Night descended once more upon the sewer district, settling even over the mounds of stinking refuse. Those who had labored through the day now gathered around cheap meals, seeking to quell the pangs in their bellies. Despite the crime and suffering, the district was still home to people who returned each evening in hopes of surviving another day. Some even prayed. Prayers whispered into the reeking air…Pleas for safety, for fortune, for deliverance.

Their voices mingled faintly with the scent of simmering broth.

“Sniff, sniff-sniff”

From beneath a ragged pile of cloth and garbage, Andre lifted his head. The aroma of stew, made of unidentifiable ingredients pulled at his nose.

He peered through a window.

A poor family, but one that seemed intact. A weary father, worn but present. A gaunt mother, distributing warm stew with stern affection. Children with grime-caked faces and bright, curious eyes.

“An envious scene.”

One that had never belonged to him. He caught sight of his reflection in the glass. A wry smile crept across his dirt-smeared face.

“How long has it been? And already back to this.”

Five days since he had left his prince’s side. Grime clung to his face and oil slicked his hair. But the dullness in his eyes, that was the most telling. The look of someone who had seen too much rot. Who had once lived without hope or dreams.

The old sewer stare had returned, he crouched low, counting quietly.

One. Two. Three.

Fifteen, fifteen gang captains were slain in five days. All had ties to drug factories. He remembered the ones he saw there.

Children and Innocents.

Among them, 

“Brother Andre! When you become a Sword Master, you’ll teach us too, right?”

One of his younger orphanage brothers. The boy had celebrated Andre’s entrance into the royal guard. His face, twisted and blackened by addiction, had haunted Andre since, so he killed them.

He bathed their sin in blood, hoping to wash away that memory, as before, he sank into the sewer’s filth. Those who stood in his way, cut down.

Even those who begged were silenced.

Then he asked:

“Speak. Who gave the children to the factories? Who said it was fine to use their lives like this?”

The informant was cunning, feeding fragments and scattering clues. Chasing them led to one place …The orphanage.

The place that had once raised him. Following his memories, he arrived nearby.    The scent of bread reached him faintly through the air. It was familiar and nostalgic.

His expression twisted with malice.

Inside, he hoped it was all a lie, a threat, a misunderstanding, that he would rather be the hero. 

Suppressing his killing intent, he stepped inside.

“Eh? Huh? Andre?!” Children who had been carrying a pot froze, then shouted in delight.

“Brother Andre! Guys! He’s here!”

“Brother Andre? Really? He came back?”

A chaotic welcome filled the orphanage,  Andre had always been their hero.

Even prayers halted mid-sentence as the children rushed out to greet him.

Behind those shining eyes, 

“Andre, what brings you here so early?” The elderly director smiled gently.

“Tough day at work. Came by for a visit, Director.”

Andre smiled in return, the earlier darkness vanished.

Dinner was warm. Loud. The children clamored around him, full of questions.

“So you really became a royal guard?”

“Haha, I did. Serving the prince himself.”

“Wow! That must mean you’re rich now!”

“Not exactly rich, but life’s decent.”

“Brother Andre, what’s your prince like? Is he handsome? Brave? Kind to the weak?”

Andre’s eyes clouded for a moment…The prince? Handsome, yes. Brave… definitely.

“…He’s a little crazy. Handsome and cool, but kind of crazy.”

Silence fell over the table.

He quickly added, 

“But in a cool way! You’ll understand one day, what it means to be magnificently insane.”

The children tilted their heads, it was hard to explain. Dinner ended in laughter and noise. Andre, yielding to the children’s pleas, agreed to stay the night. He bathed and donned simple clothes.

Late into the night, 

“Director, may I speak with you?”

“Yes. I had something to say as well. Come in.”

Andre entered, armored and armed. The director didn’t question it.He quietly led him into the office. Tea was served.

Andre reached for the cup, then stopped…The sweet scent.; The same nauseating sweetness he had inhaled too often recently.

His eyes filled with bloodshot fury.

“The children… why? How could you…”

A knight’s patience had its limit. Through the wall, he could hear the murmurs of sleeping children.

Was that a comfort? Or mockery?

He raised his gaze.

“Why, you ask?”

The director’s eyes glowed red. The scent thickened;Sweet, cloying, suffocating.

The director’s smile twisted, teeth sharp and grotesque.

“It was always this way.”

That was enough.

Andre, still seated, drew his sword in a flash and slashed the man’s throat.

But, 

“Andre, Andre… impatient. Just like when you were a boy.”

The severed neck continued speaking.

“Schlick.” The head reattached, seamless.

The same gentle smile returned.

“If you weren’t so hasty, you might’ve been sacrificed long ago. Lucky boy.”

Andre’s face contorted.

“How many?!” He screamed.

“Crack” A hand burst from the floor, reaching for his face. Within the cramped office, Andre’s blade began to swing,over and over.

Hands kept emerging, endless.

“Shhh. You’ll wake the children, Andre.”

The director’s tone mimicked a parent calming a child.

“Don’t give me that!” Andre roared.

The rising force threw him through a wall and door, he landed in the courtyard.

Once a place of joyful play, now a mire of hatred. Hands clawed at him from the ground, he slashed and slashed, but the darkness clung tight.

Voices joined the shadows,

“Andre…”

“Brother…”

Familiar voices, familiar faces.

The orphanage graduates.

Hatred and resentment oozed from their forms, wrapping around him. The darkness refused to release him, then the director peeled off his face.

A smooth, gray skull beneath with no eyes, nose, or mouth. Only holes; Dozens of gaping holes. They pulsed, inhaling Andre’s fear, his rage and his despair.

“Haaaah. Delicious.” The creature sighed with satisfaction, each hole voicing praise.

Andre’s scent, thick with turmoil, was a delicacy.

No more hiding. Originally, it had nested in the sewers, feasting on addicts’ suffering, building a lair. Its plans had failed, now, it would consume everything. All of it…      No scraps left behind.

A noise drew its attention.

“Mmm… Director? What’s that sound…?”

“When is Brother Andre coming back?”

Children stepped into the yard, rubbing tired eyes, then froze.

A nightmare…

Andre swinging his blade in panic. The director…no, the monster was watching calmly.

“Shhh. Back to sleep, little ones.”

Smoke rose from every hole across its face, the sweet scent thickened.

The children inhaled, then collapsed. Black veins spread across their skin.          They trembled in fevered nightmares, drenched in sweat. The monster giggled as the holes began to close. One finger pointed at Andre, smoke wrapped around him, darker than anything he had smelled, it was more potent than the cigarettes; Pure, condensed despair.