Author's Note: I've had a few people assume this was based on the The Darkness video game, it's actually inspired by the comics the game was based on, as the comics have substantially more demonic t-rexes and are thus better.

~o~

I wake up to see a withered old man staring at me, with a branding iron in one hand. I smell the scent of cooking flesh. My chest hurts. Oh, I guess that's what woke me. Ow. "You really know how to treat a lady, don't you?" I spit, surprised to find that I'm not gagged. They must want information.

"You'll heal." He sighs, casually placing the burning tip against my belly. I scream. It's at this point that I realize I'm still naked, and this interrogation starts to look a lot more like a porno.

"What are you going to do to me?" I ask, spitting out blood. I must have bitten my tongue.

"We have a few questions for you, but the most important one is simply –" he sears me again to make sure he has my attention, "How do you exist?"

"Well when a man gets really drunk and sees some girl, then he gets her really drunk too, and sometimes they end up having about five seconds of intercourse, and if they're really unlucky, then nine months later a baby plops out. Don't you have the internet? You don't need to kidnap some girl to learn the birds and the bees."

He brands my neck. It hurts a lot and I scream bloody murder. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear. You shouldn't exist. You are an anomaly. You bring every teaching of our order into question, and that simply can't be. So I'll ask you once more, how is it possible for you to be... this." He gestures towards my nude form.

"All right, buddy, clearly none of you have taken your meds of late, so I'll try to be understanding, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." I attempt to move my arms only to find that they're chained to the ceiling. My legs are killing me. I don't even have enough slack to sit down. And I thought the branding was torture.

"You're the new holder of the power. We sensed it coming from your apartment, and while you were unconscious I verified that it was coming from you," he explained, his two different colored eyes settling on my blue ones. How are they both so ugly? Who even has ugly eyes?

"The power? What is this, a cult?" I look around, seeing macabre relics, an altar, and the hooded guises of the few men I can see. "Oh, so it is."

"The Borealis. You are the next incarnation of Boreas," he explained, gaining the speaking voice of the preacher I'd had to kill when I was sixteen.

My eyes glaze over. "Oh, great, so I'm your god or something? It would be just fantastic if you could untie me and kill yourselves." His eyes harden on me. The branding iron meets my thigh. Son of a bitch! "Fucking fuckheaded fucker!" I yell. I am so eloquent when I'm being cooked alive.

"Yes, you are. However we can't let you down until we find out how this could be. The Borealis must always be a man. It's passed down from father to son. A woman Borealis isn't possible."

I spit in his grey eye. Holy fuck he just scorched my nipple. Ow. Ow. Not fair. "Okay, fuck, I'll answer the damn question."

He pulls a chair that looks to be made of bone up to me and sits in it, propping his chin on his hand. "This should be quite the story, do tell."

I glare at him. What I wouldn't give for a chair right now. "How about you let me down first and then I tell you?"

"No." He doesn't move, his eyes remain fixed on me, waiting to hear my tale.

Fuck, I hate coming out to people. Especially people who are actively torturing me. It's just not a safe environment. Oh well, not like my situation can get any worse. "If I tell you, then you'll let me down?"

He considers it for a moment. "It would have to be a very good answer."

"I'd feel a lot more comfortable having some assurances, maybe some alcohol to go with it. No point giving away the information you want if I don't know that it will at least get me down from here." I try to keep my voice as nonchalant as it can be, but it is difficult when my skin is still steaming.

The brand is on me in an instant. I don't even see him move. Oh my God, and I thought the nipple hurt. Tears form in my eyes and turn to ice before they hit the ground. I don't even scream this time, my mouth only moves soundlessly. I'd crumple to the floor if there was any slack.

His hand moves back to his chin, the iron dangling threateningly from his grasp. The tears continue to fall, shattering on the ground with such rapidity that it sounds like a hail storm at my feet. My mouth finally manages to make a sound. It's not a word, but it's a step up from where I had been a minute ago.

"The answer. Now," he barks.

I take in a shuddering breath. "I still don't know what you're talking about, but I was supposed to be a man. I mean I was assigned it. I was born –" I spit out the blood that had accumulated in my mouth. I then feel my tongue against my teeth to make sure it's all still there. "I'm trans. So if I was supposed to be born a guy as part of some magic thing, I guess I was. Thanks for that, really screwed me over there."

He stares at my core. "But you don't have a –" he hesitates. Apparently branding genitals is all well and good, but actually saying their names is too much for him. I'm glad there's a line he won't cross.

"There's a surgery for that," I answer quickly.

"Hm," he ponders my words. "That does explain a few things."

"So, let me down?" I ask hopefully. Hopefully he will also stop torturing me, but one thing at a time.

"In a moment. I'm sure you have some questions of your own."

"Yes. Would you let me down?"

He sighs theatrically at my insistence. "Very well. Arthur, release her, and put a kettle on. This is going to be a long night."

