The first thing Kaizer noticed as he entered the commander’s tent was that the flaps made no sound. Canvas should move. Wind should breathe through seams. The morning air outside was alive with muted sound but in here, much like near the cages, things were muted.

  Kaizer did not announce himself. His vision had begun to tint at the edges, a faint red bleed that deepened with every step. Sound came late, dull and hollow, like it had to push through water to reach him. His breathing was loud in his ears, each inhale scraping, each exhale heavy and slow. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

  Rage sat in his chest like a coiled animal waiting to strike. He slowly stepped deeper into the tent. A lantern burned on a low table, its flame steady. Shadows crawled across the canvas walls. The smell hit him next, sweat, stale wind, old leather and something sour beneath it made his jaw tighten.

  Then he saw him. Rourke stood with his back half turned, bare skin pale in the lantern light. His uniform lay discarded over a chair, boots kicked aside carelessly. He was laughing, low and lazy, the sound of a man who thought he was on top of the world.

  On the bedding, a girl sat frozen. She was too frail. Too young in Kaizer's eyes. This registered instantly in Kaizer’s mind. Her hands were clenched white in the fabric beneath her. Her eyes wide and unfocused, fixed on nothing. There were marks all over her body, bruises on her wrists where rope had been just minutes before.

  Kaizer stopped breathing. The commander turned slightly, following the girl’s stare. He noticed Kaizer for the first time. Surprise flickered across his face, followed by a combination of irritation and amusement. “You’re not scheduled,” Rourke said. His voice was calm, confident. Untouchable. “This area is restricted; you shouldn’t be here.”

  Kaizer didn’t move. His vision turned a deeper shade of red. The girl behind Rourke was whimpering. Rourke turned to the girl “You should be grateful lass. Protection always comes at a cost. Everyone pays. Even Kaizer over here understands that.”

  That was it, Kaizer couldn’t stand it anymore. Something inside him snapped cleanly, like a bone breaking under too much pressure. His hand moved before he could even think. Claws tore from his fingers mid-motion, black and silver, curving as they extended. The air screamed as he crossed the distance in a flash. Rourke had just enough time to open his mouth before Kaizer drove his hand straight through his throat.

  There was no hesitation. No flourish, just wet resistance. Rourke gurgled as Kaizer pulled back his claws, slowly, to cause the most pain possible. Blood sprayed across Kaizer’s chest and face. Rourke made a sound that never became a word before Kaizer slashed sideways and the commanders head came clean off. His body hit the ground with a wet thud. Kaizer stood over it, chest heaving, hand dripping. He did not look at what he had done. He did not address the girl. He moved.

  The tent entrance tore open as Lem came rushing in. He had been one of the guards on shift. “Kaizer.. What have you done, you’ll pay for this!” he shouted. The shout came out muffled, a backfiring of the clear muting that had been done on the tent. Kaizer dodged a thrust and claws ripped straight through Lem’s heart.

  Two of the guards outside hadn’t even noticed the motion but once Kaizer stepped outside covered in blood, they backed away in fear. The first one raised a spear. Kaizer went through it, claws opening the man from shoulder to hip. The second tried to raise the alarm but Kaizer took his jaw off. A third guard, slightly further away turned to run and got two fingers through the spine.

  Blood coated the ground. Each kill blurring Kaizers vision further. Each kill filling him with a familiar yet far away warmth. The warmth of essence entering his core. Kaizer slowly walked back up towards the cages. He killed any combatant in the area. Most still unaware of what was going on. It did not matter. Kaizer moved through them like something unleashed. By now, alarms raised in the camp. Kaizer didn’t care. He intercepted. The camp enforcers began rushing him. Each dying with a single strike.

  Images began flashing over Kaizers sight. He could still see, but he was also processing something at the same time. A blade glanced off his ribs. He did not feel it. A club struck his shoulder. Bone cracked, grinding with every movement, held together only by instinct and momentum. He grabbed a man’s wrist and tore his arm straight off. The man screamed.

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  The ground became slick. Something burned behind Kaizers eyes. Shapes pulsed in the red, sharp and primal. Images flashing by. The idea of a hunt, unrelenting appeared to dominate those images. The certainty of power. The righteousness of ending ones foe. A woman sent a small flame, the beginnings of a fireball towards his back. Kaizer twisted without looking and thrust his spear into her chest. When had he even drawn it? He didn’t know.

  Another tried to flank him. Kaizer ducked, rolled, and came up under the man’s guard, ripping open his thigh and throat in one motion. Bodies fell. The noise grew. Someone shouted a name. Jake. Kaizer turned and saw him standing frozen near the cages, eyes wide, face grey. Keys hung from his belt, jangling softly as his hands shook.

  Kaizer crossed the distance in a heartbeat and lifted Jake off the ground by the throat. Jakes feet kicked uselessly. His hands clawed at Kaizer’s wrist, weak, desperate. His eyes locked onto Kaizer’s face and something inside them broke. “I know,” Jake gasped. “I knew.”

