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Nightfall Hunting Ground - Phantom Emergence
墨書 Inktalez
The night rain fell like a curtain, dyeing the streets of Shadow City with a flowing blend of light and shadow. Raindrops gently tapped against the worn eaves and the puddled pavement, while the neon lights, accentuated by the rain, became even more enchanting, as if some kind of illusory magic was being performed. Pink, blue, and purple halos swirled and overlapped in the night sky, reflecting off the street vendors, the damp asphalt, and the indistinct figures lurking in the shadows nearby. As the rain intensified, the halos gradually blurred, transforming into swirling mists of color, like psychedelic paint inadvertently diffusing across the canvas of the city.
At the other end of the street, old steel-structured buildings stood silently, their windows reflecting the neon hues. Water droplets clung to the glass, mirroring the glow of streetlights. The falling water resembled tears, adding a touch of sorrow to the entire scene. This Shadow City resembled a cruel work of aesthetic art—gorgeous yet somber—drawing one’s gaze irresistibly.
Li Mu stood at the street corner, his gaze cold and his lips pressed tightly together. His eyes swept over the vibrant street but held no interest. He glanced at the chaotic stalls and trash bins nearby; the air was thick with a musty sourness and a sharp scent of gasoline. He frowned slightly, as if repulsed by the foul air surrounding him. The smell of exhaust fumes and decay seeped into his nostrils, clinging to him through the rainwater and making it almost impossible to breathe. This was not his first visit to Wasteland City, but each time he arrived, he had to take time to adjust to the pungent odors of this area.
The rain pounded against a rusted tin shed beside him with a rapid, monotonous sound that shattered this dreamlike bubble. The rust on the tin was washed away by the rain, revealing more mottled scars beneath it—like a part of this city had its cover pulled back to expose its underlying decay. Such sights and sounds intertwined in Shadow City created an indescribable contradiction between illusion and reality.
Li Mu took a deep breath but immediately regretted it. The heavy stench of smoke, waste gases, and damp mildew rushed in like a reminder of how fleeting and incomplete this city's beauty was. Closing his eyes, he felt his heartbeat synchronize with the rapid patter of rain on the tin roof, as if this city's pulse had merged with his own blood. He instinctively clenched his fists; this sensation brought not intoxication but disgust.
Every corner of Shadow City seemed to be devouring something; beneath layer upon layer of splendor lay decay and scars that only wanderers like Li Mu could truly see. He opened his eyes again; his gaze was sharp and indifferent as if trying to pierce through this colorful mist. He knew this place was no dream; it felt more like an unending nightmare.
On this rainy night in Shadow City, along the slick streets lurked shadows like ghosts in the dark—one beggar curled up in a corner against a wall. His coat was tattered beyond recognition, its original color obscured by layers of dust and grime that clung to his frail body like mildew. The hem of his coat sagged heavily on the ground, trembling slightly with each gust of cold wind and rain as if struggling to cover him adequately. His bony feet were exposed to the cold rain; one foot wore an old shoe that was barely intact—the sole worn down flat with holes revealing toes caked in dirt. The other foot rested bare on the icy ground as raindrops trickled down his toes, soaking his skin until it turned pale as if eroded by this city's chill.
He wore a battered cowboy hat that had lost its shape, crookedly resting atop his unkempt hair. A tear on top revealed some dirty hair sticking out messily on his forehead; wet strands clung to his pale face as rainwater mixed with hair dripped down. His deeply sunken eyes were hollow and lifeless, filled with weary bloodshot veins that seemed devoid of hope for this city. His gaunt cheeks were slightly sunken; his lips trembled from coldness, taking on a faint purple hue that revealed an unhealthy pallor.
In his hand, he clutched a rusty can; its surface was covered in mottled rust that seemed ready to crumble under corrosion at any moment. He gently shook it; inside rolled just one coin that echoed hollowly within its emptiness—a monotonous sound that felt particularly jarring against the backdrop of rain at night. Each shake sent the coin crashing against the can's walls in an endless cycle of sound that reverberated through this quiet corner of darkness. The beggar muttered repeatedly, “Help me… kind souls… help me…” His voice carried a plea tinged with desperation—a hoarse sound squeezed from a parched throat that trembled helplessly yet bore an air of resignation and numbness as if he had long grown accustomed to indifference from those around him.
