Chapter 2

The door was right in front of him, yet Silead couldn’t take that final step.

Just as he turned, a force suddenly wrapped around him from behind. His arm was seized in a vice grip, his shoulder yanked back, and his entire body was dragged half a step.

A growl echoed behind him:

"You can’t leave!!"

Another figure lunged at him—the flute-blowing villager. His shoulder hung limp, clearly broken, but he clung to Silead’s waist armor like a madman, locking his arms tightly from behind.

"Just hold on... they’ll be here soon... You won’t escape..."

"You want to die?"

Silead slammed his elbow into the man behind him, striking his chest. The man grunted but didn’t let go. Instead, he clung tighter like a rabid dog, blood bubbling at his mouth. He was no longer driven by reason, only an animal instinct that screamed: don’t let him get away.

Silead's eyes darkened. He struck again, elbow smashing into the same spot.

Crack—!

A bone-snapping crunch rang out. The man’s torso convulsed. He threw his head back and vomited a mouthful of blood.

The blood gushed like a burst waterskin, splashing across Silead’s demon mask. Warm, metallic, reeking of organs—it dripped down the fangs, seeping into the cracks.

Silead froze.

Not from shock—but from... exhilaration.

A surge of uncontrollable, trembling thrill flooded from his face down to his chest, all the way to his fingertips.

Like tasting something delicious.

The taste of blood, the sound of breaking bones—all the pain and pressure became a twisted, sweet offering.

His breathing quickened. His shoulders trembled. A low chuckle escaped his throat.

"Ha..."

Though bound by two villagers, with chaos raging outside and danger pressing in, there was only one voice in his mind:

Not enough...

The footsteps outside drew closer.

Inside, Silead stood tall, breathing heavily. Blood dripped from his shoulders, pooling into blotchy patterns on the floor.

The door had been cracked open in the earlier struggle, now hanging loosely like a beast's jaw. Footsteps and murmurs echoed from beyond.

"He’s in there!"

"Don’t let him escape—get ready!"

Several villagers approached, wearing coarse hunting garb. One held a spear, another a pitchfork, and someone discreetly pulled a rune-marked hook from their belt—clearly not their first time doing something like this.

They encircled the broken doorway, but no one dared to be the first to charge in.

Then—

Clang—

Clang—

Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from within. The sound of metal plates grinding together, slow and oppressive.

A figure emerged from the doorway.

Sunlight angled down from above, illuminating blood-streaked scars across the Raksasa mask. Dried blood still clung to the fangs.

Silead stepped out.

He didn’t run. Controlled by bloodlust, he didn’t rush to escape. He walked forward like a judge on a battlefield, radiating death.

Sunlight bathed his crimson armor, but it couldn't wash away the blood.

Behind him, the house was deathly silent. The straw bed still held faint warmth.

Blood had pooled from the bedside, soaking the earth.

One corpse knelt on the ground, its neck twisted unnaturally backward, skin torn, spine exposed, throat crushed flat. Dark blood and bile seeped from mouth and nose. The tongue lolled from the jaw like it was gasping for breath in its final moments.

Another lay sprawled across the straw bed. Its chest caved inward, bones and flesh splayed open, half its organs spilled out. Blood and stomach acid soaked the hay, giving off a rancid stench.

A length of intestine trailed to the door, as if the victim had tried to crawl out but only managed to drag half his life.

Silead now walked among them, his boots crushing congealed blood. Each step left a dark stain under sunlight.

The fangs of his mask still dripped.

The air was thick with iron and bile, suffocating.

One villager glanced and turned pale.

An older, scarred villager stepped forward. He held a short spear, not raised, but hanging at his side.

He looked Silead up and down, eyes finally landing on the mask.

He sneaked a glance at the corpses.

"...Everyone calm down. Please... stay calm,"

He raised his hand, trying to keep his companions from attacking. His voice trembled but stayed steady.

"It was just a misunderstanding, right? They were too rough. That was wrong. But you... you killed our people."

