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    ‘He who makes a beast of himself get’s rid of the pain of being a man.’
    -Unknown

    *** Three Years Ago ***
    Nick laughed, a cold, ruthless sound that spread through the air like fire. His face crazed, crimson blood falling slowly from the tip of his swords.
    "Stop it!" A voice screamed. And then a figure, one that through the flames of the burning buildings, could not be seen. The figure knew Nick well, but right now he seemed so foreign . . . So unknown, so unfamiliar.

    Nick lowered the swords to his sides, taking in all that he had caused. The villagers screaming for their lives, the crackling of the fire, the smell of blood and burning flesh. Something inside him welcomed this scene, like that part of him had been waiting for it. The other part, the smaller voice, hated the scene. The smaller part had kept Nick’s demon in check for such a long time. Fifteen years it had kept Nick sane. But now . . . All reason had left him, leaving Nick a cold, ruthless killer. Not a demon. But something worse. A creature who’s name is still left unknown.

    "They deserve to die..." Nick said in a low, bloodthirsty tone.

    "I know they hurt you. I know they drove you to this . . . But you have to stop!" The person yelled, desperately trying to convince him that what he was doing was wrong. But Nick was too far gone, too far consumed by the demon that they had drawn out.

    "They showed no mercy!!" He yelled, his voice hateful and fierce. "...So why should I?" The last sentence was filled with the presence of his demon, and his voice was too distant. There now was almost no trace that Nick had every been sane. If whoever was trying to get him to stop this bloodthirsty rampage did so soon, Nick would never return to himself again.

    The figure, seeing that begging him to stop was getting no where, tried a different approach. "If you continue, you know better than anyone what I'll have to do!" It yelled at him. "I kill creatures like the one you’ve become, and if you don’t stop I'll have to do the same to you." The person ran in front of Nick, blocking him.

    "Then take your best shot!!" Nick shouted at the figure, opening his arms and leaving himself undefended.

    The figure, however, did nothing. It just stood there. Too sad, too angry, or just too stunned to move. Finally, after several minutes Nick turned to leave, leaving the person he once loved behind.

    *** Three Years Later ***
    More fire. More screams. More dead bodies. Just like three years ago. Only this time, it was a different city. Different people screaming. No reason for the rampage this time, though. Just pure anger. At what? Nothing really. Just left over anger from what those people did. It was those people that drove him to this, and he wouldn’t rest until every one of them was dead. It was all the same to him, though. Just another batch of dead bodies. Just another urge fulfilled. That was all it was, and all it ever would be.

    For the next three years since that incident, and up to this very day, the monster inside Nick has controlled him, and now at the age of eighteen, it was more active than dormant. If what he did three years ago to that village was cruel, he was beyond cruel now. He was . . . Evil. There was no other way to describe it other than pure evil.

    "Stop!" Came a voice, the same one that had begged him to stop before. At first, Nick paid it no mind. He was no where close to sane, and sometimes memories took on lives of their own. But then the voice called out again. “I said stop!” This time, the voice was followed by a bullet.

    "s**t." Murmured Nick, just barely diving away form the bullets path. He turned, facing the direction the voice had come from, and drew a silver pistol. Guns were a lot more convenient than swords. With swords, being in close range with your target was important, but with guns, you could be several feet away and still hit the mark. On the other hand, Nick still preferred swords. Possibly because the creature that drove him to fight was ancient. It preferred the original methods of killing, and Nick had no reason to object. In fact, on occasion, he enjoyed his anger fueled killings. They were . . . Exhilarating.

    Another bullet whizzed past Nick’s ear, just barely missing it’s target. Nick turned and faced the direction of the bullet, and his eyes instantly focused on a figure ducking behind the remains of a still burning building. Nick aimed, and fired. The bullet flew inches above the retreating head, but didn’t hit it’s mark. That was unlike Nick, He hit his mark every time.