Work Text:
The sulphur-tinged soil gave way softly underfoot as a pair of expensive heels gouged deep into the old riverbed. The air here was humid, and it clung tightly about Loba as if it were her finest corset. Growing rumblings from beneath the ground signalled the springing of new geysers; Hammond's excavations propelling torrents of rushing water into the air from deep below the earth. The spray frothed wildly as it reached desperately to touch the sky, and as it fell back to the firmament below Loba let it wash over her, a fine mist gently cooling her body and mind.
She looked back to her "date", as she had teasingly referred to them; stood close to the surging waters, reclasping their ventilator to their face. She couldn't be sure why Bloodhound had invited her out to World's Edge, even if they had plainly stated it would be a hunting trip. What were they hunting for? Back on Solace, or after a trip to Psamathe, she could have taken them out for dinner at a fancy restaurant; as much as she hated such establishments.
She had found that she almost enjoyed stamping such feelings down - relishing in the confidence that facing her fears conjured in her. Every sip of wine she took would course seeping blood down her throat, and crusty rolls shattered like glass against her teeth. Yet they tasted all the sweeter for it. Handsome bartenders and pretty waitresses were just the cherry on top of a bittersweet reminder of her past, and where she had come to.
But out here in the wilderness, on this hunt, there was none of that. It was beautiful, yes, but there was little tangible value for her in the giant crimson roots that twisted about them, or the vibrantly blazing star overhead. Bloodhound might be able to turn the sap of the roots into an antiseptic salve, but Loba wished to hold the sun in her hands, despite knowing it would only deepen the shadow at her back. Perhaps the finery of crystal glassware only shone so brightly because it refracted her memories into such painful shards of grief and loss.
Yet, like a pair of intricately embroidered boots, she wore her scars with pride. They made her feel powerful; just as an extra six inches augmented the confident sway of her strut to remind her, and everyone else who should be looking, that she was a woman not to be trifled with. The blood of her parents forever shadowed her eyes, a constant prayer for her rage to never abandon her; even if she was not one for superstition.
So what an odd pair they made. Both hunters, yet seeking very different prey. A wolf wearing her heart on her sleeve, and a hound hidden beneath more layers than Loba would ever dare to find herself coated in. The girl who had everything, yet still wanted more, and an unknowable entity who needed nothing but the promise of glory that their own end might bring.
Yet she had just seen the mysterious being calmly remove their mask as they had stepped into the shallows of the fountain. For all the ridiculous rumours about them, it was still reassuring to see the familiar sharp jawline of a human jutting out past their frayed fur hood. Even with their back turned, the tracker seemingly felt able to be more open with her than she could have ever anticipated. She had been able to hear the soft, crackling breaths that Bloodhound drank in at the water's edge, and the delicate tapping of droplets falling against their thick goggles as they looked up to some unknown wonder in the sky above. She almost felt sad to have disturbed such a peaceful ambience, but the nagging purpose of their outing had shown itself clearly in her impatient stride.
"Are you quite done, darling?" she purred; standing tall on the back of her frustrations, heels snapping eagerly at the road ahead. She was not one to rush things usually, but time was still valuable, and it depreciated the longer she found herself without a prize to aim for.
Their mask reset, Bloodhound finally stepped from the hot spring, stooping to grab the handle of a varnished wooden case resting at the geyser's rim. The marbled attache case had barely left their side throughout their journey, and they had bluntly refused to tell Loba what it contained until the time was right. Her augmented vision revealed no precious metals inside, but it was very much like the hunter to purposefully hide such things. Yet more mysteries compounded on secrets; obscured by a fog of masks and riddles.
She couldn't deny her intrigue; that was the whole reason she had agreed to this little hike of theirs, but she also couldn't avoid the feeling that she was being strung along. She could revel in being teased for as long as necessary if the climax was going to be worth it; she just happened to prefer being the one on top. Her braids flicked sharply about her shoulders as she turned to press on; her mind probing at the locks to the many gilded treasure troves that Bloodhound had laid bare for her.
"The Gods are never done with us, mitt astvinur," came a muted voice from just behind Loba. She bristled, her instincts flaring at the blistering speed with which the hunter had managed to approach her unnoticed. It was almost unnatural how they came to fall in step with her, gliding as if on raven wings to catch up to the prowling wolf. Yet, their contented sigh for their Gods, and their biting chuckle for their darling put her at ease.
