Now there was a man named Ahlan, who came before the Preacher.
Tearfully, he spoke of his son Logan.
Logan had been a promising young man, full of bright energy and ready to defy the dark world he lived in.
He just knew that he could walk into any room and come out on top.
It led him to dark places, to making deals with darker personalities. Each time, he sold his services to the highest bidder, rising higher and higher in the meager social structure.
What were his services? Blood, of course.
Every time, he’d open a new wound on his body, giving his life’s water to those who needed it.
His darkest day came when he no longer could handle giving blood. His wounds remained agape, needing attention he refused to give them.
Logan gave his tainted blood to the wrong man.
A man with a long memory.
The wounded Logan strode confidently through Arcadia, but he was hunted by all those who he’d once broken bread with.
A battle raged around him, with dark forces pressing inward, threatening to end his life if he didn’t make due on the promises and deals he’d made.
He didn’t make due.
No, Logan looked down at his body and saw the picked scabs, evidence of his treachery. He saw shadows that would rip him apart when they touched him. Memories that would soon come home to roost.
Ahlan found him the next morning.
Dead.
“Please,” cried the grieving father. “Tell me how to fix this!?”
Ahlan knelt before the Preacher, awaiting his advice. But he found no mercy.
Only judgement.
“Young man” the Preacher growled. “In fields of temptation, where vice and sin entice with promises of pleasure’s grin, a battle rages, deep within the soul: With every step, a fierce and endless toll.”
He could not, would not, bring back Ahlan’s son.
Verily, verily, I say unto you Colt Ramsey, you run through bountiful fields as young Logan did, ignoring that you must reap what you sow.
Zeus does not let his resources lay idle very long.
Caesar XL has set his eyes on you.
And the fool Drexl would offer you a mental escape.
Like Logan, each wound you have opened upon yourself has brought you greater power. Greater fame.
Greater everything.
Yet you do not embrace this pain. You run from it, choosing time and time again to dress those wounds with gauze. You will not let them heal.
You will not let them scar.
Until you do, you are vulnerable to memory becoming reality, for the bill to come due in ways that you are not prepared for.
You’ve lived your whole life to escape pain, to make life easier for yourself.
Every step you’ve taken, that toll has grown. The battle rages within you.
For your very soul.
But I’m afraid to inform you, Colt, that you’ve already lost the battle.
Like Logan, there will be no tomorrow for you.
Pain was the answer, but you asked every other question.
So it is written. So it shall come to pass.
Thus saith the Grimskull.