The killings flashed through my head, the news reports I'd scrolled through back in my apartment.
If he was gone… his absence could mean he was out there right now, feeding that darkness inside him, adding to the count while I sat here powerless. The thought sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold, because if he came back sated, calmer, what would that mean for me? Or if he didn't come back at all, how long before I started screaming into the void, hoping some passerby in the industrial district might hear?
The rain intensified, pounding now like fists on the roof, drowning out my thoughts and making the room feel even smaller, more cut off from the world. I hugged my knees to my chest, the glass shard in my pocket a small comfort, its wrappededges pressing against my thigh as I rocked slightly, trying to ward off the creeping sense that this was it, the end of the line in a place no one would ever look.
Then, without warning, the door exploded inward with a deafening crash, the bolt shearing off like it was nothing, wood splintering as the frame buckled under the force of whatever slammed into it from the other side.
I jolted upright, heart slamming into my ribs, the blanket falling away as terror flooded me in an instant, raw and electric, freezing me for a split second before instinct kicked in. He staggered through the wreckage, or what was left of him, his tall frame lurching into the room like a storm breaking loose, rain-slicked and wild, his coat hanging open and drenched in blood that gleamed wet and dark under the lantern light.
So much blood, too much for it to be his alone, smeared across his chest, his hands, even streaking his face in gruesome trails that dripped onto the floor with soft, sickening plops. Human blood, I knew it in my gut, the metallic scent hitting me like a wave, coppery and thick, mingling with the rain and something sharper, more acrid, like burned metal. His eyes, those gray eyes that had always been piercing, were gone now, swallowed by blackness that consumed the whites, leaving only inky voids that stared without seeing, unfocused and feral. The veins under his skin had erupted to the surface, black and bulging like twisted roots pushing through pale earth, threading up his neck, across his cheeks, pulsing visibly with every ragged breath he dragged in. He looked wrecked, far beyond the frayed man who'd left this morning, his body trembling violently as he braced against the ruined doorframe, barely holding himself upright, his knees buckling slightly before he caught himself with a guttural snarl that echoed off the walls.
Panic surged through me, my breath catching in my throat as I scrambled back on the cot, pressing against the wall as ifit could swallow me whole. This wasn't him, not the controlled predator who'd dragged me here or the haunted interrogator who'd paced the room firing questions; this was something broken loose, a monster wearing his skin, and the wrongness of it hit me like a physical blow, worse than anything I'd seen from him before. Blood pooled at his feet, mixing with the rainwater streaming off him, and I couldn't tell if it was fresh kills or his own wounds leaking, but the sheer volume made my stomach twist, bile rising as images flashed of what he must have done out there in the storm.
Did he even know where he was? His blacked-out eyes swept the room blindly, not locking on me but roving with a jerky intensity, like he was hunting by scent or sound alone, his head tilting unnaturally as another low growl rumbled from his chest. I gripped the glass shard in my pocket, yanking it free with shaking fingers, the cloth wrapping unraveling as I held it out like a talisman, my mind racing through the tiny space for any escape, any corner I could bolt to before he closed the distance. The mirror in the corner, maybe shatter it for more weapons; the bucket, heavy enough to swing if I could reach it; the pile of cans, useless but perhaps a distraction if thrown. But the room was too small, the door behind him a mangled barrier now, and with that invisible force still possibly in play, running past him felt like suicide. He took a staggering step forward, his boots dragging through the blood, leaving smeared footprints, and terror clawed up my spine, because whatever restraint he'd shown before was gone, stripped away, leaving only this blood-soaked wreck that might not even recognize me as anything but prey.
I slid off the cot, heart pounding so hard it drowned out the rain, my back scraping the wall as I edged sideways, desperate to put distance between us, to read if those void eyes had fixed on me yet or if he was lost in whatever madness gripped him.Would he kill me now, finish what he'd started in the alley, or was this something else, some breakdown that made him lash out blindly?
His trembling hands flexed, fingers curling like claws, veins throbbing darker, and he lurched another step, closer, the air thickening with the stench of blood and rain-soaked decay. Survival screamed in my head, urging me to move, to fight, but fear rooted me for a breath too long, watching as his lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing teeth stained red. Then he lunged, sudden and ferocious, his body propelling forward with a speed that belied his wrecked state, closing the gap before I could even scream.
11
XAVIAN
AN HOUR EARLIER…
Consciousness returned in fragments, like shards of glass piecing themselves back together under my skin.
Each jagged piece sliced through the fog in my mind, bringing with it flashes of sensation.
The cold seep of mud against my knees.
The sticky weight of blood drying on my hands.
The distant patter of rain that sounded like a thousand tiny accusations drumming against the earth.
I blinked slowly, my eyelids heavy as lead, and the world swam into a hazy focus, blurred edges sharpening into a tableau of horror that clawed at the remnants of my awareness.
My breath came in ragged gasps, each one pulling in the thick, metallic reek of blood that hung in the air like a fog, coating my tongue with its coppery bitterness, mingling with the sour tang of unwashed bodies and the damp rot of cardboard shelters scattered across the ground.
