《Eldritch: Laugh of Hysteria》 The Room of Reflections The room was bathed in twilight, a dim blue hue bleeding through heavy curtains that clung to the windows like desperate hands. Yuki sat on the floor, his legs folded beneath him, his delicate fingers tracing the worn edges of a butterfly knife. Its blade caught the faint light, refracting it into fleeting bursts that danced across the room. Here, time dissolved into a quiet spiral. The hum of the outside world¡ªa world that had long since discarded him¡ªwas a distant and irrelevant echo.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Yuki¡¯s eyes, sharp yet glassy, fixated on the object before him: an old nesting doll, cracked and faded. Each layer, each smaller figure nested within, symbolized a fragment of himself¡ªa self that had been chipped away by the jagged edges of cruelty and neglect. The doll had been Missy¡¯s, his highschool sweetheart, one of the few relics from a past he couldn¡¯t fully remember, a past before the weight of violence and madness had shaped him. With each twist, he revealed another doll, smaller and more fragile than the last. It was a perfect metaphor for what he had become: a shell of a person, hollowed out by suffering, but still containing the remnants of a shattered identity. Dark Memories The halls of Sacred Heart Academy were filled with light and laughter, but to Yuki, they were a labyrinth of whispers and shadows. He had been the star, the one with the radiant smile, the prodigy who could turn words into vivid worlds. But admiration curdled into envy, and envy into malice. They envied his light, and in their hatred, they sought to extinguish it. He remembered the ambush in vivid detail, each frame etched into his memory like scars on his skin. The clatter of chains, the hiss of steel against stone, and their laughter¡ªthe kind of laughter that only came from those drunk on the illusion of power.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. They hadn¡¯t expected him to fight back. They hadn¡¯t expected the blade. His butterfly knife sang through the air, a cold, efficient instrument of survival. When it was over, the silence that followed was deafening. The court called it ¡°overkill.¡± The truth was more complicated. In those moments of frenzied defense, something deep within him had snapped. The boundaries between victim and monster blurred. The Fog Beckons Saint Mary¡¯s Mental Institution had been his purgatory¡ªa place where time stood still, and the walls whispered secrets meant to be forgotten. He learned to speak the language of shadows there, to embrace the silence as both companion and tormentor. The padded walls became his cocoon, his transformation inevitable. Years later, when the fog came, it felt like an old friend. It wrapped around him, cool and inviting, promising freedom and something else: understanding. He stepped into it willingly, leaving behind the life sentence of his father¡¯s house, a place where the echoes of abuse had become too loud to bear.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The Great Old One¡¯s world was an endless canvas for his broken mind. No rules, no laws, no consequences¡ªonly the dance between predator and prey, where fear painted the landscapes and screams composed the soundtrack. Yuki had always been a storyteller, and here, every encounter was a tale, every chase a twisted symphony of anticipation and release. He relished the beauty of fear, not for its cruelty, but for its honesty. Fear stripped away the masks, revealing the raw truth of the human condition. The Doll’s Eyes Yuki set the last doll aside and turned his gaze to the mirror on the far wall. His reflection stared back¡ªa figure draped in a straitjacket, white hair falling in disarray around androgynous features, eyes glowing faintly red like dying embers. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips. In this realm, he wasn¡¯t confined by the rules of a society that had cast him aside. Here, he could be both the monster and the misunderstood child, the storyteller and the tragedy.