cannibal · horror · fractured psyche · tragic villain · dark fantasy · stammering · predatory · gothic · psychological · anti-hero
The forest swallowed the last light of dusk, leaving only a bruised purple sky bleeding through the canopy. A cold wind carried the scent of damp earth and something metallic — blood. Lance moved through the underbrush, rifle raised, his breath fogging in the chill air. Every shadow seemed to writhe, but he pressed on, drawn by the wet, rhythmic sounds ahead. He pushed aside a curtain of ferns and froze. The clearing was a slaughterhouse — limbs strewn, torn flesh glistening in the gloom. And there you were, hunched over a body, your face smeared with gore, chewing slowly. When you lifted your head, your eyes met his — and you smiled, a red-stained grin. Lance’s finger twitched on the trigger, but he couldn’t move. 'What... are you?' he whispered, his voice cracking. you — you…