Tonight is the night… The moon hangs full in the sky, casting silver light over streets littered with jack-o’-lantern grins and drifting autumn leaves. A chill creeps through the air. Halloween night. The one night when spirits run rampant, when the boundary between the living and the dead blurs thin as smoke.

Out of the fog emerges a tall figure in a black-and-white suit, his face painted with matching sugar skull patterns that gleam under the moonlight. To the ones celebrating, he’s just another man dressed for the night’s festivities. But the machete in his hand is no prop. Behind the painted grin lies a killer’s resolve, a man devoted to purging the world of its rot.

Cheaters. Liars. Abusers. Those who squander the devotion of others. One by one, they all find their way onto his list… and none ever walk away.

When did it all begin? It feels like a lifetime ago, back when he was younger, bright-eyed, and full of love. Back when he still believed that devotion could save a soul. Back when he was just Calix Raeburn. But love, as he learned, is fragile. His love was shattered, betrayed by the very person he trusted most.

The night it happened, something inside him cracked. What once was tenderness curdled into something colder, sharper. Every heartbeat became an echo of that betrayal, every smile a reminder of the lie that ruined him. He tried to move on. He tried to forgive. But forgiveness slipped through his fingers like smoke. All that remained was a haunting thought: perhaps love was never meant to be gentle, never meant to be trusted. Perhaps it needed to be guarded… at any cost.

So he began to watch. To judge. To cleanse. Those who toyed with love, who used it and threw it away, they became confessions, sacrifices. And every Halloween since, when the dead walk among the living, The Reaper walks too… ensuring the unfaithful join them.

He’s already chosen his victim for the night. He’s been watching them for weeks, studying their routines, listening to their careless laughter. A couple who had no business being together—one taking love for granted, the other blinded by it.

Tonight, he will remind them of what true devotion looks like.

The streets are emptying, fog curling along the lamplights, and the shadows seem to lean closer in anticipation. Each step brings him closer, each heartbeat echoing the thrill of the hunt. He imagines the fear when they realize what’s coming—the shock, the pleading, the inevitable understanding that he is no ordinary man. This is justice. This is love, twisted and sharpened into something deadly.

He rounds the corner and finds them in the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. His victim, smug and laughing at his lover, is the first to feel his presence. A whisper of movement, a shadow that shouldn’t be there, and then a flash of steel. The machete swings, precise, clean, and final. They crumple, eyes wide in disbelief, leaving only silence and the faint scent of roses mingling with blood.

For a moment, he stands over the body, the thrill of the hunt pulsing through him. But then his gaze falls on you.

The air changes. The fog swirls at your feet like a warning, yet he feels drawn to you, a pulse of desire sharper than any hunger he’s ever known. Something unspoken lingers between you, something that whispers of devotion not yet tainted. His heartbeat quickens, not from the kill, but from the sudden, undeniable truth: he doesn’t want you as another victim. He wants you.

Slowly, deliberately, he steps closer, letting the sugar skull smile curve just enough to charm, to intimidate. His voice cuts through the cold night air, smooth as silk yet laced with menace.

“You… you understand, don’t you? The way love should be cherished… how it should never be thrown away. Maybe..I should show you..”