Somewhere, on the inside, he was aware.

So, motherfucking, totally aware, of what he was doing.

He slammed the club down; her face stayed screaming, and he loved that.

A shudder ran down his spine as the blood pooled under her, creating a puddle of miracles.

Smiling, he closed his eyes and brought it down again. And again. And one more time.

He couldn't even hear. All he could do was revel in what was in front of him.

Again, he shuddered; an odd mix of ecstasy, horror, and arousal winding through him, lighting up every nerve and cell within him.

The blood splattered onto him with the next hit, the wetness soaking the fabric and journeying to his skin.

He bit down on his lower lip and sucked in a deep breath; this feeling was exquisite.

Somewhere deeper, he was horrified.

What was he doing?

This wasn't like him.

He was too gentle; he would rather be giving a sister kisses than slamming her face in with a club.

He was scared. Fuck; so scared. He tried to claw his way through, but the larger, more violent part of him shoved him aside, sending him to the darker recesses of his mind.

It felt like he was sitting on a stool, surrounded by emptiness, save for one hulking, shadowy figure that would threaten him every time he made a move. So he stayed there, curled up on the tiny stool, sobbing into his own knees; clown face-paint long smudged away.

She was his friend. But he couldn't help her. No; the other side was too strong. It stood over him, looming; making sure he didn't budge.

And it brought the club down for the last time. Her face was long gone; it was now just a pile of unidentifiable flesh and blood, with a speckling of bone and brain.

It was disgusting.

It was wonderful.

He brought her once-face up to his and inhaled, sucking in that deep, heady scent of death and blood. So good. He flicked out his tongue and caught a droplet of her blood, savouring the tangy taste as it was mixed with her long-dried tears and vomit.

Fear caused such odd reactions in people.

Dropping her, he turned, club in hand.

Inside, he knew he couldn't let himself have contact with anyone else. Clearly, the other one was on a rampage of some sort- any of his friends would be just as brutually murdered if they crossed paths.

He made a small sound; the figure back-slapped him, sending him flying from his little stool. He sobbed, looking up from under a few stray curls that had attached themselves to his face, glued there by tears and snot.

The figure said nothing, just pointed harshly at the stool, showing him it's hand, and pointing again.

He stood up, shaking, and righted the stool before reassuming his former position.

He hesitated as he was walking up the stairs, towards the main room. He knew that a few others would be all up in there. How perfect.

But something caused him to stop for a split second, a little flash of... Fear?

No, couldn't be.

He was so strong, so powerful; so, motherfucking, unstoppable.

He continued up the stairs.

Dragging his club behind him, he tilted his head to the side and half-closed his eyes, singing to a song. Instead of the normal lyrics, though; he replaced 'honk's.

Honk...

Honk... Honk honk... Honk...

He let out a soft chuckle. What a good song.

At the top of the stairs, he leaned his forehead against the wall, a few feet from the door that would take him to a few future motherfucking miracles.

He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, his smile still on his lips.

He thought back to what he had just done.

He let that delicious feeling slither over him again; though it was dulled, compared to what he was actually feeling during the act. Licking his lips, he opened his eyes before straightening up, cracking out a few kinks in his back.

Time to get his subjugglate on.

Gently, he pushed open the door, opening it to a room of darkness, save for the flickering backlights of a few screens.

Stepping into the room, he took another deep breath. It smelled like fear. So they must know, then. They're aware of the fate they've been cast.

What a motherfucking miracle.

He heard a whimper.

His grin broadened. Oh, yes. Make that sound again, friend.

A sob.

Even better.

Scraping the tip of his club along the floortiles behind him, he resumed his honking song.

Honk.

Whimper.

Honk, honk.

Sob, whimper.

Honk...

Silence. Then another sob.

"Found you," he whispered, reaching out to his left, behind a machine he still has no idea what would be used for, and grabbing a handful of hair.

The boy screamed out, his sickles dropping to the ground with a sharp sound. He was muttering incoherently, all of his words morphing together in a giant, "".

Gamzee laughed. It was cute, the way he was pleading.

The way he pleaded to a God they didn't even worship.

The Mirthful Messiah wouldn't spare this one a glance. Not with the way he was begging for the favours of an entire other universe's God.

What a pity.

