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墨書 Inktalez
The cold wind of the night swept across the glass exterior of the building, producing a low, howling sound. Hunter trudged slowly into the employee corridor, his ill-fitting security uniform looking particularly comical on his plump frame. The buttons of the uniform strained against his round belly, appearing as if they could pop open at any moment. He carried an oversized water bottle adorned with a few cartoon stickers, giving off a cheap vibe similar to that of his uniform.
His pockets were stuffed with two power banks, while a can of cola was casually tucked under his left arm, which he occasionally brushed off to remove the condensation. For Hunter, this was his boring yet "free" night shift—a night when no one truly cared, no one monitored his time. As long as he wore this security uniform and sat in front of the surveillance screens pretending to work, he could pass the entire night without pressure.
"Another damn shift..." he chuckled to himself, grinning widely to reveal a row of uneven yellow teeth. His laughter echoed harshly in the empty corridor, like he was sharing some cold joke only he could understand. "Sitting here doing nothing is the greatest revenge against capitalism..."
Hunter mumbled as he opened the can of cola with a hiss, bubbles spraying from the opening. He licked the foam from his lips and took a big gulp with satisfaction. He shook the water bottle in his hand and tossed it onto the desk in the security room, leaning back in his chair with his legs lazily stretched out, resembling a lump of soft clay. For him, this job meant wearing this costume and killing time until the morning shift change, after which he could leisurely head home to play games and sleep, over and over again.
The dim light in the security room cast a yellow glow as flickering images flashed across the surveillance screens—elevator lobbies, stairwells, empty corridors—these scenes were meaningless backdrops in his eyes. Hunter never bothered to scrutinize those surveillance recordings; after all, even if something unusual happened, he couldn't be bothered to deal with it.
"This job is so damn easy," he muttered to himself, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling as if sharing his thoughts with an invisible audience in the air. His voice carried a tone of smugness that felt oddly self-satisfied, as if this was his greatest victory against society and its oppressive capitalist world. Deep down, he knew he was just a hopeless night-shift security guard destined for a life of mediocrity and boredom, yet this kind of "freedom" gave him a sense of delusional satisfaction.
Hunter's gaze lazily swept across the surveillance screens; he couldn't even muster the energy to move his body. He regarded everything around him as inconsequential because he believed it was just another uneventful night. However, he remained completely unaware that a pair of cold and dark eyes were watching him from some shadowy corner, silently observing every small movement he made like a predator lurking in the darkness, ready to strike at any moment.
Not long after settling in, Hunter began his monotonous night-shift "trifecta"—eating, playing mobile games, and binge-watching shows. These activities were like rituals for him during his shift: unchanging and uneventful. He retrieved a bowl of instant noodles from the break room and poured hot water over it before casually covering it with a plastic fork, waiting indifferently for the noodles to soften. In those brief minutes, he eagerly pulled out his phone and started playing his favorite mobile game.
The quiet air in the security room was soon shattered by Hunter's shouts as he stared intently at the screen, fingers frantically tapping away at his phone. Each word that escaped his mouth felt like sparks ignited by gunpowder. "You idiot! Can't you even position yourself? Damn it! If you're this bad, just don't play!" Hunter's voice grew increasingly shrill as he berated others for their failures in-game without regard for the late-night silence or the rest of his neighbors. His tone was filled with anger and disdain as if winning or losing this game could determine the success or failure of his entire night shift.
"How did someone like you even get into ranked matches? Are you in elementary school? Trash!" His insults echoed like a madman's voice trapped in a small room. The game's situation continued to fluctuate wildly on-screen while he raged at teammates he'd never met face-to-face as if he could pull them out of their phones for confrontation. The harsh words and intense emotions would have likely earned him several fines or even landed him in court if expressed in real life.
Once the game finally ended, Hunter's emotions began to cool down. He took heavy breaths and angrily tossed aside his phone as if that device also bore responsibility for his defeat. Then he grabbed the now-soaked instant noodles, tore off the lid, slurping up steaming noodles while opening up a video app on his phone.
