#collyn

“What, drinker got your tongue, Cole?” Hunter’s chin tilted up as he spoke, looking down at you with disdain. He rises from his throne, walking towards you. “How can you stand there and say nothing, after what you did to me? To Janyse, to Moriis, to everyone?” 

You still cannot find any words. That was the downside of the enchanted mask,  emotions become overwhelming without it. You want answers, but the questions come too quickly to ask. How did he survive? How could he betray you like this? You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. As Hunter gets closer, you instinctively reach for your handaxes, preparing yourself for a fight. 

“Look at you, Cole!” Hunter’s words are sharp, throwing you off balance, “Always so quick to fucking fight! Not even giving me the chance to explain. You really haven’t changed a bit.” The drinker stops a few pews away from you. Too far for you to jump for him. Undead as he may be, he still knew your moves. Fucker. 

You lower your axes slightly. “So explain, then.” A voice so small it hardly feels like your own. Hunter seemed amused by that. An almost sinister chuckle precedes a small grin. 

“Cute. But a little late for that.” His smile falls quickly, “You should’ve asked before you tried to split me in two. I was the one warning you, for fucks sake! But no, your stupid paranoia gave you the bright idea to play executioner with me. You couldn’t even stick around afterwards! Talk about shitty aftercare, Cole.” 

His words hurt, because they were true. You panicked and swung at him. Horrified by your own actions, you fled the scene as quickly as possible. As you tried to leave, you were confronted by friends, trolls you knew well, who tried to grasp the urgency of your departure. But, your paranoia got the best of you. You left the dormitory you once called hive, leaving nothing but bloodshed in your wake. 

“It was a drinker who saved us.” Hunter continued, folding his hands behind his back. You were taller than him, but felt so small in his gaze. Your chest is pounding, watching him with wide eyes. The blueblood’s expression softens slightly. For a moment, he looks like the Hunter you used to know. “Cole, can’t you see? We were spoon fed lies. We were sent on a fool’s mission to die, fodder for a war that never needed to be fought. We were told to do the Messiah’s work! They never wanted us to win. They wanted us to die for them. But this…This is a better fate than death. I want to share this with everyone. A second chance at life, free of disease and sin. Free from unnecessary suffering. A chance to be a better version of yourself.” 

Your silence speaks for you. Disbelief, disgust, betrayal. How silly it was for you to feel betrayed. 

“You have two options, Cole. Either you can join us, or you can die grasping at the straws of glory, for the wish of a Messiah that couldn’t care less about you.”

“Actually, I think I’ll finish the job, and put you in the ground for sure this time.” You raise your axes once more, preparing for his next move. 

“So be it, then.” He hisses. In a flash, he reveals a dagger, and closes the space between you. He dodges your swing, driving the dagger into your side. You hiss in pain, cursing him silently for being so quick, for knowing the gaps in your armor. How could he not? Think of every day he would help you undress, to treat wounds, to share heat and fleeting time. 

Your next swing manages to scathe his shoulder. He barely reacts to the gash, but you’re momentarily distracted by the blue spilling from the wound. Hunter may be undead, but he was still before you, breathing, bleeding. These pesky emotions were slowing you down. You look away for a split second, attempting to locate your mask. Hunter takes the opportunity to kick the back of your leg, forcing you down to your knee. You try to regain control, swinging for him once again, but he drives the dagger into your shoulder as you do. The pain causes you to drop the axe, but you don’t move beyond that. 

Dejected, you just grunt as Hunter pulls the knife free from your shoulder. You’d be more concerned about scarring if you felt you would make it out of this fight alive. As Hunter tilted your chin up with his blood-soaked knife, it became very clear that you were not making it out of this battle. You meet his eyes, expecting to see the same disdain as before. 

