Prompt: None.
Rating: M for violence.
Warnings: Violence, murder, sadism, insanity mentions, this is the perspective of a serial killer.
I wanted to establish how I would write Kevin's perspective during the Red Eyed Phantom incidents and sorta figure out how it continues to affect Break present-day. I had a good time.
The first time, he hesitated.
He'd done it before, but only at his Lord's orders, only for his Lord's safety and with some sort of clear conscience. But this time, her eyes were only afraid—there was no malice, no retaliation, only fear and tears and could he really do this?
{ all for the sake of their future,
all for the sake of his masters. }
It would kill at his side; for that, he could not feel so heavy, but this woman had seen his face as it destroyed the rest of the party guests and it had to be him, he had to kill her before she screamed or ran or—
He was panicking, hesitating, but
the mantra continued in his mind
and then her blood coated his sword.
The second time was so much easier—for that one glared at him and showed a threat and that was enough, after he'd done this to an innocent, to make slicing him to bits seem so simple. There was no what have I done, no how could I do this—only one more, Albus, here's another.
{ he should have known right then
that he was already going mad. }
By the fifth time it was almost fun, in some sick and warped way—there was something so fascinating about how they screamed and writhed (he no longer remembered what they looked like), something so human about how they broke (like he was breaking), something so satisfying about the feeling of a blade slicing through muscle (just as it's intended to).
By the tenth time he could draw it out, smile and laugh in some sadistic amusement—his pain flowed through his sword and into their body, their blood flowed out and onto the ground and proved his name again and again—
{ red eyes, red blood, red misfortune, red madness }
—and each kill was just a step closer to the goal he had to reach, the thing he continued to tell himself was his reason.
{ all for their sakes, all for their sakes }
Sometimes he remembers her face, the first one's face, and he feels ill—sometimes he remembers the sensation of the tenth and twelfth and twentieth and he hates himself, hates the madness that so easily consumed him, hates that he still sometimes craves the way that sensation seemed to fit so perfectly into his being.
{ he's so warped, so broken—
—he can't become whole again, either;
destruction is his very being now, after all. }