I held the scalpel between my fingers, feeling the smooth ivory handle beneath my touch. The carriage rattled beneath me as I flipped through my beloved book, the golden sunlight reflecting my image in the window.
I saw the hideous scar on my left cheek.
"I want to try something interesting."
I raised the scalpel with the confidence of a surgeon who knows every inch of his body. The cold blade touched my skin first, then pierced through it seamlessly. I didn't groan. The warm blood dripped onto my fingers, and I felt the pure pleasure of pain. Piece by piece, I removed the scar like a gardener plucking out weeds.
I threw it out the window. My face was now a blank canvas, ready to be painted.
Even though the owner of this body had been a killer, he was obsessively, madly clean.
The blood demands more.
I felt something bad coming toward me.
It was too fast, but I needed to be sure.
I jolted as an arrow pierced my seat.
"Do these bastards think they can interrupt me?"
I leaped out of the carriage, the scalpel gleaming in my grip like an extension of my arm. Six against one. I smiled.
The first assassin approached with his sword. I saw everything in slow motion.
I swiftly grabbed the weapon in his hand.
His eyes widened as my scalpel pierced his wrist.
A sharp scream tore through the air as I severed his hand with a single twist.
I picked up the fallen hand and shoved it into his screaming mouth.
"Don't drop your weapon again," I whispered in his ear before tearing out his tongue from the root.
I turned quickly toward the assassin who was approaching slowly.
The assassin was enormous.
He took advantage of my moment of distraction and swung his machete at my head.
I dodged the strike with a dancer's grace, grabbed the machete, and directed it toward several points on his body.
First, I targeted his knee until I heard the sound of his kneecap dislocating.
Then, I aimed for his throat—his breaths came out ragged, like a punctured balloon.
Finally, his eyes—I pierced both pupils in the same motion.
He fell to his knees, so I completed the masterpiece by slitting his belly and pulling out his entrails. I draped them around his neck like a royal scarf.
A fleeting work of art.
The third and fourth attacked together.
"How adorable!"
The twins were identical—until I made them match.
I grabbed two needles laced with anesthetic and swiftly struck them.
When I saw them collapse
a devilish smile spread across my face.
"Time to work."
Though one assassin still stood, I paid him no mind—his knees were trembling violently, his body frozen in fear.
"Time to work."
I split the first twin's face from forehead to chin.
The second received the same treatment, but at an angle.
Then, I swapped their faces with a quick stitch.
They died trying to figure out which one wore the other's face.
When the last assassin saw my gaze turn toward him, he tried to flee.
Tears and snot streamed down his face.
I threw my scalpel like an arrow. It pierced the back of his knee, pinning him to the ground like a butterfly in an exhibit.
"Don't go. I haven't finished my lesson yet."
I approached him slowly, each step dripping
with blood. I turned him into:
—A sculpture of flesh and bone.
—An hourglass made from his entrails.
—A message written with his teeth on the
skin of his back.
Reception"Professor Dinn, we've heard so much about you."
Provost Foss stood at the gate, his eyes gleaming with admiration as I wiped the blood from my face.
"Everything you've heard doesn't compare to what I'll show you,"
I replied, sheathing my scalpel.
The iron gates groaned as they opened. The Academy welcomed its prodigal son.
[End of Chapter]