Blood clung to Gloria’s hands, cooling and hardening over time. Each finger movement cracked the dried blood, flaking off in clumps. Rubbing his fingertips, the reddish-black residue gathered like grime, merging with the blood pooling on the corridor floor. Each step dragged sticky corpse blood mixed with bodily fluids, clinging to his boot soles, while glistening flesh stuck like wounds.
Every step crushed soft tissue, blood spurting to stain Gloria’s white slacks scarlet. The sadists’ blades sprayed blood onto his double-breasted suit, leaving red speckles. The victims’ agonized screams, the warped laughter of abusers, the chainsaw’s grinding roar—all grated on him. Having committed murder, tasted the honey of evil, Gloria yearned to purge the beastly guilt tormenting him. His trembling hand gripped the club, staring at a woman with a grotesque smile, clutching bloodied organs, her approach making him wince at the iron stench stinging his nose.
“Nice organs, huh? Fresh from a newborn fetus. Aren’t they beautiful? Touch them… so soft, right?” she cooed.
Swallowing bile and nausea, Gloria forced a smile to match hers. “Yeah, beautiful organs. I respect the flawless extraction,” he lied, brushing the still-pulsing tiny heart with his fingertip.
“Really? Oh, a handsome guy like you praising me… I’m blushing. Wanna play? I’ve got the perfect toy… A patchwork show, you and me. Sewing a woman’s limbs on a man, stitching a penis on a woman… Fun, right?”
“Sure,” Gloria said.
Gripping his hand, she pointed at a chainsaw-wielding giant, her face pure devilry. A human-skinned demon, trembling with ecstatic sin… Despite his resilient mind, still clinging to sanity, Gloria shuddered at the barbaric show, his breath catching.
Each chainsaw exhaust blast drew screams from a couple, surrounded by blood-drenched lunatics. They smeared spurting blood on themselves, devoured scattered flesh, and jammed splintered bones into wounds—a demonic feast. Severed limbs were hoisted, impaled on stakes, breasts and penises sliced off and sewn on in perverse reversal. A woman’s swollen belly was gutted, the translucent amniotic sac’s life silenced before its first cry, destined as a toy for the lunatics, the innocent plated as the banquet’s centerpiece.
These weren’t humans. Worse than beasts—monsters. Killing them should be just, a righteous act.
Shaking off her hand, gripping the club, Gloria felt a steel palm seize his shoulder. Danan, eyes blazing with murderous intent, shook his head slightly. “Endure. Justice is trash… useless here,” he muttered.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Woman, get lost,” Danan growled.
“What? You his buddy? It’s just a little fun,” she sneered.
“Didn’t hear me? I hate trouble. Learn to back off, scum. We’re in a hurry, no business here. Know your place.”
Her face flushed with rage, spewing hateful gibberish. But the assault rifle’s muzzle in her face silenced her.
“Think I’m joking? Shoot one bullet, and the suits and sacks won’t let it slide,” she taunted.
“Think I’m bluffing? I can kill you anytime. Hell, I could kill everyone here alone. Want a hole in that pretty face under your blood makeup? Or should my mechanical arm smash it to pulp? Choose, scum.”
No laughing matter, even if a jest. Staring into Danan’s eyes, she swallowed hard, realizing his words were true.
There was no choice but killing. To crave death, she’d have to face it. To quell her bloated sadism, she’d need more violence. A born sadist, she sensed Danan’s unyielding self-preservation—he’d kill any obstacle, no matter who.
Cold steel touched her forehead, the trigger’s grating pull hitting her ears. The hammer lowered, ready to fire. Danan’s silent pressure shredded her nerves, unraveling her mind, until a piercing scream erupted from her throat.
“Shut up, or I’ll kill you,” Danan snapped.
“Danan!” Gloria shouted.
The muzzle swung upward, firing. A bullet shattered a dim light, scattering sparks and glass. The sudden gunshot made the giant roar, lunatics cackling in unison.
“You were really going to—” Gloria began.
“Kill her? Yeah. If I didn’t, it’d get messier.”
“Messier? You—”
“Could you have resisted?”
“!”
“Don’t lecture me when you were about to snap. I need you alive to get out of this district. If I didn’t stop her, you’d be stuck in her sick show. Don’t give me grief.”
Danan was right, not wrong. If he hadn’t grabbed Gloria’s shoulder, Gloria would’ve killed her. His lingering humanity screamed to reject sin, to destroy evil, gripping the club.
This place could drive anyone mad. Watching people consumed by sinful desire made Gloria fear he was the same. He doubted what he’d deemed good, accepting evil as necessary, inevitable. The collapse of his established values, rebuilt with warped, vile ones, terrified him. Staring into Danan’s dark eyes, Gloria breathed deeply, muttering, “Let’s go,” and tapped Danan’s armored arm.
“Danan.”
“What?”
“You keep charging forward… What are you becoming? Where are you going?”
“…”
“Steel’s strong, tough. But it corrodes, rusts, crumbles. Keep going like this, you’ll break, decay, and waste away in the undercity. Danan, you—”
“I want to live.”
“…”
“I want to live. To know why I was born, why I exist. I’ll kill anything in my way. If I don’t… I can’t survive.”
His words, drowned by blood’s stench and victims’ screams, earned a slight nod from Gloria.
Everyone starts wanting to live. Then realizes living alone lacks meaning, seeking purpose. Finally, they lament everything’s worthless, too late, twisting in despair.
“…I hope your wish comes true, Danan,” Gloria murmured, stepping toward the stairs to Hydro de Benzene’s third floor with Danan.
