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Hernando smoothed down the sheer fabric of his new shirt, completely unbothered by how the deep, plunging neckline exposed the entire center of his torso. The silk split open nearly to his navel, framing a pair of remarkably full, soft pecs. In the dim light of the manor, more than one survivor had historically mistaken his chest for a generous bust line. A hilarious misunderstanding Hernando actively encouraged. It was, without a doubt, a terrible choice for a match. The fabric offered zero protection against briars, the low cut practically invited a draft, and one bad vault over a pallet could result in a serious wardrobe malfunction. But look at him. He looked stunning.
Beside him in the waiting room, the humming of a faraway music echoed. Richard was silently polishing his helmet, his focus entirely on the gear. Amanda sat cross-legged, tapping a restless rhythm against her knee, while Lily checked her pom poms on her for what must have been the fourth time. They were all locked in, radiating the tense, quiet energy of veterans preparing for a rough trial. Hernando, meanwhile, was treating the dirty stone floor like a Parisian runway, shifting his weight to accentuate his curves. It had been weeks since the manor’s matching system had pulled his card, and he had no intention of wasting his return in some drab, sensible default skin. If he was going to break a sweat running for his life, he was going to give everyone an eyeful while doing it. He tilted his chin up, waiting for the ticking time to reach zero. He was going to make this outfit everyone’s problem.
Especially the hunter.
A familiar chill swept through the room, silencing even Amanda’s restless tapping. The air grew heavy, smelling faintly of old paper, dried ink, and that sharp, metallic tang that always preceded the manor’s resident executioner.
Marcus Thorne.
Hernando felt a sudden, ridiculous flutter in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with fear. His beloved was the one holding the weapon today. A slow, mischievous smile tugged at Hernando's lips as the glass ceiling above them began to crack, signaling the start of the match. Marcus usually took his duties incredibly seriously, but Hernando was about to see how well his stiff, professional hunter could focus when faced with a chest that distracting.
As the match began, Hernando confidently strolled straight into the center of the Red Church, heading right for the cipher machine inside the chapel. He knew exactly what he was doing. This was the most high-traffic zone on the map, the first place any experienced hunter would check for an early chase. And getting Marcus’s attention was his absolute highest priority. Without a shred of fear, he began tapping away at the cipher's keys, his movements fluid and skillful. He didn't even bother looking over his shoulder for the hunter's approach. Instead, he kept his muleta tucked closely at his side, ready for the inevitable cat-and-mouse chase.
But before any of that, he wanted Marcus to get a full, uninterrupted look at his new look. Unfortunately, Marcus had other plans. Instead of heading toward the main chapel, the hunter patrolled toward the graveyard, immediately catching Richard out in the open. Hernando listened to the distant sounds of the chase, tracking the heartbeat indicator. Richard managed to do a brilliant kite, stretching the pursuit for a solid 40 seconds. But Hernando hadn't worn his most revealing outfit just to spend the match hiding behind a generator. Deciding he had waited long enough, Hernando abandoned his cipher and jogged right into the middle of the kiting zone.
"Can I join you guys?" Hernando chirped, stepping into the pathway with a bright, dazzling smile.
Richard, already exhausted and stressed from kiting for nearly a minute, wanted nothing more than to scream at Hernando to go back and focus on decoding. But as he turned a corner, Richard noticed something bizarre. The frantic beating icon on his own chest began to slow down. The hunter’s terrifying presence was suddenly evaporating.
Richard glanced back over his shoulder and froze. Marcus, a hunter legendary for his cold, unshakeable professionalism, had stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw had dropped slightly, his intense gaze fixed entirely on Hernando’s elaborate new attire. The bold, unconventional style of the outfit had utterly broken the hunter's concentration, leaving him momentarily stunned in the middle of the graveyard. Hernando, utterly delighted by the reaction, snapped his muleta open with a dramatic flourish. He held the vibrant cloth up, positioning himself perfectly in case Marcus decided to snap out of his daze and begin the pursuit.
"Come at me, Marcus!" Hernando dared, offering a playful, confident wink.
Marcus snapped out of his daze, his awe instantly curdling into a dark, possessive frown. His jaw tightened, a sharp comment visibly rising to his lips as his gaze swept over the sheer fabric. Lowering his billiard cue to his side, he stood tall, fixing Hernando with an unblinking, heavy stare.
"Why are you wearing that?", Marcus demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Hernando let out a musical, charming laugh, completely unbothered by the hunter's imposing aura. "How could I not? I ought to wear something pretty once in a while. Did it catch your attention, darling?"
Oh, it absolutely did. And Marcus hated how much he liked it. Because a sudden, infuriating realization had just hit him... if Hernando was wearing this mid-match, it meant he had confidently paraded through the manor hallways, sat in the waiting room, and flaunted himself in front of three other survivors. The thought of other men oogling his lover's exposed skin made Marcus's blood boil.
