Ten Hunters. Ten people who could end him in an instant.
What should I do?
Run? Fight?
I can't die here. Not like this. Not now.
Think. Think. Think.
Aamon's mind raced, twisting through every possible scenario. Each one ended the same — his death. All except for one.
One in which he didn't need strength, he just needed them to believe.
Aamon smiled.
His smile narrow, sharp, and far too composed for someone staring down death. It was the expression of a man who had found not escape but advantage.
He took a step forward.
Not hurriedly. Not aggressively. Just one measured step.
And yet it carried a weight none of them could place. A quiet authority pressed against the edges of their vision, subtle but undeniable.
The air seemed to shift around him, almost imperceptible, yet enough to make the Hunters pause. Ten of them, armed and dangerous, froze for a fraction longer than they should have. Their blades wavered. Their stances faltered. None could explain why.
One step. Another. And already he owned the moment.
Confusion spread across their faces. The man before them should be trembling, should be panicking. Yet he remained calm. Unshaken.
Why isn't he running?
Why didn't he run?
Does he have some special ability?
Those thoughts buzzed through the Hunters' minds, unwelcome and growing.
"Equip dagger," Aamon uttered. His voice was pleasant, even, but carried an unmistakable authority.
A dagger shimmered into existence in his hand, solid and real, as if the system itself had answered his command without delay.
"Don't tell me you're planning to take us out with that tiny dagger?" one Hunter said mockingly, trying to mask the unease creeping into the group. A ripple of nervous laughter followed, hollow and tense.
The air thickened. The smell of iron hung heavily, mingling with sweat and fear. Overhead, the lights flickered, cutting their vision every few seconds, casting long, dancing shadows across the blood-slick floor.
"It'll be easier when I turn invisible"
Aamon answered. Each word cutting the tension with a razor sharp certainty.
His words left the Hunters puzzled and indecisive.
"Is he bluffing?"
Doubt crept into the minds of the Hunters. Though the Prey was standing infront of them, his posture was calm, almost casual. Yet every motion, every subtle shift of his weight radiated control. Eyes that should of portrayed fear instead held a sharp calculating gleam.
"Active Invisibility"
Aamon's voice echoed through the station, his command cold and precise, every syllable carrying a sense of inevitability.
For a brief moment the lights flickered again and when vision reemerged, he was gone.
Terror struck the Hunters. Fear entered their heads.
Aamon was invisible,... but ofcourse that was a lie.
They believed he was and belief was all that he needed.