Chapter Text
Becoming a Hunter was so unlike people expected it to be. Some would say that only people blessed by the Vampire Huntress could become Hunters, but of course, there was no way of validating that, nor falsifying it, thus rendering it irrelevant. Whether Hunters were destined for the role through some special trait or selective prophecy, it didn’t change anything.
The act of becoming a Hunter, of killing a vampire for the first time in one’s life, was a terrifying experience. At least, it had been for you. You couldn’t speak for the experiences of your Hanged Guildmates, who may have felt exalted at their first kill, but you had just felt guilt, overwhelming guilt, before a wave of something echoed throughout your nerves. It wasn’t something you could have focused on in the moment or the vampire’s friend would have killed you where you stood, but it had still left you woozy and weeping when the adrenaline wore off.
Your mind hadn’t felt the same, since then. Or maybe it had never felt the way you thought it had and you only realized it then. Either way, something about you was different, even if it wasn’t a change.
You had always told yourself it was the trauma. Maybe it was a shit form of resolution, maybe it was the lonely promise of revenge. Maybe something withing you had settled, a form of tired acceptance.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like you could remember the faces of those you wanted to avenge and it wasn’t like you could remember the face of the vampire who fell to your grief. It wasn’t like you could remember faces. You didn’t exactly need to. As long as you could identify fangs, pointed ears and crimson eyes, faces weren’t something you needed to remember.
You wondered, sometimes, if you would remember the faces of your parents had they stayed alive and close to you. You knew you used to be able to remember their faces.
Maybe that, too, didn’t matter.
What did matter, was the information gathering you were supposed to be doing regarding the Vampire Overlord, Cazenove. Asking around certain circles, using your reputation as the Huntress’ Chosen and merciful Aristocrat to entice hushed secrets from painted pink lips.
It was a rare situation that a Hunter got good information out of a noble’s ball. Not because nobles didn’t have that sort of knowledge, but because vampires often hid within those circles and made a husk out of the seeking Hunter swiftly and cruelly. It was only your title of Huntress’ Chosen that spared you from that fate, you knew that.
It was why the moment you got to the vacant streets of Octania, you began to move down alleyways and roads with your stake clutched tightly by your side. The area you stalked through was dark, stones stained with spilled blood and painted with warning messages. In the full moon’s light, it almost looked like a hellish maze.
And then, a scream.
Or a screech or a shriek or a howl.
A vermin hound.
Fuck. There was a vampire at the gathering and they knew who you are and there was a Cazenove vermin spawn and it knew.
You ran.
Some thought you were a legend in the flesh, and an indestructible beacon of protection and purity. You couldn’t keep count of the number of times you had managed to save one of your Guildmates, or even one of the Hunters from the other guilds. But you were only human, and even legends die, even the Vampire Huntress had died.
So you ran.
The monstrosity of too many claws and teeth and limbs pounded against the cracked stone like gravity itself. You had seen a wolf before. A large canine that came up to the middle of your chest. Even if you yourself wasn’t the largest, even if you were considered small to the rest of your guild, you were a walking feat of human resilience, so they said.
The Vermin was taller than you.
A towering abomination of void and agony.
Your entirety screamed with survival instincts that labelled you as prey.
Vampire Hunter.
There was no way you would be able to outrun it. You needed to hide and no door or gate would hold against the chasing oblivion.
The sewers.
The underground had no door to break down nor walls to tear through, and the appearance of a grate may have been a gift from-
No, you wouldn’t dwell on it.
You unlatched it, climbed in and dragged the grate back into place with a speed that bordered on inhuman. The beast clawed and snapped and tore at the entrance as you backed down the ladder, into the undergrowth.
You stood there for a moment, heart pulsing, throbbing in your chest, staring at the mossy corridor.
The hellish noises stopped, and the monstrosity padded away.
Silence followed- aside from the running of water and small wild critters scuttling about. You panted in place for a moment before all of your muscles relaxed at once, tension draining, and left you swaying in place.
A familiar lightheaded weight mixed with a peaceful, almost reassuring calm followed. The back of your brain repeated, ‘it’s okay, you survived’ like a mantra. You could almost taste relief.
You didn’t notice the footsteps in your release.
You felt it before you realized what it was.
Four pointed teeth pierced your flesh, tearing into your neck and fuck! A scream rose in your throat, wild and terrified, and your stake writhed in your hand, seeking undead flesh. You needed to kill it, please, KILL IT DEAD.
Your strength drained out of you like the tide and, had you been full conscious, you would have noticed the vampire turning you, ever so slightly. Holding you in place. You would have noticed yourself bite down on flesh to keep tears from your eyes. You would have noticed the smile of twisted infatuation break out against your neck.
You didn’t notice any of this, too delirious in your perceived death.
You were dying, but you couldn’t be, you couldn’t be.
Silence followed your body going limp.
You would not die, you could not die. She would not let you.