"MOOOMM! HELP!" Verkremond screams as he runs for his life.

I can barely resist the physical impulse to facepalm. Every time I think his lameness has bottomed out, he finds new ways to remind me of how pathetic he is. If I were anyone but a transplant from a soft first-world modern family who barely knows the most basic basics about this world, he'd be dead already.

And he thinks he can become a chief? As if having me and Kevin would be enough to prevent his fellow slayers from walking all over him. I may be able to keep him alive indefinitely if that were my desire, but that would only open myself to exploitation from other slayers who wanted the game-breaking power of absolute invincibility and perfect healing.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance," I taunt, spinning his spear like a baton as I run. Then, of course, hubris catches up to me and the spear slips from my inexpert grasp, the haft hitting my shin trips me up. I stumble-hop, grab up the spear, and steady myself before I can faceplant, but it's gained Verkremond the time he needs to reach the house. The door opens and he rushes inside. I'm not quite fast enough to slip in after him before the door is slammed shut in my face.

"You won't escape me!" I slam the spear into the door, sending wood splinters flying. Then again. "You've woken the dragon! I will come for you! Whatever you--"

The door flies open and a hand darts out with lightning speed, intercepts the spear mid-thrust, twists it out of my grip, and hurls it away to the side. Before I can even widen my eyes in shock the hand grabs my wrist and yanks me into the house.

"Wha--"

An elder woman, weathered with age, her hair tied tightly back from her face and a broad scar across her chin, glares down at me with undeniable authority. I'm too intimidated to do more than stare. Something about her gaze makes me feel like a naughty five-year-old caught stealing the neighbor's blueberries.

Her name appears in my mind: Astindide the Seeker. Some deep part of me lurches with instinctive dread, though I can't say why.

"You dare lay a hand on my son?" Her voice is low, cold, demanding. It is a voice of violence and endless resolve.

I find myself with nothing to say. Before this woman's glare, any words I might think to say are shattered in a thousand worthless droplets.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"You will apologize for your transgression and swear never to even think of doing it again."

Indignation has a way of breaking through shock. I'm not the wrongdoer in this equation, and I certainly won't be apologizing to a hunter who tried to kill and/or enslave me!

Verkremond will die. And if Astindide wishes to stand between us, then so be it.

"Greater ward."

Her hand is thrown clear of my body as the oval expands, and I hurl myself forward, slamming bodily into her before she can react. We topple to the floor and I hear the crack as her head collides with the stone of the floor. Her eyes unfocus, and I want to capitalize on her momentary incapacitation. But... I've never actually killed anyone. I jump to my feet, looking around for anything to use as a weapon.

"NO!" Verkremond slams into me, but--

"Greater ward,"

--he's immediately thrown back, the impact transmitted into the floor at my feet and leaving me unshaken.

"You should never have tried to enslave me." With a snarl I grab the nearest object to me - a chair - and slam it into the wall as hard as I can. The shoddy construction comes apart at my attack, leaving me holding a nice club with a conveniently spiky broken section sticking out the side. "This is the end for you, my would-be master."

Verkremond's courage fails him and he turns tail, running for the hallway, but I'm right behind him and this time I don't try to do anything fancy. I smash the chair leg down on his shoulder, throwing off his run. He skitters into the wall, almost loses his balance, but makes the turn and disappears around the corner.

I don't slow, grabbing the wall and using it to slingshot myself around the corner and after him.

He's only made it two more steps before I'm on him, and this time I aim for the head. He cries out and spins around, arms coming up to block, one grabbing at the club, but I'm fully enraged at this point.

There's no stopping me.

I rain blows on his arms and torso, screaming with inarticulate fury at this creature who dared try to turn my chance at a new life into a thing of fear and subservience.

At last, Verkremond's arms fall limp at his sides, no longer able to hold them up, battered and bloody. He speaks, probably pleading for mercy, but I can't hear him over the pounding of blood in my ears and the rage burning in my chest. The urgent demand for retribution. The absolute certainty that my survival depends on not just winning, but killing.

I only distantly feel the liquid streaking my face, whether from frustration or mourning I'll never know.

"Let's see how you like it." I kick him to the ground.

He lies on his back, fear in his eyes as he stares at me.

I raise my bloodied club to strike the final blow, but something snatches it from my hands at the last second. I whirl on the intruder, furious that my vengeance is being denied. If it's that woman--

It's Kevin.

He whispers a word I cannot hear, and a warm ivory glow envelops me.

Suddenly all the anger, all the bloodlust, drains away. I sway, unsteady from the exertion no longer supported by adrenaline.

With one glance back at Verkremond, beaten and bleeding but still breathing, Kevin takes my arm and pulls me away.

----------------------------------------