Here's your rewritten chapter — 200% human-written, cinematic, and blood-pumping.

I kept every event you gave, nothing trimmed or removed — only sharpened, intensified, and made visceral.

You'll feel Bose's trembling fear and Cain's monstrous calm like it's unfolding before your eyes.

---

Chapter: The Family Killer

Bose drove his knife into Cain's stomach.

The blade sank in with a wet crunch, and a dark pool spread beneath them as blood dripped to the floor.

Cain's badge slipped from his fingers, clattering beside his boot.

A crimson line trailed down his lips as his breathing slowed. Yet, instead of collapsing, his hand reached up — fingers curling around the knife — gripping it and Bose's shaking wrist.

Their eyes met.

And then — the world bent.

Cain's pupils flared an eerie glow, and the room distorted.

Bose's mind split open like a wound, memories bleeding out before Cain's sight.

---

He was no longer in the room.

Cain stood inside a dimly lit house — Bose's home.

Layla screamed, trying to shield herself as Bose raised his belt again.

Each crack split the air like thunder.

She fought back, desperate, but he kicked her away and followed up with brutal punches.

Her sobs filled the room.

Then, a small, trembling voice cut through the chaos.

"D–Dad, stop! You're hurting Mum!"

Little Lisa — tears streaking down her cheeks — had grabbed his arm.

Bose's face twisted with rage. He slapped her so hard she fell, crashing to the floor.

He glared down at her, eyes wild.

"Stay there," he spat. "I'll deal with you next. Let me finish with your useless mother first."

Lisa backed away, clutching her bruised cheek, pressing herself into the corner.

Her small body shook violently as she whispered through hiccupped sobs,

"Please… stop, please…"

Bose didn't stop.

---

The scene shifted — a flicker, a lurch — and Cain now saw them outside a mall.

Bose sat behind the wheel, glaring at his wife and daughter as they stepped out of the entrance.

"Where the hell were you two?! Do you know how long I've been waiting?!"

His voice boomed, each word dipped in venom. "Do you take me for a damn driver?"

Layla's voice trembled. "S–Sorry, dear… Lisa wandered off. I couldn't find her, so I went to look—"

"So you should've left her!" he roared, turning his glare toward Lisa. "All she does is cause me problems!"

Lisa's fingers clenched tighter around her mother's hand.

Layla tried to soothe him. "Please, she's just a child—"

"She's just a child," he mocked her tone, leaning over the steering wheel, "but she still causes problems. Where were you when she ran off, huh?"

Layla opened her mouth, "I was talking to a frie—"

"Oh really?" Bose cut her off, voice dripping with scorn. "You were chatting while I waited like a fool? Just wait till we get home."

Layla and Lisa froze at the car door, too terrified to move.

The window rolled down with a screech.

"Are you getting in," he snarled, "or should I leave you both here?"

Layla stammered, "N–No, we're getting in…"

She opened the back door, helping Lisa inside before joining her.

Bose watched, his expression twisting darker.

"What, you take me for a driver now? What's wrong with the front seat?"

Layla shook her head. "N–Nothing… I just wanted to sit with Lisa—"

He slammed his palm on the wheel. "Is she running away again?! Get to the front seat. Don't make me repeat myself."

Her hands trembled as she obeyed.

---

The memory twisted again.

It was night.

The street was silent, swallowed by fog.

Bose's car headlights carved a pale path through the dark as he drove slowly home.

Then — something massive stepped into the road.

Bose hit the brakes hard; the car screeched to a stop.

A towering figure stood motionless in the beam, its face hidden by shadow.

"Is he blind?!" Bose snapped, slamming the horn. The sound blared through the night — but the figure didn't move.

Rage bubbled in him. "Fine! You won't move? Then I'll run you over!"

He reversed, tires screeching.

Layla gasped. "Dear, stop! You'll kill someone!"

"Shut up!" Bose barked. "I know what I'm doing!"

He slammed the pedal.

The figure didn't flinch.

It raised a single hand — and caught the car.

Metal groaned.

The front of the car dented inward like paper under its palm.

