It was nearly nightfall. Some passengers and crew had begun gathering firewood from the woods, their movements blending into the deep hues of velvet and scarlet that painted the sky. The colors felt like the perfect canvas for the bloodshed about to unfold. They didn’t know I was here—that we were here. They had no idea what was coming.

This time, I would find the creator among them—the one father had failed to locate.

I had recently been classified as a thinker, gauged by Master herself after I surpassed the standard ten percent brain capacity, reaching a remarkable fifty percent. She praised me, calling my abilities extraordinary, and it was my deepest pleasure to please her. If she were only younger, I would have married her without hesitation.

I loved Master. No word could fully capture how deeply I was obsessed with her.

There were three categories of thought abilities. Yet the mission carved into me since birth demanded the red margin. I embraced it.

I was a burster.

And this was what had happened on the barge.

The memory played fresh in my mind—the moment I slipped into one of the crew cabins as the seaquake hit. I had faked panic, my voice trembling just enough to sound convincing when I begged the man inside for help. He smiled—so sincere, so kind. It made everything more thrilling. He wasn’t on my kill list, but the ache in my fingers, the unbearable need to burst something, had grown too much to resist.

I whispered under my breath, sending a thought rippling from my temple, coating my skin in a deep crimson glow. The energy crackled along my flesh but remained close—tight, small. That was the flaw of a burster. My power needed touch to work.

The crewman’s face shifted, his smile faltering as his eyes widened. Maybe he sensed it. Maybe he was a pothink.

Slowly, I approached, matching his gaze with a warm smile of my own. I wanted him to see me, to feel my delight as I closed the distance. His growing confusion only heightened the pleasure curling in my chest.

When I touched his back, he flinched. A tremor ran through his body, his breathing shallow as realization dawned. The fear in his eyes—the raw terror—was delicious.

Yes. That was it. You must fear me.

Then, with a surge of bliss, I released it. His body detonated beneath my palm, a shockwave of blood, flesh, and skin spraying across the cabin walls. The heat of the splatter and the scent of raw iron made me shudder—it made me peak.

The pleasure lingered as I watched the mess dripping down the walls. But I wasn’t finished. Not yet.

I was still itching. The hunger crawled beneath my skin; it was a relentless pulse that demanded release.

The captain’s cabin was dim when I entered. He sat slouched in his armchair, speaking into the radio, his voice strained as he reported the ongoing seaquake. His words trembled, but not with fear—just duty.

The realm was changing.

I had to find the one who would take over the realm and force them—no, break them—until they transferred it to Sir. I would steal it. I would tear it from their mind if I had to. I would do anything for Master.

The captain didn’t smile when I faked panic this time. He didn’t offer help. He only scowled and barked at me to leave, his dismissive wave cutting through my performance. My blood raced faster, thickening, pounding against my temples. He wasn’t even afraid.

The seaquake eased, and for a breath, he reached for the radio again, static crackling as he addressed the passengers. Then, the barge trembled—no, lurched. A vertical jolt flung us upward. My head hit against a metal pipe hard enough to blur my vision and steal the air from my lungs. Pain splintered through my skull.

I hit the floor with a dull, ringing thud, writhing as darkness clawed at the edges of my mind. My body strained to stay conscious. Teeth gritted, I braced against the metal wall, fingers fumbling for a bolt to steady myself. Slowly, I dragged my body upright, forcing my weight against it until my footing returned.

Silence. Too silent.

The quake had either knocked everyone out or worse—completed the realm’s takeover.

I had to find the person. Now.

A weak groan broke the stillness. It was the captain. He lay sprawled, barely breathing. His face was slack, his uniform crooked. I crossed the cabin, seized him by the jacket’s collar, and heaved him back into the armchair like a rag doll. The fabric, with its insignia and polished brass buttons, annoyed me. It looked pretentious and meaningless. I tore the jacket from his body and let it crumple on the floor.

The itch had reached my throat. My fingers curled, twitching for release.

I leaned in close, hands circling his neck, and shot a thought. The heat flowed from my temples, coating my skin in crimson, thrumming like a pulse beneath my palms. But I didn’t burst him. Not yet.

His eyes were still shut.

