A good hunter knows his prey's habits better than his own
CRUNCH.
SNAP.
CRACK.
Blood littered along the forest floor, bodies mangled and left to rot in the undergrowth. The way the hunters had been dispatched was never consistent. Some had been strangled to death with wires cutting into their throats. Others had their arteries torn out with claw or fang marks. Some had been caught in traps that looked no different than the ones that they had brought for this hunt. What was it they had been hunting...? Wolves? Deer? Birds? People. Or - rather - they certainly would not refer to them as people. Demi-humans. Demons. In the eyes of those hunters, they were nothing more than expensive animals to be poached. There was no difference between a pig being raised thick and fat just to be slaughtered and a demon growing older and mature such that their bodies could be harvested more lucratively. Horns, hearts, tails, fangs... everything from medicinal properties to jewelry to weapons - there was always a use for a demon. Those in particular that were exceedingly rare had, likewise, been hunted to near extinction... in fact that was one such case for a specific breed of demi-humans.
So lucrative, in fact, that stories had begun about the illustrious breed. Draconic Devils.
Capable of growing to immense sizes, towering over their human relatives by nearly a foot on average - they had sharper, jagged horns like onyx shards growing out of their hair and draconic, thick vestigial tails that acted more as symbols of status in their societies than anything else. Both fetched high prices but not nearly as much as the crown jewel of a Draconic Devil. Their heart. Potent resources to be used in batteries that could fuel magical artifacts and technology for centuries. Just one heart was enough to set a hunter for life, enough to make even the most veteran of hunters salivate with the prospect of getting their hands on one... but it was hardly an easy catch. Just like humans, they were capable of elaborate thought, capable of planning and fighting back. To even attempt to take one down or to attack a village of them was a tale that oftentimes ended in complete and utterly annihilation for whatever hunter had been mindless enough to attack. The only ones who had any chance against opponents like them had been specialists, hunters who trained their entire lives to take down those beasts. Even though seldom succeeded... but in the case that they had --
Nothing was ever left.
Men, women, children - none of them were spared. The former two were always slaughtered first and extracted immediately. The latter was raised in captivity until they were capable of being harvested at which point their miserable lives were promptly ended by their captors. Humans that had bothered living alongside those beasts would follow the same fate. Homes taken and slaughtered on the spot... children taken to be indoctrinated into the same society as the ones that had torn apart their homes. That was the inevitably brutality of hunting. So long as there was a profit to be made, people would always find a way to make it. One of the most lucrative hits had been in a small, sacred forest village by the name of Aeston that was home to a mixed community of demons and humans.
Stories just like any other village were abundant here.
Children racing down the cobblestone paths, laughing, drawing along them while being chided by their parents...
Elderly storytellers huddled around fires telling tales of ancestors long before that founded the village...
Young men and women escaping out the watchful, prying eyes of the villagers to rendezvous privately in the woods surrounding Aeston...
Perhaps even a fussier pair of childhood sweethearts, one clinging all too eagerly to the other in spite of their differences in breed, or size, or age, or experience --
It was nothing different to what anyone else could have expected out of a human village. Nothing that could not be sympathized with, nothing that could not be understood by the hunters. Yet it was all burned down all the same. Aeston had an especially potent breed of Draconic Devils. Magical capacity well above even the most average of the demons and as such the constant attacks were too much. Inevitably, the village fell. Inevitably, everything was razed to the ground. Inevitably, all of the demons were slaughtered and the children taken... inevitably, it was just a thread buried in time with no survivors.
