prologue

Red. Red everywhere. Mayhem's head pounded viciously, as if it would explode the moment he took his next breath. He lay like a discarded rag doll on the floor, shattered glass tearing into his tissues and bones. He wanted to scream; he would have already if his larynx did not feel like it would crumble into small particles. His blurry vision searched around the room, for something, for anything, but only met with lifeless, pale bodies—some had faces , some only melting mass of muscle and skin.

" Oh, the little cunt still breathes! " a maniac voice rings across the room. A masked man made his way towards mayhem, stepping on those corpses like they were never human, never breathed. Dread settled inside mayhem's gut, and something foreign clenched his heart—mayhem wanted to live; he desperately wanted to live.

The masked man was tall, extremely tall, like the grim reaper in those children's book. Ironically, Mayhem's blurry vision turned sharp. The man's calloused hands held two things : a bottle of hydrochloric acid and a chainsaw.

" Aww! The pampered little cunt has ouchies? Want mommy to scold the big bad wolves? " The man cooed,voice sickeningly sweet,in a faux concern as he knelt down before him.

The man had eerie blue eyes, ones that can freeze your blood at single glance.

His face broke into a terrifying, ugly smirk.

" Oh, darling, aren't you a pretty sight! Bloody, bruised and incapable of putting up a fight; exactly my type, " The man said, to mayhem's absolute horror, looking like a gleeful child who has just been given his first candy.

" But what terrible luck I have! You're not mine to have," The man continued in a performative voice, " Your fate will be decided by your lord. Your god. Your death."

Mayhem watched with terror as the man took out a phone from his pocket, eyes never leaving his. He dialed a number.

Is he calling my death? Mayhem thought.

The masked man bowed as a voice answered from the other side of the phone.

A master. He had a master— to whom he bowed.

" The boy lies in front of me, sir. Your words are my order, " The man said.

Then, a clearer voice spoke, words that Mayhem was going to carry within his very bones. For the rest of his life— " Let him live . let his body remain as a souvenir for others to witness, for others to remember. Let him be the shoulder for his father's widow. A clan needs a man, after all. "