Once they unchain me, I stretch and massage my legs, trying to ease the cramps out of them. I really want to kill these assholes, but I suppose that can wait until after I find out what the hell they want. No one gets away with branding me. I look down to see how much damage they did, and find that all of the wounds have healed. My flesh had been red and peeled, I had looked and smelled like cooked meat, how am I completely fine?

One of the men in blue hoods (I see about ten of them here now that I can look around) bring me a chair so that I can sit across from the dick who was melting my skin off. Normally I would just choose to stand, but I'm not sure my legs would support me for long enough. I take my seat and glare into his mismatched eyes.

"I believe it was Elsa Arlotti?" he asks me, quizzically raising an eyebrow.

We're both brought a cup of tea, and he sips at his while he waits for my response. I only nod.

"My name is Timotheos, I have served your line for generations." He inclines his head in a slight bow.

"Doing a bang-up job of it too. Thank you, you have no idea how badly I wanted to be kidnapped and tortured. It's my favorite thing. Anna says it's bad for me, but I just can't resist. I mean that feeling when your skin is literally being cooked off of you, it's to die for," I explain calmly.

"Well you won't be doing that," he chuckles.

"I think I just did, or have you already forgotten?"

"Not the torture, that may happen again." He smirks. I really want to shoot him in his stupid face. "You won't be dying. Ever."

"Well that sure takes a load off my mind. I'm glad we had this talk." I would get up to leave if I could feel my legs.

"As I said earlier, though I suppose you may have been a tad distracted, you are the human incarnation of the god Boreas. As such you are gifted with certain abilities." He brings the cup back to his lips, those hateful eyes never leaving my own.

"Abilities like what? I can turn into a swan and seduce random maidens?"

"You're thinking of Zeus. Boreas is far greater still. You must have noticed your abilities by now. Your wounds have been healing, things freeze simply from being around you. Of course, the men who've had this power were all smart enough to figure it out a good deal more quickly than you seem to be."

I grit my teeth, glaring daggers at him. "So you're saying that was real? I wasn't just imagining things. Those dickbags earlier really killed me? And I just healed? I can't die?"

"Barring some rather extreme measures, the only way for a Borealis to die is by impregnating a woman. You seem to have effectively eliminated that possibility." His gaze travels down to that sensitive spot he so recently seared.

"Eyes up here, buddy," I scoff, resisting the urge to ask for one of their ridiculous monk robes. "Why is all of this just happening now? I've been shot before, I spent a few weeks in the hospital recovering from the wounds. Pops sent me some nice flowers and a strippergram, best vacation I've ever had. Why didn't this power fix me up then too?"

"A carrier of the Borealis only gains access to their abilities on their twenty-first birthday. Until then, they can be killed just like any other human. It's the only time the bloodline can be wiped from the Earth. Normally we would protect the child, but unfortunately, your father was almost as much of a rebel as you are, and we lost track of him. I'm glad we were able to find you now."

"So you're such useless pricks that you couldn't manage to find me as a baby, and now that I'm immortal you want to protect me? Or did you kidnap me just so you could give me this annoying little history lesson?"

"I believe it is imperative that you learn who you are, but more importantly, we need to teach you what to do with this power. We won't allow you to simply run rampant without our oversight."

Both cups of tea shatter into shards of ice as a wolfish grin flashes across my face. "Weren't you just saying I was your god? I wasn't listening too closely but I recall something about that. You would dare try to control me? Seems awfully sacrilegious."

"Who said anything about control?" He offers an obsequious smile as he raises his hands to me. "I simply want to offer you guidance, to help you understand what you could and should do."

"What I can do is make ice, right? Makes me great for parties, but what else can I do with it?"

"Anything. You're a god." His expression relaxes, and he settles into his seat, before reaching for a teacup that's no longer there.

I wave my hand and a shard of ice buries itself between his eyes. I like this new trick. I try it again, and another spike hurtles into the shocked face of one of my other worshipers – Arthur, I believe his name was. I turn to the remaining eight men, who have all stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing to silently stare at me, awaiting their eminent demise. Who am I to deny them what they're waiting for?

I take a step and the floor freezes over, encasing all of their feet in ice, pinning them to the floor. An ice-blue blade appears in my hand as I approach the nearest of my victims. I test the weight of the sword. It's exactly as I imagined it would be. I wonder just how far this power goes? Could I make a gun? Could I create something with a will of its own? I'll have to try this all out, but first – his head falls from his shoulders. The remaining seven whimper and plead desperately. I have no mercy left for the people who kidnapped and tortured me. They all deserve to die.

~o~

A few hours later I stand outside our apartment in a bloody blue robe, as Anna pays for my taxi. Anna's eyes are red and puffy, as if she's been crying the entire time I've been missing. She pulls me to her in a tight embrace. I hug back, breathing in the familiar scent. "Are you okay?" she asks.

I consider lying. It would be so much easier, but I just can't bring myself to do that to her. "I'll explain everything, the best that I can, when we're inside."

I take a shaky breath, and follow her into our apartment building. Once we're up in our penthouse, she turns to me, and for the first time her eyes fall on my strange and bloodied apparel. "What the hell are you wearing? Did you run off and join a cult?"

