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The smell of blood was still in my nostrils, metallic and thick, clinging to my clothes like a shroud. I could taste it, bitter on my tongue, and I swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that threatened to rise.

The adrenaline from the fight still coursed through my veins, my body humming with an energy that felt foreign and uncontrollable.

I stumbled down a narrow, twisting street, the cobblestones slick with recent rain. The air was cold, biting at my skin as I ran, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the empty spaces around me.

Every corner I turned, I expected to see faces angry, terrified faces but the streets remained empty, silent but for the sound of my footsteps.

I tried to shake off the feeling of eyes watching me, but it lingered, a persistent itch between my shoulder blades. I knew they were out there, somewhere, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

They would come for me, just as they had before, with their accusations and their fear. And I couldn\'t say they were wrong.

My hands were shaking, bloodied and raw. I clenched them into fists, trying to stop the trembling, but it only made the blood flow faster, trickling down my wrists like crimson tears. I stumbled again, nearly tripping over my own feet, and forced myself to slow down, to take a breath.

But the breath came out in a shudder, and I felt my control slipping. The memories were coming back, flooding my mind, overpowering my ability to push them aside.

I saw the face of the man I had killed, the fear in his eyes as the knife plunged into him, the way his body had crumpled to the floor, lifeless. I heard the accusations again, their voices echoing in my mind: Murderer. Assassin. Thief.

I leaned against a wall, pressing my forehead to the cold stone, hoping it would ground me, but it didn\'t. The world was spinning, tilting, and I couldn\'t find my balance. I was slipping—slipping back into the darkness that I had fought so hard to escape.

How had it come to this? How had I lost control so completely, so easily? I had been running for so long, trying to outrun my past, but it had caught up to me in that tavern. The monster inside me had resurfaced, and I hadn\'t even tried to stop it.

My breath hitched, and I bit down hard on my lip, the pain sharp and grounding. I needed to think, needed to find a way out of this mess. But my thoughts were jumbled, chaotic, pulling me in a hundred different directions.

I needed to leave this place. I needed to get far away before the villagers caught up with me. But the thought of running again, of leaving behind the only life I had managed to build for myself, made my stomach twist. I was so tired of running.

A sound behind me made me freeze, my entire body going rigid. Footsteps—light, cautious—moving closer. I held my breath, my heart hammering in my chest as I listened, every nerve on edge.

They were here. I could feel their presence, the way the air grew heavy, charged with anticipation. My muscles tensed, my instincts screaming at me to flee, to hide, but I couldn\'t. Not again.

I turned slowly, my back still pressed against the wall, and saw them three figures emerging from the darkness, their faces obscured by the hoods of their cloaks. But I could see their eyes, glinting with fear and anger in the dim light.

"There she is," one of them whispered, the words dripping with malice. "The killer."

I forced myself to stand tall, to keep my voice steady. "I\'m not here to hurt anyone."

"Liar!" the voice was sharp, cutting through the night like a blade. "We saw what you did! You think we\'re just going to let you walk away?"

The other two moved closer, flanking the first, their postures tense, ready to spring. They had weapons, makeshift ones a broken bottle, a rusted knife but they held them with a determination that made my blood run cold.

"I don\'t want to fight," I said, my voice low, trying to keep the tremor out of it. "Just let me leave, and you\'ll never see me again."

"Not a chance," the leader spat, raising his weapon. "You\'re going to pay for what you\'ve done."

I felt the last of my resolve crumble, the fragile control I had been clinging to shatter. My hands itched for a weapon, for something to defend myself with, but I was unarmed. All I had was the magic I had tried so hard to suppress, the power that had once made me a monster.

But that monster was who they saw me as. Maybe it was who I really was.

They moved closer, their eyes narrowing as they saw the hesitation in my stance, the way I wavered between fight and flight. The leader took a step forward, his weapon glinting in the faint light, and I felt a surge of panic.

I didn\'t want to do this. I didn\'t want to be that person again.

But they weren\'t going to give me a choice.

The first one lunged at me, the broken bottle aimed for my throat. My body moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before I could think. I sidestepped the attack, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until I heard the bone snap.

He screamed, dropping the bottle, and I kicked him away, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The second one was on me in an instant, the rusted knife slashing at my side. I barely had time to react, dodging just in time to avoid the blade. My foot lashed out, catching him in the stomach, and he doubled over, gasping for breath.

The leader hesitated, his eyes flicking between his fallen comrades and me, calculating his next move. I could see the fear in his eyes now, the uncertainty. He had expected me to go down easily, had counted on my hesitation to give them the advantage. But now he saw what I was capable of.

I didn\'t give him time to act. I lunged at him, my hands grabbing for his weapon. We struggled, grappling for control, and I could feel the anger building inside me, the darkness stirring, urging me to let go, to give in.

With a grunt, I twisted the weapon from his hand and shoved him back. He stumbled, his eyes wide with terror, and I felt a sick satisfaction at the sight. He had underestimated me. They all had.

But that satisfaction was short-lived. As he scrambled to his feet, I saw the desperation in his eyes, the way he looked at his fallen comrades. He wasn\'t going to stop. None of them were. They would keep coming, keep trying to take me down, because that\'s what they thought I deserved.

And maybe they were right.

He rushed at me again, his fists flying, but I was faster, stronger. I caught his arm, twisting it behind his back and forcing him to the ground. He struggled, cursing, but I held him down, my grip like iron.

I could end this. I could finish him right here, right now. It would be so easy, so simple, to let the darkness take over, to let it do what it was meant to do.

But I hesitated. The memory of the man I had killed in the tavern flashed before my eyes, his lifeless body crumpled on the floor, and I felt a wave of nausea.

I couldn\'t do this. I couldn\'t keep killing.

The leader must have sensed my hesitation, because he suddenly wrenched free, elbowing me in the ribs and rolling away. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes wild with fear, and backed away, panting.

"You… you\'re a monster," he spat, his voice trembling. "You\'re not human."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt something inside me snap. Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn\'t human. Maybe I never had been.

The other two men were getting to their feet, their eyes filled with the same fear and hatred. They weren\'t going to stop, weren\'t going to let me go. They would hunt me down, make sure I paid for what I had done.

And maybe I deserved that.

But not tonight.

"Fuck it," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I had been fighting for so long—fighting against who I was, against what I had done, but it was pointless. The darkness was a part of me, and no matter how hard I tried to bury it, it would always be there, lurking beneath the surface.

I was done running.