Part -1
He'd seen it—her fragile body dwarfed by that grotesque thing, its maw slick with her blood.
His girlfriend.
She was right there, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting second—calm, eerily so. He had tried to move, to scream, to do anything that would save her, His body wouldn't move, locked in place—not by some force, but by the sheer terror of the monster's form and what it was doing. His legs finally stirred, shaky and frail, as he staggered toward her—one last reach. Then his vision swam, the world tilting as a strange light flared and faded.
I'll hunt it to the ends of the earth, rip it open with my own hands if I have to, and watch as the light drains from its eyes. It won't get to walk away from what it's done. It won't get to haunt me another day. Even if I have to trade my life for it, I'll make damn sure it dies screaming.
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Part-2
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To the people of Gaia, their world is no nurturing mother but a harsh warden, testing them with trials so brutal you'd think it despised them.
Because it's a world where man eating monster is a commonplace rather than imaginary phobia, resources abundant but to claim them you have to traverse land far beyond human capabilities, but greatest tragedy for the people of Gaia is not the presence of these livin' organisms for they themselves is quite different from what you describe as an ordinary being! Their greatest tragedy, though, is their own nature.
The foolish people who even after witnessing two world ending wars hadn't learn their lessons they continue to engage the madman parade called war ,as long as the nobility exists their pride won't let the conflicts end, They even had the nerve to romanticize those inhuman acts.
But the war , the monster, the resource , for everything , needed is "Human Capital" . That meant work for the common folk—too dull to be merchants, too rough for government posts, yet hungry for gold.
The war needed people who can just wreck havoc but the trained soldiers are pretty ill-suited for this type of acts unbifiting of their status, so here comes a group of people well verse in it , people so insignificant that few gold coins can make them go on in a suicidal mission without question being asked , they are what you call Mercenary.
Mercenaries thrived against human foes, but another group—Adventurers—tackled monsters and hunted resources., the profession so popular despite having dying rate greater than any other profession , that it have its own guild managed by international association with the helo of corresponding Nation, essentially posting this profession same as Merchant profession.
Although adventurers takes job regarding acquiring resources, they are really not suitable for finding rares ones , the cause is pretty simple they simply lack the extensive knowledge about them. So with Nation's elites being the driving force a section of workers formed just to acquire these resources! Named Explorer!
Although closely tied these three jobs had very different inner workings, so aside from few geniuses there very few people go through from Mercenary to Adventurer or vice-versa, and even less people touched Explorer job if not trained by a Noble or graduated from a academy. But everything has a exception, and such an exception was Valorion Bravestone , a refugee from the Aethelmere and Fenrath Kingdoms war .
He came to Wýrmfyrgeat almost a century ago, a boy with nothing but his mother at his side. They were strangers in a city teetering on the edge of the Uncharted Land, where no one spared a second glance for two newcomers. Why should they? Just another mother and her boy with no name, no worth. And that's how they treated them.
To keep them alive, the mother did what she had to. She sold her body, swallowed her pride, while those 'decent folk' whispered about the outsider-their saintly tongues wagging as they pocketed her coin. But times change, don't they? Soon, the Heahcyne Empire saw Wýrmfyrgeat as a treasure, a new hub for adventurers, a gold mine waiting to be dug. And with the gold came changes, but not the kind that makes life easier.
The gap between the rich and the poor stretched like a yawning chasm. For some, riches flowed like water; for others, survival became a game of sacrifice. And in that lovely new order, customers abandoned her, saying, "Why pay for used goods?" The same men who couldn't get enough of her suddenly remembered how pure they were.
Ah, but if that was her only hardship, maybe she'd have found a way through. She was strong, after all. But in the dirt and shadows of this 'adventurer's paradise, Wýrmfyrgeat's underbelly festered with rape, drugs, kidnapping, and extortion. It was a paradise, all right, just not for people like her. Being poor was bad enough. Being an outsider, a widow, a woman? That was as close to an invitation for ruin as you could get.
She became an easy mark-first it was missed payments, then men taking what they wanted, whenever they wanted. But she kept her heart strong, for her boy. She wanted him to know that no matter what happened to her, he was her reason for enduring.
Until he came home early one day. Walked right in, right in the middle of one of those awful scenes. Can you picture it? A boy, barely understanding the world, seeing his mother like that. In his eyes, she saw horror—and rage. He lunged, tried to choke one of them, little hands grabbing at a grown man's throat, and oh, how they laughed as they beat him bloody. Then, they took her again, right there, right in front of him, just because they could.
