The sun dipped behind the jagged peaks of the Cascadia mountains, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The mountain was located far away from civilization. It was in the middle of nowhere except for the small village that was in the valley of the mountain. A cool breeze rustled through the towering pines, whispering secrets as the night turned to dawn. Xander Everson, a boy of perhaps sixteen but with eyes that held the weight of the world, trudged through the underbrush, his bow slung over one shoulder and the fresh kill of a rabbit hanging from the other.
He had learned the ways of hunting from his grandfather, the village chief, a man steeped in wisdom and tales of morality. Together, they lived in a small cabin up at the top of the mountain very secluded from the villagers who thrived in the valley below. There was a story that an evil spirit lives in the mountain but since Xander grew up in this environment he knew none of that was the truth. Xander had often felt akin to the mountains, their grandeur, their solitude, their strength. They were both fierce and unforgiving, just as he had been taught to be.
As Xander approached the cabin from the morning hunt, a peculiar stillness enveloped the air. The usual sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves fell silent, replaced instead by an oppressive silence that sent a shiver down his spine. He dropped the rabbit, instinctively reaching for his knife, an uneasy feeling gnawing at his gut.
"Grandfather!" he called out, but his voice echoed back, unanswered.
Pushing the door open with a trembling hand, Xander stepped inside, the dim light revealing a scene that sent his heart plummeting into an abyss of despair. There, sprawled on the wooden floor, lay his grandfather, eyes wide and lifeless, a dark pool of blood spreading around him like a sinister halo. The walls bore witness to a struggle, marked with smudges and scratches, yet it was the sight of his grandfather's unmoving form that sent waves of agony crashing over Xander.
"No!" he screamed, dropping to his knees beside the body, the weight of loss pressing down upon him like the mountains that surrounded their home. "Who did this?"
In an instant the grief turned from sorrow to rage. He wondered if he was a psycho for not shading any tear upon seeing his loving grand father's corpse. All he felt was anger. Xander's mind twisted and contorted, the pain morphing into a dark hunger. He fled the cabin, his heart pounding with a primal instinct, driven by a desire to unleash a reckoning on the world that had stolen everything from him.
Through the forest he ran, his breath ragged, his thoughts a chaotic storm. Every rustle in the foliage, every shadow that flickered in his peripheral vision ignited a fire within him. The animals, deer, lions, jaguars, even a large anaconda that used to terorize the village below became targets, casualties in a hunt that was no longer merely about survival.
His first kill was an extra large Wolf that was hunting and accidentally crossed paths with him, its vibrantly black grey fur matted in the earth, eyes wide with surprise. Xander felt nothing, no guilt, no regret, only a surge of something darker. Each animal that fell to his hands fed the beast growing inside him, a twisted satisfaction that dripped from his fingertips like the blood of his prey.
What the villagers below did not know, what his grandfather had guarded so carefully, was that Xander was not merely a boy. He was stronger than a normal child of his age, an uncanny resilience coursing through his veins; but the strength he possessed was not just physical. It was a latent darkness, a violent potential that had been tempered by his grandfather's teachings, lessons of virtue and restraint, reminders of the importance of goodness in a world filled with adversity.
Now, with his grandfather gone, that darkness raged to the surface, unrestrained and unyielding.
Xander descended down to the village, mired in shadows and thirsting for answer, his heart pounding with the rhythms of vengeance. When he crossed the boundary between the trees and village, he found it silent, save for the mascare that was infront of him. His heart no longer cared about all the dead bodies scattered on the ground, he was numb... he felt no emotions whatsoever the only thing that mattered to him was his grandfather who was now dead. ..as he beheld the destruction, the homes burned to cinders, the people lifeless, the villagers he had known his whole life either slaughtered or scattered.
"Who would have killed my grandfather and all these people?" he hissed, his voice low and threatening as he noticed a movement in the ruins. A shadow, a figure, a survivor? Hope flickered, but the moment was crushed under the weight of the sight before him, a young boy, no older than ten, curled against the remains of a house, clutching a bloodstained toy barely holding on to his little life " they were looking for the Village Chief. The soldiers with a dragon tattoo" said the little boy as his soul slowly left his body. He was a nice little boy who always had a vibrant smile and always brought fruits as gifts (together with his big sister who was about 4 years older than Xander) to Mr Everson, Xander's grandpa up the mountain and Xander would always escort them down as it was dangerous to walk alone in the mountain at night. He looked at the lifeless body of the little boy. All felt was anger, uncontrollable anger like a darkness from the abyss enveloping the entire mountain sky.
Xander was no longer in control. The rage boiled over, an eclipse swallowing his morality whole. With swift precision, he grasped his knife, the glint of metal reflecting the waning light.
"Who did this, why would they do this!?" he roared, eyes wild, scanning for any sign of an enemy.
As the last moments of twilight faded, and darkness enveloped the village, the boy started to laugh, a low, chilling sound that echoed through the alleys. It was a promise of chaos, a vow of revenge that would carve his name into the annals of destruction.
"I will find you. I will rip you apart," he muttered, eyes gleaming with madness as he stepped further into the shadows. With the mountains as his witness, he vanished into the night, leaving behind a burning village and a legacy of vengeance