repo for NaNoWriMo 2018
The Behemoth has been hunting me for the better part of a decade, ever since I got the mark on my back. It’s sent hundreds of men, women, and children after me in its name. Each time I rebuffed its efforts because the human instinct for survival overpowers compassion every time, at least for me. Such is the cost of becoming hardened to the world. The Behemoth has taken away my sense of belonging in the world; being suspicious of every person you come across has a tendency to do that.
After bandaging the last of the physical wounds, I slide over to the dinky motel bed and set myself down on top of it hoping to heal some of my mental wounds too. All of the exhaustion over the past few days hit me like a crashing wave. My brain was sending melatonin and adenosine to every nook and cranny of my body, telling me that I needed to rest and recover. It wasn’t wrong but I did not want to be killed in my sleep. Before my eyelids drooped shut, I glanced over at my surroundings: the blinds were drawn, the doorknob and deadbolt were locked tight and a chair was propped up against it; if an intruder came into the room silently, it wouldn’t be through there. The bed frame was built into the floor rather than it being elevated. There was a reason why I liked these cheap motels: they cut corners so I don’t have to. No one was hiding under the beds for me.
As I fell into an exhaustion-fueled sleep, I was taken to a place where I replayed my driving factor for wanting to slay The Behemoth. I remembered the sounds and smells of my home: the orchids in full bloom, the sunflowers lining the oleanders along the side of the yard. I remembered the scent of freshly-baked pie wafting through the neighborhood, ready to eat. I stood there, reminiscing about how wonderful life was then. It was simple and routine but had enough surprises to keep me on my toes. The neighborhood was lined with grand oak trees, their mighty trunks seemed to stretch on forever. It was right before fall, so their leaves were just starting to turn orange. I absolutely adored my life then. It was just after six o’clock that I opened the royal purple door to my home and crossed the threshold.
The scenery changed to a deep red crimson. The sun was blotted out by the smoke from the roaring flames fueled by the remains of my ancestral home. The firefighters were holding me back telling me that there was no way that they could save my family that was trapped in the fire. The support beams crackled and snapped, feeding the ever larger destruction. The sunflowers and oleanders did nary to stem the tide of wanton carnage. The scent of apple pie was mixed with the odor of burnt flesh and spent lumber. I screamed towards the wreckage in vain hope that it was all a dream. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure, clothed in all black with a scar that glowed amidst the fires. The man smiled a wicked smile and turned away.
I had a gut feeling that man was the man responsible for the death of my family, I had to catch him. I gave chase. The man turned a corner. I caught up. I stopped. The man disappeared and left me with a scar on my heart that could never heal.
Except with vengeance.
I woke up in a cold sweat, free from that eternal nightmare that tormented me so. As I stood, I felt my energy return to me. My bandages fell off and my body was restored to its original form, all of its wounds healed and scars disappeared. In all of my time with The Intersection, I learned that it bestowed upon its host an array of magical powers, one of which was self-healing. I was the first one to discover this power, as my previous iterations did not live long enough to discover it. As I awoke, I was reminded with the object of my fury: The Behemoth. It was only after I buried the ones that I loved that I learned of its name.
The Behemoth is a shadowy and mysterious being, capable of taking on many forms bestial and humanoid alike. It is a being of supernatural means, its only purpose was to hunt down and extinguish the hosts of the Intersection. The only time that The Behemoth would reveal itself to me was through a vision after I’d thwarted the latest of its plans to terminate me. In the multiple encounters that I’ve had with it, that was the only information that I could glean from it. I asked The Behemoth directly why it was so hell-bent on destroying me, and it spoke to me through telepathic means. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it speak in a human-like manner. Its voice was scratchy and dry, as if it was speaking through an organ pipe that hadn’t been cleaned in years. I recalled the last time that I spoke to it:
“Why do you pay attention to me so much? Isn’t there so much more that you could do?” I asked, my voice heavy with veiled anger.
“You are the last of your kind. Your kind deserves to be exterminated.” The Behemoth responded with a wispy and guttural tone. “There is absolutely nothing that will save you from me.”
Then it disappeared with a puff of black smoke. I had more questions than answers, and nowhere to find them. Outside of my room, I heard heavy footsteps.