The Stories of an Immortal

Hero or Villain?

As I stared at the seer, I almost regretted coming. There was no real reason for me to be there, except that I was bored and wanted to know what she could see.

After a very long silence, she spoke:

"You're courageous and relentless, but arrogant, although you do have a strong moral compass."

My eyebrow rose in surprise. Honestly, that wasn't as poetic as I had expected. I waited for her to continue.

"Those traits, combined with your past, make you are a hero."

When she said that last word, something inside me snapped. There was no moment of hesitation, I just screamed, "I AM NOT A HERO!"

After taking a moment to catch my breath and slow down my racing heart, I spoke some more:

"I am no hero. If I was a hero, there would be no trail of death and destruction left behind me. There would be no blood stained on my hands. There would be no smile on my face when I tortured information out of my sister. Never..." I pause. "Never call me that again."

"Ah," she said. "So, you're a villain? You do often feel misunderstood, but are you really willing to go to great lengths to achieve your goals?" She smirked. "Sure, you might be a little dramatic, but who doesn't love a bit of flair? You're no villain."

"Maybe not," I replied. "But right now I'm angry. You're messing with me, provoking me, and I'm no longer in a good mood."

Still, I smiled. My hands grasped her neck and I laughed as she gasped, struggling to breathe.

"Don't. Mess. With. Me." A snapping noise, and she was dead.

Kneeling down on the red wooden floorboards, I pushed a small button hidden under a rug. A cupboard door creaked open. I walked over to it and grabbed the two cowering children inside. "Come on," I said to them, as gently as I could. "Let's get you home."