revivalproject | A Hunting Archivist

Entry tags:

A Hunting Archivist

WHO: Hunt!Jon & you
WHERE: Apocalypse!Temba
WHAT: Everything is wrong. Jon is a Hunter, out to chase some prey.
WHEN: During the event
WARNINGS: TBA
Note: No beastie traits for Jon at the beginning aside from sharp teeth. This might change during a thread.

A - The Change [ violence may happen - you set the hellscape for this one ]

Jon stands outside, looking up at the sky that looks so eerily familiar but at the same time utterly strange to him. "...it's looking back..." is all he can whisper to himself, quoting himself from what now feels like an eternity ago.

It's not the same eye. It's not The Eye. He would know, wouldn't he?

Or would he? He can't feel it. But at the same time he doesn't believe he should feel it. He hardly know how he is supposed to feel anymore. Aside from cold, maybe. It is cold. And dark. And loud. The blood is loud. It's calling him...

He lets his eyes fall away from the sky, to the ground before him. It's cold. And dead. No traces of any prey.

Wait. Prey? No, that can't be. That's wrong. It's wrong!

Shaking his head, Jon reaches up to press a shaking hand against his own temple before looking around, desperately looking for anyone who can confirm to him that this isn't happening, only to find himself shakily making his way towards the first being he spots, desperately calling out to them. "H-help me- please!"

And that's when everything changes again.

B - The Search [ hellscape starts out as The Hunt ]

These deep, dark woods feel just like home. This is where he belongs. This is where he can smell his prey, hear its very move, locate it so the chase can begin.

Thinking about it already makes Jon shake with excitement and he barely holds back a low growl. He breaks out of the deep woods and into an open clearing. Places where the strange eye above is unobscured by looming trees. But the Hunter doesn't care. He has found his prey and is approaching with measured, silent footsteps.

C - The Chase [ hellscape starts out as The Desolation ]

He had nearly caught up to his prey when the world changed again and soft forest ground turned into hard concrete, making it impossible for the Hunter to be the silent predator he is meant to be. Which doesn't mean Jon has given up, but he still pauses to take in his new surroundings, already missing the fresh, open air and the night sky around him.

There are walls and it is hot and he can hear the screams of those trapped behind closed doors.

Jon snarls to no one in particular. He can't stay here. He has to track down his prey. Randomly picking one direction, he starts down one of the corridors, ignoring the heat, the smoke, the flames. He will either find it, or be found first.

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The sudden dark and quiet left Tony feeling like his ears were ringing, already dropped into a crouch to steady himself as the world around him changed and shrinking cautiously further in the press of the black woods around him. Why did it have to be dark? Not even the perpetual fire that twisted in his chest helped illuminate the area, resolutely dark and fluttering ambitiously higher like raven's feathers in his throat before he could control the panic in his breathing. He just had to wait, his eyes would adjust to the low light, the straining ringing in his ears would stop, and he could set this whole place ablaze if he had to.

With a deep, steadying breath that sent a curl of smoke up into the treetops and to spread across that relentless pupil, Tony finally relaxed enough to shift off of his leg starting to cramp and lean a hand and his weight against the nearest trunk. That was when he heard it, the crunch of a dry leaf under the roll of his foot that sounded so accusingly loud. Nothing else was making a sound. Not a bird, not a cricket, Tony couldn't even hear the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. He gasped in a sharp breath to suddenly hold, frozen in place once again so as to not press down on that leaf any further, belatedly reverent of this quiet that his every breath must have been shattering. He wasn't supposed to be heard here.

There was a whisper in the grass.

Jon has made his way halfway across the clearing when his eyes settle on his prey and an eager little twitch brings a restlessness to his hands. There is a familiarity to the shape he is approaching. It's this familiarity that slows Jon's steps rather than making him charge forward.

He comes to a halt a short distance away, but by no means out of sight. Standing still is not what feels right to him, but he takes a further moment to study his prey.

But is this one prey? Jon wonders, then decides that he will have to find out. He lowers his head a little, eyes trained on Tony, and takes another slow step towards the man, ready to burst into a chase at any moment.

