Chapter Text
December.
The hunting season has finally tapered off to a dull lull. The hunters, as if on hibernation, rarely leave their rooms at the mansion. Amateurs. The snow that covers the ground isn’t all that thick, and it’s bound to snow more as the month progresses. Whatever blood spill they were concerned about staining the white snow would be virtually gone by tomorrow morning. Any bodies left in the forest would freeze and be hidden until spring. If anything, winter was the perfect time to hunt. The trees are wiry and thin-looking, bare of their leaves and a starkly darker color against the pale snow. It reminded you of someone you know.
Your breath fogged before you, quickly pushed back behind by the wind as you panted. You were clothed rather lightly for this time in winter. Then again, you were running at top speed. Knife in sheath, in your jacket pocket, you gripped a tree branch and turned a sharp corner, sending a thin layer of snow skidding with your boots. You nearly slip and fall, and the newbie who tries to take the corner behind you actually does slip and fall.
But you don’t have time to help them up. You’ve hardly even bothered with their name. If they were this incompetent, it was unlikely they’d survive ‘til the spring. The slightly larger teen behind you picks themselves up out of the snow as you plow on, running and leaping through snow banks, following a trail of footprints. You were in some hot water right now.
The target was a young twenty-something male. You don’t bother with a name for your targets anymore, unless there was more than one, in which case you gave them a number. It made the process easier for everyone. Target had somehow slipped from you, however. You, a trained and highly skilled Proxy, at the top chain of command, right under Slender himself. It was no doubt because of your bumbling newbie apprentice, and you were both horrified and embarrassed. If this target wasn’t killed, and fast, he’d get to town. Word would spread. Secrets your apprentice had unwittingly released would circulate, and your home and livelihood would be in jeopardy.
So here you were, plowing through the snow, chasing after a target with a sheathed toy sword. Whatever possessed the target to think that a plastic blade was of any use was beyond you. But it didn’t matter. What mattered now was that you caught this target before he made it back to town. You can see him, all of twenty yards before you, moving painfully slowly as he wades through a knee deep snow bank. Of course, the target wasn’t as well muscled as you were. He didn’t spend days upon days running, jumping, climbing, conditioning their body to be the perfect killing machine.
Then, like a miracle, just as the target makes his way out of the snowbank, he trips and falls flat on his face. But you know better than to believe in miracles anymore. Your trained eye catches the black tendril partially concealed under a layer of snow as it retracts to its owner.
Busted. Your full-out sprint slows to a jog as you move around the snowbank and examine the fallen target. He attempts to scramble to his feet, but you deliver a swift kick to his ribs.
“Don’t bother,” your voice is melodic, but also icy and emotionless like the snow beneath your feet. Target groans, rolling onto his side opposite the side you kicked.
Huffing through your nose, you place your hands on your hips as you watch your struggling apprentice huff and puff, a cloud of steam forming around them as they perspire wildly. You can’t say you’re not out of breath as well, but you recover much more quickly than the newbie. The newbie looks up and locks eyes with you. There’s no words exchanged, but your expression says everything needed. You’re disappointed, nay, infuriated with your apprentice. If it weren’t for your own mentor’s intervention, the target would have gotten away, and it would have been the newbie they’d have been chopping up for dinner rather than target.
You turn to the faceless one as he melds out of the backdrop of the woods, your expression now reading partly of exasperation for your apprentice, but also apologies for your mentor. Slenderman responds with a slow shake of his head. You can’t tell if it’s dismissal, dismay, or on some level, the same exasperation you feel for your apprentice, but for you instead.
The crunching of snow beside you tells you that the target is now up and on his feet. Quick to recover. You’re surprised. Reaching into your pocket, you barely have time to draw your blade before the target draws his. Second surprise - the plastic toy sword you thought he had was actually a real sword. Perhaps you should have double checked Newbie’s research before setting the two of you on this case. That, you admit, was your fault.
With a battle cry, target charges, blade at the ready. You raise your knife to attempt to deflect it, but there’s no way you can block an actual sword with your shoddy excuse of a dagger. Honestly, you should probably invest more in weaponry than you do. But for now, you’re ready to accept your fate, preparing to sidestep just enough to lodge the blade in your arm. That should put you within range to-
Your train of thought is cut off by a black substance coating the blade inches from your face. What...? Taking a moment to process the scene before you, you start to piece together a few facts. One; Slender had teleported in front of you. Two; the target's blade was now piercing Slender’s chest, to the point where Slender’s torso was halfway down the blade and the tip came out the other side. A scream pierced the air.
You blacked out.