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墨書 Inktalez
Hunter's expression gradually twisted into something grotesque, his eyes filled with a desperate and frenzied light that radiated an unsettling aura. He clutched the note that James had handed him tightly, bowing his head in reverence as if he were holding not a piece of paper, but a sacred revelation. His lips trembled incessantly, muttering to himself in a hurried and incoherent manner, as if he were chewing on some unknown secret.
His corpulent body appeared even more awkward under the lights as he slowly left the security room, his steps heavy and unsteady, as if burdened by some immense weight. The disjointed movements and his bloated appearance, combined with his constant murmuring, made him resemble a patient suffering from Down syndrome. Each step exuded an air of strangeness and sorrow that was difficult to behold.
James stood at the Security Desk, watching Hunter's comical and bizarre silhouette fade into the dimly lit corridor. A wave of intense nausea washed over him; the sight of that overweight figure, so devoid of dignity, nearly made him gag. Yet simultaneously, a surge of exhilaration and excitement bubbled up within him, overpowering the physical discomfort. Hunter was the pawn he needed—a pathetic tool destined to bring chaos and destruction to his carefully laid plans.
"He’s already hooked..." James thought to himself, suppressing a smirk as he reveled in his own delight. He watched Hunter's departing figure, envisioning everything proceeding smoothly from there on. Hunter's twisted mind would turn him into a force of chaos, and that was precisely what James required—a maniac capable of generating even more disorder. Once Hunter committed those irreparable crimes, all eyes would shift to him, allowing James to remain in the shadows while he leisurely continued with his next steps.
Taking a deep breath to quell the nauseating feelings within him, James turned and walked toward the building's elevator. His steps were light and confident, a relaxed smile gracing his lips. As the elevator doors slowly closed, he caught sight of himself in the mirrored walls; his smile grew more pronounced. An eerie tranquility enveloped the elevator, with only James’s slightly trembling shoulders betraying his inner excitement.
When the elevator reached his floor, the doors opened slowly. James stepped out into the night, which was as dark as ink; the streets lay silent and still. His strides were brisk and powerful, each step radiating confidence. He understood that this was merely the beginning—the prologue to a grander scheme. Upon returning home, he gently pushed open the door, still wearing that smile filled with boundless anticipation for what lay ahead and an overwhelming thrill for the impending madness.
"Everything is under control," James whispered to himself, fully immersed in this dark conspiracy he had meticulously orchestrated.
Just as James settled down at home to enjoy a moment of peace amidst the night’s tranquility, before he could fully relax, that crimson book—the Blood Book—suddenly began to tremble violently. He immediately sensed a dark power spreading through the air like whispers from an abyss echoing in his ears. The tremors caused items on the table to rattle slightly; the book opened on its own to reveal a desiccated human face in its center.
The dried face twisted grotesquely as its mouth opened wide, emitting a wail reminiscent of cries from deep within the abyss—filled with pain and rage. "We... need more sacrifices..." it said with a chilling urgency in its tone, as if sacrifice had become its only source of life.
James was not surprised; instead, an alluring smile crept across his face. He had begun to grasp the power of this book gradually—especially after his first successful sacrifice; he understood its true name—the Blood Book. This book was like a demon incessantly demanding Blood Sacrifice, continuously devouring lives to strengthen its connection with the Blood Moon. With each sacrifice, James felt his own power grow stronger while his inner desires and ambitions swelled.
"You... as the new hope of the Blood Moon..." The urgency in that face's voice intensified, revealing a thirst for power within it. "You must work harder... The next sacrifice must be conducted swiftly... The revival of the Blood Moon depends on you..."
James gazed at that desiccated face with an evil glint in his eyes. He understood that this process could no longer be halted. Each sacrifice would bring him closer to reaching that pinnacle he yearned for—an existence unbound by life or death, ruling over all. This book and this malevolent force echoed his darkest ambitions deep within him, calling forth destruction and control.
"I know, I certainly know," James replied in a low voice, his tone filled with cold confidence. His fingers gently caressed the Blood Book, tracing the twisted symbols and dried human skin, feeling the power pulsating in his palm. "The sacrifices will never cease, my friend. I have a grand plan that is being meticulously prepared."
His smile grew more maniacal, his eyes revealing infinite schemes and plots. "Soon, there will be a sacrifice large enough to satisfy you all—and I will become the sole master of this world."
The face within the Blood Book let out a sharp laugh, its voice deep and eerie, brimming with anticipation for the dark events to come. "We... await you..."
James stood before the desk, feeling the power from the depths of darkness swirling around him. Each word seemed to push him further into an irreversible abyss. But he was not afraid; instead, he was filled with anticipation. This was everything he had always desired, everything he was destined to achieve.
He gently closed the Blood Book and placed it back on the table, a smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. "The sacrifice will come soon," he murmured to himself, his gaze flickering with madness and endless ambition.
When Hunter returned to his dilapidated apartment, he was filled with an unusual excitement. He tightly clutched the note James had given him as he stepped into the cramped, chaotic room. Garbage bags, leftover fast food containers, and piles of clothes were strewn everywhere; the air was thick with a foul, sour odor, and even moldy debris was piled in the corners. Everything felt like a reflection of Hunter's life—chaotic and devoid of hope. Yet today, this dark and narrow room would witness an evil transformation.
Hunter sat on the floor, his heavy body compressing the mattress beneath him as he held the note that glimmered with a faint dark red light. The symbols on it were twisted and bizarre, radiating an indescribable evil power that seemed alive as it pulsed slightly. Hunter's eyes were fixed on those blasphemous symbols; the more he looked at them, the more he felt an innate connection to this knowledge—as if dark wisdom had long been embedded in his mind, waiting for an opportunity to awaken it. The incantations and terrifying curse words were not unfamiliar to him; instead, they felt oddly familiar, as if evil and destruction had already been etched into his very being, hidden within every cell of his body, waiting for this day of awakening.
"This is what I've... always been missing..." Hunter murmured to himself, his voice filled with longing and fervor.
He tore apart some old clothes in the room to clear a slightly cleaner patch of floor and laid the note flat on it. Then he rummaged through his closet for some candles he couldn't even remember buying and lit them around the room. The dim candlelight flickered in the darkness, unsteadily swaying as if it might extinguish at any moment. Hunter sat cross-legged on the floor, took a deep breath, and began to recite the incomprehensible incantations from the note.
His voice was low and trembling; his lips were taut as sounds that did not belong to him emerged from his throat—like echoes from deeper darkness. At first, those incantations were just fragmented sounds; however, over time, a strange resonance seemed to form between the symbols and his voice. Hunter's voice gradually became steadier and more fluid, as if these incantations were naturally inscribed in his memory—he could recite them without even thinking.
"Arka reth nosh... Veritas sum primus..." His tone grew increasingly passionate; his voice sharpened as the atmosphere in the room shifted—the candle flames began to flicker violently as if controlled by some invisible force. The air grew heavier, as if surrounding darkness was gradually swallowing this small room. Hunter's eyes burned with fervor; his lips twitched slightly as he was filled with an almost frenzied excitement.
The sensations brought by these incantations felt too real; that dark power had begun to respond to him—the evil aura emanating from those blasphemous symbols seemed intricately connected to his soul. Hunter trembled all over; his heart raced as he felt his blood boiling within him—every cell yearned for this gift of evil power. It was a wondrous feeling—both terrifying and empowering.
"I... I am changing..." Hunter murmured, his voice tinged with madness. He was no longer the cowardly, lowly Night Watchman; he had become something darker and more twisted. In that moment, he had completely fallen into the trap set by James, unaware of it all, instead yearning for more.
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