Novel & Cerita Born Of A Broken Man Rage Against The Machine

“I don’t want trouble.” “Should’ve thought of that before you broke my fucking nose.” He shoved me hard, and I hit the ground. I groaned as my back cracked against concrete, the pain almost blinding me. Then…something inside me snapped. Like a door I’d been holding shut finally giving way. KILL THEM. The voice wasn’t a whisper anymore. It was everywhere, drowning out everything else. The rage that had been building for days exploded, wiping out fear and leaving only one thought.

“There are other men. Other families. Sons who can be adopted. If my own blood refuses to listen, refuses to obey, then I will find someone who will. Someone who understands that sentiments have no place in our world.” The fury that rose in me was hot, violent, blinding. I tossed back the last drop of whiskey, slammed the glass on the table, and stood. My voice shook with rage. “Then do it. Find your obedient little puppet. See how far it gets you.” I turned on my heel. “I’ve got somewhere to be. Show yourself out when you’re done.” I didn’t wait for his reply. I stormed out, every muscle in my body taut, every nerve on fire.

The veins in his neck bulged, his face red and slick with sweat as he smashed himself against the bars like a man possessed. I didn’t flinch. To anyone else, his frenzy might have been terrifying. But to me, it was pathetic. “Look at you.” I said flatly, my voice cutting through his screams like ice, “You’re not untouchable. You’re broken, broken into pieces like clay destroyed at the hands of its creator. You are nothing, Calloway. Absolutely nothing.”

She wants to be able to show me, to re-show me, to prove to the world that she even possesses Mike Donaghue. My rage rekindles, transforms. It's no longer a chaotic explosion. It condenses, becomes a black diamond, hard and sharp. A tool. They think they've won. They think they've broken me. They're wrong. A knee on the ground is not a defeat. It's a starting position. It's from there you push the hardest to get back up. I will get back up. But not to flee. To conquer. How do you break a spoiled child? How do you bend a will that has never been thwarted?

“I heard she nearly died months back. Serves her right, don’t you think, son? Women deserve to be broken if they don’t know their place.” Just like that, the cold fear from my past dissolved under the molten heat of the accumulated rage simmering from deep, deep within my psyche. The pained rage of childhood me going from therapist to therapist. The vengeful rage of teenage me slipping into the dark side to deal with the trauma within me. The deadly rage of adult me, itching to murder the man who made me so damaged and unable to love, protect and care. All of that rage combined, was like a drug. And I was fucking high on it.

frame ready for "Mechanical Violence." "You are 'Broken' now, Ethan," Mikhail sneered. "You have 'Loyalty.' You have 'Love.' These are 'System-Errors' in a fighter. Seven years ago, I turned you into a 'Ruthless' machine. Now, you are just a father. A father is a 'Functional' liability." The Friction of the First Strike

but like a prayer. Something broke in me then. A broken heart, sharp edges I didn’t know how to hold without bleeding. I poured myself a glass of water, but my hands shook so hard I spilled half of it across the counter. My body felt foreign—trembling, unsteady, weak. But it wasn’t weakness. It was rage. A rage so deep it scared me. Because what kind of man aims a gun at a child? What kind of father—grandfather—hunts his own blood?

I could hear everything but nothing as I stood, completely rooted to the spot as I looked at the lifeless body of my mate, and the lifeless body of the familiar wolf a little distance away from her. My mother. Then I suddenly began to break. At the time, I hadn’t known what was happening. I had simply welcomed the physical pain that replicated the breaking of my heart. I screamed in pain as my bones began to break and continued to scream until I couldn’t anymore. Then I had heard a voice. A powerful voice that had echoed in my head. “Let me help you”, the voice had said, and embracing the pain and anger, I had let him. That was how I had gotten Rage.