Daily Lohen

The creator of this goes by Lee and uses he/they/wolf/can/any. I am not the best at staying in one fandom for a long time so there is a high chance that i abandon this blog at some point during this year. However i’ll do my best 🫠

pronoun help: he/him | they/them | wolf/wolfs/wolfself | can/canine/canines/canineself. i prefer these to be used but i don’t mind being called something else

Blog creation date: 4/2/26 (April 2nd, 2026)

Last time this post was edited: 7/6/26 (July 6th, 2026)

Blog tags (these are subject to change):

#daily lohen

#lohen reblogs

#ask lohen

#lohen art

#lohen and friends

#not lohen

#bunny’s polycule

#knight headcanons

#the hare's writing

Favonius Keep is alive with metal screeching against metal and orders being shouted. Arrows and bullets sink into wooden dummies while a dull claymore meet the handle of a polearm. Knights grunt and groan as they spar with eachother, others – like the Ranged Company – keep their skills sharp with wooden dolls rather than a sparring partner. A handful of knights sit to the side, the Vice-Captain of the 5th Company among them.

His lifeless, Abyss-like eyes scan the expedition team, running over weak forms and shaking bodies. He leans against one of the cold cliff faces that the Keep is nestled in between.

Relentless northern winds batter against his tense frame. His fingers twitch and grasp at nothing. The dagger and knives hidden in his clothing is a siren's call to the bloodthirsty knight. Watching the companies train can only do so much for a mind intent on finding his own entertainment – no matter how bloody it could be.

Metal scrapes against rock as he shifts, half-lidded eyes blurring as the tantalizing thoughts of hunting come into focus. Images of the Wild Hunt falling to his blades and ice litter his mind. A sharp grin spreads across his features. A few knights look at his expression and hurry to train somewhere else, panic and fear on their faces.

Somewhere in the Keep the Grand Master laughs, loud and echoing across the Keep. That is enough for Lohen to push himself into standing upright and stalking out of the camp, gloved hands itching and soul begging to be satisfied.

The sun hangs low in the sky, inching towards her resting place as Lohen leaves the safety of the Keep – not by using the main roads, no. But by slipping out of the back of the camp and towards the lively scenery of Amsvartnir and then towards that Ratniki camp nestled in the cliffs.

Dying grass crunches under metal soles, knife flipping and dancing in his palm. The wind is ever present, urging Lohen to join it in it's deadly dance. It twists and curls around him, tugging at his clothes and gleefully dragging him along. They brush against the cold edge of the sharp dagger, dancing across the clasp that holds his vision in place, messing up already messy mint-colored hair.

Warmth spreads in his cold chest and he hums. As the wind dances and sings Lohen grows closer and closer to the well-worn path that rests just behind Amsvartnir. Bright greenish-blue grass fades into a yellowish-green and he follows it long enough to spot the Lightkeeper camp in the distance. A bundle of Ratniki stands outside it, carrying boxes and weapons. One of them has familiar ashen and red hair.

Unfortunately for that little Nightingale, the knight of freedom has a different goal in mind. He turns away from the camp, walking south instead of continuing west towards the Lightkeepers. That open-air cave is leapt over and he continues on in his search.

The sun is hovering just an inch over the horizon when the bloodthirsty man pauses on the edge of a cliff. Dull eyes scan the horizon for any signs. Just barely visible is a small group of the Wild Hunt – all surrounding a stone. A sharp grin replaces the bored look on his face and he marches on towards that small group.

A Wild Hunt exile shrieks as it's chest is pierced. Cryo explodes outwards, crystals shining like broken glass and freezing the corpse. A hunter's axe comes down where Lohen was previously standing. It misses him by an inch.

Claws grab at him, some managing to catch skin. He only laughs; a bright, insane thing. It grows louder as polearm sinks into corrupted flesh. More claws dig into flesh, muscle tensing as skin is torn.

The sharp end of a cruel dagger meets a exile's shoulder and a smaller knife meets it's hand. It freezes in place as his polearm is brought up to block claws that aim for his face. A grunt is forced out of him as an axe edge barely slices through skin.

Vicious claws are shoved away and stabbed through. Lohen ducks under the wide arc of another axe swing and pierces the Hunter's thigh with a well-aimed crossbow bolt. His laugh only grows in volume as he is forced to roll out of the way of another axe swing.

