Chapter 306

The man had been on the trail for days, his body aching, his mind clouded with vengeance. He'd tracked them through thick forests, across muddy fields, and through dark alleys in the heart of the city. Every step was driven by a single thought: they had to pay for what they did.

Vincent Calderon had never been a man of many words. He didn't need to be. His actions spoke for him, and those who had felt his wrath knew what he was capable of. A small-town man with a past that followed him like a shadow, Vincent's world was built on the lies and betrayals of others.

And those lies had started with the Filipinos. His hatred for them had grown from a festering wound into a raging fire that had consumed him from the inside out.

Years ago, when he was just a boy, his family had been torn apart. The night of the accident was one he'd never forget. His father had been a proud man, a pillar of the community. His mother had been kind, gentle, always tending to those in need. They'd done nothing wrong. But they had been victims of a senseless act of violence that had shattered his world.

A group of Filipinos, drunk and reckless, had crashed into their car. The collision had been violent enough to kill both of his parents instantly. He'd been left alone, a child with nothing but the image of his parents' mangled bodies burned into his mind.

The police had come, but nothing had been done. The culprits had been let off with a slap on the wrist. The system had failed him, but it was the Filipinos who had taken everything from him.

For years, Vincent had waited for his chance. He bided his time, honed his skills, and slowly built the life he now had. A life of quiet rage and controlled fury. Every year, on the anniversary of the crash, he would think back to that night, and the fire would burn a little brighter.

But tonight, tonight he was finally going to get his revenge.

He found them. It hadn't taken long. They were scattered, living in the poorest parts of the city, hiding like rats in the shadows. They never thought someone like him would come for them, but now, here he was.

He had tracked the first one to a rundown bar near the docks. The man was older, his face weathered by time, but Vincent could still see the same arrogance in his eyes. He remembered that look from the trial. The man had smiled when he was let go, as if the life of a child didn't matter.

Vincent's hand closed around the knife in his pocket, its cold steel a reminder of what was to come. He entered the bar, his steps measured and deliberate, and moved toward the back. The man was sitting at a table in the corner, laughing with a group of others, oblivious to the storm that was about to hit.

The first stab was clean. Vincent didn't give the man a chance to scream. He drove the blade deep into his chest, twisting it as he pulled it free. The man gasped for air, his eyes wide in shock. Vincent's face was unreadable. He moved in again, this time slashing across the man's throat. Blood poured out in a torrent, spilling onto the floor in thick, dark pools.

No one in the bar reacted. No one cared. This was the world Vincent had been living in for so long. The one where he was invisible, where his rage was something to be ignored. He wiped the blade clean on the man's shirt and left without another word.

He found the next one a few days later, a woman this time. She was working as a waitress in a greasy spoon diner, just trying to make a living. She didn't know who he was, didn't know what he'd come for.

But Vincent knew. He knew her face. He knew her name. He had spent years memorizing the details of each person involved in his parents' death, cataloging them in his mind like a hunter preparing for the kill.

This time, he didn't use a knife. Instead, he waited until she closed the diner for the night. She was walking to her car when he approached. A smile played on his lips as he stepped out from the shadows, and she froze when she saw him. He could see the recognition in her eyes.

"You," she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.

Vincent didn't say anything. He just grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward the alley. She struggled, but he was too strong. He pushed her against the wall, his hand around her throat. She gasped for breath, her eyes pleading. But there would be no mercy tonight.

His hands squeezed tighter, and the woman's body went limp in his grasp. When he finally let go, her head lolled to the side, her mouth hanging open in a final gasp of air. Vincent looked down at her, a faint smile curling his lips. Another life taken. Another debt repaid.

He didn't feel satisfaction. No, that was never what this was about. This wasn't about satisfaction. This was about making them pay. It was about making them feel the weight of his loss, the way he'd been broken all those years ago.

The third came quickly after. It was a man this time, younger than the others. Vincent found him working in a construction yard, moving materials from one place to another. The man didn't see him approach. He didn't even know he was in danger until it was too late.

Vincent had been following him for days. He'd watched him from the shadows, studying his movements. He knew where he lived, where he ate, where he went to drink. Everything about the man was predictable. But it was Vincent who had control. And he was the one who would dictate when this man's life would end.

It happened at night, like it always did. Vincent approached him from behind, the knife ready in his hand. The man didn't hear him until it was too late. The blade slashed across his back, and the man screamed, stumbling forward. But Vincent wasn't done. He moved quickly, stabbing again and again, each thrust purposeful, each strike a promise that would be kept.

When the man collapsed, Vincent stood over him, watching the blood pool around his body. He didn't feel remorse. He didn't feel anything at all.

But then, as he turned to leave, he saw something that made his heart stop. It wasn't the man. It wasn't the blood. It was the child standing in the doorway of a nearby building, eyes wide with terror. She couldn't have been more than eight years old.

For a moment, Vincent hesitated. The child's eyes were full of fear, but there was something else there, too. Something he couldn't place. It reminded him of the way he used to look before the accident. Before the world had burned him alive.

The girl didn't scream. She just stared at him, unblinking. And then, without warning, she bolted, running down the street as fast as her legs could carry her.

Vincent stood still, staring after her, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. He could have let her go. He could have ignored her. But he couldn't. The memories of that night, of the crash, of his parents lying in that car, flooded his mind.

He followed her. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the connection to his past, maybe it was the guilt that had always gnawed at him. He didn't know.

But by the time he reached her, it was too late.

The sound of sirens filled the air as Vincent looked down at the girl's lifeless body. His heart pounded in his chest. He had followed her, but now, there was no escape. The police would be here any moment. And he knew there was no way out.

As the sirens grew louder, Vincent sank to his knees beside the girl, his hands trembling. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. This wasn't the way he had imagined it. The rage had consumed him, driven him to this point. But now, all he felt was emptiness.

In the distance, the flashing lights of the police cars grew brighter. And for the first time in years, Vincent realized that the man he had become was the real monster.