His Son

John John

Moonlight casted it's beautiful glow into the once restless town. The celestial beauties of the night twinkled as the last of the evening patrons slipped away into a slumber like no other. The air surrounding the area settled almost like Mother Nature herself was readying herself for bed. Night seemed to last forever in this land as the world dipped into a peaceful slumber. As a typical night, the town was asleep by the third hour of the day. Not even the wind hollered during the witching hour. No one would dare come out at this time, no one but a certain bartender.

He slipped the key out of the slit that controlled his entire business. That night had been especially routy with the number of patrons and the amount of kegs they had gone through. With the sheer amount of customers, the patrons had left a large mess for him to clean. He was the only staff, so leaving the mess for the morning may have been the best idea. However, his mind voted against it. He had, after all, been a butler the majority of his life. The teachings that the egg loving pig had taught him still lingered in his mind. Much like how the blood of the innocents lingered on his hands.

The key fell onto the cobbled path with a slight clatter. It broke the peaceful silence, the clatter echoing off the walls surrounding the door. With a shaky breath, John leaned down, grabbing the key and muttering an apology before he could stop himself. Mentalling cursing himself, he shoved the key in his pocket and shook his head. He spun on his heel in a perfect about face. His master had, of course, taught him the way to hold himself to the highest standards. Still, those memories were just that. Memories. He was home, in his hometown.

But, it did not feel like home.

Shaking the thoughts out of his mind, he started to walk down the path towards a small home near the Church of Prime. He knew the true reason he chose the home so close to the Church. It was the only way to get a sufficient supply of Holy Water with no trouble. The home was located barely five hundred feet from the Church building. That in itself helped with his anxiety. His fears of the Egg reaching his mind once more haunted him. This town, however, was protected by the Church, so the Egg shouldn't reach him, right? Gosh, he needed to stop those thoughts.

He unlocked his door, pushing the oak door in only to close it with a soft click. Once the door was closed, he slid against the door, holding his head as he began to break the cool composure he always held. Prime, he saw him today. He saw him . The hybrid he once considered his father had such a striking resemblance to the cultist who had such a hold on him. The man had startled the poor bartender. However, no one really paid him enough mind to notice the shocked expression that had covered his face. The expression only lasted a moment, but the clear surprise was evident on his features.

The floor right by the entrance of the home was covered in sand that he had yet to sweep out. The sand dirtied the black slacks he wore, but the simple dust only grounded him. The tears fell from his eyes and onto the void of the pants he wore. The only way he knew that the tears had even hit the pants was the slight discoloration from the sand. ' Focus. Focus on what you can see ,' his mind told him. And so he did. He looked up from the ground, looking over the small kitchen that laid before him. An iron stove stood behind a small table that held one chair. The counters beside the stove were littered with discarded pots that he had forgotten to put up or forgotten to wash. He couldn't remember. Turning his head, he looked over at a small bed frame that could barely hold his tall frame. The bed was covered with furs and other blankets needed to keep the desert chill out of his bones. The fabric was dyed red, a maroon red that had no resemblance to the bright red of the Egg. ' Bed, let's get to the bed ," his mind decided.

He stood, stumbling to the bed. He kicked off the old black shoes that had been covered with dust from his walk. He peeled off his vest, laying it on the chair that faced the table. With skill and accuracy, the ex-butler unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to a pile that laid in the corner. A sweat stained undershirt joined the white button up only a few moments later. The man crashed onto the bed, pulling the red blanket up to his chest, but not exactly covering himself. More so, he was cuddling the red.

Red always comforted his anxiety. Funny how the source of your anxiety could also comfort you. The fleece was matted with dirt and sweat, but the man only snuggled it closer. The ratty thing had been the one gift given to him by the evil master he had. The red used to fuel the bloodlust that he would fear, but now it only comforted his soul. The longing for the Egg grew as he was comforted, but he would swig a glass of Holy Water before he went to open the bar tomorrow. For now, he could only soothe his soul with the red that stole his soul.

But, as he laid there, he thought back to the Sheriff that sat at the bar for far too long. John had no backbone to tell the Sheriff that they had closed thirty minutes ago, so instead he waited for the man to leave on his own time. He found the extra money slipped under one of the glasses. It was a generous amount, but John only assumed it was because the Sheriff felt guilty for taking the seat for so long. Not anything else. Never anything else. Yet, he thought back to what the Sheriff had said before he indulged in his nighttime drinking.

"My son..." the man whispered softly. "He referred to me as his son...has he not given up on the fact that I died so long ago?"

Leaving that as his final thought, John turned from the idea that he wanted to so desperately hold onto and face the reality he believed in. The manipulative words filled his mind once more. The voice behind them was just how he remembered the rich man's voice was. The voice was slightly higher pitched with words that screamed both attention and extravagance. The words filled his mind just like how the Egg's had done so long ago. ' Remember how he just gave you up just like that? ' the voice returned, ' Or, how he ordered you to obey me? Obey me, slave! '

Squeezing his eyes shut, the man pushed the voice to the farthest corner of his mind. He couldn't revert to the manipulation. No matter how true the voice was, he had to forget the teachings. He had to move on. The Egg was no more to him. He may have not destroyed it completely, but the blue fire that had engulfed the manor was enough to satisfy him. He had stood at the top of the steps, the sword dripping with the blood that the Egg lusted so much for. But, at that moment, the Egg screamed in his head. The Egg demanded for help, and ordered John to sacrifice himself. Yet, John resisted that day. He held the flint and steel that he had been able to sneak in the manor from the previous errand run. That flint was coated with soul sand, which was the creator of the blue fire that engulfed the room.

The stench of ash and soot filled his nose and coated his clothes. Though, there was no desire to run. He looked down at his ex-master who he had just stolen the soul from. The man was no more, even though he knew that a descendant of the man was around somewhere. From what he had studied, the Egg tended to stay within the bloodlines. If the child that Sir Billiam had fathered was killed, the Egg would seek him out. That he knew. But, as long as he had the special flint and steel, he was safe.

Unconsciously, John felt for the flint and steel he held under his pillow. He focused on the blue flames, the feeling of rebirth as he stepped from the manor and out of the Egg's control. He swore that he would destroy the Egg for good. He headed to the closest town that held a Church of Prime. He had forgotten that the town was once his home. But, that was not the frightening part.

He discovered that the Vines that grew on his back were incurable.

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I am coming up with a storyline behind this as we speak. Maybe I will expand on this universe? Idk, I'm just enjoying this idea! John/J has been through some trauma. How will he recover? Will he ever tell Sheriff Sherman? I am an angst writer, but who knows? I may give y'all a gift of kindness!

What do you think is going to happen? Let me know y'alls theories!

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