A Broken Mind {OHSHC}
- Reads 121
- Votes 5
- Parts 2
Ongoing7m
Last published Wed, Dec 21, 2016
People know him...
But..
People don't know him...
"This is, Bryan Davis, on channel 4 news. Saturday, last night it has been reported that Anastasia and William Rehpic -the famous scientists- have been murdered. The culprit still not found. Including their second youngest child. Police have been searching the city for the other two children, but have found nothing. Please be on the lookout for a 5 year old girl-"
A picture of a long black haired and green eyed girl appeared on the screen. She was smiling and giving the peace sign.
She had a white lab coat and a purple turtle neck underneath. She also had black jeans, and a gold heart shaped locket around her neck.
"-named Elizabeth. And their oldest son -who was -or now is- the heir to the company laboratory, 10 year old Dominic."
A picture of a black haired and blue eyed muscular boy was on the screen. He was also wearing a lab coat, and had a black collar shirt and a white vest. He was also supporting black jeans. Over his crystal blue eyes he has small rectangular glasses.
The pictured disappeared and the screen was focused on the reporter.
"If you fond them please call the police department. Where ever you two are, we hope that you are okay and well. Back to Steve Johns for the weather."
The two kids in the room stared at each other in fear. They looked exactly like the kids in the picture.
A sickening cackle filled the room.
5 years later... With no sign of the two kids... They were pronounced 'Dead'... But they are not dead... One of the two is just a little...
'Mind Broken.'
All Rights Reserved
#262
ohshc
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The world does not know pain. Not yet. The stars hang too peacefully in the sky, the air is too clean, and the people-they breathe too easily. They laugh, they love, they dream. They do not know what true suffering is. Max Morbarius will teach them. He was once a man. Once fragile, once weak, once breakable. But pain reshaped him. They tore him apart. They drowned him in agony. They thought death would claim him. They were wrong. Something ancient whispered to him from the abyss. Something hungry. Something that found his agony... beautiful. It did not offer salvation. It did not grant peace. It tore his soul from his corpse and stitched it into something monstrous. Now, he does not kill for justice. He does not kill for revenge. He kills because it makes the world scream. He moves like a shadow through the night, his presence an infection, a creeping plague of fear. He does not just slaughter his enemies-he peels them apart, nerve by nerve, bone by bone. He drinks their suffering, paints the walls with their entrails, carves their sins into their skulls. Their agony is his masterpiece. Their blood is his baptism. But he is not the worst thing that crawls from the dark. There are others. Things lurking beyond human understanding. Eldritch horrors with endless mouths, gods that demand rivers of suffering, nightmares that fester and grow in the rot of his carnage. And they whisper to him. They watch him carve, rip, and mutilate. They want more. They are waiting for him to unleash his true form, to let go of what little remains of his soul, to become the thing they always knew he could be. The Red King of Ruin. The Harbinger of the Fleshstorm. The Father of Agony. And when he finally lets the madness consume him... The world will not be reduced to ashes. It will drown in an ocean of screaming, writhing, bleeding flesh. Because death is not the end. It is only the beginning.
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