Abandoned Cement Factory, 3:00 AM.
Haruka had not eaten for two days.
That hunger had turned into an unignorable burning sensation that coursed through his entire body.
Every cell was sending the same signal, as if a thousand alarms were ringing inside his body simultaneously.
He curled up behind a concrete mixer, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his forehead covered in cold sweat.
“How long can you hold on?”
Carnage’s voice rang in his head, as always.
Haruka ignored him.
“Your body is consuming its own tissues to maintain basic functions.”
“If this continues, you won’t need anyone else to kill you; you’ll starve yourself to death.”
Haruka gritted his teeth, his lips already cracked and bleeding in several places.
“I won’t eat people.”
“Are you stupid? Did I say you had to eat people?”
Carnage’s tone carried an impatient urgency.
“There are rats, wild cats, and wild dogs outside. A pack of stray dogs goes to the trash heap behind the factory area to scavenge every night.”
“Just catch a couple and fill your stomach first.”
Haruka’s fingers tightened on his knees.
He knew Carnage was right; if he didn’t eat, he would really die.
“Eating animals doesn’t count as murder, right?” he asked himself.
“You are seriously starving stupid!” Carnage was speechless.
Then, he sank into the depths of his consciousness, waiting for him to make his own decision.
Haruka held out for another hour.
At 4:00 AM, his hands began to tremble.
It was an uncontrollable tremor; his bodily functions were rapidly declining.
Then, he stood up.
His legs were weak; he stumbled after two steps and had to steady himself against the concrete mixer.
He walked out of the workshop.
The open space outside the factory area was overgrown with weeds, and most of the perimeter wall had collapsed.
The city lights in the distance cast a faint band of light on the horizon.
The trash heap was in the northwest corner of the factory area, a small hill formed by years of household waste dumped by nearby residents.
Haruka smelled it when he was still over fifty meters away from the trash heap—it was foul.
But it wasn’t just the stench; there was another scent he had never noticed before.
The scent of a living thing.
The scent of something warm, bloody, and alive.
His pupils dilated in the darkness.
His night vision became exceptionally clear under the enhancement of the Carnage Symbiote.
He could see four or five stray dogs rummaging for food next to the trash heap fifty meters away.
One of them was quite large, a mongrel with grayish-white fur.
Haruka crouched down.
He did not let Carnage take full control, only allowing the liquid fluid to cover his hands and parts of his forearms.
Red claws extended silently in the darkness.
His movement speed was fast, so fast that even he hadn’t reacted to it.
One step, two steps, three steps; he covered the fifty-meter distance in less than two seconds.
The large mongrel didn’t even have time to yelp before he pinned it to the ground.
The remaining small dogs were terrified and scattered in all directions.
Haruka held the mongrel down, feeling it struggle beneath his palm, its muscles trembling, a low whimper coming from its throat.
His claws tightened.
Three minutes later, Haruka leaned against a dead tree next to the trash heap.
There was dark fluid on the corners of his mouth, and the liquid fluid on his arms was slowly receding.
The hunger had lessened somewhat, but it hadn’t been completely eliminated.
The stray dog was too small; for the consumption of the Carnage Symbiote, it was like stuffing half a steamed bun into someone who hadn’t eaten for three days.
Far from enough.
Haruka wiped his mouth, looking at the residue on his hands, his stomach churning again.
He braced himself against the tree trunk and dry-heaved a few times, but nothing came out.
“Not enough, right?” Carnage said in his head.
“It’s enough.”
“You can’t lie to me; I can feel every reaction in your body.”
Haruka did not speak.
He stood up and walked along the factory perimeter wall for a while, wanting to calm himself down.
Then he saw the other side of the road.
A narrow road connected the factory area to the nearest residential district.
Half of the streetlights were broken, with only a few scattered ones still lit.
There was a person on the road.
A woman in a light-colored coat, looking to be in her twenties.
Carrying a small bag, looking down at her phone, walking quickly as if rushing home.
About twenty meters behind her, there was another figure.
A hoodie, hat pulled low, deliberately keeping footsteps quiet while walking, but the distance was closing little by little.
Haruka’s perception caught the figure’s presence in the darkness.
Adrenaline rising, rapid breathing rate, hands in pockets.
The outline of the right pocket was wrong; something was gripped inside.
He watched for two seconds.
The man in the hoodie quickened his pace, shortening the distance between him and the woman to less than ten meters.