Li Mu stood not far away, observing this scene with cold detachment. The brim of his black hat shielded his eyes, revealing only half of his handsome yet icy face as he scanned over the curled-up beggar—seeing something akin to an already numbed ruin within this cityscape. His expression remained impassive; he appeared indifferent as though all this were merely part of everyday scenery without any novelty or sympathy attached to it. He stood still there; deep-set eyes swept over the beggar with faint contempt but showed no intention to linger even for a moment longer. Rainwater dripped steadily from his black hat brim; each droplet gathered before silently sliding off onto the ground beside him—quickly swallowed by splashes from puddles.
Li Mu inhaled deeply once more but immediately frowned again. The air here was thick and oppressive—a mix of mildew and decay intermingled with muddy odors and sharp exhaust fumes alongside an old metallic rust scent—as if a heavy curtain cloaked all around him on this street. Each breath felt like forcing himself to inhale this city's rotten essence—it was suffocating. He raised a hand slightly to adjust his hat again in an attempt to better shield himself from the incessant downpour but did not linger for even a second longer.
This scene melded seamlessly into its surroundings—a dilapidated painting that no matter how many times Li Mu passed through could never evoke feelings of freshness or compassion within him. In this neon-lit street where colors shone brightly yet coldly—the vibrant lights flickered—casting shadows on the beggar's figure making him appear even smaller and more isolated—a forgotten specter caught between reality and illusion. Yet Li Mu remained aloof as ever—showing no sign of halting for those pleas before him.
Li Mu walked through the dark, damp streets, rain soaking his shoulders, but he paid it no mind. His steps were steady, and his gaze was focused. Each step he took was light and silent, merging into the shadows of the city like a ghost in the night. The only illumination came from flickering neon lights, casting an eerie glow that danced across the surrounding buildings and objects, creating an atmosphere tinged with unease.
Before long, an abandoned industrial area came into view, dominated by a dilapidated structure—the Qihong Ice Factory. This factory had been forsaken for years in Shadow City, long forgotten by all. Yet at this moment, a brand-new truck stood parked at its entrance, an incongruous and unsettling sight. The truck's steel body gleamed coldly, exuding a faint scent of oil, silently looming there as if hinting at some lurking danger.
Li Mu's gaze swept past the truck to the factory's entrance. A heavy iron roll-up door stood before him, its surface pockmarked and uneven. Rainwater trickled down its rusted crevices, carrying with it a whiff of decay. However, through the gaps in the iron door, he could vaguely see flickering lights within—dim illumination that seemed to pulse in the abandoned space, as if shadows were moving back and forth inside. Li Mu furrowed his brow, his eyes sharp and vigilant as he calmly assessed everything before him. He quickly confirmed that signs of activity remained here, just as described in the intel—his target was likely right inside.
The sound of raindrops pattered softly, accompanied by the faint hum of machinery deep within the factory, resembling a slow and heavy heartbeat that added tension to the night. Li Mu stood in the shadows just a few steps away from the factory, his hands gently reaching into his coat. The cold steel of his handgun felt solid and steady in his grip; as his fingertips brushed against the handle, he sensed its familiar weight—a comfort that was hard to articulate. The chill of the metal spread through his fingers as if reminding him of the danger surrounding him; yet his hand remained steady as a rock.
He glanced down at his weapon and exhaled silently before carefully stowing it away, skillfully securing it at his waist so that it remained concealed beneath his coat without a trace. This was a habitual motion for him, but each action radiated extreme caution and focus—no movement wasted or unnecessary. Raising his head again, Li Mu’s eyes sharpened like blades, calm and composed.
Rainwater dripped from the brim of his hat onto the wet ground below, producing a soft sound that starkly contrasted with the surrounding silence. He took a small step back, further blending into the darkness around him until he became one with the shadows. He understood that this mission could not afford any mistakes; this moment was merely the prelude to his impending strike. Standing in the rain-soaked night before the dark factory, he watched silently as if waiting for a signal—ready to shatter the stillness at any moment.
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