He waited with bated breath. The air he exhaled was visible in the air, marking clearly the cold air. It had long since become something he had become accustomed to, a friendly reminder that today was the same as the thousands that came before

There was no bothering with grand ambition, or how to use his talents to better the world. He was a hunter, he had dedicated his life to surviving. Anything deeper than the surface was unneeded, something he had thrown away a long time ago. Now, all that lied in his mind was the hunt.

“I’m nobody, really.” 

He did not go on a grand trek to find his prey. He thought like prey, and he found prey. His simplicity was on the border of idiocy, but he had long lived his life to the point where his results had spoken for themselves. To survive day after day in the harsh duel world, he did not have the luxury of doubting his own methodology. It works, and so he continues to live.

“If you told me the sky was falling tomorrow, well there’s not really anything I could do about that.” 

His fingers quietly gripped the string of his bow, the sound of footfalls subtly filling his ears. His body tensed, and his senses sharpened. No distractions, no doubt, the arrow flew. With a quick thunk, it hits its target squarely in the head, knocking its body down to the ground. Silently, he makes way from his location towards what he had felled. He is not to be seen, he is not to be heard by any hiding in the tree’s. Much like the ephemeral reaper whose presence is only known when the cold steel brushes against your neck, his arrow can only be seen as it plunges its way into your body.

His caution allows him no less than absolute confidence in his own safety, a trait that made the verification of his own shot a long and tedious one. Once he was content with his own gathering of the scenery, he made his way forwards. He quietly stood over the body that he had felled.

“But I guess if I knew in advance, I’d do my damndest to lift it right back up to where it always was.”

The hunter looks down at his prey, the arrow sticking out the mask covering its face. First he removes the arrow from the wound, placing it away quickly. Afterwards he removes the fragmented mask from the damaged face of his prey, examining it greatly. His examination is quick but thorough, a sliver of emotion filtering through his face.

“They changed again. The color to the eyes is clearer, the muscles aren’t as mutilated as before.” **He lets out a quick puff of air from his mouth in clear annoyance.**

“Whoever’s making them, they’re getting better.” He looks back down to the corpse, its body lying quietly in the snow. The hunter slides his hand over the armor the body was wearing, giving him just enough room to see the clothes underneath.

“Red.” His eyes instantly take in and spit out the color he had seen, marking it down mentally. “Even they’re capable of being like this now too…”

He retreated from the area, making quick work of the tracks he had left in the snow. He was a hunter, his goal only to continue to survive. To the grand conflicts in the world he was ignorant, all he knew was that his senses told him that there was danger lurking behind every corner.

“Nothing but a hunter- that’s who I am.”

Many of the masked figures had been patrolling lately, more than at first. For the hunter this meant more caution, more time dedicated outside of his normal hunts. He could not allow them to linger in the territory he called home. Turbulence in nature was common, the woods he stayed at would not be the same the next year as it was this year. But the hunter could smell-feel that the outsiders that had been cropping up were like an invasive weed, threatening to devour the natural ecosystem he had co-existed with.

His nature was against the idea of trekking out, rerouting the masked figures' steps and finding where they came from. It was reckless in concept, and he had no guarantee that he could do anything about it once he arrived at the destination. But, still. He considered himself someone who took care of problems when they appeared, setting him at an impasse in his own mind. Finally, he decided that an answer was enough. He would find out what’s going on, and go from there.

And so he went, not packing any heavier than he had on his own previous hunts. Condition, repetition, consistency. He intended to survive like he always had, not glorify himself like a hero. It was a hunt for information, but he hunted all the same.

Trekking through the snow he saw signs of a struggle, tell-tale signs of the masked men littering the area. His eyes drew to signs of a struggle, and he began to ponder. It seemed like there were multiple based off the trail, but it was incredibly fresh and their trail was leading back in the position it originally came from, meaning after the encounter the masked figures had headed back. The danger was higher, but it was a clear lead. The hunter did not hesitate, he moved.

His movement was slower. He followed the trail with a soft gait, threatening to disappear into the shadows he hides in as he moves forwards. He was growing closer to the group, and his trepidation was growing to a fine point. He did not fear as he drew his body closer to his bow, he only prepared to act.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

There were four masked men standing over a body in the snow, badly beaten but still breathing. The masked men seem to be resting- not caring that their captor was slowly freezing to death as his clothes barely held protection against the harsh climate. They did not attempt to communicate with any of the others around them, they just continued to stand guard around the near-corpse on the ground. The hunter’s watchful eye made note that all 5 carried a similar figure, one that he was unfamiliar with in the area he lived.

*Thunk*

One of the four guards dropped to the ground, an arrow embedding its way through its mask. The other three notice instantly, but quickly find themselves on the receiving ends of an arrow themselves. The figure on the ground took note, his own body aching and yelling out at him in pain. Still, he forced a smile to his face.

The hunter drew closer after finishing his natural prelude of safety, looking over the figure on the ground still barely breathing. The hunter instantly recognized the signs of chill, ripping off one of the layers of cloak from his body and covering the freezing figure. The size of the cloak was clearly much too large for the body covering it, but the hunter realized that this time was no time to worry about excess.

