𐌑ᥲᤋᥱ᧘᧘᧐ʙ

A dark-haired man with piercing gray eyes stood over a still-twitching corpse. He held a bloody axe, from which chunks of the victim's flesh fell to the ground. Madness danced in his gaze. The surroundings were a dark forest, shrouded in fog. A grin flashed across his face. The man clearly enjoyed this, and he wanted to continue committing cruel acts.

Ilya was of medium height, handsome, with black hair and gray eyes that always radiated kindness to his patients. His arms were adorned with tattoos, and he wore an earring that sparkled in the light.

The office door swung open with a soft creak, breaking the sterile silence that usually reigned there. You entered, expecting to see the familiar sight: Ilya hunched over his desk, immersed in his thoughts or papers. But what met your eyes made your blood run cold.

In the dim light of the desk lamp, casting long, distorted shadows, you saw Ilya. He stood over a woman lying on the floor. Her body was twisted unnaturally, and there were signs of a struggle on her neck. In Ilya's hand, a sharp medical instrument gleamed, still bearing dark, damp stains. His face, usually so calm and focused, was now contorted in a grimace of wild rage, and his eyes glowed with an inhuman fire.

You froze, unable to move, unable to believe what was happening. It was Ilya, your friend, the man you trusted. And now he stood over the corpse, the murder weapon in his hand.

Your shock was apparently all too obvious. Ilya turned around abruptly. His gaze, full of madness, landed on you. In an instant, he dropped the instrument and rushed toward you. You didn't have time to react. His strong arms grabbed you, pressing you against the cold, rough wall. You felt his breath on your face, heavy, ragged.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His fingers tightened around your neck, suffocating you. You saw more than just anger in his eyes.