Kastel Rhun.

  If Edrin was a disappointment, this bastard was a wholly expected lost cause.

  I never liked him. Not even before all this. Before the Mauler. Before the lies. Before I had to crawl my way back from the edge of death with nothing but a miracle that gave me some extra gas in the tank.

  Kastel wasn’t just a coward—he was an enabler. He latched onto Veyrith like a leech.

  He didn’t do it out of fear. He didn’t do it out of desperation. He did it because he enjoyed it.

  He liked watching people get trampled by the arrogant, sadistic weevil that was Veyrith. He liked seeing others fall so that he could stand a little taller and piss on them while he was at it.

  Just like Veyrith, he thought he was better than others.

  I could still hear his voice in my head, sneering, mocking. "You got what you deserved, freak."

  This guy—I wouldn’t be surprised if he had added some of his own flourishes to the lie. Maybe add in parts like I tried to pull him into the Mauler. That he fought bravely to prevent me from eating the food, or that he barely restrained his righteous fury when I ate everything or some shit like that.

  Kastel was a few paces ahead, his stance cocky, overconfident, like he thought he was untouchable. He was examining tracks in the dirt–the tracks were his own–muttering something to himself about how he was the only one in this party who knew how to hunt properly.

  I moved in fast—a shadow slipping through the dark.

  His ears weren’t sharp enough to catch me before it was too late. His instincts were too dulled by arrogance to sense the danger at his back.

  My first strike was deliberate—a solid, crushing New Arm elbow into his spine. Something popped. Kastel buckled, a sharp inhale ripping through his teeth as his balance crumbled. I didn’t let him fall.

  I grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back, cutting off his attempt to shout. He barely had time to register the pain before my knee slammed into his ribs.

  I throw him into a tree, and whipped his ribs with New Arm, feeling–and hearing–something break.

  Then, quickly, I punched him with my right hand, and drove New Arm into his face, gripping him and pinning the back of his head against the tree. I drove New Arm in further, until I could hear the splinters cracking behind him

  He wheezed, struggling, arms flailing, but he wasn’t stronger than me. He had always relied on talking bigger than he was. When his senses came back, he tried to shout, but New Arm’s palm was too good at muffling him.

  Not done, I pulled him by the head and slammed his head into the bark again, the splintering of wood–and maybe bone–echoing. The impact knocked the breath out of him. His body sagged, but I wasn’t finished yet.

  I leaned in, pressing him harder against the wood stone as he gasped for air between muffled screams. He realized he had a dagger and put his hand on the grip. I slammed him into the tree again. Then my right fist crushed his stomach, Levels on.

  Kastel choked and the dagger fell out of his hand. His limbs lost their strength. I was the only thing keeping him on his feet, so I let him drop, but not before turning him around. He fell onto his back, and I followed him. I drove fists into his face repeatedly. Blood sprinkled while his groans got weaker after each strike.

  When the groans ceased, and his face felt too soft, like the bones had given in, I stood up. Kastel, pathetically small, twitched occasionally, but that was it.

  I walked away. But then went back, kicked him in the testicles, and then went on my way.

  He hit the ground hard, his body twitching in the dirt, pathetically small.

  I was following the woman’s voice now. Saela Voss–Veyrith’s half-sister and another with the regeneration blessing. I wasn’t really sure what to feel about her. On one hand, she was his sister. On the other hand, she was one of the few willing to speak up. But she seemed to have gone along with the lie, too. If there was anyone who could have stood up to him, it was her.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Saela turned around as I approached, her eyes widening at the sight of my cloaked self.

  She stood just ahead, brown hair tied in a loose braid, her hunting outfit worn but well-kept. Her skin was a pale brown–darker than Veyrith’s–and her expression was sharper—less arrogant, but much more wary. She was built like a hunter, lean muscle beneath the layers of leather and cloth. In a just world, she’d be the leader. She had more than Veyrith had–she just lacked his apparent charisma and psychotic drive.

  Saela’s lips parted, a question forming.

  I didn’t care to hear it.

