You may start the song.
☆

Darryl tore his eyes away from Hero to look up at Markus. He declared, "I've got vital information about the massacre."

The guards stiffened by the entrance, as Hero fought his reaction and Markus went serious. Markus absently handed Hero the business proposals back as he muttered to him, "Go and make yourself busy or something."

Hero gulped as he muttered 'Yes, your highness'. He squeezed the proposals tightly in his hands as he stepped back, making eye contact with Darryl as a guard escorted the other two to a private room for discussion. He stared at the retreating backs of his brother and ex-friend. Just then, Derrek decided to take over, his frown turning into a wicked smirk. The guards by the entrance quickly averted their eyes as Hero strode down the hall, eyes narrowed and a playful skip in his step.

Finally stuck in his mind, Hero took this opportunity to scream.

○

How?! I thought he died.

Well, he didn't, little hero. Sucks to be you.

You planned this.

Hero snarled at the inquisitive hum. His fury were making paintings and walls shake as he stormed down the hall.

How did you do it?

Blood replenishing potion, remember. You told me yourself.

Oh god.

Hero couldn't bring himself to think about it.

Why did I do to deserve this? What did you do to me? Of all people, why me?

He went silent at the slight chuckle in his voice. The chuckle echoed in the abandoned hallway, Hero-Derrek slowing down to stroll. Derrek removed his military jacket, lazily thing around his waist as he suddenly stopped. He spoke, decided to torment Hero with absurd words in his own voice.

"I've had urges, my puppet. Everyone has that little sadistic side in them, lurking. I just decided to act upon it, therefore triggering yours."

He dug his hands into his pockets, whistling as he walked. Hero realized that he made the proposals disappear into thin air. He was startled when Derrek started again, "I needed someone with authority. Someone who a reputation, someone who is perceived strong... But unfortunately isn't. You're perfect, doll."

Hero was about to argue back when Derrek stopped, turning to a clock. It was quite early in the afternoon, and Hero watched as Derrek pulled out his sword. Hero felt himself inwardly wincing. Derrek laughed hysterically in Hero's voice, breaking into a run towards a window at the end of the hallway.

Hero shut his eyes as Derrek launched him out the window foot-first, kicking down the glass with a powerful kick. Glass shattered in a thunderous clatter, as Hero drifted onto the ground slowly, boots digging into sharp glass shards. Sword in hand, a malicious smile on his face, Hero scaled the wall and ran to the village, ready to wreck the town and show everyone who he really was.

○

"So, what kind of information do you have? Evidence?"

Darryl was still standing, staring straight past Markus. He was staring at a portrait on the wall behind Markus' desk. They were at Markus' office, the king himself having sit down. There was a chair prepared for Darryl, but he was too busy seething at the portrait.

Right there, was the traitor.

The little bastard. Darryl knew that someone with such power would obviously use it for their own sick, twisted ways. The way he saw Hero grow, learning way too quickly for his own good. Hero was curious, and he always found an answer, no matter what. Darryl was way too loyal to his kind, and he was just looking out for the young man. He was going to consult the Chief Warlock to help Hero.

The portrait held a straight-faced Hero, next to a proud-looking Markus, a crown placed in his messy nest of hair. Red royal robes were draped on his shoulders. He bore rings on his fingers, smiling softly. The general next to him was dressed in uniform, arms behind his back, feet squared apart. He look smart and handsome in his 'stand at attention' position.

But Darryl literally saw that smart man point a sword at him. A sword, that was on the portrait, tucked under Hero's arm in its sheath. Darryl had it in his torso, had bled out on his own floor of his supposedly safe home. Even seeing a little boy skip down the streets innocently made Darryl snarl under his breath. He once saw Hero as innocent. Having escaped Russian soldiers at a young age with an even younger brother.

Now that sweet young teenager was a veteran. A soldier. His job was to kill. And Darryl suffered under his hands. Markus noticed his old friend's scowl and gulped. This might not be good, then. Darryl then looked at Markus straight in the eye with an odd fierce look, frightening the king a little bit. Markus cleared his throat and straightened his posture and prodded Darryl for answers.

