in any way, but contact with it is undoubtedly fatal to demons such as these.
As the demons crumble to the ground, three bloodied heaps of green flesh, black blood and disintegrated yellow-tinted bones, I move quickly towards the heavy iron door. My face is sprayed with black demon blood, and it stinks like hell, but I ignore it as I gather power in my hands. Demon energy is like electricity, and it surges through my body like a shock wave as I collect it in my hands. It rattles down the silver chains connected to my wrists, and I push it out at the door forcefully. It flashes an electric blue colour, falling to the ground, and it crashes loudly as it hits the floor. I leap silently over it, my loping strides long and wide. I see the dark, flitting figure down the corridor and grin, moving swiftly after it. I'm getting out of here alive, and I'm not leaving any loose ends untied.
The chains flick out, wrapping around the demon's neck, and it stutters breathlessly.
"P-Please, I can...g-get you out...o-of here-"
"Forget it. I've already got a ride." I yank the chains back quickly, and it's head comes messily away from it's body. Blood sprays, the head thumping against the cold concrete floor, and it's body follows shortly after.
I move quickly yet carelessly, my eyes wide with psychosis, my wounds already healed thanks to my advanced healing abilities.
Only one thought it on my mind as I quickly exit the building via the heavy fire doors, and it's a little predictable, typically, and simple, even for me: When this is over I'm getting myself a cigarette and an extra large pizza. Screw what Fallon thinks, I deserve it.