AN: For those who don't value sanity.

Spoiler : Have you ever felt as if you're pressured from inside, an unbearable need to...let something out?

Well, today I had a wonderful conversation. During the conversation, I spoke of the insane pleasure I have from violence. I spoke of cutting, snapping, breaking, twisting, blood spatters...ho, better stop, I'm getting...you know...(´～｀ヾ)

Anyway, that isn't really too much out of character, so it isn't much to type about. Next, however, I spoke of my friends (imaginary) and the voices that speak to me that no one else can hear.

You see? I got it out, and I feel good about it. Even if I can't actually cut someone open, I can at least imagine it...in vivid detail...with lots of sound effects...and maybe a little touching...

NO! Snap out of it!

Anyway, before I type something that's going to get me banned/arrested, I'll get on with it. "The Feline Faction" was born of a whim, an idea I had and wrote down. It had an emotionless killer and smaller, more innocent person who could become an emotionless killer. Then, I kept going. Oh, those days were bliss...I wrote of blood and slaughter, and for some reason people praised me for it. Crazy, right?

Then, the story tied me down, and I captured myself with the plot. I swore that day...

Never again! From now on, plot will be random and unnecessary!

So, now I will make another oath...

Here, in this thread, I will do as I like because I like it! And what I like is blood everywhere! PRAISE BE WOODEN!

HAHAhAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhAHA*cough cough*pscyopath*cough cough*HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!

For those who care what I think.(LOL! As IF! I'm hilarious, aren't I?)

Spoiler : This is LEL. When I started, it was meant to be the story of a boy who did what was right for the right reasons. Soon, he'd be doing what was right because it was right, but his methods would be questioned. Still, results change opinions. Slowly, he would slip. Eventually, he'd be doing the wrong things for the right reasons. Justification is all adjective, so who can say what is right and wrong? Certainly not anyone else. I do what is right. I accomplish the goal. I am justice, right, and light. The gods ally with me, and I represent their will. I am perfect. I am righteous. I am the law. Justice is mine, and so is everything else.

But, I'm far too impatient for that, so instead I'll just bastardize this entire fiction and make it one blood-soaked hell, where I can dispose of my unhealthy obsession. As I said in the description, I do not recommend reading this. After all, it's just me letting out my violent tendencies. Which reminds me of a song...time to start writing. :)

BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD! HOOOOOOOOO!

Warning: Regular profanity incoming, as well as increased bloodshed. Is it important to the story? The plot? The characters?

...don't ask questions you know the answer to. Now, I'll just write this, and if you want pain, go and read it. Masochist. I mean, seriously, what the heck is up with those people?

Well, even if I don't understand them, I still appreciate them. As a sadist, they make dishing out pain a lot more guilt-free. So thank you, you weird sickos...yours is my favorite fetish to satisfy. ^^

Naturally, I was expelled from the order.

As I packed my few belongings, putting a portrait my mother had drawn of my father into a pocket I'd asked one of the other acolytes to sew into my shirt. Even if they wouldn't openly back me up, some of the more courageous acolytes would do me little favors, here and there.

Still...

Just breaking a few bones and leaving didn't seem like enough to repay my tormentor for all of the times I'd bent my back to take his blows. I tried to convince myself of my own rightous reasoning for what I was about to do, but deep down I know that what I'll do is not strictly good.

But, for the safety of my fellow acolytes, even if they have not done anything to gain my favor...I still love them, as my brothers and sisters of the order. And family sticks together, no matter what. Even the bully is my family, my brother.

But, it is also the duty of the brother to discipline their sibling when the parents dare not intervene.

I stopped in front of the infirmary doors, and nodded to the two guards standing guard outside. Not a part of the order, they were common folk like me, but not as talented or fortunate. From six months ago, I'd played cards with them, and they'd welcomed me even if I hadn't been willing to wager with them. I know gambling isn't bad, but I don't wish to develop the habit.

Their backs were straighter, and they didn't look at my eyes. I smiled, put a hand on both shoulders.

"My friends...sadly, we cannot spend more time together. I enjoyed your company, and although your tales were often too lewd for my taste, they were amusing all the same. I cannot carry all that I own, as I must travel light. Consider this a...gift."

I passed them a cerimonial sword, my mark of the order. I should technically have gone to the master and returned the sword, but he would not miss a decoration. The sword would sell for quite a bit, and for that I was happy. I had little of worth to give to my friends, but I'm glad I at least have something worthwhile to give. "Friendship is a weighted scale. Even if it stays tipped one way for a long time, make sure to balance it out. Relationships can be more valuable than gold or steel, in many situations."