Rumors of a stray Draconic Devil had attracted the attention of a wandering group of specialist hunters... it was meant to be a hunt like any other. The younger huntress had been groomed to be an ideal killing machine but something about that particular incident was... off. A group of four hunters had gone in to scout the area and none had arrived back. No signs of their tracks, no signs of any struggle, just a deep emptiness looming over the bulk of the forest as if inviting the remaining dozen to tread in. One isolated demon was far too big an opportunity to pass up and so, against their better judgement, they sought to overwhelm him with numbers. What a mistake that had been. The deaths had begun to pile up almost instantaneously. A hunter that had been plucked off the vanguard with a sudden trapped noose snapping down upon his neck and immediately breaking it before the others could even look back to cut him out of it. Those that tried to escape were met with the same fate, of what felt like something inside their heads knowing every move they would make. Legs torn into by spikes, a sudden looming and shadowy figure lurching out to tear chunks of flesh out with surgical precision before vanishing, or for some terrified, screaming hunters to just vanish without a trace into the shadows. The corps began to whittle down until all that was left was... her. Someone who hardly should have been in a group like that.
With people like those.
Maybe she had memories of her own that did not seem to match the indoctrination she was forced through...
Of a familiar face that would pop up in her head time and time again... of a place that no longer existed... of a voice that felt warm and familiar but painful and distant all the same. Could she remember it? THAT HARDLY MATTERED WHEN SHE WAS THE ONE BEING HUNTED NOW. The demons were a proud race that fought with pure strength and no under-handed tricks, they hardly ever resorted to hunting like their hunters did. It was beneath them, it was cowardly... and yet with bodies lying around her, arms and legs torn, some with their skulls caved in and others that had bled to death kicking and screaming around her - it was undeniable. That demon had fought, no hunted as if he were some sort of hunter himself. By the time she might have realized that he was there, it was already too late. From behind, a pair of hands would tighten around her throat with a harsh SQUEEZE - smashing forward to bury her smaller body against the tree trunk in front of her. A few feet off the ground as that towering, nearly seven foot monstrosity bared its fangs in her direction with a low, guttural snarl.
...
Familiar.
In that moment of pure terror and instincts, maybe it was not so readily obvious but something about him was familiar. Darker hair, piercing red eyes. Black-touched horns that spilled out from the top of his head... he would look familiar, but also not. It was not her he would recognize him first, but rather - "...You --" - the demon spoke, mouth trembling and hands going momentarily slack as an utterly crushed expression would overtake those glaringly hate-filled red eyes of his. Dropping the woman onto the floor before he had completely wrung her neck, he would take a step backwards. His vision was getting blurry. Faint, wetter nestles of droplets accumulating along the edges of his eyes while he took the sight of her in fully.
Her statue, the color of her hair, the shade of her eyes, the curves of her face.
"Why...? Why are you here...? No -- it doesn't make sense... there was nothing left there so why the hell are you alive here?!" Aeston had been a genocide. A complete eradication of the population. Everyone who was once from there had now laid dead in the dirt. All except for... a demon boy who had miraculously survived the slaughter - and a human girl taken in by the order that had murdered her entire family and everyone she had known just to raise her to be the very same cruel, sadistic hunter that had ruined her own idyllic life. For a few moments he could do nothing but stare. Throat tightening and an insufferable itch erupting at the root of his sharper nails and the drip of gore and blood that were nestled underneath them. He wanted to throw up.
"D-Don't..." No. No, it was not the time for hesitation. She was dressed like them, moving like them -- "DON'T FUCKING MOVE IF YOU WANT TO LIVE -- your name... tell me what YOUR name is!" Slipping low, he yanked the dagger out of the scabbard of a lying dead hunter-- holding it right in front of himself at the far smaller woman. Please. If there was any God out there, he hoped... he hoped that he would not hear her name out of that woman's mouth. An ugly coincidence. He didn't want to know that she was alive, that they had taken her -- that they had turned her into one of them. He didn't want to end the girl who mattered more to him than anything else in the world from back then...
They say that your entire life flashes before your eyes when you're on the brink of death.
Ah. This again.
Moments like these were always jarringly dreary for her.
Why?
Because there was nothing meaningful for her to look at. All that appeared in front of her mind’s eye was darkness. And then, there was his voice.
Live. You’re not allowed to die. Not until I say so.
