The Magus Echoes of the forgotten

Life could be dream.

Life was a clickbait, a bitch. So unpredictable and unforgiving. It taunts us with the idea of fairness, but rarely delivers on that promise.

Never fair, yet it often preaches fairness.

I remember certain things... things that make me feel like I've been through this before. It's as if I'm reliving it all over again. So intense that it feels too real to be mere déjà vu.

So what!

Blood, my hands were stained with blood.

"Just die, motherf****r!"

"Die!"

"Die!"

"Diiie!!"

In the heat of the moment, I yelled those words. I wanted him gone.

Pitoo-

"Why do you hold on to life so tightly? I'm doing you and society a big favor, damn it! Why can't you understand?! Why can't anybody understand?! Why?!!!"

I grabbed him by the collar and shook him. He didn't respond. Worry gripped my heart as I hastily checked his pulse. He was alive... barely hanging on.

I was relieved!

Grabbing him by the head, I slammed him to the ground repeatedly until I heard a wet crunch. Blood and fragments of brain matter mixed, flowing from his shattered skull.

Wiping my bloodied hands on his jacket, I released my grip and stepped away.

I knew he wouldn't die instantly, he would at least survive for the second round.

Doing the right thing can be incredibly taxing, you know? There are no supporters, no cheerleaders... no one on this side.

I don't expect to receive a medal for what I do. It's not like I anticipate being surrounded and praised for my actions. But it's infuriating that scum like him and his ilk always manage to get away with it. In fact, some even garnered praise for their misdeeds.

Damn justice, that blind bitch!

It's laughable, isn't it? Hehehe! Should I also laugh? Yes, I suppose I should!

No consequences, no repercussions...

Ha! What kind of life is this?

Looking at my trembling hands... I-my hands... they were stained with blood. Why won't it go?

I made my way to the sink, desperately attempting to wash away the blood. But it clung stubbornly. I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin grew raw and irritated.

My hands, resting on the edge of the sink, remained covered in blood.

It won't wash off!

They would never go back the way they used to be, would they?

The blood was there, it just wouldn't go. I had spilled too much, strayed too far...

"Hmm...mmmph...uhhhh," I heard muffled cries coming from somewhere nearby.

I turned towards the direction of the muffled cries.

"Oh! I must have forgotten to close the door. Are you afraid?" I asked, turning towards the source of the sound.

Tears streamed down the face of one of the individuals I had captured, a bastard on the list. He shook his head, his expression filled with fear.

"But you didn't seem to be afraid when you watched her suffer, did you? You had the guts to film it. You were with them, one of them!" I snapped, memories flooding my mind, intensifying my anger. I had to clench my teeth, to contain myself.

"Nuooo...I...ouly fim-med..." the wretch stammered.

"Ah. So, you claim you only filmed and had nothing to do with it. Is that right? Is that what you're trying to say?"

The scrawny bastard nodded frantically, his sobs mixing with his runny nose.

"Your gag seems to be loose." I tightened the gag.

The hope in his eyes dimmed. He really thought I would let him off for that crappy excuse. Their ridiculousness never ceases to amaze me.

He probably thought he did nothing wrong. Heh, should I laugh? Yes, I should!

Hmm... what's this? Which of these trash heaps is wriggling around?

Oh, that one, huh? Another bastard on the list. The pig was giving me a fierce glare.

"You seem to have something to say. Let's hear it, pig."

I removed the gag, allowing him to take a deep breath, but he wasted it.

"Mark, you son of a bitch! Do you have any idea who my father is? Do you honestly think you can live a peaceful life after messing with me? The only thing going for you is that little brain of yours. So, why don't you use it before you do something you'll regret forever? When my father finds out..."

I interrupted him and quickly put the gag back on. I didn't want to hear any more of the garbage he was about to spew.

"Of course, I know who your father is," I replied. "...he's a cannibal, isn't he known for his love of mortadella?"

"Huu..!"

He started making a scene, his face turning red with anger.

"Good, you just made it easier for me to decide. Come with me."

I grabbed him by the hair and dragged him, making sure to close the door behind us.

I removed his gag once more.

"Any last words?"

He struggled to breathe, panting with anger.

"Mark! I'm warning you, you son of a bitch! This is your last chance. Do you really think those goons behind you will defend your mess? Those worthless bastards would do anything for a scrap! If this is about that slut Asu-"

I quickly put the gag back on and tightened it.

"Don't you dare mention my little sister's name with that filthy mouth of yours!" I couldn't stand to look at his face any longer. My hands reached for his neck. "Do you hear me? You want to meet your father so badly? Fine! I'll make sure to send you to him. I'm sure he'll be thrilled. Why wouldn't he be? It'll be my treat—I'll cook him a fresh mortadella."

He started to flap his gums, but thanks to the gag, I could only hear his muffled groans and nothing past that.

My grip tightened around his neck, cutting off his airflow. Muffled cries escaped his mouth, desperate attempts to call for help.

But there would be no help. He may not have realized it at first, but I was certain he was beginning to understand now. No help would arrive, and he was going to die by my hands.

His face contorted with panic and desperation, struggling to breathe and gasping for air. His body convulsed and writhed, desperately trying to break free from my choking grasp.

His eyes lost focus, his muscles weakening.

He was slipping into unconsciousness, his resistance fading. If I continued, I knew he would die. I knew I could snuff out his life just like that... but that's not how I wanted to end him. No, that would be too merciful. I wanted him to suffer, to experience fear and despair in equal measure.

I couldn't let him off so easily. Before I did something I would truly regret, I reluctantly released my grip, retracting my hands from his neck.

A sharp intake of breath escaped my lips.

Huh? What's happening? Why am I sweating blood?

I felt a trickle of blood running down my face, beads of crimson staining my skin.

All of a sudden, breathing became difficult. A sharp, intense pain shot through my head, causing me to let out a faint groan.

No, this can't be...!