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# Chapter 22: The Ritual of the Blood Moon
The dome of black energy Zack had conjured pulsed, but not with stability. It groaned under the pressure, a fragile shield against the malevolence that surrounded him. The already heavy air turned icy, cutting Zack's lungs with every breath, which came out in dense clouds of vapor. The grass beneath his feet hardened, frozen, and he felt the overwhelming disadvantage without the Black Moon, without his knives, without anything but his own flesh and bone. Two S+ Level opponents against him, and with every second, the environment became more hostile.
"The order was not to harm you, dear Zack," the old woman hissed, her voice a distorted echo that seemed to come from an abyss. But, before the sentence ended, a viscous red goo spurted from her hands, hitting the ground and spreading like a sticky web. Zack tried to dodge, but the substance solidified instantly on contact, trapping his left foot. He pulled hard, feeling his skin tear, but the goo stretched, elastic, before hardening again, trapping him further. It was a living trap, and the old woman laughed, a shrill sound that echoed in the night.
Meanwhile, the old man advanced, his steps causing the rocky ground beneath Zack to turn into quicksand. Zack sank, the sand pulling him down, while the air around him condensed into sharp ice blades that cut his skin. He felt warm blood run down his face, mixing with cold sweat. With each movement of the old man, the environment metamorphosed: the air turned into a wall of ice, the ground became a swamp of mud, or hardened into solid rock, all to trap him, to immobilize him. Zack growled, fury bubbling in his chest. "Who gave that order?!" he shouted, but the only answer was the menacing silence and the relentless advance of the two. He was the hunter, but now, he was the prey, and intelligence was his only weapon. He needed a plan, and fast. The black dome, which he hoped would delay the ritual, was becoming a prison. He noticed, with a pang of dread, that the ritual had not been finalized. This deeply bothered him. If it wasn't to increase their power, then what was it for? The answer, he knew, would be even more terrifying.
---
With a primal roar, Zack forced his foot free from the red goo. His skin tore, blood gushed, but he did not yield. His black aura exploded, concentrating on his foot, and with a swift and brutal movement, he broke free, leaving a piece of flesh behind. The pain was excruciating, but fury supplanted it. He was the Hunter, and he would not be cornered so easily.
Taking advantage of the distraction, the old man solidified the quicksand beneath Zack, turning it into a sharp rock that tried to impale him. But Zack was already in motion. His black aura pulsed, and he activated **Breath**. A shadowy figure, identical to him, materialized beside him, a blur of dark energy. The clone lunged at the old man, dodging an ice attack that would have cut Zack in half. While the clone kept the old man busy, Zack focused on the old woman.
She launched more jets of red goo, trying to trap him again. But Zack was a whirlwind of agility. He leaped, spun, using the rubble as a springboard, his speed increased by the concentration of his aura. He delivered a spinning kick that hit the old woman's head with a dull thud. She staggered, but the goo on her body absorbed part of the impact. Zack gave no quarter. He activated **Stench**. For an instant, the world slowed down. His black eyes, now glowing with a supernatural intensity, visualized the old woman's internal organs, every heartbeat, every lung, every vital point. His speed and strength doubled. He became a ghost, delivering a series of precise and brutal blows: a punch to the liver, a kick to the spleen, an elbow strike to the kidney. Each attack was a hammer, aiming to destroy, to annihilate. The old woman screamed, a pain he had not heard before, and fell to her knees, the red goo on her body pulsing uncontrollably.
Zack's clone, meanwhile, fought fiercely against the old man. The old man turned the ground into ice, into mud, into rock, trying to trap the clone, but the shadowy figure moved with the same fluidity as the original. The clone, however, was beginning to falter, its energy diminishing. Zack knew he had to act fast. He activated **Baron**, trading speed for overwhelming attack power. His movements became a blur, his fists and feet delivering blows with the force of a meteor. He was no longer just fighting; he was annihilating. The clone, feeling its limit, exploded in a wave of black energy, throwing the old man against an ice wall he himself had created. The wall shattered, and the old man fell, stunned.