For as long as she could remember, that was her sole purpose: She lived to obey. To follow the orders given to her and to do as she was told. This time was certainly no different - confirm the existence of the draconic devil in the depths of the northern forests of Frist, dispose of whatever gets in your way, and if you find the devil - harvest it.
At least 16 hunters had been present to receive this task. Each and every one of them had been ecstatic at the news of a draconic devil, for capturing one meant a lifetime of guaranteed luxuries and comfort. In fact, the Association was still profiting off of its raid on her home, which had been years ago. In human terms, 12 years were a lot in the passage of time. And yet, it wasn't nearly enough to explain why she couldn’t remember much about her life before the Association, though. In that regard, her memories were but a blur; one that was accompanied by explosive headaches whenever she did try to remember.
All she knew was that facing the devil was something she hadn't wanted. She had been the only one who didn’t express her excitement over the matter, feeling her heart tremble instead. And he had known it too, which is why his eyes had been trained on her for the duration of that meeting back then.
Even now, as her neck was being squeezed and her air supply was being cut, she could hear his voice. That wretched, commanding and terrifying voice.
Live. Try as you might, your life is in the palm of my hands. You’re only allowed to die when I tell you to drop dead. Never forget this.
This was how it usually went.
Whether she’d tried to take her own life or was close to losing it during a hunt, even on death’s door, he was all she knew and could think about. He was her captor, her master, her tormentor.
Iris…
What?
IRIS!
Who?
Just when she thought she’d finally die, when that final heartbeat echoed inside her ears––she got released. The unkind hands around her throat disappeared.
GASP.
Greedily and frantically, she gasped for air.
Following her release, she crashed onto the cold and hard floor, joining the mauled remains of the other hunters who had entered the forest with her. Her own hands flung to her neck in response, seeking to apply immediate relief to the areas that had been crushed. Every large intake of breath hurt, causing her to cough and for her chest to rise and fall in dramatic waves.
Why? Why had the devil stopped?
Whilst a part of herself asked itself this, in truth, an entirely different matter had her unmoving and rooted to where she’d landed.
Her name.
She’d heard somebody call her name. Her real name, not the one the Association had given her. The moment had gone as fast as it came, but she’d clearly heard it.
Iris.
She’d seen someone, too. A boy. Iris had only seen his silhouette, but every fiber of her being told her that she knew him. She’d known that boy–once upon a time.
For the first time, flashes of memories long forgotten had overpowered him in her final moments. She felt like crying over this. She really did. But her joy over this miraculous moment faded quickly. Her life was still in danger.
Slowly, she turned around. Slowly, her senses honed in on what was transpiring.
He was... he was talking to her. This devil was talking to her. No, not just that. He was talking to her as if he knew her. As if she should know him, too. Her gaze rose to meet his––and then her mind went blank.
Familiar.
From his tell-tale horns to his crimson red eyes––he looked familiar. And not just because he was a draconic devil like the ones from her village. No, those, she barely remembered. He was familiar.
At first, Iris didn't comply with his demands. She said nothing. The look on his face rendered her shell-shocked and speechless. She couldn't explain it. The longer she watched him, the stronger the strange and harrowing notion of loss overtook her. Something she'd buried deeply within her subconscious was returning to the surface. It frightened her, scared her even. At the same time, her rationale was screaming that it was impossible for them to know each other. When the Association had 'saved' her, no one but her had survived the attack. The monsters of Aeston and those they had bewitched had died. All of them. Which left her with three options.
One, he was a devil who knew of her story and sought to play with her psyche. Two, the Association had lied to her. And three, there had been another survivor of the genocide the Association knew nothing about. At least, not until rumors of this devil had reached its quarters. If the latter was the truth, then there was no way that none of the higher-ups hadn't suspected at least a possible connection to Aeston. Draconics were rare and special, after all. They'd pretty much killed all of them within their own vicinity.
It dawned on her then.
