KILLIAN

"Look at them acting like cattle,” I mutter under my breath

as the five of us stand still, watching the scattering of prey

in a splash of chaos.

The air reeks of greed, fear, and potential crime. My demons’

favorite flavors.

The whole concept behind the club means fuck all to me.

Occasions like these are the only reason I even participate.

“Motherfucking salivating is the word you’re looking for, Kill.

I’m gonna break some bones and drag fuckers across the ground.

If anyone dares to stop me, they’ll meet the same fate.” Nikolai

clenches and unclenches his fist, unable to hide his excitement for

the hunt.

When we first discussed this initiation, I suggested this game.

After Jeremy put it to vote, there was a unanimous agreement

from the rest—my boring brother included.

Considering the bow and arrows strapped to his back, he

might not be as averted to violence as I previously thought. He

just prefers doing it in closed circles.

Like how we used to go hunt with Dad once upon a time.

“That rubber on the arrows, Gaz?” Nikolai pokes the tips. “This

probably won’t hurt as much. Pick something else.”

“It’ll do.” My brother does a whole body search of Nikolai.

“Where’s your weapon?”

He punches the air. “I prefer my fists.”

“You won’t be able to win with your fists.” Jeremy swings his

golf club, points at my baseball bat, and then at the chain White

Mask is holding. “We’ll be able to hunt more than you.”

“That’s what you think.” He grabs the railing, shoves his mask

against one of the cameras, and screams at the security who are

watching every nook and cranny of the property. “You better keep

the right count for each of us, motherfuckers, or I’ll skin your balls

for dinner.”

“Hannibal Lecter much?” Gareth deadpans.

Nikolai’s head swings in his direction. “You! Don’t even think

about intervening or playing the fucking pacifist tonight, cousin. I

mean it.”

Swinging the bat over my shoulder, I step in the direction of

the door.

“Where are you going?” Jeremy asks from behind me. “The

ten minutes aren’t up yet.”

I grin from beneath my mask but don’t look back. “Since when

do we play fair?”

His low chuckle and Nikolai’s shouts about needing to jump

down mix, then fade to nothingness.

My ears fill with the buzz of the hunt.

When I was young and Dad figured out he had a ‘defective’ on

his hands, he took me hunting, probably figuring out that it’d help

dull my urges.

He taught me how to stalk prey and focus my energy on

becoming a human hound. But over the years, the excitement of

hunting animals slowly withered and became dull.

It’s different with people, though.

Tonight is one of the few occasions where I don’t have to

repress my compulsions and can allow my cravings to break their

boundaries and roam loose.

Usually, monotonous emotions and an endless circle of

boredom trap me in their clutches. My demons will chant, twist,

and writhe, urging me to commit any fucked-up act just to drive it

all away.

Not today.

Today, they don’t have to scream or bang or flounder in

misery. Today, they have full control to act in their nature.

My nature.

The late afternoon stakes its claim on the premises. Due to the

disappearance of the sun behind a thick cloud, the forest has

turned a dark green and my favorite smell taints the air.

Fear.

Despite the ‘game’ nature of this hunt, the prey is well aware

of being hunted down by predators. Their pores are open,

overflowing with sweat, adrenaline, and pure uncut terror.

I stand in the middle of the front yard, close my eyes, and

inhale the smell deep into my lungs.

An inexplicable intoxication seethes in my veins at being able

to taste fear, knowing I’m the reason it’s there in the first place.

These occasional doses of depravity allow me to have enough

balance to blend into society without turning serial killer on them.

I stop myself from killing by hunting and planning for hunting.

Or lately, by the promise of owning a certain girl.

My muscles tighten, and a blasphemous thought slowly forms

in my brain. Like maybe I should sneak into Glyndon’s room

instead of hunting wannabes.

No.

I waited months for today and I’m simply not allowing

distractions to sway me.

Letting my gaze fall on the dirt path, I head north and smirk

when I find countless shoe marks in the dirt, leading to the forest

surrounding the property.

People are biologically designed to follow the direction of their

internal compass—north. Those who choose differently either

have skewed direction sense or just go against the flow to feel

smart.

“Numbers seventy-four and eighteen eliminated.” The speaker

goes off in the distance.