Abandoning all professional etiquette, Marcus took a heavy step forward. He didn't raise his weapon to strike. Instead, his sharp, clawed fingers reached out with surprising gentleness, gripping the edges of the plunging neckline to forcefully pull the fabric together.
"Button this up," Marcus hissed, his shadow completely eclipsing the survivor. "If I ever see you wearing something like this out here again, I will strip you of it myself and lock you in my room."
Hernando blinked, completely oblivious to the raw possessiveness driving the threat. He tilted his head in genuine wonder, a playful smirk returning to his lips.
"Are you jealous of my outfit, Marcus? You know, you could always wear something matching next time!"
THWACK.
The heavy wood of the billiard cue came down sharply on Hernando’s head. A sudden flash of pain bloomed across his skull, and his status icon immediately ticked down to half health.
"Ow! Hey!" Hernando whined, rubbing the sore spot as he stumbled back a step. "I wasn't even paying attention! How could you hit me so suddenly?"
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. Seeing Hernando so utterly clueless about the danger he was putting his own virtue in was incredibly ticking him off. The hunter let out a harsh, aggravated sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to control his temper.
"Did that Richard guy look at you?" Marcus asked, his voice dripping with ice.
"What?" Hernando blinked, confused by the sudden pivot.
"Did he look at your chest?" Marcus repeated. The stern, demanding tone couldn't quite hide the ugly, bubbling jealousy ripping through his chest.
"He did, but what's that got to do with anything?" Hernando asked, genuinely baffled.
To be fair, Richard had stared, but it was purely out of sheer annoyance. He was disgusted that the resident sunshine boy had decided to wear something so entirely ridiculous to a highly competitive, sweaty match. Richard hadn't flirted, nor had a single dirty thought crossed his mind.
But none of that nuance mattered to Marcus. All the hunter's hyper-fixated mind registered was the confirmation: Richard had looked. That was it. That was his death sentence.
"Where are you going? Hey! Chase me!" Hernando yelled. He watched in disbelief as Marcus abruptly turned his back on him, his dark gaze locking onto the distant, shaking silhouette of a cipher machine. That was undoubtedly where Richard had fled to resume decoding.
"I'm going to kill him," Marcus growled.
Without another word, Marcus activated his hunter ability. He transformed into his spectral cue ball form, instantly gaining a massive speed boost that allowed him to phase effortlessly through the solid brick walls of the church yard. He left a stunned Hernando eating his dust.
Hernando immediately bolted after him, desperately tapping his quick-messages to ping his teammates: 'The Hunter has changed target!'
However, the warning came too late. Up ahead, Amanda, Lily, and Richard saw that Hernando had been face-to-face with the hunter for ages without taking a second hit. They collectively assumed Marcus had turned 'friendly' for the match. Because of that fatal assumption, Richard didn't even look up as the ominous, glowing cue ball barreled straight toward his cipher machine.
The exact millisecond Marcus dropped out of his ball form, his eyes scanned the area and locked onto the knight. He swung his billiard pole with lethal, blinding speed. The heavy wood connected right as Richard was mid-interaction with the machine, triggering a devastating Terror Shock that instantly dropped him to the floor.
Amanda and Lily, who were decoding nearby, stopped dead in their tracks. They stared in utter confusion as Richard groaned in agony on the dirty ground, immediately letting out a string of curses.
"Hey! I thought you were being friendly?!" Richard hissed, clutching his side.
Marcus offered no response. His expression was a mask of a thousand rage as he forcefully hauled Richard onto his shoulder and marched straight to the nearest rocket chair. He slammed the knight into the seat, the iron restraints snapping shut.
Still unsatisfied, Marcus raised his pole and aggressively hit the chaired survivor again and again, the heavy thuds echoing through the graveyard.
"Marcus! Stop it!" Hernando finally gasped out, running into the clearing out of breath.
A few meters away, Amanda and Lily exchanged bewildered glances. Realizing they didn't know the full story and honestly wanting no part in whatever toxic lovers' quarrel was unfolding. The two girls silently slipped away to find a safer cipher. They left the chaotic trio to sort it out themselves.
Hernando stepped forward, reaching out to rescue Richard from the chair, but the sharp tip of Marcus's billiard pole instantly snapped up, blocking his hand. Hernando looked up, finally catching his lover’s eyes, utterly stunned by the raw anger burning within them.
"Rescue him, and I will bleed him out to death on the ground instead. Would you like that, Romero?", Marcus's tone was dangerously tight, using Hernando's last name like a heavy threat.
Hernando stared at the sharp tip of the billiard pole blocking his chest, his eyes widening as Marcus’s threat hung heavy in the damp air.
He glanced at Richard, who was tied to the rocket chair, glaring at them both with a look of pure, unadulterated exhaustion. Richard was a goner either way, there was no saving him from a hyper-fixated, possessive hunter.
So, Hernando decided to lean into what he did best: Flirt the hell out of Marcus.
