Chapter 10: Rage

  Raven stood frozen, his breath shallow, his hands clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. The rooftop. The brute. The flicker of power. It was all still fresh in his bones.. The world around him blurred, his vision tunnelling until the only thing left was the still body in front of him. Darryl, his last family—was gone.

  A hollow silence settled inside him.

  Then, something deeper, something colder, began to spread.

  His grief didn’t come in waves. It didn’t overwhelm him like a flood. Instead, it solidified, a pit of lead sinking into his chest, crushing everything else beneath it. The sorrow, the helplessness—it all burned away, leaving behind something raw, something primal.

  Rage.

  A sharp breath hissed through his teeth. His body moved before his mind caught up, his feet carrying him toward the door, his fingers gripping his knife so hard the leather-wrapped hilt creaked beneath his grasp.

  "Raven, stop," Uri's voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. She moved forward, her golden eyes narrowed with concern. "You are not thinking clearly—"

  "Shut up."

  The words came out flat, emotionless. He didn't look at her, didn't stop, didn't hesitate.

  Uri reached out, as if to physically stop him, but the look in his eyes—empty yet burning with something terrible—made her hesitate.

  "Don't do this," she tried again, softer this time, stepping into his path. "You think revenge will fix this?"

  "Not revenge," Raven murmured, voice hollow as he pushed past her. "Justice."

  Then, he was gone.

  Uri let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t follow immediately. She watched instead, knowing that nothing she said would reach him now. Whatever had shattered inside him, it wasn’t something words could fix. Not yet.

  Raven stalked the streets like a predator hunting its prey. His footsteps were eerily silent, his body moving without thought, guided by the all-consuming need to kill. The city was eerily quiet, but he knew they were still here.

  He would find them.

  And he would end them.

  A goblin skittered into view, dragging a crude blade behind it. It barely had time to register his presence before his knife was buried in its throat, severing flesh and muscle. He tore it free with a savage yank, the creature gurgling as it collapsed, twitching.

  The kill didn’t satisfy him.

  He wanted more.

  Without waiting, he moved on, his heart pounding with something far worse than adrenaline. Another figure stumbled into his path—a reptilian creature, its head tilting in confusion.

  It never got the chance to react.

  Raven lunged, his knife slicing through the creature's scaly hide. It screeched, claws raking at his arm, but he didn't feel it. He didn’t care. He tore the blade across its throat and moved before the body even hit the ground.

  He was relentless.

  A monster.

  A force of nature born from grief and fury.

  Uri followed from a distance, unseen, her expression grim.

  She had seen creatures lose themselves before. She had seen warriors break under the weight of loss.

  But this?

  This was different.

  This was not the path her god had intended for humanity. Rage was a tool, a force meant to drive warriors forward, not consume them whole. But Raven—he was slipping, stepping closer to something dangerous, something that could not be undone. If he could not find his way back, if he let this darkness take root, she would have no choice but to abandon him. And if he became a threat to the balance, to the world her god had set in motion, she might even be forced to stand against him.

  The deeper Raven pushed into the city, the thicker the monsters became. What had started as a hunt quickly turned into a desperate battle for survival.

  At first, they came in small groups—lone goblins skulking through alleyways, a lizard lingering near the ruins of a shattered car. Each fell swiftly beneath his blade, their bodies crumpling to the pavement as he struck again and again, his muscles moving on instinct, his fury sharpening his reactions. But the thrill of the hunt, the burn of vengeance—it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

  He needed more.

  And more found him.

  As he neared the main road leading toward the hospital, clusters of goblins patrolled in packs, some wielding slings while others clutched crude clubs. The monsters were becoming organized.

  Raven didn’t care.

  He charged headfirst into another pack, his knife finding weak spots in green flesh. Blood—thick, dark, and reeking of something unnatural—spattered across his arms and clothes as he tore through them. A goblin’s blade grazed his thigh. He barely registered the pain, lost in the haze of the fight.

  But even as he fought, even as he cut them down with ruthless efficiency, they kept coming.

  For every beast he struck down, two more seemed to take its place.

  And for the first time since his rampage began, a whisper of something unfamiliar crept into the edges of his mind.

  This… isn’t working.

  A heavy breath tore from his chest as he staggered back, his muscles screaming, his grip tightening around his knife as he forced himself to keep moving. His body was slowing, exhaustion creeping through his limbs, dragging at him like chains.

  He knew how this ended.

  If he kept going, he would fall.

  If he fell, he would die.

  Uri appeared before him in a flicker of movement, stepping into his path, her expression unreadable.

