Rayon's pale eyes glimmered under the faint moonlight, scanning the rooftops. The city below slept, ignorant of the danger weaving silently among the shadows. But above him, subtle movements caught his attention—figures perched like predators, watching, analyzing.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His voice, low and dark, cut through the silence. "Well… well… I was wondering when someone would try to play games with me."
Erethon's shadow stiffened beside him, perceptive as ever. "You're… smiling. That expression—it's not just arrogance anymore. It's the old you."
Rayon tilted his head, smirk widening, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "Old me never liked waiting. Old me liked to make things… interesting. And these little rooftop spectators? They just volunteered."
Vorthalaxis coiled tighter around his arm, black markings pulsing in rhythm with his excitement. "They're… strong. Far beyond usual mortals. Caution, master."
Rayon laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver through the night. "Caution is boring. Fun is better. Let's wake them up properly."
Without warning, Rayon moved. Not a sprint, not a leap—just a casual, deliberate step forward. Hollow Strings rippled from his fingertips, invisible in the dark, stretching silently across the rooftops, tugging and testing.
Figures on the roofs stiffened, sensing a disturbance, but Rayon's aura—calm, emotionless, yet lethal—radiated around him. A few tried to leap down, aggressive, hoping to corner him, but each one found themselves wrapped in silent, invisible threads. The strings constricted, almost playful, yet deadly precise.
Rayon's smirk deepened. "I hate to disappoint… but I never miss."
Erethon's voice echoed in his mind, sardonic and amused. "Oh, this is dangerous. They're not just any targets—they're trained, Awakened. And yet… you're actually enjoying this."
Rayon's laugh was quiet, dark. "Of course I am. You think this is just a fight? No. This is art. Chaos. Fun. And it's all mine."
The figures on the rooftops hesitated, their aggression faltering in the face of Rayon's presence. There was something… wrong about him. Something inhuman. His calm, apathetic smile, the faint glint in his violet eyes, the subtle pulse of Hollow Strings that seemed to anticipate every move—they could feel it.
Rayon tilted his head, casually flicking a strand of string that looped silently around one of the nearest figures' ankle. "You really think you can hide in the dark? You really think I care if you're trained? Don't make me laugh."
A shadow detached itself from the roof, landing a few meters away. The leader, or at least the boldest, glared at him. "Rayon… the Forest Ghost… you've killed—"
Rayon cut him off, stepping forward with deliberate slowness. "Killed? Maybe. Maybe not. Details are boring. What matters… is what I will do."
Erethon observed silently, voice tinged with dark amusement. "Yes. Old you is back. Enjoy this while it lasts… because fun like this can be deadly—for everyone involved."
Rayon didn't reply. He never did. His smirk, the tilt of his head, the casual sway of his coat in the moonlight—it all said it:
This is playtime. And he's the only one playing by the rules that matter.
Rayon's hand twitched, barely perceptible, and the Hollow Strings rippled like water. One figure lunged forward, trying to strike with lethal precision. Rayon moved almost lazily—just a shift of weight, a slight step—and the attacker's momentum carried them into a tangle of unbreakable strings.
"Oh… careful," Rayon murmured, calm as ever, dark amusement in his tone. "I'd hate to hurt you… too much."
The figure struggled, claws slashing at the invisible threads, but the strings tightened incrementally, constricting, cutting, and binding simultaneously. Rayon's violet eyes glimmered faintly, reflecting the tension in the shadows.
Vorthalaxis hissed quietly, sensing the excitement in its master. "They're… not ordinary. But… neither are you."
Rayon smirked again. "Good. Then this will be fun."
The city streets below remained unaware, yet the rooftops were alive with tension. Hollow Strings weaved silently, binding, snapping, and controlling. Rayon moved with calculated grace, his old self—the cold, chaotic, unapologetic predator—fully present.
"Old me never forgives… never hesitates… and never apologizes," he whispered, stepping past a struggling figure. "And anyone in my way… well… let's just say they won't be standing by sunrise."
Erethon, always sardonic, muttered: "Yes. And here I thought I'd seen the limits of your insanity."
Rayon didn't answer. He didn't need to. The wires of shadow pulsed, constricted, and twisted. The first wave of the hunt had begun, and the old ghost, emotionless and unstoppable, had returned.
From the darkness beyond the streets, other figures—more experienced, more aware—began to converge. Someone whispered across the rooftops, unseen but heard:
"He's awake… and he's hunting."
Rayon paused, violet eyes glimmering faintly in the moonlight. Hands in pockets, casual as ever, he let a faint smirk cross his pale face.
"Good," he said softly, almost to himself. "I was getting bored."
Erethon's laughter echoed silently in his mind. "Oh… this is going to be fun."
The shadows shivered. The city didn't know it yet, but a predator had returned. And anyone foolish enough to stand in his way… would not survive.