[Author Notes]: It's been a while since my last update, and this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. I've been pretty busy with studying and job applications, so thanks for your patience. That said, I want to give you a heads-up—this chapter dives into some darker themes.
I stood before the carnage, taking it all in. The weight of my fate settled heavily on my shoulders, a sense of dread lingering beneath the surface. But, overwhelming it all was the cold satisfaction of completing the quest I had received when the ninjas first set foot in the forest.
[Quest: Fight or Flee]
Description:
The Hand's ninjas rise, a shadowed swarm,
An army now gathering, dark and warm.
You stand at the crossroad, what will you choose?
To retreat from the battle or confront and bruise?
Each path lies open, each holds a fate,
But tread with care, for it's not too late.
Will you face them head-on, blade to blade,
Or flee from the fight, into the shade?
The choice you make, the reward you'll find,
Yet hidden within, are costs unkind.
For behind each step, the unknown creeps,
Where consequence waits, in shadowed deeps.
Reward: ???
[Congratulations, Quest Complete]
Reward: Special Shop Token I
(Special Shop Token I)
Description: A reusable item that grants access to Level 1 of the special shop. The Level 1 shop offers items from the Cavern, Jungle, Surface, Desert, Tundra, and Ocean chests. The token allows you to make one purchase from the shop before it requires a recharge.
Cooldown Time: 1 week
'This…This is a game changer!' My mind screamed, thinking of the immense power boost I will obtain through it.
Instantly, I used the token, scrolling directly to the Hermes Boots. The moment I saw the price, I didn't hesitate—1 gold. The same price for the Cloud in a Bottle. These two essential artifacts were only 1 gold coin each! I had around 12 gold coins left; with that amount, I could buy almost everything in the shop. The only limitation was the one-week cooldown and the restricted five accessory slots—a concern for another day.
Right now, my focus was on the Hermes Boots. Speed like I'd never known before was now at my fingertips, or rather, my feet. Without further delay, I made the purchase and slipped the boots on. As soon as they touched my skin, they fused seamlessly to my legs, fitting like a second skin, as if they had always belonged there. The comfort was indescribable—like walking on air, the sensation of clouds cushioning every step. There wasn't a hint of discomfort; it was as if gravity itself had loosened its hold on me.
The boots didn't just feel mystical—they looked it too. Though they appeared like ordinary, well-crafted boots at first glance, a layer of ethereal lace draped over them, shimmering faintly with a soft glow. Delicate, lifelike wings adorned each side, fluttering gently, as though they were breathing with the wind itself. These wings weren't just decoration—they were alive, infused with the essence of Hermes, the god of swift travel.
I took a deep breath and sprinted forward, and in that instant, the boots awakened. The wings flapped in perfect harmony with my movements, creating a mystical gust of wind that propelled me forward. I wasn't just running—I was gliding, as though the air had become my ally. The wind trailed behind me, swirling in my wake, as though it was chasing my every step, unable to keep up.
The sensation of friction, of resistance, was nonexistent. I felt one with the wind, my body moving through it like a phantom, gliding effortlessly over the terrain. The breeze kissed my face, refreshing and cool, and for a moment, all the bloodshed and carnage that had weighed me down vanished. I was free—unbound by the earth, as though I could run to the ends of the world without tiring.
Journeys that would have taken me half an hour were completed in mere minutes. The landscape blurred around me, and before I knew it, I had arrived at the cabin I had built. The boots had carried me across the forest with such grace and speed, it felt like a dream.
As I stood there, feeling the lingering magic of the Hermes Boots on my legs, I knew I was ready. Ready to pack my things and finally confront the organization that had been hunting me down.
There wasn't much to gather—just some clothing and food. Items that couldn't be stored in my inventory since they weren't part of the "game." It was a weakness I had to account for in future plans. Packing didn't take long, and before I knew it, I was prepared to leave.
I sprinted swiftly toward the edge of the forest, my mind already on the car. Let's hope it's undamaged. Though it's most likely the ninjas took care of that, destroying any chance of an easy escape. A problem that would have been a headache before—but not now, not with my new mode of transportation: the Hermes Boots.
Blitzing through the dense forest, I arrived at the car within minutes. As I suspected, the tires had been punctured, rendered useless. Driving would have been the subtle choice, less suspicious than a boy sprinting at car speeds down the road. But with no other option, I started running on the open road, heading straight for New York City.
I expected to stop for some rest, but never once did I feel tired. At a constant speed of what I could guess to be a hundred kilometers per hours, the travel back a bit faster than the taxi. Since I didn't need to decelerate when there's twist and turns. My mobility was far better than a car can ever be.
There were a few encounters with other drivers, leaving them in quite a shock. Other than that, I arrive at the city without a hinge. I made sure to remove the boots before entering since that would catch too much attention. A few drivers on the road won't bring people attention that quickly, even if they post it online. It would take days or weeks before the video grow traction. By then I would have done quite some damage to the Hand.
My confident in tracking them down is the system, Quest. There is a new assignment, this time unlike the others that were in riddles. It was a simple elimination quest that give me the location of all the hideout. Though at a massive scale. It either the Hand going down or me.
[Quest: Revenge on the Shadows]
Underground Operation: 0/17
Base: 0/5
Alexandra Reid: 0/1
Madam Gao: 0/1
Bokuto: 0/1
Sowande: 0/1
Murakami: 0/1
Elektra Natchios: 0/1
Reward: ???
The main problem among the roster of targets in the Hand's leadership is Elektra Natchios. I know for certain that once I kill her, there will be no turning back with the Defenders. When the final confrontation arrives, one party's fate will be sealed in death.
The fate of a killer, I reminded myself. I've long accepted that I could never live the life of a hero. I'm destined to be hated by both sides.
As I reached the city, I wasted no time. I began systematically dismantling their operations, striking at their factories first. They would never expect me to attack so quickly after their failed assassination attempt. But this was the advantage I held—surprise and speed.
One of their underground facilities was located on the outskirts of the city. Thankfully, night had already fallen by the time I reached the city, allowing me to use the Hermes Boots with freedom. It's hard to notice someone leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the cover of darkness.
Parkouring across the city had a surreal quality to it. Traversing the skyline like a ninja—it was one of my dreams. The cars below blurred as I raced past, their lights streaking through the night. The view from above, seeing the city breathe and pulse, was truly beautiful.
Even while admiring the view, I remained cautious. I couldn't afford to be careless—there's always the chance someone might look up, even from the rooftops. Like that couple stargazing in the middle of the night. I quickly darted behind a wall, avoiding their gaze before continuing my path unnoticed.
It didn't take long before I arrived at the scene of the operation. The location was deep within a forest, far from any houses or well-traveled roads. From my vantage point, I could see people being led out of vans and escorted into a dark warehouse. Human trafficking seemed the likely operation, given the number of people and the secrecy of the location. There could be other possibilities, but in the end, it didn't matter. All of them would die anyway.
I prowled through the dense bushes, hiding my presence, and carefully observed the situation. At the front, two guards armed with rifles stood watch over the kidnappers and their victims. It seemed the Hand wasn't relying solely on ninjas for this operation—they had gunmen too. Helping those two guards cover their blind spots was another gunman patrolling the perimeter.
As I took in the scene, I couldn't help but notice how well-hidden the warehouse was. It was buried deep within the forest, surrounded by thick trees and rough terrain. There were no nearby roads or footpaths, and the natural foliage made it nearly impossible to spot from a distance. The dense canopy above blocked any chance of it being seen from overhead, and unless someone knew exactly where to look, this place would stay hidden. Even with modern tracking methods, it would take days or even weeks to locate this facility.
The geography was their greatest defense. The winding trails, dead ends, and uneven ground acted as natural barriers. Without the system guiding me, it would have taken ages to find a place like this. The isolation made it unnecessary for them to post a large number of guards. The location itself was a fortress—well off the grid, far from prying eyes, and inaccessible to anyone who didn't know the way.
Such a location also serves as great advantage for me. Especially in the depth of night. Light is scarce here, and to avoid attention, the light come from flashlight from their rifles, and the front warehouse lights. Something as silent and narrow as an arrow could easily claim a life without anyone noticing.
The plan is simple, I will snipe them one by one in the dead of night. Stealthily dwindling their numbers. My first victims were the two guards at the back of the warehouse. Their location is far forming the others with the patrolling guard at the front of warehouse. Seeing that he is route goes counterclockwise killing from the left edge would be best.
This would allow me to eliminate the guards entrance. The when the patrolling guard walk past the left entrance guards. I would kill the them without the patrolling guard noticing. Even if he were to notice an arrow would already claim his life by them. If all go according to plan everyone would drop dead before even be able to react.
On the chance that the plan fails. Then plan B would proceed, a full-on assault without the stealth. It was riskier and dangerous, but far faster.
I nocked my bow, fingers steady on the string, and began my plan. With swift precision, I released two arrows nearly simultaneously. My hands moved fluidly, not wasting a second. I didn't even need to confirm the kills—my accuracy guaranteed their deaths. My focus now shifted entirely to the patrolling guard, who had just reached the left side of the warehouse and was making his way toward the back.
As he got closer, passing by the left entrance guard, I made my move. Three arrows were shot in rapid succession, each one claiming a life.
The guard on the right barely had time to react. His neck was pierced cleanly by the arrow, the sharp point slicing through flesh and muscle like a knife through butter. Blood sprayed from the wound, a crimson fountain spilling out of him as he gasped for breath, his body twitching violently before collapsing into the dirt. The blood gushed out of the gaping hole in his neck, pooling beneath him, flowing like water from a broken faucet, soaking the ground.
The leftward guard met a fate even more horrifying. I aimed for his head, but as he turned slightly, the arrow speared directly through his eye. The sickening crunch of bone and wet tissue filled the air as the arrow punctured his pupil, ripping through the delicate fibers of his brain and exiting cleanly out the back of his skull. His eye burst on impact, gooey fluids leaking down his cheek like tears as he stumbled, his mind barely comprehending the agony. His body spasmed uncontrollably before collapsing, his mouth opening as if to scream, but no sound escaped as his brain shut down almost instantly.
