Licit Vices. - Beginning of the end again.

Chapter 5.

✘Chapter 5✘• §Daddy issues. |Part 2.|§

Ryder's sturdy phalanges clench onto the leather and circular steering wheel, glomming it left and right subconsciously as he dodged all the vehicles in the road. A fusion of numerous blaring horns created an afflictive and sneering commotion for his ears. An anonymous and desolate neurosis was clawing up his psyche. It made his sensational system feel as if he was being a subject to an allergic reaction. But the thing was, the itch and restless anguish was in his entity. Not his skin. Maybe the backlash was screeching on his skin, but his mind was too jaded to decipher the origin or position of such agony. This maniacal sensational had began crawling into him ever since his father furnished him with the information that they had just hauled out the viability of the redhead and the essence maturing in her abdominal region. Ryder didn't know why, but knowing the unfortunate female was pregnant had an efficacious dynamism influence him. Some fragment of his entity supplied him with the dictum that he should be dignified, seizing two vitalities with one jab. But a domineering fragment had guilt ripple through him like untamed wavelets slashing the earth during a cyclone and made him think. Think about his actions. And he never thought. Never exported a glance to the collateral damage or even the actual calamity he caused. He killed and feasted. Like his father said, bash and dash. That was what was implanted and smothered in captivating letters into his brain and that motto had him barrel through life mildly without any hindrances or blockages. Whatever this psychosis is, it was clasping him towards thinking. And it was cantering him to manic. But he was thinking. And his prospects were of somewhat absurdity as these variety of thoughts weren't suitable to materialize in the cranium of Ryder Castro. Inhuman, rigid, icy and mordant Ryder Castro was having humane thoughts. His thoughts were fleeting and unvocal. Was the decision of the baby's name something the redhead and her inamorata debated over? Did they already scheme what their reactions would be if their child ever were to declare he was homosexual? If they did, they wouldn't have the chance to ever ornament their child with the most rarity of a name or clutch him to the domain of their chests and recite over and over again that it was a normality to be gay and he'd have their acceptance even if he was a grisly deformity. Instead of orchestrating a baby shower, the redhead's partner would be straightening out a funeral. Instead of purchasing more miniscule raiments for their incoming cherub, he'd be disposing the ones already bought. And the cause for these diversion of events was Ryder and her blatant father. What they did.. Destroying a mother's child in her womb and tarnishing her just seemed... Godly. It should and is something only the Almighty has the capability of. Ryder always had his wonders of how'd it be to play god. Now when he had the taste, he preferred playing mortal.

