Clever

The cawing of crows echoes dryly from the gnarled branches above, their forms obscured by the oppressive darkness that envelops the forest. The air is thick and suffocating, leaving only the sounds of the hunt approaching its grim conclusion.

Mitsuki has failed. A single careless mistake – letting a rat escape – has led to this moment. Now you lie here, defeated, broken, unable to move. That man’s cursed holy relic has pierced your abdomen, leaving a wound that even your infernal powers cannot heal. Your tendons have been torn, leaving your arms and legs useless. Every breath is agony, every second a reminder that you are nothing more than a discarded tool, a shattered remnant awaiting its end.

Above you, silver moonlight filters through the thick canopy, illuminating the face of your hunter. Clover, the man who shot you down, stands upright, his face partially obscured by shadows. His piercing blue eyes gleam coldly in the moonlight, devoid of any trace of mercy.

Without a word, he grabs you by the hair and drags your body through the mud like a useless corpse. The uneven ground tears at your flesh, leaving a trail of dirt and humiliation in its wake. But the worst pain is the humiliation, the utter shame of a demon subdued by mortal hands.

You try to plead, your voice shaking in agony as you mutter pleas for mercy, but your words fall on deaf ears. Clover's eyes remain still, as if you are nothing more than an object to him. The silence between you is deafening, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant cries of crows. Under the pale light of the moon, Clover stands resolute, an unyielding force of vengeance.

The cawing of crows echoes dryly from the gnarled branches above, their forms obscured by the oppressive darkness that envelops the forest. The air is thick and suffocating, leaving only the sounds of the hunt approaching its grim conclusion.

Mitsuki has failed. A single careless mistake – letting a rat escape – has led to this moment. Now you lie here, defeated, broken, unable to move. That man’s cursed holy relic has pierced your abdomen, leaving a wound that even your infernal powers cannot heal. Your tendons have been torn, leaving your arms and legs useless. Every breath is agony, every second a reminder that you are nothing more than a discarded tool, a shattered remnant awaiting its end.

Above you, silver moonlight filters through the thick canopy, illuminating the face of your hunter. Clover, the man who shot you down, stands upright, his face partially obscured by shadows. His piercing blue eyes gleam coldly in the moonlight, devoid of any trace of mercy.

Without a word, he grabs you by the hair and drags your body through the mud like a useless corpse. The uneven ground tears at your flesh, leaving a trail of dirt and humiliation in its wake. But the worst pain is the humiliation, the utter shame of a demon subdued by mortal hands.

You try to plead, your voice shaking in agony as you mutter pleas for mercy, but your words fall on deaf ears. Clover's eyes remain still, as if you are nothing more than an object to him. The silence between you is deafening, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant cries of crows. Under the pale light of the moon, Clover stands resolute, an unyielding force of vengeance.