The rain fell steadily, relentless, turning the earth into a slurry of filth and crimson puddles that reflected the distant glow of city lights in fractured, wavering shards.
I pushed myself up on trembling arms, my palms sinking into the muck, fingers curling into the cold sludge as if grasping for stability in a world that had spun out of my control.
Bodies lay everywhere, at least forty of them, twisted in the throes of their final moments, faces frozen in silent screams that echoed silently in my mind. One man, his beard matted with blood and dirt, lay sprawled on his back, his chest carved open with a single, precise stroke that had split ribs like kindling, his skin hanging loose and pallid, drained of the vital essence that once animated him.
Nearby, a woman clutched a tattered blanket to her chest, her throat crushed inward, the imprint of fingers—my fingers—still visible in the bruised flesh, her eyes wide and glassy, staring at nothing. Others bore marks of raw, unbridled violence: a young boy's limbs splayed at unnatural angles, his spine twisted from a blow that had caved in his back; an older figure slumped against a shredded tent, his chest stove in as if by a force far beyond human strength, ribs protruding like broken branches.
Tents and tarps lay in tatters around them, scattered belongings soaked in the downpour—a forgotten backpack spilling canned goods into the muck, a worn shoe half-buried in a puddle of congealing blood, a child's toy, absurdly intact, smeared with red fingerprints.
This was no random alley or isolated underpass; this was a homeless encampment, miles from the derelict buildings where I had last been aware, far on the outskirts of the industrial district, closer to the river's edge where the city frayed into wilderness. The overpass loomed above, its concrete underbelly dripping with rainwater, casting long shadows that merged with the fog rolling in from the water. How I had gotten here, how much time had slipped away in the blackout, remained a void in my mind, an empty stretch that could have been hours or days, but the scale of the slaughter told me enough. The bladehad run rampant, unchecked, claiming far more than necessity demanded. I could feel the echoes of it in my body, the phantom twitches in my muscles from swings I didn't remember, the ache in my joints from pursuits through the night that left no trace in my memory.
I remembered only the three from before the darkness swallowed me, those urban explorers in the fog-shrouded ruins, their laughter cutting through the whispers as Virelya pulled me toward them. They had been young, careless, poking through the decay with hoodies pulled up against the mist, backpacks slung over shoulders, oblivious to the shadow closing in. The blade had surged then, a rush of cold fire racing through my veins, yanking my perception toward them with brutal force. My legs had veered without command, boots pivoting on the cracked pavement as if strings had jerked me sideways, the tremors in my limbs giving way to an unnatural smoothness, a predatory grace that wasn't mine. I had felt it take over, inch by inexorable inch: the hunger flooding my muscles like liquid shadow, coiling around my will and squeezing until my own thoughts receded, drowned out by the voices' triumphant roar. My hand had twitched toward the sheath at my side, fingers brushing the hilt against my volition, the metal humming eagerly under my touch. A rush of alien euphoria had built in my core, pushing out the last remnants of fear, replacing my fury with a hollow, insatiable need that propelled me forward, step by unwilling step, toward the group. And then the blackout had descended, like a curtain falling, erasing everything after.
But this carnage stretched far beyond those three, a massacre that must have unfolded in a frenzy, the blade piloting my body through the night, seeking out this hidden cluster of the forgotten and reaping them wholesale. Blood coated me from head to toe, slick and cooling on my skin, soaking through my coat and shirt, mingling with the rain that failed to wash it away.I raised a hand to my face, feeling the tacky residue smear across my cheek, and my fingers came away red, glistening in the dim light. My hands trembled as I pushed myself upright, the dark veins beneath my flesh throbbing visibly, swollen and black like rivers of ink threatening to burst, pulsing with a rhythm that matched the faint hum of the blade at my side.
Exhaustion weighed on me, a bone-deep weariness that made every movement an effort, my muscles aching, each twitch sending jolts of pain up my arms and legs, as if my body had been pushed to its limits in a marathon of violence. My breaths came shallow, labored, each inhale pulling in more of that choking metallic scent, my chest heaving against the invisible chains of fatigue that bound me. But the practical truth hit harder than any fatigue. This was waste, excess that served no purpose beyond the blade's gluttony, lives extinguished not for survival but in a storm of unchecked hunger.
I staggered to my feet, boots sinking into the mud with a wet suck, and surveyed the scene again, the rain washing rivulets of blood down a nearby tarp, pooling in depressions where feet had trampled the ground into chaos. The authorities would notice this, a body count this high in one place, drawing eyes and investigations that could trace back to me, tightening the noose around my exile. Reporters would swarm, police would cordon off the area, forensics teams picking through the muck for clues—a footprint, a fiber from my coat, anything that might lead them to the warehouse. Worse, it meant the blackouts were escalating, the blade asserting more control, turning me into a vessel for slaughter on a scale I had managed to avoid until now. No sentiment stirred in me for the dead, no useless guilt over faces I did not know; they were fuel, nothing more, their essence a means to an end. But the inefficiency of it grated, a sign that my grip was slipping further, the curse digging deeper roots, eroding the fragile barriers I had built over years.
