barongrimstone

[barongrimstone]

The Following text contains themes and references to physical, emotional and, sexual abuse. I’ve done my best in handling these topics as best I can but if you have any suggestions on handling them better please give them to me. Reader discretion is advised. Please enjoy and please leave any criticisms you have in the comments. Thank you.

The Red King cradled the child, the boy's skin was dark,The color of caramel sweets. his tiny hands grasped at his fathers fingers, grabbing the digits and shaking playfully, as if they were rattles. The young prince laughed and his father laughed with him. The old god was content, peace had long eluded him. kindness and innocence seemed to have forsaken him but here they were, cradled in his arms, trying to eat his fingers. He smiled, though you could not see it on his face for it was lacking the usual components. Only his eyes,Glowing a warm red, marked his dark opalescent skin. The child mumbled in his fathers arms, closing his tiny eyes as he drifted away to sleep. The child’s mother walked outside to greet the boys, her hair was the color of coal, with a sheen rivaled only by the gloss of silk. She sat by her husband, laying a pale hand on his smooth, featureless face. And he gazed at her, his eyes conveying his emotions to her through a mere glance. Emotions he couldn’t describe even with his otherworldly understanding. The Joys of fatherhood, this babe, he’d kill for him, he’d die for him. “I love you sweet prince.” Said the Red King, the god of pain.

The Red King stood over on the edge, his eyes peering down to the streets below him. Lights, sounds, they all flooded his senses, his gaze drifted around hundreds, hell, likely thousands of red silhouettes all around the city, all of them in pain, all of them needing his help, needing his attention. But some need it more than others, he focuses on a singular silhouette, a young child judging by the size, cowering as a larger one stood over them, raising a clenched fist. striking the smaller shape. The king's eyes hardened, narrowing with rage.

He put a foot over the edge and dropped into a free fall. Turning his head downwards into a skydive. Then he caught the air, large leathery wings, the same shade as his opalescent skin, ripped through the wind and carried him forward towards the cowering child. His wing beats grew faster and faster until in an instant he crashed right through the window, showering an overweight man and young boy in a cascade of jagged glass.

The wings receded into his back, through the fabric of his coat and shirt. He rose, shaking glass off his shoulders and pulling a shard from his face, what would have been a scar sealed up near instantly leaving not a sign anything was ever there. He walked forward, grabbing the large man by the shoulder and pushing him aside. The men yelled and lunged to attack, his fist flying at the Red Kings temple, cracking his across the face. The King didn’t flinch, he didn’t budge. It was like the man had struck a brick wall and it damn well felt like it. The King grabbed his shoulder, and shoved him into a sitting position in a nearby chair. “I’ll deal with you later.” He said, his voice was low and threatening with a rasp. It was like sand rubbing against gravel.

He stepped towards the cowering boy, the boy's eyes were wet, tears stained his flustered cheeks and bruises ran along his arms and legs. His right eye was swollen purple. His lip was split, blood flowed from his mouth. The Red King sqauted down the kids' level. “Hello child.” He said, his voice now carrying a much softer tone, still raspy but comforting. “Are you the Devil?” The kid said, choking on his fear and blood from his swollen lip. “No.” Replied the Red King, his voice still full of his soft tone. “Are you an angel?” Asked the boy. “Not in the slightest.” He replied. “Then what are you? Are- are you going to hurt me.” Asked the boy, fear making his voice quiver. “No, I’m here to help you.” Said the King. He raised from his squat and offered his hand to the boy. The Father, presumably, went to argue but stopped when the Red King's eyes turned back to him. The boy took the God's hand and he helped him up, the boy limped slightly but managed fine. “Let’s go talk to the policemen, alright?” Said the Red King, the boy looked to his father, who met his son's gaze with fury, red faced and pupils dilated. “Ok.” Said the little boy. Sirens wailing in the distance.

