Only One

  This story starts in a home filled with webs, old carpet, the smell of decay and the view of old wood. Where I grew up. I never knew my parents, but even though when I was found and brought into a new home, it felt no different than it did back in that abandoned home. Nobody even tried to speak to me, because in many situations, even those where another was on the brink of death in front of me, I was emotionless; and they were scared of that void in my heart. I remember one night, three other children tried to kill me. Like I'm the bad one. Having a gift like mine that I hid away when I was brought into that home, wasn't used for *good*, it was used for what they called evil. I never liked that term. I hate it. I find myself to be the god they need in order for balance on earth, they just didn't know it yet. My rightful place on top of the food chain began on the day I first lost it, felt one emotion, and only one: anger. Anger and hatred were all that was in my heart. They knew it, but they somehow didn't know why, all they've done for me is ruin my life even further, and yet they remain clueless to how I ended up the way I am. I used the gift I was given, the gift that life gave me, and tore them apart; they were scared, but it just made it better, that look of horror and hope, hope that I'd somehow show mercy, hope that was just a mere way of trying to calm themselves down. In the caretakers last moments, she'd shown me who she really was, a selfish and scared little bug, using one of the children as a "sacrifice" as she called it. All my life I never knew my name, my place in the world, but now I do, I am the only one to be their rightful god. I showed a bit of mercy to the children, as I knew they were kids raised wrong and left for dead, I gave them a quick death. Blood was splattered everywhere. The caretaker was the only person that remained in front of me, I gave her a slow and painful death all while making her say the things she had done to me, and beg for forgiveness, but I do not forgive, nor do I forget, and she knew it. Fast forward 2 years, I trained myself to control that anger, that power. I forged a mask for myself, one that'd keep me alive by inhaling dark blood red gas and exhaling it out the side, it was a gas that healed any wound, outside or inside, my black eyes gave everyone I crossed a look of fear, I liked it. 5 years later, I caused enough chaos to have the government train superhumans to become "Superheroes", at the time I wasn't as powerful as I am now, nor was I as capable to control the power and anger I had. I finally was beat, by what the Citizens called "Kimapoyer", he faked an "alien" language and told people it meant "Peace" at "His planet". Society needed me; I wasn't going to leave my days of trying to bring balance to earth behind. I trained harder than I ever could before, when Kimapoyer punched me, he ran a blade across my eye making me blind in one eye, scar never healed, even with the gas. I escaped my cell, hid away somewhere I couldn't be found, I switched to toxin, I knew it would hurt me, but I had no choice, it's fast regeneration could help me, the scar never left, and the toxin hasn't hurt after the first year of using it. I made a suit, strongest material to protect my body from impacts, among other things. Instead of head gear, I decided to go with a dark gray hat. Hints of dark red in the suit to give it style, I liked it, ever since I've worn it. I'm known as the most powerful being in the universe now, even across some universes in the multiverse, they all called me one thing, "Only one".