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The forest stands eerily quiet, much like every night. As [REDACTED] drags the body bag over damp blades of grass, kept neatly short by the herbivores in this ecosystem, some of the water droplets find their way into his new shoes.
His Angel has been obsessing over a certain character lately, and [REDACTED] ran with the chance to get closer to them, purchasing the new shoes in the process. Endlessly patient with his Angel, however, even if they didn't notice him, they would not be demotivated. Any effort, time and money spent appealing to Angel, making sure they're safe and happy, is absolutely worth it.
Light rustling of plastic interrupts their train of thought, prompting an irritated, sharp look towards the black bag. Instantly, his mind is clouded with annoyance at anything or anyone that dares interfere with mere thoughts of Angel.
Their socks now wet and cold, [REDACTED] wishes to get this over with quickly, no patience for hours-long, cruel torture. He's done it all before: pulling off nails one by one, then painfully breaking his victims' fingers. Already before he'd gotten far, they'd be begging for sweet release. Seconds would span over an infinity as he drained their life force bit by bit. It is amusing to watch them descend into the depths of insanity, a pit they will never be rescued from.
In a way, this one is lucky to catch [REDACTED] on a day that left him with little energy and motivation.
Panicked, the unfortunate individual struggles to escape the dark confines of the bag, kicking their legs and yelling, almost uncertain in their movements.
How unlike them, to sound so scared, unsure and panicked. Though his face does not betray any emotion, a feeling of sweet revenge is already spreading across [REDACTED]'s body, anticipating what is yet to come.
To witness their confident visage crumble is only part of the fun, however. Rather, he does not only do this for fun. No, not even the ruthless, mysterious serial killer would pick his victims at random, for he is not a madman. They are handpicked from the very most deserving of the whole bunch. Their actions towards the only person he sympathizes with, the only one he could ever care for, are utterly unforgivable.
This one in particular has found joy in poking fun at his Angel, not showing an ounce of regret even as they'd teared up, escaping to a more quiet spot to cry in peace. The tears they shed are now in the past, yet they can never leave his memories.
Of course, they'd been shadowing Angel, watching the tears fall and therefore sealing the bully's fate.
"Waking up, I see. Tsk, don't break the bag."
Swiftly, the thin yet sturdy barrier is cast aside, forcing them to look into his eyes.
The devilish, murderous gleam in his eyes makes them flinch, hurrying to get up. Cold and calculated, [REDACTED] strikes them down with a sledgehammer, breaking a few ribs in the process. Hearing their screams is delightful, an addictive, familiar sensation bubbles up inside their chest. Delight is not the right word, however, implying a certain luxury and privilege in fulfilling the action. No, [REDACTED] needs to feel this. He needs to liberate his soul from the constrictive, piercing grip taking ahold of his body when knowing his Angel is being hurt.
Nothing compares to the feelings Angel's happiness and mere existence blesses him with, but the satisfaction of punishing those that wronged his dear stands proudly in second place.
Far away is the high pedestal, crowned on top sits his wish to be their number one priority. Though still in the distant future, the thought is ever present, determining all aspects of [REDACTED]'s life, who hopes to reach the highest level of fulfillment through this sole way.
And proud he is, standing tall above the cowering figure as they hold a hand to their aching side, weeping and whimpering in pain.
"Are you not going t' ask what you've done? Maybe I'll let you off the hook."
It is cruel, so, so cruel to make them believe in redemption when there is no way for them to crawl out from the grave they've dug for themselves. That is part of the fun.
Face stone cold, they watch and listen to pathetic begging, promises to do whatever he'd ask in exchange for their miserable, measly life.
"I'll make it up to you, I swear, just tell me what I-"
A piercing scream echoes through the empty woods, not a soul around to hear.
"You're so desperate, begging for me to spare your pathetic life. Can't stand your voice, but it's tolerable when you're the one who's scared for once."
A terrible pain is pulsing through their thigh, a knife ramming through flesh; muscle and fat tissue alike as if it's butter.
Their mouth is agape, panting like a dog in the summer heat.
It hurts, the unbearable sting of his ruthless blade, but no more than the hell they would have continued to put his Angel through if he let them live.
Human instinct is strange. His victims, without fail, are often frozen out of sheer shock, pain and fear. It would be in their best interest to run away, to fight back, yet none of them have ever tried - at least genuinely. It is mildly interesting to [REDACTED], and all the more amusing. Perhaps, though, this is just proof that anyone who would stoop so low as to hurt his perfect Angel is nothing but a slimy, disgusting coward.
[REDACTED] feels his hand twitch and takes it as a sign to twist the knife, causing a fiery pain to shoot through their body once again. Thick blood oozes out of their wound, tainting the cool grass beneath. If [REDACTED] were in the mood to stream today, he'd have been tempted to make them taste their own blood, which would surely make the chat go wild.
However, they are not in the mood for a long and slow, torturous murder. Although the bully surely deserves such an ending, [REDACTED] does not have the patience to watch them die slowly today.
Their voice cracks, weak and broken already, though he is sure it hasn't even been a minute. It is so pathetic he could almost feel bad.
"You have made a mistake that does not allow forgiveness. You hurt the only most important person in my life. I cannot allow dirt like you to live on the same earth as them."
Bitter realization washes over them like a bucket of ice water, realization that their days have been numbered. Useless wails and shaky attempts to push their attacker off fail miserably.
"P-please, no, I'll do anything!"
A scarily calm and unbothered expression is on his face, lifting the heavy sledgehammer to unceremoniously bash it into their skull.
Limp and lifeless, their body falls back onto the grass, causing it to rustle softly.
Finally.
Now, the forest can return to its natural state. Quiet. Undisturbed.
[REDACTED] does not understand the term 'eerie silence'. Nothing about the absence of noise, whether the noise in question would come from the awfully loud cars, bothersome neighbors or bullies whose necks he hasn't snapped yet, feels the least bit intimidating to him. Unless the silence is suspicious, the opportunity to roam through his mind without disturbance, to think about the things he loved most, is truly appreciated, at all times.
Now, in the quiet of the forest night, they focus on each of their senses, one at a time.
While the faint smell of green, damp grass mingles with the pungent smell of red blood, earthy notes compliment the mix. Still, their keen nose notes that the bloody smell left a thick coat over the others, yearning to stand in the spotlight much like the person who it belongs to. Peaceful thoughts are interrupted by the disgusting smell reaching [REDACTED]'s tongue, lying heavy on the sensitive taste buds.
Much to his relief, though, that sickening voice no longer interrupts the beautiful view of the silver moon, or his perception of the more subtle noises such as the soft wind combing lovingly through the trees above and their hair alike.
Quiet times are an ointment for his scarred, disturbed soul. Nothing that could truly heal him, but it numbed the pain for sure.
He has to laugh. If only Angel's mind were as depraved as his, they may have come along to appreciate the romantic scenery together. However, the pungent smell of blood, not to mention the presence of a corpse, would ruin whatever they likely thought of as 'romantic'. Besides, for a shot at going on a date, he'd have to be noticed first.
But there is time. No time spent waiting is wasted if he's waiting for them, protecting them as [REDACTED] roams in their shadow, quiet yet persistent.