"I'm sure they can make allowances for such a good pooch," Loba smirked, "You let yourself off the leash when you came running with wolves."
"And run I must," Bloodhound stated matter-of-factly, yet the smile on their face was audible even through the distortions of their ventilator, "Only the Allfather himself could match your rikr stride in such towering footwear."
Loba threw her head back in glee as her hands planted themselves firmly on her rolling hips, and a fanged grin bloomed deliciously from her rosy lips, "Well, if you can’t fight burly gun-toting men and knife-handed death robots while wearing six-inch heels, then you shouldn’t even bother trying to walk in them. You won’t keep pace."
"Then our path is made this day, if you can follow it."
Bloodhound's sudden challenge was punctuated by their explosive start; a resounding roar of energy bursting from them as they propelled themself forward. Loba had noticed their stance drop just before they took off, but had not expected to see their free hand clasp in deep prayer, or violent arcs of electricity to wind fluidly along their arms. They really were playing hard-to-get.
The Hunt was on.
As Bloodhound tore ahead; Loba looked up above the looming cliffs, deftly slipping her bracelet from her wrist. A tiny, black shape circled high in the distance, starkly contrasted against the luminous sky. Artur was waiting for them.
"Thanks, beautiful," Loba pouted, arcing her arm back to launch her jump drive after the escaping hunter. As the shining bracelet soared through the air, she almost swore she could hear a faint cawing in reply, but the warping of her translocation stretched her around the fabric of space-time, and every sight and sound folded into one piercing white flash of noise.
She surged into being above the loping hunter; her staff spinning to her hand as the magnetically charged lining of her gloves pulsed in anticipation. Bloodhound did not even glance up, but they stepped casually to the side as the fully extended staff slammed against the ground, and jumped briskly over Loba's sweeping leg as she rolled out from her landing.
Her heels cut deep gouges into the riverbed as she twirled to maintain her momentum; her staff retracting to slide against the small of her back. Her powerful swagger carried her from her pirouette with purpose, each footfall a measured balance between speed and stability. It paid to be able to turn heads, yet not have them follow.
They seemed to almost dance about each other as they padded on, delighting in the freedom of the wind; indulging in each other's agility and finesse. Loba vanished over a cliff edge as Bloodhound slid down its banks; the sparking of her jump drive thrusting her into their view ahead. They tucked the attache case against them as they careened towards the foot of the hill; briefly glancing to their loyal companion in the skies above, before pouncing from the base of the incline.
Artur was waiting.
Loba bristled yet again as Bloodhound swerved around a ridge beside her; having gained far more ground than should have been possible so silently. But as her prey darted past her once more, for the briefest moment she swore that a familiar red headband trailed delicately in their wake. She only noticed how sharply she had bitten down on her tongue when it was soaked in the warm metallic tang of her own blood.
Rich. Full-bodied. Spicy even. It was just like her. She drank it in - just as she had so many glasses of wine, or the incessant seething of the ancient demon; swallowing the fear that all her struggles would just lead to setting her own prey free.
Or had she herself become trapped? Had she tied herself so tightly to this demon that he would drag her to the depths with him, cradling her softly in loving arms? Had their dreams truly become one?
How sickening.
It was more akin to a nightmare. Every heavy stamp from her boots rang with the gunshot that unceremoniously felled her mother, and the solid earth underfoot crunched like her father's bones. They had been putty in Revenant's hands, and Loba felt the same now. All she had worked for; the only thing she had ever wanted…it was now all for him. He had stolen her greatest treasure right from under her nose, and it would still be his even as she stepped over his cold, dead body to reclaim it.
A sharp caw broke her from her racing thoughts, yet her feet did not slow. The Hunt was in her blood, and it boiled furiously. His death would be her end, and there would be no satisfaction for her in it. She nearly chuckled at how ironically familiar that sensation was, but she could not escape the reminder that he would get what he wanted, and just leave her with the ashes.
Yet again.
