Echoes of Power
The young man struggled not to fall to the ground as soon as he got to his feet, his head was still light and everything started spinning around him as soon as he got up as if he was riding a carousel at high speed. A white flash blinded him momentarily before the world started slowing down a little and he managed to get his bearings back. Alexandre started walking slowly, holding on to anything stable he could grab and trying not to lose his balance. He hesitated for a second when he reached the stairs but steeled his resolve as he remembered the bathroom was upstairs.
Of course he could always have used the one near his father’s bedroom on the first floor but he felt that it was safer to use the one he had for himself, if ever he made a mess there was less chance his father would notice. It took him all the patience and the courage he could muster to haul himself up the stairway without letting go of the bannister and falling to his death or at least to his some-more-pain. His brain made him felt as if he was in a washing machine, his whole body was hurting and it seemed that with each new step he made things worse.
All the teenager’s senses were mixed up and blurred, like he was trapped in a loud and incredibly strong siphon. Finally he managed to reach the bath room and, after a few uncertain steps to get closer to the shower, he let himself fall down inside it, resting his back against the cold wall. He turned the faucet and let the water run over his skin. He was taken aback by the cold liquid as it started pouring all over him and found himself unable to breathe for a few seconds before it warmed up and he managed to relax.
Alexandre spent the next few minutes simply enjoying the soft and warm feeling on his skin before he finally got to cleaning his wound. He rubbed it with care, using some soap to get the dirt out, and was greatly surprised to not feel the sharp wave of pain he had been expecting, settling with a slight burning feeling instead. As the water kept running and he rubbed it, the dried blood and the scab started going away, revealing his skin underneath.
The teenager then noticed three long scars, embedded in pink flesh on his body, as he managed to scrub of most of the blood off. He froze. How was that possible? The monster was supposed to have inflicted a grave wound to him, it had slashed with such violence that he should have three large gashes in his side; he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had cut him in half even; but instead he could only see the trace of three fresh scars on his skin.
“What is going on…?” He managed to mutter as he let his arm rest to his side.