A/N:
Its friday and I can't believe I just went to an exam unprepared because I literally thought we're only having a "quiz". The paper says "final exam" wtf did that mean that those last 2 I took were exams too? I THOUGHT THEY WERE QUIZZES? (Its not that I flunk them ofc, but if I atleast knew then I would've put more effort in what I write down...85% sucks man) Also my hand hurts again because I thought I was running out of time...turns out I passed my paper 30 mins early...
special thanks to ALittleTooMuch for beta'ing this chapter for me!
Prior to Gilbert's advise, he returns.
Alfred knows that he doesn't really have to follow Gilbert's suggestion, no matter how sound the majority of them are. It wasn't like what Alfred told Gilbert that night was the truth and whether he went or not, Gilbert will be none the wiser. The elder's motives were always vague, if not eccentric. Francis had always told him to never let Gilbert's words get to him as a child, as it was his sharpest and most precarious set of weaponry. They never missed their target.
This time was no different.
He didn't realise that the path he took that night was not as easy as he had remembered.
It took him hours to scour the familiar terrain, to find the certain spot where certain corpses of trees and old life turned and twisted in a way Alfred knows he had seen before.
The long trek into the depths gave him some time to think things over. Harder than he did before, giving his thoughts actual attention instead of outright dismissing them the moment they fabricate in his mind.
The silence would've been disturbing to usual travellers, as no forest is ever silent with signs of life scattered from the very ground they step on up to the air they breathe into their lungs.
Silence would mean peril.
But this is the right kind of atmosphere Alfred had been aiming to find.
Amidst the silence, he got to think over what Gilbert had said and done and what Alfred had done in return.
In the end, he wanted this, didn't he?
To get a glimpse of that witch once more.
Those sleepless nights left Alfred troubled, unsatisfied, and conflicted.
Gilbert's words that night came to him like a blessing of sorts-a permit, a reason that will not arouse incongruous feelings within him, because Alfred knows, out of everyone that witches are nothing but-
Vile
Malicious
Foul
-disgusting creatures that are no better than the dirt itself that they step on.
Gilbert told him he wanted Alfred to have closure.
Alfred will see to it that he would.
The pocket watch says it's a little bit past midnight.
He had arrived too early.
That's not a problem, though. It would just mean more time for him to prepare.
His gloved hand dips into the soil and it concaves like wet sand, it's dark remains sticking onto the fine leather, tainting it black. He rubs at it, feels its coarse texture between his covered fingers. A sniff in the air confirms that he was in just the right place.
The whole place stinks of death.
Witches are known to have one specific kind of ability, as they call it. These abilities do not come to be because of magic. No, the origin of their abilities are easier to explain than something as irrational and baseless as magic. It's simple science.
They were simply called witches as their kind had been known to have existed since the olden times. These were the time when the unexplained were always blamed on magic and supernatural, and so were the witches.
But as time passed by, through science, technologies improve and witches are now prone to death with just a single shot with their specialised bullets.
It was discovered upon dissection and further experiments on captured witches that they do not posses magic, but merely the body to utilise the energy they get from living things.
This energy now manifests into what they had observed were abilities unique to each one of them.
Hunters use the witch's ability as basis to find its limits and weaknesses, making the hunt easier but still unsafe. Caution is an essential trait a hunter must have if they want to survive, and Alfred knows its importance the most. The burn mark on his chest is a constant reminder of that.
That is the problem though.
Alfred does not know this witch's ability.
To be able to mingle with the unseen…that kind of ability is unheard of if not rare and if he were to ask himself, he doesn't truly know how to go with this.
The only choice he has left is kill it when it least expects it, catching it off guard and hopefully it has its defences down, vulnerable to outside attacks and would let the bullet penetrate its skull.
If Alfred fails, it is sad to say then that no one will know of his whereabouts. No one would know of his death until it was long overdue, with no one to find his rotting corpse, if the witch would not choose to feed his body to his supernatural friends.
Then again, if he were to die fighting a witch…
It's the kind of death he would accept with open arms, to know that he died fighting for what was right, for the better good.
Alfred had decided to start small.
He planted a little trap in the spot right where he had first spotted the witch, hoping for best as he waited by the same tree he had hidden before. Its mechanism works in a way bear traps does, only this one is bigger, meant for human-shaped prey.
A glance at his pocket watch and he knows he's a few minutes away from the witching hour. He's so close to getting his prey now that he can't help but feel the tingle of excitement in his blood, warm and pumping into his system. It makes his vision sharper.