Ryder's silvery disks descries the casual abode with compressed vigilance as he slashed off the ignition of his vehicle. The camouflage seemed too typical. But then, his uncle had fetish with typicality. In Ryder's behold, a maestro such as his relative should have an architecture as residence that colored upto his maniacal ingenious. But then, he'd be stripped bare and have his genetic identity imposed. Meaning; his cover would be far off blown or he'd flag in much surveys of prurient minds. With masculine and swift grace, Ryder flaked off his automobile and pranced towards the house as the nebulous night's zephyr warps around his frame like a blanket of frigidity. His expansive wrist smacked lightly onto the wooden texture of the entrance, no diversion concocted on his charismatic exteriority, but his insides mulled taut and stringent as he awaited for a familiar visage to swash open the door. He and his uncle didn't convey any fragment of contact with one another after his father and he incised their vowed paths into two segments, and both claimed opposite routes. The conflict of the Castro brothers bloomed in fame throughout the maniacal populace of them lunatics' worlds. In basic words, Ryder's father was the illustrious lacerator who utilized his rhetorical charisma to invite growing sadistic minds to prosper in the articulate artistry and maestro of killing while his brother was the renowned incisor who was subject to reformation and dedicated his latter existence to be of aid to those minds whose vices had battened into rancorous demons, clutching them into the dark depths of actual mental deformity or who simply wanted to swap their ways or began to develop a conscience. He had incited methods which somehow managed to rehash or clasp out the inner vitiated essence that had constructed themselves to killers in the first place or reign in the mania. The people subject to his purification were his votaries and followers and venerated him as their emperor. These was the Persuasion, converted assassins now clenching the alternate purpose from what their brains had imprinted in the Blue's. Somewhat of an inaudible war was breeding between these diverse yet similar sectors. But no hint of it was never in exhibition. But the Persuasion's mecca and animus wasn't exactly of serenity. They were far from rehashing serenity into places were chaos was resident. They were just.. Mute. Kept their abominable desires caged in a crate which they concealed in the most profound figment of their hearts. But what were people to think of Ryder visiting the rectified doctor? Ryder, the prodigal son of the most dexterous killers of them all having to gift a place considered unholy to his unchaste father a visit? The adroit prodigy displaying hints of actual disorder? Or was he trading his crude vanity for fervent chastity? Or was he simply getting a check up? Ryder himself had no prospect in which case each carve of his mind and anatomy befitted. But even with the inflictions, many did come just for simple scrutinies here from the enemy's side. Maybe that's what he was doing and what his instincts had indicated when they clamored a tantrum for him to thump onto the outskirts of Celestial Creek. The door grated ajar, charring into view an almost etiolated of his memory composition into view. Scrying his uncle's countenance abruptly scraped him into an ashen arena of achromatized memories. 'Prodigal nephew.' The uncle's chiseled ridges grinded up to the apex of the domain of his forehead as he mused. Ryder spiralling into a solidified content in front of his cyan pools jolted a hindering amount of awe and traumatism into his mind. 'Your father obviously has no idea you're here, does he?' 'Nope.' Ryder smoothed up the broad territory of his shoulders into his nonchalant, signature shrug. 'Will that keep you from inviting me in?' 'That will do the opposite actually.' His uncle darted to one side to gape the door a sector more to allow Ryder's frame the cavity to enter into the abode. Ryder seized just an ephemeral trice of time to fleet a fugitive survey of his relative's features. He always did have the consideration of his father's brother to be gifted with more drawing and charismatic aspects than him. With the stringent pinnacle of his jaw and rigid winsomeness of his features and those pliable yet chilly cyan ovals with alabaster skin increasing the refinement of those attributes, everyone would claim him to be the convalescent brother. 'Out of all the names the world has to offer, 'Braque Macley'. Where's the artistry, uncle?' Ryder commented. Ryder had no hint of his uncle's newly constructed identity that aided him to have his 'Facility for disturbed and forlorn males' incessant. But the new, lousy name was ornamented in a brazen flourish onto the platinum plate on one exterior wall of the architecture as the founder of such a utilitarian appliance which clashed with Ryder's notice whilst entering. He was thinking of the artless construction to be the residence of his uncle. It obviously was but it also was of some demoniac males under construction of the Persuasion. They had institutions as such throughout the country to train, well diminish or extinguishing their delirious deft as covers under diverse names for founders so authoritative hounds like the CIC had infinite obstructions in snooping out tyrannical alliances. But then again, there were canards and rumbles of the Persuasion having professional amity with the government for their prosperity and survival and veil. The incarnation of such reports were the starter for the accretion of more antipathy and disgust from the Blue's and miscellaneous killers out of that loop like himself and his father then towards these two multifarious corporations. It was the rupturing of a maniacal killer's most valorous rule: Never fuse with the predatory prey. Killers maybe vacuous of candor and sanity but even they had their calloused set of laws which kept them loyal and exported them with allowance to confide and trust even a stranger in the same category; as they had the knowledge the genesis of their rules and believes were grated in the most tenacious stone. 'The artistry isn't in exhibition for now.' Braque chuckled as he slid the door shut. 'What brought you here, nephew?' 'I'm thinking.' Ryder stated whilst blazoning the liberty to roam into the farther midst of the house for an internal array. 'Thinking of the damage. And I think the whole world knows I /do not/ think of it. And I'm constricting myself from thinking as I'm sure if I let my boundaries down, all the thoughts of previous damage would surf onto me like enormous ocean waves and drown me in its depths.' Braque lingered after his nephew, who seemed subjected with wanderlust for his facility and its construction. 'And what did start such an atrocity?' A slight dose of sarcasm was dripping in his timbre, but Ryder concluded to avoid such mockery. So he dived into why his mind was subjugated to such the new unwelcome exercise. He translucently painted his feelings and the activity that was booming in his chest when his father educated him with the intelligence that the woman was pregnant. The numen Ryder had in artwork also attributed him with an illustrious oratory; which always allowed him to limn his memories or feelings with such an amount of graphics that it hauled people into a trance of believing their sensational organs were victims of the exact emotions. Ryder's composition hinted nothing of being of the painting and sketching maestro. Even if peoplehad no clue of his primitive and uncouth lifestyle, they would never count him as the type. Ryder was muscular, in somewhat a slim manner, claiming a rigid yet overly handsome face with robust features and an abusive tongue. He was nonchalant and basically he didn’t supply much care for anything. Guys in his category would be expected to desire professions like a basketball or football career. A line of work that’d be coarse and harsh. As he was. It would stun anyone to find his interest fixated in a hobby that required such delicacy and artistry. Not that his drawings were of rainbows and chromatic flowers. They were from the origin of darkness itself, most imprints on papers of his horrific assasinations and some of how he'd scheme or like to assasinate. It displayed the twists and manic of his core. But even his father admitted the boy had a deft in art.