The sound in the grass coming to a stop was far more horrible than hearing it pass by. Tony knew he had been spotted then, and in the tense beat that followed, it felt like both of them were waiting for a reaction. Reluctantly, slowly and with his breath still caught in his throat to minimize drawing any more attention his way, Tony tried to lift his head enough to spot whoever was nearby without alerting them to the movement. Maybe they still thought he was a rock.

The way he held himself was all wrong, an alien tension in his hands and his shoulders, but Tony would know Jon without the weak shine of the moonlight in the clearing. His mistake was the immediate release of his breath in relief, so loud in this silence that it sounded like a sob that was cut off quickly with a hiccup as Tony heard it, and snapped his head to the side to search for what else might have heard. There must have been something, he knew there was something here, but he didn't have much of a chance to look because in the same moment, Jon was stepping closer. "J--" Tony started, sounding like a telling rustle of the undergrowth that he immediately regretted. There was something here and if Tony kept making noise, it wasn't just himself that he was putting at risk; Jon looked wrong the intensity in the way he stared making Tony's stomach clench and hair stand on end; and there was no way he could let Jon see him like this.

The sound Tony made and cut himself off was like a starting pistol. Immediately, he was shoving away from the tree that he had steadied himself against, springing to his feet with the screaming protest of the knotted cramp in his leg that was going to have to be a problem for later. He was already in a dead sprint, crashing carelessly through branches.

Hearing that single sound, the voice, it's like a bolt of lightning running through Jon's entire body and he knows who he is looking at. Not necessarily a name, but the avalanche of emotions tied to this very being.

But then Tony bolts away and instinct is taking over and Jon is running after Tony. Running after his prey. A different type of prey to the sort he wants to dig his teeth and claws into, but still something worth pursuing. Blood is only one things that calls for him in these woods.

As Jon easily leaps and maneuvers through the dense growths of the forest in his pursuit, he manages to growl something possibly inaudible for his prey. "To... ny..." The name. The name that ties it all together: The shape, the voice, the scent. And as everything comes together, Jon knows he is already catching up, having no trouble hunting between these trees. Tony is right before him. Just one quick charge and a leap and Jon can secure his prey.

Tony wasn't nearly so well designed for this run, flinching with every whip of a branch in his face and leaving a trail of sparks and soot in his wake as leaves raked against his chest and sizzled in the heat of the flames. Only the icy certainty that he was being chased, despite the slickness of his pursuer, propelled him through the snarl of the undergrowth on blind hope that he could find his footing over the rocks and roots, numb to the snatch of twigs at his clothes and rough burn of bark as he crashed against trees.

His next mistake was whipping his head around at the sound of the voice, blinding his run entirely and snagging his already tight muscles in the twist, the panic at how close the hunter was seizing the muscle in his leg painfully and sending him bouncing off of a tree and crashing into a tangle of bushes. He had to flail for purchase before he could try to turn himself over and out of the choke of the forest floor, the furnace in his chest stoked by his hyperventilating and licking greedily at the dry debris.

The chase is over too soon for Jon's liking despite the very obvious success. He's on the grounded man in an instant. sharp teeth bared and claws ready to strike out of pure instinct. But while one clawed hand comes down right next to Tony's head and the other remains raised and ready to strike, neither actually hurts the man. Nor so Jon's teeth bury in his throat. He's just looming there, over his prey, eyes dilated and fixed on Tony and panting hot air.

After a moment, the threatening claw relaxes a little, Jon's eyes dropping down to the open flame in Tony's chest, inclining his head slightly at the sight as some of the tension eases out of his face and posture.

He doesn't dare to touch the flame. Yet, his hand hovers close nonetheless, intrigued by the danger it poses, but also curious.

"...Tony..." Jon tries again, still looking at the dark flame and reason wrestles its way through pure instinct and the need to chase, snapping Jon back out of it at least temporarily as his eyes snap back up at Tony, properly focusing amidst the grimace that is his face. "Tony, wha- What is going on? I, I don't- This can't be!"

Very ready for a fight that would slow his pursuer, Tony brought his knee up to brace between them as the body fell upon him, grasping blindly at the soil and the roots that he could scratch up in generous fistfuls to startle, blind and discourage as much as possible. As the hunter froze, so did Tony, leaving him suddenly very aware that he had his knee digging into Jon's gut and fingers buried in the dark earth, feeling very exposed and confused and still on the verge of panic from the way that Jon stared at him, for the detached threat still there and for what the hell had happened to Jon.

