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Emerson was not a good man—he wasn't a man at all, really. Demon, they called him. As if he were less than human, as if he were no more than an animal.
But humans are the worst animals of all. They think they're above the creatures who walk on four legs, but they're no better than any of them.
Humans destroyed everything they touched, slaughtered without mercy, claimed lands that weren't theirs.
Emerson had been just sixteen when his friend was brutally murdered by the humans. She had been stabbed in the heart before being burned at the stake to "cleanse" her body.
So Emerson took matters into his own hands.
He shot the humans' legs, made sure they couldn't run, and burned them alive. It's just the consequences of their actions, really. They killed an innocent child so he killed them.
From then on Emerson had made it his life's mission to rid the earth of monsters who killed for fun and sport, who thought they had the right to decide who gets to live and die.
It's simply karma, a fair punishment, isn't it?