Kevin rolled back over in his bed. The blinding light from his laptop was the only thing illuminating his pitch-black room. The floor was dotted with dirty boxes and clothes scattered across the room.
He had gotten a new game, an old RPG his friend had told him about, which turned out to be more addicting than expected. He'd ended up spending the whole night and the rest of the next day playing.
Worth it, though.
But It was already almost midnight. He shifted off the bed, feeling sick. His skin felt disgusting, and his vision was blurry.
"I haven't eaten since yesterday," he muttered, "Why didn't Mum wake me up?"
The dirty floor of his room stuck to his leg.
He stretched on the bed for a moment, gathering himself. Through the gap in his window, he could see a woman bent over a desk in her house.
She was always up all night working. He felt a bit sorry for watching her, but she didn't have blinds, and she was the only human—other than his mother—that he saw these days.
He sat there, and watched for a while. He felt a smile twitch on his lips every time she smiled.
Kevin felt like his life had been on pause since that day of his high school graduation. He couldn't remember the date or how many years it had been. But he had never been the same.
He felt like a twisted creature. Huddled up in the chair, feeling his warm, oily skin, wrapped in his dirty joggers he had been wearing for weeks now.
Something very unlike that woman, or any human.
His stomach rumbled. He was so hungry it was getting painful. He stood, slowly stumbled out of his room onto the upstairs balcony.
He leaned over the guardrails, looking over the sleek living room: the shining wooden floors, the white walls and the spacious room decorated with colourful paintings and furniture.
His mother always loved decorating. She would come into his room, ignoring the warm smell of stagnation and rot, to talk to him about interior design pieces.
He grinned a little, remembering how he'd told her she always bought too much.
She had simply smiled, that same smile he had seen for so many years. Years he had spent wasting away.
He thought he saw something in the darkness for a moment, hovering over the living room table. A patch of black, strangely vast, deep and solid.
He blinked twice. His eyes were playing tricks on him.
The lights in the kitchen were on. He walked downstairs slowly.
Portraits of their small family of three hung on the wall as he descended.
He remembered the day of his father's funeral, Kevin had a bad reaction to being around so many people. When he returned home, his mother had assured him, despite his shame and self-hatred, that it was alright.
That night, a small bud of hate formed in his heart , and he hated himself more for even feeling like that.
It felt like he was molded, into the spineless shit he had been all his life, by his father's kindness.
He swallowed those bitter thoughts down as his raspy voice called out, "Mum? Why are you awake so late?"
She always had something to do—the flower shop, home decor, friends to meet, she wasn't like him.
He stepped into the light, squinting, and froze.
A man stood there across the kitchen island, face half-covered by a wool mask with eyeholes, munching noisily on a piece of cheese.
"Was there someone else in the house?" the man mumbled.
Kevin's heart thundered in his chest, mouth hung open. It was another person—just a human—but it felt like meeting a lion in his kitchen.
He stumbled backwards, mumbling, "Mom, where… Where's my mom?"
The tall, scrawny man's eyes glanced to the other side of the kitchen island. He turned back to the refrigerator to grab some orange juice.
Kevin walked closer, just to the other side.
She was unnaturally still for such an excitable woman. Lying face down on the hardwood floor, her grey hair sprawled around her like she had just got out of bed for a glass of water.
Blood pooled beneath the scattered wisps of grey hair.
Kevin's mouth opened to call her name, but he couldn't hear anything.
A scream escaped his throat, hoarse and powerful. He never expected his voice could sound so real.
The tall, thin man was approaching Kevin. His clothes were dirty and ragged, and he held a crooked, rusty knife.
Hot tears fell down his face. He balled up his fist, his nails dug into his palms, and his eyes glance at the knifes at the sink.
The thief lunged at him, swinging the knife at his throat. Kevin jumped out of the way, and ran into the darker anteroom.
The man's warm grunts followed him in the dark, but he kicked his shin hard against a table and fell over.
Meanwhile, Kevin knew the house even in the dark.
He ran back around through the other passage to get the knife, but then slipped and slammed hard onto the wooden floor.
A cracked glass bottle laid there, and its spilled orange juice. Kevin's eyes swam as he tried to get his bearings.
The thief surged out of the dark, snarling, and leapt onto him.
They both struggled as the thief tried to push the knife into his eye. Saliva dripped onto Kevin's face, and his breath was warm and disgusting.
Kevin held back the man's bony wrists, far thinner than he ever thought possible, and glanced at the kitchen.
His mother's body reflected in his eyes—her bright red blood, a plate broken beside her, with his favourite peanut butter and jam sandwich.
Tears poured harder from him. He could barely see the snarling man's huge, dark eyes. A scream came from the pit of his belly once more, hot with rage.
He pushed the man up with a burst of strength and let the knife pierce his hand. The burning pain, the blood dripping against his face—Kevin couldn't feel it.
He threw the man off him, groaning as he ripped the knife out of his left hand and kicked the man back down.
Kevin drove the knife into the man's chest. The thief weakly pushed against his arm, but his thin, feeble body broke under Kevin's fury.
Unintelligible and animalistic grunts filled the dark, spacious room, and in the light cast from the kitchen, was Kevin repeatedly stabbing the man.
He watched the frantic light leave the man's eyes; painted his hands and face in his blood, and fumbled the knife out of his hand before he finally realised the man was dead.
He crawled to his mother, taking her head into his lap. Her oval, cheery face was slack in death. They had always looked alike; her grey hair, she said, was their only difference.
He was her son.
" Mum… mum, mum, mum," he whimpered. "Mum, please don't leave me. I'm your boy, I'll make you proud. I'll go back to school, just… just come back."
He stayed there for a while, crying into her cold, wrinkled face. Then he laid her down softly and stood to call an ambulance or the police.
When he turned, he met a small, thin figure. A face covered in a black hood, mad eyes peering out through roughly cutout holes.
Something slammed into his chest.
Then it came out and back in.
Over and over again.
When the pain hit, Kevin fell back against the kitchen island, the cold tile tabletop dug into his back and kept him standing as the second thief stabbed him.
"You killed him!" a faintly female voice howled, "You bastard, you killed—"
Kevin slumped down the table, warmth escaping his body. The second thief collapsed, sobbing, calling him a rich fool and wailing for her husband.
Kevin wished he had enough strength to wrap his hands around her neck as he died.
But something else drew his eyes. A piece of the glass bottle.
He grabbed it, tightening his grip around the cold glass till it dug into his skin.
The woman stood to stab him once more, snarling as tears fell. Her knife reahed for his throat. But Lucen jumped forward, letting the knife graze him slightly as he passed.
He slammed the piece of glass into her throat, felt her gullet snap and cave in. Then he fell back onto his ass, gasping painfully. The woman choked and gasped, blood pouring down her chest.
"Good, let's all die."
He grinned at the woman arrogantly, but she was even looking at him. Her eyes were speard in abject horror. Kevin followed her eyes, and his heart began to pound.
It rose from the darkness in the living room, formless and huge, approaching him as the corners of the room grew hazy.
The dark form ravaged his dying mind. His already pounding heart felt like it would explode. Its voice was incomprehensible.
Chosen… manageable… soul…
Restore it… the pieces… my broken children.
Glory… honour… power.
Take it up… the Halo.
As the darkness washed over him, he passed from this world… and onto the next.