Zack gave no quarter. He lunged at the old man, his blows now charged with the force of the Baron. The old man tried to defend himself, transforming his arms into ice blades, but Zack was relentless. He delivered a punch that broke the ice arm, followed by a kick that sent him flying. The old woman, recovering, tried to envelop Zack with her goo, but he was too fast. He leaped, spun, and with a heel strike, slammed the old woman's head into the ground. The elders, once confident, were now in despair. Their blows, once precise, became more frantic, their S+ auras faltering under Zack's relentless pressure. They humiliated him, hurt him, but Zack refused to fall. He was an aberration, a being who defied logic, and with every blow he received, his fury increased, his determination solidified.
---
Amidst the chaos of battle, a chilling realization struck Zack. The ritual. He had assumed the elders were using the blood moon to amplify their own powers, to kill him. But the energy emanating from them, though powerful, was not for personal fortification. It was for channeling. They were not absorbing the power; they were directing it. And the ritual had not been finalized. This meant that the objective was not the battle itself, but something much larger. He looked at the elders' faces, and the truth was revealed in their eyes. It was not fury, nor hatred, but a desperate, almost sacrificial determination. They were not fighting to win; they were fighting for time. To hold him. To keep him busy.
Despair overwhelmed Zack. The ritual was not for them. It was for Skull. And the objective? The golden-eyed baby. The confirmation hit him like lightning. The baby really existed, and the elders were willing to summon the very entity of the Void to obtain it. The entire fight, the betrayal, the destruction – everything had been an elaborate distraction, a smokescreen for a much more sinister plan. The black dome, which he had created to delay the ritual, now seemed like a cage, trapping him while the true danger unfolded elsewhere. He had to act, and fast. Time was running out, and the fate of Red City, and perhaps the world, was in his hands.
---
With the shocking revelation of the ritual's true purpose, an even colder chill than the old man's ice ran down Zack's spine. The mention of Skull, a name that should only be whispered in legends, was enough to terrify him. The situation was out of control, and he needed help. While dodging a jet of red goo that tried to trap him and leaping over an ice stake that sprouted from the ground, he pulled a Ra scroll from a secret compartment in his boot. With a quick movement, he wrote an urgent message to Tobi, describing the plan to summon Skull and the need to act immediately.
Almost instantly, Tobi's reply appeared on the scroll, in hurried, trembling letters: "My God." The confirmation of the imminent danger, coming from someone as calm and rational as Tobi, only increased Zack's despair. He needed to break the ritual, and the only way was to eliminate the elders. With renewed fury, he lunged at them, his blows more precise, more lethal. He used the **Stench** technique, his black eyes glowing with a supernatural intensity as he visualized his opponents' vital organs. His speed and strength doubled, and he became a blur of motion, delivering blows aimed at the heart, lungs, brain. The old woman, with a cry of pain, tried to defend herself with her goo, but Zack was too fast, his fists tearing through the sticky substance to hit his target. The old man, with a look of terror, tried to freeze the air around Zack, but the hunter was already behind him, delivering a kick that sent him flying.
But, even as he fought with unprecedented ferocity, a new and terrible realization struck him. The elders' death would not stop the ritual. The energy they channeled was just a link, a catalyst. The true ritual was being performed by someone else, elsewhere, within the city itself. The entire fight, the destruction, his friends' pain – everything had been an elaborate distraction, a farce to keep him busy while the true plan unfolded. Anger and frustration burned in his chest, an uncontrollable flame.
He tried to warn Tobi again, writing frantically on the scroll, but there was no reply. The silence of the scroll was deafening, leaving Zack even more worried. What had happened to Tobi? Was he in danger? Before he could process this new concern, the scroll vibrated again, and a new message appeared, this time from Orpheus. The words were short, but laden with despair: "Lyra and Mira... on the verge of death... in a coma... Broken Mug Bar... I... weak... injured... don't know... how long..." The message faded, leaving Zack with a lump in his throat. His friends were dying, and he was trapped in a useless battle, manipulated by enemies who were always one step ahead. Time was running out, and with each passing second, the threat of Skull became more real.
