1 Week later

The slapping of my raw feet across the hard floor was the only noise heard beside Charlie’s gasps of breath, my pace quickened as I reached closer, water cupped within my hands as I knelt over him. My shaky hands grinding against his cracked lips, more water spilling then entering, more water wasted then used.

“Please try and drink some Charlie, I don’t think I can do this much longer.” My pathetic arms groaned against the continued exertion, pleading pain with my mind. I can’t tell how long I’ve done this, nothing around me to notice the passage of time, only Charlie’s worsening state. Only when my hands are dry do I rise to gather more, little strength left.

“Destined for greatness huh, that lying fucking bastard.” The words sputtering out as a cough, his chest heaving from the usually insignificant action. Charlie’s creased face had visibly softened during the sickness, skin paler, hair falling, and his eyes. The once steel grey irises now milky without colour, empty of pupils, nonfunctional. Charlie could no longer see.

From the dead darkness awakens the echo of rhythmic steps, flanked by the sluggish scuffle of his assistants, steadily arriving. My mind went silent, all I could hear was the culprit’s encroachment, no doubt coming to do worse. I could feel the blood rush through my distraught muscles, tired tendons tense, not yet done. Rage called to me.

“What an incredible specimen you are. To give some context, usually it would take a month to recover from the transplantation, if at all” The doctor glanced at Charlie towards the end, the gaze telling his intent.

“…”

“Are you sad about Charlie? The outcome is disappointing, but I promise to you that his sacrifice will not go to waste, you will find out firsthand.” From the darkness his puppets made themselves known, dozens skulking, but all I saw was him.

His soft body unfamiliar with exertion, preferring to use desecrated corpses as servants instead. The blemished coat he used to keep himself clean from sin, the innumerable stains of blood that screeched of untold butchery. His blue eyes that told no sympathy, unconcerned, as if we’re grass and he is God. The wolfish grin that formed upon his smooth lips, finding amusement from suffering.

“Don’t bother throwing a tantrum, you know it will only make things worse.” Once again, the monstrosities lurched toward me, stalling at the gate’s lock. Their soulless gaze enraptured me as they lunged, holding me in place. The doctor took his time reaching me, a syringe held casually, his arrogance misplaced.

I raised, undeterred by the insignificant attempt to hold me, puppets fell with their limbs flailing. I walked, crushing a head like a grape, my feet dipping in their purple blood. I ran, bodies propelled aside as they resisted, ineptly defending their murderer. An endless horde came in attempt to aid the butcher, not that they would make a difference.

I tore limbs, beating them till flesh came off. Tearing my fingers through their skin, my hands gripping organs, soaked in blood. My mouth found napes, teeth ripping muscles, drinking the purple liquor. When I came to my senses, I was surrounded by the corpses of what were once children, adults and elderly. Yet I was not done.

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“W, wait, don’t you realise what you’re doing? Everything I did was in service of saving a doomed humanity. Yes, there were sacrifices, but each one could possibly save thousands.” His soft body sweated while he attempted to flee, unfamiliar with exertion. The blemished coat failed to keep him clean from sin, blood staining his skin. His blue eyes shook violently, fearful, as if a rabbit before a wolf. The grin gone from his trembling lips, finding no amusement from his suffering.

“Not sacrifices, only victims” Tears swelled from the eyes as I grasped his head, my other hand firmly resting on the shoulder, and then I pulled. The only resistance felt was his shrieking, I could feel his spine unclick from place, popping, the skin stretching before snapping. The punishment ended with a thud, his head rolling across the cold, wet floor. I was merciful, it could’ve lasted longer, perhaps it should’ve.

“Who are you?” A rasp beckoned behind me, Charlie sightlessly staring, almost unbelieving of what he heard. His body still limp, almost indistinguishable from the carnage.

“… I don’t know” Even with a fractured mind I knew how inconceivable what I did was, my power only just realised. Charlie was a superhuman, someone who took an elixir, yet he failed where I triumphed.

“Well mystery man, I’m sad I didn’t see him die, but at least I heard him squeal like a bitch… Do you mind coming a bit closer, it’s getting harder to speak.” I waded through the corpses at his request. I didn’t know him long, but he was good to me, helped me when I couldn’t help myself.

“Before being taken I was a warrior for the Bull Clan, still am. It’s my last wish for you to tell them what happened, to console them. Take the tattoo from my flesh, it is tradition to have it returned home.”

“I understand”

“I sure hope so, Mr Mystery…” My fingers carefully stroked his face, resting his eyes, hiding the transformation. He saved my life, Yet I couldn’t do the same. I did nothing before it was too late, I could’ve done something, anything. Now I stripped skin from his back, torn from its home, purple-tinged blood leaking.

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Whatever remained of the doctor’s puppets left me undisturbed as I wondered aimlessly in the dark. It felt like an age until I found light, leading me to owner’s room. I was surprised by the mess within the doctor’s chamber, he seemed like a man that kept appearance, I suppose he had few visitors.

Not knowing what to look for, I searched anything of interest, only finding degraded books, blemished tools, a cosy bed, and finally a pair of handwritten notes. Both written on worn paper, but one had fresh ink, almost wet to the touch.

Dear George,

I have heard of little success from your research recently, I believe its finally time for you to put that warrior to use and do something meaningful. I hope you stop putting shame to our mentor’s name and finally achieve something instead of making mindless puppets, for humanities survival.

Your brother, Lucias.

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To Lucias,

What I do with my time is none of your concern, I merely needed assistants for the work to come. You may believe yourself my superior as the 1st disciple, but that title holds no sway to me. Besides that, I have recently found a man that I believe to be of noble blood. He is the first to successfully recover from the transplantation, his regeneration managing to outpace the negative symptoms. You know what it means, a chance for humanities survival.

George.

There are more of them, I felt the note crunch in my grasp, more of them to hunt. They prey on their kin, hiding their sin under a self-righteous belief. I will have vengeance on Charlie’s behalf, stopping more going through the same, but first I need some clothes.

It didn’t take long to find his wardrobe, unfortunately he was a size smaller, the clothes tightly hugged my body, only slightly better then indecency. The exit was close to his room, I knew it was, I sensed familiar scents that I knew for the first time. I tracked it to hulking iron door which I spared no time opening, escaping the place of my awakening.

All I could see was the blinding, bright blue sky.