The images started contorting into larger, angrier shapes. There was a giant woman at the center of the room with tiny butchers drawing places to cut her with red markers. When they were then, they then scaled down her body with tiny knifes and began the slaughter. Around the catwalk were inflated images of breasts, turned ugly with disease, and vaginas with teeth and other sharp instruments sticking outside of them. The girls from the ground floor burst into flames, but that didn't stop their orgy even as their skin and meat roasted. A lot of them gathered underneath the catwalk, reaching out for Billy, desperate for him to join them.
Was this supposed to be poetic irony? Was he supposed to feel bad? Billy felt no such emotions. He knew this was a trick, and as much as he appreciated the look of it, he didn't give two flying fucks about the underlying 'moral lessons' behind the images. He followed the desi bitch, who was running like a frightened squirrel away from him. There wasn't anymore catwalk for him to run off to... only, he jumped off the bars and landed just fine, a ledge forming underneath his feet.
What the fuck?
Billy tapped the new ledge that appeared with his foot. Solid. The bitch's fake ledge seemed to have ran out, so he pointed a gun at him, screaming, "Stay Back!" He tried to shoot him, but he seemed to have ran out of bullets. The fear in his eyes as he realized was delicious. He advanced to him, cleaver tight in his hands, and reached out to grab him.
He grabbed nothing but air. Billy was struck with confusion. Before he could do anything about it, his hand was pulled and one of those power negating bracelets was fastened securely around his wrists. Billy met the bitch's eyes, and he just smiled and winked right at him before kicking him off the ledge. The illusion dissipated when his back collided on the ground, and all his bleary eyes could see were magnificent pillars of glass.
Felix looked down from the glass ledge at Billy's body. It was broken and twisted, just like Vincenzo's, but it wasn't covered in glass. From this height, he could see he was still obviously breathing. Felix formed a glass slope and slid down from it. When his feet touched the ground floor, the glass trembled, then shattered into a million pieces. Felix raised the now gray crystal in his hand. It crumbled into ash. "Good work," he told it softly, as if talking to an old friend.
The climax was over. It was time for the conclusion. Billy looked at Felix with hatred he'd only seen on his brother Bala all those years ago. Felix went over to him and gently took the cleaver from his hand, pressing a small kiss to his lips that had Billy thrashing in anger. Rape wasn't about sex; it was about power, and he had all the power in the world over him. Felix stood up tall and loomed over him, pressing his foot to Billy's chest to emphasize this new dynamic he'd established. He wanted Billy to know, that as beautiful and as good Felix was, he would never, ever be prey.
In the dark of the warehouse, so dark none of the gods could see, there were no saints or sinners among them. They were nothing but monsters of the same kind. The only rule here was eat or get eaten.
Because for all his virtues and his repression, Felix knew he could never truly be the righteous hand of the gods. Actions are more important than intentions, he'd say, and he'd defend that with every bone in his body because he knew that if his intentions were ever factored in, he'd never be considered good. Felix wasn't a good person, not where it counted. He's claim he did these things to punish people, but he knew deep down, he did it for sport. He loved to hunt predators because he wanted to feel bigger than them. Standing over Graham like this, nerves jittery with excitement, he hadn't felt a rush like this since Bala.
Felix liked to believe he wasn't the same as his criminal brother, but he was. He was the same as Bala. He was the same as Toby. Right here, he was the same as Billy.
"You look angry, Graham. You can dish it out but you can't take it, huh?"
He held the cleaver tight, felt the power it gave him. It was like ecstasy, but it was a dirty kind, made him want to squirm all over. He brought the knife down to Billy again and again, Billy screaming and wailing, his blood splashing all over Felix and the walls around him. When his chest was open and bared, Felix ripped it apart with his own hands, ripping his organs out and crushing them in his fingers. He stepped on his head over and over until it cracked and ripped open. He loved every single fucking minute of it.
Monster, his head told him. You're a fucking monster. He knew! He knew he was, he'd always known that if he ever dared stepped over his limits, he'd love it. He was sick. Born sick. He was pollution, he was dirt, he was every unsavory story about the untouchables that society forced on people to ostracize them. He thought he'd be righteous to prove them wrong, but they were right all this time. Untouchables should never be given rights, because they'd end up just like him.
