PATH OF THE STAR HUNTER

(Desmond POV)

I didn’t try to reason with the people who had brought the poor girl in front of me to her death, but even if I had wanted to, I was in no condition to do so at the moment. The scene I had just witnessed seemed strangely familiar as if similar things had happened in the past. In a dark place in my mind, repressed memories threatened to explode; something inside me was slowly awakening from his lethargy.

Blurred images appeared intermittently inside my mind; shadows of the horrors of a distant past; pain, and cruelty were the only things present in them. ¨They were the same¨ is what I thought, as the girl’s pursuers screamed in rage at the death of their loot.

My head started to hurt, and my vision darkened. NO, I won’t let this happen again; happen again? . . . Aaah hell, why does my head hurt so much? that is not important now; at this moment, I must assassinate those who are left alive.

(five minutes before, third-person POV)

“To think that slags like you exist in more than one world,” Desmond exclaimed mechanically.

.....

The gentle fox bow was already raised, and an arrow was at the bow as mana from two different elements permeated it, using a perfectly executed standard archery stance. Desmond pulled the string as far as his strength allowed. Fixing his gaze on his first victim, he adjusted his breathing naturally and shot without hesitation or flinching.

When the bandits’ anger at the loss of their loot had begun to subside, they heard what an insult was, and their lost fury emerged again; when they were about to return the insult and use their usual threatening tactics, Desmond’s actions left them baffled.

Swiiiiiiift! puishhht!

The sound of an arrow piercing the flesh brought them out of their stupor; only then could they observe the terrifying result of Desmond’s shot.

Puck!

Dropping to its knees, a body with a shattered skull, blood gushing out, and bits of brain matter dripping disgustingly, the bandit who had shot the girl earlier could now express his regret in hell.

The arrow was too fast, destructive, and hard to stop after passing through an object as soft as a human skull; it continued on its way until it got stuck in a tree. The trail of blood and bloody fragments of its victim left was enough to scare any man, no matter how tough he was.

The bandits soon proved to be no exception; they panicked and began searching for cover so as not to be the next victim of the demon they now faced. That’s right, for them, Desmond was no different from the devil at the time, be it the cold, emotionless expression he wore while he murdered one of them or the grotesque way his comrade died; they were terrified.

But the devil they feared didn’t seem to mind as he proceeded to mechanically repeat the above process, only this time he was even faster. Desmond targeted the slowest of the bandits, who seemed to be wearing thicker armor than the rest; he fired another arrow reinforced with dual elemental mana.

The bandit seemed to believe for a second that his armor could save his life, but he would prove painfully wrong when the arrow quickly pierced the plate that should protect his left thigh. The pain he felt was too high to bear; falling to his knees as he screamed, watching in horror as his attacker was already placing another arrow on the bow.

“HELP ME! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! BASTARDS, SOMEONE HELP ME, AAARGH !.”

His pathetic pleas were interrupted by the agony he felt when a second arrow pierced his other leg. The man who hit him the second time was toying with him, which made the man even more afraid than when he believed that he would die quickly.

Desmond might have been forced to miss a fatal blow on his first shot because he prioritized securing a hit to a moving target, but the second shot was most certainly intentional. Desmond wanted his prey to suffer, bleed and writhe with pain; Maybe this man would think about how his victims felt when they abused them. But Desmond did not care if they repented or asked for mercy; he just wanted them to die in a brutally painful and bloody way.

There was no pleasure in his expression for his actions, but he somehow felt that this was what these scum deserved. Therefore there was no interruption in his movements; another arrow was in the bow while he watched as the bandits abandoned their companion, using the wounded man as bait; they seemed to be planning to approach to kill him.

They probably thought that an archer would be weak in close combat; at the thought of it, a cruel mocking smile was captured on Desmond’s face; he thought they’d be in for a big surprise if they kept that thought.

The bandit, who was still screaming in pain, watched Desmond smile and a chill ran down his spine; at that moment, he knew it, he knew that the next arrow would end his life; thinking about it, he wanted at least to say goodbye in a low voice to the woman who was waiting for him at home.

“Sorry, feli-” puuack!

His last words were interrupted by the arrow in his throat, signs of life fading from his eyes as he drowns in his blood. A genuinely miserable ending for someone miserable.

“Your kind doesn’t deserve goodbyes” were Desmond’s first words since the massacre began.

Emotions returned to his eyes as he stared at the bleeding corpses lying on the ground. The conflict was written on Desmond’s face as he watched the three remaining men attempt a pincer attack on him; he looked at the girl trapped in the crystal of beautiful shine, and determination returned to his body.

Confirming that he only had two more arrows left in his quiver, Desmond decided to attack the duo approaching the left of him. Although two of them seemed much weaker than the man to the right of him, Desmond knew that to win this battle, he would have to take down the tiny fry first.

Desmond ran to his left, and with enough time for a well-timed shot, he chose to take out the subject wearing light armor; the arrow, too fast to dodge, soon pierced the bandit’s eye and exited the back of the skull. Desmond had fired a second shot before the gelatinous remains of an eye fell to the ground.

This shot passed and dug into the ground behind the thickest armored bandit; the bandit scoffed, thinking with disdain that he could now torture the archer who ran out of arrows. Before the ridiculous smile finished adorning the bandit’s face, he saw Desmond keep running at full speed towards him. The bandit could not understand that he was passing through the archer’s mind, but he did not care because soon, the archer would be dead. When the bandit got close enough, he attacked with his sword expecting to see the blood spill, But the blade only tore through the empty air.

Desmond had performed a soccer-style side sweep; as he glided, he caught the arrow stuck in the ground and, after a hasty turn, repeated the tactic he had used during his fight with the swift fist monkey. Only this time, there was no counterattack; the bandit, now with an arrow stuck in the temple, just collapsed to the ground like a sandbag.

Releasing his last quarry, Desmond glanced at the previous man standing beside himself. The man’s eyes were bloodshot; he was panting like a wounded beast and emitting vicious snarls. No words of hatred or threats were issued; it was not necessary. They both knew how this would end; with only one standing.

Desmond readied his standard fighting stance with his guard up, his center of gravity low, and the steel dagger in a reverse grip in his right hand. While his adversary tightened his grip on the two-handed ax that he carried.

They looked at each other for a few moments before they rushed to attack. Desmond performed a feint by taking a side step followed by a recoil, the bandit completely swallowing the maneuver as he delivered a vertical ax blow with all his might. When the ax hit the ground, Desmond rushed forward with renewed momentum, fighting intent written all over his face.

The bandit tried to no avail to retrieve the ax, but before he succeeded, he saw Desmond jump. Using the ax’s center shaft for support, Desmond pivoted his left leg and gathered all of his impulses into a spinning kick to the bandit’s face.

The immense pain flooded the bandit’s senses, and the world around him began to spin, but he failed to regain sensation before the pain hit him again.

Desmond advanced again and began to overwhelm his enemy with a barrage of punches and kicks; the occasional cuts from the dagger only added torment to his opponent.

Left Jab, Right Jab, Chin Hook, Side Kick to Knee, Downshift Kick to Shoulder, Flying Slam Left and Right. Looking at the battered and bleeding man now on his knees, Desmond took a couple of steps, positioning himself behind the bandit.

Even without knowing if the man could hear him, Desmond whispered one thing in his ear before placing a hand under the man’s chin and the other behind his neck, after a strong twist followed by the sound of the vertebrae breaking Crack! The bandit would no longer be in the world of the living.

He would never harm anyone else, and it would stay with him in hell the last words he heard when still breathing:

“Do you regret it? ”