In the beginning, the shift is subtle. The jokes start cutting a little deeper. The arguments stop being about resolving anything and become about humiliating you. The narcissist doesn’t just deceive; they delight in the wreckage. There’s a strange comfort in those eyes when someone falls apart: a slight smile when tears appear, a glimmer of satisfaction when a heart breaks or a mind snaps. That’s not an accident; that’s a choice.
Most people wound others in a moment of weakness out of fear, anger, or confusion and later feel the prick of conscience. But the narcissist, who has surrendered to darkness, wounds on purpose. Pain is fuel. Misery is a kind of currency. Every shattered person, every confused mind, every broken heart is a trophy. That’s not just how they are; that is evil in action.
Watch closely next time the narcissist shames someone in public, lies to make you question your sanity, or pushes someone right into an emotional collapse. Look at their face. Do you see regret? Do you see confusion? Or do you see enjoyment? Do the eyes light up with twisted satisfaction? Does the narcissist lean in, almost waiting for the tears, waiting for the silence, waiting for that moment when someone gives up inside?
When you see that, you’re not looking at a wounded heart trying to figure life out; you’re looking at a heart that has abandoned its post. And it doesn’t stop with enemies; that would almost make sense. No, the narcissist does this to everyone: friends, family, even children. The closer someone stands to the narcissist, the more power the narcissist feels when that person is broken. That’s why nothing you give is ever enough. You can pour out love, loyalty, sacrifice, and patience, and still, the narcissist won’t rest until you’re doubting yourself, doubting what’s real, doubting your own worth.
For the narcissist, pain is proof of power. If the narcissist can snap you in two, twist your perception, and make you mistrust your own mind, that means they have won. And the worst part? There’s no finish line. No moment when the narcissist steps back and says, “That’s too far.” That checkpoint doesn’t exist. Without conscience, there is no brake pedal.
As time goes on, the mask starts to slide off. In the past, the narcissist at least tried to look decent: fake apologies, fake empathy, fake humility. But once the soul is given over to darkness, even that act feels unnecessary. The narcissist doesn’t just hurt people; they like it. Goodness becomes a joke. Sympathy becomes a costume that the narcissist only wears when it helps the story.
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