Legend of the Misfit

Killian dropped to one knee and scooped up a handful of sand.

His heart raced as a strange sensation surged through his abdomen, and he swallowed nervously.

The bear let out a deafening roar, swatting at the ground before charging toward Killian.

Killian took a deep breath. [Here goes nothing.]

Killian dashed toward the bear, narrowly escaping its razor-sharp jaws as he flung sand into its eyes. He smirked, naively thinking it was over.

In an instant, the bear lashed out blindly, swiping its claws and charging aimlessly. With a blind swing, too fast for Kilian to dodge, his chest was slashed open.

Killian screamed, collapsing on the floor as he clutched his chest. 

[What the…]

His ragged cloak was instantly drenched in blood. His temperature spiked, his skin growing even paler as pain surged through his chest.

He braced himself, crawling backward despite the searing pain, his eyes locked on the bear as it instinctively rubbed its eyes and shook its head.

His bold resolve to turn the bear into his meal crumbled into fear. His mind raced, and his eyes darted around, searching for an escape.

[Come on… damn it.]

He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his left wrist tightly, begging and cursing his core to save him.

[Do it again, damn.]

While distracted, the bear swung at him. His eyes widened as he watched the massive paw hurtling toward his head. 

[Oww… it's ending.] His dreams shattered.

He shut his eyes, bracing for the impact, his body going numb as his soul seemed to sink into defeat.

Before the strike could land, a powerful gust of wind swept the ground. After feeling the sensation, he forced his eyes open. His hand, buried in the bear's chest, its heart neatly severed and pulsing weakly in his grasp.

He instinctively yanked his hand free with all his strength and shoved the bear down. Then, he collapsed onto his back, both hands outstretched, gasping for air.

He lay still, ignoring the pain, his mind blank as he stared up at the dark moon.

[Should I be happy or sad? I am beat.]

The thick air brushed against his skin, over and over. Before he knew it, he had drifted into sleep.

In no time, he jolted awake, clutching his chest as unbearable pain surged through him.

[I can't rest here.]

He summoned his remaining strength and sat upright. Removing his cloak, he tore it into strips and patched up his wound as best as he could.

Pain coursed through his entire body, his hands trembling as they pressed against the ground. With sheer willpower, he forced himself to his feet.

He stood there, his head snapping from side to side, eyes darting around. Then, he entered the woods, gathering pieces of wood, stones, and shards of rock along the way.

He started a fire, then took the sharp-edged stones and began slicing through the bear's tough skin.

Killian wandered through the area, searching for wood to feed his fire and sharper rocks to cut the bear. His mind remained oblivious to what had transpired as if it had never happened.

After hours of slicing the bear, his hands began to tremble, and his palms were slick with blood.

[Finally.]

Despite the pain, his determination rewarded him with something to eat.

Killian grilled the meat he had managed to sever, ate some, and wrapped the rest for later.

[I need water.]

His stomach was full, but his lips were dry—the meat had absorbed all the moisture from his mouth.

He wandered, his hands rubbing his stomach, his thoughts consumed by the need for water.

A few hours later, he spotted dragonflies, and mosquitoes began to buzz annoyingly around his ears.

He followed the dragonflies, and they led to a small lake.

The lake was surrounded by trees adorned with reddish leaves, their reflection dancing on the water's surface.

"Water!!"

Filled with excitement, he rushed forward, bent his knees, and drank as much water as he could, savoring the cool relief.

Once his stomach was full, he rose to his feet and stretched his body. In an instant, something by the lake caught his attention.

He stepped closer and realized it was a leaf the Old Demon had once used to make a concoction for his wounds when he was younger.

He plucked a few of the leaves, crushed them into a paste, and carefully applied it to his wound.

[I must stay closer for a few snarls.]

It was the perfect spot—he had access to water, food, prey to hunt, and most importantly, a warm place to sleep.

His head snapped around and his eyes darted, scanning for a better spot to settle.

After a brief moment, he found the perfect spot—not too far, yet not too close. It was an ideal vantage point for spotting prey.

He strolled over and cleared a space where he could rest for the night.

[I am tired.]

He lay on the ground, his eyes fixed on the tree's branches, watching them sway gently in the breeze.

After a moment in silence, his expression darkened. 

"I would have been dead, huh?"