  “Enough,” she commanded, her golden eyes searching his face.

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  He bared his teeth, rage flaring hot once more. "Get out of my way."

  "No," she said simply, tilting her head. "You’re going to get yourself killed."

  "Then I die fighting."

  Uri narrowed her eyes. “That’s not justice. That’s stupidity.”

  He growled low in his throat, barely able to think past the pounding in his skull. The urge to lash out, to cut her down like the monsters before, was terrifyingly real. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to still.

  Uri took a single step forward, her voice dropping lower. “Do you want to die?”

  Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.

  Then, through the haze, Raven’s eyes flickered to something in the distance.

  A figure.

  Towering, broad-shouldered, moving with purpose through the scattered goblins that lurked between ruined vehicles.

  The big bastard from before.

  The brute.

  The monster that had thrown him around like a ragdoll, the one that had left him broken and gasping for air.

  Raven’s heart pounded as he locked onto his target.

  This wasn’t over. He had another purpose. Another fight.

  And a rematch.

  The rage shifted, sharpened into something colder. More focused.

  He took a step back.

  Then another.

  Uri watched him carefully, waiting to see what he would do.

  Finally, he turned.

  Not toward her.

  Not toward the endless waves of lesser monsters.

  But toward him.

  The brute.

  His real prey.

  Uri exhaled slowly, the tension easing from her posture.

  Perhaps there was still a chance to pull him back from the edge.

  Perhaps.

  The brute had seen Raven and anticipated the rematch as much as he did. A cruel grin split its thick lips, revealing jagged, yellowed teeth. It slammed its mace against the ground, sending cracks through the pavement as a challenge, then raised its arm and bellowed something guttural.

  To Raven’s surprise, the surrounding goblins hesitated before retreating, scattering back into alleyways and side streets. They didn’t run out of fear but rather obeyed a direct order. The brute wanted this fight for itself.

  Raven didn’t care.

  He stepped forward without hesitation, his grip tightening around his knife. Every muscle in his body ached, every wound throbbed with dull agony, but none of it mattered. His mind was locked onto one thing—killing the monster in front of him.

  His rage made him reckless.

  Raven broke into a sprint, charging the brute with a snarl. The beast responded in kind, lifting its mace and swinging in a devastating downward arc.

  He barely twisted out of the way in time.

  The weapon struck the ground where he had been a fraction of a second ago, stone and dust erupting in all directions. Raven pivoted and slashed as he passed, his knife biting deep into the brute’s thigh, carving through thick muscle. The monster grunted in pain but didn’t stagger, its eyes narrowing in irritation rather than fear.

  It sensed the difference.

  Raven wasn’t afraid.

  The last time they fought, he had been desperate, barely holding on. Now? Now he was here for blood.

  The brute took a more defensive stance, circling cautiously, its grin fading. It swung again, this time in a brutal horizontal arc meant to cleave him in two. Raven ducked, rolling beneath the swing, lashing out with another quick slash along the monster’s ribs. Another wound, but still not enough.

  The beast was stronger, tougher. The cuts barely slowed it down.

  The fight pressed on, an exchange of strikes and dodges, each testing the other’s endurance. Raven was faster, his agility keeping him alive, but he was tiring. The brute, despite its wounds, showed no sign of slowing.

  And then, Raven made a mistake.

  He feinted left, expecting the brute to overcommit to its swing. Instead, it anticipated his movement, twisting its massive frame and catching him mid-dodge with a clenched fist. The blow was glancing, but it sent him reeling, pain flaring in his ribs as he spun onto the pavement.

  A shadow loomed over him.

  "Now, little man," the brute rumbled, lifting its weapon for a final strike.

  Raven's mind screamed at him to move, but his body was sluggish, the exhaustion of his rampage finally catching up.

  No. Not like this.

  Darryl's face flashed in his mind.

  The feeling—the tingling sensation that had been with him ever since that first kill—flared stronger than ever.

  Raven let it take him.

  He pushed off of the ground and at the beast, one second watching the mace fall towards him at staggering speed.

  The next, he was behind the brute, blinking in shock as the monster's swing smashed into the empty street where he'd just been.

  He had moved—no, phased. Just like when he fell through the roof.

  Instinct took over.

  Raven struck behind him, driving his knife into the back of the brute’s neck.

  The beast let out a strangled snarl, staggering forward, thick blood spilling down its back.

  For the first time, the brute showed real pain.

  And Raven, despite his exhaustion, smiled.