The Red King hoisted him up into his arms and walked to the edge, he stepped off the edge again but this time he seemed to float down. Keeping the boy's eyes buried in his shoulder, away from the heights. Within a few moments they were standing on the ground, approaching a nearby police officer. One of many who had arrived from the window incident being called in. The Red King knew the officer, his name was Smith. He was a trustworthy cop and the only one the King would approach for sensitive matters such as this. He set the boy down and said to Smith. “His father was beating him, likely for a while. I’m not sure of any other abuse but I’d say there was verbal abuse involved.” He walked away and turned his attention back up to the building. Back to the broken apartment window he had barreled through. “What are you going to do?” Asked smith, taking the boy's hand. “I’m going to have a talk with his father.” He crouched slightly and launched himself into the air, he grabbed the ledge of the window and pulled himself up and through the window once more.

The Father had left his seat, grabbing a beer from the fridge, he had jumped when the Red King returned. Dropping the brown bottle, which erupted into pieces on the kitchen floor. “Take a seat.” Said the king and the man did so, intimidated by the Red King's appearance. He obeyed and plopped down in the same chair he was forced into minutes before. “Why did you do it.” Asked the King, his gaze weighing heavy on the man. The man looked at him incredulously. Taking a moment to reflect on the question. “I told him to do something and he didn’t do it.” Replied the man. “So you beat him black and blue over what? A missing chore? Did he not get a beer fast enough? Pathetic.” Replied the king, his voice stern but not exceeding a respectable volume. “I-“ the man went to defend himself but the King cut him off. “I know your father did the same to you, I know, I can smell it on you. I know he did more than just beat you and yell at you.” Said the Red King, the man looked at him, his mouth agape. “And I know you didn’t do that to your son, and I give you props for that but you're ruining that boy. You're beating him to near death. All he wants is your love. Despite everything you do to him, every harsh word and every bruise you leave, he still loves. I can sense it, but he’s scared of you.” The King said, staring at the man with a harsh glare. “Do you know how abuse works Mr-“ the king realized he didn’t know the man’s name. “Roberts.” Said the man, “Kyle Roberts, and I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He finished. “Abuse, of any kind, is a cycle, Kyle. The violence your father used against you, is what you use against your son. Eventually, if this never stops he will be just like you. His children, your grandchildren will likely be treated the same as him. And they’ll likely do the same to your great grandchildren. It’s a wheel, the snake eating itself.”Said the King. “You can change Kyle, but it’s going to take a long long time to do that. Do you have any family? Your son needs a new sanctuary. A new home to feel safe. And you need help.” The Red King finished.

It was almost 5 minutes before Kyle responded. “my sister, she lives a state away. She got help, I didn’t, I thought I could do it myself.” Kyle’s eyes watered. “He never touched her like he did me. I killed him before he had the chance.” His body quaked before he started sobbing. The dots had finally started connecting for him. The Red King stepped forward and offered him his hand, the same hand he offered his son. “Let me help you Kyle, let me help you be better for your son, for Jason.” The man looked up at him, “how did you-“ he asked, “it was on the fridge.” The Red king finished for him. Mr. Roberts looked at the Red King's opalescent hand and took it. The Red King pulled him up and wrapped his arms around the man, he was tall so the man’s face was buried into the King's shoulder and he continued to sob. The Red King pulled away and pointed to the door. “Turn yourself in, and start the process. I’ll go inform the police of your sister and advocate for her to take care of him.” Kyle nodded and left the room. Leaving the King alone with his thoughts. He hoped, hell he prayed, he prayed he had made a difference for both of them. He approached the window and dropped down.

The Red King informed the Police of Jason’s aunt. Advocating for her to take custody while Kyle Recovered in therapy. Afterwards he vanished, moving towards another red silhouette, to help someone else despite the nagging, scratching voice in his head informing him that he was a blight, a failure.

Thank you for reading my story. If any of the topics used above have affected you, or are affecting you, I suggest you try your hardest to get out of that situation. If you think you're the abuser then please find help. Anyone in this scenario, both parties included should get the help they need to end the cycle of violence before it hurts someone else. If you are struggling with suicidal ideation because of abuse or just in general please seek out someone you trust for help. If you find it hard to find someone to talk to, I'm leaving the contact information for the Suicde And Crisis lifeline below.

988- Suicide and Crisis lifeline.

https://988lifeline.org/?utm_source=google&utm_medium=web&utm_campaign=onebox