Chapter Text
Hunter lay exhausted in the sand, clinging to the last vestiges of his dwindling consciousness. Each inhale he forced into his chest was flimsy, and out of pure necessity, his body aching as he willed his chest cavity to not cave in on itself. His bones weighed heavily on his body, desperate to sink lower and lower into the sand, to allow his remaining strength to float away with each exhale. The grains beneath him embedded itself into his every crevice, forcing each pinprick of slicing agony deeper into the stinging wounds littering his body. The stiff air occasionally blew right into an open gash, battering every exposed nerve ending and forcing a strangled hiss out of his lips. His heartbeat pulsated against his skull, sending torturous reverberations that wracked his entire frame. How did he end up here...
When Uncle had first tasked him to kill the Selkidomus, Hunter had delighted at the opportunity to prove his worth, eager to submit himself to the task ahead and cement his role as the new head of the Emperor’s Coven. Though he was the youngest in the Emperor’s Coven, he had, by his own abilities alone, emerged victorious and was bestowed the honour of serving as the right hand of the Emperor - the feared Golden Guard. The others were envious of his status, with many brazen young scouts challenging him to a witch’s duel to rise the ranks. Nothing he couldn’t handle, though. His duel with Kikimora had left him severely injured and in need of a healer, and, though he emerged victorious, Uncle disciplined him quite heavily for disparaging the title of the Golden Guard. A Golden Guard must uphold a certain standard.
Scouts stopped challenging him after he’d won that fight, instead simply electing to gossip among themselves. ‘Golden brat’, they'd mutter amongst themselves as he passed them in the halls, their disdain palpable beneath their helmets. Hunter could use this mission as an opportunity to re-establish his authority, as expected of the Titan’s appointed lead soldier. He would defeat the Selkidomus ravaging the coast and prove his might to the Isles, show that he was worthy of his position, not because the Emperor was playing favourites but because of his unrivalled skill. Then, maybe, other guards would be more interested in talking to him. Even the Coven Heads would have to respect him!
Naturally, helping Uncle came first - his willingness to fight the Selkidomus wasn’t just for something as trivial as people. Uncle himself had cleared the mission as one of utmost secrecy and importance, divulging to him that the Selkidomus would help alleviate his curse - something he could only trust Hunter to help with! The curse made Uncle a little more... spirited, making him much more prone to his outbursts. He was overjoyed that Uncle could rely on him, watching him wrestle with his curse was painful to watch, often in all senses of the word.
…
The room is dark, with the usually ever-expansive cobbled walls inextricably closing in on Hunter. He glanced down at his hands which reflexively moved to his abdomen as he noticed a throbbing pain. As he pulled away the familiar sharp sting of blood reached his nose, his body convulsed silently at the realisation. The walls behind him left a silhouette of debris and glass in his wake. A strangled shout drew Hunter’s attention up towards his Uncle once more, who glared down at him from across the room. A surge of murky filth pounded the wall that was next to him, as his Uncle’s body contorted into its cursed form, twisting into erratic wild magic. With a ghoulish howl his Uncle turned towards Hunter, his scythe-like arms mutating and surging towards him.
Before the magic deformed arm-like structure made contact with his face all Hunter could see was the pure unbridled rage in what remained of his Uncle's face. His Uncle. His cursed face mottled green, the ever-reminder of his lack of control from the spell. But truly, what Hunter remembered most was his piercing stare. His cold eyes, brimming with outrage, disappointment, and rage, all culminated in his pained delirium. Hunter was no longer a person in those eyes, just a dull blade that needed sharpening.
That night had been long and painful.
The scar from that time had been particularly painful. His recovery had taken weeks, requiring half of his face to be bandaged up to his ear. The great Golden Guard couldn’t become a symbol of weakness, though. So of course, Hunter remained in his room to ensure his vulnerability wouldn’t be known, avoiding healers to ensure the information couldn't be leaked. If it was, he could have been left compromised for another attack, it was truly for his own safety.
Then it happened, as it always did. A few days after having retreated to his room, Uncle had come to visit - the cursed effects having finally subsided. He had held Hunter in his arms for the first time since his ascension to the Golden Guard, allowing Hunter to sob quietly, gently cradling him with his whole being. He talked of his pain, of the crazed frenzy the wretched curse had left him in. Of his suffering he was forced to endure under the danger of the wild witches. How he needed someone dependable, someone who would not disappoint him, how it agonised him when Hunter did. Truthfully, Hunter ached for those moments. When Hunter became a person again in his presence. Though Uncle was typically distant and cold to ensure Hunter received no favouritism within the Coven; he still craved to be loved and nurtured. A joy reserved for him only.
