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A Sliver Of Empathy

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Hushed and overlapped whispers of the purified zones always unsettled the Batter. Despite his apathetic and stoic demeanor, there were some things that bothered him. It was frustrating not being able to decipher what exactly they were saying. Are they warning him, insulting him, or simply uselessly attempting to converse with the man? In contrast to the overwhelming voices, the purified zone didn't offer him much to gaze upon. Everything was bleached white, similarly to his attire. All of this was painfully familiar to him, a strong feeling of deja vu. Trying to remember hurts, all the memories from the repetitive playthroughs in the past were all so blurry. 
The purifier walked down the pure white trail in silence, following the pitch black droplets from what was allegedly bodily fluids. The trail of droplets appeared to grow as he followed it, turning into splatters rather than droplets in the process. If observed closely, the blood appeared to be a bit of a crimson color, and not entirely black. The Batter never took the time to observe the aftermath of his eliminations. At the end of the trail, laid the decaying corpse of an unfortunate tiburce, which he recalled slaughtering. It's eyes were cold and dead, still seemingly fearful. It's body was mutilated and contorted from the Batter's harsh beating. Several bones in it's body were quite obviously shattered.
Broken layers of skin had started to decompose and peel backward, revealing the pink tinted muscle beneath it. The purifier tilted his head to the side. Tiburces are typically so energetic and lively, seeing one in this state was out of the usual. He kneeled down, hesitantly placing a hand over it's dry, scaly body. It occurred to him that he did this. Perhaps his sudden sharp observations are due to the absence of the puppeteer. He wasn't usually like this, reasonably so. The Batter was never given the time to rest and observe like this.
He ran his fingers along the weakened skin, and he let his curiosity get the best of him. The Batter gingerly pinched the lose scaled skin and peeled it backward. It made a quiet tearing noise, wet and sticky almost. The muscle beneath it was very dull in color, like the life was sucked- or really more so beaten out of it. He found it difficult to comprehend he had committed such an act. 
This feeling was highly unusual to him. His chest felt cold and empty, everything felt ominous to him. Guilt was what he felt, but he himself couldn't describe it. The Batter stared down at his hands. They didn't feel like his hands. He didn't feel like himself in general, but what part of him really was himself? He had no control over this cumbersome and heavy body. Regardless, he felt disgusted with himself. The Batter stood, gazing down at the deceased creature before him. 
"Oh dear batter, what has gotten into you?" A calm, quiet voice behind him called out. The purifier flinched, his overwhelming guilt ebbed away. He knew exactly who that motherfucker was. He turned around, glaring daggers into the smaller male behind him. There stood a man hiding behind a mask, resembling that of a toad. The masks this fool wore infuriated him, it seemed like a form of mockery to him. His expression was stern and his brows were knitted together, visibly irritated. "What do you want, merchant." 
"I desire nothing, friend. I'm simply curious, your puppeteer's sudden disappearance is rather concerning. Your behavior also seems.. strange, or at least, strange for you." The masked merchant explained. The Batter nearly gawked, instead he continued to glare, balling his fists tightly. Zacharie noticed this and raised his hands, "Ah, no disrespect intended! Remember that this is my business as well, without your puppeteer my sales will decrease."
The purifier huffed like an angered bull. "Of course, sales are all you care about. Pitiful, truly. I am just as clueless as you are." He responded harshly. "Bold of you to assume such," Zacharie slowly approached the taller man, hands behind his back, "that's rather hurtful. How exactly do you think I'm supposed to manage myself? I heavily depend on selling wares. It's a shame you're so disdain. I treat you well, I receive nothing in return." He lowered his head, unruly raven locks falling over his mask. 
"You do not deserve a sliver of consideration from me, everything you do is a form of mockery towards me." The Batter growled. Zacharie glanced up and tilted his head. "Hm. I digress." He glanced behind the purifier, at the corpse of the spectre, "What are you doing..? Preforming surgery on a partially decayed body is highly unnecessary."
"I'm not." The Batter responded flatly. "Hm. Whatever you say, dear batter. I wish you luck, if you ever need anything like a place to stay I will be willing to provide just so, free of charge, out of pure generosity." Zacharie bowed his head before sauntering off, "Adios, amigo." He grinned beneath his mask. The Batter gritted his teeth. He would beat the shit out of that merchant if they weren't useful. He remembers why he is so violent.