His breath still came in sharp, short spikes, and it stuttered as Jon considered the flame that it drove higher, feeling himself draw his knee in tighter to himself to invite Jon's curiosity, eager to feel how it would burn and hurt if Jon was just a little closer, just a singe and a sting to shock the system...

The sound of his voice jerked Tony's focus away from that hovering hand, his own eyes wide and black in their strain to see in the darkness. He released the handful of dirt he meant to shove into Jon's face to bring his hand reassuringly to Jon's cheek instead in a grainy smear of soil, fingers still tense and pressing hard behind Jon's ear while Tony tried to relax either of them. "It's okay, everything's okay," he hissed, still keeping his voice low, sure Jon wasn't the only thing running in these woods and throwing a wild glance around at the trees looming over them like he might be able to spot these lurking hunters and make his escape again. As long as they were quiet. "We're going to get out of here, we just have to run."

For a moment, Jon leans his head into the touch of Tony's hand, ignoring the searing heat of it and how it threatens to char his skin. But then Tony speaks, and his words make the hunter pause.

"...run..." Jon repeats the word in a low, deep growl, arising from somewhere deep within his throat and for a moment Jon's eyes widen again, excitement at the promise of another chase making his body tremble.

He snaps back to himself with a sharp intake of breath and a quick lurch forward, his formerly hovering hand landing in the dirt on the other side of Tony's head. He lets his head hang to try and steady his breath again, face now even closer to that flame. A flame as dangerous and destructive as it is beautiful and tempting.

"...no." He eventually manages, shaking his head. His voice is smaller now and no menacing growl anymore. "Don't tempt the blood, Tony. Don't- Don't be prey!"

That growl sent a shiver through Tony as well, a ratcheting of tension up his spine that had him digging his elbow into the ground, hand slowly dropping away from Jon and ready to push off, back into flight like the word was a command. With his gaze locked on Jon's wild eyes, not daring to risk a blink like he was crouched in the dark again, Tony was tightly coiled and ready for the first movement; Jon's sharp breath was mirrored in Tony's choked hiccup, his own hand hitting the ground to help push with his heel slipping through the leaves and elbow digging into the earth, knee driving up under Jon's ribs to keep him away as he fell forward. It was a rapid scramble, leaving Tony panting noisily again in the stillness of the woods, pushed halfway up on one trembling arm and caged still between Jon's where he watched Jon's bowed head for the next threat.

Instead, Jon spoke again, and Tony gave a tiny nod, okay, he had to watch what he said, and closed the inches between them to touch his nose to Jon's hair, letting his eyes close for a deep breath to try to steady himself and listen over the sound of his heart in his ears, trying to make sense of 'don't tempt the blood'. "Okay, okay," he tried to assure, only every word was from the furnace of his heart, the flames licking their way up his throat and his tongue a crucible. "There's no blood, we're going to find somewhere safe," he tried to encourage, every word searing.

"There is nowhere safe." Job answers, his voice miserable and he pushes himself back up onto his feet, freeing Tony from where he has held him captive. His entire posture is laced with tension, but at the same time Jon looks as miserable as he sounds, yet somehow managing to keep himself together as he looks up, somewhat indicating the sky observing them through these trees.

"It- This feels like it's my fault, but-- But this time, I- I have no answers, Tony. I don't know how to stop this. I just- I need-... I don't-" The lack of answers has Jon cut himself off, sharp teeth burying into his lower lip, drawing blood. "I don't know what to do..." And he can only keep himself together for certain periods of time.

Jon drawing away felt like peeling off a blister, enough of a relief from Tony's high strung readiness to shove him off that Tony dropped his head back in the dirt with a shuddering sigh, but with an uncomfortable tug that made his gut twist like he might be sick, too much healthy skin tearing away where Tony wanted to keep him close to his heart in a reassuring hug, and to hear how he screamed as he cooked.

Had he always wanted that?

