To be an outcast, is to be the pillar of a new beginning. 

Do tell.

Rain drops splattered the life-ridden battleground. On the cold, cloudy night, the eyes of the fallen were colder than the droplets on their shoulders. The cold air wore a scent of blood as atop the valley of death stood two men on a cliff. Ones’ helmet to the side, as his knees finally gave out against the weight of the world.

“It’s over. Give up your helm. Face your death honorably.”

The man chuckled, “There is no honor in death. There is only honor in strength. Only honor in power. As long as I live—I’ll never bow down to another man.”

The man forced his legs to stand, as his knees crackled with the whims of defeat.

“I’ll die as I lived—prideful—with something to prove. I’ll fight till my last breath. You should know that better than anyone else.”

The man struck his spear forward. As it was parried, a sword struck through his body. His spear fell over the cliff, as his body followed soon after. 

Chapter 1: The Outcast

To be different, is the essence of change. To be different, is to stand against the waves, and refuse the tide.

I was born into solitude. A seven-foot purgatory of dirt and stone. A heavy scent of sulfur, and a deafening silence were my only companions.  For years on end, I would sit in silence, never setting sights on another soul. It wasn’t all bad though, I had the insects and other critters, alongside with the deep voiced man to keep me company. 

Humans fear what they cannot control—for that reason, they fear the dark. Cowardly and weak, they dare proclaim themselves the top of the food chain—assuming strength through delusion.

The deep voiced man taught me everything I knew. From the language of Greek, to what it means to be a man. As far as I knew, the world I was born into consisted of dirt and dust. The outside was unknown, just a mystery I craved to solve. I spent years inside the ditch tortured by the laughter and the festivities outside, and the silence and fear that followed every night. I was forgotten to the world. The deep-voiced man remembered me. He was a sunlight, in a world pillaged by darkness. Against the threat of my existence, he saw beyond his fear. He didn’t see a powerful beast; he saw a child. Lost, confused, born into a world without family. He rose against the tide and stood amongst the breeze.

It’s amazing what a different point of view could do. It could change the conversation.

However, as all things mortal, nothing is forever—and as the world would come to understand, there is no point in forever.

Having been in this box for so long, I had given up on escape. The idea of freedom was arbitrary and impossible as if a finish line that only got further with every step. I had grown to understand I would live out the rest of my days here. Interrupting my skulking, was a sound of mumbled words mere feet away. Shocked and afraid, I grew to realize that Dimitris would never be so careless as to announce his arrival—for if I could hear it, surely the guards would too. I was a monster in the eyes of the villagers. Other than Dimitris, the deep voiced man, I had never had a visitor before. So, it sent shivers down my back as I heard, for the first time in eighteen years, a child’s voice. I wasn’t sure of what to even imagine, would they be tall or short? Fat or skinny? Red, maybe blue? 

“Euripides, you know what Father said about the trap door!” A voice echoed from the top of my cage.

“I don’t care Yiannis. I need to see.”

After eighteen years, I heard the trap door click. Ironic how such a tiny, trivial sound changed my life. A mute sound, almost—yet hollered. I was released, along with the dust trapped within. I tasted the bitter taste of dirt as it landed upon my pale white face. The trap door lifted, and in those few moments of agonizing wait I relived the past eighteen years. From the tears to the anger, past the pain and the loneliness—I saw a bright light. Mystical, maybe even divine. It felt as if it was calling upon me—inviting me to the world—the same one that isolated me for so long. From the arms of fate, the face of a young child was revealed. A dagger of light and fresh air pierced through the darkened chambers of my past. I could feel the air getting lighter and smell the scent of sulfur slowly rotting away. Fear, and uncertainty spoke lectures through his ocean blue eyes. His dark blonde hair rode the wind, as my palms reached for escape. 

The kid threw himself back and darted past what I could see. With all my might, and limited strength, I pulled myself out. I could feel my muscles stretch for the first time, an act of might, and a callous call for vengeance.

I heard the children scream in horror in the near distance. The obnoxious scream of a prepubescent child slowly faded away as the bright sun burned my decaying skin. 

Terrorized for eighteen long years—trapped in a pit, my life decided by peasants. My anger and my agony fueled my roar. A roar that told stories of imprisonment, of pain, of despair. I was hidden away from the world for years. A strength I had never perceived to be possible invested itself within me. I felt heat. As if a flame that was long extinguished had been returned to me. The rightful heir to choice, to power, to voice—yet burdened by chains and inability. I was born anew. I fell to my back on the grass that surrounded my prison. I breathed it all in, the fresh air of the orange sky took my hand, while the cold breeze rode my long black hair welcoming me to the world, as the warmth of the sun erased the darkness of my cell. I was no longer forgotten. I was here. I was alive.

