Emotions. They always responded to aura. It wasn’t just a theory—it was a fact. The only reason I could push my aura output beyond its normal limits and fight back like this was because of the sheer rage coursing through me.


    But rage alone wasn’t enough.


    Fatima shattered the Soul Chains binding her, summoning a small orb of darkness into existence. It pulsed in her hand like a miniature black hole—though it wasn’t the real thing. If it had been, it would’ve torn her apart.


    Instead, it radiated an amplified gravity that dragged everything around it down.


    Thomas, still under the influence of my Soul Marionette, slammed into the ground, forming a small crater. His chest was bloody from his failed attempt to obey my command to rip out his own heart. Annoying.


    I willed him to push against the crushing force, but his body faltered, collapsing under the weight.


    Ayla staggered to her feet, shaking off the Soul Link I’d planted on her earlier. She seemed unfazed by the increased gravity, her scarlet scarf of blood and flame coiling around her like a living weapon.


    Fatima was more skilled than I’d given her credit for. The precision of her control over the gravity field forced me to adapt. My movements slowed, the pressure bearing down on me like a vice. But I countered it by puppeteering my own body, using the Puppetry attribute to override the strain.


    Ayla launched herself toward me, propelled by the fiery lash of her scarf slamming into the ground.


    “I… I need to join the Undead Troupe!” she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. “I will avenge my parents!”


    It was as if she was begging me to not fight them and allow them to kill me.


    I shifted my attribute loadout: Swiftness, Puppetry, Weakness, and Homing.


    She closed the distance in an instant, but my fist met her face first. The blow landed squarely, guided by Homing.


    Once.


    Twice.


    Thrice.


    Four times.


    Each punch struck with mechanical precision, forcing her backward. Her movements became sluggish, her aura faltering with every hit. The Weakness attribute seeped into her, degrading her aura and physical capabilities further with each impact.


    Ayla flailed, unable to land a hit. She couldn’t outrun my Swiftness, and the Puppetry I used on my own body allowed me to move faster and more efficiently than I ever had before.


    “I told you, didn’t I?” I said, my voice calm but cutting. “Revenge won’t serve you well. And now, here you are, fighting your own mentor.”


    “Shut up!” she spat, blood dripping from her mouth. “If you cared about me, you should have helped me!”


    Her words stung, but I didn’t falter.


    “Approval? Funny… Do you seriously think I will abet to a murder of another human being just because you asked me to?”


    Behind Ayla, Fatima stood motionless, likely suffering from an aura backlash after overextending her power. Thomas, however, groaned as he pushed himself up.


    The Soul Marionette technique on him shattered.


    “Fatima!” he bellowed, his voice raw with frustration. “Let go of me—I’ve broken his control!”


    “Indeed,” I said, glancing at Ayla as I caught her by the throat with my only hand. Her eyes widened in shock as I squeezed, cutting off her air. “You’re right, Ayla. I was at fault. I failed to see things from your perspective.


    “But now I’ve lost my friend. Moreover… My wife’s fate remains unknown. If revenge is justifiable for you, then it should be for me too, shouldn’t it?”


    Thomas blurred into motion, his speed doubling as he entered superspeed. His hood fell back, revealing an older man with a scar running beneath his right eye.


    I released Puppetry and switched to Connection, creating a Soul Mark beneath my feet imbued with the Homing attribute.


    Thomas zigzagged toward me, his movements erratic and blindingly fast. I leapt backward as he entered my space, baiting him into stepping onto the Soul Mark.


    The moment his foot touched it, the mark activated.


    Thomas struck his foot on the ground attempting to destroy my Soul Chain and Soul Mark.


    But he guessed wrong.


    Instead of a Soul Chain, it created a powerful suction effect. His foot sank into the ground, the sharp edges of the mark digging into him like an anchor.


    Thomas’s eyes widened in shock as he stumbled, his balance completely thrown off. One foot was now, quite literally, in the grave.


    The sight was almost satisfying.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I threw Ayla’s limp form toward Fatima, who had just begun to recover from her backlash. She caught her with a pained grunt, her stance faltering under the weight of the younger woman.


    Switching Weakness for Sharpness, I focused all my remaining aura into my right hand. The attributes of Swiftness and Sharpness merged into a deadly synergy.


    I formed my hand into a blade, a knife-hand strike empowered by the sheer cutting force of my aura.


    Thomas struggled to pull his foot free, but it was too late.


    I lunged forward, my hand slicing through the air in a single, decisive motion.


    “Goodbye, Thomas.”


    The strike connected cleanly, severing his head from his body in one swift motion.


    Blood sprayed in an arc, and his body collapsed, lifeless.


    I straightened, turning my gaze to Fatima and Ayla. They both stared at me in horror, the reality of their situation sinking in.


    “This is what vengeance brings,” I said, my voice cold and unyielding. “Are you still so eager to pursue it?” I stood over the fountain of blood, my hand still slick with blood, my breathing heavy. Thomas’s lifeless eyes stared back at me, unblinking, as if accusing me.


    “Senseless murder…” I said, my voice hollow. “That’s what this is.”


    Ayla and Fatima didn’t respond immediately, their eyes darting between me and the corpse at my feet.


    “Even now,” I continued, “I feel empty. There’s no satisfaction, no closure. I hoped for something—bitterness, pleasure, anything. But no… I feel nothing. Just like you two will feel when this is all over.”


    Ayla was panting, clutching her side where I’d struck her earlier. Her scarf of blood and fire hung limply around her shoulders, flickering like a dying flame. Fatima stood behind her, trembling, her dark blade still clutched tightly in her hand.


    “Two deaths are already too much for today,” I said, turning my gaze to them. “I wouldn’t want to feel the same pain of losing another… friend. Believe me, Ayla, even after your treachery, I still consider you my pupil.”


