[mad muses] "The Sweet Taste of Triumph."
3) “The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow brave by reflection.” --Thomas Paine
“Why isn’t it working? It’s supposed to…I’m supposed to…dammit,” Sylar hissed to himself as he paced back and forth on the floor. There was a slight sweat that had broken out on his brow, and as he paced, he would occasionally stop and throw an arm out, almost as though he was trying to hurl something, but there was nothing in his hand to hurl.
When that didn’t work again he snarled and walked briskly over to the desk that was in the room, and after a few minutes of rifling through papers he brought forth a blank piece of paper. He then grabbed a pencil he closed his eyes, waiting for something to surge through him, a sensation he could never quite explain, but nothing came. He snapped his eyes open and hurled the pencil angrily across the room, the paper being thrown on the floor as anger boiled under his skin.
He was throwing a tantrum, like a child, but he couldn’t help it, because they were gone. Everything that he had worked so hard to get, that he had fought and killed for, it was gone. Well, everything was an exaggeration, but everything but his telekinesis was gone. One would think that he would be grateful that he still had that, but he wasn’t, not at the moment at least.
He had had so much, so many different abilities, all that worked together to make him him, and now he was left with just the first ability that he had made his. As thankful as he was that he still at least had that, without the others, he felt empty. There was a void inside him where they all belonged that needed to be refilled, and in the desperation that he was feeling with the lack of them, it almost didn’t matter what he filled it with.
The void made him feel even more broken than he had been before. The abilities that he had taken, they were a type of glue that was holding him together, and the more he gained, the stronger the bond they had became. Without the glue that was keeping him together, he was back to being the lost soul he was what felt like years ago, but he knew very well was not. He needed to be fixed, but he was the one that fixed others, how to fix himself though, that was a whole different story all together.
The cheerleader.
The one with the ability to heal. Her face popped up into his mind suddenly, and a small smirk appeared on his face. He had coveted her ability for so long, he could hardly believe that she had briefly slipped his mind. Her blood had healed him from when he had no abilities at all, but that had only been a mix of her blood along with Suresh’s. More of her blood, that could perhaps heal him fully, and if not, at least he could get the ability so that he would never be harmed again.
He was going to get to her, nothing was going to get in his way this time. Not Petrelli, not Suresh, and certainly not Papa Bennet. She was going to be his now. He had earned that ability. He needed it. It was their fault that he had lost everything else, at least that was how he saw it, so they could blame themselves for what he was going to do, and he was fully prepared to tell them that.
He could feel that this was going to be something special. The sweet afterglow after he got this ability, it was going to be different from everything else that he had taken. This was something that he had wanted for so long, so long that he just hoped he hadn’t overhyped it in his mind.
This triumph was going to be glorious, unlike all the rest that he had had. No one had cared for those people, after all. No one of significance, he felt. Claire though, she was so well protected, and so many people cared for her, that breaking her was sure to break them as well, and he was out for revenge.
“Why isn’t it working? It’s supposed to…I’m supposed to…dammit,” Sylar hissed to himself as he paced back and forth on the floor. There was a slight sweat that had broken out on his brow, and as he paced, he would occasionally stop and throw an arm out, almost as though he was trying to hurl something, but there was nothing in his hand to hurl.
When that didn’t work again he snarled and walked briskly over to the desk that was in the room, and after a few minutes of rifling through papers he brought forth a blank piece of paper. He then grabbed a pencil he closed his eyes, waiting for something to surge through him, a sensation he could never quite explain, but nothing came. He snapped his eyes open and hurled the pencil angrily across the room, the paper being thrown on the floor as anger boiled under his skin.
He was throwing a tantrum, like a child, but he couldn’t help it, because they were gone. Everything that he had worked so hard to get, that he had fought and killed for, it was gone. Well, everything was an exaggeration, but everything but his telekinesis was gone. One would think that he would be grateful that he still had that, but he wasn’t, not at the moment at least.
He had had so much, so many different abilities, all that worked together to make him him, and now he was left with just the first ability that he had made his. As thankful as he was that he still at least had that, without the others, he felt empty. There was a void inside him where they all belonged that needed to be refilled, and in the desperation that he was feeling with the lack of them, it almost didn’t matter what he filled it with.
The void made him feel even more broken than he had been before. The abilities that he had taken, they were a type of glue that was holding him together, and the more he gained, the stronger the bond they had became. Without the glue that was keeping him together, he was back to being the lost soul he was what felt like years ago, but he knew very well was not. He needed to be fixed, but he was the one that fixed others, how to fix himself though, that was a whole different story all together.
The cheerleader.
The one with the ability to heal. Her face popped up into his mind suddenly, and a small smirk appeared on his face. He had coveted her ability for so long, he could hardly believe that she had briefly slipped his mind. Her blood had healed him from when he had no abilities at all, but that had only been a mix of her blood along with Suresh’s. More of her blood, that could perhaps heal him fully, and if not, at least he could get the ability so that he would never be harmed again.
He was going to get to her, nothing was going to get in his way this time. Not Petrelli, not Suresh, and certainly not Papa Bennet. She was going to be his now. He had earned that ability. He needed it. It was their fault that he had lost everything else, at least that was how he saw it, so they could blame themselves for what he was going to do, and he was fully prepared to tell them that.
He could feel that this was going to be something special. The sweet afterglow after he got this ability, it was going to be different from everything else that he had taken. This was something that he had wanted for so long, so long that he just hoped he hadn’t overhyped it in his mind.
This triumph was going to be glorious, unlike all the rest that he had had. No one had cared for those people, after all. No one of significance, he felt. Claire though, she was so well protected, and so many people cared for her, that breaking her was sure to break them as well, and he was out for revenge.