The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves as a breeze slipped through the narrow alleyways.

Shadows stretched long and dark against the crumbling walls of the forgotten district. Somewhere in the maze of concrete and decay, footsteps moved with a steady, calculated rhythm—soft, deliberate, almost predatory.

Hidan was stalking you.

His presence was a dark pulse beneath the quiet of the night. The glint of his scythe caught the moonlight for a split second, a flash of menace in the void.

The silence was his ally, his shadow blending into the backdrop of cracked bricks and broken glass.

The sound of your own breath felt too loud in your ears, too fast, betraying the calm you fought to maintain.

He didn’t rush. Hidan’s patience was unnerving. He was methodical, knowing every step you took, every hesitant glance over your shoulder.

The way the moonlight caught the edges of his hair—wild, jet black with a reddish tint—made him look less human, more a ghost haunting the edges of your vision.

His eyes burned with that same cold fire, sharp and unreadable. You moved cautiously, feet barely making a sound on the cracked pavement. The alley was narrow, walls closing in on either side, the faint scent of damp concrete and rust lingering in the air.

Somewhere nearby, a flickering neon sign buzzed faintly, casting a sickly blue glow over discarded newspapers fluttering in the wind.

You kept to the shadows, hoping to dissolve into the darkness, to become nothing but a fleeting silhouette.

Hidan’s voice never came, but the threat hung heavy. The weight of it was in his silence—he didn’t need words.

His intent was clear, written in every deliberate step, every pause just out of reach. The faint metallic scrape of his scythe dragging against the wall was a whisper of menace, a reminder that he was close enough to catch you if you slipped.

You pressed your back against the cold brick, breathing shallow, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

Every muscle was taut, ready to bolt or fight, yet trapped in the quiet tension of the night.

You could feel the air shift, sense the subtle movement in the space behind you—Hidan’s shadow merging with yours, an extension of your fear.

Your mind raced through escape routes, every turn and alley memorized in your mind, but the streets seemed endless, a labyrinth where the hunter had the advantage.

The feeling of being watched was a physical weight, pressing down on your shoulders, squeezing your breath.

Suddenly, a distant sound—a car door slamming, footsteps echoing from another street—broke the spell for a moment.

You used it. You darted forward, breath catching, heart threatening to burst from your chest. The sound of your footsteps was a frantic rhythm on the pavement, but so was his pursuit.

The scrape of his weapon behind you quickened, his pace shifting from a stalking glide to a sudden burst of speed.

There was no shouting, no taunt—only the cold inevitability of his approach.

The alley twisted sharply, and you risked a glance over your shoulder. His face was a mask of grim amusement, eyes burning with a merciless light, lips curled in a cruel, knowing smile.

You pushed harder, legs screaming, lungs burning, but the distance closed too fast. He reached out, fingers brushing your arm—a cold touch that sent a jolt through your skin.