Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 270: Lital - 5

"Let me in, Lital."

"Let me devour the pain."

"You were never weak. Never insignificant. That’s the lie they fed you, the poison they poured down your throat to keep you small."

Lital offered no verbal assent.

Words had long since failed her.

But in the cavern of her chest, a door creaked wide—an unspoken yielding.

And she invited her in.

The fusion was instantaneous, a surge that rippled through her veins like liquid shadow.

Every insect in the box—beetles with their gleaming carapaces, spiders weaving fragile empires, worms writhing in blind hunger, flies buzzing in futile orbits—froze in mid-stride, as if time itself recoiled.

Then the frenzy erupted.

Not in audible shrieks, but in a chaotic ballet of terror: bodies convulsing, legs flailing wildly as they bolted for the walls, the corners, desperate to escape the unseen predator now awakening.

The box quaked, wood groaning under an invisible strain.

A primal hum throbbed through the planks—not a voice, but a living pulse, ancient and seething with rage, laced with a twisted ecstasy that vibrated in her teeth.

Then—

A lash of pure shadow cleaved the air, a streak of obsidian lightning, honed sharper than any blade, swifter than despair. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Insects disintegrated in its wake—torn asunder mid-flight, mid-crawl.

Thousands of fragments pelted the walls: severed limbs twitching their last, segmented bodies bursting like overripe fruit, minuscule eyes scattering like beads from a broken necklace.

A grotesque deluge of chitin and viscera, painting the interior in a mosaic of carnage.

Even the centipede, lodged deep in her ear canal like a parasite king, detonated from within—sliced into fifty precise shards that erupted through her jaw in a hiss of vaporized ichor, leaving her unmarked, unscarred.

Lital’s lips curved faintly, parting in a ghost of a smile—the first true one in an eternity of torment.

She rose then, fluid as smoke uncoiling from embers.

No hand turned the lock.

No force pried the door.

It yielded to her will, hinges sighing as the panels bowed outward, splinters curling back like flesh parting to expose a beating heart.

Tendrils of shadow wafted from the threshold, not born of fire but of condensed void, heavy and cloying, carrying the scent of decay and rebirth.

Lital emerged into the mud, barefoot, the cold earth squelching between her toes like a lover’s grasp.

She was no longer solitary.

Beside her strode her twin—a perfect echo in stature, in features, in the ragged coat that draped her frame.

But the soul within was a distortion, a nightmare veiled in familiarity.

The twin’s grin stretched unnaturally wide, teeth glinting like shards of obsidian.

Her eyes wept ink, trails of blackness streaking down her cheeks like tears from a fractured abyss.

Her hands dragged wisps of smoke in their wake, a bridal train woven from nightmares.

Lital needed no questions.

The knowledge thrummed in her blood.

The orphanage’s front hall lay in hushed anticipation.

Dinner murmurs filled the air—the Matron’s barked commands, the clatter of a dropped ladle echoing like a omen.

Lights stuttered, bulbs flickering as if sensing the encroaching doom.

Then they extinguished, plunging the building into an impenetrable shroud—not the gentle dim of evening, but the absolute black of a sealed crypt, where even echoes dared not linger.

Footfalls resonated through the corridors—bare, deliberate, slick with unseen moisture.

Shadows seeped under doors like spilled oil, pooling and pulsing with intent.

The cook fell first.

A spear of darkness lanced through the bubbling soup pot, erupting upward into her gaping throat.

She gurgled, her scream drowned in a froth of blood and broth, eyes bulging in horror before rolling back to whites.

Her body slumped, limp as a discarded rag, steam rising from her cooling form like a final, futile breath.

The children froze, transfixed in the gloom, hearts hammering against ribs too fragile to contain the terror.

Lital materialized in the kitchen’s threshold, her coat trailing like a shroud, sodden and heavy with the box’s residue.

Her eyes were voids, stripped of light, of life.

Her twin sauntered ahead, barefoot and beaming with malevolent cheer.

"Hello, everyone," she chirped, voice laced with honeyed venom.

Overhead, bulbs shattered in a cascade of sparks, igniting screams that clawed at the air like trapped animals.

"Lital?" A child’s whimper cut through, trembling with recognition and dread.

The twin cocked her head, amusement dancing in her inky gaze. "No. She’s finished with tears now. Finished with you."

Carnage unfolded like a symphony of vengeance.

Shadows erupted from the walls—arachnid forms the size of hounds, legs like scythes skittering across tiles; elongated arms, skeletal and taloned, grasping with unholy precision.

One coiled around a boy’s neck, constricting until veins burst and eyes protruded like overripe grapes, life squeezing out in a wet gasp.

A girl bolted for escape; shadows ensnared her ankle, yanking her back, flaying her skin in deliberate strips, exposing raw muscle that glistened in the flickering remnants of light.

A brave boy hefted a chair, defiance flickering in his eyes.

The twin advanced, her presence alone liquefying the wood in his grip, molten splinters searing his palms.

His mouth gaped for a cry—

Lital’s fingers twitched, a subtle command, and a torrent of insects surged into his maw—the very tormentors that had once plagued her, now her arsenal, swarming down his throat in a choking wave.

His scream strangled unborn, body convulsing as they burrowed inward.

Matron Gresha clawed her way to the stairs, lips mouthing frantic prayers to a god who had long abandoned these walls.

Lital materialized behind her, silent as death’s shadow.

The Matron whirled, face ashen, voice cracking.

"Lital... sweetheart... please..."

But Lital remained mute, her expression a blank canvas of indifference.

Her twin spoke for her, words dripping with mocking sweetness. "You preached the box for failures. What box suits a liar like you?"

Gresha spun to flee, heels slipping on blood-slicked steps.

Shadows seized her, hauling her against the wall, prying her jaws wide.

From her maw poured an avalanche of insects—hundreds, relentless, the echoes of Lital’s nightmares.

They invaded her eyes, her ears, her nostrils, bloating her skin until it stretched taut, translucent.

Then she ruptured—a visceral pop, flesh parting in a spray of gore and chitin, leaving only a steaming husk.

PLOP!