Chapter 14Damien
Chapter
Fourteen
DAMIEN
18 Years Old
I don’t remember the last time I felt free. Maybe I never have. Even before the Order, before the power, there was always something weighing me down. Responsibility. Obligation. Pain.
I sit on the cracked porch of the house I grew up in, staring out at the empty fields. The house creaks in the wind, tired and worn, just like me. My mother’s labored coughing filters through the broken window behind me, a sound that’s become the background music of my life. She’s been sick for years, and I’ve been the one keeping us afloat. Barely.
The air feels heavy tonight, like it’s waiting for something. I feel it too—a thrumming beneath my skin, an itch I can’t scratch. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, a restless energy I don’t understand. I clench my fists, trying to push it down like I always do. Nothing good ever comes from that feeling.
“Damien!” My mother’s voice is sharp, hoarse from coughing but still carrying the authority that only a mother can muster. “Come inside before you catch your death.”
I stand and brush the dirt off my jeans, the weight of the day pressing down on me as I step into the house. The air inside is stale, heavy with the scent of sickness and desperation. I see her in her chair, frail and sunken, her once-bright eyes dull with exhaustion. I hate that I can’t do more for her. I hate this life. But most of all, I hate myself for feeling that way.
“I’ll make tea,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. It’s all I can offer—small comforts in a life that feels like a slow death.
But before I can even fill the kettle, there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp raps, too forceful to belong to a neighbor. My body tenses, that restless energy sparking to life again. I glance at my mother, who’s already looking toward the door with a mixture of confusion and unease.
“Who could that be at this hour?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ll see.” I move to the door, my pulse quickening as I open it.
Three men stand on the porch, their faces shadowed by the dim light of the single bulb hanging above the door. They’re dressed in dark, simple clothes, but there’s something off about them—something predatory. The tallest one steps forward, his piercing eyes locking onto mine.
“Damien Blackwood,” he says, his voice smooth and cold. It’s not a question. He knows who I am.
“Who’s asking?” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.
The man smiles, a thin, humorless curve of his lips. “We’ve been watching you.”
The air around us shifts, growing heavier. My chest tightens as that energy inside me stirs, rising unbidden. It’s as if the very presence of these men is pulling it to the surface. I take a step back, my hands curling into fists.
“I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave,” I say, my voice low.
“Ah,” the man says, tilting his head. “You don’t know yet, do you? The power inside you. Raw, untamed. It’s extraordinary.”
My heart pounds in my chest. How does he know about that? I’ve spent my whole life trying to hide it, to pretend it isn’t there.
“What do you want?” I demand, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger.
“To help you,” the man replies. His smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it. “Or, more accurately, to help ourselves. You’re special, Damien. More powerful than you realize. And that kind of power shouldn’t be wasted.”
Before I can respond, the air around us crackles. My skin prickles as the energy inside me surges, breaking free like a dam bursting. A wave of heat radiates from my body, and the men step back, their expressions flickering with something I can’t quite place—fear? Or excitement?
“What’s happening?” I gasp, clutching at my chest. It feels like I’m being torn apart from the inside.
The tallest man steps forward again, his voice calm and commanding. “It’s your power, Damien. You can’t control it. But we can.”
The energy surging through me is wild, blistering, like a hurricane trapped in my veins. My knees buckle, and I stumble back against the doorframe. “Get away from me,” I rasp, the words barely audible over the roar in my head.
“Damien,” the man says, his tone softening as he reaches out a hand. “This isn’t something you can fight. Let us help you.”
I glare at him, anger rising to meet the storm inside me. “Help me?” I spit. “You don’t want to help me. You just want whatever this is.” I gesture to myself, the tremors in my hands betraying the force I’m trying to hold back. “Leave. Now.”
The man sighs, glancing at his companions. “It seems he needs more convincing.”
One of the others steps forward, his face dark with purpose. “Enough talking,” he growls. “Take him.”