"Is that all you got?!" He pants, mouth open in a wild grin. The hunter goes down with a few well placed blows, joining their kin in the leylines and freeing it's trapped soul.

The knight turns to the Tidal Stone, polearm and dagger in hand as he waits for the next wave. Right as they teleport in from whatever Abyssal area they come from footsteps echo from behind him. "Sir Lohen!" A well-familiar voice rings out, breathless.

"Oh? Birdie?" His polearm pierces the chest of an exile right as a ball of light pierces a different one that was lumbering towards him. Those footsteps stop beside him, their source breathless and panting. Blue meets mint and Lohen sends the Ratnik a sharp grin. A hunter's arm is pierced with a crossbow bolt. And then it's face is met with a ice-covered dagger.

Warm light shines in the corner of Lohen's eye as the Lightkeeper makes his way to the stone, Aedon dive bombing any exiles or hunters that get too close to her master. The tidal stone is destroyed before long and the Hunt soon follows suit.

Purple blood litters the rough grass of the Nod-krai plains and Lohen groans, "aw, that's it? That was barely a warmup!" Illuga sighs, fabric rustling as he puts away his lantern. Aedon safely nestled inside the cold metal. When the man speaks his tone is almost scolding, like he was talking to a troublesome child. "The Wild Hunt isn't a game to defeat, Sir Lohen."

A wild grin replaces the frown that he gained once the Hunt was killed. He crosses his arms and shrugs, that blue and red gaze flicking towards him. "Isn't it? They certainly seem like one!"

Illuga's brows twitch, his grip on his lantern tightening. "Sir Lohen–" He cuts himself off with a sigh that sounds incredibly forced to Lohen's ears. A quiet thrill, something akin to adrenaline, trumps through veins. The knight's body feels a little bit warmer from the Lightkeeper's furrowed brows and deep frown. He can't help but snicker at the geo user's fumbling, sharp grin a permanent feature on his face.

"Ah well, about time I headed off." Metal soles shift against worn down grass. The agony of wounds now just a fading memory — something that won't be remembered in a few more hours. A noise comes from the ashen-haired man as he spins around and walks off. Lohen bites down the bubbling laughter in his chest from Illuga's sigh that follows the noise. Muffled words reach his ears, and his steps cost a little more energy after they do.

He leaves the shorter man behind. For some, strange reason, his chest pangs with something he cannot place. A hum leaves his throat as he journeys to the other side of the plains.

By the time he gets there, the sun is dipping behind the horizon. Her glow paints the world in golden hues and long shadows. While her fading light bids everything on these frozen islands a warm goodbye until she awakens with the dawn.

Salty water laps at pale sand while Lohen stands at the edge of the plains, crimson and mint eyes staring out at the ocean. Waves rise and fall, and occasionally a whale or two leaps out and cries out into the air.

Muscles twinge as he lifts his arms high into the air and arches his back. He holds that position for a couple of seconds. Even as the position sends the shallow lactation in his back screams and the claw marks on his leg pours lava into his veins, he holds. It holds until his head grows fuzzy.

A groan is ripped out of his throat as, slowly, muscles and tendons grow lax. Tension slipping away like a warm dream does once you wake up.

His polearm returns to battle-worn hands. having been dropped not even three minutes ago. Abyss-like eyes scan the ocean waves one more time before he turns and leaves. Leaving the ocean as it dances and calls out for somebody – anybody – to join her in her dance.

Metal scrapes against hard-packed earth and Lohen starts on his hunt once again. The hunger in his soul crying out for more. It cries out for flesh to be torn apart, to be frozen, for beings to be severed limb by limb until nothing is left. Still, it hungers. Still, it craves. No matter what, it will continue to hunger — to crave.

Cold, harsh winds brush against the cryo wielders cheeks, cutting him off from his thoughts of monsters being torn with anything he could find, with blood and gore – both his own and the enemies – covering the icy ground.

His birdie -– the Lightkeeper's birdie he means, is just a dot in the distance. Frame shifting as he talks with others – perhaps some knights, or maybe more Ratniki. Something curls deep in his chest, ugly and writhing. His face falls and the wind seems just a little bit colder than it was a minute ago.

Air leaves his lungs in a grumble and then sand and soil scratches against leather and metal. Theres no Wild Hunt for miles, much to Lohen's chagrin. No signs of the corpses reanimated by Abyssal magic. None of that dark, swirling fog on the plains of this island. Not even a stray exile that wandered too far from their pack.

