The blood soaked man

The blood-soaked man (Veyne) POV:

The heat pressed against my skin like a second, sticky layer—thick and unyielding, as if the world itself was suffocating me. Above, buildings loomed like tired giants, their cracked windows dull and lifeless—blank eyes that never blinked, never saw, never cared. The concrete breathed out stale heat, but beneath the sweat and sun, a colder dread settled deep inside me—deeper than any flame, sharper than any light.

My steps carried me into the shadow of an alley, the air there no cooler, only heavier. The walls narrowed like a throat closing in, swallowing me whole. 

Somewhere close, a violin cried out — shaky, off-key. For a second, I thought the musician might be worse at playing than I was at killing. Then I realized how messed up that thought was. The notes faltered and dissolved into the thick, heavy air, as if even music was too tired to break through the weight pressing down on the city.u Like me, the musician fought to hold on, but the world swallowed his lonely sound whole.

As I emerged from the alley, the light caught my silhouette first—tall, drenched in blood, every step painting the street red.

Life churned around it—not as I'd imagined.

Eyes flickered with shock and fear, passing over me like a cold wind. A woman gasped sharply, yanking her child away as if I carried poison. Nearby, a man froze mid-sip, coffee dripping forgotten from his lips. A teenager's trembling hand reached for a phone, whispering, "What the hell...?"

But still, the world around us—the streets, the honking cars, the flashing traffic lights—kept moving, distant and indifferent. The city hummed its careless noise, loud and chaotic, as if trying to drown out the silence growing inside me.

They saw the blood—and me—but no one dared step closer. I walked alone.

"What… happened to him?" one said.

"Is he injured?" another asked.

"He looks like a killer."

"Someone call an ambulance."

"No—call the police."

I didn't look or listen to any of them.

I walked, letting my legs choose the way,

As my mind began its own quiet war.

They say revenge is just a confession of pain—that voice crawled beneath my skin like a whisper. But what if pain isn't all it reveals?

A tear cut a clean line through the blood on my cheek—silent and sharp.

I did what I had to. It felt satisfying, sure. They deserved it. Her smile was worth every life taken.

Yet, when I close my eyes, it isn't her face I see. It's theirs—frozen in the instant they realized they wouldn't walk away.

Around me, more faces twisted in shock as I walked. The city screamed—horns blaring, engines roaring, voices shouting—a chaotic symphony crashing against my ears like a storm. The heat shimmered above the asphalt, wrapping the streets in a suffocating blanket.

But inside me, a colder silence spread—sharp, hollow, like a frozen room no fire could ever reach. The world howled, but all I heard was the echo of emptiness.

Why do I feel this emptiness?

What am I supposed to feel—pride? Relief?

She's gone. Nothing I did could bring her back.

If only I had awakened some power—something that could drag her back from death—maybe none of this would have happened.

Now I'm nothing but a shadow. A ghost. A hollow echo of the man she once loved, who's already forgotten his own shape.

But… letting them live would've been saying her life meant nothing.

That wasn't justice. That wasn't mercy.

Eliah's memory hit me like a cold wind.

Sitting in her wheelchair.

Sightless eyes that somehow saw everything.

Never a complaint. So many reasons to hate the world—yet she chose to love it.

She was a light in the darkness—healing, smiling, surviving with grace.

She wouldn't have wanted to see me like this.

Somewhere far off, a siren wailed, thin against the heat.

I was everything to her. She was all that remained of the good I believed in.

Footsteps hurried past — a man dragging his child away without looking at me.

I thought revenge would fix the void…

And still, the river outside keeps flowing—unaware, indifferent, while I drown in silence.

It all gave me a quiet that didn't comfort me—leaning in close, whispering that I was a coward who mistook killing for courage.

Now, I'm just a man with blood on his hands,

and no one left to hold.

I know They'd call me a murderer. Let them.

I wasn't a hero. I just fought for the one I loved.

My hollow eyes flickered—not with hope, but with something like understanding.

I killed them all.

Yes, and I won.

But it wasn't a victory.

It was the price of love, paid too late. And now that the debt's settled, all I have left is the taste of blood and a hunger that won't fade.

 The last one gasped his final breath in my hands, and still… nothing. If peace wouldn't come now, maybe it never would — unless I erased the rest of the noise.

The people on the road continued to stare at me like I was some rare creature.

Maybe they should've looked away—and they'd still feel safe.

The streets fell away behind me, the city's noise thinning to a distant murmur—not softer, just emptier.

On my left stretched a park, untouched as if the world's violence dared not cross its borders. The grass lay like a velvet carpet, green and soft beneath the glow of fading light. Trees swayed lazily, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind, and a still lake mirrored the sky so perfectly it was hard to tell where the world ended and reflection began.

It was the one place left unscarred by blood and chaos, a fragment of peace carved out from the ruin.

Maybe if I sit here long enough, the earth will grow tired of my weight and open to swallow me whole. Maybe beneath the roots and soil, where silence runs deeper than sorrow, I'll finally be somewhere she can find me.

As I reached the gate, heads turned. Conversations stuttered, breaths caught. The people inside noticed me—not as a man, but as something else. Eyes flickered with fear, darting between my face and the blood that clung to me like a second skin. They stepped back in unison, a silent choreography of dread, giving me a wide berth as though the air around me was poisonous. To them, I wasn't human anymore. I was a shadow moving on borrowed breath, a storm wrapped in flesh. Best avoided. Best forgotten.

