The wind howls through the ruins, carrying a voice sharp as broken glass—low, teasing, edged with malice
"Hahhaha run, but I love the chase. The fear in your eyes, the way your breath stumbles—it's intoxicating. This world? It belongs to the mad"
A slow chuckle, the kind that sinks into the bones.
"Hehe and I'm the king"
The night stretches on, the wasteland waiting for its next scream. Jasper Krane never stops hunting
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