The Path of The Ravager

[swift]

[font=Century Gothic]The boy looked around, letting it all sink in. But it didn't really feel like his, not really him. Something woke up inside him, his calmness evaporated, and he got angry at the inanimate objects, angry that they didn't deliver on the promise to remind him of his life so far.
He felt frustrated, helpless, powerless. He did not like that feeling. It was one of his worst fears, he knew that by instinct, being powerless, he liked to have things under control, every little thing here and there.

He tore down the posters, threw them all into the trash, took down the various ship models, all into the trash.
He rummaged through the room at the same time, trying to find something that could remind him of something, anything.
He kept throwing things away, more after more, until the room looked very empty.

In the bottom of a drawer, he found something though. He did not know what it was exactly. It was purple, with a solid metalish tan bottom. He looked at it from afar, wondering what it was, what it did, what purpose it had, if it held something of mystery within itself. He slowly reached for it, in expectance of something grand.

It felt strange in his hand. It felt.. almost as if alive. He could feel something coursing through his arm while he held it in his hand, he did not know what it was, but knew instinctively that it was something of value. It felt as if it was charging up, his hand shook a bit, and then there was a sudden surge of .. something.. from it. His hand trembled, and he instinctively tried to throw it away, but he couldn't shake it loose. What the hell was happening?!
It suddenly stopped, and he dropped it on the floor. He looked at it again, lying there. He sat on his bed, watching it, as if expecting it'd suddenly do something miraculous. Yet nothing happened. He looked at his hand, and noticed a small symbol on it, like a burn mark, and it looked familiar somehow, had something about it, the
way the curves were put together. The way it all fit into one perfectly.

That feeling. It was.. pure power. He never experienced it before, but now, now he felt raw might course through his veins. It was an addictive feeling indeed.
But he did not know what to think of it yet, exactly.

He slowly reached for it again, and took it into his arm, but this time it didn't feel like anything, it was just inanimate. It felt.. depleted.
He wanted to find out what it was very bad, and he decided he'd definitely ask his father about it.

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<span style="color:#000000">All morons hate it when you call them a moron.

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