He murmured, his hands resting across his chest.

Everything his mind had suppressed came crashing down—his fears, his sense of worth, and the true measure of his strength.

[Why seek strength if I must be saved?]

'Why must he wander alone, if he would seek help?'

For a while, these thoughts consumed him. He berated himself, demanding that he rise, go out there, and prove his worth to everyone.

[If I can't fight with my core, then I must learn to fight without it.]

The warmth of the place wrapped around him like a blanket, and before he knew it, he drifted into sleep, his mind lost in thought.

He lay there, his muscles fully relaxed, his mind finding solace in the comforting warmth around him.

Killian slept for nearly a day. When he woke up, he slowly sat up, his back resting against the tree as he gathered his thoughts.

His eyes darted around for a moment before he finally pushed himself to his feet.

[I must train.]

He strode to the lakeside, gathered a few fruits, and hurried back to his base.

He stood upright, stretching his muscles and rolling his shoulders to activate his limbs.

Ignoring the pain in his chest, he started with jumping jacks and leg swings, loosening his body for what lay ahead.

His wound throbbed with each movement, but he buried the pain and pushed on, dropping into push-ups. His arms trembled, struggling to support his weight, yet he refused to stop.

He collapsed onto his chest on the 68th attempt, his body screaming in protest. But that wasn't enough to break his spirit.

His wound widened slightly, but he pushed through, shifting to squats. Sweat drenched his body, and his legs trembled with each repetition.

His fists and teeth clenched as he forced himself through hundreds of squats, determined to push past his limits.

He propped his hands against his knees, panting heavily as he struggled to regain his breath.

[I must continue.]

His mouth opened slightly as he exhaled deeply, trying to steady his breath.

In an instant, he braced himself and launched into shadowboxing.

He practiced a few footwork drills, then continued with countless jabs, crosses, hooks, and uppercuts, each strike sharper and more precise than the last.

Though exhaustion weighed on him, he ignored it. Sweat streamed down his face as he focused on refining his timing and reflexes—practicing rhythm work, feints, and reaction drills with unwavering determination.

He slowed his movements, calming his body with a series of defensive maneuvers and deep breathing exercises, allowing his pulse to steady.

After what felt like an eternity, Killian was nearing the end of his training, his body exhausted but his resolve unbroken.

[Just five… five.]

Sweat poured from his body, the heat melting his resolve as his skin seemed to evaporate with each grueling movement.

Killian ignored the pain and mental distress surging through him. With his fist clenched tightly, he set a range for himself, determined to push beyond his limits and emerge stronger.

Just perfect his peek-a-boo maneuver—only five attempts. It took Killian dozens of tries to finally reach his goal.

He collapsed onto the ground, his back hitting first, utterly exhausted, sweat dripping down his pale skin.

[Done…]

He smiled, his mind empty except for the pain surging through his limbs.

The warm, thick air brushed against him repeatedly, and before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

After hours of sleep, he woke up and hurried to grab his preserved meat, stuffing it into her mouth.

The meat scratched his throat, and Killian rushed to his neck, his eyes filled with tears.

Killian got to his feet and rushed to the lake. Bending over, he cupped his hands and began drinking from it.

As his hands were immersed in the water, he suddenly heard a snarl, swiftly approaching.

Acting on instinct, Killian dodged the strike by leaping to the ground, putting a distance between himself and the fox.

[Come on… I just woke up.] He let out a sigh.

The fox snarled, its teeth bared as it sprinted toward Killian.

To his left was a stick, he grabbed it and struck it at the fox's belly. The fox slammed into the ground, yelping as it scrambled to hide. It dragged its body forward, its lower half completely immobilized.

Killian stood there, watching the animal yelp, its eyes filled with tears.

[I heard foxes cry once hurt, but I didn't think it was literal.]

He stood motionless, watching as the snarler crawled away. Gripping the stick tightly, he walked toward it and delivered a strong, precise strike to its neck.

The snarler was down, yet Killian took the initiative to drive the stick into its heart.

[Now it's dead for sure.] He smirked.

Just as he was about to grab the fox to take it back for a meal, another appeared on the other side of the lake.

It gazed at him fearlessly, baring its teeth as it growled. Killian's hands trembled for a moment, but he tightened his grip.