Cleve's enhanced hearing tracked Gerald's group as they stumbled through the forest like drunken oxen. Three voices now—Gerald's arrogant drawl, someone called Marcus who sounded nervous, and a third man who spoke little but breathed heavily, probably the muscle.
[You have killed a horned rabbit. +20 exp]
[You have killed a horned rabbit. +20 exp]
He had managed to kill two more rabbits in quick succession, their small bodies no match for his improved reflexes and growing experience. But he still needed one more rabbit and two wolves to complete his quest, and time was running short.
The voices were getting closer now, maybe five minutes away.
Cleve could hear Gerald's boots squelching in the mud, could hear Marcus complaining about thorns catching his expensive cloak.
"I still think this is a waste of time," Marcus was saying.
"The wolves probably ate what was left of him by now."
"Then we'll find bones," Gerald replied, his voice carrying that same casual cruelty that had haunted the original Cleve's nightmares.
"I want to see his skull. I want proof that the last of those pathetic peasants is finally dead."
Rage flared in Cleve's chest, hot and pure.
The original Cleve's memories supplied faces to go with the hatred—his younger sister Emma, barely eight years old when Gerald's father had declared their shop forfeit.
His parents, who had worked themselves to the bone trying to pay the impossible taxes.
All dead because a rich kid hated him.
A rustling to his left caught his attention. One more rabbit, this one larger, its horn wickedly sharp.
It had been attracted by the scent of blood from its dead kin.
Perfect.
The fight was brief but vicious. His enhanced reflexes and accumulated experience made the difference. Within minutes, the rabbit was dead
\[You have killed a horned rabbit. +20 exp]
\[Quest update: Hunt 5 horned rabbits and 5 nature wolves (5/5 rabbits completed, 3/5 wolves remaining)]
Two more wolves.
Cleve's enhanced hearing picked up movement in the distance—a pack, maybe four or five members, moving through the trees about two hundred meters to his east.
They were hunting something, their coordination perfect even at this distance.
But Gerald's group was almost here.
Cleve could smell their torches now, could hear their individual heartbeats.
He was out of time.
Unless...
A slow smile spread across his face.
Gerald wanted to finish what he'd started, wanted to gloat over Cleve's corpse.
But what if the corpse wasn't as dead as it appeared?
What if the prey had become the predator?
Cleve looked down at his blood-stained clothes, at his wounded arm that was still healing.
He looked like a victim, like someone who had crawled away to die.
Perfect.
Ding! [quest cancelled due to circumstances, however due to the host half completing it they will be awarded half the quest rewards. + 1 to all attributes except essence]
Ding! [new quest: vengeance
Quest description: Gerald and his goons have appeared before you sooner than expected, teach them a lesson they may never forget.
Kill or knock out Gerald and his goons
Reward: a random magic affinity]
Cleve grinned ear to ear and the cogs in his brain began putting a plan into motion.
He found a large tree with good cover and settled behind it, making sure he had multiple escape routes.
Then he waited, his enhanced hearing tracking every footstep as Gerald's group approached.
"There," Gerald's voice, much closer now. "Blood trail. Lots of it."
"Jesus, Gerald, look at this mess," Marcus said, his voice queasy. "What happened here?"
They had found the wolf battleground.
Cleve could hear them walking around, examining the corpses.
"Nature wolves," the third man said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deep, professional. A guard or sellsword. "Three of them, all dead. Claw marks, not blade work."
"Two packs fighting for territory?," Gerald questioned?
"Maybe… Blood trail continues that way," the guard said, ignoring Gerald's tantrum. "Recent. Maybe an hour old."
Cleve smiled in the darkness.
Their footsteps came closer. Closer.
And then Gerald stepped into view.
He looked exactly as the original Cleve remembered—tall, handsome in an aristocratic way, with perfectly styled blonde hair and clothes that cost more than most families made in a year.
But there was cruelty in his blue eyes, a casual indifference to suffering that made Cleve's hatred burn even hotter.
Marcus followed, a thin nervous man in expensive clothes.
Geralds closest crony. And behind them came the guard—a scarred mountain of a man with dead eyes and hands that never strayed far from his weapons.
"Fan out," Gerald ordered. "The trail ends somewhere around here. He's probably crawled into a hole to die like the rat he is."
They split up, flashlights dancing between the trees.
Gerald moved with the confidence of someone who had never faced real danger, never had to fight for his life.
Marcus stayed close to the guard, jumping at every sound.
