Judas Maxwell Anderson strode out onto the academy lawn for what felt like the first time in his life.
He knew it wasn't. They had told him that. She had told him that, the family doctors and lawyers.
That there had been an accident, and his brother Alexander had died, that the accident had given him brain damage, causing him to lose most of his memories of the academy, and his right arm, which was now a metal prosthetic whose purpose only he knew, slickly clothed beneath his black silk clothes.
Because frankly, he couldn't care less about the past. Judas Anderson had returned, and he had been changed, his soul was gone, but his power had grown. Now all that mattered to him was destruction and pleasure, the sins of the world, and he had all the abilities to lead him to that.
The memories would often hurtle into his brain from time to time, a young girl caressing his face and kissing him, the sight of a tall blonde man falling in a spray of blood, the sight of his own face transformed in rage and madness. It didn't really matter much to him, just fairy tales of the past he had lost.
The old Judas was gone, irrelevant. Someone who had done this to them, someone like the old Judas, well, he was something Judas didn't want to be. He had been changed, willingly and unknowingly, he had ascended past fickle emotions.
He clenched his metal fist and slowly looked at the cane in his other hand, a swordcane the family lawyer had said was his father's, though he couldn't remember it or his parents at all.
No matter, the academy was prime for the picking, and Judas Anderson had returned.
He floated off the lawn, staring at the students milling around, and a broad grin spread under his cold, piercing eyes.
He knew it wasn't. They had told him that. She had told him that, the family doctors and lawyers.
That there had been an accident, and his brother Alexander had died, that the accident had given him brain damage, causing him to lose most of his memories of the academy, and his right arm, which was now a metal prosthetic whose purpose only he knew, slickly clothed beneath his black silk clothes.
Because frankly, he couldn't care less about the past. Judas Anderson had returned, and he had been changed, his soul was gone, but his power had grown. Now all that mattered to him was destruction and pleasure, the sins of the world, and he had all the abilities to lead him to that.
The memories would often hurtle into his brain from time to time, a young girl caressing his face and kissing him, the sight of a tall blonde man falling in a spray of blood, the sight of his own face transformed in rage and madness. It didn't really matter much to him, just fairy tales of the past he had lost.
The old Judas was gone, irrelevant. Someone who had done this to them, someone like the old Judas, well, he was something Judas didn't want to be. He had been changed, willingly and unknowingly, he had ascended past fickle emotions.
He clenched his metal fist and slowly looked at the cane in his other hand, a swordcane the family lawyer had said was his father's, though he couldn't remember it or his parents at all.
No matter, the academy was prime for the picking, and Judas Anderson had returned.
He floated off the lawn, staring at the students milling around, and a broad grin spread under his cold, piercing eyes.