On a lifeless morning, flakes of black snow fell upon a gray Sunday. The angel of death had returned, carrying a restless soul wrapped in a heart veiled by vengeance.
.
.
.
Several pairs of footsteps hurried forward, trampling the wet, muddy ground as thunder roared across the sky cloaked in the darkness of night. If they could no longer see the sunrise, then tonight would be a long one—drowning them in an eternal nightmare: death.
Drop by drop, cold rain began to fall from the sky, striking the earth in countless numbers. Yet the group of four men pressed on without hesitation. Each of them wore black suits, now disheveled from the pouring rain. Their fingers firmly gripped their firearms as their eyes scanned every corner of the dark alley they moved through.
Right within that alley—one of the quiet spots at the base of an elite building in a southern district of Toronto, Canada—they saw a figure standing under the rain. When lightning struck, the figure became visible, if only for a few fleeting seconds.
The group widened their eyes—not because of the thunder that followed, but because the figure standing before them was one of their own, the man they had been searching for. His condition was horrifying: his left arm severed up to the shoulder, both eyes gone, fresh blood streaming down his cheeks and mixing with the rain on the ground. Slowly, his remaining hand reached out in broken movements, pointing at the four men as if trying to say something. He was still alive—barely breathing, on the brink of death.
If not for the sword that pierced through his back and protruded from his chest, he would no longer have been able to stand. That sword was held by someone behind him, keeping the dying man upright.
The four men flinched as they finally recognized who it was, their jaws tightening.
A man in a worn black wool coat stood behind him. A white rabbit mask concealed his handsome face, while his gleaming eyes radiated a chilling aura.
"Th-that's Killer Rabbit!" one of them shouted, his voice swallowed by the intensifying rain.
"Argghh!!!"
A pained cry broke out as Killer Rabbit drove the blade deeper, burying it to the hilt before yanking it out in one swift motion. Blood gushed like a broken faucet as the man collapsed to his knees.
Without warning, three H&K P7 pistols fired at once, all aimed at the deadly rabbit. But Killer Rabbit did not run. A grin spread across his lips as gunfire filled the alley. He grabbed the corpse by the collar, using it as a blood-soaked shield against the bullets that flew like lightning.
Dozens of rounds lodged into the already crimson body. With his free hand, Killer Rabbit pulled out a pistol from the backpack slung over his shoulder—ready to retaliate.
Gunshots roared alongside the thunder, ending with a scream of agony. A single bullet struck one of them square in the head.
The remaining three were consumed by anger, refusing to surrender to fear as they saw their comrade fall. But that rage did not last long. When their pistols ran dry, terror seized their bodies down to the bone.
They could no longer speak, as if their tongues and lips had been locked. They staggered backward, trying to escape the uneven firefight. Gunshots and screams clashed louder and louder, tearing through the night sky and piercing the curtain of rain.
Killer Rabbit's grin widened. This was the moment the remaining three attempted to flee. Despair crept into their hearts as his pistol fired again—only for nothing to happen. Not a single bullet came out. He had run out of ammunition.
The opportunity was not wasted. The three men charged back at him. Three against one—Killer Rabbit should have been outmatched. But tonight, the killer rabbit had no intention of letting his prey escape alive.
He picked up his sword from the muddy ground. Its silver gleam flashed in the darkness, clashing with the lightning.
In a single step, Killer Rabbit lunged forward, blade drawn—like a samurai charging into battle. With one slash, he struck the abdomen of the nearest man. The deep cut tore him open. His clothes split apart, crimson liquid spilling out, followed by something long and dark red protruding from the torn flesh.
As if nothing had happened, the man stood frozen, staring at the blood pouring from his split abdomen. Shock numbed all sensation. Moments later, his lifeless body collapsed into the rain-soaked ground.
A cold smile lingered beneath the white rabbit mask, unfazed by the rain drenching his body. One prey remained.
Staggering, the last man tried to flee—but he tripped and fell.
"Curse you…! You're nothing but a killer!" he spat, glaring into the hollow eye slits of the mask, where sapphire irises stared back.
He scrambled backward, retreating in panic. Killer Rabbit was unmoved, deaf to insults, stripped of all emotion long ago as a hitman.
One stab. Two. Then countless more—he plunged the blade wildly into the man's abdomen, brutally tearing him apart. Without mercy, Killer Rabbit stomped on the man's head, forcing his face into the ground until his nose shattered.
In a single heartbeat, the man felt his soul ripped away amid the thunder. Without expression, Killer Rabbit stomped again—this time crushing his jaw with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed across the ground.
Under the pouring rain, those ice-cold gray eyes stared at the pale, blood-covered faces—eyes wide in disbelief as their lives were violently taken. Cold rain drenched Killer Rabbit, while warm blood soaked his fingers.
The metallic scent of blood filled the air. Torn flesh from the corpses was washed away by the rain. Nothing could stop the blood from flowing—just as nothing could stop the rain. Both were beyond his control.
And in that filthy alley, he erased what remained of them.
*
In a place where even time refused to move, a pair of eyes opened.
Noel Baluev—had awakened.
An unfamiliar place he had never seen before. As he looked around, he found nothing—only a monochrome gray void. No ceiling. No walls. Just a vast gray floor stretching endlessly.
Questions flooded his mind. How had he ended up here?
"Noel…" a whisper called his name.
"Who's there? How do you know my name?" he asked, wary and afraid.
"You don't need to know who I am."
That was not the answer he wanted. "What do you want? Why am I here?" Confusion deepened across his face.
"I'm the one who called you."
"But why?" Each answer only made things more unclear.
"I need your help."
"W-what do you mean? I don't understand." Noel nearly scoffed at the idea. Help? He couldn't even help himself right now.
"If you help me, I will help you."
"Help me… with what?" he murmured, trying to make sense of the situation.
"Revenge."
The short answer only deepened his confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you remember how you died?"
"I already—"
The voice laughed again, louder this time. "You will help me, and I will help you. That makes us even."
Slowly, Noel saw a white shadow approaching—drifting toward him like smoke carried by the wind, brushing gently against his body.
Then everything went dark.
And he remembered nothing more.
[•°]