Hell Nights

Prologue

1998: Almost three decades ago

The skies above Ganacillo's dark and thick forest were shrouded by dark clouds that brought with them powerful winds, flashing lightning, and thundering thunder. From the forest below, a man wearing a plain gray shirt paired with drawstring sweatpants and sneakers was staggering while clasping the wound in his left chest.

"This weather is so pesky!", he grumbled while scanning his surroundings with an annoyed face. The intense rain and blowing wind from the storm made it difficult for him to see clearly and move steadily. A few meters from his position, to the left, he noticed a humongous acacia tree standing robustly, blocking the powerful storm.

"That would be a good spot!", he gladly mumbled as he moved towards the tall and large acacia tree.

As he reached the giant acacia tree, he instantly leaned against it and sighed in solace. He then slowly removed his right hand from holding his wound—a severe gunshot wound that bleeds and streams while throbbing in discomfort in his left chest.

He then deeply gulped as he looked up in exhaustion. A few moments later, his eyes went aggressive as he strongly bit his lower lip, unexpectedly stabbing his gunshot wound in his left chest using his right index finger. He then whimpered in pain while slowly pulling out a bullet from his wound. And when he took out the bullet, he immediately examined it and identified what kind of bullet it was.

His face then turned miffed.

"A nine-millimeter Cardinal silver bullet", he muttered in an irritated tone while strongly crumpling the bullet in his right palm.

Later on, he unclothes his shirt, tears it, and tightly cinches it around his bleeding wound. And after treating his wound, he leaned back from the humongous acacia tree and exhaled deeply while squinting his eyes above.

THUNDER CRACKS

Along with the thunder, from the woods covered with mist, a transparent yell echoed that made his senses alert while he hastily stood up on his feet. From the distance, a silhouette appears in the misty rain, its boots splashing rapidly on the ground. Seconds later, a loud voice screamed, "JOHARD!", It echoed throughout the entire place, putting the man's eyes on full alert.

A few moments later, rushing footsteps surged while a figure slowly came out of the misty rain. That figure was holding something in both of its hands. It was sharp and long and looked like a blade. It then suddenly throws one of its blades from its right hand.

The man's eyes were startled to see a blade flying towards him. Luckily, he was able to dodge the sudden attack, and the blade was stuck in a huge acacia tree behind him.

"A Grim?", he asks in an unsure tone in his thoughts, while his face shows a suspenseful expression looking at the blade—a long and sharp bolo blade. He then veered around and peered right at the figure. "Tch! Surely it is a Grim!".

That figure, whom the man called grim, can be seen charging closely toward him. From its appearance, it has long black hair and a thin body. He wears a dark long coat paired with dark tattered jeans, two dark khaki boots, and a bolo in his left hand. All of a sudden, it abruptly blinks in front of him.

"How are you, Johard? I've been waiting for a long time to finally cut your head!", shouted maniacally by the figure who was named by the man as Grim. The Grim strongly swings the bolo in his left hand, targeting the man's neck, whom he called Johard.

The man whose name was Johard was flabbergasted by that quick-sudden move that made him instantly lift and use his right arm to block off the bolo from hitting his neck. Johard snorts and immediately counterattacks using his left knee, targeting the left side of the grim's body. The Grim notices Johard's counter-attack and blocks it immediately using his right arm. They both then gave a death stare while the only thing that could be heard was a long pause and the silence of the strong rain and wind that resounded throughout the forest.