  Raven filled with renewed vigour;

  His exhaustion pushed aside by the sheer exhilaration of knowing he was gaining control over this strange ability. The brute, however, was far from finished. It shook off the pain like an afterthought, its beady eyes burning with pure hatred as it turned on him once more.

  The fight was far from over.

  Raven didn’t hesitate. He lunged, phasing through the brute’s counterstrike without thought, his skill responding as if it had always been a part of him. His blade flashed, carving another deep line across thick, leathery muscle. It roared, twisting to retaliate, but he was already gone, slipping through its reach as if he were a ghost. Every time the brute swung, he would shift, his form flickering just out of range before reappearing at a different angle, his knife biting deep.

  Again and again, he attacked, slicing through thick flesh, carving wounds into the beast’s body. It should have been enough. Any normal creature would have collapsed from blood loss by now.

  But this thing refused to fall.

  The brute bled from a dozen wounds, its movements slowing, its breath coming in ragged huffs—but still, it fought. Still, it endured.

  Raven could feel himself weakening, the toll of his relentless assault catching up with him. His vision swam at the edges, his limbs growing heavier with every passing second. He had been burning through whatever power allowed him to phase without even realizing it.

  Then, the brute made its move.

  It swung wide with its mace, an obvious feint meant to make Raven phase instinctively. He did.

  And then everything went wrong.

  A crushing wave of exhaustion slammed into him, dragging him down like a weight sinking into the abyss. His limbs turned sluggish, his breath ragged, his mind screaming at him to move—but his body refused. A second too slow. The brute’s fist met his ribs, and the world shattered into white-hot pain.

  Raven hit the ground hard, pain detonating through his ribs like a sledgehammer strike. His breath vanished, stolen by the impact, leaving him gasping, his vision spinning in a disorienting blur.

  Shit.

  His phase had failed.

  Something was wrong—he could feel it in his core, like he had drained whatever energy allowed him to shift through the world. He had nothing left.

  The brute, seeing its chance, let out a guttural laugh. “Little man… done running?”

  It stomped toward him, its bloodied form still towering, still unbroken.

  Raven gritted his teeth, struggling to push himself up. His body screamed in protest, but he had no choice. He had to end this.

  Think.

  His exhausted mind clawed for an answer, anything. His eyes darted to the wall behind him—the very place he'd slammed into moments ago. A realization slithered through the fog of pain, reckless and electric.

  Then, it clicked. He hadn’t just been phasing himself—he’d been pulling things with him, dragging matter through the veil like it was second nature.

  He had been phasing his clothes. His dagger.

  He had been phasing objects this entire time.

  A new thought formed. A reckless, desperate thought.

  The brute lifted its mace and charged, ready to deliver the killing blow.

  Raven moved.

  Ducking to the side and springing back at the beast using its own momentum to push it into the wall.

  He threw himself at the beast, pain and exhaustion drowned beneath sheer desperation. Their bodies collided, the impact reverberating through his bones as the brute staggered, unprepared for the sudden force.

  Raven grabbed hold of its thick arm, his fingers locking around its skin.

  And then he willed it.

  Not himself.

  Not his weapon.

  But the monster.

  For the first time, he tried to phase something beyond himself.

  There was a pull, a violent sensation in his core, like something was being ripped from him.

  The brute’s roar twisted into something primal, something unnatural. Its body convulsed, its limbs flailing wildly as it felt itself being consumed—swallowed by the unyielding embrace of the wall. It bared jagged teeth in a silent, panicked snarl, clawing at the stone, trying to pull itself free. But there was no escape. No way out. Just the slow, inevitable realization of what was happening.

  Raven let go.

  The effect reversed instantly. The brute solidified once more—but it was too late.

  Its torso, shoulders, and one arm were trapped inside the wall.

  It let out a strangled roar, its free arm clawing, its legs kicking uselessly as it thrashed, panic overtaking its rage.

  Raven staggered back, barely able to stay on his feet.

  It wasn’t dead.

  But it was finished.

  He moved forward, his knife trembling in his grip, his vision dark at the edges. He barely felt his own body as he pressed the blade to the struggling beast’s throat.

  A deep breath.

  Then, he dragged the knife across its flesh.

  The brute gurgled, its massive body jerking one last time.

  Then, it went still. Raven stood over it, chest heaving, blood-soaked and barely upright. It was over—but he wasn’t sure what he had become to win.

  The world around him blurred. His limbs felt impossibly heavy.

  He swayed.

  The world twisted, his vision warping at the edges. The last thing he saw was the brute’s lifeless eyes, frozen in terror. Then, darkness swallowed him and now even the rage was gone.