That night had been long and comfortable.
When the scar had healed as best as it could without magical intervention, Hunter had quickly returned to his work and training. Yet, the people around him still seemed indifferent to his presence. He didn’t understand, he had done everything he was told. Sure, he took a bit of an extended leave out of the blue but he returned just as ready to contribute, ever-eager to serve. He could tell they had abysmal respect in him, but Hunter was going to change that.
…
Of course, the despicable Selkidomus were monsters known for their intelligence as much as their worth, but their strength should have been nothing in the face of the Golden Guard. After all, if he couldn’t kill a glorified trash slug then what good was he as the Emperor’s right hand?
It was definitely not a quick or easy fight. Exchanging blows for blows, the wind hurtled him through the sky. Its raw might simply swatted him away everytime he tried to close the distance, the pretentious fucker. But if Hunter was one thing, he was Titandamned persistent, a trait he earned from endless hours of training which had always served him well. Each time the beast shot those dreaded spines it pushed him further towards the rocks studded around the steaming shore, the impact pushed the air out of his lungs, and each time he forced himself to grit his teeth and get back up. There was no room for failure after all, he couldn’t lose. Emperor Belos didn’t need failures around him. Hunter was well aware of his own expendability, he could only be granted so many chances. No, he knew what failures amounted to... Uncle had seen to that. “I would hate to have to replace you... is this the thanks I get for taking you in?”
The strategy that had pushed the blasted thing over the edge was when Hunter noticed a nearby cave the creature appeared to have been guarding. When the opportunity struck, Hunter isolated its weakness, targeting his next attack at the rocks above the cave instead of the animal itself. It was a risk which paid off, the Selkidomus retreating into the cave as it scoured for its treasure, until eventually being crushed by the weight of the rocks.
After a minute of observing no further movement, Hunter’s legs buckled as the toll of the fight crept into his skin and the adrenaline wore off. Suddenly unable to hold his own weight, Hunter fell backwards into the sand, where he found himself currently.
When he opened his eyes (when did he close them?) to see the night sky above him, which he was almost certain was not that dark when he had fought the damned creature. Hunter was mentally slapping himself for letting his guard down around the thing, he hadn’t even checked the corpse yet! Unable to move his body just yet, he craned his neck around to the rocks where he remembered buried the foul creature. Thankfully, the Selkidomus corpse jutted pitifully out of the rocks next to him, emitting its stench of death as all creatures do, a putrid and all consuming smell.
Hunter sighed in relief as he let his head fall back down into the sand, he was still so exhausted. The fresh bruises and gashes covering his aching body cried out in pain, his limbs screamed in agony, melding together in a sharp cacophony of suffering. In a pitiful move to position himself up, he felt the stabbing pain in his arms reach a startling peak when he attempted to shift his weight onto them. With a groan, he let his arms fall limp by his side once more, surrendering his body to sink further into the grains. Okay, definitely don’t move then.
It wasn’t so bad, he supposed, lying in the sand. In fact, he found his prickly bed almost tranquil, gazing up at the stars. He could survive here, surely. He could just lay here, where he’d never have to move again. And once it all became too unbearable he could simply let the sand cover him. It made for the perfect makeshift grave, he was a genius. A simple death beneath the Simmering Shoals’ waves, perhaps the boiling water would consume him quick enough to limit the pain, leaving nothing but bones in its wake. That would be ideal. Then Uncle could find someone more worthy of the Golden Guard title to help him.
Admiring his final resting place, he looked at the sky with a newfound appreciation when his eyes could focus for two Titandamned seconds. In spite of the pain, he found himself feeling quite... tranquil? The stars glistened in the sky in a fairytale kind of way. He was thankful The Titan had permitted him this one last bewitching sight, feeling a sense of peace washing over him. Even the blood trickling out of his skin had begun to follow a simple rhythm, predictable and almost comforting. The underlying tingling sensation of pain was almost welcoming, he mused. Definitely a source of comfort.
All in all, he reasoned that he had done well enough. He’d listened to his Uncle when he could - even if his body betrayed him at times. It was all in the spirit of training though, to be moulded into someone worthy of being the Golden Guard. It took Hunter much too long to become someone even slightly worthy, earning himself many punishments over the years, with no one to blame but himself. There were too many times he had gotten far too complacent for one befitting his status, and the Emperor could only grant him so many chances to repent. He was too weak. Even Kiki could do better than him in his current state.
Over the years, his body had gradually become accustomed to be in a constant state of healing, bandages ever-wound around his limbs like a layer of skin he couldn’t shed. They stuck to him, sweat further embedding the cloth into his very being. To become strong, one had to break themselves down first. His suffering was nowhere near what Uncle endured, so if he looked at it that way... he could go through anything.