Tony squeezed his eyes shut to stop them from burning, hands drawing tight into claws over his chest like he might rip this impulse out, holding his breath until Jon tripping over his words pushed him upright. He didn't take the time to try to brush any of the debris off, letting is fall in showers of dust and flutters of leaves as he reached for Jon's face again, cupping it this time in both uncomfortably warm hands to get him to focus. This might have been Jon's fault. That big eye was difficult to ignore. But they could use that. "You're going to tell me what you were doing, before this," Tony instructed. That was an easy first project, not a problem.

Tony getting back onto his feet has Jon take half a step back, yet refusing to back away further. Instead, he wants to move closer again. Closer to that tempting warmth that would just burn him if he dared to get too close.

He sees Tony lift his hands to his face and doesn't try to pull away from the touch, instead closing his eyes the moment before the actual touch. A touch that is much hotter than Jon has anticipated and his eyes fly open again with a little yelp of surprise at the burning sensation against his face.

Surprise is quickly replaced by pain, however, and rather than actually answering Tony's question, Jon lets out a howl of pain , his own hands flying up to grasp Tony's wrists and pull the other man's hand away from his face. These hands that have never hurt him before, but right now are about to burn away his very skin.

Solving this problem, dreading all of the worst outcomes and what he might have to do if this was Jon, the nagging hollowness of this whole place or situation or whatever it was making him feel so isolated and cruelly cut off from the constant hum of the network and nowhere to find a fucking drink, all of that burning, aching need suddenly stopped to laser focus on that haunting, exquisite sound Jon made. Jon was stronger than he looked, but Tony's eyes went wide and black, trying to drink in every pained twist in Jon's face, his hands going viciously tense, wrists straining like the tendons might snap under Jon's hold. "No," he said, a simple demand to stop Jon from trying to get away, and was happy to convince him further with one hand sliding back into his hair to grab roughly by the roots to recklessly tug and help guide him as Tony crowded him back against the first tree that Tony could pin him to. "Look at me," he continued, still calm and focused despite the tension and strain of his muscles to keep Jon from pulling his hold away, guiding him again to meet Tony's eye and show him all of that pain with the other hand around Jon's throat, pushing back against the tree and scalding.

Jon finds the time to gasp before his back hit the tree and his air is additionally cut short by the pressure against his throat, resulting in him casting a grimace up at Tony. It's a combination of both physical pain and agitation. He feels thew rough bark dig into his back, Tony's hands charring both hair and skin, but despite the agony, Jon won't give the man any of his fear. His hands may have fallen away from their hold on Tony's wrists, but they haven't dropped entirely and he has pulled one foot up behind himself to push back against the tree, finding footing there. His eyes never leave Tony's, even as tears of pain blur his vision for a moment.

And despite the hand pushing against his throat, Jon growls up at Tony. The growl starts low, but quickly grows into an angry bark and the pupils in Jon's eyes constrict the moment he pushes himself away from the tree and bodily into Tony's form, hands coming up to dig sharp claws into the other man's shoulders and just push him away, maybe even back down on the ground.

All of Tony's focused intent should have been making more of this feeling, and to rapidly feel it draining instead despite his hand tightening around Jon's throat left his mouth dry, eyelashes fluttering with a wave of confusion that tempered his intense stare, and the distinct awareness that he might be hurting Jon suddenly splintering icily from the sweat standing out on the back of his neck. He must have been doing this for a reason, so he blinked again, trying to find it, and sucked in a sharp breath to try, "Tell me...you were telling me--..." It was already quiet, and lost completely under the rumble of Jon's growl. Already unsteady, Tony was unprepared for the shove, snarling back at the tear of Jon's nails into his skin and grasping for balance with that cruel snare still curled against Jon's scalp and grabbing at the collar of his shirt but stumbling through the undergrowth and tipping back against the shuddering trunk of another tree.

As Tony is pushed backwards, Jon is right on him, eyes wild and viciously sharp teeth bared. The rough hold against the back of his head doesn't necessarily deter him from pushing further forward, one clawed hand holding firmly within Tony's flesh while the other withdraws only to remain poised in warning even after the pair's current momentum has come to an abrupt halt yet again.

Jon doesn't release Tony, but remains as close as he has ended up after more of less crashing into the other body, not once having broken eye contact. His face is still hot and partially charred and Jon lets out a hot exhale, twisting his claws slightly within that hot flesh and risking to burn his fingers as well. Not that he cares as he presses forward a little more, leaning into the heat of Tony's body with another deep growl that is both yearning and warning. "Don't. Make me. Chase you."

