Damon's Ascension

Damon glanced at those remaining and saw that it was only left with Nicholas, Connor, and himself. Both Felicia and Xela did not need to take part and given that this game mode had the side effect of showing one dark history for the world to see, it was unlikely they would partake, even if it was for fun.

He remained silent as the wheel begun to spin again, his thoughts ever mysterious as his outward expression was calm.

This time, its movement was smooth as it made a complete revolution - slower than before - letting the waiting feel suspenseful. Then it clicked, resting on a dark segment that everyone feared the most in their day to day life, because it was brutal.

"Truth!" Nyros announced, eyes narrowing slightly.

The name that lit up next was Connor Baines and the arena didn't react with gasps or tension like before.

Instead, there was a peculiar stillness, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Many aliens glanced at each other and scratched their heads.

Err, which one was this Connor fellow again?

Yet Nyros' eyes fell on Connor with a certain seriousness.

Perhaps the fellow sensed that this one… might be dangerous in ways the others weren't.

Connor himself exhaled slowly and stepped forward.

His gait was smooth and unhurried, with the casual confidence of someone who had survived many decisions that should've ended him. His black cloak swirled slightly around his boots, and his crimson eyes flickered with a subtle amusement.

As he reached the center, the floor around him shifted, but not into a memory, at least not at first.

Instead, hundreds of files in the Windows XP design style began to appear, suspended in midair around him. Each one bore a different name, photo, date, or coordinates that were visible to everyone around.

These were… hit contracts?

The Vanguard Team's faces changed greatly as they way they looked at Connor was fundamentally changed forever. No one had ever asked what he did or why he was so adept at killing, but it seems the answer was out!

Looking at the contracts floating in the air, one could see that some were minor, dealing with corporate saboteurs or petty revenge commissions for adultery, theft or rape.

Others were darker… much darker.

There were bounties placed by noble families, political figures, and criminal syndicates around the world, many of whom Damon recognized right away as he tad taken control of the earth and was now privy to the full scope of the power of the 'hidden factions'.

The rest of the vanguard team as well as the alien crowd didn't recognize the names, but the feeling they got from them was universal.

Each file shimmered with the echo of a soul, a soul extinguished from this world in silence.

Then, a scene finally formed.

A rundown apartment in an unnamed city, late at night.

A much younger Connor - maybe sixteen years old - stood barefoot at the window, his skin pale along with faint scars across his back and ribs.

The room was itself nearly empty, not even having a bed nor a kitchen, just a single desk as well as a flickering old laptop with blood on the keyboard.

On the screen, there was a message: "Payment received. Next target uploaded."

The door to the room opened suddenly and a woman entered. She was older than Connor, around 25 or so years old, with harsh-eyes that were filled with apathy towards human life, but ironically had no cruelty.

She tossed a small meal packet on the floor, as if giving a bone to a rabid dog, then walked out without a word.

The young Connor ripped the packaging open and ate the cold food silently before returning to the screen.

The scene faded while another emerged.

Connor, a bit older now, was in a bathroom scrubbing blood from under his fingernails while humming softly, his face unreadable.

The young adult man was calm given his horrific surroundings of blood and gore around him, marking the death of no less than a dozen humans. He even had time to hum a tune while cleaning his body, his internal workings like a cold machine.

The scene faded again and then one final scenario appeared.

It was of a dark alley in a random urban city that was currently drenched in water as the heavens opened their gates, allowing the rain to pour endlessly.

A male target around the age of 23 years old begged on the ground with his hands up, wounded and crying. "Please…!! I have kids…!!"

Younger Connor didn't hesitate as he raised his weapon to shoot.

But then… he paused.

And for the first time, his face cracked as he suddenly felt a kinship with this man, a feeling of sudden recognition.

It wasn't a matter of family ties or friendship, but just that he saw something in the man.

It was an eerie yet invasive familiarity that caused the young man to freeze in the spot, despite being inches away from completing his task. .

The scene froze - finally - then the question appeared above him, written in stark white script:

"Who are you, when no one is watching?"

Connor was deeply moved but he retained his gumptions as he didn't answer immediately.

He stood beneath the question with his hands in his pockets, eyes slightly narrowed.

Then, he chuckled dryly.

"What a tiresome question, is this kindergarten? Everyone lies when people are watching, after all that's the easy part." He muttered.

He looked up. "But when no one's watching? That's when we're forced to remember who we really are, not who we pretend to be."

He stepped forward, toward the suspended image of the alley.

"I've been a tool, a shadow and a ghost. I've worn more masks than most people wear clothes. I've lied to survive, killed for a paycheck, and vanished before anyone could ask if I cared."

He paused beside the frozen figure of his younger self.

"But the truth? I never liked killing." He said softly.

That drew an actual reaction from the crowd.

"I was just good at it, too good. It was like a fish that learns to fly in a world with no water."j

He reached into the projection and touched the bloodied laptop keyboard. It flickered, and a message blinked on screen: "Do you wish to retire?"

"I kept going because I was afraid of the silence, the stillness. The part of me that had to ask: 'what am I, if I'm not a weapon?'"

He turned and faced the audience. "I still don't know the answer."

He smiled gently, and amiably, like an old friend who was around for the holidays.

"But I'm here, not hiding anymore. And maybe that's enough… for now."

The lights dimmed.

No grand speeches about right or wrong, no moral justifications for his atrocities committed and no tragic sob stories about being raised as a weapon from childhood in dangerous conditions.

Just the cold, hard truth.

As always, it was uncomfortable to hear, quiet when it sounded out because many did not want to listen and inevitably honest due to its own nature.

DING! DING! DING!!

The green wave took over the crowd, though they were a few reds like always. Connor only made sure to give them a silent glance, making those fellows feel their hearts skip a beat.

Passed, just like the others who came before.

The wave of psychic approval rippled slowly, less energetic than the others and this did not seem to be out of disdain, but out of a different emotion.

Understanding.

After all, even in a chaotic multi-universal void teeming with gods and monsters, there was something sacred about someone who could admit they were still figuring themselves out.

Connor returned to the group without fanfare.

Nicholas gave him a look that said 'what the hell was that?' but said nothing verbally.

Felicia looked at him like she understood him better.

Damon… smiled slightly, feeling extremely happy as he had found a gem among the chaff that was the Vanguard Team.

Of course Connor passed.

A man who had never stopped watching himself… such that even when the world forgot he was there.

The wheel turned again and only two remained, but it was obvious who was to be called next.

It rotated with a teasing hum, its needle shifting through virtues long forgotten by most and definitely not practiced by people of today.

Then it clicked into place with a soft 'ding!', illuminating a segment that was the color of blueish-yellow.

"Dignity!" Nyros announced, his voice almost reverent.

The name Nicholas Spencley lit up next.

A silence settled over the arena, not from dread, but from… expectation. Even among aliens with no knowledge of Earth, something about Nicholas made them sit straighter.

Nicholas took a step forward, cane tapping lightly against the marble floor, his posture impeccable, his coat crisp, and his gloves spotless. Every movement oozed aristocratic grace, so much so that one might forget the truth behind his rise.

His pale blue eyes held no fear, only a slight world-weariness, like a man too familiar with mind games.

Behind him, Damon watched with narrowed eyes.

This one - Damon mused - was different from all the others, not because he had the cleanest habits, but because Nicholas Spencley was, at his core…

The one among them most similar to Damon himself.