Chapter 6 – Limitless hate

【Brendon PoV】

My name is Brendon Vlad. Like my superior, Alfred, I am tasked with handling the troublesome incursions of those from other worlds. But while Alfred gallivants about on his flamboyant quests and witty banter, I remain in the shadows—quietly handling the weightier matters of our troubled realm. I am the one who deals with the fallout of super-powered children wreaking havoc, and believe me, our world is already choked with enough hate and chaos without these meddling outsiders.

I’ve long held a deep, simmering resentment for the Otherworlders. They arrive with their inflated notions of heroism and catastrophic power, shattering villages and turning communities into battlegrounds. Our society, scarred by the collapse of slavery and the bitter wars that followed, now finds itself entrenched in a campaign of hate—a desperate measure by humans to fend off what they call “demons.” These Otherworlders, with their self-appointed savior complexes, provide the perfect scapegoat. Their presence justifies the human need to assert dominance, to replace native blood with what they consider a purer strain. It’s a perverse logic, but one that has fueled hatred and violence for generations.

Today, I’ve been assigned a task that cuts close to the raw nerve of it all: to rebuild a village of the wolf people. The wolf people—an indigenous race whose features are strikingly similar to those of humans save for their pointed ears and a fine layer of fur adorning their shoulders—have long suffered under the suspicion and fear of our kind. Their gentle ways and quiet dignity have made them easy targets for prejudice. I am here to restore what little hope remains in their eyes, even as the fire of xenophobia burns hot among our people.

The village itself lies on the fringes of a dense forest. As I approach, the air grows heavy with an unspoken dread. Every step I take is met with wary glances from those who call this humble settlement home. Huts constructed of timber and thatch, modest yet resilient, line narrow cobblestone streets. In every doorway, I see eyes wide with fear and suspicion—fear not only of the world outside but also of the unpredictable hand of fate that seems to favor destruction.

I walk slowly into the village square, where a cluster of wolf people has gathered. Their faces are etched with hardship and sorrow, yet there’s a flicker of cautious hope when they see me. I carry the weight of their collective suffering on my shoulders, though my expression remains grim and resolute. It is not my nature to offer solace with flowery words; instead, I speak with the measured tone of someone who has seen too much bloodshed to indulge in sentimentality.

As I make my way among them, a small figure steps timidly forward. A young wolf girl—perhaps no more than twelve summers—her large, sorrowful eyes shining with a mix of terror and curiosity. Her delicate features, framed by soft, matted hair and accented by those distinct, pointed ears, betray her youth. In a trembling whisper, she utters,

“S…sir… would you kill me…”

The sound of her voice strikes me like a physical blow. For a moment, the cruelty of our world, the relentless hate that has defined the last few decades, seems to coalesce into this singular, heart-wrenching plea. I kneel to her level, my heart aching at her vulnerability. I force a calm into my voice that belies the storm raging within me.

“No… little one, I won’t…” I say softly, reaching out a steady hand in a gesture meant to comfort rather than command. I see the terror in her eyes deepen, and I know that my words must carry more than just the promise of mercy—they must offer a sliver of reassurance in a world that has taught her to fear everyone, even those who might help.

The girl’s small hand trembles as she hesitantly accepts mine. “Y…bye…” she stammers, her voice quivering like a leaf caught in a cold wind. I can sense her inner conflict: the instinct to flee mingled with a desperate hope that perhaps, in this one solemn moment, someone will treat her with kindness rather than cruelty.

I crouch down further, meeting her gaze with unwavering resolve. “Listen to me,” I say firmly, my tone softening just enough to pierce through the layers of fear. “I am not here to bring harm. I understand your pain, and I know that you have every right to be afraid. But know this: I will not let the hate of others consume you. Today, I vow to help rebuild your home, to shield you from those who would see you suffer. Your life is precious, and I will do everything in my power to protect it.”

Her eyes, still wide and haunted, slowly begin to show a flicker of relief—a spark of trust amidst the prevailing darkness. In that instant, I realize that my mission is not solely about quelling the destructive tendencies of those who come from other worlds, but also about mending the fragile hearts of the people who have borne the brunt of humanity’s relentless prejudice.

As I stand and survey the gathered villagers, my mind drifts to the bitter irony of our age. We are a people caught in a paradox of progress and decay. Slavery, once abolished, left behind scars that festered into wars between races. Humans, in their bid for dominance, have turned a blind eye to the suffering of the very souls who share this land. And now, with the advent of Otherworlders—those self-proclaimed heroes who bring nothing but further chaos—the cycle of hate seems destined to repeat itself. Yet, here I stand, a native son of this world, determined to forge a new path amid the ruins.

There’s a bitter edge to my thoughts as I watch the villagers’ fearful eyes dart toward me, measuring my worth, questioning whether I am one of them or a harbinger of further doom. I have no illusions about the challenges ahead. The path of rebuilding is fraught with obstacles—not just the tangible ruins of their homes, but the intangible, corrosive hatred that has taken root in every heart. Still, I know that change begins with a single act, a single moment of compassion amid a sea of despair.

I rise to address the gathered crowd, my voice carrying the weight of both authority and empathy. “We are at a crossroads,” I declare, glancing at the nervous faces before me. “The hate that has poisoned our land must be tempered by hope. I stand before you not as an enemy, but as one who shares in your suffering and who believes in a future beyond this endless cycle of violence.”

A murmur runs through the crowd, some nodding in tentative agreement, others still cowering in the shadows of their past fears. I continue, “Today, we will begin to rebuild not just your homes, but the very foundation of trust that has been eroded by years of strife. I ask for your courage, your resilience, and your faith in the possibility of a better tomorrow.”

The atmosphere, though still tense, shifts ever so slightly. I see in their eyes a glimmer of hope—a promise that perhaps, in this dark age, a spark of change can be ignited. And as I stand there, a solitary figure amidst the ruins of shattered dreams, I am reminded of my own purpose. I have sworn an oath to protect this land from the chaos wrought by outsiders and to mend the wounds inflicted by our own kind.

Turning back to the little wolf girl, I crouch once more, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Do not fear,” I whisper, as much to myself as to her. “For as long as I breathe, I will fight against the darkness that threatens us all.”

Her eyes, still brimming with unshed tears, meet mine with a silent plea—a plea for safety, for mercy, for a promise that the cruelty of this world might one day be overcome. In that moment, I feel the burden of my responsibility anew. The hate that surrounds us is limitless, but so too must be our resolve to overcome it.

I know that the road ahead will be treacherous. The hateful campaigns, the relentless prejudice, and the ever-present threat of violence loom over us like an ominous storm. Yet, even in the midst of such darkness, I cling to the belief that compassion can be a powerful antidote. Each act of kindness, each promise of protection, is a small rebellion against the tide of hatred that seeks to engulf us.

As I rise to my full height, ready to continue my work, I catch the wary gaze of another villager—a young wolf boy, his eyes hardened by years of loss. I nod at him, a silent promise that I will not let their suffering go unanswered. In that nod lies the unspoken understanding that our struggle is not yet over, and that every life here matters, even in a world where hate seems boundless.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the long journey ahead. The weight of responsibility is immense, but it is a burden I am willing to bear. I turn my gaze upward, to the darkening sky, and in that vast expanse, I find a small measure of solace. In the face of limitless hate, our will to survive—and to rebuild—must be even more limitless.

Today, I begin the slow, arduous task of healing these wounds, brick by brick, heart by heart. And though the shadows of the past may always linger, I will be the light that guides us toward a future where hope triumphs over hatred. For now, I have work to do, and I will not falter in the face of despair.

With resolve hardening like forged steel, I step forward into the uncertain future, leaving behind a village that, for a fleeting moment, dared to hope again.