Aug 4, 2025
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Philippines
seen from Israel
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Philippines
seen from France
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from Costa Rica
seen from China
seen from United States
Could you write a few killers who already have their sights on someone, but become obsessed with the reader because they forfeit their own safety to protect others?
---------------------
I really like this request, and I picked four killers that I really wanted to write about the moment I started to play around with it. Someone else requested something similar, so it's two in one.
----------------------
Warning!: NSFW Elements present! Violence, blood, etc.
The Deathslinger
The wooden stock of Caleb’s custom-built rifle was warm in his grip, slick with a thin sheen of blood. One of theirs, but whose, exactly? He neither knew nor cared. The scent of gunpowder clung to the thick, stagnant air. Mingling with the acrid aroma of rust, dust and decay. The once-thriving outpost of Dead Dawg Saloon stood in eerie silence around him, its skeletal remains a graveyard of splintered wood, abandoned buildings, and the ghostly echoes of men long since put in the ground.
The trial was nearly at its end.
Three of them still clung to life, but their fate was sealed. Prey, reduced to desperation, staggering like wounded animals, their time borrowed and running thin. But there was one among them who refused to fall without a fight.
Yui Kimura.
She was fast, sharp-witted and stubborn as hell. Caleb had chased her across these damned streets, through shattered buildings and over the warped gallows. She had vaulted, juked, and twisted her way out of his reach more times than he cared to count. His patience had worn thin, his hands aching to cut this chase short.
Now, she was cornered.
His keen eye spotted her huddled low behind an old wagon, her body taut, fingers pressing against a wound he had delivered earlier. The crimson stain against her torn sleeve told him what he needed to know. She was weakening.
Caleb exhaled. Settling the weight of his rifle against his shoulder. One well-placed shot, one squeeze of the trigger and it would be over. He aligned his sights. His finger tensed.
And then you appeared.
You had been running toward safety, clear of his reach, your escape route wide open towards an opened exit gate. But instead of vanishing into the fog like any sensible survivor would, you turned. And ran back.
Straight toward the saloon.
Straight toward them.
Caleb hesitated.
His finger hovered over the trigger, his grin faltering for the briefest second. He had seen panic before. He had seen desperation, raw and wretched, as men clawed at the dirt to get away from him. But this? This was something else.
This wasn’t fear.
This was sacrifice.
Your reckless, stupid, godforsaken heroism sent a slow, amused snarl curling over his lips. He admired grit, respected those with enough iron in their spine to fight back, but what you had just done? That was pure foolishness.
He realigned his sights and steadied his aim. The rifle cracked, the harpoon slicing through the air in a deadly whistle.
Yui had no time to react.
But you did.
The iron spear punched through your shoulder, the impact ripping the air from your lungs before you even realized what had happened. Your world tilted as the force sent you sprawling backward, boots scraping against the dust-coated ground. The chain snapped tight and yanked you toward him with ruthless precision.
You hit the dirt hard.
A strangled cry tore from your throat as you skidded toward him, pebbles biting into your skin, the searing pain of the harpoon digging deep into flesh. Caleb didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just reeled you in, watching with an eerie calm as you clawed at the dirt, your body trembling from shock.
Then, at last, you were beneath him.
Looming, towering and waiting.
His shadow stretched over you, the barrel of his rifle lowering slightly, though the chain still remained taut in his grip. His ghostly, sunken eyes, shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, raked over you with something unreadable.
“You really are a damned fool, ain’t ya?” His voice was slow, deep, like rusted iron grinding over old bone.
Your chest heaved. You could feel the warm trickle of blood soaking your sleeve, the pain unbearable. But you had done it. Yui was gone. Running. Safe.
The realization flickered in Caleb’s gaze.
A chuckle rumbled low in his throat, though there was no real humor behind it. His amusement had curdled into something darker, something more intrigued. He pressed the sole of his boot lightly against your ribs. Not hard enough to crush, just enough. A reminder that you were at his mercy now.
“You got a death wish, darlin’?” His voice dipped lower, hushed, almost soft, like a secret between sinners. “Throwin’ yourself in front of my gun like that?” His fingers tightened around the rifle, muscles in his forearm tensing. “Ain’t had someone do that in a long time.”
You braced yourself for the hook. For the end.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, Caleb hesitated.
He had every reason to end this right now, to drag you screaming to a hook, to leave you gasping for air as the Entity claimed you.
And yet…
Something about the way you had offered yourself… Not to save yourself, but for another, struck something primal in him. A desire.