A draconic devil was already terrifying as is, which is why the hunt in Aeston had started as an ambush. But a vengeful one?
That's why the numbers. That's why they'd sent out younger and less experienced hunters, including her. To test the waters. To see if this devil was versed in slaughter.
Tch.
"Seven," she retaliated. Seven because she had been the seventh child to join her team. Hunters at the Association had no names.
Her fingers twitched and her eyes narrowed on the dagger in his grasp. How could she leave this scenario unscathed? What could she do here? Quickly. She needed to think of something quick.
In the process of readjusting herself, her foot bumped into something, and she held her breath. That's it.
"They call me––
Within the blink of an eye, Iris picked up a jar from the ground next to her and threw it at his face. It contained a potent, powdery sedative that could render even a draconic devil immobilized for a few precious seconds and hinder his vision. A cloud of it permeated the air around them immediately. Then she moved. She pushed herself up on her feet and ran towards the devil at full speed. No clever scheme would help her here, only brute force. Using his momentary state of impaired vision to her advantage, she body-checked him with all her might, which resulted in her on top of him. When the smoke cleared and the air around them returned to normal, they were face to face, body to body.
Gone. The young girl from Aeston was gone.
Armed with a special dagger of her own, Iris held the tip of it against his chest, piercing his skin right above where his heart was. She was breathing heavily, her pulse drumming through her veins like molten liquid. And yet, her expression was hardened and cold; a mask she had perfected as a hunter.
One strong thrust was all it would take to kill this devil, to end this hunt. Granted, she wouldn't be able to harvest his heart, but ultimately, it wasn't the only thing about him that held value. His horns could be used for stronger, more sturdy weapons. His claws would make fine raw material for a pair of new daggers. His tail would fetch a high price at an auction. And his eyes––
She stilled.
His eyes. He'd been crying.
Iris hesitated.
This devil, he––
"Huh?"
Her vision blurred, and she blinked in confusion. Each blink was followed with more droplets of water that ran down her face and landed on his. What the hell was happening? Tears? Was she crying, too?
Before she could process this moment in full, Iris was whispering a name that wasn't her own.
Humans were insufferably weak. Nothing more than bags of flesh that could be splattered with just a few pounds of pressure more than it would take for him to flick. There was only one reason why hunters had gotten so far ahead of a race like his and that was the disdain for organizing to deal with something that should have been synonymous with crushing ants under a boot. These ants, unfortunately, had their sting. Gritting his teeth, the choking pain clogged down both of his lungs and a fit of coughs would have him preparing to wind his longer claws right through the body of the woman fast approaching him... before he hesitated again. More. He saw more of those purple locks, more of that familiar scent. Another choking pant left his lips when he crashed to the ground and that may have very well been the last moment he breathed. Dagger against his chest and a slow inhale of the clearing breath in his lungs would have him face to face with...
Inevitable death.
A blank expression and a weapon that could snuff out his life in a heartbeat. Maybe he should have just incinerated everything. Her, him. It would be better than his organs being harvested and pockets lined for those disgusting excuses of creatures. If only she didn't have that woman's face. If it had been a trick, it was the worst one that was played upon him since the razing of Aeston - those harsh, brutal few years that felt like every step was treading on glass shards.
What was the point? There was no fucking end goal. Just endless death and destruction - and maybe that was what he wanted at the end of the day. Dropping his hand to the ground, he would just stare up at the sky. Clear blue with sunlight leaking through the canopy leaves. It was like that on those days too. When life was a little simpler, when all he had to really worry about was getting home before dark to the warm embrace of a waiting family. Dinner table filled, bratty edge at having to wait a little longer to see his friends. Those small little details were blissful. If he was going have the life snuffed out of him, he wanted those last few moments to be thinking of something warm and kind. Not...
Astri?
...THAT FIRE IN HIS CORE IGNITED ALL OVER.
