Redpines Town was a small rural town, with the world as it is, and the dwindling human population, there were fewer than a thousand people who used to live here.
The majority of the population had moved further east, to a far safer place.
With how little remained in the refugee camp, the hunter could expect to face somewhere around 800 – 900 caro-class anomalies.
Just a rough estimate in his mind.
"It would be stupid to just start assaulting them head-on, there's still the threat of the anomaly who can twist limbs," he thought, then his gaze fell upon the bishop in red and black robes.
From his vantage point on the tower's upper floor, he could see the bishop clearly, even its blood-soaked robes stood out against the congregation.
"That bishop… is it the one responsible for it?" Ray was considering every option he could think of, yet the bishop continued the mass using an unknown language — the anomalies in attendance were listening intently, and some were even crying on their knees.
There was one thing he had to make sure of: "If the bishop isn't the one twisting limbs, then I should thin out the horde slowly, I can use them to block any view of me. As the limb-twister might be watching from somewhere."
Then — one of the humans in chains was thrown in front of the bishop. The bishop continued the mass, its voice rising in passion, but in a harrowing sight, it began eating the human before it.
The human was a male in his thirties, screaming for help and even calling for his son, who was one of the chained humans alongside him.
The hunter had to do something, or else the children and the others might be devoured.
"Tch—"
"There's no way for me to save them — the moment I attempt anything, the entire horde might just feast on them," Ray thought as hard as he could. However, after the bishop finished its meal of the man, it began preaching again.
It spoke:
"Bkiyhon lā ḥašīb!
ʿAlmā dīlan hū!
Anan benē nāšā!
Bebisrāhon u-bʿaṣmāthon —
Nʾiqēm la-malakā!
Abaddon!"
Silence—
The word "Abaddon" removed any reservations from the hunter, he pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the bishop's head.
However, he didn't forget to carefully set aside the Remington 870.
Ray took a deep breath, visualizing his position.
From the second floor of the southern tower, roughly thirty meters across the church courtyard, Ray had an unobstructed view of the bishop.
"This is a summoning ritual, I need to kill him before he finishes," the hunter muttered, focused.
Ray lifted the SIG P226, At thirty meters, this was well within the pistol's killing range — especially with 124‑grain +P hollow‑points.
The hunter was patient as he felt the air, but to his fortune the wind was as calm as his steady hand.
He aligned the sights just behind the bishop's ear — precisely where the brainstem sat shielded by the thinnest bone.
A perfect lateral kill shot.
Yet something odd was happening with his black ring — a dark, viscous liquid welled up, as if it were drinking his blood.
"From here on out… every wound I inflict triggers decay. It doesn't spread, but it completely shuts down cell growth in that exact spot. The effect is short-lived, yet if I hit near a vital organ… it's almost always a guaranteed kill." he murmured.
Then— A bang.
The bullet struck the bishop just behind the ear — the slightest dip in the skull where a life ended instantly without the target noticing.
The bishop's head was decaying, and he froze mid‑chant, collapsing before the congregation even understood what had happened.
Each priest turned in confusion, but that was a mistake — they only exposed thin, lethal angles in their little skulls, the soft areas behind their jaws.
It was muscle memory; Ray immediately fired the next set of bullets.
Bang—
One priest fell sideways.
Bang—
A third — Another dropped with a hole just above the hinge of the jaw.
Bang—
A fourth — A clean strike through the temple.
Bang—
A fifth — The last priest crumpled without even being able to scream.
The act took five bullets and a mere four seconds to finish.
A near perfect accuracy from the anomaly hunter.
Another silence took hold of the atmosphere. The captive humans stared in terror as their captors lay dead on the ground.
The gathered anomalies took a moment to register it, then one of them pointed toward the source of the sound, none other than the southern tower.
A magnitude of harrowing screams echoed throughout the town, the anomalies' mouths stretched horrifyingly wide.
The hunter had triggered the horde.
Without warning, the humans were dragged back into the church — Ray saw it all unfold, yet he remained calm, accepting that it was impossible to save them.
In Ray's place, there were two windows; one led to the roof of the tower. The hunter planned to escape there if he was ever overwhelmed in such a tight space.
He took a deep breath as he heard rapid footsteps and screams approaching the tower.
The sound of the door breaking was defeaning.
"Māwte l'benê nāšā!
ʿalmā dīlan lā yitbaššar b'hon!
Šabbār garmayyéhon!
Nēʾkhel bisrāhon w'dammāhon —
L'šumā d'Abaddon!
Nēqaṭṭeʿ qalyāhon!"
The horde was chanting, yet the hunter still couldn't understand it , their voices echoed with a haunting resonance, like something pulled from a cruel nightmare.
Ray holstered his pistol and prepared the Remington shotgun , the time for a massacre began.
The first anomaly slammed onto the stairs — holding an axe, it threw the weapon toward Ray, but he dodged just in time.
The wooden handle spun past him, scraping the air, landing behind him on the steps.
"Really—" he muttered.
Ray racked the 870 — chchk— — and waited until its skull rose just over the final step.
BOOM—
The buckshot shredded its face, the flesh blackening as the ring's curse hollowed it out. The corpse collapsed down the steps — each pellet a death sentence amplified by Ray's anomalic artifact.
"That was not a good idea—" Ray muttered.
He hadn't planned to waste an entire buckshot on a single anomaly; he preferred to save it for groups, maximizing efficiency.
"Tch— it's fine. I'll manage."
The screams from below the second floor — the pounding footsteps, the chanting, and the looming threat of the limb-twisting anomaly — pressed in from all sides.
His black wedding ring throbbed violently, bleeding down his finger, as if drinking faster with every kill.
How would the Anomaly Hunter survive…?
Chapter End.