Work Text:
Sharpness' shoulder burns. He doesn't spare a glance down at it as he pushes his exhausted body forward through the trees. He doesn't need to see. He's no stranger to pain, to the faintness of blood loss, and he knows that he'd extracted himself from the scuffle before the cockatrice's venom gland could slick its talons with deadly poison. Looking at the wound would yield nothing new.
The dense foliage of the forest floor whips past. He stumbles over a jutting rock and winces hard as his good shoulder clips against a tree, the impact reverberating across his chest to the injured side. The sounds of crashing pursuit had petered off some time ago. Now he just needs to find his way to the nearest settlement before nightfall, wherever that is.
He senses the presence before he hears or even sees it.
"Hunting monsters that aren't me? I'm wounded."
Sharpness has already spun around in preparation, sword drawn in one hand and dagger in the other. That voice. That stupid voice belonging to his biggest annoyance he'd picked up a bounty for months ago.
Not now…
From between branches the shadows coalesce into two upright ears, then hair, a face, shoulders, and the rest of a body clad in all-too-familiar purple. Jude. He steps forward with his hands linked behind his back, residual darkness clinging to his coattails and for a moment, his dull magenta eyes glint red.
Sharpness tenses. He didn't realise in his escape he'd run into Jude's territory. This is bad - he does not have the time nor energy to fight him here. He keeps his posture rigid, his stance grounded, and everything he can do not to let slip an indication that he's horrifically wounded.
Monsters have the uncanny ability to sense each other, or each other's remnants in absence. For a vampire like Jude, it was blood. Sharpness banks on the overpowering stench of cockatrice blood splashed all over him to mask the scent of his own. His long coat, spellwoven with protective and cleansing wards would cover the sight of the growing stain on his shirt within. But that alone isn't enough. He needs to get out of here, and if Jude decided to show himself it means he has no plans of letting Sharpness pass, so Sharpness will have to make Jude leave.
He scans the surroundings, searching for traps. "My job doesn't revolve around you."
Nothing. It's dark, and the edges of his vision are fuzzing. It takes everything in him not to stagger as a wave of lightheadedness hits.
Jude frowns. "You always say such hurtful things."
Sharpness is running out of time; he must take the risk.
He lunges. His blade catches and tears through an unprepared Jude's shoulder. No trap snares around his ankle to yank him back.
For a moment, Jude's eyes go wide. "Whoa, no chit-chat this time? There's an order to these things, you know!"
Not deigning to answer, Sharpness pushes his advantage. If he stays within Jude's reach, that would keep him safe from larger traps with the danger of both of them falling. Paradoxically, the only way to get Jude to leave is to overpower him and wound him severely enough for him to turn tail and flee. As long as Jude feels in control of the playing field with his tricks and traps, he would stop at nothing to hound Sharpness. And as much as much as Sharpness wishes he could stake Jude here and now, he is not in the right state for a proper confrontation.
His performance in this moment is a fine line to walk.
Jude scrambles back - but not enough. Sharpness chases, slicing open a gash from his shoulder to hip. That should distract him from how Sharpness isn't using his dagger, held limply in the arm he's starting to lose feeling in. Run, Jude.
"Oh, you're really going for it," Jude yelps. He whips out a pair of shears from his toolbelt to meet the next blow, and staggers back once their blades clash.
"You fight like a coward." Sharpness forces the goad into his words, biting back the pain that lances across his chest with the next sword swing. "Face me properly."
"I'm not going to make things easier for you just because you can't do your job properly, hunter."
"You're a disgrace to your kind."
"I bet all the vampires you've 'fought properly' are dead. And I'm still here, so who's the real disgrace?"
If only Jude could be like the other vampires Sharpness had hunted down before: vicious, bloody, and most importantly, straightforward. They'd attack head on, making use of their claws, twisting their shadow step to their advantage, distorting into incomprehensible shapes when backed into a corner. They made for harrowing fights, but that's what Sharpness preferred. He came alive in the heat of combat, his weapons an extension of his limbs, his stake a falling curtain.
