Indescribable horror. No words could capture what a person feels upon seeing them.
A formless something—a shadow stripped of shape. No one could explain their origin. Legends whispered: "When they appear, the world will never be the same." Yet other prophecies spoke differently: "The Inspector will come when the end is inevitable."
Hunting the Monster
Gray was breathing heavily. The blood pounded in his temples, a relentless reminder of his mortality.
The abomination before him snarled viciously. Viscous green drool dripped from its jagged teeth, slowly splattering onto the ground. The creature's maw stretched unnaturally wide, and its long claws gouged deep furrows into the earth. The monster's body was massive, yet absurdly perched on chicken-like legs. Its maddened gaze could drive a man insane—but Gray stared straight into its eyes. The very air around it seemed to resist its existence, as if the beast was draining life from everything nearby. A suffocating, foul stench emanated from it. But Gray wasn't the type to be shaken by such things.
"Looks like this is your end," said the monster hunter. Gray bared his teeth in a grin, as if mocking the pitiful creature before him. A shiver ran down his spine—he felt a familiar vibration, a warmth spreading softly through his body. The hunter shifted his blade to the side—it began to grow, shimmering with an almost imperceptible glow. The metal of the weapon hummed, hungry for flesh. The space around Gray wavered, as if distorted by scorching flames.
The creature took a few steps back. Was it preparing to lunge, or had it actually felt fear? There would be no answer from it.
The beast charged…
First strike.
A black, blood-like ooze seeped from the creature's side.
Second strike.
A limb flew off. Blood sprayed in a bright arc.
Third strike.
The monster's head separated from its body and rolled to the hunter's feet. The monstrous gleam in its eyes could still terrify.
"Finally dead, you freak?"
The headless body suddenly twitched. With a sickening gurgle, it lunged at Gray. He leaped back but was splattered with the black sludge.
"What the hell?! How?!"
But Gray knew—even creatures like this had a weak spot. The heart.
The hunter drove his blade between the ribs, straight into the monster's heart. The beast convulsed in agony, then went still.
Grayar looked like a tall young man, though one who had already seen his share of horrors. His scars spoke of past battles with similar creatures. His hair tousled in the wind, and his gaze—sad yet resolute—stared into the distance.
"Strange monster… Killed one just like it four days ago… They weren't around before."
The landscape evoked a constant sense of threat. Gnarled, barely recognizable trees twisted unnaturally. The air stank of rot, and scattered debris littered the ground. A hazy mist clung to everything.
"No injuries this time," Gray thought. "My skills are improving. But it's still not enough. Far from enough. What is this thing compared to the horror I've already faced?"
He cut off a piece of the monster's flesh as proof of the completed contract. However, he noticed a strange symbol on its skin—a crossed-out circle.
"I see. So they're being created… Ah, whatever. They'll never make something stronger than the Administrator."
Gray headed to the village where he had taken the job. He entered a hut that felt like it could collapse at any moment—only a few hastily nailed boards kept the structure standing.
The musty stench of mold hit him as he closed the flimsy door behind him. Rotting floorboards, holes in the ceiling leaking rainwater—such was life in this place.
"Mission complete," the hunter said, tossing the bloody chunk onto the cracked table in front of the elder. "Now—the coins."
The old man recoiled from the flesh, eyeing it warily and muttering a prayer under his breath.
"Ah, yes… Here." His voice was hoarse as he extended a trembling hand, offering a handful of crudely carved square coins—primitive currency of these times. There was no joy in his eyes at being freed from the monster—only fear. Tattered rags barely resembling clothes hung from his shoulders.
"Forgive me, but this is all we have. The master of these lands… has taxed us heavily," the elder said, ashamed.
Gray wanted to demand more, but the old man's pitiful state stopped him.
"This'll last me a while. People here live in poverty…"
"So, a territorial lord… Typical for these lands. Best not to cross them for now."
Gray found a secluded spot with a good vantage point—no one could sneak up on him here. He gathered scattered branches, chopped firewood, and lit a campfire. Time to check his gear.
Among the things he carried were:
- A machete-like blade, scarred by countless battles.
- Vials of potions.
- Throwing knives and small bombs.
- Monster trophies that could be sold for profit.
"I need to get stronger. These pathetic creatures are nothing compared to the Administrator. Fighting monsters alone won't make me strong enough."
The warmth of the fire soothed him. The smell of roasting meat stirred his appetite.
"Food first…"
After some time, he prepared to sleep. But memories of his home village flooded his mind.