Hunter Hunted

11 pm, somewhere in the slums...

In a dimly lit room, a group of men sat around a table, their voices low and tense. Suddenly, one of the men, his face flushed with frustration, stood up and slammed his fist on the table.

"We can't tolerate this any longer, boss!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the silence. "This bastard is wiping out all our clients!" he yelled as he paced around nervously.

Another man then asked in a somber tone, "And the group we sent to handle him today—what happened?"

The pacing man came to a halt, his face grim. "They're all dead. This guy is roaming the slums, killing anyone he comes across. He's a complete lunatic!"

The leader of the group, his expression steely, leaned forward. "Do we know who this guy is?"

The pacing man shook his head, frustration evident in his posture. "We don't have an identity, but we do know what he looks like. More importantly, though… I think he might be an incarnation. One of the survivors said they managed to stab him, but he just kept going like nothing had happened."

The leader's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "An incarnation? Are you certain?"

The pacing man nodded, his face etched with concern. "That's why we can't handle him alone, boss. We might need your help."

The leader considered this for a moment, his expression thoughtful but serious. "Alright, my brother and I will take care of it. You all are dismissed."

The men murmured their thanks and exited the room.

Once the door closed behind them, the leader leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. "A lunatic who can kill dozens of men? It sounds like an incarnation... No, rather than an incarnation, it is likely an incarnation who failed to absorb a celestial shard... A fallen." With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he added, "This could be a significant opportunity... If we can get our hands on his celestial shard, we could have a third incarnation in our gang!"

"As for the risks...since there even were survivors, he can't be higher than rank 8...yeah, this is doable..." He broke into a low, conspiratorial chuckle, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

.

.

.

Richard had his men gathered quickly after that. It wouldn't do them good to dwindle and let the Fallen ravage more of their territory, lest the other small-time gangs got any ideas. 

Obviously, all Richard's men were a bunch of scrawny and fearful wretches, but they knew better than to ask to be left out. They knew Richard didn't share his scraps with the lazy.

Armed with metal pipes and rusty knives, they weren't an impressive bunch, but the drugs in their bloodstream would make them savage meat shields, at least.

Some of them might die, but it was a sacrifice Richard was willing to make as low Celestial Shards, while not priceless, were damn well expensive enough to pay for them with blood.

'Not mine or Sam's, though.' thought Richard as he glanced at his brother, standing by his side with a determined expression on his face while clutching the only handgun they had tightly in his hands.

'Good' thought Richard as he signaled his men to start moving, keeping his senses sharp for any noise that might warn him of an attack.

Richard was wary but not worried as they patrolled the streets where the Fallen had been seen. After all, he was a rank 8 on the Fire Hunter Path. His body, while not bulletproof, was as tough as concrete, and his reflexes were faster than a cat, without even mentioning the supernatural aspects of the powers he gained as an incarnation.

As someone born in the slums, he considered himself beyond fortunate to have managed to reach so far in life, but this didn't mean he was satisfied. There were always opportunities to be grasped for those willing to stretch their hands.

Slowly, they reached one of the narrower streets—corpses everywhere. Richard was used to this sight, but even he flinched back from the smell alone.

It was as if whoever did this did his best to paint the walls crimson.

"Fucking hell, Richie...there are chances this is a rank 8 fallen," Whispered Sam from behind him, but a stern look silenced him. 

Richard could see that his men's morale was low already. Revealing to them that the monster they were after might not be an incarnation of the lowest level, rank 9, would do nothing to help their situation. "Spread out," he commanded, and with trembling legs, the men did as ordered, at least for now. 

"It can't be a rank 8, that's for sure," said Richard, in a much more reassuring tone than he used with his subordinates.

"If it was a rampaging rank 8 or 7 fallen, the Orders or Churches would be swarming this place, but they aren't."

Samuel nodded his head, his shoulders growing a bit less tense at his brother's words. One couldn't argue against facts after all. He glanced around at the aftermath of the chaos, trying to piece together what had happened.

"Still, though, it's creepy how silent it is. From what you told me, the Fallen are usually raving mad, screaming, and howling for the world to hear" Sam mumbled as he put his gun in its holster and lit up a cigarette. 

Richard, though, had a deep frown on his face. What his brother said was true. He didn't claim to be an expert in the supernatural, but all the fallen he had ever seen or heard about were louder than a bull in a china shop.

"Sam, get the boys back here. Something doesn't feel right," Richard said, his voice low and urgent.

"..."

"Sam, stop joking around and call the boys back—Sam?"

Richard's plea turned into a gasp of horror as he watched his brother.

Samuel was a rank 9 incarnation of the same pathway as Richard's, with strength, resilience and speed that would make a full-grown mortal man look like a sickly grandpa in comparison. The scene in front of him... shouldn't have been possible.

Sam's head had been pierced by what seemed to be claws, the cigarette still fuming in his mouth. His face was frozen in a look of sheer terror as his body collapsed to the ground.

Richard's breath caught in his throat as he saw what was behind Sam.

It defied all logic and reason. The creature standing there was humanoid in shape but grotesquely alien. Its eyes, if they could be called that, were blank and featureless, like polished silver coins; more importantly, they were staring with an unsettling intensity at the cigarette that now dropped from Sam's dead mouth.

Its body was a bizarre mix of strong muscles and exposed bones, with one leg just a skeletal frame barely holding it up. Its skin was jet black, marred by deep cracks that looked like they had been scorched by fire.

The creature took a step forward, its eyes never leaving the cigarette, and then another, and another until it stomped on the cigarette and ground it into the pavement.

Its claws were still dripping with Sam's blood and were sharp and wicked-looking. The man, or the thing that killed Sam, looked like a nightmare made flesh.

Richard didn't know how it managed to ambush them, but he didn't care. With a howl of rage, his fists lit ablaze as he charged at the monster, his only thought being revenge for his brother's death.

He threw a powerful punch at the monster, his fist whistling through the air like a bullet from a gun.

But his punch hit nothing but air as the monster dodged his attack. Richard's eyes hardened even more as he realized how fast the monster was.

Richard fought to ignore the tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. Each tear felt heavy with his deep grief as if his sorrow might overwhelm him completely. He stared at Sam, his brother lying still and lifeless, the light gone from his eyes.

The world around him seemed to blur, but Richard forced himself to look away. With anger burning in his fists and a storm of rage and sadness in his heart, he charged at the monster.