𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖀𝖓𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖓

Blacksky Eye

A/N: Late entry once more let's go. It's been difficult trying to find inspiration of any kind. Enjoy.

A/N3: Updated with new content January 31, 2022.

Verruckt had to do this quick. If he was not careful, he would squander his only chance to take down his target forever. He sneaked past the guards and stayed within the blind spots of the cameras. Before that, he had to board a Bullhead and stay hidden for hours. If he were any weaker than he was now, he would not have made it this far.

Now, he was in their territory, no guards or cameras in sight. He stood up, and began to walk. He saw a reflection of light far up on the roof, but when he looked up, there was no one there. Whatever, or whoever more likely, that was, they saw him. Now he just needed to wait.

He sat down on the ground next to the fountain, in front of an unlit Lamp, awaiting his target.

--

"Alfred. Alfred." Dante, still in his student uniform and with a Rakuyo in hand, shook Alfred awake. "Wha-- what is it, friend? It's..." Alfred looks at the alarm clock on his bedside table (It took a few days for Alfred to learn how it worked. He had broken 3 alarm clocks whenever they went off with a slam of his fist until now.) "It's 3 in the morning."

"Someone's on campus. A Hunter of Hunters from his weapon." Alfred's eyes opened immediately. "It must be our new friend. Shall we take care of him?" Dante shook his head. "Not yet. He may be an ally yet."

"A Hunter of Hunters? Here? And you think him an ally? You must still be sleepy, you idiot." He got up from his bed, and his weapon appeared in his hand. "Are you gonna fight that guy in your sleepwear?" Dante asked as Alfred's Executioner gear appeared from thin air. "Obviously not, friend." He changed into the attire of an Old Hunter, clothing that Alfred did not recognize. "What in the world are you wearing?"

"A legacy, my friend. A legacy." Dante responds as he and Alfred walk out and downstairs to the entrance, spotting their target sitting on the fountain.

Dante walks over, his feet not making so much as a sound against the stone pathway. The Hunter of Hunters, dressed in the garb of the League, was looking about, probably waiting for him.

So Dante did the one thing he thought of at the moment.

"Boo."

The Hunter of Hunters meanwhile had rolled forward, splitting apart his Blade of Mercy and turning to face the bastard who scared him.

What he saw unnerved him and he remembered the tales told to him at that moment. 

Tales of when Hunters were dime-a-dozen, and the Hunt seemed to have an end. The garb his target wore was not something Verruckt recognized. 

It was not burnt or blackened like the Powder Kegs', not visibly corroded to hide armor as the Ya Har Gulians', and they certainly looked nothing like the standard uniforms of the Workshop itself. 

The only rational possibility was that either his target was an Old Hunter, or he was somebody who had taken a liking to the garb. Somebody who had walked a Nightmare, and emerged with his sanity intact.

Both were bad.

Who was this guy?

Verruckt grits his teeth and tightened his grip on the Blades in his hands, while his target simply kept a relaxed stance. He didn't seem to have a weapon in hand either.

"I think you scared him." A blonde-haired man wearing the cloth of a Church Executioner stepped out from the darkness, and the Old Hunter in front of him turned and laughed, much to his expense. "I know. That was the point."