Legend of the Misfit

It was massive—bigger than the one he had slain. It gazed at Killian with its eyes burning with rage, growling with its mouth slightly open.

Tightening his grip on the stick, Killian took his stance and began breathing steadily.

[I've got to try, at least.]

He was certain it wouldn't be an easy fight, but he wasn't backing down. 'How would he get stronger if he fled?'

The fox lunged into the lake and began swimming toward Killian. He scanned around, looking for an effective way to counter. 

In the brief moment before the fox emerged from the water, Killian dashed toward it as it lunged at him.

Narrowly avoiding its grasp, Killian struck its jaws, sending it crashing into the ground. 

Killian held his stance, his fist clenched, and his heart raced beneath his chest. The fox slowly rose to its feet, shaking its head and dripping saliva everywhere.

[I will hit you a billion times if I have to.] His eyes fixated on the fox's movement.

The fox charged at Killian. Once it was within reach, it lunged toward him. Killian swiftly dodged by a hair's breadth and, with precision, struck the fox in the jaws.

Killian instinctively flipped backward, creating distance between himself and the fox. The fox struggled to rise, its head drooping and its front legs trembling.

Yet, it shook its head, pressing its chest against the ground as it growled deeply, baring its teeth.

Killian braced himself, watching steadily as the fox got to its feet. It stood there, shaking its head repeatedly.

[It can't see anything.]

Seizing the moment, Killian charged at it leaped into the air and struck the back of its neck. 

With no time to waste, he struck its head repeatedly. Its warm blood splattered across his face, and with each strike, a sense of relief surged through his body.

In no time, the fox's head was completely smashed, blood spread across the ground with the water stained by the splatters. 

Killian dropped the stick, sat on the ground, and propped his hands against the ground. His head was tilted upward, gazing at the dark moon as it glowed lifelessly against his face.

His fight with the bear had shifted something within him. Killian no longer felt the urge to rejoice or mourn after a battle—he only craved the kill and the strength that came with it.

He sat by the corpses of the foxes enjoying the quiet moment. After a while, he glanced at his inked wrist.

[What the… how many kills must it take?]

Despite the kills and the struggles, his ink remained red. It wasn't surprising, as it took some demons decades to turn black, but his patience couldn't endure that long.

[I bet Raiden is stronger now… perhaps black.]

Fueled by rage and a sense of being left behind, he vowed not to leave the mountains until he had become stronger.

[Lucid, huh? I will come for you all.]

He pushed himself up, clutching his chest as a sharp pain from his wound coursed through him.

He dragged the foxes to his base, gathered a few woods, and stones, and made himself a grilled meat.

As soon as he finished eating, he quenched his thirst and began to warm up with jumping jerks and leg swings.

He dipped into intense training. Hundred pushups with his hands trembling as he pressed himself against the ground. He topped it up with a ten-minute plank, and 150 squats, and wrapped it up with intense shadow boxing.

His body was drenched in sweat as he lay flat on the ground, his hands outstretched, gazing at clouds. His breath came slow and deep as if there was a knee pressed against his throat.

[I can do this alone.]

His eyelids grew heavy as the thick warm air repeatedly brushed against his sweaty skin. 

Before he knew it, he was asleep.

In the week that followed, Killian trained intensively—two to three hundred push-ups and squats, twenty-minute planks, shadow boxing, and peek-a-boo maneuver—and worked on his reflexes, times, defense, and flow.

He did this before he slept and as soon as he woke up.

Snarlers and beasts kept coming after him. With nothing but a stick and his bare hands, he slew every one of them.

Yet, his ink remained red.

Killian sat on the ground, his back leaning against a tree as he patched his wound; his mind wandered.

[It's been long; I'm sure Morningstar is searching for me. Wait… what if they are leaving me behind?]

As his mind wandered, he sensed an aura approaching the lake.

He braced himself and lurked within the bushes. He squeezed his eyes as the figure emerged from the darkness.

It was a demon—a lower demon—dressed in a ragged cloak, flicking his dagger on his fingers as he approached the lake with a flask.

[Hidden clan?]

He was from a dangerous clan, and Killian knew that much. But Killian had been shirtless for over a week, with leaves brushing against his skin, leaving him with rashes and itchy patches.

So, he needed the demon's cloak and his dagger. 

Words and reasoning could not persuade a demon of such caliber, and Killian was certain of that.

He steadied his movements and scanned around to ensure that the demon was alone.

"Yes." He fist-pumped.

He had to kill the demon; after all, no one would witness it. All he had to do was avoid demons like him, and no one would ever find out.

[Perhaps I might turn black after this.]

Killian carefully reached for a stick, slightly bent his knees, and began making steady steps toward the demon.

His breath was steady, following the demon as he walked toward the lake.

As soon as he was within reach, he swung the stick at his head. The demon inhumanely dodged the strike and struck Killian in the chest.

Killian slammed into the ground, and clutched his chest as he gritted his teeth. His wound was widened, and blood trickled from it.

[How?] he thought, watching the demon hold his stance.

The demon's reflexes were top-notch, unlike anything Killian had seen before. But the demon had to die, regardless.

The demon gazed at Killian fearlessly as he held his guard, his chin slightly tilted down and his hand gripping tightly around his dagger.

[This will be fun.] He grinned.

Killian tossed away his stick, overlooking the pain in his chest; he rose and brushed himself clean.

He took a deep breath and, in an instant, dashed toward the demon. 

The demon braced himself as he watched Killian approach. Killian struck as soon as he was within reach, but the demon narrowly dodged the strike.

[Ha… he's not that fast.]

For what felt like an eternity, they blurred the field, strikes collided, and each attack was dodged by a breath. In an instant, the atmosphere was filled with dust.

Acting on instinct, Killian flipped backward, putting a distance between himself and the demon.

He panted heavily, with his body drenched in sweat, while the demon held his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

Killian brushed his nose. [His senses are sharp.]

In an instant, Killian dashed toward him. The demon forced himself up and raised his guard.

As soon as he was within reach, Killian leaped toward him, feinting a kick with his left leg to boost his momentum and striking the demon on the jaw.

The demon was sent crashing into the ground but forced himself up immediately. With no time to waste, Killian sprinted toward him, executed a peek-a-boo maneuver, and stuck him in the chin.

Before the demon could react, Killian delivered a dozen strikes to his face. 

The demon stood motionless, his eyes slowly rolling as his limbs weakened. His dagger slipped from his grip, and before it could hit the ground, Killian caught it and shoved it into his neck.

[Yes!] Killian pumped his fist, his face etched with excitement.

But his excitement was short-lived; he sensed a swarm of auras approaching from a distance.

He hurriedly removed the demon's cloak, took his dagger and his flask, and then rushed to the bushes to hide.

Before his eyes, dozens of the demon's comrades were marching toward the lake.

[Sh*t]

He had misjudged his opponents, and now he had to choose between fleeing and hiding.

As soon as the demons noticed the corpse of their comrade, they began yelling and screaming in an unknown language. A few hurried to the corpse, while the others charged into the bushes.

Killian began crawling, making steady movements to flee. 

Luck forsook him that fateful day; he had nearly escaped their sight when his knee cracked a stick.

The sound echoed through the distance; in an instant, he stopped. The demons, with their sharp senses, turned toward Killian.

[I'm dead…]

With no time to waste, Killian ros and sprinted away, and the demons followed suit. They spread out, beginning to close in on Killian.

[Sh*t… they know this area better than I do.]