Septic Ego Oneshots

I need to purge my urges.

warning for gore attempts/technically self harm

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The demon could feel it, that ingraspable and invasive feeling, breaching his thoughts. The normal flow of conscious as that knife becomes so much more tempting. More enticing and favorable.

After all, why shouldn't he put his skills to use?

Sharpen his mind and coordination as well. Muscles need to be used, otherwise they crumble and deteriorate. Withering away and rotting underneath the veil of flesh and structure of bone. Sagging the insides and clotting the bloodstream until it fills and spills out through the holes of your skin.

The knife would make it so much better. One could delicately carve into the muscle, craft a deliberate masterpiece of insides, gushing forth the praise and a higher state of mind to properly admire one's work. That lighteheadedness is just what he needs to appreciate what he can do.

He doesn't praise himself like he used to. He should change that. All he has are the scars, the reminders of what he could do. Why did he stop? No, that's not right. He never stopped, no one saw it. This is coming. This is what he was doing all that time and they were blind, or unwilling. They didn't want to believe that this is what their beloved would be indulging in. Of course not.

So with that heavy breath, bracing for pleasure, Anti started to dig the knife into his thigh. The perfect viewing spot and blood source, a pool for his pen to ink up from. The faint yet thickest of groans escapes his throat, a whisper to the room and not registered to the rest of the house. It's better that way.

A grin tugged at his cheeks, showing his teeth to no one, but that's alright, you can see it.

Pain and a surge of confirmation washed through his thoughts. This is the right thing to do, this is his canvas anyways. Use it. He drove the knife deeper, splitting muscle and tendon, slicing the aorta that so nicely fit inside. He wanted it to show to the outside now, don't be shy.

Gasping, pleased and pained, he continued. Parallel to the bone, he scraped it with the side of the blade and went through to the other side, delighting in the sound of his flesh squelching and dripping from the knifes point.

This is good, good. Soothe the feelings and then we can move on.

He fondled the blade, soft and not entirely focused on doing that action completely. Just to make his insides twitch and shred the muscles further with every shift of the edge. Soft and whimper like noises started to more freely leave his body. He was enjoying this, let me assure you. Even if it was punishment.

A small pool of blood formed under his thigh and bottom, staining the bed beneath him and his shorts. He sighed after a moment and then slowly dragged the knife out, time to spill the blood of others.

Who knows what he'd do.. I do.

I'll tell you.

He'll go to the victim, grab their head by the cheek at first, rough and demanding despite the otherwise gentle placement. The knife will find its spot at the other cheek, poking the victims eye. And as the eyelid flutters and the person fights to escape the hold the knife point will only poke further, but not in the way I believe you think it will.

No, the blade will go below and along the eye shape, acting as a demented scooper. A spoon of sorts. But it won't be scooping. This is just for the blood spill and excess amount of bodily fluids. He wants to see the human body's insides exposed and raw, vulnerable. And that will be his course of action. For the first part of course.