《Legends of Pandorus I: Song of A Crimson Angel》monster
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“I’ll kill you...” the boy whispered through ravaged lips. “Hmm? What’s that?” The Man inclined his head down to listen to the listless noise.
“I said I’ll kill you...you monster.”
“Me? A monster? That’s actually quite funny, compared to you, 1447. How can I be a monster? You’re the one that can’t even control your Blood Arts. You’re the one who laughs for hours on end at nothing in particular. You’re the one that killed that little girl!”
The boy’s breath caught in his throat. “No, I didn’t...no choice...hungry...”
“Look at you. You can’t even talk straight. Let me get this clear. You killed her. You were hungry so you bit into her neck. You tore out her throat. No one is responsible for her death except you and you alone.”
“Not..my fault...you brought her...in...I...”
“Killed her. If you weren’t born, she would have been alive. If I weren’t, you would have found someone else and killed him sooner or later.”
“I...”
The Man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object and tossed it into the boy’s lap. “That’s your battalionmate’s . The boy that got his tongue pulled out. You could have saved him, but you didn’t. You chose to hide and piss yourself. That’s why he died. If you had at least tried to help him, he might have lived. But you obviously value your sorry ass over anything else. In that sense, 1447, you’re the lowest of all monsters.”
“No...” The boy started crying.
“All right, 1447. Time for something new.” The Man brought his palms together, then moved them away from each other and passed them over the boy’s arm.
He only realised something was wrong when his fingers hit the floor.
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“AAAGH! My fingers! My fingers!” The boy writhed frantically as blood spurted from the stumps of his appendages. “See? Those are strings formed from blood. They’re thin enough to cut through even Dhampyre flesh, which is typically stronger than normal, true-born vampires. It’s good to learn but you won’t be going anywhere in a long, long, time!”
Chuckling, the Man strode out. The trembling boy huddled in his seat, shivering in agony.
I want to die, he thought for the umpteenth time. But his mind, twisted and warped by the anvil of suffering, finally snapped, giving obscene birth to a perverted, evil desire towards the torture heaped upon him that day.
How can I use this?
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