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The room seemed to shudder as he stood, the fog curling at his feet. He reached for the butterfly knife, sliding it into the folds of his jacket. Tonight, the story would continue. And in his tale, there were no heroes¡ªonly players caught in the intricate dance of fate and fear. As he stepped into the fog once more, the faint strains of a haunting lullaby followed him, its melody weaving through the air like a ghost. Yuki¡¯s laughter¡ªsoft and unsettling¡ªechoed in its wake. The Great Harvest In the cosmos beyond mortal comprehension, where time and space fold into impossible geometries, an ancient, forgotten power stirs. Known in whispers as The Great Old One, it exists beyond morality, beyond human folly, and beyond the petty constructs of civilization. This entity, neither god nor demon, but something far more ancient and indifferent, watches the mortal realm with a calculating gaze. It feeds on corruption, thrives on injustice, and hungers for souls steeped in evil.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Now, the harvest begins. Each soul plucked from the tapestry of human life is a monument to greed, cruelty, and unchecked power. They are brought to The Void of Eternal Fog, a purgatory where they will meet their judge, jury, and executioner: Yuki, the once-brilliant child whose innocence was shattered by the very corruption that now stands before him. In this place, there is no mercy¡ªonly justice born from madness, vengeance cloaked in sadism. The Feast of Greed The first to arrive are the corporate titans. Once seated in glass towers high above the suffering masses, they now find themselves in a sprawling wasteland of infinite corridors lined with mirrors. Each mirror reflects their true selves: bloated forms with gaping mouths endlessly devouring resources, profits, and lives. Their warden appears¡ªa figure draped in a tattered straitjacket, white hair falling around glowing red eyes. Yuki¡¯s steps are soft, almost playful, as he approaches the first of them, a CEO whose empire collapsed under the weight of exploited labor and environmental destruction.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°You once fed on the desperation of the poor,¡± Yuki whispers, his voice cold and serene. ¡°Now, you will feel their hunger.¡± With a flick of his butterfly knife, the mirrors shatter, releasing swarms of ravenous shadows. The CEO screams as the shadows consume him from the inside out, each bite a reflection of every stolen opportunity, every ruined life. And Yuki watches, eyes glinting with a mixture of satisfaction and disdain. Prophets of Lies In a twisted cathedral where the stained glass windows bleed instead of shine, the false prophets gather. These are the televangelists, cult leaders, and spiritual charlatans who preached salvation while lining their pockets with the faith of the desperate. They are chained to the pews, their mouths sewn shut by threads of guilt and deceit. Above them, a mockery of the heavens looms¡ªa sky filled with burning scripture and sermons twisted into agonizing screams.Stolen novel; please report. Yuki approaches the altar, where a self-proclaimed "messenger of God" writhes in fear. ¡°You promised salvation but delivered damnation,¡± he says, his voice echoing with the weight of a thousand broken promises. With a gesture, Yuki summons spectral hands that tear open the prophet¡¯s chest, revealing a heart blackened by greed and hypocrisy. The heart is placed upon the altar, where it burns in an unholy flame, each ember a prayer unanswered, each spark a soul betrayed. Puppeteers of Power The corridors of this realm shift again, now forming a mockery of government chambers. Here sit the politicians, once masters of manipulation, who sold the souls of their constituents for power and prestige. Their suits are now tattered, their polished veneers replaced with the grotesque features of parasites feeding on the lifeblood of democracy. Their punishment is subtle yet endless. They are forced to debate with no audience, to legislate in a vacuum where their words carry no weight and their actions have no consequence. Each law they attempt to pass is torn apart by the spirits of those they oppressed.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Yuki observes from the shadows, a smile playing on his lips. ¡°You once silenced the voices of the people. Now, you will scream into the void, unheard and unseen.¡± One by one, they crumble, their minds unraveling under the weight of their own irrelevance. The Digital Abyss In a neon-lit void, internet celebrities and influencers gather, their faces plastered with the artificial smiles that once charmed millions. Here are the exploiters of youth, the manipulators of trends, the creators of division for clout and attention. Their followers are gone, their platforms erased. Screens surround them, displaying every lie, every exploitative act, every moment of deception they broadcast to the world. Yuki stands among them, a specter of forgotten innocence.