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“The nightmare swirls and churns unending!”
They tirelessly gave chase after the host, bearing little attention to the skeletons that began to sway and rise around them. Upstairs, downstairs, up, then down again, the Hunter runs after Micolash, only to find themselves led to an empty room.
Fog clouds the Hunter’s vision— no skeletal puppets in sight, at least for the moment. Eyes darting around the room searching for the brittle enemies, trying to scan through the dusty scenery for anything warranting a quick strike from their blade, especially the demented puppeteer behind the nuisance.
Noticing a movement, the Hunter shifts to their left and readies their weapon, only to be tackled from behind by their cackling enemy. Micolash’s cage bumps the Hunter’s head and his weight makes him lose balance, throwing them both to the ground.
Their prey continues to laugh madly, arms still clutching to them on the floor, before calming down to a pant.
“You’ve danced well, yes! Danced a fine dance…” he states with a softened expression, slowly lowering his volume. Micolash, utilizing the new quiet present in the room, tries to single out the Hunter’s silent breaths, and quick heartbeat. How warm it made him feel to have pleasant company around that was both flesh and blood…
They had meant to kill the host of the nightmare.
For in their first meeting when he writhed in pain whining about how he would wake up, they surely thought he would bleed out from his grotesque wounds and left the grim mirage of Mensis, thinking that the job was done. He had miraculously survived and made a ridiculously delusional choice to regard the Hunter’s actions as a genuine act of mercy, he quickly began begging to see them once more, for this action deeply touched him.
Like clockwork, the Hunter found themselves trapped once more in the nightmare every rest, trapped with the madman that had grown so fond of them.
Damn you, Micolash.
Breaking from their brief reverie, the Hunter notices that Micolash has begun caressing him, still in the same positions from when they fell. Frail, bony hands shakily feel the textures of their short cape, slowly moving to the long sleeves of the coat underneath, then going back up again to repeat.
Another strange ritual?
He goes down to the Hunter’s gloved hands and pulls them towards his body, urging them to do the same as he did.
Ah, no. Just fondness.
The Hunter complies but begins to stand up, Micolash excitedly following suit.
Both of them faced each other: they could not be any more different. The Hunter’s obscured face looked back at him with gleaming, cold eyes, as Micolash grinned hard, maintaining the same eye contact while breathing heavily from excitement. A wolf and their eager dog.
Not wanting to waste time, the Hunter begins to move their left hand inside a hole in his cage, tracing his cheekbone softly then moving upwards. Rubbing the gloved hand through the hairs of the scalp right above Micolash's forehead, they notice how his eyes narrow at the feeling, but keep wide open with eagerness, attentive to the hunter’s each and every move. Through many trials, but never an error, as Micolash considered any form of touch from his dearest hunter a delight, they had discovered this is where he liked to be touched best. The fingers’ journey between Micolash’s stiff curls ends when he abruptly moves his head forward, his cage causing the Hunter to slightly stumble backward.
Micolash repeats this, face clearly yearning for something from the other. The Hunter, used to this charade, emits a loud sigh only muffled by the cloth covering their mouth.
He wanted a kiss.
Moving to the ends of the headgear, the Hunter slowly starts to lift the—
“No! On, on!” Micolash laughs, swatting the hands off the bottom rim with wide, playful eyes.
Of course. Just like every other time.
They move down their face cover, Micolash making small sounds of amusement and smiling wider just from seeing the entirety of their face. Perhaps, in this state, they can tease Micolash into taking the stupid thing off. He stays still there with hands clasped up to his chest as the Hunter circles him, wondering just where to begin...
While it would be much easier to start at the front, it would be more beneficial to the Hunter’s plan to start from the side. They stick their nose through one of the holes, which purposely tickled by a loose lock of hair, making sure Micolash is aware of their presence. They move a little to the right now, the side of his cheek in full view.
Micolash’s excited breathing is getting out of control—perfect. The Hunter slowly presses their face into the side of the cage, a blurry sight Micolash devours every second through his peripherals, and sticks their tongue out to make contact with his cheek…
But Micolash quickly recoils and retracts in a fit of crazed, but somewhat anxious laughter.
This seems to be enough to make him take the cage off.
After the fumbling and annoying clinking sounds of something large hitting the floor, the lips of enemies join together in a peace unbefitting that of a battlefield. His kiss is eager, cautious, and savoring at the same time: this was the warmest feeling he could ever experience in a hell of his creation.
Merciful Hunter, grateful Hunter, my Hunter...
The kiss falls into a tight embrace, Micolash closing all space between the two.
“Oh… what would… think of me now after this… ahahaha…” Micolash mumbles in their arms, the name he mentions unclear, but it could be almost anyone.
Kos, Rom, Lawrence… everybody seemed to have left Micolash behind, and to find solace in becoming smitten for his own Hunter surely would gain the disapproval for the ones who had further ascended. As he had gone further down his very own personal spiral in the halls of Mensis, with nothing but cruel, contorted images of his own memories to comfort him, his worship and admiration for those who had succeeded their transformation was above all else. Was Micolash risking his own foundation of self just to love the Hunter, or has his madness not caused him to care anymore?
They wander their fingers in his hair at their own pace, the Hunter was far from being any of the gods Micolash held in his sights so dear.
Micolash feels warm.