Haruka’s body didn’t move behind the wall.
A voice inside him said, this is none of your business; you’re barely surviving yourself, you can’t look after others.
Another voice said, that is someone about to be robbed, or worse.
These two voices tugged at him for about three seconds.
The man in the hoodie rushed forward.
He grabbed the woman’s bag strap from behind.
“Ah—!”
The woman screamed, stumbling a few steps as she was yanked.
The man in the hoodie pulled his right hand out of his pocket.
He was holding a fruit knife in his hand.
“Don’t scream, give me the bag.”
The woman’s face turned pale with fright.
Her hands were trembling, the bag strap still hanging on her shoulder.
The man in the hoodie was pulling hard toward himself.
Haruka vaulted over the wall.
He did not transform, but his movement speed was much faster than an ordinary person’s.
The man in the hoodie heard the footsteps behind him and glanced back.
One of Haruka’s hands clamped onto his wrist.
The other hand grabbed the hand holding the knife.
“Let go.”
Haruka’s voice was low.
The man in the hoodie winced in pain from his grip.
The fruit knife clattered to the ground.
The woman took the opportunity to run away.
Running in her high heels toward the direction of the bright streetlights, screaming for help as she ran.
The man in the hoodie was pinned to the ground by Haruka, struggling desperately.
“Who are you? Let me go!”
Haruka twisted his arm behind his back.
The force was great, and the man in the hoodie yelped in pain.
Then the man in the hoodie started cursing.
“What the f*** is it to you? Playing the hero, huh?”
He turned his head to look at Haruka’s face—a teenager in his early twenties.
“You? You think you’re worthy? What are you?”
Haruka didn’t loosen his grip on his hand.
The man in the hoodie continued to curse, each word getting nastier.
The words spilling out were more vicious than the last.
“You’re just an unwanted bastard, right? Look at your stinking appearance, a homeless bum?”
Haruka’s fingers tightened slightly.
On the back of his right hand, red veins emerged from beneath the skin.
“Why are you choking me? Let go! Help!”
The man in the hoodie started calling for help, his voice sharp and grating.
Haruka’s fingers continued to tighten.
A voice in his head said to let go.
Another voice said nothing, just silently sent a surge of impulse.
“Snap.”
A crisp sound came from the man in the hoodie’s wrist.
“Ah—! Oh—!”
The man in the hoodie’s screams turned into Shriek.
The sound echoed on the empty road for several seconds.
But this Shriek did not make Haruka let go.
His right hand was completely covered by the red liquid fluid.
Five fingers clamped onto the back of the man in the hoodie’s neck like iron pliers.
Carnage emitted a satisfied low hum deep within his consciousness.
The man in the hoodie stopped struggling.
He felt the temperature of the hand on the back of his neck changing.
The hard shell wrapped around the fingers was bone-chillingly cold, as if his neck were being clamped by a piece of living metal.
His fear finally truly welled up.
“Big brother, big brother spare me, I was wrong, I won’t dare do it again.”
Haruka’s hand stopped.
He heard his own breathing, heavy, like a gasp after running a thousand meters.
Then he looked down at the man in the hoodie’s face, which was pressed into the ground.
A very ordinary face, early twenties, dirty, eyes full of fear.
Haruka’s hand slowly released.
The man in the hoodie scrambled away, fell after running ten meters, got back up and continued running, disappearing into the depths of the alley.
Haruka stood in place.
He watched the liquid fluid slowly receding from his right hand, his fingers trembling slightly.
Just a moment ago, he had almost choked that person to death.
When the man in the hoodie cursed those two words: “bastard.”
Something inside him had been triggered, a feeling deeper and colder than anger welled up.
Killing intent.
The man in the hoodie just happened to be in the line of fire.
Haruka crouched down, clutching his head with both hands.
He did not cry.
Nor did he laugh.
He just crouched in the middle of the empty road, feeling something that made him feel worse than hunger.
Fear.
Deep in the sewers in the distance, Knull’s consciousness leaned against the mental link, like an audience member leaning against the armrest of a theater seat.
Haruka’s bottom line of humanity was being eroded step by step.
The first time he killed was for revenge; there was a motive, emotional support.
This time was different.
This time there was no hatred, no grudges; just a stranger with a dirty mouth who touched a fragile nerve.
He almost killed.
What about next time?