saturni, a busy city, at night [https://draviaaris.neocities.org/images/lestaria1scenery/saturnicitynight.png]

I realized that night I didn’t care what their last thoughts were before I killed them.

I didn’t care about their hopes and dreams. We all had useless things like that. At this point, I was fed up with trying to reason with myself. With trying to pretend they held any ounce of compassion or care within them. There were people, and then there was evil. People who didn’t think like the rest, who tore down anything good in front of them without remorse.

Maybe I became one of those people.

But I. Didn’t. Care.

I kicked the man to the ground, in front of some cutesy purse boutique. Fuck, they probably deserved all the blood and nasty shit I left there. A security camera connected to a lamppost swiveled towards me out of curiosity, but it only took a wave of my hand for a pillar of white, sharp crystals to erupt from the ground and snake up the pole. The instant it got close enough, it snapped the camera in its jaws. Not like the camera could see my face anyways, but I hated the way it looked at me.

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The man before me dressed in a sweater vest and scarf, suitcase torn open and contents strewn across the sidewalk. Normal as can be—what a joke. I dragged my sword behind me as he crawled back, left hand clutched to the gaping hole I tore in his chest. His heart still beating, but I’d tear it out soon.

“Ha--Haugh…” He choked over his attempts to speak, struggling to even form a word. I didn’t want to hear a single thing he had to say, though. Before he uttered any noise, I staggered forward, breath hot on my face from the cold Saturni air. That was one of the benefits of this mask, despite how heavy it weighed on my face.

I raised the tip of my sword above his throat, and pierced it right in the middle. I yanked my weapon out and put it into my chest, then clawed at his wound until I ripped out a sufficient amount of guts. His heart—stomped on and discarded like mashed food on the street flattened by the dirty shoes of thousands of pedestrians.

Since I didn’t want to stay around and attract attention, I ran off, remaining alert to any sounds of an interfering party. Luckily, silence knitted the night, and none of the cameras would be able to recognize my face the way it was now. The MPF, that fucking joke of an organization, wouldn’t bother going after some random murderer at night on the spot.

Maybe it didn’t make sense to him, to anyone—but if I had to be a weapon of light like they wanted me to be, then I’d be the one making the calls on what judgments these people deserved.