Page 1 of Dust to Dust

Chapter 1

Four months earlier…

I've done a lot of deeds in my short life that would grant me a one-way ticket to the highway to hell. Heck, maybe this was purgatory, andshewas my punishment.

Nova Baladan.

The apparition.

Little quirks of Nova reminded me of Elsa, like how she bit down on the left side of her bottom lip. Elsa used to do the same thing before I'd kiss her. It drove me wild for the need to taste her. Elsa didn't bite down on the middle or roll her lip; she always bit down on the left side of her lip. Was it a coincidence, or were they the same person? Had guilt finally made me lose my mind?

Elsa was dead.

Right?

The cool air did nothing to stop my palms from sweating as I gripped the steering wheel. I had been sitting in the driver's seat for the past twenty minutes. I ran my hand through my thick blonde hair, pulling it at the roots until my scalp was tender to the touch. Maybe all my dark deeds made me genuinely lose my mind. How many girls nibble on their lips? A shit ton. Apparently, I'm so desperate that I'm trying to grasp at ends. I needed evidence. Speculations were what got you in trouble.

Grabbing the door handle, I used my foot to kick open the car door. There's just something about Nova, a fine, tiny detail I can't let go of. That's what brought me back here, to Elsa's grave. I stepped out of my Audi Q8, and my boots kicked dust from the dry dirt and crumbling fallen leaves. I haven't been back here since I destroyed it, but it seemed to be my destiny in life to be haunted by the things I had destroyed. Closing my car door, I paused and inhaled the start of spring soon to come.

I walked up what used to be the driveway of the Stepanovs. The old crumbling mansion was never rebuilt, but why would it have been? Who wants to build their home over ashes? It's a bad omen.

The Stepanovs were dead, murdered here on this pile of rubble. The official report was a gas leak from an old faulty pipe. The truth was that I, Titan Jules King was the Stepanov's killer. I was the bullet, my father the trigger man. Was the weapon to blame or the man that yielded the weapon? In this case, I blame both.

That was what I was. My sole purpose was to be a weapon. My childhood was stripped of pleasantries and freedom, replaced with structure and lessons to conquer. I wasn't alone; there were others like me. That should bring me comfort but my comfort meant the world was much more dangerous. Men like myself brought on the spark that could start Armageddon. At least in these end of times, I had my cousins to march beside me, and now more brothers, our brotherhood had been formed.

Not all of my brothers were so lucky to have a father that wanted to shape them into monsters. Sure Lucas King, my father, never showed me love, but I knew if I needed him, he would answer in his own sick and twisted way. Anders Elden, my Norwegian brother, wasn't as fortunate as me. Anders suffered years of torture before he found us. If only back then, during my childhood, I was the man I was today. Finally brave enough to overthrow my father. If that had been the case, Elsa would still be alive.

As I walked around the rumble of the old mansion, I ran my hand through my golden blonde hair again, my soothing habit. Damian had his knives, Dash had Mila, and I had my self-inflicted pain. Sometimes the only thing my brain could feel or register was pain. What was happiness anymore?

I noted the old bricks from the destroyed mansion. They had begun to weather and break down from numerous winters and summers. I purchased the land years ago because it was my burden to bear. There was no point in lingering here at the house because it wasn'tourspecial place, so I continued to walk with purpose to her grave. Five feet from the start of the forest, the natural scent of pine filled my nose. It was so damn peaceful out here that it killed me, and a part of me wanted to disrupt the peace. I want to set it all ablaze and wipe its divine beauty from this earth.

If I had to suffer, then it was only fair for everyone to suffer alongside me, right?

As I walked deeper into the woods, closer to Elsa’s grave, the beauty of the trees started to fade. No birds were singing, no sunlight sneaking through the canopy. It was deserted and grey. Lifeless like Elsa. In the distance, I spotted the old decaying stump of the tree that once supported the treehouse. The treehouse was no longer here; I burned it a long time ago. I halted my steps and stood where I once laid on the forest floor as ashes from the burning fire rained down on me like snow. Ashes cleansed me as they baptized me. Death's snow welcomed me into my new life of corruption. I thought it was cathartic then, but I was wrong. In anger, I purged all my memories of Elsa from my life. Looking back, I wish I had kept something. If I was destined to suffer her memory, I might as well have something tangible to cling to.

My blue eyes scanned the floor, a few barren slabs of wood from the treehouse walls survived and lay scattered on the floor. Most of the treehouse had vanished, turning from fire to ash and now to dust. My sight clouded over with the dust of my wrongdoings, my judgement now so off-kilter that my evil deeds seemed normal. Good even. You do one wrong deed, and it eats at you; it usually leads to another, then another. They start to haunt you until one day the haunting stops, and guess what happens when it stops? Your dirty deeds don't feel so wrong and dirty anymore.

Being evil is the new normal, and you lose your soul when that happens. Then, you are up shits creek, and no one wants to wade through shit without a paddle. So you find yourself sitting back in your rocky boat drifting down a river of shit stuck at its mercy.

Villains are not born.

We are made.

I was twisted by emotional distress and deeds forced upon us. The best villains are the patient ones, which is what I must be becauseshehas been. If Nova is the girl I killed, or maybe I'm losing touch with reality, and Nova isn't Elsa.

I don't know everything. The smartest of men are not afraid to admit that. I take every hit, punch, win, and failure and learn from it. So what am I to learn from this ghost from my past?Bending down, I picked up a pile of ashen dust from atop a pile of a burnt logs. What do I take away from the girl that faked her death?

* * *

"What are you doing out here?"

My shoulders tensed, but once I registered his voice, they returned to their relaxed state. Keeping my back to Damian, I threw my hand forward and threw the pile of dust back to its grave.

"I caught you off guard," Damian noted as he approached. His voice leaked his shock. Like me, Damian and I were trained to be predators, and predators don't ever stop hunting. We're always hungry for blood. As Damian came closer, the sounds of decaying leaves crunched under his steps. "What the hell is up, man? I could have killed you right now." Damian hit my back, and my feet staggered forward, almost stumbling into the pile of ash and dust.

Where I belonged.

My mind isn't one hundred percent here. Then again, has it ever been? Every night I dreamed of Elsa, and every morning I woke from the nightmare of my sins covered in sweat. Years ago, my night terrors were so troubling that Dash and Damian could not wake me from them. It wasn't until I bonded with my new brothers from Initiation 101 that my mind started to accept my sins. Because I wasn't the lone sinner or killer anymore. I was with a pack of them, which made everything more acceptable.

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