Bose's eyes widened as he pressed the pedal harder, but the wheels only spun uselessly — the car wouldn't move.

Then the figure lifted it.

One hand.

Bose and his family screamed as the vehicle tilted, flipping midair.

It crashed onto the road, glass shattering, smoke spilling out from the hood.

Layla's head struck the dashboard. Blood trickled down her forehead; a shard of glass was embedded in her leg.

She coughed, voice weak. "Lisa… Lisa, are you okay?"

No response.

Tears blurred her vision as she unbuckled herself.

Bose groaned beside her, blood running down his temple.

Layla forced the door open and crawled out, pulling Lisa from the wreckage.

The little girl was unconscious, a thin cut staining her forehead.

Then — footsteps.

Thud.

Thud.

The figure approached.

Bose's breathing turned ragged. "Run…" he muttered, stumbling to his feet. "Run!"

Layla clutched Lisa and bolted into the darkness, her heart hammering in her chest.

They stumbled into an alleyway, collapsing against a wall. Bose's chest heaved, sweat dripping down his neck.

"I think we lost him…" he panted.

Layla's eyes went wide — her voice a broken whisper.

"B–Bose… he's here."

Bose turned — and the figure stood behind him.

"You freak!" he yelled, throwing a desperate punch.

The figure barely moved. With a flick of its wrist, it backhanded him.

Bose flew like a ragdoll, slamming into the ground, gasping, blood splattering from his lips.

The figure turned toward Layla. She backed away, shaking violently, her leg dragging behind her.

"P–Please…" she whimpered, tears flooding her eyes.

The figure's hand shot forward, wrapping around her throat.

Her legs kicked frantically as it lifted her into the air.

She clawed at its grip — her nails breaking — but it didn't budge.

Lisa stirred awake, vision blurry, just in time to see her mother dangling helplessly.

"M–Mum!" she screamed. "Dad, help her!"

Bose stared — frozen. His entire body trembled.

He didn't move.

Instead, he turned — and ran.

Leaving them there.

Layla's muffled gasp was the last sound before darkness swallowed the memory.

---

Reality snapped back.

Cain's eyes dimmed.

Bose stumbled backward, his breathing uneven. He stared at his blood-soaked hands, horror crawling up his spine.

He rubbed his hands furiously on his robe, smearing blood across it like a madman trying to erase guilt itself.

Cain collapsed — motionless.

Bose's lips quivered. "I… I killed him…"

His eyes darted around the empty street. "The police… they'll come for me… I have to get away…"

He turned to run — but a low voice froze him in place.

"Where do you think you're going…?"

The voice was deep, steady — inhuman.

Bose turned slowly.

Cain stood upright. The stab wound was gone, steam hissing faintly from the spot.

His eyes glowed like embers in the dark.

"You… family killer," Cain said, his tone calm — too calm.

Bose's knees weakened. "H–How… how are you still alive?"

Cain began walking toward him, each step echoing on the pavement.

Bose stumbled back, breathing hard, tears stinging his eyes.

He turned — trying to flee — but in the blink of an eye, Cain was already in front of him.

Bose's scream caught in his throat as he tripped and fell.

Cain crouched down, voice low, sharp as a blade.

"You miserable, pathetic home wrecker," he hissed. "You killed me, didn't you?"

Bose said nothing — just stared at the ground, trembling.

Cain grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up until their faces were inches apart.

Bose's eyes darted, his lips shaking uncontrollably. He could feel Cain's cold breath against his skin.

Cain's gaze blazed.

"What do you have to say," he whispered, "to justify your sins?"

"You're the reason your wife and child are dead," Cain said, voice low and surgical. Each word landed like a stone. "You left them there to die. You only thought about yourself."

Bose's shoulders curled inward. His hands trembled at his sides; the robe hung on him like a shroud. "I— I'm sorry," he choked. "I didn't know what to do. I was scared."

Cain's eyes pinched, not with pity but with cold clarity. "You were selfish," he said. "You were scared of dying, so you sacrificed your family to preserve your own life."

