Dappled sunlight dances atop the forest scene.

The dirt, the moss, the needles, my body... they all bask in the scattered glow, taking in whatever warmth it has to offer.

The path before me winds and forks, leading astray the less familiar, but no hesitation plagues my steps. I know the way.

The trees sway gently in the breeze, filling the air with the scent of their sap. Every now and then, a local inhabitant rustles through the foliage - a pippiret, a squirrel, what have you.

The sun, the path and the trees - my spotlight, my red carpet and my crowd. They're all here to cheer me on, the star of the show, and guide me to the stage, wherever it may be. I have to keep a sharp eye out for it, lest it find me first. And that's not how the playwright wants it.

The sign of the stage, the mark to confirm its discovery, is fortunately unmistakable: pale pink hair. Yes, the location of my stage is wherever my antagonist --

"Fuck you!"

Oh fuck, she found me, what do I do --

No, no, wait, that wasn’t Michi’s voice. And turning around confirms she’s not there. Instead…

"Fuck you!" chirps the pippiret perched in a nearby rowan. Its beady black eyes radiate innocence, starkly contrasting its words. Why would…

Oh, I think I get why. Some young kid, maybe with a friend or two, had learned that pippirets like to mimic speech, and taught this one to say this hilarious catchphrase. They must have encouraged it with treats, and now it wants me to reward its performance.

Well, I have nothing for it. "Shoo," I hiss with a flick of my hand.

"Shoo," it repeats. Oh, great.

I step towards the bird, but still it keeps its perch. What's wrong with this thing? Doesn't it know to be scared? Don't tell me even the birds in this town have become domesticated…

"Seriously, leave," I growl, now waving my whole arm. I don't want it picking up anything incriminating once I start my show.

The pippiret studies the extended limb with curious eyes, and... flits onto it.

I can't even move. It's too absurd. This thing weighs no more than the gloves I'm wearing, and yet it shows no second thoughts about jumping right onto a predator's body. At least I'm lucky to have those gloves. Wouldn't want to catch any parasites from this puffball.

"Shoo," it repeats again, hopping closer along my forearm.

That's it. This is insulting. Am I not a predator to be feared? Am I not a danger to be escaped? Am I just a walking feeding station to you? What insolence. This pippiret needs to go.

I raise my other hand, take aim, imagine the collision with the creature’s fragile body…

...no. It wouldn’t be right.

It wouldn’t be right to break those feathers, bend them funny, ruin that perfect array of quills. Possibly even snap one of its hollow, delicate bones whose light frame allow it its flight.

There’s no satisfaction in destroying something like this. It doesn’t break beautifully. It’s only elegant if intact.

With a sigh, I lower the hand and bring down to the pippiret. The bird hops onto my palm and sits down almost immediately. I give its belly a gentle scratch with my thumb. The pippiret leans in, narrowing its eyes in enjoyment. Even through the glove, I can feel its softness and warmth.

These woods are their own ecosystem. I’ll leave it to the local predators to teach this bird to fear if needed.

“Pi-pi-pi!”

Another pippiret’s call from afar. It catches the bird’s attention, for sure - it raises its head and erects its little crest.

This may be my chance to slip away. “Come on,” I say, nudging the bird with my fingers, “go see your friend.”

The pippiret chirps - at least it still knows how to chirp - and flies off to the direction of the call. Yes, great. Now I can get back to hunting my own prey.

I continue along the path to the cabin, eyes and ears sharp as an owl’s, ready to latch onto anything that sticks out. Each step I take is as silent as can be. Even my heart pounds louder. I hope this rush of blood in my ears doesn’t mask any important noises…

On instinct, my fingers brush against my thigh. As they fail to find the scabbard, a lance of dread pierces my heart - but it withdraws just as quickly as I remember my knife is in my backpack. I’ll get to reclaim it once the first scene is over. For now, though, it must remain hidden. I can’t come in with my fangs bared.

Rustling. I freeze in place. That wasn’t caused by me or the wind. So either it was an animal, or…

Pink. Among the bushes further ahead. Its position, its motion… it must be her. My lips draw into a smirk. And so the curtain rises.

I reset my face, then sprinkle on a little ignorance. Voice painted with innocence, I call out. “Hello?”

The pink darts up at the noise. Just like a rabbit, so alert...

“Yeah, you,” I add, casually approaching. “I need to talk to you.”

As the vegetation between us obscures less and less, I see her face, her eyes. Shocked, yet unquestionably defiant. She plants her feet more firmly on the ground, slips her hand into her pocket and -- yes, the knife! Her dull little incisors. Not made to gnaw through flesh, but ready to try - only in self-defense, of course, but no less painfully.

