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Ruination - Gratification; Dante Saffron
Topic Started: Jan 5 2017, 04:09 AM (8 Views)
Donnie
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Ruination

An eight year old Dante sat on the other side of the door, listening to the conversation a room away. It had been six years since he last saw his mother. For six years, he had been a foster in the care of the priest, Nathan McKenzie. For Dante, his mother was an idea and nothing more. He knew who she was. He knew what she looked like from the photograph he carried in his Superman wallet. He knew she left when he was two years old, but he knew nothing more.

But he knew Father Nathan McKenzie. It was Nathan who had raised him for the past six years. It was Nathan who taught him to ride a bike, read a book, how to tie his shoe.

It was Nathan he loved.

Nathan who was his “father”.

And as Dante sat in the chair like he was told, he listened to the voices on the other side of the door and he knew it was about to come an end.

“I just need more time,” Dante heard Nathan plead.

“I gave you six years,” the voice of Bishop Edwins responded. “six years, and we’re still right where we were at when this all began.”

“The kid’s not ready…”

“No,” the Bishop interrupted. “You’re not ready. The kid is fine.”

“He’s not emotionally there yet. Trust me, I see this kid everyday, I know what is…”

“Look Nathan, I sympathize, I really do. But the truth of the matter is, the diocese is supporting this kid. You’re in a poor neighborhood, in an old, decaying church. We just can’t support the kid. He’s going to have to go into the system, into foster care. With any luck, maybe he’ll land with a good family and be well off. These things aren’t always as bleak as you want to act like it is.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you know what happens.”

Dante could hear Nathan grumble. “So that’s it. It’s either the kid or my priesthood….”

“I’m sorry Nathan.”

A chair screeched against the hardwood floor. “Don’t tell me sorry...tell the kid sorry….”

The door opened and then slammed shut again. Nathan was livid. He grabbed his coat off the hook and took Dante by the hand.

“Come on, we’re leaving.”

The two of them briskly walked out the doors and down the sidewalk. Then Dante stopped and refused to move. Nathan looked at Dante with mild annoyance.

“What?”

“I got you in trouble…”

“No, you didn’t. I made my own choice, Dante. Remember that. You can’t blame other people for your own choices. You make your choices and you own them. You live with it.”

Tears were running down Dante’s face. For eight years of age, the kid was bright, brighter than most kids his age. He knew what it all meant.

“If I stay, you can’t be a Priest anymore, can you?”

“That’s right. I’m going to turn in my collar.”

Dante looked at the ground and shuffled his feet as his heart broke inside.

“I’ll leave…”

“No, Dante. You’ll stay with…”

“No, I ruined your life just like I ruined my mom’s. It’s what I do. I’ll go live with someone else.”

“Dante, you didn’t….”

He screamed. “LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I’ll leave. I don’t want to stay with you anyway…..”

Dante ran down the street as fast as his little legs would take him, tears running in a steady stream down the both sides of his face.

Gratification

I do this because it’s what life has made me. I’m battle tested and ready. I have been conditioned since I was a young child to handle pain. My threshold is higher than most can even begin to fathom.

Then one day it dawned on me like a calling; this world is in decay with a God who has turned his back on civilization as the demons of the world prey on the innocent. Someone has to avenge them.

Thus, I dubbed myself the Avenging Angel. I’m neither good or bad. Angelic or demonic. I just am. I’m the man who wants to make you suffer for the sins you have committed against other men. I do what God refuses to do. I do what the weak cannot do for themselves.

I avenge.

I have never been one in wrestling to abide by titles. Yes, I have my own list of championships, but that is neither here nor there. That is not what drives me. Men who mark themselves by something as trivial as a belt are men truly lost in a secular world that is working to swallow them whole.

Titles, reprisal, one thing it has done has kept things from getting personal.

Imagine if I can do what I do when things are not personal, what I am capable of when things become personal.

Angel Blake has made this personal.

The Blasphemer could not just come to the ring and fight for his glory. He couldn’t just answer for his own sins and erroneousness. Instead, he chose to attack me personally.

My mother.

My own mother.

The very woman who walked out on me decades ago. The very woman I found once more, only to have her filched from my grasp.

Once again, Angel Blake made this personal.

I shouldn’t be surprised, though. This is symptomatic of his own God complex. In his desire for my worship, he has lit a fire that can’t be doused and quelled.

This isn’t about beating Angel Blake. This isn’t about retaining a title. The title be damned. Winning can be forsaken. This is about destroying a God and showing he is mortal.

I no longer want to punish and vindicate. I want to destroy.

I want to stand over Angel Blake and look at him broken, a shell of a maniac. I want to feel him crack in the grasp of my large hands and feel him beg for mercy as the life seeps from his body. I want to smell the fear and taste the realization that a God he is not, but rather a mortal man who I hold the fate of in my hand.

Does this make me good or bad? I don’t care. I quit caring when he held my mother before me.

Does this make me an Avenging Angel? Not anymore. It makes me an Angel of Destruction. It makes me an artifact of hate. Normally, that would be unacceptable. This once, I can make an exception.

I’ll cede to my darkness. I’ll hand myself over to the demons inside of me. I’ll unleash all holy hell on a so called “God”. Neither of us will come out of this as we were. But I’ll come out of this feeling something I’ve rarely felt in my life.

Gratification.
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