The winding road stretched ahead, flanked by trees whose barren branches clawed at the gray sky. Malric walked in silence, his skeletal form hidden beneath his dark cloak and wide-brimmed hat. He had left the village far behind, the faint sounds of its waking life long since swallowed by the forest's stillness.

He preferred the solitude of the road. It was cleaner, less tangled with the living's endless routines. Yet the quiet was not without its own dangers. Travelers spoke in whispers of disappearances and shadowy figures lurking just out of sight. Such warnings only fueled Malric’s curiosity. If the Basilisk’s Fang operated here, perhaps the road would reveal its secrets more easily than the guarded tongues of villagers.

His hollow eyes scanned the path ahead. In the distance, a lone figure trudged along, a bundle of pelts slung over his shoulder. The man’s posture was tense, his head occasionally swiveling to glance at the surrounding trees.

Malric slowed his pace, watching the hunter’s movements. This was an opportunity—one he could not afford to waste. Unlike the guarded villagers, this man was isolated, unshielded by the safety of numbers.

Malric quickened his stride, ensuring his footsteps were loud enough to be heard but slow enough to appear cautious. The hunter froze, then turned, his hand gripping the hilt of a knife at his belt.

“Who’s there?” the man called, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Malric stopped a few paces away, his form half-obscured by the shadows of the overhanging trees. He lifted a gloved hand in a gesture of peace. “A traveler,” he said, his voice soft and measured. “I mean no harm.”

The hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you following me? And why keep your face hidden?”

Malric hesitated, his mind racing. He considered revealing himself fully, stepping into the light to disarm the hunter’s suspicions, but the thought of exposing his skeletal visage gnawed at him. Instead, he remained in the shadow’s edge, tilting his hat downward.

“The sun burns my skin,” Malric said, weaving a lie with practiced ease. “I keep covered for my health. As for following you, I heard rumors of danger along this road. I thought it wiser to keep within sight of another traveler.”

The hunter’s grip on his knife didn’t loosen. He took a cautious step forward, his gaze sweeping over Malric’s cloaked figure. “If that’s true, you’d have called out sooner. You’re hiding something.”

Malric tilted his head slightly, as though considering the accusation. “Perhaps,” he admitted, his tone calm. “But does that not make two of us? A man traveling alone, armed and wary. You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

The hunter’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence was telling—he was uncertain, caught between suspicion and the faint logic in Malric’s words.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Malric continued, his voice low and steady. “If anything, I should be the one afraid. You’re armed, and I am but a cloaked stranger.”

The hunter snorted, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “I’ve seen your kind before—those who speak with silver tongues to hide their rusted blades. You’re either a liar or a fool.”

Tension hung heavy between them as the hunter’s suspicion deepened. Malric debated his next move, his fingers twitching beneath his gloves. The urge to end the encounter violently flickered in his mind, but he suppressed it. There was still value in keeping the hunter alive—for now.

“I see my presence unsettles you,” Malric said, stepping back slowly. “I’ll leave you to your path.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, retreating into the trees. His movements were deliberate, calculated to appear unthreatening. The hunter watched him go, his knife still drawn, but made no move to follow.

Malric slipped deeper into the forest, his skeletal feet gliding soundlessly over the undergrowth. He had gained little from the encounter, yet it was not a total loss. The hunter’s reactions had taught him much about human suspicion—and the limits of his own ability to disarm it.

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Just as he began to relax, a rustle behind him shattered the quiet. Malric turned too late.

The hunter lunged from the shadows, his knife flashing in the dim light. Malric barely had time to raise his arm before the blade scraped across his cloak, cutting through the fabric and striking the bone beneath.

The sound of metal on bone rang out, and the hunter stumbled back, his face twisting in shock. “What in the gods’ name—?”

Malric snarled, his skeletal jaw clicking as he swung his other arm in a wide arc. The blow caught the hunter in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“You foolish creature,” Malric hissed, his voice dripping with malice. “Did you think you could strike me down so easily?”

The hunter scrambled to his feet, his knife trembling in his hand. His eyes darted to Malric’s exposed arm, where the shredded sleeve revealed the ivory-white bone beneath. “You’re… you’re not human.”

“No,” Malric growled, stepping forward. His cloak billowed around him, his skeletal frame casting a monstrous silhouette. “And you should have stayed on your path.”

The hunter backed away, his bravado crumbling. “Stay back!” he shouted, slashing the air with his knife. “I don’t want to die!”

“Then why attack me?” Malric snapped, his voice rising with a mixture of anger and dark amusement. “Was it bravery? Or stupidity?”

The hunter didn’t answer. He turned and bolted, abandoning his pelts and disappearing into the forest.

The hunter bolted into the forest, his frantic footfalls echoing through the trees. Malric stood still for a moment, watching the man’s pitiful attempt at escape. Slowly, the edges of his skeletal maw twitched into what could have passed for a grin. The thrill of the chase—the helplessness of prey scrambling for survival—how sweet it was.