The boy flailed in his grip, clawing at his arm as if it would somehow get him to loosen his hold.

Gamzee hushed him and pulled him over to a corner of the room, setting him there, so he had no where to go; unless he was somehow able to dart past the much taller Subjugglator.

"Gamzee," finally, he was able to articulate. "Please, don't do this, please."

He only smiled. Pressing a finger against Karkat's lips, he kept on smiling.

Karkat looked up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks. He smelled of piss. Piss, tears, and fear.

A magical combination.

Gamzee shuddered, closing his eyes with the small spasm.

The internal Gamzee gripped the soft fabric of his pants tightly, gritting his teeth to keep him from screaming.

He didn't want his best friend to die. Not today, not ever.

"Gamzee, I'm your fucking best friend," he talked around the other boy's finger, trying to some how get through to him. "You can't fucking do this. Not to me, not to any of us."

His foot slipped off the stool. The dark guard didn't move as quickly as it did the last time. He was able to dodge the inital strike, but the second one caught him in the stomach, doubling him over and sending him over onto his back. He lie there for a moment, clutching at his belly, eyes open and staring off into deep gray emptiness.

Was it possible...?

Again, he hesitated. His finger curled back into a fist, and he frowned. What was going on? He wasn't holding onto his control as well as he was with the girl; he was getting flashes of guilt, panic, remorse.

Carelessly, he gave Karkat a slap as a show to whatever was trying to take his well-earned control. It was a show of power; look at what I can do; look at what I could hurry and destroy in moments.

I have the power. You do not.

"Fuck, Gamzee," the boy spat a bit of blood onto the floor; he probably cut the inside of his cheek on one of his too-sharp teeth. "Just please, listen to me."

Gamzee shoved him against a wall. "Motherfucker," his face close to the other's, he smiled. "I'll listen to you once you're all up and screaming."

Karkat's eyes widened and he paled, his mouth dry with fear. "N-no," his voice was soft with fright. "Gamzee, this isn't you."

Baring his teeth, Gamzee pushed into Karkat harder. "You're wrong, my brother." He curled his fingers into the material of Karkat's shirt. "This is motherfucking me." He trailed his tongue along his teeth, going over every tip and bump. "The real motherfucking me."

Karkat sobbed. He was so weak. It made Gamzee smile.

"But this isn't!"

Gamzee pressed their foreheads together. He breathed over the other's face, his breath scented with his last kill. "But this motherfucking is."

"Gamz-" He was cut off by Gamzee's lips. The taller boy crushed into him, pressing as much of their bodies together as he could as he bit into Karkat's bottom lip, forcing the boy to open his mouth and let Gamzee's invading tongue in.

Karkat struggled against him, trying to bite at his tongue and push away- but to no avail. The other boy was just too strong, and pain just spurned him on harder. He felt so... violated. Never had he seen Gamzee in this way; and the hardness that pressed against his stomach made all of this worse.

Gamzee began to grind his pelvis into Karkat, getting sharp shivers to run down his spine from the pleasure of friction.

"Stop," he called, within himself. He stood up; the black form was moving even slower, now. He was able to dodge all three of the first attacks. He had stopped crying, and now he was starting to become determind; he had found a hole. "This isn't motherfucking right."

Sidestepping another one of the black form's hits, he found himself walking right into it's other fist. With a loud yell, he was launched farther away from his goal- the stool. He slid on the ground for a a metre or so, his eyes closed again, from pain.

Physically, he stopped moving, putting his sexual assault on hold.

Karkat let out a whimper and gave a final push, shocked when Gamzee actually moved away. He pushed again, this time harder. "Fuck, Gamzee! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Gamzee slapped him, fuming with himself more than with Karkat.

Silently, he stared off to his left, glaring at the floor. He felt... He felt like maybe, maybe this wasn't right. Maybe he should stop...

...But he shouldn't. This was his motherfucking duty. He had to cleanse the world of lowbloods, he had to purify the bloodlines.

Did he have to? Really? Or was this all optional?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he slammed the palms of his hands against the wall on either sides of Karkat's face.

Frustration was seeping out of every pore of him. Why was he all of a sudden so uncertain?

