Sovereignty Regained: The Villain Remains the Hero, An Origin Story.

She bit the knuckle heedlessly dragging flesh into unnatural twisted forms with blood forming into rivulets and giving way to several views of bone, with newly emerged teeth, that came to points in her mouth instead of the dull reluctant bite of the teeth she showed the world. That was before. Now in front of her was justice enacted, the thing caught making a whining, guttural and high pitched grotesque squealing noise of indignation at being interrupted in it’s task of despicable, lavish sadism, that of a young girl who needed to be reminded of her place. She, was innocent. This, was fun.

It hadn’t happened until now, these fangs. If they can be called that, shockingly these teeth that had just come out were fit to be in a horror movie but did not look anything but beautiful – the darkness had turned out to be intensely appealing and captivating in an undeniably strange, mesmerizing tunnel-like churning of curiosity, drawing people in, entranced,  she found. They wanted the truth.

But she didn’t show them off much, yet. She was working on captivation without revealing the natural state of who she found she was.

Nyxkita  wasn’t always responsible for her actions. They had just happened to her since she was a little girl, and destruction responded to crisis following her like an ancient hound of death, propelling those around her into a spiral of ash and nakedness often absolutely not what they were expecting and almost always met with a pitchfork and witch hunt approach from the unsuspecting party. It wasn’t her fault if she withdrew the cloak of madness and scared the daylights out of people, but she learned that very quickly no matter what filth needed to be burnt away, no one liked the experience.

So, after many imprisonments in the mortal and common man’s world, she bit her way out and ran into the cave she had always been told was evil, to stay away from, love and light and virtue and false narratives had kept her hostage, roasted to a crisp, and there was no other choice but to run. Or die.

Run toward, turn over to, the faces and bodies and wings and horns and talons always waiting in the shadows, patient, and never once, she realized, had she actually found them terrifying. Calling them down to her, on knees bent, and seeing the visions this world has strung over society like a well-thought out net - invisible and insidious and prevalent, the true evil, she realized, was not in her.

Was not in them, with the horns either. The villains were the heroes, and she had kept her power surrendered to false Gods of ill-fated and cleverly disguised designs of a cruel, base mentality, an ignorance that made people sick, despicable towards one another, and all that was learned in their state of barbaric design  was that safety lay in the arms of a grand lie. Which they happily believed, giving permission to act on morals perversely and without second thought.

Which is why, in her case, lucky to survive, she turned it all on it’s head. And became, well, one could say, a demon. If you believe in that. Demons were actually quite well-suited to carrying out the justice of raw, bright, blinding truth and they were more fun. She discovered a levity to life that went against everything she knew, but felt so comfortable now. (The demons, they also minded their own business, unlike most of the population and it’s organizations, which were intent on promoting a sniffing around of other’s lives and elated sense of terror and rabid, unchecked, propulsion towards freely loving the torture and thrill and pursuit of punishments which they doled out all day, happily.)

She had sensed something was amiss in her old lifestyle but couldn’t find the reason or the courage to question it until it was clearly, unabashedly, trying to dismember her she finally saw, floating above her body one night at the end of her time as a prisoner. And as she had already tasted and eaten too many meals served disguised as dishes of delight and caring but finding after ingesting that toxicity ran through her body like a river. She got sick, again and again, thinking it was normal, until she learned where the true feast was, where the true taste of life well-lived resided. Against all fear, she desperately became a villain, and she wasn’t sorry about it anymore.

The mirth of wild, unhinged, mortal enemies ceased to bother her and breaking the chains of lessons to be good, to be contained in one’s training going against all natural primal accounts stored within the holy unholy, to give heed to the utter nonsense of punishing herself for this life, for herself, was hard. She took no easy road, she fell off cliffs, into agony, into battle. Until she became, turned.

After that, life was an answered prayer, a daily representation of the right choice, and she became magic. The cruelty done to her was manufactured and sold as gold, disguised as humility and hid rotten fruit, diseased thinking, the well made structure of control doled out to the masses turned humanity into dust, swept away by creatures belonging chained up underground and watched carefully by a dark overlord but somehow, somehow, they run rampant up here now, wicked and responsible for the most heinous of acts, somehow overlooked and applauded and canonized.

This, she decided, was despotic. At the helm of the ship sat righteous morality, crucifying and torturing as it pleased, humanity under thrall.

She had enough. She sat, clean, touched her head, felt the bump of horns cresting through her hair, soon to be visible to those she would punish, in the middle of their crimes and blood and unearthly barbaric vicious and grotesque under their masks of righteous grounds. She rested, lusciously anticipating how she would rip them to shreds, enjoyably.

Protect the innocent, the perishable, the fruits of the earth, and the love that existed within all of us for natural pleasure, she decided she was delighted to be a part of the reckoning. She leaned back, resilient in her power, aware of the true villains of our world, and it was not her. But she would happily take the title, the anti-hero, unashamed of the name evil, for she knew the devil and most people were worse, by far.

She relished herself. Finally free.