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墨書 Inktalez
The boy stood up and walked to the cabinet, opening the door to retrieve a leather bag from the corner. He gripped the bag's handle tightly with both hands and carried it toward the corpse, laying out the instruments before it in a slow and heavy manner.
Seventeen sharp blades, varying in size, glimmered with a cold sheen under the moonlight, capable of slicing flesh and scraping bone. The edges sparkled ominously, sending chills down one’s spine.
As his fingers brushed against the cold blade edge, his trembling ceased, and his gaze became focused and calm, as if he had entered a state of self-forgetfulness.
When the boy opened his eyes again, they were as cold as the blade edge, radiating a sense of determination.
He knelt reverently before the corpse, hands clasped together as if performing some mysterious ritual, murmuring words that were unintelligible.
With a swift motion, a serrated edge cut through skin, leaving a deep gash that exposed bone. Blood surged forth instantly, trickling down the corpse's flesh.
A cruel smile curled at the corners of the boy's mouth as he swiftly made another cut; the curling flesh resembled an infant's open mouth, quickly swallowing the blade. Discontented, he pouted and switched to a sharper saw knife. Gripping it tightly with both hands, he raised it high and struck down at the junction of muscle and bone without an ounce of compassion.
"How dare you think you could like me? Hmph, penny pincher!"
The deceased's words echoed painfully in his ears, each sentence like a needle prick. He recalled her loathsome face and arrogant demeanor from her living days. Anger surged within him as he raised his hand again for another swift strike; his arm muscles tensed with hatred in his eyes.
"You penny pinchers will never have a chance to rise again in this lifetime. So what if you have good grades? You still have to obey. Dare to glare at me? My father only needs to lift a finger for you to be expelled and sent back to your countryside."
How could she so casually toy with others' fates? The boy gritted his teeth fiercely as a serrated knife plunged deeply between the ribs of the deceased. His body trembled slightly from exertion, his facial muscles contorted with rage.
The relentless actions and splattering blood had rendered him numb; his gaze became hollow and vacant, as if he had lost his soul.
"I feel like I'm dying... Please, take me to the hospital. My parents will pay you anything..."
The boy coldly stared at the body before him, if it could still be called a body—shattered bones and piles of flesh had replaced the once complete form.
Cough, it turns out that wealthy people can fear pain too; it turns out that wealthy people can grovel and plead like this. The facade of nobility and pride crumbled in an instant before death, and a trace of mocking coldness appeared on his face.
Taking advantage of the night's silence, the boy counted the streetlights as he walked step by step, drifting through the night in a daze.
The cold wind from the north howled sharply, slicing through his bones like a blade. He huddled his neck down, hands stuffed in his pockets, his body trembling slightly.
He couldn't remember where he had started or where he was headed; he had no impression of the places he passed through. His gaze was hollow and confused, his steps dragging and weak.
Sand had blown into his eyes along the way, and he raised his hand to rub them, the traces of tears long dried. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin, sticking uncomfortably to him as the wind blew. He irritably tugged at his clothes.
Dragging his exhausted body, he finally arrived home at dawn.
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