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Chapter Text

The worn crescent blade sliced through the screaming husk of a human being. This night felt the longest of any other they had been on. People changing to beasts was no new thing to the seasoned hunter, but to have so many so rapidly seemed a turn of the tide against those fighting the beast scourge. They had already had to kill several people they had once known in some capacity in life. Father Gascoigne had been the hardest; while an often strict and stubborn man, they had hunted together a few times. He was far more approachable and workable than those in the church, and an outsider like the hunter themself. Finding out what happened to his wife Viola was equally as hard. Without time to mourn their lives, the hunter had opted on burning them. While not a perfect sky burial, it was better than leaving them to be eaten by beasts.

From a distance they looked a fearsome sight; a scythe just taller than the antlered headwear that obscured their face and neck and a half burnt feathered cloak revealed portions of blood healed skin. Breathing heavily, they continued patrolling the dirty cobbled pathway. Down this street, the thick scent of incense made the air nearly unbearable. The excess of screaming and snarling had no doubt brought out the fear in others. 

The blood moon seared in the sky. Whatever it meant they had no idea. Having killed a beast the church had hidden away in some parallel world, it seemed all hell had broken loose. For some hours they had been knocking on doors trying to find a living soul. Their breathing was ragged, tired. Dried blood coated their entire body. They had tried to break the locks on a few homes, but to no avail. Whether everyone was dead or just sleeping was lost on them. 

They stood on the stone bridge and looked across the Yharnam cityscape. Smoke rose in small wispy plumes across the horizon. The echoes of tearing of flesh and bone resonated across the dirtied city. A rotten city. The hunter felt their pockets for the small book. A small comfort from home, someplace so far it may as well not exist. The church had done so much to monopolize the blood; making any others’ attempts at research or helping the populace wasted. 

The hunter continued down into the sewers and up to the bridge. Oedon chapel was just a short while ahead. They needed to see some of those they’d already saved; something good in the unending hunt of death. While they knew they could not go inside, at some point they also needed to visit Iosefka. Despite round after round of searching across Yharnam and even the abandoned woods, the hunter could find no other living people aside from fellow hunters.

Caged dogs addled with the scourge snarled and barked in an ear shattering cacophonous roar. It was nearly unbearable. The hunter gripped the scythe and pulled it apart, ending with a shortened curved blade. Bringing it in close they pierced through one dog’s body; a pained yelp dissipating into the evening air. A slash through the wooden bars of the next kennel, a stab, and then an upwards flourish. Four beasts down, and countless more to go. As the hunter turned, they felt a wave of tingles from the top of their head to their neck. Pulling a small bell from their pocket, they rang it; a small resonating filling the air. 

Putting a packet of smelling salts to their nose, they waited for the shuddering of the world as it rewrote itself. Images of two near identical Yharnams danced back and forth before intertwining. The faintness and weakness of crossing worlds was short lived; the scent of the salts quickly bringing them back to reality. This world still had its daylight. What in the hell?

From afar the hunter could make out a small and shrill voice, “I told you already Sir Birdy, I need you to die so I can get to the bridge!”

Confused, the hunter looked about. The sounds of any sane person muffled by the cawing of the crows, screeching of beasts seemed almost like an auditory hallucination. A false promise made as a trap. The waning daylight seemed to mock the hunter. See how long it has been? Yet still the woman’s screaming muffled the lightest resonance of a far off bell. Someone was out and alive. Listening further as they continued on towards one of the many bridges in town, they stopped quietly. The sounds of other hunters chasing beasts assaulted their ears. 

Is this world in a normal hunt? It cannot be. Another dreaming hunter brought me here.

They made their way up the stairs and through the dizzying dilapidated pathing of Yharnam’s city area in an attempt to locate the bell’s resonance by sound alone. On a normal day the city was unfriendly to people but on the night of the hunt it was nearly impassable. Whatever hunter had summoned them had not yet unlocked any of the gates to make traversal easier. 

In passing The hunter picked up the pace towards the great bridge. An early hunt? The gates still closed? A world where the scourge had not progressed to its current state of calamity? 

Corpses littered the ground. They were hacked to pieces, sliced with no rhyme or reason. As if another frenzied beast had torn them apart. The hunter bounded up the stairs and around a pillar to the sight of two werewolves tossing a feeble huntress around. A lone carrion crow squawked at the sight. The hunter only barely registered the head of white hair before bringing their scythe around and creating a dance of arcs to push the creatures back. The other huntress crushed a blood vial in her hand and began frenzying against the two beasts as the hunter pushed them further with each swing. 

Finally, after several vials of blood used by the small woman, both werewolves fell under the strikes of their weapons.

“Goodness. Thank you. I’ve died to these things so many times today.” Her tone was blasé, almost comically entertained. A stark contrast to the macabre cityscape and gore painting her backdrop.

The hunter turned, putting on a perplexed face, “You have died?”

“Oh, a lady hunter. I thought I was the only one.”

“You have died?”

“Oh, yes. Quite a few times actually. It has gotten rather bothersome to tell you the truth. Dying hurts.”

The huntress looked the woman up and down. Formal pants, suspenders, and no hat or gloves. Her boots were also made of cheap leather. Her frame small, sickly. A saw cleaver in one hand and pistol in the other. The weapons themselves dwarfed her form. It was no wonder she continued to die. Her body was too weak. 

“I take it you are the hunter who summoned me here?”

“Uh, yes? To be honest I have no idea how this all functions. I had a blood transfusion and then woke up needing to kill some beasts or die. Then I did end up dying and-”

The huntress held up a hand, “you ended up in a peaceful garden with a wooden doll and a man in a wheelchair?” In any case, a hunter with no formal training or guidance would not survive long into the night, even one tied to the dream.

“Actually she was speaking when I woke up.”

Ordinary people like those who first go to the dream should be unable to speak with her. What is going on here? “Besides the Doll, does that surmise what happened to you?”

“Yes. That is about what happened. I was told this bell could call other hunters to help when something was too great for one hunter alone.” The woman paused and cocked her head. Her eyes seemed to pierce the facial covering and directly stare into the eyes of the huntress. Strangely, her irises were a bright purple. “How do you know such a thing? Does this bell only connect hunters who have some connection to that garden? Does that mean all hunters, or just a select few? And how are those few selected?”

Even the huntress was unsure of all the answers. She knew the bell connected hunters tied to the Dream to one another, but how they were selected or just how many hunters was unclear. The woman acted like a blood addled hunter, but her irises were clear and speech articulate. Perhaps the night was affecting her sanity like many others in her own world, or perhaps this woman was already insane. That could explain being able to speak with the Doll as soon as she awoke. She did not allow the grip on her scythe relax. “It is not every hunter, and it seems none of us exist in the same world. Your hunt does not exactly resemble mine. I know not how they are selected.”

The woman nodded and smiled, “Interesting. Thank you. Actually, while you are here, what is your headwear from? Because that appears to be similar to the beast blocking the bridge I am trying to cross.”

An antlered beast upon the bridge, could this be the same hunt only further back in time? 

“What do you know of the hunt?”

She cocked her head, stepping closer to the antlered huntress, “You cannot just answer a question with a question.” The purple in her eyes seemed to laugh at the confusion, “But I shall tell you anyway. I know that the blood here causes people to turn into beasts eventually. A fate no one can escape. From the moment you take blood, you are on borrowed time. I can also assume this is the church’s way of handling the hunt and keeping the true secret quiet. You cannot have those most at risk turn into beasts as often if they die hunting beasts.”

She knew far more than she should. A plant by the church perhaps? No matter. All were familiar with the disgraced hunter. “My antlers are from a prior hunt. I killed a Cleric of the Healing Church that had turned into a beast.”

“So, the church is being eaten by its own scourge? Poetic. Aeris, by the way. Well met. Or at least, that is a greeting I got earlier.”

So she had spoken with Alfred. How… wonderful. She seemed to have no understanding of who she was. This one was truly no church plant. “Dawn.”

“Want to help me kill some things?”

Dawn allowed her face to turn into a wry grin. This huntress was certainly entertaining. The attitude may be a nice comfort for the long hunt ahead. Perhaps the two could even assist one another in surviving the hunt. “I like you. What else are hunters for if not for that?”

“Gardening. Or shop owning. Or loving. Or sewing. Or sailing. Or living.”

Dawn laughed grimly, “perhaps.”

“So I am attempting to kill the angry thing on the bridge and cross.”

“The gate at the end of the bridge is blocked. So is the doorway.”

“Oh. Well that is unfortunate. I still want to kill that thing. For its antlers.”

“You want a headdress like mine?”

“Oh Gods no. You think I want to cover this beautiful face with that thing? It killed me so many times I just want to kill it. Eye for an eye, you understand? Besides, what if some poor sap comes through here and doesn’t know how to fight?”

She motioned for Aeris to follow and they made their way through the giant and crows near the end of the bridge to the Cathedral Ward gate. A large doglike being made of squelching skeletal remains snarled and beat at the large gate. She could not remember all the locations and appearances of the smaller beasts to verify, but with the proof of the beast on the bridge, she could confirm this world was only temporally behind her own. While not entirely ethical, she could use this world as a test run for the safety of hers. Her life was in no danger here, nor those in her Oedon chapel. Only this woman’s.

“Do you have any supplies?”

“No, I used all of my molotovs on it several deaths ago. I also ran out of bullets and could not find any more. So I tried getting it to jump off the bridge.”

“How did that end for you?”

“Bones crunch when you hit concrete.” She laughed. This woman was insane. Yet still she held her saw cleaver, ready to run at the beast.

“Let me help push the beast back. You seem to be quite good at continuing a frenzy of attacks.”

“Understood, Miss Lady Huntress Dawn.”

“Dawn is fine.”

Dawn ran through the arch and onto the narrow bridge. Arcing her running stride she took advantage of the beast’s slow turn radius. Without a pistol she anchored her legs and used a swing of the scythe to throw the beast’s balance off. 

Without a moment of hesitation Aeris was slashing at the Cleric beast’s side, she dodged in a circle around it, keeping herself to its back. As if on cue the two huntresses synced up. Dawn would push the beast into a corner and back off, and as the beast aimed to grab her, Aeris would slash its back. The sound of cracking bone and ferocious screeches from the Cleric filled the night air.

The beast began jumping around and pounding the ground. Its movement became more frenzied.

“Aeris, move!” Dawn threw a molotov striking the beast directly in its head. A fire ignited across its body and Aeris continued her onslaught. Fire edged at her clothes, and she dodged around the beast to avoid the striking claws of flame. A flurry of strikes from them both ended with the beast shattering into thousands of pieces of splintered bone. A pile of death. Aeris jumped into the pile like a child into snow and dug around.

Still insane.

That all familiar sensation of life and willpower being pumped into her bones themselves washed upon her, followed quickly by the sensation of tingling from her head to the nape, “Aeris, this hunt is not like the others. It only ends in despair. Whatever you do, do not kill the spider the church locked away! That energy you felt from killing this? The Doll can use to make you stronger. Take care, good hunter!”

At once she found herself plunged back into the darkness of her time and world. The crimson moon painting the world with the sensation of its end. This is what the church had done. Whatever that thing was had been the seal to hold back the curse of the nightmare. Or of blood. How much these things were intertwined she was unsure. She shouldered part of the scythe to make it a singular curved blade, and pulled an intricate pistol into her left hand. She moved through the open shortcuts of her world, taking care to knock on every door as she ventured into Cathedral Ward. No answer.

Perhaps some hunters had ventured into the woods? No, it was impossible. She had been the one to open the only doors there. Even the church had no presence there aside from one arcane using hunter. Eileen may know more of what is going on.

She made her way up the steps of the cathedral, dispatching the now arcane using creatures from her path. Since the moon rose everything had changed.

The stairs to the inner cathedral were still pooling with Vicar Amelia’s blood, though it was now in the beginning stages of congealing. Had it truly only been a few hours? The Vicar had locked the doors of the church, leaving the city to die. She had to have been aware of the cost of using so much blood, yet she said nothing of the scourge. It was deserving that she became the victim of the very things she let others die of. Justice was scarce in Yharnam, Dawn would take solace in any that could be found.

Atop the steps she could see Eileen pacing the corpse of the dog beast Vicar Amelia had turned into.

“Eileen, are you doing alright? Something happened in the Forbidden Woods, in Byrgenwerth.”

“Few hunters can resist the intoxication of the hunt. Look at you, just the same as all the rest.”

The older woman brandished her pistol and fired at Dawn. The bullet grazed her shoulder as she dodged only just in time. Shock was a powerful limiter for the human body.

“Eileen, what happened to you? It’s Dawn.”

“The hunters must die, this nightmare must end.”

“What nightmare? What hunters? Eileen, stop this! You are not yourself.”

"Your sins have grown too grave. So this night shall end for you by the edges of my blade!" Eileen moved towards Dawn quickly. Her small blades poised to strike. Dawn dodged to the side, the glimmer of a blade’s edge missing her eye by inches. The air sliced by the sudden force. She moved back, Eileen’s feather clad form continuing its onslaught. She had heard whispers before at home, of friend and family turning on one another. It had led to the hunts. To the necessities of several factions of hunters. To more death than a lifetime should endure.

A hunter should hunt beasts. 

A hunter of hunters is meant to stop blood addled hunters.

In one movement Dawn put her pistol in a holster to her side and pulled out the wooden frame of her scythe. She brought the blade forward, knocking Eileen off her balance. Continuing momentum she struck at the quick form of the older woman. The sickening sound of flesh tearing. Eileen brought the knife to Dawn’s arm. Warm blood ran down the handle of her scythe. Eileen fused her blades together and began firing her own pistol at the younger huntress.

“Only I can stop this madness!” The Crow snarled.

Dawn used the scythe to keep her from coming too close. A flurry of silvered blades and arcs of a scythe. The two continued a maddening dance across the cathedral. The blood of both dripping into the mess of what remained of the Vicar. Dawn managed to strike her own quick succession of slashes against the old woman, Eileen staggered back. 

She breathed heavily, her knees buckling. “The beasts cannot be stopped. What good are hunters now?”

She frenzied forward. Without care for her body’s damage she used her own body to throw momentum and cut into Dawn’s form. The woman screamed, blood pouring from her face and neck. Dawn pulled her own pistol, using the curved blade as a stabbing weapon and as a guard. She fired a round and caught Eileen’s movement in the middle of another forceful strike. She crumpled and Dawn moved forward. The curved blade pierced through Eileen’s abdomen. The sickening sound of tearing and crunching of her spine. 

She held the older woman and she coughed against her chest. She was breathing heavily, her breath rattling. “Enough of this terrible dream, you monster. All hunters must die.” She crumpled limply in Dawn’s arms.

“Eileen. Oh Eileen.” Dawn held the woman’s body, cradling it. She dared not take off the mask so diligently fixed to her head. She lay Eileen on the floor of the cathedral, crossing her hands over her chest. The blades were askew on the floor, Dawn’s own blood still on the silvered edge. She touched them gingerly, recoiling her hand, then picked them up. The Blades of Mercy, the weapon of the Hunter of Hunters. Something she was meant to get after training alongside the Crow. 

She pulled an emblem from the cloak of feathers Eileen wore and fastened it to her own burned coat of feathers. Tears mixed with the grime and blood of the hunt on her face. She looked to the Vicar’s mangled doglike corpse, “This is the fault of you and the church. Curse you all.”

She stood, thin silvered blades on her side and a scythe in her hands. A hunter should hunt beasts. And a hunter of hunters should end the suffering of those stricken with the blood. But people were not meant to end lives like this. The cycle would repeat forever. The hunt demanding stronger hunters. Thus stronger beasts were born. And so stronger hunters had to be made. And those people caught in the blazes of the hunt suffered the most physical loss.

“Did you suffer this too, friend?”

Chapter Text

The sweetened scent of lavender and lime curled in wisps. It encircled a head of blonde hair, illuminated in the lighted halls of the cathedral, before dissipating into the light haze above. A figure, not quite a woman and not quite a girl, finished closing the shutter on the last lantern in a row. Stonework laid in circles created a mesmerizing image of hazing smoke as other attendants finished their rounds. The blonde girl snuffed the embers on her acolyte staff and returned to the front of the cathedral. Despite finishing quickly, that same familiar slim figure waited for her. He bounced on his toes and picked at his church garments. Frayed at the ends; if one of the clergy saw it, they would certainly scold him.

“How do you always manage to be the first done?”

“Perhaps I just work better than others. It isn’t my fault all of you work so slow.”

She punched his shoulder, giggling.

His fidgeting stopped, “Marnie, be honest with me, how long have you been here?”

“Well,” she nervously pushed her glasses back on her face. “Two years and five months, soon to be six.”

“And you still haven’t moved on? Something I should be worried about? Unreliable, perhaps?” He grinned, the juxtaposition of his serious tone gave her pause.

Her voice faltered, “I-I just have not been selected to move up. That is all.”

“And you don't think there's a reason. Nothing against you.” he scratched his head, “do you think Amelia is as altruistic as she wants everyone to believe?”

“Elias!” Her eyes darted about the room, “I do not see why not. They only have so many spots to move up.”

“Don’t you want more though?”

“Of course I do. I want to be a church hunter.”

His eyebrow raised, “Didn’t know you had a death wish.”

“They are able to travel through the abandoned and more dangerous areas of Yharnam.”

“I am sure your parents would love for you to become a hunter.” Elias laughed and ribbed her in the shoulder, “but with how many candles the Vicar had us light at the alter, I don’t know if we even need hunters tonight. She is clearly trying to burn this cathedral to the ground.”

Her brown eyes were wide with nervousness. “It is a lot of incense.” She looked about, noticing just how much smoke had filled the air. Burn the cathedral to the ground, just like Old Yharnam. 

After all the lanterns and candles in the cathedral had been lit, Marnie and Elias waited with the other candlelighters for further instruction. It was to be the night of the hunt. With how much incense had been lit that night; everyone shuffled nervously. Enough had been lit to begin the waning hours of day that much of the church’s stores would be gone by the morning. Everyone who worked the eve of the hunt had been promised excess supplies. The excess dwindled with each stick that had been lit.

The hunt would be long and bloody tonight.

From a hallway, they could hear the resolute and deliberate clacking of heels on stonework. A woman in a black church garb carrying a large sword on her back stepped forward.

Marnie shook Elias’ arm. “That is a-” He nodded, moving his eyes to silence her.

“All of you. By order of the Vicar herself, you are to go on patrol.”

At once there was a murmuring.

“...expect us to fight them?”

“I think it might be that murderous hunter.”

“This is not what I agreed to.”

“Where is the Vicar?”

“...not sure I can do that.”

She held up a hand, her arm at a rigid 90 degree angle. “I know this is unorthodox. The hunt is on tonight and many of you wish to go home. As such, all we are asking is that you patrol your route home and report to a Church Hunter or Executioner should you see anything unsavory. We are allowing every attendant to leave for the night. Those of you who were burdened with overnight duties will no longer have to keep them.”

The murmuring gained new fervor. No longer just confusion, but a mixture of excitement and groans of relief. It was unsettling to Marnie. She was thankful for the night to go and rest, but why would everyone be asked to leave the church?

“Will we be given weapons and incense?” Elias asked.

The room hushed with the sudden realization that none of them had any weapons outside of small knives and mallets. 

“Yes. You will each be given armaments. You may do with them as you please. Consider it a donation of the church,” she moved her eyes to scan the crowd of candlelighters, “Please separate into groups based on where you live. You will travel together.”

Elias and Marnie joined a few others in their neighborhood. As they whispered to one another quietly, another church hunter came out with carts full of different items. Then came the familiar sound of boots on stonework. Despite her formal church outfit, Amelia had always insisted on wearing worker’s boots. While not unheard of for such high members of the church to wear common garments, it was certainly not a regular occurrence. Marnie gasped. The Vicar’s face was covered with a mask and hands gloved. Her golden pendant hung from her neck as the usual, but everything about her was off. Marnie nudged Elias. Others noticed and began to whisper. When she moved to begin handing out supplies herself, a hushed breeze of speculation and rumor filled the room.

Marnie and Elias got in line with the others and came face to face with the Vicar. She looked tired. Her eyes were sunken in and her arms thin. And her face perspired. 

“Vicar Amelia, are you feeling alright?” Marnie asked.

She nodded, her eyes smiling, “Just a cold. Not quite a good night for it, I am afraid. May the good blood guide you home safely, Marnie.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgement. By the end she and Elias were each given a cane, a pistol, five bullets, three injectable blood vials, and two sticks of incense. It seemed the weapon given was random. Some were given sawlike weapons, pitchforks, and long rifles. It was quite the sight, weaponry of craftsmanship being given out so casually. 

Marnie and Elias joined the others who lived at the edge of Cathedral Ward.

“I heard that hunter who killed the Western Cleric.” A girl said.

“You think that may be why they want us to travel home together?”

“I am not sure. But they said even the remaining church executioners are out.”

“It could mean that murder is near here!”

Shuffling uncomfortably, the theories continued as to who or what the hunter was, and what they were doing in Cathedral Ward.

Marnie noticed that Elias looked puzzled. Following his eyes, she began to see a pattern. The two black church hunters were scrutinizing the Vicar’s every movement. If she turned to where the front of her body was out of their sight, their arms stiffened. 

“What do you-”

She shook her head. “Not here, we can speak later.”

They followed the others out of the cathedral and down the steps into Cathedral Ward’s square. From far off the sound of the hunt had begun. With light still in the sky, smoke rose in plumes of gray and black. The occasional yell of a man or beast cut through the air.

“Why did it start so early?” one of the group shouted.

The clanking of a chain made them jump. Bounding around a corner was what could only be described as a giant. He dwarfed even the tallest of the group by meters. A large, bloodstained axe swung down into the cobblestone. It shook the ground, throwing Marnie and Elias off their feet. A black haired girl in their group was cleaved in half.

“Mu- mum. I’m scared.” Drool dripped from her mouth and mixed with her own blood. A roar from the giant as he swung wildly. An arm squelched under Marnie’s feet as she felt her body yanked forward. Elias pulled her from the range as the blade sliced the face from a boy named Augustus. He fell screaming. The sound brought the head down again, and he went still.

The group attempted to scatter. Some attempted to fight. The sounds of metal clashing, stone breaking, and the screams of the ill equipped candlelighters brought attention from enlarged crows. They pecked and plucked out the eyes of the girl on the ground. A man with a large cane appeared from behind one of the many gravestones in the square and threw a boy into a wall. 

In the chaos of pulling Marnie, Elias froze, seeing the bodies of Augustus and Alice in pieces. Marnie grabbed his arm and dragged him. He seemed to register her action and ran with her. He took the lead, taking her through the many winding streets. The sound of gunfire and screaming followed them. At one intersection they passed a girl with her hair in braids. She was an aspiring cleric that lived just down the street from Marnie. A bleeding stump remained where her left arm should have been. Before she could gesture for the girl to come, a bullet pierced through the girl’s head and she fell on the ground.

Barking followed behind the pair. Each corner they turned and path they crossed was filled with weeping, gnashing of teeth, and tearing of flesh. Marnie loaded her pistol and fired. Elias could not seem to manage the mechanism. With the hurried running and attempts to avoid the beasts, she had no time to teach him. He handed her his bullets and she made a path for them.  They found themselves in Yharnam central, the main gate to Cathedral Ward long behind them. Panting, they stood against a wall.

“Do you think there are hunters near this area?”

He pushed his hair back and picked at his clothes, “I’m not sure. I wasn’t listening that far.”

He grabbed her, their bodies tangling into a mess of fabrics. Her eyes went wide with surprise. Then he began screaming. A dog bleeding from its mouth and side sunk its teeth into the meat of his calves. It dragged him across the cobblestone. 

“Get off of him!” She hit the dog with the cane, the thuds combined with the sensation of squishing. Bits of flesh sloughed off revealing its ribcage. Another dog barrelled into her, its teeth finding her throat. No collar gave any protection and her crimson blood spattered into the night air. She screamed, the sound seemed to lose itself to the exposed evening air. Elias struggled to free himself. He threw his cane at the dog atop her, it clattered to the side just out of reach.

“Alfred should be-”

The world faded into a calming gray light. 

A̵̧̢͎̗̮͔̹̣͎̟̦̫̗̼͑̀̆͂̌̌͝ḩ̵̨̠͎̙͈̖̪͕̞͉̣͑̎͊̀́̆̊̌̾͘͜͝ͅ,̶̛̘̤̲͈̅̌ ̶̧̧̢̨̡̛̙̖̠̝̯̱͈̯̈̍̂͑̀͆̀̊̕͜y̵͙̩̘̬̤̼̩͈̼̙̣͚̼̔̃͂̀͒̒̑̇̈́͒͘͜͠ͅơ̶̟͕͚͍͎̼̥̺͖̱͇̺̠̩̣̳͊͌̉̀̆̄̆̈́͜ų̷̢̜̣̰̱͎͉͉̠̣̪̬̑͊̿̈́̾̋͑̿̀́̐͝'̶̡̧̛͖̯͉̰̻̫̬̟͖̮̍̽͊͐̿͝͝͝͠v̶̮̱͕̀͊̈̀͐̑ė̵̯̟͓̰̺̠̭́͂ ̷̬̏̒̈́͒̒͝f̶̧̡̮͍͙̦̻̪̙̥̼́̇̾̌͗͋̃̏̍͐͘͝ǫ̷̧̡̢͈͙͓̩̩̱̞̳͙͉̫̠̣̑͑͌̕u̸̢̩̭̺̯̘̰̇͊͂͂̐͑̿̒̆̎̇͝͝n̷̡̨͎̮͉̗̘̼͚̉͋d̵̢̨̺̖̝̪̠̺͚͚͔̘̈́͒̿̌̈̐͐̒͊̓̚ͅ ̷̹̊̀͋̑́̓͂̀̕͝y̷̲͚̠̰̜̯̼̺͎̓̂o̷̢̪͌̔̽͜͜ụ̷̠͎̘͈̽r̴̫̒̋̽͂̈́̊̒̔̚s̴̨̢͈͖͓̼̳̫͓̼͕͓̲̦͚̩͆̂͑̾̓̒͑̾̅̌͂͂̕͝ͅę̷̛̰̯̹̖͔͇̺̬̳̯̔̿͐͒̀̾̍͘͝l̷̡̧̞̖̟̯̭͎͍̟̺͔͇̻͖̀͗̏́̈̓́̋̏̇̋f̴̛̗̖͉͓͗͐̏̀̀̑̾̉̈́͋͜͜͝ ̶̢̝͇̬͉͙̆̐̅ͅḁ̴̛̥̘͚̥͚̠̣̬̂͐̈́̈́͑͊͊̃̽͘̕ ̶̢̨̧͎͖̗͓̫͓̳̜̳̤̙͚̞̗̾͌̈́̈̄͊̀̽̓̈̃̒̕͝͠Ḩ̶̢̧̬̜̹̻̥̩͖̙͉̠̘̙̞̮͗̅̈́̑͐̔́̃͒̾̀̆͋͋̚͝ǔ̶̧̢͔̻̥̫͙͓̱̂̌̄̆̓͑͆̿̌n̵̛̺̣̻̯̖̬̣͔͓̓̂́̇̆͜t̴̨̨̝̹̹̟͓̥̖̥̹͎̦̤̱́̔̎e̷̖̖̦͗̏͑̃͑͊̆͂̄ř̸͎͚̘̗̹̝̦

Marnie lay on the ground. The echo of screaming in her mind and its tension in her body itself. She sat up, basking in the calming gray haze of the night. Flowers grew in random patches amongst thickets of bushes, gravestones dotted the crumbling terraces. It was quiet. 

“Did I die?” She asked to anything. 

She wandered the grounds. Just out of tangible earshot she could hear the faintest of melodies. It mixed with the clouds on the horizon and a field of flowers just beyond a locked gate to create an atmosphere of sobering quiet. An aging building stood amongst the garden at the end of existence. Its doors locked. A lifesize doll in clothes lay on the ground. She rocked herself on the ground. Were it not for being alone, being dead would not have felt as sobering. 

In one of the birdbaths, seemingly long devoid of water, she found a set of bells. Touching them burned her hands, causing the images of Augustus, Alice, and Elias lying on the ground to sear into her hand. Their deaths were in her. Part of her. 

Ǘ̶͈͎̬̣̈́̆͌͗͆͝s̶͔̤̭̱̎̒̑͋̕͝͝e̷̡̨̡̡̧̨͍̮͉̘̣̻̻̣̺̲̾̑̚ ̶͉̤͎̦̻̥̟̂͒̕̕͝ͅͅt̴̡͔͆͌͆͝h̶̞͙͔̝̳̫̜̬̟̱̯͍͚̫͂̑́͛̆̋̎̔̾̃̀͂̚i̵̢̗͈̜̗̜̙̅̂s̶͇̅̔̋͗̚ ̵̢͔̗̮̺͎̝̰͌̈́̏͑̄̎̏́̍̐̋̊̃̚̚͘ͅb̷͍͓̠͓̪͔̹̈́̔̊̀̐͌͂͋e̵̮̳͕̱̪̺̊̃̓̆̽̆̋̀̿͗̓͊̂̈́̈̒̊l̸͚̞͕͈̝͇͔̳͓̩̪̱̻̤̂̊͒̋͜l̴̡̨͍͓̗̟̘̹̱͂͒́̽͒͊̔̈́̂̈́͆̏͋͘͜ ̴̘͂͗̏̈́͛̿̃̃̇͜͝t̷̨̢̡͈͇̩̻̝̜͉͇̥̯̟̉͛̈́͗̎͗̓̏o̸̡̲͈̙̝̱͖͍̺̕͜ ̴̨̻͉͔͚̜̺͉̟͖͇̺͉̰͖̃c̵̨̡̛̜̰͈̫͎̟̩̔̈́͛͋̈͌̋̾̀̈̕̕͜͜͝͠a̶̛̛̞̍̈͂̇̓̅̒̎̑͒̕͠͠l̵̦͖͛̓̀̏̀͂̽̌͘͘͘͝͝l̴̢̟̗̻̠̩̓͗̓́̎̚͠ ̶̪͓͇̜̐͑̎̆̄̾̑̾̚̚̚̚͜ẖ̴̀͊̃̃̂̓͝ṵ̵̘̈͆̅n̵̟̣̣͉͔͎̝̙̑̿̃t̷̛͙̘̙̠̯͇͔̫̂͊́̓̽͌̏̇̋̋͘ė̶̼ṛ̸̡̛̭͎͙͉̥͈̝̀͊͛́́͐̓́͌̐̈͑͊̈́͝ş̵̮̦̟̣̺͇͖̥̙̯̳̭̹̹̖͚̈́̈́͒̐̎͘ ̵̟̳̺̥͔̒͜f̴̯̞̩̹̣͓̞̼̀͑͜͝ͅŕ̵̯̖͉̪̹̻̓́̂̐̎̆̈́̈͐̇̀o̸̮̮̻̰͔͋̔͂͒̾̇͗̀̕͠m̶̨̯̖̰͓̤̱̠̼͉͈̜̠͍̬͇̗̅̈́̓̑͂̆̍̆̒̈́͌ ̸̛͎̲͓̫͎̝̪̝̮̦̐͘̚ö̴̡̥̗͇̼̬͙̱̖̘̙͓͎̟̰̘́̀̓̏̓̆͌̃͝͝t̴̢̡̗̰̜̩͎̹͚͍̘̻͕̾̊̌̂̏̀͆h̶̥̓̆͂̈́̀̕ḙ̴̛̓́̅̀̽͗̂͌̍͝͠ř̴̛̛̟̼̱̾̀̾̾̽̉̍́̃̆̕͠͝ ̸̧̮̩͙̣̙̪̇̌̌w̴̖͕̩̩͙͔̙̯̘͗́̋̈͘͜͝͠ö̶̧̥̙̗̤́̔̅̎̆̒̾́̌͆͗̍̌͜͜ͅr̵̻͈͙̙̞͍͔͆̎l̵̨̡̥̘͈̪̹͓͂̇̔̓̉̆̄͆̾̒̑̕͜͝d̵͙̅̐͒̀̔͗̉s̴̨̼̻̣̣̑̇̋͒͂̈́̾̈́͂̊̑̇̓̚͠ ̷̧̡̛͎̖͈̼̝̼̙̩̜̤̬͚̼͒͂̄̀̀̀͊͘t̷̢̯̘͙̙̪͒͂̂̌͊̑̄͆͋͛͘o̴̢̯̻̙͙̖̰͙̪͓͖͚̓̅̎̃͘̕ ̸̧̨̳̦͓̤̙̙̠̮̘̝̪̖͎̺͌̚͜ỳ̸̫̬̬͈̗̝͈̪̮̱̰̓̅̅̽̀̉͐̓̏̄̌̀͛͒̚͝ͅọ̵̝̘̟̗̲͉͇̆̅̍͑͊̀̑̊͌͝ư̷̧̭̭͘r̵̢̛̹̪͖̤̘̼̤̞̗̩̥̟͎̒̊̾̐̈́́̄͊̃͗̕̚͘͠͝ͅͅ ̶̨̺̭̘̝̹̮̬̳̐̀́͐̒̀̕͠à̸̢̡̱̥͓̰̲̙̀̓̏̇͌̀̇͛̓͌̈́̆̍͛̿i̷̢̮̰̰͕͖͖̩̪̜͖̞͖͖̇̈́̊̔̕͝d̵̢̨̬̮͕̲̎͆̆̅̾̉̔̚.̵̨̬͍̣͉̹̬͍̟͈̗̇̈́̑ͅ

She shuddered under the weight of the bells. Each one felt like some sort of omen. Elias for help. Augustus for aiding. And Alice for ending. The bells held no chime. No resonating toll for her to hear. Just the melancholy of music she could not quite place. She knelt at a gravestone, weeping. Was this place a world far beyond her own? She felt an ebb of flow to the ground itself. An energy she could not touch earlier. It seemed to rise out of the dirt between the cobblestones. Pulsing with life and desperation. It swirled around her. 

“Please, I want to go back.”

She found herself atop a cage with a broken latch. Her hands covered her ears to block out the sounds of Elias’ body being torn apart by the surviving dogs on the ground. She moved one hand to her pouch and pulled out the incense, lighting one, she held its burning end behind her hand, hoping no stray breeze would snuff it out. With the other, she dared ring the bell. Hope spread within her, as if the surging energy of that dreamlike world gave her arm the strength it needed to bring sound from the bell. The low chime that resonated out seemed to reverberate through her body. 