In life, Malric had never known such clarity, such singular focus. Death had stripped away his weaknesses, his hesitations, leaving only a raw, unrelenting hunger. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, soundless.

"Run, little fool," he thought, his hollow gaze locked on the trail of broken branches and crushed foliage. "Run until your legs give out. It won’t matter."

Malric’s skeletal form moved like a shadow through the trees. The forest whispered around him, the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs guiding him toward his quarry. The hunter’s panicked breathing carried through the air, erratic and shallow.

"Ah, that sound," Malric mused. "So fragile. So desperate. Does he feel it yet? The inevitability? Does he know I’m toying with him?"

The hunter stumbled, his foot catching on a root, and Malric paused, leaning against the trunk of a gnarled tree. His empty sockets seemed to glint with amusement as he watched the man pick himself up and stagger forward.

"You can’t even flee properly. Pathetic."

The hunter burst into a small clearing, his eyes darting wildly as he searched for an escape. Malric stayed just out of sight, concealed by the shadows of the forest. He could feel the man’s fear, thick and suffocating, a palpable energy that sent a shiver through his bony frame.

"It’s intoxicating," Malric thought, stepping closer but keeping himself hidden. "Fear breaks them faster than any blade. It strips away their strength, their reason. It makes them mine."

The hunter gripped his knife, the blade trembling in his hand. He turned in frantic circles, his chest heaving with exertion. “Where are you?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “I know you’re there!”

Malric stayed silent, savoring the moment. The hunter’s bravado was fading, the knife in his hand more a burden than a weapon. "How long will you hold on to that little scrap of courage?" Malric wondered, tilting his head. "How long before it crumbles completely?"

Finally, he stepped into the clearing. The hunter froze as Malric’s skeletal form emerged from the shadows, his cloak hanging loosely over his frame. The wide-brimmed hat cast an ominous silhouette, and the glint of bone beneath his tattered sleeve sent a visible shudder through the man.

"Look at him," Malric thought, his hollow sockets fixed on the trembling figure. "Cornered. Helpless. Every instinct screaming for him to fight or flee, but neither will save him."

The hunter raised his knife, his movements jerky and uncertain. “Stay back!” he shouted, his voice laced with desperation.

Malric tilted his head, his skeletal jaw clicking softly. He said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them. The hunter’s grip on the knife tightened, but his hands betrayed him, shaking as if under the weight of the weapon.

"Go ahead," Malric thought, his fingers flexing. "Try. Give me the excuse."

The hunter lunged, his blade aimed at Malric’s chest. It was a desperate, clumsy attack, driven more by fear than skill. Malric sidestepped effortlessly, his skeletal hand lashing out to grab the man’s wrist.

The hunter cried out as Malric’s bony fingers closed around his arm like a vice. The knife clattered to the ground, and the man dropped to his knees, his face twisted in pain.

"Do you feel it now?" Malric mused, his grip tightening until the sound of cracking bone filled the air. "That sharp, biting edge of inevitability. That’s what it means to stand before me."

The hunter looked up, tears streaming down his face. “Please,” he whimpered. “I don’t want to die.”

Malric’s jaw clicked in what might have been a laugh. "Of course you don’t. None of you do. But it’s not about what you want. It never was."

Malric released the man’s wrist, letting him crumple to the ground. The hunter scrambled backward, his broken arm cradled against his chest. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide with terror as he stared at the skeletal figure towering over him.

The man’s lips trembled as he tried to form words, but nothing coherent came out. Malric crouched down, his empty sockets locking onto the hunter’s eyes.

"I could let you go," Malric thought, his bony fingers tracing the ground near the hunter’s discarded knife. "I could let you crawl away like the broken animal you are. But where’s the satisfaction in that?"

The hunter’s gaze darted toward the trees, a glimmer of hope flickering in his expression. He thought he could still escape. Malric almost laughed.

"You still believe there’s a chance," he mused, reaching for the knife. "That’s the problem with you creatures. You cling to hope, even when it’s strangling you."

The hunter scrambled to his feet, but before he could take a step, Malric surged forward. The knife plunged into the man’s chest, the blade sliding between his ribs with a sickening precision.

The hunter gasped, his eyes widening as he looked down at the weapon protruding from his body. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his tunic and pooling at his feet.

Malric stood, pulling the knife free and watching as the man crumpled to the ground. The hunter’s breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts, his body convulsing as life slipped away.

"See?" Malric thought, tilting his head as he observed the dying man. "Hope couldn’t save you. It only prolonged your suffering."

When the hunter’s final breath escaped his lips, Malric stepped back, his skeletal frame casting a long shadow over the lifeless body. He wiped the blood from the knife onto his cloak before tossing it aside.

The forest was silent again, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Malric turned and walked away, leaving the corpse behind. The thrill of the hunt still lingered, a cold, satisfying ache in his hollow chest.