Billy was nothing left but a pile of meat when he was done with him. Felix threw the cleaver into his hollowed out chest cavity, then fell backwards, his dead, tired eyes staring at the ceiling.
It was over.
Was this supposed to be poetic irony? Was he supposed to feel bad? Billy felt no such emotions. He knew this was a trick, and as much as he appreciated the look of it, he didn't give two flying fucks about the underlying 'moral lessons' behind the images. He followed the desi bitch, who was running like a frightened squirrel away from him. There wasn't anymore catwalk for him to run off to... only, he jumped off the bars and landed just fine, a ledge forming underneath his feet.
What the fuck?
Billy tapped the new ledge that appeared with his foot. Solid. The bitch's fake ledge seemed to have ran out, so he pointed a gun at him, screaming, "Stay Back!" He tried to shoot him, but he seemed to have ran out of bullets. The fear in his eyes as he realized was delicious. He advanced to him, cleaver tight in his hands, and reached out to grab him.
He grabbed nothing but air. Billy was struck with confusion. Before he could do anything about it, his hand was pulled and one of those power negating bracelets was fastened securely around his wrists. Billy met the bitch's eyes, and he just smiled and winked right at him before kicking him off the ledge. The illusion dissipated when his back collided on the ground, and all his bleary eyes could see were magnificent pillars of glass.
***
Felix looked down from the glass ledge at Billy's body. It was broken and twisted, just like Vincenzo's, but it wasn't covered in glass. From this height, he could see he was still obviously breathing. Felix formed a glass slope and slid down from it. When his feet touched the ground floor, the glass trembled, then shattered into a million pieces. Felix raised the now gray crystal in his hand. It crumbled into ash. "Good work," he told it softly, as if talking to an old friend.
The climax was over. It was time for the conclusion. Billy looked at Felix with hatred he'd only seen on his brother Bala all those years ago. Felix went over to him and gently took the cleaver from his hand, pressing a small kiss to his lips that had Billy thrashing in anger. Rape wasn't about sex; it was about power, and he had all the power in the world over him. Felix stood up tall and loomed over him, pressing his foot to Billy's chest to emphasize this new dynamic he'd established. He wanted Billy to know, that as beautiful and as good Felix was, he would never, ever be prey.
In the dark of the warehouse, so dark none of the gods could see, there were no saints or sinners among them. They were nothing but monsters of the same kind. The only rule here was eat or get eaten.
Because for all his virtues and his repression, Felix knew he could never truly be the righteous hand of the gods. Actions are more important than intentions, he'd say, and he'd defend that with every bone in his body because he knew that if his intentions were ever factored in, he'd never be considered good. Felix wasn't a good person, not where it counted. He's claim he did these things to punish people, but he knew deep down, he did it for sport. He loved to hunt predators because he wanted to feel bigger than them. Standing over Graham like this, nerves jittery with excitement, he hadn't felt a rush like this since Bala.
Felix liked to believe he wasn't the same as his criminal brother, but he was. He was the same as Bala. He was the same as Toby. Right here, he was the same as Billy.
"You look angry, Graham. You can dish it out but you can't take it, huh?"
He held the cleaver tight, felt the power it gave him. It was like ecstasy, but it was a dirty kind, made him want to squirm all over. He brought the knife down to Billy again and again, Billy screaming and wailing, his blood splashing all over Felix and the walls around him. When his chest was open and bared, Felix ripped it apart with his own hands, ripping his organs out and crushing them in his fingers. He stepped on his head over and over until it cracked and ripped open. He loved every single fucking minute of it.
Monster, his head told him. You're a fucking monster. He knew! He knew he was, he'd always known that if he ever dared stepped over his limits, he'd love it. He was sick. Born sick. He was pollution, he was dirt, he was every unsavory story about the untouchables that society forced on people to ostracize them. He thought he'd be righteous to prove them wrong, but they were right all this time. Untouchables should never be given rights, because they'd end up just like him.
Billy was nothing left but a pile of meat when he was done with him. Felix threw the cleaver into his hollowed out chest cavity, then fell backwards, his dead, tired eyes staring at the ceiling.
It was over.
