He finished speaking.

  I untied him.

  He ran.

  I moved.

  Legs cut in one motion.

  He fell screaming, staring at my mask.

  “You said you’d let me g–go—”

  “I did,” I said. “You went far enough.”

  I didn’t wait for the rest.

  Head gone.

  Done.

  White cloak.

  Untied.

  He fell forward. Dead before he hit the ground.

  I left the building.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Fog thick. Air heavy.

  New mutants came at me through the dark. Stronger. Faster.

  I killed them without slowing.

  No laugh this time.

  No words.

  Just movement.

  His voice echoed once:

  We experimented on them.

  My mouth moved.

  “This world is a mess.”

  The words felt smaller than before.

  I found the store.

  Don’t remember deciding to.

  Sealed food. Water.

  Sat against the wall and ate.

  Dizziness crept in.

  Not weakness.

  Pressure.

  I closed my eyes for a few seconds at a time.

  Breathing slowed.

  Bandage off.

  Outer flesh nearly sealed.

  Inside still sore.

  Doesn’t matter.

  I stood.

  The main building rose through the fog.

  I knew the time without checking it.

  Climbed the wall.

  Same window.

  Inside again.

  Darkness swallowed everything.

  I sat in the corner.

  Still.

  The ritual began.

  Low chanting. Unfamiliar language.

  It grew louder.

  My head tightened.

  Not splitting.

  Not breaking.

  Tight.

  Focused.

  The white cloak stepped forward.

  Cut his wrist.

  Blood fell over five altars.

  He walked the circle.

  Then ran into the black pitch beneath the cloth.

  Vanished.

  The chanting stopped.

  Silence.

  Then screams from within the dark.

  Short.

  Violent.

  Wrong.

  They ended abruptly.

  A foot stepped out.

  Covered in red.

  Nails long. Sharp.

  Another step.

  Something tall unfolded from the black.

  I stood.

  Mask on.

  Daggers in my hands.

  No question.

  No doubt.

  The pressure inside me settled into place.

  Not new.

  Not surprising.

  Right.