Weltkrieg: A Youjo Senki Fic

Inside a dark room, where not even god hand could reach and no light could pass other than a flicker reflection of my eyes.

It was cold, colder than the point winter inside the depth of northern seas.

Clenching bone enduring the silent fury I directed, with a crunch and satisfying crack it relents to my force.

Then my hand, gloves soaked in fresh blood still dripping, pointed to another direction of the thing before me.

I grabbed the mashed face soaking it in yet, another blood. The nose was pointed inward, broken beyond measure, a splinter of nasal bone edged deep inside it and occasionally flinched in an attempt of taking the cold air of the room, and yet it was a futile attempt, only blood flew like a creak of water spilled to the rest of its mangled body.

It could die, it could live, with its miserable state. I don't take my chances, pouring another Prana as my orbs hummed in tandem to heal the face.

And then, in a splat! With another blow, the condition reverted back, and I poured another Prana.

I imagine it's being in the state of limbo, beyond death and life yet still capable to feel pain. How miserable, though I did my best to stop my twitching mouth that tried to form a grin and let out a burst of cackling laughter.

A hell in life's, and hell he shall go after.

I grew bored with the ugly face, the sensation of the cold blood, and the l.u.s.t quenching, the music of fragmented bone. Then my hand moved in smooth flow to the upper, grasping the scalp of its head.

Tore.

Like a paper being shredded, and in cold emotion as human as easily to torn a leaf off its branch. The skin and hair uprooted, unearthing a layer of convulsing red flesh beneath. I threw the scalp to the side as it was trash.

It tried to scream, yet another mouthful fist shoved, splitting the lips in two.

Then I reconsider, almost a week passed I played this game of mine.

I have already extracted the most essential information of the half-dead worm in front of me. There's no use to further whatever I was doing. Yet, why, I continue.

It's entertaining.

To see that my hand caked in blood and matter.

It's exhilarating.

It's Satisfying.

To bear the crumbling life's and spirit, as mine stood still and strong.

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

AH!

I could die, in a convulsion of this twisted game of masturbation!

Then the dam burst.

Ears fall like it was a socket on the verge of its hinges. A flurry of moving blur hitting each side of the fragile, and broken body causing a small burst of blood caking my black uniform as it greedily absorbed the draping blood and matter.

Then another blur pierced one particular area of the c.h.e.s.t, as a thumping organ pulled beneath the splintered bone.

The heart, a depraved life filled the palm of my hand. It's still interconnected of thousand nerves begging with pain, and red fresh ichor pumped forth and back, some were spilling to the cold floor below.

It's hand twitched, as grasping what I was about to do. But a boot soon crushed the pitiful wail of the hand.

Marvelous!

Truly an example of the sheer wills the thing possessed!

For it endured a dozen hours I spend, rotting its mind and frame.

Yet, even the best toy had its expiring date.

I grin in a climax of ecstasy, and the laughter couldn't be contained. As with a mere twitch between the finger of my palm, the heart burst into a thousand direction, spilling crimson ichor, caking almost the entire floor.

Then another life's leaving the broken husk behind.

Torture, information, p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e. Three things surfaced to mind.

I stared emptily to the lifeless husk beneath me, as trying to grasp a faint hope for entertainment.

A moment passed. Nothing.

Then I stared at my red-stained glove, even if it's black it couldn't contain the crimson color beneath, still glistening in the dark. Then with a light clench, I thought, even I can't erase completely my tendencies.

What happens if I was reincarnated, without memory instead, I might have not done this atrocity. I might, had a happy life, baking bread and opening a café in Berun, or studying in the München or Hamburg, oblivious and laughing in a bliss ignorance of the bleak fate of this world.

Yet it won't even be the same, I thought. Would Violet stand beside me, not freezing death in a corner like a rat, and be violated. No, it will never be the same.

Would I met girls as wonderful as Freesia, as adorable as Hai and as breathtaking as Eugen and my fiancé, no. Would I still laugh the same as I am now, and reveled in the suffering of mine enemies and the bliss face of my friends, no.

Would I meet a friend as best as Hans and Karl, as energetic as Wolfgang, and as trustworthy as Albert? Would even Michael, Beatrice, and Eleonore still stand alive and breathing?

It will never be the same, I need to bury deep these thoughts.

First thing first, let's head outside and take a bath.

The foul smell is driving me crazy. Phew, a good thing, the thing dead. I rippled my cheek, checking whether I still sane or not.

Good.

Everything's normal.