Hmm.

Looks like the others have already started.

That doesn’t affect me one bit. Winning is only a bonus—not

the actual purpose. Hunting is.

I take my time following a group of people who thought

forming a tribe was a good idea.

Tracking steps has come naturally to me ever since I started

hunting as a kid. The key is to seek the most vulnerable prey. The

ones whose shoes make the deepest holes in the ground, because

they’re so scared, they put all their weight into escaping.

I run in the direction they took, my breathing regulated—

normal—as if I’m not physically exerting myself. A rustle comes

from the tree ahead and I swing my bat and hit.

A masculine wail comes first before a body falls with a thud,

clutching his shoulder. The crunching sound that echoes in the air

causes my blood to boil and the level of endorphins to mount

inside me.

He continues crying like a little bitch and I merely step on him

as I continue my run.

“Number fifty-one eliminated,” comes from the speaker.

I slow down when I reach a clearing that’s mostly exempt

from trees and let my bat dig into the ground as I tilt my head to

the side.

The steps go in circles, then explode in different directions.

Wait.

No.

It’s a camouflage. Judging by the exaggerated footsteps, they

knew some of us could track them so they created an illusion to

make me believe they went everywhere.

Oh, they’re good. They must’ve been in other initiations

before.

Judging by the number of steps that are half-covered, instead

of forward, they should be—

A thump echoes in my ear and it’s then I feel the scorching

pain ringing in my skull. A warm liquid trails down my forehead

underneath the mask, turns my vision red, then slides down my

chin and drips onto the ground.

I slowly turn around and face the group of five white-masked

students. One of them holds the rock he hit me with, breathing as

harshly as a pig being led to slaughter.

“Good one.” I grin beneath my mask, and even though they

can’t see how unhinged I am, they must hear it in my voice.

I lift my bat and they all flinch backward, but I use it to tap

the back of my head. “You should’ve hit here and with more force

so you could get at least a seventy percent chance of knocking

me out. Oh, and your hand is shaking. Unless you steady it, you

won’t be able to land a successful blow.”

Mask twelve stares at his hand and I lift the bat and hit him in

the head, sending him flying sideways. “Like that.”

He’s out cold, and his friends all run forward, together, like a

fucking herd.

I swing the bat and aim at their legs, all at the same time, and

they fall into a heap on the ground.

One of them manages to escape, but instead of running, he

turns around and mutters, “I surrender! I surrender! You can just

tap me.”

“Why would I do that? You signed up for this, no? It’s your

duty to make it more entertaining.” I drag the bat on the ground,

letting him hear the crunching of wood against the tiny pebbles,

then when I’m in front of him, I hit him across the middle. “Boring

cunt.”

“Number eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen are

eliminated,” the speaker announces.

I stare at the gray sky and tsk. “Come on, give me an actual

challenge.”

Someone breezes past me and I throw the bat as if it’s an

arrow, whacking them from behind.

Seriously? I internally sigh, still staring at the sky. I said a

challenge, not a stray rabbit.

The one I hit doesn’t fall. I wait for the speaker to announce

their number, but nothing comes.

I stare at them again, only to see they used one of the other

unconscious bodies as a shield. The bat hit number fifteen and fell

to the ground.

The participant doesn’t look back as they continue running,

slowly disappearing into the trees.

I didn’t even get a good look at them.

Well, fuck me.

Here it is. A challenge.

I grab my bat from the ground and stare down in search of

their footsteps.

They’re…light. Barely there.

Either it’s a woman or a very slim man.

And it’s definitely someone who knows how to fucking run.

I crouch on my haunches to study the pattern of their shoes.

Nike running sneakers.

Well, well. Aren’t they too prepared for this?

Still, a slow grin stretches my lips as I stalk in the direction

they’ve taken. Then I break into a run, adrenaline tightening my

muscles. The promise of an actually delicious prey causes my

blood level to flatline.

My breathing comes in long intervals, in sync with my

regulated heartbeat.

People’s bodies and brains fly in chaotic patterns when they’re

excited. Their nervous activity will peak and their heartbeats

skyrocket.

Not me.

Excitement brings me a level of calm nothing else can

accomplish.

The closest thing I have to…peace.