“Where is your aura?” she asks. Oh, good. The seal works, then.

I stop, tilting my head. “What?”

“Your aura. It’s...” she begins, but as her eyes wander on my mask of confusion, she decides I must just have a talisman on me or something. “Whatever. What do you want?”

I force a sigh. "Listen. I'm sorry about how I acted before. I'm not… good with people."

Her stare is unrelenting. No sympathy for just that, huh.

"Okay, I'll get to the point," I say, taking off my backpack. "The face-bearer you were with… I knew her. Her name was Joanna. Has she told you that?"

Michi raises her brow. After a pause, she asks, "How did you know her, then?"

"Neighbor," I say, kneeling on the ground and placing the backpack in front of me. "Her apartment in Gurindon was next to mine. I know it doesn't sound like a lot, but --"

"Sure doesn't."

I refrain from glaring at the brat and continue. "I know, but we did talk. Friendly chatter, though I… I would've liked it to be more. She was really nice, you know, and pretty…"

"Get to the point, lover boy."

Sheesh, this little porcupine’s not shy with her quills. She's not seeing through my facade, is she?

"Anyway," I stress, "I came here because I think I can help her. I can remind her of her old life. If she remembers that, she might remember what caused her to disappear and..." I keep the rest in my mouth and pretend it tastes bitter. "S-so… will you let me see her?"

Her eyes stay cold. "Can you prove any of this?"

I drag a veil of dejection over my face and look away. “Uhh… I mean, I don’t really know how I’d prove it. I was hoping you could just trust me on this...”

“You’re not very bright, are you.”

Well, neither are you, if you know who you’re dealing with...

I suppress a scowl, instead fiddling with my fingers, pretending not to know what to do. Well, half-pretending. I didn’t expect her to be this stubborn - she looked like the naive type, but I guess I was wrong.

“Listen,” I say with some rediscovered confidence and meet her eyes again. “Can you at least let me give you something? It’s a scarf of hers. She wore it a lot before she accidentally dropped it on the street. I took it, and I was gonna give it back, but I was kinda shy about it...”

”So you stole from her, too?”

I ignore her and begin digging through my bag. She’s gonna regret all this lip once I get the upper hand.

There is indeed a scarf in the bag. It’s rather plain - no interesting pattern or colors, just solid black - but it’s warm. And being my mother’s, it has a woman’s scent, if someone was capable of telling that. In any case, it’s a believable enough prop.

But I’m not going for it, not yet. Instead, there’s a vial underneath it, along with a rag. As silently as I can, I pop open the plastic cap and pour some of the vial’s contents onto the rag. I close it and drop it, hanging on only to the rag, and raise my hands out of the bag with the scarf covering them.

As I stand up, I see some intrigue in Michi’s eyes. Beginning to believe me, is she? Good.

She makes no motions to leave as I walk towards her, but keeps her knife out and ready.

I stop and sigh. “Please, just take it. It’s the least you can do.”

She stays still. Until… yes.

She approaches with cautious steps, keeping her knife before her. Her eyes flick back and forth between the scarf and my face. I keep my expression somewhere between hope and resignation.

I can't quite tell if each step makes her more at ease or less, but it makes little difference as long as the gap between us is closing. Finally, she arrives at an arm's length and reaches out.

My lack of motion calms her. She grabs onto the scarf and pulls it towards herself --

I grab her knife with my left hand still covered by the scarf and shove the rag onto her face with my right. The force knocks her backwards, and I drop with her, pinning her down where she lands.

Shock widens her eyes. Her free arm claws at my face, but I push it down with a knee and keep it there. Both her arms immobilized, all she can do is scream and flail her legs. The rag keeps her muffled and her knee strikes - while determined - only manage to bruise.

I can’t hide my smile, not that I would even try.

This is it. This is what it’s all about, what I’m meant to do! Stalk, strike and entrap! Feel the victim squirm in vain, overpowered by my superior strength! Oh, her useless struggle is so amusingly pathetic. It's like playing with an ant - no, an ant can bite. She can't do even that!

And with every second, her motions get lazier. The spores - my venom - they’re wearing her down. Her screams lose their volume, her motions their vigor, until she gets sufficiently limp to no longer be a threat.

I peel the knife out of her hand and pocket it, then leave her to fetch my backpack. Some noises leave her mouth while I dig out the duct tape and scissors, but they’re hardly louder than a mewl of a kitten. Wasting no time, I crawl back to her, cut off a piece of tape and glue it onto her mouth. Ignoring her now nasal whines, I flip her over and bind her wrists behind her back.

