Burn with Me

“This world will burn, but there is a chance. Follow me to a new paradise, or be left in a world coated by dust and death. Pick a Side: This is the will of the universe.” The words rang through the old manor like a church bell, echoing it’s familiar yet twisted message for the audience of one man, a bound and blindfolded Derek to hear. The speaker, another man in an investigator’s attire, chuckled, before closing the book from which the texts were written.

          “Wonder how many of your followers truly believed the vile words you spat out, and how many knew it was bull but were too scared to speak?”

          Derek did not speak: His thoughts were still clouded from the unexpected loss of consciousness, and all he had were questions. Where was he? Who had taken him? And why did they seem to know so much about him and his past? Nothing was making sense, and that lack of knowledge sowed a seed of fear into his mind. Was it someone from the past he so desperately tried to run away from? Had his time finally come to an end? The speaker sighed, looking at the man he had kidnapped. Perhaps he was expecting a bit more of a reaction from his victim: Some questions spat his way, some cries for help, anything to tell him his victim was afraid and squirming. He walked over to Derek and grabbed the blindfold.

          “You know what, it’d be a shame if I kept you in the dark all this time,” He said, “Not that anyone would come here, anyways: I made sure of that.” With that he ripped the blindfold off Derek’s face like a band-aid, hitting his eyes with a sudden brightness that took some moments to adjust to. Now, Derek had a better sight of his surroundings…and his captor.

          And frankly, he wished the blindfold stayed on. The room he was held in was all too familiar to him: The banners hanging on the wall, the rugs neatly arranged and cleaned, the dull lights that provided barely more light than candles…It was the meeting room, for Derek’s old cult.

          “Wha…how did you…?” Derek began.

          “What do you mean?” The captor responded, “You designed this room yourself, Mr. Leto: I simply restored it, specifically for you.” His confusion soon cleared away, leaving more room for fear and anger. This felt like an insult, to bring up his past like this.

          “Who are you?!” Derek demanded, “And why did you bring me here?!” The other man simply chuckled at first, shaking his head.

          “Do you have the memory of a goldfish, or has it truly been that long since last time we met?” The man asked, “…No matter, let me refresh your memory a little: December 13^th, 1974. Backstage, I believe? You were getting a refill of water.”  It was at that moment that Derek’s heart sank. He knew all too well where this was going: While he had buried it deep within his mind, it lingered much like his god complex.

          “That murder attempt…” Derek muttered.

           “Ah, so I don’t need to explain further then?” The unknown individual spoke, “Good: That spares me a few breaths that could be better spent elsewhere.”

           “But I still don’t understand!” Derek cried out, “What have I done to you, personally, to warrant such bitterness and hatred? I never knew of a David in that cult!”

           “To myself, you have committed no crimes…” The man known simply as David replied condescendingly, “But that does not absolve you of the blood you’ve gleefully stained your hands with, nor does it give solace to the victims of your escapades.” Derek flinched at the words spoken. The way David spoke showed no sign of anger or raw emotion, and yet he could hear the acid that was dripping from each word, getting more potent with each little sentence spoken. David was certainly full of hatred, yet he was holding himself back…for now.

          “And you think ending my life will avenge them?” Derek asked, “You’re mad!”

          “And you believe yourself to be God,” David retorted, “So that makes the two of us, then, who have a skewed sense of mind.” By this point, he started moving towards one of the curtains, pulling on it to reveal several weapons and tools, their purpose aimed clearly for torture of some kind.

          “As much as I know those who you tormented and left in hell would love to have a chance of revenge against you as soon as possible,” David thought aloud, “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t wish to indulge in some of that myself, while you were still here in the realm of the living.” He picked out a weapon to start with: A simple wooden bat, with nails taped haphazardly upon the end.

           The fear within Derek increased drastically upon seeing David approach. He knew that this man wanted him dead, and the ex-cult leader had begun to come to terms with the fact that his life would be over, and it would be David himself that would bring about that end…but now it was becoming apparent to him that his death likely would not be a quick and painless one, but an agonizing, torturous one where he would be made to beg for death; as the pain itself would be far worse than the pain of death. And once that fear hit him, his mind sped through his options, and quickly picked one that could only work in his situation: He tried to run, as swiftly as his legs could carry him. And just as swiftly, one of his legs was restrained, resulting in his face meeting the floor with a loud THUD!

        “And just where do you think you’re going, fine sir?” David asked, “No wait, don’t tell me: You’re trying to run away once more, like you always have when it came to anything regarding this place, or your past.” Tried as Derek had, in the end it was clear that escape on his own was impossible, so he tried the next best thing he could think of.

        “Please, have mercy!” He shouted, holding back the urge to simple crumple up and cry, “You don’t have to do this!” David closed in, simply chuckling.

         “Aw, how cute,” He commented sadistically, “Now that you’ve run out of places to run, you’ve resorted to trying to bargain?” The chuckle soon climaxed into a full-fledged laugh: It was no laugh of a sane man, for the sheer amount of euphoria in victory could not be found in the laugh of someone who had their head in the right place.

         “You’re much too late for second chances, Mr. Leto,” David said, “But go on, try screaming for help: It’ll make these next few hours all the more entertaining.”

          David swung, and all that echoed from the manor was the screams of a man who’s past finally caught up to him, in the mantel of a twisted vigilante.