Excited, Azrael started running straight towards the town, only to become aware of his disheveled appearance. Frustrated, he trudged back to the creek.


    "Man, am I stupid or what? I should at least think a little before doing something," he scolded himself. "Well, time for another shower."


    The icy water pierced his unprotected skin like cold needles. A hiss escaped his pale lips.


    "Look, someone''s swimming over there," a childlike voice rang out.


    Startled, Azrael turned to the speaker. Three boys, likely his age, stood on the opposite bank of the river.


    "I don’t even know him. Who is that?" called a blond-haired boy who stood out due to his noticeable overweight.


    "I wonder if he can even see his feet anymore. How much do you have to eat to look like that?" Azrael thought disdainfully. The thought of the chubby boy, who clearly struggled to move, felt foreign and incomprehensible to him.


    He himself had never had problems with obesity. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to feel limited by such a body. Azrael only truly felt alive when he was sprinting through the forest, scaling stone walls, or practicing with his sword. All of that was out of reach for the fat boy.


    Azrael had a lean yet muscular physique. At first glance, his frame resembled that of a young athlete who had carefully cultivated his fitness and strength. The muscles beneath his skin were well-defined but not excessively prominent. His abdomen was taut, his narrow hips and well-proportioned upper body a testament to the regular effort he put into his training. His arms and legs bore the marks of persistent, rigorous work, though his young age left no room for exaggeration.


    His face was that of a determined young man, though traces of his past marred his appearance. On the left side, where an eye would typically be, the skin was pale and uneven. The empty eye socket, concealed by a firm band, combined with his well-toned body to create a striking image. Despite the scar that ran into the hollow of his lost eye, he exuded an unyielding will and determination that everyone around him could feel.


    "Leon, haven’t you heard about that new crazy one yet?" whispered a tall boy. With his long, dark brown hair and well-groomed appearance that hinted at a wealthy background, he stood almost a full head taller than Azrael. His hair fell in soft curls, and his finely embroidered tunic emphasized his aristocratic demeanor.


    "Right, I think my mother mentioned something like that once," Leon called out mockingly.


    Fascinated, Azrael observed how Leon''s stomach jiggled with every movement.


    "Franz," the third boy addressed the tall, brown-haired one with respect. "Should we play a round of Battleship?" His tone carried hints of mockery and aggression.


    "The smallest hides his oversized ego behind the strongest," Azrael remarked indifferently.


    Since he had more important matters to attend to, he turned away from the boys to leave the water.


    "Friedrich, Friedrich, you''re always so impatient," Franz, the leader of the small group, sighed with a meaningful glance. "The poor boy already has to suffer under the heretical decisions of his parents. Surely, you’re aware of their blasphemous deeds. Show some tact."


    Laughing, the three boys watched as the white-haired boy in front of them froze abruptly. His piercing green eye, as if chiseled from stone, fixed on them motionlessly. His jaw muscles tightened, and his lips pressed into a thin line. The hatred in his gaze sparkled like embers on the verge of bursting into flames.


    "Calm down, calm down," he whispered repeatedly in his thoughts, as if the words could play a soothing melody within him. His breathing quickened, and his hands clenched into fists, tightening the skin over his knuckles. It took immense willpower to contain the rage that simmered inside him like a wild, untamed beast. With a tense expression, he slowly turned away and quickened his steps, as if trying to escape the mockery of the others.


    "The poor boy," Franz sighed dramatically, clasping his hands in a prayer-like gesture and gazing skyward. "God must have abandoned him entirely. Father Uranon spoke of the kindness of his relatives. They took in the forsaken boy, even though he strayed from the path of the radiant light. May the light grant his poor soul peace in death." His voice was a saccharine whisper of pity.


    "You’re so compassionate," Leon murmured with reverent nodding, his eyes shining with admiring approval.


    Azrael felt his anger building within him, boiling like lava on the verge of eruption. "If you don’t shut your damn mouths, I’ll put you down!" he growled, his voice trembling with suppressed violence. The flames in his green eyes burned brighter, as if madness itself flickered within them.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Friedrich’s mocking grin didn’t falter for a second. "It seems your parents didn’t think much of teaching you manners." His words stung like poisoned arrows, each one an attempt to shatter Azrael’s self-control.


    Azrael’s muscles tensed, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. It was too much. Without thinking, he whirled around, ready to cross the water and literally shut the boy up.


    But in the middle of his motion, he froze. His gaze locked onto a figure several meters away from the boys—a woman. Something about her was profoundly wrong.