“Please, by the grace of blood, someone help me.”

~~~

After a time, the feral dogs moved from the eviscerated corpse of Elias towards the sound of shouting in the distance. She dared not move. The cane she’d tried to save Elias with was on the ground, far from feasible reach. A gangled man covered in hair dragged a limp leg behind him as he shambled by.

A responded echo of a chime sounded somewhere far off. It was higher pitched, almost impossible to hear. 

“Helloooooo?” The shrill sound of a woman’s yell broke the night air. Marnie shuddered. The beasts would tear this woman limb from limb. The sounds of tearing flesh and cries soon followed. She gasped, gulping air into in her gut. Marnie jumped down, and grabbed the cane. The man ran at her, shouting incoherently. She lashed the cane out, flicking some mechanism on the cane’s handle by accident. At once it transformed into a whip of blades. She lashed out, gashing at his arms and head. As she continued to strike a strange sensation overtook her body. It was not unlike the pulsing energy in the dreamlike place she had been to. This however, felt like a spring being placed into the core of ehr being. It was as if with just the right words, she was on the precipice of growing stronger. Of ascending to something stronger. It made her desire to kill these beasts all the stronger. 

She saw Elias in the corner of her eye. A boy who loved life and all its pain. She smashed the beast’s head into the ground. Blood and pieces of his brain matter splashed onto the stonework. The weak wills of mankind would be their downfall. She would purge these streets of beasts. 

“Behind you!” That same woman’s scream.

A man with a cleaver flashed in her eyes as she turned. Blood that was not hers sprayed outward as the sound of flesh being pierced and torn took over the sound of the chimes. The man fell to the ground and the woman pierced her leg with a blood syringe.

“Are you the hunter I summoned?”

The woman turned to face her, “Sure am. Aeris. And you are?”

A head of white hair… and purple eyes? Is that even possible?

“Mar- Marnie.”

“You should really keep mind of your surroundings- hey, why are you crying?”

Marnie tried to wipe the tears from her face, but they continued to stream. She sat next to Elias and closed his eyes with her hand. 

“Oh. I understand. I’m sorry about your friend.” Aeris stood quietly.

Marnie sat for several minutes. In that time, the odd hunter dispatched several beasts. Marnie could barely hear the sounds of snarling and the woman’s muted cries. It was strange. He had just been alive, they had only just spoken. This thing no longer looked like Elias. It was a figure of wax, who only resembled him. “Can you help me transport his body to Cathedral Ward?”

“Why? We can burn him here for you.”

“Because,” she wiped blood from her face, “there’s a rite of burial we observe here. Laying the dead to rest and sealing their coffins with chains. To protect the soul from the corruption of man.”

Aeris leaned in close. The only thing Marnie could smell was the overwhelming sweetened scent of blood. Streaks of dried, smeared blood spotted Aeris’ bare skin. “Why does that sound like you’re reciting from a script rather than your own head?”

Marnie backed away, and held the serrated whip to her front.

“Marnie, if I was intent to kill you I’d have done it already.” Aeris sighed. She pulled some hair in front of her eyes, examining it. Seeming satisfied, she continued, “But yes, I can help you get your friend’s body across Yharnam.”

“Why are your eyes purple? And why have I not seen your like here before?”

Aeris laughed. “I injected forbidden blood filled syringes into my eyes. Also, I’m not from here. I came for the so-called miracle drug, and got roped into hunting beasts.”

“Forbidden blood?” She had never heard of such a thing before, save for the misguided scum of the Cainhurst line.

“Don’t worry about it. Why are you out here? You aren’t dressed like a hunter.”

Marnie shuffled nervously, “the church sent us out on patrol. I was with a group, but…”

“Can you carry your friend?”

Marnie looked at the ground and shook her head. Aeris sighed, she pulled the boy to her body and grimaced.

“What is it? Is he too heavy?”

“No. He’s just young. Like you.” The words came out cold. The edge to their ice almost a threat. But she did not mean it for me. Who then?

Aeris placed the boy’s body in her arms. Her steps became heavier, more deliberate. Both her pistol and saw were hanging on her side. Marnie followed closely behind, slashing at beasts as they came near. It was slow progress. Many times Aeris dropped him to engage beasts which converged on the two lone humans. Each time Marnie killed a beast she felt that same energy building inside her. And she noticed that Aeris watched her every move closely. Whether it was a dangerous look, or merely praise, she could not ascertain. They walked up flight after flight of stairs, Aeris guiding her all the way. They soon made it to the Great Bridge.

“Have you ever used a molotov before?” Aeris asked.

“No?”

“Well then there’s a first time for everything. There is a beast at the end of this bridge. We need to kill it. I’ll slash it to pieces, I just need you to use some fire.”

“What if I hurt you?”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of blood!” Aeris laughed and did a small skip, Elias’ body dropping to the ground.

“Hey!”

Aeris turned, her expression hungry, “I can’t kill this thing and carry him. Unless you want both of us to die again.” Aeris was formidable, and the inconsistent actions and tone only made it harder for Marnie to gauge how much danger she was in.

“Again?”

“Gods, you pick the most inane shit to latch onto. I’m trying to save your sanity Marnie.”

“Sanity?”

“Oh Gods. Here!” She pulled a bag from her back and shoved molotovs in Marnie’s hands. “Make yourself useful.”

Before Marnie could respond, Aeris had run onto the bridge. A large snarling beast jumped from the precipice outlook of Cathedral Ward. Without hesitation Aeris began slashing at it and was thrown around like some lifeless doll. Marnie stood mesmerized, watching the hunter use her own body as bait to continue attacking. She threw the molotov as hard as she could. A scream erupted from both Aeris and the beast. She hesitated.

“Don’t you dare stop! Keep it coming!”

Marnie continued throwing the flaming bottles of liquor. Some hit their target, others harmlessly started small ground fires. One hit Aeris squarely on the back. She laughed as the flames danced about her clothes. It was almost intoxicating, watching this woman disregard her own life. Could she also go to that place?

Soon the beast was nothing more than a pile of bones. Aeris wiped her hands off before standing up and walking to Marnie. “Ring that bell again.”

“Wh-why?” She did as instructed.

“Because. The bell’s chime responds to the danger you’re in. We just killed a big beast, so if you don’t keep it ringing, I’ll go back to my world.”

“Your world?”

“Yes. There are multiple hunts going on simultaneously. It’s like if there was a world where I rolled a pair of dice, a world where I chose not to, and one where I had no dice. Imagine if all those worlds existed simultaneously, but separately.”

It was as if a spider’s web of pain splintered from the base of her mind, forward. A high pitched ringing canceled all other sound, even the bells whose chimes had been her constant. She fell to her knees. Through the lightly pulsing haze she saw amongst the bones and dirt a well polished badge in the shape of a greatsword's crossguard. Had this thing killed a cleric? A hand gripped her shoulder and she felt a shaking. A pair of purple eyes came into focus.

“Marnie.” The strong scent of herbs and salt helped the world shift back into view.

“What… just happened?”

“Admittedly not sure. You doing alright?”

She nodded and stood up with Aeris help. “Can we get Elias to Cathedral Ward?”

Aeris nodded, her face strangely serious. She picked up Elias and walked to the gate.

“Hello? My name is Marnie! I accidentally crossed into Yharnam proper. Can someone let me in?”

“No one is going to answer you. The church blocked the bridge, and left Yharnam to its fate.”

Marnie looked at her disgust. “That is not true.”

“It is. No one from the church is coming to help you.”

“But that is blasphemous! Of course they will help. It is their duty as agents of the Gods.”

Aeris said nothing. Marnie balled her fist. This woman, an outsider, how dare she? Aeris seemed more bored and annoyed than concerned, or even aware of the insult she had added. “The blessings of the Gods will keep us safe. It is how you are still alive!”

“We’re alive because I fought for my life. Because you fought for your life. Because of random chance.”

“But I was chosen! There was a garden, energy I can steal from the beasts!”

“The garden… I am still figuring out. That energy? Anyone of us bell hunters can access. When you go to that garden someone will help you. But for now, I will help you.”

“Why?”

“Because I said I would. Because I won’t let anyone die tonight if I can help it.”

Marnie looked around the area. Scattered bones on a stone bridge, a drop leading to the river’s frigid water. It was only not frozen due to the rushing currents. Ahead, an iron gate was locked down tight. The only way forward, potentially, was a thick wooden door outside the bridge with a light hanging. It too, locked. In the distance beasts and humans screamed, each fighting for dominance. Marnie had no idea who was winning against the onset of the early hunt. The orange sun was shrinking quickly. It would be such a long night.

“What is your plan?”

Aeris smiled. Her purple eyes almost glowing in the waning light. She stood, separating the light of day from the darkness and fires of night. Somehow, her blood covered form seemed to be the only thing keeping the hunt from launching into a full assault on Yharnam itself. 

Just who is Aeris?

Chapter Text

Upon the backdrop of a waning sunset, Aeris pulled several roped molotovs out of her bag and began to unwind the knotting keeping them together. Her fingers threaded the ropes together, typing them off, and searing the ends. By the time her deliberate movements stopped, she held Elias in her arms, a makeshift harness around his body. Tearing the once well stitched hem of a fine shirt from her bag, she tied it around his head. The white quickly darkening with the sickening scent of congealing blood.

“Thank you,” Marnie said.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Aeris moved to the oil slick gate and ran her hands across some of the damaged metalwork. “Your job Marnie, is going to be climbing up first and warning me of what is up there.”

From above into Cathedral Ward and in the distance they could hear the sounds of chains rattling and the occasional reverberating sound of metal impacting brick. A shout here and there from men no doubt keeping the streets of Yharnam safe.

“But-”

Aeris held up a hand. “I know you’re scared. But if you want this kid to get your traditional burial you have to do this.”

“And what if I am unable to kill something?”

Aeris turned, smiling, “Then you drop down and set the gate on fire. I’ll move.”

Marnie watched in awe as she hoisted him onto her back. Her face twisted into pain, and an emotion Marnie could not quite identify. Aeris wore all her emotions outwardly, but they mixed so well into the absurdity of all that she found herself unable to tell just what the woman was feeling. The harness cut into her shoulders, causing a rope burn after only a moment. Aeris crushed a blood vial in her hand and saturated the fraying cord with it. “It’ll still hurt, but now it won’t be bleeding!” She almost sang it. 

As Marnie began climbing she called down, “it is covered in blood. I feel that defeats the purpose.”

“Not my blood, not my problem!”

Marnie shook her head and continued climbing. The hems of her church robes caught on the welding and metalwork, tearing and leaving small bits of cloth. A trail she hoped would not be all that remained of her. Once she got to the top of the iron bars of the gate, she maneuvered herself around the pillared stonework that made up the last of her climb. She was sweating, her hands only holding on due to the now dirtied white gloves. How is Aeris going to climb this?

Her muscles screamed, the sense of power within her seeming to give no aid to the scrambling of her limbs across the chiseled stone. She pushed her arms to their limit, finding her own weight to be near too much for her frame, before tumbling on the dusty brick of the terrace of Cathedral Ward.

The thudding became louder. She ducked behind the small stone fencing that kept those in Cathedral Ward from falling into the streets of Yharnam proper.

A hulking creature shook the earth with each slamming footfall. Around its ankle a chain, thicker than the arms of either woman dragged scratches through the stone. A large metal ball weight at the end thundered across the mixed sounds of the hunt. Half the corpse of a hunter lay twisted and griseled through the chain. His face long destroyed. His clothes shredded. A family would be without closure this night.

She looked down at Aeris, the woman’s head tilted as she shifted between feet. Marnie shook her head and pointed. Aeris nodded and began climbing. With expertly placed grips and pushes, she made it up in just over half the time Marnie did, with a deceased person on her back.

She came to the top and stood on the fence. She grimaced slightly seeing the creature. “Yeah, that’s a big guy. Looks like other hunters tried to stop him.”

“Him?”

“Yeah. Sounds like a man to me.”

“What do you-” 

The giant creature turned to the women and screeched, a haunting cross between man and beast. He picked up the ball and chain and threw it at them. The fence of the precipice broke, sending stones flying. Aeris tackled Marnie on the pathing of the terrace, the young girl cried out in pain. Aeris stood and held her pistol, waiting as the arm arced again with the chain. She fired, his arm dropped. She ran in and thrust the serrated edges of the cleaver through its chest. Blood sprayed in all directions, filling her mouth. 

“Marnie, run to Oedon Chapel! It’s safe!” The chain whipped through Aeris’ arm, cutting it off entirely. She screamed. 

Marnie threw a molotov, causing the creature to turn to her. Aeris jumped between Marnie and the man and gripped a bone hanging from her side. Marnie gasped, a human rib. The molotov hadn’t left her hand when Aeris seemed to flit around the beast in plumes of ethereal smoke. The woman was dancing, screaming, distracting the creature.

“I do not want to leave you!”

“Go already!”

Marnie backed away, watching the spectacle in awe for a moment. Aeris was almost gracefully dancing through mist as she frenzied her saw against him. A contradiction of movement. Yet he barely seemed to be affected by the lacerations across his body. Marnie turned and ran up the stairs, ignoring the groaning of other beasts that noticed her. She saw the chapel in the distance. She gritted her teeth as she sprinted past an empty baby carriage and crossed the threshold of the chapel. 

From far off she felt the ringing of the bell’s resonance cease. She clutched her own, the once white gloves dirtied with blood and grime.

But she saw the garden. She is safe, right? Where is Elias?

The scent of musty lemon wafted through the air. Out of season lemons were hard to come by. Even those in season had to be imported, the scent was a rarity to the teenage girl. She hesitantly stepped forward, her boots echoing off the walls. No one was here. Just a pile of rags in a corner.

She sat for a few minutes, panting. It had been but an hour since she was in the Cathedral with Elias. The fates of the others she forced herself to push away. Holding the bell with both hands, she tentatively rang it. The deep sound of the beckoning reverberated in her hands and filled the silent smoky chapel with a low ringing.

“...Hmm? Oh... you must be... a hunter. Very sorry, the incense must've masked your scent.”

She jumped, grabbing the cane and screaming. The pile of discarded rags, she realized, was actually some sort of creature. It looked beastly. She moved to attack the creature, the fear of death across her body. Its skin was grayed, sparse hair. Its body reminiscent of some deformed rat, long fingers like talons stirred sticks and pots of incense.

It looked up at her smiling, seeming to not notice the cane she held nearly ready to strike,“Good, good. I've been waiting for one of your ilk. These hunts have everyone all locked up inside. Waiting for it to end... It always does, always has, y'know. Since forever.” It seemed distressed, but continued, “but it won't end very nicely, not this time. Even some folks hiding inside are going bad. The screams of womenfolk, the stench of blood, the snarls of beasts... none of em's too uncommon now. Yharnam's done fer. I tell ya.” Marnie took a few steps back. Her family. Amelia. A proud Vicar of the church. She looked so ill. 

“But if you spot anyone with their wits about 'em... Tell'em about this here Oedon Chapel. They'll be safe here. The incense wards off the beasts. Spread the word... tell 'em to come on over. If you wouldn't mind.” 

She steadied her hand, feeling the tension release from her arm. This thing, no man, was no threat. He only wanted to help. She couldn’t understand his appearance, so similar to a beast to be indistinguishable, but someone looking to help others was welcome. Perhaps she could find any of the others and they could regroup here.

She nodded, “I will send anyone I find here.”

From nearby, the high pitched chiming of a bell resounded. A flourish of hope and energy emanate from within her. She ran to the side door to find the chime. From the shadows a silhouette appeared. A large hooded figure with an iron mask stepped forward. In their hands was the lesser seen church pick and a flamesprayer. Those were both rare combinations, few used them anymore due to their danger to the user. His outfit was a black cloak, something that stirred a fear deep within her.

Those who had made so many vanish in the middle of the night. At first thought to be an independent sect of vigilantes intent on saving Old Yharnam from the beastly scourge by eliminating the sick, came to be known as murderers who destroyed the lost city of Yhargul. 

“You, proud hunter of the church.”

“Yes?” She asked. She held her cane up, flicking the mechanism that allowed it to turn into a whip.

He moved at her quickly, the pick he wielded turned into a scythe-like weapon as he  brandished its blade against her torso. She fell to the ground, its sharpness shredding her simple church garb. She grabbed one of the four remaining molotovs from her bag and threw it at him. A scream as fire engulfed his face for a moment before pouncing on her again.

Another bell’s resonance interrupted the echoing melody of hers and the man’s in front of her. A hunter, tall, with a headdress of antlers walked forward. Her hands held a scythe at the ready.

“Are you the one who summoned me?” It was a woman’s voice. She looked to the man hovering over Marnie. He also turned his head to meet her.

“This isn’t one of your ilk. Leave.”

The woman ignored him and walked forward, meeting Marnie’s timid eyes.

Marnie grabbed the whip, “Stay back! I will not permit you to harm anyone here!” The woman’s headdress, that scythe. Only one hunter in all of the known world weilded those; the murderous traitor.

“Antal, this girl is no church hunter.”

“She answered the address.”

“Her robe is not equipped for any sort of combat. Her cane has barely an hour’s worth of hunt in its chain. She has no strap to hold those glasses on her face. And that badge pinned to her robes is from a Cleric. She is no church hunter.”

Instinctively, Marnie pushed the glasses back up the bridge of her nose. The blood and sweat made it difficult to keep the metal frame to her face.

“You will have nothing to say about my clothing! I am a hunter of the church!” Her voice shook.

“No, you are not.” The woman walked forward, transforming the scythe into a short curved blade. “Your clothes are not meant for the hunt. Especially your shoes.” Frayed laces that pulled the fabric apart made up a majority of Marnie’s once formal boots.

This woman had murdered a member of the church clergy. Had terrorized the people of Yharnam during hunts. Only appeared when men turned to beast. She likely walked among Yharnamites as a civilian when the hunt was not on.

Marnie swung the cane’s whip at the huntress while throwing a molotov. The woman grabbed the blade portion of the scythe she was wielding, flipped it, and hit Marnie’s cane out of her hand with the handle. She stood as the molotov attempted to burn at her clothing, before it flared out with no kindling. 

She turned to the man, “Antal, a church hunter would not have done something like that.”

He scoffed, transforming his scythe-like weapon back into a long singular pick blade. “You help her then. I am leaving.”

He fired a gun into the air. The ringing of the bells seemed to cease their dance, and then he dissipated into dust. Marnie grabbed her cane and stood angrily, “You murderer!”

“Oh, this again. Yes, yes. I killed a precious member of clergy. I harm the innocent civilians of Yharnam. I have murdered several executioners. Tell me how terrible I must be then.” 

“Why did you save me? Was it just to kill me?”

“The church really has the lot of you thinking simply.” She sighed, adjusting her grip, “Why are you out here?”

“I was sent out to hunt by the Vicar.”

“Is that so. Were they low of hunter’s supplies?”

Marnie backed away, “why do you need to know?”

“Marnie, if I wanted to kill you I would have done so by now.” That same threat. Did all experienced hunters use it? The woman had knocked her weapon away. If she had intended to kill her, the huntress did have a point. It would have been easier earlier.

“I am not very high up in the church yet. They sent us out with weapons to travel home safely, and patrol. I was with my friend and we were attacked.”

“I know you have not yet been given the badge of a church hunter, nor the attire. But your weapons are.”

“They gave all of us candlelighters weapons and told us to patrol on our way home.”

“Excuse me?”

“They told us-”

The huntress brandished her scythe and began slicing apart the base of the well nearby. “They sent a child out here to do their dirty work! Is there no depths they won’t-”

She looked at Marnie who was beginning to tear.

“What happened to your friend?” Her voice was flat. Marnie knew that the huntress likely knew the answer already.

“He did not make it. He died to protect me.”

“I am sorry about your friend.”

“Stay back!” She held the cane up again.

“Marnie, I am too tired for this. I want to help you home.”

She shook her head, “I need to talk to the Vicar. I need to know what is happening! The garden, the fact that I did not die. I want to speak with her!”

“Marnie… it really is better if you stop going to that dream and just go home.”

“But I could help the church!”

“Why? Because they told you it is good?”

“No. Because they have always looked out for me! They gave me weapons and incense to keep us safe.”

“There are some things people are better off not knowing. You have a life here. You do not need to go any further into this hunt. Stay hunting beasts here. Go home. Live your life.”

“That seems like a lot for someone who murders members of the church.”

The huntress quit moving and stood for a moment. She gripped her scythe tightly, a faraway pained look in her eyes. “Alright. But first,” she ran for the corpse of a hunter along the fence on the outside of Oedon Chapel. She yanked the shoes, gloves, and overcoat from him.

“Hey! Do not desecrate the dead!”

The woman threw the clothes at Marnie’s feet, “Put these on. They are much better suited for the hunt. Also, once you do that, go back to that garden. Speak with the wooden doll there. She will help you become stronger.”

Marnie looked up as she was switching shoes, disgusted at the blood of the hunter that was still on them. “That’s what that other hunter said.” Her fingers fumbled with trying to attach the Sword Hunter Badge to the new leather set of fatigues.

“Oh?” The huntress walked up to her, the jaw of the woman tensing as she touched the badge and helped Marnie adjust it onto her clothing.

“Yes. She helped me get up here. And put my friend’s body on her back and climbed the gate. She died to a large beast down there.” Marnie pointed down the cobbled walkway, toward the precipice outlook of Yharnam proper. “She said her name was Aeris? She was strange. Almost beastly. It was odd.”

“She is indeed.” Seeming satisfied with how the badge fit on Marnie’s torso, she nodded and dropped ehr hands.

“You know her?”

“Most dream hunters at least are aware of one another.”

Marnie said nothing for some time. “I am going to speak with the Vicar.”

The huntress nodded, motioning the now better dressed Marnie to come with her. “I will tell you the truth, then. Since you seem intent to throw your life away. You have heard of the weakness of man. That we turn into beast because of our inherent sinful nature. Truth be told Marnie, it is the blood that does it. The blood that saves us. That transforms us. We are made of it, and undone by it.”

“Wh- what?” A dull ache began in her head. It pulsed, demanding her attention with each breath she took.

“It is true. Every beast you have fought was once something else. The more human ones? Those were people.”

“I need to speak the the Vicar, maybe she will know what is going on!”

“You are right, she does know. She knows about everything. She knows that she is sending us all to our death.”

“You’re wrong! I’ll show you!” Marnie began running. Up the stairs to the northwest of Oedon Chapel, through the square. What was earlier a place that she had separated from the others, was now a bloodied mess of inexperienced candle lighters and hunters. The huntress stopped with her. She gasped, turning away and sprinting towards the long staircase to the Grand Cathedral. She could hear the huntress shouting at the church itself behind ehr. What exactly was said, she did not care. 

“Vicar Amelia!” She called out. She bounded up the steps of the inner cathedral to see Amelia sitting in the center stone circle in prayer. Only an hour prior she and the others had been there. It seemed so long ago to her now.

“Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears. Seek the old blood, but beware the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young. The foul beasts will dangle nectar and lure the-”

“Amelia!”

The woman stood slowly and turned. She looked incredibly pale. Small. Her clothing tattered. Her blonde hair silvered by some unknown force.

“Oh Marnie. Why have you come back?”

“The others- the others are… gone.”

Tears began to spill down the Vicar’s face, she violently wiped them away. “I deserve not this sorrow. I sent you all to die, it would seem.” She moved to hold Marnie’s hand when they both heard quickened footfalls of the huntress echoing up the stairs. 

She began shrieking, “Their wills are weak, minds young. Were it not for fear, death would go unlamented. Seek the old blood.” Her body contorted backwards, the sound of vertebrae snapping and blood exploding from its veins gushed across the room’s length. Antlers pierced through her skull as Amelia ripped at her hair and attempted to hold the antlers back. They pierced through her hands as a shriek contorted from the Vicar’s feminine voice to something akin to a nightmare. Marnie stood frozen as out of the vicar’s body a beast of an antlered and deformed doglike creature emerged. It screamed, pounding the ground. Cracks appeared in the resolute stonework.

Marnie felt herself yanked backwards as the beast smashed into the ground with its hands clasped in prayer. The huntress threw Marnie behind her and lit the oil covering her scythe ablaze. At once she ran in, attacking and slashing at the beast. 

“Please stop!” Marnie cried.

She watched in horror as the huntress began hacking at the creature's body. Blood covered her and the scythe, dousing the flame. The huntress was thrown backwards, landing on her leg. A scream of pain before the creature brought down its arms again and smashed a spurt of blood from the huntress’ mouth.

Marnie cried out, arcing a molotov at the creature before realizing what she had done. The creature lunged at her and she ran around the cathedral. The scent of incense, lavender and lime, was thick. Marnie took a shredded drape from one of the large cathedral windows and dragged it along the floor. Quickly the beast’s legs became wrapped up in the fabric.

“I am sorry, Amelia.” She threw her last molotov and lit the drape ablaze. As the Vicar writhed around and screeched, the huntress came and began hacking at her head, slashing at the antlers atop. Marnie moved in and began hitting the vicar’s body with her cane, and firing rounds into the head. Eventually her doglike form ceased moving. A mist of blood mixed with the incense in the air. That same powerful energy seemed to build within Marnie, instead of ambition, it made her sick.

Marnie sat on the floor, weeping. The room was empty of all the life that had been walking its halls. The badge of a church cleric. The antlers atop the murder’s head. Amelia’s pendant. It swirled in her mind and seemed to spike her with spears of blood from all angles. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!” She was on the ground screaming. 

The alter at the front of the room began to lower from a thick chain, even thicker than that of the beast that had killed Aeris. Marnie stepped back, holding her cane. She had never seen this occur. Now, instead of the alter she had been so accustomed to, a trio of statues surrounded a corpse greeted her. Beside the corpse was a woman in a black church garb. “Marnie, I knew you were not the brightest, but I did not take you for a traitor.” It was the hunter that had been watching the Vicar so intently just an hour prior.

“I-” Marnie did not even get to speak more as in one fell swoop the huntress had closed the gap with the same smoky quickstepping she had seen Aeris do, and cleaved the head off the hunter. Her body fell to the floor with a sickening squelch.

“Why?”

“Because she would have had you hanged for being a traitor.” The huntress slashed her scythe to the side, a mixture of blood and gore slinging onto the floor. “This is the true hunt. What you should not have known. Now do you believe me?”

“I never wanted this!” Marnie cried on the floor.

She stayed there for some time. Sitting in the room with a murderer who had saved her several times over. The room was thick with the scent. So much so that it made her feel even more ill than the blood of the Vicar. She houded herself mentally. The Vicar’s suffering was the worse option. As she looked to the body, she noticed the antlers and their similarity to the ones on the huntress. 

“How did you get the antlers on your head?”

“From a situation similar to this.”

“Is anything else true?”

“Of the stories about me? Not really. I hunt alongside Yharnamites, threaten some to stay indoors during the hunts. But I kill anyone associated with the Executioners.”

“Why?”

“Seems my time is up.”

“No, I can ring again!” 

“I have to take care of my own things Marnie. Listen, I want you to focus on the dreamlike world you saw hard. Go there. Speak with the doll. Learn to be stronger. Now that you know, the world just became that much more danger-”

She dissipated into a cloud of smoke. Marnie sat alone in the cold of the chapel. Looking about she realized. The Vicar had sent them out to save them. Whatever she was involved in, or what had happened here, she had tried to save the candle lighters. Had locked herself and Cathedral Ward away from the majority of the township. And Marnie, at the last moment, had told her she failed. On the ground was the gold pendant the Vicar had always kept with her. Marnie picked it up, rubbing the Vicar’s still warm blood from its plating.

“I want to go to that place, please. I’m… sorry.”

The walls of the cathedral twisted and began disappearing into a smoky mist. A light singing that she could not quite place earlier was much louder now. She found herself sitting in a patch of flowers in a garden. And a woman in the distance stood, hands folded across her waist.

She needed to find Aeris, and at least put Elias to rest. She owed someone a moment of dignity and absolution. She stood and walked towards the woman. Hoping to find a solace in the world. 

Chapter Text

Cyril’s suit jacket was in tatters. He’d heard of the wondrous drug in Yharnam that could help with any illness. Several other Journaliers like himself had come to Yharnam and decided to stay; all had proclaimed in letters to him emotional admiration for the drugs supplied by the Healing Church. A religious branch exclusive to Yharnam and its strangely bloodied history for a section of land with average resources. His once ambitious colleagues had seemed to turn a new leaf of religion upon going to Yharnam. Which was indeed suspect. What he had not prepared for was an injury on a coach bound for Yharnam and being administered a small amount of the drug by a clinic worker. Shockingly, it had been blood itself, no normal drug or tonic.

Whispers of tales regarding beasts and werewolves made their way to even his city, but they were all disregarded as fantasy. The exaggeration of a few wolves or wild dogs. At this point, he did indeed believe them, his own eyes were certainly to be relied on to a point. Some strange science was afoot here. And he was determined to understand what was causing this phenomenon.

But this itself is quite a story to be told.

Now here he was, armed with a cleaver he had found on the ground and being chased by a mob of angry beasts. His almond hair was spattered with blood from a single creature he'd managed to kill. He’d run from large ghoulish looking men towards a crumbling stone tower at the edge of the city area known as Cathedral Ward. The tower itself seemed long abandoned by civilization. He banged on the door, screaming for help. He could hear the pummeling footfalls of the ghoul and its large staff. Moaning growls followed him.

“Please! I don’t want to die! Open you bastard!”

A raspy, elderly voice came from the other side of the door, “What's the password? Ah, my first visitor in two decades... I suppose it's just that kind of a night.”

“Good gods, I don’t know the password. I’m going to die here!”

“The hunt is on tonight. No need to throw yourself to the wolf. Now be gone.”

Just as he’d feared, a large roar from behind him. The end of a staff impacted the door above his head with a sickening thud. A second impact pierced his shoulder, causing him to scream. Cyril ran away from the tower and up a set of stairs. He continued forward. Stumbling, he dove behind a cluster of insidious looking statues of some form of gangled creature as the beasts snarled and ran around the area.

He shook. Whatever hellscape he had entered was far above the pay he was to earn. Being willing to work under pressure did not mean he intended to die for the job assigned. A sharp pain in his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. A brackish deep purple oozed alongside his blood. He pulled out a specialty vial of blood given to him by the clinic worker. She had told him this was a refined version of the common blood used throughout Yharnam. He unscrewed the cap to reveal a syringe, and injected it. The stabbing pain did not entirely subside, but his blood loss did. The hole closed up, leaving only a swollen purple splotch. 

“I have never met a God that didn’t want anything in return. This will certainly function the same way.” He peered over the graves, in the distance the werewolf continued its hunt for him.

He turned back around and nearly screamed in shock. A small skeletal creature the size of a child’s doll crawled out of the ground. It had a gaping mouth. He moved his hand, and it followed suit. Curiously, he tilted his head, and it mirrored him again. He waved, and it waved back.

“Whatever you are, at least you’re friendly. I suppose.” He tentatively patted its head. The humor of this entire absurdist macabre situation was not lost on him. It clapped and seemed to smile at him, as much as a face with a hole could. 

From inside his mind he felt a whisper that was not his.

F̶̻͇̄̌̉̇̉͂̇͘͠͝͝e̶̡͎͙̗̻̭͍̍̅ã̷͓̩̠͉̓͊̈́͗̽͐͜͠ṟ̴̡̨̫̤̪̺̰̗̜̬͍̍͗͒̔ ̶̨͉͉̼͙͇̙̋̓͆̓̀̅̀̕ṭ̸̡̯̻̼̜̳̲̳͓̖͛̀̈́ͅh̷͉͎͙̺͌͂̓̏̌̓̀̄͊̕͠e̵̖̟̮͖͗̍̊͒̈́̐̄̽̑̚͠͠ͅ ̶̇̿̈́͛́͜ǫ̵̛̛̬̱̫̹̠̼̫̝̫̭̪̇̔́̀̈̈́͂̎ḽ̶̢̢͚̫̹̫̥̩̜̖̽͠ḏ̵̨̏́̔̋́̌̊̌̂̿̃͝ ̶̨̙̰̟̪̹̻͑̍͊̇̂̎̍̿͆̓̕͝b̷̧̖͙͍͍̙̥̋̈̈̾l̵̡̩̝̠̙̙̪̼̘͎͌̔ọ̸̢̹͔̮͍̮͙̀͛̚o̵͔̘͚̻̩̪̪̬̳̠̫͒̾͆́͛̇̔̆̍̿͝ͅd̵̡̧̹̺̤̥̟̩̜̽͗̾̂̃̓͂̀̕͘̚͘ͅͅ

“What in the Gods?” He shook. It felt like a compress of cold blanketed his thoughts. They felt crisper. More fragile. Less like his own.

Ṯ̶̨̗̪̺̭͔̦̫͍̇̈̄̈̅͌́̈́̂͘h̶̡̨̛̜͍͈̤͔̫̱͈̑̎̀̂͗͊͝e̸̼̽̿̾́́̌͑̿͘͠͝ ̵̱͓̩̬̞̗̺̔͐͊̿͑́̓́͝͝ͅͅd̵̡̨͚̥̭̜̠̞͊̌̑͜͝ͅͅö̷͎̳͕̝̜̠̥̪́̎͒͜͠ǒ̷̱̲̲͚̖̻͖͑̽̂r̷̡͇̮̱͖̼̬͈̭̉͗,̸̧̳͎̝̝͗ͅ ̶̢̳̹̙̥̝̟̬̽́͛́̀͗ĝ̶̖̣̩͖̻̤̱̺͎̬̓̅̽͠ͅǫ̵͕̙̥̙̤̒́̇̔̉̎͌̏̾͌̅͘ǫ̸̬̗̬͇̮̳̘̟̖͌̽͌͋̐͐͐̃d̵͕̰͎͓͈͓̱̽͐̃̐͘ ̸̧̬̥̦͍̮̩̠̙̙̖̉͆̈̾͐͆͛͛̾h̶̝͚͔̬́̾͑̾̑̀̎̾̕ử̸̱͍̝̬̜͐͂̉͒͊͆n̸̨̛͔̺͔̥̗͇̤̘̹̼̒͒̕̕͝t̸̜͉̭̠̃̆̈́̽̓ę̸̨̛͍̪͈̘͕͙̭̆̈̄͛̋̚ͅr̵̢̼͎͈̹̳̙̣̬͖͇̳̀͑̈́̽̉̎̿̏͗

He shook. This one was even quieter. So faint he barely heard it. Hearing the groaning roar again, he bolted for the door. He could hear the snarling behind him as he began banging on the door once again.

“Fear the old blood!” He shouted. Feeling as if he were enacting the rites of a cult

“I cannot stop anyone who knows the password. You are free to go.” The door opened slowly. Just as he crossed the threshold of the door the beast was upon him. Curiously, it backed away, striking towards the door, then backing off again. The room smelled of musted lavender. Something long since burned and never allowed to leave. Sitting on a rock, toppled half over, was the skeleton of a man wearing a top hat. 

Already dead.

Then who on earth was I speaking with?

He tentatively walked down the crumbling stone stairs. With some of the windows overlooking a dimly glowing forest, he assumed this was some sort of watchtower. As he descended the steps further, he heard muttering from upstairs. The same voice as before.

“I don't know how the hunter learned the password, but let me say this much... Down the embankment, beyond the forest, there it stands, old Byrgenwerth... But it's not what you think. They don't welcome newcomers, and their knowledge is better left untouched. No. The old college is not what it once was. Those who enter, never return. At least, not as who they were upon entering... Don't say you weren't warned…”

He ran back up, and wildly looked around.

The only other thing there was still dead.

He walked down shaking his head. A cleaver was not a suitable weapon to use against these things. But what caused it? And why? What was this abandoned tower here? What trickery was potentially causing him to hear things that weren’t there? Somewhere in his mind the idea that he had been interacting with a ghost did not seem totally ridiculous, and that thought scared him. But also made him yearn for more understanding of what was going on.

He found himself on the hard dirt ground of a sprawling thick forest. The trees were twisted, some dead, some not. Graves as far as the eye could make out in the dense underbrush were everywhere. He sat by one of the graves, weighing his options. He could wander for hours aimlessly for whatever college that thing had mentioned, if such a place was even here. He’d never heard of a college in the religious town of Yharnam before. It might take him the entire night to do so. Not that all these things could die in daylight but… no, they might. In his running he’d noticed many a beast shying away from flames. Perhaps light and fire were the way to destroy them? 

That same doll-like skeleton appeared at his side. It threw its arms around his arm and shook him. Was it… excited? From an ethereal void a set of bells appeared. They were handed to him with what he now realized was glee.

“Thank you?” He asked, as he took them into his arms. Immediate understanding washed over his mind. A bell for help, a bell for helping, and a bell for killing. Calling others to his aid. The small skeleton clapped again, then disappeared into the same smoky mirage that the bells had appeared in. 

“I suppose it will not hurt to try.” He rang the bell to call for aid and winced as its chime continued after it had rung. Even putting a hand on the bell did not cease its chime. He peered over the stone again, nothing was reacting.

Can only I hear it?

From far off he heard a higher pitched ringing, it resonated with his own to create a lovely chiming between two bells.

“To whoever called me, follow my voice! I’ll kill everything that comes my way and assist you!” A woman’s yell from far off disrupted the resonation for a moment. He could hear the screeching of beasts in the distance as they reacted to her shouting. She would at least be a decent distraction for him to navigate to this college.

Something was in these woods. Something forbidden to the people of Yharnam. And he would find it out. He began to pick his way through the woods. Following established foottrails that had become overgrown, he found a small hut, its overgrown and rusted door was locked so he continued on across a bridge.

A gangled man strolling the bridge yelled at him and fired a round from his rifle,

“Cursed beast!”

Cyril felt the grazing of the bullet across his back as he hit the ground. Another gangled man ran at him with an axe. He raised it, ready to strike, when a bullet hit the creature in the face. A woman barrelled down the hill ahead, 

“Stay on the ground!”

He scoffed. Did she think he was mad? He stood, watching as the man with an axe turned to strike the woman. Cyril brought the blade down on the man’s neck and watched as blood broke through solidified gristle and bone. 

She dove into him and tackled them both into the dirt, tucking her body and rolling down onto a pile of sticks. She was heavy, the weight of something large on her back knocking the wind from his lungs. A large spiked wooden log fell from a tree and swung back and forth, impaling both of the beasts on it. It broke off and rolled into the river below the bridge.

“Shoot, that was close!”

Cyril lay for a moment gasping. How did she know that was there? With the creatures dead, he took a look at her. She was a small framed woman wearing a white church-like shirt and worker’s pants. Horrifyingly, she had the corpse of a younger looking man on her back.

The next thing he noticed were her eyes as she stopped and held out her hand.

Purple?

“Aeris. How are- oh that doesn’t look good. Let me get you an antidote.” Before he could react, she rummaged around in a small bag at her side. She handed him a tablet of some sort of blackened barley.

He held the tablet in his hand, “Cyril.” He furrowed his brow. “I have clearly summoned a demon with a bell. Nostradamus was right.”

“I’ll take the compliment!”

The sound of a bell resonated from her directly. “I take it you are the hunter I summoned? Why is there a corpse on your back?”

“Sure am! She tapped her hip, a human rib hanging beside a chiming bell. She then gestured at the body on her back, “And this is someone I was carrying for a Yharnam girl I was helping earlier. I’m going to get him back to her as soon as I can. For now this poor soul is my buddy. Oh this isn’t helping. This is making this situation worse. Aeris, normal people don’t carry bodies on their back. Bodies are carried in their arms .” 

Is she a mental patient that escaped during this chaos?

“How did you know that was there?”

“I’m a dream hunter, like you. The hunt is on and some people got randomly selected to be tied to a parallel world created by some high creature.”

“Right.”

“Haven’t died yet?”

“No?”

“When you die, and I do mean when, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Can you elaborate on this parallel world theory of yours?” It sounded insane. It was insane. Yet he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the absurdity of everything going on.

“Yes indeed. Because of something I don’t understand yet there are multiple hunts going on to several different hunters who are tied together. From what I know, versions of ourselves exist in each world, but only in one are we dream hunters. It’s likely that in your world I’m dead, and in my world, you’re dead. Given your clothes, you’re an outsider like me.”

Doll-like skeletons. Miracle drugs. Nightmare creatures. Summoning an insane woman with a bell. Why not some unexplainable science? Dying though, that is a bit far fetched.

“That was strangely straightforward. Are you not from here?” Her outfit looked like something those in the Healing Church might wear.

“Nope!” She danced in a circle, eyeing the woods ahead, “I came here just a few hours before the hunt began. Got a weapon, fought a thing, died, fought it again, died, and then fought it and killed it. Perseverance is key here.”

“And what were you doing in the forest? Investigating anything?”

“I like you. You ask all sorts of questions. Yep! I’m here to find out what exactly they made. The college. Apparently another hunter like us started an apocalypse because of some spider at the abandoned college.”

Those who enter, never return. At least, not as who they were upon entering. Don't say you weren't warned.

The words echoed. Given the outlandish claim she’d just made, perhaps there was merit. A warning he was all too keen to wholeheartedly ignore; she would be perfect fodder then. As long as he wasn’t too close.

“I intend to discover what is going on here. You’re going to help me,” he said, before continuing, “Before we do so, what is causing all these creatures to be out here? Some of them are clearly people.”

“You’re rather presumptuous. It’s cause’ that so-called miracle drug makes people beasts. All those beasts used to be the people who lived here before the forest was forbidden by the church. Gods knows what caused all this. I don’t know how long ago this happened. People ain’t keen to answer my questions.”

“Seems to have been twenty years ago. Ah- wait, are they aware?”

“Oh that’s interesting. That’s the conclusion you came to? Well, yes. They know, and let people drink it and use it all the time anyway.”

“So don’t trust the church of this city, understood. In that case,” he gestured at her robe, “why are you wearing a robe of a cult like that if you’re an outsider?”

“Oh, because I'm not with the church. I just took this off a corpse. Poor sap. But the white looks great with blood on it. You haven’t gotten a headache yet?”

“Odd response, you seem rather blasé about this. And no?”

Her body that had moved so erratically before stopped. She looked at him, her eyes blank, “The headaches come to all of us. Be careful. The more you know the more it hurts.”

“I see.” Strange woman. “You said this blood turns everyone into beasts.”

“Yeah, anyone who takes the common blood like this,” she held up a handful of vials, “will eventually become a beast. Blood that comes from a specialty clinic, or one of the Cainhurst line doesn’t seem to.”

“And why is that?” He looked her up and down. Despite not knowing her, and continuing to be on guard, he felt a twinge of sadness for her. Her time was borrowed.

“I’m not sure. I’m still figuring that out. Those with that blood seem immune to the effects. Maybe something to do with how they make it? That’s why I was headed to Byrgenwerth.” She tossed him a small container, an identical blood vial to what he had gotten from the clinic. “I only have one of this kind. But use it if you need!”

“Thank you.” He caught it, and put it in his own bag. Then took the antidote. The earthen texture was foul to his mouth. The consistency of ashen dust caught in the back of his throat as he swallowed. Slowly, he felt the throbbing cease.

She walked forward without a direct word to him, just a song that she began to hum. As they went down a hill and rounded a corner they passed a village. It was filled with the shrieking cries of insane men. The homes were decrepit, time and the elements destroying their walls. If anything had been of value, it was long gone now. He sighed.

She motioned for him to follow her. They slowly traversed around the town, taking care to not disturb any beasts.

“I take it with the abundance of blood, the wildlife also became corrupted?”

She nodded.

They wandered the woods for some time. She threw her body between several snakes and deranged hunters to aid him in not becoming injured. He grimaced at the poison that seemed to seep into his clothes and infect every minor wound. Despite her body taking so many hits, she continued to utilize vials of blood like it was water. At one point she drank the blood itself. 

She knows, so why?

They found themselves in a narrow between rocky cliffs, an increase in gravestones as they continued forward. The duo moved forward to a large graveyard, huge gravestones the size of some houses dotted the large open cemetery. 

Observing their size, Cyril remarked, “Of all the design choices this one-"

In front of them three shadowed figures appeared from the mist. One had a scimitar, one a sort of contraption Cyril had not seen before, and one held only a flame. “Well that certainly appears to be magic.”

The three shadows began their assault on the hunters. At once he and Aeris began a spinning and rather rough brigade against the one with a scimitar.

Cyril lost track of the two of them in his own fight. The one with a strange contraption began spewing fire from its mechanism. He was entranced. He did his best to dodge to the side, bringing the cleaver against the ghoul’s body. As he struck, it was bony. No tearing of flesh like he had though. And the cry that came from its mouth at one point was feminine. He backed off, feeling his stamina drained. A burst of flame blew into his face and a head of white hair crossed his vision. He found himself on the ground as she endured fire to her chest and then began flurrying her blows. A blade pierced through her side and she screamed. Desperately she injected blood vials into her body.

Another bell picked up a resonance. A lighter chime, melding with the other two. A man appeared wearing a tricorn hat and in a much more formal attire than Cyril had seen any other hunter wear.

“Behind you!” Aeris shouted.

The man turned and fired a pistol, narrowly casting aside the ghoul with flames in its hands. He began slashing into the black cloak of the fire wielding shadow in a manner not entirely unlike the way Aeris did. He hacked at it with a saw blade with rough, serrated edges. The occasional feminine scream emanating from it. 

Cyril hadn’t paid much attention to her weapon till this point. It was not unlike the other man’s weapon, but it was a smooth curve, no serrated edge. To use it she would launch herself forward, directly into danger. He needed a weapon better suited to his strengths. A cleaver was not a practical weapon.

She was thrown onto the ground and the creature began summoning snakes from the ground. They enveloped her. Screaming and thrashing as she vanished. He brought the cleaver against the writing snake as hard as he could, feeling the squelch of flesh as he cleaved into it. He struck again, before he was engulfed in flame and thrown into a headstone.

Aeris ripped her way out of the snake, bleeding profusely. She began to flurry her slashes. She touched the bone on her side and seemed to teleport in a flurry of smoke. He ran in as the ghoul was occupied with her and cleaved against its neck as hard as he could. A scream as she dissipated into dust.

“Thank you!” Aeris called. She injected two vials of blood into herself and ran straight at the other two. 

Cyril reached for the weapon that had clattered to the ground. It had produced fire. He observed the mechanism and found a switch on the handle. He followed Aeris and began unleashing a storm of fire on the ghostly being with a scimitar. The shrieks from her mouth filled the arena. The slashes and hollowed thuds of weaponry against the other joined it to create a roaring ensemble of destruction. 

Between her, the man, and Cyril; they made relatively quick work of the trio of women that had attacked. 

Aeris ran up to him, holding him steady. As he fell into her he realized how much of his flesh had been burned. It was probably at fourth degree in a few places. His back was not responding correctly. “I-”

“Use that vial, or die. Either way, I will wait for you if you still need my help.”

“Who are you?” The man who had summoned in looked to Aeris. He held the saw at the ready.

Cyril watched as she met his gaze, smiling sadly, “My name is Aeris. In my world we have already met, Henryk.”

“Why is there the body of one of the candlelighters on your back?”

Her shoulders dropped, “this is someone who became another victim of this night. I stopped the madness in my world, but in the hunt of one young Marnie, I failed.”

Henryk shook, holding his head. “What do you mean?”

“In my world you and I have already met. We’re dream hunters, you and I. Father Gascoigne succumbed to the blood.”

He stormed forward, pulling his saw at her face. “Where?”

She shook her head, continuing to hold Cyril. Cyril used the vial, feeling his body regenerate. It was strange. Bones seemed to crack back into place, it was painful. His skin sizzled as the burns dissipated. After a moment of healing and agonizing pain, only some lighter lacerations remained. Aeris had yet to speak.

“In your world I don’t know who ended up killing him, but-” The man grabbed a different pistol from his side and raised it to fire.

“Wait!” Aeris pushed Cyril off her lap and stood. “His daughter, Mirabel, is still alive. Her sister Eloise is around somewhere. Keep them safe! This night is not like the others!”

“And Viola?"

“I couldn’t tell if he killed or, or if she was killed by beasts and then he turned. She’s gone.” Aeris opened the flap of her shirt, revealing ared brooch pinned to the inside. 

“Give it to me!” he shouted.

“I cannot. This is not your world’s. I have another Henryk to find.”

He beat the ground with his saw and fired the gun into the air. A deep echo interrupted the resonance, and he vanished.

“What the hell was that?” Cyril demanded. “Who are you?”

She turned, the white hair glinting the radiance of the moonlight. “I told you. In my world you are likely dead, and I in yours. A hunter is a hunter, even in the dream of another. There is a Henryk in your world. Just like mine. Father Gascoigne was a hunter in Yharnam who on this hunt succumbs to the blood and becomes a beast. He and Henryk were lifelong friends. Depending on the choices this night, you may get them all killed. Something is causing this, something likely tied to the blood of the gods forsaken church.”

“And who are you?”

“I am Aeris, a hunter. A hunter who is determined to stop this madness at its source.”

She was entirely serious. No childish glee. No dancing, or humming. She never broke gaze. She had warned Henryk of his found family’s potential demise. Had insisted the corpse on her back was to help. Had repeatedly thrown her body into harms way without a thought. Insane. But intentionally insane. And seemingly good-hearted. 

“I think ahead lies the abandoned College of Byrgenwerth. I do not much care for the hunt, but as I seem to be stuck, our motivations seem to align. Would you like to be allies?”

She walked up to him, holding out her hand, “For now. But one day, you may too be my enemy.”

They shook, their own blood and of those they had killed mixed. A tentative, fragile pact between two hunters. One damned. Cyril shook his head, and cracked a smile. 

“Well then, keep me alive, Hunter Aeris.”

Chapter Text

Ahead a grove of trees sat silent. Not a breeze or insect stirred the dense air. Cyril walked several paces behind Aeris. Any being that would attack, would harm the hysterical woman first. He snorted, what his cohorts would think of him walking behind a madwoman through a grove. An insect-like creature jumped from the shadows and grappled itself onto Aeris. She began striking at her own body, seeming to dislodge her own skin to break its grapple. It was huge, the same size as her. Dozens of spiky teeth burrowed into her head and face. 

Cyril’s mouth went agape, its body was humanoid. Tattered rags of clothing showed grayed skin oozing with a gooey maroon liquid. It had the head of some sort of deformed insect, and bulbous puss filled eyes dotted it. He could see pupils darting about in the liquid. Some were affixed to Aeris, and some on him. He stepped backwards, Aeris’ shrieks mixing with a shrill buzzing that began from the creature’s body. It was not unlike when a cannonfire was too close to someone’s ear. He clamped his hands over his head as the shadows around him seemed to loom. The sound resonated with the bells and darkening sky, turning the calming chimes into a dancing ensemble of uncertainty. His bell was perfect, silvered etched finely. The bell hanging on Aeris’ side was dirtied, damaged. 

Living and damned. But why?

He collapsed onto the ground as he saw for the first time the creature in front of him for what it was; someone had fed tainted blood to a person. The harmonizing of the bells and screeching pierced through his hands. The blood wasn’t from here! It was foreign, alien in nature. What had created this thing and why? Why the need for so many eyes? Some peered at him, they almost looked human. No! The hunters themselves were nothing more than-

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His thoughts were cut by a splitting headache that ruptured from within the core of his mind and shattered outwards. He screamed, the ground below him colliding with his face. Blood dripped out of his mouth and the world edged with a dull gray. He forced his eyes to remain open and saw Aeris bleeding and slashing the creature to death. She was laughing, blood dribbling out of her eyes.

With one more thrust of the blade the sound ceased. She fell onto her knees, breathing heavily. “Well that was something.” She took three entire blood vials, dumping all into her mouth. “That was certainly something.”

Cyril sat up slowly. “Do you know what that was?”

She shook her head, “I’ve never been this far. I have no idea what we’re gonna find.” Her voice was labored. She sliced into its head, puss and eyes oozed onto the dirt. 

He tried to collect his thoughts. What had happened was so ethereal, the thoughts seemed to vanish right as he managed to grab ahold of them. Eyes. Why eyes? And there was something about the bell? His body felt sore and mouth was bleeding, but whatever it was had harmed her even further. Good thing she was there. His thoughts continued to spin, and he sliced through that confusion. He knew by peeling it back and streamlining his consciousness he was effectively throwing ideas and memories he’d had from that thing into a void. 

His head burned. He observed the eviscerated creature’s body. It had clearly been human at some point. Based on this close oceanside climate, the human body would decay within a month from natural phenomena. This place had not been distrubed for some time, at least based on the words from the dead man at the door.

You’re beginning to sound like her.

He shook his head. The blood came from somewhere. Given that it was sustaining Aeris’ life and his own, perhaps the blood they gave these people kept them alive even after years had gone by. He would find out what was beyond the walls of the supposed college.

The two of them rested for a few more minutes, before collecting themselves and starting back on the path. Through the trees loomed a large brick building with a domed tower. Cyril gasped. It was far smaller than some of the universities he had seen in Paris or London, but the brickwork and tower were sights to behold. He excitedly continued down the path, only changing direction when he saw more of the insects. Not something he wanted to experience twice. 

“Get off of me! Get off. Off!” Aeris screaming was shrill, fearful, panicked. He whipped around to find her grabbed by some strange gangly creature with tentacles on its face. She looked terrified. She thrashed and he ran forward, spraying flames across the both of them. The scent of burning flesh struck his senses, almost disorienting him. He had not experienced violence like that so close before. The creature emitted a white ray of light from its hands that just missed Cyril, it smelled of blood and formaldehyde. Aeris managed to throw the creature off herself and began beating into it with her weapon. Strike after strike after strike impaled across it. Horrifyingly, instead of blood, a white liquid oozed from its body. She screamed and continued to hack the creature into unidentifiable pieces. She tossed her pistol and began pounding it with her bare hand and blade.

“Give it back!” She screamed.

Cyril watched in shock as she beat it into the ground till all that remained was a white sludge pooling into the packed dirt. She was hyperventilating. It reminded him of hysteria, really. Insane woman. Still though, why did it bleed white? And why did it smell of formaldehyde of all things? Was that magic? No. Preposterous. But if beasts could exist, and blood of unknown origin could sustain life, perhaps this was all an unexplained science? Of course it was. Some people did accuse the scientist Tesla of witchcraft because they understood not his inventions. 

“I believe you have killed it.”

She turned to him, her eyes wild and searching. “You’re Cyril. Dream hunter. You presumptuously told me to travel with you. Like a bastard. I’m Aeris, dream hunter. And I see the madness.” She struck her own head with her empty left hand and circled for a moment. “Mine. This is mine. And you can’t have it! Go away Sandra!”

Cyril stiffened at the sight of her. He didn’t quite know how to react to this display of instability. “And just who is Sandra?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She stood silently, picking up her pistol in one motion. She kept her back to him as he observed her straightening her hair, slapping her face, and tightening the ropes holding the boy to her back. Her movements were jilted, almost inhuman for just a moment. He watched her examine her fingers and begin filing them with the blade of her weapon. “Shall we be off then?”

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t like things messing up my hair and putting tentacles in my face!” She smiled, her face seeming more pale than earlier.

He should leave her behind. Reliable though her fighting, clearly her mind was incomplete. Still, she knew quite a bit about the nature of this place and was keeping him alive. He had no more refined blood vials to use, so he was unable to heal. While killing creatures made a building force seem to sit in his gut, he did not intend to test the theory that dying may lead him to a place to become stronger.  

~~~

He marveled at the reflective lake before him. At some point long ago this was a bustling school for those seeking knowledge and understanding. Now in its place clumps of weeds and cracked foundation remained. From far off he watched as a wormlike creature wandered about. An almost otherworldly ethereal glow emanated from it. It was a centipede, but the height of the average church and it stood on it legs upwards, as if it had learned to walk like a bipedal. At the base of its body a gaping mouth of teeth dripped that same yellow puss. He moved quickly out of its view using stone pillars that were in the distance. 

Aeris was sitting on the broken stone leaning against a crumbling marbled fence. Her head was tilted back and eyes closed. Her right hand still clutched the bloodied weapon, while her left had found its way to the breast of her outfit where he knew a brooch was pinned to the inside. She was humming softly, the melody resonating with their bells to create a sense of calm. The bell on her side was worn, a crack beginning on its edge. It reflected the moonlight just like her hair. She almost looked like a corpse. From her still body the words of a song began to ring out,

“Oh, hunter. 

Oh blessed saint. 

An honest death is like a blessing. 

Let death come once and for all. 

Plenteous blood is lost upon this hunt. 

Oh blood blessed saint.”

Her voice was like a crystal, fragile and unstable. The song hauntingly operatic. She couldn’t quite hit every note, but it rang clear despite her soft voice.

“What is that?”

She looked at him with sadness, “The song of a fallen hunter I have yet to help.”

“What do you mean?”

“The same as earlier. Someone who became a beast. I plan to end their suffering, but I have not yet become strong enough.”

“I wanted to ask about him, Father Gascoigne. Is that the hunter you haven’t been able to help?”

She didn’t open her eyes. Her trust in him with her vulnerability was unsettling. She did not know him. If Cyril wanted to, he could kill her before she could react. Yet she sat, neck exposed with her eyes shut. Even those not afraid of dying were usually cautious. 

Her voice was emotionless.“Some time ago I helped another hunter who had failed to save Father Gascoigne in their world, and then got his daughters and their honorary uncle killed. I was determined to save them. I killed Father Gascoigne because he’d lost himself. Then found the corpse of his wife. His youngest daughter was waiting at home for her older sister and parents to come back. I escorted them both to Oedon Chapel for safety.”

So things can be learned from the hunts of others. Not to take just Aeris’ word on it, but she had been honest with her lived experience thus far.

“Then why not return the brooch?” 

“I will tell those children of their parents’ demise upon the rising of dawn. If it ever comes.”

If it ever comes for you.

“Then who is the hunter you have not helped?”

“I don't know how to untie you from this dream. You are being kept here by something just like the rest of us. The headaches will come. If I could remove you from this I would.”

“Who is it, Aeris?”

“A hunter by the name of Ludwig, the first of the church hunters.”

“Is he blood drunk elsewhere?”

“Of a sorts.” She stood and looked to the sky. Her voice sounded rabid, angered beyond his comprehension.“Who the hell is doing this?” She seemed to be waiting for an answer that would never come. This was man made, not the creation of some higher power. It could be. He shook that thought as she continued,“You think my guard is too low for this, don’t you?” 