They seemed shocked, and Fred tried to refuse, stating that it was too much. I shook my head, remaining in my bowed position with the blade held out. George slowly reached out and took it reverently, and I nodded once more before opening the door and entering. I would miss these two, and they will definitely forget all about me, but I will remember them. They were two lights in an endless abyss of depression. I had too much pride for suicide, but they stopped me from indulging in...unsavory habits. I'd always been bad with small animals.

Five young men lay stretched out on bleached white sheets. No one tended to them at the moment, mostly because I'd arranged it that way. I approached on bed, and sat down. I gently caressed the cheek of my tormenter, and embraced him tightly. He awoke, confused at first, but then quick to let the beginning of a scream escape his lips.

Before he could rouse the others, I took the pillow that was around his head and wrapped his face in it, stealing away his air and muffling the scream. I continued to press until his struggles started to wane, and then stopped suffocating him. I carefully laid his head back onto his pillow, then kept one hand pressed to his throat and a finger to my lips while Shushing him. He was afraid, but I crooned softly, "Do not be alarmed, brother dear. I have not come to kill you, although that would solve the dilemma that currently troubles me. But, if you end up uncooperative, I may have to do something quite wicked..."

He started whimpering, so I brushed his hair back and wiped away the sweat on his forehead. "Shh,shh, it's okay. As long as you do as I wish, then everything will turn out alright, and everyone is happy. Even though you hurt me, taunted me, isolated me, and made my life a living hell, I understand that this was all a trial to test my faithfulness, as is my current misfortune. I do not blame you for ratting me out, but in exchange for my malevolence, I want you to do a couple things for me..."

He cried the whole time, but I wiped his tears and left with another kiss on his forehead. I waved goodbye as I left, and he immediately curled up and began to sob. I know it is shameful, but I took some guilty pleasure in his pain. I softened my heart, and took this as a lesson to not judge those who bully the weak too quickly, for now I can empathize with them, and better judge and forgive them of their sins.

I gave both the guards a firm handshake, then walked out of the door of our abbey while feeling like skipping. I felt a rush of energy, a burst of adrenaline, a feeling of leaving behind the shackles of youth, and becoming my own man.

For half a year, I'd trained in the knightly arts. Although I diligently worked in my studies of courtesy and manners, I found myself invariably drawn, and talented, in martial practice. Though my peers were all young, hardy men like me, I found them to be poor opponents. My drill master had first been shocked, then proud, and finally resigned, when I beat him twenty-six to nome, without breaking a sweat. Likewise, our strategy instructor was shocked when I crushed him in a game of wits, and then embarrassed when I carefully instructed him on my use of his openings.

It had been winter when I arrived, but I left in the heart of summer. I walked a road built with rock and dirt, the sun on my back and the wind in my legs. For the first week I ran full-pelt, only taking short breaks, but I soon slowed down so as to enjoy nature. God had given the wild as a gift to Humanity, and if his chosen soldiers did not appreciate it, who would?

A group of seven scraggily men kindly asked me to give them my possessions, but as I did not have anything to give, I regrettably stated that I could not do anything for them. When they attacked me, I was at somewhat of a loss to do with a half-dozen unconscious men. They were undoubtedly breaking the law, and although it pained me to instill punishment, if I did not, who would?

They should not be killed simply because they were forced into unsavory circumstances, but if I did not do something permanent, then there would be no meaning to it.

When they awoke, I peeled the skin off of each of their hands, from wrist to fingertip, so they would no longer be tempted to stick them in others' pockets. It was not permanent, but it would last a long time. I admonished them to become honest fellows, and repent of their sins, then left them tied together by the wrist. They became scared of trying to free themselves after the first couple instances of rope burn on uncovered flesh, and waited meekly for me to inform the local peacekeepers of their position.

Within half a day, they were safely in prison and prepared to repent, and I visited and gave each of them a blessing of endurance, so that they could become closer to god in their captivity, and repent of their sins by doing just and honest things.

I attempted to find good, honest labor in the large town/small city, but unfortunately there were many other hands, more experienced and more willing to work cheaply, as was the case with the locals. I regrettably resigned myself to the fact that life was a hard mistress, but found new faith after spending the night in solemn prayer at the church. I begged Ienfrete, as is his most holy of names that may only be used in faithful, personal communion, for the opportunity to prove myself to my new neighbors, and when morning came after my six hours of earnest prayer, I was politely asked by the priest to let others use the alter. I blessed him for his patience, and left a donation of all that remained of my liquid assets, and left.

When I stepped out onto a street that smelled of garbage and refuse, with people yelling and hurrying without a look at each other, I suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of love for each and every one of these people. I embraced everyone I met and blessed them, but I'm afraid I offended someone, as he and several of his friends begin to push me around. I waited until they had led me into a dark alley, and then lovingly taught them about humility and the dangers of uninformed pride.

