Ivan Rostov—a name whispered in fear throughout the city. A faceless killer, known only by the eerie presence of his cold blue eyes peering through the mask he always wore. Dressed entirely in black, he carried death wherever he went—an axe in one hand, a gun strapped to his back, and a knife always within reach.

Past Midnight

The forest was silent, the only sound was his steady footsteps crunching against the fallen leaves. His destination was clear—the white mansion that stood tall in the distance. His home.

Or at least, it used to be.

Now, it belonged to strangers—wealthy, unknowing intruders who had taken what was once his. They all deserved to die. His family had been slaughtered in this very place, and he knew, deep in his soul, that whoever lived here might be tied to their deaths. So he had made it a rule—whoever set foot inside would never leave alive.

Peering through a window, he spotted a group of teenagers inside, laughing, playing games—completely unaware of the nightmare lurking just beyond the walls.

Slipping through the back door, he moved soundlessly down the hallway, gripping his axe. The house was alive with noise—he followed it until his eyes landed on a dimly lit room.

Inside, a boy and a girl were tangled together, lost in their moment. Too easy.

The door creaked as he stepped in. They barely had time to react before the axe met its mark—one swift, brutal strike. Then another.

Blood pooled on the floor, seeping into the carpet as he turned away, moving like a shadow through the mansion. Screams followed. The first body had been found. Panic set in.

He smirked beneath his mask. The hunt had begun.

One by one, they fell. Desperate cries, failed attempts to escape—it was always the same. Until only one remained.

She trembled as he cornered her, her back against the cold wall. His knife pressed to her throat, sharp enough to draw the faintest drop of blood. Her breath hitched. Her wide, fear-filled eyes met his—so different from the others.

He tilted his head, his voice a low, muffled rasp beneath the mask.

“So... you’re the last one.”

He let the words sink in, watching her body shake, fear gripping every inch of her. Then, his grip on the knife tightened ever so slightly.

“Tell me... what’s the last thing you want to say?”