Chapter 60
Varinka took a shower, and after a few minutes, a knock was heard. She walked toward the door and opened it. The guard and the person informing her were standing in front of the door holding the brand new clothing as they saw what was behind her—the three dead male young models dead and they were covered in blood, while Varinka was also naked and waiting for her clothes to be given to her.
"What! Haven't you seen a naked woman before?"
"That's not it, ma'am; we are concerned about the dead bodies in your room."
"This is your first time seeing dead bodies; come on guys , you are in the wrong line of work!"
"What should we do with the bodies?"
"Chop them, dump them in the ocean, burn them; I really don't care!"
"Do what you guys do when Victor disposes of dead bodies."
" noted, ma'am!"
"Hand me my clothes and the keys to the car."
Varinka slid seamlessly back into her world, a façade of normalcy draped over her like the crisp fabric of her clothes. She barely registered the chill of the white tile in her bathroom as she dressed; the stark contrast between her mundane routine and the sinister task looming outside her door barely touched the edges of her consciousness.
When she emerged into the dimly lit hallway, the air was thick with the unspoken. Her family had hired discreet hands to handle what was left of those who had unwittingly crossed her path. It was a lesson, she thought, about the consequences of underestimating someone like her. With a confident stride, she approached the private elevator, a sanctuary from the chaos just beyond her reach.
Descending into the underground parking lot, Varinka activated the remote for her sleek, red luxury electric car with a flick of her wrist. The car responded with a soft hum, as if acknowledging her presence, ready to carry her towards the familiar thrill awaiting her.
The unexpected vibrancy of the car's color matched the pulse of exhilaration coursing through her; she was not one to be dulled by the conventions of society. Buckling herself in, a grin spread across her face at the thought of returning to that dark location where she had felt the intoxicating surge of bloodlust—the raw, primal sense of power that sang to her soul.
For Varinka, her abilities set her apart in a world that demanded conformity, yet they were the very essence of her identity. She embraced the label of "psychopath"; it fit like a tailored suit, snug and comforting among the chaos of her life.
In those moments woven with death, she discovered a clarity and joy that eclipsed any semblance of fear or doubt. As the city blurred by, she relished the metallic tang of blood still hanging in her nostrils, the haunting echo of the fear she incited now more tangible than ever. Gripping the steering wheel, she acknowledged the seductive pull of the darkness enveloping her—her fate was entwined with the very forces that haunted others, and that realization only deepened her allure to the abyss.
Ethan was fast asleep, not knowing the danger was about to step into the warehouse. Unlike Varinka or any other person, most of them with mental conditions are haunted by the faces they killed , and because they lack any remorse, the voice in their heads was keeping them awake at night; some were documented as whispers, some were screams of suffering and pain. But unlike them, Ethan could sleep soundly. In his mind, he killed those who were meant and deserved to die.
It was a very simple reasoning, a logical approach: death is not evil; the act of doing evil was the issue, so redemption is not the answer. Because these people never change. So the final answer was death itself.
There is no medicine, treatment, operation , religion, or therapy that could cure them of their evil deeds. Ethan believed he was doing the world a favor by eliminating those who were beyond redemption. And as he closed his eyes each night, he found peace in knowing that he was ridding the world of true evil.
At the same time as the sun sets down and the cascading shadows are finally emerging, Ethan's unconscious body was relaxed enough that his aura was again pour forth out of his sleeping body. Many creatures of the night smelled this, and quickly ran away; some weaker creatures instantly died, and like acid on their skin, they all melted from his killing intent.
Some Ability users could sense this, but the feeling of dread wasn't as overwhelming as the rest, who were much stronger than the rest, but Varinka was different; she was still a few hundred meters away. She could already see the red mist hovering about the warehouse; she was already trembling in delight.
Her car just passed the second apartment building, where a young boy was watching out the window, the same young boy who was on the roof top. He saw Varinka car passing by, and her smell was like his; while the old pale man was also watching across the street and also smelled it, but it was not that unbearable compared to what was coming out of the warehouse. The smell of death was overpowering; this was the very reason the old pale man kept watch at the house where Carnivale was currently residing and pretending to be a ten year old boy.
The young boy waved at the old pale man; he was smiling and spoke a few sentences that made the pale old man shiver in dread.
"That's one hell of a bloodlust; it might be one of the six authors of all calamities! Aren't you curious, my dear brother?"
The pale old man was hesitating, but he couldn't afford to move , leaving Carnivale unchecked. but he needed to find out the truth behind the boy's unsettling words before it was too late. The old man steeled himself and followed his instinct and just risk it all , as he decide to go toward the warehouse, determined to uncover the dark secret hidden within.
while Carnivale just smiled and wave goodbye to the old pale man,
"son , who are you waving at?"
"oh, its you mother, I was just waving goodbye to the old beggar, right across our the street,"
"ok, we are about to have dinner, son prepare to go downstairs , "
"alright , mother."