But instead, his eyes are soft. The same soft gaze that laughed as you fumbled through your youth. The same tender gaze that traced itself over your bare scarred chest before you would both sleep. The same deep blue eyes, as cool and mysterious as the oceans, that you would so often find yourself drunk in. Everything lies in his eyes. It sends a shudder down your spine. Hunter grins. 

“Glad to see I can still get you on your knees.” 

You scoff. 

Silence falls once more, heavier than before. 

A stalemate, waiting for the other to move.

A fate better than death, he said.

Free from suffering. 

A second chance. 

You let your second handaxe fall to the ground. You tilt your chin up silently. 

Hunter’s smile grows, “Good boy.” 

The blueblood drops the knife, leaving himself open and unarmed as he kneels in front of you. But, even with your stolen garden shears on your side, you refuse to move. Your eyes close as Hunter’s hand rests on your cheek. He was colder than you remember. Slowly, he runs his fingers through your hair. You find solace in his touch. He grips your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. 

You resist the urge to reach for him, to hold him close to you. 

His breath is warm on your neck. You can see his glow from behind your eyelids. You would’ve given anything to have him this close to you again. And as his fangs sink into your neck, you will. 

Your head feels foggy. Surprised, you open your eyes to see the room around you starting to spin. You grab onto Hunter to hold yourself up. Everything around you felt light, then incredibly heavy. You slump against him with a sudden overwhelming exhaustion. A cold wave rushes down your spine, and the world goes dark. 

A few moments later, you open your eyes. 

“What sorta strange activity?” Your head tilts slightly. An old habit developed to compensate for your hidden face. The mask made it difficult to communicate some days. But it was enchanted, or perhaps cursed, as to keep you focused on your task. It ensured your goal was always in sight, and prevented you from feeling too much. 

“Trolls goin’ missin’...or comin’ back weeks later. They’d be…different. Actin’ strange...” The bartender trailed off, as if this was more personal for her. She set the now dry glass down in its stack, and avoided your gaze. You simply nod again. She leaves you to finish your drink alone. You wouldn’t complain at the newfoun solitude. It was nothing new by now. 

Many sweeps ago, you had said goodbye to your dearest friend. You had served alongside him, mercenaries in this organization dedicated to ridding the planet of rainbowdrinkers. A moment you dreaded dwelling on any longer than necessary. But ever since then, you had traveled alone, seeking and killing rainbowdrinkers wherever you could. You had gotten word of activity in this small town and decided to station yourself there to find out what was going on. Something deep inside your chest said it was important. 

You don’t stick around much longer after that brief interaction. Your steps are slow as you travel, ensuring that it’d be a long night of walking. A man of your size was slow and cumbersome, though that could be improved upon if you simply took off some of your protective gear. You insisted upon wearing armor, carved with the insignia of the organization you once worked for. Your greataxe was strapped to your back, larger than you, but definitely heavy. As you walked through the woods, you found yourself humming a song to fill the silence. Humming turned to singing. Singing made the time pass. 

It took a couple nights for you to reach a clearing. The walk was, for the most part, unremarkable. The only excitement was a close encounter with some bandits, who ended up much stronger than you had anticipated. You made your camps, tended to your wounds, and continued your travels. Even in the solitude of the woods, you kept your mask on, even to sleep. You didn’t need any emotions leading you astray. When the trees parted to welcome you into the desolate clearing, you almost feel relieved.

Moonlight filled the clearing where the monastery rotted away, creating a rather beautiful scene. You only pause to take the sights in for a moment. The woods surrounding you were serene and quiet. Were it not for what you knew awaited inside, you would’ve considered this  scene to be peaceful. Instead, it was just eerie. The now-headless statue in the center was proof of that statement. The grand oak entrance had what appeared to be carvings of said statue that adorned it at one point, now hidden by the vines growing through the rotting wood. Despite their rot, they held steady, refusing to budge as you pushed. You heave a tired sigh and rest your greataxe upon your shoulder. Things never could be easy, huh?