Maybe this wasn't Tony not being able to control his own messed up impulses, the ones that did always lead to him hurting people and he probably should have realized that must have been what he really wanted because no one else seemed to keep doing it--okay, maybe it wasn't just that, but something that was making them all want to hurt each other. Jon had never hurt him like this, and Tony had given him plenty of reasons to want to, had never given him any indication that he would have Tony clamping his teeth down around a whimper as he slumped back against the tree, heels dug into the dirt to push back and trying to wrench his shoulder away with his hand around Jon's wrist now to try to pull those claws out of his skin.

Slouched down with his shoulders up, jaw clenched and wide, stricken eyes searching Jon's cruel scowl, Tony did hear Jon, but it sounded like a pretty good suggestion to him. They clearly had to get away from each other before something was broken beyond repair. Abruptly, the hold still tugging at Jon's hair stopped pulling to snatch him the last few inches closer, where his jaw struck hard against Tony's mouth and Tony ignored the bite of his own teeth into his lip to kiss the tender skin under Jon's ear clean off. Where his hands were hot, his mouth was like an open flame pressed directly to Jon's neck, making the skin instantly bubble and the blood cauterize before Tony could taste it. He didn't linger, pushing at Jon once again in his kiss, hoping he was staggered enough to bolt into a healthy head start.

Jon feels and undeniable flash of excitement upon being pulled close. It doesn't exactly last, however, not with the surge of pain following quickly after, making Jon pull away with a howl, pulling his claws free roughly to press the same hand against his neck, teeth bared in disbelief and agony as Tony makes for his escape.

Seeing Tony run, it hurts. At the same time Jon feels compelled to follow. To chase. To hunt what should be his despite the change that has come over this place clearly doing its best to deny them what they crave. All in all it seems foolish to go after Tony, especially after he has already been burned by his hands and now even his lips.

At the same time, Jon has not always been the most reasonable in his decision making. But sure enough he has been very stubborn in his pursuits. Therefore, after recovering from the surprise and at least most of the pain, Jon pick up the hunt for the man he can't let go even after having gotten hurt by his kiss.

The Eye remains, but the rest of the sky is a matte-green-black that reveals no other source of light. It stretches overhead, a boundless canopy over an seemingly equal boundless field. What little light is present proves just enough to outline the cold stones that mark graves and the marble profiles of the sparse, broken statues that overlook the still, resting places of the departed. A mist roams through the graveyard, slithering around tombstones and legs like a blanket of serpents.

The stillness is broken only by Jon's movement and the startled motion of someone else in the fog just beyond. A perhaps familiar glow of blue and amber gives focus to an equally familiar metal visage, the Exo whipping around at the voice he'd been sure he'd heard just a moment ago. He's still trying to wrap his head around what's happened, and even despite all the processing power he can put forth he still has no explanation, save that something feels wrong, and this situation- likely very bad.

"Jon?" he calls out, something in his mind finally connecting, and he starts towards the spindly man. "That you?"

Amidst the confusion of his surroundings changing entirely, the sound of a familiar voice is very much welcome and Jon makes sure to avoid any open graves he spots while carefully trying to reach the Exo.

"Cayde!" He exclaims, relief clear in his voice. "What is going on?!" A question, followed by a concerned look up into the sky. That eye remains as threatening as it has been before. Jon looks back at Cayde. now close enough to properly make out. "Y-you heard that too, right? The voice...?"

The voice. It's still clear in Jon's ear and he doesn't like what it had to say to them. He doesn't like what happened just after it made itself heard. And Jon won't deny that he is scared.

The Exo nods as he approaches, feeling just as relieved as Jon as he confirms the Archivist's presence, and not just some apparition. "I have no idea- was hoping maybe you knew," he says as he casts a furtive glance towards that distant Eye. "I heard it. Don't like it. I'm thinking it's those guys but how does that work with all...this?"

It's more than just being thrown into a setup. It's even more than a scenery change. There had been something inside of him that had changed too, he's sure of it, but he doesn't know how exactly to describe it. It scares him too, but he's less inclined to show it, especially when Jon's openly doing so. One of them has to try to stay solid. What frightens him more is that he actually feels that fear ebbing away. But to be replaced with what?

