a hunter must hunt

[khrysos]

[ Phainon wakes up somewhere dank, dark, and altogether uncomfortable. Finding himself laid out on the rough ground is honestly more than he'd expected. His head is still pounding from the blow that'd sent him crumpling into unconsciousness and his body aches from the fight. It's a little strange to be waking up at all but he's certainly not going to complain about being taken prisoner instead of drained of blood and left dead for the hungry waves of the Tide. At least as a prisoner there's a chance to escape. Or better yet, finish the job.

Finishing the job will be more difficult, as he shifts and jostles his decidedly broken arm. He drags in breathes until the stars clear from his vision and he's sure he won't be throwing up from the sickening ache. Okay. Okay, not a great development, but he remembers the iron grasp of the prince's hand on him, the hot strength as the vampire had grinned at him with a mouth full of fangs, and snapped his arm with a wet, meaty crack. He'd held onto his sword through it anyway, but Phainon has no illusions as to how much further he can force the damaged limb.

So. Take stock.

Dark lair most likely full of the other vampires he hadn't gotten to before the prince showed up. Sword unsurprisingly nowhere to be seen and even the hidden dagger in his boot taken. And his boots, which is just plain rude. He's in nothing but pants and his thin black undershirt, and the chill seeping in from the damp ground isn't doing his injuries any favors. His vision's steady enough and his hands and legs aren't tied — not necessarily a good sign. But he can't feel any kind of wound at his throat. Small favors when he can hear the group moving around in the next chamber over and he still feels woozy and weak.

Phainon braces himself and sits up with a grunt. A glint catches his eye, and despite the pain, he lifts his broken arm to stare at the golden band around his wrist, washed pale in the dim light of the Evernight. A quick glance at the hand propping him up, fingers clawed into the dirt, shows a matching band around his other wrist, streaked by blood. He ignores torn skin and the jut of bone, takes several slow, measured breaths until his chest doesn't feel so tight. The foreign weight at his throat must be the last in the set. Restraints or ornamentation he isn't sure which, but the fine make of the metal speaks to a heavy sort of permanence.

Lovely.

His hand leaves bloody streaks on the wall as he hooks his fingers into a crack and hauls himself to his feet. Pebbles skitter down the wall with a clatter as he staggers, sucks in a breath and finds his balance. Phainon winces. None of his usual grace, leaden limbs, and now not even some element of surprise in being awake.

None of which stops him from lunging for the man who steps through the cave entrance. His head is thick, registering only a flash of blond hair and red along the vampire's skin, before he's on the creature. It's a futile effort, the collide of their bodies enough to knock all the air from his chest, but he doesn't care. Any damage he can inflict on Mydeimos is worth the try. ]

Comments

[ofstrife]

[ His.

That’s what those gold bands around his captive mean. Belonging to the crown prince— do not touch.

This hunter is blessed to be alive, to not have become a meal for the men he’d hoped to vanquished, because none had been content when Mydei had stopped them, called them back when they had turned desperate and blood-thirsty and craving vengeance for all theirs lost. Mydei had to restrain his own ire. As much as he loathed this hunter — has spent countless times clashing with him. This hunter has been a thorn in his for entirely too long.

An annoyance Mydei should snuff out.

While he stood over his unconscious, vulnerable body… the opportunity had finally presented itself. While the hunter laid on the ground, weak and wounded, it would have been nothing to end him. To pass him around like humans pass around a bottle at a campfire.

Instead, Mydeimos commands everyone away. Demands he be left alone while Mydei takes stock of the damage their little intruder has wrecked. There’s injured, there’s dead, and there is want for the hunter’s life as payment. Mydei has said too many times now — the hunter is his. Blood is too valuable to waste is some nonsense that’s left his mouth. It’s every bit true. The black tide threatens them all. There are fewer and fewer humans everyday.

Strong enough to face him?

That’s a man Mydei can’t see gone so quickly.

The human tried very quickly to make him see the folly in his ways, because while Mydei had left him safely undisturbed, the hunter finds him. He’s not expecting an ambush so quickly. So the surprise is genuine— but only so much. It was hard not to smell him coming, reeking of blood the way he does. He smells like a divine meal. Mydei had hardly expected he would be attempt to wrestle when so soundly disarmed.

The collision of their bodies is sound, nearly fumbling Mydei to the ground before he finds his footing again. ]

There you are.

[ He pulls the hunter away by the collar, appearing nonplused by the attempt to maim him. The human parades around as if he’s not the top wanted menu item. Mydei keeps a firm hand on his collar, as if holding a mutt and calls back over his shoulder; ]

Do as I said, I need to handle this problem now.