Tarun stood at the top of a cliff and watched a group of kareths lurk around in the distance.
He tightened his grip around his mace and muttered, "I just want to smash their skulls with my mace."
No one responded to his words as he was alone; this was the place he used to train and watch those hateful kareth lurk around.
He gritted his teeth and looked away from the purple fog forest and continued swinging his mace.
He hated two kinds of beings in this world: the Kareths and the ones who thrived on another's ruin.
Kiroa was one of them — a vulture wrapped in the guise of his late father's friend and using that bond to turn him into a puppet.
He stopped swinging his mace and took a deep breath to calm his thoughts.
He sat down and let the wind brush past him with its freshness to push away the grief and gloom.
He stayed like that for some time until a voice reached him.
"..LP!"
His eyes snapped open, and he looked around before the sound came once again.
".ELP!"
