Tommyinnit Oneshots

Monachopsis

A figure leaps from one branch to another, darting between the drapes of sunlight that pierce through the bundled together leaves. The figure faded into the shadows when they were still, and a blur of natural colors when they moved. The grace they exhibited was that of a dancer on the stage, and there was an ease to their limbs in that particular environment like they were an animal raised within the thick forestry. It was purely instinctual how the figure found their footing on a thin branch that miraculously held up their weight. The figure squatted down with their eyes pivoting around the forest floor. When the figure saw their prey, he pulled out an arrow from their quiver, placing it inside a finely crafted crossbow. The figure jumped down from the branches, gliding towards the leaf covered grass. The figure raised their crossbow up, aiming the arrow point at the boys who had dared to enter the forest. One of the boys fell to the ground, tripping over a root with a sweaty brow and bloodied shirt. The figure stalks forwards, a tremble running down from his shoulders to his fingertips.

"P-please... don't hurt us," The other boy whimpered, trying to drag his nearly unconscious friend away from the scene. The figure stared at them with widening eyes, his breathing picking up. The figure tried to pull the trigger, but his fingers wouldn't follow his command. There was something different about chasing 'prey' and actually killing it. The figure knew that he was a Hunter that was supposed to kill any hybrid he saw, but he didn't have the heart to murder anyone. No, the truth of the matter is that even after all the conditioning he experienced to fight against his instincts, he still had sympathy for hybrids. He was a hybrid, technically, and it didn't feel right to murder other hybrids in cold blood for simply existing. He was lucky enough to be considered a weak hybrid that the most notorious Hunter took pity on.

"I- I can't," The figure whispered, looking away from the boys like that would make the whole situation go away. With hands that had long since began shaking, he lowered the crossbow to be aimed at the ground. He bit his lip to keep that from trembling the same way his entire body was. He had his wings up to appear more intimidating, but his wings drooped down without the strength to keep themselves raised. Vaguely, he was aware that he wanted to release a comforting shrill to the boys like the bird he was crossed with genetically, but he had never given into those instincts before. "You both better fucking run before I change my mind... or before Dream comes."

At the mention of his master's name, the one hybrid boy who was standing (an Enderman Origin, the figure recognized) stiffened with a tighter grip around his friend's (a bee Origin) shoulders. The Enderman hybrid heaved the other into his lanky arms to carry him the rest of the way out of the forest. The figure waited several minutes before he silently followed, his clawed feet barely sinking into the dampened ground. He continued until he came to the edge of the tree line. The Enderman was full on running with the bee boy in his arms, and the figure watched them become pinpricks in the distance. He looked up to see the floating building, the Pub, that had thick protection enchantments around it to keep humans from entering. The figure wondered if he would be able to enter considering he was a hybrid. He wouldn't take that risk since he wouldn't be able to fight all the citizens of the Pub by himself. Especially since rumor had it that one of the last Elytrian Origin holders called the Pub his home. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if he went. Would they welcome someone as weak as him? Would they care that he was trained as Hunter, even if he had never actually killed anyone? The figure straightened out, turning away from the Pub. There wasn't any point in dwelling on unrealistic fantasies that would never happen.

The figure raced across the forest floor, kicking up dirt as he shot past the trunks of centuries old trees. At some points, he would leap into the air to get some wind beneath his wings, but he would always coming hurtling back down. Avians had lost the ability to fly generations before he hatched from his egg. Any hope of flying was a nightmare that haunted his waking moments when he was allowed to look towards the sky. Most instincts had been punished out of him, but experiencing the winds from the mid-atmosphere region was one instinct that survived to that day.