Meanwhile, Noah walked through the streets of Paris. His steps had no destination; he simply wandered.
"Why can't I let go of this hatred?" he asked himself, the scene of his grandfather's death replaying endlessly in his mind.
At first, he thought he just needed to forget and move on. But every attempt showed him the truth—he hadn't overcome it. It wasn't grief that chained him, but something deeper.
The pain in his left eye grew sharper. It felt like it was about to burst at any moment. The barrier within trembled.
His heart skipped a beat. For a moment, the barrier seemed to vanish, and as it did, his mind clouded. Emotions he had always hidden, in both lives, flooded to the surface.
Vengeance. Hatred. Rage.
And beyond that, the suffocating sense of powerlessness from his past life returned in full.
Hehehe…
For an instant, he thought he heard someone laugh. He turned, but no one was there.
Then his mind cleared. The negativity vanished.
Noah frowned, confused.
It felt as if something inside him had disappeared, leaving only emptiness. Yet, within that emptiness, something else had begun to take shape. His left eye was strange—he could feel it. Like his right, it had countless barriers.
But this time, it was as if all those barriers were ready to shatter. Not one or two—all of them.
"What was that?" he whispered, unfocused.
His hand went to his left eye, covering it. It wasn't fear that drove him—it was desire. And that frightened him even more. He didn't want to let it out.
Without noticing, his feet carried him into a different part of the city. The streets here were nearly deserted. The lights flickered, the air stank of alcohol and urine, trash piled up along the pavement.
Lost in thought, the same memory haunting him again and again, his left eye throbbed violently, his vision blurring, the emptiness inside demanding to be fed.
It was like a beast that would devour its host if not satisfied.
So… help…
He thought he had begged for help—but the voice wasn't his.
He froze. There it was again. A muffled cry.
Noah turned toward the sound. A dark alley. The kind no sane person would enter. He hesitated for only a second, as if stepping forward meant making a choice.
Another cry, strangled and weak.
His gaze locked on the darkness. The last rays of daylight did not reach that alley. One more step, and he'd be swallowed by complete shadow.
He made his choice.
The light fell behind him.
Along the way, he found a single woman's shoe. A little further, its pair.
And then he saw it.
Three men had pinned a woman to the ground. Her blouse was torn open, exposing her chest. She resisted with all her might, tears streaming from her reddened eyes.
Noah never thought of himself as a hero, nor as a righteous man. In truth, quite the opposite. To him, anyone who claimed to be pure and honest was nothing but a hypocrite.
But there was a difference between parading as a hero and standing idle while watching something like this unfold. It wasn't morality that pushed him forward.
It was desire.
The hunger within him screamed.
"Help! Please, someone!" the woman cried. But no one was there.
"Shut up, bitch!" one of the men snarled, punching her in the face and splitting her lip.
Blood dripped.
Red.
So red.
Not much—just a few drops running down, hitting the ground.
Noah knew it wasn't real, yet he swore he could smell it from afar.
The night was still. Only the woman's cries and the men's laughter broke the silence.
Maybe I should have a mask, for times like this. He smiled. A smile, at a moment like this.
Without realizing it, he was already anticipating the chance to do it again.
Don't I already wear a mask? His gaze dimmed.
Two of the men drew knives, while the third kept the woman down. When they saw Noah step out of the shadows, they laughed.
"Get lost, brat!"
"Idiot," one of them muttered to his companion. "Forgot the boss's tastes? We can take him for him." The others laughed nastily.
"Come here, little boy. We won't hurt you," one said with a twisted grin, the knife gleaming in his hand.
"Close your eyes," Noah said to the woman. "It's going to get bloody."
She looked at him with pity, despair clear in her gaze, silently urging him to run. He smiled back gently.
"Don't worry. Just close your eyes. It'll be fine."
She didn't know why, but his words reached her heart. Maybe it was his smile, or his calm voice, but something inside her believed him. Perhaps she was already dead, and this was a final dream before the darkness took her.
"It'll be fine? You don't get it, kid," one of the men mocked.
Noah didn't waste words on them.
He raised his hand. A knife floated in the air.
The men blinked, doubting their eyes.
"Am I drunk?"
Noah didn't give them time to wonder. He snapped his fingers. The blade shot forward, too fast to follow. In the next instant, all three screamed, clutching at their ears—or what remained of them.
He hadn't aimed for their throats. Not yet. He wanted blood.
He needed screams. Tears. Desperation.
Blood trickled down their fingers, dripping onto the filthy ground. The two still standing stumbled back, faces pale.
"Monster!"
"He's a monster!"
Noah grinned, twisted and dark. "You haven't seen anything yet."
Another gesture. The knife shot again, slicing through their ankles. They collapsed, shrieking. The blade slashed again and again, leaving crimson lines across their legs. The alley echoed with their cries.
Noah recalled the liquid form to himself and stepped closer to one of the fallen men, now covered in cuts.
"Stay back, freak!" the man sobbed. "Ple—"
His words ended as an invisible force slammed his head into the ground. Blood spattered.
Again. And again. His skull smashed against the concrete, the sound sickening.
The woman trembled. If Noah had told her to close her eyes before, now she would never open them willingly. She was terrified, yet she didn't feel pity. These men deserved it.
The third attacker, realizing his fate, released the woman. His pants were soaked, the stench of urine filling the air. He bolted.
"Help me!" the man with shredded ankles begged as his companion fled, but his cries were ignored.
The sobbing of the man Noah had been smashing into the ground went silent. The alley echoed only with Noah's steps as he turned toward the next target.
"You're lucky," Noah told the whimpering man without looking at him. "I'll make it quick. I need to catch that rat before he reaches the gutter."
Noah's hand rested on the man's face. His touch was strangely warm.
"No! No! NO!" the man screamed.
A blinding flash filled the alley. Then silence.
The woman waited, but nothing else happened. Cautiously, she opened her eyes.
No one was there. The boy had vanished.
The men? She turned, and bile rose in her throat. She vomited at the sight.
The first lay nearby, his skull shattered against the pavement, brains smeared across the concrete. Blood pooled thick and red.
The second—his head was simply gone. Only ashes remained where it should have been.
Shaking, the woman ran for help. Soon enough, the police would arrive to find the massacre.
But this wouldn't be the night's last death.
On the second floor of a hidden bar not far away, a party was about to begin.
And the star of the night was almost there—unaware of the things he would see, the things he would do. Unaware that he would no longer see a bright blue world, but only red and black.
Unaware that the rot in his heart, the monster in his mind, had finally been born.