Detective Blackwood’s mind was unraveling.

He had always prided himself on his sharp mind, his ability to see through lies and deceit. But now, his thoughts were a jumbled mess, a cacophony of voices whispering dark and twisted things. The corruption was spreading, seeping into every corner of his consciousness, turning him into something he no longer recognized.

He wandered the desolate streets, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The once-familiar city was now a labyrinth of shadows and horrors, and Blackwood could feel himself slipping further into madness with each passing moment. His hands trembled as he clutched the gun at his side, the weapon that had once brought him a sense of control now felt like a weight dragging him down.

"Focus," he muttered to himself, trying to cling to the last vestiges of sanity. "Just… focus."

But it was no use. The corruption had taken root deep within him, warping his thoughts and twisting his perception of reality. He saw things that weren’t there—ghostly figures lurking in the shadows, their eyes burning with malice. The voices whispered to him, urging him to give in, to embrace the darkness that was consuming him.

"Kill them," the voices hissed. "Kill them all."

He shook his head, trying to drown out the noise, but it only grew louder, more insistent. He could feel the power coursing through him, a dark and seductive force that promised strength and control, if only he would surrender to it.

Blackwood stumbled upon a small house, its windows boarded up, the door hanging ajar. He approached cautiously, his instincts telling him that something was wrong. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and as he stepped inside, he was hit with a wave of nausea.

The house was in shambles, furniture overturned, and walls smeared with dried blood. But what caught his attention was the family huddled in the corner—a man, a woman, and a young child, their faces pale with fear. They looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, as if he were the monster they had been hiding from.

"Please," the man begged, his voice trembling. "We don’t want any trouble. Just leave us alone."

Blackwood stared at them, his mind racing. They were alive, uncorrupted, but the voices continued to claw at his mind, urging him to act. The darkness within him surged, threatening to overwhelm his reason. He could feel the power of the corruption coursing through his veins, filling him with a twisted sense of purpose.

"Kill them," the voices whispered again, more insistent this time. "They’re weak. They don’t deserve to survive."

Blackwood’s grip on his gun tightened, his knuckles turning white. He fought against the urge, trying to remember who he was, what he stood for. But the lines between right and wrong had blurred, twisted by the malevolent force that now controlled him.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Leave," he managed to choke out, his voice rough and unsteady. "Get out of here. Now."

The family hesitated, the man glancing at the gun in Blackwood’s hand. He must have seen the madness in the detective’s eyes because he quickly scrambled to his feet, pulling his wife and child with him.

"Thank you," the man stammered, backing toward the door. "We’ll go. We won’t cause any trouble."

But as they moved to leave, something inside Blackwood snapped. The darkness, the corruption, it roared to life, drowning out the last remnants of his humanity. He felt his vision blur, his heart pounding in his chest as a wave of uncontrollable rage washed over him.

"They’re going to betray you," the voices hissed, filling his mind with paranoid delusions. "They’re going to turn on you, just like the others. Kill them now, before they can do it."

Blackwood’s body moved before his mind could catch up. He raised the gun, his hands steady despite the turmoil within him, and aimed it at the fleeing family. They didn’t even have time to react before the first shot rang out, echoing through the silent house.

The man collapsed to the floor, a look of shock and horror frozen on his face. The woman screamed, clutching her child to her chest as she tried to shield him from the next shot. But there was no escape. The detective fired again, and again, until the house was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire and the sickening smell of blood.

When it was over, Blackwood stood over the bodies, his chest heaving, the gun still smoking in his hand. He stared down at what he had done, the horror of it slowly sinking in. But instead of feeling guilt or remorse, all he felt was a cold, detached sense of satisfaction.

"They were weak," the voices whispered, soothing now, as if comforting him. "You did what had to be done. You’re stronger than them, better than them."

Blackwood dropped the gun, letting it clatter to the floor as he staggered back, his mind reeling. He had just killed an innocent family—a father, a mother, a child—without hesitation, without mercy. And yet, it didn’t feel real. It was as if he had been watching someone else do it, someone he didn’t recognize.

"Who am I?" he wondered, his thoughts muddled and confused. The corruption had taken so much from him—his sense of right and wrong, his empathy, his humanity. He was becoming something else, something monstrous, and the worst part was, he wasn’t sure if he cared anymore.

He looked down at his hands, now stained with blood, and felt a strange thrill of power. The darkness inside him had grown stronger, feeding on his actions, and with it came a twisted sense of purpose. He was no longer just a detective; he was something more, something that could bend the world to his will.

"Embrace it," the voices urged. "This is who you were meant to be."

Blackwood closed his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him. The corruption was no longer something to be fought; it was a part of him now, a part that he was beginning to accept. The old Detective Blackwood was dead, killed by the same darkness that had claimed this city. What remained was something new, something that had the power to survive in this twisted world.

When he opened his eyes again, they were cold, calculating. He had a new mission now, one that went beyond the simple concepts of law and justice. He would use his newfound power to bring order to the chaos, to reshape the world in his image. And anyone who stood in his way, anyone who was too weak to survive, would be dealt with accordingly.

He left the house without a backward glance, stepping over the bodies as if they were nothing more than debris in his path. The voices in his head had quieted, satisfied for now, but he knew they would return, hungering for more blood, more power.

As he walked through the empty streets, the city seemed to shift around him, the shadows deepening, the air growing colder. Blackwood’s senses were heightened, his awareness of the corruption all around him more acute than ever. He could feel it, pulsing beneath the surface of reality, waiting to be unleashed.

And he was ready to unleash it.