Then I walked in.

The hush followed me, spreading like ripples in still water. Feet shuffled back, breaths held tight, as though even sound feared to brush against me. The gate creaked shut behind, sealing me inside their circle of stares. Each step I took pressed against the silence, heavy and slow, like I carried the weight of a graveyard with me.

The faint scent of grass and damp earth slipped through the grime, a fragile reminder of something real and alive. The trees stood like silent witnesses, their branches trembling gently in the hot, stagnant air—as if even nature held its breath, waiting for something to break the silence. The contrast was stark: the wild calm of the park against the burning ache coiling in my chest.

The air changed first—birds stopped singing, conversations cut mid-sentence. Then came the growl of engines, low and steady, like something hunting. A siren wailed in the distance, sharp and urgent, slicing through the silence as if to warn the world what was coming.

Its definitely the police.

They think I'm afraid of dying—I'm not sure which would disappoint them more.

They moved like a net closing around me—engines circling, sirens weaving through the air, every sound tightening the trap before I even saw the faces behind it

"Hands where we can see them!" one barked.

Those words echoed as if could obey them.

"Resist, and we will shoot!"said another. 

A cold voice cut through the air.

“You’re under arrest.”

The man’s eyes were hard—unyielding. He must have been their leader.

“You’ve killed countless civilians.”

Then another voice, sharp and accusing:

“What are you… a monster?”

I froze.

The word monster struck deeper than any blade.

He’s probably right.

But… aren’t the ones I killed also monsters?

They weren’t civilians. They didn’t deserve that name—not in this city. I couldn’t even call them human to begin with.

They were parasites hiding behind smiles. Predators wrapped in skin.

They got those same tattoos carved into corpses left to rot in alleys. The same rings glittering on fingers that once pulled triggers without hesitation.

And yet None of the police had the guts to deal with it.

And now they call it illegal.

As if a law could scrub the blood from their hands.

As if any of them would've acted.

As if any of them would've even dared to look the truth in the eye.

My jaw locked until my teeth ached.

Self-righteous. Blind. Useless.

You bastards.

The smile came slow—too sharp, slicing through the heat like a blade.

The air froze between us, heavy with what I meant.

I will have no problem killing you all.

They want to drag me away like I'm the villain?

That's Fine.

But If they want me in a cage, they'd better kill me first.

Because none of them are getting out alive here.

A ripple ran through the air around me, subtle at first, like heat rising off asphalt. Then it thickened, solidifying into something unnatural—a colorless dome, faintly shimmering, barely a meter across. The air inside it vibrated, heavy and dense, as if gravity itself had thickened. The soldiers stiffened, a flicker of danger crossing their faces.

The leader's face twisted in confusion, as if he expected me to surrender—but I wasn't even getting started.

“He’s… an Awaken?” The words slipped out of him as if he couldn’t believe them himself.

“Fire!” he barked.

Bullets tore through the air—but froze midflight, suspended like glittering motes caught in invisible glass.Confusion twisted into fear as the police realized their weapons were useless.

They really thought this tiny force could touch me. But inside this dome—my domain—I was untouchable.

The dome pulsed, swelling outward like a living thing, swallowing them in a widening bubble of unnatural stillness. The air itself grew heavy, a suffocating silence choking the world beyond. One by one, their boots lost grip, knees buckling as though the earth demanded their surrender. Rifles slipped from trembling fingers, clattering to the asphalt in a hollow chorus. Faces twisted in panic as the unseen weight pressed them down, flattening their will beneath the dome’s crushing force.

I exhaled, slow, steady. My voice cut through the suffocating quiet, cold and absolute.

“I’m just doing what I think is right. And anyone who dares judge me—shall face my wrath.”

My steps echoed, deliberate, dragging against the silence as I closed in on the one who had spoken—his words still hanging in the air, accusing me of slaughtering civilians. He trembled where he knelt, paralyzed, unable to flee, unable to fight. In my hand, the knife gleamed, its edge still crusted with the dry blood of the ones who came before him.

Gasps rippled from beyond the barrier. Faces pressed against the edge, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. They could not hear my thoughts, but they could see—see the truth of what I had become.

My eyes burned with fury as I locked them onto his. He tried to speak, but fear strangled his voice. At last, it broke free in a hoarse plea:

“Please… I have a family… please…”

The words meant nothing. My lips curled into something caught between a smile and a sneer.

Family? They probably wouldn’t care less if you died… isn’t that right?

They hurt Elia. I could never forgive any of them—not even you.

I raised the knife.

The knife came down. Once. Twice. Again. Each strike sank deeper, tearing through flesh, breaking the silence with the sickening rhythm of violence. The wet sound of steel cutting meat filled the air, blood spraying across my hands, dripping warm onto the ground beneath him.

His screams broke into ragged cries, then into weak gurgles, until finally—nothing. Only the echo of my own breathing remained, harsh and uneven. Around us, the others watched in horror, frozen by the dome, knowing their turn was coming.

Outside the dome, voices broke into screams. The crowd recoiled, some stumbling back, others fleeing the park as though distance could save them from the violence inside.

I rose slowly, the knife dripping, my chest heaving not with exhaustion, but with the rhythm of rage.

My gaze swept the survivors, still pinned beneath the dome. The silence dragged heavy between us. Then I whispered, almost too soft to hear—yet it carried like thunder.

“Next one.”