But she survived, as she always did. Until, with a sneer, one of them spat his parting words: "Let your boy watch again, whore—it's better that way."
But that insult barely registered. She'd already lost something far worse you see. When she looked into her son's eyes, the same eyes that once loved her so fiercely now looked at her with disgust. And in that moment, she understood that she was truly alone she lost her boy too.
That night, she took her own life.
So, what did our tragic hero do next? Nothing. Not for a long time. What could a child do in a world where his life was worth less than the dirt under their feet? But he waited. And he grew. And then, at age 118, during his [Purity Convergence] in 1947, he was finally granted the power of Veridian force, recognized by Sideris - a full citizen of Hēahcyne Empire.
And then came 1948 of first Cycle, a year the Empire would call "The Great Genocide." The people of Wýrmfyrgeat learned the price of their sins that year. Their city of two million was whittled down to half a million-cut down like so much dead wood. His vengeance had no plan, no mercy; it was raw, brutal, a slaughter so terrible that the Empire had to send soldiers to quell the killing.
And that, my friend, is tragedy. But the story doesn't end there, does it? It goes beyond tragedy into something colder, darker- something like vengeance. Humans have a talent for crime, you know, and even the sweetest boy can be molded into a monster.
And he? The boy who had finally grown into a weapon, forged by a lifetime of pain? He got his revenge.
Who do you think was epicenter of these madness? yes it was out little boy Valorion . Although it may seem killings is a fiendish acts but that's only compared to relative peace! Ask the perpetrators of the boys demise, the men from that fateful day ! What is Death ? They all will answer "an act of mercy" Yes Mercy.
The steady thud of boots approached, and the perpetrators' eyes quivered—not from fear, but from the thrill of the 'game' the boy had crafted just for them.
A gruesome torture scene could only unfold in a dim, candle-lit dungeon, where victims is bound to a rusted metal chair, their arms and legs shackled in place. The air is thick with the stench of blood and sweat. The torturer, a figure cloaked in shadow, approaches slowly, carrying a tray of ominous instruments—blades, pliers, hooks, and needles glinting under the flickering light.
First, the torturer begins by peeling away strips of skin with a razor-sharp blade, deliberately slow, to maximize pain without causing unconsciousness. The victim's screams echo off the stone walls, their body convulsing against the restraints. Blood seeps down their chest, but the torturer dabs it away with an unsettling tenderness, prolonging the suffering.
Next, the torturer inserts metal needles under the victim's fingernails, twisting them just enough to trigger excruciating nerve pain. The victim's voice becomes hoarse from screaming, their nails turning black as the needles dig deeper.
Then, without pause, the torturer takes a hooked blade and begins to carefully cut away parts of the victim's face, slicing around the eyes, lips, and cheeks, ensuring the victim remains aware of each agonizing second. Blood runs down in streams, and the victim, though delirious with pain, can still feel the searing fire from each cut.
Finally, the torturer brings out a vat of hot coals. Holding iron tongs, they pluck glowing pieces from the fire and press them against the victim's exposed wounds. The sound of flesh sizzling fills the room as the victim's body jerks violently, the smell of burnt skin lingering in the air. The torturer, methodical and unmoved, ensures the process lasts as long as possible, drawing out the agony, knowing that death is still far away.
The scene is drenched in suffering, with every moment crafted to break the victim's will, reducing them to little more than a trembling, broken vessel of pain.
Day by day, the boy savored his revenge, until "—'Oi! You hear me, you bastard?"
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Part -3
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[1st Charleauros-Year 2024(1)-19th Aeons since the Great War]
"Why the hell are you drifting off?'""
"Ah...I just .."
"So the mighty Valorion Bravestone can't spare a thought for his wife in her labor?"
"Ah...yes I am sorry."
What was he thinking on a day this joyful?
"Good ! have that remorse and let's go to your wife ! She just delivered! And congrats it's a boy!"
"Oh! I must be very lucky then!"
He really could have missed it if not for his friend waking him up from the reverie of past ...
"Yes yes very lucky! "
I followed him to the nursery, where my wife greeted me with a soft smile—a smile I'd sworn to protect. I can never change the past but present is still in my very hand' holding the boy in her hand , the boy the proof of our union the proof of our shared love. Yes everything was a happy beautiful just like a picture to be framed!
But I felt it—fear racing through me faster than blood—because I saw the boy's eyes, so like my own once were. The eyes of person who smeared with vengeance so badly that even he can exchange his soul for cause. The likeness was so striking it seemed fate had tailored this punishment for me—the butcher of Wýrmfyrgeat.