Reminder

3

Damian POV

Grayson led the way to the prison quarters. My face and voice stayed monotone, but I felt saddened at the miniature Grayson.

He kept me in order, helped me regain control. Whenever my assassin colors started to show, whenever I was still beating the shit out of a villain despite him being injured.

Grayson kept me in line. But now because he doesn't remember, I have no control. No one to keep me in line. I am a danger. My mind slipped back to a memory of the league.

Flashback--

I just attacked. Everything in sight. Everything red. I attacked getting more and more energy with every kill. I was smiling. A smile that scared the devil.

Their looks of fear made me happy. Made the situation far more enjoyable. I tortured the strongest that they had, slowly breaking them physically and mentally.

When mother arrived she looked happy, askin ?  Me if I had done this. I said yes, she asked me what I had to say about it. And my reply was simple. "I dont regret it. My only regret is that they finished off too early".

I remember those words. Despite the vast numbers I have killed. I remember who they once were. Who they once were before I got to them.

There was no mercy to be she'd, I was constantly guarded in the league, not for my safety, but to make sure that I was kept in line. One wrong move, one impulsive gesture to killing, and they were ordered to kill me.

Mother always reminded me of who I was supposed to be, but that I am insignificant in any other way besides killing.

But even though I was called 'Grandson of the Demon', I acquired another name. 'Demon of the Shadow'. For that is what I was, a shadow. No one saw me coming, my name became feared.

But when I was moved to a different location, I went from being in one of the warmest climates, to the coldest. And from then on, my heart became forever cold. Just as I did. I have never felt warmth overtake me before I met Grayson, but he quickly made me change my ways.

He was my control, and kept me in line like a commander with a soldier. And for that I respected his authority. I didn't always agree with him and rarely took his orders seriously.

But he definitely knew how to handle an assassin. To my distaste, he showed around a weakness. And for that, I would train longer, harder, trying not to have my weakness show.

From young on I knew about the weakness, but my mother assured me that was because I was untrained and would get rid of the weakness that I held.

I cared. That was my weakness, a weakness. My mother made me kill whoever I showed that I care. If an new assassin got hurt sparring, and I helped them up. I had to kill them. With the exception of her and grandfather, I was not allowed to care. It was a weakness. A flaw. Which made me imperfect. A broken tool. I was made to be perfect, but I come out with a flaw, and I become of no use.

Everyday in the league was a fight for survival, I intended to show them that I had gotten rid of my flaw, and I would be perfect. And for that I did as they said. Kill them, done. Torture them, done. Anything and everything they asked me, I did.

And it just showed my flaw more, they saw this and used me forest. But their words had left permanent wounds, ones not even Grayson could heal.