Chapter Text
One hundred and sixty one; in the eight years since I was fully born anew as ‘Vengeance’, I - no, we have killed 161 self-proclaimed ‘heroes’ across Gielinor. Those that would claim benevolence or charity while raining death upon those they perceived as ‘the enemy’ without a second thought. They who have stood upon the rostrum and spouted lies to the people, promising protection in exchange for monetary compensation or hollow praise.
There could have been 162, if not for the woman. To this day I still don’t understand what happened. Though she looked old enough to be my grandmother, she fought with a body half her age, tempered by the experience to match her gray hair. She believed me dead, I think. For all her differences, she was just like the first ones, in the end.
I had learned from killing those four - striking from the shadows when they least expect it, that was the key to the kill. Not in their sleep, no, they don’t deserve the mercy of slumbering through their demise. I’ve found that when they’re lying down to rest or while they are waking up before the sun touches the earth are the best opportunities.
Taevas tells me when the time is right to bring them the same hell their kind brought us. Those whose eyes find my blade before it finds their throat call me ‘Kinshra.’ It’s a name I’ve learnt belongs to an order of knights, the order the sword’s previous owner was part of. Any loose ends will associate me with these black-clad knights, and the blame for death falls on the shoulders of those with the name ‘Kinshra.’
Vengeance is the only ‘name’ I have now. As Vengeance, my crusade has made me strong — thanks in no small part to the green crystals stolen from the gods, I suspect.
The four who put me on this path - as I am now, I could face them all at once in open combat and slaughter them. Even that old witch would fall before me should she face me again today. Still, Taevas is adamant that a surprise attack is the surest success, so that’s what I do.
The poison would be your undoing, he warns me. He’s right. Should a limb twitch or my body cringe from pain in the heat of the hunt, any inept dullard with a kitchen knife could be my final opponent. Better to be seen as a snake by them in their final moments than spoken of as a failure by them later.
From the cursed swamps of Morytania to the Eagles’ Peak, from the northern coast of the Wilderness to the golden palace of Menaphos; my quest has shown me everything both in and between these places. There is beauty in each, and each is a worthy place to call home; except that can never be, because still, we thirst for vengeance. Still, there is much work to be done.
So from the shadows I watch, I wait, and I walk. I am nameless, and I am faceless. I am a hunter, and the ‘heroes’ are my prey. The ‘heroes’ gave me suffering, and so I pay the heroes back in kind. Nobody ever told me it would be easy, but nobody ever told me it wouldn’t feel good, either. If they had, they’d have been twice a liar. It isn’t easy, but it feels so good.
I first spotted my most recent target south of the White City, a woman wearing leather like I’ve never seen. Black with a metallic bluish-purple covering, marked with magenta lines on the chest. The magenta was the dominant colour of the facemask pulled down from the hood she wears. Everything about this woman screams ‘hero’, everything about her screams ‘prey.’
I’d been following her for five days to this point. She’s a workhorse if I’ve ever seen one, she doesn’t stop for anything but sleep in the wilderness, though she spent half a day in the town of Draynor. I nearly lost her to a market crowd in the town, but no quarry escapes my hunt. A chance to attack her never comes though, she travels so long into the night it leaves me exhausted.
Under normal circumstances, Taevas would wake me up before my target, and I’d strike as they woke. Somehow, he’s unable to discern when she’s going to wake, and by the time he rouses me, my mark is near ready for the day’s journey ahead.
Today she’s acting differently. Neither I nor Taevas understand it completely, but her step lacks the vigour displayed since I began to tail her. By no means is she struggling, in no way has she weakened, but something about her is… off , for some reason. Both Taevas and I have reached the same conclusion: physically, she is adequate. Whatever this is, it is a burden of the mind.
This landscape is all too familiar. We’ve followed her near Lumbridge, a place where I once spent some years living a lie. My mind betrays me with memories of my false life as ‘Kaela’, but I will not be deterred by the feelings of a woman I never was. No matter; my quarry will present a chink in its armour, and this day will be her last.
Cover in this forest is sparse, but I know it like the back of my hand. At the moderate pace she moves, she won’t reach the swamps before nightfall - she has seen her last sunrise.
I trail her at a greater distance than I would in more dense woodland, but I plan to move in when the sun sets — when she cannot see me with her surface-born eyes.
For the first time in six days, the girl halted for a midday rest. I want to move in on her now, but the chosen location is too open, with more space between trees than I can safely cover in broad daylight. Not that it truly matters - the longer she sits there in the grass, the lesser her chance of seeing tomorrow.
A whole hour had not passed, and already she picked herself up off the ground to move once more. Only six more hours and Tumeken’s light will drop, leaving the world to the darkness. Her life is so forfeit that I almost feel sorry for her - almost.