In the distance I saw mountains rise past what I could perceive. I saw birds, I saw clouds—I saw orange deities brush the sky with a beautiful color that remarked a sunset. I felt a sense of discovery in that moment. 

Finally, Freedom. I thought to myself as I sat up.

That is until a spear drove through my chest, relieving me of the air I was so fond of. I looked down to see the tip of a tough steel reflecting a crimson light. 

Even so, no dagger, no blade, and certainly no spear could take my life. 

The men of the village strung me up to a wooden pole in the center of their society. I was put on a pedestal for all to see for hours. My eyes, heavy, I listened carefully for there was a familiar voice shouting in the distance. 

“He is a child!” Dimitris shouted, advocating for my life.

“He is a monster Dimitris! You know why we have to do this! Unless you wish to join him, step back!” A strong voiced man demanded; a plea of worry resided in his golden voice.

“You are the monster Vassilios. Don’t kid yourself. For years, you kept a child locked away from the world. Stripping him from his potential—stripping him from his—”

The tear of flesh interrupted the deep voiced man. My one ally against a world of enemies. 

“I will not tolerate incompetence.”

His screams haunted my dreams for years to come. 

I felt a warmth crawl up my body. A heat unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Red and yellow embers contrasted the dark, cloudless night. I wasn’t sure what I was smelling, only that it made it difficult to breathe.

“Tonight, we’ll dine knowing the sins of our past have been quenched! The Beast of Baylor dies!” The crowd cheered in response. 

My tears could not extinguish the flames, no matter how deep. I stood there, burning, for the enjoyment and the relief of the people of Mizeria. The monster finally slayed.

Why were they cheering? What had I done wrong?

A dark, forgotten sound resonated inside my skull. A pure eternal rage made its way to the surface after years of imprisonment. I lost my voice as a child—and I’d never allow it to happen again. 

Why were they cheering? What had I done wrong? I repeated, as I gripped the pole I was strung to. I repeated, as I heard the screams of my old friend blare in my ears. 

My head was loud, and I couldn’t stop the voices from hollering. I felt so much pain inside my heart that it overwhelmed the flames set upon me. My thoughts were so loud, I couldn’t think—as if drowned in a sea of noise. 

In an instant I understood who, rather, what I was. They were right. I was a monster; I felt it inside my chest—the burning hate—the urge to burn every man, woman and child in this godforsaken village. Even so, I was a monster that had yet to do wrong. I served the time for a crime I never committed—a crime I never got the chance to commit. However, if I am going to be called, controlled, and imprisoned like a monster, I figured I owed myself to live up to that title. 

That’s when I broke through my barrier. 

No, not the shackles that held me to burn. 

A wall came crashing down inside my heart, the fencing between right and wrong came crumbling down, allowing me a choice. I broke through my shackles, putting one foot in front of another escaping the embers set upon me, as the crowd screamed and fled in horror. The strength from before returned, although clouded by a crimson rage. My heart ached for battle. I felt time itself bend to my control. Every detail of the foreseeable battle was clear. The guards and their bronze swords, the men and women of the village fleeing, the rain falling on my shoulders. I roared yet again. One of hate, one of power and strength, and one of death. One of beasts with nothing left to lose, the roar that precedes massacre, one only described as a banshee’s scream. Death was imminent.

I drove my fist through the first guard’s shield, as I plunged his own sword through his gut. I smiled as I felt his last breath escape his body. His eyes fell still. His final thoughts disappeared, before he was forgotten to history. Maybe he thought of family, maybe he thought of money, of success, of the potential he never could realize—but it didn’t matter. This was the proverbial line in the sand. As I held his lifeless limp body, I knew I was responsible for the blood that stained my hands. I dropped him, his body landing in a pile of mud. Dirtying my worn-out tunic. I put an end to his reign of terror. His comrades would soon follow, and I knew I’d regret every step—but I finally had a choice. They drove me to this. I wouldn’t stand idly by for the sake of bureaucracy. They took me from the warmth of safety and stuck me to the cold walls of my prison and that was unforgivable. 

The adrenaline of the battle fueled my every step. The rush of the fight led my fists through many. Blood, sweat, tears, I no longer can tell the difference.