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Alright! That’s the first phase over with. I can catch my breath a little, fix my hair, retrieve my knife from the bag and reattach the scabbard to my belt. Gods, it feels good to have that back.

A sharp spike in troubled breathing clues me in on the girl having noticed the weapon. I meet her stare with a smile.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you.” I pause to drop the smile. “As long as you behave.”

I zip the bag shut and hoist it onto my back, and then it’s time for the other cargo. I flip the girl belly-up again and edge my arms underneath her body. She's not the lightest weight to lift - but I manage without trouble, because of course I do. I am a Helixian.

“Alright, kid,” I say, “let’s go see your friend.”

“Mhhh…!” That was probably an attempt at a scream.

“Oh, please, you deal with ghosts,” I purr and lean close to her face. “Surely I can’t be that scary?”

To her credit, what she’s giving me right now is the angriest droopy-eyed stare I’ve seen.

Because I like being an asshole, I lean even closer, right next to her ear. Nose to her temple, I take a deep sniff. She growls.

I chuckle, withdrawing. “I’m just kidding! I’m not that weird.”

I find my way back to the path and continue on the way to the cabin. Michi doesn't do much to stop me. She probably knows well that she can't - or that she shouldn’t, her captor having the means and will to hurt her quite badly.

The woods around us stay rather silent. There’s no noise outside the occasional gusts and the constant hum of faraway traffic, which one can easily imagine as just more wind if technology pisses them off. It sure does in my case. I prefer things natural, be they transport or the laws of life.

I breathe the air in through my nostrils, enjoying its crisp coolness and aroma of pinewood. How tranquil, and yet the situation is so dire. The poor, helpless child in the clutches of a monster. And soon she'll have to trade her friend's life for hers. Simply hair-raising. Excitement, drama! This is what I’ve been missing.

Although… this walk is taking a while. It feels a bit awkward just to stay silent like this.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I speak. I pause for a reply, fully revelling in the fact that I know she can't give one.

"Beautiful forest, too. You picked a good place to hang out," I continue. "And that shack… well, it seems like a place I would've loved to hide away at as a boy. Even if it would get cold at night and the walls likely have mold in them…"

I frown. "I guess that's a lot rarer nowadays, kids playing in the woods. They've got their prescribed playgrounds and video games…"

I return my gaze to her face. "I guess I gotta hand it to you, then, for being different. Still having that wildness in you."

She only shows reserved suspicion, as strongly as she can with the spores clouding her brain.

"Go ahead, take the compliment," I say, smirking. "They're rare to get from me."

No change. Those bright blue eyes stay alarmed.

I shrug. "Well, it's alright. It's not like you'll remember any of this afterwards, anyway."

After a couple more turns, we finally reach the clearing with the shack. I scan the windows for any sign of the ghost, but find nothing. Hopefully she’s there anyway.

“Here comes your part...” I whisper, lowering Michi onto her feet. I reach for my knife --

Fuck! My shin, she -- she kicked it? And now she’s --

I leap after her, easily catching up to her tottering attempt at a run. As soon as she’s within arm’s reach, I grab firmly onto the hood of her jacket and pull her back, drawing a whimper from her throat. Desperate, she struggles - until she spots the glistening blade held up to her neck.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before,” I growl. “You either behave, or you get hurt. Got it?”

She gives a cautious nod.

“Good. Now, walk with me.”

I turn her around and bring her closer to the cabin, about two meters from the door. I still can’t spot Joanna, but with Michi at my disposal, I hope that will soon change.

“Face-bearer!” I call out as well as I can while still keeping my volume on the lower side. "I have your friend. If you don’t want her to get hurt, come outside. Now. And do it slowly! If you make any sudden motions, my hand might just slip!”

I watch the area for any motion, but none comes. No new sounds arise, either. Just the noises of the environment and the tense breathing of me and my hostage.

“I’m holding a knife, if you didn’t know,” I continue.

Still nothing. Man. She’d better answer soon, or this is gonna get complicated.

Hm. Maybe if...

“Tell you what,” I say. “I’m gonna count down from ten, and if by then you haven’t shown up...”

My left hand latches onto Michi’s neck, drawing out a whine. She’s like a squeaky toy, fun.

“...I’m gonna slit her fucking throat. Alright? Alright. Starting now.”

I loosen my grip on the girl’s neck, but only to draw her closer by her chest.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

Joanna’s really taking her time. She’s not gonna leave the girl for dead, is she? That’s not the woman I stalked. But could she be overwhelmed by her fear? Her sense of self-preservation?