Bloodhound looked up as the proud wolf sprinted past them, her eyes fixed on their scout in the sky, and her mind very clearly elsewhere. Yet still, she gave the impression that even the looming mountains would merely be trampled beneath her powerful stride if they so dared to stand in her way. It was a shame that she had lost that direction.
Emerging from their nook in the cliffside; Bloodhound's photo-sonic device blazed across the rolling hills, bathing Loba in a warm, orange glow that finally snapped her to a jarring halt. Before she could turn back to face the probing eye of the Allfather, several undulating shapes flared into being ahead; serpentine blurs leaping and prowling along the mountain ridge, glittering as if made of gold. Even once they faded, their luminous afterimages briefly danced in her eyes as she turned to face her hunting partner.
"You trust in the gustr of the Hunt, Andrade fighter," they praised as they descended the hill to meet her, "May the Allfather bless you with sight."
"Lovely to see you again, too," Loba breathed. She had to scold herself for checking Bloodhound's helm; as if she still expected to see a torn, red ribbon flowing from behind it, or for their ventilator to fall away to reveal an ever-familiar death mask. The distortion layered over their voice didn't help either, but yet again their tone itself did.
"You honour me," they said with a gentle bow, "And so, as the Gods would wish it, I shall honour you this day."
The marbled attache case in their hand swung forward as Bloodhound offered Loba her prize. For a moment the excitement threatened to burst from her, but it turned to dust in her mouth as she remembered her true prize. Her true prey. What was any gift worth by comparison?
"You do not wish for it?" Bloodhound asked, their head tilting to the side in seeming confusion. For all her composure, they seemed to possess the very eyes of the Gods they so revered. Their dark goggles bore straight through her, purging the fog of unknowns to find a scared, young girl lost to the world. They both knew that she would value this treasure more than the tracker ever could, but also that she would have to reclaim that feeling for herself.
"There are many things I wish for," Loba sighed, "I just don't expect any gifts besides a knife in my back while I sleep. And as per your advice, I haven't been able to do that either."
"Unlike the miklimunr and his prized locks, I feel you do not even need said beauty sleep, do you?" Bloodhound giggled.
"Be careful, Hound. Even diamonds need refining. Maybe I should show you the real meaning of beauty sleep ," she teased; a smoothly filed nail caressing along her bottom lip. She had to indulge a little in such praise and hospitality, but she couldn't help but doubt it either.
"I would hope you intend to lay me to rest, rather than lie with me," Bloodhound laughed, "I fear I might lose that battle."
They slowly lowered the case to the ground, and the same went for their tone, "We both have our own demons to fight, felagi warrior. My trial is not yours, and yours is not mine. I would not stand in the path of such rikr glory as you lay claim to, for it would deny my own." They straightened up, and all the masks and riddles of the many worlds could not even attempt to hide such devout honesty.
"I have no knife for your back, proud wolf; for if the time came, the hound's teeth would come for your throat."
The silence that followed echoed beyond the mountaintops, and not even the sharp talons of Artur that suddenly dug into Loba's shoulder could break it. The deep stare of their beady eye reflected her fears just as their master's did, but their claws drew no blood. They both saw her vulnerabilities, yet refused to exploit them. How foolish, yet so brave.
And how silly of her not to see it.
Her hand rose, cautiously still, and the jet-black feathers of Artur's neck gently smoothed at her touch. So wild and free, yet so delicate. Flying high precipitates a dizzying fall, but perhaps it was worth it in order to touch the sky.
As her hand dropped, the raven seemed to almost nod in approval, before stretching their wings to launch from their new perch. As they cut silently through the air, Loba finally stepped forward as well. Dark talons clacked against marbled wood, and a pair of ornately decorated boots planted firmly at their side. Two pairs of darkened eyes gazed at her in anticipation, and she was struck by a bout of unfamiliar shyness. She was so used to being in control.
"Th-thank you, Bloodhound. I'm sorry I don't have anything for you. Rather rude party guest, wouldn't you say?"
Her confidence had returned with each word, for as she spoke them she found that she knew what would come in reply.
"I am owed no thanks, felagi fighter, nor any gift. You have much to show me, and the Gods, and that is far more than my due."
