Unfamiliar Self [Book Three]

Chapter Thirty-Three | Let Freedom Sting

John Woo-jin awoke to screaming. At first, he thought it was his own screaming with how much pain he was in, but the screams he heard were far too guttural and feral to be his own. It made him want to bury himself in the piles of ratty clothes he found himself lying in, despite the foul smell that rose up between the layers.

But whoever or whatever was howling was far too close for his liking. He had to escape. Where were Jack and Gus? Where was the shadow? He looked around the inside of the small cabin he was lying within but only saw the crazy blonde girl his brother was obsessed with. She was lying on her stomach and, thankfully, appeared quite unconscious.

If it really was just him, he'd have to run. There was no fighting without the shadow. But sitting up reminded John of the great pain he was still in. Parts of his body in particular felt like the skin was being stretched thin against the bone as he tried to move. And, god, it burned. One of his arms was practically useless with how much it burned.

Yet, the pain was enough to draw out the recent memories he had subconsciously been trying to block. Of the fire, familiars, his father, and the people he had controlled. It had been so much worse than John had ever seen before. Worse than the bickering and shouting he forced on his guests when he believed parties were getting to be too dull. Worse than defaming his business competitors by drawing out their hidden frustrations and rage.

Worse than the hell he had put his own sons through.

He had turned those people into animals. Burned and torn apart, he had twisted their pain and suffering into tools that he could use. Had he succeeded? Was that howling from one of those he continued to torment?

I hope it is. John thought darkly. I hope you still live so I can tear you apart myself.

The young familiar stopped caring that his body hurt. Breathing in and out rapidly, he forced himself to sit up again, biting into his cheek to keep himself from screaming. He couldn't let that man hear him. His only chance was to take him by surprise.

But he did have a chance. He wasn't just a boy hiding behind his shadow any longer. Ninovan had changed him. John was different. John was more.

But before John could move further a gritty hand came around his un-burned wrist. Swan was very much not unconscious. Though she still remained lying on the ground, her head was raised so that her blue eyes could bore into his as she held him with a titanic grip.

"No move," she whispered in a dry and raspy voice. "Mother will hear."

"Let me go," John hissed back, trying and failing to pull his arm out of her hand. His body burned in agony at every move, but it only made him angrier. "Now!"

When she did not, John did what seemed almost natural to him at the time. He pulled in the hand that held him and bit down. He tried not to bite hard, only meaning to surprise her enough to let go, so he nearly choked when blood suddenly filled his mouth. As he had wanted, Swan released him but she did so with a terrible scream as she clutched her bleeding hand close to her chest.

There was no way his father didn't hear that. John stood and ran for the door. If he could not catch him by surprise, he would just have to be faster or even simply hold out long enough for the shadow or his brother to return.

All those half-hearted plans left the young boy's brain shortly after he shoved the door open and saw the scene in the now burnt out clearing. Bodies and bodies littered the ground in varying states of death. Burns, dents, and tears decorated almost every corpse and the land they all lay upon was blackened and nearly lifeless. There were only two people who were somewhere near the middle of the massacre that had any forms of life. The old woman, Ninovan, knelt near the old man, Tusk and was holding his hand as tears streamed down her withered and wrinkled face. Tusk was lying absolutely motionless on his back and, John just then realized, was now missing one of his arms.