The hunger demanded more.
I turned on the gawkers, the looters, the bystanders—heedless of their innocence, their morality. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was restoration.
I struck. Again. And again.
Blood splattered across my coat, my hands, my face. Their screams filled the night but were only distant echoes beneath the thrum of power coursing through my veins.
Someone let out a guttural cry. “Good lord, there’s a monster among us!”
Panic erupted. People pointed, gasped, and ran.
It didn’t matter.
Moving with inhuman speed, I caught each one, snuffing out their lives with swift, merciless precision.
Panting between soul-laden breaths, I fed.
Again.
And again.
Until—
Silence.
The massacre stretched before me.
My body pulsed with renewed strength, every inch of me alive with stolen energy. But as I took in the carnage, the realization came crashing down like a thunderclap.
I fell to my knees, the impact jarring my bones.
My blade slipped from my fingers, clattering against the blood-slicked stone.
“What have I done?” My voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I’m truly a fiend.”
The corpses lay in heaps, their eyes sightless, mouths open in silent screams. Blood pooled in the cracks of the cobblestone, seeping into the earth—the scent of death—iron and sweat, decay and loss—coiledthick in the air.
I clenched my hands over my face, trembling.
“How can I live with myself?” My breath came in ragged gasps. “How can I pretend to be Rosie’s father, Olivia, and Roman’s friend and protector after this?”
Footsteps.
Approaching me.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t have the strength.
“Malik…”
Roman’s voice was careful, as one might speak to a cornered wolf.
I shook my head. “I’m despicable!” The words tore from my throat, raw and broken. “You must be disgusted with me. All I ever wanted was to live a normal life. To be a father.”
The light rain mingled with the blood, turning the streets into a canvas of crimson rivulets, curling in intricate patterns as they slithered away from the fallen bodies.
Roman approached cautiously, his palms raised in a silent plea.
Osman lingered behind, hesitant, watchful.