Jude, on the other hand, didn't employ his vampiric abilities at all and preferred to drag things out as if he was playing a game instead of being hunted. He seemingly didn't have the physical strength that came with vampirism either, from what Sharpness could tell the times he'd managed to grapple him. But Jude always managed to get away. It was infuriating.
"You only say that because you don't know how to fight," Sharpness snaps.
Jude darts out of the way of the next swipe, but not fast enough to avoid the blow opening a line up his forearm. "Wha- I know how to fight!"
"Prove it, then." Sharpness throws everything he has into each strike, forgoing proper form and defense in favour of a frenzied offensive style he'd usually never risk. It pays off; he stabs clean through Jude's abdomen with a wet sound, and when the sword slides out it scrapes against bone. Black blood slicks along the flat of the blade as Jude lets out a small shriek that morphs into a hollow cough, bounding further into the trees.
Not enough - he's still evading. Glancing back at Sharpness every few steps, lips pulling into a smirk even with blood trickling from a corner.
Run, Jude.
Sharpness' heart pounds heavy in his chest, each pulse sending a fresh wave of agony through his nerves. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. The numbness from his wounded shoulder is spreading into his sword arm now. Even worse, he is falling behind in his pursuit. With the distance between them widening, it's only a matter of time-
A spark of light ahead of him from what he instinctively knows is ritual herbs going up in a flash. Sharpness tries to swerve from his current heading where the trap is bound to be but his reactions are sluggish. In a blink, the tangle of bushes surrounding him snap their branches forward, releasing a woven net that whips against his side and sweeps him off his feet, pulling him against the trunk of a nearby tree. A vine lashes around the wrist of his sword hand, forcing him to drop his weapon and pinning it to his side.
The bark digs into his back painfully, even through his coat, and he grinds his teeth together so hard he sees stars behind his eyelids as not to cry out. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. The net is wound around the lower half of his chest, but with how tight it's binding his arms to the tree, the pressure radiates up into his shoulder where the pulses of pain start to form their own heartbeat.
"You're actually so bad," Jude sing-songs as he doubles back to inspect his handiwork. In the darkness, his smirk cuts like a knife, and the blood leaking from his numerous wounds doesn't make him any less menacing. "Looks like I won again. Why would I fight when I could do this?"
Sharpness offers no words in response. Just a glare - one he hopes doesn't carry his exhaustion. He forces his ragged breaths to calm when Jude draws near.
"What's gotten into you tonight?" Jude demands, crosses his arms. There's an edge to his voice incongruent with his usually smug attitude.
"Let me out," Sharpness says. The world seems to spin, shadows bleeding into each other at the borders of his vision. It's a miracle he managed to say anything without stumbling over his words. He must not show weakness.
"No, I don't think I will," Jude shoots back. "You ruined my waistcoat. And you stink, by the way."
"Yeah, whatever," Sharpness says for lack of a meaningful response. It's good to know that his assumption about the cockatrice blood was working in his favour. He'd done a good number on Jude: several slashes and stab wounds littered the vampire's body, oozing black blood, and a particularly deep cut on his upper arm severed the tendons there. Nevertheless, not enough. Jude was still here, annoying him, limbs moving with whatever undead power animating him, and Sharpness was trapped, halfway to passing out, rapidly losing blood. "You got me. Now let me go."
It's a pointless endeavour. He knows what comes next. Through the brain fog, he fights down the rising panic that this time might be the end for him. Hiding his wound from Jude will be for naught if he can't break out of Jude's bite. He tries to struggle, kicking against his bindings and tearing at the vine at his wrist with his nails but it does nothing; he's lost too much blood, and his muscles aren't responding to his brain's commands.
"That's not how this goes, and you know it." Jude's face eclipses Sharpness' vision. He's close enough that Sharpness can smell the dizzying scent of freshly burnt wood ash on him.
Jude pounces.
It's a blur - he's at Sharpness' neck in an instant, hands grasping at his shoulders, fangs ripping into skin. That by itself is nothing new. Sharpness has been through this before.
But this time, he can't fight back.