I considered leaving them something to remember me by, but instead effortlessly brought them down without causing injury, all the while with a smile full of love and forgiveness to soften my blows. In my dealings with people, I had found that frowning had it's uses, but for most situations, a smile could represent everything I needed to show.

I blessed each of them as they woke up, and then said farewell as they fled from me. For a long while, I continued to wander the streets of this city whose name I knew not, spreading gods' love and mercy to all I could. When night fell, I wearily rested in the middle of the street. Since I loved and understood all of my neighbors, I knew that falling asleep would mean a quicker reunion with my god, and although the very thought warmed my soul, I knew that god did not welcome those who fled to him. So, I sat in the center of the main avenue, and meditated.

I thought I heard a voice many times, but each time I reached out, the sound receded, and I was forced to return myself to a state of peace. I so wanted to hear the voice, to let it envelope my whole being, but...

...as I expected, a welcoming group arrived and surrounded me. I slowly got to my feet, refreshed from the rest, and smiled a bright good-middle-of-the-night. They wore masks, and carried knifes, sticks, clubs, and even a few swords.

I let my arms spread out, as if to embrace all of them and spoke in a quiet voice that still managed to echo down the whole of the avenue.

"Woe is me, oh ye lost lambs of faith. Forget your wicked and foolish resentment, and join me in repentance."

A large, bear-like man stood in front of me and spoke in a deep voice, "I'm afraid not, pilgrim. Tell me, before you go to meet your god, what is your name?"

I smiled even wider, and opened my arms as wide as my heart. "You are well-spoken for one so crude. If you must know this penitent follower of gods' name, then I shall let you hear it.

"In the land of my father, I was known as Con, but ever since the order bestowed a knew name upon me, I've been known as Cyscon. Please, I beg of you, if you value your life at all, leave this place.

"I cannot bring my unworthy heart to forgive those who seek to kill in cold blood, and though I pray it was not so, I am hot-blooded, as well as thirsty. I pray, do not let me drink."

He said no words, but ordered his men foreward. I bowed my head to the ground, falling to my knees, and prayed with all my heart-

Men raised weapons to strike from all around, and their lust for blood choked me. I offered my most fervent prayer yet, screaming out with my voice what my soul could not.

"God whom I love and fear above all else, bless your unworthy follower with the strength to carry your burdens."

A shockwave of pure white energy blasted the men apart, and I stood up from my knees, my skin shining with the light of the lord, my body pulsing with his divine strength, and offered, not a prayer...

But, a simple entreaty.

"Forgive me god, for I know not mercy."

I spin toward the man who asked my name, and decapitate him with my foot. The strength leaves my body, the prayer having run out. I retreat several steps, fending off those who follow after me. My faith will take a minute to return, so in that time the safest thing to do would be to carefully defend and avoid injury.

Oh, lord in heaven, I want to rip their heads off so much it hurts.

A thug oversteps his companions and stumbles when I deflect his attack. I grab his wrist and pull it behind his back, forcing it up his back high enough to cause pain. He swings around, his back facing me, his front toward his fellows. He holds a knife, which I grab, and then lay against the artery in his neck.

So easy to let my hand slip. I tilt my hostages head up, so that the spray blinds his two compatriots. I discard his body and step forward, sinking the blade up to the hilt in the left ones' heart. I grab the others' head, step behind him, then circle my hands around to his chin.

Like spinning a top, I force his neck around and around, until it cracks. Maybe even more after it cracks.

I feel a burning pain in my kidney, and stumble from the pain. I whirl the body around to block the storm of clubs and knives that stab and crash into the body taking my place. Shoving the body forward to buy some time, I take a few more retreating steps, and hold my hand over my wound.

"Merciful and loving lord, grant me the healing that will allow me to stand before your enemies."

The skin pulls together and the bleeding stops, but I'm not skilled enough at healing to fully recover. This wound, left alone, will still kill me if I do not get it treated. For now, however, I can still fight. Seven thugs left..I feel as though I should be afraid. I will probably die, but if it is for my god...I will happily die drenched in my foes' blood.

They come from my left and right, one with a sword, the other with a club. I step to my left and sidestep the club, breaking his arm then hitting his ribs and taking the club, then smashing it across his chin. I step foreward, but am still cut across the back by the sword-thug. I turn and back-hand the thug who cut me, hearing a snap from his spine as I do so. I let go of the club with my left, and grab the sword as it slips through his fingers.

