The chill of the shade.

In the darkness, he could hear her cries which resounded loud throughout the frozen air.

Thump, thump, thump.

The dull sound of her limp body- her form which had been broken and battered slammed against the wooden floor of the room. Blood had been spattered against the walls, by which she had been thrown against, and subsequently had caved in from the force of her ebbing weight.

“You give me a useless child- one who’s abilities can’t readily defeat the enemy, and still you seek more?” A man growled from within the shadows.

His form was massive in comparison to the woman who had been thrown against the floor, and of the golden-haired boy who had a horrified expression upon his small face. The boy stood trembling beside the woman, gazing up at the sharp demeanor of the man who towered before him, like a nauseating aura of shade within the darkness, with piercing blue eyes which flickered brightly.

“Do you know why I named you ‘Omen’?” He spoke with a sharp, booming tone of voice, turning to look at the boy as he pulled his attention away from the battered woman.

The boy could not bear to open his mouth. His skin felt as if it would tear itself from his bones, and his nerves trembled to such a degree that he felt affected by an earthquake that wasn’t present. Without a response, the man felt anger grasp at his heart, so he swung his heavy foot to the side, catching the boy in the ribs as he kicked him across the room. Omen landed harshly against the wall, clutching at his abdomen as he sputtered out a sharp cough, blood falling from his lips towards the wooden floor.

Still, the man approached him with his sapphire glare.

“It’s because unlike Howl and Lace, whom I’ve adopted to cover your flaws, you’re supposed to carry my will along with you.” He spoke as he grabbed the boy by the hair, lifting him upwards to meet his gaze. “You are the ‘Omen’ of a powerful future. You have too much to accomplish, so I won’t hesitate to treat you strictly.”

Throwing Omen back towards the floor, he turned his gaze back to the battered and bruised woman upon the floor.

“As for your mother, she didn’t even fulfill her purpose. For a Nephilim to be so small-framed like her- how could I have been so stupid to use her…?”

He kicked at the woman once again, who failed to let out a sound. Whether she had fainted, or simply had grown used to the pain, she was silent and unmoving- like a doll. Omen’s eyes widened as he watched on in horror, unable to force his small body to move. If only he had grown up quicker, then he wouldn’t have been forced to be a spectator.

“Perhaps then, there’s no longer any use for her being here.” The man spoke as he reached towards a sheathed knife strapped to his leg. “Simply staring at your mother leaves distaste in my mouth…”

“Stop-“ Omen sputtered out, shaking as he propped himself up off the floor.

With horrified eyes, he forced his legs to step forward.

Omen charged at the figure who was nearly a dozen times his size with wild eyes. Almost amused, he kicked at the boy as he approached, sending him flying through the room once more. Yet, as he landed harshly against the floor, Omen expelled a sharpened breath from his clenched teeth, and summoned all the strength in his tiny arms. From behind his back he produced a knife, which had been pulled away from his father’s leg as he had been kicked.

The blade began to glow a faint gold, and within the darkness of the air, the man could have sworn he saw the beauty of a flock of butterflies dancing in the room.

Hurling it over his shoulder, it flew through the air, catching itself against the man’s face, embedding itself in the wall behind him. As blood dripped down his cheek, the man touched a hand to his face. Covered in vermilion, his frown quickly curved upwards into a crazed grin that made shivers crawl down Omen’s skin.

“You think the minuscule strength of your ability will stop me in this moment, little butterfly?” The man grinned maniacally.

He stepped once more towards the woman, turning his back to the boy who served no danger towards him.

“You are weak, in both mind and body. Your will needs tempering.” He spoke coldly. “This woman has done nothing but coddle you. She is your weakness.”

He raised his foot to the air, which had been wrapped in a high-cut steel-toed boot, and with one swift action, he stomped down on the woman’s head. As Omen watched on, with a sharp ache pulsing through his body, he saw his mother’s form turn to grey liquid and red mush underneath his father’s boot.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

It seemed to continue on for minutes, even though he knew better than that. Blood had been thrown across the small room, bathing Omen in bright-vermilion. His hands shook, and his body ached in pain, but his expression had all but fallen away from his face. After the fragmented pieces of a corpse had been left upon the ground, the man turned towards Omen, who knelt quietly in the corner, staring at the ground to avoid the turmoil of his hazy mind.

“Perhaps in ten, or fifteen years, your ability will weaken me enough for you to do something.” He spoke gruffly. “Today, you were as useless as you’ll ever be. She’s dead because you lacked the ability to do anything. Remember that, and act accordingly in the future.”

He brushed a hand through his hair, streaking it with splatters of blood that had fallen against his face.

“You were bred a beast, and were born a demon.” The man spoke with finality. “If you’re to be a monster, then be sure to be a useful one. Otherwise, you’re just a creature that needs to be killed.”

With his final words spoken, the man turned cloak, and stepped out of the room into the chill of the night, leaving Omen painted in red, with the blank expression of a doll upon his face.

—-

Omen awoke in a daze, tears staining his cheeks as he let out a sharp breath. In the quiet, he sat up quickly, looking around him as he hoped desperately for respite. Gazing upon the sleeping woman of vermilion next to him, his heart was calmed slowly.

The fire within the fireplace of the lighthouse crackled softly, bathing the room in a dim-orange colour. It was warm within the room, and the softness of Aelem’s form against his body soothed his heart. Yet, despite that, his mind felt hazy, and there was an anger that had long been carved into his bones.

His eyes furrowed, and he clutched at his shirt.

“Soon, he’ll be too weak…” Omen spoke softly, his gaze furrowing as he looked up towards the midnight sky. ‘Soon, he’ll die by my hand.”