You decide to go around back and search for another entrance. There is a terrace visible, but the likelihood of you making such a climb and surviving was incredibly small. For a silent moment, you wished your lusus was still with you. She could’ve helped you up there. The added benefit of not traveling alone would’ve been nice. Sometimes you wondered if this journey was worth it, but there was a strong pull in your chest. You had to avenge the death of your friends, your family. They deserved justice. You were their last hope for achieving that. Lost in thought, you almost pass what appeared to be a cellar door. 

After a brief investigation, you realize it is, again, locked. The lock looked frail, but refused to break despite your best efforts. So, you heave your greataxe behind you and take a deep breath in. Just as you’d been trained to sweeps prior. With a grunt, you swing upwards, and allow gravity to aid as your axe descends upon the wooden cellar doors. The wood split with a crack, quickly claiming your axe as its own. You blink in confusion. A few solid tugs later, you determined that your axe was completely stuck. 

It hurt more than you’d care to admit to let go of the worn down handle. Your hands fall to your side, but your gaze rests on the blade firmly lodged into the wood. How could some stupid cellar door be the end of your greataxe? You had spent sweeps with the weapon as your only friend. The handle was worn down where you gripped, a testament to how loved it had been. The blade itself had been in perfect shape, you kept it pristine after all. Where the blade met the handle, visible now, was a symbol carved into the metal. Perhaps the symbol so lovingly etched into your blade was the piece that you found so difficult to part with. 

Defeated, you accept your poor greataxe’s fate. You kneel beside it, spending a quiet second to pay your respects. From there, you decide to investigate some of the smaller buildings nearby. With luck, there would be something useful there. 

The first building was a worn-down stable. It reeked of decay, with rotting hay and a collapsed roof. It clearly had animals at one point. Though, it was obvious now that this was no place for any living creature, not even yourself. The tack room was, for the most part, useless. The equipment was all in various states of decay, none of the food was anywhere close to edible. You did, however, find a pair of garden shears. Your lusus had always advised you to be resourceful. With your greataxe gone, you could use another weapon. Sure, you had handaxes, but it never hurt to be prepared. You decided to not stick around long, lest the remaining roof collapse upon you. That would be your luck, after all. The second building was, unremarkably, completely empty. It appeared to have been a servant’s quarters, but held nothing of value, even after a thorough investigation. 

The Messiahs above must have heard your pleas, because the third and final building to investigate was mostly intact. A skeleton lie on a bed while the rest of the small space was rather undecorated. You stopped to pay respects to the skeleton before searching the bedside table. There, Messiahs be blessed, you found a key. It was small, but with luck, maybe it would unlock the cellar door? The kitchen was empty, with most of the food being expired or moldy. The rest of the small building held nothing of value. 

You couldn’t shake the strange thought that something bad was going to happen, something strange was boiling below the surface. This thought stuck with you as you returned to the cellar door. The key fit- thank the Messiahs!- but despite your best efforts, your axe was still horrifically stuck. Such is life, unfortunately. You kneel down once again to pay another quiet moment of respect before beginning your descent. 

The cellar is as desolate and rotted as the rest of the place. The uneasy feeling in your chest is rising with each footstep. You decide against exploring the partially caved-in cellar, and make your way up the stairs. You find yourself in the kitchen. Your sense of unease grows in the silence of the church. For a place supposedly bustling with activity, this place was pretty dead. 

Your feet seem to know where to go before you do. The walls are crumbling, vines barely holding the broken rock together. Dust rises with each footstep. As you turn into a hallway, one of many, your eyes settle on the candlelight drifting from one of the open doorways. From the size of the entrance, it would’ve been one of the main rooms when the church was used for its intended purpose. 

You knew better than to rush in. But you couldn’t help yourself. You were determined to get to the bottom of this, to find out why you had felt so unsettled, even while wearing your mask. You rush into the candlelit nave, full of empty pews and stained glass windows. 

You make it only a few steps before freezing.