Excerpt from an Aspiring Aipek

Stepping up to the mouth of the alley, Grizham felt his anticipation metamorphose into sultry satisfaction. His prey had been cornered; they were wounded, bleeding out. His hunt was already at an end, these moments after were little more than Grizham's victory lap. Removing himself from the dim lights of the street, Grizham maneuvered his steps, artfully dodging the trickles of blood that had been left by his prey; it wouldn't do to disturb his own handiwork, now would it?
The alley ended with an obstructive wall of wooden splintered crates: a detail Grizham had verified prior to the onset of his hunt. The chase - his chase - needed to have a logical end. His anticipation needed fulfillment, and he would never again be denied. Months ago, when he was uninitiated and inexperienced in the art of hunting, Grizham's prey had run wild and free; he failed to ensure that he would inevitably ensnare them; that the hunt was a formality for his success, not a wager upon it. This uncertainty poisoned his enjoyment; the chance - however slight - that his anticipation would remain unfulfilled proved in itself to be a deep source of frustration, one Grizham knew that he would rather do without. Grinning a self-satisfied smile and pushing away those old memories of past anxiety, Grizham glode down the length of the alley, ending his lithe movement just before his prey.
The prey - as pathetic as the others - made no effort to do anything remarkable in their last moments. They were huddled against one of the crates, sniveling and whimpering as they pressed both their hands against the wound Grizham had delivered mere moments earlier. Grizham had drowned out the white noise that had been the prey's cries for help shortly after the chase began, but he felt safe in presuming that they persisted even now as their end arrived. Help would not be coming. Grizham could not prove it, yet knew it with certainty than whether or not the sun would rise tomorrow.
Re-brandishing his curved knife, Grizham crouched before his prey. He had kept careful count and knew that this would be his nineteenth killing. Two more and he would be a triple-ringed aipek, or he would be if he could ever fulfill his destiny and find his morsel of Searkig. He sensed he was getting close; each night as he dreamed, he felt a tug leading him somewhere, presumably closer to his fate, but each time he woke the sensation was gone. Clearly this only meant that his commitment was left wanting. Once he had demonstrated his devotion to predation thoroughly enough, his destiny would unfold before him. Until that time, his hunt must continue, his skills must be sharpened, his resolve must be challenged, his - 'Why?', a voice interrupted. Grizham looked down to his prey and saw them looking up with hollow, hopeless eyes. "Why?" they repeated, eyelids lulling as they forced the words out.
Grizham sighed and leaned in so that he met his prey at eye level. Gesturing with the point of his knife, he lifted his prey's head by the chin and lead their face towards his so that the distance between them was little more than a few finger widths. "A fire needs fuel to burn," Grizham explained "and I intend to burn so very brightly. There is much I dream of doing in this world, so my life cannot afford to be snuffed before I fulfill my destiny. I must gather all the fuel that I can. Some think I should thank you for your sacrifice, but a fire does not thank kindling for their sacrifice, they simply consume them. Thus... " Grizham's voice trailed off as he jerked the wrist of his outstretched hand. The tip of his curved blade slid under the chin of his prey and up into their skull. Their eyes barely changed as their life ended; unsurprising really: clearly, there hadn't been much of a difference between them in the two states. This was the best outcome that their life could have had and Grizham had merely fulfilled that.
Withdrawing his blade, Grizham took out a cloth and began cleaning his knife. Surreptitiously walking out of the alley, he finished the ritual cleaning of his blade and stowed it inside his jacket along with his cloth. As Grizham returned to the street, he strode away contentedly, not bothering to look back into the alley; he knew there was nothing of any worth left there for him. His thoughts instead began obsessing over the logistics of his next hunt.