 He looked up and met her piercing purple eyes. She had shown no understanding of science or the technical understanding of the world And yet… Cyril breathed, “We are in a forest after being chased by hellish creatures of science and apparently medicine. You are with a strange man you do not know, and are content to sit there exposed.”

“You couldn’t kill me as you are now. And even if you could, I would just come back. You may not believe it. But facts do not care about what you believe.”

“Then what are the facts?”

“You tell me. You have not stopped observing everything as I was tossed about as your cannon fodder.”

Straightforward. He felt a small twinge of remorse. His role was to be a protector, not leave it to the women.“There is something about the blood and the hunters and eyes. It almost hit me while that ungodly creature was screeching. The bells have something to do with it as well. Whatever they researched here correlates with the rampant beasts, the healing blood, the church, and the hunters. I want to believe this is all man made… but it is possible some otherworldly creature is at play here. None of this is in line with any science I have seen or research and study I have heard of. Except…”

She cocked her head sideways, a smile brightened the blood smeared on her face.” Except?”

“No, no, this is pure insanity. The stuff of men with their heads in the clouds and hysterical women. No respectable journalier could even consider it.”

“We are in a forest after being chased by hellish creatures of some unknown science and medicine. You have witnessed people appearing and disappearing in front of you through the chiming of a bell. Werewolves. Beasts. What is so crazy you can’t even consider it Cyril?” She sounded manic, excited. 

He took a step back and held the cleaver tighter, His mind racing. “Plato wrote an illustrative dialogue called Critias, about the fall of… Atlantis.” He winced at his own words. He sounded like a schoolboy, not a professional of the field. Much like the brainwashed sounding letters his colleagues sent about the wonders of Yharnam. “In it he described Atlantis as a prospering nation possessed of miraculous medicine. It is said that due to their warmongering, they fell out of favor with the gods, who sank the empire into the sea. Plato intended it as allegorical, but fragmented secondary sources in other literature described something called blood ministration."

“Well that certainly is something. You think this has happened before in other places?”

“As I said, it is an idea, not even a concept. It cannot verifiably be proven. It’s an illustrative story, nothing more.”

She seemed troubled. Her face was no longer its light and nonsensical joy. Just blank. He attempted to speak to her more, but she continued to give one to two word answers. The concept that this had happened before was the troubling element for her, but he could not definitively ascertain why. 

They moved quietly towards the college. Around them what he now identified as crimes against nature skulked. The large centipede began screeching at one of the insect-like creatures and a bolt of wondrous blackened light pierced through the creature, searing it in half. He and Aeris exchanged glances and darted towards the once proud school. A door on the side was wide open, as if to beckon those who dared trespass the woods to their doom. 

The scent of mildew, wet paper, chemicals, and dust had settled in the room. It seemed as if no one had been here in ages. Thick layers of dust covered the floor. On one side of the room were desks and tables filled with stacked research papers, distillery equipment, and dated bunsen burners. In the center a wooden helical staircase continued upwards to a loft that seemed to be filled with bookcases. Scorch marks erratically painted the staircase while the aged floor in some areas was broken. Curiously, it looked as if the something had exploded outwards, but no trace of ash or fire was anywhere. It was if the wood itself decided to detonate.

Aeris walked in first, “Maybe you’re right Cyril, this seems to be a strange science. Can you make sense of the re- hey, what’s wrong?”

Cyril motioned with his hands to hush her and pointed. Indented in the dust were two dancing pairs of footprints. They continued their ensemble around the staircase. Cyril gasped, the corpse of a man lay on the ground, his blood still pooling. An ordinary man, no beast. Bodies were no anomaly to Cyril, but a body in a supposed abandoned building gave him pause.

"Oh Gods." Aeris murmured, crouching down to the body.

"Poor sap. We are not alone here."

"I know this man. His name is Antal, in some world, his counterpart is like us."

That dull aching again. Its pointed harshness was less powerful, but still yet made its presence known.

"I wonder what will happen if the worlds ever converge? What will happen to the me of your world? Or the you of mine? Or Antal?" Aeris did not look up. She continued staring at the body. She sounded strained, less assured.

"...Sandra... go away." She near growled it to the air around them both. 

"I will ask you again, who is Sandra?" Cyril asked, examining the room for where the footprints went. There had been a fight for certain. Back here was even more of the destroyed wood flooring. The footsteps continued up the stairs and out of their line of sight. The abandoned college had become a palace of danger. The second pair were not another of the dreaming hunters. This was someone from here. And had they made it this far, they were certainly a danger. 

The sound of boots on wood came from above. Before either hunter had a chance to flee, a woman in a white church garb came into view. A hat meant to mimic the shape of a cross perched her head and shrouded her face from view with a silvered veil. “Well, well. Do mine eyes deceive me? Two hunters have managed to find their way here. Tell me, why come all the way out here? This hunt isn’t for you.”

“Whatever you’re selling, I am not interested in.” Cyril shot back.

“Oh, you are a lively one aren’t you?” She walked down the steps slowly, a cane in one hand and contraption similar to Cyril’s flamethrower in the other. “And you, those eyes, you certainly got into something you shouldn’t have, didn’t you?”

Aeris opened her mouth, but Cyril cut in first, “What is the significance of eyes?”

“Oh well, I always wanted to try my handiwork on a hunter. Sometimes wives tales have some semblance of truth to them. An obsession with eyes holding power over the self. We found it to be merely what we thought, a wives tale.” From her hand burst a spray of white tentacles. Cyril felt something shift through his chest and pull out, the sound of flesh tearing echoed the room. He began gasping for air and doubled over on himself. Blood pooled down his side. He looked down through the haze of his vision. It had pierced his lung. 

It seemed like an ocean of sound was between him and Aeris. He heard her screaming. Blood that wasn’t his leaked pooled on the floor. A thick gas in the air began to make him choke. He coughed, falling on the floor. His vision was gone. Only the echoed sounds of screaming, a gun firing, and strange sounds, as if electricity was being tampered with in a coil. Through the darkness, he could see brilliant flashes of light.

“This is no place for ordinary Hunters. I shall cure you of your wild curiosity.” The woman’s voice was distorted, as if she too was speaking through an abyss of ocean waves. Where Aeris was he could not tell. There was still chiming. He felt in his bag for the blood vials he had kept himself from utilizing. Perhaps one use would not render him into a beast, or the lab here could aid him in finding a cure. 

A shriek came from his left along with the sounds of multiple bullets being fired. Then there was searing heat everywhere. He covered his face as blisters began. Rolling backwards he fell against a desk and crawled around it. For a moment there were chaotic sounds. An explosion of sound like an electrical coil glittered to his left.

It went silent.

No bells resonated.

He waited for some time before crawling forward. He cut his hands on broken glass. Using the desk to shakily stand, he wiped the heat and grime from his eyes. In front of him was a destroyed room. What looked like scorchings in the pattern of oil lit ablaze were everywhere. Aeris was nowhere to be found, but the barely breathing body of the woman lay on the ground. Her white outfit was torn and burned. Her cane was broken into pieces and blood that had been pouring from a wound in her chest had been cauterized. He did not see her strange contraption anywhere. His footsteps faltered. The room seemed to stretch, sound distorted even further. Dark blood oozed between his fingers holding his side.

“Blasphemer,” she spat at him. Drool dripped from the corners of her mouth.

“What did you mean about the eyes?” He asked, breathless.

“You have little time left, hunter. Go die in a ditch like you deserve.”

“What. About. The. Eyes.” He found himself losing focus. His thoughts seeming to unravel. He realized a shard of glass was protruding from his abdomen, further cutting his fingers. He winced.

“They’re meaningless to ascend to a Great One.” She coughed, “Seems your little friend was tied to that accursed dream.”

“You know about the dreaming hunters then?”

A Great One. Is that a being causing everything? Or is it the being?

“Part of our endeavors were to find that place. We found its counterpart.”

His mind reeled as blood dripped onto the floor. Too many things were confronting him at once.

“Counterpart?”

“Oh it won’t matter. You’re dying soon, too. Who knows if you hunters are actually immortal. Charlotte will bring our efforts to fruition.” 

His voice cracked. Knees hit the ground in front of her. He used the cleaver, embedded in the floor to hold himself upright. Radio static filled the corners of his eyes. 

The woman laughed, “That girl was tenacious, but even with that world’s key, she’ll die just the same.”

“What do you mean?” Cyril weakly grabbed the woman’s arm.

“Oh foolish outsider. The more damaged a hunter’s bell, the closer to death they are. Time will kill her, and our work will ascend humanity. Those echoes of blood will be all of your undoing!” The woman began coughing, blood spurting through the cauterized flesh. Then she went still. The seeming last scholar of the forsaken college. He shook. It was so cold. He had lost far too much blood, his body was now shutting down nonessential function to save itself. He fumbled through her robes for anything he could use to save himself. He grabbed a blood vial from his own garb and his hand shook. This was it. He had seen so many French and Italian soldiers from the war in their final moments. The rattling that came from his own body make his stomach drop in terror. 

He did not want to die.

And he could not become one of those creatures.

He dropped the vial on the scorched wooden flooring and wept. His body shivered.

A thinly veiled swirling greyscape enveloped him. His mind seemed to slowly dissipate alongside his body into a calming mist. He felt himself rest gently, a riverstone of pale white cupped his cheek. The air was mild, temperate. Comfortable. From far off he could hear a gentle lullaby. Though the words were indecipherable. Their intent still lay clear. 

He sat up, a noticeable grimace absent. He looked down. Where a fractured glass shard had been, was nothing. No blood dripped onto the ground. His face was not burnt. Nothing in his body ached. And his suit had no tearing at the seams. 

He stood. Before him lay a terraced garden. Easter lilies and trees mixed with the river rocks to create a quiet, and tranquil scene. Ahead, he could see an ornate house. Carved wooden doors sat open, a warm light from inside created a sense of inviting warmth. It was not unlike his sister’s home at the winter solstice. He shuddered. It had been so long since they spoke. His niece was supposed to be five now. He shook his head and turned from the soft light.

Before him lay an endless horizon of clouds. He ran to the edge of the garden, a wrought iron fence separated him from a fall downward into a formless abyss. Stone pillars rose from the landscape. The movement of clouds and stillness of the pillars created a strange effect. Part of him desired, no, needed to plummet to the depths below. His hands rested on the fence. It swirled beyond him, a limitless scope. A place where only death awaited.

“Hello, good hunter,” the soft tone of a woman’s voice broke the pressure he had begun to place on his hands.

He turned quickly, and his mouth dropped open. Standing over him was a woman with silvered hair. She wore clothing reminiscent of a young girl’s doll. Her hands were clasped in front of her waist. Her face was plain. Unfeeling. He realized her hands were articulated, she bowed to him, and the sound of porcelain scraping ever so slightly confirmed the nervousness.

She was a doll.

“I am a doll, here in this dream to look after you. Honourable hunter, pursue the echoes of blood and I will channel them into your strength. You will hunt beasts and I will be here for you, to embolden your sickly spirit.”

“What- are you? How were you created?”

“I am a Doll, here in this Dream. I was created by you humans to look after you.”

“Are you here alone? What is this place?”

“This is the Dream, a safe place from the hunt and those who would seek you harm. There is Gehrman. He was a hunter long, long ago. But now serves only to advise all of you. He is obscure, unseen in the waking world. Still, he stays here, in this Dream. Such is his purpose.”

His thoughts swirled like the smoky clouds around. A floating garden. Could it be Laputa? No. Much like Atlantis, this was nothing more than a children’s tale. And yet, here it was. And the woman that Aeris had called the Doll… This must be the very same.

“Am I dead?” He asked. This defied religion. Even many of the pagan beliefs. No technology currently in existence could cause this.

The doll shook her head, her tone lilted up, “No, good hunter. You have been protected. I will be here, to care for you. Should your body falter, you may return.”

Aeris was telling the truth.

He followed the Doll’s gaze to the house on the terraced hilltop. The Dream seemed small, he could see swirling clouds in almost every direction. Beyond a gate near them, lay a field of Easter lilies. Here they sprinkled into the bushes and other plantlife. Gravestones jutted out from several mounds. A flower at each one. He ascended the steps into the house to see an elderly man sitting in a wheelchair, one leg missing and replaced with a wooden leg.

“Ah-hah, you must be the new hunter. Welcome to the Hunter's Dream. This will be your home, for now. I am... Gehrman, friend to you hunters. You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, but don't think too hard about all of this. Just go out and kill a few beasts.” His hands clasped a sort of staff in his hands. His voice was fragile, like a soldier who had seen far too much combat.

“I have seen a scholar of the church guarding something in an abandoned college called Byrgenwerth. What is going on here?”

The man seemed annoyed, “It's for your own good. You know, it's just what hunters do! You'll get used to it…”

“Who are you? Why has a ceramic doll been brought to life? How could I have survived dying?”

The man’s shoulder straightened, and in his eyes, Cyril saw a flash of madness and anger. The eyes of someone who had ended combat. Not just been its victim. “The moon is close. It will be a long hunt tonight. If you care so much, then seek a Holy Chalice. As every curious hunter before you has. A Holy Chalice will reveal the tomb of the gods, where hunters partake in communion.”

Cyril felt as though he were a schoolboy again, he lost his composure, “you are not answering my questions!”

“I wonder what it was they found beneath Byrgenwerth and Cathedral Ward, in those Holy Chalices.” He laughed, and took a drink from a flask, “this was once a safe haven for hunters. A workshop where hunters used blood to enhance their weapons and flesh. We don't have as many tools as we once did, but... You're welcome to use whatever you find,” he leaned forward and whispered, “even the Doll, should it please you.”

Cyril stepped back, disgusted. Though unorthodox, she was still a woman. Meant to be treasured and protected. What a vile man. He turned on heel, perhaps there had indeed been something below Byrgenwerth. Whatever a Holy Chalice was, he needed to know. And what was Communion? The drinking of red wine and bread?

He stopped at a birdbath in the garden, from the dusted basin a small void opened, and to his surprise, one of the small doll-like skeletons emerged. It held a cleaver in its hand. The same one he had left in Byrgenwerth when he presumably died. 

“Thank you?” He took it hesitantly. A small squeal of delight came from the skeleton, before it handed Cyril a shiny coin, and disappeared. 

The footfalls of the Doll stopped behind him, “Ah, the little ones. Inhabitants of the Dream, they find hunters like yourself, worship and serve them. Speak words they do not, but still, aren't they sweet?”

“Yes, I suppose they are. In their own way.” He paused for a moment, collecting himself. “Say, Miss Doll. Can you- actually, is that your name?”

“You may call me whatever you wish. I will care for you just the same.”

It felt uncomfortable, giving a name. But names held power. “May I call you Anne?”

“My name is now Anne.”

“Right… Umm, Miss Anne, could you help me get back to where I was before I was… brought here?”

“Of course, dear hunter.” She clasped his hand in hers. At once the world began shifting, a tumultuous spinning of gray and white smoke. And he found himself standing on the damaged wood flooring of Byrgenwerth. The dead scholar lay on the floor, her blood draining down the segments of wood. 

On the other side of the staircase, he picked up the contraption, noticing that its mechanism were very similar to his flamethrower. Upon pulling the lever, a gas emitted from its spout. Alongside it a haunting mechanical melody as the gas was pressurized through pipes before expelling. He continued, finding vials of eyes and human remains. 

He would find any information he could to tell him what was going on. What they had intended to use this blood for. And just who they were.

Chapter Text

Amongst the mad screaming and cackling of women lost to the scourge, a lone figure built a pyre on the long abandoned dirt path. They wore a skirt of tattered black fabric, the swishing of their gait turned the fabric into a sea of feathers. A simple long sleeved top hid their physical body’s shape, while a silent trio of bells hung from their waist alongside a black satchel bag. Their attire made them blend in easily with the other women whose voices added to the air of the cursed night of hunting.  It had been many moons since the last of the women in Charnel Lane met their end with the blood’s call. A land of witches the church had said.

They scoffed, a splinter embedding in their hand. They spread the skin wide, slicing into it with a dagger at their waist, then dripped an amount of blood from a vial onto their hand. Quickly the wound sealed itself. Through the night air the sounds of shambling distracted them from the pile of wood and kindling at their side.

A woman shuffled by, a rabid hog at her side. Both were snarling, saliva dripping from their mouths. The woman’s cleaver was tainted with oozing black liquid. 

Their mouth made a thin line, then a fake smile, “Diona, how goes the evening?”

The woman stopped. Her body seemed to respond to sound. Her back contorted as she turned around, a crazed look on her face. Empty eyes. Bulbous. No doubt filled with white puss. A bag on her side leaked yellow and brown juices. Eyes from the animals and unfortunate hunters and civilians were the likely culprit.

“Go and die!” The old hag shouted before bringing her cleaver down towards their shoulder. They stepped out of the way. They reached out their hand, a blackened storm of spirits flurried around the woman. Each one so darkened that space itself seemed to invert around it. The hag screamed as sparkling black light engulfed her chest. Amber sludge burst from her chest, as did the smell of rot and death. The hog squealed, it too taking aim for the witch-like figure building a pyre. They let loose a blackened ball of fire, drowning the squealing of the hog in snaking iridescent flames. A charred dust on the ground entombed its cries.

Anytime a woman gained power in her own right she was accused of witchcraft. The dealings of the church resembled dark sorceries and miracles far more than the customs of the women that had called Charnel Lane their home. They knew this far better than any other.

“Has your son come back from the hunt yet, Diona?” They asked the mangled and oozing corpse.

They wove dried stalks of grain into a fine cord and affixed it throughout the intricately placed stack of wood. Any flame would take to the wood and tinder quickly. 

How many days had they slaved away?

Their face twisted into disgust as a small flame grew in their palm. It fanned out into the form of a whip igniting the pyre of wood. Instantly the entire tower ignited into a fearsome flame that they hoped could be seen for miles. As with all things it would likely blend into the rest of the flames of this hunt.

They removed a cap with a blindfold attached to it from a satchel on their side. Its shape eerily resembled the hilt of a sword. A single cast into the fire made the white fabric crackle into the orange of the flames.

They had been content to die off alongside the rest of the women here. And yet something had insisted they stay. They removed the bells with fury and threw them into the fire. Despite rattling into one another, no chime could be heard. The bells’ luster did not scorch in the heat of the fire, even with an oil urn being emptied directly onto the bells. All three remained resolute as the final embers extinguished. The sparkles of light fading into the cold air sent a deep longing into their body.

A flame left to die out. Its very nature causing a lump in their throat and a tiredness in their chest.

“What more do you want from me?” They asked the sky. Only the far off sounds of metal clashing answered back. A pendant hidden by the shirt seemed to pulse against their throat. Sighing in defeat, they rang one of the bells. A deep, sinister resonance began. The low tones contrasting with all other chimes of the Dreaming bells. The Queen still sought blood even now, to sate her desire to create her own God. They continued on the road, towards the hospital where the women had once treated the unmentionable illnesses of Yharnam. Decrepit now, save for the malformed bodies of the once proud doctors. They sat on a bed, nearby an abandoned corpse languished. Whoever it was had been tied down. Someone who had yet to turn into a beast from the blood scourge. The corpse was far too decomposed for them to determine just who it had once been. 

The chime of their bell quickened. The world they knew began to reform. First the colors and sounds diminished, then all tangible knowledge of the hospital. It was replaced with a very similar world. Standing from the bed, they walked to the stairwell to the basement of the hospital, where they had last seen the sister doctors. 

In a mound of eviscerated flesh and torn apart eyes were the corpses of each. So this hunter had already killed them. They could hear the sound of footfalls in the basement. They descended, a glowing red fire in their hands for when they found whatever hunter had walked through here. The Queen would be pleased.

Coming to the bottom of the stairs they observed as a small hunter came from the back room. White hair and white church robes stood out to them as the hunter fidgeted with a tool in their hands. But more interestingly, a body had been strapped to her back. From here they could not be certain that the stench of blood was from the hunter. But given the nature of blood drunkenness to burn all the blood from a beast and thus making them crave the living, the sickly sweet scent of blood coming front the hunter would not surprise them. This hunter was a murderous one. That was for certain.

“I get that you invaded my world, but can you wait a moment?” 

“Who will I have the pleasure of hunting, a hunter? Or a huntress?” They asked.

The hunter stopped handling the tool and looked up, “I’m a huntress. Why did you come here?”

Her eyes were a piercing purple. Seems she too, had gotten mixed up with the blood addling experiments. Unsurprising. 

“I have come here to slay you, huntress.”

“I don’t suppose you could tell me why?” The huntress placed the tool in her bag and readied her weapon and pistol. Her weapon was one of the Old Hunter’s weapons. Where she had found one in functioning condition perplexed them.

“I seek your blood. No other reason.”

“I see.” The huntress moved forward with a quick dash. She disappeared into a plume of ethereal smoke and reappeared beside them. They flitted to the side, sidestepping as if through time. They could see confusion in the hunter’s face as she continued her onslaught. Strike after strike was evaded by them as the huntress chased her about the entire room. This huntress was quick, quicker than many opponents that they had fought. But not the quickest.

They pulled a jagged dagger from their waist as the huntress collided into them. A cut now on their face. They struck outwards with their dagger, a blackened sword of starlight appearing and cutting a void of shimmering darkness into the huntress’ chest. The huntress fell backwards, shock and awe on her face. They struck downwards again, a scream erupting from her.

They lowered their hand. Impaled in the huntress’ side were four vials of blood. The huntress was breathing heavily, staring at them with a crazed look in her eyes. She should have died from the second strike. 

“Using such ruinous-”

“Ruinous blood that caused all of this, yes yes, I get it.” The huntress met their gaze. 

“So you know what this substance is?” They asked.

“Oh, no. But I know what it inevitably does. But since you seem to know exactly what it is, I have a question. Do you know what happens when all the Dreaming worlds are combined back into one? Like, what if someone is a Dreaming hunter, but in another world they’re not and they die. Are they alive or dead when the worlds combine? Or what about people who aren’t Dreaming hunters? What happened to them? Like Eileen, or Arianna, or that one Executioner I met… Alfred? I think his name was Alfred.”

Their eyes widened. This huntress was curious. Her words carried between thoughts without chance to answer. Was she perhaps going blood drunk herself? They looked at the bell the huntress wore. It was tarnished, a crack beginning at its edges. Seems she was. They were no expert to every Dreaming hunter despite having killed many, but none had ever posed to ask what would happen to others once the night ended.

The implications of the answer they themselves were unsure of.

“What makes you ask such a thing? Have you no care for the creations for which everyone suffers?” They asked.

Of course she didn’t.

The huntress snorted, “Of course I do. I can certainly find out how this was created,” she held a blood vial in her hands and unscrewed the cap, “but answering my question is not something I will easily learn. You seem to know a lot more than you let on. Care to share?” She asked, before throwing back the vial and drinking the blood as if it were alcohol. The former was clearly much more intoxicating.

“In what world do you think I am an ally you should trust?”

“I don’t think you’d gain much by lying to me. There is no shortage of Dreaming hunters nor any permanence you could gain from manipulating me. Unless there is, in which case, could you also share that with the class?”

This huntress was sharp. Much more aware of the larger picture. Only a huntress with no care to see another day could keep their wits about them. Well, her wits being present was debatable. Still, there was nothing to gain from causing yet another hunter to lose their remaining sanity. Killing blood drunken hunters was always such a bothersome task. They did not even drop blood dregs. 

“Let us assume that I did know such an insane thing, what could you offer me?”

“Hmmm, well, I don’t have much. I have these coins!” She held up a bag, the open flap revealing sets of shimmering coins. Currency. How amusing.

“That is essentially useless to me. Besides, how do we know the daybreak will ever come? We could be stuck here fighting the hunt for the remainder of measurable time.”

“Oh now that’s just defeatist. Why try to exist in the first place if that is the outcome you already expect? Seems pretty pointless to me.”

“If you’re asking why I continue this hunt, it is because the world continually remakes itself. I intend to see it.”

“Well then, how about these?” The woman dropped several items to the ground. A strange insect-like shell that glowed with otherworldly light. A beastly claw with long, bony fingers and nails. And an iron whistle. From here they could feel the thrumming from each of the items. 

“These are…”

“Some hunters' tools I can’t figure out how to use. I’ll stick with this one,” she tapped the human femur hanging from her waist.

They eyed the huntress as they knelt down to observe each item. Yes indeed. Each one had some form of sorcery imbued in them. Only the shell seemed natural, not woven by abyssal or beastly hands. Or human. They traced the intricate patterns. It was as if a larva had hatched from this, leaving its essence behind. Could all of them be miracles? Something divine they had dared not have dealings with. They resonated with the thrumming from each object. Miracles they could use. Perhaps they could pioneer a future and break this cycle they had been shunted into for so long. The fire and hollowing was so long ago, yet here they were again. Transcribing the utterings of those things for human understanding had been nothing but another curse. This unending hunt another. Even in the worlds of other hunters they could find no trace of themselves.

How much should they show her? The insanity that had caused this was far more than her toll paid. But perhaps the hope of their future lay in the forbidden sorceries of the abyss after all.

An ember’s desire to survive.

“This knowledge will certainly give you an agonizing death,” they said.

“And I welcome it.”

“You’re a wicked one, aren’t you?”

“Oh absolutely,” she grinned.

“My name is Karla, Dreaming Hunter.”

“Aeris.” She held out her hand. Karla took it, a firm shake from the surprisingly lithe woman.

“Very well then. Human beings are of the dark and you are clearly no different. Some may avert their eyes, focus on their own survival, keep their sanity. But the truth remains the truth. Be careful then, any few who gain this knowledge are often driven mad by it.”

Karla grabbed the huntress’ head and forced her to the ground. The huntress writhed, clawing into the dirt. “Let us keep it a secret between you and I,” Karla said. “You will still give me what I seek once this is over.”

The intertwined worlds spun in a dizzying dance through the air. The very essence of this place laid bare to the naked eye. The unprepared mind. How much she would retain would be up to her. And luck.

Aeris arched her back and began incoherently screaming. Her arm contorted and snapped. Blood splattered across the graves of Charnel’s road as the bone pierced through her skin. Much like the destruction of the Vicar’s self, Aeris was losing her sanity.

What part her mind clung to, what things her sanity allowed; they had no idea.

“Show me more!” She screeched. Her skin paled quickly. Her eyes beginning to bloodshot. Her nails yellowed. The veins in her arms and legs began bursting. Dark splotches of purple erupted across her skin. She was rolling on the ground, stabs of blood sprayed out of her veins, then hardened. Her eyes began to darken to a deep indigo.

She was laughing as the blood pooled from her teeth, “I see it! Oh you are all bastards. I see it!”

Karla watched as the woman set her jaw and screamed into the darkened night sky, “show me how they connect! Now!”

A river of blood erupted from her spine, solidifying instantly. The spike of hardened blood severed her spinal cord. She lay, frothing from her mouth. Blood pooling from every part of her. “Oh, I will stop all of this!” She quit moving. And quickly her body dissipated into sparkling dust. Where her body once was, lay a small pulsing bit of congealed blood. A perfect offering for the Queen. 

They placed each individual miracle into their bag, the thrumming giving them a dared flutter of hope. They could find a happy dream one day. And be free of this hellish cycle. 

They held the bells in their hand, “Miss Doll, if you would please.”

From that same sparkling dust a woman made of porcelain appeared. Dressed in traditional doll’s clothing she extended a hand to a lone growing flower glowing in the moonlight. It was a weed, much unlike those that grew in the Dream. Yet its existence seemed to still bring whatever she was, joy. “Oh, what is this. Haha, My good hunter. What a beautiful surprise.”

“Miss Doll, if you are finished will you please take me to Cainhurst Castle?” They asked, annoyed.

The doll retracted her articulated porcelain hand and stood to face the hunter. “Of course, good hunter.” She clasped Karla’s hand in her own. A swirling fog of glittering light enveloped them both. Karla found themself at the entrance of the Queen’s chamber. A grand staircase lined with statues continued up towards a throne glowing with candlelight. They would need to replace the wicks soon. The night was long, and the Queen needed her light.

They ascended the crimson carpeted stairs and passed a myriad of large statues to kneel in front of the Queen. Splotches of brown littered the floor. The final stand against the Church Executioners. The greyed dress of the Queen matched the casing of metal concealing her face. As with all things in Yharnam, even royalty paid the price of daring to exist in such a place. 

“For the honor of Cainhurst, I have brought you what you seek.” They handed the pulsing congealed mess of blood to the Queen. She held it and seemed to contemplate it rather than absorbing it into her flesh.

“Is there a problem?”

“This blood is tainted from mine own. Where did thee get it?”

“A strange huntress. What do you mean it came from you?”

“It shares the same traces as the blood which created the noble line. It matters not. Thy gift pleases us.”

“Thank you, Queen Annalise.” 

“We await thy return.”

So not only had Aeris used the forbidden bloods locked away at Byrgenwerth, but she had used the very blood which had been ministered to make the Queen immortal. Could she have used so much to become like the Queen? Surely there was not enough left for an entire human’s essence to be converted.

What a strange hunter. Perhaps she truly intended to use that information to save others involved in the hunt. Or even herself.  Karla clenched their hand as they descended the steps and called for the Doll yet again.

“Hello, good hunter.”

“Please take me to Cathedral Ward.”

“Of course. May you find your worth in the waking world.”

Karla released the tension in their hand. How foolish of them. Even miracles could not change the nature of the world.

The cobbled streets came into focus. In a clearing the bodies of several eviscerated church candlighters littered the ground. Among them a blonde girl with glasses, a boy with black hair and frayed robes, a girl with braids. More death feeding the hunt. 

“Is this what you all wanted?” They turned to the air. Above the cathedral in the distance a spindly creature with a casing of stone for a skull stared intently at them. Its legs were filled with hundreds of sharp black spines. They scraped against the stonework with every shift. To a hunter unaware of the world, it would sound like cracking twigs. The breaking of bones. Uneasy though the sound, it was a better assumption than the truth. They had been trapped here by those otherwordly creatures. A mere chess piece to them.

They would have to stop Aeris no matter the cost. If the nature of her hunt was to combine the worlds, then Karla could not let her succeed.

The hunts could not become one again.

Chapter Text

Marnie intended to press her ear to the door to find any semblance of life. She did not have to. The sound of grief stricken parents resounded around the incense clouded door. She lifted her hand towards the iron knocker, the warning of Dawn echoed through the crisp air, and then hesitated. The blood that had given so much hope to the town, the church that had given her family clearance to live in Cathedral Ward, the kindly Vicar she had known so well. How many of these things were a lie? And how many had the church damned?

She could leave. Forget the Dream she had traveled to. Go inside. And wait out the night of hunting like so many years behind her. She could open her eyes to the brilliant sunlight of daybreak in that curtained room, and forget everything.

Since she had come here, nothing had been quite right. She had been out for what felt as though hours made of liftimes, yet nothing during this hunt had changed. Not only that , but power had grown within her. Since meeting with the kindly Doll in the dream, whose existence was a mystery to her, everything looked ever so sharper, as if she could hit her mark with lead even more effectively than before. She was kindly, motherly. Marnie hoped that one day she could be as such.

She pulled a journal from her gear and began scrawling a note. Hurried writing as she looked about. Waiting for a beast or man to stop her foolish choice. The crack of the door meeting the stone wall became a hiding palace for her memento. She firmly knocked on the door, before bolting down the road and peering around a corner.

A man with greying blond hair stopped out and mused at the paper that had fallen to the ground. Upon opening it he ran outside of the cloud of incense that shrouded his home and looked about. He called to someone inside. A roar from far off made him jump, and shut the door behind him. Air began circulating once again. She leaned against the wall. She needed to know if it was true. If the church knew about the blood, then did they also cause the illness in Old Yharnam that the blood supposedly cured? What was the end goal of this madness?

~~~

Through the dust and long abandoned corridor Marnie pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose as tentatively pushed the door of Old Yharnam open. A warning had been posted that no hunters were welcome. Hours ago she may have yielded, but speaking with the kindhearted Doll in the Dream had manifested a strength she didn’t know she was capable of. She had to stop this hunt at its source. No matter the cost. 

The sign whose warning had warded off all inquisitors for some decades tore. Crumbled from the might of the door. She stepped onto the stone precipice of a set of derelict stairs. Below was a city very similar to Yharnam, but much like the stairs she planted herself on, it too was decrepit. The air was acrid, the scent of still burning corpses was everywhere. She’s heard the hushed stories growing up, of the sinful Yharnmites slaughtered due to their own vices. Yet even quieter voices had told something different, that they killed the innocent and guilty alike. 

At once, a man’s voice boomed across the crumbled city, "You there, hunter. Didn't you see the warning? Turn back at once. Old Yharnam, burned and abandoned by men, is now home only to beasts. They are of no harm to those above.”

From far off she could just barely make out a moving figure on a tower, and the glinting of a large firearm.

“I am only here to find answers, I do not wish to harm you!” She shouted. Even from this distance, she could feel her voice lost in the sounds of beasts and flames.

His voice once again crossed the void of smoky haze,“Turn back...or the hunter will face the hunt."

What would Aeris do?

To the left was a smoky cobblestone walk and to her right was a demolished stone guardrail. The sound of claws on cobble contrasted with the ever sombering silence of rubble. She remembered the gate and the way in which such a woman could scale its entire length. She moved forward towards the rubble and dropped down. A cloud of ash coated her teeth in grit as she stood, remnants of the people that were once here. Below was a long dropoff into an alleyway. Just ahead was a banister that traveled across the rooftops. The buildings gradually became smaller as they transitioned into the proper of what had once been a bustling part of Yharnam. She shook, the way down was a certain demise. Even if death was not permanent it was not a friend she wanted to make.

She took a deep breath, imagining the glinting purple eyes that seemed to fear no danger.

Her body sailed across the gap.

And she tumbled onto the narrow ledge of the roof. Her leg twisted into the banister and she felt a snap like fire through her leg. A piercing sound emanated from the very air around her. It took a moment before she realized it was her scream. The world hazed for a moment as nausea set in. Hands shaking to pierced her leg with a blood vial. The sickening crunch as tendons and bone realigned themselves. She stood and ran along the rooftops. From up here she could see the precipice of Cathedral Ward, the darkened tops of trees of the now forbidden forest, and the Astral Clocktower that loomed over the Grand Cathedral.

“Amelia…” She wanted to say his name too, but a pit in her stomach threatened to unravel her very essence if she tried. That power within her. She would make someone pay. She quickly ran across the tops of the buildings, ignoring the sounds of smaller beasts in upstairs rooms clamoring about. On a balcony the skeleton of a small child holding a now ragged bear made her pause. Her skull had a deep indent. Snarls came from the room beyond the balcony’s door as a creature that was once a woman brandished a cleaver. Marnie hopped to the next rooftop, feeling sick.

She came to the end of the roofs and jumped down. As her boots made contact with the packed dirt the wooden door behind her splintered into pieces. A large black werewolf barrelled towards her. The corpse of a black hooded figure was freshly bleeding within its mouth. She pulled both the blunderbuss and pistol from her belt and began dodging in a circle around the beast. She would fire the pistol to throw it off balance and then use the blunderbuss to deal more damage. It clawed at the wall behind her and she used the time to add black powder to her bullets. Explosions of fire and sound erupted across the beast’s body. It raked its claws against her leather. She fell backwards onto the ground. The corpse of the man with a black hood pinned her down. She screamed. A roar and the werewolf pounced. She gritted her teeth and shattered a molotov against her gun. An eruption of fire engulfed them both. 

She kicked the man off and rolled, grabbing her firearms. The beast, now missing a limb and oozing a foul blackened blood, hurled towards her once more. She fired. Two exploding shots impacted its face simultaneously before it fell to the ground in a heap of mangled flesh. She fell to the ground. The world was hazy. Her arm was at an angle and bits of the man’s hood had melted into her skin. She injected two blood vials into her arm and shuddered. Her body snapped itself into place. The fabric peeled from her skin like dried mud. She stood shakily. The watchtower in the distance. She headed towards it mumbling to herself and attempting to avoid any other wretched creature of corruption.

She had initially feared that any of the rungs up the tower would break underneath her. As she climbed she saw the care with which the ladder was given. It was almost manic, how carefully the twine had been threshed on each rung. She continued despite the pain in her limbs, her body begging to go back to that small home in Cathedral Ward.

Pulling herself onto the threshold of the watchtower, her brow furrowed. Before her stood a man with an almost wolflike set of hunter’s clothes. And as she had suspected, a large gatling gun was positioned towards the entrance to Old Yharnam. 

“Umm, hello?”

He turned to her, his eyes covered by the edge of his tricorn hat and wispy hair, "Well, well... How did you get in here? Ah, it's no matter.” She opened her mouth to speak but he continued, “What brings you to Old Yharnam? I've no interest in matters further up, but you must not disturb this place."

“I wanted to know… who are you? And what did the church do?”

“Well, now. You are digging at corpses that should stay buried.” She saw him looking at the Sword hunter Badge that Dawn had pinned to her shirt.

“I must know!”

“I should think you still have dreams? Well, next time you dream, give some thought to the hunt, and its purpose."

“I have. I know that the blood turns people into beasts. I know that for some reason I cannot die. What do you know of the church? Of the Dream?”

He shook his head, “sending more of the young to die.”

“I have already lost one friend to the beasts that were once people. I also helped to kill Vicar Amelia. I demand to know what this is about!”

He adjusted the hat on his head, revealing bright blue eyes. “What is your name, young Miss?”

“Marnie. Hunter Marnie.”

“Hunter Marnie, my name is Djura. These beasts do not venture above and mean no harm to anyone. If you insist on hunting them, I will hunt you. Understand.”

“I do. Now will you-”

He held his hand up, “Yes, very good. I no longer dream, but I was once a hunter, too. There's nothing more horrific than a hunt. In case you've failed to realize… There is something beyond us orchestrating the Dream itself. I wish I could tell you more, but I left this all behind long ago. Back when the Hunters were still something people remembered with fondness.”

“And the church?”

He gestured out to Old Yharnam, “This all started in the villages of the Forbidden Woods. When they ran out of people, they came here. Where no one would care if a few died. They unleashed ashen blood onto the city and then came in as its saviors. Make no mistake, the hold the church has was nothing more than a ploy for money and power.”

That same aching in her head, but somehow it was duller. She clasped the symbol tightly in her hand. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense. All of this for just money and control?”

“Yes. If you don’t believe me you can go see what happened at Cainhurst.”

She recoiled. The defiled people who had caused so much harm to Yharnam.

He continued, “Well, there are two sides to any story anyway. You should go to Cainhurst Castle if you want another one.”

“Why tell me all of this? Why has no one done anything?”

“They did. The Old Hunters of the Workshop did. After they went too far they tried to stop the church. Near all of them are dead now. Some killed themselves, some we never did learn the fate of. Like Simple or Brador.”

“Vicar Amelia tried to save us. She tried to keep the city safe!”

“Even if she did do that, if you noticed, I said all stories have two sides. No one person is easy. That’s what makes this hard. It’s why I’ve stayed here and not gotten any more involved. It’s beyond me.”

She nervously moved from foot to foot. In the distance she could just barely see the abandoned spires of Cainhurst Castle. She would have to find a way across the sea to the island the castle sat on. The church destroyed it long ago.

“Before you go Miss, I have something for you.” From his grayed hunter’s garb he pulled a pistol. He stared at the badge pinned to her lapels, “be careful with this. It uses two bullets at a time.”

“Thank you.”

“And if you do go to Cainhurst, look for their infamous reiterpallasch. We never made one, but it was a curious weapon. A pistol grafted onto a sword. You may be just the person to use it.”

“We?”

“Yes. We.” He said nothing more. Only stared into the distance at the beasts milling about the abandoned cobbled roads.

“Djura.”

“Yes?”

“What does this mean to you?” She gestured to the badge.

“A friend of mine long ago wore that badge. That repeating pistol was his. He believed in the church too much and used far too much blood. We had to put him down.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “What is it? Surely I need not repeat myself. Go, I say. You have the whole night to dream. Make the best of it.”

She longed to hug this man whose identity had been lost to the town. Even if what he did might be wrong or misguided, the people would love to know someone was so selflessly watching over the town of Yharnam. She climbed down the ladder and set off down the winding streets to the outskirts of Charnel Lane, where she hoped to find a way to cross the bay and find out just what had happened at Castle Cainhurst.

~~~

Breathing heavily Marnie sat collecting herself. A ridiculous venture this entire scenario was. Taking heed of Aeris’ inspirations she had jumped from crumbling foundation to crumbling foundation all the way across. After putting a stop to the bloodthirsty monsters of Cainhurst, the church had destroyed the only bridge between the nobles and the mainland. To protect the citizens from the corruption of the Vilebloods.

Or so she had been told.

A few times she had submerged part of her body in the frigid icy waters. Her body shook from the cold. She sat against a wall, warming her hands on a fire she had made from brambles around a wide open courtyard. Taking in the castle, she could not help but be in awe. Gorgeous stonework and statues decorated the otherwise desolate island. An empty fountain in the distance was surrounded by weeds, lending to the evocative image of a luscious garden. Even in the springtime, Yharnam’s industrialized streets did not lend to much greenery. The parks themselves were muted, too. She could imagine countesses milling about in their fine dresses, royal knights, even princes and princesses.

A world not her own.

She sat for some time, constantly adding to the fire. An hour had gone by for her clothing to dry, and yet the sky remained the same. Frozen in time. As if the world of the Dream was holding time itself captive. She stood, testing the wetness of her clothes. Only the leather outer layer was in any way still damp. As she moved towards the large stone doors of the castle ahead her gut dropped. Giant tick-like creatures scurried about the grounds. Gangled arms. Long hair. One fell, its shriek sounding like a woman’s. They scattered across the ground like roaches. Marnie hugged the wall and ran quickly towards the door. It was huge. If she was unable to open it then she would just have to call out for the Dream’s sanctuary yet again.

A shriek resounded on her heels. She ran faster, abandoning caution. A long, slender, and barbed tongue snaked around her ankle and yanked her backwards. Her head hit something hard. She thrashed, grabbing the pistol and firing wildly. Its tongue pierced through her abdomen. Her energy began to ebb away. She could feel that sitting power from the werewolf beginning to fade. She fired two bullets into the creature’s mouth, shards of white teeth and globs of black blood dribbled out. She rolled and landed on her feet. Two bullets split apart the woman’s face while a third severed the tongue. Marnie dashed forward, throwing her body against the door and landing on the frigid tiles of a castle’s entryway. Hearing the snarling behind her she pushed the door shut with all the strength she could muster. Scratches and snarls came from the stone, but no creature pushed it open.

She breathed out and her blood ran cold. From all around her was the cacophony of crying. The sounds of women in mourning. One hell to another’s. She clutched her pistol and moved forward. A large room with a grand staircase that continued upwards into the castle greeted her. Red carpeting stained with splotches of brown covered a walkway to the stairs. Marbled floors and ceilings lent an air of sophistication that she was unfamiliar with, even at the Grand Cathedral. The room was frigid. Nothing present would keep any semblance of warmth in. And yet, candles decorated the floor. Lit. She shook. Someone was here. A Vileblood? Who else would answer the questions of the castle for her? Who could?

Walking up the stairs, she faltered. Laying in a heap on the landing of the stairs was the familiar white garb of a church executioner. A skeletal figure; their outfit shredded and weapons thrown aside. The gloves on his hands remained a pure white, despite the room. She touched them, feeling a thrumming deep within the fabric. Were these a special tool by the church? She pulled them off of him and kneeled before his body. She lit a stick of incense and stuck it between two of the tiled stones.

“Let us pray, let us wish to partake in communion. Let us partake in communion... and feast upon the old blood. Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears." She dared not search him for the ceremonial dagger; she was after all, but a candlelighter. She could not dare to perform the full rite of burial fit for an executioner.

Nearby was the corpse of a woman, her long red Cainhurst Knight’s dress slashed to pieces. Bones jutting from her spine in odd directions. Stains of brown surrounded them both. Who had died first? She noticed the sword laying at the woman’s side. A strange combination of a rapier, foreign curved blade, and a… firearm? Was this the weapon Djura had spoken of? She picked it up. The balance was strange, but it was indeed a firing mechanism grafted onto a sword. 

She continued up the stairs.

“Hello?” No answer. She was not sure if she should even be calling out. While not wearing a church’s garb she did wear the emblem of a church hunter. The crying and wailing of women surrounded her still. It seemed to be right next to her one moment, and then gone the next. A disturbing echo of some calamity. 

She crossed the threshold of a banquet room and shivered. An open air balcony lie ahead, no partition keeping the frigid ocean air from blowing into the room. Paintings and statues adorned the room. The elements taking their toll on the once vibrant colors. She gasped. Standing in the center of the room was a ghostly looking woman. She was sobbing into her hands, a red dress lying in an open chest beside her. 

“Miss, are you well?” Marnie asked.

The woman turned. Her wrists were bound with rope. A clean slash across her neck. She was crying. Screaming. And in her hands, pressed firmly between the bound palms, was a ceremonial dagger used by the church in blood rituals. Marnie felt sick. The woman came at her, frenzying slashes downwards. She hit the table covered in dusted golden dining plates, slashed into the stone floor, and grazed Marnie’s shoulder as she ran forward. Marnie fired the pistol, it seeming to have little effect on the woman. She ducked under the table and pulled the reiterpallasch. The woman’s form seemed to shift, almost ethereal in appearance. Marnie shook the thought off. Aiming at the woman she pierced the blade through her chest and fired a round. Marnie felt her energy itself dissipate for a moment. A pin on the firing trigger had pierced her hand. The lady’s face twisted into pure terror. “Not the children!” She cried as her body slumped to the floor with a shriek and dissipated into silvered dust. Her own blood had been drawn to fire it.

The Cainhurst line was known to utilize forbidden blood arts. Had she just... no. That would be heresy. 

“Not a ghost. Ghouls and ghasts are none but a fabrication,” she said quietly.

Marnie reached her hand out to the dress sitting on the chest. It was dusty, fraying, damaged. She had seen a dress like it before, but where she could not place. This was a far nicer gown than the Knight's dress she had seen on the stairway. This was the dress of a countess or princess. A noble. A civilian. Not a hunter. Not a Knight. A translucent dagger pierced through her shoulder. She screamed and dropped to the floor. It spurted far more blood than any injury she had had before. A group of women carrying those same daggers began screaming in a frenzied cry of desperation. All of them had perfectly seamed gashes across their necks. Each held daggers. And each had their wrists bound.

Marnie screamed as blade after blade was ripped through her body. She tried to crawl away, and another stabbed the back of her knee. She rolled under the table. Another shriek from the group of women and the sound of thudding boots. A dazzling blaze of orange fire erupted across the room, as if a whip of fire from the gods descended from the heavens. Marnie covered her ears as the sounds of terrified cries filled the room with a fiery anguish.

The heat left the room almost as quickly as it had begun. With it, the sense of despair also seemed to slowly dissipate. Into nothingness. A pair of boots made a deliberate walk through the room. She sat up and made eye contact with a… person. They were taller than Marnie, a bit thicker. They looked like the image of a woman straight from Charnel Lane. They wore a skirt of tattered fabric that almost appeared as feathers, and their top was that of an herbalist. The kind the church had run out of Yharnam long ago for practicing unholy magicks.

“Thank you,” Marnie said.

In their hand glowed a red pulsing fire. Small, but fighting to remain in the cold windy air. The person raised it, a flurry of  flames caught into the air. Marnie watched as they looked curiously at the badge on her chest, then to the weapons, and the garb. “I see that you are a hunter of the church.” The voice sounded almost feminine… but not quite.

Marnie’s arms tensed. That same fire would burn her flesh, even with the aid of the armor. “I wear the badge of a fallen friend. Not the church.” She lied. 

“Hm? Oh...you're not one of them, are you? Accept my apologies, for mistaking you for one of those leeches. So, what business have you here? This is a land of monstrosities. And I am no exception.” The fire in the air dissipated, taking the warmth with it. An icy chill ran through Marnie’s bones. This person used relics like the Choir of the Healing Church. And bore an outfit akin to the witches of Charnel Lane. 

“I want to learn more about the early hunts.”

“And why are you interested in looking towards the past? How could that help with a night of slaying beasts?”

Marnie hesitated, the Dream Hunters should be kept a quiet secret. “I want to know what the church did here.”

The unknown person gazed intently into Marnie's eyes for some time. They did not blink or falter. “Then there is one thing that you should know. There is a darkness within man, and I am afraid you will peer into it. Whether the fear will spark self-reflection, or a ruinous nostalgia... is up to you entirely. Fear not, your choice will bring you no scorn.”

Marnie rolled her eyes, “I have spent the last several hours of my life chasing that very darkness. I have found out many things I would rather have not. None of this is news to me.”

“I have found that to keep the ills of mankind at bay, a price paid is a cost saved. What can you offer me, curious hunter of the church?”

Marnie tightened her grip on the pistol’s worn handle. She tentatively pulled the pair of white Executioner’s gloves from her pouch. The thrumming in their needlework a warning from the gods to hold back.

She handed them over.

The person held them gingerly examining them. They turned one inside out and slipped the other on their hand. “This is quite an interesting miracle they have created. It has been some time since I have seen them used.”

“What do you mean?” Even Marnie had no idea what the gloves were capable of.

“These were specially crafted item to be used in executions. It is thought that it came from a city far away, blessed by the Great Ones long ago. The pure white of the gloves soaked up the blood of those they felled, and in turn used a part of their essence to slay more. Where I am from, their particular brand of effect would be called a miracle.”

“Will you answer for the amount I paid?”

They nodded, still examining the glove. “It is said that someone living here stole a relic of the church for their own gains. The people then sought to create artificial Great Ones by killing accomplished hunters and using the essence of their blood to continue their experiments for that end. A man of the church learned of the abilities of these gloves and weaponized it for his own group of executioners. They slaughtered everyone in the castle. Knight, noble, and peasant alike.”

Marnie said nothing. So what she had been told was only half of a partial truth. Alfred was an executioner. Did he know?

They continued, “They of course destroyed the research available at the castle. No one could have access to the miracle of blood, or a byproduct of it, except them. It is all cyclical of course. Some have said the gloves were developed from stolen research of blood from another city. Who then became corrupted with blood addled sicknesses. Who is to say what is right?”

"Who are you? How do I know that what you speak is the truth?”" Marnie asked coldly.

They pulled from their skirt pockets a dirtied and frayed envelope and handed it to Marnie. “Dream Hunter, I would suggest you keep going if you want to go mad. Throw yourself to the hunt if that is what you so desire.”

“Who is this from?”

“The queen of this forgotten realm, Annalise, offers invitations to all to bear witness and pledge to her cause. Her ambition that has been the ambition of so many civilizations throughout time.”

“What ambition?” Marnie asked.

“That you have not paid for, young huntress.” 

“Who are you?”

They laughed, "I am Karla. Branded a witch at a very young age, and since then, I have been persecuted as a threat to human society by your beloved church!"

Marnie's eyes widened as a billowing flame engulfed the room. She shrieked. The flames scorching her throat and burning her lungs. She could feel her entire body swell with crackling heat. Then she was on a cobble walkway, that soothing melody of music playing in a peaceful garden. In her hand was a singed envelope sealed with the forbidden symbol of the Vileblood’s. She turned it over and her brow furrowed.

Alfred

Why was this addressed to Alfred, enemy of Vilebloods? She knew he had purged a few remnants of the people from Yharnam in the last few years. So why would he have a summons for him? And just who would be summoning him?

She stood, wiping grime from her face, and set off to deliver the unbroken seal to Alfred. He was being beckoned to the castle just the same as she. The kindly Doll waived as she stepped forward and landed her feet on the dirtied streets of Cathedral Ward. She continued her way through the streets, killing beast and turned human alike. She needed to find him.

Chapter Text

Karla nodded to her, an amused grin in her eyes, “Very well then. Human beings are of the dark and you are clearly no different. Some may avert their eyes, focus on their own survival, keep their sanity. But the truth remains the truth. Be careful then, any few who gain this knowledge are often driven mad by it.”

Karla grabbed Aeris’ head and forced her to the ground. She writhed, clawing into the dirt from the sudden movement forced upon her. “Let us keep it a secret between you and I,” Karla said. “You will still give me what I seek once this is over.” Aeris plunged into a frigid darkness that spun and swirled with energy. For a time no fragment of light or sensation outside the bitter cold could be felt on the huntress’ body. 

Then the world exploded. 

Her hands began to clasp and unclasp on their own as a whirlwind of hunters, huntresses, church clergy, and beasts whipped around in front of her. She found herself standing on the cobbled bridge of Yharnam, in the distance she could still see the beast on the bridge crawling about. She lifted her hands; they seemed almost translucent. They passed directly through the fence aside her. Footsteps behind. She shipped around, grabbing at a gun that no longer hung on her waist. A man stood, his eyes obscured by cloth. A large axe in his hands. He looked so familiar. Her head ached. She couldn’t place it. Everything in front of her was so foreign. But it was reality. Or it wasn’t.

“Are you that hunter? ...Well, well. A hunter is it? Ahh, tonight, there's something different in the air... Men leave as hunters, and return as beasts. ...Let there be no doubt. If it moves, you can be sure it's a beast. ...And even if it doesn't, well, don't take any chances! Ha ha ha ha ha hah!”

The world seemed to shift. Still standing on the bridge, he was now ripping apart a werewolf ahead of her.

“...Well, well. A hunter is it? Beasts everywhere... I like the smell of this hunt already! Ha ha haa!”

Again. This time he and another hunter were striking at one another in a frenzied and chaotic battle to the death. A line where identity meant nothing, only survival and brutal instinct. The other hunter wore a fancier outfit than any she had seen. But she had. Or had not.

“...Oooh, beasts and beasts and beasts and beasts....Ahh, the sweet stench of blood. Just... just marvelous!” The man with the axe shouted.

The world flipped on itself, she tumbled into a graveyard filled with blood. That same man with the axe was holding his head and walking in a circle. A blond haired woman was at his feet, her torso cleaved in half. 

“That stench of squalid blood. No beast will be spared. The reek of blood. That intolerable scent. It sickens me.”

“Show me more!” Aeris shouted.

As if being summoned to another world, the lightest singing of the doll seemed to resonate around her. It chimed and danced in a gentle array of warm colors. She found herself standing over a werewolf feasting on her own body in a clinic. The body radiated a deep, darkened purple.

Then she was standing in Byrgenwerth, a man in a black hooded cloak lying on the floor behind the stairs. His blood still pooling. She knelt down beside a woman who looked just like her, mumbling that she knew this man. 

His body seemed outlined in that same silhouette of purple.

Then she watched as that same man battled the white clad scholar in another world. Explosions of arcane energy burst around them. A scythe severed the arm of the scholar as a hunter wearing a headdress of antlers jumped from the staircase. Between the fire sprayed by the man, and the movements of the scythe, the scholar fell.

That same man was still outlined, but a lighter purple.

Then she watched another world where he walked in the door and gasped, as a young huntress with blond hair and glasses wept over the corpse of the scholar. Distressed. Sobbing. He walked up to her as if he knew her, despite not being from the same world.

His purple lighter still.

Things shifted and she stood in the sewers below Oedon Chapel. Arianna, a civilian of the city, was sobbing into her hands. A thing sat writing on the ground. It almost appeared to be a fetus, but one unlike any human infant she had ever seen. As Aeris tried to examine the creature laying in the foul water, her eye exploded into blood and yellowed ooze. Her traced line of purple lighter.

Another shift. Arianna was lying dead in the chapel, a smiling nun standing over her. "You disgusting wench. Your blood is not fit for a hunter! I am a nun of the church!" The darkened purple surrounded the kindly woman as the nun laughed.

Again, now in the hallway of a clinic. A brown haired woman was surrounded by blue almost humanoid blobs. They all had that same deep purple glow. One in particular wore the shoes of Arianna. Aeris gritted her teeth, feeling one crack. The blue entities walked aimlessly, with no purpose. The woman looked directly at her.

“You have come a long way, haven’t you? I always wanted to try my hand on a hunter.” The woman laughed and her face fractured. Appearing in a wall of whispers and blackened starlight were the screechings of creatures she couldn’t even comprehend. Trying to look up and seeing the gangled limbs caused her remaining eye to bleed. She fell backwards. She tumbled. Through the blood and warping vision she could see strings seeming to extend from one of the creature’s limbs and out. She grabbed a string and followed it.

Aeris watched the huntress with the headdress walk listlessly along a cobbled street. A street and place she had never seen. Ahead lay the Astral Clocktower. The blood red sky illuminated a hellish world of beasts and blood drunk hunters. It seemed this huntress was the only sane human left. The word friend rattled her mind. She knew this hunter.

“Dawn!” She shouted. The huntress didn’t even turn her head.

She grabbed another string and found a man exploring a tunnel system long forgotten by most. His face sweating and determined, he pressed on. Blood dripped from his side as he stabbed an enlarged spider, puss and blood spurting from its side.

Another hunter, a young girl giving a letter to a man in white robes. The girl was distressed. The sound of the hunt echoing off the dying city, causing her to tremble. 

Hunter after hunter after hunter swirled around her. Their own hunts. Their deaths. With every death in each world their colors deepened to the color of night. And with every death they avoided those same colors came to resemble the deepness of an early sunrise. Cyril would scoff at such simple mathematics. She could hear it in her head. Dawn would absolutely be annoyed. To save the others, she had to save their majority non-dreaming selves. It extended to every person alive during the hunts. Every man, woman, and child. Hunter and church member and civilian alike. 

“I see it! Oh you are all bastards. I see it!” The possibility's image snapped in her mind like a string, and vanished.

She tumbled to a mirror. Another Aeris lifted her hands to the glass on the other side. Both their echoing colors deepening with each moment. Death after death flashed on the glass between them. Simultaneously they touched the glass. It fractured. Shattered. Broke the worlds in half.

“Show me how they connect! Now!” The strings connected to a calming place of singing. Easter lilies reflecting a gentle downcast moonlight. The space below a void of illuminated clouds. All the strings split in three different directions. One came from the kindly woman that had been so gentle to her. The Doll stood silently as Aeris bled from her eyes and arms.

“Welcome home, Good Hunter.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Aeris asked.

Another string extended to the field of flowers near the workshop in the dream. Gangled limbs were all she could see before its very image made her bleed. She forced herself to look. A tentacled face made of bone. Doglike. The world spun about. She collapsed on the ground. Her brain could not even process the thing she saw. She was screaming so loud she couldn’t hear herself.

A porcelain hand grabbed her hand and hugged her. The pain began to subside. “My dearest hunter, I shall keep you close. Now shut your eyes.”

She pushed the Doll away. “No!”

The final string rose into the sky and stretched into the clouds. It had no beginning or end. It frayed and fractured. It came from everywhere and nowhere. 

All the strings connecting to dozens upon dozens of hunters. Their death and salvation. It connected to three entities. 

“My good hunter, what ails you?”

“What is this?”

“Over time, countless hunters have visited this dream. The graves here stand in their memory... it all seems so long ago now. I miss them so.” The Doll moved to grab her arm and she moved back. The throbbing in her head made the Doll’s intricately made hands blur beyond recognition. 

“What is this place?”

“A place to embolden your sickly spirit. Those echoes that have become your strength, it is a place for them to find comfort and safety. A place to connect with this hunt, and be safe from it.”

The cobblestones themselves pooled around her feet and she began to sink into the icy waters once again. Liquid stone and dirt spun with the resonating music. A calm and quiet death. 

“The Flora and the Formless have begun their quarrel once again, my hunter. This dream and hunt are all for them, but I will look after you.”

She saw the strands strengthen against each hunter's will. Blood. Tears. Desire. Blood drunkenness. It all swirled. The strings connecting to the Dream itself. Then she saw it as she began to drown in the ocean of the Dream, a light, a window into a possible future. There were many, each slowly being cut off and destroyed by pillars of stone. But a single point to see the dawn of a new day. Another hunter came into focus, the wheelchair bound man who had been here for many a hunt, cut off from the world. A man trapped in a Dream. His job to free hunters from the Dream.

His job.

Her job. 

“Oh, I will stop all of this!” She shouted.

Water filled her lungs and her arms began to burst with brackish liquid. The taste of copper and scent of decay assaulted her.

From somewhere far off she could hear in that same pleasant voice, 

“O Flora of the moon, of the dream. 

O little ones, O fleeting will of the ancients. 

Let the hunter be safe, let her find comfort… 

And let this dream, her home... foretell a pleasant Dream.”

And then she awoke on the cobbled path of the Dream. She searched her bag for the fantastical arcane items she had offered to Karla. They were gone. Aeris smiled. She could unite the dreams as one. And ensure that every hunter she came across would be able to awake in the light of the coming morning. A world created by two gods who had no care for the humans they played with. She would make sure the others could escape. Even if it made them all her enemy.

From across the Dream, the Doll stood from her stone seat, “Welcome home good hunter, what is it you desire?”

"Miss Doll, I have a deal for you."

Chapter Text

Thudded footfalls resonated through the rusted jail cells. Antal made quick work of navigating the now crumbling foundations and doorways of the once bustling prison. He could still hear the screams of those undesirables that had been taken; prostitutes, widowed, troublemakers, too curious hunters… A few corpses still languished in some of the barred rooms; forgotten the night Yahar'gul became a forbidden secret.

Now the remaining life in the halls were beasts. Many donned the same outfit as him; a black Yahar’gul executioner’s set. From far off he could hear the faintest of weeping. He slowed his footsteps and walked as softly as the heavyset armor would allow. Emerging into what seemed to be a large cathedral he made sure not to disturb the hunters at the other end of the hall. Keeping watch as the church’s dogs no doubt. 

What they were guarding perplexed him. 

The city only held the calcified corpses of the populace that had been there the night the scholars tried to become Gods. The courtyard their experiment had occurred in was long since sealed off. Despite finding his way inside by climbing the stonework, there had been nothing there. Just the corpses of those who had damned the city. Something was amiss here. They had to be observing the city during this night for a reason.

He made his way across the room and continued down a spiral staircase to the abandoned torture chambers below. The soft crying became louder. How they had not heard it, he could not guess. Perhaps it was just another abomination meant to torment him for everything. Just like the bell attached to his hip. And the woman who was a parody of Lady Maria.

He descended the stairs, picking up the pace as he heard further crying. Rounding a corner he stopped. Kneeling in the corner and poorly hidden by several funeral vases was a woman in a black nun’s outfit. She was praying quietly, the soft whispers of desperation filling the room, “Please, Leave me be... Don't Take me... Please... Oh, please, dear gods."

His voice cut the still air of the interrogation rooms and her crying, “What is a nun of the church doing out here during a hunt?”

“In the name of the Healing Church, cleanse us of this horrible dream! Have you come to do as such? You carry the weaponry of a church hunter.” The fear in her eyes fanned across her entire body as he stepped closer. Her eyes traced the black garb he wore.

“Why are you here?”

“I was seized on the street by a hulking brute in the Cathedral Ward and locked up here. There were many others, but they've been taken away… And I've heard moans, echoes in the distance, ever since. Not one has come back.”

His eyes widened. “Was it a man or beast that took you?”

“He seemed beastly. Like you-” she averted her gaze, “...he wore that same black garb. It obscured his appearance. He was hunched over, as if his back had been twisted unto itself.”

Antal seethed. Even in beasthood they continued to try to create their own Great One.

He reached out his hand, the woman flinched. Taking hold of her arm he pulled her up. “I will escort you back to Cathedral Ward.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I am Adella, nun of the Healing Church.”

“I am Norbert, a hunter.”

“Gods above, I am so very grateful. I knew my faith would find its way to the Gods.”

He said nothing, only led her through an old hallway to the crumbling wall below. Dropping down, he helped her onto the dirt path. Ahead, a pile of scorched bones sat in a courtyard. A large stone door unopened. 

“Oh, is that the Astral Clocktower in the distance?”

“Yes.”

“Then ahead must be Old Yharnam.”

“Yes.”

She nervously looked at him and the bones scattered about. He could see the recognition in her eyes as she saw the beastly form that would have been created by such a display.

“It is good then that I have kept my prayers for so long. Otherwise I would have shared the fate of the zealots of Yahar'gul or the weakened wills of the poor in Old Yharnam.”

Antal stopped walking. At his feet sat the skull of a large and deformed doglike creature. Somehow, it had developed the powers of the sky- electrifying all that came close. Scorches of its final death rattles painted the large stone door. Claw marks the size of Adella’s body raked the ground. A display of mankind’s disgusting pursuit of knowledge.

“Norbert, are you alright? I can go on ahead as needed.” She looked to him nervously and began walking towards the door, never quite putting him at her back.

“You know not what you worship.” He pulled his weapon, a long and well-worn spear.

He moved in deliberate strides towards the woman. She pulled a ceremonial dagger from her waist, a dagger often used in blood ministration or righteous executions. Her face contorted in fury, “How dare you move to strike a groomed nun of blood ministration!” She shouted.

He pierced the pick through her abdomen. A shriek as the blood quickly pooled on its blade. “Had you said anything else I would have spared you. Clearly you have learned nothing from your crimes. Ignorant fool.” He pulled the blade out, slick with a saint’s blood. 

She collapsed on the ground and he moved away. As he climbed back through the wall he could hear her coughing and sputtering. Then the sounds of snarling beasts. He watched as a few blood addled dogs ran across the courtyard and began tearing her apart. 

“You are all tainted!” She screamed.

A leg. Arm. Torn to shreds. Muscle being chewed.

She began to laugh, an eerie contrast. “You will all die!”

Organs and bone. All ripped across the courtyard to feed the sins of the church and scholars alike. 

He turned away and continued back through the hallways, up towards the cathedral he had descended from. The hunters that had been guarding were gone. His footsteps echoed off the grating of the decrepit place of worship. Walking through the doorway at the other end, he found himself again on the main road to Yahar’gul. Calcified arms reached out from the walls. Children frozen in time, held tightly by their parents and siblings. The cobblestone and dirt alike coated in a thick, solid layer of acrid sealant. Few wisps of grass dared grow and poke their shoots beyond the substance. The scent in the air was putrid, not as strong as the night of the ritual. But the scent of rotting corpses and plants, mixed with the musty smell of bromide in the air.

“You! Do you have your wits about you?” The shout of a woman.

Antal turned to find her, short brown hair framing the intense gaze in Church Executioner’s garb. She stood holding a wagon wheel glowing a crimson red. Small whispers and cries trailed from its ominous glow. 

He grumbled incoherently and used his momentum to stoop forward as he shambled near her. The blood of the nun still sprayed on his body and grime from a night of hunting aided in the farce.

“I see. Then you couldn’t know what happened here anymore, would you now?” She spun the wheel, the cries frenzying into an incoherent wash of sound. He moved to attack her in flurried, unmeasured steps. The wheel, a formidable arcane weapon of the executioners, was unwieldy. Not like its counterpart, the brilliant white gloves of the executioners. She missed him entirely crushing the acrid sealant and releasing an odor of death. He swung upwards with his pick and pierced her shoulder.

“So the church is interested in what happened here. I thought this place was forbidden?” Antal yelled.

“You, dog of Mensis, state your name!”

“Perhaps you could tell me why this hunt is so much worse for beasts than before.”

“State your name.” She held her church cannon up, aiming to fire. 

“Laurence.”

“You heretical bastard!” She shouted at him. She grabbed the wheel and moved in on him quickly. She was faster than most Executioners. He sighed and in one movement rang his beckoning bell and sidestepped her, releasing a wave of fire from his flamesprayer. She jumped backwards, using the wheel to protect her torso from the heat. He moved in, using the fire to obscure her line of sight and slow her down as he brought the church pick forward. He aimed to stab the arm holding the wheel, but missed. A weight filled with the cries of the dead seared through his body. The sensation of burning on his very skin knocked him backwards. His cloak did nothing to prevent the bubbling of skin and scream from his mouth. Another burst of air and screeches came his way. He thrust his spear forward and twisted the blade to catch in the spokes of the wheel, casting it aside while unleashing a stream of flames onto her. She fell backwards, covering her face from the fire.

He planted a foot on the church cannon and kicked her. She rolled to the side and from her unusually white gloves a blast of ethereal energy struck him. He could hear the cries of children and soldiers in the hazy visage of skulls. A round from the cannon pierced through his chest. He crushed a vial directly onto the wound and frantically stood. 

Another hunter dashed forward, a headdress of antlers atop their head. He smirked. His unmoving form drew the horror of the Executioner. “You… working with that traitor!” 

The huntress jumped on top of the woman, drawing out a curved blade that was just a little too large. She sliced into the abdomen of the Executioner. A scream. Then lit her oil slick blade alight and seared the wound shut. As she moved her blade around with expert grace, he noticed that she had no bell attached to her side. The odds were certainly against him for meeting this version. He had hoped to see her again. Last they spoke, she had seemed distressed, but would not explain further.

“Murderous wench!” The Executioner shouted. They struck upwards, using the momentum of the strike they brought the cannon up and knocked Antal’s foot loose. The cannon fired, knocking the headdress from her head. She smiled down at the Executioner. Around her neck was a spiraled emblem, often covered by the headdress.

“Vileblood scum!” The Executioner snarled.

“Indeed.” She took the burning blade and thrust it through the woman’s mouth. At first she only dug the blade clean through the throat of the woman, severing her vocal cords. Then she tilted the blade upwards and pierced straight through the woman’s skull. 

The Executioner went limp. 

She severed the head and set it atop an abandoned carriage, the squelching of fresh blood and viscera making her almost seem drunk. “Nothing I could ever take from you will undo what you have done.” She put the headdress back upon her head and turned to face Antal.

“Out hunting again, I see.” He said flatly.

“This hunt is more deadly than the others. I came here to see if they had somehow completed it.”

“The church has presence here. Three hunters were guarding the abandoned chapel. I ran into a nun who also said she was recently taken here. What she described was men turned to beasts continuing to work.”

She spat onto the ground, the headdress covering her full facial expression, “Seems the scourge is eating everyone.” Looking up, she stared intently at his waist for a moment, “I didn’t take you as someone for fashion. What’s with the bell?”

“Oh this? I thought it looked just so pretty. I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Sarcastic bastard,” she shrugged her shoulders, “be safe.”

“And the same to you.”

She turned and walked away. He shook his head. The odds of him meeting the regular Dawn in his own world were very slim. It was a wonder she had not yet died from the hunt. The bell on his waist continued to resonate outwards. It had been some time since he had found any other Dreaming hunters. Not since the poor church girl had been defended by the Dreaming version of Dawn. That was several hours ago; at that point, he had not killed the Vicar or Yuri at Byrgenwerth. Yet based on the sky, it was as if no time had passed. This hunt was cursed, different from the others. 

He continued walking, keeping to the shadows in case of the other hunters of the church showing up. Once again he found his way to the seal to the courtyard. A strange form of concrete. Seemingly erected by the church overnight. He pressed his hand to it. Even going to the other side would do nothing. It was empty.

His bell resonated with the chime of another. He turned, searching the world. 

“Hello?” A shrill woman’s voice shouted across the city.

Gods. Not the moron. Even Simple would not have done something so brash.

“Hello?” Even louder this time. He moved to grab the silencing blank from his waist, a special firearm only made to disrupt a bell’s resonance.

“Antal?” Her shout again.

His name. He froze. Did Aeris not understand the dangers of shouting names across this gods forsaken place? He crouched, watching carefully. 

“Antal, since you haven’t removed me from your world, then that means you’re at least curious!” She was laughing as she shouted.

The snarling of beasts echoed down the roadway. He could hear her laughing again. An occasional scream. He moved back down the road, slinking into the petrified former citizens of Yahar'gul for cover. Cresting the small cobbled hill in the road he stopped and stared. Aeris, still in church garb, was running in circles around a conglomeration of skulls chewing on the arm of one of the hunters from earlier. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” She shouted. A bell was around her waist, next to a human rib. Her weapon was now one of the old hunter weapons, the Saif. Earlier it had been a serrated saw blade. Where could she have found one of the weapons of the Old hunters in such good condition? The corpse of that boy was still on her back. He doubted her claims that his death was caused by beasts. Insane woman.

The creature was made of skulls and limbs from those that had once called this rural city their home. It snarled, spewing that same bile that had filled the streets twenty years ago. The mixture saturated the woman’s white outfit. She screamed.

He dashed in, pulling the pick and lighting it ablaze. Rotating between stabbing into the abomination and dousing it with flames he distracted the creature to give the woman a moment to heal. Instead she threw herself into the flames, a blood vial crunching in her mouth as she doused the skulls in oil from an urn.

She shrieked as she landed. Rolling into the ground she began putting out the fire across her body. With one final stab the creature exploded into a mist of the bile.

“Ow.” She said, laying on the ground. Her skin was rotting in places as the muscle became exposed. Brown liquid dripped from her side as she sat up. She pulled two vials of blood and stabbed both into her body while wiping the bile on a cloth rope attached to an unlit molotov.

“Do not shout my name across this wasteland.”

“Why not? It’s the fastest way to find you. Besides, it seems that those who’d do anything about it are dying quicker than information can travel.”

“So I have noticed.”

“So tell me, what have you been doing on this long never-ever-changing hunt?”

“The same as last time. Discovering what happened to the experiments of Mensis.”

“No, I mean what have you been doing . Where have you been? What all places have you looked?”

He shoved her away and pointed the pick at her throat. “Why do you need to know, huntress?”

“You know that’s pointless, right?” She asked.

“It will make you shut your mouth,” he said.

“Yeah but people, like, gurgle and gasp when their throats are cut. You’d have to fully kill me. And really, is it worth the effort when you can just silencing blank my merry little self away?”

He stared at her through the grated mask, “you’re insane.” She seemed to brighten at the word. “Why do you care so much? And do you even know what this place is?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out exactly what in the hells is going on too.”

“Why be here if you don’t know why?”

“Because I was told you often come here.”

“Dawn?” He asked, frustrated.

She tilted her head sideways with a smile, “...and a rather pissy scholar named Yuri.”

“She certainly cozied up to you.”

“Trauma makes people do crazy things. Seems she caused some sort of cataclysmic event in her world and was pretty distressed.”

He examined her. Just like Dawn and the church girl Marnie, he could not die. Aeris, too, could visit the garden with the kindly ceramic doll. A doll whose existence did nothing but unsettle him. More than once her ceramic had broken under his blade. He would find the remaining Scholars and kill them. Just as Dawn hunted Executioners.

Fools, all of them. All in one way or another. The moron was no different.

He sighed, “this hunt is not like the others. It is far more deadly and dangerous. I have been going to places run by the church and the once thought defunct Scholars of Mensis to determine what is going on.”

“Defunct?” She asked.

“Yes. The Scholars of Mensis were doing research on the Great Ones and the blood. It culminated in an experiment twenty years ago now that left this city looking like this.” He gestured about. 

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Then these grotesque statues…”

“Are the former citizens of Yahar’gul.”

“Gods. What were they trying to do?”

“Create their own Great Old One. Some wanted to ascend humanity to the next evolutionary stage. Others wanted power and money. A few just wanted to learn things mankind shouldn’t know.”

Her eyes darted about the remains of the once bustling city. Her face serious, pondering. Then she grimaced, “You know an awful lot about an event twenty years ago. Does that outfit have anything to do with it? Or that weapon?”

He sighed, “I left one for the other and found them both to be moronic.”

“What is your motivation?”

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“Why go learn all of this? You don’t seem to care too much about the lives being lost here, or for basic revenge. What then?”

He met her gaze. Purple eyes. She had injected herself with the forbidden blood of the Mensis Scholars and Byrgenwerth. Something kept secret from even the mainline church. Ludwig never would have allowed it. What insanity was this woman playing at? 

He gestured to her outfit, “Why wear the robes of the church? And where did you find the forbidden blood?”

“Because white looks good with blood. And this?” she gestured to her eyes, “came from me injecting the blood of Queen Annalise into my pupils. Grant us eyes and all that. What is your motivation?”

“You found the Vileblood Queen? You. Decades of people searching, and you found her?”

“Yep! Seems some outsider stole blood from Byrgenwerth and brought it to Cainhurst. Then that outsider ran from Cainhurst and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Gods.”

He stared towards the burning horizon. Screams of civilians in the distance. So close to Yharnam, yet lost to their consciousness. The Cainhurst line was no ordinary line. It had been so new, only the Queen herself was said to have awestriking powers of the Gods, power stolen. The superstitious reverence was not something he heeded, but stolen research… Yharnam was a small city. Proud, and isolated. Newcomers were so rare that they were treated with disdain.

NO OUTSIDERS

A common line on a bar’s doors. 

Many rites were required to be completed to be allowed at Saturday worship. Outsiders never being allowed into the church’s clergy. That’s why even Gascoigne was only revered. A Catholic minister from France, no man of pure Yharnam blood. Or so they said.

Then there was the Crow. A woman who handled the church’s dirty work when their own hunters had gone mad. And the man slated for taking her place. He had vanished too. Another assumed victim of the night.

Aeris was standing directly in front of him, her head tilted to the side. He could see the reflection of the calcified corpses of Yahar’gul mixing with the mad curiosity of a true hunter.

Insane woman. Were she not dream tied, she would have died long ago.

“What is your motivation, Antal?"

“For someone who claims they want to understand what is going on, you are certainly fixated on a smaller issue.”

“I’m waiting.”

He turned from her, readying the silencing blank. “I already told you. Some things people should not trifle with. I intend to stop them from doing such a thing. Byrgenwerth proved to be fruitless. I came here for answers, and found a corpse instead,” his arm motioned to the executioner’s head on the abandoned carriage.

Aeris nodded, her shoulders relaxing. She smiled, a faraway gleam of hope. “I can tell you then, why this hunt is so much worse than the others.” She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, “it’s like a fight between Great Ones, and us peons are caught in their games. That’s it.”

His head began to throb, a short fiery pick in the core of his mind. “Excuse me?”

“It would make the entire not dying thing make sense, yes? Dawn also said that in her world Eileen went mad with the blood, and implied the existence of Dreaming Hunters.”

He thought back. Once when Eileen was a name that caused fear in the hearts of hunters, she had been known for the bell she wore on her hip. His head pulsed.“Just how long has this been going on then?”

“I have no idea. I’m telling you what this moron knows.”

He looked at her quizzically, he had never voiced that name aloud. She laughed.

“Anyway, I need to go for now. This night and dream will one day end. I have my own things to do.” Before he could fire he heard the sickening sound of flesh tearing by its own hand. She had used the Saif to stab her abdomen.

“Why?” He asked incredulously. 

“Because I come and go as I please. No one takes it from me.” She moved the Saif to slit her own throat, and stopped as the blade began to draw its first droplet of blood. “Since you’ve been so kind, Dawn said it was a hidden creature at Byrgenwerth that caused everything to go crazy. It seems that once you kill that thing, people not in safe areas get killed pretty quickly by beasts. Be sure to save Arianna, Adella, that crotchety old lady, and the angry dude. But when you help the angry dude, tell him to go to Iosefka's. He won't listen, and will go to Oedon instead. Iosefka... died." Her face soured, "their incense isn’t quite enough to deter beasts. Oh, and don’t befriend the guy in the woods, he’s… violent.”

"Iosefka is dead?" He asked, in shock.

"Yes. Based on what you told me here, seems everybody is obsessed with making a God. Someone else came and turned her into a... thing. I killed them both."

"A thing?"

"A sort of blob-like thing. I don't know."

He opened his mouth and she continued. Names of people he knew; Djura. Dawn. Amelia. Damian. People whose lives he had no idea of. And then a name he didn't recognize: Cyril.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” He asked.

“Because from what I’ve gathered, a bunch of political stuff happened decades ago, and now we’re all paying for it. And those that handled the problem themselves were demonized and killed. Or thrown out to slaughter. I intend to keep all of you alive.”

He took a step back. It had been many years since he had heard anyone truly speak about the safety of others. Perhaps the story of the boy on her back was not just a story. So much death had tainted all of them. They were given an expectation of solitary survival. And yet, here she was, a madwoman spewing a dream. It almost pulled him in, the very idea of hope. 

He noticed it for a moment, the damaged bell on her side as she turned her arm, pulling the blade through her own throat. She collapsed on the ground. Blood drained into the dirt, nourished and poisoned with the lives of so many.

Those names. Adella he had just killed, and he'd already sent the man to Iosefka. But Arianna he had sent to Oedon Chapel already. Were the parallels truly so close that she had learned who was in danger? Perhaps moron was an incorrect moniker. Seeing if Iosefka was truly dead would confirm everything.

He shook his head. The grandiose hopes of a damned woman were not his prerogative. 

Byrgenwerth again. So there was something Yuri was guarding there. He had known it, but could not find anything. And then there was the other piece, that others were attempting to make a God this night. A fool's errand, but enough fools had caused this mess to begin with. The snarling of beasts interrupted his thoughts as he saw one of the three hunters engaged in battle with the creature spewing bile. Sparks of blue came from a metal rod he carried. Sparks just like the creature Antal had killed earlier that night.

Something was amiss. Something more than the church or the scholars. He would avenge the natural order of the world. Even if it cost him everything. He would find the being at Byrgenwerth, and understand what the church and scholars had done to create this hellish night. Were it indeed just Great Ones engaging in a battle, then there was little he could do. The natural path would be the one who survived this night. 

He watched as a final blast of sparks erupted like starlight around the hunter as his body was boiled in acidic bile. Another one down. Hopefully he could find one before their own experiments took their knowledge with them.

Still, the warning of Aeris reigned in his head. Once he found what the church had been researching, it would end the lives of anyone not prepared. He shook his head. He didn’t care for them. He owed them nothing. 

Chapter Text

The headdress of antlers hid the tears that rolled down Dawn’s face. Here in Oedon Chapel, a place of safety, the night’s toll had begun. The angry old woman now regarded Dawn as a granddaughter. The nun Adella talked to herself, fixated on providing the blood of a saint to a hunter. Only the skeptical man who refused to give her a name seemed to have contained himself. Had she just not killed that thing in the depths of Byrgenwerth, would this have happened?

She turned to the deformed man who had created this sanctuary, “Have you heard for any others?” She asked.

He wiped sweat from his head and lit another pot of incense, “there ain't a peep to be heard, not in the whole town... I doubt there's any more out there... God save us... Yharnam's done for…”

She clutched the handle of her weapon, “not again,” she mumbled. She stepped into the red midnight air. Eerily, only the sounds of beasts could be heard now. How she longed for the pained shouts, the slurs, the hatred for the outsider. She held the bell in her hand, and then dropped it to her side. A corpse in the courtyard still had its clothes on, a set she had given to the young huntress Marnie some time ago. She examined the body. A man in his thirties. Someone who had an entire life ahead. Gone. 

The red tinted air above shimmered with a brilliant black starlight. The cosmos itself seemed to shatter a seam in reality. As if those illustrations of space itself had come to life. She screamed. A hand gripped around her face. A creature with a caged face and long, gangled limbs clutched her. She had seen it before. It crushed her slowly, blood dribbled from her eyes and mouth. The voice of a woman swirled into her mind itself. It was soothing and unsettling. She writhed against the hand holding her.

C̸̤̎ư̵̪͔r̵̳̘̔̂s̷̫̲̐e̷̻̋̓ ̴̳̀̆t̵̥͓́h̸͔͂͜ę̷̭̀ ̸͚͖͊̔f̸̭̙͆ì̸͔̖e̷͇̗̍͊n̵͙͒d̶͕͙̀͠ş̶̖̀͝,̸̼̞̚ ̴͉̄t̶͓̚͠ẖ̴͐̅e̵̞͆͆i̸̗̋̈́ř̷̹̝̽ ̵̭̇̇c̸̻̝͊̾ḣ̸͉i̴̗͓͊͐l̷̹̋d̵̼̂r̴̹͋͜e̸̢̋̿n̵̡͉͋͌ ̸̰̥̃͘t̶̞͓̕õ̵̡ǫ̷̞̋.̸͓͕͊̕ ̵̢̯́́A̴̛͎͝ṋ̶̅d̷͎̥͝ ̴̬̬̋͑t̶̪̏h̸̖̯̒e̷̠͎̔̓i̴̙̽͑r̸̬̮͝ ̵̲̩̐̚č̷̦h̶͕̎͗i̷̩̤̾l̸̬̬̎̐d̶̗̕͜r̸̳͑͋é̷̯̭n̷̬͑̂,̸͖͛ ̴̨̃̀f̵̠̉o̸̧͒r̸̝̀̐ḙ̵̊v̵̟͓͑͌e̶͔̹̓̕r̴̳̔,̴̥̽̈́ ̸̞̈́͛t̵͕̿r̸̟͋u̵̙̾e̵͈̙̽͊.̶̩̀͆

She found herself standing in Oedeon Chapel.

“No, this isn’t…” she searched the room. None of the others were here. No candles lit the room. Only dust stayed to decorate the otherwise abandoned place of worship. She ran outside and felt her body burn with fear. Ahead, a twisted version of the Yharnam she had come to hate stretched beyond the horizon line. It was almost a bright sky, the light of a soon to be setting sun. The familiar stonework was replaced by a slog of hardened mud. Faces and tombstones jutted from the rubble. Ahead, she saw a hunter patrolling the ridge. She ran to him, in desperation. Another hunter! Perhaps she was not the only one left! He turned to her, a hulking beast of a man. She froze mid stride. In his hand was an old weapon of the hunters. A curved saw, not unlike the weapons used now. But she knew all too well, much like the cane, it would turn into a serrated whip.

“That… is impossible. Are you one of the old hunters? I do not recognize you!” She shouted.

He moved toward her at a slow stride, then sprinted. The blade turned into a whip and slashed past her face. She used the ability of the old enchanted bone to flit past him in a plume of smoke. 

“All beasts must die,” his voice was directionless, filled with the instinct to kill and nothing more. 

A beast.

She brought the scythe around and struck into his torso as the chain sliced through her left arm. It hung, tattered at her side. She fell backwards, and down a stone slope. Rock pierced her abdomen through the cloak of oiled feathers. 

Her mind itself screamed in confusion at the insanity before her. The bell, as if beckoned by her very cry, rang as she fell onto her backside, her scythe clattering to the ground aside her. Her arm was too injured to pick it up. He jumped from the ledge onto the ground. She rolled sideways, feeling her arm completely snap as she dodged the reverberating thud into the cobblestone. She pulled the blade of mercy from her side and jumped to stand. The bell continued its resonance. She darted just under the whip’s reach, seeing the serrated blade filled with decayed strips of flesh, and brought the blade up through his chest. He barely seemed to react as he brought the whip back into its sawlike form, and slashed it across her. Droplets of blood flew into the air as she and the blades were thrown into the dirtied stonework.. 

A shot rang out from behind him. A thin mist of blood blanketed the air around dawn. It smelled sweet, sickeningly intoxicating. She gasped. Standing before her was a Cainhurst Knight. The regal red garb contrasted the classic hunter’s cap atop her head.

“Have you come to give me penance?” Dawn asked quietly.

The hunter disappeared in a plume of smoke and began striking the man from the front, then behind. The movements were quick, a faster pace than Dawn could ever hope to move. She sat, awestruck. A Knight still yet lived. As the woman struck and seemed to dance in circles, Dawn saw a head of white hair and a bone hanging from her waist. A wrapped body hung on the back of the knight. Her face fell. A bell’s chime resonated between the two of them. And as the man fell to the ground, Dawn could hear the woman’s laughter.

“That wasn’t very nice to do!”

“Aeris? Is that you?”

The huntress turned, her head tilted. Purple eyes reflected a joyous gleam. “Dawn! I got here just in time!”

Aeris was wearing the classic hunter’s pants and cap, but now bore the regalia of a Knight of Cainhurst Castle. Her weapon, much like the man she had just killed, was an old hunter’s weapon; the Beasthunter Saif. A desecration, blasphemy, and impossibility all rolled into one person. How dare she? Dawn relaxed ehr body and used two vials to tend to her injured. She winced as her bones cracked into place. 

“Aeris, where are we?” She asked, her voice measured.

Aeris moved in close, her eyes seemed to be searching Dawn’s body for any form of movement. “Dawn, are you an Old Hunter?”

Dawn slapped her hand away in disgust. She pulled two vials of blood, that same sickening sweet scent wafted. Too much and that would be her fate. She grimaced. A reality she had ignored for far too long, but Eileen had succumbed. How long did the traitor deserve to live?

“These don’t seem to hasten the beasthood,” Aeris said, her voice quiet. She dropped a vial of blood from Iosefka’s clinic into Dawn’s lap and backed away.

Dawn scoffed. “Why did you ask if I was an old hunter?”

“Because I’ve never seen your face and you wield the weapons of one. That scythe was once used by one of the first hunters of the beast hunts, right?”

Dawn looked at her, confused. The face before her bore no mad curiosity, but the worried look of a young woman. Naivete had stayed in her being, then. Seems the night could not destroy stupidity. Her eyes fell on the uniform again, before darting away.

“I will answer your question, but then you will answer mine,” Dawn said.

“I don’t know what I did to offend you. Or why you’re suddenly being so transactional, but-”

“Why are you wearing that?” Dawn snapped.

Aeris tilted her head and looked down. “This world is drab and dreary, and these are the first clothes with any color that I’ve found. Also spoke with a Queen. Got a cool sigil on my neck, too.”

Dawn stood angrily, grabbing Aeris’ collar. Just below the regal fold she could see the same spiral design of the pendant that hung heavy on her chest. “What the hell is this?”

“I met Queen Annalise and agreed to get the blood dregs of hunters for her.”

“Of… hunters?” Dawn dropped Aeris, who landed gracefully on her feet. She backed up, holding the scythe at the ready.

“Of hunters. But I am also no Hunter of Hunters, I’m even more dishonorable than that.” Aeris laughed. 

“How dare you call her dishonorable?” 

“Because the Cainhurst line unjustly killed hunters.” Dawn moved to speak, to shout the atrocities to Aeris, but the woman continued, “...while the church unjustly killed the poor and disenfranchised. And any who tried to help. They cared for glory, and when it came to it, the Cainhurst line was dangerous because they could one day rise against the church. It wasn’t about the people, but self preservation.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Aeris said nothing, but stood resolute against the twisted visage of Yharnam. Queen Annalise was alive. Despite all the efforts of the Executioners and their arcane arts, she was alive. The hope for her safety dwarfed the rage at the blasphemous woman before her.

“Where is the Queen? How did you find her? Is anybody else left?”

Aeris met Dawn’s face. Despite being unable to see her eyes, Dawn felt as if Aeris was staring straight into them. Dawn watched her readjust the ropes fastening the candle lighter to her back, “Seems the leader of the Executioners used a great one’s power to lock Annalise away in a sort of… pocket dimension? Like the Dream. Apparently, whatever forbidden blood caused this,” she gestured to her eyes, “in a large enough quantity made her immortal. When I injected it all I got was being able to see better in the dark. Oh, and I can see blood dregs. Why do they look like bloody clots of sperm?”

Dawn’s mind reeled from the insanity. A light headache formed, fueled by the confusion and anger and relief and anguish. A web of actions and people spindled outwards, unraveling at their very joints. The church and the forbidden blood. The potential creation of another world by humans by the power of the Gods. That Aeris had pledged herself to the Vilebloods. Her strange and apt description of the offering of the blood to the Queen. But most importantly,

Queen Annalise is alive.

Anticipation and fear and relief filled her gut with turmoil. Annalise…

“Dawn, who was Ludwig?”

Dawn stopped, the air chilling her very thoughts. They isolated and froze over, confronted with his name. The scythe fumbled in her hands. “The man who started the sect of church hunters.”

“What happened to him?” Aeris asked.

“He… he…” Dawn’s hands shook. She remembered the night of the hunt fifteen years ago. Beasts were only a small problem, a way for locals to earn coin. But then the man whose light led the charge against the night, fell. They learned then about the beasts. A teenager, she had been in Old Yharnam when the kind man lost his sense, a beast exploding from the mind she once knew. A disgusting amalgamation of man, horse, and viscera. The blood itself doused the firelight of the remaining hunters in his party. Dawn pitched forward, bile filled her mouth.

“What happened?” Aeris asked.

“He became a beast.”

The words hung in the air. Her body was tight, tense and unrelenting. She shivered. How many of the hunters had died to kill him? She had no idea. It was but a few years later that a horde of men and women dressed in white cloaks, grasping wagon wheels of glimmering red, had stormed Cainhurst Castle. Ludwig never would have allowed it. The fountains ran red with the blood of the noble women whose throats were slit. A hulking man led the charge. His scythe cut down the lives of many of the red garbed knights. The trimming powers of the gods decimated everything. 

