Devil of Addiction stared at his new hands, flexing the fingers slowly, as if getting a feel for the unfamiliar body he had just possessed.
One of the hands was gripping a pistol.
"…So," he muttered to himself, eyeing the trembling weapon. "What were you doing!?"
His tone was casual, almost amused.
But then—
The hand holding the gun began to shake violently.
Click.
Without warning, the gun was turned—pointed directly at his own face.
BANG!
The sound of the gunshot echoed like thunder in the dead silence.
Addiction's head snapped back, his body jolting slightly from the force.
A long pause followed.
Then—slowly—his head began to rise again.
His eyes locked forward.
A gaping, grotesque hole sat in the center of his face—straight through the skull where the bullet had hit.
The gaping hole in Addiction's face pulsed—and then, slowly, horrifyingly, began to regenerate.
Flesh twisted. Bone reformed. Skin crawled its way over the destruction.
By the time the process was complete, his face was whole again—untouched
"Hahahaha!"
A thunderous laugh burst from Addiction's throat
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with cruel delight, and spoke to the trembling soul buried deep inside the body.
"Why are you so desperate to kill yourself?"
His voice was mocking, yet strangely calm—like a teacher explaining something obvious.
"If a few people made your life a living hell… then why not die making their life hell instead?"
Then, from within the hollow vessel, a soft murmur escaped.
Barely audible—like a dying breeze.
"I… I want to die…"
His lips trembled.
The voice was feeble, cracked… defeated.
"My life was always hell. Death… would be much more peaceful…"
Addiction paused.
He tilted his head slightly, one hand resting beneath his chin as if he were pondering a riddle.
"…Hmm. Is that so?" he mused with amusement.
His eyes sparkled with a wicked curiosity.
"Then tell me, sir—why didn't you kill yourself earlier…. why keep on suffering?"
A silence followed. Then the voice whispered again, barely holding back tears.
"I wanted to… but… I thought my parents… would be sad if I was gone."
And just like that, Addiction's expression changed.
His eyes widened, His mouth curled into a smile so wide, it barely looked human.
He bolted into the living room—
Where the boy's parents sat on the couch, peacefully watching television.
And pointed the gun at his father
His father looked up with a frown.
"What the hell are you doing with that toy gun? Quit it with these stupid games—go back upstairs."
But Addiction did not move.
His expression was still.
His eyes, dead.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Ten shots—precise.
Each one tore through the man's body like paper.
The father collapsed without a sound, blood soaking into the cushions.
His mother gasped, mouth open—
But she couldn't even scream.
Bang.
A clean bullet pierced her forehead.
She fell sideways, lifeless.
Silence.
Only the hum of the TV remained…
and the soft dripping of blood.
Addiction slowly stepped back, staring at the corpses.
Then—
he laughed with pure Joy
He spread his arms to the ceiling like a prophet basking in divine glory.
"Now…" he shouted with glee.
"You're free."
Then Addiction picked up the phone out of his pocket with a calm expression and dialed a number.
"Yes. There's been a crime... You should send someone."
Click.
He ended the call and tossed the phone lazily on the couch.
A few minutes passed.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell echoed through the quiet room.
On Addiction's face a broad grin appeared, stepped toward the door and peered through the keyhole.
A single police officer stood there, knocking the door.
"Hello sir please open the door we got a report of a crime here"
Addiction opened the door slowly.
The moment their eyes met, the officer's pupils vanished—his eyes turned completely white, like fogged glass.
He stepped into the house silently, like a puppet obeying its strings.
Addiction's voice was low, smooth, and filled with venom-laced delight.
"Fire eleven times, with this gun" giving his gun to the officer
The officer raised his hands and grabbed the gun, and with trembling hands—and fired.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang…
Addiction stood there, calmly pulling out his phone and recording it all like an artist admiring his masterpiece.
Each shot was a painting. A scream in silence.
The officer emptied the magazine, smoke trailing from the barrel.
Addiction stopped recording and smiled wider.
Hours later...
Addiction leaned back on a couch in chill mode chugging cans of beer
Then after Addiction yawned and stretched his arms, his bones cracked slightly with each movement.
A satisfied grin curled on his lips.
"I guess it's time to go to sleep… and enjoy this new freedom," he murmured, throwing himself lazily onto the bed.
With a final, contented sigh, his eyes closed.
4:03 AM.
A scream pierced the silence of the room.
"AAARGH—MY EYES!"
Jhan clutched at his face, his body twisting under the sheets. It felt like someone was stabbing his eyes non stop
The room spun.
Darkness swirled.
And then—
Silence.
