How I Butchered My Annoying Old Party and Loved Every Swing

Listen up, Anonymous, because I’m only gonna spill this shit once—my old party was a fucking parade of idiots, and I finally snapped like a twig under a greataxe. There was this whiny mage, always bitching about his ‘delicate mana flows’ while I was out there cleaving skulls, and don’t get me started on the smug rogue who thought pickpocketing my rations was a goddamn joke. Every step of that cursed quest to hunt the fell god, they grated on me like sand in my boots— the cleric preaching mercy when I just wanted to bathe in blood, the bard strumming his lute at the worst fucking times. I warned 'em, over and over, ‘Keep your shit together or I’ll paint the trail red with you lot.’ But nah, they poked the berserker one too many times. That night by the campfire, when the rogue swiped my flask again and laughed, something inside me roared louder than ever.

I exploded, Anonymous, greataxe singing through the air like a lover’s whisper before the kill. First went the rogue—his smug grin split wide open, blood spraying like cheap ale from a busted barrel. The mage tried some fancy spell, but I was on him before he could blink, crushing his throat with my bare hands while he gurgled pathetic pleas. The cleric swung his mace, screaming about divine judgment, but I laughed in his face, empowering my rage into a storm that made him piss himself weak. Even the bard’s final twangy ballad cut short as my blade took his fingers, then his head. It was over in minutes, bodies twitching in the dirt, the air thick with that sweet copper tang I crave. Fuck, it felt good, like shaking off chains I didn’t know were there.

Now you’re probably wondering, Anonymous, if I’d do the same to this new batch of fools trailing me on the quest—hell yeah, if they push it. That slaughter taught me destiny’s a bitch, and mine might just turn me into the villain before we even sniff the fell god. But here’s the kicker: without their annoying asses dragging me down, I’m free to rampage proper, stronger than ever. So keep up, or join the pile. What’s your take—would you have lasted longer than those weaklings? Think on that while I sharpen my axe for the next leg of this endless bullshit.