The pressure on the wound is too much for Sharpness to resist and he lets slip a pained grunt. Adrenaline rushes through his veins for an unfortunate moment of clarity: he's going to die here. Then the venom hits, digging its fingers into his brain with the overpowering compulsion to relax, close your eyes, it'll all be over soon. It melds with the already frantic thoughts screaming through his head, making his muscles twitching sporadically at his sides. No doubt Jude is relishing the hammering of his heart pumping rapid bursts of blood into his waiting mouth.
He feels Jude pull down the collar of his coat for easier access. No- he'll see-
A shiver wracks his body as he feels his blood soaked shirt shift against the wound. Part of it peels away from where it had stuck to the wound, allowing cool air to hit his raw skin and even with the numbing venom it burns-
This time, he can't stop the fractured cry that breaks through his lips. The world comes through intermittently between flashes of black, darker than the night shadows. His breaths come in shallow bursts.
"What-" Jude's voice. Jude's saying something. But if Jude is saying something, that means he isn't biting Sharpness, yet Sharpness' neck still screams as if fangs are lodged in his throat, digging deeper still. There's a touch at his side, on his cheek, supporting his head, another moving down his neck-
Brushing against the edge of the wound. It's in the open now. It's as if his nerves are exposed and something has taking a rusted handsaw to them.
He gasps, hoarse. The world spins. Fades in and out. Trees, leaves, vines, shadows. A flash of torn purple stained in ink. He's dying. Rabbit ears, the smell of ash. Eyes - dull, then blazing red.
Everything goes black.
—
Sharpness rouses in stages, stimulus rushing into his mind in waves all underpinned by the scream of a splitting headache. He's lying down, he figures, something soft layered over him, and his surroundings are warmly lit. A room comes into focus - the stone brick walls, the wooden beams along the ceiling. Tables shoved against the walls, cluttered with an assortment of objects his vision is too blurred to identify.
There's something in his hair gently carding through the strands. A hand, possibly. The tug at his scalp is strangely comforting. He catches the glimpse of a face he'd recognise even in vague impressions: Jude.
His tongue is heavy as he croaks out, "I swear if you steal my hair for your stupid witchcraft…"
"Thanks to your reminder, I just might."
The touch is gone in an instant - if it was even there in the first place.
Wait. Jude?
Sharpness jerks his head back to check if he'd seen properly, only for the sudden motion to retrigger the headache that had just begun to subside. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut when the light becomes too overwhelming.
"Quite a nasty cut you got there on your shoulder. Looks like the great hunter is losing his touch."
It's not a hallucination; the voice alone confirms it. Half formed streams of thought stagger around in his head, speculation and questions cut short by the pulsing pain behind his eyes. "Stop talking."
He's not dead. At least he thinks he isn't. He focuses inward and takes a few measured breaths, curling toward the wall to protect his front side against any potential attacks. Through the haze, the thud of his heartbeat echoes into his ears. Definitely not dead. And Jude is hovering nearby, not killing him for some reason.
"Too scared to admit you're past your prime?"
"… I'm not."
"Sounds like something someone past their prime would say."
Sharpness tries to lever himself up onto his elbows. His muscles ache of not properly loosening after intense activity. No agonising pain, though. Not even from the wound in his shoulder-
He looks down. Blobs of colour sharpen into the shape of bandages wrapped around his shoulders under his shirt. A little frayed, but otherwise clean. No signs of blood. When he tentatively lifts his arm the muscles where the wound should have been slide against each other as if they had never been torn apart by jagged talons digging deep. A static buzz runs through his nerves: the aftereffects of a healing potion forcing flesh together.
His sluggish thoughts try to process this new information. The headache flairs again.
"I was… caught off guard."
"Caught off guard. You. With your fancy weaponry and wards and toolkit for every monster you could come across that you lug around everywhere. Just admit you're losing it, pretty boy."
"Don't call me that." He bites out. He shouldn't engage in this nonsense, but he can't help himself. The words are stumbling from his mouth even before he remembers where his tongue is supposed to go. "It was a cockatrice. They're so rare I don't carry the necessary counters as part of my kit, and I didn't expect to encounter one where I was."
"A cockatrice, huh. Shame you weren't poisoned."
"You wish."
