Surrender to Wrath

It’s an odd feeling. He felt it. It used to be insults or references that forced him to explode on people. It was as furious and terrible as it came. But he knew it was happening. It was controlled. It was a destructive burn to scatter his enemies and to focus himself. But now… he felt that it seemed more and more to encompass him.

That man came to mind. He had slaughtered him. He had beaten and defeated him. He had made his point known, and yet he felt the need to continue on. His body pushed him. His force made him move to the absolute edge. He had to be there. And the scariest thing was that he had enjoyed it. Every second of it. Every movement of that blurred and terrible battle was like a ride, and he cared to have for it. There was no reason or rhyme to the work that he undertaking. It was almost natural. Better to say Animalistic.

Despite the almost complete loss of empathy and true understanding of the goings on of everything, he had on odd feeling of control over the situation. Or rather, he had a feeling of domination over the situation. Perhaps that's why he enjoyed it so much, the fact that he could release every chain and every kind of restraint, especially those from society, and just let himself loose. Show the world exactly how mad it was through a reflection of it. But he frightened himself. He feared what could happen if he became that way near the only two people he ever cared for. Or at least, the two people that he still cared for personally, his brother, and the spark that called itself Gotovina.

But he didn’t care. He refused to be weak. He would never allow those things that haunted both himself and his brother to hold sway over him again. Never again allow those things to hold him and chain him. Better to be rapaciously and maddeningly free than to be chained and held like an animal under the heel and control of others. Those who have been slaves are best suited to be the master. Not those who have never seen or felt hardship. Not those fools who would dare command them with reckless abandon due to their birth and their command over weaker willed individuals.

He would learn to harness his anger. Not control it. Another thought came to his mind. The three others in the desert. He had beat them voraciously. The first challenger was his own age. He felt not the slightest twinge or pain of guilt in his defeat. But in the defeat and brutalization of the others, he felt suffering and pain. He could hardly believe that he could have done that. That they would be subjected to such a terrible fate in the defence and the faithfulness of allegiance to their friend.

But they brought it upon themselves. Even in his rage, in the peak of his mad fury, he had warned and given them their just dues. He felt something slipping. Something clicking. Ticking and sinking within him. He would be as the sea. Tranquil. Silent. Calm. At peace with himself and all things around him, even as the clouds gather and the darkness looms about he would be as consistent as the waves and the tides. Then suddenly, without recompense and warning, the maelstrom would froth and the storm would make itself known. It would be indisputable that he had reached his limit.
All those who let him get there would know they had made a mistake. They would know that what they had done was wholly contributed to them by their own actions and foolish deeds. And free from guilt, he would call them to battle and slaughter them. Such was the fate of fools. Such was the duty of the judge.

Control was not what was being sought. It was like a wild animal, caged and ever asking to burst free. What was being sought was understanding. What was being sought was direction and intensification. What was being sought… was nothing less than his Wrath being made known to his enemies.