"No, I just, may have been –" Christ this is embarrassing, "kidnapped by one."

Anna stares at me and bursts out laughing. "All this time I'd been so worried about you, and you let a bunch of crazy people kidnap you? I thought maybe it was the Marcone family, and it was just a bunch of religious whackjobs? I hope you killed them all."

"Of course, whose blood do you think is on this robe?" I take off the dreadful thing and start to head toward the shower when she stops me, her expression serious.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I swallow. I'm not sure I'll ever be okay again. "I don't know. Let me go wash the blood out of my hair, then I'll tell you the whole story, all right?"

She nods and lets me past.

Once the viscera is cleaned from my body, I return to my girlfriend, clad in a bathrobe, and sit across from her in our living room. She pours us both a large glass of whiskey. I wonder if I can still get drunk. Shouldn't whatever lets me heal prevent that? Can I make an alcohol that would get me drunk? If it has to be ice based, then perhaps a nice chilled vodka?

"Elsa, what happened? I've been calling everywhere. Every single connection I had. None of them had any idea where you were. After that gunshot woke me up, when I didn't see you anywhere, I didn't let myself believe it, but I was so scared that you were dead - that you were just buried in a ditch somewhere. There was no blood and your gun was on the floor, so I knew that wasn't likely, but I was still scared." She takes a large swig of her whiskey to demonstrate her fear. I hate worrying her. I'll try to avoid letting anyone kidnap me in the future. I wonder if I could create some sort of creature that could guard the place while I sleep.

"It's a very complicated story. I'm not entirely sure where to start." I swirl the drink around my own glass, staring into it, wishing that it had her answers.

"How about at the beginning?"

"The beginning sounds like it may be the beginning of time, and I don't have all the details, so that would be a long and broken story. How about I start with yesterday?"

"Okay," she sighs, confusion clear on her face as she stares at me over the rim of her glass.

"After that job yesterday, things didn't exactly go well. Frank Corsetti got the drop on me, with a few other guys."

"The headhunter?" She stares at me incredulously, as if that twit was more famous than I am.

"That would be the guy." I hesitate, wishing that I didn't have to tell this part. I down my whiskey before continuing. "I think they killed me."

"Elsa, that's ridiculous. You're standing right in front of me."

"Apparently, yesterday I gained super powers. I used them to kill the assholes that jumped me. I snapped Corsetti's neck with my bare hands after my knees and shoulders healed their bullet holes and my chest stopped a bullet." I stare at her, trying to will the words into her brain – for her not to doubt me.

"What are you talking about? What super powers? Elsa, this is ridiculous." She looks as if she's about to rise, but she instead pours herself some more whiskey. She doesn't offer me any. She must think I'm already drunk.

A rose of ice appears in my hand. I stand from my seat and walk the few steps over to her, offering her the flower.

"What is this?" She takes it from me, staring at it, her eyes wide.

"I told you. I have super powers. Apparently I'm the reincarnation of some god or something. Boreas I think they said." I shift uncomfortably before her, not quite willing to return to the other chair.

She only blinks and continues to study the rose.

"Anna –"

"Let me process all of this for a moment! It's not every day my girlfriend comes home after being kidnapped by a cult and tells me she's a god. Are you sure they didn't brainwash you? Well I guess you wouldn't have super powers then. Why did they kidnap you? Are you their god? Are you their devil? I mean, who would kidnap their god? What did they do to you? Do I need to bring them back from Hell (or would it be Tartarus?) and kill them again? Since you're a god can you bring people back? Can you die? Why aren't you a goddess?" Realization strikes her. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Wow. So you're some god made human, and that's why you had to get stuck being born like that? I'm so sorry, honey."

"That's why they kidnapped me. They wanted to know how I could be – well, me." I sit down on the arm rest of her chair. I need to be close to her. This is all too much.

"Wow, kidnapping you and making you out yourself, murdering them seems too easy. I hope they suffered." She puts an arm on my knee and stares up at me. I feel myself finally relax. Ironic. She can make an immortal feel safe.

"Not enough. I let them off too easy. I should have tortured them as badly as they tortured me." Well, the cat's out of the bag now. I hadn't decided if I was going to tell her that part yet.

I swear her eyes actually caught fire. "They tortured you?" She's squeezing my leg so tight my flesh feels like it's being seared anew. "So how realistic was my bringing them back to life and killing them again idea?"

"No idea, I'm still trying to get a handle on what all I can do. I didn't exactly give them time to teach me."

"Elsa, what did they do to you?" she growls, not satisfied with my answer.

"This fucker – theo-something-or-other – he had a branding iron."

She pulls the bathrobe open, searching my body for any marks. "I don't see any brands. Did you not give him the chance to use it on you?"

I hold back tears, but can't keep my voice from breaking. "No. He used it. A lot. I heal now. Just like I did yesterday when I was shot."

She continues to stare at my body. "Where did he brand you?"

"Everywhere," I sigh, looking away from her.

Anna's eyes meet mine with a heated gaze. "Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?"