Yes, I know—it's a lot to take in. But this is the world we live in.
I have a specific role in this game. So do the others.
I needed to get to them first to set things in motion. Getting their interest, though—that takes patience. But when the perfect moment comes, you seize it.
The day had been long—dealing with Elis in the morning and Andrea at night.
Two forces. Two kinds of storms.
Elis, the Kitsune, was chaos wrapped in charm. Andrea, ever the banshee, radiated cold calculation.
Both exhausting.
But rewarding.
Banshee or not, Andrea is just another woman with secrets of her own and people to protect.
I smirked to myself. Banshee Andrea—so rigid in her routines. Predictable.
Elis? He was different. A puzzle I didn't mind solving.
He's just a Kitsune like the rest of his kind—loyal to his savior. Me.
Didn't I call it? People—painfully predictable.
The Elimination Company's motto echoed in my mind:
Low crime doesn't mean no crime.
In a city where mortals and magical beings coexisted uneasily, the Company had pushed back the tide—but danger never vanished.
Not here. Not in Sommerville.
Not in the fog-drenched streets where secrets linger like stains.
It was deep in the dead of night. Sommerville lay hushed.
The elders had retreated behind bolted doors, windows dimmed.
Only the young still roamed—chasing errands, chasing highs, chasing shadows.
The city's illusion of safety? A crafted lie.
And I, a creature of truth.
As for what I'm really after—well, that's the game, isn't it?
Where's the fun if secrets are too easily revealed? You'd take them for granted.
Not to worry though. Everything will be known in due time. Be patient.
But dinner? No. That couldn't wait.
I lingered beneath a flickering streetlamp, fog curling around my legs like an affectionate ghost.
My senses flared.
The night sharpened them—amplified every sound, every heartbeat, every scent.
I hadn't fed in far too long. The hunger slithered through me, coiling tight.
I never apologize for what I am. Some call it gruesome.
I call it survival.
What irks me is that I'm a picky eater.
Only the finest will do.
A teenager passed by—face glued to his phone, music leaking from his pocket like spilled neon.
He moved with that careless arrogance only youth can wear.
Tempting. But not my type.
I don't prey on the innocent—unless they stray too far.
My father once told me:
The thrill isn't in the kill—it's in the chase.
And I've always liked the chase.
Then something shifted in the fog.
A silhouette emerged.
Red hair glinting faintly, eyes glowing with hunger.
"Hello, little boy," she purred.
Her voice was silk soaked in sin, her every step a threat wrapped in beauty.
Her fangs gleamed—blood-soaked pearls.
A vampire.
Delightful.
The boy froze.
Wide-eyed. Breath ragged.
He turned to flee, but she was faster—claws slashing through the air with deadly grace.
And then—
A sound.
An eerie, calm voice in the misty night.
"You should have run."
The mist surged, obeying my voice.
It whipped around her throat, lifting her into the air like a phantom noose.
Her claws flailed. Futile.
The boy stumbled, paralyzed by terror, legs trembling like a newborn deer.
Instinct kicked in. Too slow.
"N-no… you're the boogeyman," he gasped.
I chuckled—low and cruel. "Yes, little boy," I growled.
"Next time, stay out of my territory."
He ran, horror and relief twisting his face. I let him go.
He wasn't a meal. He was a lure.
A spark to draw something darker.
Let the legends grow.
Fear is more useful than blood.
I turned to the vampire.
Her eyes seethed with hatred. Her body fought against the mist's grip.
"What do you want?" she hissed, venom in every syllable.
I slammed her into the ground, the breath knocked from her chest.
Still fighting. Good.
That made her taste richer.
"You're not real," she whispered.
I crouched, grey eyes locking with hers. "Oh, but I am. And if you've heard the stories, you already know—"
I smiled.
"I am the boogeyman."
She shrieked.
Goosebumps prickled across her skin.
But it was already too late.
I pressed my polished shoe against her throat.
Her face ground into the wet earth, hair tangled with dew and soil.
"Gac-Can-Nah… No… it can't be," she choked.
"Sweet vampire," I cooed, trailing a finger down her cheek, "so you do know me."
Her lips trembled.
"Please… don't," she begged.
"Sometimes," I whispered, "the mosquito flies into the spider's web. And the more it struggles…"
I leaned closer, breath brushing her ear,
"…the more delicious it becomes."
The mist coiled tighter. Her breathing hitched. Her pulse flickered like a dying star.
I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. Cold. Final.
She gasped a final breath, a whisper on her lips.
"Virenzo… avenge me…"
Virenzo.
Now that was a name I hadn't heard in a long, long time.
I smirked.
Her light died.
My laughter echoed into the fog—low, satisfied, cruel.
I released her. Her body crumpled.
Soot.
That's all she became.
Weightless. Nameless.
Fading in the wind like a memory no one dares to recall.
I drank in the aftermath—her fear, her essence, her darkness.
It filled me. Like wine.
Bitter. Rich. Old.
She was gone.
Another shadow devoured by the streets.
The strong devour. The weak dissolve.
I stepped back, letting the city stretch before me like a chessboard.
Every alley a secret.
Every soul a piece.
It's not just about strength.
It's about control.
And this city—this fog-draped world—is mine.
You might wonder—if I can so easily hunt, why bother letting a banshee hand me names?
Simple.
If a banshee wants you removed, you're either a terror to this city…
or you've slipped through the cracks of the law.
That makes you interesting.
You could be my next meal.
Or someone worth striking a deal with.
Or… someone capable of shaking the status quo—
—which I detest, by the way.
I've manicured this world for too long to let someone like that unravel it.
And then… there are the players.
The best reason of all.
Beings like Elis. Like Andrea.
Perhaps… even like me.
The vampire wasn't a player.
But she wasn't innocent either.
She lost that privilege when she crossed me.
Consuming her—mind, soul, and shadow—was a rare pleasure.
Dark. Delicious. Final.
Let the city whisper my name in fear.
Let the myths twist and grow.
Because I'm not just watching the game.
I'm playing it.
And I never lose.