The night's chill air was penetrated by Ezzekiel's rage, "That wretched bastard! May the abyss itself hunger for his damned soul, and may the shadows swallow his very existence until not even a whisper of his name remains!"
Ezzekiel stood atop a hill, looking over the vast and unpredictable landscape. His silver eyes narrowed, reflecting the frustration that consumed him. It had been nearly two agonizing months since he had set foot on this planet, and yet, his human prey eluded him, dancing always just out of reach.
The crescent moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows that seemed to mock his failed attempts. Last month, his search had hit an all-time low; they couldn't even sense the faintest imprint of their target. He clenched his fists, the black gauntlets squeaking under the pressure.
