[Mr. D]

With a thud, Rebecca's limp body hit the ground with no objects obstructing her free fall. Like a free partridge, he rose gracefully and fell from grace.

His face still full of surprise, contrasting with his previous one of shame.

And, from the long duration of evolution that faced the ages, numerous animals developed different mechanisms; motivated by defense, adaptation or emotions. The ostrich, who does not insert, but does crouch; the wildebeest, sharing the vicissitudes, protecting itself from predators; or the turtle, a long-lived creature, capable of adapting.

But it was Rebecca, who fell without vital signs, because of her familiarity with pride and non-returnable honor...

The noise reverberated through the walls, spreading limitedly, but remaining as a guest in the ears of some and in the hearts of others; as if it were a scream embodying bitterness, a piercing scream, without differentiating flesh or feelings, proceeding without soothing or arbitrarily.

It didn't take long for the emotions to express themselves quickly, blurring into reactions that took their identity, horror and disbelief.

Affecting in a blunt way, without neglecting the guests present and even Frederick himself, the perpetrator.

The slow music ended, the wine expired; without becoming stale or valued.

Many of those present reacted with disbelief. Influential figures abroad, who currently could not raise their voices, much less tactfully handle the cup in their hands; across the river, towards the gray and flowered abode.

But to the dismay, there were those who only kept a shaft of indifference floating in their beady, crow's-footed eyes.

The only one who did not participate in the play was Frederick, the supposed puppeteer. Who only found himself staring at his hand; for which he tried to find himself, but he did not succeed. Being the only memory that remained and acted as comfort, the gentle touch that her cousin granted her in her last breath.

On his face a tent was woven and stretched, an indescribable emotion that slowly disfigured his beautiful face; a fact that was not represented in his eyes, which remained violent as lightning, but without any spark.

Indescribable emotions wove and spread through the crowd, but shock still claimed and remained reigning in the small space; until it stopped abruptly, with a burly figure falling on its back.

Who enjoyed privileged gifts, great muscles and height: the unmistakable Darick. Who acted like a flame in closed spaces, his natural white hair being the match; now he did it for his shameless act of imitating the artistic gifts of his beloved sister.

Who even in their death or despair, revealed their education.

Her will had been extinguished, as if she had been eaten away by a ghostly hyena. His actions completely freed him from any consciousness, without being able to close his eyes or his mouth. His attention had instinctively focused on his sister's lifeless body.

But his fall caused another reverberating noise, acting as a knife without filial piety, destroying the confusion and surprise that delayed the thought of peers, female or male. Who, like forgotten puppets, began to move, without a visible destination or a logical sense; The panic was palpable on their faces, given the ignorance of their unknown situation; as if it adhered and impregnated their skin, whether ugly or beautiful.

There were those who could act with logic and inherent coldness, but they were quickly overshadowed by the mass effect.

Without a doubt, human nature would determine the beginning and the end, but... The rigorously developed wills were determined from beginning to end, from the Superior.

But as if it were a circus, which would approach its show under a tragicomic banner, with ups and downs and twists, the unexpected and illogical happened.

Those who were recovering from their initial shock and confusion instantly found themselves involved again, as if they were guided to participate in a game.

And Frederick, who was observing his ceremonial dagger with suspicion and familiarity, suddenly and without warning, gathered it forcefully in the direction of... His own body. With an accurate sharp blow, he injured himself between screams of surprise and disbelief, between his two pectorals.

The skin quickly split open, unable to obstruct the sharp weapon for even a second, the flesh being torn apart in just one breath. A wound of considerable size opened, the blood being the first to flee; but not in spurts, due to the dagger still embedded.

The only sound that prevailed over the room, not counting breathing, was the silence caused by the small red flow.

"Oh, humble me"

"I summoned you to this mundane plane"

"Soiled, he cried out for future restoration"

"Of his seed and creation, unknown but present, without tail or head"¹

"Without dirt, glitter or alternation. They carry great power as well as goodness, which is why I cry out to the sky today, as witnesses the Sun and the Human"

And so, it ended... Suddenly, as if the waters of the underworld itself gushed to the outer crust and the vapor of the clouds became a divine substance, there was silence, provoked in an unnatural and anticlimactic manner.