Sitting up properly now and the dizziness subsiding slowly, he takes in more of his surroundings. With improving clarity comes wariness, and he feels his tired muscles tense up in anticipation for… something.
He seems to be on a bench of some sort, hastily arranged into a temporary bed, with pillows stacked under his head and a blanket that now pooled around his waist. By the pillows sits a metal tray with a pair of scissors - usable as an improvised weapon in a pinch - a bunched up-cloth, a roll of bandages, and several empty glass vials. Over the edge of the bed he glimpses the rim of a bucket of water, then a smaller container of cloudy water beside that, tinted the red of rust.
Close by, Jude perches on a stool with an elbow propped up on the workbench beside him, various contraptions and herb bundles swept aside for space. He's cleaned up from the fight, not a spot of blood on his crisp new set of garments as if he'd never been struck at all, much less bled. The hand he isn't resting his chin on lays in his lap, drumming a restless rhythm against his leg. It stops when Jude sees Sharpness notice it.
It takes a few seconds for Sharpness' mind to catch up to his eyes and realise that he'd been staring at Jude.
Jude, unpreterbed, stares right back. Or had he been watching this entire time? His eyes are unnerving, completely devoid of light despite the nearby lamp and candles. "So where'd this disaster of yours happen?"
Sharpness looks away. Play nice. He's in enemy territory right now, and Jude had made the mistake of not killing him, which is something he can take advantage of once he gets out of here. Wherever here is.
"Nowhere near your territory." He was running blind, and didn't know how far he'd ended up dragging himself. Adrenaline's one hell of a drug - he's amazed his body didn't give up on itself halfway. The ground had changed, the trees had changed, the texture of the grass had changed during his escape.
How is he not dead? The phantom sensation of fangs in his neck lingers, and he twists his head slightly to test. A faint sting where the puncture wounds would be, followed by the feeling of gauze sliding over skin - it had been bandaged as well.
Jude tsks, drawing his attention back. "I'm not worried about that. Where."
"I'm not so stupid as to let you have access to cockatrice poison."
"Don't assume my intentions." Jude gives him a toothy grin. His fangs flash. "Maybe I want to go make a new friend, give you a little surprise next time you visit."
"You're going to get yourself killed."
Silence.
Disbelief passes over Jude's expression before it resolves back into that same annoying grin, accompanied by the flick of an ear. "And since when did you care, Mr. Has-Been-Trying-To-Kill-Me-For-Months? I'm surprised you're still coming back even though you humiliate yourself every time." He leans closer, eyes gleaming. "Or… don't tell me you're into that." He lets out a crazed giggle. "Sharpness - I didn't know! We could arrange something-"
"Shut up," Sharpness cuts him off. Heat rises to his cheeks and his knuckles turn white with how hard they're gripping the blanket. This is what Jude wants: to get a rise out of him. It's not going to work this time. "I don't care. I will kill you one day. But before then, you better not do anything stupid."
He's a monster hunter. Solo, because the institutions put him on teams with other hunters that tend to hold him back more than help. His record is spotless except for this one crazy blood-sucking rabbit that doesn't even behave like a proper vampire - the one stain he is unable to wipe from his pristine record of bounties and requests he cuts through relentlessly. The cockatrice won't be a problem. He just needs to gear up properly and get rid of it like everything else. But Jude… Jude is his. He's not letting anyone- anything get to Jude before he buries a stake into that cold, unbeating heart with his own two hands.
"Oh, I'm so scared," Jude titters, closing both his hands into fists under his chin as he presses his elbows together in an exaggerated show of fear. It's stupidly endearing and- whoa, where'd that thought come from? "The big scary hunter that was bleeding out on my bed for hours making me change his bandages because he was too knocked out to do it himself is going to kill me! Oh no, oh god! I'm shaking in my boots."
Sharpness sneers, biting back the instinctive retort on his tongue. Jude had just touched on a question that's been slowly brewing since his head started to clear-
"Say whatever you want about me, but what about you?" He accuses. "Why do this then?"