Harsh, unrelenting ANGER at the name he had once discarded in the past - burnt down on the same flower petal fields of his village. Long, sharp claws slashed diagonally over her dagger - shattering both it and the chainmail she was wearing as if both were nothing more than pieces of cotton stuck together with tree sap. It was easy to forget with the stature and shape of a human, but there was a reason why it took nearly a dozen expert hunters to take down one of those devils.
He was a demon in the flesh. Pure, unadulterated anger that radiated off of him - as if warping his silhouette to something far more monstrous and chilling.
The last sensation she would have felt was a single fist SMASHING against her torso harshly enough for her ribs to crunch uncomfortably. Very nearly on the verge of breaking and had he been even a little more forceful, her organs would have splattered on the spot... but he intentionally held back. The anger he felt in that moment was not towards this one. No, it was the realization that made everything reignite violently. When she inevitably fell limp onto the ground from the force of the wind being knocked out of her, he stared down at her just once more. It was easy to see her again. Even as the age had done wonders on her beauty. Gorgeous hair that matched her namesake...
Low exhale as he fell to a kneel in front of her, palm caressing over her jaw with slow, adoring grazes.
"Iris... welcome back you annoying... fussy brat." Forehead to forehead against the unconscious woman before pressing his lips against hers inn a kiss that felt painful to even engage in. Digging his arms underneath her waist, he would sweep her off the ground and buried a single cloak over his shoulders before looking back at the rest of the fields around him. Torn, splattered gore and flesh. Lacerations of half-broken and splattered human bodies. The smell was so vivid it was practically sickening and yet he still took a deep inhale. To see if he could smell anyone else that was out there, still alive, someone he could get his anger out on. There was no one.
No one and...
Her scent kept fluttering into his mind, easing the overwhelming sea of anger that was eating him up from the inside.
One last kiss against her forehead before he trekked off into the woods, neither bothering to bury nor to spend a single second on the hunter's corpses. They deserved no consideration whatsoever, after all. The girl in his arms, on the other hand...
- - -
Warm.
Rather than the excruciating pain of being torn into, instead what Iris would feel was the warmth of what felt like something much more comfortable and snug than her armor. Crackling fire and the faint smell of what could only be described as 'sweets' would flit against her nose until she finally opened her eyes to be met with the sight of... her body, completely intact. Stripped down to her undergarments so that she could have been patched up. There were longer bandages running over her torso and along her arms, covering up any wounds and bruises that she might have gained over the battle... it was a miracle she had even survived when facing something so deadly. Surely whoever had helped her was a force to be reckoned with to run off something like him --
-- had her gaze wandered a little, the savior was seated right across from her in the very same room that she was laying down in. None other than -
- one and the same for who put her in that state to begin with. With his top stripped, glistening muscles occupied the entirety of his physique. Firm, chiseled pectorals leading down to likewise distinctly outlined abs... enough for someone to run their fingernails over. For how many had gone to hunt him, he was practically uninjured at that moment. "You are up. Don't move... Iris." It was hardly a threat. Just a strong recommendation considering her body was still very fragile after all that and any weapon she might have had to kill him was nowhere to be seen. Disarmed, a rabbit would have a better chance against a lion. The crackle of a fire in the room would also pull some attention to the surroundings. Rather than a tent on the road or somewhere in the outdoors, the two were in what looked to be a bedroom with a fireplace. Comfortable blanket had been pulled up to her chin and the mattress beneath felt soft - maybe a little too soft for someone who had spent all her nights and days on the road.
"My name is 'Aster' - do you recognize that at all? What about Iris? You hesitated when you had a clear paycheck. That isn't something Seven would do. So... remember for me. Why did you hesitate?" Perhaps to her perspective, she was merely being toyed with by what should have been her prey... but he wanted to know. He wanted to find out if there was really something down there that had motivated her to stop, some feeling, some thread. The girl sitting across from him wasn't some designated number on a hunter. It was his childhood sweetheart. He wanted nothing more than to cling to that thought.
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