Kazmun was eight when his heart stopped beating.
He blankly stared at his mother's blood on his clothes, the dark red stains a stark contrast against the moon-white fabric.
His mind was numb, his thoughts scattered and incoherent. There was an emptiness within him that refused to cease, a haunting nothingness that seemed to swallow everything.
And, he was nine when he first took a life, and something stirred in his heart.
It was a mixture of thrill, fear, and delight, an intoxicating blend of emotions that made his heart beat faster. For the first time, he felt something, a dark and twisted exhilaration that pierced through the numbness.
It was enough.
The more he felt it, the more Kazmun craved that sensation. There was an odd peace he found when he silenced countless lives―because the more he killed, the stronger he became, and the closer he got to becoming the monster he had to perish.
Nothing else made him feel the same way.
