That night, in an abandoned factory, over a dozen bodies were added.
No witnesses, no surveillance.
The victims died horribly, their bodies chopped up into more than a dozen pieces by sharp blades, impossible to assemble into a complete corpse.
Nothing seemed to be missing from the factory, so it was more likely categorized as a vendetta killing.
Given the nature of the victims' work and numerous enemies, the perpetrator couldn't be immediately identified and the investigation would have to proceed slowly.
But at this moment, the real culprit, wearing a hood, stood at the pinnacle of a high-rise, overlooking everything below.
"This... is power!"
"The power of Parchment!"
He licked his lips, having lost interest in the game.
If reality is more interesting than a game, who would still enter the game?
Remembering last night.
The craving for blood amidst the killing.
The pleasure of tearing limbs apart was irresistibly addictive.