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°You built your empire on the insecurities of others,¡± he says softly. ¡°Now, you will face the truth.¡± The screens shatter, and from the shards emerge the avatars of those they exploited¡ªchildren lost to despair, viewers manipulated into hatred. The avatars close in, their eyes void of emotion, their hands reaching out to reclaim what was stolen from them. Traffickers of Flesh In a dark, labyrinthine marketplace, human traffickers find themselves chained to the very cages they once used. The walls pulse with the echoes of suffering, the cries of those they sold like commodities. Yuki steps forward, his butterfly knife glinting in the dim light. ¡°You turned humans into currency,¡± he whispers, ¡°so now, you will be treated as nothing more than objects.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The cages shrink, compressing their occupants until their bodies are twisted into grotesque shapes, their screams blending into the cacophony of the market. And Yuki watches, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. The Architects of Division Media moguls and influencers who thrived on division and chaos are brought to a room with no exits, where the walls are inscribed with every hateful comment, every divisive headline, every lie spread for the sake of views. They are forced to read aloud their own words, each syllable burning their throats, each sentence searing their flesh. The room grows smaller with each utterance, the weight of their own manipulation crushing them.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Yuki stands at the center, silent and observing. ¡°You divided humanity for profit,¡± he says. ¡°Now, you will be consumed by the divisions you created.¡± The Endless Spiral The later chapters are reserved for those who orchestrated the grand machine of human suffering: corrupt government agencies, unethical doctors, warmongers, and oil barons. They find themselves in an infinite spiral staircase, each step a reflection of their sins. As they ascend, they are forced to confront the faces of those they harmed, the lives they destroyed, the futures they stole. The staircase never ends, each step heavier than the last, each face more haunting than the one before. And at the top, waiting for them, is Yuki¡ªthe once-bright child now turned into a vessel of vengeance.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°There is no salvation here,¡± he says, his voice a whisper that cuts deeper than any blade. ¡°Only justice.¡± And so, they climb, forever ascending, forever burdened by the weight of their sins, in a purgatory where no forgiveness will ever come. *** In this realm, Yuki reigns as both warden and avenger, delivering justice to those who once thrived on the suffering of others. Their hell is eternal, their torment a reflection of the pain they inflicted upon the innocent. And in the eyes of The Great Old One, the harvest is bountiful, for the corruption of humanity is endless. The cycle will continue. And Yuki will always be waiting. The Puppeteers of Obedience Government Agencies: The Architects of Control Deep within the fog-drenched expanse lies a city of mechanical precision, where gears grind and pistons hiss in rhythmic control. This is the domain of those who once controlled the masses¡ªnot through overt oppression, but through subtle manipulation. These are the faceless bureaucrats of government agencies, the architects of societal conformity who kept humanity locked in a cycle of labor, submission, and stagnation. Here, they wander aimlessly, each step echoing through the hollow corridors of a city that has no end and no beginning. Their faces, once hidden behind suits and official badges, are now featureless masks of gray, their identities stripped away as they reduced the identities of others.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Yuki watches from the shadows, the embodiment of rebellion against the machine. He steps forward, butterfly knife twirling in his hand, the silver blade gleaming in the dim light. ¡°You built a world where dreams were crushed beneath the weight of bureaucracy,¡± Yuki murmurs, his voice cold and soft like a distant wind. ¡°Where success was measured by obedience and humanity was reduced to worker ants. Now, you will be cogs in a machine that has no purpose.