"They're playing with us again." He rests a hand on the pommel of the knife at his belt, his optics narrowing as he looks around, his gaze still sliding eventually towards the ever-watching Eye.

"This- This wasn't me!" Jon assures before Cayde can even finish sharing his suspicion. It's a suspicion they share, clearly, but given how this looks and what people know about him, Jon can only dread how some others will take this sudden change.

Jon can't help but look miserable as he admits: "E-everything is different. Including myself. It's wrong. I- I don't know what's going on! I feel like I don't know anything!"

And that scares him. He has come to be used to know nearly everything. But now? Now he can barely hold a single rational thought.

It's increasingly difficult to stand there doing nothing. Cayde begins to pace a bit, his fingers drumming on his knife.

"Yeah...something's changed. I'm not sure what. But I don't like it," he admits. There's this niggling sensation at the back of his mind, or maybe somewhere deeper. Itchy? Has he ever felt itchy? No, not itchy, it's something else, some building anxiousness. "Light's gone again. It's like a storm, but with a different spin." He's restless and that Eye suspended in the sky isn't helping, nor Jon's growing panic.

"Would you cut that out!" he snaps abruptly at the Archivist, immediately startling himself for the tone taken. He pulls a gloved hand across his face. "Sorry, I didn't- this place is just getting to us." That's it. It has to be it.

Jon backs away at the quick outburst, posture defensive and lips pulled back into a snarl. He nearly growls at the Exo, but finds himself easily pacified by the apology that follows. Though this gives Jon a moment to wonder what just happened.

Not that he has any answers. No real ones, at least.

Jon's hands twitch nervously at his sides for a moment before he brings them both together in front of him, keeping anxious fingers busy with their own kind as he looks around once more. ...something's changed, yes. A-another Change... This- It's too close to what happened on my Earth. It's bad, but-- I don't feel the Eye anymore." And he has to wonder when he has gotten that used to feeling it's ceaseless gaze on him that losing that connection feels unnatural.

"Even though it's right there? But even that one doesn't look right," Cayde amends as his gaze swings back towards the one up in the sky. He remembers the one from the fake city all too clearly, even if he's not sure if it's what the thing was supposed to actually look like.

Again restlessness gnaws at him, and he's back to striding back and forth. "Don't like this. Eye or no Eye, we can't just stand around. We need to be doing something, finding something...or someone..."

There's a subtle shift in his voice, his pacing ceasing again as his optics scan the graveyard around them with more purpose, alert as he listens and seeks.

"It's wrong." Jon says simply in response to Cayde pointing out the mechanical eye above them, watching. He watches the Exo, a small frown forming on his forehead. It's not unusual for Cayde to be somewhat on the restless side, but right now there seems to be an anxiousness about him. One that Jon finds rather relatable.

He lets out a heavy exhale, and nods. "Right. I..." Jon pauses, then casts a cautious glance up at Cayde and nods once more, simply signaling his understanding.

"Let's find them." A hunt is more successful together.

Wrong. So many things are wrong. And yet the more that wrongness is pointed out, the more annoyed the Exo starts to feel. Yes, they know something's wrong, but that doesn't change anything. His fingers drum over his knife again.

The prey would be few, but that simply adds to the challenge. The grin Cayde flashes at Jon then is positively feral, punctuated by a hungry brightening of his blue gaze. It's strangely refreshing, but then with so much unknown to them, to at least be on the same page puts him in eager spirits. This is wrong too, but at the same time, it feels so right.

The Hunter nods at Jon then, casting a look past the gravestones before starting to move.

Moving is on of those things that just feel right. Especially moving in comfortable silence, senses reaching to pick up the sound, sight or scent of their prey. Unlike Cayde, Jon of course isn't armed or in any way equipped for what may be considered a traditional hunt, but he doesn't require any of that equipment. He needs none of these tools as long as he has his hands and teeth.

They weave their way around the tombstones in silence for a while. This may not be their domain, and yet moving quietly comes natural.

As does noticing their prey.

Jon stops once he has laid his eyes on the person. A careless wanderer of this place dedicated to the dead. His eyes drift over to the Exo. Of course Cayde will have seen the person.