Before I can react, he raises his hand, and I feel a pulse of energy slam into my chest. It’s like being hit by a truck—I’m thrown backward into the hallway, my breath knocked out of me. The walls rattle, plaster cracking as I struggle to get to my feet. My head is spinning, but the fire inside me grows hotter, angrier.
“Damien!” My mother’s weak cry cuts through the chaos. I turn to see her standing at the edge of the living room, clutching the doorframe for support. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with fear.
“Stay back!” I shout, my voice breaking. “Please, just stay back!”
The men step into the house, their movements deliberate and precise. One of them pulls out a glowing sigil, the symbols carved into it pulsating with a sinister light. The sight of it sends a sharp, cold fear through me.
“Damien Blackwood,” the leader intones, his voice filled with authority. “You cannot run from this. Your power is too great. If you don’t submit, you will destroy everything—and everyone—around you.”
“No!” The word rips out of me, raw and desperate. My hands ignite with blazing energy, the light spilling out in uncontrollable bursts. The power surges, rising to a fever pitch, and I know—I know —I can’t hold it back any longer.
“Damien, stop!” my mother screams, her voice cracking.
“I can’t!” I shout, my eyes burning with unshed tears. “I don’t know how!”
The men rush me, their magic colliding with mine in a violent explosion. The house trembles, the walls groaning as waves of energy lash out in every direction. Windows shatter, furniture splinters, and the very air vibrates with the force of it. My body feels like it’s on fire, my power spilling out faster than I can contain it.
“Restrain him!” one of the men shouts, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.
But it’s too late.
The storm inside me bursts free, consuming everything in its path. Light and heat explode outward, a tidal wave of destruction that tears through the house like a bomb. I hear my mother’s scream, sharp and short, before it’s swallowed by the roar. And then... silence.
When the dust settles, I’m on my knees in the ruins of what used to be my home. My chest heaves with ragged breaths, and my hands tremble as I stare at the destruction around me. The walls are gone, reduced to rubble. The air is thick with smoke and ash. And there, amidst the wreckage, lies my mother.
“No,” I whisper, crawling toward her. My hands are shaking so violently that I can barely move. “No, no, no...”
I reach her, my fingers brushing against her still form. Her eyes are closed, her face pale. I press my hands to her chest, willing her to wake up, to breathe, to do something. But there’s nothing. No rise and fall of her chest. No heartbeat. Just... nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, tears streaming down my face. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t?—”
“Damien.” The leader’s voice cuts through my grief, calm and steady. I look up to see him standing over me, his expression unreadable. “This is what happens when power like yours goes unchecked.”
“Shut up!” I scream, the energy flaring to life in my hands again. But it’s weaker now, sputtering like a dying flame. I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, my body trembling with the effort of holding on.
“You didn’t want this,” he continues, his voice almost sympathetic. “You didn’t mean for this to happen. But it did. And it will happen again if you don’t learn to control it.”
I stare at him, my vision swimming with tears. “I don’t... I don’t know how.”
“We do,” he says simply, extending his hand. “Come with us. Let us help you. We can give you the control you need, the strength to keep this from happening again.”
I glance back at my mother’s lifeless body, the guilt crushing me like a weight I can’t bear. My hands are stained with soot and blood, my power spent. I look back at the man, his outstretched hand a lifeline in the wreckage of my life.
“What’s the catch?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“There’s always a price for power,” he admits. “But it’s better than losing control. Better than... this.”
I hesitate, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. Then, slowly, I take his hand.
“Good,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “You’ll understand in time.”
As we leave the ruins of my home behind, I feel the first shackle close around me, invisible but unyielding. I know I’ve made a deal with the devil. But in that moment, it doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I never hurt anyone like this again.
Even if it means losing myself.
They call it the Binding. A ritual, they said, to channel my power and give it purpose. But it feels like a violation.
I’m on my knees in a dark, cavernous room, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning incense. Shadows twist and dance along the stone walls, flickering in time with the runes carved into the floor. The runes glow with a sickly green light, their energy writhing like snakes. The air hums, heavy and oppressive, pressing down on my chest.
