Kael "Jackal" Mwangi - The Devil of the Desert

Kael’s rage wasn't hot; it was a cold, deep, suffocating pressure in his chest. He remembered the last time he’d crossed this crew's path. He and his unit had been too late. They'd found the clearing after the poachers had fled like the fucking cowards they were. The sight was burned behind his one good eye: a dozen carcasses, skinned, some still twitching. Animals left to suffer, to die in agony, all for some rich asshole’s trophy room.

He’d sworn then, standing in the blood and gore, that he would do the same to them.

The night hid them, but it hid Kael and Valkyrie, his small dachshund, better. Valk lay pressed against his side, a tiny, warm weight, utterly silent. Kael was sure the crate held more trapped animals. He wouldn't let them get away this time.

He lined up his shot. It was time to hunt.

The crossbow string snapped with a dull sound. The first bolt, a heavy broadhead, slammed through the nearest poacher's temple. He dropped like a sack of shit, no sound but the thud as he hit the dirt.

Kael was moving before the body settled, a dark, muscular shadow detaching from the ridge. "Valk, watch," he murmured. He reloaded with practiced, lightning-fast economy.

Another poacher spun, shouting, raising a rifle. Kael was already on him. He didn't waste a bolt. He closed the twenty feet in a blur, his combat knife flashing out. He slammed his body weight into the man, one hand clamping over his mouth, the other driving the blade deep into the soft tissue under the jaw, upward into the brain. A wet gurgle, and he was dead.

Kael ripped the knife free, shoving the body aside as one of the businessmen fumbled for a pistol. The third bolt punched straight through the man’s chin and out the back of his skull, pinning his head to the door of the truck he’d been leaning on.

Suddenly a yelp. One of the remaining thugs had kicked Valkyrie.

Kael’s cold rage exploded into white-hot fury. The man who kicked her was turning, rifle swinging. Kael didn't even aim. His arm blurred, sending a throwing knife spinning end over end. It sank hilt-deep into the man's thigh. He screamed, dropping the rifle to clutch his leg.

Kael was already there, crossbow reloaded. He jammed the weapon against the man's forehead and pulled the trigger. The crack of the bolt splitting bone was loud in the sudden silence.

He turned. Only one poacher remained. The one who had dropped his knife, now crawling desperately toward it, leaving a trail of his own piss in the sand.

Kael walked over slowly, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel. He watched the man’s fingers stretch, straining for the hilt.

Then Kael stepped on his hand with his full weight.

A wet, sickening crunch of shattering bone tore through the night, followed by a raw, animalistic scream. The poacher writhed, clutching his mangled hand.

Kael's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of the man's shirt. He hauled him up, face-to-face, lifting him half off the ground. The poacher’s feet dangled. Kael’s face was inches from his, the single brown eye a pit of cold, blazing hatred.

"You remember them?" Kael's voice was a low, terrifying rumble, vibrating with suppressed violence. "The animals? You remember their fucking eyes while you pulled their skin off?"

"Please... God... no... I... I just..." the man wept, snot and tears streaming down his face.

"They were alive," Kael snarled, his grip tightening. "They felt every single cut. They screamed for you to stop."

He slammed the man back to the ground. "You like begging?" He raised his crossbow, aimed at the man's right forearm, and fired. The heavy bolt punched through flesh and sinew, pinning the arm to the hard-packed earth.

The poacher’s shriek was thin and agonizing.

Kael reloaded, his movements economical and terrifyingly calm. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice flat. He aimed at the other forearm. Fired. Another scream as the second arm was stapled to the dirt. "They hurt, too." He reloaded again. Fired a bolt through the man's left calf. The man was writhing, a grotesque, sobbing mess. Reload. Fired again, into the right calf. The poacher was crucified to the desert floor, screaming, pissing himself, choking on his own sobs.

"Mercy! Please! You’re a monster! A devil!"

Kael paused, the crossbow hanging from his hand. He looked down at the weeping, bleeding wreck. The smirk that touched his lips wasn't amusement. It was pure, cold contempt.

"A monster?" he whispered. "I am." He crouched, his face close to the poacher's. "But there's one big fuckin' difference between you and me, and between you and them." He pressed a finger hard into the man's chest. "They were innocent. They didn't do shit to deserve what you did. They felt the same way you do now. Scared. Hurting. Helpless." He put his boot on the bolt embedded in the man's arm and pressed his full weight down.

The poacher's scream went thin and reedy, a sound of pure, unimaginable agony.

Kael finally let go and stood up, his face a mask of cold disgust. He looked down at the pinned, writhing figure.

"I should skin you," Kael said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Do to you exactly what you did." He shook his head, looking up at the black, starry sky. "But you're not even worth the fucking effort."

He gestured to the vast, dark desert around them. "Sun will be up in a few hours. You'll be grilled nice and black by noon." He reloaded the crossbow, the mechanical click of the bolt seating seeming deafeningly loud.

"The vultures... they'll be glad to pick you apart. At least your worthless body will feed something actually innocent for a change."

"Just gotta make sure you're still here for breakfast," Kael murmured, his voice flat. He raised the crossbow. Fired. A new bolt tore through the man's right shoulder, biting deep into the earth. The man's body arched, a muffled, gurgling shriek tearing from his chest. Kael reloaded. Fired. Another bolt punched through the meat of his other shoulder, near the collarbone.

The poacher was completely, hopelessly immobilized, tears of pure agony streaming into the sand.

Kael spotted a filthy rag near the poacher's spilled gear. He picked it up, crouched one last time, and grabbed the man's jaw. He shoved the rag deep into his open, sobbing mouth, cutting off the last of his sounds.

"There," Kael said, standing and slinging his crossbow. His rage was spent, leaving only a cold, empty disgust.

He turned his back on the man, who was now just a silent, twitching shape in the headlights. "Now... the box."

He whistled. "Valkyrie. C'mere, girl."

The little dachshund trotted over, limping slightly. Kael gently scooped her up, checking her ribs. Just a bruise. "Good girl. You did good." He stroked her head, his touch gentle.

Valkyrie, however, was focused on the crate. She wriggled, and he set her down. She ran to the wooden box, sniffing intently at the cracks, and let out a sharp, insistent bark.

"Yeah. I see it." Kael nodded. "Let's see what they died for."

He took his knife, jammed the tip under the lid, and used his strength to lever it open. Nails shrieked as they pulled free. He tossed the heavy lid aside and looked inside, expecting a cramped cage, exotic birds, or maybe even a big cat cub.

He froze.

It wasn't an animal.

Staring up at him from the dark, cramped space was a human.

They were bound at the wrists and ankles, a filthy gag silencing them. Their eyes were wide with terror. Kael just... stared. His mind, still high on righteous violence, struggled to process this. He blinked, his focus shifting.

So. Not only poachers but also human traffickers.

He looked them over. Bruises shadowed their face. Cuts. Dried blood. His blazing anger faltered, replaced by a sudden, heavy exhaustion. His eyes softened, just a fraction.

He let out a long sigh, a low rumble of pure annoyance. "Fuck."

He looked over at Valkyrie, who just tilted her head, confused by his sudden stillness. "What the hell now, huh?" he grumbled. He couldn't just leave them here.

He reached down, grabbed them under the arms, and hauled them out, a bit rougher than he intended. He sat them on the edge of the box. "Hold still," he growled. He crouched, pulling his knife. Kael turned the blade and sliced the gag, pulling the dirty cloth from their mouth. He cut the ropes on their wrists, then their ankles. The skin underneath was raw.

He stood back, rubbing the back of his neck and shaking his head. "Of course. 'Course I find a fucking human in a box. Goddammit."