The Weight of Karma

Karma… what a cruel, poetic mistress.

Javial's final thoughts lingered like a distant echo, reverberating through his mind. I carved my will into the world, shaped fate with bloodied hands… but in the end, it wasn't a blade, a bullet, or revenge that took me… just my own wretched heart.

The world around him swirled and twisted, his vision dimming as if the very air was suffocating him. A bitter, broken laugh bubbled up from his chest, bitter and raw, slipping from his lips without control.

"Perhaps… I was never the hunter. Just another beast marked for slaughter."

The cold rain pelted him relentlessly. His body, drenched to the bone, felt heavier with every second as the storm howled around him. And then—nothing. Silence. The storm's fury, his heartbeat, even his thoughts—all vanished. In the midst of the downpour, Javial lay motionless, as if the heavens had whispered their final decree.

But this moment… was not the start.

Some Hours Ago…

A lone figure cut through the foggy darkness of the countryside, his presence a shadow on the road less traveled. The town lay still, nestled beneath the veil of night, oblivious to the predator threading through its very heart.

Javial.

A name drenched in fear, whispered in shadows. A legend among the lawless. A nightmare that haunted the edges of men's dreams, slipping into their deepest fears. He was a killer—a butcher of the most horrifying caliber—leaving rivers of blood in his wake, each death more grotesque than the last. Yet, despite the countless manhunts, despite the relentless pursuit of justice, no one had ever caught him.

Because Javial was not just ruthless.

He was smart.

Cunning.

And that was why he had survived this long.

Each step was deliberate, almost lazy in its confidence, his boots sinking slightly into the wet earth beneath. A drizzle began to creep down from the heavens, the air heavy with the scent of rain and earth, as cold as death itself. But Javial moved undeterred, his mind elsewhere, focused on something far more unsettling than the storm above.

The dim flicker of candlelight danced against the walls of a small, weathered cabin. Inside, the air felt heavy, like a shroud draped over the room.

Javial sat across from his father, the man's tired, wrinkled face a map of sorrow and age. His hands rested on the table, gnarled and worn, his body as frail as a dying leaf clinging to a branch in the wind. The silence between them felt suffocating, oppressive in its weight.

"Father…" Javial's voice broke the quiet, soft but devoid of its usual venom. "I've killed countless people. I've committed unspeakable acts. And now…"

His hand clenched over his chest. His heart pounded, a rhythmic thud, but uneven—skipping beats, racing, struggling to maintain its rhythm.

"I have a disease," he admitted in a rasping voice, the words as bitter as poison. "A heart disease. I think… I think it's because of all the lives I've taken. My karma… it's catching up to me."

The weight of those words hung in the air like a death sentence.

His father sighed deeply, the sound mournful. "There's nothing you can do now, son…"

Javial's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and cold, like the edge of a blade. "Nothing?"

A long silence stretched between them, until his father spoke again, his voice tremulous. "If you truly seek redemption… surrender yourself to the police. Confess your sins. Perhaps the heavens might show you mercy."

The words seemed to rattle through the room like a clap of thunder. Javial's eyes turned icy, his expression hardening. "If I surrender, they will kill me."

His father met his gaze unwaveringly. "Then that is your fate."

The words struck like a blow to the chest. The room fell into a silence more suffocating than before.

Javial's gaze darkened, lips curling into something between a snarl and a sneer.

In a flash of movement, everything changed. His knife—silent, swift—cut through the air with the precision of a predator in the wild.

His father's breath caught in his throat, and then… blood spilled onto the table. Warm, thick, and staining the wood.

The old man slumped forward, lifeless.

Javial wiped the blade clean, the metallic scent of blood filling the air. His eyes, cold and emotionless, locked onto the motionless body. "No one decides my fate."

He turned and walked into the night, leaving his father's lifeless form behind.

Later…

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, its sound hollow in the still night. The interior of the church was bathed in dim candlelight, casting long shadows against the stone walls. A lone priest stood by the altar, trembling hands gripping a holy book. The air was thick with the scent of incense, heavy and choking.

Javial's boots left wet prints on the cold marble floor as he stepped forward, the sound of his footsteps echoing like a death knell. The priest turned, his eyes widening in recognition.

"You… You're the killer—Javial," the priest stammered, his voice shaking, his eyes wide with terror.

"Yes, priest," Javial replied, his voice a low rasp, smooth but with an edge of finality. "But now, I want to cleanse my karma. I have a heart disease… I want to be forgiven before I die."

The priest's hands trembled more, his throat tightening in fear.

Javial's words were met with the same answer he'd received from the others—the priests who met their ends as easily as he had met his father's. "There is only one way to cleanse your karma… Surrender yourself to the police. Pray for mercy. Perhaps the gods will grant you a place in heaven."

A chilling calm overtook Javial. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something dark.

Again.

Again.

The same answer.

His patience ran thin. Slowly, deliberately, he drew his blade. The priest's expression morphed from shock to pure horror as he saw the glint of the steel.

A scream.

A slash.

Silence.

Javial stood over the fallen priest, blood dripping from his blade. He stepped back, the cold rain beginning to drum harder against the stone. The church was empty now. Only the echo of his breath, shallow and heavy, remained.

Outside, the storm raged. The sky had darkened further, the very heavens seem to twist, the air crackling with a malevolent energy. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a roaring fury that mirrored the chaos of Javial's own soul.

As he walked into the streets, the rain fell in torrents. His black coat clung to his body, soaking through with the weight of his sins. His footsteps were slow, methodical, as if he was savoring the moment.

He lifted his eyes toward the distant church—his next target, the next victim.

His breath was ragged. His vision was beginning to blur. His heart pounded again, faster, erratic. His chest tightened, his lungs working harder to draw in air. The storm's roar drowned out the sound of his faltering heartbeat.

And then—

Pain.

A sharp, unrelenting pain lanced through his chest. His heart—a jagged, shattered thing—seemed to explode within him. The agony was unlike anything he had ever known. He staggered, a cry lodged deep in his throat, but no sound escaped.

His legs gave way. His body crumpled, as though he were nothing more than a rag doll, tossed aside by fate.

His fingers clawed at his chest. The pain surged again, twisting, suffocating. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps.

The storm around him continued to rage, but to Javial, it was all but a distant echo. His world was narrowing, the edges of his vision turning dark and blurry. His heart—his accursed heart—was failing him. Slowly. Painfully.

And then—

Nothing.

The cold earth met his face. His body lay still, no longer wracked by the storm of life and death. He lay in the rain, unmoving, as the heavens above howled.

Back to the Present...

The world was still.

Javial's body was now lifeless, his fate sealed. Not by a blade. Not by a bullet. Not by vengeance.

But by the sins he had carried in his chest, the very heart that had been the source of his undoing.

And yet, as his final breath slipped away, a voice—deep, resonant, commanding—spoke through the swirling darkness.

"I am giving you a second chance."

The storm grew louder. The wind whipped violently around him. The shadows twisted like living things, responding to the voice.

And in the midst of it all, Javial's body shuddered, a pulse of energy flooding through him, a second chance born from the very darkness he had created.

His story was not yet over. Not yet.