The forest was quiet again.
Too quiet.
Aiden stood where the hunter's body had dissolved — only drifting motes of white data hung in the air, fading slowly into nothingness. The smell of ozone and burnt data lingered, and beneath it, something faintly human — the echo of sweat, fear, and adrenaline. Things no code should be able to simulate, and yet, somehow, it did.
He looked down at his hand, still faintly steaming from where he had torn the player apart. Golden particles of his own blood shimmered faintly, fracturing into geometric light before fading.
"Perfect Aim," he murmured.
The name of the skill he'd absorbed.
Once, it had been his.
> Nice shot, Aiden!
The voice wasn't from the world around him — it came from the back of his mind, like a whisper trapped inside corrupted data.
A laugh followed, clear and bright, belonging to someone he hadn't thought about in years.
He blinked hard, and the sound dissolved like a bad dream.
Remnants
