Comic, cartoon, and web series One-Shots

Dishonored - Hunter (The Owl House)

The night air stings his skin as he throws open the door.

Hunter can barely feel it, even though it was an unusual sensation. He usually had his cloak wrapped around him, but he'd taken it off, ripped it off, in fact. The constant reminder of his uncle's pride over him was gone, along with the pride that may not have been there in the first place.

Hunter runs through the woods, Flapjack flapping after him. He can hear yelling, the worried sound of the Human and Owl Lady's voices as he keeps running away from the house.

Their calls fade into the wind that rustles the trees and the flapping of the palismen and the blood in his ears and his own panting. He slows does to a brisk walk, as if he's still the leader of the royal army and has a destination to arrive at timely. He's deep in the woods now, he realizes, and going deeper.

Deep in the wild woods, with wild magic , full of unspeakable creatures with terrible fangs that pierce through flesh and other glyphs that do worse than he can imagine.

But there is no wild magic, Hunter reminds himself. That was a ploy from the Emperor. If anything he should be worried about his terrible fangs piercing through his flesh again, and how even if he knew where he was going, he couldn't return to the palace, and a howl goes through the woods and Hunter is thrust back into his initial panic.

He picks up his pace.

Flapjack keeps his distance, but still follows the boy. When Hunter spots a shallow cave, the palismen doesn't perch on him, instead opting for a smooth stone a few inches away.

After spotting something looking like shelter, Hunter practically collapses onto the ground. He puts his head in his hands, until he realizes he's wearing his uniform gloves, given to him by the Emperor, and he bites the tip of his finger and rips it off his hand. He throws it as far away as he can. His other hand isn't so lucky; he nicks his pointer finger with his teeth. The sting of pain grounds him slightly, and Hunter stops himself from stripping off the rest of his armor. He needs some kind of protection from whatever was in the woods. Wild magic or not, he isn't out of harms way yet.

He curls up, head on his knees, but still strung tight. He had been in the Emperor's mind, so the Emperor should have sent out the best of his soldiers to catch him by now. He's going to get caught and serve his punishment, whatever that may be. He's going to be replaces with an exact copy of himself, the same as his predecessors, and his punishment will be death like his predecessors, so nobody has any idea what's happened to him and the past guards, and he'll die, he is going to die, he is being hunted and will be sentenced to petrification or burning or "he's going to deal with me himself, he's gonna stab me, he'll-"

He's talking in a breathless voice when Flapjack tweets. Hunter stops himself from flinching as the bird hops closer.

He doesn't move.

He tweets again. And another time. Another. He's singing some kind of... song? Hunter can't place the tune, though.

It's a sweet sound.

Hunter reaches out to the bird, roughing up his splinter feathers with his bare hand. They're surprisingly soft for being made of wood. "What song was that, Flapjack?"

The bird tweets once, then continues to sing.

Hunter gives a soft smile, that turns quickly into a grimace. Flapjack keeps singing.

"He's going to kill us. He's going to eat you, and he's going to s-" His voice catches. "It's... I won't let him do that. Not to you."

He remembers something.

He's been remembering all night, new experiences sliding too well into his existing memories of the castle, and his uncle, and his entire sixteen years of someone else's life cut short.

Now, he remembers a night where he had let a band of wild witches escape the high-security containment cell when he had been asks to guard it. It was early in his training, and a teaching lesson to never have his staff be more than an arms reach away when on duty. It was a mistake, though, and a grave one in the eyes of Belos. The scar that had now dimmed into his cheek had been fresh and bright that night.

Hunter had overheard the Emperor talking to someone, a childish voice that he could place a face to now, but couldn't then.

"Wow, you taught that guard a lesson," the Collector said in their singsong voice. "I'm shocked he gave you his confession."

"He's quite loyal. A great asset," the Emperor preened. "With practically no self preservation. He may be the first guard to actually die in honor."

Hunter hadn't thought much of it, then. The past Golden Guards must not have been honorable, at least according to Belos. He realized, now, that the Emperor thought Hunter would die for him.

"No preservation," he mumbles under his breath.

It was true. Up until now, he would have fought anything for the Emperor, and taken any penance that was asked of him, and if he was destroyed doing so, it would be a deserved death. He would still lay down his life in the name of that honor, even while sitting in the middle of the forest, wondering where he what supposed to do now that there was most likely an entire search party sent out to apprehend him.

That mindset may need changing, he thinks.

The wind had died down, and he could hear the silence that settled through the woods. Flapjack had stopped singing, too. Hunter no longer feels the constriction of panic piercing at his skin. He feels tired, and he feels heat spark in the back of his eyes.

"Curse it," he says, voice breaking. Flapjack looks at him, but he avoids eye contact.

How embarrassing. Hunter doesn't cry. The Golden Guard wouldn't be caught dead a sobbing, snotty mess. He would stay straight-faced, even under his mask. Even when he's failed his job, and disappointed his leader and himself. He had honor.

Hunter doesn't have that anymore. He's lost his title, and he's lost that honor.

As he surrenders to the tears, Flapjack nestles closer to him. Hunter doesn't stop him, instead letting the memories of the night and the many nights before drip onto his hands and knees.

He mourns the loss of the most respected part of himself, gone in a night and destined since his creation.

He hopes, foolishly, that someday he'll find a replacement for it.