Hour of Mercy || Hermitcraft AU

~• Four •~

 "This is useless!" Impulse groaned as he was once again met with a similar sight. A tree that was split down the center, growing in two separate directions, its bark was more gnarled than the others around it. He wasn't even sure if it was truly the same place or just a fraudulent look-alike.

"There's no way we'll find our way without a map of some sort." Impulse was getting tired of complaining, but he really didn't know how else to express his frustration that didn't include stomping around like a whining infant.

"We will, we'll make it out." Zedaph reassured him from behind. He was walking better, only the slightest of stutters in his step. Impulse could be happy with that at least.

"It's been hours." He said a little quieter. Normally he wasn't so unhopeful, but the events from earlier were playing on repeat in his mind. He could have done something more, something more than drop Zed straight into the vexes' wake. But, no, that's exactly what he did. Guilt and anger were waging war in his head.

Zed had already assured him he wasn't upset about it when he'd apologized, "I probably would have made the same mistake, it's not a big deal."

Mistake. It was a mistake. Zed said so himself. And if it weren't for that saving flame, it would have been a big deal. If it weren't for that saving flame, Zedaph most likely wouldn't be so forgiving. They'd be hauled away to whatever dark place the rest of the hybrids were, and the fault wouldn't have been on Impulse. alone.

Those vexes truly were hybrid hunting, their weapons proved it. Hybrid hunting was a sick human pastime. Once he'd even stumbled into an event when he was about eleven. A sort of game. The teams started in a circle, some had many people, some were solos. He assumed it was a preference of work.

At a gunfire into the sky, they'd run off into the forest. He remembers, not understanding what was going on, but the crowd seemed eager enough that he stayed to watch. The spectators began setting up tents and starting bonfires as they waited for them to return. And roughly two days later, a team finally made it. It was early in the morning, when Impulse had come back from a night's sleep, he'd been hanging out with the humans in the campsite every day, intrigued. When he arrived, he was met with a scene he could never forget.

A werewolf hybrid, bloody and beaten. He was on his knees, wrists bound with a silver cord that seemed to dig into his skin. Impulse was taken aback, hurrying to help him. The humans were too busy congratulating a group of two hunters to notice.

"W-what happened to you?" He asks, pulling out a pocket knife, intending to cut the cord. But the hybrid jerked away, hissing.

"Don't touch me!"

"I was just trying to help!" Impulse yipped, backing off.

"I don't want your help, you filthy humans have done enough as it is." He whispered with a rough voice.

"I-" He remembers hesitating, he'd be taught not to reveal anything about his hybrid links, but he brushed it off. That probably only applied to humans. He lowered his voice, until it was merely a breath of air, "I'm a redhead."

He shifted at that, finally meeting Impulse's gaze, searching for truth. He found it.

"If that's true, you've no business here. They'll kill you." His eyes grew heavy and Impulse only just realized the excess of crimson welling from a spot on his side.

"Let me help you!" He reached for the cord, trying at it with his knife. It was metal, his blade slid along its smoothe material, not making a difference.