Suddenly, he found himself once again at the center of the pentagram, for the fourth time. The pointer rotated and finally came to rest on the fourth point. Gluttony.
The symbol of gluttony blazed up. It resembled a chalice filled to the brim with blood, which literally overflowed, glowing and burning. His hunger and thirst relentlessly pulled him into its vortex. The craving for flesh and blood had become uncontrollable; it was literally tearing him apart from within, threatening to rip his body in two.
Suddenly, he found himself in a village. But this time, he wasn't himself—he was in his Noctusborn form. Kneeling and starving, he yearned for food. Although the urge was overwhelming, he desperately tried to resist it. But the longer he resisted, the more unbearable the piercing pain in his chest became—this unquenchable hunger, this burning thirst for life. His morals were consumed by the fire of desire like dry wood.
He tried to cling to his human memories: the faces of his beloved family; the happy moments of his former life; the tender touches of his lovers. But hunger distorted these images of memory. Hunger transformed them into shadows slipping away. He tried to hold onto them, but they blurred more with each passing second. The colors? Their voices? Their touches? Their names? Everything seemed washed out. Overlaid by a single, all-consuming thought: flesh and blood.
His mind tried to forge chains to restrain the monster within. He built a wall of guilt, shame, and the wreckage of his morals. But desire melted those barriers away like ice under the blazing sun. A seductive whisper penetrated his mind: "You need it! You have a right to it! It is your destiny! Yes, it is even your nature!"
Sometimes he was close to believing this whisper, simply because he was so incredibly tired. Tired of the inner struggle, tired of the inner turmoil. And finally, he gave free rein to his urge. He swooped down on his victims and tore them apart. He devoured them, skin, hair, and bones. One by one. He practically craved every single bite, every drop of blood.
He heard only one voice: "Yes, devour them all… Quench your thirst… Quench your hunger… They live only to belong to you…"
Yet a last vestige of his self tried to suppress the desire. "I can't anymore! I don't want to anymore! Oh, my beloved, come and set me free! Deliver me from my suffering!"
People were running for their lives. Desperate and panicked. Facing death, their hearts raced, sweat and blood poured over their bodies. In utter hopelessness, they prayed one last time to their god, begging for mercy. Meanwhile, Elandor—or what remained of him—struggled one last time against his dark side. "What have I done? Do I even have the right to do this? Have I gone too far?"
The darkness answered in a whisper: "You may call it 'too far' because you are still trying to feel like a human. But you haven't been human for a long time! You are something wonderful! You are something unique! You are the chosen one! You have long since outgrown this pathetic measure of humanity!"
"But I never wanted to be a monster!"
"A monster? Never!" "You are something far better than they could ever be! At most, you are the result. The result of their actions! A mirror they themselves created—and now fear!"
"But what if they're right? What if I really am..."
"...evil?" "'Evil'?" the voice sneered. "Only the weak use that word to shame strength!"
"Yes, it was their fault," he told himself. "Their fault! They broke me!"
"Exactly. And from those shards, you created something that can never be broken again!"
"Yet I feel this emptiness inside... it's literally eating me up from the inside!"
"Emptiness?! That's not emptiness! That's space! Space for what you will become! Let's fill it together!"
"Who's in control? Am I controlling you, or are you actually controlling me?!"
"I'm not controlling! I'm enabling! I'm giving! I'm giving you what was taken from you! A voice! Your dignity! And infinite power! Power to finally strike down your enemies! Because they deserve it!"
"Power?! Infinite power?! But at what price?!"
"At the price they first imposed on you! You're only paying it back! Every single broken bone! Every single wound! Every single drop of blood! And every single soul!"
"Yes, but I still remember the warmth. The light! The love!"
"Memories are chains! Let them fall! The light was never meant for you! The darkness, however, will never abandon you!"
"If I'm no longer human... then what am I?"
"A free will! A judgment for the unbelievers! A shadow that no longer has to weep! That no longer has to suffer! That no longer has to hide!"
"And when I meet them... when the moment comes..."
"Then, as before, you will not hesitate! For you know what must be done!"
"I'm afraid! I fear what will become of me!"
"Only those who are weak fear their own ascension! But you… You only fear that you are right!"
"So I am…"
"…the executioner! Not the victim! Not the monster! But the consequence! The law! The enlightenment for the unbelievers!"
With that, all doubt was dispelled. The carnage resumed until they were all slaughtered. Until perfect silence descended. Even the birds had ceased to chirp. The wind no longer blew. There was total… absolute… silence! The landscape, once green and vibrant, was now red, strewn with corpses and soaked in blood.
The worst thing for him, however, was not the hunger or the thirst itself, but the brief, merciless flash of clarity afterward. When the craving was satisfied and the inner voice fell silent, he saw the extent of what he had done. The traces... The wounds... The blood... The lifeless eyes... And above all, the silence that suffocated him. He felt not only like a thief stealing lives, but also like someone robbing himself of his humanity, piece by piece. With every life he took.
Even if it was only for a fleeting moment, he always asked himself afterward who the real monster was: the part of him that craved blood... or the part that justified it all. The intellect that constructed excuses and bent morality until it broke.
When he saw himself in the mirror, he didn't recognize his face. The shape was familiar. But the eyes? Empty as night! They bore the image of a being who had once been human and now possessed only the memory of it. In rare, gray moments, he wondered if his life shouldn't simply end. If death would be a liberation. But then it came again. The hunger and the thirst. And all thoughts of salvation were drowned in blood. He was not the hunter. He was the hunted. Hunted by his own shadow. By his own intoxication. He was imprisoned. And the cell was himself.