The first weeks that followed his death went by in a state of perpetual confusion that melted into depression. Physically, he could feel nothing at all. Mentally, everything was suddenly magnified. A deep sadness became depression. Anger turned into pure rage. Instability brought him closer to the breaking point. A day approximately two weeks after his death found him staring at his own tombstone. Stefan Deplore. Himself. Dead. He could still picture himself alive, dragging himself to school, doing all the normal things. A sudden voice next to him startled him, eyes soon widening as he realized something.. "Isn't that awful, the poor boy.. Oh, sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Did you know him? Only seventeen and murdered, and in this quiet city!" A mumbled reply was all the old woman received, as he rushed off to learn just what had happened.

 

     Several weeks passed as he learned to control his new-found ability. The relative peace that came with the practice was soon shattered, however, as a small group stumbled across the abandoned building he had chosen to hide out in when experimenting with the ability. A wave of fear mixed up with anger swept over his mind as he saw just who they were, the feelings amplified by the state he was in. "You!? But.. you're ..dead." Another voice. "Maybe it's a setup." Another. "Don't worry about it, just kill him!" The group would not get any more time to figure out what was going on, though, as his mind was pushed over the edge by one of the men rushing him. A sudden grab for a sharp shard of metal and an unexpected lunge left the initiator dropping to his knees clutching heedlessly at his neck. The other two drew their weapons to kill the crazed boy, their eyes widening in a fear much like his own had been as the bullets did absolutely nothing to prevent the two deaths that followed.

 

     He didn't have much time to cope with what he had just done, as his solid form dissipated soon after. He had yet to master holding it for too long, and the time it took him to regain the energy did nothing for the jumble of feelings he was trying to handle. His renewed fears festered and twisted into a disturbed paranoia. The memory of the temporary relief gained from eliminating those who had hurt him was strong in his mind. Anger slowly became something more intense. By the time he could once again hold a solid form, his mind was a fractured thing. He became convinced he had to eliminate all who had been involved in his death to be free of the constant war inside his head.

 

     Perhaps he could have been forgiven these first murders. He hunted down and killed those who had done the same to him. Revenge. They deserved it, right? But as time went on, his mind was driven into worse shape, not improved as he had hoped. He began killing people who weren't involved at all, merely reminded him of those that had been, or did some deed to set him off. As time passed, the original goal was lost altogether, and he killed merely because he felt a growing need to, because he felt worse the longer he went without.

 

     This general process continued with new people, becoming more refined and falling into more of a ritual as time passed. He grew increasingly cruel, loving the look on his victim's faces as they realized how terribly he had just betrayed them. He had lost sight of the fact he had been like these people once. He was completely out of control. That is, until the day came when the pursuit of his chosen victim would almost lead to his own destruction..