A part of him said this was wrong. No matter how justified he felt, killing another human being was wrong, period. He should beat him up and report him to the authorities.

  Nothing more and nothing less than that.

  Fortunately, there was nothing that said he had to listen to it.

  He had bare hands, no armor, no sword, just his ability, his only Ability, so far. And he believed he could take the man in front of him, who had clearly come prepared with his explorer equipment and possibly the other two scumbag sons of bitches, somewhere in the darkness, maybe waiting to ambush him. Rage worked miracles.

  He lunged at the enemy, with bare hands, practically roaring.

  He didn't want anyone to see him and get in his way, but he roared anyway. He couldn't help it. He felt like a wild animal, finally unleashed.

  He threw himself on top of the damn bastard. Of course, James wasn't trained, didn't have good muscles, didn't have much strength. He didn't need it either.

  Getting here had been more than enough time for Stone Skin to recharge. He activated it and his sudden weight was more than enough to knock down the enemy. Not only that, it left him without air in his lungs when he fell.

  He'd been in many fights to the death lately, but never like this, not with bare hands.

  He heard the crunch of bone. For a stupid moment, he thought he'd broken something, but nothing like that, of course. Just that he'd broken his nose with a punch. He saw it crooked, saw blood coming out of the nostrils. He was strong now. He was strong and they weren't going to let him be killed, his corpse left forgotten, with nobody visiting it. He was going to be someone, whatever it cost. And if he had to crush vile, crawling murderers to do it, well, wasn't he doing the world a favor? Wasn't it better for this guy to die here instead of surviving to pull the same shit on other poor bastards who wouldn't have the same luck he had of having a perfect ability to survive and get away with it? Of course it was. Of course it was better for him to die.

  He kept punching him, again and again. His blood burned. He should be afraid. He should fear that things would get out of hand and the guy would end up beating him. He should fear what it meant to take a human life, but he only felt euphoric. With his own hands he was imposing himself. He was strong. Everyone wanted to be strong enough that they wouldn't take away what belonged to them, what they had a right to. Whatever they said, animals like this...

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Bastard!" the animal in question spat while trying to defend himself, especially his head.

  "Bastard, huh! Bastard! As if I were the one doing something wrong. You and your shitty little group got together to try to murder me and you didn't even have the balls to face me while I was awake. You're the bastards, filthy fucking rats!"

  Another punch. James grabbed him by the neck, squeezing, and slammed him into the ground again and again.

  "You deserve to die," James spat. "You deserve to die and you will die."

  He felt a stabbing pain in his side. The greatest pain he'd felt in his life, to be honest. No surprise, since they'd stabbed him. He confirmed that by slowly lowering his head, his hands somewhat trembling. Blood was already flowing, thick. He had a knife buried up to the hilt in his side, deep. A knife, damn it! He hadn't even noticed, hadn't heard him unsheathe the weapon. A knife in his side and he had no armor. If he'd gotten him in the chest or neck...

  "Animal!" James shouted, yanking out the knife.

  He brandished it with both hands. His target, the man's skull. No, he wasn't a man, he was a thing. A thing that also stopped it with both hands. His palms immediately started bleeding, but he couldn't let go or this would end in an instant, so he had no choice. On the other hand, if he kept this up, his hands were going to be useless right away. And James would get his way. Therefore, he was fucked, no matter what he did. He was a dead man. Looking into his eyes, James felt he already knew it. They were the eyes of a cornered animal.

  Very well. He didn't want to see regret, or pain, or love for beings he was going to lose. He was an animal, a thing. Those eyes suited him better. He wanted to see the light go out in his eyes forever.

  Unfortunately, someone killed his vibe. He received a shock and went flying away from the son of a bitch, rolling through the grass breathless again. Ah, but what was he talking about? He hadn't even had time to catch his breath. Not even time, damn it.

  James raised his head, hair stuck to his forehead from the water. Coming down a small hill arrived the second of those crawling sons of bitches. The cavalry, just in time. At least he hadn't dropped the knife. He had no protection, but he did have a weapon and that was enough. That is, it would have to be enough for him.

  "What do we do now?" said the second one, voice slightly trembling from the effort.

  "What do you mean what do we do now, asshole? We tried to kill him before, when it was dark, with the fucking bag on his head. And now on top of that he's seen our fucking faces. We have to kill him, period."

  Having finished his shitty little speech, he pulled a spear out of nowhere and approached him. James let himself be stabbed. To be more exact, he let him think that's what he was doing, but before the spear pierced his heart, he turned his skin to stone. So the tip of the weapon only bounced off and left him defenseless and surprised for a second. James didn't hesitate. He passed the knife across his neck. Blood came out in spurts, large amounts, like water spit out by sprinklers, ending the fight before it could begin. Worthy of a Rogue, without a doubt.