Child of Arson

The wizards of Britain were fools; stuck in old ways and purposely ignoring the rapid change around them, choosing to plant their feet in the ground while everyone else moved ahead. They didn't question their ways, scoffing at anyone who thought differently.

Persephone Bloodstone Woods was 11 years old, and was told that he wasn't born to be soft and quiet; he was born to shake and shatter the world at his fingertips. He was taught to smile like a loaded gun, to use his beauty against people, to laugh like a weeping angel. He was raised by people the world abandoned, people who fled into the darkness and reveled in the power blood sacrifices could give you. He was raised worshiping gods no longer worshiped, serving an entity of Chaos and Insanity. He was held against blood-soaked hoodies, and told for the first time, that he was loved. If the light had wanted him, then they should have tried harder, done better. The first people to tell him they loved him were murders. And he has proudly followed in their footsteps.

Sometimes the world doesn't need another hero

Sometimes what it needs is a Monster