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James sat in his home, the vintage leather sofa appearing particularly cold under the dim light of the night. On the table lay a bottle of high-end red wine he had prepared for himself; he should have been reveling in it—all the fame, accolades, and countless admirers drawn to his new image. His phone and computer screens were bombarded with notifications—"The Journey of the Mysterious History Professor James," "What Charisma Does This Professor Possess That Is Irresistible?" These headlines exaggeratedly portrayed his newfound "mystique and charm," with many influencers and bloggers discussing his story in hopes of riding the wave of his popularity.
Yet, James's gaze was dark and restless as he stared at the mountain of news alerts, his fingers tapping anxiously on the table. The meticulously edited face on the screen—his face—was being shared wildly across various online platforms, youthful and charismatic, a stark contrast to his former self. Netizens fervently debated his background and mysterious past, with numerous fan pages emerging online, constantly updating snippets of his lectures and various candid photos.
James clenched his teeth, a flicker of disgust crossing his eyes. He knew that such exposure was not beneficial for his current goals. Ever since he accepted the Blood Moon's revelation, he understood what his true mission was. He was acutely aware that he had a long way to go before becoming the true heir of the Blood Moon—a path fraught with blood and sacrifice—sacrifices that he must confront. Each sacrifice would bring him closer to that endless power, merging his body and soul completely with the Blood Moon.
However, the current situation left him in a dilemma. As his fame grew, every step he took was under countless watchful eyes, making it difficult for him to continue operating in secrecy to execute his bloody plans. The once obscure corners now felt illuminated by the relentless scrutiny of the internet. He felt shackled by this attention; everything had become too conspicuous for him to proceed easily.
With a forceful motion, James hurled his phone back onto the table, causing red wine to slosh in the glass and spill a few drops. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but images from that night flooded back into his mind: the old man and woman’s bodies floating in mid-air, blood flying toward the red moon—the thrill and excitement of that power still echoed vividly in his memory. He knew that achieving the final sacrifice was merely the beginning.
Yet reality proved more troublesome than he had imagined. The disappearance of the elderly couple had caught their family's attention. Their relatives searched everywhere without success and eventually reported it to the police. Officers arrived on campus to investigate, and James sensed those probing gazes gradually drawing closer to him. Every time he saw uniformed officers on campus, a sharp sense of crisis pierced through him; their questions made him realize he could no longer afford to take risks lightly.
"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, unconsciously tapping on his desk. He understood that this exposure complicated his original plans. Even though he possessed the power of the Blood Moon and could manipulate hearts, facing increasing suspicion and scrutiny weighed heavily on him. He needed to find a more discreet way to continue his plans and regain that feeling of controlling everything from the shadows.
James stared at the dark red book before him, its pages emanating an eerie glow as if hinting at something profound. A flicker of fervent determination flashed in his eyes; he knew that no matter what it cost him, he would not stop. This game had only just begun; he would not allow anyone to stand between him and the Blood Moon.
Muss sat at the desk facing that dark red book radiating an uncanny light, hands clasped under his chin as he gazed intently at it, as if deciphering a complex chess game. The room was lit only by a dim desk lamp casting heavy shadows across his face, enhancing his mysterious and austere demeanor.
He was acutely aware that currently, the greatest threat came from those uniformed officers probing around. Although he appeared calm on the surface, an underlying tension lingered in his mind. James knew he had to find a way to divert these officers' interest away from the elderly couple's disappearance. If he could turn this case into an unsolvable mystery or shift suspicion onto someone else, then he could continue executing his next steps without being trapped by their scrutiny.
James furrowed his brow as he quickly searched for suitable targets in his mind. He needed someone easy to control with no background; if such a person became a scapegoat, it would not only draw attention away from him but also give him an advantage in this game. Slowly recalling various faces from that building, one name suddenly flashed through his mind—Hunter, the night security guard.
"Hunter..." A cold smile involuntarily crept onto James's lips as disdain dripped from his tone. He was all too familiar with this pathetic fat man—Hunter was a young failure who had settled into being a night security guard; all day long, he either lazed around in corners or sat in the security room playing those lowbrow games. His overweight frame and scruffy beard made him look like someone abandoned by society's corners. James had often seen him with his head down wearing headphones, completely oblivious to everything happening in the building; even if something unusual occurred, this night guard likely wouldn't notice at all.
"Such a useless fool..." James sneered inwardly. He felt nothing but contempt and disdain for someone like Hunter, a person who held no value in his eyes and was destined to achieve nothing in life. People like Hunter were the dregs of society; no one would care about his life or death, and even if something happened to him, very few would genuinely investigate.
However, precisely because of this, Hunter might make the perfect scapegoat. As long as he could devise a sufficiently flawless trap to divert the police's attention towards Hunter, he could seize that opportunity to continue executing his grander plans, making more sacrifices for the Blood Moon and obtaining that maddening power he craved.
James's gaze grew colder, his mind racing with one plan after another. He could create some clues to make Hunter appear as a suspect in the disappearance of an elderly couple—perhaps by fabricating surveillance footage from the security room or leaving behind items that shouldn't be found at Hunter's residence. No matter how loudly Hunter protested his innocence, no one would believe the words of a night-shift security guard, especially not someone like him, a down-and-out figure unable to prove his own innocence.
James's fingers rhythmically tapped on the table, as if weaving an intricate web. Each tap echoed like the steps of his plan coming to fruition. His smile deepened, gradually transforming into a cold and cruel expression. He knew this was a life-and-death gamble, and he had to use every means at his disposal to win this game.
"Hunter... you worthless piece of trash, it's time you served a purpose," James murmured to himself, his voice sounding dark and chilling in the dimly lit room. The coldness seemed to seep into the surrounding air, casting an eerie atmosphere over the entire space. The glint in James's eyes flickered with fervent anticipation for the implementation of his plan and a ruthless determination against any obstacles that might arise.
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