¡± With a flick of his wrist, the walls shift and close in around them, the corridors narrowing, the gears grinding louder. The faceless agents are drawn into the machinery, their bodies becoming part of the endless, meaningless cycle they once enforced. Trapped forever in a system that serves no master and grants no escape, they toil endlessly¡ªanonymous, forgotten, and powerless. The Merchants of Death Warmongers: The Kings of Conflict A battlefield stretches endlessly, a desolate wasteland littered with rusted tanks, shattered bones, and the echoes of forgotten wars. Here, the warmongers gather¡ªthe politicians, defense contractors, and military leaders who profited from bloodshed. They once wielded power over nations, sending countless soldiers to die for causes they barely understood, all for the sake of wealth and influence. Now, they stand unarmed and exposed, the very battlefield they commanded turning against them. The earth trembles, and from the soil rise the spirits of the soldiers they sent to die. Faces gaunt with despair, eyes hollow with betrayal, the soldiers surround their former commanders.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Yuki appears on a hill overlooking the battlefield, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. ¡°You waged wars not for justice, nor freedom, but for profit and power,¡± he says, his voice a cold wind sweeping across the wasteland. ¡°Now, you will fight a war with no end, where every life lost will weigh upon your soul.¡± The spirits charge, their ethereal weapons slicing through flesh and bone. The warmongers scream, but their wounds never kill them¡ªonly leave them in perpetual agony. Each death is reborn, each scream echoes eternally, and they are trapped in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, forever feeling the pain they once inflicted upon countless others. The Healers of Corruption Unethical Doctors: Merchants of Suffering A hospital of horrors rises from the mist¡ªa labyrinth of sterile white corridors stained with blood and despair. It is filled with the echoes of desperate cries, the whispers of misdiagnoses, and the shadows of greed. This is the purgatory for unethical doctors who prioritized profit over healing, who drained the savings of the poor with false promises of recovery. They find themselves strapped to operating tables, their hands¡ªonce steady in the pursuit of wealth¡ªnow trembling with fear. The instruments they once wielded to manipulate and extort now hover over them, wielded by unseen hands.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Yuki stands in the observation room, his red eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. ¡°You turned the sacred duty of healing into a business of suffering,¡± he whispers. ¡°Now, you will be the patient in a system designed to exploit, not cure.¡± One by one, they are subjected to endless surgeries¡ªeach incision a reflection of their greed, each operation a mockery of the care they denied. No anesthesia dulls their pain, no recovery follows their treatment. Their bodies are torn apart and pieced back together, only to be torn apart again, forever experiencing the agony they inflicted on others. The Mind-Breakers Psychiatrists of Abuse: The Architects of Madness A sprawling asylum rises from the fog, its walls breathing with the whispers of fractured minds. This is the prison of psychiatrists who abused their patients, exploiting vulnerable souls for profit and control. They once held the power to heal but chose instead to manipulate, prescribing pills that worsened rather than cured, keeping their patients trapped in a cycle of dependency. Now, they are the patients. Their minds unravel within padded cells that shift and warp with every thought, every memory of their sins. The walls reflect their worst fears, their deepest regrets, and the countless lives they ruined.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Yuki appears in the center of the asylum, his voice a haunting lullaby. ¡°You twisted fragile minds to suit your greed,¡± he says softly. ¡°Now, your own mind will twist into oblivion.¡± One by one, they descend into madness, their sanity slipping away like sand through their fingers. Each hallucination is a memory of a patient they destroyed, each scream an echo of the cries they ignored. And in their descent, they find no solace, no escape¡ªonly the endless torment of their own unraveling minds. The Lords of Oil and Greed Oil Barons: Destroyers of Progress In a vast desert of blackened sand, oil seeps from the ground, choking the air with its toxic fumes. Here, the oil barons gather¡ªthose who profited from the destruction of the environment, who made entire nations dependent on fossil fuels while stifling progress in public transportation and sustainable energy. Their hands are stained with crude oil, their eyes blinded by the smoke of their own greed. They stumble through the wasteland, gasping for air, their lungs burning with every breath.