Dawn pulled her scythe and stabbed the ground with a raging fury. Pain and anguish spun around her. She shook.

“I see then,” Aeris grabbed the silencing blank and moved to fire it.

Dawn’s stomach dropped. Within her an arm tortured by the cosmos seemed to reach out to Aeris, desperate to make her stay. “Why are you leaving?”

“It seems I have only made things worse. This nightmare isn’t your fight. Keep going, find the end of this hunt.”

“Why not kill me?” Dawn shouted.

“Why would you want to die?”

W̷̢̧̧̡̨̲̝̜̯̼͕̻̱̝̙͕̺͚̝̙̳͈̙̭͊͊̎̈͑̐̕̕h̶̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͔̲̩͕̮̪͔̲̩̝͈̯̜̲̻͓̟͗͒̀̒͗̒̈́͒̐̒͗̀̈́͂̄̿̽̈́̽̊̀̃͗͘͘̚͠͝͠͠͝y̸̢̡̡̨̟̤͙̩͕͓̺̹͇̺̺͓̙͓̯͍̲͆̇̃̓̈̈̇͋̀̓̿̏͆̈́̐̇̍̓̓͐͠ͅ,̶̨̧̨͓̮̖͕͇͔̦̰̥͍̲͇̬̹̲̬̱̬̼̗̏͌̀̉͗̌́̐̃̌̉͗͊̌́̊̊̀̏͛͌̏̊̔̋̈̅̾̐́̊̎͊̉͗̚̚̕͘͜͠͝͠ ̸̡̢̡̧̛̮̱̝̹̟̺͈̬̥͍̟̪̳̮̬̲͔̗̹̮͔̥̱̺̝̖͓͇̥͙̪͇̠̭͉̱̱͊͛̌̇̌̎͊͌͒̊̍͜͝ͅi̶̡̡̙̜͈̬̱̝͕͎̮̪̳̙̻̖̱̻̾̂̄͛́͋n̶̨̧̨̢̧̗͚̜̭͚̺̗̳̪͎̻͕̤̹̺̮͚̳͉̝̗̼̖̗͎͓̰͍̫̜̭̻̮̥̗͛̈́͆̾̑͑̓̃́͌̕͘͜ḑ̵̨̣̦͇͙͔̫͔̞̻̙̫̙͕̘̓̒̈́̽̐̂̎̑͛e̸̢͚̞͚̙͈̮̹̖̙̞̪͇̙̜̞͎̔͗̄́̈́̆́̿́̃̉̏́͂̕̕͜͝͝ę̴̨̛͈̟̠̼͓̬̭̬̫̙͕͓̩̫͉̲͖͔̥͕̪̮̬̦͔͓̬̹̠̖̭̣̰̖̟̦̾̇̓̓̏̅̎̋͐̔̐̎̿̌̓̈̿̀̐́̈́̇̿͘̚̕͜͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅd̷̨͇͔̜̮̘̪̹͓̺̘͙͚̩̗̜̣̫̥͇̘̰̹̣̱̥͕̯̞͈͚̳̲̣̪͚̬̰̫͚̳̝̮̲̯͈͉̟̂͌̆̈́̎̑̚̕͝͠?̵̢̛͔͇̟̰̬̺̤̰̲͍̦͉̫͇̮̳͊̿̀̅̐̿̀̔̔̅̉̔̀̋̏͑̈́̉́̈́̐̓̓͊̽̂̔̅̽̊͌̊͗̉͐̏͘͘͘̕̕͘̕̚͝ͅ

Grass and dirt crunched under Dawn’s boots as she ran toward the furthest grounds of the castle. Behind her, she could hear the horrifying screams of people she knew. The sound of flames and crying. One by one the screams silenced. She ducked behind a grouping of statues, waiting for the moment to jump into the bay and swim. The sky was so blue, clouds lazily drifted over the carnage of the castle. Dawn cowered in her red knight’s garb, desperately trying to swap the clothes for a standard Yharnam dress. The buttons became stuck. The shout of a man, the pleading of another. Then-

“Dawn!” 

She was on her knees, shaking. Vomit and blood pooled under her, the taste of dirt and acid in her mouth. Aeris stood beside her, patting her back. A cloth was in her hand, covered in smeared brown and yellow. She would almost welcome the infestations of Yharnam over this hell. Ahead, she could see the Astral Clocktower, clouds obscured the time. Though through the reflection of light she could still see the intricate detail of its face. 

“What is this place?” Dawn asked slowly. Aeris assisted her in standing, the familiar red fabric brushed her cheek.

Aeris began, the words diverging from their earlier tone into a message, rather than a promise, “curse the fiends, their children too. And their children, forever true.” She paused, glancing worriedly at Dawn. “… I heard a voice when I came here, I assume you did too. A man I met said this is the Hunter’s Nightmare. Any hunter who goes blood drunk, ends up here.”

Dawn knew it was ridiculous. She knew it. But somehow it seemed more than reasonable. Perhaps plausible. Could Eileen be here? “If this is for the blood drunk, then how did someone here know what was going on?”

“Curse the fiends. Seems everyone who sinned ends up here eventually. Wonder how they determine that. Is it like a railway punchcard? Or do you think it’s like a frequent purchaser’s discount… but like, not a discount?”

“Can you stop talking nonsense?” Dawn asked.

Aeris changed her tone. A wooden remorse seeped from her words, “I’ve been trying to fight a beast here. His name is Ludwig. He honestly looks like a really weird horse. And if he is who you said he was, well, then, that gives credence to the theory.” She was fidgeting, nervous. 

Dawn’s hands shook, the scythe’s weight wearing her down. She did not want to believe it. Ludwig, the man who had started the fight against the night. Could this truly be where he ended up? His final battle had taken many hunters to fight in Old Yharnam. The corpses that littered the street left a sickly sweetened scent of rot as a warning to all. And then it had been burned, all civilians still with their senses included. And still the church was painted the heroes of all. Perhaps Vicar Amelia was here as well. 

Then this place would too be her grave. Justice was rare. Dawn would take it, alongside her own penance. 

She began to laugh, the mania surpassing even the insanity of Aeris’ disposition. She  straightened her back and began sharpening the scythe’s blade with a whetstone. “The Old Hunters is a colloquial title given to the first generation of hunters. Nearly all of them are dead now, or disappeared without any warning. It has been something close to twenty years since the first rumblings of the beasts became apparent to everyone. Their workshop has become derelict and abandoned. No one makes these weapons anymore.” She gestured to the scythe. “With your theory, some of them may be here.”

Aeris tapped the saif hanging from her side, “I found this here on the body of a long dead hunter. A broken bell hung on his side.” She stood, her gaze not leaving the Astral Clocktower ahead. “Do you want to come with me? We can fight Ludwig together.”

Dawn hesitated as she joined Aeris. The solitary battles of the hunt’s night were just that. Yet she had desired help, a call to the worlds of anyone who would listen. And of all people, it ended up being Aeris. What could this woman desire from these hunts so desperately that even hell did not stop her movement forward?

The words caught in her throat. Sharp stabs of an unfamiliar movement. “Will you help me here? And then I will help you in your world?”

“Of course, Dawn. A hunter is never alone.”

~~~

The duo found themselves at a pool of running blood. A shallow river of souls and people who did not make it. Or perhaps this was just another layer of torment for those trapped here. Dawn walked, her back straight. Again the dramatic visage of an antlered huntress, the backdrop of hell itself painting each step. A small part of her smiled. Aside her was an ally, of some affair. As they walked towards a tunnel, resembling a hall she had seen in the real version of Yharnam, the number of corpses multiplied. Aeris jumped, a scream on her lips when one reached out. Its pained moaning mixed with the sounds of crackling bones. 

“What the hell is this?” Aeris faltered, staring at the unidentifiable bodies on the ground.

Dawn clapped her shoulder. “Were you not the one who just said it was hell?”

Blood pooled over the tops of their boots as they stepped through the arched tunneled hall, into a large room. Corpses were piled nearly to the ceiling. The scent was not like any either hunter had ever experienced. There was the copper of metal and blood, but also the palpable smell of hope. How a physical emotion could envelop the entire room, neither could understand. It twisted it, almost mistaking it for something entirely different. Yet it was there, painful and abominable.

“Dawn, if you don’t want to see this, now is the time to leave.”

“No. He deserves at least this. Of everyone, he deserved the best.”

“Then know that killing him is the best that cane be done. Free him from this suffering.”

A corpse from the edge of the pile slowly lifted its torso, parts of its pelvis and spine cracked under the pressure. “Ahh, ahh, please... help us... Ah… An unsightly beast… A great terror looms! Ludwig the Accursed is coming. Have mercy... Have mercy upon us…”

She saw in the corner of her eye Aeris touch her own hunter’s bone and began to flit to one side. The ground rumbled beneath their feet. From the pile enlarged limbs began to burst from the piles of corpses. The sound of twitching flesh and squelching made her hold her mouth to assuage more bile. The corpse that had been speaking began to shriek, its eye sockets collapsed in on themselves when a huge beast clawed from the pile behind it. A two headed beast, one head filled with eyes and the other similar to a horse twitched to life. Bones bent backwards into and out of place.

And then the scream that made her blood curdle. 

She had heard it resonate through Old Yharnam all those years ago; as a child, she had hidden behind one of the knights that had come to help with the scourge of Old Yharnam. It rattled her joints, and seemed to echo off the blade of her scythe itself. She was thankful for the headdress covering her ears. She had no idea how Aeris was withstanding the shrieks.

His feet inverted, cracking under the weight. Hooves beat into the pooling blood. It was then that she realized the river of blood creating the entrance of this place was from the corpses. Though decayed, many were hunters. The people Ludwig had sent to their deaths. A bed of the damned he had created.

He charged forward, flailing his limbs about. Dawn stumbled, before following suit. She flitted with the ethereal smoke and began attacking him from behind. A ceramic jar of oil shattered on his back. A roar. And then fire spread across the rotting limbs like a scourge. Dawn’s foot hesitated and she was flung backwards. Rolling, she tried to dodge him jumping upon her. Her arm snapped. A tooth cracked, the fragments sticking in her throat. She screamed. An amalgam of claws and protruding bone swiped at her.

The explosion of a pistol rang out. Its tinny sound familiar. She couldn’t understand why. Then a fragile voice began singing over the battle. Ludwig dropped his clawed limb aside and barreled away. Congealed clots of blood stuck in the fur of the headdress. More jars of oil shattered across the bloodied grave. Her arm wouldn’t move. She grabbed blood vials and injected them. The painful cracking of an arm resetting resonated with the voice. She watched in awe. Aeris lit the lake of blood ablaze. Firelight reflected into the crimson pool. Her somber singing mixed. Hell itself seemed to coalesce into a visage of despair and fury. 

“Oh, hunter.

That Saint.

The Divine Partner of your fate

May it come by means of Death, the Departed Blame.”

She almost danced in a frenzy of death. Her blade covered in the static of a dead beast. Her melody something Dawn had not heard. Its haunting chorus drew his attention. With another thrust of her blade into his corpse, Aeris was tossed backwards. Ludwig fell to the ground. A sword splashing into the lake. A blue glow began beneath the crimson water. Dawn’s chest fluttered. A one of a kind weapon blessed by the Gods, or so they said. Only Ludwig had been able to wield it. The man. Not the inner beast that consumed him.

“Aeris, wait!”

She stopped, mid stride towards him, and looked to Dawn.

“That’s the Holy Moonlight Sword. It’s a weapon only wieldable by someone who has their senses. We’ve saved him!”

Aeris lowered her weapon slightly. At once a booming male voice resonated across the still burning lake. “Aah, you were at my side, all along. My true mentor… My guiding moonlight…”

One of the limbs, with still human-like hands, grabbed the hilt of the sword. A brilliant seafoam blue reflected off the waters. Its light danced with the fire. A beautiful mixture of color in the hellish void. Sparkles made up the blade, as if the cosmos itself had been harnessed. Their bells chimed and resonated with the light thrum of the sword.

He was himself. Dawn stood shakily. Perhaps he could be saved.

He held the sword, partially obscuring one of the horse-like faces. The portion visible almost looked human. Recognition seemed to flash in his eyes.

“Ludwig!” Dawn called.

A brilliant flash of light flew from the sword. It reflected off the head of brilliant white hair as Aeris crumpled to the ground. Sparks of blue and white light sizzled across her body. She curled into the fetal position, screaming. He turned to Dawn and charged. The blade swung wide. She just barely dodged it as the sword gouged into the wall behind her. She brought the scythe up and slashed into his body, before doding forward, out of his eyesight. Aeris was injecting multiple vials into her torso.

He blitzed towards them both, using his body as a momentum to crush both women. Aeris stood, firing her pistol into his eye and Dawn lunged at him, using her own momentum to dodge past and drag the blade across his side. The scent of rotted blood engulfed her. She landed, crushing the skull of a corpse. The room lit up with the fiery glow of seafoam. The blood on the ground fizzed with energy, as if it was boiling. Then a flash blinded them both. A forceful wall of energy toppled Aeris into the mess of bodies and viscera. Brackish rot flowed from the wounds across his torso. He aimed at Dawn with the sword once again, and shrieked. She ran up the pile of corpses as he brought the swing of the sword down. A knight protecting his castle. She jumped, piercing his head and dragging the scythe down his back with her momentum. The frenzied slashes of Aeris continued where the blade ripped from. 

She continued to sing,

“The Blood will flow in abundance

Of that night you could not tame

Oh, Blood Blessed Saint.”

Ludwig fell on the ground. One eye blinked at Dawn and Aeris both, the other had been ripped to shreds by her scythe. He settled his sight on Dawn, his gaze following her headdress thoughtfully, “Good Hunter, have you seen the light? Are my Church Hunters the honorable spartans I hoped they would be?”

Dawn stood resolute. Her mind unraveling. The burning cries of Old Yharnam. The bloodstained grounds of Cainhurst. The corpse of the Vicar. Eileen’s sacrifice. It all scorched her mind. 

“No.”

“Oh, my. Just as I feared. Then a beast-possessed degenerate was I?” He seemed to pause, grief filling his one eye. “Then as my detractors made eminently clear… Does the nightmare never end?” He began to sob. Tears pooled into the rotted flesh of his face. Dawn placed the scythe on her back and pulled the ornate blades of mercy from her feathered cloak. She plunged the blade deep into his remaining eye. She fell bone and tendon break beneath her. A cry from his mouth. The blue light of the Moonlight sword dulled and then darkened. It reverted to a beaten looking sword, rusted and damaged by acidic blood.

“You started this,” she said quietly to his corpse.

She stood for some time. The bell quietly ceased its resonation. She glanced at Aeris who was standing still, her body dissipating into sparkling dust. Aeris spoke, her voice gentle and soft.“I will see you in my world, my friend. You did a good thing.”

Aeris vanished.

Dawn fell to her knees. Alone in a room of corpses. She couldn’t place the emotions coursing her mind. They swirled so quickly she couldn’t catch hold of them before they fractured into yet another trail of confusion. The nightmare was here to serve as penance to those who committed treason against something. Humanity. The Gods. Ahead lay nightmares she couldn’t comprehend. There was no point. She would go no further. She squeezed the scythe. She would save as many as possible before her time came. 

She grabbed the bell and rang it. It resonated out, a solitary sound, searching. For the first time she felt a comfort in her mind. There would be someone to answer. Aeris’ motivations for wearing the garb once meant for her homeland did not matter. With Aeris having found Queen Annalise and joined the ranks of the Vilebloods, perhaps there was a path forward yet.

Dawn found herself hesitantly smiling as the resonation of another bell answered her call. 

She found Aeris standing at the entrance of that same arena. She was shifting from one foot to another. She did not turn to see whose footsteps splashed in the river of blood. “Hey there Dawn. Glad you came. I could use some help here.”

“Are you continuing forward?”

“After this? Yes! I intend to discover what this nightmare is.”

“Alone?”

“A hunter is never alone, Dawn.”

“I suppose not,” Dawn walked to stand by Aeris’ side. And together the same scenario played out. A gleaming fight of light and fire and darkness. Somehow both hunters seemed brighter than usual. A somber dance of two damned hunters, and the soul of a man tormented by their shared fate. And the defeat of that tortured soul.

Chapter Text

Aeris watched as the beast who was once the first of the church hunters fell beneath both of their blades. A man who had the ambition, but not the knowledge to fight the darkness and abyss of the hunt. She stood quietly as his sword splashed into the thick, acrid blood. The sweetened scent of the room made her feel ill. Her hand moved to her side for a blood vial, before she stopped herself.

Ludwig looked at her with his one functioning eye, “Good hunter, have you seen the thread of light? Just a hair, a fleeting thing, yet I clung to it, steeped as I was in the stench of blood and beasts. I never wanted to know, what it really was. Really, I didn't.”

She stopped. The threads of light that tied the worlds together? Or the threads of madness that stalked the mind? She pulled a church hunter badge from her Knight’s garb, ignoring the stiffening of Dawn as she held it out for the tragic man to see. 

His tone lightened at the badge, and he seemed almost happy. “Are my Church Hunters the honorable spartans I hoped they would be?”

The same thing he had asked Dawn. Aeris nodded, “yes.”

“Ah, good...that is a relief. To know I did not suffer such denigration for nothing. Thank you kindly. Now I may sleep in peace. Even in this darkest of nights, I see...the moonlight…” The blue glow from depths of the blood faded. Aeris plunged her hand in and picked it up. A worn blade, nothing like the greatsword of a luminescent moon as before. 

“You lied to him,” Dawn’s tone was almost venomous. Almost. 

“I did. And I’d do it again. Not everyone gets peace here. I felt like he deserved at least that.”

“He deserved to know what they had become.”

“Why? What purpose would it serve?”

“He should pay even a little for starting all of this.”

“I’d consider you a good person, Dawn. But in your good nature you started an apocalypse in your world.”

Dawn grabbed her arm, “at least I don’t lie to myself about what I have done!”

“Dawn.” Aeris reached out to her, expecting the same visceral reaction as before. Instead Dawn accepted the hand on her shoulder.

Dawn shuddered, “He may have been a good man, but being good doesn’t preclude you from wrong. He was naive. What did he think would happen by creating a militia? By fighting the abyss of the hunts like this?”

“Dawn, heroes are nothing but a fabrication. They’re people, like you said. And people typically deserve at least something when they die.”

“A lie then?”

“Even a lie. But I expect you to not lie to me,” Aeris said, staring directly into the part of the headdress that concealed Dawn’s eyes. “When I go blood drunk, should there be any part of me left, don’t placate me with platitudes. It’s not what I want.”

Dawn nodded and held out her hand to Aeris, and she took it, smiling. “Is- Is that what would make you happy?”

“It would make me able to live with myself. What about you?”

“I want to know that I protected someone. Anyone. I know not what hell I unleashed. How many lives I ended… Just someone.”

Dawn’s body began to dissipate into glittering dust. “We can find out together, I’ll come find you again Dawn!” Echoes of Dawn’s smile stayed long past the glitters of her form. Aeris shouldered the sword, placing it alongside Elias. He was getting heavy. The rope saturated in blood was mixing with her own. She smirked darkly, how ruinous it would be to still have him on her back if she turned into a beast.

She turned towards the piles of human remains. Their burning scents and cascading blood acting as a warning for the path forward. Would a version of his corpse join the mangled mess? Splashes echoed off the walls as she made her way up the piles of bodies. Her foot hesitated, below it was a set of stairs, almost entirely obscured by the bone and viscera. At the top of the stairs was a hall, and another small stairway leading up.

Her footsteps were the only echo of sound she heard for a few minutes as she ascended. Beyond this stairway was another answer to the question; why is this place? As she got closer to a dimly lit threshold, she could hear a murmuring. Coming to the precipice she found herself in a long hallway. The sound of dripping… something echoed down the hall. To her left was a jail door, its bars crusted and rusted over. 

She stopped, her stomach seeming to curdle at the words now clearly resonating in the air. “Shrouded by night, but with steady stride. Colored by blood, but always clear of mind. Proud hunter of the church.” She heard a thunking sound and ran to the bars. A man in a brown coat was beating his head against the wall. His back was to her, his stance crushed and defeated.

“Hunter, what is happening to you?” She asked.

He continued, as if he could not hear her. “Beasts are a curse, and a curse is a shackle. Only ye are the true blades of the church.”

She stood quietly, watching him continue to harm himself. A patch of deep red was forming, small droplets running down and being lost in the darkened void of the room.

His voice never faltered. It was pained, but almost like someone attempting to explain something tragic to a child.

“Shrouded by night, but with steady stride. Colored by blood, but always clear of mind. Proud hunter of the church. Beasts are a curse, and a curse is a shackle. Only ye are the true blades of the church. Shrouded by night, but with steady stride. Colored by blood, but always clear of mind. Proud hunter of the church. Beasts are a curse, and a curse is a shackle. Only ye are the true blades of the church. Shrouded by night, but with steady stride. Colored by blood, but always clear of mind. Proud hunter of the church. Beasts are a curse, and a curse is a shackle. Only ye are the true blades of the church.”

Ą̷̧̗̞̯͈̝͔͉̥̺͎͉͆̀̀̐̋̈́͂̂̽̾͛̏͒̉̾͗̍͌̓e̶̡̨̡͕̥̲̹̗͙̼͈̼̦̥͇̯̣̺̭͚͕̼̙͗̈̏̀̽̌̈́̂̓̃͝ȓ̶̢̛̲̯̘̲̜̩͈̭̯̥̊̿̐͗̇͐̔̀͋͐̽̒̽͊̃́͑̿͜͝į̴̞͖͎̠̞͉͓͇̝̞͉̟̞̰̍̑͜s̸̡̼̼̝̝̮̝̥̣̰̫̱̲̤͈̣̣̈́͜͝ͅ

The prayer rang a sinister sounding bell in her mind. She could feel it within her, too; the call of madness. “Stop it, Sandra.” She imagined a maze, another stone wall, and quieted the screeching from the recesses of her subconscious. Aeris grabbed the handle and broke the latch with her weapon. She walked in slowly, watching him continue to repeat that same reassurance to himself. She trembled, the grip of her weapon uncertain for the first time. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you lost your fight.”

His words continued, “...ye are the true blades of the chur-” Her saif connected with the back of his head as she slashed through his bone and tendon. He only had time for a lost yelp before his body fell to the floor. He crumpled into that same sparkling dust as the hunters who left the worlds of others. 

She fell against the wall, panting and shaking. The bloodied wall smeared a portion of her exposed face. She shivered. This would end with her. This would all stop. She hummed a tune the Doll had sang for her the many a time she had returned to the quiet garden. Righting herself, she continued forward. Down the long hallway, she discovered that each door was another barred cell. Most were locked. Those left open, their hinges rusted, contained the bodies of hunters. Some were dead in prayer, others starved on their beds. Twisted bodies lie beside personalized weapons. Some she had never seen the likes of. She winced. The architecture of the building was reminiscent of the church in Yharnam. If this was indeed a twisted version of the city, was this a fabrication, or a reflection of an actual jail for hunters below the church? What horrors did the church hide? She wished she had asked Dawn what other Old Hunters looked like. Not knowing was how this all happened.

She began to pass another stairwell when she heard a bell. It resonated quietly, a low tone. It contrasted the higher pitched ringing she had grown accustomed to. As all hunters should, she followed it down. She found herself in front of yet another cell door. A man sat on the floor beyond the bars. His outfit was pieced together. An unfamiliar style of clothing to Yharnam covered by furs, and atop his head was an identical headdress to Dawn’s. The antlers reached out to the skies, as if calling to the worlds of other hunters.

He spoke first, a rather ordinary sounding voice considering the hellscape. “Are you a hunter? Well, that's very odd. Do you hear the toll of the bell?”

“Of course I do. It would be kind of hard to ignore.”

“Liar. Such pettiness will be your undoing. The beasts you seek will not be found here. Go back to your hunt, and if you have the chance, put this night behind you.”

Aeris rolled her eyes, and rang her own bell. Its resonance reached outward, seeming to stun the man. Their bells did not dance together like the other dreaming hunters. They were always off key from one another. They chimed just out of time. 

“Unending death awaits those who pry into the unknown,” he said. He pulled his own bell out and held it in cupped hands. Much like Dawn, she could not see his face. Could these two potentially know one another?

“I challenge it to find me then.” Aeris retorted. A man in a cell, bearing the sinful headdress of a hunter who killed his own. Everything those things touched turned to tragedy. She attempted to open the door, but it was shut tight. A keyhole told her everything she needed to know. A needle in an ocean of blood.

“Only a fool would so brazenly roam. Being a dream hunter does not protect you from blood drunkenness.”

“Who are you? And why are you here?”

“Curious hunters will always be punished.”

“Look, I love circling people with vague statements too, but can you just answer my damn question?”

“It is all about power and bloodshed. People clawing, conniving their way over the weak. Trampling those who were born too late or early. Or too poor, or too rich. Nothing ever changes, such is the nature of man.”

“Oh?” 

“They send the strong, the powerful to fight their battles. Then punish those who did as they were ordered. The difference between a war criminal and a hero is who the victor was.”

“What happened to you and the other Old Hunters?”

“Curious and insistent. Do you think that by dredging up secrets you will learn anything of value?”

“Not knowing is how this all persists.”

“Arrogant fool. If you think you are somehow special and will evade this hunt, then your bell will shatter. Leave this place. Go back to your toil of beasts.”

She shook her head in frustration. Cyril likely felt the same way speaking to her, as she did to this man.“Then you’ll be my enemy too,” she said. He began laughing at her as she turned and walked away.

She could hear him mutter as she ascended the stairs once more “...some places better left untouched, secrets better left alone…”

“I will rip those secrets from their tomb,” she said quietly. “And find a way to free you from this nightmare.”

~~~

At the end of the hall was yet another staircase upwards. She blinked in the bright candlelight as she came into a large open room. Stone circular designs decorated the floor she could see. Ahead, a beautifully sculpted altar of blood ministration held the focus of the room. Rows of canopy beds also sat in neat, symmetrical lines. As she walked closer, she gripped her weapon. The twisted corpses of women in Blood Saint regalia lay in the sheets. Most were skeletal, but a few had dried skin stretched across bulbous, enlarged faces. More whispering from ahead. A woman’s voice, passionately reciting an incantation of sorts. Aeris walked closer, to listen, keeping herself hidden behind the beds.

“Remain wary of the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young.

Were it not for fear, death would go unlamented.

Seek the old blood. 

Let us pray, let us wish... to partake in communion.

Let us partake in communion... and feast upon the old blood.

Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears.

Seek the old blood.

But beware the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young. 

The foul beasts will dangle nectar and lure the meek into the depths.

Remain wary of the frailty of men…”

The prayer tugged at the edges of her mind. Looking wildly around, it clicked. The room she was in was a near exact copy of the Grand Cathedral, only adding the beds and changing the alter in the front. And that prayer…

Vicar Amelia had been reciting it before she turned into the beast. And here, a woman in a white Vicar’s robe sat at the front of the room, praying her heart out to any god that would listen. Aeris had seen the image of clergy crying out many times. The bubonic plague that have ravaged her hometown growing up. The cries for the war to not break out. Prayer was cheap. Action though…

She moved forward and called out, “Vicar Amelia?”

The woman stood. An elegance in her stride. Her hair was brown, healthy looking. Not the silvered mess Aeris had seen it as.

“Remain wary of the frailty of men…” A bolt of blackened energy hurled at Aeris. She had barely dodged when it exploded into shrapnels of midnight behind her. She touched the bone on her side and began to step through mist around the room. She struck her saif into the Vicar’s side, and a large sword slashed into her back. She whipped her head around to find a woman in black church garb holding a sword. Her eyes were icy, intent upon striking true to their target. Aeris jumped back, barely avoiding another blast of the darkened energy.

“Let us pray, let us wish... to partake in communion.

Let us partake in communion... and feast upon the old blood.

Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears.”

The Vicar walked slowly, chasing Aeris with blast after blast. Aeris could hardly react as the blows continued. She managed to avoid another strike of the sword, when a shot of spectral energy struck her chest. She fell backwards, coughing. It sent a black static through her body. A bit of blood dribbled from her mouth. Her left arm would not respond. A blood vial shattered on the floor as she rolled to avoid another pulse of energy. 

She stood, breathing heavily. Blood obscured her vision in one eye. The slashes and attacks were relentless. For every strike she could land against one, the other would hit her twice. Emptied blood vials littered the floor, their shattered pieces reflecting the candlelight like little orange embers across the stone floor. 

Her eyes made contact with Amelia. The light reflected in her eyes, too. They looked exhausted. Almost unaware of movement or thought. Just flickering life where the blood had taken over. Even in the nightmare, duty binding was her punishment. No corpses of candlelighters were here. Nothing. Just the corpses of those who had failed. Just the failures of the church. Locked away in a cathedral to pray forever. 

Perhaps Amelia had cared about Yharnam and its people.

But care was cheap.

The blast of light knocked Aeris to the ground. A blade in her chest the next. The glass glittering in the stone circles looked almost like small bonfires. 

Whatever person had been Amelia was now just a husk.

“I will free you from this hell!” As Aeris rolled over and scrambled to her feet, she dumped the jars of oil onto the ground. Using the flickering candles she cast them ablaze. The scream that came from the Vicar’s burning form was curdling. Blasts of arcane energy surged in the air. Aeris jammed vial after vial into her arm, allowing them to heal even as she endured the strikes. She parried the sword back with her saif, and caught Amelia off guard with her pistol as she lunged forward. The blade severed the head of the black garbed hunter. And the fire began slowing the amount of energy that exuded from the hands of the once proud Vicar. 

With a final thrust into Amelia’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of those exhausted eyes once again. “I will make sure that I am the only hunter that is alone.” 

As with Ludwig and Yamamura, her body disappeared. 

Aeris collapsed against one of the beds. Death after death dripped from her hands. A part of her longed for the Doll’s soothing song. Allowing comfort and complacency would be a distraction. She stood, her body soaked in blood. She had to know. As if spurred by an ethereal energy within herself she moved forward. Bloodied footprints began to get lighter as she made her way to the altar. If there was a way forward, she couldn’t parse it. The twisted stone figure of a woman lay on a table, with others standing over her, blades raised. Macabre. At least the Catholic Churches had the decency of some stained glass for their despair.

Behind the table of the altar was a metal crank. Then the way forward, it seemed, was up.

The screeching metal burned her ears as metal chains raised the altar up. An elevator pulley system. It stopped in a large stone room, a wooden staircase ahead spiral upwards. She gasped. The church in Yharnam had a huge clocktower behind it, locals calling it the Astral Clocktower. Was this it? She marveled at its size, and how it seemed to stretch towards the sky itself despite being indoors. 

The beauty of the wood and stonework was marred by the screaming and moaning upwards. She planted a foot on the staircase, and began her ascent into the unknown. A reflection of the things hidden by the church, and the nature of this nightmare. How it all tied together. And how to free everyone from this hell.

A hunter is never alone.

The staircase continued past a mahogany landing and upwards. Aeris hesitated, before leaving the stairs and walking along an open corridor that overlooked a balcony to the floor below. The doors were labeled.

Patient Room 1

The sounds of groaning and shambling made their way past the solid door to her. She hesitated and continued on.

Patient Room 2

Screaming. The sounds of desperation made her throw the door open on instinct. Rows of beds in the dark were illuminated by her lantern. Creatures were wrapped in sheets, belted and tied to beds. Their heads were huge, pulsing clumps of skin and puss. The floor was sticky with a putrid liquid. Painful crying. Agonizing shouts. They layered over one another. The cacophony of pain forced her feet forward. She ran to one of the creatures. Human hands gripped at restraints tying them to a bed. People.

The screaming of the man on the bed became decipherable, “...Kill me, please, just kill me… Free me from this place... before I go mad.”

Aeris pulled the saif from her side and stood, the weapon poised above where she had to guess his throat was. Her hand shook. She brought it down and cut through the thin flesh. Water erupted from the cut, only tinted slightly red. It was more… opaque. Almost white. His body went still on the bed.

A woman’s voice from a bed over, “Ahh, Lady Maria, Lady Maria. Please, take my hand, please. Help me... don't let me drown…”

Another, “Save me...please...I don't hear anything…”

And another. And another.

One by one she brought her blade through the bodies of the tortured souls in the room. Tears began in the corners of her eyes. By the time she stumbled to the final patient, the room was running with the liquid, with blood, with sour smelling medicines and ointments now exposed to the air. One woman remained on a bed, her small body entombed in the wrappings. Her voice was not a scream, and her head did not have the same bulbous stretching as the others. Still enlarged, but not strained.

“Lady Maria, I'm a robin. Will I ever curl up and become an egg? What say you, Lady Maria? Lady Maria? Say something, anything…”

“Who is Lady Maria?” Dawn had said the name once before. As had many others.

“Oh, Gods forgive me. You smell just like her. She must be somewhere else.”

“If you are already a robin, how would you become an egg?” 

“Oh dear, the church will find a way to bring us to the next stage. Us chosen few are going to help Yharnam. Tell me, when will Maria be back?”

Aeris stared at the woman. The lie and truth both danced within her mouth. “She will be back soon. You just rest.”

“Ah, many thanks.” The woman’s breathing quieted and she fell asleep. Aeris brought her blade down quickly, silencing her breath.

Aeris sat in a chair staring at the corpses she had made. The room was filled with empty IV bottles, long fallen from their racks. Shattered glass and notes littered the room. She picked up a sheet of paper, diagrams drawn across it described some form of blood transfusion. If Cyril was here, perhaps he could make sense of it. The woman had believed that the next stage was backwards. She rifled through the room, ignoring the various liquids that pooled around her feet and touched her hands. 

A memo saturated in some form of yellowed medicine caught her eye. It was one of many, likely from a file now shredded and scattered throughout the room.

Patient 231: Isabelle

…female body is the best host for an implantation of a Great One. Females are already known to be the best to purify the effects of the blood sickness that infects the mind. A perfect specimen has yet to be found, though it is noted the Queen of Castle Cainhurst may have somehow perfected it (See file 5 for details). Isabelle has currently birthed five offspring and has a healthy structure for carrying another child. We will utilize Eb…

 

The page’s ink had run. Another page.

Upon insemination of the white composite liquid from within X, a patient begins to comment on unintelligible whispering in their mind. It is followed within hours by a swelling of the womb. In half of subjects, the skin turns blue within four hours.

Facial structures often drastically change. So far tentacles, extra hair, bulbous skin stretching, infiltration and destruction of the retinal cavity, and hard keratin-like protrusions akin to horns have occurred. Noticeable effects have been noticed in the eyes of test subjects, to varying degrees. Regardless, the result is always death within twenty-four hours. Further study is needed. Additional subjects can be taken as volunteers from the lower streets of Old…

 

Another.

Intelligence of the subject does not seem to matter, as shared in the documents from Byrgenwerth. An intelligent female student (denoted Rosemary), was successfully transformed. Both the blood and abilities of said creature have proven largely useless. Currently the Great One Ebrietas has been cradling the corpse of the arachnid creature which Rosemary became. Denoted Rom for ease of distinction. Writings from the tunnels beneath Yharnam suggest that a Great One losing a child is a common occurrence. It is thought that successful reproduction is not possible for one of these higher beings. And there is precedence that they may attempt to replace the child that died.

Aeris dropped the papers in disgust. So they had sought to create a God. People have the time they have. Attempts to ascend someone beyond was just not right. She handled a blood vial thoughtfully. Hypocrisy infected everyone, it seemed. And the blood itself originated from those things… whatever they were. Was it truly something as simple as not meant for human consumption? And Annalise was listed here. The same blood which made her both immortal and a perfect vessel of purified blood is what gave Aeris her eye color.

But Great Ones often losing their children. That made more sense than anything else.

She left the room and continued. While that may be what the church had done here, that did not explain this nightmare. It had to be created by one of those Great Ones. But what happened to cause it? She returned to the door of Patient Room 1, where there had been the shambling. Any life here had to be extinguished. She would guarantee it. 

The door opened without protest. Broken beds haphazardly dotted the room. Some patients had partially escaped, their bulbous heads pinned like needlework by the snapped bars. Their bodies mutilated and almost unrecognizable. Some crawled on the ground, their pitiful cries and groans sickening the huntress. One paced in the back, the corpse of another patient dangled in pieces off of it. It had broken its limbs free. One of the IV stands were clutched in its elongated human hands. She took a few more steps forward, her foot hitting a glass bottle on the floor.

It turned and made eye contact. Then it lunged at her, a battle cry of insanity melding with the shattering glass under its feet. It moved fast. It stuck just above where Aeris’ head had been with the handle of the stand. She rolled behind it, striking blows into its side. It barely seemed to respond to her. It threw her backwards and beat into her legs, shattering one of them. She screamed. Glass bottles of acrid medicine were hurled at her head. Some broke, their contents splashing into her eyes. Burning and itching. Her eyes watered. She couldn’t see. The shrill cries of multiple creatures. She rolled into something soft. Wet. It moved and snaked around her throat. She could no longer scream. Elias being on her back was slowing her down more and more. 

If she died here, there was no guarantee she could come back. The answer of this world would be lost.

She jammed blood vials into her leg and arm, and even one between her fingers. Anything to stop the bleeding and agonizing pain. Strikes continued on her as she rolled and stumbled through the room. She used the bone on her side to dodge, following the walls. Her hand slipped on something metal, round. The door handle. She turned it. Her face hit the outside stonework. She crawled, pummeling footsteps thudding behind her. She fell into an old cabinet of vials outside the door. Standing, she brought the saif up just as the hapless patient swung the stand through the door. The blade connected with the flesh of its head, a sickly slicing sound as metal cut through skin like butter. It fell to the ground clutching its head and face. She brought it down again, silencing the scream just as the others had made their way to the door. 

She flitted through smoke, slicing every body to pieces. As one lay bleeding out, she went to end their misery, but hesitated as it began to cough and speak. No mouth existed on this one, a pulsing and writhing ball of flesh on its head was all that remained. “Ahh, someone...help me… I am guilty, I know. But I won’t do it again, I promise. The damp darkness...it, it frightens me. And what rises from its very depths I dare not comprehend.” She waited, listening to the sound of squelching flesh and breathing till both stopped. 

Another step forward, then.

Chapter Text

The wooden steps of the abandoned research half blurred together. At first she had marveled at the hand carved steps. At the intricate patterns. But now she was tired. Her footfalls heavy. Elias’ weight seemed to increase with the steps. The amount of blood used to offset his weight did so as well. She needed to find Marnie and bring him to rest. But the need to know the Nightmare pulled her steps forward. Adjusting the rope straps, she felt the load of Amelia’s blood, of the man in the cell, of the patients. Ahead the precipice of a door called to her. It was large, with double panels, and embellished with beautiful stone patterns of flowers. She could smell the earthy scent of life behind it. Plants. Flowers. Dirt. 

She yanked the handles and stepped out into a cloudy sky. Ahead, sunflowers decayed in the low lighting of a towering building on just the other side. The clock tower was fragmented. A terrace in the middle, before an ascension could be made upwards. The terrace itself contained the garden. Or what was left of one. Marbled steps descended into patches of dirt with dead plant life. Where there had clearly once been gorgeous flowers and bushes, was now just hard packed earth. The sound of soft crying came from a mess of dead flowers. Aeris tentatively walked forward. A woman was stooped low, hands patting the dirt around the dried stalk of a plant. Her head was enlarged. Occasionally small bits of skin flecked off into the dirt. “I have failed. Please, Lady Maria. I’m sorry.” In the dirt beyond the woman were bones. Hundreds of them. Skulls. Arms. Legs. Hands. They were thrown together. As if tossed aside like garbage.

It made her sick.

“Where is Lady Maria?” Aeris asked.

“By the gods, I am sorry! Please don’t dispose of me. I can still tend the gardens.”

Aeris repeated herself, biting back anger.

“She went to stop the chiming of the bells in the clocktower. It was making us all so sick. It’s been so long. Where could she be?”

“Thank you.” Aeris connected her blade once again. The same sickening crack and slicing of flesh. Blood coated her hands. Ahead was yet another door. This one huge, seemingly also made of wood and stone. It took everything she had to push it open. It creaked, dirt cascading down. Dust danced in the air. She was thankful for the hunter’s mask covering her mouth and nose. It opened to a room. A large room with wood floors. Above, dozens of large bronze bells hung. It was quiet. From ahead, Aeris was able to see the backside of the clock face. An intricate mechanism, a marvel of ingenuity. Light shone through it, dancing off of the silver and gold metal. Aeris had seen the other side, knew it was a drop downwards, into death. And yet, somehow, it seemed to be the way forward. It made about as much sense as a pocket dimension for the Queen of Cainhurst.

Which is to say, it made perfect sense.

A chair sat at the back of the room, a woman sitting in it quietly. Beside her was a small table, a goblet just in her reach. Aeris waved gleefully as she got closer. But as her steps brought the woman’s face into view, her step faltered. 

Her face was familiar.

A regal cap and feather perched atop a head of silvered hair. She wore a formal leather top with hunter’s pants. A green brooch glittered on her neck, contrasting her hair. In her arms sat a sheathed blade. One unlike anything Aeris had ever seen. But her face… It was pale, and gentle. Her eyes tired. 

This woman looked exactly like the Doll. 

Aeris glanced at her hands, covered by a pair of intricate leather gloves, searching for the carved hands she had come to know. “Who- who are you?”

“Hm... A visitor? How unexpected... I am Lady Maria.”

Her voice was identical to the Doll’s. This woman… was Lady Maria? Then who was the Doll? 

“What is all of this?” Aeris asked.

“Hmm, then the secrets of the church have been laid bare.” Aeris moved to speak again, but Maria continued before she could, it sounded almost rehearsed. “Good Hunter, lost in the nightmare. What do you think of that beastly legend and those ailing wards of the church? I know what you did to them... It's not your fault. The nightmare held them, and now they are free.” Maria was looking past Aeris. As if this was not meant specifically for her.

“Why are you here, instead of downstairs? The patients were calling out to you.”

“Hunter. Just why would you seek this nightmare?” Maria looked at Aeris’ eyes, a strange realization in them, a look Aeris could not discern the reasons for. “Do not tell me... Have you sinned too?”

It was as if the woman could see right through her. See the spinning within her mind, past the mazes and the walls. “I… Well come now, of course I have. Haven’t all of us hunters? Tell me, what was your sin?”

“My sins are no matter. But, what about you? Have you profited at all from your journey?”

She still did not move. She had been up here when Aeris arrived, yet she knew what had happened down the spiraled stairs. She knew what the church had done. It was as if she were expecting an inquisitive hunter to appear; but refused, almost on instinct, to answer any question posed. “I have not. Not yet. I need to know what is going on.”

“You will not find your enemies here.” She gestured to her sword, and the golden goblet on the table aside her. “Take the relics in this room as your parting prize. Let them be your strength, and return to the hunt, good hunter.” The same address as the Doll, but not quite. She was more assertive. Lively. 

“Is this all there is to this Nightmare then? Husks of people and the research done to them?”

“Nightmares and secrets... They will only get you so far. Now you can leave this place.”

Aeris hesitated. The beautiful clock face allowing sunlight to stream in still beckoned her. Images could not create sound, but it almost seemed to toll. To resonate with the bell on her hip. The echoes and strength she had gained from slaying beasts called out to it. Needed to know it. A thrumming in her head began, before she quieted it. Something more was beyond this clocktower. Something Maria was trying to hide.

“What's wrong, my hunter? Don't you hear the hunt calling? Or do you wish to tease some more from the depths of this nightmare? Even if it means my murder.”

The nightmare held them, and now they are free. The line trembled in her mind. Every person she had found, self aware or not, was trapped. Was this woman trapped, set to be a guard to the secrets of the church and all their sins? Is that why she would not return to the patients, desperately calling to their only comfort? 

Maria leaned forward, worry in her eyes. Aeris had seen the Doll make a similar expression. Maria’s was much more intent, and less motherly. She and the Doll were entirely different. “What's wrong, my hunter? Don't you hear the hunt calling?”

Aeris shook her head slowly.

Maria’s voice did not falter. Nor did it show any concern. It was alert. “Hm, look at you, that glint in your eyes. You should return to your hunt.” Her tone emphasized the word eyes .

“I am sorry. I don’t know what happened here, but I have to move forward. I… don’t want to do this.” In a quick motion she pulled the saif and pierced into Maria’s chest. Blood pooled around the edge and ran out in thick rivulets as soon as Aeris pulled her hand back. She stood shaking. Unlike the others, Maria’s body did not vanish. Aeris put her hand to her mouth, bile sloshing up. She forced it down.

M̴̢̝̣̭̗̱̟̗̦̏͐͊̍̌͗̌̽̓̓̂͑̂͛̀̾̏̕͘͘͠͝͠Ư̴̧̧̡̢̨̢̞͔̻̰̤̣͍̩̬̱̤͖̗̹͈̖̜̳̼̠̭̱̠͕̟̣̫̪̝̻̼͔͒̈́̀́̔̈͆̓̋̒͐͊̊̎̒̓́͗̈̐̈́̍̐̃̚͘̚͜͠͝͝ͅͅR̶̗͖͕͈̦̭̔̉̒̑̋́̒̉̾̒̈̉͐̊̄̆́͌̉̉̔̄̏̔̏̒͗̀̓̔͛̅̄͊͘͠͝͝D̴̡̨̧̢̛͕̺͍̙̪̦͔̤͔̼̣̘̫͙̥͚͍͕̲͕͕̮̗͔̖̠̙̏̀̅̐͊͑̐͂̒͘͝͝ͅͅĘ̵̡̨̧̛̘͇͚̥̼̙͔̻̣͉̹̗̞͕͈͉̜͓̱̼͔̟͓͙̞̹͕̘̲̎̽͛̓̈́̉̏̐̆̓̃̽̏̌̈́͐͊̑͐̋̔̚̚̕R̴͕̼̦̗̺͈͈͍̖̱̹̱͈̹̎͊́͜ͅĘ̵͓͇̞̹̳̏Ř̶̡̭̻̭͖̪̼̹͚̓̋̿̉̓́̊̈́̓̿͑̓̿̽̈́̿̓̆̒͒͛̔̂͑̐̊͊͛̀͂̚͘͝͝͝͝

She stumbled over herself. “I’m sorry… I thought you were a trapped hunter here. I didn’t know you were like me!” Aeris righted herself and leaned down. She took Maria’s arm in her hand, feeling the solid form of her body. It was already cold. Her brow furrowed at the sensation, and Maria’s other arm snapped up, grabbing Aeris’ wrist.