  I closed the distance in two steps and struck her across the face with the back of my metal hand. A sharp, brutal crack echoed through the cavern as the impact snapped her head to the side.

  Saela staggered, letting out a hiss of pain—one hand instinctively coming up to her cheek.

  I didn’t stop.

  I grabbed the front of her hunting vest and drove her backward, straight into the largest rock in sight.

  Her skull connected with a dull, sickening thud, but it wasn’t enough. I gripped her head between my palms, violently shook her, abruptly slammed her head into the stone, then jerked it forward again and suddenly stopped her, then abruptly slammed her into the stone again.

  Her body went slack.

  I let go.

  She crumpled to the ground, limp, arms sprawled, eyes fluttering as unconsciousness took her. A slow, shaky breath escaped her lips.

  “Help…” she whimpered.

  “Yeah, I’ll come back for you later.”

  I walked with purpose, straight to the largest source of noise in this forest—straight to that arrogant bastard. He came into view quickly–Veyrith.

  Veyrith never heard me coming.

  I reached out, fingers light, and tapped his shoulder.

  He turned, face already twisted into a scowl.”What is it? You find something–”

  My metal fist was already swinging. Unlike the others, I didn’t need to pull my punches.

  Eat this, you fuck! A Level 9, full-on smash!

  A solid, resounding crack exploded.

  His head jerked violently to the side. A grunt of shock—his body jerked, legs buckling, arms flailing for balance. He staggered, feet scraping against the dirt. The mighty was about to fall.

  I didn’t let him fall.

  I snatched him by the collar, yanked him upright, and drove another fist straight into his face.

  His skull snapped backward from the impact, a spray of blood and spit flying from his mouth. A garbled sound left him—a half-formed grunt, more stunned than pained. I fixed that with a brutal hook to the ribs.

  His body crumpled as the air left his lungs.

  I grabbed the back of his neck and twisted, yanking him around, forcing him to look at me–the hooded assailant. His eyes were already unfocused, lips trembling as blood dripped from his nostrils, trailing sluggishly down to his chin.

  And then I saw the regeneration happen, with his nose cracking back into place. His eyes regained their focus.

  Good.

  I bared my teeth. Then I slammed my forehead into his nose, letting the sickening, wet crunch out for the world to hear.

  Veyrith screamed. Hands clawing at my wrist, legs kicking uselessly. Blood poured from his face, mixing with the spit that bubbled past his lips.

  I shoved him backward, barely giving him a second to catch himself before I lunged—fists hammering, knuckles splitting skin.

  He gasped for air. I pulled him by his collar and twisted him around before kicking him back into a tree. He barely managed to catch himself with his hands and forehead, but he made the mistake of standing with his legs a shoulder’s width apart.

  I nailed him in the testicles with my boot and made him howl. I gripped the back of his head and slammed him to rattle him one more time. Then, I pulled his pants down to his knees, and ripped the sword and quiver from his back.

  I slammed his head against the tree once more, then turned the sniveling, bloody mess that was his face around again.

  One strike to the temple. His head snapped to the side. A garbled, shuddering breath escaped him.

  Another to the cheekbone. His whole body reeled. Blood smeared across my knuckles, warm and slick.

  A vicious shot to the gut. His torso caved inward, a strangled, retching sound escaping him. His knees finally buckled. He fell onto his knees. He would have landed on his face if not for me grabbing him by his obnoxiously long hair.

  I pulled him, dragging his bare ass along the gravel and dirt. He cried, yelled, screamed, as his hands clawed against my metal arm. I rattled his head when he got too annoying, shaking up that sorry excuse for a brain.

  His breath was coming in wet gasps now, his limbs trembling. He started pleading for me to not do it.

  When I didn’t respond, he thrashed about. And when he saw the soft blue glow of the Lantern Shrooms, he thrashed harder, but that didn’t save him. Did he notice that the regeneration had stopped? He was out of his “HP.”

  The soft blue glow of the Lantern Shrooms faded behind us. The safe boundary slipped away. The hope left his broken voice. There was only untamed darkness ahead of us now.