<em>"What is this unwholesome obsession with killing?"</em>Flayer muttered, a hint of tired exasperation bubbling forth.<em>"There is no moral high ground, for each individual is ultimately a nation unto themselves with an entirely subjective morality.  We all have our creeds, the tenants that we abide unwaveringly by even when the world itself is turning to dust beneath our heels.  I do not rape because I gain nothing from it.  One rapes both for physical pleasure and the knowledge that they are forcing another human being to submit to their will.  It is all about control, something that I already possess." </em><br/><br/>The Beast slowly walked to her side, bending over so that they might speak face-to-face.<em>"I understand you, Miss Jemma, and in understanding you I already own you in ways that a rapist could only dream of.  But to answer your question; I have never killed a guard.  Nor do I plan to.  Your Angel of Death, Judis, on the other hand has slain quite a few.  From my perspective that makes him a criminal, while from his it makes him a paragon of justice and a protector of women.  I know him.  He will not allow the guards to do to you what the inmates did to Luna.  Hatred is a powerful stimulant.  Only by killing you with his own two hands will he finally be sated."</em><br/><br/>His hand cupped Jemma's cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.  The glove nearly enveloped the size of her head; the touch was almost compassionate, in a twisted sort of way, but one couldn't help but remember that those same fingers had previously crumpled an iron lock like a ball of paper.<br/><br/><em>"There is something you should know about me, Miss Jemma.  I do not do repeat performances.  I allowed Luna to die precisely because I knew that she was innocent.  Hers was a purity that you can never match, now that your hands are besmirched with blood.  It was an undignified end, but she met it as gracefully as she could.  In her short stay on Crematoria, she did not say a word.  And as she was lowered into the Pit, the hordes of prisoners convulsing below, that woman turned to look at me.  And she smiled.  When I recovered her body at the end of the week, nearly unrecognizable beneath the filth and bruises, that smile was still on her face.  Serene.  All the artists in the universe could not have crafted anything so bitter and beautiful as her face on the seventh day."</em><br/><br/><em>"You, on the other hand,"</em>he said after a moment's pause, the emotionless mask mere inches from her face,<em>"Are something altogether ugly.  You are weak.  So weak, in fact, that you cannot even take your own life.  You crave punishment, to feel as Luna felt so that you might pay the price for your crimes.  Miss Jemma, I do not claim to be a noble being.  I have no delusions about what I am.  I am a <strong>monster.</strong>  But you?  You are something far lower than that.  You are a coward and a fool.  The woman you loved willingly gave her body and her life so that you may continue to live unscathed, yet here you are.  If you die, her sacrifice will have meant nothing.  Perhaps I should take you to her grave, so that you might spit on it.  I assure you it would be no more insulting than what you're trying to accomplish now, goading me into striking you down."</em><br/><br/>