“Six, five...” I raise my voice. Are you not hearing this, Joanna? Michi’s trembling. Even I’m unsettled.

“Four!”

“Maah!”

I stop. That’s her. Oh, thank fuck, I won’t have to improvise. I exhale in relief. So does Michi.

I clear my throat. “I can’t understand that,” I shout at the cabin - I’m pretty sure the voice came from there. “Come out. Slowly.”

The cabin’s door cracks open, and something slides out. A floating, ink-black shadow - and grasped in her hands, the familiar golden face. Deep red fluid leaks from the creature’s eyes. Through them shines misery.

Finally. A faint smile crosses my face. “Hi, Joanna.”

Her ghostly fingers grab the edge of her mask a little more firmly.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, walking towards her, Michi shuffling along. Joanna stays put. She knows I can’t hurt her.

As there’s no response, I continue. “I have good reason to believe that you either do or eventually will. But even if that's not the case… I can't have you floating out and about, flaunting that face. Someone might end up finding out the truth. Do you know what that truth is, Joanna? Do you remember?”

She hugs her mask.

“Well, whether you remember or not, I suppose I can tell you. It’s not like either of you will be able to spread it around once we’re done here. But first...”

I throw a glance at the door. “I’d like for us to take this inside.”

Four seconds pass before Joanna actually realizes I’m asking her to lead us in and opens the door. Maybe dying does something to your wits.

Dragging Michi along, I follow Joanna in, not once taking my eyes off the ghost. She watches me with equal vigilance.

But once the door has closed, I’m free to study the interior of the building. To the left is a door to another room hardly the third of this one. Ahead, a brick hearth and a cracked, full-length mirror. To the right, a pile of blankets and mattresses in the corner, and a wooden table flanked by benches against the wall.

Above the fireplace hangs a picture frame, but its contents are long gone, lost to time. It holds nothing but a ragged, black mess now. On the table flickers the light of a rusty oil lamp. Its smudgy glass blurs the outlines of the flame within, but the fire still burns bright and warm.

“An oil lamp, huh?” I turn to Michi, whose only response is a nervous glance. “You really are resourceful.”

I nudge her toward the bench. “Anyway, sit here, won’t you.” She obeys, and I put down my backpack beside her, my knife still at her throat. I dig out the duct tape and bind her shins, using my teeth in place of my knife hand.

“There,” I say as I sit next to her. “Now you can’t go running off.”

I wrap my knife-arm around her shoulder. It’s the most comfortable posture to take while still tightly holding the girl’s life in my hands. Definitely not comfortable for her, though, but that only makes it better.

“So,” I start, locking eyes with Joanna, “what happened? Well, you’re dead. You might have guessed that by now. Something you might also have guessed is that it wasn’t a natural death, that someone killed you. And that someone?”

I tap my chest, smiling. Joanna winces.

“But why did I kill you, then?” I raise an eyebrow. “What was my motive? Was I maybe a boyfriend that caught you fucking another man?” I shake my head. “No, nothing quite so trivial.”

I lean back. "The truth is that there was nothing personal about it. You just happened to fit the criteria my lord has for HIS offerings. Young, female, healthy… and, for the sake of my own security, you had few close contacts. So I took you. I took you and gave you to HIM. And HE was pleased."

Joanna glances around, fidgeting with her mask.

I frown. "Right, I guess you don't know who HE is. Well, HE… HE is magnificent. HE is terrifying. HIS nature is beyond mortal comprehension - all we can do is stare in awe as our pathetic brains try to scramble together some explanation. HE was there before the world, before time. Far before we humans came to be.

“Us humans, though, were of interest to HIM. That’s why HE recruited some followers, followers that would go on to conquer an entire kingdom. Under HIS rule, that kingdom flourished. It was a glorious era.

"Sadly, that kingdom only stood for a few hundred years. HE foresaw its end well in time, however, and had himself hidden to await a better time. Millennia later, I found HIM - and now, I will be the one to restore HIS kingdom. The Helixian Kingdom. Where the strong thrive and feed on the weak, as it should be. No more prey ruling the predators, no more laws to suppress us. True freedom."

Such words leave a good taste in my mouth. It’s a shame I can never speak like this outside meetings with HIM - or talking by myself, but that just feels sad.

I don’t even get to tell my victims this. I have to keep them unconscious until the beginning of the ritual, and after that, it all has to go according to the script. No time for chit-chat. I love it all the same, but sometimes it feels like my head will burst if I have to keep all these thoughts behind sealed lips.

