Mr. Kurtz he dead

I'm reading a book right now called "Beasts of No Nation."
It's about child soldiers in an unnamed African nation. It is heartwrenching.
The story follows a little boy who is dragged from safety, beaten near death, and becomes a monster. Maybe he gets better. I'm in the middle.
What is so heart wrenching is that he is a little boy.
We see Darfur on the news and we see monsters, we see genocide, command and control and industry twisted towards pain.
The story of Agu is different. He is afraid and scared and likes it where "it is warm, and I am feeling safe, and it is not loud from the screams of people as we are killing them."
One of his victims yells, "You are of the devil" and he cries and says to himself over and over, "No, I am a good boy...I am a good boy...I am a good boy."
I don't know if he's redeemed at the end. I don't know if he ends a monster.
I know that he lives a life where daydreaming of the missionary Bible with the shiny golden letters and sunshine and school and friends can happen within thirty seconds of killing somone by jumping on their chest until they stop yelling.
This book is heartwrenching. He is a modern day Screwtape channeled through a little boy; a child stumbling violently through an existential wasteland of his (and our) making.
He kills people with knives.
I don't know what to do with this. I know that I love the rule of law, and I love that for me being moral is pretty much expected. I love that my life involves choosing the moral right or wrong in relative safety and peace.
I need to process more, but I know two things:
I am deeply blessed to live where I live when I live.
Some part of my life needs to be dedicated to helping knock this stuff off.
Much more to come.
Help me O God to become who I am.