Sethrak POV

The last rays of the sun painted the sky in shades of blood red and violet. Night was about to fall. I had left that abandoned, cursed temple and was advancing toward the city I was born in, the city I hated.

Strange, dark instincts were seizing my mind, growing stronger with every passing second.

A primal bloodlust I could not stop, could not control, swelled with every step. My body, as if it no longer belonged to me, continued to change.

My eyes, aligning with the coming night, turned a pitch black hue. The claws on my fingers grew longer, sharper.

My frame grew larger, bone protrusions bursting from my hunching back. And my form, in place of the filthy straw I once despised, began to be swathed in dirty white rags, the kind that bind a mummy, covered in faintly glowing runes.

Two massive, curved sickles appeared in my hands, born of nothingness, forged from bone and darkness. I continued my advance toward the city.

I knew exactly what awaited me at the end of this path, what I was about to do. But I did not care. I pressed on. The pure hatred I had gathered, suppressed within me for years, could no longer be held back.

The emotions of that ancient, dark entity, Nerath, the one who had just bestowed its powers upon me in that temple, were flowing into me. I could feel it. Feelings that were not my own.

But I did not care. Our hatred was now focused, aimed in a single direction: at everyone living in this city.

When night had fully descended, I entered the outer districts of the city. I targeted the first person who crossed my path.

It was an old woman, carrying a few fruits and some bread in a modest market bag. I had never seen her face before. She had not noticed me yet, walking slowly on her own path, toward her home.

At first, I hesitated. That final shred of humanity inside me tried to stop me.

But then... I remembered the people, stoning me mercilessly every time they saw me, their shouts filled with hate. "Murderer!" "Monster!" "Die!"... The people screaming for my death.

Yes. They deserved to die.

I summoned my resolve and, belying my massive frame, lunged forward with incredible, supernatural speed.

I swung my sickle in a single, clean motion. Before the old woman could even register what was happening, her head separated from her neck, and gushing blood stained the cold cobblestones.

I stared at what I had done. At first, an indescribable, suffocating regret seized my heart.

But then, the fresh, powerful hatred and bloodlust within me instantly annihilated that weak feeling.

Now... I was becoming a true monster. The last remnants of my humanity were fading away.

From the neck of the old woman lying on the ground, a different, new head suddenly began to sprout.

A canine, humanoid head, just like mine. The woman's fingers elongated, twisting into claws, and her hunched back straightened.

Her eyes snapped open, blazing with the same dark light as my own, and she rose to her feet. Then, tearing a guttural howl from her throat, she began to run, deeper into the city.

I glanced at my sickle, slick with blood, and lunged forward myself. There was no turning back.

I had made my decision, and I would bear the consequences.

Two armored city guards appeared before me, having spotted me. The moment they saw me, they drew their swords in terror.

But before they could comprehend the situation, both their heads tumbled gruesomely to the ground. And they too, within moments, transformed into monsters like me.

I did not stop. I continued to kill everyone, every living thing I saw in the streets. I killed a blacksmith packing up his tools.

I killed a young man returning home. Then... I shattered the thick wooden wall of a tavern and burst inside.

The dim stench of drunken men, mingled with sour beer and sweat, assaulted my nostrils.

One of them, staring at the ruined wall and my colossal silhouette, bellowed, "MONSTER!" The serving girl dropped her tray of food and shrieked in terror. Several mercenaries instinctively grabbed for their weapons.

I reaped them instantly with my sickles. I pierced their chests, severed their arms, gouged out their eyes. I sliced at the serving girl's chest, then split her in two as she screamed.

She collapsed, bifurcated, in a pool of blood. I cut the legs off two men trying to flee the room, then ripped the legs from a broken table and impaled them through their hearts.

A mage on the stairs hurled a fireball at me. But the runed rags covering my skin absorbed nearly all of the spell's damage. I felt nothing.

I launched myself forward, catching the mage in a single leap. I cupped his head between my two palms, squeezed, and crushed it.

The warmth of hot blood and brain matter on my skin... it felt strangely pleasant. I enjoyed this.

But at the same time, I felt the last of my humanity slipping away, felt that the small, frightened child I had been was now dead.

Within minutes, everyone in the tavern was dead. Then, one by one, they too transformed into monsters.

They rose, howled, and joined the darkness of the city, becoming partners in the massacre I had begun. Within half an hour, that great, once living city, was reduced to a ruin.

Flames and ruined buildings were everywhere. The screams of people echoed from all directions. By the time the city guards and soldiers arrived to intervene, it was far too late.

Thousands of people had already turned, joining the slaughter as monsters. With every passing second, the number of my monsters grew, while the number of the guards dwindled.

With a howling army of monsters following me, we drew closer with every second to the castle I despised. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum, fueled by the dark thrill of revenge.

