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