I hate men, and I hate love.
Yesterday marked my three hundredth kill. Of course, I made sure to make it special.
After all, 300 symbolizes the victory of God over Satan.
Gideon had 300 invincible soldiers.
King Leonidas had 300 Spartan men in his army.
And so on and so forth.
Aidan McGilligan was a special kill indeed. All my previous records consisted of men I murdered the first time I got the chance. That is to say, my attempts have never failed. McGilligan, on the other hand, got away a number of times. Just when you’d think that the third time’s the charm, you’d be proven wrong by this fool. I attempted to kill him not two, not three, but four times – the last one being a success.
I will not lie. I had hoped that McGilligan had the potential to change. Not exactly because I was fond of him, but because I gave him a chance. And seeing my methods of catching prey, I’m not the type to do that. I meet you, I hear your story, I kill you. The next day, I won’t even remember your name. That is how it usually goes.
Yet it seems he added one sin after another, and it felt like a slap to my face. Why did I set him free? Why didn’t I kill him earlier?
Soon, all I felt for him was utter disdain.
My bladed chain whip latched onto him, piercing through his body. I heard it. The beautiful sound of blades piercing through flesh. As I’d like to think that I’m not as relentless as some people view me, I pleasured him before he died. Although this part of the procedure wasn’t foreign at all.
After that, I cut off his fingers, and then his toes. I tore off his tongue, then gouged his eyes out. A corpse he was, at that point, but I wasn’t satisfied. I chopped his limbs off, and then his head.
It seems boring, doesn’t it? I’ve had more exciting murders in the past.
However, what truly set this aside from the rest of my kills was my intentions for it. I hated McGilligan, but that is barely the reason why I pushed through with taking his life.
A trophy, for the three hundredth corpse.
All I thought about while killing him wasn’t resentment, but love. Love not attributed to him, but to a certain bandit from the Middle East.
I killed Aidan McGilligan to save Jafar’s life.
I’d gladly kill a hundred more men if it were just to keep him alive.
I’d kill a woman if it were to keep him safe.
As I dismembered McGilligan’s body, only one name rang in my head. Jafar.
It was just like that, over and over.
I am not sane. I am far from it. But I never did expect that my lunacy would go on because of love, and not hate.
It was an overkill, what I did to McGilligan. He was by all means dead and yet I continued to butcher his carcass. I understood it as a manifestation of all my rage and frustration.
My rage because Jafar loves someone else.
My frustration because I can never have him for myself.
Now I have three antidotes with me. Three.
But the trophy was just one of those three. The trophy was his life.
I am pathetic and I am weak. But I’ve stopped caring. I’ll be a complete wreck and give up all I have in this lifetime.
As long as he’s happy.
I hate men, and I hate love.
But you are a man, and I love you.]