As much as he would rather go right back to fighting the cockatrice than admitting out loud, Jude is smart. His tricks and constructions would do wonders if they were used for the betterment of society, but, well, bloodthirsty vampire that finds joy in the suffering of others and whatnot. Either way, someone as clever as him would have long realised that removing Sharpness from the playing field would be removing an obstacle toward their goals.
Sharpness would've been left severely scarred with no timely treatment on the off chance he didn't bleed out before he reached the nearest settlement. Jude could have left him there to die. Or drain him dry like his other victims since for once Sharpness wouldn't be able to pry him off.
"Because it's fun." Jude pokes at his cheek and Sharpness swipes at his hand, barely missing as the vampire darts back. "You're so easy. Look at you all riled up."
"I am not-" At Jude's self-satisfied look, Sharpness clicks his mouth shut. Stay on track. He takes a breath. "Don't dodge the question. You know what I mean."
The bandages wrapped around his shoulder to under his opposite arm sit snug against his skin. They're not professionally done, but it's clear that they'd been applied with the best of whoever put them there's ability. That is to say: Jude. And the healing potion - a healing potion that burns the undead, administered by none other than Jude, once again. There's no lingering pain other than general muscle ache; the wound had been properly cleaned beforehand so the potion would not close his flesh around specks of grime.
And that's not counting the temporary bed setup, the stark lack of blood staining everything around him other than his clothes, despite Jude's earlier complaints. The idea of Jude cleaning him up and tending to his wounds is such a bizarre image that a chill goes down his spine at the very thought of it. There has to be something he's missing.
Jude responds cleanly, as if he'd rehearsed this. Bastard. "Why wouldn't I patch up my blood bag? If you want to get yourself killed, do it somewhere outside my territory because I happen to enjoy a food source dumb enough to keep bringing himself back."
"A food source. Really."
For a brief moment, it looks like Jude is caught off guard. But the flicker in his eyes vanishes and he snorts. "What else would you be? A threat? Don't flatter yourself."
The candlelight catches on the curve of Jude's fangs as he laughs, head thrown back. Sharpness could do it: lunge at him, seize his exposed neck with one hand, grab the scissors sitting in the tin next to the pillow with another, then push him into the stone floor and start stabbing. It won't be easy without his regular equipment, but he's improvised in the past. He only needs to incapacitate Jude long enough for him to snap a leg off the stool Jude's currently perched on and use that as a stake to end it all.
But the words cut deep and he turns toward the wall to hide his frown. Stupid vampire with his stupid traps. Ambushing him here wouldn't do; it would be too easy, and it wouldn't settle the strange tightness in his chest. Why does he care again? There must've been something in Jude's health potions. No way the pain in the neck would help Sharpness with no strings attached; maybe that's why Jude had "helped" him. He needs to leave immediately and find a doctor to check for any residual effects.
So he announces, "I'm leaving," and swings his legs over the edge of the bed to stand. Static burns in his muscles from the sudden movement - the world tilts dangerously until instinct kicks in and he catches himself. Purple flickers at the edge of his vision. In an instant the scissors are in his hands, brandished outward as he spins with a hiss breaking through his teeth.
Jude, far too close for his liking, takes a few steps back. His half extended hand returns to his side, then slips casually into one of his many pockets.
"What are you doing?" Sharpness glares at him. He saw that, no matter how nonchalant Jude is trying to be. He also sees the faint twitch of Jude's long ears, pinned back over his head. He's never seen him do that before, not when every emotion and reaction reflected itself in those upright ears during all encounter before this one.
Jude shrugs, face blank. "Looks like you still have your reflexes about you. Not bad, Sharpness."
Liar. He knows Jude was about to pull something on him, and only stopped because he was caught in the act. That wasn't even a good lie. Whatever. He'll just keep a closer eye on the rabbit going forward. "Where's my stuff?"
"Do you think I'd be so stupid to give you your stuff while you're in my home? You'll get it after you leave."
Sharpness scowls. "I'm leaving now."
Despite himself, he gives in too easily as Jude reaches out to pull the scissors from his grip and set them back in the tray.
"Okay, leave then." Jude moves slowly, methodically, his actions at odds with the playful- irritating tone of his voice.
