It hurts... Just standing here it hurts. I can feel their pain, I can hear their screams, their anger boils in me, their suffering crushes my chest and chokes me, it burns me and it drives me to this dammed place, I can't move away, I keep getting called closer, I keep getting filled with their dreams, with their hopes, I keep getting drowned in it all, so much knowledge, so much information it hurts... I can't fight it, I can't contain it...
"Child..." a ephemeral sound filtered though the boys skull, "This is your calling..." the voice added, chills running down the kids spine, his fist clench at the destruction before him, "These where your brothers... your sisters..." the ghost like voice added coming and going being close and far, nowhere and everywhere, for fleeting moments. "Allow me... Allow me to give you the power... The power to silence the voices... The power to grant them their vengeance... The power to be their king..."
"I'm... just a kid..."
A hiss, the hair grew cold, a fog descended upon their surroundings fleeting images danced in the world around him, memories he though, fractured fragments of the life that had once been and no longer was. A cluster of sound melded and clashed giving form to words, slow deliberated words dreadfully dead no emotion or life to them, "Son of Reaver..."
As a kid I played games... I mimicked the life of adults, I complained when life was 'not fair' when I was told that I was to young to understand, to young to do one thing or another, to young... always to young.
"Wraith!!" the boy shouted loud enough to strain his throat, "No more!" he clenched his, eyes piercing the ruins before him, stomping toward the fog and ruin he practically growled at the ether, "I am just a child, barely old enough to be worth anything to you. How you expect me to serve you... I beg of you relieve me of this curse!"
Rocks crumbled as the wind blew and the boys movement caused the ruins to shake from the destruction, from the chaos the sounds took form "One task..." the child grunted his green eyes looking for the source, "One is all I ask..."
"Not one, not half, not even a fraction, TAKE" he gripped hard the bones on his knuckles cracking, "IT" his eyes flared, the heretic blood in his veins boiling, "AWAY!" from the boy's very breath, something began to take shape, first a formless shadow in the fog yet as the seconds passed it grew and continued to grow and shift till it took the shape of an old man dressed in regal threads.
Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Grew worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday. That was the end, of Solomon Grundy...
"Mock me child..." No longer was it nature, no longer it was the voices of the world or the echoes of his mind, the wraith before him was no longer that quiet voice in the back of his head, "If you won't act on your own will" The visage of aged royalty felt no need to play games, "I shall remind you of who holds the leash"