The Hunt (3)
The instant I thrust Vortex forward, the thing sprang back.
The quadruple spiral clawed nothing but empty air.
“Heh-heh-heh.”
“You call yourself a hunter, yet all you do is run?”
I held Vortex in reserve and closed in behind Black Moon, but the creature still refused to yield any ground. When I stepped back, it advanced exactly the same distance. It clung stubbornly to a gap of about ten meters.
That’s the stretch Vortex can reach when it pierces and extends.
Had it already measured that from my first strike? Unlike the mindless entities that just charged in, this one actually used its head. Watching it refuse to close the distance, as if it meant to bleed my strength away by inches, made me feel like the prey.
“What if I just stand still, huh? You’ll still have to come to me eventually.”
Luckily I had my food bag, and the banquet hall had already trained my patience. I’d wait right here and shred it with Vortex the moment it stepped in. The way it guarded that exact range told me Vortex was a real threat. That put me, with the longer reach, in the better position.
“Heh-heh-heh—”
“Stop laughing and get over here, you bastard. Come on.”
I goaded the low, chuckling thing. It still had to come if it wanted me. Don’t tell me an entity was actually chicken. Here—right here—was the head it liked so much. I even stretched my neck out in invitation.
That finally got a reaction.
A feather?
The hunter slipped a hand under its patchwork hides and pulled out an absurdly long, massive feather. I’d thought it was humanoid, but the dense plumage packed under the skins proved it was pure entity after all. Sparse patches were missing, and something black dripped from the freshly plucked quill-end.
Then it hurled the thing straight at me.
“I’ll just bat this junk aside—khk?!”
It felt like I’d blocked a length of rebar. A jolt of numbness raced through my grip; I nearly dropped Black Moon. The feather’s hardness was bad enough, but the real problem was the hunter’s raw power. Merely deflecting it sent me skidding backward. And that feather—Black Moon left not a single scratch. It simply bounced away.
If the hides hid a whole coat of those feathers… then I was trying to cut through armor. Cheap bastard—armor and a ranged kit? Someone ought to take your balls.
Why isn’t it moving any farther?
Its face was hidden under the draped skins; it only twitched its head left and right while plucking another feather. Then it loosed a second one like an arrow—straight at the spot I’d occupied before being driven back.
What the hell was it doing?
Wait. Is this thing… blind?
Nothing else explained why it would target my previous position. The head-tilting looked like it was listening. As a test I quietly fished a piece of dried bread from my bag and tossed it sideways—
Thwip!
A feather skewered the bread and carried it skidding into the distance.
That puts me way ahead. Hold my breath, wait for it to come close, then cut its throat with the Agwi Dagger.
So I began a silent camp-out. The crafty bastard, however, never took a single step closer either. For a long while it only peered about. Then, growing irritated, it reached to the nape of its neck and came away with a handful of short, dagger-length feathers. Without hesitation it sprayed them across the whole front.
“Fucking hell, it’s got every trick.”
The force behind them was bad enough, but the black sludge coating the tips screamed that one hit would end me. I rolled sideways, ducked behind a pillar near the wall, and held my breath again. That should block the scatter-shot and force it to close in.
“Heyyy—! Over heeere!”
“Kraaaagh!”
“Shit—!”
The heads mounted on the wall snapped and bayed, trying to bite me. The heap of corpses heaved; wolves and humans both began to rise. At the same time a vicious whistle of tearing air filled the room. I bolted from cover just as feather-arrows punched through the pillar and half-wrecked it. More shafts streaked after me, and the moment I lost track of my own position the short feathers came raining down.
This was some pure game-dev bullshit!
Use a pillar for cover and the hunting trophies on the wall broadcast my location; stand in the open and it carpet-bombed me with feathers.
“Squeeeeal!”
“Oh for—shut up already!”
I split a howling boar’s head with Black Moon, but the hunter never missed the sound and loosed another volley. How many feathers did this thing even have? Keep that up and you’re going bald.
I have to close the distance somehow if I want any chance.
In desperation I flung food from my bag as decoys. The creature fell for it a few times, then simply ignored the bait and kept spraying short feathers. Damn it. If I’d still had the bracelet I could have webbed the bastard in place. I missed Arachne, now reduced to a component of Vortex.
“Heh-heh-heh—”
“When I catch you, you’re not dying clean!”