“You girl, are insufferable. Did anyone tell you a corpse should be left well alone?” She dropped Aeris' hand and stood from the chair. Her silvered hair was illuminated by the light behind her. “Oh, I know very well how the secrets beckon so sweetly. Toil at the recesses of your mind. Only an honest death will cure you now.” She pulled the sword from its scabbard. An ornate design with a pointed end. Aeris’ eyes widened. Maria twisted the blade, pulling the pointed end off with a metallic thud. She now held a long sword, and a short dagger. “Liberate you from your wild curiosity.”

Maria lunged forward, both blades simultaneously slashing into Aeris from her sides, and closing inwards. The pain was unimaginable. Maria then kicked her to the ground. Aeris’ blood spattered across her face. She rolled to get out of the way, but Maria’s boot came down hard. It held Elias to the floor. Aeris was stuck on her side, unable to squirm out. Another blade came down, narrowly missing the rope holding her to the floor. Aeris felt her left arm slack. She screamed. She could barely see through the painful haze. She used the saif to hack at the ropes. It was a large weapon, cumbersome to wield. Maria kicked it out of her reach.

With her clothes ripped, the spiral pendant of the Queen lay exposed on her neck. Maria stopped for a moment, making contact with the pendant. “So I was right. You have sinned, too, hunter.”

Aeris was attempting to find the blood vials with her working arm. Blood continued to leak from her body. It was cold. This nightmare may never be found as she was still herself. “Vilebloods. The Executioners. The church. I have no allegiance to any of them.”

“Yet you wear our sacred symbol.”

Our?

Aeris dropped her arm, the shirt of her knight’s garb opened. Hanging on the inner side of her top were the badges for the Church Hunters, the Executioners, the Crow Hunter badge, and many many others. “I’m a traitor to everyone.” She laughed, red spurting into the air in fine droplets. 

As Maria stood over her, taking in the array of alliances she kept, Aeris pulled her arm from the rope harness. And then the other. I’m sorry Elias . She tapped the bone on her side and dashed to her weapon. In one fell movement she smashed three blood vials in her hands and forced the fists of blood into her open abdomen. The saif stabbed into the ground, keeping her upright. The pain was at her limit. The light of the room glimmered in her sight. Glass shards healed into the wounds, she could feel them cutting even as she came back to full consciousness. She stood, laughing, gleefully smiling at Maria.

She shouted as she dashed in towards Maria. “You’re from Cainhurst then, aren’t you? Why work with the church then? Traitor!” Her body appeared and disappeared in plumes of smoke. Anything to rip information from this nightmare. To be the enemy or friend of all did not matter. Stopping this madness was all that was important. 

Maria also disappeared into a burst of smoke, reappearing in front of Aeris. Their blades clashed, parrying one another and stopping the strikes. Both gridlocked. “How lonely a war dog you must be,” Maria said. She was taller and stronger than Aeris. She used her blades and threw Aeris backwards. While faltering, Maria screwed the dagger back onto the sword and pulled a firearm from her waist. It was the same firearm Aeris now carried. Its origins in the now derelict smithy of Cainhurst.

Aeris laughed as a round grazed her face. The ethereal mist of the bone kept her from taking the strike. “Then what are you?”

Both hunters fired their weapons. The bullets ricocheted off one another. Wood burst from the floor in a hail of splinters. Above, the low ringing of a clocktower bell resounded across the room. Aeris felt it thrum through her body. Both stood staring. Aeris moved first, running straight for Maria and sidestepping just as the sword’s blade cut a piece of hair from her head. Behind Maria she slashed the saif across her shoulders, attempting to sever the connection of her limbs. Maria disappeared and struck to Aeris’ side again. As her body became visible, Aeris saw as the dagger was removed mid strike. It cut open the wound again. The sound of metal scraping the glass embedded in her body.

Aeris screamed, firing a bullet into Maria’s shoulder. The woman staggered back, breathing heavily. Aeris laughed louder, throwing a vial of blood into her mouth and smashing the glass with her teeth. She spit out the shards, they mixed with saliva and blood. 

“You’ve gone mad, then.” Maria said slowly.

“I was mad to begin with!” Aeris dashed in and brought the saif up through Maria’s abdomen. Maria only looked at her, barely reacting. She grabbed Aeris' arm and threw her backwards. The saif skittered just out of reach. Sitting on the floor, Aeris watched in horror as Maria took the two blades and brought them to her own form.

“I did not turn on my people!” She pierced the dagger and sword straight through her torso. Blood sprayed from each stab. The ground itself seemed to thrum with energy. The blades warped in front of her, elongating. They seemed to drip with blood. 

No.  

The blades themselves were made of her blood.

Maria walked slowly towards Aeris. “Pick up your weapon and fight.”

Aeris scrambled to her feet and ran to grab the saif. She touched the bone again, beginning the almost magical effect that allowed her to dash around in steps of mist and smoke. She appeared behind Maria, blade poised to strike. Maria turned, a strike made of pure blood slashed into Aeris’ clothes. It was like the blades of a weapon. It shredded the remainder of her top. She backed up. Maria’s face was focused. 

The weapons of any group were reflections of their specialty. The church relied on blood and the almost demonic energy of those they had killed. The hunters, rugged and practical tools. And the Cainhurst line… all of their weapons had been made to function by using blood. But Maria’s weapon was no such thing. It was now augmented, much like Aeris could light her own saif ablaze. But blood was not an inherent function. A Lady of Cainhurst, avoiding blood as a weapon.

And Aeris had pushed her to it.

Their fight continued in a dizzying dance of blood. Maria did not heal herself. With each blow Aeris landed, the woman became more and more tired. Her strikes continued to land without fail, but her face and body looked haggard. Aeris winced, feeling two vials of blood remaining in her bag. She grabbed the cans of oil and began to break them across the room. Oil pooled on the worn wooden flooring. Some of it drained to the floors below. Aeris could hear it dripping. Perhaps an inferno was best for this place.

She doused the forgotten room in the scent of gas and oil. All the while parrying and dodging attack after attack from the Lady of Cainhurst. Another strike connected into Maria’s body, and she staggered back. She looked pained, covered in her own blood. Regardless of what the protestants told Aeris, this seemed far more like hell than any fire that could be described.

Maria stood, pulling the two blades towards herself one more time. Aeris ran in to attack, to stop whatever change she was about to make. Blood and fire sprayed out from Maria’s body like a halo of death. Aeris crashed to the floor. Her leg was twisted and mangled. She cracked another vial and shakily stood. The blades dripped an acrid black and red blood. They were so much longer now. Maria ran at her, blood flying. Aeris rolled to a wall and covered her face. She readied a molotov cocktail, covering the outer glass with more fuel. A plume of fire and blood rained around her. The oil caught alight. The room filled with the scent of oil flash burning. The scent of her singing flesh joined the plumes of smoke filling the once proud room. The fire continued down through the floorboards. She could smell the machinery just out of sight catching alight. The fire roared with an almost beastly energy. Maria stood over Aeris, fire nipping at her clothes.

“Go back to your hunt.”

“I cannot.”

Maria grabbed Aeris and pulled her close. Aeris was shocked at the scent of lilacs, and eyes that now matched the scent. The form of a woman using forbidden blood to survive. She met the gaze of an exhausted woman. A woman made to be alert for year after year. No moment of peace or rest. It reminded her of Gerhman and his watch over the Dream. In those eyes she saw herself reflected. Tired purple eyes burning with the ambition to survive. 

Å̸͕͚̏̏͋̓ě̶͙̤͔͖̣͙̉̍̋ͅr̵̠͕̖̤̐̋i̸̡̲̜͙̫͈͝s̶̼̅̈́̂͆͒̆̇

Maria brought the dagger through Aeris’ torso, almost hugging her as she pulled the blade up through her ribs. Aeris smashed the molotov down on Maria’s shoulder. The glass cracked, and the fire burning her hands ignited the alcohol inside.

Maria’s body took most of the force and fire of the explosion. She screamed, falling to her knees. Aeris was on her, grabbing her by the hair and pulling the dagger portion of her blade from the ground. She slit Maria’s throat. The woman clawed at Aeris’ face even as she bled out. 

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

Lady Maria’s final scream died on her lips, and her body went still. She and her weapon began to disappear into sparkling pale purple dust. A portion of the floor near where her body had been crumpled gave way. Below, Aeris could see small fires around the stairs and balconies of the research hall. No shrieks could be heard below. She injected her final blood vial, feeling the agonizing pain as much of her body as could be healed, did. She stumbled to her feet. It was somehow peaceful, the fire ebbing the clock tower’s contents away. She attempted to put Elias and the sword on her back, but her body could not lift them both. She grabbed the wrapped body and dragged it slowly towards the light of the clocktower. The room was hot, near impossible to breathe in. She doubted the oil would be enough to burn the place to the ground. But she could hope.

Burn it to the ground, like Old Yharnam. Give those tortured souls some rest.

She rested her hand against the mechanism making up the back of the clock’s face. It was opaque, she could see nothing of the other side. It was also cold. Light streamed through her fingers. She ignored the ache in her chest from the very image of it and pulled a small handle. The gears making up the spiraling circles and cyclical metal began to turn. It rotated the whole face, the glimmers of light fractured back and forth. They intersected with the fires burning around the clocktower. It was almost magical. Like something from a fairytale. The glass spun and Aeris realized that it was actually two glass plates protecting the inner workings of the belltower from the outside. The created an upside down V, making the perfect opening for a person to walk through. The light ahead still obscured any idea of what was on the other side. She cared not. Light. Daylight. It was so beautiful. She hoisted Elias over the threshold and excitedly stepped into the brilliant sunlight.

Except it wasn’t. 

Upon her foot ending on the platform outside and her face meeting the light, it vanished. A dreary cloud filled sky rained cold, wet droplets down. She stopped, staring ahead. A light drizzling mist saturated her tattered clothing. It mixed with the blood and sweat, running down her body in a smear of brown and red. The platform of the Astral Clocktower continued down just a few feet, into a shallow waterway. Far out into the water it grew rapidly darker, a dropoff into nothingness.She pulled him onto her back and shakily stood. Stepping down into the cold water, she looked out to the sea. Curiously, something glimmered in the water. She got closer to the dropoff point in the water’s depths. Reflected deep below, almost obscured by the murky waters, were the fires of Old Yharnam. The gates of the Grand Cathedral.

As with all Dreams and Nightmares, this too decided to twist every droplet of hope. This waterway, a small bubble, obfuscated from the real world. She turned to the path ahead.

A crumbling village. Fishing huts lay rotting, half decayed in the waters. Dead fish and larvae lay in piles around the outskirts. Each building was covered with mussels. It was rancid. The smell of rot. And death. And decay. She walked closer and turned the corner of a building. She stopped, staring. A skeletal figure hung by its ankles, its head removed. Below it were countless bodies, all with their heads removed. In the water below, fragments of bones crunched underneath her feet. 

Behind her was another pile of nothing but skulls. Some were small, not completely developed. Each skull’s facial structure was scraped and damaged. Looking closer, she realized that all of them had gouges through the eye sockets. She threw up into the clear water.

The church’s research hall and Byrgenwerth had been filled with containers of eyes.

She didn’t even hear the resonating of the bell, another chime, just out of time with her own.

“Child.” The voice cut through the sounds of rain and splashing water. It was familiar. A voice whose sex Aeris couldn’t quite place. She ignored it in spite of herself, the rancid dirt embedding under her fingertips.

“Child.” From a crumbled doorway walked Karla. Their black skirt soaked with the murky, foul water.

“I don't suppose you've come here to help.”

“No, I’ve not.” Their tone was quiet. Sad and annoyed at the same time.

“Oh good, that saves me some time.” Aeris continued looking through the pile of skulls. Every one was the same as the last; eyes gouged.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

Aeris wiped grime from a child’s skull, “a pissy church scholar named Yuri said something about eyes, and a lot of other random people have a fixation on eyes being needed for ascension and power or something. I’m here to research.”

“Keep looking at them then. Examining each one. You will not find anything different.”

“You know what happened here.”

“Of a sort. Did you truly think that the church was so benevolent? Their benefactors and lackeys saw to the undoing of many.”

Aeris set it down gently, patting its head. “Now I at least know how to peg you. I wasn’t sure how much you knew, but considering your assumption right there, you don’t know much about me at all. Which gives me an idea of your limitations.” She faced Karla.

“How is that little barricade in your head doing?”

The words resonated out, pierced the walls and topiaries connecting and cutting her mind off. “What do you want?” She grimaced.

“We have unfinished business.” A burst of fire seared the maggots writhing in the pile of bone. The skull of the young child fell on its side. Aeris threw herself backwards into the water. It boiled, burning her body with it. She cried out.

Karla was on her instantly. Black trails of smoke swam in the waters around Aeris. She could barely move. Karla had their foot planted on Elias, their other planted between Aeris’ legs. She was pinned. Aeris slashed upwards with the saif, her movement muted. She gritted her teeth. Her body was in agony. The water melted bits of her clothing to her skin.

“Put these foolish ambitions to rest.” An explosion of blue light akin to the Holy Moonlight Sword lit up the rotting water. Aeris screamed as cold fire cooked her throat and seared her tattered clothing.

The cool stones of the Dream held her stiff arms. She sat up, shifting the weight of Elias. 

“Welcome home, my hunter.”

“Who are you?” She demanded. “Who the hell is Lady Maria?” Desperation. The fleeting image of the Nightmare trimmed at a bush in her mind.

The Doll held her hand gently, It was cold. “Oh my hunter. How hard you must have fought. Come home now, and we can drift together in this Dream.”

“I already told you. I have things to do.” Aeris stormed up the stairs of the house and to the wheelchair in the corner. Gerhman was asleep, his head jerked randomly and hands twitched. Another nightmare. 

“Oh Maria, somebody help me… Unshackle me please, anyone. Yamamura, Laurence. I’ve had enough of this dream…”

“Gehrman!” Aeris nudged the wheelchair, waking the elderly man from his sleep.

“Ah- what…? Ah, it is you, hunter.”

“Who was Lady Maria?”

His face soured and then fell. He looked out at the garden, his mind no longer present in the moment. “Maria was my student and partner. One of the many Old Hunters. They’re all gone now.” He was weeping, a pathetic show of anguish. The hunts made children of all, it would seem. Aeris shook her head.

“What did you do?”

Gerhman looked at her, total loss and bewilderment on his face. “We researched the Great Ones and their damage to the world. We could harness it, we believed in it. Have you ever had the pride of fighting for something larger than yourself? We did. She did. She oversaw the church experiments. The hunts which held us all would be ended. Sicker they grew, and died. Maria could not bear the weight of it. She poisoned herself.” 

“What of the other Old Hunters?”

“Some lost their fights to the beasts and night. Others, like Brador, were punished for carrying out the brutality of the church in public. Most were felled by the blades of the Hunter of Hunters.”

“And you? You’re stuck here, aren’t you? Did you make a contract with the Doll too?” He dug his face into his hands and wept. Loud, coughing sobs. Aeris turned away. 

From behind, the Doll walked up quietly. She stood next to Aeris. “All of my hunters suffer so greatly.”

“They suffer, but they’re not yours.”

Aeris met the lifeless gaze of the Doll. The resemblance to Maria was uncanny. But it was not her. She was but an imitation. Gray eyes instead of purple. “Anything for you, my dear hunter.”

“Do you know what happened?” Aeris asked.

“Hunters have told me about the Church, about the Gods and their love. But, do the Gods love their creations? There are few who catch the attention of the Gods. Even fewer who are able to then see a sunrise. At one time an entire village worshiped one such creature. Their devotion morphed their bodies, and their love was returned by blessings.” Her demeanor changed, her voice lost its normal candor, and became sullen, “A group of hunters sought to stop this contract, and struck the God down upon the oceanside it made its first appearance."

"What do you think about the God’s devotion to the people?” Aeris asked.

“I was a doll created by humans as an escape. Would you ever think to love me?”

A weak smile parted Aeris’ lips, one of regret, “Of course, I do love you, isn't that how you've made me?”

“I will continue to care for you, my hunter. You desire to go back to that nightmare, do you not?” The Doll asked.

“Yes.”

“If that is what would make you happy.”

Aeris nodded, “it would.” The Doll grasped her hands, pushing a stray white hair from her face. She handed Aeris a filled stock of blood vials. The world swirled around them both and Aeris’ feet landed in the shallow waters once again. Scorch marks covered the wall where the skulls now lay scattered. 

Somewhere, at the end of this hell, was evidence of the sins of the hunters. The thing that Maria had tried to hide from the world. That which had trapped Gehrman in this Dream. Perhaps they were all  connected. Dreams and Nightmares were interwoven, after all.

She stepped through the water, ripples of crystal clear reverberating across the surface. Her feet crunched bone and shell. A grim image. The rotting homes had many doors on their hinges. Occasionally, she could see people strung up by their ankles, heads missing. The scent of blood had long faded, not replaced with decay. Rot. In the water ahead sat a deformed creature. Its face was reminiscent of a fish, but its legs; much like the creature in the woods that tried to take her memory, was human. Perhaps a devotee of a dead God. She pulled her saif as it lunged at her. A fishing spear missed her by inches. She ducked, diving sideways into the shallow waters. Fire would do no good here. She twisted her body and disappeared in a plume of smoke, she reappeared, slicing through its body with the blade. It seemed to almost frenzy at the image of her stepping through mist. It had seen that move before.

When the hunters came to kill the God that had blessed this town.

Several of the creatures pounced on Aeris. Her renewed strength and replenished vials made fighting them much easier. Yet every time she dashed about using the bone, they all became more aggressive. Almost fearful. A sliver of humanity still lived inside them, afraid of the hunter who could run through the air. She fought them into a large clearing. It was circular, almost like a long forgotten fishing pond. Dead fish littered the area, alongside small boats. In the very center was an old well. A macabre reminder of the life that had once been here.

As the last creature fell, she realized that in the air was the sound of an off key resonation.

“You never give up, do you, Karla.”

“Tarnished girl, your bell has seen enough, has it not?” Karla gestured at the damaged bell hanging on Aeris’ waist.

Aeris grabbed it, and rang it clear as day. “Tell me then, why are you trying to stop me?”

Karla brought out a whip made of the same blackened starlight Aeris had seen in her vision. It drizzled into the water, clouding it. At once, the water felt as if electricity was coursing. It burned her legs. She found her body responding improperly to her commands. The bells danced off from one another. Out of time and sync. Karla ran at her in cadence with their own bell, golden light rained down from the sky like droplets of rain. It pelted Aeris, setting her clothes ablaze with a gleaming firelight. She was launched backwards. Her lower spine hit the rock wall of the well. She heard a sharp crack. Her legs quit moving. She tried to stand, but another blast threw her again. This time, her face hit the inner wall of the well, and she tumbled down.

The water at the bottom was putrid. It was deep enough to have cushioned her fall, but that didn’t stop a trail of red from dissipating into the water. Rotted fish bloated with maggots floated everywhere. Bumping one made it disintegrate into a liquidy soup. A crumbling ladder was against the wall, going up. Something glinted in the water. She heard the footfalls of Karla coming ever closer to the well’s edge. Aeris plunged her hands into the thick, stagnant water, and pulled up a sword.

Not just any sword.

It was a long blade, with a dagger on one end. Just as she had seen Maria do, she unscrewed the dagger portion. It was in remarkable condition despite the age of it being down here. Nightmares had a tendency to defy logic. She dropped the saif then ran to the ladder and climbed quickly, bits of it snapped as she stepped from them. She jumped into the waters above, brandishing the sword.

Karla scoffed at her, “How poetic. Maria threw that weapon away when she could no longer live with herself. I wonder how long you’ll last.” 

They readied another bolt of energy while Aeris pulled the smaller blade off. She would dash this arcanist to pieces. She ran forward, using her speed and the lighter weapon to her advantage. She struck Karla’s side with the blade, a quick splash of crimson as she spun. Her blade was parried with a magical blast of force. She sidestepped and twisted the dagger back on the blade, creating reach and leaving a hand open for her pistol. Karla attempted to keep her at an arm’s reach, but the extra length of the blade gave Aeris room to strike back.

Another bell’s resonation chimed outwards. It mixed in time with Aeris’ bell. A harmonic dance filled the air, it was comforting. Warm. Beautiful. Karla looked perplexed. 

A man appeared in the midst of their battle. He wore a brown coat with a matching hat. Her mouth dropped open. Earlier he had been a blood drunk hunter locked in a cell. A prayer all he could muster, and yet here he stood, summoned and alive. 

He looked at Aeris. Examining her Cainhurst outfit and weapons, then to Karla with their witchlike appearance and fiery magical effects in hand. He spoke, his voice measured, “And it seems the hunter’s way is to always be late to understanding.”

Aeris grabbed his shoulder, wide eyed. She touched his face. “You- you’re alive.” His head showed no injury. No blood drained down his shirt. There was no cut where her saif had severed his body. The bell on his side shone through its grime. Though a small crack formed, it continued to resonate with the bell on her own hip. He looked to her pendant and eyes, and back to Karla.

Karla interrupted Aeris’ shock. “It has been a long time, Yamamura. I have no quarrel with you. Take leave.”

“Caryll, why are you battling this huntress? Surely it is not because you wish to bring her blood dreg to Queen Annalise? She would not look kindly on her own offering.”

“This does not concern you.”

Aeris cut in, her voice lilting into a songlike cadence, “no, I really think it concerns all of us. Here I am, concerned!"

Karla ignored her, “Yamamura.”

“Caryll.”

Aeris watched the two intently. Karla had shown her the nature of the world and now sought to kill her. Originally it had been for her blood to give the Queen, but now something was amiss. Something had changed. And this man, he did not call them Karla.

“I am not a war god. Don’t make me be one.”

Yamamura’s voice seemed to grow sad. “You can make that choice.” 

Karla stared at Aeris, their eyes piercing. They raised a pistol from their side. “Till I hunt you again, Aeris.” They fired it. A thudding boom interrupted the resonation for just a moment, then Karla’s chiming vanished alongside their body.

Aeris turned to the man, her eyes almost manic. “Who are you? How are you alive?”

He held his hand up, his voice sounded perpetually tired. Like he had never managed to get enough sleep. “I am Yamamura, one of the Old Hunters. I woke up some time ago. Why do you seem surprised that I am alive?”

“Earlier, in this nightmare, you were blood drunkenly ranting at a wall… I killed you. I thought it a mercy.”

“I see.” He seemed deep in thought

“Why are you here? How did you know where to find me?”

“I did not. This hunt is much more vicious than any other. I came here to apologize. The hunter’s way is to always be late to understand. We kill first, and ask questions later.”

“Were you here when they killed that God?” Aeris asked.

“You ask many questions.”

She smiled, “Well of course, the not knowing is what kills people. I figure the more I ask, the more I learn. Which is why I want to know, who is Caryll? And what happened to you?”

“I see then.” He looked at her weapon. Its very image seemed painful. “Carryl, or at least that is what she called herself back then, was a researcher at Byrgenwerth alongside us other Old Hunters. Carryl found a way to transcribe the language of the Great Ones into power. She is still one of the only people able to use arcane arts. I have no idea how she is able to look the exact same as then. I thought she had died.”

“Died?”

“Carryl disappeared the night the church executioners marched on Cainhurst. I always assumed she was there that day, and was killed.”

Aeris’ brow furrowed. Karla knew much about Castle Cainhurst and the goings on of the world. What was her tie to Cainhurst, if any? She had also called Maria by name, with no title.

Yamamura continued, “This place is a fishing hamlet, its name lost to time. The people worshiped a Great One here, named Kos. At the time we thought she was a danger. We killed everyone here. Man, woman, child. It did not matter. We were misguided, wrong. As Kos died, she cursed us. That for as long as hunters exist, our blood drunken selves will end up here, tormented. Our consciousness trapped. We also carved their eyes out, our understanding that gaining the powers of a Great One had to do with eyes. We were such misguided fools.”

“What happened to you? How are you back to your self?”

“I have been thinking on that. I do not remember much. The long hunt and blood of so many civilians became too great. I came here, to make amends one last time. Things are somewhat hazy, and then I woke up behind the church in a pile of blood and bile.”

“Wait- you came back from blood drunkenness?”

“I believe so.”

“Then Maria and Amelia, or even Gascoigne could be saved!” Aeris' mind reeled. People could be saved. No one had to be lost to blood drunkenness again.

“Unfortunately, it seems there has to be a body for someone to go back to.”

Oh. Her mind stopped for a moment. All those hunters. Those who turned to beasts. Was there truly no way to save all of them? 

“What’s at the end of this nightmare?” She asked.

“The orphan Kos left behind. A reminder of the dogs of the church we all truly were.”

Aeris sat in the cold water, pondering everything. There was so much. This could be the final place to go and try to save a Dreaming hunter who went blood drunk. It also explained part of how the Gods and their wills twisted. It was truly a pissing contest. Nothing more. And humanity was stuck in the middle. Though through some fault of their own. 

“I have one more question for you.” She described the man she had found in the jail cell below the church. And asked if his signature antlered headdress and manner of speaking was familiar to Yamamura.

“That sounds like Brador. He was a hunter that killed the first Cleric of the church that turned into a beast. They locked him away in a cell, and starved him to death.”

“Thank you, for everything. Now I have a favor to ask of you.”

Yamamura stood wide eyed as Aeris began explaining the nature of the world and the hunts. She held nothing back from him. His nature and understanding of the hunts protected him from the deadly headaches that came to all who learned too much. She began to give him a list of names. Of locations. She had cataloged thirty-one Dreaming hunters, and the one way to save all their non-dreaming selves. A full explanation of who to save, and when to trigger the second phase of the hunt. The phase where the sky would turn blood red, and make the beasts frenzy.

 “Who are you?” Yamamura asked.

“I am an outsider. Do I have your word that you will follow my learnings?”

He nodded, “Will I see you again?” He pressed a key into her hand, its shape and metalwork could only go one place. 

