《Killers Instinct》


 the Birth of emptyness

    Chapter One: The Birth of Emptiness


    The night was moonless, as if the sky itself had conspired to conceal the horrors unfolding in the house at the end of Hollow Street. Inside, a boy named Ethan stood alone in the darkness of his bedroom, his small frame shivering not from cold but from the overwhelming dread that had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember. He was only twelve, but his eyes carried the weight of a soul far older, burdened by a life marred with cruelty and neglect.


    Ethan¡¯s parents were a looming presence even in their absence. His father, a brute of a man, had a temper that flared with the slightest provocation, and his mother was a shadow, disappearing into bottles of cheap liquor to escape her own misery. Love was a foreign concept in this household, replaced by a toxic mix of fear and resentment. Each day was a battle for survival, each night a respite that never lasted long enough.


    Tonight was different, though. Tonight, something within Ethan had shifted, a subtle but irrevocable change. It had started earlier in the evening, when his father¡¯s rage had exploded over a trivial matter¡ªan unwashed dish, a misplaced tool. The specifics didn¡¯t matter; the outcome was always the same. The blows had come hard and fast, but this time, as Ethan lay on the floor, his vision blurred and his body aching, a strange calmness enveloped him. It was as if the part of him that felt fear and pain had finally given up, surrendering to the void that had been growing inside him for years.


    Hours later, he found himself standing in front of his parents¡¯ bedroom door, a kitchen knife clutched tightly in his hand. He didn¡¯t remember picking it up, but there it was, cool and heavy, a promise of something final. He pushed the door open, and the familiar smell of stale alcohol and sweat hit him. His father¡¯s snoring was a low rumble, a monstrous sound that had haunted Ethan¡¯s nightmares. His mother lay beside him, a barely visible lump under the blankets.


    Ethan moved silently, his bare feet barely making a sound on the worn carpet. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum of impending doom. He approached his father first, staring down at the man who had caused him so much pain. The anger that usually accompanied these thoughts was absent, replaced by a hollow indifference. His appearance was a haunting reflection of his internal turmoil¡ªhair streaked with stark contrasts of white and black, eyes as red as rubies, and skin as pale as a ghost. His father¡¯s eyes snapped open just as the knife plunged into his chest.


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    The knife sank deep, the blade tearing through flesh and muscle with a sickening ease. A wet, sucking sound filled the room as Ethan twisted the blade, the coppery scent of blood mingling with the stench of alcohol. His father¡¯s eyes widened, a mixture of pain and disbelief flashing across his face. ¡°E-Ethan?¡± he croaked, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth.


    Ethan watched the light fade from those eyes without a flicker of emotion. It was as if he were an observer in someone else¡¯s life, disconnected and numb. He whispered, ¡°You always said I was good for nothing. Guess you were wrong.¡±


    His mother woke with a start, her bleary eyes widening in terror as she took in the scene before her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her body paralyzed with shock.


    ¡°Ethan, what are you doing?¡± she finally managed to scream, her voice slurred from the alcohol.


    Ethan turned to her, and for a brief moment, something like hesitation flickered in his mind. But it was gone as quickly as it had come. He stepped forward, the knife finding its mark with an ease that should have disturbed him, but didn¡¯t. Her screams were short-lived, ending in a choking silence as the blade sliced through her throat, the sound of tearing flesh and gurgling breaths filling the room.


    ¡°No, Ethan, please!¡± she managed to plead, but her words were cut off by the final, fatal thrust. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering across Ethan¡¯s face and the bed. ¡°Goodnight, Mother,¡± Ethan muttered, his voice devoid of emotion. ¡°You¡¯ll sleep better this way.¡±


    Ethan stood over their bodies, the knife slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor. The house was silent now, a stark contrast to the violence that had just occurred. He expected to feel something¡ªguilt, sorrow, relief¡ªbut there was nothing. He was an empty shell, a vessel drained of all emotion. The boy who had once been capable of feeling was gone, replaced by something cold and unrecognizable.


