Life is shrouded with a black veil made from spite and rage, furged out of the finest darkness of evil. We all possess some form of this darkness inside of us, fears and flaws that haunt us in our nightmares, that hid behind each and every trouble in our life. Ready to take hold, and to devoure us with teeth of our own making, to throw us in the river of fire and drown us with the weights we have created with all the unrepented sins we have said, bonds holding all our broken promises and hearts, all our shame and indignity, all our hiding.

We all have our own destiny there is no point in denying that. But we do not choose our destiny, it has been written out long before our births in the stars, though, it is our choices that create that destiny. In all of time, destiny has been fought over. The undefeatable forces of good and evil will forever battle over each other, urging people with quiet screaming voices to cross over to where they lie.

This story is one of the stories written in the stars, that tell a tale of destinies combined together in this battle.

I have recalled this story many times, many heart wrenching times I open the old book of life and death and I flip to this chapter of the book. Here, in this chapter, there are many characters, all having their role to play. All parts of a greater destiny at the time these people couldn't understand.

The hero, the traitor, the liar, the villian, the misunderstood, the confused, the agonized and the pain, the martyar, the puppet, and the puppet master. Do not deem the characters to what you believe they are, for, everyone holds these things inside of them, only at the end of our story may you be able to identify these people who they really are. But only at the end.

And, since I prefer to start my stories at the beginning, we shall start there.

It was cold and dark, the sky was a evil shade of black as the sleet whipped down from its' shaded folds. Lightning struck down from the earth, it's glowing light revealing no mercy, the flashes only illuminated the proof of how unjust life could be. Each strick showed a battle field. No longer fought on, no longer supporting enraged forms of battling life. Only mangled and strewn corpses. A few still lived, all either missing limbs or all so disfigured they couldn't be identified. They were all of one people, destroyed by their own greed.

Only one still walked among them, cheeks stained with blood and leg dragging. He didn't cry. He didn't cry when he saw the people, his people reach out for help, crying out to him to move them out of the sleet, to help them. He was a boy, no older than thirteen, yet he didn't cry.

A hand grabbed his injured foot, and dragged him to the ground, the boy flipped himself over and looked at the man who was holding him. "Ar...Ar...blesio! Ab!" (Ar...Ar...please! Son!) The man pleaded, blood sputtering from out of the mans mouth and onto Ar's face. Ar reached down to grab his fathers' hand, his father looked up at him with expecting blue eyes. His son would help him. He placed his hand gently on top of his fathers, and smiled. "Thank you son."

They were family.

Without warning, Ar grabbed a tight hold of his fathers' hand and pulled back with all his strength and twisted. His father scream was blocked out by a roar of thunder as his son pulled his hand off. The boy kicked him, and he fell onto his back, clutching the stump at the top of his forearm, blood flowing from between his fingers.

Willed at the sight of his father bleeding, the boy grabbed hold of his fathers' long black hair, and pulled him up onto his knees, "Darfod!" He snarled. He placed his hand on his father's chest and pushed forward, pushed through the skin and ribs to the heart. His father's eyes widened and blood began to flow from his ears and his nose, he coughed up more blood as the energy was drained from him.

Ar's eyes rolled back, but, instead of white, there was only black, and when he dropped the corpse of his father, and his eyes rolled back to the way they had been, they were still black. With small little red embers glowing in them.

He staggered backwards, the pain had been more than he anticipated, and tears began to roll down his face. Not from pain though, he was oblivious to the pain at this point, but at what he had become. He fell to the ground beside his father, and burried his head into his father's chest, blood was still spewing from the wound he had created with his hand, but he didn't care. "Gwnawn mo feddwl at! Faddau 'm dadogi!" (I didn't mean to! Forgive me father!)

But he had meant it, he had meant to steal the life from his father, and he knew it, he knew what he was. Yet he still mourned, yet he still cried for what he had done. He wanted to have this all taken away, he wanted to be free from this, he wanted to repent.

"Beth naethoch?" (What have you done?) A voice shouted. Ar looked up, the sleet and the tears blocked out his vision, but he could just make out the light blond hair and white eyes of his brother.

"Ferthyra! Fi...fi..." (Ferthyra! I...I...) He began, looking down at his blood soaked, shaking hands. Ferthyra took a horrifide step back, and there was no masking the look of fear and betrayal in his white eyes, his brother...the only family he would have left after the battle. Was a murderer...how could he ever forget that? How could he live with his father's killer? He was gaping for words now, "Edifara!" (I am sorry!)

