At my father's funeral, there was only me. A solitary figure amidst the sterile, metallic sheen of the crematorium in the year 2126. We were an embarrassment, perhaps, a stain on the immaculate tapestry of our bloodline. My father's siblings, those pillars of society who once basked in his influence, vanished the moment his career crumbled. Their affection, it seemed, was merely a byproduct of connection and power. Even my mother, who had shared over two decades of her life with him, albeit riddled with infidelity, couldn't spare a single glance. Not even a ghost of her presence.
So, I stood alone as the inferno consumed him, watching my father transform into ash. I didn't have the fortune for a proper burial, a luxury in an era where even the ground itself demanded exorbitant sums. As his form dissolved, I felt nothing. No tears, no grief, no gnawing sadness. The wellspring of my emotions had long since run dry.
I wasn't angry at my mother's callous abandonment, nor at the world's unrelenting unfairness. I simply accepted my fate, a broken piece in a broken world. But acceptance, I discovered, did not equate to surrender.
One day, amidst the digital detritus of the forgotten web, I stumbled upon it—a whisper of forbidden sorcery. It wasn't the grandiose magic of fantasy, no spells to conjure fire or grant flight. It was something darker, more primal. Its power, the ancient texts promised, was fueled by sacrifice: flesh. The greater the sacrifice, the more potent the magic.
My first experiment was simple, mundane. I used a chicken, its meager flesh offered to the unknown. For a fleeting moment, I felt it—a chilling tendril of darkness reaching out, settling within me. And I wasn't afraid. In fact, a strange sense of peace washed over me, an unsettling calm born from the shadows. That burgeoning curiosity gnawed at me, pushing me to escalate the sacrifices, to increase the quantity. Yet, I quickly realized that the paltry offerings of animals would only sate this hunger for a day at most.
And then, the thought, insidious and compelling, crept into my mind: humans. We consume animals daily; wouldn't human flesh, therefore, possess an inherent potency far exceeding any beast? With this chilling rationale, I began to observe the lost souls who roamed the streets, the invisible ones whom neither government nor society deemed worthy of care.
My first choice was a vagrant, his eyes dulled by despair. I approached him, lured him to the secluded woods on the outskirts of the city. At first, a flicker of hesitation—a vestige of the man I once was—held my hand. But the memory of my shattered life, the betrayals, the endless unfairness, swiftly extinguished it. I plunged the blade into him.
As his eyes widened, reflecting a raw, desperate fear, a profound realization washed over me. It was… fun. Yes, fun. Witnessing the extinguishing of life, the desperation in his gaze, sent a jolt of exhilarating pleasure through me, a primal release that made me tremble with excitement. It was as if I had finally discovered something that could truly make me happy.
A new, darker curiosity bloomed. If a stranger could ignite such a delight within me, what about those I knew? With that thought, I used the newfound sorcery, a silent, ravenous flame, to reduce his body to ash, leaving no trace behind.