Of course, how could he forget? He had to return the Selkidomus corpse to Uncle. Uncle had entrusted this mission to him, and he knew about its necessity for alleviating the curse, he had to return with it - even if it killed him in the process. He couldn’t just die here on this random island, away from civilization with the Selkidomus parts so close. If he left things like this, the precious Selkidomus scales would be buried beneath the waves, and it would be all his fault.
Drawing himself away from his sand-grave fantasies, Hunter clenched his jaw and forced himself up. A particularly deep gash in his abdomen stung against the cold, darkness searing across his vision as he laboured upwards. Blood oozed out of various parts of his flesh, staining his old sand-bed. It was almost funny, really. Maybe Hunter was already losing it, but it felt like the exact same slash on his abdomen from when he almost lost that fight with Kiki. Maybe he was too delirious for this. He physically shook those thoughts away, grimacing in the process as his head throbbed in objection. No, this was not the time. Gripping his staff for balance (which was particularly difficult in all of this Titandamned sand), Hunter shuffled towards his kill.
After a few minutes he finally managed to dice the creature (and located some Selkigris in the wreckage), sharply stuffing the scales Uncle needed in a bag he had prepared earlier. Mindful of his wounds, he gingerly stepped onto his staff and prepared for flight, each minor movement sending coursing pain through his veins. He would have to go very, very, slowly to limit the wind irritating his wounds even more. He’d properly patch himself up when he got back, he thought belatedly, as he set off for flight.
Sore from the struggle, his honed senses from training had become dull. He lazily floated through the night sky, his mask lying by the side of his staff as he figured the edges would stick into his scratches on his face (which he had figured out the hard way like an idiot). Even though he knew his flying was abnormally slow, the wind would have given him whiplash had he gone any faster. His golden mask glinted in the night’s atmosphere, hooked idly along the side of his staff, while his clumsy stuffing of the Selkidomus hung limp out of the bag. Hell, his open gashes meant he was actively bleeding wherever he went. It was late, he was bleeding, and very obviously carrying an expensive kill. If Hunter was at all lucid, he would’ve put together these factors and stopped his moronic behaviour.
But he was not, and he did not.
And so, the inevitable happened. A group of witches spotted him stowing away the lucrative Selkidomus, and eager to get in a quick buck they followed his literal bloody tracks. A couple of stray witches wouldn’t have mattered much to him usually, not the great Golden Guard, but the exhaustion which sunk into his bones had rendered him as helpless as a newborn witchlet. Before his brain could even make sense of what was happening, he was unceremoniously knocked from his staff, hurtling into the forest below. His cloak snagged on trees as he went down, adding to the various scratches that covered his limbs.
He landed with a loud thump on the underbrush, knocking the air out of his lungs. His wounds opened wider from the crash, his head throbbing relentlessly, stirring up anguish anew. In the dark of the night, he lay, body truly spent, staffless and the Selkie’s remains nowhere to be seen. No energy left to muster, the searing pains which had diminished with his earlier spike of adrenaline out of devotion to Uncle returned with a vengeance. Was this how he would go? In the end, he supposed his death would be for the best...
Hunter silently prayed to the Titan that Uncle could easily track down and acquire the Selkidomous parts, so that his life would have at least meant something. To be necessary for the greater cause, he could live with that. His greater purpose…he remembered when he first learnt of it. "The Titan has great plans for you", Uncle would say - maybe this was the great plan. A life and death dedicated to the Emperor’s coven, to curing his Uncle. This was his life’s reason after all... he thought distantly, recalling his oath. To kill for the Emperor. To die for the Emperor. The pain had by now dulled to a low, distant throb in the back of his mind.
It was fine, though. Because it would all be over soon. At the rate the blood was oozing out of his body, he’d breathe his last in only a matter of minutes. Ah, well... what’s done is done. Not like he could do anything now.
A light haze clouded over him, snaking its way into his thoughts and mind. Each breath he choked out of his chest brought the stabbing pain back into his peripherals, dark spots searing across his vision, blending into the cloudless night peeking through the gaps in the thick canopy. He moved to clench his side and instantly regretted it, instead finding himself surrendering to the pain and slumping further into the ground.
Why was he still resisting? No one was left to call for him anyway. He would die alone, undeserving of anything. Not his Uncle’s affection, of that he was sure. He was a failure of a Golden Guard, and the Golden Guard could always be replaced. He was a tool that had become obsolete. As the pain swirled in his mind he let the darkness consume him, drifting into a final, dreamless sleep.