Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 620 136.10 - The Hunt

Everything had played out exactly as I wanted.

Zharokath's desperate attempt to escape, the way he clung to that pathetic shred of hope—it was all so predictable. These demons, for all their arrogance and cruelty, were always the same when their lives were on the line. They scrambled, they begged, they tried to run, thinking that somehow, they could slip away from the inevitable. And every time, it filled me with an intoxicating thrill.

I watched as his body began to phase out of existence, the artifact glowing with the last dregs of his demonic energy. He had given everything to power that spell. He really thought he could get away. But I had anticipated it—planned for it.

Just as he began to vanish, I activated Umbralith. The sphere of gravity formed in my hand, crackling with power, tethering him to this room. The void energy that should have carried him to safety was dragged back, collapsing in on itself. And there it was—the moment I had been waiting for.

BOOM!

Zharokath reappeared with a violent crash, his body slamming back into the cold stone floor, broken and bleeding. His eyes—those wide, terrified eyes—looked up at me, filled with disbelief, pain, and the most delicious kind of fear. He couldn't understand what had happened, how he had been ripped back from the edge of escape.

"Huh?" he muttered, confusion clouding his features. That face, that precious expression of shock—it was pure delight to me. He had no idea how much I relished it.

"AHAHAHAHAHA!" The laugh spilled out of me, manic and uncontrollable. I couldn't resist it. Watching him struggle, watching him crumble—it was intoxicating. Every single time.

They were all the same, these demons. When their power failed, when their lives were truly at risk, they all resorted to the same pathetic tricks. They always tried to escape. It didn't matter how strong they were, how mighty they thought themselves to be—when faced with death, they all broke down the same way. And I couldn't get enough of it.

'You can't resist it, can you? You always try to flee when it's too late.'

The thought surged through me as I stared down at the crumpled form of Zharokath. His body twitched weakly, his breaths ragged, his pride shattered into a thousand pieces. I could feel the desperation emanating from him—the frantic, wild hope that maybe, somehow, he could still escape.

But there was no escape.

Not from me.

I leaned in, my eyes fixed on his trembling form. "Did you really think you could get away, Zharokath?" I whispered, my voice dripping with satisfaction. "Did you think you could just vanish, disappear like all the others?"

His eyes flickered with the last glimmers of hope, but I crushed it with my next words.

"You're not going anywhere."

The despair that washed over him, the way his face twisted in realization—it was euphoric. I watched as the hope drained from his eyes, replaced by something far more satisfying. Helplessness.

I needed him to feel it. That crushing weight of knowing there was no escape. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter what power he called upon, it was useless. I needed him to understand the same helplessness that so many had felt at his hands. The same helplessness I had felt when I lost everything.

He coughed, blood splattering from his mouth as his body convulsed. "You… you can't… do this…" he muttered weakly, but there was no strength in his words. Only desperation.

I crouched down, gripping his chin and forcing him to look at me. "Oh, but I can," I said, my smile widening. "And I will. You see, Zharokath, I don't just want to kill you. No, that would be too easy. Too quick. I want you to understand what true despair feels like. I want you to lose everything."

His eyes widened in horror as he realized what was coming. I could feel it—the crumbling of his will, the way his spirit shattered bit by bit under the weight of my words. It was intoxicating. I needed more.

'You're going to lose hope, Zharokath. You're going to feel so much pain, so much helplessness, that even if you're reincarnated, you'll never be the same. You'll never have the strength to be what you once were. I will make sure of that.' I let go of his chin, watching as his head slumped forward, his body trembling uncontrollably. He was breaking, and I could feel it—feel the despair sinking into him like a poison.

And I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I needed to see him crumble completely, to see him reduced to nothing but ashes.

"So go on," I said, standing back up. "Feel it. Let it consume you. The despair. The helplessness. The understanding that no matter what you do, you will never escape this."

I smiled as I watched him writhe on the ground, his body too broken to fight back, his mind too shattered to hold onto any shred of hope.

This was what I needed. This was what I lived for.

And it felt like ecstasy.

I smiled as Zharokath lay trembling at my feet, his body broken, his will shattered. His silence was almost amusing now, the way he tried to glare at me with what little defiance he had left. But I knew better. The hatred, the desperation—it was all a mask for the sheer helplessness he felt inside.

I crouched down again, tilting my head as I looked at him. "Tell me, Zharokath," I said, my voice almost playful. "For what reason do you live now?"

His only response was a venomous glare, his eyes burning with hatred. I chuckled, watching him try to muster even a fraction of the strength he once had. But he didn't speak. He couldn't. There was nothing left for him to say.

'Still holding on, huh? Even when you know it's over.'

I straightened up, my hand slowly reaching into my cloak. "You know," I continued, "I've been preparing for this moment for quite some time. And I made something special. Just for you."

His eyes flickered with confusion, a brief flash of uncertainty breaking through the hatred. I pulled out a small, rolled-up parchment, and as I unfurled it, the illustration came into view. It was a dragon, its massive wings stretched wide, its scales gleaming in dark, almost otherworldly hues. A long, sinuous tail coiled beneath it, its eyes burning with a cold, ancient power.

For most people in this world, it was just a legend, a mythical beast whispered about in old tales. But I knew what it truly was. And more importantly, I knew he would recognize it.

Zharokath's eyes widened as they locked onto the illustration. His breath hitched, his body momentarily freezing as the realization sank in. "Huh…?" he whispered, his voice weak, trembling with shock.

I grinned, holding the drawing up so he could see it more clearly. "What do you think?" I asked, my voice soft and taunting. "Isn't it magnificent? I spent quite a bit of time learning how to draw this, how to model it exactly as it once was… just so I could show you."

When I see something for once, I never forget it. This was something both a curse and a blessing all the time.

When I saw the primordial in the game, the Void Dragon, I never forgot it either. I remembered, and I had prepared for this very moment.

Zharokath's gaze was fixed on the dragon, his body still trembling, but now for a different reason. His eyes darted from the wings to the scales, to the sharp, predatory eyes of the beast. The realization hit him harder than any blade ever could.

This wasn't just any dragon. This was it. The Primordial. The creature he had devoted centuries to reviving. The being whose return would supposedly restore the Void Clan to their former glory.

"You recognize it, don't you?" I asked, my smirk widening. "Of course you do. The Primordial of Void… when it was at its peak."

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. The shock, the fear—it was all etched into his face.

And it was perfect.

"How is it? Was it worth it?" I asked, my voice dripping with satisfaction. "All that time, all that effort, just for this moment. For you to see it up close. For you to realize just how far you've fallen."

Zharokath's eyes flickered between the drawing and me, his breathing ragged, his mind clearly struggling to comprehend what was happening. The dragon—the Primordial he had sacrificed so much for—was now nothing more than an illustration in my hand. A mockery of everything he had worked for.

"I wanted you to see it," I whispered. "I wanted you to know that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many lives you sacrifice, it will never return. Your efforts are meaningless."

Zharokath's body shook with rage, his eyes burning with fury, but there was nothing he could do. He had lost. And I had made sure he understood that, down to the very last detail.

I rolled the parchment back up, tucking it away, but the image lingered in his mind. I could see it—the horror, the helplessness. It was all sinking in now.

"Tell me," I said, leaning down once more, my voice barely above a whisper. "Was it worth it?"

His silence was all the answer I needed.

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