The patrolling guard suffered an equally gruesome end. The arrow entered cleanly through his ear, the sharp tip tearing through his auditory canal and skewering his brain in a heartbeat. The force of the arrow drove through his head, bursting out of the opposite ear in a spray of blood and brain matter. His body went limp, collapsing against the wall, but the arrow had driven so deeply that it pierced the concrete, leaving him hanging grotesquely by the side of the building. Blood dribbled from both ears, leaving a dark stain on the wall beneath him, his body swaying slightly in the wind like a gruesome puppet.
Following their deaths, I wasted no time. With lightning speed, I dashed to the right side, nocking two arrows mid-run. I didn't even wait for them to land before sprinting toward the front, launching my frontal assault.
Two more arrows flew from my bow, ending the lives of the front entrance guards. They didn't even have time to register their deaths. The arrows pierced their throats, slicing clean through muscle and windpipe. Blood spewed out in torrents, like a garden hose left on full blast, painting the ground in a thick, dark crimson. Their bodies jerked and twitched, hands instinctively rising to their throats in a futile attempt to stop the flow. They staggered, eyes wide with panic, before collapsing into the growing pool of blood beneath them.
But I wasn't done. The kidnappers, still unaware they were under attack, met the same grisly fate. Arrows rained down on them like a storm of death, each shot precise and merciless. One man's skull was pierced, the arrow splitting it clean in half, his brain spilling out like jelly. Another kidnapper had an arrow puncture straight through his eye socket, the force sending the bloody remains of his eye splattering onto the faces of the nearby victims. A man took an arrow to the neck, his blood spraying out in rhythmic bursts, soaking the terrified crowd in red.
The panic among the victims was immediate and chaotic. Screams filled the night as they ran, some blindly into each other, others tripping over bodies and collapsing into the gore-streaked ground. They were like panicked chickens, screaming, running in every direction, their terror feeding into the chaos. Their lives meant nothing to me. I simply watched, calm and calculated, focusing only on the next step of the mission.
From inside the warehouse, one of the gunmen stormed out, bellowing orders for the captives to stop running. His face twisted with rage, but before he could finish his command, two arrows embedded themselves in his eyes. The arrows punched through his skull, emerging from the back of his head in a sickening spray of brain and bone fragments. His mouth moved, trying to shout, but his brain had already shut down, leaving him to fall like a puppet with its strings cut.
His remaining allies witnessed his death and, in blind panic, unleashed a barrage of bullets into the crowd of victims, mistaking them for the source of the attack. The old and young fell like wheat before the scythe, their bodies riddled with bullets, twitching and convulsing in the dirt. One young boy took several shots to the chest, his small frame shaking violently as blood poured from his wounds, pooling around his lifeless body. An elderly woman's face was blown apart, her skull cracking open like an egg, splattering brain matter and bone across the horrified faces of the others.
The bullets didn't discriminate—children, parents, the elderly—all of them fell, their bodies torn apart by the relentless gunfire. Flesh and bone shredded under the hail of bullets, turning the area into a nightmarish slaughterhouse. Some victims were still breathing, their faces twisted in agony, trying to crawl away from the carnage, leaving bloody smears in their wake. But there was no escape. Their deaths were inevitable, and I felt nothing as I watched their bodies collapse into lifeless heaps.
I remained motionless, cold and detached, as the cesspool of death unfolded before me. Blood pooled around the bodies, the air thick with the stench of decay and gunpowder. I watched it all in silence, knowing full well this chaos was part of the plan. A sick, twisted strategy designed to guarantee confusion, panic—making the killing easier. Making the mission easier.
The Terrarian Mind guided me effortlessly through the carnage. Where others would see innocent lives lost, I saw only the inevitable. The means to an end. The screams, the blood, the horror—it was all background noise to the objective. There was no empathy left, no hesitation. Only the calculated steps toward eliminating the threat.
The man I once was? He would have detested this transformation, this monster I've become. The old me would've looked upon this scene with disgust, recoiled at the sight of innocent lives taken in the crossfire of my mission. But that man is gone. Not just him—everyone who knew me before would hate what I am now. But it doesn't matter. Everything is justified, as long as the "bad guys" are killed. As long as the mission is completed.
Like those three gunmen who, in their panic, unleashed a massacre. They barely had time to react before I put them down, their bodies joining the pile of the dead. Arrows through their skulls, blood running down their faces, staining the ground beneath them. There was no remorse, no satisfaction. Just efficiency.
For a moment, I thought there might be more targets left inside the warehouse. But when the mission updated, informing me that the underground operation had been eliminated, and a Life Crystal Shard appeared in my inventory, I knew my work here was done. I didn't bother turning back. There was no need to look at the aftermath.
There would be more operations to dismantle, more blood to spill. The Terrarian Mind urged me forward, a relentless drive that cared for nothing but progress, nothing but completion. And I? I followed willingly. The mission is all that matters now. Not the lives caught in the crossfire. Not the blood on my hands.
There is no turning back.