“When your tied hunts have converged, I will meet you in the Hunter’s Dream. Now go on, good hunter.” Aeris fired the pistol into the air, it interrupted his resonation, and he disappeared into sparkling light. 

~~~~~~~

Aeris walked down the stairs slowly, the chiming of the bell was ever present. She put the key into the lock and pushed the cell door open. Here at the bottom of hell, Brador sat cross legged on the floor.

“Well, well, look who's here. Welcome to my quarters. I've never entertained a guest before. Fear the bell's toll. For only death awaits prying eyes, and the Church assassins are never far behind.”

Aeris pulled the weapon from her side. Realization washing over his face as he recognized it.

“Are you going to kill me? After all you've done, kill me, as if to right your wrongs?”

“No. My end justifies any means. I will free you from this. Just as everyone else."

"Is that so? What then, will you tell everyone else about this place? All of them will come here."

She faltered, "you know what I plan to do?"

"It's a fool's errand to fight the hunt."

"I see then." She walked forward, ready to cut the head from his body.

“You would kill for secrets, and still think yourself good of heart? What a joke, you filthy hypocrite!”

Aeris pulled the dagger from the blade and ran in, she spun the blades across his torso and neck, quickly gashing through to his heart. He fell backwards, blood pouring onto the grime of the floor. She screwed the dagger back on.

“Nothing changes, such is the nature of men…” He said.

She turned from his body, hand clasped almost in prayer. “Sleep well, good hunter.”

Chapter Text

Marnie pushed open the doors of the Grand Cathedral once again. She inhaled the scents of the lingering lemon and lime. They now intermingled with the Vicar’s blood, and the hunter that Dawn had killed. She stepped forward, adjusting the dirtied glasses on her face. Above the church were the sacred halls of the upper church members. She held her breath and clutched the pendant as she passed the Vicar’s body. At the front of the church was an altar to blood ministration.

It was a gorgeous marvel of stonework. At the top, an otherworldly woman clad in a robe poured a vase of liquid onto the ground below. The arms of humanity reached up, rejoicing. Candles brightened the image, while a stone tree curled towards the heavens. In the center was the skull of a beast. It was said that the blood of the Gods had helped slay the first beast that had attacked Cathedral Ward decades ago, and served as a promise to help humanity fight the beastly scourge. 

How much of that was a lie, she had no idea.

She hesitated before stepping onto the platform of the altar. It was forbidden for anyone to be up here. Still, she needed to know what Elias and Alice had died for. And just why so many hunters were experiencing such a long hunt. She had seen normal hunters and Yharnamites throughout Cathedral Ward. Whenever she died, it was as if they forgotten their interactions with her. As if every time she died it sent her back. Whatever the case, she would find it here.

She found a metal crank behind the altar. She pulled it, and shuddered as the altar began to rise on thick metal chains. As the floor covered the final vestiges of the main Cathedral, it quickly darkened till she could no longer see her own hands. The platform continued to rise, it shuddered from time to time. The sound of scratching and skittering somewhere far off. Squelching. Crunching. She gripped her two firearms and whipped her head around, a futile attempt at scraping into the dark.

The altar stopped abruptly. She stumbled over herself, knocking the skull of the beast to the floor. She heard it break into pieces. She screamed. The sound of scampering got louder. She pulled a lantern from her hunter’s pack and turned it on. Green hued light illuminated a small window of space she could see. Ahead stretched a stone hallway, the light of her lantern slowly disappeared in continuing darkness. She shivered and stepped forward. The scratching continued just ahead. Her footsteps echoed, though quieted she walked. 

At first it looked to be a pile of moving fur and bone. The closer she got she realized it was not unlike one of the werewolves in Old Yharnam. It turned sharply at her. Drool mixed with blood oozed from its mouth. Behind it was the eviscerated remains of a Church Hunter. Only recognizable from their black garb. It lunged at her, madness in its eyes. She fired her pistol and moved quickly, using the blade of the rapier to strike its eye. Bits of fabric fell from its spindly fur. Its neck was strangely thin at its center. Marnie fired two bullets into its face and then ran forward as it thrashed around, confused. She lit a molotov and threw it into its mouth, then covered her face. An explosion of fire and almost human screaming rang out, followed by the slumping thud of charred flesh. 

She examined the corpse. Its flesh had been blown outwards, pieces were spattered on the wall. A reflection glimmered from the thinnest portion of its neck. She shoved her hand into the blood and scorched meat. A chain snapped, and in her hands she found a sword hunter badge. Its silver finish flashed a glimmer of white light into the dark. Those who wielded such things were direct descendants of the honor of Ludwig. The first church hunter who rose against the scourge. Marnie set the badge down and said a prayer over the body. She could only hope that the stories of Ludwig were more than just stories. 

She followed the hall to the end and opened a set of large double doors. Instantly, the orange glow of candlelight overtook the blackness of the hallway. For a moment it seemed to vanquish all the evils of the hunt. She found herself in a large room. Cathedral ceilings and staircases to her left and right ascended upwards. A chandelier glittered with candlelight above. The candles seemed to be half gone. It had been lit for some time. She continued forward. The sound of skittering continued from multiple directions. The carpet on the ground was dirtied, splotches of blood and human remains laid in piles around the room. A gooey liquid dropped onto her face. The light from the candles began to sway. Looking up the world seemed to slow, like madness before a crack. A werewolf sat on the chandelier, salivating. She froze for a moment, before firing her pistol. The beast jumped from the metal frame, both crashing to the floor. The candles swiftly blew out from the rush of wind. In the darkness, Marnie turned in all directions, using the green light to illuminate the room as best as she was able.

A claw raked her back while a tentacle of slime grabbed her face. She screamed. She fired in any direction she could hear noise. Her rapier slashed outwards, hitting flesh. She was pulled to the ground. The sensation of a slime coated appendage entered her ear. The pain was immediate, agonizing. She felt her vision blur, not from pain, but something else. It felt as if her ability to reason began to subside. The Vicar’s pale face flashed into her mind.

Why was she so pale? …I forgot my duties! I need to return to the Cathedral. They need me for candle lighting. I wonder where Elias is? 

The sensation of her face hitting marble knocked her thoughts into place. A gangled creature with tentacles across its face had her grappled. Its voice was a lush barrage of unintelligible whispers. Her head ached. Pricks of sharp numbness covered her whole body. She could barely move. The werewolf lunged at them both. A blast of white light threw it backwards. Its body twisted and snapped on a column. The light smelled of some form of chemical and blood. Marnie struggled to break free. Her mind began to unravel again. Something metal and cold hung from her side. Curiously, she shook it. The ringing sound of a bell resonated out. 

I am so tired. What was I doing again? Something important… I am looking for someone. Who was it? And something? What am I doing? I am so tired.

The sound of another bell began to resonate. She found herself relaxing. The chimes reminded her of a warm summer’s day spent at the river near Yharnam. She was sitting next to someone. His face was obscured by light. Who is it? He grabbed a handful of grass. Friendly laughter. She almost laid back, letting the calmness was over her mind. The grass began to fade.

A sharp pain hit her face. She blinked. An arm held her head up while another was impacting her cheek. Another sharp pain. She yelped. Coming into focus were pools of purple, reflecting a green light. She knew that face. “Aeris? Is that you?”

“It is Marnie. I’m sorry I’m late. Tell me, where are you? What is happening?”

“I, ummm, I came to the Cathedral for work. No- that’s not right. I came here because I was looking for something. For someone. The hunt is very dangerous. And…” She stopped, looking around. The room was dark, she could barely see. The remains of a Church member lay scattered into the quiet darkness. Aeris sat in front of her wearing the garb of a Knight of Cainhurst. Her weapon was different, too. And on her back was a human sized bundle.

She put her hand to her mouth and began spitting up on the floor. The hunt never stopped. The church was lying. Elias and Alice and so many of her friends were dead. Aeris patted her back, and handed her a flask of water. Marnie’s head was splitting. She threw up again. Aeris wiped her mouth with a cloth.

“I’m glad you seem to be back.” Aeris said.

“What happened?” She asked. Her arm grazed the now still slimy corpse of the creature that had attacked her. It looked partially human. She flinched.

“I don’t really know what to call those things, but they steal your awareness and memories. Let it hold you long enough and you might forget everything.” Aeris wiped a viscous liquid from her new blade, “I thought maybe it could be a way out of this hunt for everyone, but no. You’re still trapped, just without any awareness to what’s happening.”

“Do you know this from experience?”

“I watched another hunter like us go through it. The effects were… unpleasant.”

Marnie’s eye followed the bundle on Aeris’ back. The rope was frayed, blackened with dried blood. “On your back, you still have Elias?”

Aeris nodded, “I kept him in hopes that I could find you again. Would you like to do your traditional burial?”

She wanted to. So desperately. But so much of the teachings of her life were nothing but fabrications, lies. Tradition was built on nothing. She began to cry. Her glasses fogged up from the fervor of her emotion. “I am so sorry that you brought him all this way. Our burial, it is all for nothing!”

“Maybe I’m overstepping here, so feel free to yell at me or whatever, but just because a tradition is built on lies, doesn’t mean it doesn’t have meaning to you.”

She sniffled. It felt almost like a betrayal, knowing what she knew now. Both to herself, and everyone who had died. The entire system was made for nothing but destroying truth. And anyone who dared speak it. Their customs of burning bodies and incense, and the incantation of blood. Was there any purpose to it all?

“Is there a way out of this?” Marnie asked. 

Aeris nodded, looking ahead into the blackness, “There is. One way to escape from this hell. You have to keep going. Fight your way through this hunt. Some beasts have powers that are affecting this hunt. Kill some of them, and find your way to the hunt’s end, and there will be a way to wake up in the sunrise.”

It sounded far too good to be true. One way to find out.

“Is it more Great Ones causing all of this?”

Aeris looked at her, surprise across her mouth. “Yes, actually. There’s multiple Great Ones having a pissing contest. We basically need to slip past them. There’s a path to do it, so they’re distracted by other Great Ones.” Marnie’s head, though in pain, increased. Aeris was not lying about the nature of the hunt.

Aeris pulled several coarse pages from her bag and handed them to Marnie. It was a list of names, and locations. Some people she knew the names of; Arianna, Dawn, Antal, and others she did not. Her head did not ache any further than its current splitting. 

“How do I know this is real?”

Aeris laughed, “I’m glad you asked. Being critical is how you stay alive. If I am lying to you, then why? That is a list of people in this hunt. Some time ago for me- no idea how long it’s been for you, I said that there were multiple hunts going on. If people survive in a majority of the hunts they exist in, then when sunrise comes, you can wake up. Maybe you can even instruct the town’s builders to have less depressing architecture.”

“You never explained your reason for why I should trust you.”

“Because why would I lie? I have compiled a way for us all to save each other. If I lie about that, then I must be lying about a way for you all to survive.” Aeris circled her wrist around, pulling bits of dirt from her nails.

Marnie kept her face neutral, “Or you are just keeping us alive as a barter for the things causing this hunt, so you can survive.”

Aeris nodded quietly, a dark smile on her face. “I absolutely could. No idea if that would work as I haven’t tried it. But in the long run, does it quite matter, at least for this?” She gestured at the pages. “You’re saving people. Even if I was an enemy to you, wouldn’t you rather die having stuck to your morals? I know you want to stop the beasts from hurting people. This is how you do it.”

Before learning about the world, Aeris had seen too much of Marnie’s true self. If Aeris was an enemy, that could be a problem. Yet still, actions have power. And she had done nothing but assist Marnie.

“I do not fully trust you, Aeris. But I will be investigating this.”

“That’s all I ask. Now,” she stood, undoing the fraying ropes from her back. “let’s take care of him. He deserves to rest. Up ahead is a door to a balcony that overlooks Yharnam. Is that good enough?”

Marnie nodded. She walked behind Aeris who had lit a torch to guide their footwork. She kept her eye on the woman as she pushed open a set of double doors. Marnie gasped. A full moon gave a silvery light over the town of Yharnam. It illuminated between buildings and through windows. Fires and the yelling of hunters echoed across the world. For a moment, it felt as if humanity might win against this terrible place. 

The corpse of a man holding his left arm up and right arm straight outwards stood at the edge of the balcony. He wore no clothes. The skin on his body was melted off. Muscle and bone was visible, uncomfortably so in the moonlit air. A Great One had been here. Who he was, Marnie had no idea. This was uncharted territory.

“What is that?” Aeris asked.

“It is called making contact. It is a gesture we are instructed to do should we ever encounter a Great One. It looks like one descended, and its image killed him.”

“Poor guy. I wonder which one…” Aeris trailed off. She rested her hands on the balcony. 

Marnie began pulling oil urns from her bag. She grabbed some remaining fallen leaves from the corners of the building and doused a portion of stonework. Aeris quietly laid Elias down. The fabric Aeris had used to wrap him was resistant to fire and heat. A heavy fabric, and she had carried him with it. Scorches peppered the fabric. The care she had taken to keep his body preserved was nothing short of remarkable. “Thank you, Aeris.”

Marnie pulled the fabric off and stood still. His was waxy, not the mischievous and joyous image she had grown to be friends with. He was gone. She pushed his hair from his face and pulled out her comb. She styled as best she could. Her hands no longer shook in the face of death. She was methodical. She poured oil into his mouth and down his body. She saturated his clothing as best she could. The kindling they had would have to do.

She sat quietly. How she wished she had his favorite incense to burn alongside him, the lavender would have to do. She struck a flint and steel, a single spark in the moonlight caught the oil. In an instant it began to burn. The flames reached into the sky, the smoke curling with it, getting lost in the glow of the ethereal white light. Marnie began to sing softly, it mixed with the smoke into the air. Quiet and fragile like a crystal, but still glittering like dust into the night sky.

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Remember me to a lad as lives there;

For once he was a true love of mine.

Tell him to bring me an acre of land

Betwixt the wild ocean and yonder sea sand;

And then thou shalt be a true lover of mine.”

She stopped, tears welling up from the pain in her chest. She would do the same for everyone who died this hunt, once Dawn broke, every family would get closure. As a tear fell from her cheek, Aeris began singing.

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Remember me to a lass as lives there;

For once she was a true love of mine.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,

Without any needles or thread, or owt through't;

Tell her to wash it by yonder wall,

Where water neer sprung, nor a drop o rain fall;

Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn,

Where blossom neer grew sin Adam was born;

And then she shall be a true love of mine.

And now I have answered your questions three,

And I hope you'll answer as many for me;

And then thou shalt be a true lover of mine.”

Marnie watched as the words flowed from the mouth of the huntress. She looked incredibly sad. The light of the moon shone from her white hair, and as she came to a close, Marnie noticed tears on her face.

“I have to go forward,” Marnie said. “With Alfred going to Cainhurst, I am going to save the people here, then discover who is doing this to us.”

Aeris’ face looked concerned, she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. A moment later, she spoke, “Please do, good hunter. I will be here should you need me. Be sure to read that entire book I gave you.”

Aeris raised a silencing blank into the air and fired. Leaving Marnie to stand on the precipice of the hunt. Elias continued to burn, almost like a beacon of sadness into the night. She wiped the despair from her mind and began walking back into Upper Cathedral Ward. This was the halls of blood ministration, of meetings of high ranking church officials. Something was here.

She began searching the halls and rooms. A few beasts scurried about, but she quickly dispatched them with bullets. She found the sleeping quarters of the nuns of the Healing Church, and then the bedrooms belonging to those higher in the church. One room stood out. It was full of books, a pale blood bedspread. She touched a few journals on the table. Some items, like a church garment bag on the ground, were familiar. This was the Vicar’s room.

She rifled through books. Many were general information. She opened the drawers of the desk and heard a clicking sound. Pushing the drawers in and out, she heard different kinds of clicks. She put her head to the tabletop and began the painstaking process of listening for the right noise. A spring popped. And with some more fiddling, she got three more. A side panel of the desk clicked loudly. She knelt down and found a hidden compartment. A single book sat inside. It was thick, worn pages made up a majority of its length. She began to read its pages. She felt sick. It was a journal. Each week had a neatly written page in Amelia’s handwriting. 

We have found a great creature beneath Yharnam, in many of the tunnel remnants of the old city that was once here. It was huge, much larger than nay recorded animal in the known world. It has a gaping mouth on its front, edged with jagged teeth and tentacles. It moves around slowly. It seemed almost scared of us, perhaps due to an injury on its leg. One of our researchers fell and injured his arm. It came in contact with the blood of the creature, and miraculously, it has healed completely within a mere hour. We are all excited for this discovery. We have decided to call her Ebrietas, the Daughter of the Cosmos. God has blessed us with an angel of healing and knowledge. 

They found a Great One? It was not given freely like water by the Gods? She flipped through the pages. Many were general updates on the goings-on of the church. Marnie stopped on another entry, several weeks later.

We have begun taking blood from Ebrietas and studying it. The small college of Byrgenwerth has offered their facilities if we fund their research. Another group of independent scholars has also joined in, the Mensis Scholars. The people of the Cainhurst line also seem interested. This opens up Yharnam to being able to be a financial epicenter. It is possible to become a solid city-state of our own. Or an exporter. 

We removed a rather brackish looking blood from Ebrietas’ eyes. It was much thicker than traditional blood, and has a strange odor. We will have to study this further. Perhaps eyes have significance here. 

They experimented on her. On whatever it was. And used its blood without knowing the effects that could happen. She continued reading, her gut twisting further with each word.

A breakthrough- the blood can be distilled and made in vials to treat illness. We can use this for trade and to keep our people healthy!

It was many entries before Marnie found what she had been looking for.

They have instructed all church clergy to keep this weekly account to track our mental progress due to our blood ministrations. Our plans have backfired; We unleashed an illness on the people of Old Yharnam, cured it with our blood, in hopes of uniting the people. Now everyone who has been taking the blood in high quantities is beginning to show concerning traits. Aggression and violence. Animals we experimented on have turned beastly, they killed one of the Byrgenwerth scholars. The large sample of the blood from her eyes has gone missing, along with a scholar from Cainhurst. We suspect that the Cainhurst line is attempting to overthrow our reach. 

In exploring the tunnels that Ebrietas was found it, we have discovered the remains of a city from long ago. Approximately 500 years ago. We have sent prospectors into the depths, and the tomes they have found are foreboding. They describe multiple Great Ones like Ebrietas, and a rampant  vile illness that turned their people into creatures of the night. We will try to find a way to fight this scourge of beasthood, while we learn more about the Great Ones. One of our clergy, Ludwig, has started a sect of church hunters to manage the beastly illness. Bless him.

Marnie nearly threw the book at the wall in anger. They knew, and they kept going. This was twenty years ago, before she was even born. How could they leave the world worse than they found it?

Last week, Ludwig lost himself and turned into a beast. Many of the civilians still alive in Old Yharnam witnessed it. They believed we were corrupted, that the church needed to be dismantled. We had no choice. We ordered the Hunter’s Guild to kill anyone present that was not part of the church. The beasts are getting stronger because we keep sending stronger hunters. If we do not continue to fight this hunt with strength, we will all perish. But the more strength we use, the worse it gets. 

Another.

We have sent the Executioners to Cainhurst. We were right; Queen Annalise did have her scholar steal the blood from Byrgenwerth. They attempted to make her a Great Once, and she sent her knights to kill hunters. She was consuming their blood, no doubt attempting to ascend. Any of her people could have turned and been a beast. We had no choice. May the children forgive us.

So Karla told the truth as well. Marnie flipped to the final page, the last entry Amelia would have made. Her stomach dropped. It was barely legible, the writing frantic.

L̴u̸d̷w̴i̷g̵,̴ ̴L̷a̸w̴r̴e̷n̵c̷e̶,̶ ̷I̷ ̶a̵m̴ ̴a̷f̸r̶a̷i̵d̴ ̷t̸h̵i̸s̵ ̸i̸s̶ ̶i̷t̸.̵ ̶M̷y̵ ̸m̶i̶n̶d̸ ̴k̶e̴e̶p̸s̵ ̷f̸r̷a̷y̵i̷n̶g̷ ̴i̴n̶t̶o̷ ̶p̸i̵e̸c̷e̴s̷.̸ ̶T̴h̸e̸r̸e̷ ̴i̵s̷ ̷a̵ ̷h̷u̶n̶t̴ ̸t̸o̶n̷i̸g̷h̸t̷.̵ ̴I̴ ̸f̷e̶e̶l̵ ̷t̴h̴e̴ ̷u̶r̴g̵e̵ ̷t̷o̷ ̶d̶r̵i̴n̶k̷ ̷t̶h̷e̸ ̶b̶l̶o̴o̶d̸ ̷o̵f̴ ̴t̸h̴o̴s̴e̶ ̷a̵r̸o̶u̵n̸d̸ ̷m̶e̵.̴ ̴I̴ ̷h̶a̷v̵e̷ ̶s̸e̷n̷t̸ ̷t̴h̸e̷ ̸r̵e̷m̶a̸i̸n̶i̸n̴g̶ ̵c̴a̴n̵d̴l̷e̷l̵i̶g̵h̷t̸e̵r̵s̸ ̴h̸o̶m̶e̵.̷ ̴I̶ ̸c̷a̷n̵ ̴o̶n̵l̷y̸ ̶h̶o̵p̵e̴ ̴t̸h̵e̶y̴ ̵m̶a̷k̷e̸ ̷i̸t̷.̴ ̴S̴o̶m̷e̶t̸h̵i̵n̶g̵ ̶l̶u̷r̷k̴s̸ ̷i̵n̵ ̵m̶y̷ ̷m̵i̴n̵d̶,̵ ̶b̷r̶e̶a̵k̴i̴n̷g̵ ̷d̷o̸w̶n̶ ̷a̶l̴l̶ ̷m̸y̴ ̶m̵e̴n̶t̵a̶l̶ ̵b̵a̴r̸r̷i̸e̸r̶s̷,̶ ̴I̴ ̵d̸o̶ ̸n̸o̴t̴ ̸t̴h̴i̸n̴k-

She felt sick. So they knew. They participated. Did nothing about the deaths of so many. And actively killed as much. Marnie had known it was true, but some small part of her wanted it to be false. Faked. Exaggerated. But it was not. She felt conflicted. Amelia deserved to know that she had failed, those emotions were what she deserved to experience before the end. But she had also tried to save them. Had sealed the church, keeping both herself and the beasts lurking up here, within the building. 

She would not allow this to happen again. No longer would hunters be unprepared for the hunt, nor would the church control or play with the lives of everyone here. She would find a way to save everyone on the list. And unite the remaining Yharnamites. The church needed to be overthrown, and the scourge obliterated from Europe, once and for all.

She turned on her heel and walked briskly up the stairs. She needed a torch. She grabbed splintered wood from one of the broken doors and stepped out into the moonlight of the hunt’s air. She poured oil on it, and lit it with the dying embers of what remained of Elias. 

She leaned over the balcony, holding the fire as a lighthouse beacon, “Hear me Yharnam, we will survive this night together!” She screamed from her chest. Even here, she could hear its light echoing in the distance. She could see the watchtower Djura was no doubt still monitoring. She would need everyone’s help, and a lot of convincing.

She listened for a moment to the sounds of beasts and men fighting. It would be much quicker to Yharnam’s center with the Doll’s help. She climbed atop the railing and jumped downwards. The cold air breezed through her hair. Upon impact, she would find herself in the garden again. The Doll would help her navigate to Central Yharnam, where she would begin her task of saving the hunters and civilians still remaining. There was a smile on her face as her bones snapped on the stonework, and even still when she woke up to the calming music of the field of Easter lilies.

Chapter Text

Karla waved their hands over the stagnant and mossy surface of the well. Corpses decorated the clear water around them. Having left the nightmare, they returned to the real abandoned hamlet. An area sealed off by the church. Officially, the townspeople had died when the same illness that took Old Yharnam spread. The inhabitants being heretics meant that they denied any treatment the church could offer.

They scoffed.

The dingy water revealed the image of Antal. He was walking away from Oedon Chapel. Karla leaned in, perplexed. Why would Antal be visiting a place of the church that had no value towards his goal? They observed him for some time. He traveled across Yharnam and guided Gascoigne’s daughters back to the chapel. Inside they saw several people from around Cathedral Ward taking sanctuary. In another part of the city he fought alongside a hunter named Henriett, just a girl all those years ago. He lifted an injured man in a tattered suit jacket and led him to safety, locking the doors behind him.

They began to scry on the other dreaming hunters. All thirty of them. Many had not yet left Yharnam, they still followed scratched notes on torn parchment. Every one of them went to the same areas of the city to bring people to Oedon Chapel. The young girl Marnie now traveled through Yharnam, rallying normal hunters to her cause. They were sharing information and hunts with one another. Karla began to look at their bells to find Tarnishing that would remove Aeris as a moon scented hunter.

Several were near their end. Elongated fingernails, ill temperament. The inability to speak. Karla watched as Aeris sat with one man and stroked his hair, telling him to continue his hunt. That he would be okay once dawn broke over the horizon. She helped file his nails down, and used the end of Maria’s weapon to cut the hair from his face. She continued despite the crumbling lives around her, despite the horrors she cut down without hesitation. Karla slapped the water, a scream ringing across the dead hamlet. The image of Dawn came into view. Her bell was dirtied, cracks beginning to fracture. Still, its core shone with a resilient light. They watched through the twisted ripples of time as she and Dawn fought side by side into the darkness of the cursed Nightmare. The sigils of Cainhurst burned, the traitor and opportunist as allies.

They smiled. Aeris had only faltered when the lives of others deteriorated by her hands.

Karla watched further at the swirling images of the hunters. The notes Aeris had written contained no mention of the nightmare. How did she plan to save everyone if the nightmare was required for those like Yamamura, or Maria’s spirit? 

Simple. She won’t tell them.

They smiled at Marnie, a girl with drive and an assumption of knowledge. If she were to bargain with Djura under the assumption that no beasts could ever be saved...

“Fight the night as hard as you can. And rally the others as much as you like, Aeris is lying to you.”

They pulled their thoughts from the water in front of them and their jaw dropped. Red moonlight blazed in the sky. It swirled with the fleeting visions of light in the well. The beasts in the distance began to roar louder than before. The time had not changed here. Not for a long while. This hunt had been happening for the better part of twenty years. New hunters always came, died, lost their sanity, or simply vanished. Trapped in this miserable hell since the day Rosemary became a Great One. Foolish thing. She could have survived had she not made the bells that now hung on Karla's hip.

They turned on their heel and left the hamlet. They began the slow and long trudge back to Charnel Lane. They had seen the Dream in their visions. In the swirling darkness of the uncertain waters of these hunts. But it was inaccessible to them. As if no Dream existed here. What Aeris had seen was the strands of light that tied hunters to the Dream and the hunts. There was one less strand of light than hunters. Dying only brought Karla back to life laying in the dirt of whatever ditch they had managed to perish in. Never had they seen the Doll, or the trapped Hunter Gehrman. The dying is not what perplexed them, but everything around it.

They pondered on it for some time as they travelled back. As they stood in the now quiet lane the women had once lived in, they heard shouts coming from Yharnam. They were faint. But there. Why were people still able to hunt in this hell? They began running towards the city. They blasted rapid dogs and turned Yharnamites with the flame whip. Coming to the precipice of the city, they stood shocked. Barricades. Rudimentary, but still. People walked along the walls in groups of three. One always had incense, one a long rifle, and one a mele weapon of some affair. Around them, they could see bolstered boards over doors. Gates in town soaked with oil. And hunters... fighting off the beasts. No, not hunters. These were Yharnamites. They watched in shock as the hunter called Antal brandished his church pick and sliced a dog in half. The girl Marnie was shooting large beasts outside the major gates from the wall. Karla swore they even saw a scythe and antlers run into an alley.

The beasts should not be able to be stopped. Why was this happening here? They had never invited anyone in. And the only hunter that had ever invaded their world, they killed with ease. What the hell was going on?

They ran into the city, acting as a scared woman, the Yharnamites let her through without question. They directed her to Oedon Chapel for safety. Crossing its threshold, the scent of orange and lime was so strong it made even them nauseated. Laying on the ground next to a woman in a red dress was the hunter they had come to loathe. Aeris. She was breathing heavily, a leg missing. And eyes closed.

The woman in the red dress smiled and gestured to the other end of the room, "Hello Dear, there's not much available, but a few drapes are still in the corner. You can make yourself a bed for the night."

Karla brandished the whip of flames and screamed. They almost lit the room ablaze, but stopped. The woman in the red dress had not reacted. Neither had anyone else in the room. An old woman still sat in a chair against the wall, crocheting quietly. 

"Are you not going to even scream?" Karla asked, confused. Not one person in the room even noticed the searing heat of the room. Or her words. It was as if they did not exist.

The woman's eyes glazed for a moment. The pupils seemed to disappear, leaving on the whites of the eyes. Inhuman whispers and vowels rained like small lost souls from her mouth.

The utterances of Great Ones. It had been some time, but they were able to translate yet still.

C̴̗͌̈̄a̸̳̍͘͘r̸̻̳̙̔̍̾̽r̸̞̉y̴̘̞̫̫̔̈́̽̕l̴̗̺̾͑̾̐,̸̪͇̞̺̔͐̏ ̵͉͂͆͝ò̷̖̯̫̱̈́ù̶̼̔̓̓ř̴͍̤̓͛ ̴̢̢̪̈̍͌̋͜R̵̞̬̗͚̾u̶̮̿̉͠ͅn̷̨̬̞̋͝e̴̘̗̓̈́s̵͕̞̥̟̈́̄͘m̷̪̼̱̣̄ĭ̵̧͎̩̤̓t̴̘̮̪̿͂̿h̵̛͓̣̺̋̕,̴̖́ ̴̜̙͖̋͌t̶̡͖͝h̶̞̽̈́͜i̶̯̙̻͂s̵̛͖̱͂̿̆ ̸͎͕̋̎ḭ̵̘̓́͠s̶͕̆ͅ ̷͇͖̯̏͋̓̆t̵̖̏̈̿̾ͅh̵̲͕̳͛̀͑̚e̷̛̥͔̰̒̆ ̴̞̻̰͛̔̄̉ŏ̸͕͔̣̗̐ŕ̴̫i̷̹̓g̷͖̿̌̈́̇i̶͖̝̾̋͆͝n̴͈̝̼̿́̐͊a̴̻̘̾l̷͉̃̎ ̸͖̇̎h̸̖͔̺͙̐ṳ̷̡͑̍̋̒n̶͔̱͚̞̾̚͝t̴̘̩̍̅̒.̴̨̼͇̪̍̑͊

"What do you mean this is the original hunt?"

"̸̨̄Ä̴͕́n̶̺̟̠̽y̷̹͓͉̻̓͗̌̈́ ̶̻̟̂̍ć̷̬͠h̴̛̟̹̼͆̄̇a̶̬̅͜n̴̛̦̙̻̗̄̽g̵̥̼͌̄è̵̘̟s̵͉̫̞͓̋̈́͝ ̸͇̙͆͜ẃ̷̹̭͎̦͊͌͗į̷̼͗l̸̛̲̮͗̀ḽ̴̩̓̈́̌ ̸͕͚͈̟̎̾͝b̵̧̘̰͝ë̶̠̤̰̇ ̶̤͍̎́̄̋ͅr̴͎̝̎͊e̵͓̓̋͛f̵̩̞͚̞̿l̵̗̗͈̋e̸̬͉̮̿͜c̶̺̞̬͂̌̿̉ͅt̷̫̗̩͖͊e̸̥͙̤̓d̷̬̯͖͛͆̇ ̷͍̑̓͊͝ḫ̸̬̺̱̈́e̵̥̎̇̾̈r̸̟͕̄e̴̲͓̯̯̐ ̷̗̮͍̤̊͘͝ả̶̝̜͈̃n̴͈̽̈́͆̕d̷͉̀̊͆͠ ̷̮̲̪̰͛͋͌̄w̸̨͔̼̆̾̕i̸̩̦͆l̶̼̓̍ḽ̷͋ͅ ̵̹̬̌̌̈͜b̷͓̬̎͌ȅ̴̘̳̑̀́͜c̴͖̗͊͜o̸̳̖̭͂͑́m̴̭̍̋e̴̡͕̲̬͋̈̅ ̶̢̎t̴͚̲̺̭̔h̸̛̬͇͚͗e̴̯̹̻͋̑́ ̷̘̗̯͓̂r̸̲̊ę̶̉͝a̴͚̻̳͐̀l̸͇̊i̶͚̝͚̹͒͆̕̚t̷̳̭͒y̵̪̠̔̕ͅ ̷̺͉̤̔o̴̧͍̳͈͂̈̾f̸̦̭̭͇̋̀̈ ̶̬̓̏̉y̸̢͎̳̽͗́͝ȯ̵̝̝̈̂u̵̝̎̽ŕ̸͈ ̴̢̉͜m̴̛̱͈̬̪ȍ̶̬͖̫͋̆̚r̶̥̘͒n̷̼̖̽̒̅̉ͅi̸̧̛̠̘̅̐̚ń̷̠̯̒͋͒g̵̖̈́͋.̵̞̥̘̰̈́̈́̎̍"̸̻̔̑͊

She gasped. This hunt. The true hunt. If Aeris was still alive in this world, then it meant one of the others had found her. Saved her. And told the others. Whatever happened here, would be the reality when the hunt ended. If it would ever end for them. They scoffed, spitting at the woman. "Why are you telling me this? You have kept me imprisoned up to now."

"̶̧͙͈̾̋Í̸̮͛̉f̸͕̹̰͚̒͆̎ ̷̭̍y̶̬̿̓ö̸̙͈́̽̾ü̶̡͕̭̖̊͂ ̵̜̜̄͋c̴̻͇̬̾̓a̴̹̥̽͂ñ̶̦ ̷̼̇ŗ̸͇̚e̷͉̟͙͊̿͊͒m̴̪̕ơ̶͈͚̭̇̃̚v̵̻̀́̓͝è̵̼̜͑ ̵̺̻͚́̇̎̐ț̸̹͕̈́͠h̸͎͂̇ẽ̷̻̠̘͙̓̑̏ ̷͍̩̫͊̑́͝h̶̤̀͆u̴͈̭̣̳̇͛̏͑ñ̵̩̤͝t̶͓̤̼̀͝ę̸̤̤̦͘r̸̗̀̇̕ͅ ̷̼͍̹̀́̆̚k̷̪̈́̈ṅ̸̞͋ơ̷̳̣̘̳̊̎w̷̡̛̺̲̠̑͌ņ̴̼̜̰̀͂̒ ̷͕̼̻̀͐̄͜͠a̶̙̻̬͍̅s̶̙̺̾͗̂̉ ̷̞̊̍͛̈́Ä̶͓̻͈̻́͗͝e̵̜̯̪̤̒̑r̷̤͖͇̣̔͒͋ĩ̷͙̤̈́s̴͖̬̳̎̋͋̓ ̸̯͂̓͗̍f̴̭̤̗̔͝r̵̞͎͆͊̀ô̴͎̬̲m̸̡̢̦͒ ̷̧̹̈t̵͙͌͘h̴͖͍̖͇̆e̶̤̺̲̺̒̉̓͠ ̵̦̞̱̎h̵̪̘͆͊̋͘u̸̥̫̓̋͌͠ͅn̶̙̬̜̋̈ţ̵̥̦̅s̵̤̬̃̂̌,̷̝́ ̵̥̃̉͛w̶̙͎̌͐̓͜ë̵̢̼̲͈́̀̓ ̵̙̈́̅͛w̴͎͖͒̃͊̆i̷̢̥͑l̷̞̯̣͘l̸̜̾͌͝ ̸̛͓̳̂̀á̶̞̀͌̑ĺ̶̯́̐͝l̴̤͎̃̈́ǫ̵̯̗̉͑̔ẃ̸̧͍͕͚̐͋ ̵̫̮̕͝ȳ̷̩̲̙̰o̸̺̐̈́̀͐u̶͇̪̾̂ ̵̱̙͓̌t̴͉̆̓͜ͅǫ̵̳͔̯͌̅ ̶̝̱̄l̵͎̒͛̾̕e̵̜̬̽̽a̵͚̣̚v̸͇̩͛e̵͉̐͗̓̒,̵̡͋͂ ̸̮͐̅͊̔R̴̭̞̎̒̉ǘ̵͓̙̲̍͆̄ͅń̶͎̊̈́̌e̶̳̊͊̈́s̷̬̯͎̒̿̏m̴͔̗͛́i̷̩̎̎̈́̾t̶̤̹̍͌̾́h̸̗̦̮̎́.̷̰͕̼̿̏ͅ"̴̲̓̃̇̉

The fire vanished from their hand. Aeris. All they wanted as Aeris. If they could remove her, that's all it would take. Not combining the hunts like she intended did align with that goal. Perhaps Marnie could make it happen. No, Marnie had certainly changed since the church girl convinced she was on the right side of history. Antal and Cyril were much too aware of the world to side with them. Dawn was powerful, but there was a looming anguish held within her. A deserter of Castle Cainhurst. She had already been through so much, pushing her to the end would be horrible. No, could be worked with. Two sacrificed for the good of humanity. Once they left this hell, they would make amends by using their abilities to help. Aeris would certainly be onboard if she was ever told, and Dawn would do anything for penance. She turned to face the hunt, and rang out the sinister bell. The sinister chiming would guide her. She called out in her mind to Dawn's world. This was necessary for survival. Anyone would understand.

Chapter Text

Cyril could not decide which current annoyance was worse. The air in the depths of the tunnels below Byrgenwerth was so stagnant it caused his eyes to burn. He was shocked that methane or hydrogen sulfide had not enveloped him into a cloud of noxious suffocation. Though he did welcome not having to die to visit Anne again. Which led to the second problem. While there was no gas down here, there was also no airflow. The sweat made his clothing stick to his body, the grips on his weapons were saturated and dripping. He had made a makeshift face covering just to keep the sweat from pooling into his eyes.

These tunnels were something straight out of the fantastical world of Laputa he’d read as a boy. It filled him with a sort of joy  he had not felt in some years. Enthusiasm and the like had been replaced by calculable interest. Take it for a night of unspeakable horror and death to bring him that childish wonder again. Perhaps he was more mad than Aeris. In the main floor of Byrgenwerth there has been a heavy metal hatch. Opening it, he was hit with the scent of must and decay. But semi-fresh footprints had been in the dirt at the bottom of a ladder. At least someone had come through here within the year.

Now, some time later, he could just barely make out etched decorative carvings in the walls with his hunter’s lantern. As if this was some sort of bygone hall for a long lost civilization. Excitement buzzed in the back of his mind. No. That would be preposterous. So far, besides the carvings, all he had found were more malformed beasts. None looked human in the slightest. They were far more aggressive than above; as if it had been a long time since they had eaten.

He came into an open room and blinked. Pale grass filled planters dotted ornate cobble walkways. The grass was thin, sickly looking. From high above, the shadows of stone buttresses met in the center, forming a darkened circle around a fountain. Stagnant brown water still filled the basin halfway. He grabbed the cleaver, and dragged it through the water, feeling the texture of the fountain’s basin with the vibrations in the handle. It dipped further down. He pushed, and felt a squelching. Circling it, he realized there was some sort of entry point for the water. Given his injuries, he dared not stick his hand in.

Whatever this place was, it was old. Far older than Yharnam. And yet, some sort of primitive water system existed here. The sound of tapping on stonework made him drop to the ground. He held the song-like weapon close and listened. The groaning of beasts came from… above? His ear listened intently for any sound. Sure enough, the scratches and small thuds of something dragging itself across the walkways above echoed off the cathedral ceiling. He stood quietly, and inched towards the other end of the room. He dropped a coin on the ground, a marker for his return trip.

He continued into a long hallway and found many offshooting doors. Was this all one city connected together? Here he gasped, words decorated the walls in a language he did not quite recognize. No… Looking at it, it seemed to be trace Germanic. He pulled out his notebook and began the process of translation. Understanding these words would be what he so desperately needed. That power within him seemed to swell as he brought ink across paper. 

His thoughts swirled, danced back and forth. Just like the now chiming of a bell from far off. It mixed as he began to transcribe the runes. It almost caught his attention, that it resonated just off-key from his own. An unsettled feeling took over his hands, and they stopped writing. 

A tap on his shoulder. He jumped, swinging the cleaver wide. It was batted from his hand with a short dagger, another sword was held downwards, away from him.

“Whatcha doing?” White hair tilted to the side. He noticed the corpse missing from her back, but now a beaten sword sat in its place. She carried a new weapon, and wore a bright red Knight’s outfit. But that tone… definitely still her.

“Aeris. By God, how did you get here?”

“Oh, I knew you’d be way too absorbed in your research so I used this bell!” She held up a smaller bell on a red cord. Its resonance made him uneasy. Danger seemed to emanate from her smiling face. “I learned that you can use this to invade the worlds of hunters who don’t beckon you, some angry person with a big hat showed me, so I came to find you. Do you know how confusing this place is? I had to go back so many times. I even fell asleep.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“There was a hatch near where I died when we got separated. I opened it, smelled the secrets of the past, and knew with your idyllic curiosity that you just couldn’t help yourself.”

He shook his head, annoyed. “Nevermind that. I am trying to decipher this. Leave me in peace.”

She took a look at the language, ran her hands over it. “This is nifty. Can we go kill beasts now?”

“You can be my guard while I study this.”

She let out an annoyed sound before sitting on the floor. For the next several hours he worked. The first sigils on the wall were directions, labels. And then he found one whose rough translation was ‘book room.’ A library! He tore the door open, noticing Aeris’ excitement, and then subsequent disappointment when no beasts could be found.

The air smelled of dirt. Of disintegrating pages. Curiously, the dust of the floor was disturbed, the lightest indents of footprints walked about the room. On a table in the center sat a few open books. Dried black ink had been spilled on the table. Someone had been here before.

He began to transcribe one of the books. He could only make out every few words, and he would have to string the rest of the narrative together. Someone named Ikazayim had written this book as an account of what happened to the Queen of Yharnam? No, Yharnam was her name. Illnesses killed many people in the country… or city? He could not be certain. But in this place, many had died over the years. The place had also been sieged by neighbors to the north. They sought power, and Yharnam had bid use of the blood of a fallen God to save her people. Upon the translation of the God, his head began to ache.

Cyril stopped midway through another translation. This had happened before. Accounts had shown Atlantis to have fallen due to their strange blood based medical technologies. Would Yharnam now meet the same fate as those before it? He continued, the pit in his stomach growing ever present. The people began to lose their sanity and kill one another. The ruler, in turn, killed all who ended up experiencing blood drunkenness. And so her three attendants sought to stop the madness. The pages ended with a signing off of those three. What they were to do remained a mystery.

He sat in shock, head splitting in pain. His thoughts only interrupted by the thudding sound of Aeris piercing the floor with her sword-dagger. The blood ministration and research had happened in this long forgotten city as well. And by the looks of the ruins he now found himself in, they never recovered. Cyclical, as all mistakes were. Progress ever slow, or in this case, only the illusion of such a thing. The worlds of fantasy were no longer some mythical thing, just another errancy of people to be far too ambitious. He could see a younger version of himself, heartbroken over the idea that Atlantis and other mythical places like it may have well existed, but now knowing they were nothing special. In those worlds, it was likely that little boys were left without attention while their fathers were never home and their mothers miserable from a life forced on them. Perhaps sisters left in those worlds, sick of the environment. Perhaps they sought a new religion, new ways of living without societal customs. Leaving their little brothers behind. His throat tightened.

Another thud.

“Aeris, will you be quiet?” He snapped.

“I’m bored until you learn something interesting.”

“It’s not like you could appreciate these ancient writings. Besides, I highly doubt you can even understand what I’m translating.”

She stood over his shoulder, “I went to secondary school, Cyril.” She stopped and pointed to a portion of his notes detailing the illnesses that had killed many in the city before the blood. “Oh that’s interesting, looks like they had a nasty running bout of leukämie.”

“Leukämie?”

She seemed to focus harder on the notes as she spoke, her voice more flat than usual, “Yeah, leukämie. You know, a blood disease where red and white blood cells don’t function right. Named in like, 1846? But officially recognized a little later. Seems they-”

“I know what leukämie is. How do you kn-.” He stopped for a moment, collecting his thoughts. The pit dropped fully. He felt ill. “How long do you have?”

She looked at him, doing her customary head tilt. Without breaking eye contact she tossed a blood vial in the air and caught it. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Aeris, did you come here to-”

She put a finger to his lips. “Some things are best left unaddressed. No one likes a negative Nancy!” Her voice lilted in song. “Now, I came all this way to give you a gift, but you were so absorbed in the etchings of a wall that I couldn’t even give it to you.”

She was pouting, exaggerating her movements.

“And what… is that?” He asked, tired. Weakened.

“Well, I was able to burn that poor kid on my back so I went and replaced him with a sword. It did really interesting stuff, but now seems to be dull metal. Some bookish thing like you would be perfect for it!”

“Uh, thank you?” He took the sword from her. It was indeed dull. Dusted, and old. No rust showed on its beaten hilt, but an aging handgrip made it look rather… unreliable. “Well, it’s better than a meat cleaver, anyway.”

She seemed gleeful at his acceptance and began pacing the room mumbling to herself.

He gathered the papers, glancing occasionally at her. She shifted her weight between feet like a child. The stories he had heard from his colleagues that he’d assumed went mad with the charisma of some cult made him sad. He wished that were the case. He had seen none of them this night. He feared where they may be, or what they may have become. He walked behind Aeris as they made their way forward and through the labyrinth, he explained what had happened in the old civilization that existed long before Yharnam. That this was cyclical. She did not seem surprised at all. She had even once suggested it.

“So, uh, I have a question for you Cyril. Have you taken any of the blood?”

“Other than from the clinic? No.”

“Wait, how? Have you learned a unique way to heal? Teach me!” She shouted.

He laughed, it felt genuine and full, yet came from a hollowed chest. “I just don’t use it. I let myself die if my wounds become too severe, and Miss Anne patches me up.”

“Miss Doll?” 

“Yes, her.”

“Glad you’re thinking outside the box!” Aeris was humming again, that same tune as back in Byrgenwerth. He ignored it and focused on the topography of the tunnels. They had to fight several corrupted versions of those who once resided in this place long ago. As he’d noticed before, they were frenzied. Almost as if they needed to rip apart anyone who dared wander in. Blood seemed to be their fixation. It was unsurprising. 

He found himself walking down a set of terraced stairways. Long emptied fountains and dead plants lined the walls. Once vibrant blue tile now sat cracked and dirtied. It opened up into a sort of courtyard, much more luxurious than any other they had passed through. Abandoned wells sat everywhere. Brittled bones and dust seeped into the air, filling their lungs with the remnants of something… foul. Both looked at one another. Cyril felt his neck stiffen, his body ready to pounce. Aeris was looking about, her eyes mad with concern. 

A door lie ahead. It both ensnared them and warded against their very essence. For a moment, it was as if the chimes of their bells bounced off the door. Then ever so slowly, it began to creak open. Aeris jumped in front of Cyril, her blades separated and at the ready. Nothing came.

Silence.

Cyril and Aeris both found themselves walking forward. Their bodies screamed to flee and to stay. Neither could resist the threshold of the door’s entry. They stepped into a wholly stone room. At the center sat an altar, running with a thick brown liquid. A woman walked forward in a beautiful white dress. It was a regal gown, the folds made of many layers of silk. It glittered in the dim lighting. A brooch of deep red sat on her neck. A crown of gold decorated her white hair. Blood soaked into her dress where the skirt portion began. It drained down, never continuing to the stone below her. Her hands were bound in wooden stocks. The Queen of what was once a great civilization. Cyril stood in silent shock.

The Queen’s voice began, a soft and gentle tone. An air of sincerity, and malice. It was almost intoxicating. Cyril found himself leaning into its cadence. “Ah, young hunter. The echoes that course within you…” The Queen vanished, reappearing beside Aeris. She held the huntress’ face in her hands. “They remind me of what I have lost. Stay with me, and let me listen, forevermore.” Cyril watched in horror as Aeris almost seemed to crumple into the embrace of the Queen.

Aeris’ face filled with panic. “No. No, this isn’t supposed to be like this. Was everything all for nothing? What is this?”

Cyril’s foot hesitated as it stepped downwards. “Aeris?”

“How do you fit into everything? Are you a Great One too?” Aeris asked, weakly. 

“My dear hunter, such things are trivial matters you should not think of.” Aeris seemed to fall asleep in the woman’s arms.

“What do you want?” Cyril demanded. 

“I will take their child as they did mine.” Her face gleamed with joy as she forced the dripping knife through Aeris. She screamed, falling into the blade. Cyril ran towards her. A barrage of crimson blood threw him backward. The Queen laughed at them both.

Cyril pulled the sword and felt within him a calling. A resonation like a bell. The sword’s call seemed to link the two off key resonations together to create a harmony. It welled from within him and the hilt simultaneously. The sword grew in size, blue moonlight reflected in his pupils. A bolt of radiant aquamarine flew at Queen Yharnam and knocked Aeris from her arms. Yharnam screamed, and giggled. Blood sprayed from her bound hands like water. She flew into the air, unleashing a scarlet rain upon him. Spikes of blood shot from the floor. Cyril felt as if his leg was being severed. He screamed.

He heard the breaking of ceramic on stone as he was tossed and rolled about on the floor. He stabbed the sword into the ground, and a shockwave of astral blue energy radiated out. It joined a sudden explosion of fire across the room. Looking up he saw Aeris throwing molotovs into the pools of oil she had made as he pitched about.

The Queen descended upon Aeris with a malicious smile, the knife of dripping black sludge poised. Cyril ran at her, unleashing a wave of the pressurized gas from the contraption he had picked up in Byrgenwerth. A haunting song echoed off the walls. It joined in a duet with the chiming of the bells and the thrumming in his body and sword. The Queen staggered back. More laughter as she brought a blade of blood through his shoulder.

Aeris began screaming, at first incoherently. Then Cyril parsed the words from her madness, “Stupid wench! Worthless scum! Go away! I said go away!” She clutched her head. He could see blood leaking from her ears. She fell to the ground, her weapon clattering to the floor.

“Aeris! Get your shit together. Lose your sanity after this!”

The Queen pinned him down. Her face was cold, cruel, and strangely almost motherly. Much like with Aeris, she cupped his face. He shuddered. Her touch almost disrupted the harmonization itself. It felt like a fire within his chest. Fragment by fragment it began to replace the chiming he had become accustomed to. “So a new generation of blood echoes has been forged. How fragile all of you are.” His face flushed. The sword in his hand stopped glowing, and returned to its beaten form. His head was engulfed in pain. He heard a crack in his bell.

He could see a woman much like the visage in front of him, but instead her hair was brown. Skin not as pale. She was being held down by three attendants shrouded in darkness. They bound her hands and forced her legs open. “We will offer Mergo to them as an offering, it is the only way to stop this, my Queen.” She thrashed and screamed at their words. He could hear a crying infant far off as the world shifted. A formless being of energy materialized in front of him, the crying continued. Cyril saw the mourning face of a mother dying in her own blood, hands bound in stocks. Her face twisted into rage. 

A dance of fire cut through her face as Aeris jumped through the air. Her dexterous sword now shorter, and a dagger in the other hand. She swirled with fire around the Queen, “I told you. To. Go. Away.” She was striking with a frenzy. She knocked Yharnam off of Cyril, giving him a chance to scramble up. He grabbed the blade and imbued it with that same determination and light. This woman only suffered. Losing a child, what could be worse for a woman? No. What could be worse for a parent? He thrust it though her chest as Aeris lit the woman on fire. A screaming laughter rang in their ears. It hurt. Cyril held the sword true and used it to unleash another pulse of the energy within it. Aeris fell to the ground holding her head. The Queen unleashed a tentacled hand of blood, wrapping Cyril and piercing his body with rows of pointed thorns of blood. 

“Go away Sandra!” Aeris jumped from the ground, a mad look in her eyes. She jumped on the queen and brought the dagger through the woman’s eye. Over and over she stabbed, screaming and laughing as she gouged the face of the Queen. Cyril unleashed one last radiant blue wave of energy, and the Queen fell backwards onto the stonework. She looked up at the altar in the middle of the room, and mumbled quietly, “Mer-go.” before collapsing entirely. Her body began to dissipate into sparkling dust, just as a dreaming hunter.

Aeris fell to the ground in the fetal position. She was crying. He heard a sickening crack from her bell. The words of the scholar in Byrgenwerth sang a song in his mind, dancing with the chimes of the bell’s toll; The more damaged a hunter’s bell, the closer to death they are.

“What is happening? Aeris?” She did not even react to his voice. “My apologies for this.” He smacked her across the face.

She gripped his arm and sat up, staring into his eyes for what felt like minutes. He watched hers dilate and come back into focus. “You’re… Cyril. A Dreaming Hunter. I’m Aeris, a Dreaming Hunter.”

“Aeris, who is Sandra?”

She began looking around the room, as if following something with his eyes he could not see. “Sandra was an irksome girl at school when I was a child. She constantly got in my way. Shoved me around. Demanded more and more from me. She would take advantage of me whenever I was down, and try to manipulate my thoughts and anxieties. She wants me to fail, give up. The more blood I consume, the stronger she gets. But that’s okay! I just need to keep making walls and topiaries and mazes for her to get lost in! Get her so worked up, she never gets a chance to come back from our lunch hour. Maybe I can use this place as inspiration, I was getting a bit tired of always making my own.”

Cyril watched another crack splinter across the bronze of her bell. Hers was far more damaged than when he first began noticing its condition. His own was barely tarnished. The brass color still easily reflected torchlight, despite the lone crack which now interrupted its shimmer.

“Aeris, you need to-”

She hushed him. He could smell the blood coating her, like a sickly perfume. “Shhhh, Cyril, don’t you know that if you call attention to the person you’re trying to avoid, they’ll come running?”

“That makes sense.” He watched her face gain its color back. She seemed to revert to her usual all-nonsense filled self. She looked at him, head cocked to the side and mouth slightly open, as if she was trying to formulate her words. 

He spoke first. “Did you need something?”

She smirked, laughing. “Cyril, my friend, I have come to tell you that you’re not the only crazy person in this hunt!”

“Uh-huh. I am certain that I am not the insane one here.”

“Instead of hiding the night out you have traveled underground into Gods-knows-whats to find out about the nature of this world. That’s certifiably insane. What’s more, you just die instead of healing!”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she continued. “There is a way out, to find the morning. You’ve felt it too. I know you have. That days have passed, and yet the dark gets no lighter.” She stepped forward, her face excited and manic, like a child near the Christmas season. “This hunt is not like any other Yharnam has faced in recent recorded history. There are other hunters like you and me in their own worlds, and I have found how to save them in yours. Here.” She held out her hand. A stack of paper, held together with twine and coagulated blood. He opened it. In chicken scratch writing was a list of names. 

He looked up at her. Gods, she was mad. And yet, the aching in his head told him that she was both mad and truthful. He hesitated before flipping the pages further. Locations. Names. Weapons. Methods of death. All of it was here. His mind pulsed. He felt nauseous.

“I have to go, let’s hunt again sometime, kay Cyril?” He watched as her eyes danced with a craze he now understood. Her body dissipated into a sparkling dust. He held the book gently and rifled through it. She alphabetized everything. After looking at her rough table of contents, he stopped. He did not see her name among them.

“Well, how do you spell Aeris?” He asked aloud.

He looked again in the A’s, then to the E’s, and even the R’s. Nothing. He read every name aloud. All the way down. So many names, and nothing resembling hers. 

“Why did you leave yourself off?”

He knew though. A dying woman had no need to survive the hunt. She never intended to leave to begin with. Think Cyril, think. Yharnam was home to the so-called miracle drug. At their first meeting in the woods, she said she had gotten to the city just hours before the hunt began. 

He snapped upright. She had been here for a blood transfusion. A miracle to save her. He rifled through the notes yet again. She mentioned that the clinic was not a safe place to send survivors. 

He grimaced, “Miss Anne?”

Appearing in a beautiful array of pearlescent powder was the Doll named Anne. She bowed to him, “hello good hunter, what is it you desire?”

“Can you take me to the clinic in central Yharnam? It is urgent.”

She nodded gently, her hand clasped his with a delicate grace. Specks of light and dust swirled around the two of them. He felt her porcelain hand squeeze his, and then he found himself standing on a rooftop, looking into a damaged wall of the backside of the clinic.

“Farewell good hunter, may you find your worth in the waking world.” She disappeared.

Why had Anne brought him here and not the entrance? The ruined wall looked as if it had been torn apart by beasts or some other unknown creature. He shuddered. He had been here not long before the hunt as well. Would his fate have been something similar had he not become a Dreaming Hunter? It was a large building, made of wood and tar and brick. A combination of some of the finest modern craftsmanship. He noted just how much tar was used as an adhesive for the roofing. Fire would be dangerous to use here, and with how connected the building were, it would be a reenactment of the fire that had ravaged the American city of Chicago some forty years ago.

He stepped inside. The scent of blood that he’d become accustomed to was strong here. It mixed with the scents of torn wood, and bromine? He smelled the air. The distinct chemical scent of bromine definitely lingered. Broken bottles lay everywhere. He walked over the thick shards of glass and into the center of an empty hallway. Gurneys spattered in brackish ooze lay everywhere. Doors lined the wall, most damaged. Somewhere in the recesses of the building he could hear the pattering of feet. A glass knocked over. Maybe a door opened? He readied the sword and began entering each patient room and looking about. Some held remains of people. Others, beasts that had been killed. Their bodies were flayed open surgically. Blue ooze saturated the floor. It dripped down into the sewers below Yharnam. He placed his finger in a pool dripping from a broken table. A sharp pain that made his body feel as if it was seizing snapped his hand away. Somehow, it almost seemed to resonate all on its own. It shocked him, like electricity. He could make no sense of it. What the hell was this hellish place? The kind clinician from before could not have done something so horrible. 

He wandered the halls, checking doors. Many were closets, but even more contained the gruesome sights of medical experimentation. Down the hall a blue glow emanated. It moved about, he clutched the handle of the blade and rounded the corner. Ahead wandered a… thing. It was the size of the average adult human. Its body was spindled, glowing a pale blue. Its head akin to that of a mushroom. It passed him by, paying his form no mind. He followed it for some time. It seemed to have no reason to its footwork. Sometimes it would run into a wall, other times stop at a door for long periods of time. It cut its feet easily on glass, but did not seem to mind.

From down the hall, he heard a bottle clatter to the floor. He turned from the creature and ran to where he heard the sound. No longer being cautious to his own sound, he opened doors he hadn’t been in till he found one that was stuck. He pushed his body against it and managed to pry it open. A broken table had fallen against the door. In the dim light he could make out a woman laying against the wall, breathing heavily. Her head of white hair was mussed, face sickly and pale. Her clothes were tattered, pants and suspenders, not what he had become accustomed to. A stump existed where her leg would be, a belt around it. A small pool of blood. A tattered blanket was pulled across her lap. She stared at the floor.

It was as if seeing an emaciated ghost.

“Miss?”

