Get Mad [Isekai Revenge Fantasy Epic]

"...You shouldn't have come here." For the first time in his life, Pastor Robinson openly displayed his annoyance with the youth. His face twisted with pure annoyance. It was hard for The Saint to understand what was going on despite the clear circumstances.

How could a man of this sanctuary be so corrupted?

Had he made a mistake?

"Mr Robinson, what are you doing here? Explain the circumstances properly. Leave that woman be." The Saint had no choice but to intervene. Looking at the torn uniform of the beautiful woman in pity. Unable to accept that his father figure could do such a thing.

"Saint, please stop his madness! Please! Call for the paladins-!" Just as she was starting to resist, her words were interrupted violently. A crisp slap cleanly landed on her cheek. The air froze as she was flung into a cage. The man showing unreal strength.

Much stronger than what his appearance suggested.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!"

"Mr Robinson…?" The Saint couldn't believe his eyes or ears after hearing such vulgar words. Reacting slow. It was only after hearing the prison cell of this basement lock did he react. Running toward to stop this injustice from happening. Touching the iron bar.

Anger growing with each crazy act from the pastor.

"What is the meaning of-?"

Smack!

The Saint's head spun after feeling a weighty hand slam into his cheek. Pain unlike anything he had felt in his life assaulted him. Confusion and dread having creeped into his heart. Binding him in fear as a suppressed groan escaped his now broken lips.

"I let you and your mother be for so long, but now you want to screw me over? Do you?! What gave you that right?! I'll kill both of you!" Uncaring if anyone could hear his roars, Pastor Robinson raised his voice intimidatingly with each stroke of his fist.

"S-stop…!" Blood spewed from The Saint's gums and bruises started to appear on his arms. He had tried to resist, but the man was much more physically stronger than him. Much more experienced in both handling and inflicting violence upon other people.

After seeing what was happening, Hazel started to beg from within the prison cell. Begging for the man not to touch The Saint. Pain assaulted his senses. A deep blunt trauma like being struck by a bat. Having his agony grow the more his pleas were ignored.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The palm of Pastor Robinson's hand was stained in blood, and he regained his reasoning after he was satisfied. Seeing how The Saint curled up like an insect upon being hit. For once, the man could see that this so-called 'Saint' was just a mere teenager.

"You shouldn't have jumped in. Just go pray and be still as usual." Pastor Robinson brushed off what had happened and changed his attitude. Pretending to be friendly despite having just beaten the youth to the ground. Inflicting a deep wound onto his heart.

"Mr Robinson…!" The Saint was still defiant.

Looking up at the sinner with reddened eyes.

"I never liked you, 'Saint'. Did you really think I was your father just because we talked a lot? Your mother was a slave and a whore. She'd wiggle her ass for anyone with power. One day, you will become like me. Straddling these haughty bitches."

"Do not… insult my mother…!" A fury unlike any other was burning The Saint's rationality. Even with an injured body, he tried to take another swing at the pastor… only to be served reality. His pure white clothes covered in stains from his own nosebleed.

Of course, Pastor Robinson easily handled the youth.

Wrapping an arm around his neck before squeezing.

"You should count your blessings. Sex slaves are so easy to procure these days. If you hadn't been born with a blessing, you'd be powerless like her. Unable to control your life. One day, you'll come to see my side of it… but rest easy for now. It'll all take time."

"Ugh…!" The Saint felt his vision was fading.

"Saint! Saint…!!!"

The anger and unwillingness he felt couldn't overcome pure physical strength. As someone who was neither expected to fight nor taught it, The Saint could only helplessly struggle. Unable to pry off the solid grasp of the man choking the life out of him.

"Forget about your mother. Her legacy is as rotten as garbage. A slave… A commoner… Weak and foolish enough to take on debts. Remember, even this title of Saint was my gift to you. If you ever choose to cross me… Remember that." Were his last words.

The Saint became limp in his arms. Unconscious.

The white of his eyes visible. A face full of pain.

The purple hue of his skin was fading…

…but noise in the background turned more intense.

As he fell into unconsciousness, The Saint could only ponder what he was told. Legacies… It was such a familiar phrase to him. He imagined himself turning into the very person Pastor Robinson desired him to become. A sinner who acted in the name of God.

It was a short image with no further elaboration.

For he couldn't imagine himself being like the man.

He'd never swore before. Never inflicted violence or hurt anyone. He could barely imagine anything other than being a bystander to this madness. A sinner that allowed injustice to stain this sanctuary. Stain the name of the Founding Dragon above them.

The Saint awoke to find himself in the basement.

A disgusting stench had wafted the air around him.

He lifted his head. A brown-haired woman was lying still within the prison cell. Her body bare and without proper clothing. Bruised on her limbs and neck from a struggle. A dried white substance could be seen down her mouth and in her private areas.

"Hazel…?" He called out weakly.

The intense pain from his injuries was gone.

He noticed that his own bruises had vanished as if they didn't exist. One could tell that his body was different from others. Healing faster than the norm once he was able to rest. Regardless of his faster than usual regeneration, not all scars were healed.

Especially when looking into Hazel's empty eyes.

She breathed in steady rhythms. Looking down while leaning on the wall. Dark circles could be seen in the corner of her eyes, but her beauty made even that seem intentional. Regardless of how bad her situation got, it couldn't taint her beautiful looks.

"Saint… Please leave this place." She asked of him.

Even though it was likely morning already, the cold and dark basement under the sanctuary was no brighter than before. Still, if he tried to… he could probably leave the same way he came in. Knowing the direction of the stairs he'd originally came from.

