The blades hung off his arms. They whispered to him. He wasn't wrong to hate. He must punish. He must purify.....must cleanse. Must quench their thirst. He swung and each face bared the loom of pain and agony, but he heard nothing. Eyes full pain and regret. But he felt nothing. He was a guardian and he was protecting himself and the world as he saw it. The corrupt couldn't hide anymore. Blood decorated the ground, whether clean or polluted he cared not. No one was truly free from their mistakes. They turned to fight now, seeing he couldn't be convinced, couldn't be forced to believe what he was doing was wrong. They got closer now. And he could smell their stench. Lust, greed, lies, deceit, all of it. Each one was worse than the last. More and more blood dripped from his blades. But he did not stop. He could not hear their screams. He could not bear his pain. So he kept going. He began feeling numb. And he heard them whisper in his ear with their last breath. Each one said something different. "You're a failure!"

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"You couldn't save them!" "Weak and pathetic." "She never loved you.". These people carrying their sin knew him. He was one of them. Why....why was he fighting. The sound of a train took his attention, the light from it overtook him. He bolted upright. He was fighting his demons again. It was all a dream. He was grateful he hadn't killed anyone. Something in him wasn't, however.

Damon dismissed it as his leftover feelings from the funeral. He avenged his friend. That's all that mattered. He knew it wasn't the only thing bothering him, but he closed his eyes and returned to sleep anyway.