    Ayla’s eyes widened, her breath hitching, but I raised a hand to silence her before she could speak.


    “But don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. If I ever catch you committing injustice again, I will kill you.”


    Ayla forced herself upright, wobbling on her feet. Her face was pale, but her voice was steady.


    “Injustice?” she spat, her words sharp despite her exhaustion. “Is hunting you unjust? I see… it’s always the same principle with you. Might makes right. Your words are justice because you’re stronger than me.”


    She took a step forward, her bloodstained scarf curling faintly at the edges.


    “You’re as much a murderer as the man you just killed. You’re no different from the Troupe.”


    Her words hit like a hammer, but I didn’t flinch. I let them wash over me before answering.


    “No,” I said, my voice cold. “The Undead Troupe is better than me. At least they’re honest in their methods. They kill who they want to kill, without pretense or hypocrisy.”


    Ayla faltered, her brow furrowing as she tried to parse my words.


    “I’m a hypocrite. I know that,” I admitted, my tone heavy with self-loathing. “But you’re wrong about one thing. Might doesn’t make right.”


    I took a step toward her, and she flinched, but I stopped short, pointing at the ground between us.


    “It’s the fight that decides what’s right. You three were stronger than me—far stronger. I should have died back there. But I didn’t. Was it because I was right? No.”


    I locked eyes with her, letting the weight of my words settle in.


    “It’s because I fought to prove that I was right. And now, I am right.”


    The silence that followed was deafening. I could still feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface, an unquenchable fire that refused to be extinguished. Even if I killed the two standing before me, it wouldn’t satisfy me. It wouldn’t change anything.


    Life and death for hunters were an everyday occurrence. But Selena’s death? That was different. That was a fact I couldn’t ignore. Leora’s disappearance? Another fact that gnawed at me.


    The only way forward was to deal with it. Not forget—never forget—but deal with it.


    If I had to die to bring Leora back, I would.


    If I had to die to kill Ulrich, I would.


    I clenched my fist, blood dripping onto the dirt.


    Fatima broke the silence, her voice trembling but resolute.


    “I… ask for a truce,” she said, her words hesitant but deliberate.


    I turned to her, narrowing my eyes. Fatima rarely spoke unless necessary. For her to beg… it meant something.


    “I… I am willing to give up the fee Ulrich provided us if you let us go,” she continued, her gaze dropping to the ground.


    I felt my anger surge, but I forced it down. Barely.


    Fatima’s hands shook as she gripped her sword tighter, her knuckles white. “I am… willing to cooperate with you. To help capture Ulrich. To hunt him down, if necessary.”


    Her words hung in the air, and I studied her carefully.


    Fatima, the stoic swordswoman, was now begging for her life—and for Ayla’s.


    Ayla looked at her, confused, then back at me.


    I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the storm within me. My anger wasn’t going anywhere, but for now, I needed to make a choice.


    “You’ll help me hunt Ulrich?” I asked, my voice low but firm.


    Fatima nodded, her dark eyes meeting mine. “Yes.”


    I turned to Ayla, who seemed torn between defiance and exhaustion.


    “Do you agree to this?” I asked her.


    She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.


    “Fine,” I said, letting out a slow breath. “But if either of you betrays me again…”


    I let the unspoken threat hang in the air.


    This wasn’t forgiveness.


    This was survival.


    Whose survival? Probably mine, Leora’s, and my son’s. I had no delusions about my actions anymore. Killing Thomas wasn’t justice. It wasn’t even vengeance, not really. It was something else—a desperate attempt to convince myself that I could still control something in this chaotic spiral.


    And yet, there I stood, bloodied and battered, promising myself I’d honor Selena’s memory by doing the one thingI preached against my would-be pupil. Ulrich would die. I would see to it personally.


    Hypocrisy tasted bitter. I’d told Ayla vengeance would bring nothing but ruin, but there I was, drowning in the very violence I claimed to detest. Rationalizing it, dressing it up as necessity, survival, even duty. Humanity’s greatest weapon wasn’t its resilience—it was its ability to lie to itself.


    But unlike the man Ayla sought vengeance against, Thomas was at least a ‘bad’ person. Wasn’t he? A murderer. A pawn for the Undead Troupe. A man who’d fought for nothing but blood and profit. That’s what I told myself as I stared at the headless corpse lying a few feet away.


    I sighed. Fatima and Ayla had disappeared, their presence evaporating like a bad memory. A stealth technique, no doubt. I didn’t bother chasing them. My body wouldn’t have let me, even if I wanted to.


    It took every ounce of willpower to remain upright. My knees trembled, my vision blurred, and my remaining arm felt like lead. My aura reserves were almost depleted, my mind frayed at the edges.


    Thomas had three attributes: Strength, Endurance, and Swiftness. Common enough attributes, but lethal in the right combination and when used by a hardened warrior. When I killed him, I’d taken his Endurance for myself—a permanent theft, a cruel echo of my gift’s nature.


    I replaced the Sharpness attribute in my loadout with Endurance, feeling its stabilizing weight settle into my aura. My body felt slightly sturdier, though the exhaustion still loomed.


    “Now…” I muttered, dragging my feet forward. “To recover Selena… and mourn.”


    The battlefield was quiet now, save for the occasional crackle of burning debris and the whisper of the wind. The fight was over, but the war inside me had only just begun.


    Selena was gone. Leora was missing. And Ulrich was out there somewhere, alive and scheming.


    I looked up at the sky, its pale blue unmarred by the violence below. It felt wrong, how serene the world could seem when everything in me was screaming.


    “It is so… unfair… If there is an ‘Author’ out their, can you make my life less miserable?”