A persistent drizzle mirrored the gloom settling deep within Johann's bones.
He sat hunched over a textbook in the university library, the fluorescent lights casting a sickly pallor on the pages and the faces of the other students scattered around the vast, silent room. Outside, Oslo was cloaked in a typical Scandinavian autumn day, all grey skies and damp chill.
Inside, a different kind of coldness clung to Johann, one that had nothing to do with the weather. It was a coldness born of choices made in shadow, of promises whispered in the dead of night, of a pact sealed with something ancient and hungry.
Twenty-five years on this earth, and Johann had already taken more lives than most see in a horror movie. Not from some righteous fury, nor in the heat of passion, but with a chilling, methodical detachment that he barely understood himself.
It had started subtly, a dark impulse that whispered in the quiet corners of his mind, a suggestion, a nudge toward the abyss.
At first, he'd pushed it away, horrified by the nature of the thoughts. But the whispers grew louder, more insistent, until they became a constant hum beneath the surface of his consciousness, a symphony of depravity orchestrating his every waking moment.
The first time, it had been almost accidental, a culmination of frustration and a convenient opportunity. A classmate, boisterous and arrogant, had mocked Johann relentlessly.
Words like little barbs, digging under his skin, festering. One night, after a party, the classmate had stumbled into Johann's path, drunk and vulnerable.
The impulse had surged, overwhelming, irresistible. Johann remembered little of the act itself, only the aftermath, the stark terror mixed with a strange, unsettling satisfaction.
He expected guilt, remorse, a crushing weight of conscience. Instead, there was a hollowness, a void where those feelings should have been.
And something else, something colder, darker, that began to fill that space. It was in that void, in the aftermath of his first kill, that he had first encountered it.
Not visually, not as some physical manifestation, but as a presence, a feeling, a voice that resonated deep within his skull. It spoke of power, of desires fulfilled, of a path paved in shadows and whispered promises.
The voice had offered a pact. In exchange for… services rendered, let's say… it would grant him abilities, sharpen his instincts, make him untouchable.
Johann, adrift in the horrifying reality of what he had become, had listened. He'd been lost, consumed by the darkness, and the pact had seemed like a twisted form of salvation.
A way to control the chaos that had taken root in his soul.
Now, several lives later, Johann was no closer to control. The pact had given him what it promised. His senses were heightened, his reactions lightning-fast.
He moved through the world with a predatory grace, always aware, always watching.
He could pick out weaknesses in others, vulnerabilities they didn't even know they possessed. But the hunger, the insatiable craving for the kill, had only intensified.
He looked up from his book, his eyes scanning the library. Students whispered, pages turned, keyboards clicked. Normalcy.
A veneer of everyday life that hid the darkness simmering underneath. He saw them, these people, not as fellow students, but as potential… something else.
The demon's influence was a constant current, pulling him, urging him toward the edge.
A girl with bright red hair laughed loudly at something her friend said. Johann's gaze lingered on her, tracing the line of her neck, imagining… He clenched his jaw, forcing the thoughts back. He had to focus.
He had a task tonight. A new name, a new target, whispered to him in the dead of night by the presence that now shared his mind.
Leaving the library, Johann stepped out into the rain. The city lights blurred in the wet air, casting long, distorted shadows.
He pulled his coat tighter around him, the chill seeping through the fabric. He wasn't cold, not in the way other people were. The inner coldness insulated him from the outside world, a barrier between him and humanity.
He walked toward his apartment, his steps measured, deliberate. Each footfall was silent on the wet pavement. He passed other students, couples holding hands, groups laughing.
They were oblivious, lost in their own small worlds, unaware of the predator walking among them. And that was the way he liked it. Invisibility was his greatest weapon.
Inside his apartment, the silence was thick and heavy. He lived alone, preferring solitude. Company was a distraction, a risk.
He couldn't let anyone get too close, couldn't risk them seeing the darkness that clung to him like a shroud. The apartment was sparsely furnished, functional.
A bed, a desk, a few chairs. No personal touches, no decorations. It was a space for existing, not living.
He opened his laptop, the screen flickering to life. He accessed an encrypted messaging app, his fingers flying across the keyboard. The demon communicated through these channels now, a modern touch to an ancient evil.
Tonight's target was a man named Henrik, a local businessman. No reason given, no justification offered. Just a name, an address, and the implicit command.
Johann felt a stirring, a familiar anticipation. It wasn't excitement, not exactly. More like a tightening in his chest, a sharpening of focus.
He was a tool, an instrument of something larger than himself. And he played his part with cold efficiency. He checked the address, memorizing the route.
He gathered his supplies, a small bag containing the tools of his dark craft. A knife, meticulously sharpened. Gloves, to leave no trace.
As darkness deepened, Johann moved out into the city once more. The rain had stopped, but the streets were still slick and glistening.
He walked with purpose, his senses on high alert. He reached the address, a secluded house in a quiet residential area. Lights were on in the living room, casting warm glows onto the lawn.
He circled the house, assessing, observing. He found a weak point, an unlocked window at the back. Silently, he slid it open, slipping inside.
The house was quiet, almost unnaturally so. He moved through the shadows, his footsteps soundless on the carpet. He could hear the faint murmur of a television from the living room.
He approached the room, pausing at the doorway. Henrik sat in an armchair, engrossed in the television. He was an older man, balding, slightly overweight.