    He walked to the bathroom, his movements slow and deliberate, like a specter haunting its own home. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was his, but the eyes were those of a stranger. Lifeless and dark, they reflected a void that could never be filled. He washed the blood from his hands, watching the crimson water swirl down the drain. It felt almost ritualistic, a cleansing that went beyond the physical.


    Ethan returned to his bedroom, curling up on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He waited for sleep to take him, knowing that when morning came, the world would be irrevocably changed. There would be questions, investigations, and whispers of horror from the neighbors. But none of that mattered. The boy who had lived through so much pain was no more. In his place was someone¡ªsomething¡ªelse, born from the ashes of a broken childhood.


    As the first light of dawn crept through the window, Ethan closed his eyes. The birth of emptiness was complete, and in the silent aftermath, he found a strange sense of peace.

 Masks and Shadows

    Killers Instinct


    Chapter Two: Masks and Shadows


    The morning after the night of blood, Ethan awoke to the sound of police sirens and the distant murmur of concerned neighbors. He moved with mechanical precision, dressing himself and preparing for the day as if nothing had happened.


    His mind was clear, the events of the previous night compartmentalised in a part of his consciousness he could easily ignore. He walked past the bodies of his parents without a second glance, stepping over the blood-stained carpet and out the front door.


    The police found him sitting on the front steps, his pale skin contrasting sharply with his black and white hair. His red eyes were eerily calm as they took in the scene. They tried to question him, but Ethan''s responses were clipped and emotionless.


    "It wasn''t me," he said simply. "They did it to themselves."


    The officers exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to handle the strange, detached boy. Eventually, social services took him away, placing him in the care of a foster family in a different part of town. But no matter where he went, the darkness followed him, a constant companion lurking just beneath the surface.


    ***


    Years passed, and Ethan grew older, his intelligence setting him apart from his peers. He excelled in school, his sharp mind absorbing information with an ease that bordered on the uncanny. But his brilliance was coupled with a deep, unsettling emptiness.


    The boy who had once been filled with fear and pain had split into two distinct personas: one a feeble, frightened child, and the other a cold, calculating entity with an insatiable desire to look down or even kill those around him.


    At school, Ethan wore the mask of the timid boy. His classmates saw him as a quiet, unassuming student, always keeping to himself and avoiding confrontation. But beneath that facade, the other Ethan lurked, watching and waiting for the right moment to emerge. This darker persona was devoid of empathy, driven only by a twisted sense of purpose that no one could understand.


    One afternoon, Ethan sat in the school library, engrossed in a book about human psychology. He found the subject fascinating, particularly the sections on dissociative identity disorder. As he read, he felt a familiar shift within him, a subtle change in the air around him.


    "Are you afraid?" a voice whispered in his mind. It was the voice of his darker self, cold and mocking.


    Ethan glanced around, ensuring no one else was nearby before responding internally. "Why would I be afraid? We''ve done worse."


    The darker voice chuckled. "True. But don''t forget our purpose. The mask you wear won''t save you forever."


    Ethan''s eyes flickered with a brief hint of red as he forced the voice back into the recesses of his mind. He couldn''t afford to lose control, not here, not now. He had a reputation to maintain, a facade to uphold.


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    ***


    As he grew older, the split between his two personas became more pronounced. The frightened, feeble boy struggled to maintain normalcy, attending classes, doing homework, and pretending to be just another student. But the other side of him, the cold, emotionless entity, grew stronger and more cunning. It relished the moments when it could take over, feeding on the fear and pain it inflicted on others.


    One night, as he walked home from school, a group of bullies cornered Ethan in an alleyway. They were the same boys who had tormented him for years, mistaking his quiet demeanor for weakness.


    "Hey, freak," the leader sneered, shoving Ethan against the wall. "What''s with those creepy eyes?"


    Ethan''s feeble persona took over, his body trembling as he stuttered a response. "I-I d-don''t w-want any trouble."


    The bullies laughed, their taunts growing more vicious. But beneath the surface, the darker Ethan stirred, seething with anger and anticipation. He could feel the shift coming, the moment when he would take control and end the torment once and for all.


