The thrill of killing had never tasted so intoxicating. It was wrong, painfully and unmistakably wrong, but survival did not care for morals. I did what I had to, what would keep me breathing, what would keep Elira safe. My heart tore itself in two, caught between the human who still feared guilt and the monster who no longer remembered what empathy meant.
I held him like a helpless chicken, his throat fragile beneath my fingers. The world faded at the edges, the smoke and shadow peeling away until only his grin remained. It wasn't human. Something moved behind that face, a presence buried in the dark, pulling his strings. I could almost taste it, cold and metallic in the air between us.
"Who's your master?" The words scraped out through my teeth as my hand tightened around his windpipe. He only laughed. The sound was jagged, like two blades grinding together.
He spat at me, thick and hot. The spit clung to my cheek, and disgust twisted into rage.