The cliffs of Ashveil Peak taunt him with their looming cliffs and sharp edges. Sharp rock, dark gray and painted even darker in a developing night rises above everything else in the region. Even the moon with her light cannot penetrate all the cliffs and their haunting shadows.

Shadows crawl against the darkening ground, clawing and grasping at anything that passes by – craving to embrace everything in pitch black darkness. Wicked sharp claws scrape against frozen earth, fighting against the light of the moon and her watch over Teyvat.

Those tempting claws clutch Lohen's heavy clothing and armor. They fall back just as quickly as they grab on, only to attempt again. An never ending cycle. One that repeats as Lohen approaches the looming cliffs, sharp edges a long ways above him. Rock scrapes against leather as he grabs onto a handhold and climbs his way up. Soon, the edges of the ever-taunting cliffs are behind him as fabric catches the wind and he's gliding down to rough, purple-stained ground.

Instantly, he's in the Abyss's clutches. Hands made of agony and fear grip tight to ripped fabric. Whispers taunt, echoing through his ears. Foreshadowing blood and gore and pain — so much pain. Cruel words surround him. Blood stains the ground, foretold by the Abyss. Bodies of Knights, Lightkeepers, and lone citizens litter the ground by his feet.

It's hard to breathe with his heart in his throat and his lungs catching on the claws of the Abyss. Dull eyes widen a fraction – mint and crimson watching with rapid attention. The world shakes – or maybe it's just him, heart beating with a tempo like he just ran for miles upon miles without rest. An ugly symphony pounding in his ears — alongside the whispers of violence.

Thick blood pools on the ground. Bile rises in the hare's throat as blood pools higher and higher — bodies falling and joining the collection of mangled flesh and bone.

Ash-gray catches his eye. Something wounded rips itself out of his throat and the next thing he knows his knees hit hard earth and frantic hands clutch at too-familiar clothing that grows crimson. Blue-red eyes are wide and panicked, lips parted in a gasp that was cut off too early. Blood is splattered across pale skin, covering that mole that lies under his left eye – mirroring Lohen's own.

Abyssal voices laugh and taunt, cackling at the hurt that seeps into his entire being like a toxin. Clothes refuse to move under the ministrations of trembling hands. Whatever wound his Birdie gained lies under a brown woolen coat that refuses to move, just like it's glued in place.

He chokes on his own breath, a sob stuck in a traitorous throat. Terror-dulled eyes burn like he hasn't blinked in too long, tears roll down flushed cheeks. The other bodies fall away from his consciousness one by one – until that nightingale, Illuga, is the sole survivor.

Frantic, trembling hands pause, knuckles white against unmoving fabric. He stares and stares but the fabric doesn't move. Cold, dead eyes meet his own, then bloodied skin. Clothing stained red, a hand – gloved – closed against nothing. Like whatever happened didn't exist.

Realization comes creeping in. The Abyss laughs. Sorrow dissipates as anger replaces it. A growl leaves a throat sore by tears that shouldn't exist.

Illuga is safe back in the plains. Aedon is with him. And both are surrounded by Ratniki and Knights alike who will fight until that light fades from their eyes and their souls join the leylines. A thick and heavy exhale leaves his lungs and he stands. The illusion fades. Still, the Abyss laughs; a never ending chorus. Perhaps even resembling a crowd laughing in that famous theater all the way in the Court of Fontaine.

The world is still shaking. No longer is blood coating the purple grass, no longer is the surroundings stained with red. Birdie's body is gone -– just an illusion. Stomach bubbling with something ugly, he scoffs. The wind curls around in a protective bubble as he marches on. Leaving the scene behind — still, his chest burns with something he doesn't want to name as dread places a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

His skin itches with something he cannot name as stained ground and dark cliffs pass by him. Thrill thrums underneath a heart heavy with a situation that won't come to pass. That cold, sharp dagger hilt bites into his palm. Maybe if he held on hard enough his world will stop shaking and he never will have to see the Lightkeeper that still ever again.

Gentle winds – odd for Nod-Krai, for the winds are never gentle in this frozen land – push and caress the lone knight. Tendrils tugging at messy mint hair and battered clothes. The wound in his calf makes his boots shift awkwardly with every step. Like usual, pain is overshadowed by something else – even as he limps forwards, guided by a kind breeze.

