Chapter 8: The Predator's Trail
The strategy room buzzed with tension, a quiet storm of anxious energy crackling in the air. Zeke's team had laid out their observations, and now it was the other group's turn to share their findings. Each team had spent the day dissecting different angles of the case, hoping to weave together the elusive threads of truth.
Aliastar stepped forward, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the weight of his words. "The killer has claimed fourteen victims so far," he began, pointing to the chart behind him. "But not all of them had soul power. The first four were ordinary humans. If the killer is evolving by absorbing soul energy, why start with regular people? And why drain every drop of their blood?"
Eric leaned back in his chair, a sardonic grin tugging at his lips. "Maybe it's just a weird hobby," he quipped.
Frustration rippled through the room. Another investigator sighed, rubbing his temples. "We're running out of time. This case could stretch on for weeks. We've already wasted a full day chasing leads. Maybe we should focus on the west-side gangs instead. It's a faster way to meet the mission's criteria."
"But then we wouldn't be the first team to complete it," someone countered. "Most groups are already hunting gangs. We'd just be playing catch-up."
The competition for spots in the Guardians' department was fierce. Only a select number of teams would qualify, and every decision mattered.
Zeke, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was steady, each word laced with quiet authority. "We need to wait. For the past month, the killer has struck once a week, like clockwork. If he kills again tomorrow, we'll have a clear trail to follow. Eric can track him more accurately then."
A heavy silence settled over the room as the team absorbed his reasoning. Finally, they nodded in agreement. Some members headed back into the field to continue their investigations; others returned home to rest.
---
Late that evening, Zeke, Eric, and Celeste huddled in a dim corner of the Guardian department, pouring over their notes. The flickering light cast long shadows as they dissected patterns, speculated on motives, and tried to make sense of the killer's grotesque methods.
Then came the call they had been both waiting for and dreading.
"There's been another murder," a breathless messenger reported, eyes wide with shock. "Same pattern."
Zeke and Eric exchanged a grim look, their resolve hardening. "Celeste, gather the others," Zeke ordered. "We're moving out."
---
They raced through the dimly lit streets, the weight of the case pressing heavily on Zeke's mind. Doubt gnawed at him. Why would the killer strike so close to headquarters? Either he had lost his mind, or someone of higher rank was protecting him.
They arrived at a modest home already surrounded by onlookers. Lower-ranking Guardians struggled to keep the restless crowd at bay, their efforts barely containing the chaos.
Pushing through the throng, Zeke and Eric entered the house. The metallic stench of blood was overwhelming.
In the bathroom, a headless body knelt on the floor, its flesh eerily desiccated. The head lay in the bathtub, surrounded by a basin of dark, congealed blood.
Zeke's fists clenched involuntarily. "Eric," he said, his voice taut, "can you sense anything?"
Eric's eyes glowed faintly as he activated his soul-tracking ability, scanning the room. His expression sharpened. "Yes. There's a trail. He's close—we can catch him."
Without hesitation, they followed the ethereal trace, leading them to the outskirts of the city, where the sewer system loomed like a forgotten underworld.
---
The sewers were a labyrinth of shadows, the air thick with decay. Zeke and Eric moved cautiously, their footsteps echoing through the damp passageways. The aura grew stronger with every step.
Suddenly, Eric froze. "Get down!" he hissed.
Zeke ducked as a shard of bone whizzed past, embedding itself in the wall. A weaponized fragment—hurled with lethal precision.
They took cover. Eric peeked out, spotting a figure with unnaturally red skin retreating deeper into the shadows. "That's him," Eric whispered. "He's panicking. His ambush failed."
They gave chase, hearts pounding. The killer's movements were frantic, almost desperate. Eric closed the gap, but as he lunged, the killer leapt, clinging to the ceiling with unsettling agility. He crouched there, predator-like, before launching himself at Eric with terrifying speed.
Eric raised an arm to block the attack. The impact was brutal. Pain exploded through him, and a sickening crack confirmed the damage.
"Eric!" Zeke shouted, charging forward. While the killer was focused on Eric, Zeke struck hard, landing a blow to the abdomen. The impact felt... familiar, somehow.
