Running

Capricorn looked back to the cage. "Then you're right. You are a coward..."

He paused.

"...But there's nothing wrong with that. You have to look after yourself in life. Cowardice is closely related to survival."

"Sacrificing yourself doesn't make you noble, it just makes you the end of your family tree."

It was a dark night. The village was silent. It was almost like the Christmas story that would be written so many years afterwards. Even at these hours, there would normally be frivolity. The people would be dancing and the bards would be singing and the bonfires would be blazing. The kingdom had experienced peace for so long. Perhaps that was why it was such a shock, that they would be attacked in such cold blood.

The thin figure pulled his hood up, covering his face with the shadows. He held his blade in one hand, blood slowly dripping off of it- it was of an oriental design- a katana. The only one of its kind in Europe, as people here were yet to discover the beauty of such weapons. He was the one that demon hunters knew only as Suffering, the servant of an archdemon known only by a greek letter- Alpha. It was said that Suffering was human, unlike his master, but had the one thing so many humans with wealth and power searched for and hungered- immortality.

It was also said that Suffering couldn't be human- he had a brother, equally as thin and bloodthirsty. They were Pain. They cackled and laughed and seemed to take great enjoyment out of their work, muttering to their victims as they tore out their insides piece by piece. Not Suffering. Suffering just killed... and killed, and killed and killed. All in complete silence.

There were rumors. Some believed that he was a shape-changer. They believed that the only thing he couldn't change were his eyes. Ah yes, his eyes. Silver as the scales of a dragon. The stories of Suffering's eyes were enough to scare even the most battle-hardened individuals.

It was said they could see to infinity.

He was a quiet one.

This was the first thing that Tacitus noticed about the small, Celtic boy, sitting just away from the other, madly wrestling boys of his tribe. The historian scratched his head, gritting his teeth as his mutant powers which he was so renowned for came to life. Yes, this boy would have an impact on the world- a long one. One that would span generations upon generations. But how? How could someone so quiet, so cold to the world around him, have an effect on it's dealings?

Tactius trod over to the boy, his sandals making soggy squelches in the Scottish grasses. He placed a hand in the boy's wild brown hair.

"Boy." he said in Roman. "Your name. What is it?"

The child turned to look at him. His eyes locked with Tacticus'. Tacticus gasped- he had never seen such a sight. The boys' eyes were silver, and lacked pupils. It was like the work of a devil!

The boy sneered, murmuring in crude, dry Roman, "Stupid." Tacticus blinked, and then yelped as the boy kicked him in the shins and ran off into the forest.

"Come out, child! I promise not to hurt you!" The calls of birds filled the air of this forest. All sorts- most of which had never been seen in Rome. "I only want to know your name!"

There was a thwip, and Tacitus yelled out as pain spread outwards from his stomach. Hesitantly, he looked down to the source of the pain. A knife had embedded itself deep in his belly. That instant, the silver-eyed boy rushed out from the shadows, grabbing ahold of the knife. He spat in Tacitus's face, "I am Jack." before slashing upwards.

It had been a long, long night. First there had been the meetings, far before this, that had caused his blood to surge with hope inside that tiny prison, and then there had been the planning, and the waiting (oh god, the waiting), and finally the escape. The cloaked man had said that there would be a ship waiting at the harbor, and there it was. The design didn't make sense to the young boy, didn't seem to be from England or any of its colonies, but it sailed, and that was enough. The night folded around them like a blanket, thick and cloying, and he could barely tell his left foot from his right as he hurried aboard the ship. In almost no time at all the sails were up and they were drifting away from the dock, away from England, away from everything he had ever known and despised. At one time, it was exalting, to be free from his charges and to be free from the plague and the death and the sorrow. At another time, it was frightening... but he didn't let it show.

