Chương 597: Limitless Path Chapter Six Hundred Seventeen

The knife sliding cutting the skin. Slicing the flesh apart with a wet sound. The slight grate when it slides against the bone. The lake had been perfect. He had gotten so much out of it already, though the power was secondary. The feel of his victims' flesh parting, the feel of their bodies falling apart under his 'tender' care and attention, that was more than he could have hoped for, let alone the terror.

The sight, the smell, the taste, the feeling in the air as their terror and fear washed out of them, was more intoxicating than any drug, and he had tried every single one he could get his hands on. None of them helped, none stopped the urges or the feelings, and even copious amounts of alcohol didn't dull the desires any longer. To feel the blade slice the flesh, it was a thrill that he couldn't get in any other way, and a satisfaction his mind craved in a way that nothing else fulfilled.

He had tried everything, every thrill out there, even the simulated ones that were supposed to help with the kinds of… urges he had developed early in his life. None of them worked, and none of them got it or really replicated the feeling. Nothing that he had experienced had filled in that gap, had brought any light or life to his gray, dull world; it wasn't until the first time he had cut them that he really understood. It wasn't even his fault, not really, not with the way things had happened.

He had been attacked, set upon by those after his possessions, or just those who didn't like the kind of person he was developing into; it was always hard to say, with these things, exactly what had happened. Maybe depraved people just recognized depraved people on some level. Whatever the case might be, he had been stronger than the two of them, and the second of them hadn't died during the fighting.

No, in fact, they had lived for quite a while, though much of it was in his 'care,' their life slowly ebbing, a few potions or small items keeping them alive just that bit longer, extracting just that little bit more blood and enjoyment from them. It eventually got to be too much for them and, even though they were still alive, the fun was really gone at that point, the person's body so mangled they were more hunks of broken flesh clinging to crack, dry bones than they were a person.

That was part of the thrill, but also part of knowing when to be satisfied. He had learned over the years since, learned when to stop, when to feel that sense of joy, to savor the high and let it slowly fade over time, disposing of his latest 'toy' with only a bit of care and time. That was another difficult thing, when no one understood how he thought or what he wanted, what he needed to do; getting rid of the evidence, as they called it.

He had had a few close calls over the years, a few times where someone far too strong, far too powerful, had caught on, or nearly caught on. Those times were the most tense, but maybe the most thrilling of all, especially when he still had a 'toy' he was playing with while they hunted him. Even now, thinking of it, he hiccuped a little giggle at the phantom sensation that echoed through him, glad nobody else was around him to hear that bit of unhinged laughter.

It had become so much easier as his levels and stats grew, as his skills, in particular, grew and aided him in his… tasks. If he was honest with himself, some part of him very deep down understanding something of what he was and what he was doing and what it meant, then he knew it was just for a sick thrill, but he couldn't really rationalize it.

That voice had been quiet for years, not even a whisper, and he was glad, for hearing someone else in his head, someone that sounded so sad and desperate, had really intruded on his play. Now, there was no one, nothing, just the thrill of the blood and his ideas on better ways to cut to watch them bleed slowly. He did still have to be careful sometimes; he had to move from time to time, obviously, as the hunting grounds would become quite dangerous after a while.

So far, he had managed to avoid anyone truly overwhelming getting close to him, and hit was during those times that he was… not running, but relocating… yes, that was it. Relocating. He giggled again as he became a bit distracted, watching his next prey, a young woman of extraordinary beauty casually walking along the lake shore, before he focused again. He would have to move soon. He would have to… relocate… from this lovely world, and that was always where the biggest problems happened.

The two times he had come closest to being caught where when he had stayed on a world too long, moving to a new place on the same planet, no realizing the authorities had already been hunting him. A shiver raced down his spine as he thought about the close call, his grin becoming almost feral in nature as he glance at the beauty walking barefoot through the white sand, the very small tidal motions of the lake causing water to lap over her feet and ankles. He would cut her. He would make her blood run.

He would watch as the knife sliced so prettily. He would have to move then, and that was the second time, the bigger problem, the worst part. Going from one planet to another was difficult, expensive, and dangerous, though that last one applied to him far more than to others. It also didn't help that he spent little time fighting beasts, exploring, doing commissions, crafting, or anything else that might turn a profit. Traveling irked him, annoying him to no end, with all the expense and all the security.

Why couldn't he just stay by the warm, pretty lake and make their warm, pretty blood flow? This woman would be his last here, he knew it. It wasn't from a skill, not exactly, but he had a sense, after years of the doing the same thing all across the galaxy, some sixth sense that half a century of kidnapping and killing the prettiest and most handsome ones had honed in him. He knew they were there, watching, looking for him, hunting him, just as he hunted them.

He would need to get away, but he knew his craft, and they should only have started to call in others to help. Even if they had moved faster this time, which he doubted-who would give a shit about some hicks on some awful, backwater dirtball? -then the people after him, likely Enforcers, might only have just arrived, if even that. He wasn't scare of Enforcers, either; he had learned over the years, learned their patterns and movements, the way they thought, their rigid sense of justice.

It was always justice and honor, all that trite hypocrisy that he had seen through years ago, back when they had tried to help him. To save him. He had rejected it, categorically, understanding that there was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't sick or broken like they claimed, he was just different, though he had almost believed them at first.

He had nearly lost himself to useless hedonism, trying to mute the urges they had told him were so bad, but that hadn't worked, and there had come a day where he had seen through it. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! He had watched as one those disgusting ones, the ones they had talked about as being oh-so-righteous, one of the many in this dirty, filthy galaxy that lied about justice and honor, had done what they really wanted.