---
Zack's despair turned into a cold, calculating fury. His friends were dying, the city was in danger, and he had been deceived. There was no more time for subtleties. He had to end it. With a roar that tore through the night, Zack activated the **Baron** technique, trading speed for overwhelming attack power. His movements became a blur, his fists and feet delivering blows with the force of a meteor. He was no longer just fighting; he was annihilating.
The elders, sensing the abrupt change in Zack's intensity, tried to retreat, but it was too late. The old woman, with her red goo, tried to envelop him, but Zack tore through it with brute force, his muscles ripping the sticky substance. He delivered a punch that hit her in the stomach, making her double over in pain, while the old man tried to freeze him. But Zack moved through the ice like a ghost, every blow he delivered was a hammer that crushed bones and broke flesh. He used the old man as a shield, throwing him against the old woman, who was still trying to recover. The two collided, groaning in pain.
They pleaded, their voices filled with genuine despair. "Please!" the old woman cried, her eyes full of tears. "We only did this... to save our grandson! Our family!" The old man, his voice choked, added: "We made a pact... to protect them!"
But Zack did not listen. The image of Lyra and Mira on the verge of death, the threat of Skull hanging over the city, the manipulation he had suffered – all this blinded him to any plea. His fury was an uncontrollable fire. With a final, brutal, and merciless blow, Zack smashed the old woman's head against the ground, the sound of bones breaking echoing in the night. Then, he spun, his fist hitting the old man's chest with such devastating force that his body exploded in a shower of blood and viscera. The elders fell, their lifeless bodies embracing in a last gesture of love, a macabre and disturbing scene that Zack barely registered.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Zack's ragged breathing and the distant sound of the city. The black dome dissipated, and the blood moon, still pulsing with the Vision, seemed to mock him. The mention of Skull, a name that was once just a forbidden legend, was now a terrifying reality. He had killed the elders, but he knew this was not the end. The ritual was still underway, and the true enemy was in the city. With black eyes gleaming with indomitable fury, Zack turned and ran. He ran towards the city, a predator in search of his prey, determined to find whoever was trying to summon Skull and stop them, no matter the cost. The greatest hunter in the world was back, and the city would feel his wrath.
The death of childhood
Zack was a blur of fury and despair, his tense muscles propelling him across the slippery rooftops of houses. Each leap was a silent scream, each landing a dull thud that echoed in his mind. The city, once a familiar labyrinth, now seemed like a sleeping monster, about to awaken. The blood moon, large and menacing, hung in the sky, its crimson glow painting the world with shades of foreboding. Skull. The name, whispered only in forbidden legends, was now a terrifying reality. The most wanted and feared man in the world, the legendary Hunter, felt the icy cold of fear run down his spine, a primal terror he rarely allowed to surface.
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"I'm too dependent on it... My God, what do I do?" The question echoed in his mind, a silent lament. The Black Moon, his companion of a thousand battles, his extension, his security, was not with him. The decision to abandon it, made in a moment of conviction, now seemed like madness. He had underestimated the depth of the darkness stirring beneath the surface of Red City. He had been deceived, manipulated, and the ultimate goal was the invocation of Skull. The idea made him stagger, almost losing his balance on a steep roof. The battle he had just fought with the elders was merely a distraction, a cruel farce to keep him busy while the true horror unfolded.
