Slay the Hierarchy

Royal Hunting Games Pt. I

A year had passed since the digging began. And with it, the coming and going of even more rumours the Blazkowiczs had little to no control over.

Some said the young master had been cursed for so long that in his madness, he destroyed his own home. Others, that the Count and Countess were equally unhinged for allowing it. Some, that the family was doomed, and would not last the year.

'... It can't be true, can it? Wouldn't this soil the Blazkowicz's chances at the Royal Hunting Games to take place soon? My sweet, lovely Sylvia?'

The Countess sighed in exasperation and threw the letter aside; the maids watching her with sad, pitiable eyes. The last year had been an especially rough one. Just when the family and servants imagined the young master Blazkowicz was finally on the track to normalcy, the... digging happened. And how!

'Should I just go dig with him?' she mumbled, massaging her temples tiredly. 'Seeing as I can't convince my husband otherwise, I might as well.'

'I would not recommend it, my lady,' chimed a maid in the room. 'The dig runs terribly deep. I'm afraid you may injure yourself even visiting the site.'

Sylvia stood and approached the window to the study, folding her arms as she frowned at the mess that had become of the Blazkowicz Manor backyard. What was once an impeccable, emerald lawn had now turned into heaps and mounds of dark sand and gravel. The rumours might have been creative up until this point, but the Countess shuddered at the possibilities if even they were allowed a glimpse of the reality.

Just what was her husband up to? And just why was he so keen on going along with this ludicrous behaviour?

'Send word of the Royal Hunting Games to my son,' Sylvia sighed, too frustrated to think of the matter more. 'I can't stop him... but I can at least distract him.'

And it was an unwelcome distraction to the Slayer, to say the least.

It took many months to feel even a fraction closer to the end goal. The manor foundation ran astoundingly deep. Though the Slayer was capable on his own, he couldn't say he minded the Count's efforts to help. The more manpower, the faster he'd find his suit.

The thought was cause for a roar of victory... he couldn't say the same for his current predicament, though.

It was an annual event known as the Royal Hunting Games. Each noble house qualified by right of name; the only requirement being a knight to participate. It was customary, however, for the sons of nobles to represent and carry their house's honour. 

And so found the Slayer competing in the Blazkowicz's stead, suited in full-body armour he... actually didn't mind.

I mean, it reminded him a lot of the Praetor suit. The fit didn't even need any prior adjustments as the servants pieced it together on his body, staring in awe at how effortlessly the Blazkowicz young master carried the weight. Though more ornate and flashy than he would have liked, it provided ample coverage and protection.

The Slayer clenched and relaxed his fists a couple of times, testing it with mild satisfaction. Perhaps the day wouldn't be lost after all.

'Two points for a hare, ten points for a deer, and one hundred points for a panther,' came a familiar voice from behind him. 'Though putting our plans behind schedule, I believe this is a good opportunity to test your motor skills in the field, Slayer.'

It was Vega. But unlike the sons of other noble houses, he was dressed in an ornate, black and gold jacket and cape. The Slayer grunted in disapproval, folding his arms at the sight. Vega only chuckled.

'Concerned for my wellbeing, the Duchess forbid me from participating,' he elaborated. 'I will be observing the games with other non-participants for future data. But as a final parting... good luck, Slayer.'

The Slayer nodded after a moment as he watched Vega stalk off in the opposite direction; the latter garnering several dirty looks from the competitors. It wasn't hard to see why they disliked him. Vega was - after all - far from human, and had little to no incentive in this world to act as one. So why would he?

He shrugged. The thought was too complicated. And the Slayer didn't have time to dwell on it even if he would have liked, for the deafening blare of a horn signified the start of the games; all the knights approaching the forest in preparation for a hunt.

Though the games were designed for the mindless amusement of the nobility and to fan the flames of their grandiose concepts of 'pride' and 'honour', the Slayer had no intentions of hunting animals. 

In fact, when he came across his first deer, he stood as still as a statue, watching as it drank briefly from a stream and passed. It was only then that the Slayer realised it was his first time seeing one really in... decades. Centuries, even.

What with the ruin that befell earth following the invasion of hell spawn many years ago, he could only assume all life on his planet was wiped out. Gone for good. And here they were hunting them like fodder; like trophies; for their own selfish whims.

The Slayer clenched the handle of his sword tightly; his jaw tensing as he made his way into the bowels of the woods, fighting the flood of memories of earth. His earth. And of the carnage and bloodshed the demons had unleashed upon it, boiling his blood the longer he recalled the chaos.

Yet in the midst of these gruesome recollections, he heard footsteps. Quick and frenzied. Someone was running... running towards him.

Reflexively, he raised the sword in both hands in the direction of it, waiting, ready, when a figure in a pink dress clawed out of the thick brush. With long, ash brown hair about her and grasping a thin, sheathed sword in her hand as she bundled her torn gown in the other, the young girl's eyes met the Slayer's.

They stared at each other for a long moment; still, waiting with bated breath; before the noble lady gasped.

'Oh!' she cried; her voice sharp and airy, telling of a girl around his age. 'Um, I do apologise for startling you, good sir. But I must ask, have you by any chance seen my--'

The young girl's jaw dropped and so too did the words on her tongue as she stared at the knight's back, who promptly turned to leave before she could finish. Flustered, she grasped her dress again as she followed in his footsteps.

'Um, excuse me...,' she tried, however to no avail. 'Hello, good sir! If you would be so kind to help me find...'

'No.'

No? No? Did he just tell her no, without even so as hearing her request?

Mortified, she stopped, puffing out her chest confidently and clearing her throat as she announced in a loud, but thin voice, 'I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice!'

Despite her otherwise gripping words, the knight continued on without faltering; a reaction she couldn't say she received before from--well--anyone, really.

'Good sir!' she announced even louder as he put distance between them, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt. 'By royal decree, I order you to aid me; the sixth princess; Daisy von Wolff! Refusing to do so may...'

The bone-chilling screech of an animal cut through the young lady's words abruptly. No, not an animal--it was the screech of a creature. For nothing natural could have sounded so horrible, so grievous.

Daisy's entire body turned to stone, the girl petrified with fear. It took all of her willpower to look up. And when she did so - slowly, painstakingly - what she found was an incarnation of all things unholy.

It was a creature composed of thin, bleached skin that stretched over sharp bones like a fleshy canvas. The sun glowed red through its fleshy, beating wings; its head an amalgam of fangs, bone, and steel. Its eyes dark, hollow sockets that glowed with yellow pinpricks and the promise of death and destruction.

A promise it promptly fulfilled. For the last thing Daisy saw was a dancing, acid-green halo arcing towards her from the beast's abominable maws.