This freezing wastend thought it would be the death of him, sending those frozen bastards after him. But he made them regret it. He made them suffer. Their agony was satisfying, their screams carried on the icy winds. Yet, even that wasn’t enough.

  The true euphoria, the kind that surged through him like fire, came from hunting his favorite prey—others of his kind. Their fear, their pain, the way they struggled against the inevitable… it was unmatched. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than watching them break.

  Each kill was a work of art, a masterpiece painted in crimson. Some begged. Some fought with all they had. Others, the pathetic ones, simply accepted their fate. Those were the least entertaining. He much preferred the ones who thought they had a chance, the ones who clung to the false hope of survival. It made their final moments all the sweeter.

  He pulled his cloak tighter against the biting wind, his breath curling in misty tendrils before vanishing into the endless white expanse. The air was sharp, cutting into his skin like shards of gss, but he welcomed the pain. It reminded him that he was alive, that he was stronger than the pathetic weaklings he hunted.

  A fresh trail of footprints stretched ahead, barely visible beneath the snowfall. His next target. His pulse quickened, excitement thrumming in his veins. It had been too long since he had tasted the thrill of the chase. He quickened his pace, his boots crunching softly against the frozen ground.

  The hunt was on.