Everything came in flashes. The screeching, the laboured breaths. Sharp prods and the feeling of his back dragged along the ground. And yet, it didn’t feel like he was gone completely. He felt his body react to everything that was happening but felt completely removed from it in tandem.

Much like the surrounding sensations, his thoughts came to him only in flickers. Warped thoughts of fear, barely piercing the wall he had put up around him at all times, even at a time like this.

Why was he like that? That was the one question that managed to pierce through the fog. He had always observed everything from a distance, built up layer after layer, making, and then dismissing, every memory he made, like neglected photographs. Even now, it was like he was watching everything from afar, everything but the thing that had been his companion for some time now.

Every bit of blood he lost boiled with repressed intents, swallowed pride and spite. Sanguine seals releasing memories of Ezra’s life. All leading up to this moment. A thousand upon thousand of words uttered by others. Looks of disgust.

Wrath. Observing it and casting it aside wasn’t enough anymore. No denying it anymore. Nothing to cope, to forget, to dull. Just pure hate at everything around that had led to this moment.

Memories flashed—reminders he had played countless times in his head. Pranks people tried to play. Rumours told of him, of how disgusting he was. How they tried to convince others that he was looking at them with hunger, despite his eyes only ever looking down.

How they tried to paint him as a danger to them, a tragedy waiting to lash out, despite him never retaliating. Neither with words nor force. And yet they always found ways to one up themselves.

“He’s the type to torture animals; just look at him.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Ew, Ew, he looked at me like he wanted to eat me. I swear he is just so gross.”

"Please... don’t hurt me.”

Everything stopped when the last words echoed in his mind. The memory so vivid. The balling of his fist, the digging of his nails into his palm. The cowering student at his feet. The feeling of bliss to dominate...

Memories turned fantasy. It wasn’t real. A fake was planted to goad him into finally giving in. But all it did was to further reinforce the hate he had felt. The ones who had made this game tried to force him to be a monster. Their monster.

Back then, when he felt the change, when he almost started to turn. He felt exactly like that now. The whispers of lambs and other wolves and the ones who ruled the game speaking of change, of something changing. Ezra’s thoughts became clear and focused like they had never been before. Something in him, reaching out, grasping at something that couldn’t be, didn’t want to be, and yet did.

Power taken from somewhere, waiting to be used, to be formed. Waiting to be made his own. A clear goal had set itself into mind, numbing and concealing everything that didn’t have anything to do with it.

Whoever and whatever they were, for whatever reason, they had created this sick game; he wanted to do only one thing:

He wanted to hurt them. And with that thought anchored, if not engrained, into him, he had left the confines of his own mind for the first time in what felt like aeons.

His eyes wide open, the halls shed in bright light, the creatures fully visible from afar, the feeling of Lyle desperately pulling him away from the chaos. His mangled hand still dangling and brushing against the ground, fingers at angles that defied any chance they would have of ever healing, his breaths laboured, lungs burning, and feeling full of fluid.

A shock traveled through his body, drowning out everything around, even colour, for a split second, followed by the sounds of cracking. When he took a second look at his hand, he watched as the first of his fingers simply realigned itself, snapping back into place, the blood pooling on his palm retreating back into his hand, and his nails lengthening before his eyes, turning pointed, with slightly hooked endings.

He felt the bones inside his chest ripping themselves free of the organs they had pierced. Torn muscles reattached string by string. While aware of all this, he focused only on the creatures at the front. Staring at them, biding his time, as if he were leading them into a trap.