-Saxon's POV
Through the pandemonium that has enveloped the world, my stride remains even—measured and calm. As a hunter, I've faced monstrosities that defy the imagination of these poor souls who now lie in the wake of the apocalypse. My heart rate is steady; fear is a luxury I cannot afford, not with my prey growing ever more bold by the hour.
The bracelet restraints on my limbs are an irritation, a precaution of the city's bureaucrats who fear the might we hunters possess. They know nothing of control, of the true nature of the hunt. The key, a simple piece of metal screwed into the wall of the Vault of Virtues, poses no challenge. It's a mere formality, a child's puzzle to one such as I.
I can sense the presence of my artifact. The ethereal bond between us hums along my veins, a silent song only I can hear. The case around it is robust, designed to withstand much—but not the unshackled fury of a hunter.
The clink of the restraints hitting the ground is music to my ears, a herald of the return to my true form. Their impact leaves a telling crack on the floor, a reminder of the power they had so vainly sought to contain. I step forward, the air around me thick with anticipation, and with a swift, decisive movement, my hands shatter the glass that separates me from my beloved artifact.
Ah, my glasses—no mere lenses, but extensions of my very essence. In my hands, they feel right, like the missing piece of a puzzle that is my soul. I bring them up to my face, a smile playing on my lips.
"Did you miss me?" I ask them softly, a whisper meant for no ears but theirs—and perhaps mine. It's a strange ritual to some, but to me, they are more than a tool; they are family, comrades in countless battles.
Grinning like a cat who got the cream, I slip the glasses on. "Ah, it feels so good to have my babies on~" My voice carries a lighter tone, a stark contrast to the grim facade I've been forced to wear. Seriousness is an outfit I don when I'm bereft of my arsenal. But now, reunited, I feel whole.
With a swagger in my step, I approach the other pedestal, eyeing the second glass enclosure. "Heh," I chuckle to myself, "people question my skills as a hunter given I'm only 19, but I have two artifacts because I'm that great." My pride isn't just for show. My skills are exceptional, and my compatibility with my artifacts sets me apart. "I could've dealt with those monsters outside without my artifacts if I didn't have my restraints on," I muse aloud, stretching my hands before me. "It feels so good to be free."
I flick my wrist nonchalantly, and the glass shatters like ice under a hammer. "Honestly, this glass isn't even needed; it's only for show." A smirk plays on my lips as I contemplate the sheer futility of anyone else attempting to wield my power.
The metal toothpick catches the light as I whisk it from its now pointless shrine, placing it on my lips with a flourish. "Let's go, babies, we have some monsters to deal with," I declare, the smirk deepening into a full-fledged hunter's grin.
Approaching the door, I slam it open with a force that's sure to turn heads—or in this case, alert every monstrosity in the vicinity. As I run a hand through my wavy hair, my eyes, magnified and sharp behind the glasses, are alight with anticipation. "It's show time, baby!"
I stride forward, the clatter of fallen debris marking my exit from the vault. "I've killed creatures three times bigger," I remind myself, my confidence swelling with each step. "So what if they're monsters? They are alive, right? So that means they can die."
Clack-clack, clack-clack. The rhythm of my boots against the debris-littered floor sets the beat for an impromptu performance. A smile creeps across my face; it's time for a little melody amid the mayhem.
I take a deep breath and begin, my voice slicing through the silence with as much sharpness as my artifacts' edge.
🎵 "Oh, I tread the line where the dark meets dawn, Clack-clack, clack-clack, walking on.
There's a monster round the bend, can you hear it sing? But it's just another prey, ain't a deadly thing.
Chorus:
Huntin', trackin', down they go,
Where they hide—hell, I know.
Fame and fortune, they're mine to claim,
Even the apocalypse plays my game.
Verse 2:
I'm the shadow, I'm the night, with a grin so wide,
Clack-clack, clack-clack, where can you hide?
With a glass and a pick, make beasts fall in line,
Sing a song of the hunt; this world is mine.
Chorus:
Huntin', trackin', down they go,
For gold and glory, I steal the show.
Not for mercy, but the thrill I pine,
Even in this ruin, I'm the divine.
Bridge:
Oh, sing me a song, you creatures of dread,
Dance to my tune, or you'll end up dead.
A hunter's life, with every stride,
I find the joy that most have denied.
Chorus:
Through the ruins, through the grime,
I make my kill, and I take what's mine.
The hunter's song, it echoes so fine,
Even the apocalypse—yeah, it's all divine." 🎵
As my voice trails off, the snarls and groans of the encroaching monsters crescendo. My heart doesn't race; it keeps time with the drumming of my footsteps. I twirl the metal toothpick between my fingers, a conductor ready to orchestrate the demise of the oncoming horde.
"A grand audience, wouldn't you say?" I whisper to my glasses, the gleam in my eye mirroring the excitement in my voice. "Let's not disappoint them."
The creature before me is a nightmarish collage of flesh, a beast that would make the most seasoned of hunters pause. Not me. Its form is a grotesque parody of nature—a pulsating mass of flesh, slick with the remnants of its past victims, the stench of blood and decay heavy in the air. The maw yawns like a chasm to hell itself, devoid of eyes, its head a seamless canvas of stretched, glistening skin. The tail, that slim appendage, whips with a wet slicing sound, eager to impale.
