The night was cold. Silent.
I pushed open the creaking door of the shack and stepped into the village. The dirt streets were empty, houses hunched in shadows like old men waiting to die. I knew this place. Every crooked path, every broken fence.
And I knew where he lived.
Rogan. The deserter. The coward. The first domino that toppled my life into ruin.
My fists clenched as I walked, the sigil on my hand glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. Each step was steady, deliberate. The old me would have hesitated. The Savior would have tried to reason, to forgive.
But I wasn't him anymore.
A whisper tickled my mind as the System responded to my resolve:
> Quest Updated: Eliminate Rogan.
Reward: Skill – Tyrant's Grasp.
My lips twisted. A reward for vengeance. Perfect.
I stopped in front of a crooked wooden hut at the edge of the village. Light flickered faintly inside. He was home.
I pushed the door open without knocking. The hinges shrieked.
Rogan looked up from the table, his eyes widening in shock. He was younger here, too—still soft, still untested. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"Aric?" he whispered. "You… you're alive?"
Alive. The word tasted bitter.
I stepped forward, shadows swallowing me whole. My voice was calm, almost gentle. "You left me once. And you will do it again. Not this time."
He scrambled back, knocking over his chair. "I—I don't understand—"
I raised my hand. The sigil burned, black fire coiling around my fingers. The System whispered eagerly in my ears.
> Execute him. Claim your path.
Rogan screamed as I reached for him. His voice echoed through the night, but no one came. No one ever came.
The savior they once loved was gone.
And in his place stood something far worse.
The Tyrant had taken his first step.