She didn’t respond. He knelt down, and waved his hand in front of her face. She did not register any movement. He looked at her stump. He expected the shattered fragments of a beast’s claws or teeth. It was smooth. Surgical. His eyes darted the room. A door in the corner led further into the clinic, the one he had just entered from was the only other exit.

“I came to help you. You are not alone, Aeris.”

She seemed to perk at her name, her head moving slightly. He tilted her face up. He almost dropped his hand when he met her eyes. Green. Glazed over with exhaustion and blood loss. She truly did experiment on herself. This is what Aeris looked like, then.

“You should leave.” She whispered.

“Not without assisting you.”

The sound of footsteps down a staircase beyond the other door made him pause. He put his body in front of Aeris and listened for their movement. A hallway. Then to the door on the other side of the room. He held his beaten sword, the handle clutched. Aeris would not survive this if she was attacked. A woman with brown hair opened the door slowly, her white church outfit shone in the dingy lighting and grime of the now ruined clinic. It was the same outfit the clinician had been wearing earlier, a noticeable stain of blue on its skirt. In her hand was a cane. “Ah, moonlit scents, there you went. And you found a hunter, too.”

“Who are you?” Cyril demanded.

“How did you manage to worm your way in here? That woman is my patient, she ran away as the beasts attacked my clinic. Would you mind leaving us alone? I need to tend to her wounds.”

“Her leg injury does not look like a beast attacked her. What did you do?” Cyril stood, keeping Aeris behind him.

“Ah well, I always wanted to try my hand on a hunter.”

Much like the scholar Yuri from Byrgenwerth, a slew of tentacles erupted from her hand. He dropped to the floor, and kicked a chair between them. Splinters of wood coated both of them, the wooden leg smacked his face.

“This won't hurt a bit...I'll soon have you right as rain…” She moved forward, the cane in her hand transformed into a serrated whip.

“Please run. Please.” Aeris clutched his shirt in terror. Saliva dripped from her mouth.

“I cannot.” He stood, brandishing the sword towards the church woman. Her eyes reflected recognition to the sword.

“So you’ve gone and found Ludwig then? Desecration of a grave is a capital offense!” She moved in quickly. She swung the blades. He countered, using the dull sword’s edge to catch and fend them from his body. She laughed at him, her smile from ear to ear.

“You attack the church and disturb our dead, you’re the same as any beast. We won’t need to handle you scoundrels much longer!”

“And why is that?” He asked.

She flung the blades at him again, in his parry he missed the tentacle that pierced his left knee. He fell, his body refusing to cooperate. He threw a bottle at her, it smashed harmlessly against the wall. She slashed his abdomen with the blades, then transformed the mechanism. He threw himself over Aeris, who only whimpered in response. In cane form she began to beat his chest. Each strike rattled his teeth and body. He screamed in pain. His eyes watered and the room spun a bit. He would be fine, but Aeris…

The strikes ceased. He felt the woman’s hot breath against his face, “Oh, how exciting! I've never worked on a hunter before…”

“What do you want?” He whispered. The air would not fill his lungs properly. Every word was a labor of ambition. 

“Oh, hello... Still alive, are you? I need more patients... There aren't many humans left, I know, but I will find every last one I can. We must find a way. To surpass our own stupidity. You ask so many questions, you're one of the bright ones. Don't you see how much this means?” She held a syringe of blue liquid in one hand, and a scalpel in the other.

He moved to bat her hand away, but his arm was unresponsive. It sat at an angle. He would not even move his fingers.

“Hush, hush....Stay still....This won't hurt a bit... I'll soon have you right as rain...Just.....Die…” She pushed the syringe of liquid into his neck. Electrifying fire pulsed through his veins. He felt it spread. He screamed. He could see in the mazes of darkness a being standing on the horizon. Its entire presence screamed at him to run, flee. This would be the end of all things. He strained against it.

His working hand could barely move. He found the handle of the sword. His fingers touched it.

Please. I must save her.

It lit the room with a dazzling aquatic light. The shadows of their movements swam through the air, casting shadows like fish.

“Enough of you!” She screamed at him.

The room exploded in an array of ocean bubbles and light. The woman was knocked backwards, the splintered wood of a shelf piercing through her back and into her womb. She began screaming incoherently. 

His body ached. It took everything he had to stand. He swayed. She was weeping, trying to hold the blood in her abdomen. It flowed between her fingers like a tide. “How could you? You murdered my child!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I needed them. All of them. We were going to birth our own God. We were going to leave these bodies behind. You murderer!” She continued to weep and scream as her blood filled the basin of a bent pan on the floor. 

He walked up to her and gripped her throat. “What happened to the other patients?”

“They were defective. Unworthy to bear child to the formless one. I wasn’t like the rest of you filthy scum. I was not Rosemary or Iosefka. May the Gods rain a curse upon you.” She snarled at him. 

The kind clinician. Those receiving care. Aeris. It welled up from within him. He gripped her throat. The newfound strength of his hunt filled his hands. He could hear creaking. She writhed against his hand. She gurgled. Her face turned a shade of purple. He pushed her further against the wood, more and more came out, covered in pieces of her flesh. A malformed limb of blue skin and white blood broke against a splinter. He started at the monstrosity. Her neck collapsed. Blood and bones cracking. Her trachea was in two. She hung lifeless, her blue and red blood continuing to drain. Doctors are meant to save. The worst things that can happen to a parent... The image of the hunter laying on the ground at Byrgenwerth and the children dead from fleeing the church stayed his emotion. This woman was a danger to humanity, and whatever abomination she had created was too.

He ran to Aeris. Her face was pouring sweat. She was shaking. He pulled out the notes, his body beginning to match her. 

“Please, please. Tell me you wrote something to help. Please.”

And there it was. A woman by the name of Arianna was a prostitute in Yharnam who would die without interference from a hunter. Her blood was effective, and of the specialty kind that caused no drunkenness. He scooped Aeris up and carried her. It took a long time to find his way to Cathedral Ward, him and Aeris killing beasts in his world prior made the journey much safer. She was alive, but barely. He tightened the tourniquet and held her tightly. He found his way to a door and knocked. 

A voice, soft and sweet, and somehow alluring came from a slot on the door, “Oh, my, what a queer scent... The hunt is in full swing then. What is it, then? I'm off during hunts, so if that's what you're here for, I'll leave you to your own devices. If that doesn't do it, come back in the morning, darling.”

“No, please. I’m a hunter. I was told you could help. My friend is injured!”

“Oh, thank goodness. You're a hunter. Might you know of a safe place? The night is long and I've very little of the incense left... Please, there must be some nice place to run off to? I will help your friend if you can escort me somewhere safer than here.”

Oedon Chapel. A sanctuary for people.

“Yes, I can. Just please. Help her!” He practically shouted at the door. It opened. A woman with blonde hair and a red dress answered. The dress’ craftsmanship seemed similar to the Knight outfit he had seen Aeris wearing. 

“Oh dear. Bring her in.” Cyril followed the woman to a table in a velveted room. He laid her gently down. The woman used a rope to segment off her own arm and took an empty blood vial from a medicinal cabinet. She pulled her blood from it mid stride and injected the vial into Aeris. The effects were immediate. Aeris’ face regained color, and the stump began to heal over. He breathed a sigh of relief. The woman began to wash the blood and grime from her face. 

“Thank you.”

She nodded and spoke quietly, “now for you. You look as if you are about to die.” She repeated the process on his body, the blood flowed through him, almost eliminating the effects of the blue concoction that had been forced into his veins. He felt more himself, though still drained. Whatever this woman's blood, it certainly seemed powerful. He had no way to compare it to the standard blood vials, but it was certainly stronger than whatever the clinician had given him.

She spoke again, “this hunt has been much more violent. I’ve already watched many a hunter die in the abbey outside. Based on her clothes, she is a foreigner. Is she part of the hunt?”

“No. A- uh, beast broke into the clinic. There were no other survivors.”

“Oh, how awful.” Her shoulders slumped. She brushed dirt from the white hair and looked to Cyril expectantly.

He scooped up Aeris and nodded. “You stay close to me. I will keep you safe. We are going to Oedon Chapel.”

“Oh thank you, dear.” She followed behind him, a kitchen knife at the ready. It took nearly an hour to get there. Between keeping two people safe, it was a handful. Arianna helped keep Aeris from getting hurt as he had to set her down to fight a carrion crow, or a turned hunter. He only saw a few groups of civilian hunters running about, pitchforks stabbing into stray beasts as they howled into the darkness. At last they made it. He walked her in and helped her make a bed of old drapes so she could ride out the night. The air was filled the scent of lemon incense. Something rare for this region. 

“I have to ask one more favor of you. I can pay you when the hunt is over.”

“What is it?”

“Can you care for her during the night?”

The woman smiled, and nodded, “Of course. I would have helped you either way. I will keep this woman safe as best I can. But you need to know, she is ill. There is something besides the stump that my blood cannot cure. Regular blood may be able to assist, but my whore’s blood is imperfect.”

The statement came at a loss. Refined blood that did not affect blood drunkenness was the ideal. He could not explain the nature of the blood and hunts, the headaches may just kill this kindly woman. Her face showed nothing but care and concern for Aeris. Arianna wrapped her in the drapes and rested her head on a bag she had brought. How he hoped she would survive the night.

He lowered his shoulders, “Thank you. That’s good to know.”

He turned and walked outside. The moonlight shone above. He held the sword in his hands. He would find a way to help her. If it took going to every hunter’s world to tell them what to do, he would. 

“Miss Anne, can you take me to the Dream? I need to think.”

She appeared before him, “Of course, my good hunter.”

An ocean of stars swirled them both. But he did not notice it. He was too busy thinking of what had happened to the civilization before. The unending hunt now. What it would mean for the hunt to end. The insanity of doctors and churches harming so many. And the woman whose fate was sealed no matter the decision. This hunt was truly a cruel one.

Chapter Text

Each step of Dawn’s boots crunched in the pile of limbs littering the grounds of Charnel Lane. What was once a flourishing village of women who’d rejected patriarchal systems, was now a desolate grave. They had come here to start a better life. Indeed, they had doctors that would treat anyone regardless of their background. Now weeds grew where the once proud hospital had been. Her scythe was slick with the acrid blood of what had remained of their bodies. Writhing and attacking any who dared walk through. Blood addled madness. No doubt caused by the church. Across the bay she could see the ruins of the bridge that had once connected them to Cainhurst. So many bodies. How many more young boys from Yharnam would meet their fate from the gnashing of a beast, how many would try to improve the world and be slaughtered for it, how many good natured souls would lose themselves to this madness? The red sky loomed above. It reflected off the water, creating a bright streak of crimson in a valley of blackness. 

Could the Queen truly be alive still? After all these years. She held the small journal close. The book’s edges parted, revealing charcoal sketches of hundreds of faces. Paper may age, but it did not break down like human memory. They stared at her, frozen in time. Every person she could remember as they had been; full of life. Sketched to perfection. Only Arianna remained absent from the book, a young girl then. She was the only other who had survived the frigid waters that night. 

The water lazily crawled up the beaches of sand. It was quiet now. No breeze stirred the feathered cloak she wore. She could faintly hear the sounds of beasts from the large forest to the south, and Yharnam to the east. But here, the hunt had ended. No one was left. She rested her back against a building, allowing her breath to come slowly. Arianna and Mirabel she had sent to stay safely with Iosefka at the clinic. Anyone else she had found went to Oedon Chapel. The hunt seemed to stretch on into an endless dream. The blood moon shone high in the sky, yet the night did not rotate to day. She had no idea what to do.

The sounds of a chime’s resonation snapped her eyes open. It bounced off her own, out of tune. It sounded sharp. Pointed. She knew that bell. A sinister resonant bell, something created by a hunter of Cainhurst long ago to invade the worlds of other Dreaming Hunters to learn their secrets. At some point it was copied, now an item all seemed to have access to.

She pulled her scythe and listened for footsteps. Thuds. Boots on cold hardened ground. They came from the corner behind her. She pulled the blade. A shoe’s toe came into view, she struck her scythe out, holding the blade ready to slit the throat of whatever hunter dared enter here.

“My, my. Is this how you greet everyone? No wonder the Yharnamites find you a nightmare.” The voice sounded familiar. But her mind could not find it. 

“Identify yourself. What are you doing here?”

“Must we really do all of this?” A hazy blast of darkness knocked her scythe from its place. Dawn quickly adjusted her hands to keep hold of it. She swung downward. The figure walked out. Dawn stopped the scythe’s blade just above her head.

Carryl. The Scholar of Byrgenwerth. The Runsemith of Charnel Lane.

“You’re alive?”

She looked the same as she always had. The last time Dawn saw her was a week before the executioners marched on Cainhurst. Dawn assumed she had been killed as a dissenter to the church’s actions against the women of Charnel Lane. 

“Indeed. I was spared when they infected everyone here with the blood by this,” she tapped the bells on her hip. 

“How long have these hunts been going?” Dawn asked.

“Oh, far longer than you’ve been alive, Dawn. Eileen was once a Dreaming Hunter as well. She gave it up. And you saw how that went for her.”

Dawn recoiled, her stance faltered. “The nightmare and these hunts and the dream… is there no end to any of this?”

The final words of Eileen rang in her head.

Enough of this terrible dream, you monster. 

All hunters must die.

Only I can stop this madness!

The beasts cannot be stopped. What good are hunters now?

“No. There’s not. This will never stop. You and I are just more cogs in this destructive machine.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Dawn shouted.

Carryl ignored her and continued speaking, her voice carrying no concern or worry. She seemed almost happy, “You, the Mensis Scholars that Antal was with, and the church’s researchers, began working together. Do you know what they tried to do? They wanted to create a Great One of their own. They were trying to stop the effects of other Great Ones that were hurting us. And they almost succeeded. Horribly flawed, really. But that success was used to seal the effects of the others. They succeeded in keeping the worst effects at bay.”

Her head was pulsing with pain. Carryl had to be lying. She had to.

“What are you talking about?”

“Rosemary, or as she is called now, Rom, was a synthetic Great One made from a human. She took the form of a large spider hidden in a secret reality of Byrgenwerth College. Sound familiar, Dawn?”

Dawn fell to her knees. The spider in Byrgenwerth. My god. She heard a crack in her bell. She winced. The pain coalesced from the sound. Her head ached. Tears dripped into the hard earth, quickly freezing in the cold night’s air.

“I…”

Carryl’s voice pierced like a snake’s bite, “This calamity is your fault. You damned everyone here. Now there is nothing to protect Yharnam.”

“Why come here and tell me?” Dawn asked weakly. She could no longer see properly. She wiped the tears away, each movement of her arm sent shockwaves to her mind. They roused the pain. It blossomed out into her nerves. Her body shook.

“I could forgive the church of many things, even what they did to the women I trained, if they found a way to save this place from the Great Ones. But I cannot forgive someone for undoing that act.”

Dawn grabbed Carryl’s skirt, weeping. “There has to be an end to this hunt.”

“Aeris has an idea to end it. You should ask her. You should ask her all the details about what she’s learned. Don’t lose yourself just yet, hunter.” Carryl brought Dawn to her feet. The movement made her nauseous. “While you’re at it Dawn, why don’t you give the Queen a visit? She’s probably want of more blood dregs offered by her followers. It has been many years since you visited. It’s now a long way to swim, but you’ve practice doing it, do you not?”

Dawn surged with emotions. The night they came to slaughter. The faces of friends and family cut to pieces on the cobbled stone of the courtyard. Ths screams of the children. The hunt. Eileen. Everyone sacrificed for a lie. The red moon rising above the city as a warning to all. The spider’s body had been cut down by her own hand. This was all happening because of her.

She pitched forward. The sound of a silencing blank fired behind her. Carryl disappeared. She fell to the ground in a crumpled heap of regret and bile. She clutched the book to her chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

She laid there for some time. Her body shook under the weight of the red moon. Tears burned down her face, the headdress askew. She laid on her back, the only noise in this crisp part of the night. Stars shone above, dotting like little embers of light around the broken seal of the Gods. She felt the calcified blood dreg in her pocket. Perhaps the Queen would need something. She could still be of use.

She carried her headdress by its antler and made her way to the bay’s edge. The water was freezing. Gentle. Inviting. Sinking to the basin would just send her back to the Dream. Not give a release. She stopped in, the rush of frigidity helping to soothe the burning in her mind. She waded until she could no longer keep her head above water and feet aground. The water burned her skin like fire at first, then it began going numb. She swam forward. Eileen’s cape was heavy in the water, it tugged at her shoulders. She ignored it and continued across the bay. 

By the time she was able to stumble onto the rocky outcropping of Cainhurst, she could no longer feel her body. Still she shook, her teeth chattering. The headache had mostly subsided. In the distance along the Cainhurst shore she could see a pile of unburned driftwood. No one there to remove it any longer. She trudged up the cliffside, following an old footrail the children once used. This vantage point made the visibility of the shore clearer. The driftwood, lost to knowing minds, sat alone. The closer she looked, the more her chest burned. It wasn’t wood. It was bone. She ran up to the cliff overlooking the pile. Discarded and broken weapons laid about, the elements taking their toll. Frozen bodies lay up here, mostly decomposed. Tatters of knight’s garb adorned them. Frayed ropes lodged in the dirt. They had thrown the Cainhurst nobility to their deaths.

She turned, showing her back to them once again. Some part hoped a revenant of one of them would stab her from behind. Ahead were the towering walls of Castle Cainhurst. The stone had stood for all these years, withstanding the battering of the ocean’s fervor with no aid. She followed it along, her body recoiling as she stepped on the bone of a Knight, snapping it. It was unreal. Impossible to believe. A nightmare.

Or it would be, if not for the tangled weeds and dead horses covering the walk to the main entrance. Or the mangled carriage splintered apart by weapons. Or the corpses of both church executioners and Knights. The battle had begun at the front gate, or so everyone had thought. In reality, a larger group climbed the walls and began their slaughter. Man. Woman. Child. It did not matter. All fell under their cursed weapons. She kicked an Executioner’s skull, its long hair disintegrating off in the wind. 

The gate sat ahead, blown open with explosives. She walked forward and into the grounds of the castle. The courtyard was strangely peaceful, despite being devoid of any semblance of life. Any sane life, that is. Blood addled ticks merged with the bodies of dead women scurried about, their large tongues searching for any form of blood to feast on. Somehow, the desolation befitted the fall of the castle. Surely no one would dare come here with these vicious creatures guarding it. She let them be and avoided their gaze.

Statues and dead topiaries sat empty in the cold, snowy, yard. Dawn moved forward, the curvature of the ground familiar to her feet. How often she had walked these grounds, been content sitting in the gazebo surrounded by rock rose bushes. She’d been a different person then; bookish, nonviolent. She could see herself ahead, a rotted mess of wood and brambles where her reading nook had been. Her younger self stood, staring sadly at the world of fiction having been dashed by age and neglect. She’d doubted then. Thought the militant ways of the Queen were too aggressive. She knelt by the wood, taking a piece in her hand. It crumbled into splinters, falling to the earth with a silent cry. She’d wanted to leave then. Adventure the world and pick something other than service to a culture of obligation. She stood, turning her back on her younger self and walked towards the main entrance of the castle.

It did not take long to get to the massive doors of the main atrium. One was ajar, freshly disturbed snow near its threshold. She prepared her scythe and ensured that her headdress obscured her eyes. Even from here, she could hear the faint sound of crying. She ran inside and whipped about. It came from everywhere. Footsteps soft, like birds on a branch. They came into focus. Ethereal beings made of light and shadow. They wore the noble silver gowns of the Cainhurst line. Some she recognized. Frozen in time, she now had aged past them. Their hands were bound, throats cut. Many carried the dagger of the church Executioners. They walked past her as if she were a ghost. One looked at her in shock and horror, she cowered behind a pillar, weeping. Unlit candles decorated the room.

A man’s voice came from the far edges of the room, “Well now, I did not expect the murderer of Yharnam to make an appearance here.”

She turned on her heel, the scythe pointed outwards to the visitor. Blonde hair. A man about her age. Alfred. A high ranking member of the Executioners. He stood carrying a wagon wheel of screaming souls, just as the Executioner in Yahar'gul. He was the man the misguided church girl Marnie had spoken so highly of. In another world, he was a Dreaming Hunter too. No bell sat on his side, nor did any resonation echo alongside the cries of the murdered women. 

“Why is someone from the church here? Why are you not defending Yharnam? Her people need you.” She shouted at him. Of all places and time… now was not when she needed this.

“My I did not realize you were a woman, my respect, masked one.” He bowed to her, a corpse scattered at his feet. “The Vilebloods are fiendish creatures who threaten the purity of the Church's blood healing. They have caused this wretched blood moon to rise. Their whore of a queen is still alive. Surely even a murderer like you can understand the need for such a cause. Come,” he reached his empty hand out to her, “join me on my crusade to save Yharnam.”

Her throat caught with despair and rage. He came to defile this place that had seen so much bloodshed already because of the red moon burning in the sky. Because of her.

“You disgust me.” She spat with a venom and hatred that had never been verbalized with anything but the blade of her scythe. She pulled the antler upwards, and dropped the headdress to the floor. Alfred watched her in shock. No doubt taking in her short brown locks of hair and blue eyes.

He lowered the wheel to a resting position. “Miss Dawn? Please, do not tell me someone as kind as you is the-”

“Murderer of a church cleric. Slayer of beasts. And…”

She dashed forward with the blade held just slightly upwards. As soon as he raised his wheel, she brought it down. The spokes caught on the blade and she twisted the scythe around in her hands. She could feel the mechanism creaking. She knocked Alfred off his balance and jumped to the left. The scythe’s blade pulled from the wheel and came down on his shoulder. He screamed in agony.

“Why turn your blade on me? Has the blood gone to your head?” He was in shock, the pale white taking over the rose of his cheeks. 

She pulled the small notebook from her breast pocket and revealed the front cover; the swirled design of the Vilebloods. “It was nothing but a ruse. I hate you. You are all vermin that must be eradicated.”

His face contorted to match her own; unbridled hate. It amused her. Completely unfounded. “Unclean wench! Vile monstrosity! Bloody fool!” He shouted at her while she walked slowly forward. He would pay for defiling this place.

He blubbered in a pool of blood on the floor. Her black boot planted on the wheel and she kicked it from him. A ghostly figure followed her, crying out. The executioner’s blade in her bound hands. Dawn moved to the side, watching as all the nobles of Cainhurst closed in on his form.

Mara

Lorraine

Agnes

Emma

She watched them bring their blades up. She relished in the whimpering of the man wearing the mask of something far stronger. A shrieking mist of blackened skulls erupted from the man and charged outwards. The women screamed. Stabbed blindly into the air. The screams echoed with the crackling of blackened fire and she saw a younger version of herself run up the stairs. 

A shot of pain hit her face. She was face down against a wall.

“Dawn, did you really think your simple hunter’s weapon and some rotten sirens would kill me?” He stood over her. The cries of the women now encapsulated in his wheel. It rotated at speed; crimson ethereal light coming from the spokes. He grabbed her by her shirt. Stronger than he looked. He held her close to his face. She could smell the blood in his mouth. See the level craze in his brown eyes as he searched hers. A laugh from his lips, “You are a blight upon civilized society. How many of you cockroaches survived and are hiding among us?” 

He lowered her body to where her feet just dragged the ground. He stomped on her ankle and smashed her head against the wall. It pulled her spine. Broke her ankle. She screamed.. The pain made her mind snap for a moment. Alfred was here. But where was here? She came back to reality for another beating against the wall.

He dropped her. Sliced through her leg with the scythe.

“I will get you to talk one way or another. Make this easier. Surely some part of you is still yet uncorrupted? Do you not care for that little prostitute… oh what was her name? Arianna.”

A scream welled up from Dawn’s gut. It bellowed out, overtaking the sounds of crying and her own pain. She thrashed against him, using her panic as he had used his perceived vulnerability. Arianna would be spared from everything.

“She’s another one, isn’t she? Such effective blood. It makes sense. I will rid the world of you creatures.”

She pulled a blood vial from her pocket, and allowed it to be shattered by his repeated beatings. She lashed her hands up, and pierced his eye with the empty syringe. As he wailed, she jumped to her feet and grabbed her scythe. She slashed it through his spine and continued the momentum to slice his legs open. Her broken ankle threatened to topple her over. She used the scythe’s handle to remain standing. From her bag she pulled two oil urns. As he scrambled for his wheel, she cracked them on the ground, splashing his white outfit in oil.

“There is nothing I can take from you that will replace what you’ve destroyed,” she swung the scythe in a full rotation, sparking the ground with its blade as it tumbled back to an upright position. A single spark landed in the pile of oil. The cold room lit with the engulfing cries of a dying man and his burning flesh. She reveled in the scent, inhaling it as a blood vial fixed her damaged body. The night Old Yharnam burned, it smelled and sounded just like this. At least now it was for a good reason.

She watched him flail. The inhuman screams of pain began to die. Till on the crackling sounds of burning flesh could be heard, a backdrop to the cries of the remaining ghosts. She spat on him, the saliva sizzling on his now charred face, perpetually twisted in agony. The scent of burned hair overtook all else, it was almost foul. Such a common scent of the hunts made it nearly indistinguishable. At the back of the room, the grand staircase of Cainhurst loomed. Red carpet still held the Cainhurst crest. It was frayed, a corpse or two marring it, but still the vision she had held dear still stood the test of time. This palace had mocked her dreams and nightmares. Maybe now it could quell. The unlit candles of the room lit in a wave of light. The room began to look as it once had, regal and grand and full of warmth. A woman clad in a silvered dress walked down the first step to the stair’s second landing. A metal mask obscured her face. She made the perfect backdrop of the ghosts that flitted like moths in the room. 

The Queen. Annalise of Cainhurst.

“Queen Annalise! You truly are alive!” Dawn cried. That mask could not hide the woman behind it. She knew the form of  her ruler. She knelt down on her knees, her right arm extended out, and left arm held over her chest. Their sacred bow. Despite the thick make of her feathered cloak, her back still showed the lean in reverence.

“Well, well. Thou wearest a second face. It matters not. Speak thy mind.” The words seared through the recovering Dawn had managed since the words Carryl had said. 

“My Queen, it has been a long time. Fully of my making. I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Why did thee return?”

She stopped. Why did she come back? What Carryl said... Her bell worse for wear. Was it penance? A desire for forgiveness? Or something more?

“I wanted to come home. There is nowhere else for me to go. I’ve tried to put it all behind me… but I’m a Knight of Cainhurst. It’s time I did as is my duty, for the honor of Cainhurst. As my sworn vow, I have done what I was trained for.” Using her head, she gestured at the smoldering corpse of Alfred.

The Queen stood on the steps above her, a regal goddess. She had blessed so many, and her return was to be locked in this world. Her citizens slaughtered and left to a fate of being forgotten in this world of madness. Dawn awaited her decision.

“Regardless if someone is a Vileblood or no, they will honor me as their Queen. As thou hast turned thy back on Cainhurst, thee are no longer a close of kin. Thy are a subject still, but a confidant or consort thy are not.”

“I understand.” Dawn’s bow faltered. The words a finality. She had no home. She had damned everyone, and even in hell there was no respite. She held the tears back, the cries of the dead noble women resonated around her. She had played on the roofs of this castle with Maria as a child. Annalise had told stories to the children of powerful women, and casters of magic, entire armies made to bring understanding to the land. Those stories echoed like a distant memory. “I have brought blood to thee.” She managed to force the words through her teeth.

Annalise walked down the stairs slowly. The ghostly women reached out to her, their crying staying for a moment, before beginning again in full force. Dawn could see the Queen’s heeled boots on the marbled floor in front of her. 

“Thy gift pleases us.” A hand outstretched. Dawn placed it in her palm and recoiled from the lightest brushing against her skin. It was still that same coldness she had always known.

“What ails thee, moon scented hunter?”

Dawn looked up despite her manners. In front of her was a helmed face. She could no longer see the gentle face of the Queen, but a handcrafted metal casing that obscured her reaction from visibility. Moon scented. The description of hunters tied to the Dream and the Doll. 

“You know about the hunt?”

“The hunt and its cycle are no mystery to those of noble blood.” Annalise did not move. Even through the helm, Dawn could feel her amused stare. As if she was curious what would be said next.

“Then what is it?”

The Queen turned, the silvered dress caught the red moonlight streaming through the panes of glass. For a moment she looked like a harbinger of disease and death, a fairytale meant for young children. “It slept within our line, weakened from centuries of survival. But blood taken from the depths of those ruins awakened us. We have seen these events occur afore. Many a hunter has come here seeking knowledge, him just as you.”

“Is there a way out?”

“We know not. Those who survive never return as the mortal they once were. They become like those beasts, immune to the trouble of humankind.”

Dawn’s head ached from the echoes of the beating, but the pain grew increasingly worse as Queen Annalise talked. “So there’s no way out for one of us Dreaming hunters? We all either die or becomes beasts?”

“In our experiences, no. There is nothing for you once thee becomes moon-scented. There is a saying passed through our line. Seek paleblood and transcend the hunt. This cycle of ill-gotten sacrifice has no known beginning, nad has never known an end.”

“Is there nothing for me…?” Dawn asked the floor. Her bell seemed to tarnish in the warm light of the castle.

“As long as thou art alive, here thou has a place to kneel.”

“Thank you for you grace.”

She sat in reverence for some time. Neither she nor Annalsie moved. A twirling dance of ghosts were the only movement in the long abandoned castle.

“There is no more to be said... away from mine gaze.”

The candles blinked out. A small amount of smoky haze disputed into the frigid air. The crying of the ghosts continued. Dawn shook, standing up. Her feet moved on their own. She had no idea where she was going. Not that it mattered. She had damned everyone. She was no longer a kin of the Queen. There was no home. No sanctuary for her. She found herself standing in Yharnam, in an alleyway. Homes that once held people were quiet. Incense radiated from the doors and windows. She coughed on the scents. They were no longer discernible for their herbs and flowers and fruits. Blood dotted her hands from her mouth. She attempted to approach Oedon Chapel, to check on those she had saved. She could not even enter, the repulsive scent of beast repelling incense made her feel ill.

She began walking, slaughtering every beast in her way. Through the forbidden forest, and into the old college. She sat at a desk covered in research notes. The dead scholar still lay on the floor. Her hands shook. She rang the bell to enter the worlds of others and help. 

Maybe she could stop the same mistake of another. Perhaps someone, anyone, would still use her.

Chapter Text

The world almost seemed to twist with the chiming of her bell. As if staring too long at the room would unveil the secrets of the world to her. Red moonlight filtered in through the open door. It backlit the long abandoned vials of eyes and yellow viscous liquid. In a corner, the skeletal remains of a caged dog languished. Her headdress made a silhouette against the wall. Whatever happened to the hunts of the other Dreamers, it had no effect here. Nothing she did would amount to anything. 

The pitch of another bell’s sound harmonized. Someone was calling for help. She stood, readying her scythe and watched as the world shifted. There was no red moonlight. Just the soft glow of a cold winter’s night. She could hear beasts scurrying about outside. Curiously, the Byrgenwerth Scholar sat in the corner. Her arms and legs were bound, and a gag around her head. She was squirming, muffled cries of murder at Dawn’s image.

A voice came from the corner cage. “I thought it might be you,” Aeris crouched, looking through the metal bars at the small lumps of remaining fur and bits of bone. She still wore the armor of the Knights of Cainhurst. Dawn’s eyes fell on her sword; the rakuyo. The weapon of Lady Maria. She felt ill.

Her lips parted, her voice shaky for the first time. “Where did you find that?”

“Do you really want to know?” Aeris asked.

Dawn nodded. 

“It was in that nightmare. Maria threw it down a well after she helped in a genocide. She couldn’t live with herself. You knew her, didn’t you?”

“Yes. All of us looked up to her. We all secretly wanted to be like her. One of the good Vilebloods.” Her words cracked. Her throat felt like it was closing. She sounded like a little girl again. “Do you know how she died?”

“She killed herself. They found her in the Astral Clocktower. She laced her wine with poison.” Aeris turned to look at her. The blade adjusted in her hand. Dawn felt her eyes wander around, settling on her bell for a moment. Aeris looked sad.

“I’ve come to tell you there’s a way out, Dawn. Every hunt is its own thing, and if we can cause the same chain reactions in enough hunts, you can wake up in the sunrise!” Aeris hopped to her side.

“What is your plan then? This sky is crimson red because I broke the seal of a Great One. I damned everyone here!”

“You did. Breaking that seal without saving specific people leaves them for dead. And effectively kills all the other Dreaming Hunters.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every hunt is individual. But details carry over. If a normal hunter dies in one hunt, but is saved in a majority of the others, they will be alive when this hell is over.”

Alfred’s face flashed in her mind. Good riddance. 

But what if no one saved Mirabel or Arianna?

“You’re telling me I have to rely on the good people of this god forsaken city? Is that it? Do you have any idea what these people are like?” She shouted at Aeris. They mistreated all outsiders. Orphans were sent to be pawns of the church. Arianna was abused by the very men who sought out her body. No one looked after oddities here. 

“Alfred supported the genocide of your people. Yamamura helped slaughter the people of the forgotten hamlet. Most Yharnamites would leave Mirabel out to the beasts if it meant they were spared. Adella is jealous of Arianna, and if a Dreaming Hunter isn’t careful this night, Adella kills her. Maria participated in the torture of blood ministration. The Queen slaughtered hunters.  I know what this city has done to people and what they continue to do. But I also know what people messing with these great ones has done.”

“And what is this great answer? I have to rely on them?”

“Yes.”

“You clearly have no idea how things work here. They would sooner kill every last one of us like cockroaches!” She screamed in Aeris’ face. For the first time, Aeris looked at a loss. Dawn stormed away from her and paced Byrgenwerth. Her breath was ragged. Her arm itched. Thoughts scrambled between emotions. She wanted to strike and hug this woman at the same time. Blood. She needed blood. She pulled a vial and injected it, feeling the warmth and calm wash over her. She took a second one and did the same. Her shaking stabilized. 

“Why are you here, Aeris?” 

“I came to slay Rom, the seal of the Blood Moon. You likely wouldn’t remember her, but her name was Rosemary. She’s an artificial Great One that-”

Dawn scoffed. “And you still expect me to trust these people?”

Aeris' voice was firm, unyielding. “No. I said rely on them. Most people will do whatever it takes to stop their own destruction. Mutual survival, even with gritted teeth, is still survival.”

“So why break the seal?”

“Because the seal is preventing this hunt from ending. It will never stop. We will all be trapped in an eternal hellscape if we don’t continue forward. The church messed around with Great Ones and found out. Now we have to find a way to slip past their battles.”

A headache. What Aeris said was truth. Her nose began to bleed. “What must I do, then?” 

Aeris handed her a stack of paper bound in twine. “That is as comprehensive a guide as I could create about how to save everyone. As many regular people, and normal-Dreaming-Hunter-Variants as possible. Your mistake was crucial to make this guide. You didn’t damn everyone, Dawn- you saved them.”

“I-” her hands trembled holding the pages. Were it possible to awake from this hellish night, what would happen then? Where would she go? 

“Aeris, are you certain you want to break this seal?”

“Yes. Putting the woman who was to become Rom out of her misery, and then fighting the true essence of this hunt. It’ll be fun. But I know the nightmares to come. So don’t worry about me! I’ll come by again to keep helping through this hunt!”

Dawn adjusted her back. The scythe resting comfortably in the crook of her arm. As she turned and motioned for Aeris to follow her up the stairs, she could feel the Blades of Mercy clanging against her side. “Can Eileen be saved?”

A sigh from behind her, mixing into the sounds of their footsteps clacking on wood.

“No. I am sorry. Whether as a blood drunk hunter, or killed by the hunt, I can’t find a way she survives.”

Both walked in silence up the staircase. The scent of stagnant water came ever present. Dusty books and chemicals permeated the air. Dawn stood at a door and motioned for Aeris to stand back.

“Why does it smell like stagnant water?” Aeris asked.

Dawn brought the scythe against the door’s crack. The blade pulled down through the mechanism. The bolt snapped. The room seemed to flash for a moment with a light of foreboding. It was more than a feeling, but could not actually be seen. Yet both women knew it was tangibly there. Unseen in their dreaming world. Dawn pushed the door open to reveal a stone balcony overlooking a beautiful lake. The moonlight from above mirrored, enveloping the doorway in a pearlescent light. The odor of stagnation and stillness blanketed the world.

The corpse of a scholar sat in a chair, his body positioned to look out towards the calm waters. 

“Hey, wasn’t this a seawater bay area and not a lake?”

“Yes. We have crossed the threshold of the seal. Nothing is as it should be. Not anymore.”

“Where to now?” Aeris asked, confused.

Dawn climbed on the railing. She looked at Aeris before gesturing her to follow. Her boot moved onto the open air and plunged towards the lake. The sound of shimmering gems and rippling waves overtook her senses. The bright light consumed everything. Just as before. Her stomach tied in knots. She hoped Aeris truly knew what she was doing. That Carryl was only being cruel. Her feet splashed in two inches of translucent white water. Something she hadn’t considered. A key point in everything. 

Why was Carryl back? 

Why did she not age? 

Why was she so far removed from the curious scholar Dawn had once known?

Did Carryl bleed white or red?

Another splash beside her as Aeris tumbled onto her rear. She sat in the water, the droplets of liquid opal iridescing her hair. Ahead of them both was a sight Dawn had not understood the first time. A huge body- much larger than even a motorcar- similar to that of a spider. No spindled legs existed, but rather stubs of fatty flesh. As if a disturbed child had snapped the legs off to watch with fascination as she was rendered immobile. Her head was made of stone, a crumpled skeletal face with hundreds of eyes. She stared at them both, the eyes following their movements. The only disturbance of the water were the ripples from their splashes and the small waves as they both breathed.

Dawn walked forward, her boots making impacts in the mirrored water. “We have to attack her first. She’s a peaceful creature.”

Aeris followed, deep in thought. “The smell of stagnation…” 

They stood in front of her. The eyes followed them curiously. There was no inclination that she would move at all. The whole image made Dawn sick.

“She does not do much fighting herself. She summons smaller spiders to attack for her. Last chance Aeris. We can turn back.”

Aeris arced her arm upwards and brought the blade against the spider. A shriek that sounded almost human resonated out. Both women gritted their teeth. Dawn held firm against it, but knowing its origin made it so much worse than the first time. The anguish rattled their bells, nearly cracking the metal.

A clouded mist of obsidian obscured their vision. From the clouded abyssal energy crawled several smaller spiders. While still the size of Dawn, they were certainly not as large as their mother. Their legs moved erratically. The flurry of ripples in the water’s surface made using it as a warning useless. Quick. They were swarmed. Even expecting it, one skittered behind Dawn. She slashed its body with her scythe, the smell of rotting flesh oozing from the viscous red liquid of its body. She spun on her heel and dashed one spider against another. She saw Aeris for a moment. She was flurrying through the beasts. Headed straight for Rom. The end of one of the legs pierced through the Cainhurst armor. She rolled backwards and cracked a blood vial in her teeth as she surged forward. Aeris was much faster now. Dawn could hardly keep track of her.

A spider grappled onto Dawn’s back. Eight sharp legs dug into her body. She continued lashing out with her scythe. She hoped the movement would shake it off. It bit her shoulder. Spikes filled with acid surged through her body. She screamed. Her body stiffened and she fell to the ground. She landed on her side. Her head angled so that she stared straight into its eyes. It watched her as she began to shake. Her body seized. A dark purple liquid dripped from its teeth down her shoulder. It burned. Her skin seared. She couldn’t move. Other spiders moved in quickly. One bit her leg. Another, her arm. 

She felt her life slipping. No worries. Nothing was permanent. She could just wake up again. A whisper in her mind. The sound of schoolwork being shuffled. A young woman strapped to a table. She was smiling. They placed something between her legs. She seemed almost euphoric.

Dawn reached for her weapon, but it was nowhere to be found.

The woman spoke, but her mouth didn’t move. “Grant us eyes.” She looked right at Dawn. Her face was filled with Malice. Hate… no. That was pity. 

Dawn opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Yet the air echoed with her voice nonetheless. “What do you want?” 

Red moonlight set the room ablaze like a foreboding fire. She smiled, fangs developing where teeth would be. “You are asking the wrong question, Dishonored Knight of Cainhurst. I am the echoed imprint of a life that no longer exists. You have broken me once. No mere human can stop this. You have seen its destruction. Die for humanity. Stop this nonsense.” Her body twisted and morphed. From her womb erupted tangled bits of flesh, attempting to form into legs. Her face turned to stone, enlarged. Before Dawn was the spider of Byrgenwerth. Rom. Her voice whispered, its very sound sent the reverberating crack of a bell through Dawn’s mind. “C̴a̷r̷r̸y̷l̵ ̶t̸o̴l̸d̷ ̵y̷o̸u̶ ̵t̷h̶e̴ ̸t̵r̸u̵t̴h̶.̶”

A spider with human hands pulled the bell from Dawn’s side and took it to Rom.

“I̸ ̸w̶i̶l̸l̶ ̶m̴a̷k̵e̶ ̶t̷h̶i̴s̷ ̴a̷l̸l̶ ̴s̷t̵o̷p̵.̴ ̴A̶s̸ ̷a̶ ̷t̸h̴a̷n̷k̵ ̶y̸o̷u̵ ̴f̶o̷r̸ ̸w̷h̴a̵t̴ ̴y̵o̵u̸ ̴h̴a̶v̸e̷ ̵d̸o̸n̶e̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̵Y̶h̷a̵r̵n̵a̷m̸.”

The bell floated in front of her. A sheen of pearlescent light began to resonate from it. Deep within, she knew something was wrong. The very nature of her humanity seemed to rise up. Shriek at the light from her bell. It enveloped her in a dizzying rage. She dragged herself to her feet and ran forward. With no weapon, she grabbed a book from a desk and threw it at the spider. For a moment the world slowed down. The visage in front of her cracked. Reality warped into a spider’s web of fractures. 

She was laying face down in the opalescent water. It was sharp. The liquid gems sliced her face. Flashes of blue light reflected off the surface. She turned her head and pulled it from the water. Dead spiders lay beside her, their fangs stuck in her shoulder. Aeris was running in circles, fighting the smaller spiders and Rom at the same time. Dawn grabbed her bell frantically. Cracked, tarnished, dirty. But with her. Blood. She needed blood.

“Dawn, you’d better not die on me!”

Dawn shakily stood, using the vial to supplement her energy. The scythe felt heavy in her hands. Her movements slowed. She reached for the Blades of Mercy. Their cold handles burned her hand. She pulled away and repositioned the long handle instead. 

“Unlike you, I don’t think of dying as a mere inconvenience.” She dashed in, covering Aeris’ back. Aeris pulled the dagger off the end and began dancing in a circle of the spiders. Dawn sliced several into pieces, a rain of glittering meteors barely missed her. They shattered like ice into the water, and disappeared.

“What the hell was that?” Dawn shouted. She used her scythe to slow ehr momentum in the water. She cringed at the feeling of her blade dragging the ground of the lake.

“Seriously? I thought you fought her already!” Aeris laughed.

“This is new to me. Clearly I was better at it than you are.”

Aeris jumped in the water, the dagger sliced a leg from a spider. “I'm not the one who ended up face down in five centimeters of water.”

“No, but you have landed face down in as much blood. Yours, might I add.”

“And I'd do it again!”

“I’m certain you would. Like all of them…” The candor dropped. The river of blood in the nightmare was made from everyone who had walked this path. Aeris was cruel. Hope given was just falsehood.

Dawn ignited the oil Aeris had spilled. The water lit of. Like the fiery lakes of hell. 

Aeris almost chanted in the firelight, “You ever gonna look at that stack of notes I so lovingly made for you?”

“You expect me to read, while fighting?”

“Yeah, what else are you going to do?” 

Dawn laughed. It felt real. Genuine. For a moment the cravings for blood went away. Insane they both were. She dashed a distance behind Aeris and held her scythe at the ready. She pulled out the notes and began skimming. Aeris continued to run about slaying the smaller spiders. She slashed at Rom and turned to Dawn,

“You know, I didn’t mean literal-” She got launched into the air. A scream as her leg was crushed underneath a spider. Aeris jumped up, blood vials embedded in her leg as she used a wall of fire to give herself space and regroup. “Ow. I deserved that one.”

"Why is Carryl not on here?"

"Both you and Yamamura have called them Carryl. Was that a name they went by before?" Aeris dodged a spider and dropped another molotov into a swirl of oil. The fire lit behind her as she landed.

"Wait, Yamamura? The Japanese man?" 

"Yes, him." Aeris stopped for a moment and looked at Dawn, there was a mad look of curiosity reflecting in her body. "As far as I can tell, there is no non Dreaming version of Karla. I don't know why."

"But that is impossible. She has a bell."

"I know."

Dawn stared at the list. "Your name isn't here either..." Her voice trailed off. Carryl had appeared plain as the red sky. She was alive. She had a bell. She was using the resonance of the bell. It wasn't just a prop. What then? Was it possible Carryl bled white, and not red? And what of Aeris? And what of this never ending hunt? And the Great Ones? Yamamura was found? Alive? And as a Dreaming hunter no less. Her head burned. She felt her resonance rattle, threaten to stop for a moment. 

"Oh, my non-Dreaming self is in no danger. That's all."

She ignored Aeris, her face more confused the further she read. “Hey, why have you written here to send everyone to Oedon Chapel and only Oedon Chapel? The clinic is much safer, it has closed doors.”

“The clinic isn’t safe. That’s why.” 

Aeris’ voice was flat. Dawn’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?” Her grip on the scythe hesitated. “I sent Arianna and Mirabel to Iosefka. She will keep them safe. The clinic. Is. Safe.”

“Oh gods, Dawn! No! Iosefka dies tonight, killed by a church researcher. The woman at the clinic isn’t her!”

Dawn froze. A spider crawled to her. Feral. The fangs sank deep. She didn’t even feel it. The entire world seemed to stop for a moment.

No

The lake and shattering meteors, and even the blade of her scythe seemed to heat up. Aeris was shaking her. She looked past the woman to the spiders converging. She shoved Aeris away and ran in. She lit the blade alight and sliced open a spider. The blade stabbed through it and a single motion hoisted its corpse into the air. She flung it at Rom’s flailing body. Another she staggered through the head, using its corpse to cleave another’s body in half. Her shoulders screamed from the rotations of the scythe and weight she flung around. She stabbed into Rom’s side, ignoring the spindles piercing her back from the remaining spiders. They shredded skin like razor blades. She snarled, coagulated saliva dropping into the now murky water. White blood sprayed from Rom. She could hear the sliver of humanity inside Rom crying in agony. She hit harder. White blood and poison and viscous covered her feathered cloak. A plume of fire erupted to her side as Aeris burst from the flames, splashing more red blood into the water from each spider she slew. The screams of Rom and dying squelches of the spiders sounded like the ending of Old Yharnam’s burning. The only people left at the end were the children sliced to pieces over their parents' bodies. The bodies of children were more durable. The sounds of tearing flesh from them was always louder. Sickening.

With a final screeching cry, Rom’s body collapsed into the water. Aeris grabbed her hand and smacked her face. She didn’t register any feeling to it. The shimmering water began to still as the moon hanging above splintered. It seemed to fall over the lake, taking the silvered white and turning it to crimson red. The sound of a crying baby resonated across the water. A woman in a white dress appeared in the moonlight. Her hands were in stalks, blood across the front of her white dress. She was weeping, looking towards the baby’s crying, the light of the red moon.

Aeris stood marveling at the light of the moon. She reached out to it, and also looked back. Dawn raised the silencing blank into the air.

“Dawn, please, we can still work on this!”

“You’re an idiot, Aeris. These people will never help us. Most of those Dreaming hunters are Yharnamites, aren’t they?”

Aeris was silent.

“I thought as much. They hate us. An outsider like you could never understand just how much they want us dead!”

“Please Daw-”

She fired.

The world quickly shifted. The red moon of Aeris’ did not fade, and now matched her own. She tore through the college and ran into the woods. The red moon gave the forest an almost ethereal view. Were it not for the reality of the situation, it would be considered quite beautiful; red hues settling on the grayed trees and dying undergrowth. She ran past an abandoned graveyard and dilapidated buildings of a once flourishing village. The wall ahead. She used the scythe to vault up to one of the buttresses and continued upwards. She landed on the top and followed it. The walls separated Cathedral Ward from Yharnam, and even Old Yharnam. She followed along till she saw the roof of the clinic. She jumped down and sprinted up the stairs.

Mirabel. Gascoigne’s young daughter. Both parents dead. All she wanted was to save her. 

Arianna. The only remaining Vileblood.

Iosefka. A woman of the church who took her oath of healing seriously.

She came to the worn wooden door of the clinic. Its hinges were damaged. From beyond she could hear nothing. She pressed her ear to the door and listened even closer. Nothing. Silence. She would smash that to pieces. She took the scythe and beat against the metal. Thud after thud shouted across the city. Let the beasts come. She would kill them too. The wood broke against her blade, and finally, one last strike cracked the door in. She kicked it with force and walked into the derelict clinic. 

It looked as if beasts had torn the place to shreds. Once orderly racks of medicine, benches, and walkways were scattered with all things destroyed. Blood pooled on the floor from a few volunteers that ran the nighttime shifts.  From around a corner she saw a blue glow. She stood ready to cut it down.

A blue blobbed creature aimlessly walked past her. It seemed to have no destination. About the size of a young child, it easily walked under broken door frames and tumbled furniture. She followed it through the many destroyed rooms. It stopped at a table. She froze. Folded neatly was a red dress and brown shoes. Nearby, a little girl’s hair ribbon and stuffed rabbit. She stared at the blue creature. It glowed like the experimental serums made long ago to augment human abilities. 

She knelt down to it and cupped its face. No longer human. And no hair to be tied back by a white ribbon. She held out the red brooch that had belonged to Mirabel’s mother. The blue creature reached out for it and held it gently; a treasure and comfort. Tears streamed down her face. She pulled the headdress off and dropped it to the floor.

“Hey Mirabel, would you like to go home?” 

She did not answer.

An inhuman scream filled the clinic. It crackled like the roar of a beast. Blue blood poured over Dawn’s hands as she pulled the Blades of Mercy from Mirabel’s head. The blob fell to the floor, cerulean liquid dripped through the floorboards. Dawn stood, stumbling over herself. She fell into the wall, a cabinet was on its side. From here she could see items thrown to the floor from the chaos. A formal pair of pants, suspenders, and cheap leather boots. Recognition hit her, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen them. Looking into her mind for memories only brought about a fog.

A woman’s voice. Calm. Malicious. Excited. Interested. “Ah, moonlit scents....How did you worm your way in here? Dawn, was it?”

She spun on her heel. Standing in front of her was Charlotte, researcher of the Church. She held a cane in one hand. Her stomach was showing a late stage pregnancy. At the start of this hunt she had no signs. Dawn puked on the floor. What she must have done to Mirabel and Arianna…

“Well, I won't make any excuses. Would you mind leaving us alone? Things need not change… You can go about your night and live. But, if you refuse to leave…”

Dawn did not speak. She revealed the bell on her side. Recognition and excitement danced on Charlotte’s face. “Ah, well...I always wanted to try my hand on one of you Dreaming hunters.” 

Dawn waited for Charlotte to move in. An arcanist. A pregnant one. Easy enough. Dawn smiled. She waited for Charlotte to unleash a wave of arcane energy in the form of the tentacles of a great one. She easily sidestepped it, using the small paces to maneuver behind Charlotte. She slammed her against the wall. The can knocked from her hand. Dawn stabbed her wrist as she threw her onto one of operating table. She strapped one arm down, “You worthless wretch! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Charlotte screamed, and kicked. Dawn held her firm.

The other arm was strapped. “Vileblood whore!” Charlotte kicked at Dawn’s face. Dawn caught her leg and snapped it sideways. She twisted it around and held it in place. Then she injected a blood vial. She could feel the bones in Charlotte’s leg trying to untangle themselves. She held it firm with a joyous smile. It healed at a full angle. Unusable. She strapped both legs down.

“You are damming all of us! Cainhurst bitch.” Dawn slapped her face and grabbed her jaw. She hooked her thumb inside the woman’s mouth and yanked it open.

“Such harsh words. You don’t get the luxury of screaming like they did.” She twisted her hand to the left. Charlotte’s jaw snapped. Teeth popped from her skull. Blood ran down her throat. Muffled cries mixed with the tensing and panic of a body trying to save itself. Dawn watched her writhe. She laughed. It was raspy. Almost inhuman. Fitting.

She lit the oil on her scythe and stood over Charlotte. Fear. Terror. Despair. It smelled good. She put the scythe to its jaw. It writhed as the skin scorched and melted to the bone and teeth. Deformed. Destroyed. She sliced its shoulder open and cracked a blood vial into it. The glass mixed with the healing flesh. Then she pulled the Blades of Mercy. It knew those weapons. It tried to move. Dawn slammed her hand on its torso and prevented even wriggling. She pierced through the womb with the blades. Blue blood and viscous drained out. Silent screams of absolute torture filled the room. The scent was making her feel sick with contentment. From its womb came something Dawn knew was a fetus. It was off. Inhuman. Its crying gave her a headache. It leaked a white blood from its umbilical cord. She stabbed the blade through it. The resonating cry rattled the room. Her bell cracked again. The tinging of its resonance shuddered. 

For what felt like hours Dawn flayed, cut, and stabbed into its body. It was barely recognizable as human. It was alive, if only just. Limited slow healing from the vials could sustain anyone. How sweet. Dawn stood over it, smiling. She leaned down to its ear and whispered. 

“I’m dragging you to hell with me.” She pulled its hair and began hacking it off, slicing into its skull. It yanked against the restraints. Then it stopped. Heartbeat still going. Breathing still. Too much pain. Its blood smelled sweet. