Capítulo 74: Revolution [part 5]
This chapter is only for readers 18+ and contains disturbing scenes. Please read it at your own risk.
The laughter echoed in the room, a jarring note mingling with the deadly silence.
My hands trembled, not with fear, but with the adrenaline and euphoria coursing through my veins.
Tears ran hot down my cheeks, a twisted expression of joy and madness.
The knife in my hand had become an extension of myself, a symbol of my new identity.
As I stared at the lifeless bodies strewn around me, I felt a pang of dark satisfaction.
The blood, now cold, clung to my skin, my face, my hands, soaking into my clothes.
Each corpse was a trophy, a testament to my power and liberation from the shackles of morality.
I had embraced the darkness within me, becoming a creature of the dark, and now I felt invincible.
With a twisted grin, I looked at the bodies before me, feeling a thrill of power run down my spine.
Each corpse lay there, a silent witness to my passage, to the choices I had made.
But that macabre calm was not enough; the madness that enveloped me demanded more, a further affirmation of my new identity.
I knelt beside the nearest body and, with expert, sure hands, plunged the knife into the inert flesh, the gleaming blade slipping effortlessly into the now lifeless muscle.
The soft, wet sound of the cut filled the air, a visceral noise with a strange musicality.
The blade sank, sliding between the tense muscles and separating tendons and bones with unnatural ease.
Each movement was a deliberate, calculated act, like a surgeon working on a macabre canvas.
The blood, cold and thick, spurted in small red explosions, staining my skin and clothes.
Each splash was a testament to my power, a tangible sign of my dominance over what was once alive.
My hands, once trembling, were now steady and determined, guided by an inner force that no longer recognized the boundaries between the permissible and the forbidden.
The metallic smell of fresh blood, mingled with the acrid scent of incipient decay, created a miasma that filled the room, wrapping me in a cocoon of morbidity.
Every cut, every laceration, was a deliberate act.
I felt the knife glide along the bones, the dry, dull crunch accompanying each precise stroke.
I tore away pieces of flesh and threw them to the ground with disdain, each shred a trophy of my triumph over the humanity I had left behind.
I was an artist of flesh, transforming those bodies into a sort of macabre sculpture.
The torn muscles curled, the broken bones jutted out like wreckage on a shore.
My laughter, initially subdued, grew in intensity.
It was a guttural sound, almost animalistic, an expression of pure euphoria and madness.
Every thrust of the knife, every spurt of blood, fueled that laughter, which rang out like a perverse melody in the tomb-like silence of the room.
The tears streaming down my face mixed with sweat and blood, forming red, salty rivulets that clung to my skin like a bloody mask.
I paused for a moment, observing my work with eyes shining with a feverish light.
The bodies, now reduced to a chaos of torn flesh and shattered bones, lay in unnatural positions, distorted in a horrific parody of life.
The floor was a red sea of blood, the scraps of flesh and pieces of bone a landscape of desolation that testified to my descent into madness.
The air was heavy, saturated with death and violence, and every breath I took was a breath into the abyss of my new identity.
I continued to work, driven by an unstoppable compulsion.
I tore a piece of cloth from the nearest corpse and threw it away, feeling a sense of release with every movement.
The act of dismembering those bodies had become a sort of sacred ritual, a ceremony that sealed my complete transformation.
Every part of the body I removed was a further step into total darkness, a deeper embrace of my new nature.
The blood, now cold, clung to my hands like a second skin, slippery and viscous.
I felt the cold of the air on my wet skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of my labored breath.
The room was a sanctuary of horror, a sacred place of my new faith in madness and violence.
Every piece torn away, every broken bone, was an offering to this new dark deity I had embraced.
Finally, I stopped.
The knife, now almost entirely dull and dirty, hung heavily in my hand.
I looked at the remains of my enemies, now unrecognizable as human.
They had become a shapeless mass of flesh and bones, a monument to my fury and liberation.
I felt empty and full at the same time, as if I had emptied every emotion and absorbed a dark, unfathomable power.
My breath slowed, the laughter dying down into a haunting silence.
The room, once a battlefield, was now a silent mausoleum, inhabited only by shadows and ghosts.
I rose slowly, letting the knife drop to the ground with a metallic clang.
I looked at my bloodstained hands, feeling the weight of my choice, my descent into darkness, and the acceptance of my true self.
I walked out of the room, leaving behind the sanctuary of blood and flesh.
Every step felt heavier, as if each one anchored me more deeply into the darkness I had embraced.
I felt the chill of the night air on my skin, a sharp contrast to the warm, sticky blood that still stained my hands.
Where every breath was a struggle, every movement a battle against the weight of my guilt and my liberation, and the acceptance of my true self.
There was nothing left to do but laugh. Not because I found it funny, but because I didn't know how to react to what I had just done.
So, with one last look at the dismembered remains, I walked away, carrying with me the indelible mark of my madness.
The darkness had consumed me, and I had embraced it completely.
The laughter slowly faded, dissolving into the silence like a sinister echo.
Every step I took echoed dully in the empty room, now reduced to a mausoleum of flesh and bones.
I felt the cold metal of the knife against my leg, the weight of the weapon seeming to pulse with a life of its own.
Every fiber of my being vibrated with a strange energy, a darkness radiating from the core of my soul and enveloping everything around me.
I looked around one last time, taking in the chaos I had created.
The dismembered bodies lay scattered like pieces of a macabre puzzle, each a mute testimony to my transformation.
The air was heavy, filled with an oppressive silence that seemed to absorb every sound, every thought.
It was as if the very room had become a living entity, trapped in the suffocating stillness of an endless night.
My mind was a whirlwind of confused and fragmented thoughts, a downward spiral pulling me deeper into the abyss of my madness.
I felt divided, as if part of me was observing everything from a cold, clinical distance, while the other part reveled in the chaos and horror I had unleashed.
Yet, amidst it all, there was a terrifying clarity: I knew there was no turning back.
My fate was now sealed, chained to a dark path that led me further and further from the light.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder