He could feel it, rushing through his very veins as he stretched his hand towards the sheathed blade, the beatings of the beasts, the ripples in the water and when the wind change the direction of the grass.

Everything responds to him in a different manner, the beatings of a heart may show a hollow humanoid, whilst a rain drop can show every detail in their faces.

But this was different; he was facing a beast, something born from the womb of nature, relentless in its assault and with eyes fixed on its prey.

Kip closed his eye, the wound in his side was pulsating, the bite of a crocolisk was to fear if he didn't wear his heavy armor. He could see the beast's very movements, inch by inch as it encroached on him.

He was merely waiting, the one perfect moment to release everything, every drop of his long cursed blood that had built up during the latest weeks.

His breathings became heavier, the wound was pounding more and more as if it were a drum and the dark runes began glowing more and more, fueling his strength and anger.

He held his drawn blade in his left hand, the tip on the ground and he was waiting "DAMN BEAST! MAKE YOUR MOVE!" he could hear himself scream within, but he didn't let it out, he wanted to kill.

And then, with the strength of the beast, it jumps towards him in a last desperate attempt to kill its prey... Only to have its jaws sliced in two from the old man's blade.

The beast was done, dead and was now only the rotting corpse was lying there, either to be eaten or rot away forever.

Kip didn't feel any relief, his anger had just been further fueled by the weakness of the beast, how easy it had been to only wait and then kill it like a rat. His breathings became heavier, the glow of the runes turned to crimson, and a fire began to spread across his torso, slowly spreading over his body.

"NO! NOT HERE!" the old man runs towards the waters of Wetlands, hoping to find a new beast to slay, but there was none to be found, they were all hiding from the superior foe.

In the blink of an eye, the old man's flame grew wide, high and burned the grass, boiled the water. "Not yet!" he shouts in defiance, refusing to let go until he reaches the water.

He hopes to cool down in the sea, but the moment he hits the water, it begins to boil and then, in mere seconds, he explodes in a furious rage that shakes the rocks nearby and the flame pillar vaporizes the water nearby.

The old man's roar grows into a unity with the beasts in the area, scaring off any critter nearby before he collapses on the beach, only his boots drenched in the sea.

Remaining crocolisks gather their courage, to move closer to the old man's seemingly limp body. The power that was there moments ago had just vanished in the blink of an eye; perhaps the superior foe was dead?

One of the crocolisks moves closer than the others, daring its life, and opens its wide jaws to feast on the old man's body.The old man moves with a greater agility, as if a great burden had been removed from his mind and the only thing the crocolisks feasts on is dirt and grass.

Kip grabs the beast's upper jaw, bending it open, while moving his free hand towards his head. "Be at rest..." he silently whispers before letting his wrist blade cut through the beast's cranium, killing it instantly.

He feels no remorse and after the other crocolisks once more go back into hiding, he takes out the crocolisks teeth, one after the other "spoils of victory", he tells himself.

The old man picks up his helmet and sword from the ground, sheathing his blade, he begins to walk towards Menethil Harbor, next stop is the Cathedral district.

"Cursed blood, you will be the death of me one day.." his lasts words echo, with the sound of the crocolisks feasting on their fallen brethren, snarling at one another to keep their share of the kill.