The Path of The Ravager

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Years passed. He was still but a child of twelve years, but advanced for his age. Everyone saw something in him, a potential, now if it was for good or evil, noone knew. And he always did feel very different from others. The same things did not interest him.
He cared little for senseless fun, the waste of time. Even from his youth he knew what he sought.
Throughout his further life, he never did stand the sight of other people too much.
He did appear very social, having a lot of friends, a lot of acquaintances. He was indeed very charming, he could make anyone feel the way he wanted them to feel. But they meant little to him. He felt no loyalty, other than the one he felt for himself. He did not know love, other than the desire for power.
Most of it all was fake. All manipulation. All for making himself fit in more, to avoid mutterings, gossip. Although he always sought recognition, awe, admiration, he never let it be seen.

Those other people meant nothing to him, however, they were just instruments for a further goal.
They were weak, worthless, lacking in challenge.
Little worms squirming through the earth, trying to find a way, but not seeing the big picture. He did not see it yet, but he at least knew there was one. He knew that things are never the way they appear. Everything had a hidden significance, a history, a power lying within.
Even people.

But it all needed to get discovered, all needed to be developed, improved, studied.
Knowledge. That was true power. Knowing the nature of things, their very essence, what makes them tick, how they work, all that lies hidden within. He knew that in instinct somehow, as if something was speaking to him about it, and he knew that, if you gain that sort of knowledge, it would allow you to manipulate things the way you wanted to.

But he still felt aimless, he did not know how to achieve the things he wanted to achieve. He wanted to make himself famous, revered, feared, great.
He could not stand the grime of an ordinary life, the pointlessness of it all.
He needed something to direct him. He was always on the lookout for a new experience, a challenge, something, anything, to give himself purpose.

That little artifact. Now that felt like power, that felt like it could give him the answers. But it was silent, in wait, who knows. He needed to make it speak to him somehow, but it always stubbornly refused.
He'd make it speak. One day, someday. But for now, he decided to wade through life and see what comes along the way.

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

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