Revenge of the Son
There was once an inventor, a blacksmith of old who could create masterpieces with the most fragile of tin.
Many a legend was crafted through the tools he gave noble warriors as tales of his gift spread throughout Arcadia.
Until Zeus himself took notice and made an offer he couldn’t refuse.
A life of luxury, of never wanting for a single thing and all he needed in return was for his talents to be in service of the god himself.
So this blacksmith bent the knee and crafted masterpieces of Olympus that would last for generations.
Yet unlike most of the lapdogs at the Barrons feet, he kept the most powerful and dangerous of his creations a secret of his own.
But you cannot keep a secret in Arcadia and it was inevitable that one day the god of thunder would come to collect what he believed was rightfully owed.
A snake in human clothing who twisted and manipulated the english language as he tried to coerce the blacksmith to give up his prize.
But the old man held steadfast, refusing to allow such power into the hands of someone not worthy.
Even if it ended up costing him everything.
A week later he was forcibly removed from his luxury up high to a hovel barely above the lowest level.
Two weeks later every single thing he had created was melted into scrap.
And three weeks later is the first time I met you Damien.
A sniveling little coward, barely out of puberty and so eager to please daddy Zeus that you’d threaten an innocent woman and child to make my father bend the knee.
You left our broken home with shattered ribs, a bloody nose and a warning to never cross his family again. A warning I know you took personally.
Because the next time I saw my father after that night was in a casket.
I don’t know if it was you or another one of the thousand of faceless lackeys
But I don’t care either way because all you are to me is a message.
Another reprehensible asshole in a conga line of flunkies made to fulfil his every whim and desire.
And if anything is going to change, if this world is ever going to be a better place.
Pieces of shit like you need to be an example that no one has to bend the knee to monsters like him.
It’s funny Damien, to men like you I’m but a sheep with delusions of fantasy and fairy tales.
I’m the scared little boy whose life you threatened for a simple creation of metal and wood.
But I no longer fear the big bad Wolfe, because you should fear me.
For this sword isn’t just a weapon, isn’t just some trinket that big daddy Zeus needed,
It’s a symbol, a representation of freedom and peace.
Because when it’s wrapped around your throat bringing you to your knees,
Arcadia will finally have Faith that one day
It’ll be wrapped around his.