A possessive craving.
Something that made him want to keep you, not just kill you. Because that kind of loyalty? That recklessness?
It had potential.
That flicker of interest was your only chance.
With a sharp cry, you wrenched yourself free.
Pain shot through your body like wildfire, the wound in your shoulder ripping wider as you tore against the chain’s hold. The harpoon slid loose with a sickening squelch. And suddenly, the world was spinning as you stumbled to your feet and ran.
Caleb cursed, lunging forward, his chain snapping as he tried to grab you, but you were already sprinting, fueled by agony and desperation.
You didn’t look back.
Didn’t dare.
The saloon blurred around you, the ruined gallows looming like an omen. Caleb was already chasing, his boots pounding against the dirt, his rifle swinging downward to fasten his approach.
But then you saw it.
The hatch.
Your only way out.
With a final, ragged gasp, you threw yourself forward. The ground vanished beneath you as you plummeted, the fog swallowing you whole.
The hunt was over.
Caleb skidded to a halt, boots grinding against the dirt. The hatch let out a final thunk as it sealed itself, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.
For a long moment, he simply stared.
His chest heaved, not from exertion, but from something else entirely. Something unexpected. A slow, twisted grin curled over his lips, his jaw cracking in the process, his fingers tightening around the rifle’s grip.
That was new. That was interesting.
His fluorescent white gaze flickered over the empty spot where you had vanished.
Oh, he’d see you again. Because now? Now you were more than just another survivor. Now, you were his obsession.
And Caleb Quinn never let go of what he deems to be interesting.
The Executioner
The walls of Midwich Elementary School groaned under the weight of something ancient, something wrong. The air hung thick with decay, saturated with the acrid stench of rust and stagnant rot. It was as if the building itself had absorbed suffering, the very bones of its foundation tainted with the echoes of long-forgotten agony. Shadows pulsed unnaturally in the dim light, twisting along the broken tiles, whispering through cracked walls. The voices were not human.And through the heart of this nightmare, he pursued.
A towering monolith of flesh and metal. His form is an instrument of judgment. Silent, relentless and a monstrous man deemed inevitable. He did not stalk like a man, nor did he hunt like a beast. He moved with the certainty of something that had no need to rush, something that would always find you in the end. The Great Knife dragged behind him. Its rusted, monstrous edge carving deep gashes into the bloodstained floor. The sound of metal grinding against tile was unbearable. A screech that set nerves alight, yet it is no more deafening than the suffocating weight of his presence.
Adam Francis ran. He had spent his life educating others, priding himself on patience and on reason. But here? In this twisted parody of a school? Reason meant nothing.
He could feel it closing in behind him. The sheer weight of its presence bore down on him, thick and suffocating, like a shroud wrapping around his throat. He dared not look back, his breaths ragged as he pushed forward and forcing his burning legs to carry him further.
The knife swung.
A sharp whistle cut through the air. A death sentence descending upon him…
But then, you moved. The metal door of a locker slammed open, the dull light reflecting in your panicked gaze as you threw yourself forward, barreling into Adam’s side.
Your body crashed into his with the force of a desperate savior, knocking him off his path, sending him sprawling onto the cold tiles just as the Great Knife carved through the air.
A sharp and searing pain ignited across your back.
You barely had time to scream before the sheer force of the blow ripped you from your feet, sending you hurtling onto the blood-slicked floor. The cold, unforgiving tiles met you with a crack, the breath torn from your lungs as your limbs collapsed beneath you.
Your vision blurred. The pain was immediate, a blistering agony radiating across your spine where the blade had nearly cleaved you in two. Your fingers curled weakly against the ground, shaking, struggling to push yourself upright.
And then… Silence.
Adam’s footsteps faded into the distance, a fleeting comfort.
A shadow loomed over you. Impossibly vast and suffocating in its abyssal presence that swallowed everything in its path. The air itself quivered beneath his weight. The world recoiling as if it knew what lingered above you.
Slowly and deliberately, he stepped forward.
The Great Knife plunged into the ground beside you with a sickening crash, the sheer force rattling the earth beneath your trembling frame. The bloodstained steel quivered, buried deep in the floor beside your face. A statement.
Your breath came shallow and trembling, your body frozen as something huge, unseen, and utterly consuming filled the space between you.
The Executioner was watching you. From beneath that terrible, rusted helm, his unseen gaze bore into you. Studied you.
Your pain. Your sacrifice. Your willingness to suffer for another.
