Page 37

H.A.Z.E

B a-dum…

Ba-dum…

Ba-dum.

Irregular. Deep. Slow— too slow. That is the sound of this beating organ behind my lungs when I hear that music. Those words. It hurts. It physically hurts.

I'm not a stranger to pain. I know pain.

Pain and I are so closely interlinked that even as I've forgotten so much of my existence, I remember the pain.

It's all I know. It's all that's ever existed inside me.

Pain and darkness; my eternal companions.

It was easier to exist with them when I learnt to utilise them for my selfish desires.

So, what the fuck is that?

It takes only a few words, that melody, and I’ve never wanted to die as much as I do in this moment.

I grit my teeth, knowing exactly who's responsible for this change.

The Saviour wants me to be compliant. He wants me to kneel, and he does it in the most unsuspecting ways—like when he hurts me and pretends he hates it, or when he saves my life.

I deserve it. I ask for it, I do. So, that expression can only be a twisted game to mess with my head.

I hate him. I hate how he's the only fucking one adamant about pushing me when all the rest fall in line. When he forces me into these silly positions I'm simply not meant for, and more importantly, pissing me off.

Every day that I'm enslaved, the red-hot flashes come and go at random times, consuming everything like a storm and leaving absolutely nothing in its wake.

Over and over again. A wave that can't be controlled.

A monster that's beginning to lose its patience.

A force that can't be stopped, not even by me.

How dare he? How dare they? I'll show them, all of them, what they've unleashed.

"H-Haze?" I hardly acknowledge Reece, but she stands opposite me, beside the wall where she's quietly stood for the last three hours— obediently.

"What?" I murmur, my tone charged with repressed rage.

"Y-You're hurting yourself."

Am I? So, it matters when I hurt myself. The pain that I inflict is insane. Pain that others inflict is ignored. Perhaps it's why I can do this to Reece. Perhaps it's why I can hurt her. An opportunity was all I needed, and an opportunity was given to me.

My voice is low, and each word is punctuated through clenched teeth. "Shut. Up."

I'm in the mood to crack someone's skull open, to take back my power, and right now, Reece is so dangerously close to becoming another body on a long list of creatures no one ever gave a fuck about. But…

"Y-Your hands are b-bleeding."

She's Reece fucking Adams.

Her heart is too big, too bright, too warm and sometimes— sometimes —far too familiar. Like something I yearned for but hadn't known—like when she smiles. She has a nice smile, and I hate that I know that. I hate that I think that. I hate that she's good.

I have her skull pressed into the concrete wall instantly, the black paint along my hands spreading across her pale skin as she whimpers, and I seethe, "I said, to shut. Your. Mouth ."

Reece trembles so violently, she almost slips from my grip, but I tighten my hold. "I-I'm s-sorry. I-I-I'm sorry!"

A sudden burst of laughter rushes past my lips; it’s hot and angry.

"Even when I've scrambled your mind, you're still good.

" I cackle, applying more pressure to her skull.

Her eyes widen, her neck stretches uncomfortably, tears stream down her face, and her lips quiver.

"Perhaps I went too easy on you? What will happen when I take all the good things you love to smile about? "

"P-Please… Please…" Reece whimpers, which only feeds the anger inside me—in my chest, in my throat, in my trembling fingers. It’s everywhere, too big to ignore, too powerful to contain. And yet, I keep trying.

But Essy speaks, sensing my darkening mood, and warns, "Haze…"

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

The voice that leaves my mouth isn’t mine—not entirely. It twists as it pours out, layered with tones that are deeper, darker, like shadows given sound. Each voice carries a piece of my rage, each one a fragment of something ancient and unrelenting.

Essy shrinks so deep into the darkness that her presence is suddenly gone, as the sound vibrates through the air, heavy and oppressive, making the room feel smaller as if the walls themselves recoiled from the sound.

Reece cries. She sounds so childlike and so terribly afraid.

She’s saying words, but it all sounds like gibberish.

I force air into my lungs, straighten my back, fix my expression, and let the rage simmer beneath the surface, burning quietly, relentlessly, as I hold myself together with sheer, trembling force.

"I'm curious about who you are at your core." I sigh, holding my grip on her head. I tilt my head, my tone taking an ominous depth as I say, "Who are you... when there's only darkness?"

She sobs as blood rolls down the side of her head. A deep crimson that contrasts against mine beautifully. My lips are to her ear, and I voice the frightening thought in her head out loud. "Are you me?"

I pull away as she crumbles to her knees, just as a familiar presence appears beside Reece, leaning against the wall and brushing the backs of his fingers down her tear-stained face. I stroll calmly to the sink, murmuring, "You shouldn't be here."

"I couldn't help myself." Damien hums, and I feel his inquisitive eyes on the back of my head. "Well, what happened?"

"Nothing important," I drawl, watching the steam roll off my fingers from the burning hot water. "Everything went according to plan."

The air is still, heavy with the kind of silence that presses into your ears and makes every small sound seem louder than it is, and he seethes, "Look at me."

I don't usually follow orders, but this one time, I listen and glance over my shoulder.

His skull, once ordinary, now looks grotesquely caved in on the left side.

The indentation catches the light in strange ways, the skin stretched taut and shiny over the deformity.

Jagged staples crisscross his scalp and face, pinning torn flesh, digging deep into angry red tissue that oozes faint trails of blood.

His skin is riddled with scabs and open wounds that weep black, the blood slow and thick as it traces uneven paths down his neck. Dark streaks smear across his shirt, blending with older stains that had long since dried into grim reminders of who he is.

His face is the worst of all; one eye bulges slightly from its socket, unblinking and bloodshot, while the other sits sunken and shadowed, surrounded by purple-black bruises that spread like rot. His mouth is twisted into a permanent sneer, as he growls, "Was this planned?"

