After My Brother's Tragic End, I Went on a Rampage

Nicholas's POV

They acted like I didn’t even exist, completely forgot I was sitting in the back seat.

After Kylie leaned in and blew into Trevor’s eye like they were doing some corny rom-com bit, he shot me a glance. Smug as hell. Like he thought he’d won something.

I kept my head down, calm and quiet, pretending not to notice.

The car tore down the winding mountain road, every turn taking us closer to the monastery.

And with every mile, something old and violent started to stir inside me. That bloodthirsty part I’d been keeping buried for years.

Because it was them, they were the ones who killed my brother.

Right then, the radio turned on, filled with static:

"Emergency notice: A highly dangerous patient has escaped from Clearridge Psychiatric Facility. Citizens are advised to remain vigilant..."

I glanced up at the two of them in the front seat, still chatting, still completely clueless.

My lips settled into a slow, quiet smile.

Once they dropped me off at the monastery, Kylie said nothing. She turned the car around and drove off without a glance in the rearview.

She didn’t even notice how the abbot’s face went pale when he saw me.

The iron gates slammed shut behind me with a deep, echoing bang.

Then they came—cigarettes hanging from their lips, grinning like wolves that smelled blood. A few of them looked me up and down like I was meat on a hook.

“Well, well, look what we got here,” one of them said, smirking. “Our little stray. What’s wrong? Missing your brother already?”

“Didn’t get enough last time, huh?” another added, voice low and greasy. “No worries. We’ll make sure you leave good and satisfied today.”

The third one cracked his knuckles and nodded toward me.

“What’re you waiting for? Strip. You know how this goes.”

I kept my head down, not moving, not flinching, just listening to their footsteps draw nearer and their breathing grow heavier.

My whole body locked up, muscles tight as wire, ready to explode.

Seeing I wasn’t cooperating, the guy in charge sneered and pulled a long leather whip from his belt.

“You filthy little shit. Guess we gotta beat the fight outta you again, huh?”

The whip hissed through the air, and I caught it mid-strike.

He froze, just for a second. That was all I needed.

Then his face twisted with rage. “You got a death wish? You think you can fight back? I’ll beat you to a pulp!”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

I yanked the whip hard, dragging him straight toward me. Before he could react, my hand shot up swiftly.

I slapped him. Again. And again. And again.

More than a dozen strikes, each cracking across his face like a gunshot.

The sound echoed through the courtyard—sharp, brutal, and utterly satisfying.

One of the others laughed mockingly, “Third, you can’t even handle one pretty boy?”

Then Third turned around, his face so swollen it looked like someone had jammed a pig’s head onto his shoulders. He hacked out a thick mouthful of blood and broken teeth, the spit hitting the dirt with a wet slap.

The laughter died right there.

The courtyard dropped into dead silence, like someone had flipped a switch.

And then the abbot, who’d been quiet this whole time, suddenly shrieked, voice shaking like he'd just seen a ghost.

“Cameron? Wasn’t he dead?! He was supposed to be dead!”

Everyone went still. Eyes wide. Breathing stopped.

And one by one, they looked down.

Their gazes landed on the shadow under my feet, clear as day in full sunlight.

“Holy shit—he’s alive!”

The guy in charge spat and snarled like he was trying to shake off his nerves.

“So what if he is? Just some weak little freak. What’s he gonna do?”

They came at me with those cocky, cruel grins, fists clenched and cracking, hungry for a fight.

I kept my head down and didn’t move a muscle—except for the slow curl of a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

They had no clue.

I wasn’t just some skinny kid with issues.

I was born with a kind of strength that didn’t make sense. Hell, how else do you think I managed to wipe out the entire school director’s family back then?

Violence wasn’t just something I learned. It lived in me. Ran through me like blood.

And if it hadn’t been for my brother, I wouldn’t have held back all these years.

But now?

Now I didn’t have to hold back anymore.

...

The screaming didn’t stop for three days straight.

That was the thing about this old mountain monastery—no matter how loud someone cried, begged, or died, the sound vanished into the woods. Like a stone thrown into a lake. No echo. No ripple. Just gone.

The whole place was a smoldering wreck when Kylie showed up to get me. Blackened timber. Burnt earth. Smoke still rising.

I was crouched by what used to be a wall, barely clothed, my skin streaked with soot, my fingernails caked with dried blood.

My face must’ve looked like something out of a nightmare.

Kylie didn’t even flinch. She just looked at me disgustedly and tossed a coat at my feet.

“Disgusting,” she said, like I was something she’d stepped in.

As Trevor brushed past, he leaned in close and whispered in my ear, venom dripping from his words, “Shame you didn’t burn to death.”

I lowered my head, trembling in the back seat of the car.

There was still dried blood on my sleeves from those men.

The way they knelt and begged for mercy had been hilarious.

Especially when I took the wooden mallet and crushed that rotting lump of flesh beneath it, inch by inch.

Men of ‘spiritual discipline,’ weren't they? Then they should have been free of all earthly desires.

How wonderful.

Now, every one of their bones was shattered just as beautifully as my brother’s.

Reflecting on how they screamed in the flames, I smiled quietly.