-The Loophole-

(Part 2) Wherefore Art Thou, Trollhunter?

(AN): The amount of times I have rewritten this chapter is insane🥲

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(AN): ⚠️Possible TW⚠️
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If there is one thing Bular will never get tired of... it is seeing the expression of his prey when they know there is nowhere else left to run. The very moment they realize it is their end. For so long, that had been the one thing he enjoyed in this bland world. That is--until the night his prey did not react in the way he wanted. The prey just looked... defeated. It was then he realized that was all he was holding onto since his father's exhile. Then he, too, felt defeated. He evidently left his prey to stand in confusion as he walked away. He no longer felt like hunting. That was the first of many.

One would think he would get used to it after so long, but he hadn't. It wasn't as if the impures made his lonely life any more bearable. It was the laughter. The little jokes he did not understand, but knew they were aimed at him. It was not easy being in his place. Of course, being himself had its rewards--such as being able to kill whoever he did not like with ease. But it was not all it seemed. He had grown tired of it. Tired of his own skin. Tired of the weight. The scent. The touch of it. It had become a prison... and he wanted out.

Bular chuffed upon entering the museum. The atmosphere felt different. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but it disturbed him. Once he entered the room in which the Killahead Bridge would soon be, his eyes landed on the pile of rubble. The troll unsheathed both swords, walking towards the mess of bricks.

He raised his blades above his head. A loud roar erupted from his throat as he brought them back down, slamming them into the floor. Bular fell to his knees, leaning on the handles of his blades for support. He stayed in the position, breathing heavily for a few minutes. The room went silent.

"I... do not know what I am doing here anymore, Father.." he began finally. An overwhelming sense of emptiness overtook him. "What.... what am I supposed to want?" His breathing was the only break in the silence. "I wish for you to be here once more." The brute paused another time, bowing his head. A sudden memory of his father raising the Decimaar blade above his head made him rethink his previous statement. "Or do I? How am I to achieve this myself?!" He cried out, eyes searching the empty room for any possible sign.

The overwhelming silence came back. It flooded his ears to a point where they hurt. He felt weak. His voice cracked as his ears lowered.

"Everything I cared about is gone.." he whimpered to himself disdainfully. "My family... my legacy..." His heavy breathing picked up again. "I don't.... I don't believe there to be a place for me here.... I don't believe there to be any place for me in this world." His blades clattered to the ground, a breath of silence in their wake.

In mere moments, Bular found himself picking one up and staring at his reflection within. This has been all for nought. He placed the blade at his chest, closing his eyes. A small amount of force, and it would all be over with. He would be done. Everything would be done. He would be at peace. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"This is not what I desire." The troll picked his other blade up and sheathed them both. "I wish for an escape from this gehenna, not an abrupt ending." Bular chuffed angrily before adjusting his position to sit in wait of Stricklander's arrival.

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I couldn't think straight.

"Via.." Inza looked over at me, knowing exactly what was coming. "Via, no--"