for philosophy_20: ends justify the means
Sep. 4th, 2008 03:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayerHe hated them. All of them.
Weeks ago, he hadn't even put any thought to it, really, sure of his own importance. He was so close to God that he could taste it, so certain that any attention he wanted, he could command. He was a master of his craft, the crown king of fear and pain. And, behind closed doors, in the private world he was forging for himself, the ruler on high of far subtler, more terrifying things.
Then they'd swept in.
They'd always existed, he knew - he knew - but as of late, it had been so easy to ignore them. They simply didn't have what he did or, if they did, he knew exactly how to take it from them. It was so easy. So very easy to swoop in from the shadows and demand that all they had be given to him, without so much as a word. They were insects. And apparently, he'd forgotten that vermin, in large numbers, could be dangerous.
His mistake and now he was left grasping at straws, spotlight stolen, public and private worlds both crumbling down around him. He'd allowed himself to be beaten and bloodied, and the plague of them had swept in, gnawing at delicate parts. Taking from him everything he had stolen from them, because he'd shown weakness. Because he'd stopped being the monster in the dark and started being some kind of pathetic lap dog. His mistake and he didn't intend to repeat it.
He'd go back to his roots. Back to death and ticking and black coats and slinking in shadows. Back to watching and waiting and hate and power.
If it meant he could recapture what truly mattered? It would be worth it.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 294
Weeks ago, he hadn't even put any thought to it, really, sure of his own importance. He was so close to God that he could taste it, so certain that any attention he wanted, he could command. He was a master of his craft, the crown king of fear and pain. And, behind closed doors, in the private world he was forging for himself, the ruler on high of far subtler, more terrifying things.
Then they'd swept in.
They'd always existed, he knew - he knew - but as of late, it had been so easy to ignore them. They simply didn't have what he did or, if they did, he knew exactly how to take it from them. It was so easy. So very easy to swoop in from the shadows and demand that all they had be given to him, without so much as a word. They were insects. And apparently, he'd forgotten that vermin, in large numbers, could be dangerous.
His mistake and now he was left grasping at straws, spotlight stolen, public and private worlds both crumbling down around him. He'd allowed himself to be beaten and bloodied, and the plague of them had swept in, gnawing at delicate parts. Taking from him everything he had stolen from them, because he'd shown weakness. Because he'd stopped being the monster in the dark and started being some kind of pathetic lap dog. His mistake and he didn't intend to repeat it.
He'd go back to his roots. Back to death and ticking and black coats and slinking in shadows. Back to watching and waiting and hate and power.
If it meant he could recapture what truly mattered? It would be worth it.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 294