Silead didn’t speak. He stood silent, gaze like death.

The old man swallowed, forcing himself to go on:

"So... maybe we can talk. If you have questions, we can—"

"—TALK MY ASS!!"

A roar erupted from the crowd.

A younger villager, trembling, red-eyed, sword in hand.

"That was my brother! You gutted him, you monster!!"

"Calm down! Stop—" the elder shouted, but it was too late.

The youth charged, blade shaking in hand, blinded by rage.

"I’ll kill you, you bastard!!"

The charge ignited the crowd. Others raised spears, drew crossbows, screamed and followed—battle had begun.

"STOP!! HOLD IT!!"

The elder’s voice was drowned in the roar of battle.

Silead moved.

His steps were heavy but swift. His fist swung—

Boom!!

The first villager’s head exploded. Blood, skull, and brain sprayed onto two behind him.

The second froze, but Silead’s next punch crushed his throat. He fell like a rag doll.

"KILL HIM!! HE’S NOT HUMAN!!"

Panic and fury took over. Villagers raised clubs and shovels.

Silead turned, grabbed one’s arm, punched—

Crack!!

The arm snapped backward. He hurled the man into another. Bones shattered like sticks.

Screams rang out.

A villager attacked from the side—Silead’s elbow crushed his temple. One eye burst, blood gushed from his nose.

Another tried to flee. Silead's kick bent his body backward, launching him into a tree with a sickening crack.

Someone ran.

Too late.

Silead grabbed the back of his head, fingers digging in.

"No—please—"

Crack—Boom!!

The skull burst like a melon. No scream escaped.

The crowd finally broke.

"RUN!! HE’S A DEMON!!"

"ANYONE WHO STANDS IN HIS WAY DIES!!"

Screams and sobs exploded. Some wet themselves. Others begged.

Silead didn’t stop.

He walked through the blood, closing in. Bones and organs crunched under his boots.

No one knew how long it lasted.

He stood, panting, looking at the meat in his hand. His armor soaked in gore and brain matter, thick like rotten stew.

Corpses littered the ground. A blood sheen coated everything. A torn intestine clung to his boot like a dead fish.

And Silead...

...finally woke up.

No warning. No build-up. His mind surfaced like gasping from a swamp.

He saw everything.

"...Urgh..."

His stomach turned. He fell to his knees, convulsing.

Urghhh!! Hurk!!

Vomit poured from his mouth, mixing with blood and filth.

He gagged until his throat went numb, arms bracing in something soft—liver? Skin?

"N-No... please..."

He crawled backward, fingers trembling, mask still smeared. Every breath reeked of blood and acid.

Beside him, a head lay.

No jaw. One eye staring, accusing.

"What... have I done..."

His voice cracked. Fear, disgust, and confusion surged.

His mask’s reflection in the blood smiled demonically.

He wanted to dig out his eyes, bury his head in the dirt, forget it all.

But he couldn’t.

His hands had done this.

The stench was choking. The ground slick with blood, guts, vomit.

Silead knelt in it, trembling, dry heaving.

"Urgh... nghh...!"

He vomited until nothing was left, vision swimming, corpses still spinning in his mind.

"I... I killed them... I..."

His whisper was hoarse, as if pleading or accusing himself.

Every breath dragged in death. Every cough tasted like rot.

His head hung low. His back exposed in sunlight.

He didn’t notice—

Behind him, a figure approached.

Quiet. Steady. Filled with tension.

The figure crouched, picked up a broken dagger etched with glowing runes.

He raised the blade—his hand trembling—and struck downward.

Shkkk—!

The blade pierced the back of Silead’s head. Precise. Deadly.

But what happened next froze him.

Silead didn’t fall.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t react.

He kept vomiting.

The blade had stabbed beneath the helmet—clearly into his skull. But it was like stabbing into an empty shell soaked in blood and rust.

"...Impossible..."

The attacker whispered, voice shaking. And then he stumbled back in fear.

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