He underestimated you. Your shot nearly hit its target—a fraction of an inch off.

His skull mask, the fortress of his identity, shattered by your bullet. It's as if cracks also spiderweb across his very soul, the wave of emotions nearly tearing him apart.

He calls his men to continue the mission. "Get the others." he growls. "That one is mine."

As he stalks through the shadows, his eyes trace your last known position. Quiet. Measured. Yet the flames of fury burn deep.

It's his time to hunt.