Chapter Text
I killed them…
With my own two hands.
—
Lingering alone in the male’s bathrooms was Kim Dokja, his hands covered with blood—gore splattered across the once shimmering tiles of the restroom.
The once breathing beings lay sprawled across the ground, their intestines pooling out of their stomachs; their blood desperately flowing outwards—the corpses slouching against the tiles.
Kim Dokja inhaled a sharp—deep—breath; in hopes of recovering his composure, attempting to prevent his vision from becoming blurry.
He leaned against the sink, clutching the blood-soaked knife with his right hand; his other grasping his once clean uniform now doused in ichor.
The metallic scent of copper enveloped the bathrooms, alluding to a nauseous odor that was practically unbearable—greedily invading Kim Dokja’s nostrils.
This wasn’t the first time he’s committed such a sin, and it wouldn’t be the last either.
Kim Dokja felt an unexplainable feeling rising in his stomach, like the black smoke that rested outside. Not dread, nor fear. Not sadness either.
Rather…It elicited an indescribable sensation of pleasure.
The sensations Kim Dokja felt when brutally stabbing his once living persecutors was satisfying; their bloodcurdling screams as he dug his sharp fingernails deep into their flesh; blood spraying heavily towards the white walls…
Hearing them beg for mercy as he savagely dismembered them in the blink of an eye; indifferent to their screams of agony—as it rang through his ears.
All of that sent an electrifying thrill down his spine.
“.....”
Kim Dokja’s head throbbed painfully, his nerves on end; and despite the fervor that was evoked in his brain, his nerves and sense begged to differ; his entire body ached from the struggle between him and his victims.
Kim Dokja clutched his head, fisting his hair on the side of his head harshly—pulling on it, in an attempt to stop the pulsating pain of his head and senses despite knowing that the ache won't be rid of.
“.....‘’
Yet…That wasn’t physical pain he was afflicted by.
For Kim Dokja, his sensibility to vehemence and pain had been dulled over the course of a prolonged period.
Rather—the inescapable, looming ache of a once innocent being lingered deep inside his stained heart—and the demon eternally inside him; with no intent to dissipate—urging him with one order.
To kill.
Yes—that one single command is what was urging Kim Dokja towards staying alive for another day…
But, could Kim Dokja really be considered a living person?
The remaining shred of humanity inside Kim Dokja screamed in agony; begging him not to completely be rid of his humanity.
Yet, amongst those cadavers; he was the true monster atop the glut of bodies veiled with heolfor.
He stares at himself in the mirror—his reflection staring back; following his every move—reflecting his actions-an obedient doll. Nothing more than a shadow of who he once was.
Kim Dokja’s once soft locks of hair were now disheveled from the struggle; his school uniform adorned with dark and heavy layers of blood that spun an intricate delineation on his stained garments.
Still fixating his gaze on the mirror, Kim Dokja locked eyes with his reflection that was directly across from him—no thoughts, and no words were spoken. Yet, something was resonating deeply within him, as the mirror reflected the mutilated corpses laid inanimately across the blood-stained floor.
He longed to join them in the silence. To submit to the echos, calling, pleading—oh how would that feel, the pure bliss of being released from this eternally infernal prison.
Kim Dokja had forgotten—he knew he had lost something, a burning sensation that filled every crevice of his mind. But he had forgotten what it was. Kim Dokja didn’t remember who he was as a child; the one who had laughed once upon a time; before being shunned by his father—before falling into this immortal, never-ending, gloom.
His life changed when his mother committed the deed of murdering his father—that was the moment when everything fell apart.
Because of that, Kim Dokja was constantly shunned everywhere he went—being renowned as a “murderer’s child”.
Something inside him felt…empty, as if he was missing something vital, something that could finally satisfy him; finally bring him peace.
To fill that heart of his littered with sins—
Something like love.
Something that Kim Dokja has never truly experienced before.
Yes…
It’s the only thing that can fix his shattered heart that gushes with streams of blood—each day, the empty feeling in Kim Dokja gets heavier and heavier—weighing onto him, to the point that it’s unbearable.
Indeed, what he needs is—
BANG
In the blink of an eye, the handle to the bathroom clicks open and the door harshly bangs against the wall—the impact making the door on the verge of collapsing.
There stood a tall figure—standing just a hair-breadth outside the restroom, he locked his gaze onto the disheveled appearance of Kim Dokja.
Out of everyone Kim Dokja would expect to stumble upon this grueling crime scene—he wasn’t expecting that guy…
“Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk starts coldly—his face unreadable, his sharp eyes practically piercing Kim Dokja’s soul; sending shivers down his spine.
Yoo Joonghyuk was someone Kim Dokja always looked up to as a person, and friend, perhaps… Maybe something even more? However, now—the one person Kim Dokja had even a shred of compassion for discovered him like this.
The cadavers strewn across the bloodied tiles all had organs cascaded out of their unrecognizable bodies like waterfalls—dried up blood laid across the tiles; creating an intricate pattern similar to the floral designs that brides often included in their gowns.
Despite that, it still failed to allude to a rather pleasant atmosphere. The metallic scent of copper enveloped the bathroom, invading the two’s nostrils greedily.
“Yoo Joonghyu—” “Do you need me to help you clean up?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks casually, cutting off Kim Dokja as if nothing was wrong. He leans against the door frame, crossing his arms; awaiting the other’s response.
The words that came out of Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth were completely unexpected. Kim Dokja had the assumption that Yoo Joonghyuk would do something that completely contrasted what he took action to just now.
“Kim Dokja.” He starts firmly, their gazes finally locking onto eachother—the tension was palpable to the point that Kim Dokja couldn’t bring himself to look away.
Kim Dokja gulps, his adam apple’s bobbing. The weight of Yoo Joonghyuk’s penetrative glare laid a heavy weight upon him. It felt like the other man was scrutinizing him even though that wasn’t the case at all.
Kim Dokja worried—was Yoo Joonghyuk planning to blackmail him by luring him in first; offering to help. Or perhaps, he really means it?