The space is too open, with little cover to take someone by surprise, but they navigate it quite well in spite of things. Experienced hunters can make the best of even such circumstances.

Cayde keeps low, but he halts almost simultaneously as Jon does so, his hooded head lifting, his optics narrowing as their prey is in sight. He turns his head just slightly enough that he can glimpse Jon past the edge of his hood, giving a curt nod. He motions with a hand; he'd circle ahead while Jon went the direct route to spur their prey forward.

Just a small nod, that is all Jon's response comes down to before he lowers his head a little And moves forward, remaining quiet until he is certain Cayde has reached the right position for this chase. Controlling where their prey flees to is part of the hunt after all.

Once he has reached the right spot, Jon makes his presence known. A deliberate noise that would look to be a mistake to anyone else. But the prey reacts, looks at him while he looks back. Then he snarls audibly and rushes forward, sending their chosen prey running.

Running in Cayde's direction.

There are many obstacles here, but the space is otherwise seemingly endless. Driving their target between the rows rather than along one lane of them would be more challenging, yes, but Cayde trusted that they were more capable than their unfortunate prey.

Once their nameless victim approaches his cover behind an aging statue marking but another grave among many, the Exo leaps out with a metallic growl, causing a panicked yelp and sending them stumbling, scrambling to get back to their feet as they're routed. They catch themselves around headstones, tripping over others, a clumsier flight however only growing in their panic as the two hunters close after them.

Seeing their prey flee makes it impossible for Jon to resist the chase. This isn't even their domain, but the fear leaking from their target is still strong, still potent. The rush of the blood narrowing Jon's vision and focusing it on this particular being, blending out everything else.

Jon's movements remain easy and efficient, taking him close to their prey where sharp claws lash out at struggling legs, drawing blood and sending their victim into a flailing forward tumble.

First blood. It drives Cayde into another surge, quickly closing the distance where he can join Jon in bringing down their target. There's a ringing gleam of metal as he draws his knife, his steps slowing as their prey flounders on the ground. They lurch to their feet again, their breath quickening between pained hisses as they try to force themselves forward, hauling themselves around another tombstone.

The Exo's blade narrowly misses fingers and he makes sure their victim knows it, a whisper of a breeze and the slight vibration as metal once again rings off stone and the grasping hand abandons its support, sending their prey falling again, whimpering.

Jon's second swing misses entirely, but he doesn't care. Their prey is already tumbling and hardly keeping any distance to the two hunters and his next attack sends sharp claws right into an arm, pulling the person back and down with a cry of pain and rising panic as they struggle.

And they do, in fact, manage to tear their arm free, leaving them scrambling noisily on the ground, still attempting to get away.

Jon gives his hand a quick shake, then glances over to the other hunter, intrigued to share the kill.

A glance is as good as signal as any, Cayde darting in not a second after. It's almost pitiful, the state in which their prey continues to insist on fleeing. There's no need for effort to push speed, and the slash that the Hunter makes appears like a lazy swing of his arm, which nevertheless draws fresh blood as the victim cries out, collapsing under his own weight.

It's not so much scrambling any more so much as feebly pushing along the ground, using the other arm to crawl.

The noise the Archivist makes is a nearly ecstatic growl of approval and triumph as he darts forward just half a moment after Cayde and eager claws bury themselves mercilessly into the back of their victim, dragging out a wail of pain and hopeless terror.

Their victim knows it has lost. And yet it still insists on treating the hunters to its feeble struggles even though Jon is practically kneeling on their back, only reluctantly pulling one of his clawed hands free to press down on the back of the neck of their prey.

The Exo steps around in front of their panic-fraught prey. The chase has come to a close, but that fear of knowing the end is near that wafts off this poor soul is like a main course after the appetizer. Cayde leers as he stoops there, planting his knife firmly in the ground but millimeters from their victim's face, a garbled scream dying in their throat between the sight of the blade and Jon's sharp claws digging into their neck.

The rapid breaths become shorter, more ragged but no less desperate, the one good hand clawing at the dirt, flailing blindly, weakly at the weight on his back. The Exo puts a quick end to that with a quick motion and a disturbing crunch of broken bone, the arm flopping wetly onto the dry grass.

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A Hunting Archivist

B!

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