He scrolled through recently updated videos until he found a familiar channel—"The Rambling Old Man." This was one of his favorite educational channels hosted by an elderly professor with white hair who always spoke in a deep and slightly mysterious voice about various obscure knowledge and historical anecdotes. The channel covered everything from astronomy to ancient civilizations and even bizarre urban legends; it was almost all-encompassing. Today’s selected episode was an introduction to Dark Magic history.
"Today, let's talk about Dark Magic, a power that was believed in the Middle Ages to summon demons and control souls..." The old professor's voice echoed softly in the video, like a whisper drifting from ancient times. Images of old manuscripts and mysterious symbols slowly appeared on the screen, creating an eerie atmosphere. Hunter's slurping of instant noodles sounded particularly jarring in the quiet security room, yet he watched intently, as if he were a viewer completely lost in these stories.
"These spells and rituals have caused countless panics throughout Europe's history. It is said that some people could even gain supernatural powers through these incantations..." The professor's voice was deep and slow, carrying a tone of reverence mixed with skepticism towards the dark knowledge.
Hunter gazed at the various ancient symbols and illustrations on the screen, slurping his noodles, finding these stories quite fascinating. It seemed as if these dark legends added a thrill to his otherwise dull night shift.
The elderly man in the video continued to narrate the sinister history of Dark Magic in a monotonous voice, as if he were discussing an ordinary topic of knowledge rather than recounting bloody rituals and terrifying tales. "In late medieval Europe, many nobles conducted demon-summoning rituals in their quest for power or even immortality. These rituals often involved Blood Sacrifice and Sacrifice of Living Beings, sometimes even the hearts of living humans being ripped out..." The professor's voice resonated like it came from beneath the earth, calm yet deep, sending a chill creeping through the air.
The video began to flash back to ancient and eerie images: illustrations from medieval manuscripts depicting bizarre forms of demons—creatures with horns and bird wings, giants stitched together, monsters with countless eyes... These images exuded a primal darkness, as if born from humanity's deepest fears. Each picture flashed by with a blood-red hue, sometimes darkened by shadows or flickering candlelight, almost as if one could faintly hear ancient whispers and chants.
The professor continued his emotionless narration: "According to historical records, some nobles would choose desolate graveyards or abandoned castles as ritual sites on full moon nights. They would draw summoning circles with blood and use living hearts as sacrifices in an attempt to open the Gates of Hell and summon demons to convert their powers for themselves..." An ancient manuscript reappeared on the screen, depicting nobles engaged in mysterious rituals under the night sky, a red moon hanging above them, illuminating an altar covered in blood. The rough lines of the manuscript seemed to silently recount those mad acts that once existed in darkness.
Hunter slurped his noodles while staring at the screen; however, as the images and the professor's narration delved deeper, he suddenly felt an indescribable chill wash over him, as if someone had gently blown cold air on the back of his neck. He instinctively shivered, freezing for a moment. What had initially seemed dull yet entertaining suddenly felt alarmingly real, as if these evil stories were quietly awakening in the darkness around him.
The images on the screen continued to shift; one demon after another emerged from the shadows, their cold gazes seemingly piercing through the screen directly at him. The professor's voice grew heavier: "Records state that those nobles who successfully completed their rituals would gain some form of wicked knowledge and power from demons, but often at the cost of their souls, leaving them restless for eternity..."
These words echoed like whispers in Hunter's ears; his hand trembled involuntarily, nearly dropping his soda can. The lights in the security room flickered suddenly; in that momentary dimness, everything around him felt more sinister. Hunter felt something lodged in his throat; an unsettling wave surged within him. He stared at his phone screen; the demonic images and bloody tales seemed to morph into intangible shadows surrounding him on this lonely night.
"Uh... it's just a silly educational video; what’s there to be afraid of?" Hunter reassured himself internally, but that chill showed no signs of fading.
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