by a_seagulls_hubris
Rating: Teen, Gen, Complete Work
Published 11 May 2024
They have the same looks on their faces when they die. Always wide-eyed, face slack. She only knows fear in theory, and therein lies the problem: many illnesses have the same symptoms. By all rights, their expressions should be pale imitations, mere shadows of a fundamental part of humanity that they used to have.
She admits; she is curious. Is death the final barrier between Pteruges-V and fear? If so, what does that say about fear itself?
She sheathes her blade, concluding that it is much like hope: emerging in desperation and clinging on to still-warm bodies.
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Kafka (Honkai: Star Rail), Mentioned Stellaron Hunter Members (Honkai: Star Rail), Mentioned Elio (Honkai: Star Rail), wish we had more kafka backstory tbh i love her, Character Study, cranked this out in forty minutes let's ball, un-betaed
The one hundredth, or one thousandth time she pulls the trigger, it is effortless.
Perhaps it has been that way for a very long time now. Perhaps it has always been like that: the line between a Hunter and a Devil is thin. What makes Hunters different is their self-control, or so goes the narrative; the sole barrier between mindless hedonism and whatever little humanity those on Pteruges-V have.
They have the same looks on their faces when they die. Always wide-eyed, face slack. She only knows fear in theory, and therein lies the problem: many illnesses have the same symptoms. By all rights, their expressions should be pale imitations, mere shadows of a fundamental part of humanity that they used to have.
She admits; she is curious. Is death the final barrier between Pteruges-V and fear? If so, what does that say about fear itself?
She sheathes her blade, concluding that it is much like hope: emerging in desperation and clinging on to still-warm bodies.
~~~
‘Hunter’ no longer suits her at this point in time. She has observed spiders in the past, how they took hours and hours to spin a web, and how they sat in that web, waiting for unwitting prey, completely motionless.
Now, cleaning her blade, she understands that strange sense of kinship more than ever. No, there is one difference: she is denied the pleasure of even spinning a web. These prey walk into her claws and stay there.
How convenient. How… dull.
It may have been raining that day. Or perhaps not; the days blend together now, an endless cycle of missions, all with the same result.
The only notable thing about that day is the small black cat trailing her down alleyways, watching with bright eyes when she reels in her catch of the day, not even flinching when a drop of blood lands on its glossy fur.
~~~
She had expected Elio to be the same old web: missions to far off lands, relying on her ability to inflict fear without fail, though this time with Stellarons in the mix.
What is new is how intricate his webs get sometimes. She’s had to study those strings time and time again, taking in political intrigue, the human psyche, plucking each and every one with the exact amount of force needed.
She picks up the violin one month into her new job, just to be able to savour the delicious balance between irrationality and control. The instrument is much less obedient than her bullets, but she loves it more for that.
What is more interesting are the prey in Elio’s web.
They feel fear, that is certain. There is the screaming, and then the despair, then the twitching as they are bound in silken threads. Barely alive, yet still trying to fight back.
She dusts her hands and cleans up, moves on to the next mission.
She wonders what the threads of her—and Elio’s—webs feel like.
~~~
That was one of the conditions of Elio’s deal with her, and he is not one to go back on his promises. She will feel fear one day, fill in the emptiness that gnaws at her mind, and it has never been more glaring.
Ironic, isn’t it? The price upon her wanted posters, the frantic orders to shoot on sight… they fear her. Or perhaps it is because she cannot fear that she is so good at inflicting it.
There are more that join them later on: a jaded swordsman, an iron-clad knight, a girl who lives in games. Elio’s offered them something, she knows: something they want yet cannot obtain. They have that much in common, at least.
Even as they get closer, even as she understands them little by little, they do not feel the same way.
‘I tire of fear,’ says the swordsman. They sit together, watching the sun set on the horizon. She’s particularly fond of this shore, the violence of the waves as they crash against the rocks. ‘The only thing I yearn to understand is blissful silence.’
She cannot feel the same, and she tells him that. He doesn’t speak, as per his usual manner.
‘The silence becomes deafening after a while,’ she says. ‘Imagine… this shore, without its waves.’
~~~
They construct a long observation pier near the shore the next year. She has not been to that planet since.
~~~
Destiny marches ever forward, sometimes with a little push from her and her fellow hunters. Every day brings her ever close to feeling the cut of the strings that she plays, the lightning-sharp sensation of not-silence.
Will she scream then, struggle against ever-looming fate? Maybe she will learn to savour it eventually, the way she learned to love the sharp strings of her violin.
Or it will feel like coming home, wrapped up in one of those velvet coats she is so fond of maintaining. Comforting, familiar.
She supposes she cannot choose what fear will feel like, but Aeons above, she hopes not.
When she dreams of fear, it has her face: elegant, dangerous, and oh so beautiful.
wooo
i've been wanting to write this for a while now but i got distracted. 2.2 story actually slaps though. if it gives me brainworms i will write more hsr but until then it's more toxic yaoi