The clock struck midnight when John awoke. It wasn't a normal awakening; it was more like an emergence. The first thing that registered in his consciousness was a faint metallic taste on his tongue and a strong, unmistakable scent to a hunter: the smell of blood. He slowly opened his eyes to find himself kneeling in a dark alley, wet with cold night dew, surrounded by dancing shadows. His hands were stained black, and when he raised them to wipe his eyes, he saw what he realized was nothing but blood.
He looked around, trying to gather his scattered consciousness that was dissipating like smoke. Bodies lay here and there—three burly men in thick leather armor, their swords still sheathed. Their faces were disfigured in ways no ordinary human hand could accomplish. One had his neck twisted at an impossible angle, and another's chest was caved in like an old wooden bridge.
"What happened?" John whispered, but his voice came out hoarse, alien to him. He felt a strange power coursing through his veins, as if every muscle in his body had doubled in strength. Yet, he remembered nothing. No fighting, no screams, no clash of swords. Just a dark void swallowing the hours of the night.
This wasn't the first time. For months, these mysterious transformations had begun. Every night, he would wake up to find himself at a crime scene, the culprits brutally dead. The city began to whisper about "the Night Killer" or "the Hunter of Criminals." The Royal Police were baffled, and the Royal Guard increased their patrols, but no one saw anything but the horrific results of an unseen entity's actions.
John brushed the dust of the alley off himself and used the darkness to return to his noble palace. He sneaked through the back gates, avoiding the guards, and ascended to his room with deadly silence. He stripped off his stained clothes, throwing them into a secret wooden chest, then entered the bathtub, scrubbing his body vigorously as if trying to wash away not just the blood, but the sins as well.
"This must stop!" he muttered to himself, looking at the reflection of his weary eyes in the water. His eyes, usually a warm hazel, appeared darker, as if shadows had settled deep within them.
The next morning, John was dressed in elegant clothes, trying to appear like an ordinary young nobleman, preparing for his day at the Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences. This was not easy. Beneath layers of politeness and learning, there was a bitter internal struggle. How could he coexist with the beast that dwelled within him? And how could he protect himself from exposure, especially as the "Hunter of Criminals'" crimes were increasingly agitating the Royal Court?
John arrived at the Academy, where the halls buzzed with noble students, each seeking glory or power. He met his close friend, Liam, heir to one of the great merchant families, known for his sharp intellect and passion for ancient history.
"Heard the news?" Liam said, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Three more bodies found in the Lower Quarter. They say they were from the notorious 'Black Lions' gang. The Night Killer is getting bolder."
John felt a pang in his stomach. "Really? Who could it be?" he asked with feigned indifference.
Liam smiled bitterly. "The Royal Guard is on high alert. Even the Knight of Light, Commander Aidan, has declared he will track down this mysterious entity. It's said the King himself is worried. But what interests me is the method of killing. It's not just random acts of violence; it's more like a purge."
"A purge?" John repeated the word, the hair standing up on his arms.
"Yes," Liam nodded. "As if there's a higher power deciding who deserves to die. I recall reading in some ancient texts about 'the Punishment of Shadows' that befell those who committed great atrocities, but that's just a myth, isn't it?"
Liam's words resonated in John's mind. "Punishment of Shadows." Could there be a connection? Was what was happening to him not a random curse, but a form of ancient justice? John couldn't dismiss the idea; instead, he found himself starting to search for these "ancient texts" in the Academy's vast library.
At that moment, Baron Vitus entered the study hall. He was one of the most powerful nobles at court and a member of the Royal Council. His wide smile concealed a shrewd and cold gaze. His eyes met John's for a moment; the Baron offered a slight smile, but John felt a shiver run down his spine. There was an uncomfortable aura surrounding the Baron, as if darkness followed his footsteps. Baron Vitus was known for his boundless ambition and his devilish cunning in political maneuvering.
Liam whispered beside John, "Be careful of Baron Vitus, John. He's an old fox, and whispers say he finds advantage in every chaos that occurs."
John looked at the Baron and felt that something was wrong. The recent crimes that had shaken the Royal Court had paved the way for Baron Vitus to consolidate his influence. Could he be the "inciter"? Was he exploiting this terror?
John began to feel that there were hidden threads connecting him to the escalating chaos in the kingdom. He realized that his survival in this court depended not only on his intelligence during the day but on his understanding and control of the dark entity that dwelled within him at night.
Deep Research