Soul Bond.

CHAPTER ONE FAILED ESCAPE. Arunne stood at the edge of the grimy sink, staring at the mirror. His face, pale and hollow-eyed, looked back at him, a shadow of the man he had once been. His eyes once full of life and ambition, now held weight of countless lives, a dark reflection of souls he had taken. He touched the object beside him and felt that familiar thrill, a feeling he always had since the moment he first touched it coursed through his veins. The knife was forged from aged bronze, with a dull sickly sheen that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. it's blade, jagged and uneven, appeared more ceremonial than functional, yet it hummed with a malevolent energy. Along the entire length of the blade, carved in excruciating detail, were a dozen tiny distorted faces, their mouths open in external screams, eyes wide in agony. He picked up the case of the knife, it was fashioned from the same aged bronze, mirroring the blade in it's grotesque design. The case had an unnatural cold to the touch, and unsettling whispers seemed to fill the air whenever the knife was near. They were voices only he could hear, voices of the souls trapped within it. These voices called to him, tormenting his mind with screams and whispers, pleading for release. He couldn't take anymore, for nearly a year he had borne the burden of this weapon, what had begun as an accident, a moment of blind rage, had spiraled into an understanding nightmare. "Let me die." Arunne whispered more to the knife than himself, he ran a hand through his tangled mass of hair, exhaling like a man who'd just given up. He had tried everything. At first it had been a futile resistance to the knife's power, hoping he could undo what had been done, but the more he killed, the more he got all the things he had ever wished for since he was a boy, without him even trying. so he decided the knife was lucky, so he decided it was his to keep. But the more he killed, the more whispers he heard, driving him to a place of no return. so he decided whatever the knife was giving him wasn't worth the torture, he decided he wanted out. He had tried to live normally, tried to pretend his life wasn't spiralling out of control, but the nightmares followed him, seeping into his waking hours. Every face, every person he saw, reminded him of the lives he had stolen.The knife had it's own will, forcing his hand whenever it sensed weakness. He couldn't control it, the moment his guard dropped, the urge to kill would rise, as though the knife itself demanded more souls. That was the nature of it's curse, once you killed with it, you couldn't stop. Arunne stumbled back from the sink and sat down on the bathroom floor, his back against the cracked tiles. He pulled the knife into his lap, his hands shaking as he held it. He had tried many times to end his own life, but the curse wouldn't let him go. Each attempt was met with failure, he would black out, the knife would hum and then he'd wake up, gasping for air as if nothing had happened. He had jumped off buildings, stepped in front of speeding cars, and even tried drowning himself. Still nothing. The knife would always bring him back. The knife was still oppressive in it's silence, but Arunne's mind buzzed with noises.....voices, accusations, cries for mercy. He stared at the knife, it's dark allure still as strong as ever, it's hunger never satisfied. "Alright, this is it" he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. He picked up the knife and pressed it to his chest, right above his heart. He wasn't afraid anymore, this was more like crossing his finger and making a wish. He wanted it, needed it. There was no life for him anymore, no future, except this endless cycle of blood and torment. "Please let me go!" he screamed, plunging the knife into his chest with all his strength. The blade sank deep, going through him like it was going through water, like it was made to do just that. For a moment there was a rush of cold, his vision blurred as the pain tore through him, and darkness enveloped him. But then....... nothing. He woke up again, gasping for breath on the cold bathroom floor. The knife lay next to him, as if it had never tasted his blood. He clutched his chest, his mind bringing him back to where the injury should have been, but there was nothing, no wound, no scar. Only the memory of the pain and cold remained. Arunne curled into himself, tears slipping down his face as frustration overtook him "why?.....why won't you let me go?" The knife didn't answer, but the voices whispered even louder now, some screamed in agony, others wept, while some just whispered his name over and over again like a chant. He had grown to hate those voices, they weren't human, not anymore, not fully. Whatever the knife had done to them had twisted them into something unnatural, something monstrous. "I can't take this anymore" Arunne whispered, forcing himself to his feet. His reflection in the mirror was pale....ghostly, a reflection he wasn't even sure was his anymore. His body was still whole, but inside he was broken, shattered. The knife had done this to him, the cursed thing had taken everything from him. His family left, he made them leave, it was safer. His friends no longer called or visited ever since he started prancing around like a mad man, talking about some knife no one else could see, or voices no one else could hear. There had to be some way to end this nightmare, to break free of the curse. He couldn't keep living like this, if it could even be called living. He looked at the knife again, what if he wasn't supposed to die by his own hand? What if he needed to find someone else...... someone else to end it for him? People already thought him crazy, going around begging people to kill him would only affirm their stories. Arunne still felt a flicker of hope rise within him, faint but undeniable. There was still a chance, he just had to find it. Picking the knife and putting it back in it's case, he left his apartment, the knife tucked into his belt, it's cold presence a constant reminder of his burden. The streets were dark, lit only by the dim glow of streetlights.....at least the ones that worked. He walked with purpose, his eyes scanning the faces of the few people still out this late. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stop, that in itself was a risk. As he turned the corner, he heard footsteps behind him...... faint, barely noticeable, but there. His heart quickened, was someone following him? He kept walking, glancing over his shoulder. A figure cloaked in the shadows of the night was a few paces behind him. Arunne's hand instinctively went to the knife. Was this the person who could finally end him? or was it someone else drawn to the darkness of the knife, just like he was at first. He stopped walking, waiting for the figure to approach. The footsteps grew louder, and the figure came into view......a woman, her face heavily made-up, like she was just coming from a party. Her stance seemed a little unsteady, but there was something Arunne couldn't place, something that made him feel like the original occupant of that body wasn't in control anymore.