The black blanket had fallen over the forest. My mark set up her camp with less energy than usual on this night, just as she has done everything else this day. Whether she is brave or stupid I cannot say, but as she has every night, she does it all with no light source whatsoever. She likely travels without one. If that’s the case, this won’t even be a hunt, it will be a bloodbath.
My brother stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. Tonight is the night, sister, he whispered. She will suffer, and her blood will spill as recompense for mine! I nodded, keeping one eye on the soon-dead woman, watching her sprawl out the bag she slept on each night.
My baby brother fed me his plan; The girl has sat in silence for thirty minutes each night before she lays and closes her eyes, he murmured in my ear, observant as ever. We strike then. Put your blade through her throat - no, through her chest. No, through her stomach! I want to hear this one beg and plead for her worthless life! Make her scream for me, for us!
Yes, she should be made to scream. Nobody will hear her out in these woods, after all. Again I nod. Go! he hisses into the darkness, and I dash from my hiding spot to the next tree, a mere three feet away to the front-left, my blade already drawn.
The corpse-to-be unwraps her last meal without a worry in the world, sitting cross-legged upon her own sepulchre as she carries food to her mouth - another chance to move in closer. I move up another tree, silent as the grave and quick as a Karamjan cat.
Look at her, Taevas growled. Fake royalty upon a dirt throne. Punish her insolence.
She stuffed her face like a disgusting pig, no doubt grinning under her mask. I’ll bet she believes herself invincible. Death will disillusion her, I affirmed to myself, and Taevas nodded in agreement; another tree closer.
My game is preoccupied with her banquet, and again I sneak closer with her none the wiser. Already I can see the stains of her blood upon my black-steel.
Still she wears that mask! Taevas snarled in disgust. I want to see the life drain from her eyes! Cleave her false face away, sister! Force her true face to the surface! Once more I nod; So, you mask your deceit, do you, ‘hero’? You won’t be denying anything after tonight.
Savour that last slice, I silently sneered as she finished her feast, washing it all down with a vial of dark liquid. Skulking up within earshot of a whisper, the screams she’ll make are already a seraphic symphony to my ears. I can feel Taevas’ hand upon my shoulder, spurring me on, applying force to signal my advance.
As I make my way to the same tree she rests against, her thirty minutes of stillness begins. Her gaze is locked forward, but I am at her back.
Breath leaves my lips, inaudible. Hurt her. I tighten my grip around the handle of my sword. Rip her in two. My form crouches low to the ground. Show no mercy.
One leg stretches back, ready to leap. Be vicious. I steadily draw back my sword arm. Cruel. My torso leans forward. Merciless.
My vision zeroed in on her neck. Bloodthirsty!
No noise accompanied my lunging out from the shadows. My blade arced around, set to split her hood at the seam.
The clang of metal on metal echoed across the forest, disturbing nature’s peace. Looking down, I noticed her left arm bent across the back of her head, sword sticking straight down and resting against the back of her shoulder. Her blade was at the ready from the beginning?
“I was worried you’d be stalking me all the way to Lumbridge,” a youthful female voice confessed from beneath the hood. The voice matched the age suggested by her body’s shape. She couldn’t be older than twenty.
This one was strong; her blade held mine back with ease. “Whoever you are, consider me impressed,” she continued, “were I anybody else, you’d have taken my head without a fight.”
Bringing my second hand to my handle for extra weight, I gained no ground as her own free hand gripped her blade hand, equalizing her force to mine immediately. This is a pointless struggle. I withdrew my blade.
The woman rose to her feet. “Many people would call it cheating, having my senses enhanced beyond human limits… though in fairness, I only needed that to confirm my suspicions of being followed.” She slowly turned herself to face me.
Backpedaling, I readjusted my stance to defend myself from her inevitable counter-attack. I’m still in control, I assured myself. I can still kill her!
Something strange happened - her body was turned wholly towards me, yet before she could attack, her body tensed up with an audible gasp. “Wait, but that’s—” was all I could comprehend from the voice under the black hood.
Still covered by the mask as it was, I could only guess at either fear or surprise upon her countenance - either was an opening.
“I don’t care how you knew I was here,” I roared, taking the offensive in light of her obvious hesitation. “You’re not leaving these woods alive, ‘hero’!”
Charging forward - still intent on bringing her death - my first swing was for her throat. I still have the advantage in the dark! Of this I was certain, but the ease with which my target blocked suggested otherwise.
I took several more swings at her torso, head, arms, and even legs, but her blade met each one without fail. She did not take any potential openings to retaliate, opting only to defend herself, back-stepping.