I clap my hands sharply, the sound echoing off the ruinous walls. "Alright, you fuckers, you've had your fun. Unfortunately, your hunting-free trial is over. So let me show you what hunting is truly about." The words leave my lips with a smirk, my voice a challenging baritone.
Their tails are their weapons, their Achilles' heel and their downfall, all in one. My glasses catch the faint light, glowing with a soft luminescence that unveils their secrets to me. I can see everything—the pulsing organs, the squirming insides. "Ugh, how disgusting," I can't help but think. "Looks like a pile of shit in there." But amidst the visceral tangle, I spot it—a weird marble, an anomaly in their anatomy.
As one lunges, its tail aimed with lethal intent, I dance back. It's a tango with death, and I'm an expert dancer. The tail reaches for me, but I snatch it with a grunt, my grip iron. "Oof, that looked like it hurt. My bad, I should've watched my strength." The sarcasm drips like the venom I'm immune to.
With a flick of my wrist, the metal toothpick in my hand elongates, growing to the size of a spear, its tip gleaming with deadly promise. "Time to pick up the trash," I mutter with an air of nonchalance that belies the adrenaline sharpening my senses.
I move with a fluidity that feels like second nature, the metal spear a mere extension of my will. As the beasts converge, a grim ballet unfolds—each of their movements is met with a calculated parry or thrust from my end. Their screeches are discordant to the music of my heartbeat, a fast-paced yet steady rhythm that drives my actions.
The fight is a blur of motion and fury, a tempest contained within the eye of my calm. With each breath, I feel more alive, more in tune with the savage symphony of the hunt. "Not so tough without your tails, huh?" The quip is as sharp as the tip of my spear, my grin all teeth and predatory delight.
A tail arcs towards me, a streak of death so eager to taste my flesh. But I know their pattern now—every swivel of their hulking bodies, every feint before the strike. It's not precognition; it's experience. Muscle memory guides me, a sidestep here, a duck there. They're predictable, and in their predictability, they've already lost.
The ground rumbles under a behemoth's charge, its bulk a moving wall of intent to crush. I don't retreat. Instead, I pivot, turn my body sideways, and slide, feeling the whoosh of displaced air as the beast barrels past. It's almost comical, the way it stumbles, a giant felled by its own momentum. "Oops," I chuck, "watch where you're going, big guy."
Their strategy, if one can call it that, becomes clear—they try to encircle me, a pack tactic as old as time. But they're not wolves, and I'm no sheep to be corralled. I choose the leftmost, an overeager creature with one eye too many, a soft target. It lunges, and I meet its charge. My spear finds the grotesque orb, a burst of vitreous humor, a silent 'pop'. "Bet you didn't see that coming," I quip.
Another, thinking to catch me off-guard, slithers towards me, silent as a shadow. But shadows are my domain. I can feel its intention in the subtle shift of the rubble beneath my boots. I spin, a pirouette of deadly grace, and my spear whistles through the air, finding the joint where head meets writhing body. It's a clean, severing stroke. "Shhh, no more sneaking around," I whisper as it crumples.
They adapt, learning from fallen kin. They spread out, tails swishing, a multi-fronted assault that aims to overwhelm. But adrenaline sings in my veins, a clarion call that sharpens my senses. I am hyper-aware, every detail etched in vivid clarity—the damp stench of their breath, the slick sheen of their flesh, the sizzle of their blood on the broken pavement.
I feint towards one, draw its attack, and then leap backward, baiting its tail into the path of another's charge. They collide, a mess of limbs and confusion. "Have to play nice with each other," I mock, almost feeling pity for their blundering.
I catch a tail with my hand, the metal from my watch sparking against its moist skin. The creature shrieks, a cacophony that would shatter glass—if there was any left unbroken. With a twist and a pull, I dislocate the appendage, rendering it useless. "Consider that a lesson in manners," I scold, tossing the limp tail aside.
A heavier one, bristling with spines, aims to skewer me, its tail a lance of natural weaponry. But I'm faster. I drop to the ground, feeling the rush of air as the tail impales the space I just occupied. Rising, I jam my spear through its gaping maw, twisting it with a flourish. "You're a bit too spiky for my taste," I say, my tone light, belying the ferocity of my strike.
And then there's one left, the alpha, its size and scars speaking of battles fought and won. It hesitates, intelligence gleaming in its beady eyes—a worthy opponent at last. It circles, and so do I, each of us reading the other. It's a dance, truly, though I don't admit it aloud.
It roars, a challenge I accept with a nod. We charge simultaneously, a collision course set. It's clever, aiming not for me but for my artifact. I can't help but laugh, a throaty sound that fills the broken square. "You think you can outsmart me?" My voice is a dare.
I leap, not away but towards the beast, over its sweeping tail, my spear driving downwards. It's a calculated risk, the move exposing me, but the payoff—! The spearhead plunges into the alpha's skull, and I wrench it free with a wet, sucking sound.
Breathing hard, I stand amidst the carnage, a lone figure surrounded by the vanquished. "And that's how you clear the stage," I proclaim to the silence that follows the storm. My pulse slows, but the thrill of the hunt, the dance of death, lingers, a reminder of who I am... That was a good warmup. I wonder if the others are still alive.