  The red in Kaizers vision surged. Kaizers hand tightened. Jake’s neck bones creaked. Instinct screamed for completion. This had to be done. Kaizer dropped Jake and watched as his gaze flicked toward the cages. Toward the line of men, women and children huddled inside, eyes wide, silent and watching. Jake didn’t even see or feel as Kaizers left hand ripped straight through his heart. Claws now protruding from both hands.

  For a fraction of a second, something flickered at the edge of Kaizer’s vision. Text tried to force itself into being, pale and uneven, letters stuttering as if the world itself was struggling to hold them together.

  [Dao s-

  -Feroci- Unloc-]

  Another line bled in beneath it, fractured and misaligned.

  [Be- Cl-

  -arity Incr-]

  Kaizer snarled. He swiped at the air with a blood-slicked hand, claws tearing through the space where the words hovered. The text shattered like glass, fragments dissolving before they could finish forming.

  Kaizer paid it no more attention as he swept through the camp, a blur of killing. He noticed Elira’s father trying to run. He didn’t get far. Kaizer caught him in the back of the neck and dragged him across the ground. Elira appeared from behind a tent, tears streaming down her face, eyes wild.

  “Please,” her father begged. “Please, I didn’t touch them, I swear, I just followed his orders, I just…”

  Kaizer slammed him to the ground. Elira screamed. Kaizer killed him with one clean motion, claws ripped through his chest, ripping out his heart. Kaizer dropped it at Elira’s feet. He watched her as screams tore raw and broke into sobs. She dropped to her knees, hands shaking. He said nothing. He could smell the innocence on her. She hadn’t known.

  “Why…. Why would you do this?” Elira choked through sobs.

  Kaizer didn’t reply. He simply gestured up the hill, toward Rourke’s tent and the cages. Something inside Elira collapsed. She stared at the bodies, at the blood, at Kaizer’s hands, then up the hill. She staggered to her feet and ran. She had to know.

  Voices rose across the camp. Sounds. Alarms. Boots thundered and firelight from initial spells being flung into the air as a warning. Kaizer hadn’t seen magic be used this way before. Hadn’t seen fireballs thrown, the beginnings of lightning strikes but it was showing here and now. It didn’t matter.

  Tomas had rallied as many fighters as he could find, shouting orders, pointing and trying to form a line. Some of these must have been the expected ambush party as they were armed to the teeth. Others, clearly picked up along the way. All in all, there were at least 30 people.

  “Lay down your weapons and live,” Kaizer said in a low growl. His voice carried. Some hesitated, others charged. Kaizer met them head-on. Fury written on his face. It was time for cleaning. He targeted leaders first, all except Tomas, he would be saved for last. Arms broke. Knees shattered. Throats cut open. He did not chase the fleeing. He did not butcher the wounded. He ended threats and combatants.

  One ranger, using a bow tried to surrender too late, dropping her bow mid-charge. Kaizer passed her without a glance. Fifteen dead. Seventeen. Twenty. The rest broke, running or surrendering. Silence fell slowly, like ash.

  Kaizers eyes were completely red with his own blood trickling out the edges. Survivors stood trembling at the sight. Weapons discarded, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of terror and awe. Kaizer was covered in blood from head to toe. Bodies scattered around. Still, his breathing was solid, unfazed. Internally though, Kaizer was a mess, almost at his limit.

  Kaizer turned away, said nothing. He didn’t explain himself as he walked over to Tomas. Who unsurprisingly was skulking in the background, injured after having taken a claw to his shoulder. With a punch, Kaizer knocked him to the ground. He dragged Tomas over to the tailors tent all the while, watching as the man in his grip was flailing, crying. “No… n..no.. Please don’t hurt me. I swear I won’t do anything, I’ll leave, I’m nothing, no one.” Tomas could be heard by the crowd.

  Kaizer said nothing as he dropped Tomas in front of the Tailor and kicked him, deep in his side, exactly how Tomas had kicked the tailor. Then, picked up a broken spear and stabbed down. Pinning Tomas to the ground, straight through one of his lungs.

  Kaizer walked. Past the fires. Past the bodies. Past the cages where hands reached out toward him, not daring to touch but pleading for help. Kaizer could see Elira, sobbing, keys in her hands, opening cages one by one. Her eyes were hollow, met his one last time as he nodded. He left the camp behind to the screams of Tomas dying and headed toward the dungeon entrance carved into the hillside he had found on his scouting mission.

  By the time he reached the trees, the red in his eyes began to fade, ferocity calming. Sound rushed back all at once, too loud, too sharp. His legs trembled. Pain arrived in a flood, every injury screaming for attention. Hands shaking uncontrollably as claws began to recede. He made it halfway up the slope toward the dungeon before collapsing to the dirt, retching. Shame hit him like a wave. Kaizer hadn’t known he had it in him to kill. Now he had slaughtered. There was no regret though. The shame was from not knowing sooner, being too trusting. Not a mistake he would make again.

  He saw the blood on his hands and knew he could and would kill again. He knew how easy it had become in this new world. It was the rule of power. He promised himself he wouldn’t let anyone gain power over him again. He curled inward, breathing hard, slowly crawling toward the dungeon entrance, evening sun slowly receding.

  No System voice spoke. No intervention by gods or other beings. There was only silence. Silence and the knowledge that something fundamental inside him had changed.