It was not fear that bound you in place.
It was the sheer, overwhelming intensity of his presence.
A gloved hand, which was massive and inhumanly strong, reached out. The white leather of his fingers, slick with blood, traced the line of your trembling jaw. The touch was shockingly delicate.
A shiver crawled down your spine. An instinctive reaction to the sheer power coiled within him.
He lingered. His fingers curled slightly, almost testing. Measuring the fragile warmth of your skin, the rapid thunder of your pulse against his fingertips.
For the first time, something shifted in the Executioner.
And in that moment, where pyramid head stood rigid, you did the only thing you could.
You ran.
Your body screamed in protest, every nerve aflame, but you did not stop. You pushed past the pain, past the overwhelming pull of the Executioner’s unseen gaze, and ran through the endless halls of this cursed place.
The shadows clawed at your heels, the darkness twisting with each turn. You could feel him following, his footfalls heavy. He did not chase in haste. Because he did not need to. He was inevitable. You were no different, in that regard.
But then, the hatch.
Like a beacon in the endless dark, it hummed just ahead.
With the last of your strength, you threw yourself forward.
And the fog swallowed you whole.
The trial was over.
The Executioner stood at the edge of the empty space where you had vanished, the silence pressing against him like a vice.
His great knife, still drenched in fresh blood, lowered.
Slowly, his free hand curled into a fist, the phantom warmth of your skin still clinging to his fingers.
The moment played again in his mind. Your breathless defiance, your willingness to bleed for another. The way your body had trembled beneath his touch, not from fear… Not entirely at least. But from something else, too.
You had changed something.
And now, you were his to seek, and to find.
The rusted helm tilted slightly, as if listening to something far beyond human comprehension.
It was not over. Not even close.
Because no matter where you ran, no matter how many times you escaped… The Executioner would come for you this time.
And next time?
You would not escape him.
The Knight
The air was thick with the stench of burning wood and rotting flesh, smoke curling in dark plumes through the ruined remnants of Shattered Square. What had once been a thriving settlement of merchants and craftsmen had been reduced to a battlefield of blood and embers, its people long gone, their suffering permanently etched into the scorched ruins and broken cobblestone. The streets were littered with the remnants of a life now lost in time. Shattered pottery, splintered carts, iron tools abandoned in the dirt. All remnants of a struggle that had ended long before this trial began. But the trial was not yet over.
Thalita Lyra ran.
Her breath came in ragged bursts and her limbs trembled with exertion as she tore through the crumbling marketplace, past the skeletal remains of merchant stalls and overturned wagons. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, a frantic drum of fear and survival.
And behind her, he followed.
The Knight.
A towering presence of steel and death, his body encased in armor blackened by soot and battle. His crimson surcoat, though singed and tattered from the flames, still billowed with every step, the deep red standing stark against the plated steel beneath. A war banner of a man, a conqueror draped in the colors of blood.
He did not rush. He did not need to. His Guards had done their part. The Jailer’s chains had nearly dragged her down, the Assassin’s blade had come within a whisper of splitting flesh. But he did not rely on them. There was no evading him.
A shadow loomed.
A flash of steel.
The Knight’s zweihänder sliced through the air, a lethal arc of gleaming death.
Thalita’s body twisted at the last moment, barely dodging the strike, but she had nowhere left to run.
Her foot caught on debris, and she hit the ground hard, her body barely able to brace for the impact.
The Knight took one step forward, the weight of his presence pressing down like an executioner looming over the condemned. His zweihänder rose, the tip gleaming with flickering embers of the fires still burning in the ruins.
A sudden blur. The impact was sudden, your shoulder colliding with the steel plating of his side, the force of your weight crashing into his armored frame with everything you had. It was a fool’s act.
His steel-clad arm barely budged against the force of your impact, but it was enough. The zweihänder stopped mid-swing, the momentum of his blade shifting ever so slightly, his body barely shifting from your impact. You may as well have thrown yourself against a fortress.
But that single moment, that single hesitation, was all Thalita needed.
Enough for Thalita to push herself up, stumbling onto her feet, her body swaying as she regained balance. Without looking back, she turned and disappeared into the thickening smoke, her form swallowed by the ruins.
The air around you felt heavier, thick with something indescribable as the battlefield fell into silence.
The Knight's visor tilted downward, the slitted gaze beneath it locking onto you for the first time.
Your chest heaved, your heart a frenzied drumbeat beneath your ribs. Pain shot through your limbs from the force of the collision, but you did not dare to move.