    Her tangled black hair hung wildly over her face, as if it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. Her upper body was grotesquely hunched forward, as though weighed down by an invisible burden. Her clothing was nothing more than shredded rags that fluttered with each gust of wind. But it was her eyes that held him captive—black, wide open, and unnaturally twitching, as if feverishly searching for something.


    The saliva dripping from her mouth only deepened the chill running down Azrael’s spine.


    And those eyes… They were fixed on Franz.


    The moment Azrael’s gaze landed on the woman, a cold déjà vu coursed through him. It felt as if he were being hurled back in time—to another part of the forest, another moment, where he had encountered something just as dangerous and unpredictable.


    He had been about seven years old, wandering the woods with a small pouch in hand, searching for berries. The sun hung low in the sky, the shadows of the trees stretching long, and the only sound breaking the silence was the rustling of leaves in the wind. Those days had been lonely, and Azrael had grown accustomed to being alone. But that day was different.


    At one point, as he plucked a handful of dark red berries, he heard the snap of branches followed by a deep, menacing growl. Azrael had turned slowly, finding himself face to face with a wild bear. The creature was massive, with shaggy fur and a dripping maw, its eyes wide with bloodlust. Foam gathered at the corners of the bear’s mouth, making it look almost rabid—out of control, driven by an insatiable hunger.


    Azrael’s heart pounded in his chest. Time seemed to stand still. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to run, but he knew any sudden movement could seal his fate. All he could do was stand there, paralyzed by fear, as the bear locked eyes with him, ready to pounce. Yet after what felt like an eternity—or perhaps just the blink of an eye—the bear turned and disappeared into the thicket, as if it had lost its desire to attack.


    The memory of that moment, of the raw ferocity in the animal’s eyes, never left him. And now, as he stared at this woman, the same sense of uncontrollable danger gripped him. She exuded that primal menace, like a rabid beast poised to strike at any moment.


    Azrael’s body tensed almost imperceptibly as he watched the woman lean forward, her hands grazing the ground before she suddenly charged—like an animal hunting its prey. A chilling shiver ran down his spine, but his thoughts remained oddly focused. Her erratic, lurching gallop didn’t shock him; it triggered something else: calculation.


    His eyes darted from the woman to the boys. They were still laughing, oblivious, as if the world around them wasn’t unraveling. Their voices had faded into a muffled background hum. They didn’t matter anymore. The threat was right in front of him.


    "What is the next step?" he thought sharply, feeling his muscles tense. Unarmed, no cover, the woman faster than she should be—no time for mistakes.


    With a determined jerk, he turned and started running, his feet splashing through the shallow water. Every movement was precise and purposeful. As soon as he left the deeper water, he gained speed. The thought of the three boys completely faded away.


    The image of the woman, running on all fours like a predator, burned into his memory, but he managed to push it aside.


    "She’ll get to the others first," he thought, as his fingers hastily pulled his shirt over his still wet body. The cold bit into his skin, but it was a mere inconvenience. Shoes. Essential. Time was short, but every second was well spent.


    His movements remained precise, without trembling or panic. In his mind, he pieced the facts together like parts of a puzzle.


    "If it comes to a chase, cold will be my enemy. I need freedom of movement. Pants first, then shoes." He ignored the damp spots on his body, dressing with practiced efficiency, never stopping to think.


    The situation was clear. No room for unnecessary emotions—just clear decisions.


    Azrael heard the scream. A piercing sound that cut through the silence like a blade. Reflexively, he turned around, his eyes briefly focused on the scene behind him. Franz lay on the ground, the woman above him. Her fingers dug into his neck, as she bit into his flesh like an animal.


    Blood splattered, red droplets flying into the air, mingling with pieces of flesh. Azrael saw Franz desperately thrashing, his hands flailing helplessly, but it only seemed to provoke her further.


    A finger dug into Franz''s eye as he screamed, this time thinner, hollower—like a final gasp before the end.


    Azrael forced himself to look away. The other boys were already running, their legs carrying them away from the horror in a panic. Not a second had they hesitated, leaving their "leader" to madness. Azrael''s mouth twitched; he almost laughed. It was a bitter, cold realization—these boys, who had felt so strong and superior, were now running like frightened rabbits.


    Azrael''s gaze fell on Leon, who was running clumsily, his movements awkward and slow, as if his body was betraying him. A malicious thought shot through his mind, and a barely noticeable smile curled his lips. "Leon, roll faster," he called mockingly, his expression cold. The irony in his words brought him a strange sense of satisfaction as he watched the two boys flee without any regard for each other.


    Without further hesitation, he turned away. There was nothing left to hold him there. His body picked up speed again, and he disappeared into the dense forest, the echo of the screams still in his ears, but his mind already clear and focused on what mattered – survival.