The village lay at the edge of the Wastes, a decaying husk of its former self, where the earth itself seemed to shrink away from the death that lingered in the air. Bleak, gray skies stretched over jagged mountains, and the wind carried the scent of rot, mingled with the faintest trace of blood. The streets were empty, save for the occasional rat scurrying across the cobblestones, fearful of the man walking through the village.
Kael Valen—Everyone knows him as Red Hand—moved through the deserted settlement with the weight of a thousand eyes upon him, though none dared to meet his gaze. His long cloak billowed behind him, stained with the blood of countless kills, but it was the red handprint emblazoned upon it that marked him for what he was. His presence was a curse, an omen of death. His hands—those infernal hands—were his greatest curse, and the greatest weapon. They ignited with the power of bloodshed, burning the very life out of everything they touched.
The villagers whispered as he passed, their murmurs barely audible above the wind.
"Red Hand..."
"You're cursed..."
"They say his touch kills. They say he's been marked by death itself."
Kael paid them no mind, though the whispers clung to him like a shadow. He'd long stopped caring about the fear he inspired. All that mattered now was his next contract.
A figure stepped from the shadows, a tall man whose gaunt features looked as though they were carved from stone. His face was hard, and his eyes even harder, but his tone was strangely respectful as he approached Kael.
"You are the Red Hand," the man said, his voice rough, as if he had not spoken in days.
Kael stopped and turned to face him. "I am."
The man hesitated, looking over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening before he spoke again. "There's a beast. It's been terrorizing our village, killing our people. We need it gone. We need your help."
Kael's gaze was cold, indifferent. "And what's the price?" he asked, already knowing the answer. There was always a price.
The man swallowed, clearly nervous. "We... We have no gold. No riches. But we'll offer you food, shelter... anything. Just please, end the beast's reign of terror."
Kael studied the man for a long moment, his gaze piercing. He could see the desperation in the man's eyes—the weariness of a village on the brink of destruction. He could feel the tension in the air, thick with fear. It didn't matter. He was used to it. Death was the only constant in his life.
"I don't want your gold," Kael said flatly. "I'll take the beast's head. That's payment enough."
The man looked relieved, though the tension remained in his shoulders. He nodded quickly. "Of course. Of course. You'll have it. Thank you."
Kael didn't wait for more words. He turned, his cloak swirling behind him like a shadow as he moved toward the Wastes—the desolate land that lay beyond the village.
---
The air was colder here, harsher. The Wastes stretched out before him, an endless expanse of dead earth and skeletal trees. The beast was out there somewhere, hiding in the ruins. Kael could feel it in his bones, the weight of something unnatural lurking just beyond the horizon.
His boots crunched against the gravel as he walked, his senses on high alert. The curse burned at the back of his mind, the weight of it pressing against him with each step. It was always there, that gnawing hunger for blood, the call to kill.
A howl shattered the silence.
Kael stopped, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his blade. The beast had found him.
The creature emerged from the shadows—a grotesque monstrosity, half-man, half-beast, its eyes glowing with an unnatural hunger. Its claws scraped against the ground, leaving deep gouges in the earth. It was large, its muscles rippling under the coarse fur that covered its body.
Without hesitation, Kael drew his sword. It was time.
---
The battle was brutal. The beast lunged with terrifying speed, its claws raking through the air, narrowly missing Kael's head. He parried with his blade, slashing across the creature's chest. Blood spilled from the wound, hot and dark.
The beast roared in fury, swiping again, this time catching Kael across the arm. The wound was shallow, but the pain was sharp, like fire.
Kael's hands burned.
It was instinct—he didn't need to think. The curse was awake now, the power surging through his veins like wildfire. His hands ignited with the power of bloodshed. The world seemed to slow as his palms glowed with crimson energy.
In a blur of motion, Kael struck, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. He sliced through the creature's throat, severing its head in one swift motion. The beast fell, its body crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud.
Kael stood over the body, breathing heavily, his hands still blazing with the aftermath of the curse. The flames flickered, licking at the air like they were alive. Blood stained his cloak, his skin. But it didn't matter. It never mattered. Not anymore.
---
The pain hit him all at once, sharp and overwhelming. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold ground, his hands still ablaze with the curse's fury.
The weight of it was unbearable. He gasped for breath, his body convulsing with the strain of the power surging through him. His vision blurred. He couldn't fight it. He couldn't stop it.
And then, as everything began to fade, a voice pierced the darkness.
A voice that didn't belong to anyone he knew.
"You've paid the price," it whispered, just as the darkness took him.
---
Kael loses consciousness, the world around him fading into shadow. In the distance, a pair of silver eyes watch from the edge of the village, their gaze steady and knowing.