The Butcher's Blade
The air in the abandoned warehouse reeked of rust, blood, and the faint metallic tang of fear.
I stood over the trembling man, my cleaver gleaming under the single flickering bulb. His wrists were bound behind his back with zip ties that bit deep into his flesh. Good. Let him feel every second of this.
"P-please... I didn't know she was your woman..." he whimpered, snot and tears mixing on his bruised face.
I tilted my head, letting the cleaver catch the light as I examined its edge. Didn't know? What a pathetic excuse. In this world, ignorance wasn't a defense. It was an invitation.
"You touched her," I said quietly. My voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. The words themselves carried the weight of final judgment. "You put your filthy hands on what's mine."
The man sobbed harder, his body shaking so violently the metal chair beneath him rattled against the concrete floor. I could see the dark stain spreading across the front of his pants. Pathetic.
I raised the cleaver.
One clean cut. No hesitation. No mercy.
The blade falls like judgment from heaven.
The cleaver sang through the air.
Thwack.
His right hand hit the floor with a wet slap. The scream that tore from his throat was inhuman. Music to my ears.
"That's for touching her shoulder," I said calmly, circling him like a predator. Blood sprayed in rhythmic pulses from the stump. I watched it pool on the concrete, dark and glistening.
He was hyperventilating now, eyes wide with shock and agony. "I-I'm sorry! I'll never—"
Thwack.
The left hand joined its brother on the dirty floor.
"That's for grabbing her wrist."
His screams had gone hoarse. Just raw, animal sounds now. Good. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to understand exactly what he'd done.
I crouched in front of him, grabbing his chin and forcing his tear-streaked face up to meet my gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown wide with terror. Perfect.
"You know what comes next, right?" I asked softly.
He tried to shake his head, but my grip was iron. "N-no... please... I have a family..."
"So did she," I whispered. "Before you and your friends decided to make her life hell."
I stood up slowly, raising the cleaver once more. This time, I aimed higher.
"For every tear she shed..."
"For every bruise you left..."
"I will take my payment in flesh."
The final swing was perfect. The cleaver bit deep into his neck, severing everything that made him human. His body jerked once, twice, then went still. The only sound left was the steady drip of blood hitting the growing puddle beneath him.
I wiped the blade clean on his shirt, then tossed the cleaver onto a nearby workbench with a clatter. My hands were steady. My breathing was calm. This wasn't rage. This was justice. Cold, calculated, and absolute.
As I turned to leave, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. The first one all night.
I typed back quickly, my bloodstained fingers leaving faint smears on the screen.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and took one last look at the mess I'd made. The body was already cooling. By morning, the rats would have their feast. No one would miss this piece of garbage.
As I walked out into the cool night air, I felt something shift inside me. A strange sensation, like my soul was being pulled in two directions at once. The world around me began to blur and distort.
What the hell...?
The last thing I saw before everything went black was the faint glow of my phone screen, still open to her message.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in the warehouse anymore.
I was lying on a luxurious bed draped in silk, staring up at an ornate wooden ceiling carved with dragons and phoenixes. My body felt... different. Lighter. Stronger. Younger.
A soft voice called out from beside me.
"My lord? Are you awake?"
I turned my head and found myself staring into the most beautiful face I'd ever seen. Large, doe-like eyes filled with worry. Porcelain skin. Lips like rose petals. She was dressed in traditional hanbok that accentuated every perfect curve.
Holy shit.
Memories that weren't mine flooded into my mind. This was the body of a reclusive master in an alternate version of ancient Korea. A lazy, overpowered martial artist who had spent the last decade hiding in the mountains, avoiding all responsibility.
And this woman... she was his devoted wife. No. His obsessed wife. The kind of yandere who would burn down kingdoms for her husband.
She reached out and gently touched my cheek, her fingers trembling.
"You had a fever for three days, my love. I was so scared..." Her voice cracked. "If you had left me, I would've followed you into the afterlife. You know that, right?"
I swallowed hard.
Looked like my new life had just gotten a lot more complicated.
But as I looked into her eyes, filled with such fierce, dangerous love, I felt something stir in my chest. The same cold calculation that had guided my cleaver now whispered a new truth.
In this world, I'll protect what's mine.
No matter who I have to butcher to do it.