*BAM*
The Loki stopped moving, its corpse dropping limply to the ground, as she stood over it without so much as a faint smile. This wasn't something she did because she enjoyed it. It wasn't a sport for her like it was for the other veteran hunters, and it wasn't a game like it was for the rookies. It was her life. Every moment, every waking second, was devoted to the craft of killing Loki, and she did so without mercy or remorse.
Maybe it was this combination of her devotion and detachment that made her so good. Maybe it was her genes or her upbringing. It hardly mattered. Whatever the case, she was the best. Where most hunters would last at most a year before succumbing to defeat, she'd lasted five, and to date she was the only one able to hunt them alone.
However, she was unique not only in skill, but in enmity as well. While the Loki hated all hunters, she was the only one they truly loathed. The others were merely faceless hindrances to their fun to be dealt with as they came, but they actually knew her. They knew her face, her techniques, her skills. None of this mattered... but the fact that they'd learned where she lived did. Her every waking second was devoted to the craft, but now they could reach her where she was weak. They could reach her in her dreams.
Taking nothing from her trophy, she returned home to rest for the next hunt. Little did she know that tonight, she would be the prey.