"I'm sorry… Let me help you leave."

"Leave?" Hazel questioned his meaning.

"We have to hold him accountable for this…! Ugh, I have wronged you. This is not right. I'm sorry… I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you." The Saint felt so powerless at this moment. Looking at the door of the cage that was left carelessly open.

Why didn't she leave?

The young woman barely got to her feet. Her legs shaking like a newborn deer. Having become a little thinner after that horrible experience. Her face no longer reddened from a man's gaze, and was much less emotional than what he had expected from her.

"You won't tell anyone." Hazel said with certainty.

"I'm not afraid of him." The Saint defended himself.

"You're shaking…" Her words were without any form of persecution for his weakness. Those eyes were of a woman who had given up. Having accepted reality after feeling despair. She grabbed his arm without any strength in her grasp, then she continued softly:

"He could easily say you were the culprit, and would twist the narrative so I'm too afraid to say the truth and you're too 'young'. I'd disappear… and all that would be of me is the stain on your reputation. You have already came to the same conclusions as me."

The Saint did not defend himself when she pointed it out so clearly. Leaving him here and leaving the prison door open was definitely a trap. Even if he went out to speak the truth, the only evidence left pointed at him being part of this crime committed.

"That's… I can help you."

"Do you see this mark?" Hazel shifted his attention to her neck. There was a deep black tattoo that had been enchanted onto her neck. The ink so sickly bonded to her skin that there were no flaws to the patterned design… or fading of the mark's colour.

It was a Slave Branding.

A conversation was shared without any words.

Only the Dragon Church could apply or destroy a Slave Branding. It connected a slave to their master and made it possible to punish, silence, or kill the bearer. The moment this was burned onto her neck with ink, she had no choice but to be obedient.

He wanted to ask if she would just accept this.

To stay here and live as that lustful creature. That thing that couldn't be considered a human being. He may be a Saint, but he was human too. That feeling of revulsion was strong even within himself, so how much stronger would it be for Hazel at this moment?

"…This can't be right." The Saint lowered his head.

His words nothing but empty denial of reality.

The worst part was that that, just as she said, he had kept what happened a secret. Pastor Robinson didn't suffer any repercussions for his actions. No one even knew of what happened in the basement. Life went on as usual, and his routine hadn't been broken.

His mother had died. He witnessed such injustice.

He should be angry.

Wouldn't anyone human feel the same way?

Regardless of how rational that anger may seem?

Near the end of his routine on this day, when he was done with his ritual of containing blood and his hours of prayers, Pastor Robinson had made an unexpected appearance. Smiling at the youth who cleaned up his appearance before showing himself.

Seeming to find an answer in his inactivity.

Even though he'd angrily assaulted The Saint not too long ago, Pastor Robinson approached without a hint of insolence. Showing his usual respectful demeanour. That appearance of a decent human being that he had seen all his years in this sanctuary.

He patted his shoulder. Sporting a victorious smile.

"I knew you'd see reason. If you ever feel like praying is too boring, I'll happily lend you someone to keep you company. We're close, aren't we? That slave… I see you're close to her. If you're willing to talk like a man, I'd be willing to trade my used goods." Pastor Robinson leaned in close. The greed in his eyes were similar to when he first laid his eyes on The Saint.

"What do you want?"

"I know you're bleeding out a jar of your blood everyday. Just add another for me. Everyday, I want another jar." Pastor Robinson made an unreasonable trade offer without a care in the world. Greedy for the blood that improves health and human lifespan.

"You're asking for too much." The Saint was shaking.

"Am I? Then forget my offer. I've been planning on selling that woman for a good price. If you don't accept my offer by tomorrow, she won't be seen in these parts ever again." A sleazy smile fitted across the fat bastard's lips. Strutting past without guilt.

Like all they had was an everyday conversation.

The Saint turned to look at the retreating figure. His eyes having changed a lot under the long bangs that covered his eyes. Having become messier and unfit for the title of Saint. The subtle trembling of his body hadn't stopped ever since Hazel had sent him away.

They were not close.

She was a nun that had been a devout follower of the church for while. They crossed each other many times and shared many conversations, but it wasn't to the same level of closeness he had with his childhood friend. He shouldn't feel this despair.

However, men were not metal.

The rage of his powerlessness consumed him like a spice rising from his bloodstream. A burning, acidic sensation that made him want to vomit. It had been driving him insane since Pastor Robinson insulted his mother, and had been growing since yesterday.

There were red ants under his skin. Running around.

Biting and tearing him.

This sensation circulated to his brain.

"Yeah… Let's just go insane." He couldn't take it.

His kind melted from the burning feeling of shame and anger. Awakening memories within him. They followed along with his current thoughts and overlapped themselves onto it. Memories of a cruel world that had no Holy Power or Mana to speak of.

The Saint died that day.

And a new person emerged.

"Holy Power… Blood… Slaves… I see. This world is imperfect. This sanctuary is unclean. If someone is needed to change the world, I might as well be the one to do it." The rage hadn't vanished as he spoke to himself in a mirror. Looking like a crazy person.

This wretched feeling was what he'd lived with.

With a new morning came a new perspective, so it wasn't right to act immediately. Pastor Robinson gave him until the end of the next day, so it was best to relieve his stress by resting as much as he could. A mind not well-rested becomes unwell with time.

He wasn't a natural psychopath anymore and couldn't simply kill everyone without any plans.

It was best to apply killing methods appropriately.