The forest seemed less dense as Izak trudged downstream, his muscles aching and his mind clouded with exhaustion. The sun sank low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the forest floor as the first chill of evening crept into the air. Shelter felt like a distant hope, but he pressed on, driven by sheer willpower and the unrelenting instinct to survive.

Suddenly, the distant clash of metal and chilling echoes of screams shattered the stillness. The forest’s calm shattered like brittle glass, leaving Izak frozen in place, his breath hitching as the echoes of agony rippled through the trees. He strained to listen, his breath caught in his throat, as the faint sounds of shouting and the acrid scent of smoke reached him.

Panic swelled within him. The scavengers behind him were probably still hunting him, and now this—another battlefield? More scavengers? Another nightmare?

Against his better judgment, Izak crept forward, his every step careful, his heart pounding in sync with the rising tension in his chest. Crouching low, he moved with deliberate caution, his senses razor-sharp. Each crunch of leaves beneath his boots felt deafening, yet he pressed on. In order to avoid danger, he had to understand it. He had to see what was happening...

As he neared the source of the commotion, the flickering light of flames revealed the gruesome truth behind the screams. Soldiers in tattered uniforms were raiding a small village, slaughtering its people and setting its homes ablaze. The stench of blood and charred flesh hung thick in the air, an oppressive miasma that clawed at his throat and ignited a slow-burning anger.

Izak’s blood froze. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, his ears buzzing with a deafening roar. The sight before him was a canvas of brutality—men, women, children, all butchered without mercy, their screams lingering in the air like ghosts refusing to fade. His hand moved instinctively to the sword strapped to his back, gripping the hilt tightly. His breath quickened, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap.

A sudden cry shattered the din of carnage: “GET OUT! RUN!” The voice, raw with desperation, drew Izak’s attention. His breath hitched as he spotted a small figure—a woman—running frantically toward the forest. Her steps faltered, and before she could reach the safety of the trees, a soldier’s bolt struck her down.

The sight hit him like a hammer to the chest. An unrelenting surge of anger and helplessness roiled within him. His grip tightened on his sword. The red string wrapped around the hilt seemed to pulse, as if alive, blood coursing through veins. His vision tunneled on the scene before him.

Then it came. A voice he knew, low and comforting, reverberated through his mind like a primal whisper.

“Feed me,” Azelia urged, her words fanning the flames of his growing rage. Her voice was both a temptation and a command, igniting something deep and feral within him.

“Be free of your chains,” she whispered.

Rage surged through him, a molten tide obliterating his fear and hesitation. The cries of the dying and the scent of blood merged into a singular roar in his mind, drowning out everything but the need to act. His pulse thundered as a red haze consumed his vision.

Before he realized it, his body was moving. He broke free from the cover of the trees, a primal roar tearing from his throat. His sword gleamed like a beacon of wrath in the fading light. Each step carried the weight of his fury, the ground trembling beneath him.

The soldier with the crossbow barely had time to react before Izak’s blade descended. Steel met flesh in a spray of crimson, and the soldier’s lifeless body collapsed with a dull thud. Izak’s breath came in ragged gasps, his vision painted red as something deep inside spurred him forward. Despite the red hue everything appeared clearer, sharper, things were moving slower almost like in slow motion. He moved like a blur, faster than his enemies could process.

The two other soldiers turned, their faces twisting in shock as Izak closed the distance in an instant. Each swing of the blade carried unrelenting fury, carving through the chaos with savage precision. Blood soaked the ground as Izak cut through the soldiers like a force of nature, his power manifesting with every strike. He was no longer a man—he was rage incarnate.

“Izak! Izak!” A voice called out, faint and distant, barely piercing the fog of his mind. He ignored it...

Without realizing it, Izak found himself in the center of the village. Flames roared around him, casting long shadows over the carnage. Faint whimpers rose from dying villagers sprawled across the blood-soaked ground. The main group of soldiers—deserters from their kingdom—were systematically ensuring no one survived. They stabbed and hacked at the wounded, silencing their cries.

