Rebellion (After the Haunted FF)

Chapter 44

Picture above by CloudSorcerer28. Should have one more chapter left!
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Drake's point of view-

Blood, screams, tears, fire everywhere... Just a few distinct and vivid images from my memories of my days of possession and torture that played through my resting mind that was not truly at rest. The images flashed before my eyes and pleading voices flooded my ears, begging for mercy or crying out about how they were not ready to die just yet. Then with the strings of a puppeteer tied to my limbs, I slaughtered them all without any mercy just like the puppet I was. Burned them alive, drained the life force straight from their very beings, mauled them and hacked them away just for the pleasure of it.
It got to the point where Herobrine was not the only one who took pleasure in bringing pain and suffering. I was broken... I had seen my friends die so many times that it no longer affected me. I just remember him telling me over and over again that they were not trying to save me. That they left me to suffer. Sometimes I was grateful, but other times came where I was so weak and begged for help, but no one came. Being all alone and in pain, thinking that no one cared about me any longer, it broke me even more. Abandonment only made me feel more numb inside, more heartless. I wanted them to leave me, and when they actually finally had left me...I could not take it.
Those illusions of me killing everyone that I loved, the hate in their eyes as they told me how much they hated me and regretted ever trying to help me or being there for me, it was something I simply could not stay strong through. That burning hatred and disgust in the eyes of the people I had once called my family. It hurt so much. That was what broke me the most. Over and over again, and it was impossible for me to tell real from fake.
Eventually, Herobrine forced me to do the killing myself or he would bring me unimaginable pain. And he did bring me that unimaginable torture, over and over again each time I refused to bring death to another person. Not just to the recreations of my friends but to innocent citizens. The torture kept coming until I could not take it anymore. For a year I dealt with that unimaginable torture and those illusions of my friends hating me as my own hands shredded them to pieces. Those words that they said, fake or not, dug into my heart and my broken mind that just could not take anymore.
I began to kill. I killed civilians, no longer caring rather or not as to if they were real or just illusions used to toy with me. I murdered, shed innocence blood because I could no longer feel remorse or afford to care about others. The only people I cared about no longer cared for me. Those illusions finally got to me and I hated the world. I had no one and the people who gave me a reason to keep my morals in line all despised me and were thankful that I was gone. What was the point in fighting back any longer? Why should I resist anything that Herobrine had to offer?
Then after I was numb, that monster...made me kill my friends over and over again. And I loved it. I loved the bloodshed. Not Herobrine. Just me. After all, he and I are just...one in the same. Right?
...

My eyes snapped opened with my skin covered in sweat, but I did not gasp and pant for breath. My heart did not even race or make any sort of beat. It was completely still within my unmoving chest. My head laid upon something soft and plush, the rest of my body against a surface that was also soft and plush but my lower body did not sink in as much as my head. A pillow and mattress. I clawed at the mattress, knowing that I should have felt some sort of warmth from body heat, but the bed was cold. My skin was just as cold. Being basically dead but still controlling a body was going to take some getting used to.
I sat up, the blanket falling from my chest and onto my lap. I looked around the cold room, light pouring in from the tall windows within the stone walls. A black chandelier hung from the ceiling, the candles that it held remaining unlit. The room was long but slim, with two rows of white beds up against the north and south walls, the foot of each bed pointing opposite of the wall. There were curtains between each bed to allow privacy, with IV bags for the patients. Judging by the decor, I assumed that I was in the infirmary of the imperial palace.
I looked down at my arm, seeing a needle suck in my vein in the pit of my elbow with a small tube leading up to an IV bag on a stand to my left. Do I even need that? Instead of my old clothing, I appeared to be wearing what looked to be a hospital gown that barely fit me. I able to see my chest when I looked down from how loose the gown was.
I growled and looked around, taking in everything I could. The smell of stone and cleaner, even blood, the sounds of footsteps behind the thick stone walls and massive wooden door. There were no other people in the room with me, leaving me alone and making my anxiety creep up my body. For minutes I just sat there, trying to keep unwanted memories at bay within my head.