I charged the hunter; it retreated while scattering even more short feathers. I tore whole chunks of space apart with Vortex’s storm and kept pressing forward, yet the thing simply drifted back at its leisure. Infuriating piece of shit.
My lungs burned. I deliberately gasped and staggered, advertising weakness—zero effect. It kept lobbing feathers, kept the gap, and methodically drained me dry.
So that’s the hunter’s perspective, is it?
On a hunch I pulled out the items I’d taken from the dental clinic. Nothing changed. They really were just junk?
What now? With the tools I had, there was no way to get near it. When I tried to clear the wall trophies with Vortex first, the hunter simply smashed the pillars on that side. Blind or not, it knew the layout of its own house. And whenever I moved to dodge the short feathers, spatial distortion quietly restocked the walls with pristine trophies.
…Why does the back wall feel closer?
Moments ago it had been completely out of reach. Now a dead-end wall loomed uncomfortably near. My room to dodge was shrinking. In that split-second of confusion a short feather grazed my thigh.
“Kh—!”
“Heh-heh-heh—”
“You just won’t quit, you son of a bitch.”
So it could control the spatial distortion too. Definitely the hunter’s work. Its low chuckle dripped with pure delight. Bastard. Cornered prey, huh?
Sensation drained from the thigh the feather had kissed. Paralysis type, then.
I am not becoming some trophy heroine.
God knew what that pervert would do with my head. I had no intention of dying, yet no real options either. Escape routes were sealing shut; closing the distance was impossible. Because it never gave me an opening, I couldn’t even swing anything but Vortex properly. My left leg was locking up; running was already hard. Every stray feather still demanded everything I had to dodge or parry. My grip trembled from the repeated shocks, and the numbness was climbing toward my waist.
The hunter had withdrawn even farther, utterly at ease, simply cocking an ear and waiting.
It’s waiting for me to go completely limp.
What it wanted was the sound of my body hitting the floor. It pissed me off, but I had to admit the truth: right now I couldn’t beat it. Right now I was nothing but prey. In a little while that axe would take my head.
I need more firepower. Something strong enough to corner this thing.
I pulled out the ticket and clenched it. Time to bounce. The humiliation would only last a moment; surviving came first. Then I’d come back with real backup and settle the score.
But where to?
Wherever Legend was lived in S-rank territory. If I couldn’t even handle this hunter entity, I’d be paste in seconds. That left BackToFarming. Psychokinesis could probably swat feathers out of the air. But was that smart… or would I just trade one problem for a worse one? BackToFarming already tried to stop me at every turn; face-to-face, they might simply overpower me and block the way.
Super Sensory, was it?
DifficultCustomer had bragged they could fight too. Their gallery posts weren’t especially unhinged, and while the Backrooms sometimes wore them down, that still counted as normal. Better than Legend, who spent most of their time sniping with Menhera Hotel.
All right. Decision made. Let’s see how well they actually fight.
They’d said they only needed a weapon. In that case a blacksmith should go to someone who needed one. Better to help each other than join the ones who already had mind-swords and psychokinesis and needed nothing from me.
Let’s see… they’d mentioned a customer-service center for rule-based horror entities.
Call center. Counseling. DifficultCustomer.
I focused on the scraps of information and on DifficultCustomer’s face. The lantern at my waist flared, casting light across the wall—and a modern door that had no business being there appeared.
◈ Current Area: Hunter's Cabin
◈ Explored Paths: Chi■, ■■ ■■
◈ Destination:Customer Service Center
A door punched straight through the interference!
The hunter sensed something wrong, sprayed feathers, and charged at the same time. Too late. Dragging my completely dead left leg, I yanked the door open and threw myself through.
“Gyaaaaah!”
The hunter’s roar cut off the instant the door slammed shut. The reeking, filthy basement vanished, replaced by the clean lines of an office.
“Hah… barely made it. So where’s DifficultCustom—”
“You entity bastard!”
“Ghk?!”
A fist cracked my nose, then another whipped my jaw around. My head rang. Through dimming vision I caught a blurry glimpse of a black-haired, red-eyed woman recoiling in shock.
You’re the one who hit me—why are you surprised…
“A-a person?”
She asked fast. My fading consciousness never managed an answer.
…She does fight pretty well…