Chapter Text
Wild Hunt as no one knows much about it, and why it happened as much other than that of Fragment of Rerir’s corpse that is full of pain and suffering.
Somewhere in Nod Krai, a tall 6'9 blond guy with a wolfcut, named Varka, rode up his 67th cup of beer, after winning a drinking campaign with 50 people in the tavern. With a smug look on his face, as proudly, saying “better luck next time, maybe you’ll beat me.” in that deep voice mixed with the Mondstadt accent he’s known.
He looks up to hear the Traveller and her flying fairy, whose name is Paimon. “Oh ey is it the Traveller and Paimon on this day.” he was tipping on his speech, Paimon just rolled her eyes, she was done with everything, but food. The Traveller was about to say something, but suddenly a young man rushed into the Tavern shouting about Wild Hunt, Varka snapped out from his drunkenness for a minute. Silence hit like a hammer, Varka stood up putting his mug down on the table.
He laughs, Not mockingly, with his deep voice booming in the Tavern.
“Ha that's it?”, The Man panicked with a mix of not taking him well to Varka’s laugh and lay back to his yelling. “W-What do you mean that’s it?!” Varka walked over, grabbed the terrified man's shoulder, and gave it a solid squeeze. “Listen.” His voice dropped not so loud now, as he looked at the man in the eyes. “If Wild Hunt keeps being issued to all, I have to stop it and end all of it.”
Then Varka walked to the exit of the Traven, throwing a bag of Mora at Demyan, who caught it just in time.
The Blond Traveller and Paimon catch up with him, finding the wild hunt. They can’t put a finger on it, but something feels very wrong as if someone sent them into a trap. Human shaped figures emerged from the snow haze, but it felt wrong, like the way broken dolls are wrong. Pale limbs stiffened by frost and Abyssal corruption, eyes dim like embers buried under ash. The Wilderness Ghouls of the Wild Hunt. It is much different than what they deal with. The Wilderness Ghouls look more unhuman like. Their heads look like they were ripped clean off and placed back on.The Blond Traveller tightened her grip on her weapon apprehensively.“Something’s wrong,” she said in a tense tone.
Varka stepped forward pulling out his claymores sluggishly. He rolled his shoulders once, like shaking off the cold itself, and walked straight into them.
The first ghoul lunged at him. It moved too fast for something half-dead.
Varka caught its wrist mid-swing and snapped it sideways. A horrific cracking sound echoed across. He didn’t hesitate, his fist came down, driving it into the snow. Another came from the flank. He pivoted, elbowing it back without even looking. “Still standing?” The Traveler called out, joining him. Varka grunted something that might’ve been a laugh.
“Barely started.” Varka kept moving his dull Claymores as he hit wilderness ghouls.
Every strike was efficient. Heavy. Controlled. He didn’t waste a single motion. A ghoul grabbed his arm. Another clamped onto his shoulder. For a moment, they clung to him like they were starving animals. Ready to devour anyone or anything. The Traveler rushed forward. “Don’t—!” Varka barked. Too late. One of the ghouls had sunk its teeth into his forearm. A dull, ugly sound of tearing fabric and flesh cut through the wind. Varka’s body went still for half a heartbeat. Then his hand closed around the creature’s skull. And he crushed it. No hesitation. No flinch. The ghoul dropped into the snow, twitching.
The Traveler froze in absolute terror. “Varka….” a purple stream of blood ran down from Varka’s arm where it was bitten.
Varka slowly looked down at his arm. The bite mark was deep, too deep for something normal. The bite mark started slowly leaking out purple ink. The ink splashed on the ground and his vision started rapidly spinning. Suddenly everything turned black.
Varka loses his balance and a huge thud occurs. He falls onto the frosty grass. The Traveler and Paimon circle around him frantically trying to wake him up.