    The leader raised his fist, ready to strike, but Ethan''s expression suddenly changed. The fear vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze.


    His eyes glinted with a dangerous light as he straightened up, his voice steady and devoid of emotion.


    "You really shouldn''t have done that," he said, his tone chilling in its calmness.


    The bullies hesitated, unnerved


    by the sudden transformation. The leader''s fist still flew toward Ethan''s face, but Ethan moved with surprising speed, ducking under the blow and delivering a swift, brutal punch to the leader''s throat. The boy choked and staggered back, clutching his neck.


    "Get him!" one of the other bullies shouted, rushing forward.


    Ethan''s body moved with a fluid precision, every movement calculated and efficient. He grabbed the charging bully''s arm, twisting it behind his back and slamming him face-first into the wall. The crunch of bone was sickening, and the boy crumpled to the ground, moaning in pain.


    The third bully, larger and stronger, managed to land a punch on Ethan''s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Ethan barely flinched. His red eyes flickered with fury as he turned back to his attacker. With a guttural growl, he tackled the boy to the ground, raining down blows with merciless intensity. His fists became a blur, each strike landing with a sickening thud.


    The leader, still gasping for breath, tried to pull Ethan off his friend.


    Ethan responded by elbowing him hard in the face, breaking his nose with a spray of blood. The leader fell back, howling in pain.


    The remaining bully scrambled to his feet, swinging wildly in a desperate attempt to defend himself. Ethan dodged the clumsy blows with ease, his movements almost graceful. He delivered a series of rapid punches to the boy''s ribs, each impact driving the air from his lungs. The bully collapsed, wheezing and clutching his sides.


    Ethan stood over his fallen tormentors, his breath coming in measured, controlled breaths. He glanced down at his fists, now drenched in blood, and felt a strange, dark satisfaction. The leader, blood pouring from his nose, tried to crawl away.


    Ethan stepped on his hand, grinding it into the pavement. The boy screamed, the sound echoing off the alley walls.


    "Please," he whimpered. "Stop."


    Ethan''s smile was cold, devoid of any warmth. "You should have thought about that before."


    He knelt beside the leader, raising his blood-soaked fist. The boy''s eyes widened in terror, but Ethan showed no mercy.


    He brought his fist down again and again, the wet thud of flesh and bone breaking beneath his knuckles. Blood splattered across his face, the metallic scent filling his nostrils.


    The alley was silent except for the leader''s ragged, gurgling breaths. Ethan stood, his body trembling with the adrenaline and the dark thrill of power. He looked at the carnage around him, the bullies reduced to whimpering, broken forms, and felt a perverse sense of peace.


    He wiped his bloody hands on his pants, the red smearing across the fabric. The other bullies lay motionless, their groans fading into unconsciousness.


    As he walked home, Ethan felt the two sides of himself battling for dominance. The feeble boy wanted to cry, to retreat into the safety of his room and pretend the world didn''t exist. But the darker persona reveled in the fear it had instilled, craving more.


    "You see?" the cold voice whispered. "This is who we are. Embrace it."


    Ethan''s red eyes gleamed in the darkness as he continued on his path, a boy divided by two warring souls. In the silent aftermath, he found a strange sense of peace, knowing that no matter how hard he tried to hide, the killer''s instinct would always be a part of him.

 A killers Persona

    Chapter 3 : A killer persona


    Ethan sat on the edge of bed, the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains. The sleepless nights have taken their toll on his mental state, leaving him with a broken mind. His already pale completion more deathly, the eyes that once held a sparkle of hope now dead and gray. The darkness within has feed on on his despair and hopelessness only growing stronger. Ethan could no longer hold his own he lost the control his once had leaving the body to the second personality.


    He stood up, placing his feet on wooden floor creaking with every step. He stood in front of the mirror it reflecting his hollow form, he stared at himself something so familiar but yet soo strange, slowly a sinister and unsettling smile smeared along his face. He could hear a cold voice laughing and echoing through his head like a vast canyon.


    "You can''t fight me forever," the cold voice whispered. "It''s time to embrace who you really are."


    Ethan''s expression shifted from a smile to a full-blown grin, a disturbing sight that contrasted sharply with his innocent appearance. He began to chuckle, the sound low and sinister, growing louder until it turned into a maniacal laugh that filled the room.


    "It''s time for me to shine," he muttered, his voice a twisted mix of excitement and malice.


    He walked over to his desk and opened the drawer, revealing his favorite knife. The blade gleamed in the morning light, and Ethan''s fingers brushed over the cold metal with a sense of familiarity and longing. He picked it up and held it to his face, licking the blade slowly, tasting the steel.


    "Yes," he whispered. "The fun is about to begin."


    ***


    At school, Ethan donned his mask of normalcy, the facade of a quiet, unassuming student. His classmates and teachers saw only the feeble boy, always keeping to himself and avoiding confrontation. But beneath that mask, the darker persona simmered, eagerly awaiting its next opportunity to surface.


    The hallways were crowded with students, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Ethan moved through the throng like a ghost, his mind focused on a single goal. He had chosen his target carefully, someone who would never see it coming.


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    As the day wore on, Ethan''s anticipation grew. The darkness within him pulsed with excitement, urging him forward. He found himself staring at his chosen victim¡ªa boy named Jake, one of the few who had ever tried to befriend Ethan. But Jake''s kindness meant nothing to the darker persona; it saw only an opportunity to feed its insatiable hunger.


    ***


    That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Ethan followed Jake down a deserted street. The shadows lengthened, and the air grew colder. Ethan''s heart raced with anticipation, his mind consumed by the thrill of what was to come.


    Hey, Jake," he called out, his voice eerily calm.


    Jake turned, a welcoming smile on his face. "Oh, hey Ethan. What''s up?"


    Ethan''s smile broadened, but it remained devoid of warmth. "Just wanted to catch up. It''s been a while."


    Jake nodded, unsuspecting. "Yeah, it has. How have you been?"


    "Better," Ethan replied, his hand slipping into his pocket to grasp the knife''s handle. "Much better."


    Before Jake could react, Ethan lunged forward with a ferocity that belied his slender frame. The knife arced through the air, its blade catching the dim light for a fleeting second before plunging into Jake''s abdomen. Jake''s eyes widened in sheer terror, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.


    Ethan twisted the knife viciously, reveling in the wet, sickening sound of flesh tearing and blood gushing. He withdrew the blade only to drive it in again, deeper this time, savoring the sensation of power it gave him. Jake''s warm blood spurted out, splattering Ethan''s hands and clothes, the metallic tang filling his nostrils.


    Jake crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach, his life ebbing away in crimson streams. But Ethan wasn''t done. He knelt beside Jake''s writhing form, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic light. He brought the knife down repeatedly, each thrust accompanied by a guttural growl, a sound that was almost primal.


    Jake''s pleas for mercy grew weaker, his eyes glazed with pain and disbelief. Ethan leaned in close, his breath hot and ragged against Jake''s ear.


    "You should have stayed away," he hissed, his voice a twisted blend of triumph and insanity.


    With one final, brutal slash across Jake''s throat, Ethan ended it. The boy''s body convulsed once before going still, a pool of blood spreading beneath him like a dark halo. Ethan stood, panting, his chest heaving with exertion and exhilaration. The knife, slick with blood, gleamed in the faint light.


    Ethan surveyed his handiwork, a grim satisfaction settling over him. He felt alive, more alive than he had ever felt. The darkness within him roared in approval, feeding off the violence and chaos.


    "It''s time for me to shine," he whispered again, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.


    The deed complete, Ethan walked away from the scene, his mind a maelstrom of exhilaration and satisfaction. The mask of normalcy had shattered, revealing the true face of the monster within. He knew this was only the beginning, that the darkness would continue to burgeon, nourished by his unquenchable thirst for domination and chaos.