It’s the exact same feeling I had when I cut open those mice

or when I went on my first hunt. Or when I started taking pictures

to document those moments of utter rapture.

Or when I have Glyndon completely at my mercy and she

doesn’t break eye contact.

It’s the sensation of not having to repress any part of my true

nature, of allowing it to run loose like all-encompassing smoke.

Once you see it, it’s too late.

A scream comes from behind me and another from the side,

mixing like a symphony of violence. The numbers of eliminations

mesh up together until they overlap.

The devil works fast, but Heathens work faster.

I don’t focus on their endeavors. Instead, I continue my

pursuit of the cunning thing who keeps running in zigzags in

between trees.

The more I chase them, the stronger my blood pumps and my

breathing regulates.

Just you wait until I catch you, I’ll have a field day with you.

A figure cuts in front of me and I come to an abrupt halt

despite my high speed so that I don’t crash into them.

Participant number eighty-nine screeches to a halt, too. A man

—judging from his figure. He remains rooted in place like a

statue, but he’s shaking uncontrollably.

Nikolai appears from behind, his neon yellow mask a bit

crooked, blood smeared over the stitched smiling lines and the X’s

at his eyes. Even his hands are all red, indicating all the fun he’s

had.

Eighty-nine stares behind him, and for a moment, he makes

the mistake of taking a step in my direction, probably thinking I’m

the lesser of two evils.

“Look, I caught a stray cat.” Nikolai tells me with a slight manic

edge. He’s definitely in the high mode right now. “He just

wouldn’t stop running, you know, and has a temper. Threw a

whole fucking branch at my face and nearly knocked me out.

Gotta love the motherfucking feisty ones. They’re so fun to break

into pieces.”

Tell me about it.

I slide my gaze over eighty-nine, then to his shoes. Not Nike.

He can’t be the one who escaped earlier.

And my job here is done.

I lift the bat to get him when he keeps approaching me, but

Nikolai practically jumps him from behind, locks him in a

chokehold, and drags him back into the darkness between the

trees.

Eighty-nine tries to struggle by elbowing and biting into

Nikolai’s arm. He’s a fighter, I’ll give him that, but he’s simply no

match for my cousin’s deranged strength.

Nikolai effortlessly drags him and eighty-nine’s legs leave a

long trail in the dirt and his screams are muffled by something

Nikolai’s done.

Shaking my head, I continue on my way in pursuit of my own

stray rabbit. I’m not two steps in when a swish breaks the silence.

I duck as an arrow hits a tree, right above me.

I whip my head to the side, but don’t see anything. When I

pull the arrow out, I see that it’s a real one, not the rubber ones

Gareth is using for the hunt.

Well, well. Looks like my older brother might be in the mood to

kill me.

That is, if he’s the one who shot this, which I doubt—he’s too

cowardly for such a daring move.

I break the broadhead off the arrow and slip it in my pocket to

investigate it later—that is, if whoever aimed this at me doesn’t

come back for a redo.

My steps are measured with the sole purpose of finding the

little rabbit. Murder attempts can wait.

Jeremy and I meet as we’re running in different directions and

we butcher about six participants combined.

Then I catch a glimpse of Gareth walking with one of the

participants, shooting anyone who crosses their path.

He doesn’t even attempt to eliminate that participant. If

anything, it’s like he’s…protecting them.

No, escorting them.

Hmm. I wonder who got my brother’s attention to that extent?

I shelf that for later and continue my hunt.

For some reason, I can feel the stray rabbit escaping in the

area parallel to me.

So I follow my instincts and go deeper into the forest. It’s a

more difficult path, but those who believe longer and safer is

better than shorter and dangerous would definitely come in this

direction.

I carefully follow the footsteps, my vision getting sharper with

every passing second.

My feet come to a slow halt between three trees. The

sneakers have made a circle here, but unlike those amateurs from

earlier, this one obviously doesn’t know I follow steps, so they

didn’t attempt to hide them.

On and on, they went in circles and then…

I stare at the path ahead. The most logical explanation is that

they jumped on the rock in front of me and chose the bushes.

I stride to that direction as I smirk, letting them believe I’ve

fallen for their trick.

It’s time to skin the rabbit alive.