Peata had always been a mage, however, he wasn’t always a dark mage. It was clear from a young age that he had great potential when it came to his magic. The people who raised him gave him the name Peata, which translates to ‘pet’. He is aware of the fact that his caretakers had a different path for him to follow than the one he is now on, but it’s their fault plans changed.
He remembers a time when he would run around in open fields chasing after frogs and other creatures of that manner, although those memories are now haunted with darkness. Other memories consist of days when his caretakers would evaluate his magical abilities. He was quite fond of most of his past memories, however, there is a single memory that still haunts him to this day, the memory of how the dark magic came to pulse through his blood.
The day started out the same as any other day, Peata running around and testing his magic on any living creature he could find, similar to any other 12-year-old boy. He was running around when his father came over to him and quickly picked him up, spinning around with Peata in his arms. He laughed and giggled as his father carried him to the little house in the woods he called home. When they arrived home his father set him in a wooden chair, when Peata tried to get up and go outside his father pushed him into the chair again. “Hey! Ma said I could go outside and play.” He whined as his mother entered the room with a stack of old books.
“I said you could play for a little Peata, it’s time to do something else now.” Her voice was monotone and unwelcoming, Peata definitely preferred his father over his mother. Once she had set the books down on a table close to where Peata was sitting, she turned and put her hands on her hips. “How would you like to learn some new magic today?”
Peata’s father walked over to her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Grace, are you sure about this? We have no idea how it will affect our son.” He murmured into her ear.
She shooed him away with a wave of her hand. “We discussed this John, it’ll do Peata good.” She said in a stern voice before, once again, turning to face Peata. “Now, are you ready to get started?”
He squirmed in his seat, the way his parent were talking to each other was making him nervous. “I don’t know Ma, I thought you said we were done with magic for the week.”
His mother gave him a stern look, “You will do as I say Peata.” Her voice, no longer monotone, was full of anger and frustration.
Peata lowered his gaze to the floor, gripping the sides of the chair he was seated on. “Yes, Ma.” Grace would then pick up one of the old books from the small table, flipping through the pages till she stopped on a page covered with dark symbols and strange writing, dropping it in her son’s lap. Peata quickly moved to catch the book before it fell to the ground, making sure to keep it open on the right pages.
His mother pointed to the writing at the top of the page. “Read.” She demanded, and Peata obeyed, starting to read aloud.
“I can’t watch this.” John sighed before turning and leaving the room, causing Peata to quickly look up from the book.
The young boy quickly became aware of what he was reading. The farther down the page he read, more strange things starting to happen. The candles lighting the house started to flicker until they were all extinguished as if a strong breeze swept through the house. Once the candles had gone out the symbols bordering the edge of the pages started to give off a dark, eerie light, casting a ghastly shadow across Peata’s face.
Peata became lost in the words he was reading as they swirled off the pages into a dark mist he began to inhale as he spoke. Grace starred in horror at Peata as she began to realize what she had done, she should have listened to her husband.
He began to read faster as his eyes adopted a wild look, desperately flipping through the pages as the mist began to infect his mind and body. His actions had become so desperate that he had started to accidentally rip the pages.
An eerie, gleefully laugh began to flow from Peata’s lips as he stopped reading allowed, his amber eyes bleeding into a deep red. Once he had finished reading all the pages in the book covered with the dark scripture he started to shriek and tear through the other pages of the book.
“What have I done…” Grace muttered in a terrified voice before quickly grasping the other book on the table and slowly leaving the room.
“The book,” A weak voice muttered to Peata, “Get that book, no matter what it takes.”
“Ma, where are you going?” Peata asked with an eerie tone. He’d get up from his seat, the torn up book falling from his lap. He drug his nails across the walls as he walked down the hallway to the room where his mother had cornered herself. He presented one of his hands to her. “The book, I-we need the book.”
“No!” His mother shouted at him. A grimace spread over his lips as he sighed and looked to the side.
“Make her regret that choice.” The voice whispered in his ear. A dagger formed in his extended hand, his fingers wrapping around the hilt.
Grace tightly held the book to her chest as she stepped backward, eventually tripping over the upturned corner of a rug, dropping the book. She stared at her son as he walked toward her. “Peata don’t do this, you will regret this choice.”
What happened next broke her heart. He spoke to her, but the voice did not belong to him. “We will regret nothing.” Peata lunged at her forcing the blade into her chest, stabbing her over and over, his dark, eerie laugh filling the room. Once he was satisfied with his work he quickly turned to the book, ripping the lock from the leather cover, eagerly ripping through the pages as he read.
About halfway through the book, he began to scream and convulse as the writing shifted into a dark mist. The mist flooded his body, only causing the young boy to scream more. After his body had consumed every trace of the mist, a dark cackle left his lips as he slowly sat up. He crawled on his hands and knees over to his mother, plunging his hands deep within the stab wounds and ripping apart her body.
His father would soon return to a seemingly empty house, only to find Peata sitting in a pool of his mother’s blood. “Peata,” He muttered with a shaky voice, “What have you done?”
Peata slowly looked up from the ground, his blank stare meeting his father’s gaze. “Peata is gone…” A voice, composed of several different voices, said to him.
“What have you done with my son!” John demanded.
“Not what we’ve done, what you’ve done.” A thin smirk spread over his lips, soon turning into a terrified expression as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Pa, I’m sorry.” Peata muttered as he reached for his father. The dark mist returned, swirling around Peata’s body. His fingers transformed into long bony fingers with long claw-like nails. The mist vanished to reveal a Wendigo with long, slender limbs, a thin, boney body, and a deer skull for a head with pointed teeth. The beast slowly stood, it’s hand still reaching for John, who was frozen with fear. It’s long tongue curled over its jaws as it liked his lips before its quickly clamping its jaws shut around Peata’s father.
The young boy woke in the blood-soaked living room of his home, his father’s almost unrecognizable corpse lying next to him. “Pa!” The boy shouted in horror as the memories of what happened came rushing back to him. He threw his head back and let loose a horrified scream, his hands forming fists, before quickly slamming his fists against the ground. Upon impact with the ground a wave of flames spread from his body, starting to bur the house to the ground.
He began to tear at his flesh and clothing with his nails, ripping his clothes from his body and causing several deep scratches in his flesh. Desperate to undo what had been done to him Peata summoned the very blade he had used to murder his own mother, he held the blade in front of his chest. With a deep breath, he moved to impale himself in the chest but, before he could do anything something threw him against the burning wall of his crumbling house, causing him to drop the blade. Before him stood the Wendigo, its claws digging into his neck. “You belong to me.” The beast scowled.
- Who Am I...
A mage who dabbles in the darker magic.
- Relationship Status