Unholy Player

Dark crystalline wings swept in deadly arcs, every swing cutting down countless lives and dyeing the falling rain a deeper shade of red.

Each torn body, each organ scattered across the blood-soaked ground seemed to feed something. From those wings, a dark, smoke-like substance spread thicker and wider with every kill—a suffocating fog of corruption swallowing the battlefield.

Adyr didn’t notice. He wasn’t thinking. He was enjoying it—the slaughter itself. And just like him, his Malice was feeding too. Growing wilder. Expanding faster. Every second he kept killing, it grew more, beyond control.

Because this time, he hadn’t held himself back.

The monster inside him—the bloodlust he usually forced into silence—he’d let it loose. He’d allowed his dark aura, his grim Presence, to merge with the spreading Malice without limit.

And this wasn’t just an aura anymore. It had become a real phenomenon. A deadly influence. Right now, millions of people, safe behind their screens, were unknowingly exposed to it. Many had already died. Not from his physical attacks, but from the sheer psychological pressure radiating from his Malice. Their minds simply collapsed.

Adyr didn’t know how far this effect had reached. He didn’t know how many innocent lives were lost because of him. But even if he knew, it wouldn’t change anything.

If anything, he’d find it amusing. Maybe even satisfying. Another broken record: how many lives are killed indirectly, just by existing.

Killing hundreds, thousands of mutants? That was expected.

But killing thousands of humans—by accident? That felt like a personal achievement.

And as for what people thought of him? Whether they saw him as a psychopath, a monster, a threat to the very society he was supposed to protect... He simply didn’t care anymore.

Because he understood one simple truth: