Boundless

All the Bad Shit (Pt.1)

Regret.

One would think Fer-de-Lance surely had much of it. After all, if the Girl was now a ghost among humans, nameless and rootless, it was due to her own choices.

She had enlisted in the army, dated a spineless boy, never asked for help for fear of becoming a burden, and became Black Ops of her own free will. Oh, most people would think that would be a huge regret, for after joining such a force, Lance paid witness to almost everything disgusting humanity had to offer, namely from her work in the underground networks and black markets.

The Girl herself had changed.

More weapon than person, she had morphed into cold, calculating, combat-expert Special Agent Fer-de-Lance. Of course, she was (or had been) a field medic, but that didn't prevent the Girl from partaking in bloodshed or ruin in the name of the 'greater good'.

Being Black Ops was a game of mitigating and controlling misery since human society made it impossible to simply contain it. It was a last resort against starving beasts ready to prey on their own.

The monster is keeping worse threats by the door, sir, she had said to the (now dead) General, back in Thedus.

It's not like Lance didn't feel regret over those things, because she felt some.

But right now, the regret proverbially skinning the Girl alive had nothing to do with her past, her actions, or the human lives she had ruined or erased. What she regretted was the byproduct of her humanity and inexperience.

What was a girl to do? She was both in love and inexperienced in love. So what would this Girl do?

Fight back.

Fight like the world depended on it, because hers surely did.

I want the bad shit too, you asshole!, had been her battle cry. Lance had screamed in her Hunter's face in a fit of enraged fear, and Goddamn her, no one would keep the Girl from having it.

For this Army-trained-baby-faced-monster, nothing in this universe (or the next), would convince Fer-de-Lance she could not (and would not) have what that love had in stock for her.

She wanted it. It was hers. And she was fucking keeping it.

The love. And all the bad shit surrounding and included in it.

Even if inexperienced in love, Fer-de-Lance knew she could not keep her world by throwing away, ignoring or denying the bad shit in it.

So bring it on.

All the bad shit.

***

[Seven Days Ago]

The dying light filled the skies with intense and colorful light. A mournful and unnatural silence added to the discomfort of the Hunters gathered near the river's margins.

Despite a calm surface, the deep, cloudy, cold waters hid deadly currents that would pull and drown even skilled swimmers as the Hunting Season's storms fed its body full.

Gor'gol inhaled deeply, bright green flowing from his right palm.

Old as he was, the Ancient would live another day to hear the roaring tempests beating down their homeland, while his younger brother...

"Paya, we all hunt in your honor..." All was silent - except for the cleric's voice reciting the verses of the burial rites.

(In the wild, quietude was a terrible sign, unless you were the reason for its stillness).

All living creatures belonged to Paya and in death, their spirits would cross the veil into the shadowlands, leaving behind their empty bodies.

Trophies were badges of honor, a concrete proof of a hunter's achievements, but they were also borrowed matter from Paya's realm. Now that Hakoon's soul had entered Centanu's domain, it was the Clan's duty to deliver them back to Paya.

Trophies, weapons, armors, blood.