The Village Drowned in Blood
Days, maybe weeks. Lucas no longer counted.The world around him crumbled into dust and carrion. Villages dissolved into the earth, forgotten corpses fed the birds, and time seemed to mock him — slow and corrosive.
It was the smell that called him.Fresh blood. Living blood.
He followed the trail to a village shrouded in smoke and screams.The banners were familiar: soldiers in black armor — Edrian's kingdom, the same that had tortured, reduced, and broken him.
They laughed as they pillaged homes.Women were dragged by their hair.Children were kicked aside like trash.
Lucas stopped at the village's edge.The wind scattered embers across the filthy ground.For a moment, his entire body vibrated — as if something hungry stirred awake inside him.
And he smiled.
"Going to let your old friends have all the fun?"
Lucas didn't answer.He took the first step.
The soldiers noticed.One of them pointed and laughed."Hey, lost, you miserable piece of shit!"
The laugh barely finished.
The shadows exploded from the ground.
The first man screamed as invisible eyes dug into his mind, showing horrors he couldn't comprehend.He fell to his knees, clawing out his own eyes with trembling hands.
The others backed away, but fear already gnawed at their strength."Kill him!" shouted an officer.
Lucas reappeared behind two soldiers before they could react.His arms pierced through their torsos with clinical brutality, pulling out hot entrails in a lazy motion.
Some tried to flee.Lucas snapped his fingers.
"Burn."
The shadows ignited in black flames.The men ran, screaming, their flesh melting and their bones turning to ash carried by the wind.
A commander, clad in decorated armor, charged with a spear in hand.His face pale with terror."N-no... this isn't possible..."
Lucas tilted his neck, cracking the bones."This is just the beginning," he said, smiling.
In an instant, he reappeared behind the man, breaking his arm like rotten wood.The spear clattered to the ground.The shadows tore through the earth, grabbing the commander's legs and pulling hard.
Lucas walked toward him — no rush.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The commander tried to scream, but the shadow covered his mouth.He squirmed as cuts etched into his skin in slow, delicate patterns, as if hell itself was carving into his flesh.
Lucas leaned in."Tell me..." — he whispered into the bloodied ear — "does it hurt?"
The man only sobbed.
The shadows dove inside him, ripping out entrails and hope at once.When nothing remained but a broken scrap of a man, Lucas murmured:"This isn't vengeance. It's just justice in its ugliest form."
And he let him die.
Movements in the Shadows
While the village burned in the distant horizon, the surviving members of the Dragon Knights returned to the capital.They crossed dark corridors until they reached the throne room.
King Edrian awaited.
Seated on a throne of iron and bones, the king's eyes were like shards of glass stained with blood.When the knights knelt, there were no cheers.Only the sound of an empire rotting in its own fear.
"He's stronger," said Sir Aldric, his voice scraping the silence."More cruel. Unstoppable."
"And where are the rest of the men I sent?"
Sir Aldric lowered his head."Dead. All of them."
King Edrian remained silent, sinking deeper into his worn throne.The knights before him — filthy, wounded, carrying shame on their shoulders — exchanged anxious glances.
"He's changed. We can't contain him anymore."
Edrian kept his eyes on the fireplace, as if searching for answers in the crackling wood.
"And what do you suggest?" he asked, emotionless.
Then, from the shadows cloaking the pillars of the hall, a new presence emerged.
Bare feet on cold marble.A black cloak trailing dust.
Zathiel, the Blade Without Remorse.
The name needed no announcement — only whispered, like an old forgotten omen.
He stopped before the king, offering no bow.
"Leave him to me," he said, his voice cold as steel beneath the snow.
Sir Aldric swallowed hard, looking away.
For the first time in days, Edrian smiled — a small smile, made of venom."Make him beg. Then... silence him forever."
Zathiel merely inclined his head slightly before disappearing once again into the shadows.
The Judgment of Hope
Back at the village, Lucas stood before the survivors.
Villagers — women and children — wide-eyed, hiding behind debris.
A woman, trembling, whispered:"You... saved us?"
Lucas looked at her.At the child clinging to her leg.At the fear — the same fear he had seen in those who once laughed while torturing him.
And then, sliding through his mind like poison, the Abyss whispered:
"So fragile... so soft...""Come on, little doll. A quick snack to grow big and strong?"
Lucas squeezed his eyes shut, suffocating the impulse clawing at his throat.
"I killed the vermin. That's all.""Heroes save. I just cleaned up the filth."
He turned away without waiting for gratitude.
As he walked through the ashes, the Abyss laughed, scattering echoes through his head:
"A savior? A hero?" it mocked."Yeah, right... Save and let them die. What a fascinating hero you are."
Lucas kept walking, the world behind him collapsing in silence.
Each step dragged him deeper, farther from who he once was.Closer to what he needed to become.Closer to what the world feared.
Closer to going back to her.
At any cost.
And deep down, almost like a cracked whisper, the Abyss promised:
"Go on, hero... every step kills you a little more."