Red splotches decorated his skin; just what were exposed, as he wiped his blade with his right thumb and forefinger. Cleaning his mess afterwards had always been a bit challenging, but who didn't love a challenge?
The blood droplets on his face were from the blood splattered from his enemy. However, the Beast had more than one enemy, and this lifeless corpse that fell to the floor was just the tip of the iceberg.
A simple slit of the throat was all it took for his enemy to be bathed in his own blood, the gurgling sounds of his victim choking on his own blood. And yet, the sound was rather riveting; the adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he watched the man's eyes turn lifeless.
The Beast cleaned his blade, before he shoved it back into its case that was strapped to his waist. Between the handgun and the blade, the man always preferred the blade. What was more awakening than the sight of your nemesis spitting up blood?
The Beast had adjusted his clothes. His protective layer beneath his bloodied shirt was still intact. He got out unscathed, as he did each time he went into battle with an enemy.
After his hands were free of any weapons, he turned back to look at the mess that he and his men had created.
His eyes met with a few bodies laying on the ground, some were shot and others were stabbed gruesomely. The man just chuckled at the sight, bringing the mounts of his palm up to his cheek, wiping away the blood spatter.
His eyes were narrowed at the sight before him. The once innocent eyes held a gleam of sadism. His brown, large eyes being narrowed with anger as his eyebrows creased.
He wiped the blood on his lips with his thumb, trying to clean whatever annoyed him the most. His lips were pouted and pink, utter perfection if he weren't such a demon in disguise.
His beautiful features could never mask his sins.
Although his skin was milky and soft, smooth in most places, his body held scars beyond description. Nobody dared to ask where those scars came from. After all, who could question the Mafia Don?
His body was wired with adrenaline, feeling the rush as he ordered his men to clean up and dispose of the bodies.
Another day in paradise.
His ink black locks fell over his eyes, the dampness giving his hair a wet appeal. The blood that colored his forehead and chin red were the only color added to his full black appearance.
The Beast adjusted his black jacket turning to his right hand man who was awaiting the next order.
"We're done here," he had simply said, to which his partner nodded. The tight-knit family of the mafia was something not many could understand. These men were bound by a vow; and their positions were sealed by blood. The scar on their palms were proof.
If someone were to betray the mafia, well, they lost more than just the hand they used to seal their loyalty.
The Mafia Don stepped over the dead body, missing the pool of blood completely as he walked towards the exit of the clan headquarters. They had just broken into a mafia clan's home, killing the enemy that threatened their own clan.
The Beast ran a bloodied hand through his long and damp locks, needing a shower after such an activity. He didn't bat an eyelash as he entered the SUV with his most trusted workers. One could call them friends of his, but the Beast didn't regard them as such. Even if he treated them as friends, he couldn't term them as such.
The Beast was none other than Jeon Jungkook. His name was feared throughout the city. Everybody knew the Jeon clan. It had been running the city from the underground for the past couple decades. It was, in simpler terms, a family business.
Life hasn't always been this way, however, the Beast could barely remember a time when he wasn't bathing in someone else's blood. A life of merciless killing hadn't been his for the choosing, but his father gave him this responsibility - to carry out the mafia in his legacy. And Jungkook, being the obedient son, did so.
Now, the twenty-six year old was the Don. He was the one whom people feared to breathe his name. He was the one in charge of all the killings that had taken place, and some innocent lives being taken away, too.
However, the police couldn't catch him. They could never trace him. This was simply because the mafia had connections all over the place and just when the law thought they were a step ahead, they were just five blocks behind, right where Jungkook wanted them to be.
The ravenette had a dark look in his eyes as his men drove him away to safety. The safety being their mafia household; their mansion that had been in the Jeon Family for decades.
On the outskirts of the city, protected by the dense trees and a high voltage electric fence, the mansion of their clan stood tall like a castle hidden away from the public.
The walls were high, appearing to be something out of an eighties fairytale. However, don't let the aesthetic of the mansion fool anyone. This place was home to a blood thirsty beast. Multiple times had he brought home an enemy, torturing for his own entertainment and to feed off the information they had.
In the dark world of the mafia, information was everything. The who, what, why, when, and how. The Beast needed to know everyone in his city for many purposes, but most importantly, so he could find what he was looking for whenever he searched.
As the gates to their land opened, the right hand man had drove their SUV into the driveway, driving around the vintage fountain in the center of the yard.
Jungkook just had his emotionless expression on as he waited until the SUV entered the garage. Once his men were ready, he was escorted into his mansion, ready to clean up the bloody mess on his clothes.
