Trigon Unleashed Chapter 3: The Awakening of Awareness.

Chapter 3: The Awakening of Awareness.

(Trigon’s POV)

I was not born in the traditional sense. There was no moment of innocence, no gradual discovery of the world around me, no years spent in blissful ignorance like other children.

I existed, and from the very first moment that my mind could form coherent thoughts, I knew something was wrong.

At first, everything was simple—sensations of power, warmth, hunger, and comfort.

The glowing presence of my mother, the towering figures of the Eternals, the vastness of the sky above.

But as the months passed, my mind sharpened at an unnatural rate.

Words came too easily, comprehension arrived too quickly, and knowledge formed before I had ever been taught.

I had 4 pairs of eyes, 2 horn stubs on my head, white hair and red skin. The first time I saw my reflection was a turning point.

It dislodged memories of my past life.

At first, they were nothing more than flickering images—blurry visions of structures far grander than any ancient temple, towering metal buildings piercing the clouds, symbols that made no sense yet felt familiar and flying crafts like the Eternal's spaceship, called airplanes.

My new family, the Eternals were part of these memories as well. Fighting with and against other superpowereds; People in armor that defied the laws of nature, men in red and blue, titans with golden gauntlets, beings who could crush entire planets with a thought.

I did not recognize them at first.

Until I did.

Marvel.

The realization hit like a storm, unraveling everything I had ever assumed about my existence. This world was not an ordinary one. It was a world where gods and monsters walked freely, where cosmic beings dictated the course of history, where entire civilizations could be erased at the whim of an entity older than the stars.

And I was here.

Not as a mortal, not as a mere observer. I had been reborn into the body of something that should not exist in this universe, something that did not belong.

I was Trigon.

A name that carried weight. A name that invoked fear. A name whispered in trembling voices across dimensions. A name that represented one thing and one thing only—evil.

The realization did not crush me as it should have.

Instead, it left me with questions.

What happened to the rest of my memories? Why could I not remember anything personal besides what I had read and watched?

More importantly, if I was Trigon, did that mean I was destined to become the monster he was? Did my nature dictate my future?

The bible in my memories had clear distinctions between good and evil. God was good, Satan was evil. In reality, Trigon was worse- he was EVIL in caps.

So could I be something else or was my destiny inevitable?

The answer was not clear. But if there was one thing I did know, it was that I would not let anyone else decide it for me.

The Eternals raised me as their own, though in truth, I never truly felt like one of them.

Most treated me with care, fed me, taught me, and watched over me as I grew. But they never truly accepted me with the exception of Thena, Makkari and Gilgamesh.

The others feared me.

Not openly, not in the way a mortal would tremble before a great beast, but in the way a person tenses when they sense an unseen predator lurking in the darkness.

But it wasn’t their fear that bothered me. It was their hypocrisy.

They had the power to shape this world, to guide it toward something greater, to lift humanity from its ignorance and suffering. Yet they chose not to.

They lived by a doctrine of non-interference, watching from the shadows as humanity struggled, fought, and died.

I could not stand it.

I could not understand it.

They could be gods. They should be gods.

Yet they shackled themselves with chains of their own making, bound to the will of beings who cared nothing for the people of this world.

And I despised them for it. Perhaps, looking for some sort of redeeming qualities, I made it a goal to understand them better.

At 5 years old, I had observed, studied and in time, learned each of their flaws.

Ikaris was the perfect soldier, blindly obedient to the Celestials.

He was a living weapon, a god in mortal flesh, and yet he spent his existence waiting for orders like a dog waiting for a master’s command. He avoided me whenever he could, and when he was forced to acknowledge my presence, it was always with measured caution. He feared what I might become.

Sersi was different. She wanted to believe in me, to see me as something other than a threat. But she hesitated. Her kindness was laced with doubt, and when I asked her to show me how to reshape matter as she could, she had refused. She told me I had enough power already. I smiled, nodded, and never asked again.

Phastos saw me as an anomaly, a puzzle to be solved. He was fascinated by my existence, eager to understand the nature of my uncontrollable power. He even created a pair of power restraining cuffs that I wore to regulate my power outbursts.

But to him, I was not a child—I was a specimen. When he suggested taking a blood sample, Thena had her sword at his throat before he could finish his sentence. I liked her best.

Makkari was one of the few who never treated me differently. Perhaps because she had no fear of me. What use was fear to the fastest being alive? She was confident, never hesitant.

Kingo masked his fear with bravado. He pretended to be comfortable around me, but his body language betrayed him. He spoke of heroism, of justice, but he was a man who lived for entertainment.

Druig… avoided me. He never spoke of what he saw when he entered my mind. But he never met my eyes for too long.

Ajax was just Ajax.

Gilgamesh tried. He treated me as an equal, as someone worth protecting. He taught me restraint, how to control my strength. It was a noble effort. A futile effort. But I let him try.

And then there was Thena.

My mother.

She did not question me. She did not try to change me. She did not ask me to be anything other than what I was. When the others hesitated, she defended me. When I asked her why, she simply said, “Because you are my son.”

And that was enough.

---

(8 years old)

As I continued to grow, so did my resentment toward the Eternals and their doctrine.

We traveled across the world, from the vast forests of Europe to the rising dynasties of Asia.

I saw humanity in its rawest form—fighting, suffering, clawing for survival. And I saw the Eternals standing by, refusing to intervene.

They had the power to end wars before they began, to cure diseases before they spread, to lift entire civilizations from the mud. But they didn’t.

Because it was not their place.

But it could have been.

And I questioned my place in it all.

If I was meant to be a god, then what kind of god was I? One that watched from the sidelines? Or one that acted?

“If the Celestials want humanity to grow, why hold them back?” I asked one day seated on a boulder atop a hill overlooking a field of rice farms.

Thena, leaning on the same boulder was silent for a long moment before answering.

“Because we are not their gods.”

I frowned. “But we could be. I could be.”

Although I was hesitant to use it due to it's uncontrollable nature, I could always feel the bottomless ocean of Power within me. Just waiting to be used.

And the time was fast approaching when Phastos' power restraints would stop working. At that time, I'd rather be a God than a Devil like Trigon.

Thena sighed, looking up at the sky.

“We shouldn’t be,” she said. “The strength of mortals comes from their struggle, Trig. If we shape their destiny for them, they will never learn to claim it for themselves.”

I understood her words. But I did not agree.

She saw all struggle as necessary.

I saw it as suffering.

And deep within me, something dark whispered that the Celestials’ laws were nothing more than chains.

Chains meant to be broken.

---

By the time I was ten, the Power Restraints meant to regulate my uncontrollable power stopped working, and it all came surging out in a devastating scarlet explosion.

Luckily that day I was swimming with Makkari, who sped away from the explosion, leaving me standing on a dry and cracked lake bed, in the middle of a mile wide crater.

After that, I had no choice but to try and learn Control.