Monster

Zheng Yun stood still in the cold night air, his eyes barely open, heavy as if sleep itself clung to him. His gaze was unfocused, distant, as if the soul he had consumed still swirled within his mind, whispering to him in faint echoes. But those whispers were drowned by a greater sense of emptiness—the overwhelming need for more.

The moon was high, and the house before him, now soaked in the remnants of Naia's blood, stood as a monument to his cruelty. But it wasn't enough. Not yet. The old woman still lingered, a witness to the darkness he had just unleashed.

Her frail form trembled as she stepped out of the house, the lantern she carried casting trembling shadows over her face. She looked at him with eyes full of grief, confusion, and a hint of recognition. But Zheng Yun didn't flinch.

"W-what have you done...?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

Zheng Yun simply stared at her, his eyes heavy with a detached indifference, as though he were staring through her, not at her. It was the same look he had worn for years, ever since the darkness of his past had swallowed him whole. There were no more doubts in him. No more hesitation.

"I've done what needed to be done," Zheng Yun murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt like nothing more than a formal declaration, as though he had performed some mundane task.

Without warning, he moved swiftly, a blur of motion as he drew his blade. The old woman gasped, but before she could react, Zheng Yun's hand was upon her, the blade sinking deep into her chest. The life drained from her in an instant, and her body crumpled to the ground like a forgotten doll.

He stood over her for a moment, watching her lifeless form with cold, emotionless eyes.

No one can witness what I've become.

He wiped the blade clean on her clothes, then sheathed it as if nothing had happened. He turned away from the bodies, walking slowly toward the setting sun, the horizon bathed in hues of crimson and gold. The wind carried a hint of smoke, and the smell of death lingered in the air.

Zheng Yun paused, his sleepy eyes watching the last rays of sunlight. It was strange—how the colors of the sky seemed to reflect the darkness growing within him. There was no peace in the beauty of the sunset. Only more hunger.

The words flowed from him, as if instinctively:

"A journey of shadows, where light never rests. Power gained, but a soul that never rests."

"I'll walk this path alone. There is no turning back."

The wind carried his voice, soft yet resolute, as he turned back toward the house. He glanced at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips—a smile that barely touched his eyes.

Zheng Yun moved to the pile of dry wood stacked by the house. He struck a match and lit the fire, watching as the flames quickly spread, consuming the wood. The smoke rose into the air, twisting toward the heavens, carrying with it the last remnants of his crime.

The fire crackled, its warmth contrasting the coldness that had settled in his chest. The house, once a home, now burned brightly against the night sky, an inferno that would erase everything—memories, witnesses, evidence.

He turned his back to the flames, his journey just beginning. With the sun sinking below the horizon, he felt the weight of the eternity he was chasing. Each step he took led him further down a road where no one would dare follow.

And in the distance, the faintest echo of Naia's soul lingered, an unspoken promise of more to come.

Zheng Yun smiled faintly, a cruel, predatory smile.

This was only the beginning.

The fire continued to burn, reflecting the darkness within him. And as the last remnants of the house crumbled to ash, so too did any trace of the man he once was.