Years of training. Weeks of tracking. Days of preparation. Everything has brought the huntress here, to this moment. Her first target lay before her eyes, accompanied by a doll clearly made more for eye candy than self-defense.

Tall, suave, and sporting an impeccably white smile, the plastic resin doll was quite pleasant to look on. He reminded the huntress of something from ages past, but she brushed the memory aside. He would clearly be no threat to her, the huntress assessed.

The witch was a more curious being, eschewing the traditionalist revival popular among heretics for a more modern look of Converse, striped socks, and a graphic T with a cartoon character and runes she couldn't read. They were young, probably just coming into their powers.

They walked together down the city street, completely unaware of the danger that observed them from the rooftops above. The Academy had taught the huntress to never underestimate her target, but she could recognize that this was going to be all too easy.

Leaping from her position on the high ground, the huntress landed in front of the little witch and their resin doll. She paused there a moment, eyes turned to the floor, before slowly raising her head with a grin full of malice and delight.

She wanted to savor this, let the moment of the heretic's doom hang in the air, all the more to draw out the tension. The fear in her target's eyes would be all the sweeter prepared slowly than if she just got things over with.

"Rejoice, young one," she said while drawing her long, jagged blade from its sheath. "We could not have met on a more auspicious night. Your blood will be the first my blade drinks. When I've killed you, you will not be forgotten by this world; you'll be remembered as my first."

Finally meeting their eyes, the huntress found... boredom...? They were yawning, leaning back against the chest of their doll, like one might a locker. "I'm sorry, are you done yet?" they asked, tapping away at their phone.

Anger flashed across the huntress's face. "It's bad enough you're such a miserable excuse for a heretic in that getup, take this seriously!" she shouted. "And what is with that doll of yours?! What kind of doll is he supposed to be? A boytoy? You'll regret making him your first."

"Oh, him? He's a ken doll," they replied.

"You made... your first doll... a Barbie doll?! Killing you will be doing you a favor," she cried out in disbelief, rushing toward the witch with blade in hand. It dragged across the concrete, lighting the night with sparks.

Bloodlust filled the huntress as she raced forward. A single swipe and this heretic among heretics would be naught but blood on the pavement, she thought. If they couldn't provide her the fear and anguish she desired, then best to get it over with and move on to her next target.

Inches from the witch's face she swung her blade, eager for the sickening squelch of when flesh meets metal. Instead, it clattered with a ptang as her blade was stopped just before it could cut them down. The doll had ditched his arm, revealing the katana it sheathed beneath.

"It seems you've misunderstood. He's not a Ken doll. He's a 剣 doll," the witch exclaimed, their voice full of haughty superiority.

"Senpai, what would you have this one do with this... interloper?" the doll asked.

"Leave her. We're going to be late for the simulcast."

The doll pulled back as the huntress seethed in rage. Picking up his arm, the pair walked past the huntress to continue on their journey.

"You look this far down on me? You spit on my abilities?! You think yourself merciful? You turn your BACK ON ME?!" the huntress cried out

She wouldn't let them get away with this. She wouldn't let them embarrass her like this. She wouldn't let them take pity on her like this. The huntress span in an arc, looking to catch them before they walked too far away, but by the time she had turned, the doll had disappeared.

From behind, she heard the doll's voice once more. "Nothing personal, kid," he said, before the pavement was dyed that crimson red she'd so yearned to see.

End 🧵