Before I wielded the blade, I had my two fists to fight. Before there was Titan, I only had my eyes and ears to guide me. And before becoming the Paladin, I was a hunter born of weakness. Armed with a vengeance and drive to prove even a gnat can draw blood from a lion. But, years ago, I made due on a promise.

Pale Nitrile gloves stretched over my torn-up black hoodie till my knuckles turned white. It steadied my grip as I slid my fingers across several household items, wondering which one to use. The steak knife felt the most natural, and the power drill was precise, but they both felt too clean, too impersonal. And I wanted things to get messy, leaving the third option's sheer mass to feel perfect in my arms.

Everything else came easy as I tightened my makeshift medical apron and mask. Afterward, I walked past my low-cut red dress and pack of crushed-up hypnotics to give myself a final look in the mirror. To most, I resembled a junkyard surgeon, but anyone with better eyes could see the subtleties. I knew a hidden scrunchie was what kept my messy hair intact. My weary eyes carried bags so deep I appeared as a raccoon. Even now, hunger, thirst, and sleep clawed against my focus. Being a ghoul for two years has taken a toll.

Back then, I thought it was a necessity. Now I'll constantly wonder about the time I lost. I could've spent years with my family, who mourned an empty grave. The lives I could've saved instead of ended. Or, more importantly, what would Jasmine say if she knew what I did with her second chance? Just thinking about it all had me on the verge of tears. I would've broken down if I didn't see my monitor change for the first time in hours. Knowing I was about to miss my window, I put on the finishing touches.

"I'm sorry," I proclaim before returning to my mission.

You'd think renting a soundproof room in an apartment would be difficult. But surviving has taught me how far you can get by picking wealthy pockets and buying mouth shuts, especially in Dubai. Similar to any tourist city, appearances were all that mattered here. So I made my "patient's" first impression as striking as possible.

Lurking behind the shadows, I waited as my target stirred awake. Firsthand, history repeated itself, seeing a man not much older than me desperately looking for exits. When he tried rustling out of his zip-tied hands, I made my move. With resounding steps, I made my presence known, holding his very breath hostage through my ultimatum.

"Save your energy. The only way you're getting out of this is by answering my questions to the letter," I said.

As if on cue, my captor instantly folded, adopting a meek stature and blubbery tone.

"P-please, I don't know anything. I'm just a"

I didn't even let him finish his excuse as I left a wrathful jab to his nose. His head bobbed back like a yoyo as blood dripped to the floor—a teaser to what was to come.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"A filthy snitch who clings to the highlife by ratting out every dirty secret you sniff out to whoever's got the cash, including Asad and the Caracals."

Their very names seemed to thicken the tension even further. The prisoners' eyes grew wide with shock before focusing on a razor's edge. He immediately substituted his earlier meek stature for steep entitlement. A devilish grin escaped him before promptly spitting a bloody loogie on my boots.

"If you know the company, I keep shithead. What the fuck makes you think you can scare me?" he said boldly.

Within my soul, I tried summoning anger, only to discover a well of sadism that felt damn near bottomless. It took everything I had not to let out a skull-splitting smile. My hands then moved on there own, creating a stomach churning snap that made the whole house shudder.

Poor bastard didn't even get time to register what hit him, leaving him to writhe on the floor with a broken knee, cursing at my 3-pound hammer. I learned something about myself when I saw his pained screams and flowing tears. I could train all my life and never be as strong as James or intelligent as Wiz. And there's probably an army's worth of fighters who excel me in one aspect.

Yet I surpass them all through my creativity for cruelty. I find a weak point and don't let go till I rip through my enemies throat. Hunting the Caracals has sent me through every sunken low they inhabited. Which only makes me realize I had to go even lower. To claw out whatever humanity they hadn't already beaten out of me; till there was nothing left but a deep animus to destroy utterly.

In the days to come, Asad's brotherhood was about to discover how like their namesake, they only prowl for survival. A monster, on the other hand? They stalk out of hatred. And I'm ready to play the role. While my captive screamed, I put my boot to his skull, quieting his pathetic whimpering.

"I think I can scare you because, unlike those thugs, I'm a licensed medical professional. Meaning, I can ensure you stay alive until you give me what I want."

I then pressed down harder, forcing him to scream more while forcing his mouth open.

"Want me to break your teeth next?"

"NO! GOD, NO! I "LL TELL YOU, OKAY?," he said panicky.

Deciding to humor him, I backed from him enough to let him speak, studying for any hint of deception.

"A couple of days ago, an arms dealer gave me a proposition. He offered not to shoot my face in exchange for spreading the word that he'll match the price of any two-bit crook in pure firepower."

"Who's the arms dealer working for?" I questioned, not knowing how deep these dealings could go yet.

"Given my current predicament, do you think me asking the guy questions would've been beneficial?"

His backtalk earned him a kick to his gut, forcing him to sputter up spit and speed up his speech.

"Right, sorry! Once I spread the word Asad came, and I officiated the deal between them."

My mind couldn't help but piece together his story with mine. So the first thing I did after leaving the airport was scout their old base to try and give Jasmine a proper funeral. Only to find it razed to the ground with numerous corpses mangled and burned to register. In my failed search, though, I could see most of their stolen goods were destroyed.

From there, I tracked their movements by asking one maddening question. What would I do if I were Asad? Following his thinking sent me towards numerous cities, seeing the Caracals as they domesticated themselves, wearing the hats of bodyguards, bouncers, and hired guns. Looking back, they were likely consolidating money, waiting to seek enough power to be "free" again. A moment I'll be there to snatch away.

"When and where is the deal taking place?"

"In a sewage plant outside the city, I got the coordinates on my phone! But it's all blank from there. I swear to god, you got to believe me!!" the snitch said panicky.

I wanted to doubt him, but I knew he was right. His story lined up against my previous info, and he was far too scared to lie. Meaning he's served his purpose. Creeping aggression started bubbling up again as I tightly gripped my hammer, warming up for oncoming carnage.

"Don't worry, I believe you. And I hold to my promise. You're going to get out of here. Just not in one piece."

Maybe it was because of poor memory or pure apathy, but I can't remember if my victim gave any last pleas. All I could recall was the sound of cracking bone slowly turning to scarlet mush.