Darryl looked furious before he removed his cloak. Markus watched in discomfort as Darryl discarded his shirt on his lap. Markus stared at the bandaged torso, his brows furrowed in concern. Carefully but still wincing, the wizard unraveled his wound. There, an ugly scar rested, still healing in pink tissue. Markus could tell that it was made rather painfully and was deep. He stared up at Darryl when the wizard whispered.

"I was the first victim of the serial killer."

Markus stood, his chair skidding across the carpet as he snapped, "Why didn't you get help? Why didn't you inform the police officers about this?"

Darryl snapped back with equal anger, spitting in Markus' face, "I can stabilize myself, thank you very much! And I was too much in denial to give the information to the officers."

Markus softened, but there still were fire in his eyes, "Why?"

Darryl met his eyes with a dark, cold fury, different from bright, blazing anger in Markus' eyes. "I know the serial killer. His face, his name, his location. Everything. I knew him. We both know him."

Markus' eyes widened in shock and before he could ask, Darryl snatched up the dagger holding down scrap paper on the desk. Markus watched as Darryl marched to the portrait and swung with all his strength.

The dagger hit the portrait with an overwhelming strength, the frame shaking on its spot.

It took Markus a moment to realize that the dagger pinned on Hero's , his big brother, the only blood he has left, face. With a grunt, he shuffled for the pistol hidden in his drawer and aimed it at Darryl. The wizard did not flinch, but could not help but feel that he was betrayed by the second Persson son. Markus' finger was resting on the trigger as he drawled, "You think you can stroll into my castle thinking we're all buddy-buddy just so you can insult my brother? Your superior? I can have you executed and no one will question me."

Darryl placed his hand on the dagger and ripped it out, the portrait tearing with a loud rip as he tried to get it back in his hand. Markus looked even more pissed, but Darryl tried to reason with him, "I saw him, Markus. Believe me. I tried to protect him from what he could become. Now, I'm just trying to protect you."

Markus was having none of it, the pistol trembling as he grew emotional. "From my brother? The one who protected me from everything? The one who sacrificed everything for me? The one who saved me from almost drowning? If it weren't for him, I would have been long dead."

Darryl did not show any sign of weakness or vulnerability. He questioned softly, "Have you noticed anything odd about him when the 'first' kill was reported? Was he acting strange? Sadistic?"

Darryl felt a flicker hope when the pistol lowered a bit, as Markus muttered, "He was more quieter than I've ever seen him. He was acting all cautious."

The pistol then raised and was aimed at him again. "He's a busy man, Kirkland. He could just as well be stressed."

Darryl grumbled at the king's stubbornness. He pondered on whether he should expose Hero. He quickly made his decision, Hero meant nothing to him anyways. His goal now was to get rid of Hero so Markus could be safe. Minecraftia would be safe with one less ruthless murderer.

"He's not normal, Markus! I would know."

The king laughed, "Don't hit me with your theories and bullshit."

"He's powerful. Have you even looked at him? He's so small, so frail. He has defeated everyone I've ever seen him battle. He fought much more muscular men, he fought while outnumbered. He won every single time, Markus. How on Earth would he be able to do that?"

Markus was about to call him off for calling his brother weak, but gulped as he started realizing the truth in Darryl's words. He still kept his sword high, he did not have enough evidence that his beloved brother was responsible to killing innocent people.

"He told me, Markus. He went to me about strange things. He can teleport, control elements, speak to animals! I don't know what else he can do, but none of them are normal. He is not normal."

The pistol was lowered as Markus stared at Darryl with a disbelieving look. Darryl nodded as he whispered, "He has evil intentions, Markus. I don't think he's your brother anymore."

The door burst open and they both turned to a guard. The guard noticed the face of his general ripped to pieces on the portrait. He saw the pistol in his king's hand, the dagger in the stranger's hands. He was about to draw his own rifle, but his king snapped, "Get on with it!"