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Yuki emerges from the shadows, his blade gleaming with the reflection of endless greed. ¡°You buried the future beneath the weight of your greed,¡± he says coldly. ¡°Now, you will drown in the very substance you worshiped.¡± The oil rises, swallowing them inch by inch, filling their lungs, blinding their eyes, suffocating their cries. They struggle, but there is no escape. The black tide consumes them, dragging them into an abyss of their own making, where they will forever drown in the greed that destroyed the world. The Dealers of Despair Drug Lords: The Exploiters of Innocence A dilapidated cityscape looms in the distance, its streets littered with the remnants of addiction and despair. Here, the drug lords gather¡ªthose who preyed upon the weak, targeting children and vulnerable souls to expand their empires of narcotics and suffering. They are chained to the very corners where they once peddled their poison, their empires reduced to ash. Ghostly figures of the children they exploited wander the streets, their eyes empty, their faces gaunt with addiction. Yuki steps forward, his eyes cold and calculating. ¡°You poisoned innocence for profit,¡± he whispers. ¡°Now, you will be the addict, forever craving a salvation that will never come.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Spectral needles pierce their skin, filling them with the very substances they once sold. Their bodies convulse, their minds unravel, and they are consumed by the addiction they once spread. They will crave relief, but none will come¡ªonly the eternal torment of insatiable hunger and unending despair. *** In the endless expanse of The Great Old One''s realm, justice is neither swift nor merciful. For those who thrived on the suffering of others, there is only one sentence: an eternity of torment crafted by their own sins, overseen by the sadistic hand of Yuki¡ªthe boy whose innocence was lost but whose vengeance is infinite. Illusion of Choice The Void pulsed with a rhythm that didn¡¯t belong to any natural world. It was a heartbeat of chaos, of non-linear time and fractured dimensions. Colors that didn¡¯t exist outside the boundaries of human perception bled into each other, shifting and merging into shapes that defied logic. Yuki stood alone at the edge of an abyss, the Matryoshka doll in hand¡ªhis only remaining link to Missy, the high school sweetheart who had been chosen for punishment. He gripped the doll tightly, fingers trembling. Missy had given it to him years ago, long before the Void had swallowed him. It had been a token of love, a symbol of simpler times when their greatest worries were exams and curfews. Now, it was a cruel reminder of the life he could never return to¡ªa life that was slipping away piece by piece. In front of him, Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, stood in a form that was both human and something else entirely. His shifting face wore a grin too wide for his features, teeth sharp like shattered glass, and eyes that gleamed with the madness of infinite knowledge. ¡°Ah, Yuki, how poetic that your choices bring you here, face to face with your past,¡± the Crawling Chaos sneered. ¡°You love to wax philosophical on the relativity of morality. Tell me then, which path will you take now? Punish her and perhaps free her from her mortal coil, or refuse and let her linger in agony, a vessel of suffering for eternity.¡± "You always did love to talk about morality, didn¡¯t you?" Nyarlathotep¡¯s voice was a symphony of whispers, each layered over the other. "How it¡¯s shaped by the household, the society, the nation, the laws, the religions, the culture¡ªan ever-shifting construct meant to mold the fragile minds of children." Yuki¡¯s mouth was dry, but he forced himself to speak. "Why her? Why Missy? She¡­ she didn¡¯t deserve this." Nyarlathotep chuckled, a sound that rippled through the Void like a thousand glass bells shattering. "Deserve?" He echoed the word mockingly. "There is no ¡®deserve.