The Next Morning.
Jhan sat up, groaning as he rubbed his head. It pounded with every heartbeat.
"Ugh... what the hell happened yesterday...?"
His voice was dry, his memories fuzzy—like a broken film reel skipping frames.
Faces. Screams. Laughter. Blood?
No, that couldn't be right.
His gaze darted to the clock.
"Shoot! I'm late!"
Panic kicked in. He scrambled to his feet, threw on his uniform, and dashed out of the house without even thinking.
School was... the same.
The familiar sting of embarrassment as the teacher called him out for a mistake.
The mocking chuckles of classmates that echoed louder than words.
And then—
"Jhan~!"
He turned. Jhon was jogging toward him with that same over-exaggerated cheerfulness.
"Listen, dear Jhan, make sure to be at the park today at 6 PM, alright?"
Jhon leaned in, his fake smile practically glued to his face.
"You haven't been buying us lunches lately, you know? You gotta pay us somehow, dear friend."
Jhan didn't reply. He simply stared at Jhon as he walked away laughing with his group.
The day dragged on.
Each minute felt heavier than the last. And when the final bell rang, Jhan didn't even bother saying goodbye. He just walked. Alone.
"Nothing... nothing seems to have changed..."
His voice was soft, swallowed by the wind as he passed through the neighborhood streets. His shoulders slouched. His steps slow.
But then—
His eyes locked onto a certain building.
A small shop with iron shutters and glowing neon text.
"Weapons & Firearms – Licensed & Legal."
Jhan stopped.
The corners of his mouth twitched.
And then—
He laughed.
Soft at first. Then louder.
"No... everything will change today."
His eyes gleamed with something unrecognizable.
He turned sharply and sprinted home, the grin never leaving his face.
Jhan stood in front of the house. His hand hovered inches from the doorknob.
But… it was trembling.
His throat tightened as he whispered to no one in particular, "Mom and Dad… are gone."
The words felt foria gn on his tongue, like someone else had spoken them. He slowly turned the knob, the creaking door sounding louder than usual in the quiet hallway.
He stepped inside.
His body was still shaking.
But only for a few steps.
And then—he stopped. His eyes widened slightly… and the tremble vanished.
A strange smile crept onto his lips.
"I-I am free…"
The words slipped out softly. But they carried weight.
He dropped his schoolbag to the floor with a thud and took off running toward his room.
Uniform off. Shirt flung to one corner. Tie tossed to another.
"Hahahaha… that's right! I'm free!"
His laughter echoed through the empty home as he made his way to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa.
He flicked on the TV lazily with the remote.
The screen lit up with breaking news.
BREAKING: POLICE OFFICER ARRESTED FOR DOUBLE MURDER
Shoots Unarmed Civilians Inside Residential Apartment
Jhan stared for a moment, but gave the news no mind
"Man, I'm hungry."
He stood up and wandered into his parent's room. He opened the almirah, rummaging through the clothes until he found it—
A metal safe.
"This is where Dad keeps the cash…" he muttered, crouching down in front of it.
"But… how am I supposed to open it?"
Then—
Something clicked inside him.
His fingers froze, and his eyes lost focus for a brief second.
"Let me take care of this."
The voice wasn't his.
Addiction had taken over.
In just a few minutes, the safe clicked open with ease.
Inside was a thick stack of crisp notes.
Jhan blinked.
The safe was open.
He grabbed as many bundles as he could carry and returned to his room.
Jhan's room was filled with the warm aroma of freshly delivered, luxurious food.
Boxes lined the table—some steaming, some chilled, all stacked like treasure. Sushi rolls glistened under perfect slices of salmon. A golden truffle pizza rested beside a box of perfectly grilled steak. Rich chocolates, velvet cakes, imported snacks—anything the app had listed under "premium."
The table looked like a banquet for a king.
Jhan stood in front of it, wide-eyed like a child staring at a toy store for the first time.
"Man… this is life."
He let the words out with a relaxed sigh, plopping into his chair.
Then—he dug in.
No hesitation. No guilt.
Steak in one hand, cake in the other.
His eyes sparkled with delight as he stuffed a bite of sushi into his mouth and immediately chased it with a sip of sparkling wine poured into a wine glass.
He looked around the empty house, still faintly echoing with the silence of yesterday's pain.
But now…?
Laughter.
The clinking of utensils.
Crumbs falling.
And a boy—feasting like a king, alone in a castle of chaos.
"I could get used to this," Jhan muttered, grinning with a sauce-smeared face.
After the feast, Jhan lay flat on his bed, arms tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling fan lazily spinning above him.