I tightened my grip, thumbs pressing into his windpipe. His body spasmed, choking, struggling back to life. His eyelids flew open, and the terror—that beautiful terror—bloomed.

I savored it. The pure, primal fear.

I smiled.

And then I burst him.

His neck ruptured beneath my hands, splintering with a wet, grotesque sound. Blood sprayed in hot bursts, the skin peeling open to expose shattered veins and ragged muscle. The head—still whole, still intact—rolled forward, lolling uselessly.

I picked it up.

I felt the wetness spreading through my pants, the aftershock of pleasure crashing over me. It was perfection. Absolute perfection.

But it didn’t last.

The door creaked open.

“Oh, you’re here,” a voice murmured behind me, smug and calm.

The joy curdled. My hand shot out, seizing his throat, pinning him against the metal door before he could speak again.

“Don’t. Dare. Butt in,” I growled, the captain’s severed head still gripped in my other hand.

His lips curled despite my grip, his voice rasping. “A—and what are you go—going to do? Bu—burst me, too? Imagine how Ma—Master would love that.”

The words cut deeper than my grip. Guilt tore through me. I released him, heart pounding, pulse conflicted.

He straightened with a smug grin and stretched his neck, rolling his shoulders. Then, the bastard started doing jumping jacks—mocking and taunting.

If not for Master, his body would have already painted the walls.

“Now, now,” he sneered. “I need to air out, too. Let me have a little fun here, can’t I?”

I should have killed him. But I didn’t.

For Master.

“Wait for me to be out. I’ll head back to the cabin.”

He grinned, flashing his braced teeth as a crimson thought expanded from his temple. Forming his fingers into mock knives, he added, “Tell the rest I’ll be right back.”

The door clicked shut behind me. The moment it did, the sound of slicing steel tore through the air—shrieks of metal and flesh colliding. The chaotic noise almost reached our cabin by the time I returned to grab some coffee.

Damn slashers. Weak-ass thinkers.

When he returned, he was holding something, the smugness still plastered on his face.

“Hey, I know she’ll need a model, so I snatched it.”

I narrowed my eyes at the bloodied object.

“You didn’t move the head, did you? If you messed with it, I’ll send you back to Master—piece by piece.”

“Come on, I’d never do that. Look, it’s still fresh. A little bloody, but she won’t mind. Give it to her when she returns.”

And that was how it all happened.

Now, the people had settled around the shore, huddled around a crackling campfire, faces glowing with warmth and cheer. If only they knew. If only they realized what was coming.

Time to play my role.

*****

She had been pacing the camp—watching, searching. Her careful gaze scanned the area as if checking off a list.

I needed to end her. Now.

Something told me she wasn’t the creator I was after, but it didn’t matter. She had done her part already. She was no longer needed.

After a while, she retreated into her tent.

The plan was simple. Kill everyone on the shore.

Well… not exactly everyone. We missed our window. Some had already slipped inland. No matter, Sir handled that. He was out there somewhere, hunting the ones who fled after I told him what I did to the captain.

I had expected anger. Disapproval. But Sir wasn’t even mad.

The crowd around the campfire remained the same, faces relaxed in ignorant bliss. That slasher could probably take them out on his own, but his range was pathetic. Two meters of slashing radius? It was a joke. Slashers were weak. Mindless. And I wasn’t one to talk—my own limitations irritated me—but he was still a weak-ass thinker.

The others had already begun.

I saw the first tents darken. Silent violence swallowed the flicker of light. Then, the muffled screams came—low, panicked sounds. The itch climbed from my throat to my palms. I needed to burst someone. Now.

Two figures emerged from the woods.

Oh, lucky me.

I stepped into their path, all charm, all innocence. The man was supporting a woman, her skin blotched with angry red rashes. He explained they had returned early since she was itching all over.

But her itch was nothing compared to mine.

I gripped both their arms, pressing my fingers deep enough to feel their warmth. My smile curled into something far more exquisite as their faces twisted in growing horror, wide-eyed and trembling.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Perfect. Fear suited them.

The bursting began—slow, deliberate. Skin stretched, splitting as if water balloons had ruptured from the inside, fragments peeling away in shreds. Blood sprayed in thin arcs, warm mist peppering my face.

