The streets were quiet again, though the echoes of Jason's family's screams still clung to Daniel's ears like a twisted lullaby. His clothes were soaked in blood, his knife heavy at his side, but his body pulsed with the same relentless hunger. He should have stopped. Any man with reason would have stopped.
But Daniel was far past reason.
There was still one name burning in his mind — David. Another face, another family. Another link in the chain that had dragged his sister into hell.
So he walked, silent and steady, until the next house loomed before him.
The Family at Rest
David's home was larger than Jason's, a two-story suburban fortress with glowing windows and the faint sound of a television drifting through the night. Inside, the family sat in their living room. David's father was reclined in his chair, dozing, while his mother folded laundry on the couch. Two little brothers sat cross-legged on the floor, their laughter rising as cartoons flickered across the screen.
They had no idea death was already in their street.
Daniel stood outside for a long time, watching the shadows move through the curtains. His hand tightened on the knife. His breath came slow and deliberate. He pushed the door open with a creak, stepping into the light like a phantom.
The first to see him was David's mother. She froze, the folded shirt slipping from her hand, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"You…" she whispered.
Daniel smiled, stepping closer. "Yes. Me."
The First Blow
Before she could scream, Daniel crossed the room in two strides. He plunged the knife into her stomach, twisting it slowly as her eyes bulged with pain. She let out a strangled cry, collapsing backward onto the couch.
The children screamed. Their father woke with a start, eyes widening as he saw the blood blooming across his wife's dress.
"What the hell—?!"
Daniel ripped the blade free and slashed across the father's chest in one savage motion. Blood sprayed across the room, painting the television screen in red. The man toppled from his chair, gasping for breath, but Daniel followed him down, pinning him with his knee.
"Jason screamed like you," Daniel whispered, his knife driving into the man's throat. "But he still died."
The children shrieked, scrambling toward the stairs, but Daniel stood and grabbed one by the collar, dragging him back.
The Children
He held the boy up, staring into his terrified eyes. "You look like David," Daniel said softly. "Same fear. Same weakness."
He slammed the boy's head against the wall. Once. Twice. The third time, the skull cracked, and the body went limp. Daniel dropped him, turning his gaze to the other child who had almost reached the top of the stairs.
The boy's tiny hands gripped the railing, his eyes wide with terror. "Please… don't…"
Daniel stalked upward, each step slow, deliberate. The boy sobbed, shaking his head.
"Don't beg," Daniel growled. "It makes it worse."
He shoved the boy against the banister, pressing the knife against his throat. The boy cried out for his mother, but she lay below, bleeding and fading fast. Daniel dragged the blade across, slow and deliberate, until the gurgling stopped and the child collapsed.
The Mother's Call
Daniel turned, breathing hard, only to hear a faint sound — a muffled voice. He froze. His eyes darted to the couch.
The mother, still alive, clutched the house phone in her bloodied hand. Her voice was weak, broken, but she spoke into the receiver.
"Please… help us… he's here…"
Daniel's rage exploded. He crossed the room and ripped the phone from her hand, smashing it against the wall. He pressed the blade against her chest, snarling, "You think they'll save you?!"
But the damage was done. Somewhere on the other end of the line, operators had heard her cry. And the police would come.
Daniel knew he didn't have long.
The Final Kill
He looked into the mother's fading eyes. She was pale, her lips trembling, blood soaking through her nightgown.
"Your son killed my sister," Daniel hissed. "Now you've all paid for it."
He drove the knife deep into her heart. She arched, gasping, before slumping lifelessly against the couch.
The room was silent again. Every member of David's family lay dead.
But outside, faint in the distance, Daniel heard the wail of sirens.
The Siege
Within minutes, flashing lights painted the street in red and blue. Police cars surrounded the house, doors slammed, boots thundered against the pavement. Shouts pierced the night:
"Put your weapon down!""Come out with your hands up!"
Daniel stood in the living room, surrounded by corpses. His clothes dripped with blood, his knife hung at his side. His chest heaved, but his eyes were calm.
He moved to the staircase, climbing slowly until he reached the roof. From above, he could see the flashing lights stretching down the street, a wall of officers aiming rifles at the house.
"Daniel!" a voice shouted through a megaphone. "It's over! Don't make this worse!"
He laughed, the sound hollow, echoing in the night. "Worse?" he muttered. "It can't get worse."
The Last Choice
He stood on the edge of the rooftop, the wind tugging at his blood-soaked shirt. His eyes scanned the world below — the police with their guns raised, the neighbors watching from windows, the sky heavy with clouds.
For the first time in weeks, his rage faltered.
In its place came something colder, emptier.
He saw his sister's face in his mind — her laughter, her innocence. He had killed for her, bled for her, torn the world apart for her. But now, standing above the flashing lights, a question clawed at him.
Was it worth it?
The endless blood. The screams. The families destroyed.
Would his sister even recognize him now?
His chest tightened, his breath shaking. His hands trembled around the knife. He raised his eyes to the heavens, searching for something — a sign, forgiveness, meaning.
But there was nothing. Only silence.
Only emptiness.
The Fall
The police shouted again, their voices growing urgent. "Daniel! Step down! Don't do it!"
Daniel smiled faintly. Not out of joy, not out of triumph. But out of bitter surrender.
"I won't give you the satisfaction," he whispered.
He spread his arms, the knife slipping from his hand. He closed his eyes, feeling the wind on his face one last time.
And then, without hesitation, he stepped forward.
The world tilted. The sky spun. The flashing lights rose to meet him.
He fell.
The impact was brutal. Bones shattered. Blood splattered across the pavement. The police rushed forward, shouting, but Daniel was already gone.
The Aftermath
Silence spread over the street. Neighbors whispered. Officers lowered their weapons. Inside the house, David's family lay butchered. Outside, the man responsible for the bloodshed lay broken, his face strangely peaceful in death.
For a long moment, no one moved. The night itself seemed to mourn.
Then, slowly, the whispers began.
"He's dead.""It's over.""No… it'll never be over."
Because though Daniel's body was gone, his legacy of blood remained — carved into the walls, burned into the minds of everyone who had witnessed the horror.
And in the stillness that followed, the world felt emptier than ever.