The room was quiet—too quiet for someone who just indulged in a banquet fit for royalty.
"So... what are you exactly? A ghost?" he asked, casually, like he was talking to an old friend.
A low, whispering voice answered from deep inside him.
"Nope... I'm an Amberian."
Jhan blinked once. "Amberian? That sounds like a Pokémon name." Said Jhan with a smirk.
"No... I'm a face," Addiction replied, the words cold, almost philosophical.
"A face?" Jhan raised an eyebrow.
He turned slightly to his side, speaking to the air. "What's your name then?"
Silence.
Then—
"I have no name," came the reply.
Jhan paused. Something about that answer felt heavier than it should have.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
Addiction's voice echoed like a whisper in an empty cathedral.
"I was so hated... so despised... they refused to give me a name."
Jhan's smirk faded.
His gaze softened.
"So you're just like me... Addiction."
His voice had a strange tone—understanding, maybe even pity.
But the response came like a thunderclap.
"No," Addiction snapped, "I was despised because I was above them all. None of them had the courage to say it on my face. Not even once."
The room fell silent again, only the low hum of the ceiling fan filling the space.
Jhan let out a short laugh.
"Man... you're something else."
Then Jhan glanced at the clock on his wall.
6:07 PM.
The red digits glowed faintly in the dim light of his room.
"Six already? Guess it's time to pay my dear friends a little visit," he muttered, a sly grin forming on his lips.
He pushed himself off the bed, stretched once, then made his way to the door with casual steps. The weight in his chest wasn't there anymore. No hesitation. No fear. Just… a strange sense of clarity.
As he stepped outside, the cool evening air brushed against his face.
The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple.
His shadow stretched long behind him as he walked toward the park.
The very same park where they told him to meet them.
Where the weak version of Jhan would've gone with his head down.
But today?
He walked tall.
Calm.
Ready.
The wind carried the faint sounds of laughter from afar.
And in Jhan's eyes—there was only silence.
The park was cloaked in shadows now, the sun long drowned beneath the horizon. The only light came from flickering street lamps, casting long silhouettes over the benches and rustling leaves.
Jhan arrived silently, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the trio ahead.
Jhon and Noah sat comfortably on the bench, while Liam stood beside them, stretching his arms and yawning. Their laughter echoed faintly in the stillness of the night.
Jhan's eyes narrowed.
"So that pig didn't come today…" he muttered under his breath, noticing the absence of the fourth.
The trio finally noticed him approaching.
Jhon stood up first, flashing his usual smug grin.
"Well, well. The loser finally shows up."
He cracked his knuckles, walking forward.
"You're late. Time to pay up."
Jhan didn't flinch.
No hesitation. No fear.
He simply stood there, face blank.
CRACK!
Jhon's fist slammed into Jhan's face.
Blood spurted from his nose as he collapsed to the ground.
But Jhan didn't cry.
He smiled.
A faint, haunting smile.
Jhon's fist reeled back again, ready for another hit
He said laughing thinking Jhan just lost it all
"Hahahah-Yeah, smile now, freak—"
"Hah! You see that?" Noah howled with laughter.
"Good one, bro! Give him a real lesson!"
Jhon straddled Jhan, pinning him down.
"You think you can ignore us now?"
Jhan's eyes widen watching the fist closing in for his face, the smile broadened
"I saw a dream...
A dream in which I was someone—something—else.
Surrounded by death and curses."
A Faceless man stood upon a pile of skeletons, their hollow eyes staring into nothing.
The ground was cracked and dry, as if the land itself had forgotten how to live.
Only emptiness and darkness all around
Countless shadows emerged from ground
They moved like living smoke, silent and hungry.
Their hands dragged on his face demanding answers
That person suddenly looks up
"But i had no regrets"
Jhon's punch came down with a wide-mouthed laugh—
But in an instant Jhan grabbed his gun from his pocket and shoved deep into Jhon's mouth.
"—!!"
BANG!
Blood and brain matter painted the night.
Noah and Liam stood frozen—paralyzed.
Jhon's body lay crumpled on the ground, lifeless. Blood pooled around Jhan as he lay beneath it, grinning like a madman, his expression unshaken.
"I told you…" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind.
He shoved Jhon's corpse aside with ease and rose to his feet, soaked in red, like a demon reborn.
He looked up—his gaze locked onto Liam and Noah.
The two of them finally snapped out of it and bolted.
But in the frantic panic, Noah's foot caught on the pavement.
He stumbled—
And fell hard.
He gasped, his limbs flailing to get up—
But by the time he looked up, Jhan was already there.
