The Great Hunt || Kraven & Malekith
         All had been arranged.
    At last, he was ready to make his move. Months of meticulous planning, of research and study had led him to this moment. This was where the hunt truly began. It was this moment he lived for, not the triumph at the end; or the trophy on display as so many pretenders preened and glorified. No, those who knew the true calling of the hunt knew this moment to be the essence of it all.
          The moment where all plans and tools had been gathered. Strategy reckoned with. Resources acquired. And there were many resources he had acquired over the last months. He had been astute to take the beheaded elf’s body away from the scene of the massacre before New York’s police had arrived to take ownership of all at the scene. Her blood was critical to the methods he had in mind. A dark and potent magic, one that would surely match that wielded by the elven spellcaster from that distant land beyond their stars.
           Svartalfheim.
    That is what the legends of the Norsemen had detailed of his kind. ‘Dark elves’. A curious notion, so fantastical they seemed hardly different from beasts to his eye. Their behaviour merely cemented the fact. But, they say that an elf is an elf. Not the sort of Tolkien’s pen, but rather of the older folklores of Germanic Europe. Iron was said to burn their skin as acid would a human’s. How pitiful, he had thought. That creatures who carry themselves with such might would be felled by a material so common in their dirt. He had checked and cross-checked. The accounts had rung true. So then, the blood of a vengeful victim. Iron-wrought weaponry from his stocks.
             And his dear Calypso.
       For the elf, oh had he the ability to run from him. To teleport. All had seen it on the television that day. And that, that perhaps had been Kraven’s greatest cocern. That he would not be able to pursue his quarry to its untimely end. That it would slip away into the nether as it was prone to do, where he could not follow. There was also, perhaps, a secondary thought for civilian involvement and casuality– regardless of the matter, it was for this reason he had contacted his talented sorceress of a lover and convened with her on a potential support. To ensure their prey was ensnared most completely within their grasp. She would close off their area, close off his means of spacial distortion escape– and the rest would be left to the great Hunter himself.    Â
          It had not taken too long to locate him. His trail was so distinctive, so removed from anything he had ever tracked before; not of this world. So he finds him, somewhere not entirely removed from the public eye. Good. He would like the world to see this. Multiple worlds, if he would have it.
                   He sees the elf beyond the shadows of the shuttered window he currently cloaks himself within, loading a dart gun in complete silence. To start with, a curious test of the creature’s reflexes… This was an invaluable piece of study he would only be able to conduct now, at the start of their little game…
                   He takes the rifle to his shoulder, positions the barrel between the slight gap between the window and its sill. Takes aim for the beast’s throat, and breathes in slowly.
                                                  Fires.
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