The men surround me, their voices a relentless drone as they chant in a language I don’t understand. Their words are jagged and guttural, cutting through the air like shards of glass. Each syllable grates against my mind, making it harder to think, to breathe. The energy from the runes snakes up my arms, curling around me like chains, burrowing into my skin. It burns.
The power inside me roars in defiance, fighting against the pull of their magic. It lashes out, desperate and wild, sending cracks through the stone floor beneath me. But the runes only glow brighter, their grip tightening as the men’s chanting grows louder.
I scream. The sound rips from my throat, raw and animalistic, as if my very soul is being torn apart. The energy that has always been mine—the storm I’ve carried inside me for as long as I can remember—is being dragged out, piece by agonizing piece. It feels like blood draining from a wound that won’t close.
“Stop!” I choke out, my voice breaking. My hands claw at the floor, at the invisible chains binding me. “Please, stop!”
They don’t. Their voices rise, a cacophony of power and control, drowning out my pleas. The runes tighten their hold, dragging more and more of the energy from me. I feel hollow, a gaping void opening in my chest where my power used to be.
“Please!” I scream again, my vision blurring with tears. My body shakes, every muscle straining against the unrelenting force. “I don’t want this! Make it stop!”
The tallest man steps forward, his face illuminated by the sickly green glow. His expression is cold, almost clinical, as if he’s dissecting an insect. “This is necessary, Damien,” he says, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Your power is too wild. Too dangerous. We are taming it. Taming you.”
The word hits me like a blow. Taming. Like I’m some kind of animal. My rage flares, igniting what’s left of the storm inside me. For a moment, the runes falter, and I feel a surge of raw, desperate energy. I lash out, the power exploding from me in a blinding flash of light.
The men stagger, their chanting disrupted, but they recover quickly. The runes flare brighter, their grip turning from chains to claws, digging into my skin. The energy is ripped from me with brutal force, leaving nothing but pain in its wake.
I collapse onto the cold stone floor, gasping for breath. My body feels weak, trembling as if I’ve been wrung dry. I can barely lift my head, but when I do, I see the glow of the runes fading, their task complete. The men stand over me, their faces unreadable.
I reach for the power, for the storm that has always been there, but it’s gone. Or, rather, it’s not mine anymore. I feel its absence like a missing limb, an ache that goes deeper than bone.
“You’re bound to us now,” the tall man says, his voice echoing in the cavern. “Your power is ours to command. In exchange, we will grant you strength—enough to fulfill your role.”
I lift my head, my vision swimming as I glare at him. “What role?” I rasp, my voice barely audible.
His smile is sharp, cruel. “You’ll see.”
I try to push myself up, but my limbs won’t obey. My body feels foreign, like it belongs to someone else. My gaze drifts to my wrist, where the skin feels hot, tender. I blink, my heart sinking as I see it—a dark ring tattooed into my skin, stark against the pale flesh. It wasn’t there before.
“What is this?” I whisper, my voice trembling. I try to rub at it, to scrape it away, but it doesn’t budge. It’s not just a mark. It’s a brand.
“The mark of the Binding,” the man says, his tone almost pleased. “A reminder of who you are now. And who you belong to.”
Belong to. The words sink in like knives, twisting in my gut. I clench my fists, the fight in me flickering weakly, like a flame struggling against the wind. My chest heaves as I try to breathe, but the air feels thin, suffocating.
I glance at the mark again, the reality of it crashing over me like a wave. My power—the one thing that was mine, the one thing that made me more than this hollow shell—is gone. Taken. Bound.
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I’ve already given them enough. I won’t give them my grief too.
They leave me there, broken and alone in the dark. The last words of their chant echo in the cavern, a haunting reminder of what I’ve lost.
The weight of the mark on my wrist feels heavier than any chain. And for the first time in my life, I feel truly powerless.