Fatal Mistake

Torbin, one of the most Wanted men across the region. Had he been more ambitious-- possibly had a better more malleable power-- he'd perhaps be among the most sought after men in the nation.

Yet as it stood, he currently crawled about in the grimy filth of human excrement and the vile dirt off their bodies.

A debasing fate.

And the best part?

Heroes always went on and on about how their power lay in their relationships, their love for others-- of a too large and too selfish humanity-- in empathy and in trust.

Friendship. Family.

Well he had trusted only one man in his life.

A second time, Torbin had even permitted himself to develop affections for one young man.

But that young man, for all his bluster-- one that reminded him of himself-- turned out to be so truly weak and soft-hearted, that it had been easy for the devil at his shoulder to make him a toy. No, more like the weapon he'd so delicately pruned and groomed to his own designs.

Torbin, had meant to produce a viable heir. A person in his own right, carrying on chaos on his terms but by Torbin's own grace.

But his brother, smarter and snobbish Frederick who'd never deign to get his hands dirty, Frederick had wanted an object. A destructive object whom he could control and violate their memory however necessary to point them and allow themselves to be shot at the target of his desire.

For his brother had had no anger, no envy nor greed. He had no love or joy inside him either. Frederick from the very start had had nothing inside him at all. Simply the wanton need to dominate and to hold power.

For which Torbin (who now tsked at thinking back) had been quite the useful object. The accessory to achieve the destruction and rebuild that Frederick so took cold contentment from.

He had trusted his brother, he had wished to preserve his heir despite his wavering heart-- who had dared to look upon him with fear!-- and his reward had been his manor crumbling to the ground in front of him. Forced to his knees in sheer despair.

Powers remanded inside himself to near destruction his only option then had been retreat.

Torbin lifted his hand from his chest.

Where the bits left of the device once strapped and interweaved into his flesh crackled and spurted blue-white lightning.

If he didn't find someone, anyone to fix it, he would leave this life in a blazing pillar of lightning and release who knew what, razing the world with him.

But he would never see the look of agony on Frederick's face.

Should he die, it would be when he and Frederick killed each other.