I should probably cut this here, though. The longer I talk, the more likely it is for someone to overhear, even if the chance stays relatively low.

“Alright, that’s enough about me. Let's get to the point.”

I extend a hand to Joanna. “I'm gonna need you to give me that mask.”

“...Maa?”

“Are you questioning me?”

I grab Michi’s chin and push it up high, fully exposing her throat. Her neck resists the motion with pitifully insufficient strength, and realizing that helplessness, her breathing becomes even quicker than before.

“Did you forget where you are? Do you want to see her throat slit?” I growl. I know I’d want to. I'm breathing faster, too.

“Mah… m-mah…!”

The fluid from the ghost’s eyes spurts out like blood from a bad cut as her face contorts in agony, but the red vaporizes the moment it hits the floor. Her fingers, furiously trembling, grasp the rim of the mask like a cliff she was hanging by.

“It's just a mask,” I whisper, feigning concern with a furrowed brow. “It’s not worth an innocent child’s life.”

I extend my hand again. Chin freed, Michi shrinks like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

Joanna, on the other hand, keeps shivering, but makes no other motions. Not giving it, huh?

“Alright, I guess I'll have to do this again…” I sigh. “Ten. Nine.”

“Maah! Mah!” she howls. She takes one of her hands off the mask, shakingly offering the golden object forward with the other. There we go.

Calmly, I grab the mask - shuddering at its surprising coldness - and draw it to myself.

“I'm glad you chose this way, Joanna,” I say, turning the mask in my hand. Its gleaming surface reflects back a stretched, distorted version of my face. “Not only is it beneficial for me, but most would consider it morally correct. You’re living your second life, the girl her first. It's just common sense.”

The mask's still cold… but eh, what can you do. It’s not like it’ll be comfortable to wear anyway, not with a woman’s face and this jawline. Wait. It's not gonna change my face to hers or some shit like that, is it? No, no it won't, there would’ve been something about it in the book if it would. Just put it on already, get it over with.

I bring the mask to my face and press it on. The chill burns - I grit my teeth to help bear it. At least it fits well, surprisingly enough. Really well...

Wait. It's sticking to my face. Is it that cold, cold enough to freeze onto my skin? I better get this off and warm it first so it doesn't sting so damn bad...

...hey. Hey, get off. Get off! It -- It's not coming off! It won't -- oh Gods, I can't breathe, I --

The other hand! I need the -- gotta sheathe the knife, fuck, but it’ll be fine, Michi can't get away while she's… not important now! I hook my nails under the rim and pull. Fuck! That hurts! But I have to, I need to get it off, to breathe again…

It's -- it's warming up? Getting sticky? The rim… the rim is gone! But the mask's still there, has to be since my mouth is covered, my nostrils, my lungs try to draw in air but get nothing, how can I --

Knife, knife! Cut it open! I grab the knife, feel for the gap between the lips -- there it is --

Pop!

Air! Air, streaming into my lungs, pushed out, sucked in again, refreshing my blood. The darkness encircling my vision backs off, fades. I'm alive, I'm alive.

Gods. Okay. I'm on the floor, wheezing. What was I doing again? Joanna! I need to kill Joanna! Where is she?

I stumble upright. It's so blurry. Everything's blurry, but there’s brown and gray but no black or red or -- something's appearing. That's her. That’s her! Strike!

I squeeze the handle of my knife. I can hear its blade gleam. The wrist bends with grace as the arm raises the weapon. The metal is an extension of me. The tiger’s claw, the serpent’s fang.

Joanna’s so clear now, now in this split second before her demise. Her black is the deepest black, her red the most vivid of reds… like blood. More. More of it, now. She will bleed.

Slash.

Yes, she’s full of it - the warm, sticky, salty, wonderful red fluid. And flesh. She has flesh. She’s corporeal. She feels pain. She’s dying.

Again!

The black smoke enveloping those guts tears like wrapping paper. That’s what it is. A present. A gift for me for being this way. Strong. Agile. Bloodthirsty. A hunter.

Stab! This time it’s a stab! The blade slides into her body, through it, into the wooden wall behind and stopping. Her skin impacts mine, cold and silky. Look at her, pain in her eyes, slipping away from this world to the void. Where she belongs. There should only be one life. I only have one life. No one else deserves more.

The smoke melts. It ignites with a white, white fire. It spreads to her whole body, eats at its edges. I can’t take my eyes off her terrified expression. She knows she’s dying. She knows I’m killing her. I am ending her. The flames grip her by the temples. One last look, and she’s swallowed by the blaze.

Gone.

The light is gone. Joanna is gone.

No more.

It has been done.