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« on: March 03, 2011, 06:13:37 PM »
The Origin of The Martyr
Jamal Sykes grew up in a part of New Arcadia known as The Ruins, a once thriving residential district fallen to the wayside due to a timely influx of drug dealers and local gangs muscling their way in during the recession of the 1980s. Many jobs were lost, benefits were slashed, homes fell into disrepair, and a surge of foreclosures and evictions forced many families out on the street. Homelessness, disease, violence, prostitution, and addiction seized control. The Ruins became equivocated with the abandoned, the outcasts, and those who wanted to lose themselves.
However, no matter how dire their situation became, Jamal's father, Abraham believed good people could still be found within The Ruins. “They are just buried, son,” he had said, smiling. “Buried under not the only dirt and grime of The Ruins, but under the weight of their own misfortunes. Sure, some are guilty. Others wallow in self-loathing prisons, but none are deserving of being tossed aside. All they need is for someone to help ease their burden—to dig them up and give them the chance to breathe anew.”
Abraham worked alongside other residents to build shelters, petitioned the city to bring in clinics, and sought out churches to offer whatever aid they could, often using his expertise as a carpenter, electrician, and painter to assist in building each establishment. Most residents considered him to be a man of great integrity, and even nicknamed him "Honest Abe” because of his unerring ability to be truthful and forthright in all his endeavors. He never over-charged for his services, nor did he allow his fellows to be underpaid for theirs. In fact, Abraham often organized workers and urged unions to insure hard-working citizens were treated fairly and given suitable wages. And even though, he lost many battles to corporate greed and corrupt city officials, Abraham never appeared disheartened.
Jamal admired his father's tireless efforts and unwillingness to abandon the fight. He would spend countless hours propped up in the back of his father's truck working on his homework or reading a book, taking solace in the steady rhythm of his father's hammer or the steady whir of a nearby buzzsaw. Excelling at his studies, Jamal easily grasped the most complicated problems with very little instruction. Many schools contacted the Sykes family and offered Jamal a place within their gifted program, but Jamal declined each invitation. For Jamal, attending a prestigious school and possibly having to move away from his family felt too much like giving up.
As the years passed, Jamal became steadily more acquainted with the more deplorable aspects of The Ruins. When he was younger, Jamal had worried about scathing insults and schoolyard scuffles. He learned to avoid fights by either keeping to himself or intimidating his opponents with his keen knowledge of his peers' fears and doubts. However, in the first month preceding his freshman year of high school, three of his classmates were mugged, two more were stabbed, and five more fell victim to drug overdoses. A girl he had a crush on was found one morning raped and brutally beaten to death. All too often Jamal went to bed, cringing from the disturbing lullaby of random gunfire and wondering which desk would have an empty seat behind it the following morning.
When his father was laid off, his family life became consistently more erratic. His mother began working an extra job serving at a local diner while his father looked after the children. And although Abraham was willing to take a pay cut, persistently applied at several construction companies, and eagerly assured potential employers he had the experience necessary to fill any available position, none ever interviewed him. His parents shouted at each other, squabbling over every dollar and Abraham's devotion to his workers' crusade, which his mother believed to be the reason for their current predicament. Sometimes Jamal heard things crash and shatter as their voices escalated in a cacophony of anguish and anger. His mother would usually get the last word as his father stormed out of the house.
The morning after a particularly monumental fight, Jamal happened upon his mother staring outside, a statue weeping in the dim rays of a flickering kitchen light. With creeping fear and certainty, Jamal understood. Abraham had not returned, nor would he. His father had left them. Jamal eased his mother into a chair, and silently promised her with a smoldering determination in his eyes that he would never desert her, or his family. He would be a better man than his father.
Jamal dropped out of school, much to his mother's dismay, and took care of his siblings. In addition, he offered to watch the neighbors' kids for modest compensation, accepting that they had very little to offer. Jamal offered up all his earnings to pay the family's necessary expenses, but even with the extra cash, they could barely afford the over-priced groceries at any of the nearby markets. Against his own conscience, Jamal discovered how easy it became to steal a loaf of bread or a few vegetables when desperation presented itself.
Distressing over the safety of his brothers and sisters, Jamal became increasingly vigilant in regards to criminal activity. Local drops, drug dens, specific colors, and tricked-out cars contrasted drastically with their drab, dull surroundings. Jamal avoided them as best he could but not without an occasional close-call.
Several months after his father had left, Jamal heard a series of explosions and gunfire while he was out buying milk. Windows erupted in sparks of shattered glass and a chaotic wailing of alarms awakened all around him as an unseen force sent him sprawling. Terrified, he ducked into an alley and hid behind several dented trashcans. From his vantage point, he saw a handful of heavily-armed men frantically fleeing a building as a torrent of volcanic flame surged through the walls, melting everything in its path. Great streaks of twisted energy sliced through the sky, warping the landscape into a maddening nightmare. Suddenly, a body engulfed in flames slammed into the alley wall next to Jamal. With sickening horror, he kicked it away, causing an amulet to spill from its clutches. Reacting on impulse and a silent summons, Jamal snatched the amulet in a greedy panic. Before he realized what he had done, Jamal was halfway home, racing from the carnage, the amulet swaying contently from his neck.
He spent the better part of the following week researching the amulet and realized the building the thief had stolen it from had once belonged to the ideal hero, Cerulean, a sorcerer of unparalleled talent. Believing the amulet to be incredibly valuable, Jamal sought out a local fence to make what he thought would be a quick buck. Instead, when he arrived at the meeting, Jamal discovered he had been double-crossed. Two burly men attacked him as soon as he stepped into the abandoned building. A fist smashed into his face, breaking his nose, while a pair of arms roughly engulfed him from behind. Numbly, Jamal heard the fence order the men to remove the amulet, but Jamal savagely bit the thug's hand as it attempted to lift the amulet off of him. The restraining thug threw Jamal to the ground and drove a boot into his chest. Fighting back the excruciating pain, a terrible hatred arose in Jamal. He wanted to make them pay. He wanted to hurt them badly. To break their bones and rip their flesh apart. He wanted them to burn. And burn they did. His sight had blurred by then, but he heard their screams, smelled their flesh burning, and felt the sudden raging inferno gather around him protectively.
Jamal awoke sometime later amid a pile of charred corpses. Although the sight appalled him, Jamal found it oddly fascinating. They would surely have killed him, but he had somehow prevailed. For a few minutes Jamal marveled over his abrupt shift in fortune, until he felt the strange warmth radiating from his chest. He looked down to see the amulet, still smoldering with a hellish fire in its ruby gem. Instantly, Jamal understood the power he held, and as he looked at the three bodies nearby, he knew he could not allow the amulet to fall into ill-suited hands. Shamefully, he looked away and rose to his feet. He had killed those men—burned them alive. It did not matter if it was self-defense. They were dead, and he was to blame. Turning the amulet over in his hand, Jamal wondered if his hands were any better than the dead men. Then he gazed out of the building and into an abandoned shell of a once thriving neighborhood. He may not be worthy, but there were people who counted on him. A fierce conviction swelled within his heart. He would not abandon them. He was not his father, and he would use whatever tool at his disposal to rebuild The Ruins.
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