And then it happens.
The air changes and the same thing that Alfred had seen all those days ago unravelled in front of him once again, but this time he is prepared.
When he sees the essence of energy roam the area, he couldn't help himself but let his fingers brush the thing. It was indescribable. It was solid, yet not; soft but hard; and coarse yet smooth and a little bit of something Alfred cannot name.
It felt like it was that one thing that made this little strip of essence of energy that brings about the change.
He was so distracted following the green strip of energy, entranced as he watched it break away like smoke only to reform again in fascination that when he heard the tell tale footsteps, it startles him, running to climb his tree in a hurry. Once he was up and secured in his hiding spot, he winces at the slight pain in his shoulder. He must've pulled at a muscle on his haste. That is not good.
Still, a hunt is a hunt. No slight injury can stop him from finishing what he had started. This witch is his.
Alfred's eyes widen when suddenly, an animal comes running into his field of vision, running right into his little trap. He almost jumped from where he was hiding, just to make the stupid thing stop because it's ruining his plan. But it was too late; the witch was following not too far behind it, giggling and a bounce in his steps. Calling for the animal. All Alfred can do then was watch with impending doom as the animal-it looks like a horse, save for a horn on its head…a unicorn?-run right into his trap, activating its mechanism and snapping its sharp teeth on the creature.
Its screams startled the witch it seems, as Alfred sees him stop and shout in terror, that woven basket hidden in his cloak falls into the ground, spilling what looked like plants on the ground like some form of a messy gore. The reds and blues of the flowers reminds him of his previous hunts, their parts splattered on the ground.
The trap was made specifically for weakening witches in a way that it sucks at its energy reserves, rending their kind unable to use their abilities. There are cases that it becomes lethal in witches whose reserves are small that it sucks at their life force entirely, killing them.
It seems like that was the case with this unicorn. It squirmed and whined for a good few moments before finally taking its last breath and falling limp on the ground, leaving the ground beneath and around it covered in its bloody gore that fell from the tears on its flesh from its struggle. The only noise left is the witch's cries of agony. If Alfred did not see it for himself he would've believed that the witch itself was the one that fell into his trap with how hurt his wails had sounded.
The witch falls on his knees upon approaching the creature's corpse. He pulls his hood off, showing his tear-streaked face and that broken look in his eyes. Lips turned down into a horrible frown, the skin appeared like it was pulled down.
He pulls at the claws, its sharp teeth digging into his skin but he does not seem to mind, intent on pulling it away from the fallen creature. When it was off, the trap closing with a snap like an over-sized clam, Alfred sees the witch pull the unicorn to lie its head into his lap, sees the witch's shoulders shudder and hear his gasps. The sticky dark blood of the creature darkened his already dark cloak, but the witch does not seem to mind. Alfred hears him whisper things into the creature's head, kissing it and petting its head, his other hand pulling at the gore around him, stuffing it back from where it had fallen, then trying to close off the torn flesh with his own hand.
It's a futile attempt at recovery.
Then in an unexpected moment, Alfred sees the glow in the witch's eyes, his lips twitching into a smile that reflects hope and something like affection. Then the sniffles and tears were gone, replaced with relieved sighs and overjoyed laughs.
A whine.
Alfred hears it.
Then he watches in shock as the creature's tail starts moving, then its head, turning to nuzzle the witch properly. The witch smiles at this, happy tears leaking out of his eyes, dropping on the unicorn's face. His hands drop towards the torn flesh-or where they used to be, as Alfred can see from where he is hidden that it is no longer there, despite the blood on its skin.
Wide-eyed, Alfred watches the scene enraptured with fascination.
He had heard of this ability before, but the last time anyone had seen such power was near a century ago.
Resurgence.
It was then that Alfred realises the flaw in his plan: How do you kill something that doesn't die?
E/N:
There is a reason the witches are categorised among the supernaturals...they're prejudiced to be just as bad. Supernaturals are more like a neutral party in this little "war" tho...and are very fond of UK ahaahh
Resurgence is...yanno. It means rebirth, most specifically, to rise again as something stronger. ...Yep.
also don't go looking for my nsfw hetalia blog for the time being. I think I just posted a draw of spoilers in there...*furrows brows* maybe
another thing: fun fact about me: I'm a founder of a new cult that was established...last tuesday. It's a long story and I doubt any of you will ever hear about it because by the time the semester ends I'll disband the thing