Infinite Hunt
Episode 4 — The Weight of Level Fourteen
The Awakening Hall reeked of blood and smoke.
Light fractured, and survivors collapsed onto the sigil chamber floor. One hundred had gone in. Twenty-seven crawled back out.
Hunters, captains, and scavengers pressed in from the gallery, shouting, jeering, clawing for answers. "What happened?" "Who died?" "Who carried the raid?"
Zenith stood in the middle of it all. His black coat dripped crimson, his pistol loose at his side. His face hadn't changed—still cold, still empty—but the HUD tag above his head blazed for all to see:
[Zenith — Level 14]
A ripple of silence carved through the crowd.
"No…" one hunter whispered. "That's impossible."
"He was level one this morning."
"Fourteen?! After one raid?"
The laughter that once chased him was gone. In its place was fear.
⸻
The Survivor's Roll
Captain Mara Kovik limped forward, helmet dented, gauntlets bloody. She raised her voice. "Roll call! Sound off!"
"Jax Rook," the cleaver brute growled, still grinning through blood.
"Iris Vell," hoarse, but alive, with Toru Graves leaning heavy on her shoulder.
"Larke Fen."
"Quen Sato."
"Nyra Vale."
Others spoke their names—Bishop Hale, Rhea Noir, stragglers who had survived through terror or cowardice. Each name etched itself into memory, binding them to the story whether they wanted it or not.
Then silence.
Too many names would never be called again.
Mara spat blood. "Seventy-three dead. Blackmouth claimed them."
The hall murmured prayers and curses. Some bowed heads. Others grinned with satisfaction—less competition meant more hunts to claim.
Zenith lit a cigarette, ignoring them all.
⸻
The Accusation
"Fourteen levels?" The voice cracked through the chamber like a whip.
A man stepped out from the throng, draped in silver armor marked with the crest of the Iron Fang Crew. His name gleamed on Zenith's HUD—Captain Drevan Cole. Level 47. A hunter captain with three hundred men under his banner.
"You expect us to believe a nameless gutter rat jumps from one to fourteen in a single raid?" Cole sneered. "You cheated the hunt. Stole credit. Fed on your allies' kills."
Murmurs rose. Some nodded. The accusation was poison, easy to swallow.
Zenith blew smoke in his face. "Or maybe I just don't miss."
Cole's hand dropped to the axe on his hip. His crew surged behind him, a wall of armored killers.
"Careful," Mara warned, voice low. "He's not lying. I saw it. Every shot was a kill."
"Impossible," Cole spat. "No gun does that. Unless—" His eyes narrowed at Zenith's pistol. "Unless it's cursed."
Gasps rippled. A cursed weapon—taboo, outlawed by PHD doctrine. Hunters were executed for less.
Cole's grin spread. "You'll be stripped, tested. If that gun's unnatural, you die."
The Test of Blood
The PHD officers moved fast. Chains snapped around Zenith's arms. His cigarette fell, crushed under a boot.
They dragged him into the center of the chamber. A great brazier flared, and the Inquisitor of Ash, a robed figure with eyes like burning coal, stepped forward. His name surfaced: Malrik Drex.
"Hunter Zenith," the Inquisitor intoned. "You stand accused of binding with a cursed weapon. Do you deny it?"
Zenith's voice was flat. "It's a gun."
Malrik's grin was all ash and teeth. "Then bleed into the flame. If your weapon drinks with you, the curse will show."
Chains yanked him down. A knife sliced his palm. Blood dripped into the brazier, hissing in the fire. The pistol sat heavy in his other hand, alive, waiting.
The hall leaned forward, breathless.
Zenith's blood sizzled—and the flame roared black.
Hunters gasped. Some recoiled. Others reached for blades. Malrik's eyes burned hotter. "Cursed!" he bellowed. "He is cursed!"
The chamber erupted.
⸻
The Break
Before the chains could tighten, Zenith whispered: "Gun."
The pistol vanished from his bound hand—and reappeared in the other.
BANG.
The chains shattered. Iron links screamed across stone.
BANG.
Malrik Drex's skull exploded in fire and bone. His body collapsed into the brazier, black flame swallowing him whole.
Silence strangled the hall. Every hunter froze.
Zenith rose slowly, smoke curling from the barrel. His eyes swept the crowd, dead and merciless.
"Anyone else?"
No one moved.
⸻
Blood Baptism
Jax Rook broke the silence with a laugh so raw it shook the walls. "By the saints, you're beautiful."
Mara didn't laugh. Her eyes narrowed, calculating. Iris Vell clenched her fists, torn between disgust and reluctant admiration. Quen Sato's drone hummed nervously. Larke Fen sighted her rifle but didn't fire. Bishop Hale slithered back into the shadows, eyes full of schemes.
Zenith's HUD blinked.
[Infamy Triggered: First Blood in the Hall]
[+2 Levels]
[Zenith — Level 16]
The chamber descended into chaos. Crews shouted, some pledging to hunt him down, others whispering that maybe he could lead. PHD officers fumbled to restore order, their authority dissolving in the blood-soaked air.
Zenith stepped over Malrik's smoldering corpse, holstered his pistol, and walked out.
No one stopped him.
The Streets
The night outside was worse. Word had spread faster than fire. Hunters lined the alleys, watching him pass. Prostitutes, gamblers, dealers—every shadow leaned forward to see the man who had broken the Inquisitor.
"Level sixteen."
"Killed Malrik with one shot."
"Gun never empties."
Rumors twisted already. His legend grew, whether he wanted it or not.
Zenith ignored them. He walked until the city thinned, until the clubs and bars gave way to silence. He lit another cigarette, staring at the skyline of towers and rusted neon.
He had no crew. No empire. No allies.
But he had levels.
And he had a gun.
⸻
Epilogue: The Hunt Never Sleeps
Far away, in a tower of glass and steel, a council of hunter-captains convened. Holo-screens flickered with Zenith's image, replaying his execution of Malrik Drex.
Captain Drevan Cole leaned back, teeth glinting. "He thinks himself untouchable. Let him climb. The higher he goes, the harder he falls."
Another voice whispered from the shadows: Elandra Vey, Level 92. Her eyes gleamed like knives. "Or we cut him down before the fall."
The council agreed.
Zenith was no longer a nameless hunter.
He was a problem.