The Hunter flies through the air, launched by a sweeping strike from the Doll's church pick. She doesn't let up, dashing forward to strike, only to knee the Hunter in the stomach. She feels little guilt for causing him pain like this; the harder this is for him, the easier the hunt will be.
The Hunter strafes around her, ducking as she pirouettes, creating a vortex of steel. He dashes towards her, sticking an untransformed threaded cane between her legs to send her tumbling. Her grip on the church pick loosens, and the Hunter wrenches it from her grasp. She quickly handsprings to her feet, twisting the Hunter's arm and grabbing his cane. Now armed with two, she flicks her wrists, extending them both. With a smirk, she swings one of them. The Hunter stays still, knowing that she is out of range.
She twirls around, hooking one whip around the handle of the other. With lightning speed, it flies towards him, impaling him through the shoulder. The Doll yanks, and he stumbles towards her, only to be knocked back by a high kick connecting with the underside of his chin. He lands painfully on his back looking at the Doll. He gasps.
Her leg is still raised above her head, giving him an eye full of a pair of black stockings, complete with garter belts, as well as lacy undergarments. All look to be hand-sewn, only noticeable because the fabric is the same as her skirt. The Doll lowers her leg and slowly walks towards him, deliberately swaying her hips in an exaggerated manner.
As she gets closer to him, she breaks into a sprint, shoving him into the great tree so hard that leaves cascade down around them. While the Hunter is still dazed, she puts a hand on his chest, slowly sliding it down to his hips where his gun is holstered. She draws it, placing it against his head with an erotic, low moan.
The Hunter closes his eyes, waiting for the bullet. Instead, he feels a pair of warm, plump, soft lips pressing against his own, her tongue pressing into his mouth. She pushes against him, and once more the breath is driven from his lungs. She smiles against his lips, dropping her whips and roaming her hands around his body, tracing every curve and caressing every muscle.
The Hunter struggles for breath. The Doll, however, does not need to breathe, and never pulls away. The last thing the hunter sees before fading into unconsciousness is the Doll licking her lips.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A cold wind blows across the dream, kicking up snow and sending a chill through Quork as she ambles around, getting her daily exercise. The snow around her is trampled and swept, made by the Hunter and the Doll in one of their many duels. They would fight every day, the Hunter honing his skills against the Doll.
The Dream is barely recognisable. No longer is it the lofty little island it once was; Wooden platforms surround it, lined with small cabins forming intricate maze-like alleyways. All are empty, but the Hunter clings to the hope that more hunters would appear. They could not all be blood drunk... could they?
Platforms weave between the branches of the great tree, connecting the frames of rooms that have yet to be built. The Hunter has advanced greatly in his building of the dream, but at a price.
He abandoned the Hunt.
No choice was left. Ludwig was too powerful a foe, strengthened by the blood echoes of thousands of hunters. So the Hunter would train with the Doll for so long that he lost track of time. So far, no hunters had come.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Good Hunter, come quickly!"
The Hunter bounds down the stairs. "What, what is it?!"
"Look," she replies, pointing to the ground. A group of messengers crowd there, holding up a grotesque prize. "It's an... Eye."
The Hunter bends down to pick it up.
"Yellowed... Torn optic nerve, likely before death... And it's- it's seeing."
How could it be?" The Doll replies. "How do you know?"
"It's still wet. And the eye itself... it's clouded, but I can tell there is something there, watching. But for this to survive, it must not belong to a mere beast," He says with a grim tone. "This belongs to a hunter, and a powerful one at that. He gave this to the messengers. He's beckoning us."
"To what end?" The Doll whispers.
"I don't know. But we cannot end this nightmare alone, and more people perish every moment." He turns to the gravestones, looking at them forlornly.
"The hunt is on."
A.N. Short chapter, but I will be updating at least once this weekend. 2k.
