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墨書 Inktalez
Hunter's life had changed completely. He began to lurk during the day, hiding in that cramped room, as if he had merged into the darkness. Only at night did he emerge like a phantom. He always wore a low-brimmed hat that obscured most of his face, shrouded in shadows, making it impossible to discern his expression. Even so, his bloodshot eyes still glimmered faintly in the dark, resembling those of a predator—cold, ruthless, and filled with a frenzied desire.
These eyes no longer focused on the things that once captivated him. Anime, games, gourmet food, beautiful women—these mundane material needs held no meaning for him anymore. His soul had been utterly transformed by the dark knowledge bestowed upon him by James, turning him into a tool focused on evil power. His gaze now followed only those sacrifices he required—those most suitable targets.
Every night, Hunter wandered through streets, malls, and parks, silently moving through the shadows of the city. The crowds bustled and lights flickered, but he only saw those lifeless shells that meant nothing to him. He was searching, waiting for the perfect candidate—someone who could become the ideal offering in his Sacrificial Ritual.
His eyes scanned thousands of unfamiliar faces, filtering through countless figures. He was no longer that bloated, cowardly security guard; he was a hunter, an assassin immersed in darkness. He no longer cared about worthless things but focused on finding that target with specific traits—a perfect sacrifice for the Blood Moon.
Sometimes, Hunter would stop in the crowd and stare at someone for a long time, his eyes bloodshot and reflecting that person's figure in his pupils. He scrutinized them as if trying to see through their exterior to their soul. Those who were too strong were unsuitable; those who were too weak held no value. What Hunter needed was someone between ordinary and extraordinary—vital yet unobtrusive, sufficiently mundane yet worthy of becoming nourishment for dark power.
Each night's search made Hunter increasingly restless, but this restlessness did not stem from failure; rather, it arose from an uncontrollable desire deep within him—he craved the return of dark power and longed for the moment of sacrifice. He knew that when he found the right target, the world would twist before his eyes once more, bringing him closer to that immensely powerful dark force and making him a true servant of the Blood Moon.
"Only the most perfect offering can unlock greater power for the Blood Moon..." Hunter murmured to himself, a frenzied light flashing in his eyes. His heart raced as evil whispers swirled in his mind, driving him onward in search of his next victim.
He knew that the moment of sacrifice was drawing ever closer.
Hunter remained in that dilapidated room, surrounded by scattered filthy items; the air was thick with an old mustiness and decay. The dim yellow light cast eerie shadows on his corpulent form. In his hands were two knives glinting coldly; after countless sharpenings, they had become sharp enough to slice through anything effortlessly. His gaze was fixed on those two knives, filled with desire and madness.
The small room was silent except for his heavy and erratic breathing, accompanied by an uncontrollable excitement and anticipation within him. Hunter's fingers gently caressed the blades; his fingertips glided over the cold steel, sensing the lethal intent hidden within. Every inch of those blades shimmered with destructive light as if waiting for the moment they would be stained with blood. He had honed these knives to an incredible sharpness; it felt as if they could hardly wait to pierce someone's flesh.
Hunter's flesh trembled with excitement; every nerve in his body was taut as if he were about to explode. He carefully placed both knives into the inner pocket of his coat, ensuring they could be drawn instantly when needed. At this moment, he had waited far too long—this was not just an ordinary action; it was the moment of sacrifice—the moment he would surrender his fate to darkness.
Taking a deep breath, Hunter's gaze became even more fervent; his hands trembled uncontrollably. He felt that evil power stirring within him, calling him to complete this task. The desire for slaughter roared like a beast in his mind; his blood boiled throughout his body as if it might tear him apart. That craving could no longer be suppressed.
However, in that moment of madness, Hunter suddenly felt himself losing control. He raised his hand and slapped his own face with a loud crack, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. His flesh quivered even more violently, but this act seemed to bring him a moment of clarity. Standing there, gripping a knife tightly, he gasped for breath, red marks from the slap still visible on his face.
"Calm down, calm down..." Hunter murmured to himself, as if trying to suppress the madness swirling within him. He clenched his fist tightly, knuckles turning white, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. His gaze was fixed on his reflection in the window, eyes wild with frenzy. "That's right..." he whispered, his voice growing deeper, laced with a subtle tremor and excitement.
"It's time... it's time for slaughter..." Hunter gritted his teeth, the corners of his mouth curling into a strange smile. He felt everything converging towards an ultimate goal—he would sacrifice the perfect offering and become a servant of the Blood Moon, a master of dark powers.
He stood in the room, his corpulent body trembling with each breath, enveloped by an endless madness and desire. He knew that everything was about to begin; true slaughter was imminent.
Hunter suddenly kicked open the door, the loud crash reverberating through the corridor like a storm sweeping out from his room. His hefty frame surged forward with the force of the impact, like a heavy beast stirred by rage. The strength of the kick was so great that even the doorframe creaked ominously, and it seemed as if he might tear the door off its hinges.
The neighbor standing on the balcony smoking—a thin middle-aged man with a disdainful expression—was startled by the sudden noise, nearly dropping his cigarette. He turned around hastily and upon seeing Hunter, his brow furrowed immediately, disgust washing over his face. This man had always looked down on Hunter, considering him a lazy and incompetent deadweight who did nothing but waste space. Every encounter was filled with mocking remarks, and this time was no exception.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Kicking doors like that? Do you want to tear this crappy apartment down?!" he shouted angrily, his face twisted in contempt as he exhaled smoke.
However, Hunter no longer displayed the agitation or embarrassment he once did. Instead of retorting or becoming flustered by the neighbor's insults, he approached the smoking man slowly and rhythmically. Each step he took made the air in the corridor feel heavier. Hunter's bloodshot eyes locked onto the man before him, glinting with an unapproachable coldness.
The middle-aged man's tirade gradually faded; he unconsciously took a step back until he found himself against the balcony railing, unease flickering in his eyes. It was the first time he had seen such an expression on Hunter's face—the chilling indifference sent shivers down his spine and instinctively made him feel something was off.
"What... what are you doing?" The man's voice trembled as he avoided Hunter's piercing gaze.
Yet Hunter did not respond to his fear; instead, he revealed a strange smile that twisted at the corners of his mouth, exuding an icy demeanor. He stopped right in front of the man, leaned closer to his face, and looked at him with infinite disdain and madness. That gaze felt like looking down at an insignificant ant—one could crush it effortlessly beneath their foot.
"You are not worthy..." Hunter's voice was low and cold, filled with merciless mockery. His tone sliced through like a blade, deepening the man's fear with every word.
The man was taken aback. He had never heard Hunter speak like that before. The cold sneer and disdain in his voice left him unable to retort. It felt as if he were not a person in front of this overweight man, but rather a failure that failed to pique his interest. His throat tightened involuntarily, his body trembled instinctively, and cold sweat dripped down from his forehead.
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