Save me- PTX / Kavi fanfiction

Chapter 8

Those are bits from Avi's past.Nobody of the band knows about those.
And because they are memories they won't be in a chronological order.
Attention: Trigger warning!

I stared at my hands and lifted them into the dim light. The red colour shimmered beautifully on them. Single drops followed my veins down to my arms and chest. The liquid was still warm.
I smiled to myself.
'Well done, Avriel' The voice in my head whispered.
I took a look at my work.
Three women laid on the ground to my right and four men in front of me. They were so easy to play the game with. I sighed satisfied. 'Oh they could've lived longer if they had only listened to me' I kneeled down in front of a blond woman. My eyes roamed over her blood stained body and stopped at her heart. The arrow was still sticking inside of her.
I slowly traced my finger over her cheek and down to her chest.
'Sorry...' I ripped out the arrow
'..but now that you won't need it anymore I'll take it back.'
I started laughing and made my way into the darkness.

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It was three weeks ago when they kidnapped me from my class.
I went through a lot in this time.
I was beaten, shocked with electronic devices and yelled at. And I mean.. a lot.
I started to hear a voice in my head getting louder and louder with each passing day. It was nearly unbearable. I started to ask myself many questions. Why me? Why now? For which purpose?
And like I've expected they remained unanswered.

One day I was thrown inside an unknown room. Inside was only a wooden chair with shakles attached on it. As soon as I was sitting down I feared what was coming. I would either be beaten again or something new would happen. Luckily I was not beaten this time.
I sighed in relief and my body relaxed..but oh was I naive. As I was strapped on the chair I heard the noise of a tattoo machine and not even a second later I was screaming in pain while the soldier wrote a number and a word on my upper arm.
0437 Khūnī
That was even more painful than anything else because I knew that this would follow me whenever I tried to escape the past. I'd look in the mirror and see the monster I would become which I did not know by the time I got it.

From that day on everything went downhill and I wandered through the flaming gates of hell.

Khūnī meant murderer in Gujarati.

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Fine lines. Red. Thin. Beautiful.
They took away the pain I felt.
Every cut was unique. All together they formed a piece of art... a dark and horrible art.
Every cut belonged to a person.
For each life that I've taken, voluntarily or not, I took my little knife and moved it along my arm.
That was my way to keep a little bit of my humanity with me.
Because being human meant being mortal. And being mortal meant being able to feel.
Pain was the only thing left for me. I wanted to make sure that I was still on earth.. amongs the living while surrounding myself with death. Khūnī they called us. We were eight but I found out that I was the strongest one. And soon I was given the nickname Kilara nētā.
Leader of the muderers.

That sudden power was something I started to enjoy and it frightened me. It didn't matter how hard I tried to escape my faith as bad person.. as murderer.. but my head ordered me to keep going.

And so...I did.

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They never told us what our purpose in this living hell was. They only seemed to enjoy seeing us in pain while we lost our minds. I felt every single emotion of the others.
Pain, regret, anger, fear.
The commander did that for his own pleasure. It was 'a funny thing to watch'. He made me sick. Everyday I would see more and more people being shot and slaughtered right in front of my eyes. And for what?! So that a soulless bastard could laugh and enjoy everything while he was still alive. I grabbed my things and went to my cell.