Thank you, Defiled Shepherd, for giving me the muscle memory of a black belt. Those five proxies were a snap to knock out.

I am not normally a very violent person, but I do what I need to in order to survive. When nearly half a dozen people rush at me with knives and crude clubs, I fight back. When a faceless eldritch abomination threatens my life, I try to find a way to kill it and bring some measure of peace to my life.

I can assume that you're still wondering why I've become so focused on killing this damn thing. The answer is as obvious as it is incoherent.

He erased my family from existence.

My mother, my father, my sister...

Sorry, trying to avoid relapsing into that emotionless murderer. I hate what I was then.

I need to kill him. My meaning in this world is to give those around me some measure of happiness. What better way than to kill something that threatens their very existence?