What Makes a Monster

♱Sixty-Two♱

Third Person P.O.V.

Warning: Implications of sexual assault, violence & some gore

Aeven sat on the couch of the lounge, his shirt abandoned on the floor next to a tattered dress. Josette lay bare on the floor cold eyes peering up at the ceiling, her neck covered in a gruesome bruise. Her hair was black as night against the pale blue rug. Once bright green eyes were now dull. The only sound came from the breeze through the open window and Aeven's own labored breaths that were slowing as he came down.

Blue eyes danced over his crime that, had she been the niece of only a duke, would have been easy to brush off. Pay the duke to shut them up, threaten to kill everyone they loved and be on his way. But that time Aeven knew his anger had gotten the better of him. Too rough, too much too fast, a girl that struggled and fought and pissed him off, and she would be his end. Soran would not allow Aeven to live. The king suspected, in time, Soran would come for his head. His research into vilis was leading somewhere, unbeknownst to Soran. However, he had managed to excel his own death warrant. His head would be on a spike and there was nothing he, the king, could do about it. Was he not the ruler? Did he not have power? Against Soran, no. No one did, and Aeven hated that because he was greedy, because he wanted power. He wanted the last word, or the last laugh.

"Lionel," called Aeven, continuing to stare at Josette when Lionel stepped into the room.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"How many are at this estate?"

"Pardon?"

"Workers and the Makai family, how many?"

"There are two other children and their parents are out. I counted seven workers here thus far, why?"

"Kill them."

Lionel paused, hoping Aeven to laugh it off as a bad joke. He wouldn't put it past the boy, but that never happened. Aeven only faced Lionel with a cold gaze as he asked, "Did you not hear me?"

"I did, Your Majesty, but...why?"

"Can't you take a guess?" Aeven gestured to Josette when standing. He leaned over her to retrieve his shirt, slipping it back on and half tucking it in. "The beast will not let any of us live for this. He will kill me for my actions and you for your inaction and, I don't know about you, but I don't much care for going down without a fight."

"This is not a fight, but a slaughter," said Lionel, flinching when Aeven rounded the couch with a raised dagger. He pressed it against Lionel's neck, drawing a sliver of blood.

"Order the men to kill on sight." Aeven walked around Lionel. "Where were the siblings again? Outside playing?"

Aeven disappeared in search of his next victims while Soran listened to another board meeting in Isabe, completely unaware of the terror befalling his family.

Only three days passed and Soran was on his way home a day early with work done and gifts to give. But when the carriage pulled up to the estate, no one was there to greet him and the smell--the smell was horrendous.

"Your Grace, are you alright?" asked Mich, his carriage driver, who was quickly left behind. "Your Grace!"

In a panic, Soran burst through the front doors only to find Kailyn and Lamaria's decomposing corpses in the foyer. Kailyn lay a broken warrior, sword across the room, body gashed up and scarred. Lamaria rested wide-eyed on the stairs, horror and sorrow forever etched into her features. Soran let out the whimpered cry of a broken animal, taking in the sight of his beloved family's grotesque forms. Then a choked gasp, a glimmer of useless hope and moments of prayer as he ascended the stairs, screaming, "Annalee!"