Before long, I stood atop the man they call Vassilios, a tall strong figured man. A maniacal smile took control of the pain—the misery—the despair of my existence. If I was a monster, so be it. I would reign hell upon this town. I drove his own sword through his neck. His gurgled screams burrowing a canal through my ears. It was my sanctuary. Next to his lifeless body sat a single rose. Beautiful, alone, and tainted with the blood of my enemies. Its crisp red petals reminded me of a simpler time. Death—that’s all I could think of at that moment. That was the only guarantee we had. In this world of mystery, death is our only friend. It would never deceive or trap us. It’s not the end of the road, it’s the ability to no longer follow one.

That’s when it hit me. As if drilled into my brain was a memory.

It was cold. A gray sky to signify a dark day. Rain splattered all around me. My red eyes and their light, warming me against the sounds of death in the background. I saw a hand reach towards me, bloodied, weak, it looked safe. Its final strength being forced through sheer will alone. It dropped on top of my tiny chest after a sound of flesh tore. 

I was picked up, my eye meeting another. White, mystical. It felt warm, yet deceiving, as if contradicting itself with every thought.  

Who was this mysterious man? What did this mean for me? Who am I?! I fell to my knees before the mountain of bodies I had built screaming for answers. What was my name? Who did I belong to? Who was the white-eyed man? Where do I belong?

I turned to the sky, facing the rain, my voice throbbing, sore after a night of battle. Rid of strength, yet filled with emphasis of a distraught voice climbing to the surface.

I tried to remember, but it was fruitless. 

Sounds of slaughter echoed in my mind as they drowned my voice in a distant realm. I couldn’t think, but against the chaos that bounced from wall to wall inside my head, I heard coughs, and a calling from across the courtyard. 

He raised his hand to the sky, hoping I’d see it—a last resort, of his diminishing strength.

I ran to him, jumping into his arms. A stain of red found itself on my tunic immortalizing his unhinged spirit into the fabrics of the beige shirt, holding on so he may not leave me to be alone again. 

“Son.” He said past his fleeting strength.

“Dimitris. Don’t go–please. Stay with me.”

“I was afraid of this.” He interrupted himself, coughing up his strength.

“Don’t talk Dimitris—you need your strength!” He smiled in response.

“I can try to patch you up, let me see if I can find anything.” I said, stuttering and standing up before he pulled me towards him.

“I had a sword drive through my gut. This is the end for me.”

A tear drove down my face.

“This doesn’t have to be the end for you too.”

There was a silence before I continued,

“What do you mean? What can I do?”

“You can fight. You can fight till you have nothing left to give,” He paused before continuing, “this world is evil. It’ll try to take everything from you—but you need to promise me that when it inevitably does, you’ll keep fighting.”

Another tear dropped as my eyes were filled with grief.

“I promise Dimitris. I promise to keep fighting.” I held his hand as I felt his strength wither away.

“My son died by a Spartan’s hand. He gave up everything so he may fight for his nation. His final thoughts were of home I’m told, the one thing he wanted to protect the most. He was prideful and talented. Some amongst the army even went as far as to say he was a man turned God. He’s long gone now. From his death, I learned what war was capable of. I could go out and avenge his death, but that would only leave another father without a son and another mother that died of heartbreak.

In my final moments, I ask you to take his name. I want you to fight for what you want to protect the most. Let my son’s legacy live on through yours. I beg of you.”

I nodded, another tear falling off my cheek.

I saw a smile form upon Dimitris’ face as he looked to the sky,

“Thank you. Thank you for giving me another chance to be a father, Ollius. You’ll grow to be a legend. You’ll fight battles that’ll take you back to this day, but you’ll never forget your name now.”

He went on to explain who I was. My origins before I was imprisoned. As a child, I was a prisoner of war. The fall of Sparta marked me for death. No matter how hard they tried, the townspeople could not kill me. Through countless blades, either from iron, or blessed by mages from distant lands. Not one can take my breath. Through heaps of poisons, and flames. Through endless submersions, no matter how deep, I survived. 

Eventually, they gave up, and just threw me in a pit, hoping I’d starve. As the menace of the village, and a threat to the world, I was given the name of the Beast of Baylor. I was a legend, the boogeyman that every child feared. For that reason, the child freed me. To conquer his own fear. However, in doing so, he paved the path of my endless rage. A rage that would stretch far past this small town. A rage the world would come to fear. 

That night turned to a bloodshed, a massacre. I arrived to the village, a child. I left the village, a champion. 

“Just remember, Ollius. You cannot move forward by looking backwards. You’ll only stumble.”