Apotheosis of a Cynic

Time. A linear existence that once has passed, can never be recovered. The thief takes from us the moments we cherish, leaving us with memories too brief and a longing for more of them with those we love.

For Mathew, this moment stretched on for what felt like an eternity as its weight pressed down on him. His mother's lifeless body slowly slumped onto the steering wheel.

He looked on for one heart-wrenching moment. Then another. And another.

After the long pause, Mathew let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Of course," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"Because why not? Perfect timing. Sure. Let's throw this on top of everything else, right?"

A single tear dropped down his cheek.

"Guess you won't be giving me that explanation after all, huh?"

The words he forced out were nothing but a hollow shell of a shield he put up to hide his growing pain and he knew it. But the joke wasn't the problem. It was just... him. In this moment, no sarcastic quip, or joke could help him mask his true emotions. He wiped at his face, cleaning that one solitary tear away, though after that, no tears came.

They were there regardless, choking him as the grief threatened to spill out, they just refused to fall.

"Guess it's just me now,"

He took a deep breath, calmly opened the door, and forced himself around the car. Now stood before his mother's killer, he looked down and grimaced. Her head was dangled by her long brown hair in his grasp. There wasn't even a bloody mess as one would expect there to be, the point in which the head and neck were separated was frozen solid after all.

With a heavy and clenched jaw, he locked eyes with the monster that had the audacity to take his mother from him. In front of him was a man wearing a black suit with a white unbuttoned shirt underneath, His eyes were a deep blue and his hair was snow white. He wasn't a monster in the literal sense, in fact, he was more handsome than most men in this wretched city they called home, but was still one all the same.

Mathew clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"Of course," he muttered under his trembling voice as he tried his best to restrain the flood of rage within him.

With a flat tone, he calmed himself to the point he could speak and said.

"Because why wouldn't it be some smug bastard in a suit? Real creative. An ice manipulation trait too. Fancy."

The man raised a curious brow and tilted his head, studying Mathew with a faint, almost amused expression breaking through his previously stoic one.

Mathew's rationality screamed at him. Telling him repeatedly to run. But the sight of his mother's head swinging in the man's hands sparked his rage, instantly overtaking his rationality. He couldn't possibly run with his tail tucked between his legs. No amount of logic could compel him to give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing him cower like some weakling.He wouldn't run. No. He couldn't run.

The young cynic growled through gritted teeth. His vision narrowed until only the man and that gruesome sight filled his focus.

"Congratulations bastard," he said, his voice low and bitter, the words cutting like shards of glass. "You've officially ruined my life. Hope it was worth the hassle to kill a poor slum dweller though."

Mathew took a step forward and kept going.

"What's the plan now, huh? Are you gonna monologue about why you did it? Maybe throw in some cryptic line about 'fate' or 'power' or whatever cliché thing villains from movies like to use these days?"

He forced a crooked grin and spread his arms mockingly, then said.

"Go ahead. Impress me."

Mathew's eyes darted around, flickering between the dimly lit surroundings and the bastard that stood in front of him. His icy gaze bore into him, but Mathew didn't so much as flinch.

He was tracking the man's movements while scanning for something, anything, to even the odds. His hand grazed the car door and that was when he spotted it. A jagged shard of glass was embedded in the cracked window frame.

Now only two or maybe three steps away, and a weapon in sight the young cynic darted forward. Grabbing the shard of glass as he breezed past the car, the edged bit into his skin but it didn't matter, if it meant he could kill this man the pain was worth it. Thrusting the makeshift weapon at the man's neck he hit his mark.

But unlike the vivid images he had pictured in his mind where he saw the man writhing in pain absolutely on the ground with blood gushing from the wound and the man slowly dying, the reality was far less forgiving. The attack had been nothing more than a light breeze against an immovable wall. The man was a meta after all.

And what could a measly human do before such power?

As if just lifting a small animal, the handsome metahuman moved too fast for the young cynic to react and grabbed him by the neck and clamped down hard like a vice.

A faint sliver of panic found its way into Mathew's eyes as he was lifted effortlessly off his feet. Realizing the severity of the situation and desperately clawing at the man's arm, Mathew kicked, struggled, and scrambled for the smallest gasp of air. The bastard grinned as he watched Mathew suffer. Deriving some sort of sick pleasure in his suffering.

As the oxygen within his lungs exhausted, Mathew's vision slowly blurred. But through the suffocating haze, his cynicism somehow managed to claw its way to the surface and he asked with a defiant tone.

"What's… the matter? Is that all?"

The meta's grin widened, amused by Mathew's defiance.

Managing nothing more than a bitter chuckle, Mathew was on the verge of unconsciousness when the meta, for no reason hurled him into the car's side, leaving a massive dent.

Laying there broken, bruised, and with absolutely no strength left in him, he could do nothing but watch the man walk away with his mother's severed head. A realization of his fate settled and looking up to the night sky above, nothing but bitter thoughts flooded his thoughts.

"This is it, huh?"

He tried hard but couldn't bring himself to move even a finger.

"I should've... done more."

Could he have though? From the start, he was never in control of the ridiculous situation that unfolded so his doing something 'more' was out of the question.

"I could've run… Should've run,"

Maybe, but once the metahuman showed himself, there was little to nothing at all he could have done to escape. And he couldn't exactly leave his mother behind.

"I should've been smarter. I should've known better."

Now this... this was true. Deciding to try and kill a metahuman with a shard of jagged glass was probably the dumbest thing he could have done. But what's done is done.

The regrets kept piling up. Not allowing him the comfort of pretending he'd done the best he could. His body was on the verge of shutting down when a final thought flashed by. No. It was more of a final epiphany in life, and it was one he never wanted to accept but had no choice but to.

"I never had a chance."

The thought made him sick to his stomach. But it was true. And now after that futile struggle, all Mathew could do was lie there, left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure.

But before he crossed the borders of life and death, a voice came cutting through the haze.

"Congratulations Harold candidate., and welcome to the forgotten lands"