Oh, the ecstasy.

I loved this feeling.

The wetness in my pants worsened.

Still buzzing, I moved toward a nearby tent, pitched close to a strange cluster of coconut-like trees. The creator of this realm was odd, shaping such twisted imitations of the real world. Bark too pale, leaves too waxy—he was an artist losing his grip.

I slipped inside the tent. Four people sat in a circle, engrossed in a card game.

They noticed me but didn’t question my arrival. One grinned and waved me over.

“Hey! Join us!”

I accepted the offer, settling among them, my heart thundering as the itch returned full force.

“Let’s make this more interesting,” I suggested. “If I don’t lose the first round, all of you die here. Deal?”

They exchanged glances, the room stiffening for a heartbeat. Then, laughter erupted, loud and unguarded.

“Sure, sure! You’re crazy, dude!”

I didn’t lose.

I didn’t even try.

The second I touched them, they burst, flesh peeling back in wet explosions. The game ended in a perfect mess. Strips of intestine dangled from the wood beams, delicate like garlands, while blood soaked into the canvas walls in deep, artistic splashes.

Beautiful.

Outside, I nearly collided with a bald man.

He scowled, muttering curses under his breath. “Piss off.”

Wrong move, fatty.

A casual brush against his shoulder was enough. His eye sockets burst in twin sprays of red. His body slumped with a lifeless thud, disappointing me. Too easy. Not even worth it.

The next tent was larger. Crew members lay sprawled on worn blankets, resting, oblivious.

I put on my act again—helpless, trembling. They circled me, concerned, soft voices asking how they could help.

Fools.

The thought rippled from my temple, crimson heat coiling over my skin as their insides ruptured. Blood poured from their eyes, noses, mouths, staining their clothes in rich, spreading blooms.

It was so satisfying.

My pants got sticky now.

I wandered through the camp, eeny-meeny-miny-moeing the next tent, but before I could enter, the weak-ass slasher emerged from another tent, grinning. Blood dripped from the slashes he'd carved into the canvas, jagged holes marking his sloppy work.

His smug smile made my fists clench.

If he didn’t disappear soon, I’d burst his damn skull for fun.

But there was a better prize waiting.

I chose a tent with a patterned cloth door, its edges embroidered with intricate designs. Inside, on a salvaged chair clearly taken from the barge, sat teacher Mary.

She was poised, elegant despite the chaos outside, writing carefully in a worn notebook.

She noticed me immediately.

Her pen stilled. She closed the notebook with a soft snap, her expression hardening.

“What are you doing here? It’s almost dark,” she said, her voice stern and controlled.

I slipped into my sheep’s skin, hunching my shoulders, eyes wide with fake innocence. “I—I just need to use the comfort room. I can’t find it anywhere.”

She sighed and stood. Her controlled gait was so precise and proper.

“Wait here. I’ll call someone to guide you.”

No.

I shifted, stepping in her path, forcing a sweet smile—one that almost cost me my pride.

“No, please. I’d rather you accompany me. I’d feel safer.”

Her gaze lingered on my face a moment too long, suspicion creeping in. But then, she nodded.

“Fine. Come along.”

Outside, the horizon had deepened to a blood-red haze. It was the perfect backdrop for what was about to unfold.

As we walked, I noticed her eyes shifting and scanning the camp. She lingered too long on certain tents, frowning at the blood seeping from some of them. Her suspicion grew stronger with every step.

We reached the makeshift comfort room, which was a flimsy hut of tarpaulin and wood. She gestured sharply.

“Go on. Make it quick.”

It sounded more like an order than a suggestion.

I hated her tone.

But I let it slide for now.

Once I finished, I stepped back into the dimming light where she waited.

It was time to drop the act.

But she was gone.

This must be a joke. Where did that bitch go?

But there was no need to panic. She couldn’t have gotten far. She wouldn’t be able to do anything by now.

Humming softly, I strolled back toward her tent, the sound of my own voice steadying the irritation building under my skin. When I peeked inside, she was back on the same chair, still scribbling calmly in her notebook as if nothing had happened.

