There’s a saying that every scar is a ghost that travels with you the rest of your days. A mark that haunts every waking moment, a beacon that fuels every action you ever take.
For some, it’s the worst moment of their lives. The ones they lost, the ones they were forced to let go. The mistakes that they would give up entire lifetimes to fix a single moment in time.
Yet for others, it’s a mark of pride. The villain who didn’t get to walk away, the hero you broke into pieces, the adversary who walked away a lesser man because of what you did to him.
Everyone in Arcadia has their scars, but very few revel in them like you do Redgrave.
The innocent victims you sliced and carved, creating macabre installations to drive fear and disgust into those you despised. The slow, methodical mental degradation of a good man. The corruption and seduction of his brother. The sadistic glee in the knowledge you took away the only thing a ghost every truly cared about.
Blood doesn’t just cover you Jasper, it’s a forcefield around you as you absorb others pain and misery for true power. Hell, you proved that last week when you overcame my buddy Felix to gain that little cup and get a second chance at the Ferryman.
A monster on the rise who is truly ready to ascend and become something of legendary infamy.
Yet as fast as your ascension has come, your fall shall come even faster. Because every single of you monsters have a weakness you refuse to fix.
Death couldn’t let go of the melody, Zeus refused to acknowledge the mistakes of his past and you Jasper, the same ghosts that fuel you blind you so hard you cannot see the forest from the trees.
You want to corrupt CJ Thorpe to fuck with Jackson Cade’s head a little more, you revel in your part in destroying the last good part of Harold Attanos soul. You fight in Heras name simply cause she gives you fresh targets to destroy and she will be much more amiable to your psychopathic games then old daddy Zeus ever would be.
You long to use that simple Spartan Cup to prove the Ferryman can bleed and perish just like any other as you create your greatest masterpiece, holding that championship high over his fallen body.
You spread yourself so thin that the smallest of losses can and will break you. You focus so much on the future, that you refuse to acknowledge the present that is desperate to destroy monsters just like you
In that ring, you will hear the voice of Nobody, taste the blood of Perseus and smell the stench of death that the Ferryman brings but the only thing you will feel in your final breath is the Black Heart who found the chink in your armor.
Those same scars that gave you power will soon drag you to the Pool of Oblivion.
But I, Jasper, I’ll be the one to drown you in it.