Soon enough the groans of the Wild Hunt draws into range and Lohen feels a weak yet no doubt dangerous smile fall on his lips. The cold hilt of his polearm presses into a still-trembling hand as it's summoned from his vision's storage space.

Flaming heads of the exiles pop up past the cliff face that the hare presses himself against, cold metal and rough fabric against rock that steals heat from his skin.

Groans and unintelligible mutters slice through the air like a particularly nasty venom-covered knife. The corrupted undead lumbers side to side, around and around with no true goal in mind. Their bodies light up with Abyssal energies — the very thing that is keeping them from reaching their final rest.

In the midst of the Exiles, two Hunters stand. Axes in hand and blades glowing in horrific pink firelight. Long shadows, tainted even more by the darker-than-dark cloudless sky. Her pale light does little to protect this sea of cliffs from the writhing shadows. They crackle and cling onto fabric, enveloping Lohen in their shadows as he crouches. Pitch darkness washing over his frame.

The Wild Hunt wander about aimlessly still as Lohen creeps ever closer, shadows clinging to every step. Clawed hands grasp tight to wind-tussled fabric as the dark night clings.

Sharp metal glows faintly in the tainted dark, painted a diluted purple as firelight shines upon it. The itch underneath his skin grows as he creeps closer with the cold dagger in hand and the ice inside him slowly climbing up the walls that keeps it caged. The air grows warmer against his skin as he stays just out of range of the Hunt.

Something in his chest twists in horrible anguish as he leaps out of his hiding place. A unrestrained, maniacal laugh rips itself out of his throat as he lunges, wicked blade sinking into the skin of the groaning undead.

They don't get a chance to regroup as the soul freezes and then shatters, icicles clinking as they rain down. The air seems to scream as the Exiles run towards him, sharp claws aiming for his flesh. One manages to catch his arm. But a dagger meets it's flaming face and the tip of a spear sinks into it's chest, cryo freezing whatever insides it has left. It disintegrates right as twin axes lunge down towards the knight.

One cuts into his shoulder and the other misses entirely. Everything goes white for a moment, ears ringing as skin and muscle scream in symphony at the tainted metal in his body.

A laugh bursts out of his chest, pain doing nothing more than to increase the thrill and pleasure that beats in his veins. Lohen grins, sharp and dangerous, as the axe is torn out of his shoulder by it's wielder. It comes swinging down again, this time missing by a hair.

The Exiles are groaning, circling him and the Hunters, searching for a way to draw him into the Abyss alongside them. Lohen's dagger slices the Hunter's arm and his polearm catches on a Exile's side, smokey blood pouring out of the wound. It groans and stumbles but doesn't dissipate.

A huge blade digs into the space where he once stood, a sharp ice-covered arrow finding home in a meaty shoulder. He cackles, mania clear to the world. One of the Exiles goes down to a well timed arrow shot, another is angered by a blade piercing it's stomach.

He takes down one of the Hunters with a slice to it's neck, ripping through rotting muscle. Their axe falls to the purple-tainted ground with a clang as the soul finally gets it's rest.

"Haha!" He pants, a wild grin painted on his face alongside eyes that shine bright with the promise of blood to be shed. An exile manages to rake their claws along the stretch of skin that protects his hip bones. Fire licks up his skin and deep into his bones as he cuts that Exile – and a few more alongside it – down.

Blade meets flesh in a chorus of violence and insane laughter. Blood, viscera, and shards of Abyss-corrupted flesh paints the floor. Not entirely unlike that scene that is ingrained into Lohen's vision.

Eventually its just him and the Hunter left, the rest of the Hunt being pieces of meat on the ground or having evaporated into the raging wind.

Frost-covered arrows pierce the looming undead's strange flesh, shiny purple blood dripping onto the battle-stained ground. The beast is limping as it approaches the knight, giant axe in hand that gleams dangerous in the little moonlight that filters down into their little clearing.

Lohen isn't fairing any better. Claw wounds decorate his skin like a second set of clothing, crimson staining pristine fabric like it wants to leave a mark on this cursed world. Heavy pants leave his lungs alongside a wide grin plastered on his face. The dagger in his hand shakes with his overworked muscles, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids underneath the wonderful adrenaline that courses through his veins.

If his Birdie were to see him now, no doubt that he would be scolded. Those blue-red eyes crinkled in a mix of anger and concern as hands that torn flesh from bone carefully wrap wounds like he was something worth saving.