They gestured down to the case, and for the first time Loba noticed the faint glow of electronic wiring in the clasps; her bio-synthetic eyes picking up precious metals entangled by jump-drive emissions from her staff. The mechanisms behind her optical augmentations were stuffy and technical; Jaime had tried to explain them to her several times to no avail. She hadn't been interested, but it gave her great pause to consider the idea that the way you did things mattered.
Yet, the luminous allure sparked the embers of the thief within her. Claiming prized valuables for herself had always fulfilled her, as if she had been forever clawing desperately for anything tangible to hold on to in this world. She still held the one parting gift that her parents had left her, and it cemented both her past losses and her future goals. She would forever be the lone wolf.
But even a wolf torn from its pack does not have to hunt alone.
Loba knelt, for once not caring about staining her boots, almost wishing that it would count as some form of payment for this unprecedented generosity. Her hands ran smoothly along the case's edge, luxuriating in the anticipation and the finely carved wood, until she finally came to the silvery clasps. They blazed ever brighter now, her vision revealing a twisting network of minute wires and oscillating sensors buried deep within the metallic nodes. Such a simple design, yet so complex beneath the surface.
"How lovely," Loba chuckled as she looked up, "Even the way you wrap presents suits you down to the ground. Do I have to wrestle a giant serpent for the key?"
"Do not bring us to our end so quickly, brave Valkyr ," Bloodhound chimed cheerfully, "As with many things, it is you who is the key."
Her thumbs brushed against the locks; her innate thief's intuition guided by the watchful eye above. A sense of nausea threatened to overtake her as she realised what they had meant, and what that would mean. Had they invaded her privacy in order to maintain it? Was that what it meant to allow someone to become close to you? Jaime had done the same, and she couldn't have been more thankful, yet she had never felt so naked.
But when the locks unclasped at her touch, it felt more akin to passionately tearing off her own clothes. To own what made her powerful and bask in the adoration of one who understood. She knew full well that she looked damn good naked.
The sparking glow that emanated from within the case washed over her like the warmth of an open fire, and the strong, encompassing arms of many a forgotten lover could not compare to the comfort her gift brought her. Her vision flared as gilden linings strew themselves in flourishes along the sleek body of wood; as if blown in the wind. Carbon fibre grips cemented the solid frame, while intricate etchings of leaping wolves and soaring ravens danced about the luminous ornamentation.
Loba stood, lofting the masterfully crafted compound crossbow to her shoulder; admiring how the dark metal railing blended in with the gilded wooden body. The grip about the trigger fit her like a glove, and the stock rested against her as if it were just another extension of herself. She flicked at a catch on the underside, springing the arms of the bow back and drawing one of the three strings to its lock housing.
"How beautiful," she sang as she levelled the weapon at Bloodhound, "It's enough to make a girl forget that her fingerprints were stolen. As much as I hate to say it, I might even have to thank you for that too."
The string snapped forward; the trigger ever so sensitive even under her own delicate touch, and the reverberations punctured through her like the bladed hands of a murderous machine. Even without loaded bolts, she felt the weight of the strike, and a thin strip of red cloth about Bloodhound's helm faded from her sight as the vibrations dissipated.
"An aging dog must have their tricks," they giggled, casually stroking the raven that had settled on their outstretched arm, "Hopefully I still have much to learn. I know that you will always have more to show me."
"Well, we didn't come all the way out here just for a romantic picnic, did we?" Loba smirked. She knew now that there was even more to this outing than she had previously imagined, and while her prior doubts still scratched at her heels, she stamped them down with curious determination.
"Of course not, Andrade fighter. I am not the true mark of your hunt," Bloodhound said solemnly. Their words were tinged with far more understanding than Loba would have usually been able to stomach, and they sank into her as her friend turned to the cliff face beyond the valley. A brilliant orange glow burst from them to envelop the hillside, and as it cascaded over the cliffs ahead, twisting golden blurs lit up the mountain once more as the pack of vicious Prowlers darted and pounced between the rocky crags.
"Lizards weren't exactly what I had in mind," Loba sighed.
But I guess the head of the snake will have to wait.
"I would pray that I was not, either," Bloodhound chuckled as they coaxed Artur to alight from their arm. Jet-black wings surged to the sky as the hunter followed behind; their Hunt never truly over.