You stood firm.
For someone else, you had placed yourself in his path.
For someone else, you had intervened.
Something shifted in the Knight’s imposing stance.
He had seen many things in these wretched trials. Cowards, warriors, fools who thought they could outlast him.
But this?
This was different.
His gauntleted fingers flexed against the hilt of his zweihänder.
The feeling drummed against his ribs, an unfamiliar rhythm that had no place in a battlefield. It was something new, something he had not felt in so long he had forgotten it existed at all.
His own heartbeat.
Steady. Strong. And faster than ever before.
He exhaled slowly, the sound of it low and controlled beneath his helmet.
For the first time, he did not feel like a warrior in pursuit of his duty. He did not feel like a mere extension of the Entity’s will, nor just another commander of its cruel games. You stepped back, already turning to run away.
With terrifying precision, his free hand lashed out. A hand that could crush bone, that had twisted the life from so many before.
The metal of his gauntlets was slick with blood as his fingers closed around your throat.
A sharp gasp left your lips. Your hands flew up, fingers soon clawing against the unyielding steel, desperately seeking a weakness, a gap, anything that would loosen his grip. But there was no weakness to find. You struggled, your body twisting, your feet digging into the dirt, trying to pull away- to break free. But his hold remained unyielding. He did not tighten his grip. He did not choke you, did not crush your windpipe as he so easily could have. He simply held you there. Like a hunter inspecting his catch.
As if he did not understand why he was doing it at all.
The battlefield around you still burned, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke, yet he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on you.
Alive. Mortal. Temporary. The words tumbled through his head like an echo. Foreign and unfamiliar, pressing into his thoughts in ways he could not explain.
You were not supposed to matter.
And yet, as you struggled, as you fought against his grip, he remained still, his gaze hidden beneath his visor, locked onto you in silent contemplation.
You were so fragile.
His armor was cold and unyielding. The heavy plating pressing lightly against your skin. He could not feel the warmth of your body beneath his grip. His gauntlets prevented that.
But he could see the rapid rise and fall of your chest. Could see the way your pulse fluttered at your throat. Could see your face, up close for the first time. Not a fleeting glimpse across the battlefield.
Not another nameless soul in the Fog.
But you.
For a single moment, you stopped struggling.
You stilled beneath his grip, your breath ragged but steadying, your body no longer thrashing against his hold.
You were watching him now.
Just as he was watching you.
A war machine and a mortal. A killer and a survivor.
Then…
The distant roar of the final generator hissed through the burning air.
A sharp stinging pain tore across his grip as you wrenched free. Your nails digging into the cracks of his armor, breaking his hold with a sudden twist of your body.
The Knight’s fingers curled into a tight fist. The memory of your form still fresh against his palm.
Your figure blurred through the smoke and ruin, your form becoming smaller, vanishing into the distance as you sprinted toward one of the exit gates. One that is now open.
He followed.
His heartbeat still thundered in his ears, still demanded answers he did not yet understand.
He would not let you go so easily.
The exit gates gleamed ahead.
With the last of your strength, you threw yourself past them, the fog consuming you whole.
The trial was over.
Tarhos came to a halt.
His armored boots pressed against the dirt. The black spikes of the Entity’s barriers protruding from the ground and keeping him from taking another step.
His blade lowered, his breath slow and controlled beneath his helmet.
His body remained still, but inside, something was not.
That unfamiliar rhythm remained, refusing to fade, a presence in his body that he could not explain.
It lingered.
He lifted his free hand, fingers uncurling, staring at the space where you had once been.
His visor tilted slightly, as if contemplating, as if searching for something invisible.
His head turned back upward, his gaze lingering on the empty horizon where you had disappeared into the Fog.
He had cut down countless warriors, cowards, fighters and survivors alike.
He had hunted many who dared to defy him.
But you?
You had stirred something inside him.
A slow, deliberate step backward. Then another. He sheathed his zweihänder with practiced ease.
The battlefield still burned around him, but his mind was elsewhere. Because you had become something more than just another survivor. Something worth seeking. Something worth keeping.
The Knight turned, stepping back into the blackened ruin of Shattered Square.
He would see you again.
The Oni
The ancient halls of the Yamaoka Estate groaned beneath the weight of time. Wind screamed through broken shoji doors, carrying whispers of the dead across splintered wood and blood-slicked floors. Once serene, the garden had become a shrine to carnage. Maple leaves soaked in crimson and stone lanterns streaked with violence.
