Origins of Blood

"He's dead." Cham's voice cuts through the haze.

"Finally done?" Gene exhales hard, his fists soaked in blood and flesh. He leans heavily against the wall, his weight tearing the pinned newspapers down to the floor.

Breathing sharp and shallow, my body mirrors Gene's exhaustion before giving way completely. My head falls back into my neck, jaw slack; my mouth gapes open, tongue hanging loose, breath rasping across it.

And then—itches. Crawling itches that burrow beneath my skin, spreading from my left arm into my chest, into my gut.

They crawl through me already.

Gagging, I choke on something foul and then spit a maggot, swollen and thicker than my thumb, writhing on the ground.

"We can't do this anymore." Cham's voice shatters the silence of heavy breaths. "We can't kill these people. We just can't!" His last word nearly breaks into a shout, accusing all of us.

"You serious right now?" Gene laughs, not with humor but with disbelief. He spits blood onto the stone. "Most of the time, you don't even fight. We let you stay clean, let you keep your hands free from anything."

Silence follows. I cough again, but still say nothing. Both stare at me, their eyes pressing into mine, but I do not speak. I cannot.

"Yes, they've invaded us. Yes, they deserve death for it." Cham's voice cracks, yet his tone sharpens, gathering weight.

The door creaks. Paul steps in, silent, and slumps into the corner near Gene, his back to the wall. Cham pauses only for a breath before pressing on.

"But they are not them. Tell me—" He pauses, his head back at the door, "Tell me if these children we've slaughtered have enslaved us." His gaze locks on Gene, then shifts to me, waiting, almost pleading for some response. But my lips stay sealed.

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"They will," Gene snaps, eyes fierce, but Cham silences him before he can add more.

"They might. But have they?" His words slice deeper than any blade.

My eyes fall to the newspaper lying beside me, torn from the wall when Gene collapsed against it. The headline is mundane, almost absurd: a teashop has opened somewhere in the city. Staring at the ink, my eyes burn as the lamplight presses against me, searing the edges of my vision.

Memories pour through me like poison. The whisper returns, coiling tight around my ears.

Golden Reaper.

We have killed three men. Two women. Four children. All in less than half an hour.

Faces swim before me—shattered, broken, distorted into grotesque masks—endless blood pooling at my feet. Another cough rips through me, another maggot forcing its way out, and still the whisper crushes me, fills me until I can hear nothing else. Golden Reaper.

Staring at my left hand, it drips blue, smeared with another's life. My fingers shake. My whole body trembles as I remember.

Ren. My brother. My light. Where are you now?

My vision darts from side to side. The world folds in on itself. My skull burns as if fire itself has crawled inside.

The voices. Not my own. Not even Cham's. But Gene.

"They killed my sister!" he screams, spit flying, face scarlet. "They played with her on the deck of the ship. Gods damn it, they did things—things I never could have imagined if I hadn't seen it! They broke her before they killed her!" His rage is louder than any of the Blues before begging for mercy.

Cham follows, calmer, but his calm is worse. His words are steady and carved with grief. "They did the same with my brother. I saw how they sliced him open alive. How they ate from his bones while his fading eyes fixed on mine. He smiled, even through the cries, because he knew I was safe. He smiled as they devoured him."

Silence.

Cham turns to me, his gaze drowning in melancholy. His eyes hold both despair and a strange, fleeting light. "Still, some are innocent. We are no better than them."

He looks at Gene, then back at me. My left hand twitches. My jaw clenches. My heart pounds faster and hotter. My head is filled with fire and voices.

"Kill them all," I mutter, the words tearing from me like a curse. "Kill them all—Golden Reaper—Kill them all."

Colors fade. Light dims. The world collapses.

And the last thing I see are Cham's sorrowful eyes—fixed on me—before my head slumps to the side and something warm and wet splashes across my face.