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

The days stretched like an endless echo in that sterile room, where words were weapons and silence screamed louder than any shout.

Isha came in every day, her eyes sharper than before, but a flicker of uncertainty danced behind them — a crack I was patient enough to pry open.

One afternoon, she brought a book—a collection of Nietzsche's writings. She slid it across the table, voice steady but softer than usual.

"Read this," she said. "Maybe you're not so far from madness or genius. Perhaps they're two sides of the same coin."

I flipped through the pages, noting underlined phrases:

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster."

"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."

"So, Doctor Mehra, how close are you willing to get before you become one with the darkness?"

Our conversations twisted deeper — riddles within riddles, half-truths dressed as questions, each trying to outmaneuver the other in this game of shadows.

Then, one night — after everyone had left — she lingered, voice low, breath uneven.

"Tell me... if you could rewrite your story, would you choose the path you took?"

I smiled, a genuine smile this time.

"I wouldn't rewrite a thing. Every scar, every lie, every sin made me who I am. And maybe... that's the only truth I can offer you."

She bit her lip, eyes wet, struggling with the weight of something unseen.

"I'm scared," she admitted, voice cracking.

"Of losing myself. Of becoming the monster I'm supposed to cure."

I reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Sometimes," I whispered, "to find who we really are, we must first lose everything we thought we knew."

Her breath hitched, the final wall crumbling.

In that moment, the doctor ceased to be the healer. She became the patient.

Chapter 11: The edge of sanity