"No," I say, my words low as I turn back towards the sink. I planned everything—right down to the exact size hole I punched into my stomach while pretending to slowly die and waste away.

I planned every meticulous detail. What I didn't plan for was being saved by the Saviour. For his trembling hands to sit over my wound as if he fucking cared. For him to break Damien's skull for me.

None of that was planned. None of that should have happened.

"I want to move forward with the plan," I reveal, watching the blackness swirl and twist, tainting the clear liquid with its corruption.

I feel his eyes on me; the slight shift in his demeanour is obvious. I've surprised him. Good. It'll be fun to watch him alter his plans to fit my schedule.

"I thought you wanted to wait until his mate trusted you?" Alissa was cautious of me before she knew I was a Nightwalker, knowing now she’s probably hiding away in her room to avoid me.

"Reece will get to her faster than I could, and she'll play her role perfectly."

Damien laughs as if I just made the most hilarious joke. "Reece?! No! She'll never go along with it."

"Usually, no, she wouldn't," I muse. The blood is completely gone, yet I can't help but keep my hands under the burning hot water a while longer anyway. "But once I'm done playing with her head, twisting her moral compass, giving her choices only acceptable to me, she'll only have dark virtues."

I focus my attention on my burning hand, rolling through the water, almost as if I'm in a trance. All the while, I can taste Damien's displeasure as he grits, "You want to take away her good nature?"

" Yes. " I don't hesitate. "I want her to smile the next time I rip someone's heart out instead of criticising me.

I want her to get excited when I put her precious friends on their knees and have their heads ripped from their bodies, but only after I paint her hands red with sins far too heavy for her to live with.

And when she's done, when she's gone, too, it'll be the Saviour they'll blame.

He'll lose everything—his family, his position, his kingdom. All of it will burn."

There's so much anger inside me. So much rage. It bleeds and bleeds, and instead of drowning myself in it, I'm going to feed my poison to every creature that's breathed in my vicinity since the Saviour entered my life.

When I'm done with them, they'll want to die almost as much as I do. They'll beg for it. Only then will I be satisfied.

I turn, crossing my arms below my chest and leaning against the sink, smirking darkly.

"Don't worry; I'll give her back to you with her virtues intact.

I just can't promise she'll want to live.

" My gaze lifts to his, and bleeds gold.

"She may even beg you to kill her, to end her unimportant and pathetic little existence. "

Damien grits his teeth and clenches his fist as he growls, "That'll ruin my fun."

After spending some time with Damien, I understand why he's becoming a problem for the Saviour. It isn’t Damien's strength that’s the problem; it’s the fact that Damien doesn’t just want death, he wants the chase. He enjoys the chase. The chase arouses him.

That makes him unpredictable, because we weren't created to play with our food. Kill, eat, and survive —our basic principles.

Damien's are different. He lives by the principles— kill, play, eat, and survive. And that makes enough of a difference for me to ask, "Do you remember your human life?"

"Yes," he grits, annoyed by the change of subject, "I was pitiful, wanting to be part of a society that had rejected me. As mad as he was, Ricci was the best thing to happen to me."

He grins when he says it, but I cock an eyebrow. "You were rejected?"

"I was diagnosed with severe anti-social behaviours, aka psychopathy.

My parents had me tested when I bashed my little brother's face into the wall after he stole my Legos…

" He pauses, a dark smile curling along his face as he recalls his past. "They feared me; it drove them to give me away to Ricci. "

I watch Damien, his hand coming down his face, then biting his pinkie finger so hard, black blood rolls down his chin, but he keeps on smiling ear-to-ear as he laughs while cackling loudly, "I peeled the flesh from their bones in gratitude, and I started with their favourite son— my precious baby brother! "

Reece giggles, obviously finding the story amusing, as she asks, "Did they scream?"

Damien’s smile falls, and his head slowly tilts in her direction.

Her reaction spoils his fun, because he reaches out towards her, and I feel it—his bloodlust. His need to make her scream and beg and cry.

Though, before he can touch her, I say in a sharp and deadly tone, "Hurt her, and I'll kill you. "

Damien stiffens, his features pulled together in annoyance. "We had a deal…"

I'm behind him instantly, punching through flesh and bone as I grab hold of his spine and break and twist his vertebrae until the pieces shatter around my fingers.

Damien screams and collapses onto his chest as I slowly remove my hand from his lower back.

He splutters and chokes as the inky black blood spreads across the white tiles and gathers around his stomach.

Reece stands beside him, poking her foot into his back and giggling whenever he would convulse from the pain.

I perch low, pinching his face and forcing his body to twist back painfully so he can look me in the eyes. "I've told you before; there is no partnership. There is no we… You're simply a soldier." I lean close, sneering, "So, obey."

Blood continues to sputter past his lips as he growls under his breath and practically seethes, "Yes."

Despite what he may think, I have no illusions of Damien. I know he'll try to kill me. I know he's my enemy, but he doesn't know I know those things.

"Get out," I demand, releasing his head and watching him hit the floor. "And crawl out."

Damien, unable to walk or crawl, drags himself away. Smearing black blood across the white floors, grunting and groaning on his way out the door. I smile, because I guess Damien and I share the same principles, and the Saviour only has himself to blame for this new change within me.

I grab a nearby cloth and throw it at Reece. She catches it and walks to the sink to fulfil my unspoken command.

But I see her, too, trapped in that head of hers.

Screaming and crying, begging me to let her go.

I walk over to the sink as Reece's shoulder brushes against mine while she holds a bucket of soapy water, my words a whisper carried by the wind to her ear as I sink my bloodied hand under the running water.

"Smile, Reece. It doesn't matter if it's a real or fake one."

And she does. She gets down on her hands and knees, and she smiles.