Loba set to loading the crossbow as Bloodhound headed down the incline; linking extra bolts from the case's lining to her staff's shopping list. She was used to taking precautions, and she felt that kinship with the Hound deepen ever further as she noticed the thin, dark lining embedded within the wooden casing. A dense alloy that even blocked jump-drive emissions? It would have taken her many a risky heist to afford that much alone - how much had all this cost?
As Loba shouldered her precious gift to descend the hill, she felt the fog of mystery about the Hound thicken yet again; despite how close they had seemingly grown. Clasping her bracelet in her teeth, she slid it from her free hand; deftly spinning the shimmering ring about her fingertips, and off into the emptiness beyond. As her grip wrapped about the case's handle, her jewelled ring triggered the jump, and the world warped around her.
Loba coalesced into being in the valley's basin; the enormous mountains dwarfed only by the gargantuan sky hook that reached out far beyond the planet's atmosphere. She hadn't understood why Bloodhound had headed this way rather than straight for the mountain itself, but she had adjusted her trajectory accordingly anyway. The hunter had their tricks, as they had said, and she knew to trust them. A quick glance to the fluorescent clouds above solidified their course, as Artur sailed on past Sniper's Ridge.
Before her gaze could settle back on the mountain, the case was gently slipped from her grasp; Bloodhound yet again showing off how they would blend seamlessly into the environment, gliding gracefully beside her as if blown on the wind itself. She did not bristle this time, despite her instincts. If anything, the lightest touch of the hunter's hand against hers had filled her with confidence, as they helped carry far more than just her physical burdens.
A final burst of photo-sonic waves crashed over the cliff-face; penetrating through the core of the vast mountain and out into the plains behind. Loba noticed a small stream trickling down between the rough overhangs and around the steep ridge, before the outline of a stalking beast bloomed into vision beyond. It was alone, and slunk close to the ground; marking itself apart from the cavorting pack on the opposite slope. The afterimage vanished, as if they had merely seen the ghost of a mythical creature, yet both hunters sank low to the ground as they hurried towards their ethereal prey.
Artur circled overhead, a watchful eye forever gifted from the Gods.
Loba pressed herself tightly to the ridge, searching for where the tiny stream had tumbled past the jagged outcrops and out into the lush grasslands. A glittering flash caught her eye as iridescent scales flickered above the long grasses, refracting the pure sunlight into cascades of multitudinous hues.
Their prey was marked.
"A Ranger," came the soft, distorted voice from her side. Loba's eyes briefly darted from the lurking Prowler, and she threw a questioning look at Bloodhound. She had been ready to prime her weapon, but her intrigue piqued once more to stay her hand. She settled for returning her attentive gaze to the loping gait of their mark, as it parted the grasses to reach the stream. Its scaly, crimson body was slashed with violent silver streaks, and miniscule fragments seemed to flake from its spines as if they were shreds of ancient fabric slipping through her fingertips.
She yearned against every fibre of her being to scream bloody fury, and she wasn't sure if her rage was for her cackling ghost, or for her own weakness for him.
"An old pack leader," Bloodhound continued tenderly, sensing her uncertainty, "Strung beyond their prime, and finally shunned when none of its contenders could bring it true slatra. It is rare among the Prowlers' kind, for it is a noble beast among such vicious andskoti . In their fading years, they would only kill those that may actually threaten their life, and so may only know death by being forgotten."
"Or picking a fight with the nastiest bitch around," Loba snarled under her breath, snapping the crossbow deftly to her sights. As the stock nestled neatly against her, a gentle hand also clasped about her shoulder. She nearly threw daggers from behind her fluttering lashes at the sudden touch, but her steeled gaze melted instantly at their compassionate warmth. She would never bristle at their presence again, even if their fangs did come for her throat.
"Only the most scarred of beasts would seek such an end, drenched in the pride of blóð and sand," they soothed, "And that realm is only for the Gods, or those who seek that very same judgement."
The affirming nod of their head set her back on course, and she held fast, returning her focus to their prey. An aged being that simply longed to shuffle quietly off the mortal coil was no longer a foreign concept to her, but the idea of being such a creature's saviour still gave rise to the gnawing dread that she would never be saved herself.
