Work Text:
Weekend Missions.
Usually, Hunter enjoyed them. Usually, they were the highlight of his week. But today? Right now? Hunter wanted to do anything else. Not that he didn’t want to go out and do a mission, he really did enjoy getting out of the castle, and getting fresh air sounded like a great idea to him right now, but his main concern was that if he attempted this mission, he would most definitely fail it.
Not that he wasn’t very capable. There was a reason he was the golden guard. He was chosen, at a very young age, because of his talent and diligence. Belos had told him so himself. The titan had picked him specifically, and for him to fail his Uncle, and by extension, the titan, would be a grave mistake that could result in possible execution-- or worse; replacement.
Failure would certainly come if he attempted his mission in his condition; miserably sick with a sweltering fever. A fierce throbbing struck his skull at all angles, and when that wasn’t his main focus, a violent dizzy spell would be. He was at his limit just standing there, he couldn’t imagine having to get himself caught in a high-speed wild-witch chase with his stiff and aching legs that trembled with every step.
His golden guard getup wasn’t doing him any favours either. The multiple layers of armour weighed on his trembling shoulders and dragged him to the ground, the cruel lull of gravity coaxing him downward with every little movement. On top of that armour was his cloak, and the material certainly wasn’t any less sweltering, especially on top of several thick layers of shining metal that cooked in the sun. It was so hard to breathe in that mask of his, especially now when he was overheating, every aspect of his outfit nurturing his fever into blazing flame. Even under all the armour, his golden-beige tunic squeezed his ribcage and binded his already aching chest, making it even harder to fully take in air. Especially with that wretched cough he had. Every cough hurt so badly.
In short, he could not feasibly walk away from this mission successful. But it’s not like he had any other choice. Admitting defeat before the mission even began would be even more humiliating on his part than failing having fought his hardest. Plus, he couldn’t bear to see that look again. That look of absolute disdain. Of pure disappointment.
It made him feel sick to his stomach just thinking about it.
Suck it up, or get replaced, that’s what he’d been taught to believe the entirety of his 16 years of living. And right now? He would rather choose to suck it up. He was doomed for failure, but he might as well take it in stride.
So off he goes on this week’s suicide mission. Well, maybe he was being a bit dramatic. He wasn’t going to die… not by the mission, at least. But there were wild witches to catch, and Belos had entrusted this task specifically to him. Who was he to defy him? Especially when he’d given him so much?
Hunter was slow and careful, meticulous with his movements. He held his staff tight in his trembling hands, sweat making the leather of his gloves cling to his palms. He had to be very careful, very quiet. As soon as the witches spotted him, it would be a chase. He had to make sure he was at least halfway ready for it before he did anything reckless.
Just as he drew close enough to where he could see them from the shadows, a little chirp came from within his cloak that made him yelp in surprise. He lifted the edge of it to peek at the red bird nestled within his clothes. “Flapjack?” He hissed in a whisper. Whisper all he wanted, it was too late. The wild witches had heard his little noise of surprise, and were now staring directly at him, their staffs at hand and their expressions on high alert.
Immediately, he launched himself at the enemies, dashing forward in a flash of red light, and however he swayed on his feet, he fought with all his might. He swung his staff with as much force as he had in that weak and ailing body of his, sending beams of magic blasting their way at any chance he got.
Unfortunately, willpower and diligence could not overtake burning fever. He was stopped simply when one of the witches grabbed hold of his staff and the suddenness of the movement made his head spin so violently he could no longer stay on his feet. Normally, he’d be unfazed and just knock them off with ease, but his weak and aching fingers could no longer keep their grip on his staff, and it was sent flying as he dropped to the ground.
The clouds gathering overhead began to make their presence known as burning droplets began to rain from the sky. The wild witches he was after were not immune to it like he was, (he had a plethora of armour on and an unusually high heat tolerance,) and were immediately retreating, leaving the boy on the ground to reach at his staff with a trembling hand.
“Wait! Don’t leave! I still have to arrest you!” His body felt so heavy as he lugged himself up, especially with the added weight of his armour, and he could only manage about three or four steps before he was tumbling back into the mud and landing with a painful grunt. He just sort of… stayed there for a bit, basking in his failure.
It felt like ages until he was able to move again, and by that time, the rain had pretty much cleared up. That wretched cough festering in his lungs made itself known again, and it squeezed his chest, tightening the ache so intensely that he just couldn’t take it anymore. He threw off his mask. Then his cloak. He was sweltering under so many layers and being soaked with boiling rain did not help. He didn’t care about ‘professionalism’ or any other thing Belos would chastise him for had he been here. Right now, his number one duty was to breathe, to get any air at all into those aching lungs of his.
He had to go back. He had to. But he didn’t want to. He wanted anything else but to return to the castle unsuccessful and empty-handed and face the consequences of his incompetence. He knew he’d be punished. It wouldn’t sit right with him if he wasn’t. He knew he deserved it too. But titan, did he fear for his life every time he faced his uncle with failure.
Flapjack landed on his head, chirping and tugging at his hairlock. Hunter couldn’t be bothered to make out what he was saying right now. He was too miserable and too afraid to focus on anything other than those deafening, morbid thoughts screaming from the back of his skull. It was no use. He had to go back, covered in mud. Covered in failure.
He began his slow trek back to the castle, dragging his tired, aching feet in the mud. The castle, from here, felt thousands of miles away, and he couldn’t risk being seen flying in on Flapjack… and he didn’t feel like he deserved to use his staff right now.
When he finally made it, the first face he was greeted with was not Belos’. It was another familiar face, a friendlier, more welcoming one. Darius Deamonne, abomination coven head, who was standing there, ready to greet him with pride. However, when he caught sight of Hunter’s pitiful state, his expression dropped completely.
Suddenly, Hunter was very insecure, very conscious of how pathetic he probably looked, covered in mud and scuff marks, even limping from a minor(ish) injury he’d sustained on his foot. A second longer staring into Darius’ prying gaze had him remembering that in the ordeal, his cloak had suffered most of the stains-- and this cloak, that bore the sigil of the golden guard, held much more significance than just some lousy piece of clothing. He’d finally earned the right to wear this and now he’d gone and ruined it. Darius was probably furious with him. He was probably about to be punished right now.
As Darius approached, he cowered in fear, flinching and squeezing his eyes shut, as if bracing himself for impact. But impact never came. Darius instead snaked an arm around his shoulders and led him inside the castle, slowly and gently.
“Titan, you’re soaked, what happened?” Darius tutted softly, and in his voice Hunter would’ve sworn he caught an edge of… concern. He must be more delirious than he thought. “You’re very warm too. Got caught in the boiling rain, I presume?”
Hunter didn’t answer. He averted his gaze, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. When he next spoke, his words came out hoarse and tearful. “...I’m… sorry. You don’t have to do this. I know you hate dirt and all that…”
“Titan’s sake, who cares about that now? Hey, look at me.” Darius cupped Hunter’s cheek to bring his face to meet his, but was quickly drawing back his hand in surprise. “Woah! What? You’re burning up, have you had a fever too this whole time?”
Hunter was silent for a moment, and debated speaking up. He trusted Darius. Darius was… nice to him. Interacting him was like a breath of fresh air in comparison to the awful treatment he experienced with everyone else in the coven. So, he mustered up the courage to nod.
Darius shook his head, tsking quietly. “That won’t do at all. Let’s get you out of those muddy clothes and into something more comfortable. You must be cooking in all that armour.”
Hunter could do nothing but nod. He was… exhausted. Much too exhausted to even think about arguing, even if he wanted to. He knew at some point, he’d have to face Belos and accept whatever cruel punishment he would be given. But right now? He supposed he could stand to accept a helping hand.
Because right now, even if it was just for a fleeting moment, it gave him the illusion that things would be okay.