Redpines Town was a small rural community. In a world with the human population declining, fewer than a thousand people remained here before the invasion.
The refugee camp held somewhere around 60 to 100 survivors, and from this gathering, it didn't appear that there were 900 anomalies present — more like a hundred or two at most.
Where had the rest of the population gone? Some were certainly dead, but the mass gathering seemed far too little for this town.
The hunter surveyed the number of anomalies methodically, running a rough estimate in his mind based on the information he had.
It would be stupid to just start assaulting them head-on, there's still the threat of the anomaly who can twist limbs.
From his vantage point on the tower's upper floor, he could see the bishop clearly, even its blood-soaked robes stood out against the congregation.
That bishop… is it the one responsible for it?"
Ray was considering every option he could think of, yet the bishop continued the mass using an unknown language — the anomalies in attendance were listening intently, and some were even crying on their knees.
There was one thing he had to make sure of:
If the bishop isn't the one twisting limbs, then I should thin out the horde slowly, I can use them to block any view of me. As the limb-twister might be watching from somewhere.
Then — one of the humans in chains was thrown in front of the bishop. The bishop continued the mass, its voice rising in passion, but in a harrowing sight, it began feasting on the human before it.
The human was a male in his thirties, screaming for help and even calling for his son, who was one of the chained humans alongside him.
The hunter had to do something, or else the children and the others might be devoured.
Tch—
There's no way for me to save them — the moment I attempt anything, the entire horde might just feast on them.
However, after the bishop finished its meal of the man, it began preaching again.
It spoke:
"Bkiyhon lā ḥašīb!
ʿAlmā dīlan hū!
Anan benē nāšā!
Bebisrāhon u-bʿaṣmāthon —
Nʾiqēm la-malakā!
Abaddon!"
Silence—
The word "Abaddon" removed any reservations from the hunter, he pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the bishop's head.
However, he didn't forget to carefully set aside the Remington 870.
Ray took a deep breath, visualizing his position.
From the second floor of the southern tower, roughly thirty meters across the church courtyard, Ray had an unobstructed view of the bishop.
I'm not risking it — this might be some sort of summoning ritual, I need to prevent it before it finishes.
Ray lifted the SIG P226, At thirty meters, this was well within the pistol's killing range — especially with 124‑grain +P hollow‑points.
The hunter was patient as he felt the air, but to his fortune the wind was as calm as his steady hand.
He aligned the sights just behind the bishop's ear — precisely where the brainstem sat behind by the thinnest bone.
A perfect lateral kill shot.
Yet something odd was happening — the skin beneath his black wedding ring throbbed, causing blood to run down his finger.
By paying one day of my life span, the death ring grants me one of its curse hex — decay.
From here on out… every wound I inflict will not heal — completely shutting down cell growth, The curse isn't forever, it last for an entire day, and if I hit near a vital organ… it's almost always a guaranteed kill.
Then— A bang.
The bullet struck the bishop just behind the ear — the slightest dip in the skull where a life ended instantly without the target noticing.
The bishop's head immediately began decaying, he froze mid‑chant, collapsing before the congregation even understood what had happened.
Each priest turned in confusion, but that was a mistake — one priest turned his head toward the sound, exposing the soft hinge of the jaw.
It was raw muscle memory; Ray immediately fired the next set of shots.
Bang—
One priest fell sideways.
Bang—
A third — Another dropped with a hole just above the hinge of the jaw.
Bang—
A fourth — A clean strike through the temple.
Bang—
A fifth — The last priest crumpled without even being able to scream.
The act of assassination took five bullets and a mere four seconds to finish.
A near perfect accuracy from the anomaly hunter.
Another silence took hold of the atmosphere. The captive humans stared in terror as their captors lay dead on the ground.
The gathered anomalies took a moment to register it, then one of them pointed toward the source of the sound, none other than the southern tower.
A magnitude of harrowing screams echoed throughout the town, the anomalies' mouths stretched horrifyingly wide.
The hunter had triggered the horde.
Without warning, the humans were dragged back into the church — Ray saw it all unfold, yet he remained calm, accepting that it was already impossible to save them.
In Ray's place, there were two windows; one led to the roof of the tower. The hunter planned to escape there if he was ever overwhelmed in such a tight space.
He took a deep breath as he heard rapid footsteps and screams approaching the tower.
The sound of the door breaking was defeaning.
"Māwte l'benê nāšā!
ʿalmā dīlan lā yitbaššar b'hon!
Šabbār garmayyéhon!
Nēʾkhel bisrāhon w'dammāhon —
L'šumā d'Abaddon!
Nēqaṭṭeʿ qalyāhon!"
The horde was chanting, yet the hunter still couldn't understand it , their voices echoed with a haunting resonance, like something pulled from a cruel nightmare.
Ray holstered his pistol and prepared the Remington shotgun , the time for a massacre began.
The first anomaly slammed onto the stairs — holding an axe, it threw the weapon toward Ray, but he dodged just in time.
The wooden handle spun past him, scraping the air, landing behind him on the steps.
"Really—" he muttered.
Ray racked the 870 — chchk— — and waited until its skull rose just over the final step.
BOOM—
The buckshot shredded its face, the flesh blackening as the ring's hex curse hollowed it out. The corpse collapsed down the steps — each pellet a death sentence amplified by Ray's anomalic artifact.
"That was not a good idea—" Ray muttered.
He hadn't planned to waste an entire buckshot on a single anomaly; he preferred to spread it for groups, maximizing efficiency.
"Tch— I'll manage."
The screams from below the second floor, the pounding footsteps, the chanting, and the looming threat of the limb-twisting anomaly, pressed in from all sides.
Even after all this time, where is the limb-twister…?
Chapter End.