3 Blood Bath
The sun had already set when Vrishankh returned back to the village.
His body was covered with fresh blood, and he had turned into a fifteen year old boy again. He carried a dead, bleeding wolf over his left shoulder, and a blood stained sword in his right hand. His face still had the lust of blood written all over it.
The boy smiled devilishly, as he retraced his steps back to the village.
A few villagers who had been working in the fields, saw the boy approach.
It wasn't unusual for them to see Vrishankh carry home dead animals almost twice his size. That was what had scared them of the boy for the first time – he had killed a tiger with his bare hands when he was only eight years old.
He was ignored by the villagers mostly, some of them afraid at the sheer sight of him. They still had not got used to this demonic guy. And they never understood why Chief Shankh was so fond of the evil being or insisted on keeping him in the village.
However, they couldn't argue.
Vrishankh walked back to his own hut.
Chief Shankh, who had been engrossed in reading a book, gave a close look to him as he entered the house. The old man sighed at the sight, and then shrugged.
"I've told you not to go overboard," he said resignedly, "Why do you insist on making a show?"
Vrishankh had malice in his eyes.
He grinned at the old fool, blood still dripping from his scarred cheek and lips.
"Stupid… mortals." He snickered curtly.
Then, he went into the far end of the house, to the only room built across the courtyard.
He shut the door from inside.
The room was dark, with no windows, and no lamps. A faint streak of light fell inside from a gap in the bricks of the wall. It was enough for Vrishankh to throw the wolf to the ground and be able to see its pathetic, limp body.
The boy put his bare foot on the creature's neck, and pressed hard, until a low moan echoed through the room.
The wolf wasn't dead.
Seconds later, it had turned into a man who lay crippled under the boy's foot.
Vrishankh's eyes gleamed, but when the man's face came into his picture, he lost all pleasure. His face turned mirthless and cold, blackening to the point of anger.
His expression was evil.
"Valhati."
His words were quiet too, and in one swift stroke, he had severed the man's head. He then turned around and walked out of the room.
Behind him, a bright light engulfed the entire place, seconds later, the man's body was ripped apart into a thousand pieces. Blood splashed on the walls, and a piercing scream echoed through the eve, and then died down.
Vrishankh looked back.
The body had disappeared. Chunks of it lay all over the place, which displeased him. But when he saw the walls painted with blood, a few skulls that were battered into bricks and his own pile of skins of all kinds of creatures kept in a corner, he smirked.
He liked this room. In all of this planet, it was the only place he liked.
It resembled his hometown, which was a bloodbath. A carnage of sorts.
Vrishankh laughed.
