Later, when Haven saw his own hands with blood and flesh leaking, he, of course, heaved. Because of the smell. Because he wasn't bleeding.
Because the bodies were strewn grotesquely and the stares that were oh so carefully watching and the feel of blood squashing—squishing—And ultimately devouring his skin like disease that was spreading—
The sounds. The sounds of moaning.
Perhaps, at that time, it could be said he was more humane. Perhaps he was the only true human left amongst them…
Because overwhelminggreed had stripped the humanity from them.
Though he's never been human. And could never be. Not even before his memories were taken from him. He was sure of it.
Yes. Haven was like that. But Kian? Kian flips the page. And the words read like tangible filth; the sounds of his breath nonexistent in this opulent, yet disgusting study.
His Aura flares wickedly. The audacity. His lips curl diabolically. The sheer lunacy. Why—
Didn't he see it then? The sins that were already formulating. Why did he allow Tristan in? They, his betrayers, betrayed him.
If only he, Kian, had strangled him. This rage constantly pricking him would die. And thus, his reign would peacefully pass by…
But the escape from that place happened. And just as Tristan expected, Haven paved the way with blood and guts flying…
***
The bloody, battered bones shattered into tiny shards within Haven's hand. He crushed them beneath his feet even as haunting, depraved screams petered into whimpering, pitiful crying.
But Haven…? Was he truly Haven? That boy reeking of beastly things slowly twisted his neck. And smiled.
Teeth that were bleeding. A fang that was whitely gleaming.
Shivering, Tristan backed away slowly. Everyone did. It was just that eerie.
The masked men left their leader screaming. Because they couldn't get to him. And even if they could, it wouldn't necessarily be good.
Because Haven was there. Waiting. And the way his brown eyes flared an unnatural, nascent green inexplicably reminded them that he was, indeed, a product of their experiments gone right…
Though it was harder to think such things when the stench of blood hounded them. Strangled them. Sat on their tongues and coated their throats unhindered by anything.
Inevitably, he turned on them.
And no one could say what Haven was thinking.
The other children smashed themselves into the walls to keep far away from everything; Haven's face and body leaking blood and bits as if Aura had exploded all over him.
He was walking—stalking—staking his claim upon the men as if the others were nothing; His eyes steady. But glittering.
One of the kidnappers tried to run him through with a blade—
Blood sprayed. And that man's head fell from his neck; the body collapsing instantly from the lack.
Blood was spurting. And the air was tightening—thickening—
And his feet were squishing—squashing the blood that was pooling beneath.
"What—was that? What even was that?!"
"Don't look away—!" The pained grunt that followed. And this man's stomach was pierced—
Then ripped. Haven kicked—
Then smiled faintly as his arm slowly pulled out; his tongue creeping along his hand, sucking—lapping—licking away the blood as his body weaved strangely. Perhaps happily.
And the only thing left was the hole as the man toppled forward.The smears were a deep, deep red. And the ribs shone clearly.
And the gleam of Haven's eyes was heavily, thirstily brimming.
Terrible. Horrible. And terrifying.
Quite a chilling reminder of monstrosities in the making.
Though it wasn't quite as simple as that.
The masked men were warily watching; the reality In front of them was far too horrifying, and it was completely anhiliating everyone downto the bones—
Anxiously. Nervously. Perhaps unwillingly. They were giving way to his aura that was spreading like constant and continuous lightning—
A wound to the skin that was painfully, agonizingly shocking.
Thus, no one was paying any attention to the others left hanging.
Having his attacker abruptly abandon him, Tristan's eyes were now peeled, watching Haven's cruelty as if it were a natural thing. But he felt it—
The hand that was on his leg desperately holding him back. His eyes burned. And he kicked it away; the man groaning in pain. He listened to him suffer. And watched him bleed profusely—
And some feeling began swelling. A wretchedness. An ugliness. An inscrutable something that was breeding.
The sounds of fighting. And harsh, ragged breathing.
A powerful, potent surging—
His hands were descending. And the skin beneath his fingers was suddenly purpling—
And before he knew it, he had strangled the weakened man into dying.
His eyes—! Those eyes that had earlier watched Tristan writhing. Those eyes that had twinkled in laughter as Tristan gasped and wheezed—!
The light had gone from them. And a powerful urge swept over him. Through him. And through his mouth, began speaking. "Kill!" Tristan said.
The boys, they began listening.
"Kill them! Hurry up and kill the ones Haven didn't get to!"
And, without stopping, they began killing. One knife wound became dozens. And the sounds of thrashing—
But Haven heard nothing. And clawed the eyes of the one obstructing him.
Though the others stayed out of Haven's way, they slowly, painfully killed the remnants of masked men that were dying. Their torturers. Their enemies.
If they were going to escape anyway, it'd be better to slaughter their enemies now. Though nothing remained of sanity…
The sounds of fighting. The grunts and screams. It was far too noisy. The others. They'd be coming—!
Tristan was stabbing a man with his own knife once. Twice. Stabbing and stabbing—
Even though the flesh had already begun hardening.
Tristan dizzily looked around him. The traces of blood weren't even traces anymore. The red had stained everything.
And the groans of the dying were beginning to peter out. They were dead already. And the ones he led into killing were slowly jamming knifes into flesh, and swords into necks—
And the echo of boots was ringing—
More. More were coming—!
Haven. He wasn't done carving out a pathway for them—! They had to do something!
Barricade. They had to make a barricade. They were coming. They had to be stopped. And Tristan wasn't done fighting—!
"The—the bodies! Start piling the bodies! Over there! Quit dawdling and kill him already! Move!"
And so, they stacked the fresh bodies, piling them like a barrier.
But they found out pretty quickly. How unnecessary it all became…