Instead of backing away in fear, Hernando took a slow, deliberate step forward, letting the flat wood of the billiard pole press directly against the center of his exposed chest. He tilted his chin up, a sultry, sharp little smirk returning to his lips as he deliberately arched his back, pushing his soft, full pecs right into Marcus’s line of sight.
"Oh, matching last names now? How formal, Mr. Thorne," Hernando purred, his voice dropping to a smooth, teasing register.
He completely ignored Richard’s loud, disgusted groan from the chair behind them.
"Romero, I am not joking," Marcus spoke, though his eyes betrayingly flicked downward, his grip on the pole tightening as his knuckles.
"Neither am I," Hernando replied softly. He reached up, his fingers brushing over Marcus’s cold, clawed hand. Slowly, deliberately, Hernando used his fingers to trace the edges of his plunging neckline, widening the view just a fraction more.
"You're making a terrible mess of your professional match over a silly little look. If you hate the idea of Richard seeing me so much... why don't you give yourself something exclusive to look at?"
Marcus’s breath hitched, the rigid, terrifying posture of the hunter cracking under the sheer audacity of his lover.
"Look at me, Marcus," Hernando coaxed, stepping even closer until the pole slid harmlessly to the side, leaving nothing but a breath of space between them.
"Richard didn't care about the outfit. No one in the manor cares. They think I'm ridiculous. But you... you're absolutely losing your mind. It’s incredibly flattering, really."
"You... Don't even think about it," Marcus muttered, his voice losing its edge as his focus shifted entirely away from the captive and toward Hernando’s unwavering confidence. The cold rage that had fueled his jealousy was beginning to settle into a stunned, quiet intensity.
"Only if you promise to focus on the game and leave the petty grievances behind," Hernando countered with a confident grin.
"You have a reputation to maintain as a formidable hunter, after all. Don't let a little jealousy ruin your perfect record."
Behind them, the rocket chair’s sirens began to wail frantically as the countdown reached its absolute limit. With a loud WHOOSH, the thrusters ignited, sending the chair upward.
"I can't believe this!" Richard's fading voice echoed through the air as he was eliminated from the match.
Hernando didn't flinch at the sound. He kept his eyes locked on Marcus, his smile triumphant as he watched the hunter slowly lower his weapon, the tension finally breaking. Hernando had successfully calm down that temper, proving that his influence was far more powerful in Marcus's heart.
This would be an easy win.
---
The final cipher machine popped in the distance, its loud alarm signaling that the exit gates were powered. Amanda and Lily waste no time. They successfully opened the heavy iron doors and sprinted out into the safety, leaving Hernando alone in the Red Church.
Hernando hummed a cheerful tune as he strolled toward the open exit gate. He had played the perfect distraction, saved his teammates, and kept Marcus entirely captivated. He stopped right at the threshold of the escape line, turning around with a brilliant, self-satisfied smile to blow his hunter boyfriend a parting kiss.
Marcus stood a few meters away, his silhouette dark against the church ruins. However. Marcus had brought one thing into the match beforehand.
Detention.
Before Hernando could even register the danger, Marcus approached him. The heavy billiard pole swung through the air with brutal accuracy. The red-eye buff amplified the damage, sending a shockwave of pain through Hernando's body that instantly dropped him to the wet ground.
Hernando gasped, his face pressing into the dirt as his status icon flipped to incapacitated. Confused and betrayed, he pushed himself up slightly on his elbows, staring at his lover with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Marcus?! What was that for?!" Hernando whined, his voice full of genuine shock. He patted his ruined silk shirt, completely bewildered.
"We had a deal! I thought we were past the jealousy!"
Marcus walked over slowly, his expression completely blank, devoid of any room for negotiation. He leaned down and effortlessly hoisted the matador over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"This is a punishment," Marcus spoke, his voice low, firm, and entirely unbothered by Hernando's protests.
"Who said I would give you a free win for wearing such an scandalous thing out in public? You need to learn a lesson about modesty, Romero."
"Hey! Let me down!" Hernando yelled, his usual confidence completely evaporating into panic as Marcus marched him straight toward a nearby rocket chair.
"I am a matador! I don't belong in a chair! Marcus, stop, my outfit is going to get wrinkled! You wouldn't dare chair your own beloved!"
"Watch me," Marcus muttered.
With a definitive thud, Marcus strapped Hernando into the iron seat. The restraints snapped tightly over his exposed chest, securing him in place.
Hernando pouted heavily, crossing his arms as the chair's thrusters began to hum. He glared at the hunter, though his cheeks were flushed pink from the sheer absurdity of the situation.
With Richard and Hernando eliminated, and Amanda and Lily escaped, the match officially ended in a dead tie.
Marcus stood directly in front of the chair, crossing his arms and watching his dramatic lover blast off into the night sky, fully intending to meet him back at the manor for part two of his punishment.