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Izak moved as if untethered, phasing through the chaos... one by one, the soldiers fell— heads rolling, torsos cleaved apart—until half of them were dead before they even knew what was happening. When they finally saw him standing there—blood-soaked, red-eyed, a shining blade in hand—they froze. It hadn’t been a minute, and already half the raiders were dead.

“Retreat! Retreat!” their leader bellowed, panic seeping into his voice. “That's a fucking monster... We're damned!”

Alone, standing on shaking legs amidst the carnage, with the remnant of the soldiers running away, Izak—covered in blood and viscera—fell to his knees, panting as a searing headache split his skull.

“You almost killed yourself,” Azelia’s voice murmured in his mind, weak and strained. “You can’t lose control like that again. Your body isn’t ready for this power. I had to use some of mine to keep you alive. Find the healer… She’s hurt but still alive. She may help you understand more the world you now live in. For now. I’ll need time to recover…”

Her voice faded, leaving only the oppressive silence of his own thoughts, the weight of her warning settling deep in his bones.

Izak stumbled toward where the healer had crumbled to the ground. On his way, Azelia's words lingered in his mind: "Feed me." What was the meaning of those two words? Feed her what? Lost in thought, he barely registered his surroundings until his feet stopped at the forest’s edge, where she lay motionless.

The healer, whose name he didn’t know, was lying there, her clothes soaked in blood. She would die if he didn't do anything... But he wasn't a doctor. He didn't know what to do. She was supposed to be a healer he thought, maybe she could heal herself if she just regained consciousness. Izak went on his knee close to her face and softly slapped her, but his eyes were pulled toward the bolt piercing her frail body. She was lying on her side. The blood still running from the wound. Something beat inside of him, stronger than a heartbeat. A warm wave traveled through his body. Instinctively, he broke the bolt and pulled the other part out of her, blood pouring from the now completely open wound. Without thinking, Izak placed one hand on her back and the other on her stomach, as if trying to stop the flow. With his palms now in direct contact the pulsing within him intensified, each throb surging with unfamiliar power. The blood, still oozing under the pressure of his hands, suddenly halted—then, impossibly, it reversed course, seeping back into her wound as though obeying an unseen command. It was a crazy sight. After a moment the blood dried and coagulated, closing completely the wound. Izak felt even more tired and withdrew his hands, his eyes now focused on the red scar that looked like a burn.

Her eyes snapped open with a gasp, her chest rising sharply as though she had been jolted awake from a nightmare. Fear and confusion flitted across her face, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Her fingers twitched as if preparing to defend herself, and her gaze locked onto his with raw defiance. "Just kill me, you savage!" she spat, her voice trembling with anger.

Taken aback, it took Izak a few moments to find his words... "My name is Izak, Izak Walker. I’m not a soldier, and I’m not going to kill you."

After tense explanations, she calmed. "My name’s Ailee White. Thank you for saving me."

Despite their battered bodies, they pressed on through the devastated village, each step a struggle against the weight of exhaustion and sorrow. The weight of the massacre hung in the air, pressing down on them like a suffocating fog. Each corpse they passed told a different story—some clutched their loved ones in frozen desperation, others had perished mid-flight, their hands outstretched toward salvation that never came. The silence was deafening, broken only by Ailee’s ragged breaths and the occasional rustling of fire-licked debris collapsing into itself. Izak clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as grief and anger warred within him. He glanced at Ailee, her face streaked with soot and tears, yet still, she pressed on, checking the fallen for any signs of life. She wasn’t ready to give up, and neither was he. Some clung to life for mere moments, their trembling hands reaching out before their last breath escaped them, fading like embers in the wind. Ailee's healing was not enough... Izak also tried to repeat his feat but nothing happened. Exhausted, Ailee whispered, "We need to leave. The scent of blood will attract creatures."

They made a quick stop at Ailee's house to gather supplies and gear before setting off into the forest. Now, each carried a bag, their steps quiet against the earth. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying secrets only the night could understand. Shadows stretched long and hungry, swallowing them whole as the moon watched in solemn silence—an unblinking eye over a world steeped in blood.