"I'm going." Sharpness turns to yank open the door to the room. Beyond is- a hallway. What seems to be a hallway. The candlelight spilling through the doorframe to illuminates a hazy circle of rough stone wall and patchwork wood flooring surrounded by pitch darkness. His silhouette cuts a severe line through the brightened area.
Of course.
Why would a vampire's lair need lighting with their darkvision? He peers down both directions of the apparent hallway, glancing back every now and then to make sure Jude doesn't sneak up on him. To his dismay, it's as if the hall stretches off into the void in both directions. He'll have to-
"What's wrong? You're going to leave, aren't you?" The glee is undisguised on Jude's face. He bounces between his feet, his eyes narrowing into smiling crescents.
"Jude," Sharpness warns, and looks away. His fingers curl at his side, searching for the hilt of his trusty sword he knows isn't there. The feeling of vulnerability is beginning to set in and he hates it, hates it so much he would rather tear himself open from the inside out than stand unarmoured and unequipped in an unknown environment. Especially with his worst enemy in the same space.
He shoves the feeling down. Play nice.
"Obviously I wasn't going to let you see all my little secrets on your way out." Jude breezes past him into the hall, and holds out a hand, palm up. "Come on."
Taken aback, Sharpness stares.
Jude scoffs. "If you want to fumble around and walk into walls, I'd be more than happy to sit back and enjoy the show."
For a second, Sharpness is tempted to do it out of pure spite. But his pride wins over and he swallows down the acidic feeling of why him, why Jude and takes the offered hand.
The contact sends a faint tremour up his arm. His hands are bare, bereft of the comforting weight of his armoured gloves, and somewhere along the way Jude had put on his own pair of gloves. Rough, tinkerer's gloves, the joints fraying and leather spotting with stains that must come from his work with potions and herbs. Faint streaks of chalk powder the tips of the fingers, and a burn mark cuts a line over the palm Sharpness carefully rests his fingers on.
"Are we going or what?" He snaps, harsher than he'd intended to, when the silence drags on for a little too long. He ignores the heat rising to his cheeks and turns his head to the side - while still keeping an eye on Jude in the corner of his vision - to try to hide it.
"Uh- yeah, we're going." Jude moves far too quickly, his loose grip slipping.
"Hey," Sharpness protests, and latches on properly, interlocking their fingers. He is not going to let himself get left behind, even if it's in the one patch of brightness in the otherwise dark.
Did-
Did Jude jump?
Just before the void swallows him whole as they leave the circle of hazy illumination, Sharpness swears he sees Jude's ears shoot straight up before they come back down again, pinned resolutely over the back of his head.
Jude cackles loudly, almost too much so. The sound echoes. "Didn't think you'd be scared of the dark."
"I'm not."
"Liar."
"You're a liar."
Nevertheless Sharpness follows close, seeking the proximity of a body in the darkness. Jude doesn't radiate body heat like a living creature does, but there's something distinctly him that sets the space he occupies apart from the oppressive empty air around them. Sharpness isn't afraid of the dark. He'd fought monsters in the dark before, delved into caves and dungeons with his sword in one hand and lantern in the other. But again, lack of equipment, preparation-
His free hand twitches at his side, reaching to his waist only to find the hem of his shirt.
The silence starts to stretch again and he's trying to fill it before he's aware of what he's doing. "You're going to lead me into a trap."
"I promise I won't."
The response is surprisingly earnest. It's the second time its happened; none of that teasing cadence so often found in Jude's voice that Sharpness has grown accustomed to, so much that the absence of it startles him. He narrows his eyes.
"Your word means nothing to me."
"Trust me, I'm the one that has had some guy bumming around in my house for a day demanding my attention. I want you out of here more than you do."
"I was out for a whole day?"
"That's what you focus on?" A pause, then quieter. "But yes, so don't make me do that again."
Again, that lack of humour. The conversation ends. Sharpness doesn't attempt to start it again.
He is confused, to say the least. All of this has been strange. He'd accepted it, held his tongue and let things progress without questioning it for self preservation. Jude's claim was that he wanted to keep Sharpness around for blood, but Sharpness knows an excuse when he hears one. He wasn't the only hunter around that had come for the wily vampire - despite his best efforts to keep the others away because he has this handled, hunters keep disappearing into Jude's neck of the woods and getting themselves killed.
