"Oh, mother...", Baldur hissed as he walked circles around the stature of the woman that once had given birth to him. "One day you'll beg on your knees and wish you'd never given me this!"
The words that he spoke were born from the worst kind of hatred, a wish that was rotten to the core, a sin in its existence. And yet, nothing else kept him alive, nothing else kept him going but this one, rotten wish.
He pointed at the many tattoos that adored his exposed upper body. Blue and red ink danced across his bright skin, over broad shoulders, over to his cross and back to the defined muscles of his stomach.
A deep growl escaped him as his gaze darkened and the urge to smash the stature to pieces grew in his chest.
Anger burned up inside his eyes, making him clench his hands into fists. The might of his powers caused the ground to crack below his feet. With every step, the stones splintered and the air glowed.
A small spark of fire lit up between his long, slender fingers. But he killed it before his body could start to catch fire.
With an amused huff over his own foolishness, he shooed the breath away which was rising from his blue lips in white clouds.
"I'll drain the last light of life out of you.", he started talking to the statue again, walking in circles like a stray cat which didn't know where to go, if left or right, up or down. "I'll wrap my fingers around your neck and squeeze, watch you beg and struggle. I will listen, when the last breath slips off your lips. And I will bathe in the satisfaction that your death will give me."
He stomped onto the ground like an impatient child, let out a deep growl and aimed at the statue which was carrying the face of his mother.
But instead of crashing it, he hit the wall behind, causing it to crack like a wall of glass. Sharp stones dug into his fist, tearing the skin open to the bone and scrapping over it. Some of them got stuck in his flesh, making blood run out like small rivers.
As if mesmerised by the sight, Baldur raised the hurt hand and turned it to all sides to take a closer look. His eyes followed the flowing movements of the blood, dripping over his arm, down his elbow and into the white snow to turn it red.
His fingers twitched.
But he felt nothing. Despite the wounds, despite the stones that stuck out of his torn flesh, he remained unmoved.
All he did was watch and wait. A small spark of hope lit up in those bright blue eyes of his.
But this hope quickly died as the realisation hit him that, just like thousands of times before, his body was numb. Numb to pain, numb to the cold of this world. Even numb to his own touch. Worse, numb to the touch of everything and everyone else.
He felt nothing. He was trapped in nothing.
A disappointed sound escaped his bearded lips as he lowered his hand again and picked the stones out of it. As soon as the sharp objects were gone, his flesh started moving.
As if months flashed before his eyes, muscles grew, flesh connected and made the skin grow together again, not leaving a single mark. No scar was left, no dark spot on his bright skin nor anything that reminded him.
In a way, this was the worst effect of this curse. Nothing was left to remember. If only his body would remember, would carry the marks of his past injuries.
At least, he would have something to remind himself of the fact that he could be hurt. But without any scars that were left behind, he forgot and just got lost in an endless nightmare, got lost in the indifference of getting hurt.
"How much I hate you...", he whispered. "Mother."
Next to him, the ground started to shake. His dragon moved, a creature of ginormous size and an appearance that would have been worthy of the Godfather Odin himself. It was a loyal soul, had little demands and was quite useful.
With an interested gaze, it raised its head and glanced into the distance.
Baldur took a look as well, but could barely see more than the snowy tips of the pines which formed a thick blanket across the landscape.
"What is it, boy?", Baldur asked and stroked the animals nose. "Are you smelling something?"
It let out a deep huff. The air was so warm, hot even, that it caused the snow below its huge paws to melt.
But Baldur didn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything. No pain, nor the cold of the winter or anything else. A blade could pierce his chest and he would laugh about it.
On the other hand, he wasn't able to control his strength fully. Stones and trees crushing below his fingers were no rarities.
A dragon was the perfect option as a pet. Their scales were as strong as steel and it was almost impossible to hurt them. This creature was the only living thing that managed to stay alive for longer than a few days and not get on his nerves.
But as Baldur gave a command to make it lay back down again, the dragon refused.
Instead, it kept staring into the distance.
Frowning, the god jumped onto his companions head and tried to take a look again.
"What are you staring at?", he asked again and rubbed one of the horns. "Your eyes are better than mine. Tell me."
Raising its head, the dragon took a deep breath, so deep, that the leaves trembled that grew all over the ruins. A growling sound escaped it.
The way its head moved awoke Baldur's curiosity. With a smirk, he slid down onto his companions back and ordered it to move.
"Come on, boy.", he said. "Show me what you're smelling. I hope it's nice prey."