Unassuming. Another ordinary life, about to be extinguished. Johann drew the knife, the steel glinting faintly in the dim light.
He moved quickly, silently. Henrik didn't even have time to react. One moment he was watching television, the next, a shadow had fallen over him, a cold steel blade at his throat. The struggle was brief, pathetic.
Henrik's eyes widened in terror, his hands clawing weakly at Johann's arm. A gurgling sound, a final shudder, and then silence.
Johann stood over the body, the knife dripping crimson onto the carpet. He felt nothing. No remorse, no satisfaction. Just the same hollow emptiness, the same cold void. He cleaned the knife, wiping it meticulously.
He moved through the house, erasing any trace of his presence. He was practiced, efficient. A ghost in the machine.
Leaving the house, he melted back into the night. The city was quiet now, the streets mostly deserted. He walked back to his apartment, the image of Henrik's terrified face already fading in his memory. Another name crossed off the list. Another service rendered. Another step deeper into the darkness.
Back in his apartment, he washed his hands, scrubbing them raw. He couldn't wash away the stain, though. It was inside him now, a part of him. He was a murderer.
A tool of the demon. And there was no escape. He knew, deep down, that this path led only to destruction. But he was trapped, bound by the pact, by the darkness he had embraced.
He sat on his bed, staring blankly at the wall. The whispers started again, soft at first, then growing louder, more insistent.
Demands, promises, threats. The demon was never satisfied. It always wanted more. And Johann, its willing servant, would keep providing. Until there was nothing left to give.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Johann continued his studies, maintaining a façade of normalcy. He went to classes, interacted with other students, even managed to force a smile occasionally.
But underneath the surface, the darkness was growing, consuming him. The demon's demands were becoming more frequent, more elaborate. The targets were no longer random. They were becoming… personal.
One night, the message came, chillingly simple: "Your sister."
Johann froze, his blood turning to ice. His sister, Ingrid. His only family, the one person he still cared about, the last vestige of light in his shadowed existence.
He stared at the message, his mind reeling. This couldn't be happening. The demon couldn't ask this of him.
He tried to refuse, to argue, to plead. But the whispers turned into screams, a cacophony of rage and menace that threatened to shatter his sanity. The demon reminded him of the pact, of the price he had agreed to pay. Unconditional obedience. Everything, for power. And now, it was calling in its due.
Despair washed over him, a crushing wave of hopelessness. He was trapped. There was no way out. He could refuse, but he knew what would happen.
The demon would make his life a living hell, would torment him, would destroy everything he held dear. And in the end, it would still get what it wanted.
He thought of Ingrid. Her bright smile, her infectious laugh. He remembered childhood summers spent playing by the fjord, their bond unbreakable.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill her. But the demon's voice echoed in his head, relentless, inescapable. He was torn apart, caught between two impossible choices.
He tried to warn Ingrid, to tell her to leave, to go somewhere safe. But she didn't understand. She thought he was being paranoid, stressed about exams.
She brushed it off, reassuring him, telling him everything would be alright. Her naivety was a knife twist in his gut.
The day arrived, the day the demon had specified. Johann was numb, hollowed out. He went through the motions, a puppet on strings.
He knew what he had to do, but his soul recoiled at the thought. He went to Ingrid's apartment, his heart a leaden weight in his chest.
She was happy to see him, unsuspecting. She made coffee, they talked about her studies, about her plans for the future.
Every word she spoke was like a shard of glass, piercing him. He watched her, memorizing her face, her voice, every detail. Knowing it would be the last time.
The moment came. A shift in the atmosphere, a sudden coldness that had nothing to do with the weather. The demon was here, watching, waiting.
Johann knew he had to act. He stood up, his hands trembling. Ingrid looked at him, her brow furrowed with concern. "Johann, what's wrong?"
He couldn't speak. Words choked in his throat. He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the cold steel of the knife. Ingrid's eyes widened as she saw it. Terror dawned in her face, replacing the concern. She understood, finally. But it was too late.
He lunged, driven by a force not his own. The knife flashed in the air, a silver streak of death. Ingrid screamed, a sound that tore through him, but it was swallowed by the silence of the apartment. He watched her fall, her eyes wide with betrayal and pain. Her lifeblood staining the carpet.
He stood over her body, the knife falling from his numb fingers. This time, the hollowness was different. It wasn't just emptiness. It was a gaping void, a black hole that threatened to consume him entirely. Guilt, remorse, pain – they flooded him, overwhelming, unbearable. He had killed his sister. For nothing. For a demon's whim.
The demon's voice echoed in his mind, cold and mocking. "Good. You have proven your loyalty."
Loyalty? To what? To this monstrous entity that had destroyed his life, taken everything from him? He looked down at Ingrid's lifeless face, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had made a pact with the devil, and the devil had collected his due in the most brutal, most heartbreaking way imaginable.
Johann sank to his knees beside Ingrid's body, his sobs wracking his frame. He had power, yes. He was untouchable, deadly.
But he was also utterly, irrevocably alone. He had traded his soul, his humanity, for a hollow victory. And now, he was left with nothing but ashes and despair. The demon had won.
And Johann, the murderer, the demon's servant, had lost everything that ever truly mattered. His existence stretched before him, an unending expanse of cold, desolate darkness, where even the whispers of the demon offered no solace, only the echoing screams of his sister and the gnawing emptiness in his heart.
This was his eternity, a brutal, lonely hell of his own making.