⚠️♯ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴇʀ 💢

TW: Gore details.

Y/n, a bright and popular student, was known throughout the school for her sweetness, kindness, helpfulness, and outgoing personality. She had it all, and it was in this vibrant environment that she met Luther, her charming boyfriend.

Luther, in contrast to Y/n's extroverted nature, was a quiet but exceptionally bright student. While many overlooked him, Y/n saw beyond his quiet demeanor, appreciating his sweetness, respectfulness, and considerate nature. He always asked permission before any physical affection, a simple "Can I hold your hand?" or "Can I walk you home?" His thoughtfulness was endearing.

Then, the whispers began. A new student had arrived, and he was captivated by Y/n. He pursued her relentlessly, ignoring her repeated declarations that she had a boyfriend. His persistent advances, however, didn't go unnoticed. Luther overheard the new boy's advances, and his quiet demeanor shifted to simmering anger.

In the depths of his restless sleep, the new guy found himself trapped, bound tightly and unable to move. Panic surged through him as he struggled against his restraints, but escape was futile. The darkness surrounded him, amplifying his fear.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows-Luther. In his hand, he wielded an axe, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light. Luther's expression was cold and unwavering, his eyes piercing into the new guy's soul, igniting a sense of dread within him.

"How many times has she told you that she has a boyfriend?" Luther's voice was low and menacing, a stark contrast to the sweet demeanor that Y/n knew. "You're making her uncomfortable."

As the new guy's heart raced, he watched Luther's face transform. The coldness melted away, replaced by a horrifying grin that sent chills down his spine. Luther's eyes, sharp and intense, seemed to draw in the shadows, creating a mask of terror as he leaned closer, the axe held tightly in his grasp.

"You need to understand your place," Luther continued, the grin widening, revealing a twisted satisfaction in his power over the situation. The new guy felt the weight of fear and realization crash over him-this was no ordinary confrontation.

The air hung heavy with the coppery tang of blood, a stark contrast to the sterile scent of the operating room. The boy, no older than ten, lay strapped to the cold steel table, his small body trembling violently. Each swing of the axe was a brutal violation, the sharp blade tearing through flesh and bone with sickening ease. The rhythmic thud of the axe against his body echoed in the cavernous room, punctuated by the boy's agonizing screams. He could feel the axe's bite, a searing pain that radiated from the surface wounds deep into his very being. His vision swam with a kaleidoscope of red and white, the world blurring into an indistinct mess of agony.

His insides were exposed, a gruesome tapestry of organs and sinew laid bare for all to see. The slow, deliberate progress of the axe was a form of torture, each cut meticulously placed to maximize the pain and prolong the suffering. He could feel the cold air on his exposed viscera, a chilling contrast to the burning agony of the wounds. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, each inhale a fresh wave of pain.

The man, tall and imposing, stood behind him, his shadow looming large over the boy's frail form. His voice, devoid of any empathy, was a chilling counterpoint to the boy's screams. "Why are you screaming? You seem uncomfortable. Let me do it again," he said, his tone flat and emotionless, as if dissecting a frog. The casual cruelty of his words was almost more unbearable than the physical pain. He watched, his face impassive, as the axe continued its brutal work.

The boy's screams were a desperate plea for mercy, a raw expression of his unimaginable suffering. Yet, the man remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the boy

The rusty axe bit deep, tearing through the boy's flesh with a sickening schlurp. Not a clean cut, but a ragged, tearing wound that exposed the raw, pulsing muscle beneath. His scream was a strangled animal sound, cut short by a gasp of pain as the axe sliced again, this time across his ribs, the sound of splintering bone a horrifying counterpoint to the tearing flesh. His eyes, wide and filled with terror, bulged from their sockets as he felt the cold, slick invasion of air against his exposed lungs. He tasted blood, thick and metallic, mingling with the coppery tang of his own fear.

The man's shadow stretched long and distorted across the blood-slicked floor, a malevolent specter watching the boy's slow, agonizing demise. Each swing of the axe was deliberate, precise, designed to inflict maximum pain. The boy's body bucked and convulsed, a marionette whose strings were being brutally severed. He felt the cold steel graze his spine, a searing pain that shot up his neck, making his head snap back. He could see the dull gleam of the axe reflected in his own wide, terrified eyes.

"Hmm, you don't look well," the man said, his voice a low, chilling purr. "Okay, let me do it again." The axe descended, this time aimed for his skull. The boy's scream was abruptly cut short, replaced by a wet, crunching sound - the sound of bone giving way. His body went still, the only movement the slow, steady oozing of blood from the gaping wounds across his ravaged form. The air grew thick with the stench of blood and the lingering silence screamed louder than any scream ever could. Yet in the outside he couldn't scream but feel that his hand is gripped onto his neck.

The axe's blade glinted ominously under the harsh fluorescent lights, a cruel harbinger of the agony to come. As it crashed down, it cleaved through the boy's skin with a gruesome squish, the sound of flesh tearing echoing like a death knell in the sterile room. The boy's body jerked involuntarily, a raw, primal response to the invasion. Each swing was a meticulous act of brutality, the blade biting deep into his side, carving a path of destruction. He could feel the sharp edge slice through muscle, each cut sending shockwaves of pain ricocheting through his body, a fiery trail that ignited his nerves.

With each thrust of the axe, he felt as if his very soul was being ripped from him. Blood poured warm and thick, saturating the cold metal table, pooling beneath him like a macabre offering. His cries morphed into guttural sobs, choked by the agony that clawed at his throat. Time warped around him; each second stretched into an eternity filled with torment, each breath a laborious effort that sent fresh waves of pain coursing through his limbs.

He could see his insides, a horrifying vista of pulsing organs and glistening sinew, each exposed surface slick with blood, glimmering like grotesque jewels in a morbid display. The sharp, acrid smell of iron filled his nostrils, mixing with the scent of his own fear. Panic clawed at his chest, tightening like a vice as he felt the cold air caress his exposed tissues, a chilling reminder of his vulnerability.

The man loomed behind him, a dark silhouette against the flickering lights, his voice a chilling whisper that dripped with cruel delight. "Why are you screaming? You seem uncomfortable. Let me do it again." The boy's heart raced in response, a frantic drumbeat of dread. The axe swung once more, this time aimed at his skull, the blade arcing through the air with deadly precision. The impact was a sickening crunch, a sound that reverberated in his head, drowning out his own anguished cries as darkness surged to claim him, swallowing him whole in a tide of pain and despair.

Weeks bled into one another, the silence surrounding the boy's disappearance heavy and unsettling. No one had seen or heard from him since that fateful night. The police investigation yielded nothing, the case growing cold, the boy's absence becoming a chilling footnote in the town's quiet history.

Luther, his face a carefully constructed mask of concern, stood beside Y/N, his arm wrapped possessively around her shoulders. He spoke in soothing tones, his words a balm to her. "He won't bother you again, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her ear. "Hes gone now.." He held her close, his touch gentle, almost tender, as he pressed a kiss to her temple. But as he did, a subtle smirk played on his lips, a fleeting expression that betrayed the comforting façade he presented to the world. A smirk that hinted at a secret, a dark knowledge that only he possessed, a knowledge that lay buried beneath the surface of his carefully crafted persona.