The hunter carried the body covered in his cloak to a safe-house he had made years ago in the surrounding woods, lying it on a bed and bringing heat to the fire. He performed a makeshift medical procedure in the body, stitching and spreading a salve on any injuries the body had. Once he was pleased with his performance on the unfamiliar creature, he took a moment to study its face. He had many questions to ask, but its unconscious state served as a barrier to his goal.

The tracks from the masked men had become more and more abundant as he had made his way to the safehouse, a good sign that the hunter was close to his goal. He would have preferred to wait for the creature to awake, but he set off again. His goal was near, but that was the same as saying he was in the belly of the beast, and he knew not to let it get used to his taste. Once more, he left alone for his goal of truth, the body alone on the bed only barely opening its eyes and taking in the silhouette of the Hunter who had saved him.

Archaic stone brick was what filled his eyes. An old fortress, that was for certain. It seemed like nothing impressive, but it was the origin point of the masked intruders, that much he was certain. He had watched as multiple groups, individuals, made their way in and out of the fortress, all with the same mask on their faces. He waited and observed with no attention to time passing. Eventually, a group came back with captives, dragging them across the ground in the same fashion from earlier. The hunter noticed immediately the captives were the same as he had saved too, making note of their white jackets.

He was a savior who chose when to save, not one who held out his hand for any willing to take it. So, he watched the masked men drag the captives into the fortress with no pity. 

Still, it was time to act. He wished to see where they took them, what they did with them, and if their bodies matching that of the masked figures was mere coincidence, or not.

Gliding through the snow gracefully, he slowly made his way to the fortress’s walls. With zero hesitation, he began to scale the wall. His senses were sharp, and his trust in them was absolute. The chances he was spotted on this climb were there, but he acted with as much speed as he could, all while making sure not to give himself away for even a moment. 

His entrance was successful, a fact he himself knows as he stands in the fortress alone. The scent of the group and captives were still fresh, instantly making way for them. Soon he would receive the answer he was wishing for, and then he could reconvene with his thoughts and decide on his next course of action. 

They were brought to a wide room, lined up on flatstone beds. Their bodies were placed and restrained onto the beds with zero care or precision, clearly not caring about any pain inflicted as long as they were stably strapped to the table. His eyes absorbed the sight, piecing together the information he knew.

The creatures the masked one’s were gathering were used to make more masked ones. A production line of slaves. 

The Hunter did not care for their intent. He knew that what was occurring had no good implications for his life or any others. Finally having an answer at hand, he had firmly decided to leave. He did not think he could deal with the large number of masked men in the fortress, nor could he save the captives.

Clank.

A footstep hits the floor of the room, a figure approaching from the far end entrance.

Clank.

The hunter’s eyes lit, examining the face of the figure with apt attention. He could not be sure, but the lack of a mask on the figure’s face instantly told him that he was of extreme importance. And so for a moment more, the hunter stayed. 

The figure arrived at the tables, looking down at the badly hurt and restrained captives. 

“The condition of the specimen’s you're collecting have been in better condition recently. Perhaps your cognitive functions are increasing, are you having an easier time understanding me?” The masked men in the room do not respond, simply standing by. 

“Not yet, then.” The man laughs, the corner of his eye noticing one of the captives on the table waking up. The captive opens his eyes, no other part of his body answering his call to action. 

The captive looks over at the approaching man, his eyes going wide with fear. He is unable to struggle as the man’s words wash over him.

“The human body is interesting, that has been my primary take-away from my short but full experience in one of their bodies. We are fragile, but we are malleable to change. Our bodies break easily, but they respond to stress flexibly. Of all the bodies I’ve had, this one is quickly closing in on my favorite.” The man stops his speech, making his way over to the head of the  captive, taking his finger and tapping it down on his forehead.

“But this, this is where the real prize lies. Other bodies-they need it to be just right. The mind is a byproduct of the body, we can only exist in a place where we are allowed.” His finger pushes heavier on the captives forehead, the experience beginning to grow painful.

“Except for here.” He stops pressing his finger down. “Right here, it’s welcoming to all. Whether it be a giant that stands on the clouds or an ant that dared to dream at the very bottom. If it can get in, it can stay. And that-that is beautiful. I hope you’ll end up more interesting than your friends around me, there are still some kinks to work out in the process.” 

The hunter had begun to grow wary as he listened to the man talk. His mind was sharp, but his background was simple. He had understood the danger of the mass produced masked-men, but something about the man’s word’s had put him on an even further edge. His mind raced for a moment, jumping to an extreme. 

His body repeated the motion he had done a thousand times, reaching for his bow. The man in front of him was dangerous, something he was acutely aware of. His instinct told him that if were not now, then his arrow would never reach the man’s head. What layed for him after the arrow was shot, he was not sure. He would try his damndest to escape with his life, but his surroundings were less than ideal.

He dispelled the hesitation away. He had decided to take action, so he would. He pulled the bow back with overwhelming force and focused his gaze on his target’s head. Straining his focus, his fingers dig into the strings. His posture immaculate, he let the arrow fly. But a hunter, he wished to see the world continue to turn.