    As he vanished into the night, Ethan felt a perverse sense of serenity. The battle for supremacy was far from over, but for now, the darker persona reigned unchallenged. The killer''s instinct had been unleashed, and there was no turning back.

 taste of blood

    Chapter 4: The Taste of Blood


    Ethan slipped quietly into the house, the cool night air lingering on his skin. The front door creaked slightly as he closed it behind him, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. He moved swiftly and silently to the bathroom, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, making his hands tremble slightly.


    He turned on the faucet, the rush of water filling the small space. Ethan watched as the water turned a pale pink, then a deep red, swirling down the drain. His hands, stained with Jake''s blood, were scrubbed clean with a frantic urgency. The metallic scent of blood still clung to his nostrils, a grim reminder of the night''s events.


    Ethan looked up into the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, and a small, unsettling smile played on his lips. The darkness within him purred with satisfaction, reveling in the aftermath of the kill.


    After his hands were clean, he peeled off his bloodied shirt, the fabric sticking to his skin. He held it at arm''s length, the once white material now a gruesome canvas of dark stains. Without hesitation, he walked to the backyard, retrieving a metal trash can and some lighter fluid from the shed. He threw the shirt into the can, doused it in lighter fluid, and struck a match. The flames roared to life, consuming the evidence with a crackling fury. Ethan watched as the shirt disintegrated into ashes, the fire reflecting in his eyes like a mirror to his soul.


    With the immediate evidence destroyed, Ethan knew he had to disappear. The body couldn''t be left out in the open; it would draw too much attention and lead the authorities straight to him. He grabbed a large duffel bag from his closet, filling it with essentials. He took a deep breath, calming the storm within, and began the journey out of town.


    ***


    The forest was dense and unyielding, each step a struggle against the underbrush that seemed determined to trip him up. Ethan had been wandering for days, his supplies dwindling, when he stumbled upon a secluded cabin nestled deep within the woods. He approached cautiously, the air around him heavy with an eerie silence.


    The cabin appeared abandoned, its windows boarded up and the door slightly ajar. Ethan''s curiosity got the better of him. He pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges echoing through the empty space. The interior was dimly lit, the air stale and musty. He moved further inside, drawn by a strange compulsion.


    Without warning, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head. Darkness enveloped him, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.


    ***


    Ethan''s vision swam as he awoke, a dull ache pulsating through his skull. He tried to move, but his limbs were bound tightly to a cold metal chair. The room was dim, the air thick with the smell of damp wood and rust. Panic surged through him as he struggled against his restraints, but the ropes cut into his skin, unyielding.


    A figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a predatory grace. Tawo Krill,stood before him, his eyes cold and calculating. Ethan''s heart raced as he took in the array of gleaming instruments laid out on a nearby table.


    "Who sent you?" Tawo''s voice was a low, menacing growl.


    Ethan shook his head, desperation creeping into his voice. "No one sent me. I was just looking for a place to hide."


    Tawo''s expression remained unreadable. He picked up a scalpel, its blade catching the faint light. "I don''t believe you."


    The scalpel pressed against Ethan''s skin, the sharp edge slicing through flesh with practiced ease. Pain shot through him, a searing agony that forced a scream from his throat. Tawo''s movements were methodical, precise, as he carved into Ethan''s arm, each cut deliberate.


    The initial shock of pain gave way to a raw, burning agony. Blood trickled down Ethan''s arm, pooling beneath the chair. Tawo''s eyes remained cold and detached, his focus unbroken as he traced lines across Ethan''s skin. Each cut was a question, each scream an answer.


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    The days blurred into nights, the sessions a continuous stream of torment. Tawo introduced Ethan to a macabre variety of tools. Long needles, thick and cruel, were driven into the spaces between bones, twisting slowly to maximize the agony. Ethan''s screams echoed through the cabin, but the sound only seemed to fuel Tawo''s relentless pursuit.


    Ethan''s fingers became targets, the nails pried off one by one with a sickening crunch. Each time, Tawo watched Ethan''s face, analyzing every flinch and scream. Ethan''s hands, once steady and skilled, were reduced to trembling, bleeding messes, the fingers twitching involuntarily from the damage.


