Malphas entered the cold, dimly lit cell, his senses immediately alert. His cellmate, a wiry boy with a twisted grin, sat casually on the lower bunk.


    "Yo, newbie," the cellmate said with an unnervingly friendly tone. "You’re lucky, kid. I’ll show you how things work here. Stick with me, and you’ll be safe."


    Malphas nodded, but his instincts screamed danger. His gut told him there was something wrong. Later, during their prison work shift, he overheard the truth.


    "Why’re you being nice to that new kid?" one of the older inmates asked with a sneer.


    The cellmate smirked. "That brat? I’m gonna violate him tonight. Make him my little pet before he even knows what’s happening."


    That was all Malphas needed to hear. His mind went blank, but his heart pounded with cold determination. He knew he had no choice. Either he became prey or he took control.


    During the evening meal, while the guards were distracted and careless as always, Malphas carefully slipped a plastic spoon into his sleeve. They never bothered counting them—after all, they were just kids. But Malphas had no intention of digging out of prison.


    He had another plan.


    Once back in the cell, while his cellmate hummed a disturbing tune, Malphas quietly rubbed the spoon against the rough floor, over and over, until it formed a jagged, makeshift weapon. He worked under the cover of darkness, sharpening it to the point where it could pierce flesh.


    Night came. Malphas pretended to be asleep, breathing steadily, waiting.


    His cellmate thought everything was going perfectly. He crept toward Malphas, looming over him in the darkness. But Malphas was ready.


    The moment he felt the shift in the air, Malphas rolled over and plunged the sharpened spoon straight into the cellmate’s jaw. The initial stab was shallow, but it was enough to send the bastard into a panic.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Arghhh—" he grunted, trying to recoil, but Malphas wasn’t done.


    Before the cellmate could regain his senses, Malphas shoved his fingers into his eyes, deep and merciless. The bastard’s body spasmed, his screams muffled as Malphas stuffed a blanket into his mouth. Blood trickled from his jaw as he thrashed under Malphas’s grip. But that wasn’t enough.


    Malphas poked his finger into his eyes he screamed in pain he was about to pull himself then suddenly malphas wrapped the blanket around him, pinning his arms, and began stabbing wildly, letting his instincts take over.


    Stab. Stab. Stab.


    His cellmate’s body jerked and convulsed, but the fight drained from him. Desperate, the bastard tried to beg through the gag, but Malphas didn’t care.


    He grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and plunged his fingers back into the hollowed sockets, twisting them inside the ruined flesh. The bastard’s muffled screams echoed through the cell.


    Malphas didn’t stop until there was nothing left but a twitching, bleeding husk.


    But Malphas wasn’t done.


    He dipped his sharpened spoon into the pool of blood and began carving letters into the bastard’s skin. He didn’t write words—just symbols, distorted, terrifying, like they came straight from a nightmare. The guards wouldn’t understand them, but they’d feel the horror they conveyed.


    Malphas worked methodically, the room filled with the sickening sound of flesh tearing and blood dripping. He knew the guard routine well. They wouldn’t come to check for another twenty minutes. Plenty of time.


    By the time the guards finally arrived, the scene was pure horror. Blood everywhere. Pieces of flesh and skin scattered on the floor.


    The guards froze, their faces turning pale.


    "What the fuck is this?" one of them whispered, his voice shaking.they started to beating him out of fear .then The warden arrived shortly after.


    When he saw the carnage,He didn’t drag Malphas to solitary confinement. Instead, he took him straight to his office.


    "Sit" the warden said, his tone cold yet intrigued.


    Malphas sat, still drenched in blood, his eyes cold and distant.


    "I’ve seen plenty of killers in my time," the warden began, leaning forward. "But you, you’re something different."


    Malphas said nothing, but the warden didn’t need a response.


    "I could let them throw you in solitary for what you did," the warden continued, his voice dropping lower. "Or I could use you."


    Malphas’s gaze finally met his.


    "I need someone to take care of the boss. The one running things in here. A fat pig who controls the other kids through fear."


    Malphas didn’t blink.


    "You take him out," the warden said, a twisted grin forming, "and I’ll make sure your sentence gets reduced. Maybe even give you a little more freedom. Do it right, and I’ll give you what you really want."


    Malphas’s lips curled slightly.


    "Pain," the warden whispered. "I’ll let you give them pain. But first prove to me you’re worthy."