Dark clouds cover the afternoon sky, the water falling thick from the sky as the day turns dark as night.

Though there are some few people here like me, this is not a town of my people. Most of them I’ve only ever heard of in stories.

Humans with their smooth ears that are otherwise almost the same as me. The cat-eared people from the northern lands, norkit. There’s even a dwarvish woman among them, short and stalwart. Her people rule over the underworld, at least, it’s what mom used to tell me.

For all this diversity, they still all seem the same. As they eat and sing around a cooking fire, I see in them the ravaging bandits who burned my home and killed my family.

It’s been so many years since I last saw this village. It was set afire by people like them. I could only watch, hearing the screams, grasping at the tree beside me.

I’m not so weak as I was before.

A growl works its way up my throat, but I stifle it so that they don’t hear me. This is my territory, stolen by the bandits because they thought we were weak… because we were weak.

As with the wolven, and the bears, and the foxes. If I want a home, then I must take it. Territory goes to those who are strong. So, I have to prove these people are weak if I want to recover the ashes of the home I once had.

I crawl in the dirt by the edge of the forest, not frozen in terror as I once was, but watching, waiting, hunting. I need to know that these truly are villains before I take on this fight. What if strangers just moved in after the bandits burned my home to the ground?

So, hunting for a weakness, or for evidence that could prove their guilt, I watch and wait.

Their voices grate at me, leaving me stewing in old memories and old emotions. I want to talk to them. I want to hear more words, even if they’re senseless. I want to be with people again.

I have to find evidence, proof of their villainy, proof enough for me to take revenge. To take back my home.

Searching their town from a distance, I notice their weakness before any evidence of villainy. They, in their good cheer, are inattentive, stumbling, and messy. If I take them by surprise I’m sure I can win, even outnumbered.

Can’t I just kill them all?

Midnight comes to my side to soothe me, but her cold fur doesn’t warm me as much as it should.

I crawl along the edges of the forest to look upon the small town from all different angles, watching them eat and drink by a warm fire. I need to find something that might tell me who these people are.

I stumble over shadowy roots, keeping low to the ground while trying to keep silent. I don’t think my attempts at stealth matter in the end, the people in the town are all too busy with their partying to notice me no matter how loud I’m being. There’s not even anyone watching the forest for predators, they’re nothing like the deer, not even the large cats, or the bears.

The ground here is a bit weird, and it stinks like something dead that the birds and foxes haven’t gotten to; something rotten.

Kneeling, I touch at the shadow at my feet. Old skin covered in squirming maggots. It does not take long to discover the truth behind the mystery.

A dead body, a person. Probably elvish or human. I can feel stab wounds in his chest.

Pushing more æther through my veins, I pull at the corpse of a man who I didn’t know. It takes only a few moments for me to lift him up like a puppet, I sift about inside his mind to find the evidence.

His rotten mind, filled with maggots, and other crawling insects, struggles to find the memories I’m after.

Flashes come to me. Fear and pain. The sight of a bandit cutting down my guards. The collar around my neck, the knife stabbing into me.

Cold. Alone.

I let go of the man, unable to keep from shuddering. He’s still mine, and he deserves a chance at revenge.

An uncomfortable blend of excitement and horror, grief and joy, glows in my heart. There is no doubt that these are awful, murderous bandits. At the same time, the last hope inside of me slowly burns away.

No one else survived.

Among these scattered bones at my feet might well be people that I once knew. My father could be here, the village elders, the older kids I used to play with. I can’t tell any of the bones apart from one another, or even where one body begins and the next ends.

I escape these thoughts by turning instead to the fire flickering between the trees. I can no longer bear to be patient. Midnight creeps up beside me as I keep myself low, finding the figure of the dwarvish woman, this time as she walks away from the fire.

The flames flicker and hiss through the drizzling rains, but the woman stumbles away even though the ground is even. She curses at the weather, waving a fist at the sky.

Making sure Gnome, and the walking corpse both stay hidden nearby, I encourage Midnight to me. I silence my doubts and sprint forwards with all the strength my æther and flesh can bring to bear.

Sharpening my hand, I dive through the rains right for her. She gives only half a shout, too weak for anyone to hear as she tries to lift her spear much too late.

My hand cuts deep into her meaty throat, stealing away her voice and shortly after, her life too. Even as her life bleeds away, I flow my æther into her thrashing body, stealing away everything but her fleeing soul.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

My hand, covered in red blood, feels… wrong. I’ve killed before, I’ve hunted, and I’ve made friends, but this… it feels wrong for reasons that I can’t quite explain.

There’s a familiarity to her face, even though I’ve never seen her before. The thought of treating her like the deer that I slaughter and eat just makes my stomach twist up on itself in disgust.

I rub my bloody hand in the mud, but it doesn’t come clean.

Shaking the disgust away, I finish stealing the dwarvish woman’s mind. I set aside all the thoughts and memories floating in her soulless mind, having the puppet recall only the nature of battle. It stands at attention with a spear at its side.

Gnome walks calmly from the forest, the shambling corpse stumbling along by his side, and I take my long club from him as I turn to face the bandits who dare to celebrate in the ashes of my home.

For some reason, my stomach is still twisting up, and my head feels both warm and fuzzy at the same time. I shake it off and keep moving.

“Syr will steal the warmth of their fire and leave their flesh to rot,” I say, my words hollow.

As I glare from the darkness, none seem to have noticed a thing wrong, the short cry of their pack member lost to them in their stupor. An advantage I am not willing to let go to waste.

