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.