Watched as he had taken her, hurt her, cut her, used her as he liked, and then disposed of her. That moment, that moment of clarity, like a bolt from the blue, had lived in his head for decades afterwards, that moment when he had finally understood. Even the ones they proclaimed as the most righteous, the very ones they held up as the standard for what even others of that prattling lot of fake goody two-shoes, weren't any different from him. They had urges, they had desires, and they acted on them.

Sure it was in secret, that he understood, both from the perspective of why they needed to keep up the illusion, and from the perspective that there would always be someone, one person, one busybody that tried to interfere.

That, and the fact that they also really liked to keep up the illusion, to keep lying and pretending, and people like him, people that never had a chance to join any of the big players, that had been rejected by the various groups, militaries, and organizations due to 'concerns' about his mental well-being and 'proclivities,' meant he was always in some kind of danger. He had tried, oh he had tried, tried to join their clubs, to be one of them.

But every time, every time, they had rejected him, found him lacking, wanting, unfit to be part of their special little cabal. He had seen the looks, seen through their petty lies; they might have said it was because he didn't answer the right questions the right way, because he didn't demonstrate those fake qualities they wanted, but he knew. Oh, he knew, so much, so much more. They had even tried, twice, to get him to talk to someone, to discuss his feelings, his thoughts, to get help, as they framed it.

But that was the trap, though he hadn't understood as much then. He had talked, the first time, tried to join inspectors on his home world, tried to get to a better position. They had figured it out somehow, though it was only much later he understood they were all like him, seeing through him because they all liked to do it, to cut, to torture, to give in to the feelings.

He had gone along with them, thinking at the time that they would just let him through, as long as he went to the place they wanted him to go, said the things they wanted him to say. But he had been wrong, oh so wrong, and they hadn't let him, they hadn't let him join them in lording their power over others, in giving in to their desires. No, the people they had him talked to diagnosed him, told him he was sick, told him he had to take medicine, that he had to go to therapy.

They told him, worst of all, that he couldn't join their little club, even if he did all the other things. Too unstable. Too unmoored from reality. Too prone to divergent thoughts without the proper will and impulse control to stay normal, whatever the fuck they thought normal was. He snorted quietly and took a deep breath, watching the beauty in the pretty dress walking from his seat on the pouch of one of the cabins. He wasn't rented this cabin, or even using it for his…

activities, but it was owned by someone who didn't rent it and never used it. He always used places like that, smiling as he saw his next victim's pretty ears flick at some sound, licking his lips as his thoughts calmed from going over the exact knives he was going to use. The campers, vacationers, passing adventurers, workers, and even a random lost person looking for help, they had all been fun.

They had all been good-looking, which he found heightened the thrill, and they had all struggled, and begged, and pleaded, but they hadn't been anything like this woman. Her long, dark red hair flowed freely in the wind and it was clear she was either an adventurer or some kind of laborer that used her body for difficult and demanding work, her muscled standing out in rather stark contrast even as she walked with her hands clasped behind her back and splashed her feet in the water.

He thought about how he would cut those pretty muscles, how the blood would flow, how she scream and cry, and he couldn't help himself, giggling again and licking his lips, a habit he had tried to break himself of over the years, the lip-licking, that was, not the giggling, though he was also careful about that. Then again, the giggling often upset others for some reason, something he used to his advantage, something he liked.

Those he worked on were so much more fun when they were dazed, confused, reeling, upset, discomfited, and, most of all, afraid. The fear was the best part, and he had developed not one, but two whole skills that fed on the fear, skills that made him stronger the more they cried and the more they screamed. He wasn't sure if this woman would scream for him, but he always liked the adventurers the most, the ones that thought they were strong.

He had to laugh at that, not a giggle, but an actual laugh; all these kids at one rebirth, strutting around with their chests out, head high and noses in the air, thinking they were some hot shit. He loved cutting them the most, loved the realization as it dawned on them, understanding that this man that never fought stupid beasts or silly monsters was so much stronger than them. It was the best part of all, watching the light leave their eyes, the ones with all the muscle, all the supposed power, as they broke.

Just the though made his whole body shiver, a slight euphoric feeling washing through him for a few moments, all his recent hunts and kills having left him nearly sated, stuffed full of their fear, their agony. The cutting, the blood flowing, the fear, that was why he did it, that was what he needed to feel better, to push back the dull, gray mist that hung over the world, to be able to feel something.

He didn't necessarily do anything with the blood; personally, he thought those that didn't really need blood but drank it and used it in strange ceremonies were a bit strange, but he could understand, to an extent. He had no desire to do more than see it, watch it flow, watch it pool below them as they twisted and screamed, but the color was so nice, almost a perfect match for his next victim's hair.

He would grab her, though not now, and he had made sure to only steal the occasional glance, a skill he had developed from observing all those he wanted to cut, not all of them eventually becoming a victim, allowing him to track what a person was doing and feeling with having to stare at them. It let him be so much more sneaky, and it was just as handy when he actually hunted them, that part not as thrilling for him but still fun.

He would track this woman tonight, finding where she was staying after the sun had set, and maybe he would see to her right there. He had done that a few times before, and usually with his last one on a world, ready to move on right away, though that thought brought him back to his earlier pondering on how tricky it was to travel with little money and having to pass through their stupid security checks. Still, he would cut her, making her skin and flesh match her hair, then he would leave.