“Do not mock me, pretender!” I barked mid-swing, enraged at her seeming indifference to my assault. Anger channeled into strength; every swipe made was backed with my explosive fury, my grunts and growls unhindered by any pretense of civility.
This newfound ferocity appeared to snap her passive silence across its knee.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, finally lashing out at me in turn. The force behind her strike was staggering, but not beyond manageable.
“You don’t need to know why, deceiver!” I snapped, refusing any distraction. I needed all my concentration on this fight; her strength surpassed even mine, but I was still the more experienced fighter.
Nothing could have prepared me for the words that followed.
The peal of blades reverberating off each other sung a song of war, but her questioning persisted between strikes.
“How did you make it out to the surface?” she asked, cracking her blade down on mine.
“Wha—” no amount of discipline would have kept me from being stunned by the question. Momentary hesitation in my counter allowed her blade’s edge to catch the top of my right hand, aggravating a wound once inflicted upon someone else.
I recoiled from the sting; she took the opportunity presented to double down on her blitz, hacking away at me. Suddenly on the defensive, my voice came without my mind’s consent. “How did you know I was—”
But the answer was obvious - my helmet. The only remaining piece of the woman I had been. I have worn it almost every day for the past eight years - that I cannot discern it from a body part does not surprise me.
Even so, that she recognized the helmet only told me she was one of them - those who brought my people so much misery. None before her had given me confirmation, and I had often wondered how I’d react, knowing for certain.
A fire ignited in the pits of my stomach that I had only felt twice in life. That raging flame ejected itself from me in the form of a howl so primaeval that my adversary slowed for a split second. Everything that made me ‘Vengeance’ threw itself alongside the black-metal blade at my prey, the speed and power pushed to my body’s limits.
I sent her backpedaling, and for a moment, she gave the impression of being overwhelmed. I thought this signaled my victory.
Without warning, the girl slipped under my blade and rammed her elbow square into my chest. No human could move at that speed, nor apply such force from an idle stance.
What… is she? I wondered through the cough, hunching over from the sudden pain.
Instinct commanded my hand to grab at my chest - that was her plan. Her own black blade flashed across my line of sight, catching deep into the old wound with another sharp sting. My hand spasmed, dropping the weapon it held into the dirt.
No sooner than the sword met the soil did she slam her steel-clad right shoulder into my chin. My eyes clenched shut as the helmet soared backwards off my head, bare skin now exposed to the cool air. My spine and skull struck the ground with a solid thud, pushing a low groan from my throat.
Though I tried to reach up, my arms were both pinned at my sides by boots. I couldn’t see it, but I felt cold metal resting under my chin.
I found myself at the mercy of my quarry; the hunter had become the hunted.
“Let’s try this again,” she said. “Why did you attack me? How did you make your way to the surface?” Her questions were repeated with a stern tone, one that sounded almost natural to her voice.
Though her boots held fast to my arms, she applied no pressure. Her blade was to my throat, but it was not pressed. She’s being either weak or merciful - not that there’s a difference.
“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing,” I sneered. “Why should I answer the questions of a coward hiding behind a mask?” I opened my eyes, showing the defiance behind them.
Silently, her free hand gripped the pointed chin of the mask. Pulling upwards, the mask came off, and my eyes blinked in shock as the hood fell backwards. Beneath the magenta and black was a face of what I assumed to be Morytanian skin. Not quite ghostly, but paler than anybody growing up with sunlight could ever be.
Long and flowing hair, red like blood, fell behind her. This was only half as striking to me, though, compared to the crimson rings locking her pupils into the center of her eyes. Gazing into them sent a shiver up my spine.
Her speed, her strength, the pale skin, the red eyes. Terror washed over me, allowing only one conclusion. “V-vam—”
“I’m not a vampyre,” she interjected. “I was born a tithe to one, and his blood flows through my veins, the result of a fluke in blood magic. Ninety-five percent of me is still human.”
Reading people’s eyes was a natural talent of mine. Those instincts told me she was being honest.
“Now,” she continued, “talk. How did you manage to make your way out of Daemonheim, and what the hell possessed you to tail me for six whole days?”
Before I could respond, I heard his voice from my left, drawing my eyes to him. What are you doing, sister? Get up! Get up and kill her! Taevas shouted angrily.
“I can’t, I—” My stare had returned to my captor. The words caught in my throat upon seeing her vision focusing not on me, but right on my brother. “No!” I crowed, grabbing her attention. “You can do whatever you want to me, but don’t you dare hurt my brother!”
“What…?” The vyre-touched girl was vexed by my pleas. “What do you mean ‘brother’?” she asked.
“That’s my brother,” I explained, looking back to him, fearful now for his safety. “He’s dead but… but that’s his spirit. Please, whatever you do to me, I don’t care, but don’t… don’t touch him…”
A single tear blocked my vision as I resigned myself to her judgement - though I appear to have been missing a piece to this puzzle.
