It teeters on the edge of reason and impulse, swayed by emotions as fleeting as a whisper and as volatile as a storm.
One moment, it clings to rationality, a careful construct of logic and morality; the next, it plunges into chaos, driven by desires, fears, and instincts that defy understanding.
Human nature, in its fickleness, holds both its beauty and its danger—a force so vast and capricious that it can build worlds, or better yet tear them down in a single, unthinking moment.
I experienced that moment.
The first crunch echoed in my ears, sharp and satisfying, the unmistakable crack of bone beneath my fist. He staggered back, his wide-eyed shock almost comical if not for the blood that spilled from his split lip, dribbling down his chin. He hadn't expected it—none of them ever did.
And the thought of it, excited me.
Rage surged through me like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought, leaving only the primal need to strike, to hurt, to destroy.
My knuckles collided with his jaw, then his cheek, each impact resonating through my body like a release of something dark and festering that had been building for far too long. Again and again, I swung, the rhythmic thud of fist meeting flesh fueling me, pushing me further, until he crumpled to the ground beneath me. His face was a grotesque mosaic of swollen flesh, dark bruises blooming under my relentless assault.
Each blow felt like a dam breaking inside me, the pent-up fury pouring out in raw, unrestrained waves. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. All I knew was that this unrelenting, unbinding rage had been boiling in me for what felt like an eternity, simmering under the surface, until finally—I snapped.
My breaths came fast and shallow, my hands trembled, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails bit into my palms, drawing thin, stinging lines of blood. But the pain was insignificant, a faint echo drowned out by the roaring tempest within me.
