Smoke: The Limitless Hunt
Episode 1 – The First Kill
The city had no sky anymore. Just a choking haze of neon lights, smoke, and screams. Buildings rose like broken teeth into the night, hollow towers filled with immortals who could no longer die but lived only to rot, to bleed, to drink, to fuck, and to fight.
Immortality was supposed to be a blessing. But when every wound healed, when every overdose ended with coughing laughter, when every slit throat sealed back together, life became an endless carnival of cruelty. The gods turned their gaze away, disgusted at what their creations had become.
That's when they made me.
I didn't wake in a cradle or a bed. I woke on cracked pavement slick with blood and rain, a body of black steel smoke shifting like molten shadow. My skin was alive, flexing, rippling, tough enough to turn blades and bullets yet fragile in its infancy. I had no arms—only coiling smoke that erupted into claws, spikes, or tendrils when I willed it.
A hood formed around my head, a cloak stitched from the same liquid steel as my flesh. Long black hair flowed down, merging with the smoke. My face was half-hidden behind a fused demonic mask that whispered with every breath. I looked into the broken glass of a store window and saw my reflection: not human, not demon, not god.
Just Smoke.
And in the silence of my awakening, I heard their voices—the gods who created me.
"You are the end."
"The last executioner."
"They cannot die… but through you, they will."
I clenched the smoke around me tighter. Weak. Slow. Barely able to stand. Level 1. But my purpose burned.
The Mission
The words carved themselves into my mind like fire.
Mission: Kill the Vampire Warlord Veyrix. Reward: +1 Level (Permanent).
Every being in every world followed the law: complete a mission, earn a level. Fight an enemy, win a level. Progress forever. Evolve without end. But unlike the others, my kills would not just grant me power—they would bring final death.
I staggered down the ruined streets. Around me, immortals brawled for fun, stabbing one another through the gut only to laugh as the wounds closed. Prostitutes leaned in alleys, their hollow eyes glowing faint under neon, trading lust for drugs that could never kill them. A gang shot up a tavern for sport, and the victims stood back up seconds later, cursing but grinning, broken jaws resetting with cracks.
They all looked at me when I passed. Something in my aura made their skin crawl. For the first time in centuries, they felt fear.
The vampire's fortress loomed ahead: a nightclub carved into a cathedral. Music thundered, lights burned crimson, and outside, thralls lined the gates, feeding their master's empire with blood that never ran dry.
The Warlord
I stepped into the club. Heat slammed me, thick with sweat and rot. Dozens of immortals danced, fought, fucked, and drank under the crimson strobe. At the center throne sat Veyrix, the vampire warlord, draped in leather and chains, eyes burning crimson. He grinned, sharp teeth glistening as blood trickled down his chin.
"You smell different," he said, voice echoing across the hall. "New meat. Haven't seen you before. You here to serve, or just bleed for me?"
I said nothing.
Smoke coiled around me, my hood dripping shadow, my demonic mask grinning in silence.
The crowd laughed, jeering, shouting for my blood. Veyrix chuckled, baring his fangs. "Ah, silent type. You'll learn. Pain doesn't matter here. We're all—"
I struck.
A smoke-steel spike erupted from my body, stabbing through his chest. Gasps filled the air. But Veyrix only laughed, pulling it out, the wound sealing instantly. "Fool," he hissed. "We're all immortal. You can't kill what can't die."
I didn't move. I let the smoke boil hotter, darker. Behind me, a howl erupted—a hellhound, molten-black, bones of steel and a body of smoke, dragging chains of fire. My permanent weapon, born from my soul.
The beast lunged, tearing into Veyrix's side. He cursed, throwing it back, but I was already there, teleporting in a flicker of smoke, spikes shredding through his body.
Still, he laughed. Still, he healed.
Until I willed it.
The First Kill
I gripped him with smoke tendrils, spikes impaling him from every direction, my hellhound ripping his throat apart. His laughter turned to screams. He clawed at me, eyes wide, realizing something was wrong. His wounds weren't closing. His body wasn't healing.
"No…" he whispered. "That's… impossible…"
I leaned close, the mask hissing smoke into his ear.
"Not for me."
And then I crushed him.
His soul ripped free, a glowing scream swallowed by my smoke, devoured into nothingness. His body disintegrated, leaving only ash on the throne.
Silence.
For the first time in eternity, someone had truly died.
⸻
The World Changes
The crowd froze. Terror spread like wildfire. Immortals who had spent centuries laughing at death now stumbled back in horror. Some cried. Some begged. Others fled the club, screaming through the streets.
I stood over the ashes. My cloak rippled, my hellhound growled, larger than before. Stronger. Evolved.
[Level Up: 2]
The smoke inside me hardened, my body faster, sharper. The black steel skin shifted, cracking and reforging into denser plates, glowing faint with molten veins.
The gods whispered again.
"Good. The first kill."
"The hunt begins."
The Streets Tremble
I left the club in silence. Outside, mobs of immortals gathered, staring, trembling. They whispered the word like a curse:
"Smoke…"
The one who could kill permanently.
And with every step I took, more eyes followed. Hunters, demons, vampires, witches—every being felt it. Fear. Rage. Curiosity.
Because I wasn't just another player in this infinite game.
I was the end.
⸻
Closing Scene
On a rooftop overlooking the city, I stood with my cloak flowing, my hellhound sitting at my side, smoke spikes twitching in the wind.
Below, immortals rioted in panic, some hiding, others plotting, many already swearing vengeance. Rival Hunters marked my name. Gods watched from above.
The first mission was complete. The first permanent death delivered.
And for the first time in endless centuries, the universe had something it had lost.
Fear.