by Phoenixfly_steller
On the empty street, a lone figure walked.A black coat draped over a white shirt, stained in dark, uneven patches that had yet to dry. Black trousers followed the same muted tone, blending him into the night as though he belonged to it more than the world around him. His hair was black, unremarkable at a glance, yet his eyes—sharp, brown, and unwavering—carried a quiet weight. Not exhaustion of the body, but something deeper, something that had settled within him long before this moment.Blood marked his clothes.Fresh enough to glisten faintly beneath the dim light, yet old enough to cling stubbornly, refusing to fade.The road remained silent. No footsteps but his own disturbed the stillness. No distant engines, no whisper of wind—nothing. Only a single street lamp stood above, casting a weak, yellow glow that felt… insufficient, as though it illuminated less than it should, leaving parts of the world just slightly beyond reach.And in that dim light—Something about the scene felt incomplete.Then, without warning, the streetlight flickered.Once.Then twice.Then irregularly, as though something unseen had begun interfering with its rhythm.The shadows shifted with it—but not entirely in sync. A fraction too slow. A fraction too late. As if they were no longer bound perfectly to the objects that cast them.NOTE:- Please only read if you are ready to imagine the extreme gore and all types of mortal cruelty. Also available on Minkly.io in audio form
No streak history
