Proficiency with silence

The crystalline-infested woods shimmered under the pale moonlight, their beauty a cruel mask for the foulness that festered within. Glass like trees, jagged and translucent, jutted from the earth like the skeletal remains of forgotten titans, their surfaces catching and fracturing the light into a ghostly web of luminescence.

Somewhere in the depths of this haunted forest, a predator prowled...either the elusive Demonic Hunter or the far worse Blind Haunter, If there was people here no one would've known.

Belial crouched low, his form shrouded beneath the dark folds of his cloak, half-hidden behind the twisted trunk of a crystal pine. His breath was slow, deliberate, his pulse a steady drumbeat in his ears. The wound on his left shoulder throbbed, a raw, searing reminder of an earlier misstep, but he shoved the pain down, burying it beneath layers of focus. In these woods, emotion was a luxury he couldn't afford. Hesitation was death.

He didn't know which creature had claimed this forest as its hunting ground. Maybe both. The Demonic Hunter was a shadow, a whisper of claws and malice. The Blind Haunter or Blind Witness was something else entirely: a grotesque symphony of sensory protrusions, its body a pulsating mass of dark flesh adorned with twitching fibers that quivered at the faintest disturbance. It didn't see. It didn't need to. It hunted through vibration, through pressure, through the echoes of existence itself.

Right now, it didn't matter which monster he faced. The Blind Witness was here, and it was hunting.

Belial steadied himself, his grip tightening on the hilt of Bloodhound, his blade of dark steel that seemed to drink the light around it. He recalled what he knew of the creature: eyeless, guided by instinct, its raw, fibrous antennae twitching on its arms and back, sensing every ripple in the air. It moved like a spider in the dark, deliberate yet unpredictable, its body a grotesque fusion of bone and muscle that pulsed with an unnatural vitality. The haunting system that birthed it was alive in these woods, a silent orchestrator feeding its creations, adapting them to their prey.

He exhaled, slow and controlled, masking his ether flow, his heartbeat reduced to a whisper. Silent Passing, his movement technique, was his greatest weapon—a method of motion that left no trace, no sound, no ripple in the ether. He could become a shadow, untethered, untouchable.

And then he moved.

Like a wraith cut loose from its source, Belial darted across the crystal-laced ground, his boots gliding over the frostbitten earth without a sound. Silent Passing was perfection, a dance of absence that defied detection. Bloodhound flashed in his hand, a flicker of dark steel as he materialized behind the Blind Witness. His blade carved a vicious arc across the creature's back, splitting its greyed, pulsating flesh. A wet hiss filled the air as dark blood spilled, shimmering faintly in the refracted moonlight.

The next moment, Belial was gone.

The Blind Witness jerked violently, its eyeless head swiveling, its sensory fibers twitching like a swarm of agitated insects. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of needle-like teeth, and it let out a low, guttural hiss, sniffing the air, searching for the source of its pain. But Silent Passing left no echo, no presence—only the promise of death.

Belial reappeared ten feet away, crouched behind another crystal -glass tree, his blade still dripping with the creature's blood. His eyes narrowed, a predatory glint in them. The strike had landed clean. Silent Passing was second nature now, fluid and unpredictable, a weapon honed through countless battles. He launched again, he appeared as if blinking into existence behind the monster's right leg. Bloodhound slashed upward in a brutal crescent, severing a chunk of muscle from its thigh. The beast wailed, a sound like tearing metal, and spun, its claws raking the air—but too late.

Belial was already gone.

Another slash, this time horizontal, sprayed blood across the barkless trees, staining their crystalline surfaces with streaks of black. He moved again, and again, a relentless specter weaving through the forest. No pattern. No rhythm. Just a dance of death. Cuts bloomed across the Blind Witness's body like dark flowers—across its side, its spine, its neck, its legs. It swayed, disoriented, its snarls growing more frantic as it slashed blindly at the air.

Belial circled, his breath steady, his movements precise. The creature was faltering, its movements sluggish, its fibers twitching erratically. He could end this. He would end this.

But then it shifted.

The Blind Witness froze, its twitching fibers halting as if commanded by an unseen force. Its body swelled, bones cracking audibly as it dropped to all fours, its hands pressing into the blood-soaked earth. The fibers on its back twisted unnaturally, stretching outward like a spiked mane, quivering with a new intensity. It sniffed the ground, not for blood, but for something deeper—the lingering ether of Belial's presence.

The haunted system was adapting.

Belial's eyes narrowed, his body tensing behind a twisted shard-tree. This change was subtle but terrifying. The creature wasn't just reacting—it was learning, registering not the sound of his movements, but the flow of death itself. The system was rewriting its instincts in real time, tuning it to his essence.

This was no mindless beast. It was a haunter, and it was evolving.

He shot out again, this time from above, dropping like a thunderbolt. Bloodhound pierced the creature's back, splitting flesh and muscle with a sickening crunch. Belial kicked off its body, vanishing into the canopy before it could retaliate. But this time, the Blind Witness moved faster—too fast. It spun before the strike fully landed, its claw grazing his shoulder as he blinked away, tearing through his cloak and drawing a fresh line of blood.

Belial hit the ground hard, tumbling backward across the crystalline earth. Pain flared in his shoulder, hot and sharp, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his feet. Close. Too close.

The Witness shrieked, a sound that shook the forest, sending tremors through the ground. It slammed its fists into the earth, the impact rippling outward, shattering nearby mana-glass roots. It was listening, feeling the changes in vibration, tracking the subtle shifts in the air. It was smart—too smart.

Belial dashed again, launching another assault, but the creature met him halfway. Its limb stretched unnaturally, slamming into the tree he was vanishing behind. The mana-glass splintered into a dozen jagged shards, forcing Belial to flip backward to avoid the debris. He landed heavily, his breath coming harder now, his arm stinging with each movement.

It's starting to anticipate me.

He stood tall, Bloodhound humming with ether, shadows swirling around him like smoke. If he gave it time, it would outmatch him. If it fully adapted to Silent Passing, his greatest edge would be gone. He had to end this now, before the creature became something he couldn't kill.

Belial gathered his ether, channeling it into the sword. The shadows deepened, the moonlight dimming as if swallowed by his presence. He launched forward, blinking in and out of reality, his form ghostlike, untouchable. Bloodhound sang as it struck—one slash, then another, a third, a dozen. The Blind Witness roared, its arm tearing free in a spray of blood, its head dangling loosely from a slit in its neck. But it did not fall.

Instead, it opened its maw and screamed. The sound was a sonic burst, a wave of raw force that shattered nearby crystal roots and sent Belial's vision blurring. He coughed blood, his ears ringing, his knees buckling as he fell to one knee. The creature wasn't just using vibration now—it had learned sound, weaponizing it against him.

The forest shook, the air pulsing with the system's presence, a malevolent hum that seemed to emanate from the earth itself. The Blind Witness limped forward, its claws splitting the ground, its fibers writhing like a living nightmare. Its mouth trembled, a maw of screeches that seemed to echo with the system's voice.

Belial wiped Bloodhound clean, forcing himself to stand. His shoulder burned, his ears rang, but he had one more shot...one final strike before the creature adapted beyond his reach. The Blind Witness dragged itself closer, its movements erratic but deliberate, its fibers quivering as if tasting his fear.

Damn it. I'll have to kill it before it completely adapts.