Chapter 30. Riyan's Past Life...[1]

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Riyan's POV...

I was born into a humble, middle-class family, where the scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, and the sound of laughter echoed through the walls.

My parents, two kind-hearted souls, who had traversed the arduous journey of life as orphans, had finally found solace in each other's arms.

They were my entire world, and I, their precious gem, the sole beneficiary of their unwavering love and devotion. Our family was a tiny, yet vibrant, nucleus, where every moment was a celebration of life.

As I grew, I began to notice that I was different from the other children. While they would frolic and play, their carefree laughter and shouts of joy piercing the air, I would sit quietly, observing, thinking and Reading books.

My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, a maelstrom of ideas, and a kaleidoscope of imagination. I was like an old soul, trapped in a young body, with an intellect that far surpassed my tender years.

This 'Superior Type Aura' that surrounded me, like an invisible cloak, intimidated the other children, and they would keep their distance, as if I was a rare, exotic flower, too delicate to be touched.

But I didn't mind. I reveled in my solitude, for it allowed me to explore the vast expanse of my mind, to delve into the depths of my imagination, and to create worlds that were all my own.

My parents, who had once been orphans themselves, understood me, and they showered me with love, nurturing my unique spirit, and encouraging me to spread my wings.

They worked tirelessly, their hands moving with precision, their hearts beating with dedication, to provide for me, to fulfill every whim, every fancy, every dream that I had.

And I, in turn, was grateful, deeply, profoundly grateful, for the sacrifices they made, for the love they showed, and for the life they gave me. I wanted to help them, to ease their burden, to be their rock, their shelter, their guiding light.

So, I applied myself, with a fervor that bordered on obsession, to every task, every challenge, every opportunity that came my way. I was a sponge, soaking up knowledge, absorbing wisdom, and drinking in experience.

I was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of energy, a maelstrom of passion, and a kaleidoscope of creativity. And my parents, they watched me, with pride, with wonder, and with awe, as I grew, as I flourished, and as I bloomed into the person I was meant to be.

In their eyes, I saw a reflection of myself, a mirror image of my own hopes, my own dreams, and my own desires. I saw a love that was pure, that was true, and that was unconditional. And I knew, deep in my heart, that I would do anything, everything, to make them proud, to make them happy, and to make them feel loved.

...

Third Person's POV...

"The Night Of The 12th November...."

The moon, a glowing orb of malevolent fate, cast an eerie, silver-blue luminescence over the sleepy Town of New Creek, its gentle beams illuminating the quaint streets and homes like a macabre spotlight.

The air was crisp, with a hint of autumn's chill, carrying the whispers of the past on its gentle breeze, as the leaves rustled and quivered like restless spirits. It was a night like any other, yet it would become etched in the Riyan's memory like an Eternal Curse, a haunting reminder of the horrors that lurked in the shadows.

Nine-year-old Riyan lay fast asleep in his cozy bedroom, surrounded by his favorite comics and books, their colorful pages and vibrant characters a stark contrast to the darkness that was about to unfold.

His parents, Max and Beyoncé, had tucked him in just hours before, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead and a reassuring smile, their loving gazes a fleeting moment of peace before the storm. Little did they know, it would be their last goodbye to him, a final, tender moment before the brutal hand of fate tore them asunder.

In the darkness, a sinister figure lurked outside the Riyan's house, a presence that seemed to draw the very light out of the air, leaving only an oppressive, palpable sense of dread.

A figure with a twisted mind, driven by sadistic malice and a thirst for blood, his very existence a blasphemy against the natural order of humanity. He had been watching the family for weeks, studying their routine, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, his patience a slow-burning fire that would soon erupt into a maelstrom of violence.

At 3:56 a.m., the figure crept into the house, his footsteps silent on the creaky floorboards, his movements a masterclass in stealth and deception. He moved with precision, his eyes fixed on the master bedroom, his gaze a cold, calculating weight that seemed to press upon the sleeping forms of Max and Beyoncé.

The air was heavy with anticipation, the very atmosphere thick with the promise of violence, as if the house itself was holding its breath in terror.

The figure's hand closed around the cold metal of the knife, his finger tightening around the handle like a vice, his grip a promise of the horrors to come.

His face, a twisted mask of sadistic glee, seemed to revel in the pain and suffering he was about to unleash, his eyes aglow with an unholy light. He came near Max, his presence a dark, looming shadow that seemed to suffocate the very life out of him.

And then, with a swift, merciless motion, he struck, the knife plunging into Max's stomach with a sickening, wet thud.

"ARAHHHH....!!!"

"HAHAHAHA....!!!"

"ARRAAAAHHH....!!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAA....!!"

"HAHAHAHA...!!!!"

The frightening screams of pain from Max, and the sadistic, mad laughter of the killer, awoke both Beyoncé and Riyan, the sound shattering the peaceful slumber like a hammer blow.

Beyoncé, seeing Max's condition, his body writhing in agony, his blood pooling on the bed like a dark, crimson lake, was frightened, her mind reeling in horror. She stumbled out of bed, her movements a frantic, desperate bid to escape the carnage, her only thought to save her son, Riyan.

She didn't even look back, her gaze fixed on the door, as she stormed out of the room, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.

The killer, lost in the ecstasy of his own sadistic pleasure, didn't notice Beyoncé's escape, his attention fixed on the suffering of Max, his laughter echoing through the house like a maddening refrain.

The night, once so peaceful, had descended into unrelenting terror, the very fabric of reality torn asunder by the brutal hand of fate.

....

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Next Chapter "31. Riyan's Past Life...[2]"

After this Arc, the Hotel Hijack Arc will Continue. Maybe Next Chapter will come late.My Readers, please leave review and comments as well as Powerstone and Golden Tickets...

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Try If You like My Other Novel

"Villain : The White Washer"

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Good Day....

Lone Raut

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