Beneath the Mask - Part 2

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_Drake

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Edited By _Drake
Nightmares are each time more and more frequent.
Nightmares are each time more and more frequent.

It was in a bed alike the one I lean on right now... The first time when lustfully kissed, the first relation, I was gentle to her, suffused with the enthralling love, reciprocal as every zestful brush of lips, each endearing caress and delicate remark of her persona, so soft, lighthearted... Stoutly build, roughened with time, yet emblazoned on her charisma, exuding at her velvety touch, encompassing me, enrapturing my glare, those glistening locks of hers, those alluring, azure eyes, I dove into them once and felt like I could drown happly inside.

But happiness is never my jam.

A damp evening, we had returned to American land, under the radar, at least it seemed so. She cocked her brow at the rented car, accustomed to luxury, it was no pompous vehicle for such first-class dame, I held the door tenderly, an aloof curl of the labium sprouting a purely passionate dimple, cast away with the buffeting zephyrs. They could have shot both of us down that single moment, I would succumb contently, with no more to accomplish, no more to target. They did not. Why do always everyone around me needs to suffer? Always!

The car key gyrated, sufficing the thunderous cacophony of its engine, it was quaint, but swimmingly ignored. I heavily stomped against the pedal, darting through the highway. Her favorite band, Pearl Jam, the song was Black, she bewitched my sight as lyrics burst off the windows. And then it crashed, I don't acknowledge what hit us, I just remember glimpses, prompt gleams of light, fire, begging pleads and black.

They told me her shouts were enough to make me frown whilst dismayed, the ceaseless punches rocketing her way, slithered skin pouring blood on the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. Her agonizing shivering finally awoke me, and a devilish figure aside her mocked me, talking about some shit of rare breed. He had tortured me too, and 'blessed' me with immortality so I could sink in pain and perceive its advantageous actions. Not to say he was wrong, manhood is, indeed, as immoral and ridiculous as he stated, but that was nothing new, my past simply reassured.

He drew a knife close to her neck, she watered, imploring pardon for whatever we had committed. The periwinkle-clad figure did not flinch, inquiring me about my allegiance to his cause. I was desperate, nodding and yelling for him to get away from her simultaneous, that acre taste of defeat in my mouth. He said, and now I quote: "Then if you truly are allegiant to me, my servant. You shall not be marked by this." Blood spilled, and my tears blended with flowing blood from a lacerated throat, it seemed like those were my guts, because it was much more intense in me than it would have been to her. A parched clump against the dirty flooring and my heart shattered for the first and last time. The carapace thickened and I was hit on the nape.

Nightmares haunted my mind, those fervent meetings, lovely and sumptuous curves... They were gone... Forever. While I would be cursed to live forever. I was tired of all this clarity, of comprehending, and so I adhered to the complete oblivion, it was, obviously, aided by the dark magic of Overman, garnished by his spells, he made me forget all the names. Even mine. He made me forget everything but pain. Pain was the utmost sentiment, reality itself. So I just banged my head against a wall ceaselessly as saliva was expelled from my mouth and the cracks of my skull cried tears of vermilion.

After some time, though, you get tired of insanity too. You see its flaws, its lack of meaning. SO I coursed my own path amid the shades, drawing and scheming my new 'me', the Damage-Reducing Agent for Killing Employments, a merciless marauder, steadfast and out of morals. Only the sore that was a major problem, one I could not find other solution to it. One that clowned inside my cranium, leaving its marks wherever it went through. It tickled, like those knives punctuating my stomach. I laughed, but not a mere guffaw, not a straightforward chuckle, no. A continuous, obnoxious cackle. It all made sense in my twisted view. It was so crystal-clear and I failed to realize.

No Caption Provided

And that is the horrendous bit of my life I usually avoid telling. Why? Because I am moved by it, because it fuels my revenge and my objective as Drake, as this Carmine Comedian that stalks and jokes, as this vagabond that, seemingly, is as shallow as a plain table, but holds far more secrets beneath his mask. Not the obsidian and rubicund, but the layers overlapping his true self. His true pain. After all, if it's a Drake the world needs, if it's a bloodthirsty murderer it implores for...

Then it's a killing machine it will get.
Then it's a killing machine it will get.

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ShadowSwordmaster

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This is well written.Your improving a lot these past months.

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Rakdos_Dagon

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Ooh, my likely.

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_Drake

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@rakdos_dagon: Thanks, bro. Appreciated.

@shadowswordmaster: Thanks! =D

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_Drake

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Ahem...

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Pyrogram

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Alright, read it, and damn.

This character is... Like, depressed. LOL

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_Drake

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Penumbra_Fancy_

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Do you have a link to part 1?

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_Drake

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Penumbra_Fancy_

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Penumbra_Fancy_

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#10  Edited By Penumbra_Fancy_

Magnífico! Encore, encore!

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_Drake

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Penumbra_Fancy_

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