His brother only shook his head, and bent down to touch the mutilated figure of his father, he reached for his fathers' hand, only to find that it wasn't there. He could tell that it had been ripped off, reaching over he grabbed the other hand and pulled it to his heart, tears silently slipping down his face. Warshing a path in the blood. Ar reached down to try and comfort Ferthyra, or maybe to even hold his father. "NA!" He said, "Ach llofrudd!"(No, you are a murderer!) Ar recoiled at his brother's words, was that who he was meant to be? A murderer? A rage flared inside of him, not directly at Ferthyra or his father, but at the whole cursed world.

The taller boy stood up, and turned around to face his dark haired brother, "'ch shall dalu!"(You shall pay!) He snarled, and lunged forward, ramming Ar with all his strength in the chest.

He fell down hard, slidding back a good distance in the mud and the blood, the lightening was flashing more harshly now, and the sleet had been replaced with freezing rain. He was yanked up by his shirt, and Ferthyra punched him in the face twice before dropping him to the ground, sputtering and bleeding from his nose.

Ar had fallen on his stomach, he just barely lift his head, the red embers in his hands were glowing now, and he looked down at his hands, they were hot. A small orb of fire began to form, hovering over his hands. This wasn't his power, this was his father's, he had just absorbed the power.

When Ferthyra grabbed his collar again and hoisted his feet off the ground, Ar slammed the fire ball into his brother's face, singing the skin through. Screaming in pain, he dropped Ar and touched his face, Ar watched as the burnt skin disapeared and was replaced with new. "Ad."(Leave) His brother muttered, still touching his face as if the burn was still there. He backed up a bit, surprised at the force that was in his brothers' words. "Ad." Ferthyra said again, his voice moditone and cold. With each word his brother said, he felt himself be pushed backwards by an invisibal force. "AD!" He screamed again, and Ar was sent flying across the ground onto a pile of corpses. Groaning, he looked up and saw his brother stalking forward, white eyes glowing through the rain and darkness. Cursing, he stood up and ran off, still limping and dragging his foot as he went.

He didn't look back until he was at the very outskirts of the village, he could still see his brothers' enraged face glaring down at him, he looked down at his hands, a fire ball was growing in each one, there was burning inside of him and he combined the fire balls, it was still small, but bigger. Lifting the flame to his face, he realized that this is what he wanted.

Power.

And he would take all he needed to get that power, he would kill to get it, all his life, he had been the servent, but he would be the master. He would finally hold the power.

Perhaps, if Ferthyra hadn't been consumed in such anger and hadn't attacked his brother, things would have been different. But, as said before, it is our choices that lead to our destiny, not the other way around.

(Present Day New York-Empire State Building)

A cloaked figure stood ontop of the state building, one hand was held out, and a fire ball was formed in the middle of his palm, it was large. Much larger than the ones he had formed when he was a child. It had grown with him, yet it left an icy feeling in him. He could control this fire, yet he was as cold as the ice that was inside of him. As cold as the rain and sleet had been.

"Sir, we should move on." A voice said, and Ar turned around slowly. A boy with dark brown hair and dark green eyes was standing behind him, taking sudden interest in his feet, he waited for Ar's response.

The man turned back around, to stare at the city bellow him, he opened up his hand again and gazed at the fire ball fondly, as if it was a person with a mind and spirit. "Look at this Legion." He said to the boy, holding out his hand to show the fire ball that moved with the lava swirling in it, "This is the perfect example of how fragile life can be, in the coldness, it brings warmth, in the night, it provides us with life." Legion looked at him in confusion as Ar moved his hands overtop of it, making it grow a little bigger, "Yet, in the day, there is no need for it, and in the warmth, coldness is what we want, not more heat." He tipped his hand and let the fire ball drop over the edge of the building.

Legion didn't know how to reply, "I don't understand." He replied.

Ar shook his head and chuckled lowly, "I didn't expect you to, I didn't expect anyone to understand the fragility of life." He looked over the city once more, "Everything can be broken, and we are the breaking." He whispered to himself, though it was loud enough that Legion could hear and ponder over it. "Now come, we can not keep the others waiting."

With that, he turned his back on the city, and walked towards the stairs, with the smallest flick of his hand, the door flew off its' hinges, and he began the long walk down the stairs with Legion in short persuit.