Waking up in Hellscape was never a relief.
It was simply proof that death had decided to wait a little longer.
Leo groaned as consciousness dragged him out of deep, crushing sleep. His head swam in waves, his thoughts a sluggish mess, exhaustion settled deep into his bones. His body felt wrong, it was heavy, numb, aching in places that hadn't existed before.
Two things tore him fully awake.
The first was laughter— booming, cruel, and unmistakable familiar. The loudest voice belonged to Goliath, leader of the mercenary group known as the Hands of War. They knew Leo well. In fact, they were largely responsible for the title that followed him everywhere.
The Peerless Loser.
The second thing made his stomach churn.
A warm liquid streamed down his face, soaking his hair and dripping onto his chest. The stench told him everything he needed to know, it most definitely wasn't water.
The mercenary group laughed harder.
Leo could hear the insults clearly, but he didn't respond. His head was spinning too badly to form words at the moment. He tried to sit up, desperate to understand where he was, only for a heavy boot to slam him back against what he hoped was a tree.
Pain exploded through his back.
"Curses…" he hissed. "My spine…"
A familiar figure leaned into his vision and he instantly recognised it to be Clint Larring, Goliath's right hand and the architect of most of Leo's misery.
"If you've got something to say, Peerless Loser," Clint sneered, breath reeking, "say it to my face."
He was close enough that Leo nearly vomited from the smell of his breath. The haze in his head told him exactly who had relieved themselves on him. And it made him more angrier than he could think.
The history between Leo and the Hands of War was short but unforgettable.
When Leo first entered Hellscape, Clint had scouted him into the Hands of War party. Back then, Clint hadn't been high-ranking. He had dragged Leo along on an excavation hunt under Goliath's command.
Leo had been untrained. Unprepared. And mentally not prepared for what they would come up against.
It was the first time he was faced against a beast, a powerful awakened beast enought to make grown men shit their pants. And he was expected to be one of the forces to keep it distracted.
They had told him it was an easy task but that day a feeling of dread unlike any he had ever felt overwhelmed him.
He turned ran till his legs gave out, till his lungs could no longer breathe.
His action resulted in a broken formation that cost several strong members of the party including awakened hunters to lose their lives.
Since that day, the Hands of War had held a deep grudge to Leo with their leader Goliath even promising to kill Leo if their paths crossed again. As the second-strongest hunter in Glory Base—nearing the peak of awakened rank, it was not an empty threat.
So Leo steered clear of the gigantic brute and his cohort for as long as he could.
Clint, however, made things personal.
He was a parasite. One that enjoyed returning.
He received his cruel moniker from him and soon Clint made sure that no one would want to be associated with him.
Leo's vision finally cleared.
Seven men stood before him, clad in quality armor and battle cloth. A wagon sat behind them— evidence of a routine morning hunt. Clint stood at the front, tall and lean, hair long and black, eyes hollow and jittery like a drug addict's.
Two curved hooks rested at his sides.
"What brings you out here loser?" Clint asked, fake concern dripping from every word.
Leo stayed silent.
He had no intention of explaining what had happened the night before. Even if he did, they wouldn't believe him. He barely believed it himself.
What was he supposed to say? That a dying old man had bitten him and shattered his bones?
As much as he wanted to stay silent— old habits won.
"Well, if you must know," Leo said hoarsely, "I was hunting. Ran into this old man who bit me. Quite the achievement, really."
In the next second a blow came without warning.
Clint backhanded him hard enough to snap his head sideways. Pain burst through Leo's face as his nose broke, blood spilling freely from it.
"Watch your tone loser," Clint growled.
Leo hissed out in pain as his nose burned with hot sensation, his vision started swimming in waves. 'Damn it… he really broke it.'
Clint raised his hand again—
"Enough."
The forest seemed to shrink under the weight of the voice. Goliath stepped forward.
He was enormous— nearly three times the size of an ordinary man. His armor gleamed with awakened-grade sheen, the kind only wealth could buy. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his jaw sharp and brutal enough to cuts one's ego, his small black eyes devoid of warmth.
He looked at Leo like he was staring down at refuse.
"I don't have time for trash," Goliath said. "I'm hunting an awakened beast."
Clint stiffened immediately not willing to pass up any moment to antagonise the one who had brought him great embarrassment in the past.
His lips curled into a slow, vicious grin. "Since he's useless anyway, why don't we make him pull the wagon?"
Cold rage flared in Leo's chest.
'I'd rather die than pull that crappy wagon.' Leo thought with cold conviction.
Goliath studied Leo for a moment.
Then he scoffed.
"He slept out here because he couldn't afford the gate fee," Goliath said dismissively. "I don't need dead weight anywhere near me. Especially not pulling my wagon."
Something twisted inside Leo.
It wasn't pain...
It wasn't humiliation...
It was colder than that.
Goliath turned away. One by one, the Hands of War followed, laughing as they left. Only the man pulling the wagon glanced back, his eyes filled with quiet desperation.
Clint lingered still causing Leo to scowl.
When the others were gone, he slammed Leo's head into the tree. Stars exploded behind Leo's eyes.
"One day," Clint laughed as he walked away, "I'll tell my kids about you. And they'll say the Peerless Loser really earned his name."
Leo lay still, blood soaking into the dirt.
"…Bastard," he whispered.
He hated being powerless to do anything about his current situation. His fingers dug into the ground, trembling— not with weakness, but restraint.
"One day," he murmured, voice hollow and dangerous, "I'll be strong enough that even your laughter won't survive me."
And somewhere deep inside him, he felt something answering.