A breath leaves his lungs in the form of a huff, fondness seeping from it like a poison. The scent of blood and sweat and the Abyss fills the air, twisting everyone who breathes it into a frenzy of paranoia and fear. Unbridled glee paints Lohen's insides as the Hunter draws closer. Their heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet night.

Infused with the element of cryo, a blade makes home in the beasts abdomen. It roars, anger peeling off it in waves as it axe misses Lohen. Adrenaline-filled laughter bubbles deep in his lungs. His polearm heavy and familiar in his grasp as he summons it once again.

They swing into a deadly dance, blades clashing and metal screaming against metal like a particularly angry child making a fuss. Metal cuts into flesh and bone, while corrupted muscle and viscera hang open for all of Teyvat to see. Mockery and taunts leave the knight's chest, peels of laughter mixed in. It only serves to anger the Hunter further, it's movements growing less and less precise.

It only takes a few more well-aimed strikes for the beast to go down. Corrupted body falling limp to the ground. Abyss-tainted particles dancing with the angry wind as the soul trapped within finally gets their rest.

The hare is left standing there. Heavy fabric and armor stained both red and purple. Air leaves his lungs in waves, slowly corrupting his own body.

A groan cuts through the air, and then a laugh. He cackles as he gasps for air, pain lacing every horrible breath he takes. "Was that really all you got?" Metal scrapes against tainted soil as he stumbles and then sounds once more as he starts on his way, collecting the various knives he used in the battle. "Phew, barely a work out!"

Injuries now paint the knight's body like paint on a canvas. Each movement sends waves of pain through his body, lighting nerves on fire and sending molten lava into his bones. Every jolt of pain is accompanied by a surge of joy. So much so that it nearly takes over the pain all together.

Muscles struggle to keep up as every step sends waves of agony and thrill up his spine. It almost feels like he can't breathe with how much adrenaline and joy is choking his lungs.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, all but collapsing next to a Lightkeeper's lantern. The Kuuvhaki warms his limbs, making the adrenaline recede an inch. Warm, golden light paints the Abyss-corroded ground. Letting the Lightkeepers' make their presence known to the Abyssal creatures of Nod-Krai.

Chilled winds brush against the panting knight, causing a little laugh to escape his throat. Kipumaki Cliff is quiet; Only the wind, the sea, and the distant groans of the Wild Hunt echo through the cliffs. If he focuses hard enough, Lohen can hear the Ratniki, too. Distant clangs of feet against metal, voices calling out to eachother, and patrols discussing routes.

Crimson blood pools onto the Abyss-tainted ground. Purple, brown, and orange is painted in a deep red as Lohen sits in his satisfaction, a cat-like grin on his face despite the agony. His heart jackhammers in his chest with the fading adrenaline that the battle caused. Ever so slowly as he sits there in that spot near the lantern of the sun, the adrenaline fades. Only leaving the tendrils of stabbing and throbbing pain echoing through his body.

It's only intensified by the Abyss crawling it's way through his skin, noticeable now after the addicting sensation of the adrenaline is gone. Tentacles of the Abyss sneak into his soul, unbeknownst to the knight. It taints his very being, corrupting him just like it did to the souls of the Hunt.

The knight's vision grows fuzzy for a second before being forced back into focus. He sighs – and then groans – as he pushes his heavy body up with hands that can't sit still anymore. A yawn escapes his throat without permission and then he's off again. Away from the inviting sounds of the Cliffwatch Keep's Lightkeepers.

Their voices fade into nothing as he walks – more like limps – deeper into the heart of the Wild Hunt. Despite the dark spots in his vision growing and shrinking — Lohen continues on, metal soles scraping against battle-hardened ground.

The warm light of the Ratniki lanterns come an go, leaving a hollow feeling in the knight's chest. Abyssal energies crawl up his throat, taking hold with an iron fist. Suffocating energies choke out his soul, stealing it for themselves to use like a child's toy.

Air is stolen from his lungs by new Abyss-tainted wind, harsh and relentless in it's pursuit. Quite unlike the kind winds belonging to the Anemo Archon in the rest of Nod-Krai and Teyvat.

Lohen gasps and heaves, lungs working overtime as the tainted air invades his throat. His chest stutters with each breath, instinctively trying to shove the Abyssal energies out of his heaving lungs. "Heh," he pants, a maniacal grin accompanying the sound, "This is.. barely a workout."