He dropped his rifle to sling around his shoulder again before reporting, "There's a fire raging in the palace, your highness. The serial killer of the previous murders was said to be there. Your brother, General Persson, was seen there. The plan is to get you to a safe place away from the chaos, your highness."

Darryl exchanged worried glances with Markus. The two were quiet, the guard waiting nervously. Markus made eye contact with the guard, who jumped. "Discard whatever shit plan my brother made, we're going into the village and I demand that you leave us be. Get Jeb to safety. However, I need that serial killer caught, either dead or alive, by today. Is that understood?"

Markus had got out two extra military rifles and gave one to Darryl, who accepted it awkwardly. He much preferred his wand. The guard was sputtering, since he was not to disobey his general's emergency plans. One look at the king, however, he learnt that all Perssons were fierce in nature, as he saluted in confirmation.

As Darryl and Markus ran down the hall, the wizard turned to promise, "We'll catch the serial killer, I swear. It is him. I'm sorry."

Markus shook his head, his heart still aching that his brother would do such a thing. He grumbled and kept quiet, Darryl watching him in concern.

○

Hero had always wanted to be free.

But not like this. Oh god, never like this.

He wanted to use his powers freely, but only for the good. Not to destroy and take the lives of the innocent. This time, it was different from every night. Derrek was not in full control of his body, but he was giving orders. He was forced to comply, since he tried to get away, but was faced with a searing pain. It was his neck, and he can smell smoke rising from there.

To everyone else, he looked to be a soldier in action, swinging his sword around with grace. Alternating between sword and rifle, while looking amazing. But everyone was suffering at his hands, every person he aimed the barrel of his gun at plopped to the ground with one push of his finger. Blood splattered and painted his uniform in red as his sword slashed through flesh. Derrrek was laughing maniacally in the back of his mind.

A few of his own soldiers on duty saw him, and he had either killed or disabled them. He saw the same betrayal he saw in Darryl's eyes. He felt the brief pain every time he took someone down. The spells he learnt were flying left and right, stinging and cutting fleeing citizens.

Oooh! I was thinking for a villain name for you. All historical murderers and convicts had nicknames. Since I can't find your actual name, I decided to join your pathetic name with something. Hero-something or something-Hero?

Hero was trying to hold up a shield to block open fire from his officers as he snapped, "First one, first one! Fuck."

Oh, you know that time when Marky-poo almost drowned? I found a word for water, well, seawater anyways.

Hero flinched as a short flashback made its way to the forefront of his mind. Water. Still. Brother. Dying. Not breathing. Help. Help. Help.

Snap out of it, you weak thing.

Under an order, he did. The burning on his neck was started to prickle again. He let down the shield for a bit to open fire back, his accuracy taking down five of the eleven officers facing against him. He had summoned just a bit of fire to spread to some straw and the area he was in was engulfed in fire. The warmth fed him strength, blazing under the stress and wild emotions he was having. He was in a battle with his people. Diving between alleys, and dodging people, his lithe body allowed him to be agile.

Brine. You are quite salty, haha. It also means seawater. You have always been afraid of the sea after that poor drowning incident. Hero-something, right? Hm, that's odd. Herobrine? Wait, quite fitting. What do you think, my doll?

Fucking disgusting.

Your name, not mine.

Running from the remaining officers, he allowed them to fire at him while chasing him. His legs were blessed with pure muscle, minus all the strength given with his powers. He had always been quite he fast runner, and with his slender body and flexibility, he could lose all of the officers. He growled sharply as a bullet grazed his ear. He felt a sharp pain and quickly dipped his hand on his ear.

He felt a dip, and brought his bloody fingers back to his face. His ear was chipped. He yelped again as another bullet slid past his leg, cutting him slightly. They were catching up. Concentrating, he teleported himself to a different part of the palace. He found himself in a place where the fire would eventually spread to soon, and heard collective gasps. He looked around himself and found the fleeing people he saw earlier resting.

Take them down.

Hero bit his lip as he cocked his rifle. Immediately, people screamed as they scrambled to get away. They were not safe. He shot down a few of them, and switched back to his sword, springing forward and putting his muscles to work. He speared a couple of people, before strolling to a secluded part of the area. Behind a church and next to a school yard, a wide field for playing. He figured there would be people hiding.

