Kaito and Dante once again have returned to the wilds. They continue forwards Dante peering at the map. "Den of thieves is at least close by, so we only have to camp once." Dante says easing himself.
Dante notices it already getting dark. "We should've at least spent the night there." Dante complains. Kaito nods. "Yeah probably." Kaito says as he also notices how dark it's getting.
It's weird though, Kaito has this feeling that something's watching them. He just feels uneasy. It seems Dante notices it too for a moment.
With nighttime quickly approaching they decided to set up camp. "I'll keep watch tonight Dante." Kaito says. Dante shakes his head. "No no, Kaito you've done the other nights let me handle this one." Dante says.
Kaito remembers the feeling from earlier. "You sure?" Kaito asks, but Dante agrees.
With that Kaito crawls into the tent and falls asleep. Leaving Dante sitting outside.
Dante sits by the campfire dimly lighting up their camp as he plays with the fire. As an ice mage he doesn't really need to be kept warm since cold isn't a problem for him.
With nothing else to distract him and the silence pressing in like a heavy fog, Dante opened his sketchbook once more. The worn pencil moved across the paper out of habit, shapes forming without much thought. But something—something—prickled at the back of his neck, a crawling sensation that whispered, you're being watched.
He looked up.
At first, there was nothing but trees, their skeletal branches reaching like fingers toward the sky. But then—far off, just beyond the edge of firelight—he saw it. A figure. Unmoving. Barely more than a silhouette against the night, but unmistakably human-shaped.
"Hello?" he called, voice uncertain and thin in the vast dark.
No reply. No motion.
He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes. "Maybe the night's just playing tricks on me," he muttered, trying to laugh it off. The sound died in his throat.
He yawned, the weight of exhaustion settling over him like a heavy blanket, and let his eyes flutter closed just for a second.
A rustle. Sharp. Deliberate.
He jerked upright—and the figure had moved.
It was closer now.
His breath caught in his chest as he stared, and in the fire's flickering glow, he saw it clearly for the first time.
A Night Stalker.
He'd seen drawings in old horror magazines, watched grainy movies back in town that made light of it. But this wasn't a costume. It wasn't fiction. It was real, and it was standing less than fifty feet away.
It towered at nearly eight feet tall, impossibly lean with limbs that seemed too long for any natural creature. Its arms dangled like ropes, ending in dagger-like fingers that twitched with anticipation. A grotesquely stretched head sat atop its neck, with a gaping jaw that split its face from end to end. That smile—it wasn't just wide, it was wrong. Too full of teeth, too full of knowing. Spikes jutted from its skull like twisted thorns, and its eyes were hollow pits that somehow still saw.
And now… it was staring straight at him.
Dante's blood ran cold.
He remembered the stories—how the Night Stalker hunted. It only came for those who slept. Those who let their guard down. Those who blinked too long. If he was seeing it now, if it had revealed itself to him… it meant he was its next victim.
He couldn't sleep. Couldn't even let his eyes drift shut. Not if he wanted to live.
His hands trembling, Dante did the only thing he could think of—he picked up his sketchbook again. The pencil scratched across the paper, his eyes locked on the page, then flicking up every few seconds toward the trees.
Time dragged.
Minutes bled into hours, and the fatigue clawed at him with greedy fingers. His head bobbed once, twice—and then his eyes shut for just a breath too long.
Crunch.
He bolted upright, heart thundering. His gaze snapped toward the trees—and there it was.
Only three yards away now.
Peering at him from behind the blackened bark of a tree, its skeletal fingers wrapped around the trunk. That same awful smile stretched across its face. Not just a smile, but a promise.
It didn't move. It didn't need to.
It was waiting.
Dante's lungs refused to draw air. His throat tightened as panic surged through him. If he slipped again—just once—if he blinked too long or let sleep take him...
It would be over.
Don't blink, don't close your eyes, don't sleep.