Phenomena typical of the devoted cry of a prophet began to occur abroad. The sun was hidden by the vigorous clouds, the temperature regulated and the wind rose from all four directions.

It was upon the magnificent construction that an out-of-the-world aura was created with commendable skills.

If Homer were present and recorded it, history would rejoice in the adventure of one more hero.

The innumerable unusual changes did not happen only with respect to the climate, the expressions of those present and the new holy environment; but rather, it was noted physically, when twenty-two enigmatic non-material figures were erected behind the sacrificed lamb.

Unique and incomparable, ethereal and illusory, maintaining independent particularities.

The lamb was Frederick; who endured it without changing his expression. He was aware of the changes he would attract and was willing to bear them.

The immaterial figures, even in their immobile state, transmitted a lonely sensation, impregnated with a hint of loneliness; Even so, when one observes them, one would conceive the idea of embracing the world or educating all sentient beings.

Until they extended a bright and ethereal light from between their eyebrows, the target being: Frederick.

The energy contained was powerful and commendable, nourishing his body in mysterious ways. It was at that moment, that he transcended his humble state of life, momentarily transporting him to a state of indifference to the six emotions and desires.

When its ethereal transformation ended, outside the winds concentrated in an unnatural way, closing windows and doors as if by supernatural work.

It was this violent intervention that finally brought the public observing the events out of their stupor. A deep complexity was woven into their faces, which could not be explained in words... But reality was in front of their eyes; Those who will not accept it would turn out to be fools.

But, surreally, acting like a bucket of cold water, a plaintive and painful cry was heard. It turned out that an individual among those present pinched his companion next to him to check if it was a dream...

In such a situation, there was no room for thoughts. Frederick acted quickly and decisively, approaching a small crowd that had formed in giant strides.

But such parties could not be approached by ordinary people, identity being an important factor; Therefore, it was not unusual for there to be heroic and equally decisive personalities.

With the survival instinct breathing like a drowned beast in the back of the neck, two figures lunged at the incoming Frederick. In their hands they held two different objects tightly, which they had assimilated as weapons based on their experience.

But what addressed the situation were two dull, shocking noises: the two men who had bravely advanced, lay limp on the cold ground, suffering from epilepsy and leaking strange fluids that were never recorded.

Faced with these horrific facts, Frederick's expression did not change at all; as if he were the foresight of the scene.

He quickly passed and ignored the two men who were suffering out of their minds. Instead, he turned his attention to another figure in the crowd.

He was a senile old man, bent over and with extreme wrinkles, which deformed his face into a horrible one. The only sick thing about him was not just his outward appearance; but also, their eyes did not contain enough space to share collective emotions, instead, an uncontrollable desire and a sick lust danced in a predestined evening.

With the speed to blow out a candle as they passed, they quickly came face to face... Which earned the old man a smile, showing off his old, yellowish teeth.

"Little ones, be quiet, don't argue. When you face your elders, you must show your pretty boy side... You can't hurt me, I was the one who showed you the seven hills through Rome."

"Hahahahahaha."

But beyond his expectations embodied in madness, he received a direct blow to his stomach. Direct and without phrases, which instantly returned him to his senile reality: as if it were the act of a child playing with plasticine, it sank without obstructions into the pit of his stomach, causing him to violently exhale all the oxygen in his stomach. lungs.

Staggering and spitting saliva everywhere, he fell to his knees in a submissive position.

From this, he began to cough in such a way, as if it were the emergence of a chronic illness. Faster than slow, the saliva mixed with his blood, as his internal organs had changed shape...

With his rationality obscured by his madness, he was only left to do the object of his will, struggling to breathe; failing miserably, recreating a pitiful scene.

Finally like the benevolent resignation of a creative being, his pain ended... Because of a boot on his face: his spine immediately broke into pieces as well as his head, scattered in pieces of foul-smelling flesh and blood.

The smooth surface of his boot gained extra grease beyond its leather; from the blood, brain matter and fat impregnated in the now soil.

With the completion of the act, there was no excitement or excessive change in Frederick's will.

His vision was no longer obscured by concepts such as the present, past and future. He had gained an epitome of mental clarity, which he rarely experienced in his tormented life.

Whether it was the past of observing worse macabre scenes due to the actions of his relative, Darreck Apolus, whom he had murdered in cold blood a moment ago.

Or the sin of his present, equating his actions with the family past.

Even if the future is black, like a wolf's mouth...

Finally his gaze moved over the rest of the guests. His destiny had been marked, decided from the beginning...

Splash, splash.

Liquid noise. Like a child jumping over dirty puddles of muddy stagnant water or Frederick walking through a bloody mess.

Different bodies were found lifeless in the extensive space that made up the living room. He had murdered all of them in different grotesque ways, except one, whom he had not yet identified.

The game of birth, life and death, horn or halo... One of the two would prevail at the end of the day, for entertainment.

Darick was hiding in a dark corner, far from his cousin. In fear, he treasured his life with great recklessness because of the monster who "the seeker" had become.

A butchering monster, with superhuman strength and abysmal indifference, ending the lives of all the "esteemed" guests.

He watched their actions with attention and fear, with a survival instinct prevailing over everything. Until she saw how he ripped off a decorative upholstered moose, and with a sudden movement threw it... She couldn't see any more.

Frederick found himself going upstairs, in a dirty mess, due to the blood and grease stuck to his clothes. But this did not cause him any concern; On the other hand, his skin and muscles were flabby, without strength.

Slowly, powerlessly, he watched as his life force corroded into nothingness itself.

His hands were already bony and the skin on his chest was already clinging to his thoracic area; but this immediately went into the background, as he observed with complex emotions a plaque on a door.

"Mr. D."

Countless expectations and outcomes crowded his mind, but he ignored them with commendable mental strength, opening the door.

Inside he found a simple office, with someone over the main seat.

"I see you still have strength despite your deteriorating state, little one. Surprising."

It had been spoken by an old man, well preserved for his efad, with a distinctive smile and decent hair. The most outstanding characteristic of him was his enviable physical condition.

"Grandpa... Let's not extend the situation. You are aware of the situation, the destiny brewing on the threads and the houses." With obvious fatigue, Frederick spoke these heavy words.

"Hmhp, you never disappoint... Unique and accurate: worthy of an Apolus." The old man commented with indifference and pride inherent in his person.

He was skeptical of his grandson's chances of keeping his words; but not because of this, he could hide his desires. The work gave him immeasurable pleasure.

Frederick knew these points and so, not wanting to give him more longevity, he placed his palm on the old man's hair.

"Mmh, caresses in the face of death; an elixir of higher quality, enjoyed only by lovers... I am glad, I am glad that I was able to put out your fire, little zeus."

Black veins conglomerated on the head of the older man, who hit his head against the desk, unconscious.

At the end of the last action, his nails were black. Under his clothes, he gave off a faint stench...

Steering heavily, he dropped into an armchair.

Frederick rested in his last breath, without power or glory. Weakly he accepted the comfort that the leather chair brought him.

His life was expiring very quickly, to which he could not react with his slowed down neural processes. His neurotic connections were slipping away from him, just as life did in a mock fair payment.

But unfortunately, he was never the owner of the circus; a simple small-time official, who slavishly waited for today's dish and possibly tomorrow's.

He couldn't reconcile himself! His former epitome was fading like waters returning to their natural course, but the waters of life upon "Him" did not disappear.

'Him him him'.

It was her pain, unrecognizable and inaudible crying. A regret only contained in the soul...

His body was heavy with supernatural weakness, but he still managed the inexplicable effort of still being able to command himself.

Ordering his hand to sweep through his formerly vigorous skin, filled with organic dirt. Slowly, through his chest and unbuttoned shirt, he finally managed to obtain a small ornamental watch from his inside pocket.

"Success comes in different forms... You just have to wait for it, I guess." He uttered something unintelligible, as he lightly observed his grandfather's convulsing body through his watch.

Gradually, his eyesight was degrading and blinding; gray eyes, missing even the chance to glimpse one last time.

'He'.