Again I brought my gaze up to her, resolute in my desire to keep him safe. I was met only with sympathy from her crimson gaze. “Oh no…” she sighed, shaking her head - not in disappointment, but in apology.
Don’t just look at her, you damned fool! Taevas hissed. Kill her! Kill h—
“ Umbrae restrictī! ” My conqueror’s words carried a magical undertone. From the ground below Taevas, there sprang forth two thick ropes of shadow, coiling tightly around his body and trapping him in place.
“I said don’t hurt him, hurt me!” I begged, dismayed by the pain he would suffer for my failure, again. “He’s dead because of me; I don’t want—”
“Calm down,” she once more cut me off, but her voice held no malice or hostility. On the contrary, her tone was compassionate.
She turned back to Taevas. “How long?” she inquired, now with an inexplicably threatening tone. “How long have you been using this poor woman?”
Sister! Get up and kill her! This woman is mad! He barked, looking at me. Cut off her head! Carve out her h—
The woman brought up her hand and squeezed it into a fist. The binds around him tightened in response. “Enough!” she growled, “you make me sick… latching on to this poor girl’s anguish and rage, taking advantage of her strong soul to manifest in the material realm, taking the form of her brother…”
What?? Try as I might, I could not prevent more tears from welling up in my eyes. She IS insane! Dammit! What do I do? What do I do!? My mind raced wildly, probing every corner of itself for a way to protect my brother from this madwoman.
You’re demented, he retorted with rage. Get your dirty boots off my sister, you bitch, or I’ll come over there and slit your throat myself!
Her eyes narrowed, clearly not convinced by my brother’s outburst. “Tell me her name,” she demanded.
I’m not going to tell you her name! Taevas barked.
“Fine,” she shot back, “what day was she born? Did she have a lover? What was your mother’s name? Your father’s name??”
“Taevas, just answer her,” I pleaded, “just answer her so she’ll let you go!”
I didn’t understand it. These were simple questions with easy answers, all he had to do was say my name and this would all just end. Just say my name, Taevas!
I don’t have to tell you a damn thing! Just let me go already, you mad vampyre bitch!
“Just tell her my name, Taevas!” I demanded, beginning to lose patience.
Fine! Her name is Kaela!
It’s likely that the woman looked down at me at that moment, waiting for confirmation.
But my vision was too blurred to tell.
My mind was rolling over itself - my heart pumping faster than a human heart should. How…? Why…? Thoughts barely formed. It’s… no, it can’t… I couldn’t… he couldn’t be…
I was left in shock, disbelief, and denial. All I was capable of was mumbling the word ‘No’, over and over again, tears streaming down my cheeks.
It was a lie. It was all a lie. These past eight years - a lie. The guiding hand of my baby brother, Taevas - a lie. My revenge, my justice for his death - a lie. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become since that day - a lie. ‘Vengeance’ was a lie.
I killed people - oh gods I killed over a hundred people! Over one hundred lives taken by my hand, all taken based on a lie. People with families, families like mine. My eyes strained wide open with realization. Oh gods, no, I’m just like them, aren’t I!? How could I? How could I let myself become them?? Why would I do this???
The tears, the shaking, and the mumbling were answer enough for her. Through the tears, she vanished in a cloud of black and purple - a teleport, perhaps.
My body turned to the left side, towards the still-bound form of Taev— no, the thing pretending to be Taevas. I curled up into a ball and sobbed without control, without restraint. My entire existence is a lie… I whined his name over and over again; my baby brother, my dead little brother, Taevas.
So what?! the impostor barked, no longer Taevas’ voice. Even if you kill me, she won’t be free! The fool only has a few hundred souls worth under her belt! She’ll need to kill thousands more to break the curse! It let out an inhuman laugh. No matter what you do, she’ll never walk in the light again!
Mere seconds passed before a blood-curdling screech erupted from the form of the pretender. Its form burst like a balloon, but the pieces faded away into nothing - or maybe not. Though I was seeing clearly for the first time in a decade, all I could see was silhouettes.
Moments later, the figure of my liberator - or perhaps my jailor - reappeared where the fake Taevas had stood. She wasted no time in stepping back towards me. Through the mist in my eyes, I watched her lean down and extend a hand, beckoning me to take it.
What other choice did I have? I was barely conscious.
Gently, she helped me to my feet. I stumbled on the first step forward, but without so much as a word, she caught me. She allowed me to lean on her shoulder as she walked us over to her campsite.
Slowly and with great care, she laid me down atop her own sleeping pack. I think she said something to me, but I didn’t understand it. I was too far gone.
Despite my state of distress, sleep came quickly.