The night was cold. The moon hung high like a broken lantern in the ink-black sky, flickering between fast-moving clouds. Kikidori walked down the empty streets, his hood pulled up over his head, shadowing his dead eyes. The wind blew softly, carrying the smell of wet asphalt and old cigarettes. Every streetlamp he passed flickered for a moment as if the darkness within him was enough to make electricity falter.
His hands were buried in his pockets as he walked, each step slow, careful, silent. His mind was quiet tonight – no screaming memories, no crying voices of his parents, no blood dripping down his forehead in hallucinations. Tonight, his mind was focused on the hunt. Because that's what he was – a hunter. A predator lurking in the shadows, preying on those who deserved to suffer. Or at least… that's what he told himself to make it feel righteous.
As he walked past a flickering neon sign, his dark eyes landed on a small bar tucked between a ramen shop and an abandoned convenience store. The sign buzzed weakly, reading "Kuro's Bar – Best Drinks in Town." Kikidori stopped walking, his gaze locked on the cracked glass door. The red and blue neon lights reflected in his eyes like demonic flames.
"That's the one…" he whispered to himself, his voice devoid of any emotion.
He pushed open the door, and the strong smell of cheap alcohol and old smoke hit him instantly. The bar was small, dark, and nearly empty. A single old man sat at the counter, hunched over a glass of whiskey, his balding head shining under the dim yellow light. The bartender, a young woman with messy brown hair and a cigarette hanging from her lips, was scrolling through her phone lazily.
Kikidori walked up to the counter and sat down beside the old man. The man glanced at him with bleary eyes, his face red and sagging, his shirt stained with sauce and alcohol. Kikidori tilted his head slightly, staring at him with his lifeless dark eyes.
"Want me to buy you a drink?" Kikidori asked, his voice calm, flat, almost hypnotic.
The man's face broke into a sloppy grin, showing yellow crooked teeth. "Heh… sure, kid… buy me somethin' strong… make my night better…"
Kikidori raised his hand to the bartender. "Two drinks," he said quietly.
The bartender looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. "You got an ID, kid? You look eighteen."
"I'm not buying for myself," Kikidori replied, gesturing to the man beside him. "I'm buying for him."
The bartender blinked, shrugged, and turned to the bottles behind her. Dumbass, Kikidori thought silently, his expression unchanging. She poured two glasses of whiskey and slid them over to him. Kikidori picked them up carefully, turning to the old man.
"Here," he said, placing both glasses in front of him.
The man's eyes lit up greedily. He grabbed one glass and downed it in a single gulp, then immediately grabbed the second and drank it just as fast. The smell of alcohol was so strong Kikidori almost gagged, but his face remained a cold, empty mask.
"Come with me," he said softly, standing up from his stool.
The man frowned slightly, confused. "Huh…? Where we goin' kid…?"
"Outside. Fresh air," Kikidori said. His voice was so calm, so still, that the drunk man didn't even question it. He simply stood up, stumbling slightly, and followed Kikidori out of the bar. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, replacing it with the crisp cold night air.
They walked down the street, the man stumbling beside him, humming a drunken tune under his breath. Cars zoomed past them on the road, their headlights cutting through the darkness like blades of light. Kikidori kept walking until they reached the busy intersection near the station. The traffic light was red, cars speeding by in both directions.
Kikidori turned to the man and tilted his head slightly, his bangs falling away from his face to reveal his dead, black eyes. "Come on," he said softly. Then he stepped off the sidewalk, dragging the man with him.
"Wha… wait… kid… the light's red…!" the man slurred, his eyes widening as he tried to pull back.
But Kikidori's grip was like iron. He kept walking, forcing the man forward. The street was alive with rushing cars, honking horns, blinding headlights. Then –
BAM.
A bus smashed into the man at full speed, sending his body flying across the road like a ragdoll. Blood splattered across the asphalt, painting the road red under the glowing streetlights. The bus screeched to a halt, tires screaming against the wet ground. People screamed. Cars stopped. Horns blared. The smell of burnt rubber and fresh blood filled the cold night air.
Kikidori stood perfectly still in the middle of the road, the wind blowing his hair back from his face, revealing his calm, empty expression. The bus had missed him by mere inches. He turned his head to look at the man's twisted body lying on the pavement, blood pooling around him like a dark halo.
"Stay sober," Kikidori whispered, his voice so soft no one could hear it over the chaos.
People screamed and ran to the scene. Drivers jumped out of their cars, phones out, yelling for an ambulance. But Kikidori didn't care. He simply turned and walked away, stepping over the blood as if it were a puddle of rainwater. His footsteps were silent, disappearing into the dark alleyway as the sound of sirens began to echo through the night.
Because tonight… was only the beginning.
The End of Chapter 3
Fun Fact: Kikidori draws his crosses every morning with permanent marker so he doesn't have to redraw them after his nightly hunts.