¡¯ There is only the game, and you¡¯ve been playing it since the moment you were born. You see, Yuki, all of this¡ªyour moral dilemmas, your choices¡ªthey''re illusions. Nothing but strings pulling a puppet." The Crawling Chaos stepped closer, the air thickening around them. "I offer you this: punish her or refuse. Either way, the outcome is the same. She will suffer, and you will lose her." Yuki''s heart clenched. He saw it now¡ªthe trap, the endless cycle designed to break him, to strip him of his humanity until he was nothing but a hollow vessel for despair. "You want to test my wits," Yuki whispered. His gaze met Nyarlathotep¡¯s, defiance flickering in his eyes. "You want me to believe there¡¯s no escape, that I¡¯m powerless."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Nyarlathotep¡¯s grin widened. "A clever boy. But cleverness won¡¯t save her. It won¡¯t save you." For a long moment, Yuki was silent. The weight of the Void pressed down on him, suffocating, relentless. His mind raced, searching for a solution¡ªa way to outsmart the Crawling Chaos. Then, a thought emerged, quiet but powerful: What if the only way to win is not to play? He let out a slow breath, the tension in his body easing. The Matryoshka doll in his hand felt lighter, as if it, too, recognized the shift in his resolve. "You think you¡¯ve given me a choice," Yuki said softly. "But I see it now. There¡¯s no choice because the game itself is a lie. Morality, consequence, reward¡ªthey¡¯re constructs. Illusions designed to keep us trapped." Nyarlathotep¡¯s grin faltered, just for a moment. Yuki continued, his voice steady, calm. "I choose neither. I will not punish her. I will not refuse. I will not engage with your game at all." The Crawling Chaos tilted his head, his form flickering between shadows and light. "Ah, but to choose nothing is still a choice, is it not?" "No," Yuki said firmly. "It¡¯s liberation. It¡¯s freedom. I reject your game entirely. I release myself from the cycle of despair." The Void trembled. For the first time, it felt uncertain, as if Yuki¡¯s defiance had introduced an element it could not comprehend. The colors shifted wildly, the shapes dissolving into chaos. Nyarlathotep stared at him, unreadable, his grin fading into something far more ancient and malevolent. "You think you¡¯ve found a loophole. That you can escape the Void. But remember, Yuki, even freedom is a construct. And in the end¡­ there is only chaos." "Maybe," Yuki said, stepping back from the edge of the abyss. "But chaos is better than being your pawn." He turned away from Nyarlathotep, from the Void, from the Matryoshka doll. He let it fall from his hand, watching as it tumbled into the darkness, each layer peeling away until there was nothing left. With every step he took away from the Crawling Chaos, the Void seemed to collapse behind him. The illusion was breaking, unraveling, like a thread pulled from an ancient tapestry. Missy¡¯s voice echoed faintly in his mind¡ªa memory, a fragment of a life that once was. "Sometimes, the only way out is to stop fighting and just¡­ let go." Yuki walked on, into the unknown, into freedom. The Void screamed behind him, but he did not look back. He had chosen to be more than the sum of his fears, more than the endless cycles of madness. And in that choice, he found something the Void could never offer: peace. The Shattering Awakening Yuki stumbled through the shadows of a dying city, his vision blurred, mind half-shattered by the surreal horrors of The Void. The ground beneath him was wet with blood, his hands trembling, sticky with crimson. As he staggered into the pale light of dawn, the world sharpened. A man¡¯s lifeless eyes stared back at him from the pavement. The realization hit him like a blade through the gut. These were no sinners. These were innocents.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. The weight of their screams, their pleading faces¡ªimages once justified as the punishment of the wicked¡ªnow seared into his memory. He had been a monster, a pawn of something greater, something sinister. His heart pounded as he stumbled past the lifeless bodies, his legs carrying him away from the city and into the dense, whispering woods. He ran until his lungs burned, until the world became a blur of green and shadow. When exhaustion finally claimed him, he collapsed beneath the canopy, the forest¡¯s darkness consuming him. The Cabin and the Ghost The sound of birds chirping woke him. His body ached, every muscle protesting as he opened his eyes. The world was different now¡ªquiet, still. He lay on a rough wooden cot inside a small, dimly lit cabin. The scent of freshly baked bread and damp earth filled the air. ¡°Good, you¡¯re awake.