Sacrifices To Jupiter II

"So, you're alive…"

"So you're alive… and well…"

"Well."

"WELL WELL WELL"

She presses her hands hard against her ears, her shoulders trembling.

"WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS"

Bending to my knees in excitement, I caress her cheeks. My claws leave scrapes, and blood flows. All I see is fear, and I like it. I love it. More. MORE. How can I make her even more miserable? For the sin of storming bullets and missiles onto my back, for the sin of daring to obstruct me, for the sin of existing.

Too, too many unforgivable sins.

I can't I CAAN'T. This is infuriating. TOO infuriating.

Against my will, my other hand moves on its own, about to come down on— dawn on the girl's dreadful face.

"Mommy…" she murmurs, her face covered in snot. "I'm sorry…"

No. Stop. STOP. She can't just die like that, right? She can't die without experiencing the pain so excruciating, so agonizing, that she begs for it like a starving orphan, only to be killed in anguish and horror.

"I'm so, so sorry…" she whispers under her breath, regret washing over her.

My hand falters before touching her face. It stops. The glowing red begins to pass off.

HAND WHY DID YOU STOP HAND WHY DID YOU STOP

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" I laugh crazily.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—" I keep laughing crazily.

"HAhAhhahaha… ha…hh" I cry crazily. Tears fall. My eyes. Why is that? My vision…

She finally opens her eyes, locking them with mine, determination there. Determination to accept her inevitable doom.

"Begone…" I shout at her, my spit falling all over her face.

Yet my hands don't move. My body doesn't move. I stay frozen.

Why is that?

Her eyes widen, looking at me incredulously.

Why is that? Why…

"What have I become?" I ask.

I strike right, ripping into the walls like it's nothing.

The red wears off.

Only the red of blood pertains.

From the crack, I glimpse at the outside world. There's a blue orb in the skies, and the weather is clouded by clouds and fogs below.

It appears I'm inside some cathedral or citadel or castle of sorts. Judging from the height, I'm currently on the second floor. 

There are chirps of unfamiliar birds zig-zagging through the faraway mountains and zip-zaps of crickets.

The light peers through the glassy auroras in the skies, tracing the walls in greens and purples and basking me in blue.

Blue. Her eyes are blue.

Bright. Brighter than the skies.

A pair of sapphires streaming the raining moonlight.

They drown in melancholy upstreaming from deep within the rivers of her heart.

The tears, crystal.

So clear. So innocent.

So pure not a single ray of malevolence or a drop of malice can be sought within.

They, flow, unceasingly, fast, unceasingly fast, as fast as the blood that ways its course through the protrusion on her broad forehead.

She sucks in quick breaths between sobs.

Her lips twist, and tremble.

Her throat gulps, and swallows, and hiccups, in wails.

Tears well well.

Her face scrunches. Her voice pitches, warbling. Her fists clench, but the tears, they keep coming. The cries burst and fade into sniffles yet burst yet again.

Did I… raise my hand to a kid?

I look back. There, at the mutilated corpses lying on the stone floor.

Did I… just eat… them?

I barely keep my composure, resisting the urge to vomit. Then I look at the girl, who's sneakily trying to reach for a book dropped a few steps away from her.

"Don't even think," I say calmly, staring holes through her.

She hitches and raises her hands into the air, surrendering.

"Good," I say, standing and extending my hand to her. "Can you somehow heal the protrusion on your head? The wound is quite dangerous if left untreated."

Her eyes don't move as she stares straight ahead in fright, my words going in one ear and out the other.

"Hey!" I call. "You wouldn't want to die like they did, now, do you?"

She finally snaps back into reality, blinking repeatedly, then scrubbing her tears away.

The kid stands on her own, shaking, then flailing to the ground once again, hitting her head on the floor once more.

Is this really the kid who stormed bullets through my back? Come to think of…

I look down at my heart. The once large hole is now merely a tiny gap, my skin stitching itself back with incredible regeneration. Although weak, I can hear my heartbeats.

I look at the girl, who has blues glowing out of her shaky palms, her hands a reach away from her forehead.

Heal |F+|

It heals, though slowly in comparison to the regeneration I possess.

Interesting. She's not using the book this time, then how can she perform her… sorcery?

Is the book required only for attack spells? I want to ask, yet instead, I calmly watch her. The girl is clearly shaken, understandably so.

I did beat the living shit out of her, and beat the life out of her friends…

I feel bad. Not about the killing. That I'm accustomed to. What I feel bad about is my disgusting thoughts accompanied by actions. I let the strange forces take hold of me, and I relished them.

It did save my life, but at what cost?

If I didn't stop in time, what kind of unspeakable deeds would I commit against this kid?

It might sound presumptuous and hypocritical after depriving two lives and grinding their skin against my teeth. But no, I'm just racist. Why would I give a shit about goblins and elves? I've lived as a human, and I'm a human at heart.

I have yet to develop sympathy for the extraterrestrial beings. For now, they're just like animals to me.

Mere food. 

Food?

I slap my face. There's someone else thinking for me. These thoughts aren't mine. Rather, they've been implanted into my mind by some forces. It doesn't help that I don't remember much of my past life.

So, essentially, I have no identity.

Who am I really? A human? A demon? Both?