The knife pierced the man's chest. His voice rose in a short scream, then faded into a weak moan.
Casper laughed softly, whispering as he lifted the knife again:
"Kill… kill… kill…"
Each word was followed by a deeper stab than the last. Blood covered his hands and face as the man gasped for breath. But Casper didn't stop; he kept repeating the word kill as if trapped in a fit of madness.
The victim's chest tore open, and the knife plunged mercilessly until the body froze in silent.
Casper stared on it for a moment. Then he slid his gloved hand into the wound and pulled the heart out with chilling calm. He lifted it before his eyes, as if he's inspecting it.
He looked at it steadily and calmly. As if nothing had happened. Then, a faint smile crossed his lips as he looked around at the scattered blood.
Casper took a small container from his bag. He bent toward the corpse, then licked the heart slowly, and sealed it tightly inside the container. He closed it and placed it back in the bag in complete silence.
He stood in front of a nearby mirror. His pale young face and white hair reflected under the dim light. His gray eyes gleamed with insanity, and the dark circles beneath them hinted at sleepless nights. The heartbeat tattoo on his neck seemed to pulse with every breath.
He smiled at himself. But the smile twisted into a sharp broken laugh that tore from his throat like a fragment of his dying mind.
When his laughter ended, he looked at his blood-stained glove, then stepped closer to the wall.
He raised his hand and drew a heartbeat line with his finger, then wrote beneath it the words everyone knew:
"The Heartless Reaper."
After finishing, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a long drag. The smoke escaped his mouth slowly, fading into the air. His eyes were empty as if nothing happened.
He began wiping away his footprints and evidence, then closed his bag and left the room quietly.
In the living room, the television was on. The news anchor's tense voice filled the air:
"The police are still searching for the killer who's known as The Heartless Reaper, he is responsible for a series of horrific murders that have shaken the city…"
Casper paused for a moment, glanced at the screen, and smiled faintly before walking out, exhaling another puff of smoke.
When he opened the door, he froze. A little girl stood in front of him, her eyes are wide. She looked behind him, and saw the body inside, then screamed.
Casper moved instantly. He grabbed her before she could run, covered her mouth with his hand, then tied a cloth tightly around it. The girl trembled, struggling to break free, while he laughed hysterically.
He leaned closer with a shining eyes full of strange delight, and whispered:
"Don't worry… this won't take long."
Behind him, the newscaster's voice continued to echo from the TV, talking about the man standing there:
"Unfortunately, the murderer remains at large… he could possibly planning his next crime right now…"
Casper lifted his head while smiling, the knife glinting between his fingers. He brought it close to the girl's face. She cried violently, her muffled sobs filling the air as tears streaked her cheeks.
Casper bent slightly, staring into her trembling eyes, savoring the moment. He raised the knife slowly, but before he could move, a shout erupted behind him:
"Freeze! Hands up! Drop the knife!"
He stopped, turning slowly towards the door. Five police officers stood there, their weapons are aimed, red and blue lights flashing across the walls.
Casper smiled, lifting the knife slightly, and said calmly:
"You're a little late… just a little."
He stood upright, the knife was still in his hand.
One officer yelled:
"Drop it now or we'll shoot!"
Casper didn't listen. He took one step forward. Then another.
The officer shouted again:
"Stay back!"
The first shot rang out. The bullet cut through the air beside him, but he bent down just in time to dodge it. He moved with unnatural agility… jumping aside, ducking, rolling, while bullets tore through the walls behind him.
He laughed, shouting with wild eyes:
"Come closer! I want to hear your hearts racing!"
Another bullet grazed his cheek, leaving a thin line of blood. He wiped it away with a grinning face.
Then he lunged. In a second, he reached one officer, shoved him to the ground, and ripped the gun from his hand. With swift precision, he fired two shots.
The first hit a man in the shoulder, he fell screaming. The second struck another in the chest, he dropped silently. The room filled with echoing gunfire and drifting smoke.
Casper stood amid the chaos, knife in one hand, gun in the other.
He muttered with a rasped voice:
"Much better."
Moments later, more officers stormed in. Shouts and gunfire sounds were mixed. Casper turned towards them, fired once, and a bright flash struck his chest.
Everything stopped. His hand went to his heart as blood seeped through his fingers. His eyes widened, his breath grew heavy, the knife slipped from his grasp.
He fell to his knees, then collapsed. Between every fading heartbeat, images flickered through his mind: his laughter, the screams, the mirror, the heart he once held.
Then the noise around him faded away. Gunfire, shouting, the girl's crying… they're are gone. Only one sound remained: his heartbeat.
Thump… thump…
Then slower.
Thump…
Still getting slower.
He closed his eyes, thinking faintly:
'Is this my final sound? Even my heart couldn't last. Every heart breaks… every heart betrays. If time rewinds… if I'm born again… I'll kill them all. Every heart will be mine.'
Then came the last beat. And after it… came a single, long, continuous tone. The sound of the end.
Silence.
In a cold room, beneath a harsh white light, Casper's body lay motionless on a morgue table. His chest was bare. His skin was pale as ice. Scars covered him, old stab wounds, burns, unhealed cuts. His body was a map of violence.
His eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly open. No one in the room but him.
For Casper, there was nothing. No pain. No light. No sound. Only emptiness. He hung between the end and nothing after it.
Everything vanished. Then suddenly… he opened his eyes. A faint green light filtered through leaves above him. The birds were singing. A soft breeze brushed his face.
He blinked twice, then whispered hoarsely:
"What is this? I didn't expect hell to be… this quiet."
He lifted a hand slowly and placed it on his chest. He felt a clear and steady heartbeats.
'I'm… breathing?'
He sat up slowly. Looked down at his naked body. Ran his fingers along his arms, his chest, his abdomen. No scars. No wounds. Smooth skin… and clean, untouched. As if someone had erased his past. But the heartbeat tattoo on his chest was still remaining right over his heart.
'Impossible… even my heart… it's still beating? Who brought me back? And why?'
He rose to his feet slowly. His eyes scanned the quiet scenery, his mind was racing and analyzing. He began to walk through the green field dotted with small flowers.
'Where am I? No hospital… no morgue… no weapons… and this silence is too perfect.'
'My heart beats, but there's no pain… A bullet to the heart doesn't fade that easily…'
He brushed his chest again… nothing but smooth skin.
'Is this a new beginning? A second chance? Who brought me back? An angel? A demon?'
A faint smirk crossed his lips as he muttered aloud:
"Whoever did this… made a mistake. Because every heart here… will be taken too."