Snow fell heavily, covering the ground in a quiet, white blanket. But beneath it, the truth was far from pure.
A dozen bodies lay scattered across the village square drowning in the snow. Their armor was broken, their throats ripped open. Blood stained the snow, steaming in the cold air.
At the center of it all stood her.
A small girl, no older than ten, dressed in torn black clothes. She licked blood from her lips. Her dark hair was messy, framing her pale face. Her red eyes glowed like fire in the dark. She breathed out, her breath forming a mist in the freezing air.
The last soldier, his face full of fear, stumbled back. He gripped his sword with shaking hands. "D-Demon," he stammered.
She giggled.
Then she moved.
The soldier barely saw her. She was a blur of black and red, a rush of wind—then pain. His arms twisted unnaturally, and his sword fell from his hands. He gasped, looking down to see her small, clawed hand deep in his chest.
She tilted her head, curious, then smiled.
With a sharp pull, she ripped out his heart.
The man fell, lifeless. The girl bit into the heart, blood dripping down her chin.
Then—
CRACK.
A gunshot broke the silence.
The bullet hit her shoulder, making her stumble back. The heart fell from her hand, landing in the snow with a soft thud.
For the first time, she felt pain.
Her glowing red eyes turned to the shooter.
A man stood at the edge of the massacre, wearing a long black coat covering a white shirt with black tie . His dark hair was pushed back by the wind. In his hand, a smoking revolver gleamed under the moonlight, A violet amulet hung around his neck, its faint glow barely visible in the dark
He stepped forward, ignoring the bodies, his amber eyes fixed on her. "That's enough, kid," he said quietly.
The girl snarled, showing her bloody teeth. She lunged at him, faster than any human could react.
But Chain wasn't just any human.
He moved aside easily, his steps smooth and precise. His sword flashed as he turned, and in an instant—
Her head flew off her shoulders.
Her body twitched for a moment, then fell into the snow. Her head landed nearby, her red eyes wide with shock.
Chain sighed, putting his sword away. He looked at the bodies around him, then at the young demon's lifeless face.
"What a waste" he muttered With disgusted expression Then he turned and walked away, leaving the snow to cover what was left.
He turned and began to walk away, leaving the snow to cover what was left. But he only made it three steps before he stopped.
The silence of the village didn't return. Instead, a low, wet sound echoed from behind him—the sound of flesh knitting together and bone grinding against bone.
Chain's hand moved back to the hilt of his sword, his amber eyes narrowing. Behind him, the girl's headless body was slowly standing up, and from the severed neck, dozens of thin, black tendrils reached out into the snow, searching for the head that had just been taken.
"You've got to be kidding me," Chain whispered.
Then, from the darkness of the surrounding forest, a much deeper, older voice responded.
"You shouldn't have done that, Hunter. She was the youngest of us."