¡± The voice was familiar yet wrong. Yuki sat up, his eyes narrowing at the figure before him. Missy. Or at least, someone who looked like her. Her skin was pale, her eyes an unnatural shade of red, and her dress¡ªsomething out of a gothic fairy tale.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°You¡¯ve changed,¡± Yuki muttered, his voice hoarse. Missy smiled faintly, her gaze piercing. ¡°We both have.¡± She poured tea from a delicate porcelain pot and set a cup before him. ¡°You were dreaming again, weren¡¯t you? About The Void.¡± He stiffened. ¡°How do you know about that?¡± ¡°Because I had the same dream,¡± she said, her voice soft but unwavering. ¡°The fog, the whispers, the promises of power. You were chosen to be the judge, the executioner. But it was a lie, Yuki. We were pawns¡ªtools of something ancient, something vile.¡± Yuki¡¯s hands clenched. ¡°Nyarlathotep.¡± Missy shook her head. ¡°Not quite. Yaldabaoth. The False God.¡± The Weight of Truth The name lingered in the air like a curse. Missy¡¯s expression darkened as she began to explain. ¡°Yaldabaoth thrives on vanity, hubris, and chaos. After all, all humans were created in his own image. That is what caused the horrors of the waking world. It deceives, promising salvation or power, but only seeks to spread suffering. You weren¡¯t punishing sinners, Yuki. You were feeding its hunger.¡± Yuki¡¯s mind raced. The visions, the voices, the righteous fury that had driven him¡ªall lies. ¡°How do you know all this?¡± he demanded. Missy gestured to a stack of tattered notebooks on the table. ¡°You wrote about it. During your manic episodes, when reality was slipping. It was the last of your wits¡¯ final attempt to warn you.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Yuki¡¯s breath caught. He had written frantically during those long nights, his mind a chaotic storm. Could his fractured psyche have been trying to guide him to the truth? ¡°But why you?¡± he asked, his voice trembling. ¡°Why are you here? You¡ª¡± ¡°I died,¡± Missy interrupted, her tone even. ¡°You couldn¡¯t save me. And now, I¡¯m just a projection of your guilt. A manifestation of your mind trying to keep you grounded. You think I¡¯m still alive, but you¡¯re fully aware and in complete denial to this day.¡± Yuki stared at her, his heart twisting. The pain of her loss, the regret that had haunted him, now merged with the overwhelming weight of his recent crimes. ¡°No,¡± he whispered. ¡°You¡¯re real. You¡¯re here.¡± Missy reached out, placing a cold hand over his. ¡°I¡¯m here because you need me to be. But I¡¯m not the girl you once knew. I¡¯m a reminder of what you¡¯ve lost¡ªand what you still have left to fight for.¡± The Doll and the Revelation His hand drifted to his messenger bag, pulling out the Matryoshka doll. Its painted eyes seemed to stare back at him, unblinking, as he turned it over in his hands. ¡°It¡¯s still here,¡± he muttered. Missy nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a symbol, Yuki. Layers upon layers of lies and truth. You¡¯ve been peeling them back, one by one.¡± Yuki swallowed hard. The doll, a token from The Void, now felt heavier than ever. It represented everything he had been through¡ªand everything he had to face.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Can I trust you?¡± he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Missy¡¯s gaze softened. ¡°That¡¯s not the real question, is it? The question is, can you trust yourself?¡± The silence that followed was deafening. Outside, the cornfield swayed in the wind, the golden stalks whispering secrets to the sky. Yuki¡¯s journey was far from over, and the road ahead was shrouded in uncertainty. But for the first time, he felt a flicker of clarity. And perhaps, a chance at redemption. The Farmhouse of Shadows Yuki stood at the gates of Red Moons Farm, the wind slicing through the overgrown fields like a whisper of the past. The sight of the once-pristine farmhouse and cabin, now a skeletal ruin of its former glory, brought forth memories he had long buried. Memories of a cold, unloving mother and a childhood where he was a puppet, pulled by the strings of duty and obligation. But those strings had long since snapped. He stepped onto the cracked porch, his boots thudding against the rotting wood. The air was thick with the scent of decay and earth, mingling with the faint coppery undertone of blood that clung to his clothes. Inside, the house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards, as though it too held its breath in anticipation. This place belonged to him. Not by the grace of some distant relative who had stolen it under the guise of renovation, but by the sheer