The crunch of his steps upon the dirt was muffled by his heavy panting as he dashed down the main road - sword in hand. He could hear the large beast trampling behind him as it ran along the rooftops, leaving only destruction in its wake. Loud crashes of splintering wood and broken tiles became ever louder as the creature gained on him and Tycon knew he had to get somewhere more confined. To his right was an alleyway and he took a sudden step into it, not losing momentum as he dashed through. He threw barrels and crates behind him as he ran in a feeble attempt to slow the creature down. It was getting close.


    If this were truly a werewolf, like in the old tales, he knew that silver could transform them back into a human form; making it easier to dispatch it. The downside was that his sword was made of steel. Though he had an idea, one that could possibly lead to his quick yet agonizing death.


    Tycon reached the end of the alleyway that lead to an adjacent street filled with townhouses. A loud howl echoed from behind and he turned to see the creature mid lunge towards him. His eyes widened and he snapped into action, spinning to the side before the werewolf''s claw could tear him in half. The creature turned to face him and let out a mighty roar, he could smell the rotting flesh on the breath of the monster. It bent its knees, ready to lunge but Tycon saw it coming and he was ready. It pounced quickly, almost in a flash and Tycon rolled to the side and took a leftward slash of his blade, the weapon barely sliced through the thick hide and it didn''t react to the attack. He didn''t take moment to observe, as soon as his attack finished, he made a burst towards the nearest townhouse and slammed himself through the front door.


    It was dark and smelled of blood, metallic and dreadful; encased in the confines of the small room. It was almost overwhelming, if it weren''t for the adrenaline bursting through him, he would have gagged. Tycon searched desperately for the kitchen, it was so dark that he could only make out the shapes of the furniture spread throughout. Time was short and he could hear the monster getting close.


    He saw a faint glow in the second room beyond, the embers of a dying stove and he hastily ran towards it. Suddenly there was a loud crash and for a brief moment, Tycon glanced towards the source. The werewolf had ripped the door down with ease, he watched it drop to the floor as if it were in slow motion.


    Shit.


    He rummaged through the drawers in a panic searching for a knife, hoping to the gods that there was one made from silver. The werewolf smashed through the furniture, slamming chairs and tables into the walls as it made its way to him in long powerful strides. He pulled another drawer open and inside was a steak knife. He snatched it and turned to face the werewolf but it was already upon him, it grabbed him by the throat with a powerful grip and slammed him up against the wall and again into another. Tycon clenched his eyes shut as he felt the breath fall from his lungs, dropping his sword and hitting the wall with enough force for him to almost fall through it.


    He kept hold of the knife tightly as he saw the shadows quickly begin to caress his vision. He was going to pass out before he even got a chance to fight back.


    Damn it all, he thought to himself.


    his arms were getting weaker and his body felt like a stone, cold and rigid - lifeless. He slowly began to raise his shaking arm with the knife in hand, a desperate attempt to save himself. He saw the creature begin to pull its other clawed arm back, ready to gut him.


    No, not like this.


    Tycon stabbed the short blade into the arm that held him, using the last of his breath and strength. He stabbed over and over, wildly and with urgence until blood began to pour from the creature''s arm. It let out a howl of pain, the silver of the blade burning its flesh. The creature dropped him to the floor and Tycon gasped as the sudden flow of air filled his lungs once again. He lied on the floor and watched the werewolf''s skin begin to change, the fur receding and the snouted face changing shape into one of a dark-haired man. It looked at its claws in confusion as his size began to shorten and what was left was a confused looking man who''s eyes, at the sight of Tycon climbing to his feet, quickly changed to fear.


    The man took a few steps back with his hands raised towards him, blood pouring from his wounded arm, "N-no, don''t kill me."


    The man''s glistening fearful eyes began to tear as Tycon picked up his sword. He felt relieved, yet angry. Not only at the needless deaths of the village but the time he''d wasted fighting the beast. Every second was precious and because of the time lost, there was hell to pay.


    "Why shouldn''t I kill you?" Tycon asked, his voice low and seething with rage.


    The man paused, shaking his head and taking a few more steps back. With each one, Tycon took a step forward.


    "Y-you''re an elf. You should know what it''s like!" He cried, "To be hated, to be an outcast."


    Tycon pointed his sword at the man, "You slaughtered an entire village of innocents."


    "Innocents?" The man snorted, "These ''innocents'' hunted my brothers and sisters, beheaded them and used their hides for a fucking rug. They deserved it - vengeance."


    Tycon lowered his sword. He knew what it was like to hold vengeance in his heart, to hurt and murder the ones who wronged him. He had done that once. To the men who burned his village and killed his family. But not everyone in this village was guilty, yet every single one of them paid for it, women and children amongst them. Were some of the men he had killed not guilty too? Was he no different to the monster before him? This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Tycon shook his head, "I can''t let you do this again. You murdered children."


    "I-I won''t, I swear," The man cried.


    "And you may have cost my friend her life. I''m sorry but I''m not taking any chances. Your revenge hunt has been settled, at least you''ll have that peace of mind. Now it''s my turn for the village."


    Unlike with Sinclair, there was nobody here to stop him. The man began to turn and run but Tycons slash was so quick and fierce that the man barely got a step in before his head was toppled to the floor, left to rot with the village he slaughtered.


