Abel stepped out of the ruined laboratory, carrying a tightly wrapped bundle stained with blood. Inside was the head of the mutant he had killed, along with several key documents that could shed light on Randel and Silco's experiments. The laboratory was behind him, but its shadow, like the shadow of Shimmer, continued to haunt him. He could feel the toxic chemical still battling his adaptation, searching for a weak spot.
The air around him was thick and damp, saturated with the smell of smoke and decay. The landscape was a grim, endless expanse of ruined buildings, charred trees, and piles of rubble. The sky, choked with heavy clouds, allowed no light to pass, leaving the world in a dim twilight. Abel walked along the broken road, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness on the outskirts of Zaun.
The journey to Randel was long, and with each step, Abel felt the Shimmer continuing its destructive work. The headache grew, like a vise tightening around his skull. Dizziness forced him to stop to keep from falling. Irritability and emotions he usually kept under control now burst forth like a wild beast from a cage. Flashes of memory loss were followed by moments of clarity, where he realized he had walked an entire block without remembering how.
"Damn Shimmer," he muttered, clenching his fists. His voice was hoarse, almost animalistic.
The emotions he had suppressed for so long now surged to the surface, blending into a chaotic cocktail. Sadness, sorrow, endless rage—it all merged into one, pulling him into memories. Images from the past flashed before his eyes: the cold walls of the prison where he had spent so many years, the face of the boy from the orphanage who had once been like a brother to him but had betrayed him. These memories, like poisonous arrows, pierced his mind, forcing him to question what he truly wanted to achieve.
"Why am I doing all this?" he whispered, looking up at the sky, which seemed to envelop the world in its darkness. "For what?"
He stopped, leaning against the ruins of an old building. His breathing was heavy, and his thoughts were tangled. He had more strength than any ordinary person. He could just leave, find a quiet place on the outskirts of this ruined world, and live there, avoiding all the filth and pain. But every time he tried to imagine such a life, images from the past surfaced. The sewers. The cold, damp, darkness. He remembered sitting there, alone, in complete darkness, listening to the distant drip of water. He remembered how his only companion was fear—the fear of losing the last shreds of humanity still left in him.
That was when he realized that solitude was not the answer. It wouldn't bring him peace; it would only hasten his fall. He needed something more, something that could keep him from becoming the monster he feared he would become. Perhaps that was why he kept moving forward.
"If only I could..." he began, but his voice broke as another wave of headache overwhelmed him.
He walked on, lost in his thoughts, until he reached Randel's base. The entrance was guarded by several men, but one stood out. It was the same smuggler Abel had first met when he started working for Randel. The man approached him with a grin, clearly pleased with himself.
"Well, hero," he began, "looks like I'm your new partner now. Randel decided it's better for me to work with you."
Abel looked at him through the gas mask's glass, his eyes glowing red like embers in a furnace. He didn't respond, only tilted his head slightly, expressing his irritation. The smuggler, ignoring his reaction, patted him on the shoulder, trying to appear friendly.
"Don't get all worked up, buddy. We'll get along just fine," he said, but his voice sounded insincere.
Abel stepped back, his gaze cold and warning. He didn't need partners, especially ones like this. But he had no choice now. He nodded, signaling that he was ready to move forward, but inside, he felt the anger and irritation fueled by the drug boiling within him.
"Lead the way," he said curtly, heading toward the entrance.
The smuggler, still grinning, walked ahead, but Abel knew better than to trust him. In this world, trust was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Abel entered the room where Randel was waiting. The space was large but grim, with low ceilings and dim light from a few lamps that barely illuminated the area. The walls were stained with soot and rust, and the air was thick with the smell of oil and metal. Randel, as usual, was surrounded by his guards, but this time his face was shadowed by a strange smile that promised nothing good. In his hand, he twirled a gas mask as if playing with it. Beside him stood his loyal enforcer, Crom. But this time, even Crom was wearing a protective mask, which made Abel wary. Something was off.
"Abel," Randel began, his voice almost friendly. "You really outdid yourself. Handled the job perfectly. The lab is quiet. That bundle in your hands must be the proof. You're a true professional."
Abel remained silent, feeling the tension in the room grow. He didn't trust these words, knowing there was likely more behind them. Randel continued, his voice growing colder, his smile fading.
"But you know what I'll tell you?" Randel paused, putting on the gas mask. "It would've been better if you hadn't succeeded. I was ordered to get rid of everything connected to that lab. My boss said he'd handle it himself. And you... it's sad when you can't control a capable subordinate."
Abel was about to run but stopped when he felt something metallic pierce his back. It was a dagger, held by the same smuggler who had escorted him here.
"Thanks, buddy," the smuggler sneered, pressing the dagger deeper. "Thanks to you, I'll drink myself silly tonight. Dying young is sad, sure, but don't worry. We'll take care of your body."
That moment was the trigger. The Shimmer still raging in his system unleashed all the emotions Abel had so carefully suppressed. Rage, anger, despair—it all merged into a fiery storm. In the next moment, Abel was behind the smuggler. With one hand, he gripped the smuggler's wrist holding the dagger, and with the other, he tore out his heart.
The smuggler collapsed to the floor, his eyes wide with horror, but Abel no longer paid him any attention. His consciousness began to blur, sinking into a sea of rage. He saw Crom charging at him, his massive body shaking the floor, but in the next moment, Abel was on his shoulders, using the same dagger to decapitate him.
When Abel regained consciousness from the rage, he stood in the center of the room, his breathing heavy, his eyes glowing unnaturally. Around him lay torn and mutilated bodies, the walls and floor soaked in blood that slowly seeped into the cracks. The air was thick with the smell of iron and death, and a faint mist emanating from it enveloped everything, making the scene even more surreal.
Crom, despite his size, had been defeated. His head lay several meters from his body, his eyes still staring into the void with an expression of horror. Randel, who just moments ago had been confident in his victory, now retreated toward the door, his face pale and his hands trembling. He tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat.
Abel slowly turned to him. His movements were smooth, almost unnatural, as if controlled by some external force. In his hand, he still held the blood-covered dagger, and his eyes were empty, filled with madness. He took a step forward, and Randel finally found the strength to shout:
"Stop! You don't understand what you're doing! It wasn't me! It was Silco who ordered to cover everything up!"
But Abel didn't hear him. His mind was consumed by the rage that had erupted like a wild beast. He saw only the enemy, only the target. Another step, and he was in front of Randel. The man tried to strike him, but his fist was caught in Abel's iron grip. In the next moment, Randel felt the dagger plunge into his stomach. He groaned, trying to break free, but Abel only pressed harder until the blade went all the way through.
Randel fell to his knees, his eyes wide, blood gushing from his mouth. He tried to speak, but only a gurgle came out. Abel stood over him, his breath accompanied by toxic vapor, his eyes still burning. He pulled out the dagger and tossed the body aside like a rag.
At that moment, the rest of the gang burst into the room. They stopped at the threshold, taking in the horrifying scene: the bodies of their comrades scattered across the room, the walls drenched in blood, and Abel standing at the center of this hell. His figure, shrouded in mist, seemed almost demonic.
"What... what the hell?" one of them whispered, his voice trembling.
Abel turned to them. His eyes locked onto theirs, and they felt a cold fear grip their bodies. One of the gang members, unable to handle the tension, fired a musket, but the bullet merely flew past, hitting the wall. Abel moved forward, his movements swift and precise. In the next moment, he was among them, his dagger flashing in the dim light, leaving only death in its wake.
The slaughter continued. Screams, groans, and the sound of tearing flesh filled the air. Abel was unstoppable. Everyone who tried to stop him fell dead. His rage was boundless, his strength inhuman. He felt no pain, no fatigue. He was a weapon of destruction, the embodiment of chaos.
By morning, it was over. The room that had once been the gang's headquarters was now a bloodbath. Bodies lay everywhere, and the air was thick with the stench of death. Abel lay in the center of one of the rooms, his clothes soaked in blood, his face expressionless. He looked at his hands, which trembled with tension. For a moment, awareness flickered in his eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by emptiness.
He slowly rose to his knees, his breathing steadying. The mist that had filled the room began to dissipate, but its effects were evident. Abel remembered what he had done. But he understood it wasn't him. It was the Shimmer that had taken control of his body and mind. Now that the rage had subsided, he felt only emptiness.
He stood up and slowly walked toward the exit. He needed to leave before others arrived. He knew they would hunt him, that his name would become synonymous with terror. But that didn't concern him now. The only thing he wanted was to pass out and not wake up for a week.
Abel stepped outside, where the cold morning air greeted him. He looked back at the building that had witnessed his downfall. The structure was surrounded by a faint toxic haze, its walls inside and out intertwined with clusters of scarlet flowers, and the air nearby carried the metallic scent of blood. In that moment, he realized his life would never be the same. He was a monster, and now he had to live with that.