Cleve waited until Gerald was isolated, separated from his companions by at least twenty meters.
Then he stepped out of the shadows.
"Hello, Gerald."
Gerald spun around, torch held high, his face cycling through shock, fear, and finally settling on rage.
"You," he snarled. "You should be dead."
"Yes," Cleve agreed, his claws extending slowly, deliberately.
"I should be. Just like my family should be alive. Funny how things don't always work out the way we plan."
For the first time, Gerald seemed to notice the changes—the predatory grace in Cleve's movements, the blood on his clothes that wasn't all his own, the cold intelligence in his eyes.
"What... what happened to you?"
Cleve smiled, and it wasn't entirely human anymore.
"I got better."
Gerald's hand moved instinctively toward the sword at his hip, but Cleve was already moving.
His enhanced reflexes made Gerald's movements seem sluggish, predictable.
The blade had barely cleared its sheath when Cleve's claws raked across Gerald's wrist, sending the weapon spinning into the darkness.
Gerald screamed, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. "Marcus! Korren! Help me!"
"They can't hear you," Cleve said calmly, circling his former tormentor like a wolf stalking wounded prey.
"I made sure we were far enough away."
That wasn't entirely true—his enhanced hearing could detect the other two crashing through the underbrush, following Gerald's screams.
But they were still a minute away, maybe two.
Plenty of time.
"You're insane," Gerald gasped, backing away. "My father will—"
"Your father will what?"
Cleve's voice was deadly quiet. "Burn down another shop? Kill another family? I'm the last one left, Gerald. There's no one else for you to hurt."
Gerald stumbled over a root and went down hard, his expensive clothes tearing on the forest floor.
For the first time in his pampered life, he was completely helpless, completely at someone else's mercy.
And Cleve had none to give.
"Please," Gerald whimpered. "I can pay you. Whatever you want. Gold, magic items, anything—"
"I want my sister back," Cleve snarled, grabbing Gerald by the throat and lifting him off the ground.
"I want my parents back. Can your gold do that?"
Gerald's face was turning purple, his legs kicking uselessly. But just as his eyes began to roll back, Cleve heard the quest requirements echo in his mind: *Kill or knock out Gerald and his goons.*
Knock out. He didn't have to kill them.
And alive, Gerald would remember this night for the rest of his life—remember being helpless, being prey instead of predator.
That might be better than death.
But with all the pain he caused him, he didn't want him to cause anymore to anyone else.
Cleve slammed Gerald's head against the tree trunk. The rich boy's eyes rolled back and he went limp, but he was still breathing.
Cleve slammed his head down a couple more times until the breathing stopped
"Gerald!" Marcus's voice, much closer now.
They had maybe thirty seconds.
Cleve dragged Gerald's dead body behind the large oak and waited. His enhanced hearing tracked their approach—Marcus stumbling through the undergrowth, the guard moving more carefully, professionally.
They burst into the clearing, flashlights sweeping frantically.
"Where is he?" Marcus demanded.
"Gerald! Gerald, answer me!"
The guard held up a hand for silence, his scarred face alert.
"Blood here. Fresh. And look—sword on the ground."
"Oh god, oh god," Marcus was hyperventilating.
"The wolves got him. We have to run, we have to—"
"Wolves don't disarm their prey," the guard said grimly, drawing his own blade.
"Someone's here. Someone dangerous."
Cleve smiled in the darkness.
At least one of them had brains.
He picked up a rock and threw it to his left, away from Gerald's hiding spot.
Both men spun toward the sound, and Cleve struck from their right.
His claws found the guard's hamstring first, dropping the big man with a scream of pain and rage.
The guard rolled, trying to bring his sword up, but Cleve was already moving.
A precise strike to the throat, and the guard joined Gerald in death.
Marcus barely had time to scream before Cleve's hand clamped over his mouth.
The thin man's eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Shh," Cleve whispered. "It's almost over."
A gentle slit to the neck, and Marcus crumpled grasping at his throat before falling dead shortly after.
\[Quest completed: Vengeance]
\[Reward: Fire affinity unlocked! You can now manipulate and generate small flames.]
Fire. The element of destruction and rebirth.
How fitting.
Cleve found that he didn't feel much after killing people for the first time, nor did he have any regrets.
He was the monster they had created.
As he walked away into the dark forest, leaving his enemies alive but humiliated, Cleve felt something he hadn't experienced in this life: true freedom.
The original Cleve's need for vengeance had been satisfied.
And now, finally, his real journey could begin.