Page 62 of Nocturne
I melt into the shadows, eyes locked on that decayed party, feeling the night’s pulse speeding up—the stench of booze, fear, and blood hanging heavy in the air.
I wait, knowing the right moment to strike hasn’t come yet. But when it does, it’ll be lethal.
Leaving the three bodies abandoned behind me, a bloody reminder of what happens when you fuck with me.
Further ahead, the party pulses like a deranged heart. Loud music. Laughter laced with something dangerous. Bodies moving, grinding, devouring one another in alcohol and adrenaline. I watch the energy unfold — wild, raw, almost theatrical — the kind of place where pain doesn’t get cured, just drowned.
Three of them stand out. Two guys and a girl in the middle of the chaos. One wears a light blue hoodie and grins like an idiot, the girl clings to the kiss of the other like she owns him, while the third moans with laughter, sucking on fingers that don’t belong to him. It’s beautiful. Tragic. A freedom so reckless it’s already begging to be destroyed.
I pull the purple mask over my face — the Japanese oni that gives me the courage to become what I need to be. My breath speeds up. The world sharpens. Every sound, every light, every movement around me turns into instinct. I take a step forward. Just one. That’s all it takes.
The beat of the music drowns out the first shot. They don’t even notice when the bullets start cuttingthrough the air, piercing flesh like thunder through silence.
Screams follow. Chaos ignites. The party collapses into flames and fear.
And I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Each bullet is a scream my brother never got to release. A wound that never closed. A fucking reminder that peace is a lie. That Hunter made me this.
I breathe in. Deep.
Then I release the fire.
The flamethrower roars to life like a beast off its chain. It spits its fury against the warehouse walls — purple, red, gold — devouring every memory, every sin, every trace of what they built. The heat crushes my lungs. Smoke seeps into every pore.
It smells like vengeance.
I go back inside.
The music is still playing — like it refuses to die.
Like this place still dares to believe in survival.
I aim again. Fire again.
Bodies drop. Some scream. Some beg. Some run. But no one escapes.
Not tonight.
I don’t see any familiar faces from Iron Requiem. Not Vincent. Not Emma. Which can only mean one thing — they’re with Hunter.
Lucky them.
Because the next time I run into them, there won’t be anything left but blood.
My fingers tremble — not from fear, but from thesheer intensity burning through me. This is revenge. Twisted justice. A silent scream from someone who’s lost everything. As I pull the trigger, the chaos inside me hits harder than the gunfire.
Part of me wants to destroy Hunter. Tear him apart. But another part... wants to understand. Wants to feel. Wants everything I shouldn’t crave.
But there’s no room for doubt now.
The fire devours. The blood spills.
And silence spreads as the warehouse burns down in hellish flames.
I walk through the ashes — relentless, broken — knowing this night has scorched away whatever was left of who I used to be.
