Infinite Hunt
Episode 1 — The Birthday Gun
The house was silent.
Not the kind of silence that was peaceful—but the kind that made bones ache. Cracks spread through the wooden ceiling above, leaking the sound of dripping water into metal pans left on the floor. Dust choked the air. The smell of mildew clung to the walls like rot.
Zenith sat at the edge of his bed, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily around his pale face. His eyes were hollow, the color of ash—dead eyes that never blinked with life. In his other hand, he turned over a faded badge. The symbol of the Hunters' Guild, the only thing left of his mother.
She had worn it until the day she was ripped apart.
He was ten when it happened. He remembered the blood. The sound of her screaming. The way supernatural fangs tore through her ribs as if her body were nothing but paper. She had died not as a hero, not as a legend—but as a mother trying to scrape together a thousand bucks to feed her son.
That day, Zenith had stopped believing in mercy.
Now, twenty years later, he was thirty. The age every human was forced to awaken. The age where the world demanded you step into the Infinite Hunt.
And he was ready.
⸻
The Awakening Ceremony
The chamber was cold stone, lit by torches that spat with black flame. Rows of hunters stood, armored and armed, their faces sneering as Zenith entered. He wore no colors, no armor, no crest of a crew. Just a torn black coat and a cigarette hanging from his lips.
Whispers followed him like flies.
"That him? The gutter rat with no crew?"
"He's not gonna last a single hunt."
"What kind of fool awakens at thirty with nothing to his name?"
Zenith ignored them. His boots echoed as he stepped toward the Sigil of Blood, a massive slab carved with runes older than the first hunters. He pressed his palm against it.
The world shifted. A scream rattled in his skull. Light burst through his veins, burning every nerve in his body.
When the pain finally stopped, something heavy was in his hand.
He opened his eyes.
A pistol.
Plain. Black. Ordinary.
The chamber erupted in laughter.
"Pathetic!"
"Not even a blade?!"
"Level one trash with a toy gun!"
Zenith didn't laugh. He didn't even blink. He lifted the pistol, studied the barrel, then whispered:
"Gun."
The weapon vanished in smoke. A second later, it reformed in his palm. A soft hum throbbed through his veins. He understood instantly—this weapon could never be taken from him. No matter the distance, no matter the destruction, it would always return.
What no one else could know was its true secret: unlimited bullets.
The Hunt HUD
A glowing interface split across his vision, sharp red text hovering before his eyes.
[Welcome, Hunter.]
[Options Available:]
• Random Hunt with 5 Hunters.
• Random Hunt with 99 Hunters.
He smirked.
"Hundred."
The word left his mouth like a gunshot. Light consumed him.
⸻
The Dungeon Drop
He landed hard, boots scraping across cracked asphalt. The air was thick with smoke. Around him, skyscrapers lay gutted, streets broken and drowned in gore. The city was a corpse.
Then the others arrived. Ninety-nine hunters, each armored in steel, carrying blades, rifles, spears crackling with magic. Crews shouted, forming ranks, police officers barking commands.
And there was Zenith—standing alone, cigarette still dangling from his mouth, a pistol at his side.
Mockery followed instantly.
"Don't slow us down, trash."
"You'll be demon food before the hour's up."
"Stay out of the way."
Zenith just exhaled smoke.
The first screech tore the sky apart.
⸻
The First Blood
The beasts descended like locusts. Twisted bodies dripping acid, wings of torn flesh, eyes glowing hunger. One slammed into the nearest hunter, tearing his arm off in a spray of gore. His scream ended when its jaws closed on his head, cracking bone like glass.
Blood painted the ruins red.
Hunters rushed in, weapons flashing, magic roaring. Demons shredded them apart just as quickly—guts spilled into the street, limbs flung into shattered windows, heads bouncing on cracked pavement.
And Zenith?
He lit another cigarette. Raised his pistol.
BANG.
One shot. A demon's skull exploded, showering hunters in brain matter.
[Level Up: 2.]
[Skill Unlocked: Reloadless.]
He smirked. Fired again.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Every bullet clean, merciless, perfect. Skulls burst like melons. Wings ripped. Torsos caved. His pistol barked without pause, never reloading, never jamming. A monster leapt at him—he shot it midair, its body detonating into meat.
Other hunters froze.
"What the—he hasn't reloaded once!"
"That's impossible!"
Zenith said nothing. His dead eyes scanned the battlefield as he kept firing. Calm. Cold. Detached. Demons screamed and fell. Hunters bled and begged. Zenith smoked and shot.
⸻
The Rooftop
An hour passed. Thirty hunters were gone. Their corpses littered the streets, twisted in death, bones jutting, eyes wide with terror.
Zenith stood on a rooftop above it all. His pistol smoked in his hand. His cigarette burned low.
Below him, the hunt raged on—crews screaming, demons feasting, blood flooding the gutters.
The HUD flashed again.
[Remaining Hunters: 69.]
[Zenith — Level 2.]
He took a long drag of his cigarette, his lips curling into the faintest grin.
"Guess I'll take everything."
The screen bled red. Episode one ended in fire and screams.