Hunter gasps, clutching his side. His lungs burn, ribs screaming with every inhale, and he squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can, willing himself not to cry.
One, two, three, four. Focus on breathing. In for four, hold for five, out for seven.
It’s all in your head.
“Again.”
He huffs out a harsh breath, opening his eyes with a start. It takes everything he has to pull himself to his feet, fixing his posture into a battle ready stance. He takes another gasping breath, desperately trying to ignore the pain shooting up his side. He can do this. He can make Belos proud.
He tries to quiet the sound of his harsh breaths, but with the pain sprouting in his lungs breathing is becoming more and more difficult. He knows Belos can hear and is definitely about to utilise the sign of his weakness against him, but he just can’t breathe.
“Your weakness will be our downfall, Hunter. The Titan has no room for failure.”
“I’m fine.” Hunter says, dedicating all his effort to keeping his voice unwavering. “If I had my staff, I might be able to—”
Belos cuts him off, chuckling loud and bitter, and the sound crawls down his spine, icy and malicious.
“Hunter,” he says, and the sound of his name makes him shiver, “you’re powerless without that staff. You know it’s important for you to train without it.”
The reminder hits him in the chest like a bullet, and settles somewhere in his rib cage underneath his heart with the rest of his self loathing. It was difficult to remind himself that training was for his own good, for the good of the entire Boiling Isles, and he wasn’t just a pathetic plaything for his uncle to vent his frustrations on. When he’s bruised and bleeding and bone tired and his uncle demands again, again, again, he thinks about all the kids who get to spend their days with their friends or a family who loves them.
It’s a blasphemous thought, really. He was chosen for a purpose by the Titan themselves. He was nothing before Belos found him, before the Titan decided he was worthy of something. A powerless witch on the Boiling Isles is as good as dead. Even the bugs have some level of magical ability.
Belos never pulls punches, and the first spike of matter he shoots is aimed straight for Hunter's face.
It catches the edge of his mask, scraping just enough for Hunter to know that his reflexes are definitely compromised. He dodges, wishing he had his staff so he could teleport away, and the next blow hits him on the shoulder, throwing him off balance. He tries to roll with the hit, using the momentum to spin into an attempt at throwing a punch that doesn’t even come close to landing.
The next hit does land, with enough force that it knocks Hunter’s mask clean off his face, and instead of responding with a hit of his own, he dives for it, grabbing with both hands and throwing it back onto his face with so much force he feels his nose crunch.
Seconds later he’s bleeding, and he barely has time to get his bearings again before another hit catches him square on the back, forcing him forward onto his stomach, and by the time he rolls onto his back Belos is right there, over him, pinning him down with the end of his staff against Hunter's chest.
He knows he's screwed up.
"That was... disappointing, Hunter."
He flinches, awaiting his uncle's wrath. Emperor Belos is not a merciful man; he has no tolerance for anything other than perfection under his rule.
Hunter can't see the emperor's face, but he knows well enough the look of disgust and regret that clouds his features when he uses that tone of voice. "I'm sorry Uncle. I can do better—"
"I would hope so, boy."
He leans down, and Hunter closes his eyes on instinct, but Below simply grabs his mask and pulls it free from his head, holding the piece of gold up to the light.
"It seems the mask may have become a burden for you. Perhaps you should train without it in the future."
Hunter isn't very good at schooling his expression at the best of times, but his face falls at the suggestion. "Please, Uncle! I promise I can do better!"
Please let me keep the mask.
The Emperor considers this, still looking over the mask like it holds all of the answers. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, he nods, and lets the mask clatter to the ground next to him.
"Very well." He announces, and Hunter breathes a sigh of relief. "You will be permitted to train with the mask if you can improve your form by our session tomorrow. It will be easier for us not to have a repeat of the previous incident, after all..."
He brings his hand up to Hunter's face, and he can feel the cold metal of his gauntlet as his uncle traces the still healing scar running down his cheek.
The previous incident.
The scar is still fresh, and the metal pulls at the skin uncomfortably, reopening the edges and letting blood hit the air. Hunter closes his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Emperor."
There's a long moment of silence, and Hunter might think Belos had left if not for his heavy presence still felt beside him. He keeps his eyes closed and wills himself not to cry, even as he feels the tears prickle at the edge of his eyelids.
"Oh, Hunter." A voice says, and it's different this time, softer, and this isn't Emperor Belos speaking to him anymore, but simply his uncle. "This is for your own good. I want you to be strong, because I care about you. You were chosen by the Titan, Hunter. You were chosen by me."
He lays a sturdy hand on Hunter's shoulder as the boy wills his body to sit up, still feeling the effects of the last few hits. Even so, he feels himself smile; affection like this comes rarely from his uncle, but Hunter relishes in it.
"Thank you, Uncle."
Belos nods, then climbs to his feet, motioning for Hunter to do the same. "Of course, Hunter. You would be so difficult to replace."
It used to make him feel special when his uncle would say that. Now, there’s just a sense of impending doom every single time.
Difficult, but not impossible.
"Now," the Emperor says, and Hunter sighs, willing the pain away and attempting a fighting stance, "again."
Again.