A godless land.
Humans weren't living.
They were surviving.
Absolute isolation is what a swordsman found himself wandering in. Wet grass slicked along his leg with each aimless step he took. The air he breathed in was humid. A frigid breeze taunted his warmth every so often. The smell of nature filled his nostrils. The only thing illuminating his dark path was the radiance of stars and a reddened moon; he was far away from urban life. At times like this he strayed far from humans for his–and their–sake. His bloodthirst tainted his conscience and the urge to slaughter brewed in him. He'd normally exhume these temptations by slaying the unholy, but there were none to be found.
The feeling of bloodshed was like thirst to him; the deprivation of such a satiation elicited madness and began to show through his sudden aggression earlier. He'd gone the entire day without taking his blade to that which can bleed. He contemplated taking life from innocents, but he couldn't, for the repercussions outweighed temporary satisfaction. The guilt would be much too overbearing.
His mulling over moral implications was backseated once the sound of rustling grass filled his ears and the hairs on his skin perked up at the sensation of a baleful atmosphere setting upon him as a cold front would. A demon was following, no, stalking him. It brought joy to the demon hunter–as his temptations would be fulfilled–even in the presence of an unholy abomination.
Hand resting atop the handle of his blade, the male swiveled to face the thing which viewed him as food, stopping him dead in his tracks. The demon's visage, the swordsman noted, was human-looking with luscious locks draped down it. His body, however, was a horrific amalgamation of toothy flesh and flesh attempting to emulate a human body. Clamped in each of the body's mouths were a different human limb. In spite of the horrific sight, he viewed the demon as another victim, exemplified by his reflection of an equally hungry stare at it.
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This perceived bloodlust brought surprise to the unholy creature, prompting a question with enough volume to shake the immediate area and cause nearby wildlife to scatter.
"Intriguing. You are the first human I've seen that hasn't cowered in fear. And that sword... you must be a demon hunter. You know this area is infested by demons, then."
"Yeah," he replied bluntly.
"No other hunters wander around here for that reason. You must think you're different."
"That's right."
A chuckle escaped the demon's lips.
"You are a mortal man. Before I kill you, tell me, what is your name?"
No verbal response from the hunter; only a tightened grip on his blade's handle as the demon assumed a battle stance. The moment felt like an eternity as the two engaged in a silent standoff, circling around each other in a dance of death.
After one moment blended into many more, the demon got impatient. He wanted to taste blood now. Thus, he made the first move, exploding with motion with a lunge at the hunter.
His impatience would be his undoing.
The hunter's colossal sword was drawn from his back and–like a guillotine–came down and cleaved through the demon's neck with no resistance, disconnecting head from body in a spectacle of blood and demonic anguish. His head and body fell at the hunter's feet.
Dead, the demon faded into the moonlit sky as ash would, garnering a cathartic laugh from the pseudo-serial murderer. He finally satiated his urges and the resulting bliss was heaven-sent. It was only then he'd give his name.
"It's Lucius."
And Lucius hoisted his blade over his shoulder before beginning his trek out of the Malevolent Fields, and he wandered until he found the nearest settlement.