Lukas stepped out of the shadows and looked at Lina with a cold stare. Without another word, he drew his dagger and lunged at her. With one swift, precise blow, he severed her throat, and her head fell to the ground. The golden mask slowly rolled away as her body collapsed lifelessly.
Lukas stood calmly over Lina's lifeless body, her golden dog mask lying in the dirt before him. He bent down, picked up the mask with a slow, almost graceful movement, and examined it for a while, as if contemplating something. Then, with a sharp smile, he muttered, "Ugly piece of shit."
With one swift, fluid movement, he caused the mask to crumble to dust. It shattered beneath his fingers into fine particles that blew away in the wind and were swallowed up by the darkness. Without another word, Lukas turned and walked toward the artifacts Lina carried with her. With an indifferent look, he gathered them, carefully placed them in the bag, and closed it with a quiet click.
He walked to his car, opened the door, and tossed the bag of artifacts onto the passenger seat. Then he sat down, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. A moment of silence before he drove off into the night, the car disappearing into the dark streets. It was all so normal—as always.
From that moment on, he was a serial killer again. No particular goals, no deep motivations. Just the urge to keep going, to keep killing. It was the natural progression. Another day, another life to claim as his own.
He wouldn't stop, wouldn't pause. Just keep driving, keep hunting, keep killing.
And so began another chapter in his dark journey.
Lukas had started his car's engine when the cold wind blew through the open window. The road ahead was empty, only the occasional lamppost bathed the world in pale yellow patches of light. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. A perfect moment to begin the next journey—one he unconsciously embarked on again and again.
He knew there were many more out there for him to claim, many more to add to his list. But as always, routine guided him—first the plan, then the victim. Lukas had no need to rush. Nothing could stop him.
Two hours later, he reached a small, secluded restaurant on the outskirts of town. The neon-lit sign flickered faintly in the darkness, but Lukas had his eyes fixed on the person he spotted inside. A middle-aged man sitting alone in one of the corners, staring at his cell phone. His destination was clear. Lukas retreated, leaving the car with the quiet hum of its engine in the background.
He got out, and every step he took toward the restaurant was calculated. Not a sound, not a noise that would betray him. It was the moment of observation, the most important part of his tactic. There was always something he discovered first: the victim's behavior, his weaknesses. The man hadn't closed the door completely behind him—an invitation, Lukas thought.
Lukas quietly entered the restaurant; the familiar smell of roasted meat and greasy food hung in the air, mixed with the sweat of the few customers who were still there at this late hour. The man on the corner still had his cell phone in his hand, completely absorbed in the small screen world, without a hint of attention to his surroundings. Lukas knew this was his chance. The moment when the man was oblivious, the moment when he was alone and unguarded.
Lukas took his time, stepping carefully onto the matte linoleum tile and creeping closer to the table. He could already judge the man's movements almost exactly. His slight inattention was the first mistake. Lukas stood directly behind him. The man, oblivious, put his cell phone in his pocket and rubbed his forehead as if thinking.
"I'd like to tell you something," Lukas said suddenly, his voice as calm as ever. The man flinched, looked around in confusion, and finally met Lukas's icy eyes.
"What?" the man asked, his heartbeat clearly audible. Lukas noticed it immediately. Fear. A burning signal telling him the game could begin.
"You shouldn't sit around alone in a dump like this restaurant," Lukas said with a small grin. "Especially not when you don't know who's watching you."
The man tried to compose himself. "I didn't do anything... what do you want?" he stammered, his voice trembling as he slowly put his hand under the table—maybe for an emergency call device, maybe for a weapon. Lukas couldn't say for sure, but it didn't matter. He knew what he had to do.
"You haven't done anything. But you will soon," Lukas said with an almost mocking tone, then sat down abruptly in the man's chair. The man jumped up, but Lukas immediately grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.
The fight was uneven. Lukas's grip was firm, and with a jerk, he pulled the man toward him. It was the moment he felt the difference between a planned murder and a savage attack. Another victim.
Lukas's grip was like iron. The man desperately tried to free himself, but his every move was blocked by Lukas's iron hand. The panic in his eyes was hard to miss, but Lukas remained calm, almost reveling in it, while maintaining full control of the room and the victim. The atmosphere in the restaurant had changed, as if the air itself had become heavier.
"Don't try to fight back. It will only make things worse for you," Lukas said calmly, as the man tried to wriggle out of his grasp. The words echoed in Lukas's head as he said them. It was always the same. They tried to escape, tried to fight back, but it was just a waste of energy. Lukas had seen it all countless times.
The man trembled as Lukas pushed him back into the chair, and Lukas leaned forward slightly, his eyes glowing with anticipation of what was to come.
"You will sit still now, understood?" Lukas' voice was cold, almost loving, as if he were sharing a familiar ritual with the man. "I promise you, it won't hurt. Unless you do something stupid again."
The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but Lukas immediately grabbed one of the metal hooks hanging from the wall and slammed it against his head with a well-aimed blow. A dull thud echoed through the room. The man staggered back, blood immediately beginning to flow from his forehead.
Lukas watched with an almost disinterested look. It was so predictable. The pain, the horror in the man's eyes. It was all part of the game. And Lukas had been playing it for far too long.