Despite the words, his body craves to cave under the pressure of the ever-looming Abyss. Muscles struggle under their own weight, legs quivering with the added stress of wounds and slowly-encroaching bloodloss. He stumbles – more than once – as he walks. No longer can the bloodthirsty knight feel his limbs — his hands shake like a leaf in the wind, while his heart works overtime to compensate for the blood that drips down one too many wounds.

With eyes that quietly beg for a rest and a body that wishes for a soft bed and medical care, the knight leans against the cold rock of Kipumaki Cliff. Purples and oranges and browns invade his vision. No matter where he looks the Abyss is there, taunting him. It's winds echo voices into his mind. Whispers of power and bloodshed. Of the Doctor and the Fatui being shredded easily under new power. How easy it would be to no longer cave to the whims of his mortal body.

They put images of Fatui bodies – slick with blood and unmoving – into his mind. Viscera and tendons spewed across the ground as he tears into the Doctor himself, mask askew and face withering with pain as screams fill the air. Not his own, but the Doctors, the second of the Harbingers.

He imagines himself laughing, taunting the very man that turned his once peaceful but boring life into something else. How he would make that man feel just as small and helpless as he once did, all those years ago. In that small holding cell in that hidden base, watching pink smoke envelope and kill animals and be forced to hear the screams of children and monsters alike.

Face scrunching up, he forces the thoughts out of his mind. Tempting as they are, he doesn't need the Abyss's help to grow stronger. He can do that just fine on his own.

The moon shines faintly, her light illuminating the cliffs just enough for the hare to see his surroundings. Colors are painted even darker, taunting the area with illusions of deeper crevices and haunting shadows. Deep shadows claws at Lohen's heavy clothing, licking up dripping blood and hungering to envelop him.

With a groan forced from his heaving lungs, he pushes himself up. He took long enough of a break. Still, his body struggles as he continues his hunt. Soul craving for another hunt but burdened with a body that tears too easily.

Distant groans of the Wild Hunt grows louder — he's close. His heart pounds with excitement and the efforts of his previous hunts. This one will be his last one for the night.

He stops in the low light of the Hunt. Their flames still tinted pink by the Abyss. The corrupted Ratniki groan and sigh, souls trapped — soon they will be free.

Lohen's own soul shudders when faced with the Abyss, shrinking back. Trying to escape events that will come to pass, no matter what it tries in the next few minutes. It struggles against it's confines as it's host enters the cold light of the Abyss. Haunting groans pause as he comes into frame, lance appearing in his palm. It's heavier than he remembers, but that doesn't bother him.

"Come on, bring it!" He cackles, launching his polearm at the Hunter that leads this small group of five. It groans as a cryo-laced blade pierces it's shoulder. A traitorous body is too slow to dodge claws as they sink into his shoulder. Biting back a scream at the influence of pain, his dagger sinks into the Exile's flesh.

The venomous claws rip out chunks of flesh as he tears himself away. Chest heaving, he stabs the Exile with his dagger and dodges another rake of claws by a hair. Only to get hit by two more. They sink into the thin flesh of his back, tearing into muscle and bone. He can feel something in his ribcage break as his vision is painted white with agony. A scream rips out of his throat.

More claws wrap around his body, sinking into muscle and ripping out chunks of flesh. Crimson paints his clothing and pools onto the tinted purple ground as he stumbles away from the onslaught. This was a mistake. The moon and her rays are the only witnesses to his demise.

He staggers back, but his legs refuse to cooperate. Something pools in his throat, and he's forced to cough around the stabbing pain. Blood is spit onto the ground. No longer is his beloved adrenaline and thrill shadowing the pain. Now the pain is all encompassing, forcing him to feel every single wound he ignored, alongside the ones from all those hours ago.

The Hunter reminds him that it's there with a groan. He can't move, muscles having surrendered to his foreseeable demise. The tainted air laughs with glee as it heaves their axe into the air. He glares up at the corrupted Gladiator, eyes shimmering with pain and something else. Something about it sends guilt wrapping around his entire being.

Metal shines as the blade comes down. He stares straight at it. Oh, his Birdie will be upset.

Lohen realizes too late that this end means he's leaving his Birdie – the very one who dreaded this exact scenario. The blade comes down with a hiss, crashing into his shoulder and ripping his heart in two. The hare only has the thought to scream for that little bird that he is going to leave behind. May his eternal hunt never find the bird who strives to protect.