Leaving Rebecca to her task, the boy walked out into the quiet hallway. The flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows that seemed to stretch longer than he remembered from his childhood.
He appeared human now, no trace of the scales that once marked him as different. Years of struggle had honed his control over the volatile power that pulsed within him. His body had matured, lean muscle building over a broadening frame.
But the power remained a constant threat. A flicker of rage, a lapse in concentration, and the power would surge forth, manifesting around his right arm. The years had only amplified the terrifying insanity that threatened to consume him.
A cold dread settled in his stomach as he awoke to the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air. Killing had been as natural to him as breathing for years, the tally of lives lost easily exceeding a thousand. Human, animal, insect – all were the same. But a shift began the moment a name, a gift from his brother, was bestowed upon him.
Filthy.
The word echoed in his mind as he scrubbed his hands raw under the unforgiving water.
He scrubbed his crimson-stained hands under the unforgiving chill of running water. The coppery scent that clung to him was suddenly revolting. They said he was becoming human. But the boy had yet to find a single being similar to himself. No reflection in their eyes mirrored the monster within.
Humanity was a labyrinth compared to his past. Mastering speech and writing had opened doors, but also confusion. Rebecca Petisson, a basin and cloth in hand, found him in the study, his face streaked with crimson.
“You’re experiencing human emotions,” she said gently, wiping his cheeks. “Being part of this world, it’s natural. Embrace it.”
“Emotions?” The word was foreign on his tongue.
“Guilt, perhaps. The aversion to death, the stench of blood. A mix of shock, regret, fear, self-loathing…”
He stared at her, blank. Sympathy? A concept as alien as the tenderness in her touch.
“Remember this feeling,” Rebecca continued. “Show even a shred of compassion for those you take. Unnecessary killing stops now. Enemies are one thing, but protect your people.”
“My people?”
“Just as you belong to His Majesty, you have those who trust you, rely on you. Me, Alfred, Sobeul, everyone at Rotiara.”
The boy, a creature of destruction, grappled with the alien concept of belonging. Harmony, peace, comfort – words without meaning in his world. Shock, remorse, self-blame… what the hell did any of it mean?
“How do you feel when you think of your mother, Rezette?”
Rezette paused, a rare hesitation settling over him. The thought of his mother stirred a tempest within him, a relentless pounding near his heart and ribs that left him bewildered.
Rebecca’s gaze softened. “That, Rezette, is sadness, longing, and love. You may not understand it yet, but it’s a truth that resides deep within you.”
With gentle hands, she cradled his, wiping away the crimson stains that marred his skin. “Live as a human, Rezette. I promise, a life filled with these emotions, however complex, will be far richer, far brighter, than the darkness you once knew.”
***
Seventeen brought a tide of knowledge for the boy. He grasped nuances of human expressions, mimicking some, forcing others down even if empathy remained elusive. A fierce yearning to truly be human bloomed within him.
Yet, the deeper he delved, the starker the contrast between him and ordinary people. Humans didn’t view each other as prey. They didn’t grapple with the constant, primal urge to procreate. No human ripped their way into the world.
Most troubling, the concept of guilt, painstakingly explained by Rebecca, remained a murky abstraction. He couldn’t grasp the emotions of compassion, empathy, or acceptance. He was fundamentally broken. It took months just to differentiate “his people” from everyone else.
Then, every few months, the dam would break. The beast clawed its way back, a tide of madness sweeping away reason. He became a whirlwind of destruction – tearing, smashing, devouring, burning. Every desire became a primal demand, satisfied through theft, plunder, anything to fulfill the ravenous need within. Morality, a fragile veneer, shattered against the ironclad grip of instinct.
The loss of control was a suffocating terror. When the carefully constructed walls of his human facade crumbled, he was left a wreck, forced to rebuild from the shattered pieces. The human rules became a constant mantra – don’t kill needlessly, don’t steal, or face the Emperor’s wrath and lose everything precious. Yet, reciting them like scripture only deepened his self-loathing.
The memories that followed each relapse were a horrific tapestry: the sight of himself, a monstrous blur, leaving a trail of death and carnage. The nest he’d meticulously built, fueled by insatiable desires and crazed frenzy, transformed into a grotesque heap of refuse upon regaining his sanity. Filthy, impure. The world recoiled, branding him a demon, a wretched spawn of humanity.
Only then did the meaning of “monster” truly sink in. It wasn’t just the lack of human speech or the absence of a human name. Rebecca’s promise of a fulfilling human life was a cruel lie. In this endless cycle of bloodshed, erratic madness, and fragile humanity, the boy learned a single, profound truth: self-hatred. Years passed, and it became the only emotion he truly understood.