A shadow loomed above him.
Jhan crouched down, face twisted in a crooked smile, blood dripping from his chin.
"Look what you made me become," he said softly—almost tenderly.
Then, with a swift motion, he pulled a jagged shard of glass from his pocket and jammed it into Noah's eye.
"AAAGHHHHHHH!"
Noah screamed—thrashing, howling.
His mouth opened wide in agony.
Jhan didn't flinch.
He calmly shoved the barrel of the gun into Noah's screaming mouth—
And pulled the trigger.
BANG.
Skull and silence.
Jhan stood back up, his shadow long under the flickering street lamp.
He turned his eyes to the road. Liam was still running—he'd made it to the main street.
Bang.
The bullet hit.
Liam's back arched, and he crashed onto the road.
A split second later—
CRASH!
A speeding car slammed into him. The body tumbled under the tires, rolling and crumpling like a ragdoll.
Jhan stood alone in the park, staring at the road.
Then he burst into laughter.
"Hhahahahahah…"
The laughter echoed through the empty night, mixing with the distant honking of the car that didn't bother to stop.
Then Jhan's posture shifted. He stretched slowly, like waking from a nap.
Addiction had taken over.
He looked at the three bodies with amused eyes, a half-lidded grin on his face.
"They were praying,for the death of a rockstar." he said, voice lazy, yet sharp as a blade,
He yawned and stretched again, the red moonlight catching the sheen in his eyes.
"Seems like we're getting the lowest life form at the top floor."
He laughed, hands in his pockets, as he turned and walked away—
That night, Jhan slept peacefully—carefree, weightless.
When morning light filtered through the curtains, he stirred lazily.
"This feels so good… sleeping without any problem," he mumbled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
He turned over and drifted right back to sleep.
By the time he rose again, it was 9 AM.
The sun was out. The streets buzzed like nothing had happened.
Jhan stepped outside, stretching his arms with a casual yawn.
But then—he paused.
"It seems like my height increased quite a few inches…" He noticed the difference while walking.
Then He glanced down at his hands. His skin had lost all color, now pale… and he was able to see clearly without glasses.
He shrugged.
"I got the money from my parents' life insurance… I guess I'll spend it on myself today."
He made his way to a salon.
The barber trimmed his hair, giving him a sharp, sleek look.
Jhan sat back, then pointed to a color on the board.
Dye it white," he said. His voice calm, cold, certain.
When it was done, he paid without flinching and stepped outside.
"Now, let's get some good clothes."
He visited a high-end branded store. The kind of place he once felt too small to enter.
He tried on a few outfits, running his hands over the fine fabric. In the end, he settled on a black long coat, a crisp white T-shirt underneath, and tailored black pants that fit like a glove.
At the counter, the cashier smiled politely.
"That'll be 3,800 pounds, sir."
"Alright. Thank you," Jhan replied, making the payment without hesitation.
He returned home, took a long shower, and carefully dressed himself in the new clothes.
The fabric hugged him just right. Everything felt... perfect.
"Man, these are real good quality," he said as he slid into the pants.
"Guess that's why they were so expensive…"
Fully dressed, he walked over to the mirror.
He stared at himself—His hair white like snow, skin pale, eyes distant yet sharp.
He reached up, touching his cheeks lightly with both hands
His eyes widened slightly, lips parting into a soft, breathless whisper.
"So this is the new me…"
Jhan slumped into the couch, a bottle of alcohol clutched in one hand.
Empty cans and broken silence filled the room as he mindlessly flipped through TV channels, sipping until the bottle was nearly dry.
His eyes were half-lidded, but sharp. Focused. Unbothered.
The clock ticked past 1:30 PM.
He rose slowly, stretching with a sigh, then walked outside.
After a while of silent wandering, he turned into a dimly lit alleyway that led to a discreet, heavily shuttered weapon shop.
Jhan looked around slowly, his eyes scanning every shelf, every corner.
Then he found it—sleek, curved, deadly. A katana.
He picked it up, giving it a light swing through the air.
"I'll take this," he muttered, then casually turned to the shopkeeper behind the counter.
"And... I need a thousand rounds of 9mm."
The shopkeeper's eyes twitched slightly, and said "That'll be 10,000 pounds total."
"Here's my 100% off coupon…" said Jhan
He drew his gun and fired—
A single shot through the skull.
The cashier dropped, blood splashing against the counter like spilled ink.
He grabbed the katana, the ammo, and casually stepped over the body.
No panic. No hesitation.
The door swung shut behind him as he disappeared into the daylight, armed, dangerous, and absolutely free.