I see something in his eyes that I recognize in my own, and something I rarely see in others. He likes it. He’s lost something precious, though I’ve never asked him what it was, but I know he has. And now Gene lets out a bitter laugh as the man with fingers like fat sausages stumbles back, trembling. He’s grieving for what he lost, but even then, he turns away. No matter what they lose, they never want to die. They cling to their lives like the filth they are. And in answer to that pathetic tenacity, the urge of the reaper grows in Gene’s heart. He lunges, punching the big, soft-bellied man in the ribs, cracking something inside. Gene refuses to grant him a quick death like the child before. Instead, he draws it out.
While Cham and I shower off the blood and filth, while we scrub the stink of sweat and fear from our skin, Gene is still with the man. We check the bastard’s belongings, count what little coins he had, take anything useful. And Gene tortures him for a full hour before finally killing him. He’s slow about it. Deliberate. He won’t let the man scream too much. Doesn’t want to attract anyone. But he makes sure every breath is agony before it’s over. Only when he’s satisfied does he come to clean himself, silent and sour and spitting flecks of blood into the drain.
Outside, the breeze of the cold town catches my hair, whipping it across my face. The day itself is a lie: hot, glaring, the sky lit by that blue sun like something out of a faerie tale. A sun that looks cold as ice but burns like fire. By nightfall it all reverses. The darkness swallows the glow, and the moon dominates the heavens, with real coldness. The kind that seeps into your bones and feasts on you from the inside.
I look up at the golden moon. It’s so close it feels like it’s going to crash down and annihilate us all, craters as big as the old colorless moon I remember from the nights with Ren only a month ago. I wouldn’t mind if the world ended now, if every last one of these monsters was pulled with me into hell, I’d welcome it.
I exhale into nothing, watching the fog catch the light of the gas lamps in a swirling golden haze. At night, it isn’t pitch-black, not really—there are streaks of dark violet across the sky. The stars burn through them, bright and indifferent. Too beautiful for a place . Too beautiful for eyes like mine. Or for the eyes of those monsters who sleep safe behind those sharp-peaked roofs, oblivious and dreaming of better days.
My gaze wanders across the stars. Some pulse and shimmer, others dim, but most remain cold and fixed. Ren would have found a way to understand them. He would have found a way to understand these creatures. He wouldn’t have killed that child. And I—I wouldn’t either.
But the world changes in a moment. A single loss and everything you were collapses into nothing. My morality snapped when Ren died. I should have stopped Gene. I should have restrained him, should have spat in his face and refused. But my brother is gone. With him, my world.
I will never stop. Not until every last one of them is dead. Men, women, children. No exceptions. A plague doesn’t discriminate, neither will I. And maybe—maybe—there’s another way. But I refuse to think about it. I want only revenge, and their deaths will suffice.
I lower my eyes to the wet asphalt, reflecting the glow of the gas lamps. They’re set every dozen meters in perfect lines, making sure the street never truly goes dark. The fog curls around them, the light diffusing in ghostly halos. My boots thud softly with each step, Cham and Gene’s footsteps matching my own, echoing through the empty street.
I’m a wandering soul. Drifting. Searching. But for what? There’s something inside me, gnawing and hungry. I don’t know what it is. In a fight, I want to drink blood, when I see their eyes, these monsters responsible for my loneliness, I want to kill them, watch the light leave their gaze. There’s something more to it, too, but I can’t name it.