The sky was a bruised shade of purple as dusk settled over Allenstein, casting long shadows that crept across the village like silent witnesses to its sins. Akshran walked beside Sheriff Thawyne down the narrow dirt path, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath their boots. The quiet felt heavy, a silence too deep and too deliberate to be natural. Allenstein was hiding something, and the air tasted of fear.
Thawyne, a man with tired eyes and a jaw set in grim determination, kept stealing glances at Akshran as they walked. The sheriff's posture betrayed the unease he tried to conceal, as if he'd been waiting for someone to finally shoulder the burden of this nightmare but feared what they might uncover. Thirty-five deaths, he'd said. Mostly children. Innocent lives snatched from the village's heart, leaving behind a hollow, festering wound.
Akshran's gaze swept over the darkened windows and tightly shut doors they passed. Here, fear had seeped into every corner. Families locked themselves inside, barricading their children from the unknown predator that walked among them. In some windows, he caught the pale faces of villagers watching him—silent, desperate, their eyes begging him to put an end to the terror.
As they reached the outskirts of the town square, Thawyne cleared his throat, his voice low and rough. "I know you've been warned… but this case is different. It's not just the deaths. It's the way people are beginning to look at each other. We're rotting from the inside, and if this goes on much longer…"
He trailed off, his hand gripping the brim of his hat, as if he could ward off the weight of his own words.
Akshran only nodded, his face impassive beneath his hood. "Where was the last body found?" he asked quietly.
The sheriff's face darkened, and he pointed to a trail winding into the woods, its entrance marked by gnarled trees that twisted up toward the darkening sky like skeletal fingers. "Just there, beyond the edge of the forest. The girl was found lying facedown in the marshes, her body… you don't wanna know. No one heard a thing. No one saw anything. It was as if she vanished from the village and reappeared as a corpse."
Akshran's expression didn't change, but a glint of something unreadable sparked in his eyes. "Then that's where we'll start."
Without another word, he began down the trail, the shadows closing in around him as he left the last traces of the village's light behind. Sheriff Thawyne hesitated at the edge, his gaze lingering on the dark path, before finally following.
Allenstein's secrets lay just ahead, buried in the mud and shadows—and if Akshran had to drag them into the light one by one, so be it.
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"These wounds are still fresh—Two, maybe three days," Akshran murmured, his tone as clinical as if he were reading a weather report. The sheriff shivered; it was as if the man had stood over corpses his entire life. There wasn't the slightest change in his expression, even in the face of the grisly scene.The young girl, no older than ten, lay sprawled in the marsh. Her insides had been gouged out, packed back into her mouth in a grotesque mockery of life, her slack jaw still dripping dark streaks of blood.
'No reaction?' thought Sheriff Thawyne, watching Akshran closely. 'What kind of man could look at this… and feel nothing?' It was as though he'd seen horrors like this a hundred times—or worse, as though he'd done them himself.
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"There are obvious signs here," Akshran remarked, breaking the silence.
"You said before that the killer's methods are different each time, right?" he asked, looking at Sheriff Thawyne.
The sheriff nodded, feeling the chill run through him again. "Yeah… every scene is different, each one somehow more gruesome than the last."
Akshran nodded thoughtfully."The killer's brutality suggests a personal grudge—something rooted in bullying or exclusion. Ordinary grudges don't lead to this kind of violence. The randomness of the methods shows impulse, not calculation. It's revenge, pure and raw."
Akshran crouched beside the girl's body, his gaze lingering on the chaotic wounds. "Someone who doesn't think it through," he murmured, as if to himself. "This is personal… driven by rage, not reason."
The sheriff stepped back, a bead of sweat tracing his temple as he looked at Akshran."Someone reactive… probably inexperienced?"
Akshran smirked."Exactly. The lack of pattern, the randomness—it's pure, impulsive rage. Someone ruled by emotion, not calculation."
"But… it doesn't rule out an adult," Thawyne said, hesitantly. "Maybe someone with… a unique condition?"
"True," Akshran agreed, "but I'm standing by my point. I need records on the times of these murders, the working hours of adults, a list of unemployed people, including young ones. And give me past records on all of them."
The sheriff sighed at the sheer workload this would entail, but he knew he had little choice. "Yes, sir."
___________
Inside a small room with a simple desk, Akshran sifted through several stacks of papers.
"Did you find something?" Sheriff Thawyne asked.
"Yes," Akshran replied, tapping the stack. "I've committed it all to memory."
"You're serious? All 145 sheets?" "You're serious? All 145 sheets?" The sheriff's voice wavered, his gaze shifting to Akshran as though trying to see beneath the surface.
"Yeah, so?" Akshran said nonchalantly.
"I was gone for eight minutes…"
"So?" Akshran responded, looking unfazed.
"You seriously don't see anything unusual about that?" asked Thawyne, resigning with a sigh.
"Anyway, let's focus. Based on this information, assuming it's accurate, I conclude the killer is young."
"The randomness of the killings—have you noticed it?" asked Akshran.
"The randomness points to an unstable psychological state—someone whose emotional intensity overshadows any reasoning. Such impulsiveness isn't typical in killers, but it's often seen in people who feel profoundly isolated or disconnected from society," Akshran explained. "The killer's behavior shows signs of cunning—a knack for luring victims and avoiding detection—but there's recklessness, like they don't grasp the full horror of their actions. This detachment could be a sign of someone deeply disconnected from others."
"And," he continued, "though the killings seem 'random,' they could only happen with consistent freedom from observation. A young person without adult supervision could roam unnoticed, even in a lockdown. The timing and location of these murders suggest a killer with local knowledge of hidden paths and patrol routines—likely someone who knows the village's layout well."
"I—I see," said the sheriff, visibly overwhelmed.
"An unemployed or unsupervised person likely moves around the village at odd times, blending in as they play outside or run 'errands.' They'd be able to lure victims to isolated spots without arousing suspicion. A clever one could easily exploit gaps in the village's security or observe adult routines to evade capture. This points to a killer who understands Allenstein's lockdown as a shield, not a barrier," Akshran said, making it clear exactly who he suspected.
"So… you're saying the killer doesn't think things through?" The sheriff's face contorted, struggling to piece it together.
Akshran's gaze sharpened. "There are people in this village with troubled pasts, Sheriff. The kind that slip through the cracks—unseen, unnoticed."
The sheriff said nothing, his gaze falling to the dark path behind them. Akshran continued, his voice low. "And sometimes… they grow shadows of their own."
"A person is not broken by one great blow, but by a thousand silent cuts, each one unseen until he bleeds without end." said Akshran