Page 59 of The Madness Within

He froze.

I leaned in. “I know what you did to those children. How you shifted while they begged. How you feasted.”

“Lies,” he choked. “You can’t prove anything.”

“I don’t need proof. Just permission.”

The shadows spilled from beneath the table like ink, slithering up his legs. He tried to run. Shift. But I’d laced the air with wolfsbane and cursed glass.

He couldn’t even scream when the shadows snapped his limbs back, pinning him to the marble floor of the balcony.

I took my time.

Pulled each tooth from his snarling mouth with pliers heated over hellfire. Snapped each finger joint by joint while he watched his body betray him.

When he passed out, I brought him back.

Pain was art. And I was a master of the medium.

I dragged him to the edge of the rooftop and whispered the names of every child he devoured. One by one. Into his ear.

Then I tore out his heart.

Held it in my hand. Let it stutter once, twice.

Then I crushed it.

Ash.

Gone.

His body fell like silk, landing on the glass table below. Splintered bone. Blood. A warning to anything ancient hiding in the skin of men.

The city needed a message.

And I’d always preferred mine written in flesh and fear.

So, I gave them one.

I left the curtains open. Bottles scattered like breadcrumbs. The balcony rail slick with staged carelessness. Anyone looking would think he finally lost control and slipped over the edge.

Before I vanished, I left my mark.

A single obsidian scale placed in the center of his mangled chest.

My signature.

Justice, delivered.

Gregory Harriman — The Butcher in a Suit

Gregory Harriman wasn’t just a high-powered defense attorney.

He was a monster with a law degree.

Polished. Respected. Dead behind the eyes.

His crimes?

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