I tilted my head. Had she noticed? No, impossible. If she had, there would be fear—tension—her heartbeat stuttering under that composed exterior.

I approached, keeping my grin restrained, and she glanced up, nodding toward the makeshift bed.

“Sit,” she said flatly, not bothering to break her focus from whatever she was writing.

I obeyed, settling down with exaggerated sweetness, tilting my head in feigned curiosity. I let her savor her final moments. The thrill coiled tighter in my chest as I counted down in my head. Twenty seconds until bursting time.

Her hand glided across the page without pause.

“What are you writing?” I asked.

“Just my thoughts,” she replied, her eyes not leaving the page. “I like to write them down when I’m idle.”

Thirteen seconds.

“Am I included in those thoughts?”

Nine.

Her lips curled slightly. “Try to guess.”

Five.

“I hope you do,” I purred, leaning closer, “because I’ve be—”

The words choked off. My eyes caught a smear—just a glint of crimson on her elbow where it rested against the notebook’s edge.

Blood.

She knew.

My grin twisted. A thrill, sharper than before, surged through me. She turned, eyes narrowing, voice cold as she asked, “What in the bloody demon are you?”

I couldn’t help myself. The tension snapped, and I laughed—loud, wild, unhinged. My body doubled over, shoulders shaking as I clutched my stomach. Sand stuck to my damp hands as I rolled onto my side, roaring with laughter.

When I sat up, wiping my eyes, she was just watching. No trembling. No fear.

Only a calm, assessing gaze.

The heat in my chest dimmed.

“Hey, that’s not how this works,” I said, my voice lowering. “I can’t kill you if you’re not scared.”

Suddenly, she stepped forward, closing the distance faster than I expected, and seized both my wrists. Her grip was firm—too firm.

“Who are you?” she hissed, her voice steel under the calm exterior. “Were you the one who did…”

Her voice faltered, but the accusation remained in her eyes.

I wrenched my arms, trying to shake her off. “Hey! Don’t touch me.” My voice rose, cracking.

And then—

The blur.

I barely registered her movement before cold metal crashed against the side of my head. White-hot pain exploded through my skull. I crumpled, my knees hitting the ground with a jarring thud. The edges of my vision darkened as I clutched my head, sticky warmth trickling down my temple.

I blinked hard, disoriented. The ground tilted. There had been a spike on that damn thing she hit me with.

Focus.

I forced the thought through the pain, summoning the crimson energy from my temple. My vision sharpened just as I launched myself at her, tackling her into the side of the tent.

The tarp collapsed around us, plunging everything into stifling darkness.

I pinned her. My hand closed over her throat, ready to burst—

But nothing happened.

No surge. No release.

Something sharp dug into my palm.

I pulled back, and in the dim light bleeding through the fallen tarp, I saw it—the bloodied, jagged piece of metal she had driven into my hand.

That bitch.

I stumbled to my feet, tearing my way out of the collapsed tent. My breath was ragged. She was gone. Again.

The silence felt heavier and wrong this time.

I staggered forward, dripping blood, scanning every tent, every shadow. No trace of her.

Two men in coveralls blocked my way. They were laughing. One bumped into me, barely registering my existence.

“Watch where you’re going, kid,” one muttered, giving me a rough shove that sent me back to the sand.

The blood trickled into my eye. It blinded me for a while.

They were still laughing.

I rose, shaking.

“Oh, damn, sorry, man,” one said, glancing down. “We didn’t mean to—”

Too late.

I got to them fast, faster than their tiny minds could process what was coming. My fingers drove through their chests, the wet crunch followed by the sharp whistle of air escaping their punctured lungs. A bloody gap opened where their hearts had been.

The organs shot backward, propelled several meters before slowing to a halt on the sand with soft thuds. Their bodies crumpled next, lifeless, slumping like broken puppets whose strings had been severed.

I stood over them. I was breathing hard.

Pathetic.

I kicked both corpses, the hollow sound of flesh meeting flesh only fueling the restless itch crawling under my skin. Spitting on their slack faces, I whispered, “Not even worth the kill.”

“Hey! How’s your end?”

The weak-ass slasher was sprinting toward me, his grin as annoying as his thin voice. I could already hear the condescension creeping in.