The killer didn't flinch. Instead, he drew a blade that pulsed with soul energy, eyes wild. He lunged at Eric again, who barely dodged before being kicked hard in the ribs. He collapsed, gasping.
In that moment while trying to stand up, Eric's gaze fell on a rat watching from the shadows its eyes were like two blackholes. His eyes widened in horror before he slumped unconscious.
"Eric!" Zeke called, panic flaring. No time to check.
The killer advanced, his movements erratic, berserk. Zeke dodged the knife again and again, mind racing.
He's unstable, Zeke realized. This is what happens when you absorb too many souls. The predator had become a beast—dangerous, but vulnerable.
And Zeke would exploit that.
Zeke's heart pounded in his chest as the killer lunged again, wild and erratic, the glowing knife a blur in the dim light. He barely dodged, the blade slicing a thin line across his shoulder. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it. He couldn't let Eric's here.
The killer's eyes gleamed with a twisted, almost feral intelligence. Each movement was unpredictable, each strike more brutal than the last. Zeke countered blow after blow, his muscles screaming from the effort. The sewer walls echoed with the clash of their struggle, the oppressive darkness pressing in on all sides.
He tried to land a punch, but the killer twisted, deflecting the attack with inhuman agility. In one fluid motion, he slammed the hilt of the knife into Zeke's ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. Zeke staggered, clutching his side, gasping for air.
I need to end this. Now.
The killer advanced, eyes burning with manic glee. "You're weak," he sneered
, zeke circled the killer, calculating every movement, every breath. They locked eyes, and in that moment
The glowing knife slashed toward him again. Zeke ducked low, sweeping the killer's legs out from under him. The man hit the ground hard, but rolled instantly, springing back to his feet with a predator's grace. Zeke barely had time to raise his arms before the killer was on him again, the knife flashing dangerously close.
Suddenly, Zeke saw an opening. He sidestepped, driving his elbow into the killer's jaw. Bone cracked. The killer stumbled, disoriented, but recovered almost instantly. He snarled, blood dripping from his mouth, and launched himself at Zeke with renewed fury.
They grappled, the knife inches from Zeke's throat. Every muscle in his body strained as he fought to keep the blade at bay. Sweat poured down his face, his vision blurring.
I can't hold him off much longer.
The killer's strength was monstrous, his movements fueled by stolen souls. Zeke realized he had no choice but to use the power he had kept hidden for so long after his mother's death he never used his ability and he don't know what it does , he sometimes thinks that his mother's death is his fault
But right now, survival is all that matters.
As the killer pressed the blade closer, dark mist began to seep from Zeke's shadow, curling like smoke, thick and heavy with ancient power. It wrapped around his arms, his chest, his very soul. The air around them grew cold, oppressive.
The killer froze, eyes wide with terror. His face paled, and he stumbled back, almost dropping the knife. "No... you liar," he whispered, voice trembling. "You promised me... I... I..."
His words were cut off as the mist surged forward, tendrils of darkness wrapping around his heart. The killer screamed—a raw, primal sound—as the mist plunged into his chest. His body convulsed violently, his eyes rolling back. Then, silence.
He collapsed, lifeless.
Zeke shoved the body away, gasping for breath. The mist recoiled, retreating back into the shadows. Pain radiated through his chest as he forced it down, fighting to suppress the monstrous power within. His mother's warnings echoed in his mind, her voice a distant whisper.
Don't tell anyone about this special ability.
He remembered the looks of fear on her face, the whispers, the way people had avoided their family after his mother's death. To absorb another's soul... it was a power they would call demonic. And now, he understood why.
He could feel it—the energy he had taken. It coursed through him, raw and potent, amplifying his strength. His senses sharpened; every sound, every movement in the sewer seemed amplified. But it came with a cost. His soul felt... heavier, tainted somehow.
For thirty grueling minutes, Zeke focused, purging and assimilating the energy. The dark mist writhed, assisting him, when the pain finallystoppped, Zeke's aura felt sharper, more powerful. But a lingering darkness remained, a shadow he couldn't quite shake.
He reached 2 level of soul manifestation .
As he stood, panting, the killer's final words echoed in his mind.
"Because of you..."
What had he meant? What connection did he have to this man?
There were no answers. Only more questions.