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.
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“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—faking 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.