Control. I needed control. I clenched my fists, the blood on my palms tacky now.

“You better not talk to me,” I warned, my voice low. “I’m on my wits’ end.”

His eyes flicked to my temple where the blood still trickled. Smug bastard.

“Well, what could’ve upset you? Let me guess…” His smirk widened. “Someone hurt you, right?”

It wasn’t even a guess.

“Don’t push me.” My hands twitched, the itch flaring again.

“Relax.” He raised both hands with mock innocence. “I’m just confirming your progress for the report. Sir expects professionalism. Let’s keep it clean, yeah?”

My pulse pounded behind my eyes. Calm down. Breathe.

Calm—

A hard impact struck my back, shoving me forward. I staggered, nearly toppling face-first into the sand.

The rage exploded in my chest. My arms shot out, fingers curling, thought building—

I froze mid-motion as I recognized the intruder.

She was smiling and gleeful as if she hadn’t just pushed me.

“Hey! How are you two? Did you finish your tasks?” she said. Her voice was honeyed but grating, seeping under my skin.

The slasher wiped his blade absently against his sleeve, grinning. “I’m done. The twins finished, too. Him?” He pointed at me, smug. “Still waiting on his report.”

Her eyes turned my way.

“And why would that be?”

He shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “We were in the middle of a conversation when you interrupted. I think he was just about to tell me something. What was it again?”

These two. They didn’t get it.

I was shaking with the need to burst. Couldn’t they see it? The way my hands trembled? The blood seeping from my temple wasn’t just from teacher Mary anymore—it was from me holding back.

I bit my lip hard, tasting iron, and whispered, “I killed them all… except one.”

Silence.

The slasher was the first to break it with a chuckle, shrugging as if to comfort me. “Don’t sweat it. I let one slip, too—by accident, of course. Got his arm, though.”

“Really?” she said. The sweetness in her voice was drained. “Well, that’s disappointing. You know how Master feels about loose ends. What was your job again?”

My fists curled tighter.

“To kill.”

“Yes.” Her head tilted, her smile cutting deeper. “And yet… You didn’t. Do you think Master will be proud of your effort? Or will she be… disappointed?”

Fake.

Every word from her mouth was laced with that syrupy venom, that mocking edge as if she didn’t already know she was better than us.

Sixty percent brain capacity.

The controller.

She was the most powerful among us. She was able to manipulate her victims without so much as lifting a finger. She didn’t even need physical contact.

She could crush us all without moving an inch. And she was Master’s favorite, of course. She was her perfect student.

I clenched my jaw, my palms itching worse than ever as I stared at her perfect, gloating face.

She turned with an exaggerated sigh and gestured toward the blue tent in the corner.

“Come,” she said, her voice sugar again. “Let’s talk. I want to show you something.”

We followed. We always did.

Inside, the tent smelled of damp fabric and copper. She gestured for us to sit. I didn’t.

A backpack sat in the corner. Without a word, she pulled it toward her, unzipped it, and began withdrawing its contents—one by one.

The first head hit the table with a soft, damp thud. It was a woman with wide, glassy eyes and pouty lips frozen in horror.

Next, it was a man with thick, bushy hair, so tangled it almost resembled an afro. His mouth hung open as if he had been screaming when it happened.

Then, came the third. It was another woman, her eye sockets gouged empty, a cavern of darkness where her gaze once was.

The fourth one was a handsome man. Well, not now. His tongue had been ripped from his mouth and stitched grotesquely to his cheek. A bloodied baseball bat rested against the tent wall.

The slasher let out a low whistle—he was clearly impressed. I stayed silent, the itch under my skin sharpening with every thunk of flesh against wood.

She wasn’t done.

“For the main course,” she announced with theatrical flair, “I caught this one just moments before meeting you two.”

The final head came.

It was teacher Mary’s head.

Her face was pale, drained, yet still composed. Even now, with her eyes half-closed and lips slightly parted, she looked… calm.

Calm. Like she had accepted it.

The blood coating her neck had dried to rust brown, yet that damn serenity clung to her expression.

I stared.

My hands shook.

You beat me, teacher Mary. Even in death… You beat me.