I… How do I say this without it sounding awful? I guess there's no nice way to put it. I was a serial killer, a reckless psychopath who killed for pure pleasure and thrill. The blood, the exposed organs… it all gave me a satisfaction as visceral as it was sickening.
I was fully aware of my actions, knew they were wrong. But the need never went away. Until, well, I had to run.
I managed to evade the police for quite a while, until I slipped up. A woman I brought to my room noticed the stench lingering in the air. Her instincts screamed that something was off, and she tried to escape. I tried to stop her, but I didn't expect a single blow from a wax lamp to bring me down. She ran out screaming, alerting the entire neighborhood about the "psychopath" trying to kill her.
I bolted. My mind racing, searching for a way out, a temporary hideout. I ended up in a cabin in the woods, but the food ran out quickly. I tried to stock up, hiding my face as best I could. It didn't work. When I walked into the convenience store, my face stared back at me from dozens of "WANTED" posters. The guy behind the counter recognized me instantly, even with the hoodie and dark sunglasses. Damn nosy bastard.
And just like that, my life became a relentless chase. I calculated every move, every possible hiding spot, but the city had become a cage. Any misstep would give me away. So I made a choice. The riskiest one of all.
Flee the country.
I couldn't use my bank account without the police tracking me, so I withdrew cash. I ran to the airport like the entire underworld was on my heels. I bought a ticket, any ticket. I just needed to get out. By the time I boarded and took my seat, my heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
An hour later, the plane took off. I was shocked no one recognized me, as if luck was finally on my side.
And then, fate decided my escape wouldn't be so simple.
Turbulence hit out of nowhere, shaking the plane violently. The screams started. Flight attendants tried to calm the passengers, but no one listened. From my window, I saw the engine burning.
And yet, I didn't feel fear. Just a strange, almost absurd calm.
That's when my mind decided to replay the mess that was my life.
My parents. Hardened men, shaped by war, who believed discipline came with beatings and lockups. If I cried, they threw me in the closet. If I messed up, they starved me for days. When they died, I didn't celebrate. I felt empty. I still saw them as heroes, even when their teachings left me with nothing but scars.
I was fourteen when I was left alone. Two jobs to pay the bills, grades that didn't reflect my intelligence, and a spiral of self-destruction where alcohol was my only comfort. Until I discovered the one thing that truly excited me: killing.
I knew it wasn't normal. But the pleasure of having a lifeless body next to me, of possessing it even in death… it was intoxicating. I tried human flesh, but it didn't taste good. Maybe, deep down, I was one step short of becoming the ultimate monster.
It doesn't matter.
Now, I'm about to die.
The plane was breaking apart. Passengers were being sucked into the void. And then, a light fell from the sky, swallowing those in front of me. For the first time, I felt fear.
But there's no time for that.
The ground was rushing closer in a blink.
I had no family. No one to say goodbye to.
And then, I died.
I thought I'd wake up somewhere with angels surrounding me, some deity reaching out to drag me to heaven. Or hell. But there was none of that. Just darkness.
I had no body. No senses. Not even thoughts in the strictest sense. I just… existed. Or something like it.
Then, a gray smoke appeared before me, shimmering with a ghostly glow. It twisted, contorting, until silhouettes took shape.
"I told you not to touch…!"
My mother. Her face twisted with rage. Her hands coming down on me with the force of a punishment she believed I needed to learn.
The smoke shifted.
"What, you still don't get it, you little…!?"
My father, swinging a bat against my back. I'd overheard him talking to someone, something I wasn't supposed to do. So the lesson came in blows.
The smoke changed again.
"Sniff… Sniff…"
Me, curled up in a corner, surrounded by the absolute darkness of a closet. A month. All for hitting a kid in kindergarten. An overreaction, even for them.
The smoke kept twisting.
"Relax, it's my first time too…"
Oh, this. The night I lost my virginity. And the night I claimed my first victim. I remember the panic, the confusion, the adrenaline. But above all… the pleasure. Disgusting.
The memories kept unfolding. All of them. Without exception.
Not one was good. Not one was worth keeping.
Why?
The smoke began to condense, forming a structure that felt familiar: an arched door. I stepped through it.
Darkness. Again.
"Haha… ughh…!"
A sound.
"Damn it, he's bleeding out! Call Mrs. Floiyo right now, the baby's coming out backward!"
What…?
"Come on, Erika, hold on! Mrs. Floiyo's on her way!"
Voices. Distant. Confused.
Then, a blinding light.
"Waaah! Waaah!"
A piercing sound vibrated in my chest. Was I… crying?
The shadows faded, and the world took shape.
"Phew… Phew… I thought we were going to lose him…"
A man.
"Congratulations, it's a beautiful baby boy. The twins are born, though there were complications!"
Arms held me firmly. Warm. Maternal.
…What the hell just happened?"Hey there, little one."The voice came from a man in front of me. He seemed… like a decent guy. Dark hair, gray eyes. Gray eyes? Hold on, what the hell is with that chiseled physique? Aren't we a bit too polished for a birth? Just kidding… I think.
"I'm Daddy."
His hands rested on my stomach, warm, steady.
"Daddy," huh?
The word floated in my mind, stripped of meaning. I didn't have much time to dwell on it before my body shifted, and a new figure entered my field of vision.
A woman.
Almost unreal beauty. Her blonde hair, golden under the dim light, smelled surprisingly good despite the sweat covering her. Her brown eyes met mine, and in that moment… everything clicked.
I've been reborn.
Holy crap. How am I supposed to react to this?
"Hello, my beautiful little boy."
If I've been reborn, that means this man and woman are my new parents.
She leaned in close, rubbing her nose against mine.
It was strange. Warm.
A wave of calm spread through my tiny body, and I couldn't stop it. Something inside me instinctively responded to her affection.
"My little twins…"
What?
I didn't have time to process that before they moved me again. They placed me in my mother's lap, and that's when I saw her.
Another baby.
Blonde hair, gray eyes. The perfect blend of our… parents.
Something clicked in my brain when our eyes met. Unusual. Strange.
She reached out her tiny hand toward me, and without thinking, I did the same. Our fingers touched.
Protectiveness? Brotherly instinct?
"Looks like these two are going to be super close," a new voice commented.
We turned at the same time.
An old woman.
Her clothes were elegant, far too much for what I'd expect in a modern setting. Come to think of it, everyone's outfits in the room looked like they belonged to a time that wasn't the 21st century.
"Yeah, it sure seems that way," my mother laughed, her tone dripping with tenderness. "Though I'm even more surprised that they both have our features. Lucius has Elias's hair but my eyes, and Isolde has my hair but Elias's eyes."
What?
Oh, come on. Did they just spoil my new appearance? Couldn't I have figured that out myself? Ugh. Fine, I'll let it slide since it was my mom who said it.
While the adults kept chatting, I focused on my sister.
So she's Isolde? And I'm Lucius?
Uncommon names. Definitely not Korean.
Suddenly, our heads tipped backward.
…
What?
I tried to move, but my body wouldn't respond.
No way…
So this is what they mean when they say you have to support a baby's head because they can't control their neck yet.
But I knew how to do it. In my past life, I had no problem with it.
Damn these restrictions.