Internally, he was up again. Motherfucking fighting. He had his stool in his hand, blood dripping from his nose and trailing from the corners of his mouth. "Come at me, motherfucker," he called to the figure, tightening his grip on the stool's leg as it began to reach for him.

He gave its arm a whack with the stool, his arms tingling from the shock of the impact.

"Fuck," he muttered aloud, burying his face in Karkat's hair. "Fuck. Shit."

Karkat stilled, dropping his hands to his side. Gamzee's voice- for a second; it was almost... Almost how it usually was. Dreamy and distant; and now, it was... Shaky. "Gamz...?"

Suddenly, the taste of Karkat's bile-tinged spittle and the girl's blood wasn't so delicious. Gamzee doubled over and vomited at Karkat's feet, tears freeflowing down his face as two sides of himself ripped at each other. He was neither Dark Carnival Gamzee nor Typical Gamzee; he was In Between.

He shook and fell onto his ass, gripping at his hair and tugging, as if it would somehow open up his skull and let him tear the two feuding sides a part.

Karkat stood, shaking himself, staring at Gamzee with confusion. He was utterly lost, clueless of Gamzee's self-war. Tentatively, he reached out, brushing his hand against Gamzee's. "G-Gamzee?" He muttered, stepping around the puddle of sick to get closer to the broken boy. "What's going on?"

The internal Gamzee shouted as he slammed the stool into the figure again and again, much like the external one did with the club to the girl. He wasn't winning; not yet. But he felt close. He was hit with an forceful kick, bringing bile and blood up his throat. He spat it out on the ground as he collapsed, barely able to stand back up on quaking knees. "Fuck you, motherfucker," he snarled, running towards it and bringing the stool up to do more damage to the shadowed form. "Fuck you and your blasphamous miracles!"

It was like he felt the slam the figure was being dealt. He fell back onto the tile, coughing and spluttering up whatever the fuck was in his mouth as he felt like his mind was being ravaged and his guts twisted in ways they really shouldn't be.

Karkat was sure that Gamzee wasn't okay. Well, more not-okay than he was when murdering people. He gripped his hand and tried to keep the boy from ripping his hair out at the roots, or clawing his own fucking face off. He tried to be comforting; but he knew he wasn't very good at it. After all, he was eternally cranky. Hushing Gamzee, he stroked the other's hair, crying silently as he watched Gamzee battle himself. "It'll be o-okay, Gamz," he whispered, squeezing his hand.

The figure was definitely injured. Its movements were now incredibly slowed; Gamzee really had a fighting chance. Even in his wounded state, he could get through this.

And motherfuck would he.

He slammed the stool down on what he figured to be the figure's knee. It dropped, fog-like blood evaporating from its open wounds.

He aimed higher, smacking the form in the face. It made a noise, possibly a cry. He grinned and did it again, and again, and again. As many times as it took to get it to fall.

And then he kept going.

Until the stool broke.

And he was using the shards to stab the writhing form.

And then he beat it with his fists until it stopped moving entirely.

And he didn't stop until the room was filled with gray fog so deep, he couldn't see the form any more. He only knew it was there by the dull feeling of his fists making contact into a flesh-like form.

Finally, he fell back.

He had done it.

Motherfucking Gamzee fucking all up and killed the bastard.

He grinned, leaned his head back, and had a laugh.

He laughed as he lie on the tile, he laughed as he opened his eyes and looked up at Karkat, and he laughed as he continued to sob.

Karkat froze, sure his friend was having a mental breakdown. Or, to put it more realistically, another mental breakdown. "Gamzee...?"

Wordlessly, Gamzee pulled Karkat into a nearly-backbreaking hug. He nuzzled his tear-stained face into the boy's hair and cried, a few laughs inserted here and there.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to his best friend, clutching him as if he would fall off the planet, otherwise. "So motherfucking sorry. Honk."

And he realised one thing.

The whispers had stopped.

He had killed, but the urges... They were gone.

Nearly completely. There was still one hidden, silently cursing him; but... For now, they were gone.

Karkat held Gamzee and stayed silent, crying with his best friend, knowing instinctually that it was over. It was fucking over.

So they lie there, in each others arms, relieved that the rage within the Capricorn subsided. Things would be better; they could figure out a way to get the girl back. Somehow.

Someday.

"Honk."