Slowly, he pulled a sharp knife from his belt, examining it with an almost artistic curiosity before picking it up. He approached the man, who was now only in a state of trance and confusion. Lukas placed the knife against the man's throat, the blade lightly grazing his skin.
"Now things are getting serious," Lukas said, his voice calm as always, as if this were just a small step on a long journey.
The man tried to free his throat, but it was too late. Lukas had controlled the moment. With one swift movement, he pushed the knife deeper, and blood streamed from the wound.
But he didn't let go right away. No, it was always the same dance he performed so often. The man whimpered, tried to speak, but it was too late. The words forming in the man's throat were nothing more than hot air, dissipating in his last breaths.
Lukas left the knife in the wound, leaned forward, and whispered, "I'm sorry. But you're just next."
Lukas slowly pulled the knife from the wound, the stream of blood sounding like a hissing sound as the man's life slowly drained from him. The man still tried to gasp for air, but his lungs only filled with more and more blood. Lukas watched him, his gaze as cold and relentless as before. It was a precise moment, an almost intimate connection between hunter and prey, as the man's last strength faded.
"Look how quickly you're breaking," Lukas whispered, almost lovingly, as if reprimanding the man for his weakness. But in the same breath, he stood up, letting the man's body sink heavily onto the chair, which was now soaked with blood. Lukas took a step back, looking at the chaos he'd created. The man was dead, and it had been so easy.
Lukas's eyes glowed at the sight. The calm he always felt in such moments had an almost meditative quality. Everything was as it should be—clean, controlled, and the victim, just as expected, had surrendered far too easily.
But the moment of the game hadn't quite arrived yet. Lukas walked over to the man, knelt down beside him, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Slowly, with inimitable precision, he searched for the phone number he needed. It wasn't the first murder Lukas had committed, nor would it be the last, but the perfect murder was an art that never grew dull.
"I like it when you try to escape," he said quietly, as the man remained silent in his final moments. "But I always catch up with you."
Then Lukas pulled his victim's cell phone from his pocket and scanned the contacts. A simple but effective method to ensure that all traces of this murder remained invisible. As he went through the contacts, he noticed that the man still felt like he was undetected. Lukas couldn't help but grin as he took the final step: a message to a contact.
"No one will ever know what happened here," Lukas murmured. "You're nothing more than a memory."
Lukas slid the man's cell phone into his pocket and took a step back to survey the situation. The man's body, now completely still, still sat on the chair, which was flooded with blood. The room itself seemed even more lifeless than it had been before, now that the man's life had been extinguished. The dirty, dimly lit room where the man had eaten was now merely a testament to his final moments.
Lukas slowly ran his hand through his hair, then walked to the door and heard the echoing sound of his footsteps on the hard floor. A quick glance over his shoulder. The dead man. So insignificant, yet so crucial for the moment. But Lukas knew what to do.
"Everyone has a point where they can no longer save themselves," he murmured quietly to himself, almost philosophically. It wasn't a question of courage or skill. The man had earned his end, not through any trial, but because he had simply been too stupid not to make a run for it in time. Lukas could feel it; the victim's instinct was simply wrong.
He let his eyes wander over the room once more, then turned and opened the door. The next opportunity was already across the hall, ready for him to seize. He had never had so much time and so little resistance between himself and his next target.
Lukas stepped out, let the door close behind him, and then walked into the darkness of the night. The moon was hidden behind clouds, the wind blew unpleasantly cool. But it didn't matter. Lukas knew that night was always a familiar companion to him. It was the darkness that belonged to him.
His car was still there, just as he had left it. Without batting an eyelid, he opened the door, got in, and drove on. No one would ever stop him. And no one could ever feel safe.
The next place, the next step. Always further. Always more precise.
Lukas drove slowly along the empty streets, twilight beginning to settle over the world, and the sound of the engine was the only sound that penetrated the silence. His car's headlights bathed the surroundings in a faint light, and the horizon soon disappeared behind him. It was almost comforting how every sound in the night seemed so distant, almost as if he were driving in his own safe world, far from anything that was still reality for other people.
His eyes were fixed on the road, but his mind was deep in thought. He could practically smell the next destination, could plan his next steps in his head as if it were a puzzle he simply had to solve. The man's body in the restaurant was just another piece of the game, a small building block in what was becoming ever larger.
"No one notices how quickly time passes when you keep moving," thought Lukas as he glanced again at the rearview mirror. Nothing. No one was following him. Everything was so quiet, so perfect.
Then he took the next turn, which would lead him to a remote neighborhood. The houses became increasingly few and the streets darker. The place seemed perfect for his next steps. A small, inconspicuous shop sat on the corner of the next intersection. Lukas had long since spotted his destination.
He parked the car on the side of the road, let the engine run for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to absorb the peace and quiet one last time. Then he got out, closed the door with a quiet click, and pulled the hood of his coat deep over his face. No one would know what he was doing here. No one would know that the next in this night's line of victims had already been chosen.
With quick, almost fluid steps, Lukas entered the store. It was a dark place, with the shelves crammed with junk no one had ever needed. But that didn't bother Lukas. He always felt safest in this kind of store. A place where no one showed any particular interest in anyone else. A place where people were busy with their own little struggles.
"Good evening," said the shopkeeper, an older man sitting behind the counter, busy with a newspaper. He glanced up briefly, then back down at the paper when he saw no danger.