"Alpha, I can't see anything." he mumbled, leaning his head against the railing where the moonlight showed a faint outline of it. A couple seconds later, lights lit up the ship, unearthly flames dancing above invisible candles, but there was no audible reply. The boy felt quite utterly alone. After getting his sea legs, he wandered the ship's deck. It was far bigger then it had seemed at the port, or perhaps it had just been a trick of the dark, but he realized he had been walking for a good five minutes without reaching either end of the ship. 'Must've been built for battle,' he thought, taking a moment to pause and look around. Nothing seemed familiar. He hadn't really expected it to. Suddenly feeling exhausted, the boy leaned up against a near-by wall and slid down to a sit.

"Watch it." The boy nearly jumped. The figure sitting next to him had been so quiet he had barely even seen he was there. He sat completely motionless, like a statue, the colors of him and the vague sense of uneasiness that radiated from him being the only things that showed he was living. He seemed on edge, crouched as low as he could go, eying the boy with a stare that most people would find unnerving. It didn't unnerve him, though. It was just a simple stare of pure hatred, and he was quite used to it. What intrigued him was that this young man had silver eyes, eyes pale like moonlight on a silent sea. Like his mother's favorite tea kettle, the one he had used to bash her head in. Those eyes made him look very... inhuman.

"Didn't notice you were there." the boy mumbled.

"Then notice next time."

And that was that. Apparently finding this discussion suitable, the silver eyed one turned back to choking down what was now obviously a bad case of sea sickness. The boy let him at it for a while, knowing full well what it was like, until finally he couldn't stand the silence any longer. "You know, tucking your head between your legs only makes it worse."

"I don't really care."

"If you really want to get rid of it, you have to walk around a bit."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"I could help if you'd like."

"Aaaaaugh!" With a frustrated cry, the silver eyed one stood and made his way down the deck, walking with the purpose that only finds itself in the pursued trying to outdo a pursuer. The other boy gave chase, matching him step for step down the planks. Every time the silver eyed one would look over his shoulder, the boy would speed up a little, as if catching up, and so the silver eyed one would speed up as well, until they were running full blast down the deck, never getting any closer to the prow or to each other. Finally, after what seemed like hours of chasing, the silver eyed one stopped and drew a sword, pointing it at the boy's chest. Thankfully, he skidded to a stop just in time, staring at the blade in a mixture of awe and uncertainty. "One step closer and this goes in your chest." the silver eyed one muttered almost-indifferently, chest heaving and brow heavy with sweat.

"Okay, you got me." the boy said, raising his hands in defeat. "As the French say, I surrender."

The silver eyed one slowly lowered his sword, then paused, seeing a grin on the other's face. "...What are you so happy about?"

"You don't feel sick, do you?"

There was a long, very quiet pause as the silver eyed one seemed angry, then bewildered, surprised, and finally settled on defeated. The boy smirked. "Told you you had to walk it off."

The silver eyed one sheathed the sword and slunk back to sitting, staring up at the other for a moment without speaking before patting the deck next to him. "Whatever." The boy took a seat. "What's your name, by the way? I'm going to be working with you now, as Misfortune."

"Suffering."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Easy enough." Misfortune leaned his head on his hands, letting some silence rest between them, before he perked up with one last question. "That was a really cool sword. Do I get a sword?"

Suffering shrugged. "Mph. Ask Alpha."

Misfortune grinned, looking off into the distance as the sun rose over the ocean, painting the sky all manner of beautiful red hues. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. "Y'know, I think this'll be really interesting."

"Don't you ever close that mouth?"

"...Behind where they were standing, the tall, brown haired man who had thrown the bag at him was wielding a long katana. It was a beautiful weapon, made of a brilliant white metal that matched the man's silver eyes, with a black-tinted dragon's neck and head for a hilt, forged of what was most likely impervium. The eyes of the dragon were emphasized with blood-red rubies. Small runes were etched into the guard of the blade, most likely spelling out the blade's name in the language of magic... the name of the blade was Schadenfreude. Pleasure from the misery of others. It was an enchanted blade, said to become lighter and sharper as it was drenched more and more in blood. This man was its creator and its master. This man was Capricorn, the Nightmare Slasher."

Capricorn - 30 Seconds to Mars

Haunted - Disturbed