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Wolf's Mask

Chapter Text

"Hush-a-by baby, babe not mine."

Each chilling note that was sung was punctuated by faint splashing sound. A sharpened knife glinted in the spectral light shed by the moon, twirled expertly between saturnine fingers. Crimson was bedded into the fingernails and crusted on the fingers, yet the palms were spotless. There was whimper as the tall man stepped forward, so more of his body was released by the tenacious grip of the shadows. Hair a matching shade of crimson as on his hands, clothes saturated by the same colour.

"My woeful wail, do you pity never?"

Another whine as the beam of illumination moved onto the figure in the middle of the room. Almost bald scalps shining with scarlet, clumps of inky hair barely hanging on, as if slashed by a jagged object. They were nude, body exposed for all to observe.
Emaciated, ribs pressing against the paper white skin. Genitals so mutilated that you wouldn't be able to tell their sex if the man in front of them hadn't destroyed the swaying lumps on their chest. Scars riddling the flesh, some still oozing a thick cardinal that slid down their stick-like legs and splashed to the floor.

"Hush-a-by baby, babe not mine."

She released a pathetic sniffle, barely able to struggle against the chains that kept her suspended over the grey, concrete floor, "I'm sorry, whatever I have done, I'm so sorry and I won't do it again!"
Maintaining his silence, the man simply stepped closer and closer, his heavy duty boots echoing around the cavernous shelter and amplifying the noise until it was booming into her ear, the only sound that could be hear for miles besides the lullaby. Each footstep like a lions' roar, demanding respect and submission, smirking as they walked over the shaking ground.

"A year ago I was snatched forever."

Sobs became incoherent as he pressed the razor edge of his knife against her temple, not breaking skin but enough to announce the presence of the deadly object. Her breathing became ragged as he began to babble and ramble, and if the man wasn't sick of her attitude then he would have begun to laugh. Laugh at how pathetic and cowardly that the women was. How naïve and imprudent she was as to have not picked up on what he planned to do, realise that all hope was futile and given up on her pesky existence.

With one swift flick of his wrist, movement so practiced that it was smoother than silk, the blade severed her spinal cord with a well-placed cut to her neck. She cried out in agony as he reached down and used took her ankles in one hand, squeezing and snapping them together as if they were twigs.

"You only have yourself to blame you know? For this. If you had just stopped resisting then you would still be alive, I wouldn't have gotten so bored of you so quickly." his voice was cold and empty, as far from guilty as you can imagine.

With that, she spluttered out a few last words, before her green eyes dulled and dimmed to the point where they were grey. Like a lightbulb had been turned off.
Whistling a jovial tune, he released the chains from above, letting her corpse fall to the floor with a sickening thud and a crack as the remaining bones in her frail form broke.
You see, he wasn't doing this because he was insane. No, he was doing this because he was sane.

If insanity had gripped his brain then he wouldn't be able to pull of half of the things that he does, he would mess up just for the thrill of it. No, he preferred to think that he was just an avid player, who laid out clues that nobody seemed to catch.

In fact, he was the sanest out of everybody. You might disagree, but the reason is that he was just thinking logically, and that was the cause for this. What made him deadly was not that he was psychotic, it was because he was so sane. He would plan each detail out to the T before proceeding, with a backup plan and a plan in case the backup plan failed.
He had nothing left to lose, nobody really cared for him and those who did were buried fifteen feet underneath, covered by dirt and then a layer of cement then more dirt. They weren't coming back anytime soon.

So, to occupy his time, he chased after what made him happy. Toying with people, forcing them to face the harsh reality that he was thrust into at the mild age of two, break their euphoric delusion of the world for the last days of their life. Then clean up thoroughly and move onto his next toy, see if anyone can top how much fun he had with the last one.
So, wiping his knife down with an aged rag, he plotted where to move to next.