"Boss," his right hand man had called out before they could all disperse in the foyer of the mansion. Each member of the mafia had their own room in the mansion. Jungkook took the highest floor which was the third floor, where his bedroom, his office, his personal space resided. The other members took the first and second floor bedrooms, however, the living area and kitchen were available to everyone.
Jungkook stopped before he could approach the staircase to walk up to the third floor.
He turned around, facing his friend.
"What is it?" Jungkook asked with his husky voice that was deep and attractive to the ear.
"The men were wondering... What will we do now? We're the only mafia that lives in Seoul now. You've killed them all; outsmarted every last one of them. What happens now?" his right hand man had asked.
Jungkook smiled cynically, facing his beloved friend.
"Taehyung... My friend... Just because we have no threats, doesn't mean we don't have a purpose. We may have taken out the competition but we haven't gained complete control of the city. I want to have everyone at my command. Every citizen will worship me. And there's only one way to make sure everything goes according to plan," Jungkook spoke, his voice low to the ear.
His friend, Taehyung, who was twenty-eight, stared at his friend whom he grew up with. He nodded, simply out of understanding.
"And how will we gain this ultimate power which you describe?" Taehyung asked, the other men of the mafia dispersing to their rooms or to the living area.
Jungkook paused, a pensive expression on his face. Truth is, he hadn't found a way to do this yet. He was still working on it. However, now that the other mafia clans were destroyed, he had nothing stopping him from taking time to formulate a plan.
"We'll figure it out. That's enough for today. Get some rest and take care of that knife wound on your arm," Jungkook flattened, his eyes darting to the small but deep cut in his forearm. Taehyung nodded, before he too, went his own way. Jungkook didn't think much of it.
Instead, he shrugged it off and went upstairs. Climbing up two flights of stairs would have been tiring if he weren't so used to it. The man entered his forbidden wing of the mansion.
Forbidden, because nobody else entered. No one was allowed to. In this part of the mansion, he had his worst fears and biggest realities come to life.
This part of the mansion housed many unforgettable moments of his life. Those dark memories fueled his passion for bloodlust.
His personality, there was no way to describe it. No one knew his personality. He was a Don, yes. But how was he when he dropped his mask and just relaxed?
The truth is, nobody knew. Jeon Jungkook never dropped his mask.
His stone cold demeanor wasn't fake. He was cold. He was ruthless. He was merciless.
But there was also something more in him. A spark.
A spark of mayhem, maybe, but he had something in him which he didn't understand. His past never allowed him to fully be who he wanted to be.
Many think that he chose this life, but where was the option when his unfortunate soul was born into this life? He wasn't happy with it before. As a child of ten, or eleven, he wondered why he was stuck here, in this mansion that looked like a castle. He always wondered what he was doing here and why he couldn't have been lucky enough to be born into a normal family.
But now, after twenty-six years of living, this crazy life of his seemed normal. Even if it was far from sane, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the pleasure that came from watching others in pain.
That was because he was a sadist. That part of him, he couldn't hide. Choosing to slit his victim's throat rather than a bullet to their head was proof enough. He enjoyed watching the pain flicker in his victim's eyes before they choked on their blood, as compared to shooting them dead from a distance. He wanted to be close to them physically while he drove his blade into their skin.
He shook the memory of today's victim out of his mind. He didn't want to think of it. He would probably get a blood craving for more death, or he would get aroused at the thought.
So, he ignored his deeds for today. He couldn't think back to the victim's face either. Who could call them a victim, though? He just killed another mafia clan. They weren't innocent people, so did they even classify as victims?
To Jungkook, he didn't give a fuck. He just approached his private floor and headed towards his bathroom to take a shower, needing to get the drying blood off his skin.
Once in the shower, he ignored the mirror, refusing to look at the scars on his abdomen. He washed the blood off his face and hands as if they were a regular routine, washing his sweaty and matted hair as well. After he cleaned himself up, his princelike features could be seen even more.
He had the towel wrapped around his waist as he exited the bathroom after his shower. He walked without a care in the world as he approached his dark bedroom.
The bedroom was dark, because the man preferred to have it themed black and gray. He never opened his curtains either. The only light entered whenever the breeze from outside would enter and make the curtains dance along. Other than that, if he needed light, he'd just switch on the bedside lamp.
The handsome man dressed himself up, his life back to the mundane routine. He ignored the hunger in his belly as he exited his bedroom and walked over to the small sitting area he had in the center of the floor.
He had a few couches, surrounding a table which had his whiskey decanter and an empty glass waiting for him. His staff just knew what he'd want.
After such a long day, and after being reminded of the gory reality he once wished he could escape, the man found comfort in his decanter, his whiskey being the best friend he needed to help him go to sleep peacefully, without any vivid images haunting his slumber.