killer_fields

They called him a monster. A mistake. A mind beyond saving.

Until the war came.

Now the killer wears a uniform, his blade baptized by state orders and national pride. For the same hands that once strangled in shadows now serve the flag in broad daylight.

He kills. He protects. He obeys.
And the applause rings louder than the screams ever did.

But how can the same act be sin in one world, and salvation in another?
As bodies pile and silence grows heavy, the question gnaws at him like rot beneath the skin.

What is good? What is evil? And who decides?

Told through fractured memories, visceral monologues, and a mind unraveling at the edges, Sanctified by Sin is a descent into the soul of a man sculpted by violence—now seeking truth in a world that only understands blood.

In the end, he won't ask for forgiveness.
He’ll demand answers.

Where Monsters Pray

They put me in a cold room with mirrored glass and no clock. Smart. Keep the suspect off-balance. Disorient him. Strip away time, identity, power.

But what they didn't understand… was that I liked the quiet.

I sat, hands folded neatly, eyes resting on the silver tape recorder across the table. One chair. One suspect. No cuffs. A sign of trust? Or control? It didn't matter.

The first detective came in after an hour. Young, clean-shaven, too eager.

I didn't respond. I tilted my head just slightly. Measured. Curious. Like I was trying to remember whether I'd met him before.

He took it personally. They always do.

"I'm Detective Harris. We've got a witness, partial prints, and a victim who's lucky to be alive. That's attempted murder, aggravated assault, and—"

"Justice," I said quietly, cutting him off.

He blinked. That pause? That moment of hesitation? That was mine.

"You think this is justice?" he snapped.

"No," I said. "I think this is your opportunity to define it."

He stood, angry. Frustrated. That was predictable. He left. The silence came back.

An hour later, the senior officer came in.

Detective Ayra Sen. Older. Eyes sharp. Voice calm. She didn't waste time.

"Tell me why you carved that word into him."

I looked at her, really looked. She wasn't afraid of me. Not yet.

"I didn't do it for him," I said. "I did it for you."

She frowned, arms folded. "Enlighten me."

"This system you believe in—it let him go once already. I wanted to see if it could recognize its mistake. Or if it needed help."

I leaned forward. "No. I'm studying."

She didn't like that. I saw it. She saw the corners of the mirror tighten—the agents behind it shifting. The calm unraveling.

That was the first move. And I'd already taken their queen off the board.

Chapter 7: The First Move