Sub-chapter 2: The child, the outsider
His name was Clive. Just a young boy, nothing more. He looked about ten, but was only eight. His hair was a near-silver shade, opposing his jet black eyes. He was neither tall nor short, and always wore the same black clothes. He never said a word in front of anyone, never acted out of line nor sought attention.
He lived in a small town near the eastern coast of the world's western-most continent. This town was almost unknown outside of its own inhabitants, yet would soon be one of the most famous in the world.
The town had the essentials for survival in the thriving country; a bar for adults, a vegetable and perishable goods store, bakery, butcher shop, even a small school. At this school, the young Clive was tortured. Day after day, he was assaulted physically, verbally, and mentally. Even younger children made fun of him, and attacked him with harsh, cold, sharp words. Older kids beat him daily, and many gave him mental images of torment. He was without relief, as no adults would help him. He was an orphan, and made his life by sleeping under the stairs of the town's inn, where the innkeeper felt enough sympathy to allow him to lay. He was slipped scraps of meat and other food by the various shopkeepers, but just enough to keep him going from day to day.
Clive had no idea why he continued to live; he felt he had no purpose, no strength, no reason. In his heart, he felt himself a black beast, an evil demon, a plaguing monster; it was the only way he could justify his treatment. He continued through school, the words of the teacher echoing in his mind; "If ya want a good life, you hafta get a good edjacation." Clive knew her words were broken; he knew most everything that she tried to teach him (though she was a horrible teacher), even more than most of the children at the school.
His mind was naturally attune to existance and its rulings, of most everything. He felt as though he was one with nature when he sat by himself, under the soft rain. He could feel the pain of the trees as the men of the town cut them down for firewood or more buildings, or whatever it was they were building. He felt the sorrow of flowers as they were cut from their nurturing roots, only to be pinned to the ugly vests of the townswomen.
He felt a pang of hatred every time he felt the death of a creature of the woods surrounding the village. He could see, in his mind, the piercing spears as they tore away the boar's skin.. could feel the hatred born within each of the wild animals' minds. He knew, he felt, and he hated. He bore such a fierce enmity towards the town that he wished he could show them all, make them all pay.
But he felt weak, insignificant. His power was naught; he was nothing. He knew nothing, felt nothing...
"What a wimp!" One of the younger boys taunted as he struck Clive's face again.
"He won't even fight back."
"Such a wussy!"
"Oh, Clive! Why don't'cha fight back, hmmm?" One of the older boys called from behind the mass of younger ones.
"Because he's a scarety-cat!"
"Scarety-cat! Scarety-cat!" The children taunted him loudly, several out of tune with the others.
"Hmph. Clive Hajime? What a weird name." The oldest boy said. He stepped forward, pushing younger kids out of his way, and picked Clive up off the ground by his shirt.
"Always wearing the same ugly clothes, never saying a thing. You're destined to be a loser. You'll never be anything, you nasty monster."
"Don't...." Clive said weakly, anger building inside him.
"He spoke!!" All the kids chattered loudly, simultaneously.
"Don't what, you little brat?" The boy replied, lifting him higher off the ground.
"Don't.. call me a monster." Clive's teeth clenched, and his hands formed into fists. His anger was swelling inside, about to burst.
"Oh, but you are, you little monster. You're gonna be a monster forever. It's your destiny, I told ya!"
"I'll...." His eyes closed, his hatred reaching out of him.
"You'll what, you ugly, horrible monster?" He said menacingly, his face close to Clive's.
"I'll.. if my destiny is to be a monster.. then I'll rewrite.. I'll rewrite my future!" Clive yelled. His anger exploded from his body, causing him to move automatically.
In a single moment, everything seemed to freeze. Everything was black and white, nothing moved.
Behind everyone, Clive saw something. A man.
He was tall, lean. He wore a sleeveless black shirt, and baggy black pants, as well as black sandals. Around his neck was a blood red scarf; hanging from his palm was a thin, black longcoat. The sleeves of the coat dangled against the dirt of the school playground. His semi-long, spiky hair matched the color of Clive's, as did his dark eyes. His mouth opened, and the world echoed his words.
"Clive Hajime, the Dark Outsider. You are no monster."
As his voice faded, Clive's world shattered to pieces, and reality returned.
"Rewrite your destiny? Don't you-" Before the bully could try and smash Clive's words, he was interrupted.
"I am no monster, and I'll rewrite everyone's future to save my own if I have to!" He yelled loudly, and kicked the bully square in the crotch, dropping him to his knees.
He began to savagely beat the bully, his friends not even trying to help. The bully's face was red and bloody, his eyes swollen shut and his lips broken several times. As soon as someone broke from the horror they'd just witnessed, a couple of the younger children ran, screaming, into the schoolhouse.
The teacher came out to investigate, coming upon Clive and his victim. He was beaten by the teacher, and threatened by many of the men of the village. He was sent away, and told never to return.
As Clive was leaving the village.. he saw the closet near the town's center that held the hunter's spears. He walked to the structure, and examined the lock.
The men must've been in such a hurry to see what ruckus he'd caused, they'd not locked it. He put a small hand to the wooden cabinet doors, and pulled them open. His eyes quickly flitted from spear to spear, looking for one small enough for him to use.
He reached between several and took hold of the pole of the smallest one he could see. Several shouts behind him told him he'd been seen, and he quickly tore the spear from its place, turning to see several adults running at him.
"Put that back right now, dammit!" One of the larger men yelled angrily.
"I told them.." Clive said quietly.
"Told who what?"
"Told them.. I'll rewrite my destiny!" he yelled. He ran forward just a couple of steps and rammed the spearhead through one of the men's chest, splaying blood on the ground and spear.
"Put that back, Clive, before you-" A quick turn and slash-cut from Clive's spear silenced him. Clive's lips were slowly twisting to a smile, his blood boiling inside. He looked calm and controlled externally, but his body was vigorously working inside. He continued to slaughter the men, until he'd killed all the ones confronting him. Blood covered his clothes and spear, as well as the ground.
A gentle breeze brushed his body, and a rough, dark rain began to pour. The rain washed clean his body, clothes, and spear. He felt refreshed, free.
"This.. this is the beginning of the story! The start of my story. I shall rewrite God's book.. with blood!" Clive yelled as more villagers came rushing at him.