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BUTCHER OF ALASKA II ( SACRIFICES NEEDED)
Elijah's POV
I walked through the vast expanse of the Alaskan wilderness, my heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and determination. The weight of the dagger in my hand was a constant reminder of the choice I had made—the belief that I was releasing souls trapped within their earthly vessels.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the snow-covered landscape. My footsteps were muffled by the thick layer of frost as I approached the first sacrifice—a man who had unknowingly become a pawn in my twisted reality. His face was a portrait of confusion and fear as I raised the dagger, my hands trembling with a mix of guilt and conviction.
The wind seemed to whisper secrets, and the trees swayed as if in mournful acknowledgment. With a swift, desperate motion, I drove the dagger into the man's chest. His gasp was a mix of pain and disbelief, and his eyes locked onto mine in a plea for mercy. But as his life ebbed away, I couldn't help but believe that I was setting his soul free from the confines of mortality.
The second sacrifice was a woman, her vulnerability evident in the way she huddled against the cold. I approached her cautiously, the weight of my actions heavy on my conscience. As I raised the dagger once more, her eyes met mine, and I saw a reflection of my own desperation mirrored in her gaze.
The blade pierced her flesh, and the world seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Her body convulsed, and a sound that was a cross between a sob and a gasp escaped her lips. In that agonizing instant, I felt a perverse connection—an intimate link between two souls in the throes of anguish and confusion.
The third sacrifice was different, as if the weight of my actions had finally taken their toll. I approached a man who seemed resigned to his fate, his eyes holding a glimmer of acceptance that sent shivers down my spine. The blade felt heavier this time, its weight a reminder of the lives I had ended, the souls I believed I had set free.
As the dagger descended, I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of another life being extinguished by my hand. The gasps, the struggles—they echoed in my mind, a symphony of torment that mingled with the wind's mournful howls.
When it was done, a heavy silence settled over the wilderness. The bodies lay before me, silent witnesses to my descent into madness. I had believed that I was liberating their souls, but all I had accomplished was to stain the snow with their blood.
The hallucinations of Aria grew stronger, her voice entwined with the cries of the sacrifices. They haunted my every step, a constant reminder of the darkness I had embraced. The cabin walls seemed to close in, suffocating me with the weight of my actions.
And as the final pieces of my sanity crumbled, I realized the truth—I was not a liberator of souls but a prisoner of my own fractured mind. The sacrifices had been senseless acts, driven by a delusion that had consumed me whole. My love for Aria, the belief in her spectral presence, had led me down a nightmarish path from which there was no escape.
© Medwickxxiv #horror #realhorror #psychology #ghoststory #Schizophrenia
I walked through the vast expanse of the Alaskan wilderness, my heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and determination. The weight of the dagger in my hand was a constant reminder of the choice I had made—the belief that I was releasing souls trapped within their earthly vessels.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the snow-covered landscape. My footsteps were muffled by the thick layer of frost as I approached the first sacrifice—a man who had unknowingly become a pawn in my twisted reality. His face was a portrait of confusion and fear as I raised the dagger, my hands trembling with a mix of guilt and conviction.
The wind seemed to whisper secrets, and the trees swayed as if in mournful acknowledgment. With a swift, desperate motion, I drove the dagger into the man's chest. His gasp was a mix of pain and disbelief, and his eyes locked onto mine in a plea for mercy. But as his life ebbed away, I couldn't help but believe that I was setting his soul free from the confines of mortality.
The second sacrifice was a woman, her vulnerability evident in the way she huddled against the cold. I approached her cautiously, the weight of my actions heavy on my conscience. As I raised the dagger once more, her eyes met mine, and I saw a reflection of my own desperation mirrored in her gaze.
The blade pierced her flesh, and the world seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Her body convulsed, and a sound that was a cross between a sob and a gasp escaped her lips. In that agonizing instant, I felt a perverse connection—an intimate link between two souls in the throes of anguish and confusion.
The third sacrifice was different, as if the weight of my actions had finally taken their toll. I approached a man who seemed resigned to his fate, his eyes holding a glimmer of acceptance that sent shivers down my spine. The blade felt heavier this time, its weight a reminder of the lives I had ended, the souls I believed I had set free.
As the dagger descended, I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of another life being extinguished by my hand. The gasps, the struggles—they echoed in my mind, a symphony of torment that mingled with the wind's mournful howls.
When it was done, a heavy silence settled over the wilderness. The bodies lay before me, silent witnesses to my descent into madness. I had believed that I was liberating their souls, but all I had accomplished was to stain the snow with their blood.
The hallucinations of Aria grew stronger, her voice entwined with the cries of the sacrifices. They haunted my every step, a constant reminder of the darkness I had embraced. The cabin walls seemed to close in, suffocating me with the weight of my actions.
And as the final pieces of my sanity crumbled, I realized the truth—I was not a liberator of souls but a prisoner of my own fractured mind. The sacrifices had been senseless acts, driven by a delusion that had consumed me whole. My love for Aria, the belief in her spectral presence, had led me down a nightmarish path from which there was no escape.
© Medwickxxiv #horror #realhorror #psychology #ghoststory #Schizophrenia