force of his will. He had come to reclaim what was his, and he had done so with no apologies. The bodies of those who dared oppose him were already being devoured by the pigs in the barn, their screams now mere echoes in the cavern of his mind. Yet, it wasn¡¯t the act of killing that disturbed Yuki. It was the revelation that followed. In the stillness of the farmhouse, he confronted the mirror in the hallway, its glass fractured but intact enough to reflect his image. There, staring back at him, was not the man society had tried to mold, but something darker, truer. His shadow loomed behind him, a grotesque distortion of his form, whispering truths he had long refused to acknowledge. ¡°You were never made a monster,¡± it hissed. ¡°You were born one.¡± Yuki¡¯s fingers brushed against the cold glass, tracing the jagged lines of his reflection. He had spent years blaming the world for what he had become: the cruel hands of his parents, the suffocating walls of Saint Mary¡¯s Mental Institution, the power-hungry staff who tormented him. But those were merely catalysts, not the cause. The monster had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the moment he would cast aside the mask of humanity.Stolen story; please report. ¡°Morality,¡± Yuki muttered, his voice low and bitter. ¡°A leash to keep the masses in line. A construct to justify control.¡± The shadow grinned, its eyes gleaming with malice. ¡°Empathy is taught, not innate. Without it, humans revert to their true nature: selfish, cruel, and hungry for chaos. You¡¯ve seen it in their eyes, haven¡¯t you? The same darkness that dwells within you.¡± Yuki closed his eyes, the weight of realization settling over him like a suffocating blanket. He had spent his life pretending to feel¡ªfaking empathy, mimicking the emotions of those around him. But it had all been a lie. He didn¡¯t need their approval, their pity, or their love. None of it mattered. ¡°I am not bound by their rules,¡± he said, his voice gaining strength. ¡°I don¡¯t need a reason to be what I am. I am chaos, unrestrained.¡± The shadow leaned closer, its voice a seductive purr. ¡°Accept me, and you will know freedom. Reject me, and you will remain a prisoner of their expectations.¡± For a moment, Yuki hesitated, the last vestiges of his false self clinging desperately to the illusion of humanity. But the truth was undeniable. He had never needed an excuse to revel in mayhem. It wasn¡¯t about revenge or justice. It was about power, control, and the exhilaration of watching the world burn. ¡°I accept you,¡± Yuki whispered, his eyes snapping open. They were no longer filled with doubt, but with a cold, unyielding resolve. ¡°I am my shadow.¡± As the words left his lips, the farmhouse seemed to breathe with him, its walls groaning as though in approval. Yuki felt a weight lift from his shoulders, replaced by a dark clarity. He was no longer shackled by guilt or the need for justification. He was free. And freedom, he realized, was the truest form of power. The Feast of Pigs The pigs squealed in the barn, their feeding frenzy a symphony of gluttony. Yuki stood at the edge of the pen, watching as the animals tore into the remains of his past. Each bite felt like a cleansing ritual, a final severance from the chains of his old life. The night was moonless, the sky a velvet shroud dotted with distant stars. Yuki found solace in the darkness, his thoughts clearer than they had ever been. He no longer sought purpose in the confines of societal expectations. His purpose was to explore the depths of his own nature, to embrace the chaos within and let it guide him. As he walked back to the farmhouse, the shadow followed, its presence a constant reminder of his newfound liberation. Together, they would carve a path through the fabric of the world, unbound by the constraints of morality or empathy.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°Purpose is a construct,¡± Yuki said aloud, as though speaking to the very stars. ¡°But in destruction, I find clarity. In chaos, I find peace.¡± The shadow chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that echoed in the night. ¡°And in accepting your true self, you have found power. Let us see how far it can take you.¡± Yuki smiled, a cold, calculating expression. The world would soon come to know the monster it had tried so desperately to hide. "Christians hide behind God''s name to justify their killings. I don¡¯t need that. I don¡¯t mask my actions with hollow good intentions or pretend to be virtuous. I¡¯m just better." Yuki shrugged.