Five left, circling me and eyeing the dripping sword and misshapen club, dented from hitting skulls. They nod silently to each other, then attack as one. I leap to the right, giving myself a half-second before the other three come swinging. Two to deal with. I break the club over ones' head, and give the other a cut on the arm as they dodge. I continue to dodge around to the right, the dazed thug turned toward me, and I swing the sword in a shining arc, followed by a spray of red. I stand and let myself be drenched, and let the body fall, as the other four regroup.

I stand with a blood-covered sword, blinking red out of my eyes. I breathe heavily, the wound in my side beginning to push through the adrenaline. I gasp and let go of my sword with one hand, holding my side as the wound reopens and fresh blood seeps from my side. The four warily fall back to observe me, and one elbows the others and motions to their daggers. They laugh, retreat a couple steps, and take out their knives. They stand in a line, and bring the knives up by their heads.

It takes all I have to stand. When I step toward them, they back away, and I see the burning hatred in their eyes. They will see me dead, but instead of doing so with their own hands, they'll let me bleed out. To die such a death...

Shameful.

Our fight has made quite a commotion, and some people are peeking out from behind doors. I look at them, hopeful that perhaps someone will assist-

I hear a rush of air, and only an agonized lurch lets the daggers miss my throat and heart, and instead hit my shoulder, stomach, and one bounce off my hip bone. The other misses completely and clatters into the street. I gasp and fall to my knees once more, the sword still clenched in my numb fingers.

To die from a bunch of thugs...? A couple street rats...? Such people should be below me. Why should I bleed and die while they laugh from afar?

I'd hoped to frighten them by decapitating their leader, but instead I'd only enraged them...I guess, even in my blood-filled head, I still have some mercy. I had, after all, not used the prayer I was most proficient at.

Tightening my hand around the cheap sword, until the worn leather rubbed blisters against my palm, I offered the prayer I had offered countless times, and that which had always been answered.

"God, Lord of Justice, grant me the speed to fulfill thine will."

Perhaps because it was direct. Perhaps because it felt close to my heart. Maybe by random chance. This prayer was the one that I was first taught, the one that confirmed all my faith in god. It was a simple prayer, anyone could perform it.

But no one as well as I.

I stood up, walked up to the four thugs, then slashed all four throats in one swing, as I made full use of my bodyweight. I smiled, and looked up as the prayer ended. They had flinched when I cut them.

But only when my prayer wore off did they start to bleed.

I fell to my knees beside their bodies, and panted. They were fools. I was lucky. Instead of finishing me off quickly, they'd stepped back and given me time to let my faith return. If anyone of the knives had hit a lung, or my heart, or an artery...

Even as my lips trembled and my body was wracked with coughs, blood ejaculating from my throat, I offered a prayer of thanks. Suddenly, I felt ashamed to die on my knees. I stood up, then coughed some more. I had little chance of living. My faith returned, and I healed myself, concentrating on the bleeding. I looked to the sides of the street, and felt saddened that not one tried to help me.

I dragged the eleven bodies into a square, then lay them flat on their backs. I may have hacked some blood onto them, but I don't think they minded. My faith returned, and stopped my stomach from bleeding. I rifled through their pockets until I'd gotten several coins. It didn't matter what kind, but I took their hands one by one, enclosed a coin in them, then placed the metal covered by the hand on their lips and closed their eyes. Except for the one without the head, if you ignored the cuts and blood, it almost seemed like they were praying.

I healed myself again, just out of habit at this point. Now that I had paid proper respect to the dead, dying didn't seem...so...shameful...

...anymore...

...

...Such nice voice. I wonder what it's saying? I should concentrate...I healed myself, then pinched myself in an attempt to wake up. I was so numb, I couldn't tell if I'd actually pinched myself, but at least I opened my eyes.

The sun was sitting above me. Huh, it'd been several hours, hadn't it?

I looked down at myself. I'd fallen asleep standing up, my hand over my stomach. Although covered in blood, none of it was less than an hour old. I felt my wounds, and although still there, i wasn't going to die. I placed a hand over my beating heart, and wondered what in gods' name happened.

...had I sleep-healed myself?

I laughed out loud at that. It made sense. My teacher had always said that faith returned faster when the mind was at peace, so priests and healers would sleep a lot, whenever they weren't meditating.

My healing instructor had said she would drill me until I could heal in my sleep, but I didn't take that literally...

I continued laughing, and healing, and began to stumble down the road. I still had no work, and I was starving. I had a few left over coins, and I'm sure that my neighbors' wouldn't mind me using their money. Usually people charged for funerals anyway.

I had barely survived, by a hair. It would take at least a full day before I could hobble, a couple before I could run, and much longer before I was back to normal. I'd better find someplace peaceful, and take a much-needed break from loving my fellow man. I admit, their love is too much for me right now.

Next time, instead of letting myself almost die...

...I think I'll just kill all of them.