I wondered what expression my father, the "Red General", would wear as he finally paid for his deeds.

I raised my sickles and gave the command. The monster horde surged toward the castle.

Tens of thousands of them rushed the ramparts without hesitation. They ignored the arrows, fireballs, boiling oil, and spells that rained down upon them.

Their only thought was slaughter. They scaled the high castle walls like a swarm of ants, climbing over one another to advance.

When I reached the castle's massive, reinforced gate, I brought both sickles down in a single, powerful X shaped strike and shattered it.

The monster horde poured through the broken gate and over the walls, flooding the castle courtyard.

The last remaining guards, their eyes filled with terror and desperation, charged forward in a final counterattack.

And among them, I could see my father. The great "Red General", Herson.

Clad in his blood red armor, he cut down the monsters one by one, fighting as if he never tired, as if he had no weakness at all.

But gradually, even the last remnants of his defending army fell, one by one, only to rise seconds later as monsters, turning against him.

I scraped my sickles together with instinctive, savage pleasure. I was hardly in control of my own body anymore.

I had become a true monster, completely consumed by my hatred and the curse granted to me.

I lunged. I swung my sickles at the great "Red General". At my father.

Herson, in the middle of cutting down four monsters at once, saw me approach.

His eyes widened in recognition as he took in my new form.

I could not read the emotions that flashed across his face. Was it regret? Hatred? A sense of betrayal?

He met my sickles with his sword and instantly struck my face with his armored fist. My senses blurred.

In the same motion, he sliced apart the other monsters swarming him.

He swung his sword at me again, but this time I parried with my sickles and threw a powerful kick.

With lightning reflexes, he batted my sickles aside and severed my legs with a single, clean cut. I collapsed in agony.

The monster horde lunged at my father to defend their master, but he continued to cut them down effortlessly.

The blood spraying around him made it seem as though he stood at the center of a crimson storm.

In that moment, I understood perfectly why they called him the "Red General".

My severed legs, drawing life essence from the dying monsters around me, rapidly regenerated.

But Herson gave me no time to recover. He raised his greatsword, focusing his mana into the blade.

Lightning began to coil around the steel. Then, he slammed the sword into the ground like a colossal lightning strike, as if bringing divine wrath down upon the world.

The destructive power was immense. It tore a great, straight crater from the castle out toward the city, annihilating the monster horde in its path. Thousands of monsters died in that instant.

The Red General was left gasping for breath from the vast amount of mana he had expended. "Do not stop!" he roared to his remaining soldiers. "Slaughter the monsters!" The soldiers, emboldened by Herson's display, continued their desperate fight.

Herson pointed his sword at me, lunging toward my healing body for a final strike.

I unleashed the power I had received from the temple: the "Smoke Born of Curse".

The area was instantly engulfed in black, suffocating smoke that forced terrifying hallucinations upon those within it.

The soldiers, before they could comprehend, went mad, seeing their own allies as monsters or witnessing their worst nightmares, and died.

Herson gripped the hilt of his sword. Within the smoke, he saw something he never wanted to see again: his wife, dead for many years.

But Herson had no intention of falling for such a simple trick.

He stabbed his sword into the ground and bellowed, "LIGHTNING!" Bolts of electricity rained down, dispersing the smoke. His eyes fixed on me once more.

"You... I should have killed you the day you were born," he hissed, his voice thick with hatred.

"You have become a monster so vile you would use your dead mother against me. You... are disgusting."

His words meant nothing to me. I had just taken tens of thousands of lives. I was not about to feel remorse for this.

I grated my sickles together again. The speed and power of my mana swelled, feeding on the death spreading across the land.

I lunged, and our weapons clashed once more.

The shockwave from the impact scattered the surrounding debris. We continued to fight, moving at a speed difficult for the eye to follow.

A powerful kick sent my father crashing into the castle wall, causing a section of it to crumble.

At that exact moment, two large ice lances shot from the palace, aimed at me. Support for Herson.

But I snatched the lances from the air with my clawed hands and hurled them back whence they came, at the mages.

Their pierced, frozen bodies flew back to their point of origin.

By then, my father had recovered and lunged at me again.

Lightning from his sword tried to tear my flesh, but the runed rags enveloping my body absorbed the majority of it, neutralizing the effect.

After some time, the castle was on the verge of falling. The last remaining guards were completely surrounded by monsters.

Herson, meanwhile, was still fighting me while simultaneously supporting his last remaining soldiers.

He was desperately trying to buy time for reinforcements. But his mana was nearly exhausted.

He was breathless, yet still blocking my attacks. He inflicted wounds on me, but it was futile.

Sethrak fed on the death all around, healing her wounds every second. It was as if he were fighting an immortal creature.

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