    He felt a rush of satisfaction, one that he liked as much as he feared. It made his chest feel light and like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As much as he didn''t want to admit it, deep down that kill felt good, he liked it and that scared him. Conflicting thoughts dueled within his mind. He was sure the man deserved it, while at the same time he felt like a hypocrite. It was better the man died now on the high of revenge instead of living long enough to find out about the emptiness that follows.


    He''d spent his life since then trying to do good, to fill the void and become a better person. Learning that it wasn''t quite that simple. He often questioned why he truly embarked on the quest to recover the gems. Was it to make up for a life of revenge and misdeeds? Did he truly care about Sciolyn at all? A man spends his whole life learning and if he were to die now, he''d never know if he could find a life without a trail of death behind him. He knew that there would be a lot more death before the end, whether it be him or the enemy was left to be seen.


    Tycon made his way through the empty streets yet again. The village was eerily quiet and the wind had disappeared. There was nothing, just complete silence, only his boots crunching on the dirt was all that he heard. He was lost in his thoughts, questioning if killing the man was the right thing to do. All he did was come up with a justification, one after the other, however unlikely and it still wasn''t enough. The whole scenario left a bitter taste and he''d be better to just forget it.


    He pushed it from his mind and returned to the objective at hand. He had the syringe and the venom, he just had to get back to Dain. Hopefully, it wasn''t too late.


    <hr>


    The ride back was quiet - deafeningly silent. Not a single thought spurred within his mind, he simply stared blankly at the road before him, not focused on his surroundings in the slightest. He didn''t speak a word when he returned, not even when Dain''s eyes widened at his bruised neck and battered face. He quietly passed the syringe and ignored the cow man''s questions as he watched Dain begin to extract a small amount of venom from the sample. He knew what was coming next, an indescribable amount of pain and sickness. He glanced over at Sylaina who lay quietly on the bedroll with Reilah hunched over her. Droplets of sweat ran down her shining forehead and her breaths were slow, moving with her chest. Her soft face looked peaceful in warm glow of the candlelight and his heart melted. He cracked a small smile at the sight of her and rush of relief washed over him. Everything was going to be okay.


    "Just so you know, you''re about to experience some intense pain," Dain said as he peered at the needle closely.


    Tycon nodded, "I know what I''m in for. Just... Just make it quick."


    Tycon took a seat on the floor and leaned on the wall, holding his arm out. He closed his eyes tightly and waited.


    "I''m going to give you a small dose and you''ll have to let your body fight it. It won''t be easy."


    Tycon nodded then sighed, pulling off his coat and craning his head back against the wall, "Do it."


    Dain grabbed Tycon''s extended arm and leaned in, quickly placing the needle in his arm between the tricep and forearm then squeezed the venom inside. Reilah stood behind Dain and watched in fearful curiosity. He could feel the hot sensation in his arm move throughout his entire body. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath as he shivered and felt a droplet of sweat begin to pour from his forehead. Reilah came to Dain''s side and placed Tycon''s coat over him as a makeshift blanket. That was the last thing he saw and felt before he fell into the deep abyss of unconsciousness.


    <hr>


    He found himself in a dream - Or at least he thought it was. He lay on a bed with the mid-morning sun piercing through the dusty glass of a nearby window. He heard the sounds of birds chirping outside and croaking of frogs in a pond nearby. He glanced curiously around the room he found himself in. It was small yet comforting and warm. There was a wardrobe across from where he lay with a crudely placed mirror on top. He shifted his gaze to the floor and saw a familiar rug -  Red with golden embroidered diamonds as a pattern, something he remembered burning a long time ago. It took him a moment to realize where exactly he was; He was home.


    "Tycon, get up!" The muffled voice of a young girl called and suddenly his door slammed open.


    It was Alietah, just how he remembered her when he was a child. She noticed his surprise and her face contorted into confusion.


    "You okay?" She asked, but before he could answer she spoke again, "Mother and Father have gone to the market. They said they''d be back by late afternoon and we have to get the chicken eggs before then."


    He remembered this - This exact day and what would come in the next few hours. He suddenly felt a ripple of fear flow throughout his body and his throat locked up. His chest began thumping quickly and he tried his best to speak - To warn her but nothing would come out. His mouth wouldn''t even move with his commands. Suddenly he moved, not by his own will. He was a passenger in his own child body, forced to watch his greatest regret. The regret that he could not save his family from what was coming.


    He was weak.


    Useless.


    The day went by beat for beat, exactly how he remembered it. At the same time, everything felt hazy, like he were drunk and walking on feathers, his senses devoid of really feeling the world around him. Random time-skips would happen throughout the day, skipping from collecting the eggs to playing with a stick by the pond and talking to Alietah. It all felt wrong, like a nightmare.


    Then it happened. What he knew was coming, what he wished had never happened - What made him so Vindictive in his younger years, a feeling he never seemed to move from. He watched himself stare at the rug as it burned, his mind blank and in shock as the blood of his parents doused the flames. He watched their bodies erupt in the inferno and the familiar stench of burning flesh wafted into his nostrils. He watched as he took his sister''s hand as they escaped and ran for their lives, he saw her trip and fall then watched in fear as the men who set their home ablaze took grabbed her and tore her away from him. That was the last time he had seen her before the forest.


    The day his innocence was lost forever.