All His Fault

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Claire's POV

I never imagined myself as a murderer. Wow, that's sounded really depressing- but it's the truth. Well, I guess nobody really imagines that one day they will wake up and start slicing people's throats. If I ever did become a murderer, I would've expected to be choosing between pulling the trigger on some random guy or a family member of mine. An ultimatum.

I mean, this is sort of an ultimatum. Either start butchering people and get to the top floor and beat the boss to see your- Atticus- or die being experimented on. But I'm not slicing peoples throats. I'm burning through their skulls and brains, slicing off hands, and worst of all- I've gotta act like I enjoy doing it. But is it really acting? After all these years of having a strict mother- is this me acting out? Don't think like that Claire. I'm a badass super hero villain- and right now, I'm a badass super hero villain in need of a bath.

                         Blood is starting to stain my arms, cake under my fingernails- it's atrocious.

                            That's the thought that comes to me as I stare at my hand, my hand enveloped in beautiful scorching flames. I smile, entranced by its beauty.

                   Then I strike.

                     Within seconds I have Emelle kneeling in front of me, and both my hands pressed upon the sides of her head. Her scream bounces off of the walls as she tries to get out of my grip- get away from me burning a whole into her head.

She's a little too late- my fire is hotter than anything I could've ever imagined. She tries muttering something before her brain shuts down. It sounds like a slur, and I don't really pay any attention to it.

Once she is dead and I've tossed her body to the side, I begin to search her pockets for anything, any sort of information. I come up short handed and a frown on my face. I'll just have to charge into battle blind and hope for the best. Maybe I can shave her red hair off and make it into a wig for myself.

I begin to stalk up the stairs, adrenaline pounds in my veins- I'm not excited about the battle. I'm excited about getting back to Atticus- to going back home and eating fudge pop tarts and training with Merlin, and having him give Valdus dirty looks for no apparent reason. I miss Christmas, my puppy, and I really need to make up for the lack of kisses on Atticus. I was going to smother that mans body. Anyone know the definition of 'pouncing'? He was mine, and I was definitely going to show him it afterwards. No more awkward Claire- that wasn't getting me anywhere.

The right fitting shoes that I stole from a dead person were really starting to bother me, especially the sounds they made on the floor. I took them off and chucked them to the bottom of the stairwell, and I started going faster up the stairs. How many more until I reached the top floor? These people really needed to invest in an escalator. I knew I would be huffing and puffing by the time I got to the top, I would be in state to be fighting some other worldly bitch.

I'd just have to take a five minute break or something. I shook my thoughts away, tuning into the sounds of the building to make sure that I wasn't being followed and that no one was coming down the steps. It was like a ghost town in this stairwell, my best bet was that they had an elevator that they neglected to tel me about. Damn, I should've really asked Emelle before I fried her brain.

Annoyance trickles through me as I feel sweat start to run down my back.

This is gonna take a while.

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