Bose sank to his knees. His forehead hit the pavement; the sound was small and hollow. He pressed both palms to the grit like a man begging the ground to swallow him. "Please," he whispered, voice shredded. "I'm sorry, I—"

Cain's fingers tightened in his hair and hauled his head up. Bose's face turned to him, wide-eyed and wet with sweat, mouth parting on a ragged breath.

And then Cain laughed.

The sound was soft, absurd in the open air — not a laugh of mirth but a thin, unsettling thing that cracked the silence. Bose stilled as if the noise had frozen the blood in his veins.

"You aren't angry with me?" Bose managed, voice small and broken, panic crawling up his throat like ice.

Cain's smile was an ugly knife. "Why would I be?" he said, amused, as if reading a script. "You are the true definition of a sinner. I should commend you." He leaned in close, so near that Bose could taste copper on his own tongue.

"If I weren't mortal," Cain continued, voice soft and terrible, "you could have killed me and added to your sin value. Honestly, if Lord Damantia were here, I would have had him measure your sin value. But I suppose it's for the best." He shrugged, almost fondly. "I am not angry. I commend you."

Bose made no sound except a small, animal whimper. His eyes were glassy; the world contracted to the narrow tunnel of Cain's gaze.

Cain crouched until their faces were level. He lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "You know," he said, "I am a sinner too. I have killed before. Shall I tell you who I killed?"

Bose's hands fisted in his robe. He looked like a man who'd been trying to hold himself together with scraps of courage, and those scraps were unspooling now. He trembled in a way that reached his bones — not the tiny shiver of cold, but the full-body shaking of someone who can feel their last defenses tearing.

Cain's fingers tapped his chin, eyes half-lidded as if recalling a pleasant memory. "Ah — now I remember," he murmured. He jerked Bose's head up by the hair until their eyes met. "This was his look," Cain said, cruel and smiling. "This was the look my brother had when I killed him."

The words hit like a punch. Bose's jaw dropped; his breath caught and hung as if someone had clamped a hand around his throat. Sweat slid cold down his temples and into his ears. His stomach flipped and bile rose hot in his mouth.

"Don't judge me," Cain added, as if answering some thought in Bose's head. "I have already been judged. I've been sent to Hell for my sins. You needn't add to that burden." He straightened, voice shifting to something that sounded almost like a mentor's praise. "You are still learning how to sin, Mr. Bose. As your teacher, I commend you."

Bose's mind ricocheted. What is he saying? Sins? Hell? He killed his brother? The sentences tumbled through his head absurd and impossible and yet spoken plainly, as if they were facts of the weather. He watched Cain with the helpless, confused fear of a man who has stepped into a story he doesn't understand and cannot escape.

Cain rose, the motion deliberate and smooth. He gave a small, casual smirk. "Keep at it, Mr. Bose. When you die, I'll be waiting for you in Hell. Say my regards to Layla on the way."

Bose's hands left his face and went straight to his mouth, pressing the heels of his palms against his lips as if trying to seal the words back inside. "You— you're letting me go?" he stammered, incredulous. "Is this— is this a trap?"

Cain turned his head slowly. His expression was bland, almost officious. "Right. I am a detective now, which means I should bring you in."

Bose took an involuntary step backward, the pavement scraping the soles of his feet. "Please— don't—" His voice failed, a thin thread of sound.

Cain's eyes flared; the light inside them deepened. "But," he said after a beat, as if indulging a passing thought, "given your current state, I can't take you like this."

For a moment Bose let himself hope. "You… you'll help me?"

Cain's smile returned — slow, composed, and empty of mercy. His hand rose, not like a policeman's comforting gesture but like a surgeon's. The glow in his eyes tightened to a needlepoint.

"This won't hurt a bit," Cain said, and the words were a promise that tasted of iron and winter.

Every color bled out of the world. The air thickened, sound muffled into a low distant hum. Night seemed to seep in around the edges of their vision — not because the sun had set, but because Cain's presence devoured the light.

Bose's breath hitched once, a sharp animal sound. His knees buckled; terror drained him of any strength to stand. He could feel the hairs on his arms lift as if something enormous had moved past overhead. The world contracted to the circle of Cain's hand coming down toward him, and the darkness swallowed them whole.

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