With the æther flow burning me up inside, I can manage to maintain these four undead, but in a fight, I’ll be pushing myself with other magics too. I might have to let go of the two puppets when their value is lost.

Crouching low to the ground, one hand pressed into the dirt and the other holding my club to the side, I consider my approach.

For some reason I cannot understand, the bandits are stumbling about in a trance, mumbling and acting out of sorts as if ill. Some have fallen down and though still living, act as if dead.

Even with their numbers being greater than a dozen, in their state and with the advantage of surprise, they seem an easy prey.

I can feel my lips twist in excitement for the hunt, only for it to fade as I see their faces. It’s not food that I’m hunting, but people. Not to make use of them, but to erase them. To destroy.

I send my dead dwarf into their stumbling ranks. For all the blood covering it and the seriousness of its gait, they give it not a second glance, fools that they are.

My puppet thrusts down with a spear, killing one of the sleepers while no one notices. Not until the third has been given permanent residence in the afterlife do the rest take notice, their cries spreading quick through the town.

While even more cry out in alarm stumbling to their weapons, Midnight joins the fun, pulling down and tearing the throat from another luckless victim. The dwarvish puppet doesn’t pause, taking another life with its spear before the enemy can ready their own weapons. The maggot-filled undead joins the battle, tearing at the bandits with its bony fingers.

As they turn to the puppets in range, I take the opening and strike from the side. With my giant club supported by my æther fuelled body, I strike hard enough to send one man flying into the ruins of a building, leaving his body twisted and broken beyond healing.

Of the few with weapons drawn, most are unable to decide between fighting and running. Their gazes drift between me and the puppets, while Midnight strikes another from behind. We don’t give their shock time to pass.

A dangerous few with enough sense to arm themselves are quick to pull together into a group. Their trembling limbs more filled with fear than anger, they keep their distance. Unfortunately for them, their eyes are locked on me and the puppets, so much so that they cannot see or hear Gnome coming.

His gigantic form charges over them, their weak resistance not even slowing him. One man falls into the fire screaming as he stirs the sparks around him, spreading fires into the buildings around us. The dry wood is quickly eaten by the spreading flames.

Gnome throws around his great weight, tossing the bandits with his large claws, and snapping with his strong jaws. He chews on one stray bandit, his thick hide repelling the dagger striking at his head. More of the bandits strike out with their swords, trying to fight back.

My dwarf willingly impales herself on their weapons, without feeling any pain, stealing their defences before ending them with her spear.

I dive to and fro with my strengthened body, sending bandits flying with my well-worn club, not letting a single blade reach me. Midnight, hiding in shadows, tears down the bandits that the rest of us miss and finishes those that are fallen but not yet dead.

They cry out in despair as those who can, turn and run, but neither I nor my companions are willing to let them escape us.

As the fallen count more than the standing, and my companions pursue the survivors, I look about at the burning town.

It’s not the same place that I grew up in, not anymore. The walls are different, the streets strewn with discarded and broken things, and the streets and homes are left generally unclean. Just like that day, just like what happened so long ago, the streets are again filled with the dead and dying.

No longer am I the prey, but the scene remains the same.

Without much concern, another bandit walks out from a nearby shanty house. From his stance and expression alone, I can see that he’s more deadly than the others who are clearly weakened by bad food or something like it. He handles a longsword in both his hands as he approaches, his eyes locking onto me rather than the many undead about me.

I strike forwards with my club, but he is just as quick to sidestep and slash out at me with a counter. He jabs at me, but by swinging my heavy club around I find the momentum to swing out of reach.

Impatiently, I dive forwards again with a strike much like the first time, and again he sidesteps. This time he slashes at my club instead of me, smashing it to pieces.

As he smirks, seeing his own victory but it doesn’t last long. I swing the remnants of my club backwards, thus throwing myself forwards, toward the bandit. I let go of the broken club and sharpen my hand as I stab deep into his guts.

The man struggles, at first, raising his own hands against me. I fight him off while stabbing up towards his heart.

His legs give out the moment I find it.

Holding him in my arms, I push my hand all the way in, firmly gripping his heart and crushing it with the æther flow powering my fingers.

I turn away from the body, staring down at my shaking hands, covered in blood. It’s not the first time. I’ve hunted before. I’ve killed before… why does this feel different?

Is it because they look like me?

My burning æther veins shock me back to attention. Between my rampant body strengthening and my overly active companions, I’ve worn myself down to my limits.

I let the puppet dwarf fall into ash, alongside the puppet corpse, still covered in maggots.

Gnome and Midnight move slowly, keeping from wasting any more of my æther.

Surrounded by corpses, covered in blood, the burning town falls silent about me.

A glint of shiny steel catches my eye, and I can’t keep from smiling as I forget all about my old, splintered club. With bloody hands, I take up the new sword, the same one that the bandit was using against me. Very similar to the one that the bandit used to kill mom…

The hot fires reflect off of the blade in my hands, through the steel I can see a reflection of this town as it was back then. When dad fought to save it, when mom fought to save me. I can almost hear the familiar voices, screaming as they die. The blood and the fire is the same, but now the village is silent, but for crackling flames that seem to be laughing at us. No matter who wins and who loses, the fires will be fed.

Shivering, terrified, and clutching at the sword with all my strength. I search the town for survivors.

Those I find, I kill as they sleep, or cower in their homes.

By the time I’m done, the fires are dying to a heavier rain. I find a cold corner in a small shed and cuddle up with Midnight and Gnome.

Sleep comes easy, the nightmares pulling my consciousness away. The sword is light in my hands, I wave it left and right as people scream and flames spread. I see mom and dad; they scream and weep as I kill them too.