"Be patient, mitt felagi. The road to Valhalla comes for us all in time, but to taka a life; you must know first that they have lived," Bloodhound whispered, a distinct weight hanging heavily on their words. Their hand rested still upon her shoulder, but they had not shifted her aim. They steadied it.
She watched carefully as the lean, muscular hackles of the Prowler softened, lowering its head to lap peacefully at the flowing stream. The jagged razors that lined its gaping jaws gently rang against each other, as its rumbling purr bounced across the water.
Such a dangerous beast. So marred in death, yet so alive. Savouring each drop as if it were precious nectar, or even pearls of a precious necklace. A natural wonder of simplicity and purity, decked to the nines with knives.
It simply was the way of things. Everything comes and goes. Death only comes to those who live. Was either worth the price of the other? And how do we justify the giving and taking of life itself?
"It's just a lizard," Loba feigned, hissing through clenched teeth. She was barely convincing herself, let alone Bloodhound.
"Then he is just a robot," they replied calmly.
Loba had to stop herself from swinging the crossbow about to face the hunter; and in doing so, she knew she understood nothing. She had lived for the Hunt, but now, without her prey, she was but a child lost in the wilderness.
Before the stinging in her eyes could set in, or her purpose could slip from her grasp; she held her aim true, watching one final time as the Prowler raised its head to stare into the nothingness above.
--------------
At the centre of the campsite, open flames crackled softly; the large cut of Prowler meat searing with a gentle hiss. Bloodhound knelt before the fire in silent prayer, their helmet held tightly in their grasp. Artur rested peacefully on their shoulder, talons of flame sparking in the dark gems of their eyes.
Loba sat impatiently, knees crossed; one of her expensive heels digging further into the earth as her foot subconsciously tapped in frustration. She had spent their time back at camp staring into the inky blackness that now hung above them, as the light of the fire danced in and out of her sight below.
What had the beast seen up there? Would knowing make eating it any fairer? Survival of the fittest was fair enough as it was, and it was all she had ever known. It was the same for all of them; beasts, demons, even diamonds like her. They were all in the rough.
So why did she feel pity for the thing? Why did fulfilling the hunt she so desired leave her so hollow?
Incensed, she snapped to her feet, grabbing one of Bloodhound's many hunting knives laid ready to prepare their meal. Fixated, she strode towards the fire, the glare glinting off the shining steel.
"Will you not give thanks first, mitt astvinur? "
The sudden question cut through the atmosphere as if it were the blade in her hand. "Thank a corpse? I don't see the need exactly," she stabbed back.
"Even a living body has no need for thanks," they parried quietly, "It is the soul we give thanks to; it is the essence. The Gods and I thank you for your part in this hunt, Andrade fighter; not your rikr stride, nor your keen eye…"
Bloodhound stood, their hands deftly unclasping their mask as they did. Their honest words and this striking familiarity caught Loba off-guard, and she was stunned into cautious silence. Now unbound; the lingering wounds on their face cracked with regret, but their true voice sang clear with determination.
"In this life, there are those that must die, so that others may live. Often, we do not get to choose who is spared, or who is lost; but those who are give their lives to us. You and I both know that well. So when we are offered the choice, we must ensure to honour the weight of that decision - whatever the outcome."
Bloodhound's words rested on the cool night air, tinged with the sorrow and acceptance of their own unknowable loss. The tangled scars criss-crossing their jaw seemed to tie them down like spider webs, but they also held them immutably together.
"I'll make sure he bears that weight," Loba declared eventually, "He made his choice."
"You of all should know the choice was not his to make," Bloodhound shot back. "He was but a weapon in the hands of fouler beings than even such an andskoti. Now that the Allfather grants him passage till Valhall , and at the hands of such a fierce Valkyr; he shows bravery in facing his end…"
Their dark goggles reflected a yawning abyss back into Loba; a gnawing inevitability that she had always wished for.
"Will you not ride out to meet him there?"
Until now.
The knife sank into the ground with a muted thud, and Loba followed soon after. Tears of crimson fell with them, and her head bowed in unison.
But her hands came firmly together, and she gave thanks. For she could now believe that one day she may truly live beyond the Hunt.
Finally beyond her Shadow.
-END-