That's all Dante's mind could scream at him, a frantic mantra echoing through his foggy thoughts. How much longer? How much farther until dawn? How many more minutes of this nightmare could he survive?
Time had become meaningless. He couldn't even recall how long he'd been fighting to stay conscious. He just knew he'd made the same mistake again. His eyelids had fluttered closed for a split second, too exhausted to notice—and when he snapped back into awareness, it was too late.
He looked up.
The sight struck him like a punch to the gut, and a wave of pure dread washed over him. In that moment, he would have traded anything to be back home, safe, tucked away in his bed where monsters didn't exist.
But there it was. At the very edge of the camp, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering glow of the campfire. That smile. That awful smile.
Dante's body went rigid, a cold sweat slicking his skin as it stared at him, its hollow eyes gleaming in the firelight. He could feel its gaze sinking into him, dissecting him, waiting for his next move.
The air grew colder.
Then, a sickening sound—the drop of liquid hitting the ground.
Blood. Fresh, warm, dripping from the monster's mouth, pooling on the dirt at its feet. Another victim, Dante thought, a chill creeping up his spine.
The smile didn't waver. It just watched, the monster's grin stretching impossibly wide as if savoring every second of his fear. Its presence felt like a weight pressing down on him, suffocating him in his own helplessness.
Why? Why was it doing this? Why the game?
Dante gritted his teeth, trying to hold onto some semblance of clarity. At least the game offered him a chance at survival. If he could just stay awake. If he could just survive until dawn.
He grasped his sketchbook again, fingers trembling as he pulled it closer. He needed to focus, needed to do something—anything—to keep his mind from slipping.
But the fight to stay conscious was growing harder.
Jolt.
His eyes snapped open again, but this time, it wasn't the same. The air felt thick, heavy with the scent of blood.
And then he felt it.
The creature's breath.
It was right there, so close he could feel its cold, damp exhale against his skin. His heart stopped. He didn't dare move, didn't dare blink.
When he finally dared to look up from his book, there it was. Right in his face.
It could have killed him. It could have ended him in an instant, but it didn't.
It was just… there. Smiling.
Dante's breath hitched. It wasn't hungry—at least, not in the way he thought. It wasn't attacking. It was... playing with him. Enjoying his fear.
And then, it did something strange.
It looked at his book. Stared at the pages, its dark eyes flicking over the drawings as if it was fascinated, as if it was interested.
Why? What did it want? Was it curious about the book? Was it curious about him?
He didn't know. All he knew was that the rules had never been clearer than they were now.
Don't blink. Don't look away. Don't sleep.
But his eyelids grew heavy. He fought the urge to close them, fought the crushing weight of exhaustion clawing at his mind. And then—
He blinked.
The creature's grin split wider. Its long, sharp teeth gleamed in the firelight as it lunged.
Dante didn't even think. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He scrambled backward, stumbling into the trees, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.
He dared a glance back.
It wasn't standing anymore.
Now it was on all fours, its spindly limbs contorting unnaturally as it hunched low to the ground. Its jaw hung open, stretching further than should've been possible, revealing a cavernous maw filled with rows of jagged, black teeth. And through all of it, that smile—that horrific, impossible smile—never faded.
It didn't chase him. It didn't move. It simply watched.
Dante's breath was ragged, his body shaking from the overwhelming terror. The monster's eyes locked with his, its stare unblinking, unwavering. It felt as though hours had passed in the span of those few seconds, as if time itself had frozen under the weight of its gaze.
But then, just as the first rays of light began to creep over the horizon, the creature did the unthinkable.
It turned, slowly, deliberately, its lanky body moving with unnatural grace. With one final, lingering look over its shoulder—at Dante, at the fire, at the terror it had wrought—it disappeared into the dense forest, vanishing like smoke, leaving only the sound of its footfalls fading into the distance.
Dante didn't dare move for a long time. He couldn't. His body was frozen in place, still shaken by the nightmare, the lingering fear that it could be back at any moment.
But for now… he was alive.