But Zack was no novice. Experience, forged in countless battlefields and confrontations with the unimaginable, whispered in his mind. Despair was a luxury he could not afford. The city was under attack, the threat of Skull was imminent, and he knew the battle awaiting him would be the most intense of his life. He needed focus, calm, clarity. With a fluid movement, he landed on the balcony of an abandoned house. The cold wind whipped his face, but he ignored it. He sat down, crossed his legs in a lotus position, and closed his eyes. His breathing was deep and controlled, a silent mantra to calm the storm raging within him. He needed to reconnect, to reorient himself. And, as always, his mind took him back to the past, to a time before the darkness, before the scars, before he became the Hunter.
---
The darkness of meditation gave way to a soft, welcoming light. Zack found himself in a spacious kitchen, entirely made of light wood, with a polished gleam that reflected the light streaming through the windows. It was a place of elegance and warmth, adorned with paintings depicting a blonde woman with blue eyes and a tall, bearded blonde man, both angelic in their beauty. In the center, between them, a girl with long hair that reached her knees, eyes as blue as crystals submerged in the sea, the most beautiful of all. Sofia.
Zack, a teenager without the scars that would mark his future, smiled. Hope shone in his eyes, and innocence shaped his features. He sat at the dark wooden table, playing with a small wooden cart, imitating the sound of an engine with his mouth. "BAAAAAAAAH!" A loud, sudden noise echoed through the kitchen. Zack, startled, jumped, hitting his knee on the table with a cry of pain. "Aaaah!"
He looked up, and there she was, the girl from the painting, Sofia, laughing, her imperfect but beautiful teeth exposed in a smile he found enchanting. "Damn it, Sofia, that's not funny!" he grumbled, massaging his knee. "Now my knee hurts..." Her laugh was a sob, funny and ugly at the same time, but contagious, making Zack laugh along, despite the pain. "Stop... you hurt me, look at this, it hurts, don't talk to me," he pouted, trying to maintain an offended pose.
Sofia approached, kneeling slowly and placing her hand on his knee. "It's gone... it's gone... while..." she began, in a sweet voice. "I'm not a child!" Zack retorted, maintaining his posture, but a pleasant warmth spread through his body. He liked that touch, that attention. Sofia looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You're a pervert, Zack, are you enjoying it? Taking advantage of a defenseless girl like me!" she said mockingly.
Zack pulled away, his face flushed. "You slut..." He stopped, the word caught in his throat. "You're lucky, Sofia, that I'm in your house and we can't swear here, it's wrong." Sofia let out an ironic laugh. "Poor thing, the brat is so polite..." "Hey!" Zack replied, bumping his face against hers, both close, with playful hatred and bared teeth.
Footsteps approached, and in seconds, their posture changed. Well-behaved, they pretended to play with the cart and the doll, as if they were getting along. Sofia's mother, the blonde woman from the painting, entered the kitchen, a gentle smile on her lips. "How cute! That's why you two get along so well, I'll ask to stay longer next time, Zack." Zack felt his face burn with embarrassment. Sofia's mother turned to him, her blue eyes fixed on his. "Zack, what's your dream? You're getting big, and Sofia is too, what do you plan to do?" Sofia laughed. "Mom, he doesn't even know what he ate today."
Zack took a deep breath, ignoring Sofia's provocation. He looked at the girl, at the innocence in her eyes, and the answer came from the depths of his soul. "I want to give her the freedom to choose and to be free to say no. I will protect Sofia and marry her." The phrase was a bombshell, impactful enough to make Sofia blush, all her mockery disappearing. Sofia's mother laughed with joy, a genuine laugh that, for a brief moment, was followed by an almost imperceptible sad look. Sofia pointed her finger at Zack. "You're poor! You have no money! Weak! You think you can marry me!" Zack looked at her with a simple gaze. "Yes!"
Sofia's mother laughed again, but this time, without sadness. She knelt down, looking into Zack's eyes. "I entrust her to you, Zack," she said, a smile on her face, surprising both Zack and Sofia. Sofia's mother left the kitchen, going upstairs. Zack, awkward, scratched his head. The situation was strange, but he liked it. Sofia nudged him, her face angry. Zack thought: "Damn it." "Do you promise? Will you really marry me?" Sofia asked, serious, without a smile, as she raised her pinky finger. Zack, who expected to be cursed at, approached and intertwined his pinky with hers. "I promise! I will give you the power to say no!" he said, looking fixedly into her eyes. She smiled, a beautiful, perfect smile, and this time, a smile of pure happiness. "I can say yes..." Sofia replied, and both laughed, the laughter filling the kitchen. Upstairs, hidden behind a wall, Sofia's mother laughed softly, her eyes filled with tears. "Good job, Zack, good boy," she whispered.
---
The soft light of memory shattered, broken by a dry, brutal sound. The scene cut to a few days in the future, but it felt an abyss of light-years away from that happy kitchen. It was night. The kitchen window, once a portal to light, was now open to darkness, and the cold, indifferent white light of the moon bathed the room. The wind howled fiercely, like a lament, and a dense fog covered everything, except the waning moon, which shone yellow, like a macabre smile in the sky. From Sofia's house, there was no laughter, but noises. Noises of violence. "Thwack!!" "THWACK!!" "THWACK!!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!" "CRACK!" Sounds of flesh against flesh, bones against wood, glass breaking.
Inside the house, the blonde man from the painting, Sofia's father, was no longer the angel of memory. He was a demon, his fists repeatedly striking Sofia's mother's face, his wife. "You whore!! You damn bitch!" He snarled, each word a blow. "You made me look bad at the meeting, what kind of clothes were those?" He ran his hand over her face, a gesture of cruel mockery. "Huh?" She couldn't speak, she was too hurt, her face disfigured, her mouth swollen. "I told you to sleep with the General... but you didn't, you filthy whore!!" She had no reaction, her body didn't respond, only her eyes, from which tears of fear and dread streamed. Her husband took pleasure in humiliating and assaulting her, something that was already routine, a spectacle of cruelty that repeated incessantly.
Outside, in the street, the fog was so dense that one could barely see a hand's breadth ahead. But from the mist, two figures emerged, running desperately towards the house. Sofia, with a black eye, bleeding nose, and dislocated delicate shoulder, held Zack's hand. She had been mistreated by her father while trying to protect her mother. "He's in there hitting her... just get Mom and take her out of here like last time..." Sofia gasped, her voice choked with tears and pain. Zack looked at her injuries, at the innocence stained by violence, and a knot formed in his throat. He kissed her face, a gesture of comfort that seemed useless in the face of so much pain. "It's gone... it's gone..." he whispered, the words sounding empty. "Wait on the swing under the tree and don't go in, understood?" Sofia, anxious, tried to argue. "But what about you..." Before she could finish, Zack interrupted her, his voice firm and intimidating, a tone she had never heard. "Do as I say, understood?!" Sofia trembled, scared, and ran to the swing, the image of her mother in danger etched in her mind.
---
Inside the house, the horror continued. Sofia's father, a sadistic smile on his lips, savored every detail of his wife's humiliation. "I won't kill you, you whore, because I need you to sleep with the General, you'll only survive because of that delicious body." Sofia's mother, Isabella, lay on the floor, her eyes empty, the light of hope fading. Her crying had ceased, replaced by a silence of resignation. But then, a sound. "CLACK!! BANG!!" The bedroom door burst open violently, and Zack appeared, a furious shadow. Isabella, in a last flicker of maternal instinct, tried to hold her husband back, fearing he would kill Zack, or beat him as he had her.
Sofia's father, unfazed, looked at Zack with a cruel smile. "Well, well, well, a rat back in its hole..." He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Boy, you're only alive because Isabella made a deal with me... Sofia is really happy to have you around, so... Isabella made a request, she would sleep with whoever I wanted in exchange for you staying here with Sofia." The words fell like stones on Zack, a child who, until then, had only known innocence. But at that instant, something broke inside him. His gaze changed, transforming. It was no longer the gaze of a boy, but that of a rabid dog, a demon, a killer. The cruelty of the revelation was a poison spreading through his veins.
