The Dark Divine - A Tale Of Evil

Harvest Of Blood

Luigi stared helplessly at the unconscious toad in his arms.
He carried them into the guest room without even thinking, looking over the two rotting corpses already there. He let go of the toad, who hit the ground with a slam.
He winced at the sound.
He took the knife from his pocket, staring into the blade.
Shadow seemed to move around in his reflection, but how real the shadows were was unknown to him.
He looked back at the toad.
He didn't want to do this.
He didn't have a choice.
Luigi collected a few blood bags and kneeled next to the unconscious body. Carefully, he opened the bag, and sliced the toad's wrist open.
Positioning the bag, he tried filling the bag.
Some blood missed the mark, dribbling onto the floor.
Luigi wanted to pull away, stop this.
He wanted to cry, but the force making a puppet of him forced him not to.
And so, the tears and sobs he was forced to hold back choked him.
Whenever one cut stopped bleeding, he cut the toad open elsewhere, as if he was trying again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Eventually, he had resorted to trying to wring them dry of blood.
After some time, the toad wouldn't yield any more blood.
He collected the bags he had filled and left, internally devastated, but outwardly emotionless.
Setting his... equipment... on the kitchen table, he sat down.
He stared off into nowhereness.
Luigi hated himself. He couldn't believe he had weighed his options and still put himself in this inescapable position.
He feared that the Chaos Heart's promise to let him see his brother again was going to go horrendously wrong.
How would Mario feel knowing he became a murderer?
Would he figure out the situation and understand?
He hoped so.
He knew there was no being saved, but if anything, he at least wanted his plight to be understood.
But now what? Was he doomed to a cycle of waiting for people to draw near?
Was he going to be forced to lie in wait for lambs to lead themselves to their slaughter at the mouth of the wolf's den?
That's how it seemed.
And, unfortunately, he had to just submit to this grim fate.
He glanced at the counter he left the homemade chloroform.
If he's held to a fate of stalking and killing unaware sheep, then what choice is there?
No matter how much it hurts, may the Heart guide him.