My next victim trembles, waiting for the death I’m about to deliver. Her screams rip through the trees, and fire flickers around the blood-soaked pentagram.
“Find anything at the scene this morning?” Westley asks, stepping into the glow.
I shake my head. “Nothing yet. But I’m going back out there tomorrow.”
He doesn’t say another word. Just walks toward the woman, still screaming, and stares at her. This is when the torturing starts. Her soul needs preparing. The reaping demands it.
“Please!” she pleads, but it falls on deaf ears. No one surrounding this circle gives a damn what comes out of her mouth. Not even me at this moment.
She made her choice to try and escape the district walls with the boys she sexually abused. Now, she’ll be an example for all of the district. She’ll be like the sacrifices before her and the ones to come after her. Luckily for me, she actually did something worth killing for in my eyes. Makes it easier to pretend this isn’t just another body. Easier to justify what I’m about to do.
Her hair is splayed out around her, covered in spit and morning dew.
“It’s time, Ryven,” Westley says, passing me a knife by the handle.
I go on autopilot, steeling myself for what’s to come. It’s the only way to get through it. The only way not to think about what I’m doing. She’ll look like a splayed piece of meat once I’m done.
I move toward her head and squat next to her, brushing some hair from her face so she can see more clearly. “Do you understand your crimes?” I ask.
She shakes her head frantically. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
I tsk. “Stupid girl. Playing dumb only makes it worse.” I point the knife’s tip near her collarbone, and she tries to move away from it. “Are you going to confess your sins, or am I going to carve them out of you?” I ask.
She sobs. “I promise you; I wasn’t going to do anything. Please!”
I sigh. “Very well.”
I glance over at Westley who waits for the green light to join. However, I want this sacrifice all to myself. Her crimes are worth the pain I’ll put her through. Humans taking advantage of children deserve the most painful death. She was found with three little boys she’d been taking advantage of for a few years. Now it is her time to die.
I shake my head at Westley and begin.
I trail the blade down her arm, careful not to nick anything vital.Not yet.I want her to live until the very last cut.
She screams the entire time and for a split second, it sounds like him. Like Joey. My hand falters. Just enough to notice, but I don’t stop.
With the skin cut in the middle, I begin pulling her flesh from the bones, displaying every vein and muscle she has inside her arm. Once everything is exposed, I move to her other one.
She’s slipping—shock setting in fast.
I slap her cheek lightly. “Don’t drift off now. The fun’s just starting.” The words come out too easy. Like I’ve said them before and this is just who I am now.
I do the exact same thing to her other arm, revealing what’s underneath. By the time I get to her last leg, her hollering stops, and her chest barely rises. Shock courses through her body as she goes into a hibernation-like state, attempting to save herself from inevitable death.
Her head lolls to the side as she goes in and out of consciousness. I smack her hard to wake her, and she silently cries as she tries to look at her body.
Westley stands by, watching the show. “You should have let me fuck her before you gashed her legs open, man. That would teach her a lesson since she likes to take advantage of young boys.” He grabs the front of his jeans. “I have a real cock for her right here.”
I scoff as bile creeps up the back of my throat. This is where I draw the line. Not the killing—this. This is something I refuse to become. “If you wanted to screw something rotten, you should’ve asked before I filleted her.”
He looks at his unwilling victim, and then he smirks. “You know. I think I’ll just finish on her once you’re done.” He pulls out his cock, and I turn my head.
Nasty fucker.Only he can make something so gruesome fucking sexual.
I smack the woman's face once more to gain her attention and push the knife into her stomach, starting my sacrificial drawing. She belts out her pain, squirming and then yelling some more from the agony that movement brought her.
I hear a moan over my shoulder, but I don’t dare turn around. I focus on the blade. On the lines. On anything but the sound behind me.
I meticulously carve her body pentagram focusing on the lines, not the person, and once I’m done, I stand to admire my work. Not pride. Just… completion. Her face is in perfect condition, aside from the tears and saliva dripping. Each limb is splayed open, showcasing every nerve ending, vein and muscle. Her stomach displays her sacrificial pentagram.
