I turned around and walked onto the stage.
My eyes found Jerry—the actor playing the villain who had supposedly hired my character to kill the main leads. He began reciting his lines, completely unaware of what was coming.
I slowly reached for the twin swords that had once belonged to my mother. The real ones.
Jerry's eyes flicked to the blades, confusion flashing across his face.
"Hey, little rat," he whispered through gritted teeth. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to draw those. And... why are you using real swords? The props are back in the dressing room."
He took a few hesitant steps back.
Too late.
The crowd gasped. Then came the screams.
Jerry's head flew through the air, a graceful arc of crimson following behind it. Blood splattered across the stage like twisted confetti. His body crumpled before anyone could fully process what happened.
Panic exploded in the theater.
People screamed and ran for the exits—only to find the doors chained shut from the outside. They pounded and clawed, trapped like pathetic little mice.
I turned to the director. He was standing frozen offstage, his face pale with shock.
I stepped toward him slowly. He opened his mouth, his voice trembling.
"Why did you kill Jerry?"
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly.
"Revenge."
My tone was cheerful. Almost musical.
"You can't just kill someone for revenge," he said, trying desperately to reason with me, to save his own worthless skin.
I giggled softly.
"Seems like I can, dear director."
"Revenge will only bring you pain. Just put down your sword," he pleaded, voice shaking.
I looked at him, then at the blood-soaked blades in my hands.
"Revenge doesn't cause pain," I said softly.
Not when it feels this good.
He shook his head.
"But it doesn't heal either."
I laughed. Loud.
Was it because he was right?
Or because the truth made me angry?
I walked toward him slowly, each step deliberate. He backed away—one step, two—then turned to run.
A flash of silver, and his head landed on the stage floor.
Just like I'd imagined.
I turned to the audience—those pathetic little humans huddled near the doors, screaming, crying, begging. I jumped down from the stage and began walking toward them.
One by one, I silenced them.
Until the windows of the door were painted red.
Chapter 2
Back to the Present
When I landed, I didn't feel pain. Which was strange.
Then I looked down.
A corpse cushioned my fall. A man—eyes wide, mouth slightly open, already long gone.
I raised my head and came face-to-face with someone towering over me. A tall man in armor, a massive sword strapped to his back. His presence was overwhelming, almost inhuman.
Behind him stood several others, all in armor as well, though theirs were different—lighter, more tactical.
"Who are you?" I asked, staring up at the tall one.
He smirked.
"I should be asking you that. You do realize you're sitting on a corpse, right?" he asked, mockingly.
I smiled lazily.
"Haha, and why should I explain myself to you? Who do you think you are?" I asked with the same mocking tone.
His expression darkened.
"Are you playing stupid?"
I smirked.
No. I just enjoy watching you get frustrated.
To be continued...