Bentley’s eyes fluttered open, his grin still defiant despite the blood dripping down his chin. His voice a broken whisper. “Come to finish the job?”
I leaned closer, close enough to see the fear flicker in his dark eyes. “Oh, Bentley,” I murmured, my voice dripping with mock sympathy. “This isn’t a job. This is art.”
I stood and gestured toward him, a flourish of my hand that set the psychopaths into motion. Grin was the first to move, his skeletal frame darting forward like a vulture descending on carrion. He dragged Bentley to the center of the room, his movements quick and precise despite his erratic demeanor.
Bentley groaned, his laughter now tinged with pain. “You’re wasting your time,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re no better than me.”
I stepped closer, my heels clicking against the floor as I towered over him. “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, crouching down again so our faces were inches apart. “I’m much worse.”
Brick stomped over, his massive hands gripping a length of rusted chain. With a grunt, he looped it around Bentley’s arms, securing him to one of the dangling hooks overhead. Bentley’s body sagged, his feet barely grazing the floor as the chain creaked under his weight.
Violet moved next, her scalpel glinting as she sliced through Bentley’s shirt with a surgeon’s precision. His chest was bare now, streaked with blood and sweat, each rise and fall of his chest more labored than the last.
I watched as they worked, my heart thrumming withexhilaration. This was where I thrived, in the chaos, in the art of destruction. And Bentley James, for all his bravado, was the perfect canvas.
Grin started with the knife, his movements erratic as he carved shallow lines into Bentley’s skin. He hummed a tune I didn’t recognize, his painted grin widening with each flick of the blade. Brick followed with his fists, each punch landing with a sickening crunch that echoed through the room. Violet, ever the artist, painted Bentley’s chest with the blood that pooled beneath him, her fingers trailing crimson patterns that only she could understand.
Bentley’s screams filled the room, high and sharp, the sound grating against the walls and sinking into my bones. I reveled in it, the symphony of his suffering a testament to the power I wielded. This was justice. This was balance.
I walked to the table, my fingers brushing over the tools as I considered my next move. A bone saw caught my eye, its jagged teeth promising something beautifully gruesome. I picked it up, its weight comforting in my hand, and turned back to Bentley.
“You see,” I said, my voice carrying over the cacophony of pain and laughter, “you made a mistake, Bentley. You thought you were untouchable. But even monsters have to answer for their sins.”
I stepped closer, running the blade of the saw along his jaw, watching as his defiance crumbled into fear. “And you,” I whispered, leaning in so only he could hear, “are just the beginning.”
The psychopaths moved aside as I pressed the saw to his shoulder, the teeth biting into flesh with a sickening squelch. His screams were louder now, his body writhing against the chains as the saw tore through muscle and bone. Blood sprayed, hot and sticky, painting the walls in arcs of crimson.
When the deed was done, Bentley hung limp, his body broken and his spirit shattered. But we weren’t finished.
Violet was the first to bite. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh with a feral growl. The others followed, their laughter mingling with the wet, guttural sounds of their feast. I watched, a smile playing at my lips, as they consumed him piece by piece, their madness on full display.
This was power.
This was control.
The room was quiet now,save for the sickening squelch of flesh being torn and devoured. Bentley James, the great terror, reduced to little more than a buffet for my darlings. I leaned against the blood-slick wall, crossing my arms and letting a satisfied smirk creep across my face. The air was heavy with the stench of iron and rot, a scent that would make most people retch but had long since become intoxicating to me.
This was perfection.
I tilted my head, watching as Violet sunk her teeth into what was left of Bentley’s shoulder, her lips curling in delight. Brick gnawed at a bone like a dog with a prized treat, his hulking frame casting monstrous shadows on the walls. Grin, ever the artist, dipped his fingers into the blood pooling on the floor and began smearing it across his face in wild, erratic patterns. They were animals, every one of them, and they were mine.
“Don’t take too long,” I drawled, my voice echoing off the cracked tiles. “We’ve got places to be.”
Grin turned to me, his painted grin wider than usual, his eyes glinting with manic glee. “Aw, Lilith,” he said, his voice sing-song. “You’re not joining the feast?”
I wrinkled my nose, feigning distaste. “I have more refined tastes,” I said, my smirk widening. “Besides, I’ve had my fun.”
I pushed off the wall, walking toward the door, my heels clicking against the tile. The room behind me was a scene of carnage, a masterpiece of destruction. But as much as I relished the chaos, my mind was already wandering, drifting to the asylum that loomed on the edges of my thoughts like a dark, beckoning shadow.
The asylum.
Even the word sent a thrill down my spine, a delicious shiver that settled in my bones. It was more than a place—it was a promise, a treasure trove of secrets and suffering just waiting to be unearthed. I could feel it calling to me, whispering in the back of my mind like a long-lost lover.
“Lilith!” Violet’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. She stood, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. “What now?”
I glanced over my shoulder, my smile sharpening. “Now, my darlings, we go home.”
The journey back to the circus was shrouded in silence, save for the occasional giggle or muttered word from my entourage. The night air was crisp, biting at my skin as we walked through the dense forest. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light filtering through the skeletal branches and casting eerie patterns on the ground.
