insane

He was blind. His hands moved of their own accord, with no regard to anything but their target. They flew with remarkable speed. Slicing, stabbing, separating. They were good at their job.

He was also deaf. His ears understood that his hands would my be able to fulfill their duty if the resulting sound was heard. The ear-splitting screams of agony. The tortured breaths of the dying. The ears knew that his conscious would put a stop to it if it could hear what the hands were doing.

His conscious, like the hands' target, was dying slowly. Larger chunks of it were cut away with every swing of the knife. The hands would continue to draw blood until the conscious was finally destroyed, because they had the power to.

The conscious had made a mistake long ago. It succumbed to the urge, allowing the hands a moment of power, but being hands, they held on to it as hard as they could, and the power was never returned.

His body would continue to destroy everything, until the day when it ultimately would destroy itself, drawing nearer with every swing.