    One evening, Tawo approached with a car battery and a set of electrodes. The smell of ozone filled the room as he attached the electrodes to Ethan''s temples. The first jolt of electricity sent Ethan''s body into violent convulsions, his muscles seizing uncontrollably. The pain was blinding, a white-hot agony that turned his screams into guttural, animalistic howls. Tawo administered the shocks in measured doses, each one a precise increment designed to push Ethan to the brink without letting him fall over the edge.


    The basement''s cold stone floor was Ethan''s constant companion, his body bound and left there between sessions. The nights were a symphony of pain, each breath a reminder of his captivity. Rats scurried in the corners, drawn by the scent of blood, their eyes glinting in the dim light.


    Tawo wasn''t content with just physical pain. He played mind games, keeping Ethan awake for days on end, depriving him of sleep until hallucinations crept into his vision. The shadows took on menacing shapes, whispers filled the silence, and reality blurred with nightmarish illusions. Ethan''s sanity frayed, each moment a struggle to distinguish between what was real and what was a trick of his exhausted mind.


    The psychological torment was unending. Tawo would offer moments of reprieve, only to snatch them away with fresh horrors. Ethan''s body was a canvas of scars, each one telling a story of endurance and survival. The pain had become a part of him, a constant companion that whispered dark promises in the depths of his mind.


    Two years passed in this relentless cycle. Ethan''s body was a testament to his endurance, his mind a fortress of darkness. Tawo''s training, though brutal and unforgiving, had forged him into something formidable.


    One night, as the moon cast a pale light through the small window, Tawo stood before Ethan, a calculating look in his eyes. "You''re ready," he said simply.


    Ethan, now a shadow of his former self, nodded. The pain had become a part of him, a constant companion. He had learned to embrace it, to draw strength from it. The darkness within him was no longer a separate entity; it was who he had become.


    Tawo cut the ropes binding Ethan, his expression inscrutable. "Survive out there, and you''ll be more than a killer. You''ll be a legend."


    As soon as Tawo cut the ropes, Ethan moved with feral swiftness. He wrapped the rope around Tawo''s neck, pulling it tight with incredible strength. Tawo''s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in fury. He struggled, his hands clawing at the rope, but Ethan tightened his grip, muscles straining, veins bulging.


    Tawo managed to twist, slamming his elbow into Ethan''s ribs, but Ethan didn''t relent. He screamed, a raw, primal sound, and kneed Tawo in the face. The impact sent blood spraying from Tawo''s nose, the crunch of breaking cartilage echoing through the room.


    Tawo staggered back, but Ethan was relentless. He grabbed Tawo''s arm and twisted it with brutal force. The snap of bone breaking was followed by a howl of pain from Tawo. He retaliated with a punch to Ethan''s jaw, sending him reeling, but Ethan''s grip on the rope never wavered.


    They crashed into the table of instruments, sending scalpels and needles clattering to the floor. Tawo, despite the pain and the broken arm, fought back with the tenacity of a cornered animal. He grabbed a knife with his good hand and slashed at Ethan, cutting deep into his side. Blood flowed freely, but Ethan''s resolve was unshaken.


    Ethan headbutted Tawo, the impact leaving both of them momentarily dazed. Tawo tried to regain his footing, but Ethan tackled him to the ground, the rope still around his neck. They grappled fiercely, rolling across the floor in a deadly struggle for dominance.


    With a surge of strength born from years of torment, Ethan tightened the rope once more, his face contorted with rage and pain. Tawo''s struggles grew weaker, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. Ethan''s grip was ironclad, his eyes blazing with a mixture of triumph and madness.


    Finally, with one last desperate heave, Ethan twisted the rope violently. Tawo''s body convulsed, a guttural choke escaping his lips. His eyes rolled back, and he fell limp, the fight draining from him.


    Ethan stood, panting, his chest heaving with exertion. Blood dripped from his wounds, mixing with the sweat that coated his body. He looked down at Tawo''s lifeless form, the dark satisfaction settling over him like a shroud.


    The basement was silent except for the sound of Ethan''s heavy breathing. He had survived. No, he had conquered. The darkness within him roared in approval, fed by the