The whiskey stench hit me first.
Even after twelve years, even through the slaughterhouse's rotting meat reek, I'd know that smell anywhere. Cheap barley alcohol and unwashed flesh—the perfume of my childhood.
The System's crimson arrows led me past rusted hooks dangling like obscene fruit. There, perched on a butcher's block like a drunk king on his throne, sat Garreth Veyne.
My father.
He swung a near-empty bottle in lazy arcs, the glass catching moonlight. "Took you long enough, boy." His voice was rougher than I remembered, worn down by years of screaming at tavern keepers and stray dogs. "Your demon screen's been showing me what you done to Darrin. To that Thorn girl."
*[TARGET ANALYSIS: GARRETH VEYNE]*
*[CLASS: DRUNKARD (LV.5)]*
*[WEAKNESS: LEFT KNEE (OLD INJURY - YOUR FAULT)]*
The last line made my breath hitch. I remembered that night—eight years old, trying to shield Lira from his rage. The sickening crack as the fire poker connected with his kneecap. The way he'd smiled through the pain before throwing me into the frozen river.
"Still limping, old man?"
He grinned, showing blackened teeth. "Still ugly as sin, boy." The bottle shattered against the wall beside my head. "Should've held you under longer."
The cleaver came faster than I expected.
Steel bit deep into my shoulder, scraping bone. Pain flared white-hot through my nerves—beautiful, glorious pain that made my Heartrender's Agony sing.
*[PAIN THRESHOLD REACHED!]*
*[DAMAGE BOOST: +75% (CRITICAL)]*
We fought like animals, no System-assisted grace, just fists and teeth and broken bottles. His knuckles split my lip. My elbow crushed his already-ruined nose.
"You hit like your mother," he spat blood onto my boots. "All show, no follow-through."
The words stung worse than the cleaver. I remembered her too—the way she'd curl around us during his rages, taking blows meant for me and Lira. The way she'd stopped getting up one winter morning.
My shadow tendrils lashed out, pinning him against the blood-slick floor.
"Finally using your gifts, eh?" He laughed wetly as I drove my knife toward his heart. "That's my boy."
The blade stopped a hair's breadth from his chest. My hands shook.
The System screamed:
*[WARNING: HESITATION DETECTED!]*
*[PENALTY: SAN LOSS -15]*
Father's grin widened. He headbutted me, then flipped us with shocking strength. The cleaver hovered over my throat.
"Pathetic," he whispered, whiskey breath hot on my face. "I raised you to be a monster, and you're still just a sniveling—"
My shadow erupted.
When the darkness cleared, Father hung from the meat hooks by his intestines, still breathing, still smiling.
"That's my boy," he gurgled.
I slit his throat with his own cleaver.
*[QUEST COMPLETE!]*
*[GODSLAYER'S MARK UNLOCKED!]*
The brand burned through my shirt, searing flesh until I could see my own ribs glowing through the wound. The pain should have made me pass out, but the System wouldn't allow it.
Lira found me curled around Father's corpse, his blood pooling in my new mark.
"You could have walked away," she whispered.
I laughed until my stitches tore open. "He never let me walk away from anything."
As she fled, my System glitched, showing the truth beneath:
*[SOUL HARVEST PROGRESS: 60%]*
*[FINAL REQUIREMENT: LIERA VEYNE]*
Father's last words echoed in the silence:
*That's my boy.*