Thursday, August 20, 2009


The darkness. The bitterness. The coldness. He stood alone, he always stood alone. His blade stood upright, forged in the boulder across from him. He never claimed to be a hero, never wanted to be seen as one. His actions were heartless which created a heavy sense of loneliness. His blade, rightly named inJustice, was the only friend he knew. inJustice’s last slaying was that of a thief. The thief apparently was running with a wallet in hand. inJustice effortlessly severed the thief’s throat, allowing blood to gush out. Violence was the only answer; violence solved everything. inJustice made him bitter. Made him resentful. inJustice controlled him, manipulated him, but without inJustice his was nothing. He yearned for inJustice, despite the hatred. The power…it felt invigorating…the power to take lives was addicting. inJustice gave him this power. He craved it, wanted it more and more. inJustice allowed him to escape his emotions, allowed him to be heartless. He was lonely, he was bitter, but he had bloodlust.

He didn’t understand why he was considered a hero. He killed countless people, probably innocent people. Perhaps he was seen as a vigilante, but he knew inside, he was devoured by darkness.

Empty Victories, Heroic Enemies…


  1. Wow, very anti-hero. Kinda reminds me of Moon Knight, but without the sword. Nice touch with the sword as well. inJustice huh?