Hero felt odd. Usually, in his nightly killings, he would be terrified. Right now, he felt a little bit free. Just a little. He loathed himself for it. He had always wanted action, to see his skills being put to use on someone rather than a wooden dummy in the shooting hall at the base.

Finish Kirkland. He's running at you from behind.

Let him wait.

Derrek shut up. He was impressed. There we go, he thought. Right there was the clever, cunning and sadistic part of Hero no one knew. It was what Derrek anticipated to see.

As soon as Darryl tried to slam the barrel of the rifle up Hero's head, Hero swung and kicked the rifle out of Darryl's hands. Darryl stood, with nothing in his hands, staring dumbly at Hero.

Say something, Herobrine. Go wild, my pet.

"I'm a general, Darryl. Of course I can defend myself from a weakling like you."

After seeing the shock and horror in Darryl's eyes, Hero felt something strange. He felt cold. It was like ice was growing up his veins. He did not want them to go away, though. He wanted the ice to take over his entire body. He wanted to act like himself. The smart, sly and seductive him. That soldier who fluttered eyes to make enemies do his bidding, rather than glare them to submission. He wanted to use his tongue to string sweet lies, drawing victims to his clutches.

Hero felt like an animal inside of him was singing, high and lovely.

Hero loved and lived for expressions like Darryl's. Derrek read his thoughts with a smirk, there was his puppet, all mature and gorgeous.

Darryl drew his wand, spruce wood sparking in silver. Hero could see the cracks in the middle section. Darryl must have repaired it. Hero could not use his wand anymore, as it could not hold such enormous magic. Hero dropped to a sultry stance, he realized how much battle was like a dance. Graceful movements and right choices might draw prey closer, and you can take them in a wink. Darryl started to flush, a sweet smell hanging in the air but gasped as he found himself distracted.

He realized right when Hero dashed right at his face, leaping high into the air and spinning a kick at Darryl's face. The kick sent Darryl's stance off. He landed on Darryl's chest with both feet, the wand having dropped far away. He smirked as he pressed his boots on Darryl's face, who was staring in horror up at him.

"Your eyes."

Hero cocked his head before absently waving his hand. A mirror seemed to conjure in front of him and peered in, weight still pinning Darryl down. He saw his pure white eyes, but they seemed to glow. He could see wisps and mists fly from the corners of his eyes. He also noticed the way his hair looked. He much preferred when it reached to his shoulders and he could tie them up. He thinks he can pull of this messy short look. He noticed how sharp his jaw was, and how soft and supple his face way. His features were refined and pretty.

While Hero was admiring his new beauty, Darryl wiggled under him, the mirror disappearing. Hero stared down at Darryl with a playful smile before getting his rifle hanging on his bag. Hands wrapped around the barrel, he raised it high, aiming for Darryl's forehead.

Do it.

And he slammed the stock down on Darryl's head. Hard. He saw the force make the wizard tremble before going limp. A large purple bruise quickly formed, and cuts made by the sharp part of the stock bled. He smiled sweetly down at the now, finally dead body before stepping back. He kicked soot and dirt onto Darryl's face and proceeded to walk away, humming. Derrek was preaching in Hero's mind, praising the sadistic part of Hero.

Come along, Herobrine. We've got some work to do.

Never name anything else ever again.

But it suits you beautifully. Water may be your weakness, and air may be your strength, but you do fit the properties of a water bender. You're graceful, alluring but if people stray too close into your shores, they may never see land again. Call yourself whatever you want, but that's your name now.

"So it is true."

Hero snapped his head to the side and froze at the sight of his blood kin standing among the trees. Markus stood still, rifle in his hands, barrel pointing straight at Hero. His fingers were poised over the trigger. Hero trained him well. The tiny hopeful and good little piece of him in the back of his mind screamed to stop everything, that that was his brother. The sadistic and playful side did not yield.

So he sprang forward, sword ready, and Markus screamed as he couldn't bring himself to shoot his brother.