Dead On Arrival (Open topic, anyone can join)

The man's knee-length cloak was pulled tight in a futile attempt to shut out the winds of the storms that had emerged from the clouds.  A torrential downpour of rain preceeded a tornado in the distance, and the funnel was aimed right for him, he knew.  As if the gods had seen fit to finally pass their judgement on him. 
"Well, mom..."
The head lowered to glance at a headstone with a single letter etched into it.  L. 
"I made it."
The man knelt down beside the stone, placing a hand upon it as his gaze shifted to the oncoming fate that approached. 
"Figures.  You spent all these years trying to guide me back home.  I finally get here and..."
He shook his head.  The once-great kingdom his mother had ruled had become a desolate wasteland.  Souls were hard to find, being few and far between among its borders.  Well, the living ones, anyway.  Riots started in the kingdom when it was unveiled just how unfit of a queen his mother had been.  After her death at the hands of her own people, a huge hole was left behind in the land's structure of society.  A power vacuum.  Who would take the throne?  Political chess matches were waged among those closest to the seat.  Her children had been seen as unfit to rule by way of them being of her seed.  The kingdom's people wanted to be sure they would not fall victim to a repeating of the history they'd just endured.  It was decided through a vote between the other higher-ups to allow the offspring of the disgraced queen to stay within the borders of the land they'd called home since their birth.  They wouldn't be banished.  But they would never take power.  People grew impatient with the Table and their political posturing for the throne.  They needed a leader.  A good one.  And the Table was taking to long to make their decision.  More riots broke out.  He wasn't there when it happened, but he was here now, among the aftermath of...the downfall.  It sickened him to see.
"You weren't a saint.  But a disgraceful distrustful queen on the throne is still better than it being vacant.  Maybe if I'd left dad's realm sooner...maybe if I'd have quit messing around all those years..."
He shook his head.  Regrets changed nothing now.  A hand emerged from the cloak with a blue rose.  The cloak whipped open in response to not being held back from the whims of the winds that bombarded him and the hood of the cloak fell from his head in surrender.  Somewhere between the moonlight and lightning, his visage was made clear, one split instant at a time.  Dark red irises glared out from under brows of jet black.  The rose was placed onto the grave in front of the stone and another flash of lightning illuminated the darkness of his now-wet hair, the color of darkness itself.  The hair swayed in the wind, waving just under the man's chin.  A thin chin strip of a goatee could also be seen, black as the rest of his hair.  The man's eyes turned to bullets, and shot up from the grave as he stood, before resting again on the funnel.  An F5 for sure.  Maybe it would come and finish the job of wiping what was left of this near-forgotten land from the face of this earth.  His face faltered then, in shock, as the tornado spawned a second tornado.  Two of them.  The new one wasn't as big, but it was still enough to assist in the destruction. 
"Well, shit.  That...can't be good for me."
Quickly he started to evaluate his options, the time spent with his uncle kicking in.  There were no buildings left intact enough to take shelter in.
"Can't hide..."
He was gifted with vampiric and demonic speed, but was even that enough to outrun two tornadoes?  It was hard enough for experts to predict the movements of one alone.  Traversing this wasteland of ruins in a straight line wasn't exactly possible either, without being slowed down by the state of his surroundings and uneasy footing. 
"Running isn't viable..."
The winds were to strong to take to the air, even if he had a way of doing so.  Suddenly a thought struck him.  All these years, his mother had been guiding him here from beyond the grave to a place he'd never once been.  Now that he had finally arrived for the first time, this bizzare storm hits.  The odds of that being a coincidence weren't even worth considering.  He rolled his eyes, giving a slight nod of understanding.
"So that's how it is, huh?"
He snickered at the trap he'd fallen into, set by a woman who wasn't even alive to enjoy the fruits of her work.  It was kind of funny in a way.
"You wanted to get rid of me...and this place...in one strike.  Well-played, mom."
A breath was slowly drawn in, an acceptance, a welcoming of his aparent fate. 
"If I end here, with the remaining shades of this kingdom that you created, then so be it.  But then what was it all for?  I don't know how many of your other kids are still kickin around, but I'm not seeing any of them here trying to rebuild what you left behind.  This wasteland of rubble and stone--this nearly barren land is your legacy.  You wanna wipe it out, that's fine.  That's your rite.  But me?  I ain't YOURS, you bitch!  I got your genes, yeah, but that's the only thing you ever gave me.  You weren't there to teach me about these powers you left me.  I had to learn on my own.  You wanted nothing to DO with me.  So why now?  Why take notice now of a child you never wanted when you were alive?  Why send Death for me here after all those years of not giving a damn?  You wanna bring me here to your fucking pile of shit land to be greeted by Death as you wipe me and the rest of whatever's left here out?"
A finger was raised, pointing at the approaching funnels, in stone-eyed defiance of not just his own mother, but the gods themselves. 
"I got a better idea!  Let me live.  Let me rebuild.  Let me rule your land as it was meant to be ruled, by royal blood.  Let me breathe new life into this pile of dust you call a kingdom.  You get to continue to live on in your legacy, secured by your own bloodline.  I get one of the only things you KNOW I can't say no to--power."
The path of destruction continued for a moment as the man searched the clods, the winds, the tornadoes themselves, for his mother's answer.  The tornadoes paused, as if in contemplation.  Then, as quickly as the storms had appeared, the winds fell.  The tornadoes subsided.  The clouds started to part, letting the full light of the moon shine down upon the rose at the grave.  A slow rolling grunt escaped as a sigh from his mouth.  He shook his head, smirking as his gaze lowered to the grass.
"Checkmate, bitch.  Figured you were too much of a megalomaniac to allow yourself to take that second death of being forgotten."
The smirk gave way to a chuckle, then a full laugh for a moment before he looked to the sky again. 
"And I'm too consumed by my own greed and power-lust to not take the chance at the throne.  Too smart to not know this was what you wanted when you started guiding my journeys here."
Another sigh came then as he turned from the grave to survey the rest of the area.  He'd have to start completely over, build it back up from the ground up.  But a king and his kingdom are nothing without subjects.  And souls--the living ones--were still hard to find.