There must be something. He runs through their past clashes in his mind, flicking through each encounter and the mental notes he'd meticulously attached. He'd broken out of traps before, and he has the fortitude to withstand vampire venom long enough to overpower Jude and rip him off his neck if he gets a bite in. Not to mention how he'd been so close to driving a stake through Jude's heart multiple times now, leaving the rabbit with wounds severe enough to kill a human several times over before he would inevitably slip out of Sharpness' grasp, a trail of blood in his wake.
He inhales, a little too abruptly.
Jude stops, their arms colliding as Sharpness nearly runs into him. "What."
"Nothing." Sharpness waves a hand in his general direction for him to keep going.
Slowly, they resume, and Sharpness lets his thoughts run along the razor edge of his realisation: Jude is using him as practice. A bitter anger wells up around his ribs. Once Jude deems himself good enough to overpower hunters there's no telling what he would do - the thought of the vampire leaving his forest to wreak havoc on civilisation is a terrible, bloody image, and Sharpness can't let that happen.
He must clean up before Jude reaches that level of confidence. There are hunters more skilled than himself that work in different regions, those who he knows would respond to a request from him, but the thought doesn't ease the tightness in his chest. That'd be giving up, and he didn't get this far in his career by bowing out when the hunt got difficult. He's the one who knows Jude best, whatever that's worth, and he has a mental image of at least part of the criss-crossing corridors of Jude's lair. Jude has been led him in several circles so far in an attempt to muddle his senses, but Sharpness has better spatial awareness than that.
He'll need to think this through. Study up on his wards, etch and stitch stronger ones into his equipment, contact a witch to ask their opinion on how to counter the kind of witchcraft Jude gets up to. Find his way back here, catch his target off guard.
Eventually, Jude slows to a stop. "Okay, you can let go of me now."
Sharpness drops his hand. He tries not to think about how easily their fingers slotted together to accomodate for their positions. Failing to find something suitable to say, he settles on, "don't go after the cockatrice. I mean it."
He hears "hehe", then there are hands shoving him forward and the all too recogniseable sound of chalk finishing an activation ritual.
The ground buckles beneath his feet.
His stomach drops, following suit, and he can't tell if it's due to the fall or the sinking realisation that he had, somehow, trusted Jude for this brief bit of time.
He should've known.
"Jude-" he roars, but is cut off as the ground rebounds and loud grating assaults his ears as if an old stone castle were falling apart, each heavy brick grinding past its former neighbours. He's rising, he realises, as the pressure from his soles shoots up his bones. Rising and twisting, the space around him constricting. His breath comes hard and fast as something like bark snake against his side. "Jude, you-!"
He's airborne. He's weightless for a second that drags into infinity until he lands in a heap, pain jolting up his spine as his tailbone hits the ground hard.
Patterns dance across his eyelids - wait, patterns? Light. He'd closed his eyes somewhere along the way. He opens them now, cautious, gaze ready to sweep his surroundings for threats, only to find that he's in the forest again. It's nearing dusk, slanted lines of red light falling through the canopy above. The fresh scent of loam creeps into his nose and he takes a deep breath, glad to inhale something other than stagnant, underground air.
Right. Underground, that's where Jude's base had been. A cursory glance around shows no openings in the earth, no out-of-place mechanisms that might trigger the appearance of a secret entrance.
Damned vampire.
He'll find a way back, not just to this location in the forest, but into whatever twisting corridors Jude made his home in. But for now, he has more pressing matters he needs to deal with.
He finds his things in a cleverly disguised bundle beneath a nearby bush, neatly wrapped together and anchored to the roots so no animals would steal it away. With his coat back on and his equipment all accounted for in their holsters and chest sling, he allows himself to ease - he hadn't realised how tense he'd been holding himself this whole time. The click of his sword unlatching and re-latching to its clasp is a calming sound as he nudges at it absentmindedly with his thumb.
With a light touch to the bandages on the side of his neck, he begins the long trek back to civilisation.