David Tapp was running.
He had been running since the moment he saw it. A monstrous figure emerging from the fog and roaring with the fury of a thousand condemned souls.
The Oni.
Not a man. Not even a killer. A legend of wrath made manifest.
David's lungs burned as he tore through the ruined courtyard, the world spinning around him. His legs were lead, his body bruised and battered and every step scraped against the edge of collapse. The splintered and rotting torii gate loomed ahead. A gateway to nowhere.
The Oni was upon him, crashing through the mists like a force of nature. His kanabo scraped deep trenches into the ground. A grotesque extension of his rage. His veins pulsed with glowing fury and his eyes locked on the prey just within reach.
He had him. He would end it.
That was until you suddenly stepped between them.
A blur. Fragile. Human. But in that instant, you were unshakable. You weren’t a survivor. You weren’t prey. You were defiance itself. Flinging yourself between death and the man it hunted.
The Oni struck without being able to stop himself. The kanabo came down with the force of a landslide, cleaving the air with a sound that seemed to tear the very sky apart. There was no time to scream, no moment to flinch. It was too fast.
It did not hit David.
It struck you.
Your body absorbed the brunt of the blow with a sickening crunch. Bones groaning under the unimaginable weight. You were lifted off your feet and hurled across the courtyard like a broken doll. The world spun as you hit the stones, then fell still. Blood filled your mouth. Your vision blurred, mud and blood mixing into an distinguishable haze. Pain wasn't even pain anymore. It was a roaring silence that swallowed your senses whole.
But David was safe.
That was all that mattered.
And yet, the killing blow never followed.
A shadow loomed. The Oni stood over you, massive and seething, his aura flickering with scarlet fury. His breath came in ragged gusts. Fogging the space between you. The kanabo trembled in his grip.
He stared.
And in that heartbeat, he knew.
He had waited a lifetime to feel something like this again. Not rage. Not vengeance. Something else.
But you moved.
Your fingers clawed into the cold, wet earth, slipping once, then finding purchase. The taste of blood coated your tongue, metallic and thick. Your chest heaved as your breath rasped like a dying fire, but still you pulled one knee under you, then the other. You forced yourself upright, trembling, swaying… And standing.
It wasn't just pain that kept you grounded. It was purpose. A desperate, flickering will to survive.
He saw it.
The thought alone of you escaping him sent a surge of fury tearing through his soul. His veins flaring like molten rivers of crimson.
The Oni's eyes burned brighter, a mixture of surprise and rage twisting within the holes of his mask. For a moment, he hesitated, his kanabo lowering ever so slightly.
Then he surged forward, a growl tearing from his throat, muscles flexing as he lunged like a living avalanche. But mid-stride, his fury refocused. He did not want you dead.
With a swift motion, he discarded the kanabo, letting it crash into the earth behind him. From thin air, he drew his katana. Sleek, precise, restrained. It gleamed faintly. A blade not meant to kill this time, but to cut a path to capture.
He wanted you alive.
He would take you with one hand if he had to.
But he was too late.
Your body lurched forward, driven by instinct and terror, your feet dragging through leaves and broken stone as you fled through the mist.
You kept moving, despite the heavy strides that followed you from up close. Lungs on fire, every step pulled from a reserve of strength you didn’t know you had. Stones slipped beneath you. The world narrowed to the gate ahead.
And you ran through it.
Behind you, The Oni roared. But not in triumph.
He reached the edge of the open field, only to be met by the Entity’s cruel barrier. Ebony spikes erupted from the ground, halting him mid-charge. His katana struck one of them with a deafening clang, sending sparks into the eternal night.
He growled low, the sound echoing like thunder trapped in his chest. His aura pulsed around him, wild and furious, but restrained.
He would not forget this.
He had waited a lifetime to feel something other than rage. And now, it was already slipping through his fingers.
He glared into the darkness where you'd vanished, the fog already swallowing your trail. But the trial was not over. Not for him.
He would find you again. Inside the Fog. Inside one of his trials.
And next time, there would be no escape.
Animal crossing and Dbd!
Deebeedeez
Dam sorry for dying here gang, I'm just very more active on twitter 💀
glamorous fan service...part two!!
I 💘 #DeadbyDaylight :3, so much n.n❤️ He's my favorite killer, The Oni, Kazan Yamaoka❣️ UvU~ (I'm soooo in love with him 😍💞, he's my husbando🥰💖😘💕)