Sofia's father continued, oblivious to the transformation he had provoked. "I'm thinking, I'll use Sofia in the future..." Isabella screamed, a lament of rage and despair, her tears falling like rain. Her daughter could not go through that. "Don't look at me like that, Zack, relax, you'll be the first to use Sofia, I'm generous, see?" The repulsive phrase, spoken by her own father, made Zack's stomach churn. He looked at Isabella, who whispered, her voice almost failing: "Please, Zack... save me..."
Sofia's father tried to silence her, but before he could, a kick from Zack hit him in the chest with brutal force, throwing him against the wall. He hit with a dull thud, spitting blood. "What the hell is this!" he shouted, but Zack was already in front of him, too fast, a blur of fury. He grabbed the man's throat, squeezing so hard that the veins in his head became visible, pulsing. The man, desperate, pulled out a switchblade and began stabbing Zack in the stomach, repeatedly. Blood gushed, staining the floor, and Isabella screamed, a sound of pure terror. "NOOOOOOOOO!" she shrieked.
Sofia's father began to smile, believing he had won, but soon realized that Zack had not released his neck. His eyes widened in horror as he looked down. Zack's eyes were not those of a child, but those of a predator, cold, empty, filled with an ancestral darkness. "What are you!!" he screamed, kicking his feet on the floor, losing air. Isabella realized that Zack was no longer bleeding. A dark and terrifying energy emanated from him, healing his wounds. "You will suffer, I will abuse you... yes... I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE AFRAID OF, YOU'RE AFRAID OF BEING LIKE YOUR PREY." Zack's voice was not that of a child, but that of someone with experience in torture, an icy whisper that promised a personal hell. The man begged for forgiveness, offered money, but Zack merely laughed, a laugh so loud it echoed in the room, filled with darkness, making the man's despair even greater. Zack looked at a wooden curtain rod and then smiled at Sofia's father. It was easy to understand, and he understood. Zack threw him, breaking the wall and sending him into the next room. Then, Zack picked up the wooden rod.
---
Zack approached Isabella, who lay on the floor, bruised and vulnerable, her eyes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and hope. "SOFIA IS ON THE SWING, GO TO HER, I'LL HANDLE THIS." His voice was calm, but carried an authority Isabella had never heard. She was scared of Zack, he was someone she didn't know, her body trembled with fear. But Zack held her hand gently, and a dark, warm energy enveloped her, healing her completely. The wounds disappeared, the pain vanished, and Isabella found herself perfect again. She didn't question, she accepted, because Zack was saving her and Sofia. In a gesture of gratitude and relief, Isabella hugged Zack and kissed his forehead. "Good boy," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Isabella ran outside, towards Sofia. Outside, under the waning moon that now seemed less macabre, mother and daughter embraced. Sofia, her injuries healed by Zack's energy, looked at her mother with relief. Together, they pushed the tree swing, a soft, rhythmic sound that contrasted brutally with the screams coming from inside the house. Loud screams of despair, forgiveness, plea, clemency. Sofia's father begged God to save him, but inside, there was no God, only a demon. The sound of dry blows, cracking bones, and the crying of a broken man echoed in the night, a testament to Zack's relentless fury.
The scene ends with the image of Zack's lost innocence, and the birth of his darkness, which transformed him into the "Hunter" he is today. The echo of Sofia's father's screams, the image of mother and daughter on the swing, and the awareness of Zack's transformation, leave the reader with a disturbing sense of horror and a deeper understanding of the brutality that shaped the protagonist. Zack's past is revealed as the root of his brutality and his fear of becoming like his prey, a theme that resonates with his dependence on the Black Moon and his struggle to maintain control. Zack's meditation ends, and he opens his eyes, no longer those of an innocent teenager, but the cold, calculating eyes of the Hunter, ready to face the threat of Skull, but now with an even greater weight on his soul.
