Kiador's eyes were bloodshot as he stared the man down, watching his face turn blue as his own hands choked the life from him. His face was dispassionate; his eyes cold as the man's legs buckled beneath his weight and brought him to the floor. He gasped harshly, struggling for air that his own fingers wouldn't allow him.
"Do you feel it, Father?" came the whisper from the boy who was only seventeen years old. "Can you feel life bleeding away from you, slipping through your fingers, out of reach? Why don't you get up, Father? Weren't you supposed to be better than me?"
The man's coloring was a dark chocolate brown, his thick black hair shaved close to his head. His almond-brown eyes glared balefully up at the youth then squeezed shut as his mind raged against Kiador's, struggling for purchase.
"Come on, Father. You can do better than this. I'm the weak little boy, you're the big strong parental type."
"…"
"They'll be here soon, Father. They'll probably kill me, but that's the best part of all. You'll be dead by then anyway."
<…>
"Can't even mindspeak, can you? That's a pity." The boy's eyes narrowed into sharp gray slits. Sharp as knives.
The man let out an inarticulate scream as his hands released his neck. He sucked in breath like a fish out of water, and then his eyes widened in horror as his hands took a hold of his head. "K…Kia… d-don't…" he rasped out and found himself mute a few moments later.
"Shut up. I'm tired of hearing you talk, old man."
He watched and smiled as the man convulsed, the sound of bones shattering as he twisted his head sharply in his hands, his neck snapping. Kiador let out a soft sigh as the man collapsed in a tangled pile, taking a step back.
"I win. See you in hell, Jereleth."
When Kiador awoke, he found himself in a strange room. The walls were devoid of personality, stretching whitely towards an uncaring ceiling. He was lying in the middle of the uncarpeted floor, dressed in the same clothing he passed out in. Slowly, the boy climbed to his feet, casting a wary glance around him. Where was he?
Kiador Parker.
He flinched at the booming voice in his head, but tried not to show neither it or his fright. "That's not my name anymore," he challenged the blank walls. "You know that."
The voice - or was that voices? - didn't seem to care. You are charged with premeditated murder and treason against the Mother and Father.
"Really? Thanks ever so much for clarifying that for me." He was playing with fire and he knew it, but he felt disconnected from his body. It was somebody else saying these things, not him.
In any case, there was silence.
Kiador shifted his weight and tried to maintain an air of nonchalance. "The old bastard had it coming to him anyway."
Don't you love your Parents, Kiador?
He blinked. "I…"
Aren't you grateful for how They take such good care of you?
"I.. I.. Of course I am! I didn't…" Wait! This wasn't how it was supposed to go! What is he saying? "I didn't mean…"
It's not nice to be ungrateful.
"I'm not! I-"
Would you like to go live back with the Mundanes, Kiador? Would you like to live with the ones that bore you? That hated you from the very beginning?
"No!"
The room started to spin.
Do you remember how much they hated you? They laughed at you, Kiador. Do you remember what your father used to do to show you how much he hated you?
His knees buckled beneath his weight. His hands went to his head, holding it as he tried to battle out the mental fingers digging into his mind. But they were so much stronger, so much more talented than Jereleth was…
"Stop it! Oh God, stop! Get out of my head! Leave me alone!"
Ungrateful children must be punished.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, stop… Stop it! Daddy, stop it! Stop hurting me, Daddy! Please! Please don't!
"Daddy!"
For the second time that day, Kiador awoke on the floor. The white walls and ceiling were gone, replaced with the familiar drabness of his chambers. His head pounded and his body ached, but he dragged himself up anyway and stumbled towards the sink.
The cold water helped to wake him up. He looked up to stare at his reflection in the mirror. His black hair was in disarray, and his gray eyes were bloodshot and looked as if they hadn't seen sleep in weeks. He felt as if he hadn't slept in weeks!
Kiador sighed as he pulled away from the mirror and stumbled towards a chair, collapsing in it. "Oh, hells! My head!" he moaned to the uncaring ceiling, and buried his face in his hands.
Their voices were still in his head, still picking it to pieces. Why had he killed Teacher Jereleth? Why wouldn't he tell them? They had made him apologize for it, admit the wrongness of it, made him promise to repent, but… How had he overpowered him so efficiently, and why had he killed him? You're not supposed to kill your Teacher! It just doesn't happen.
"I'll never tell Them," he told the mirror firmly, pleased to see that his reflection seemed to share his resolve. "I'll kill myself before I tell Them."
It'll drive them nuts, he knew. Kiador smirked. Good! Let them suffer. Pleased, he peeled his gloves off and splashed some more water on to his face.
The next morning he threw out the photograph of a lanky boy with bright gray eyes and a black man with his arm around him with the rest of the garbage.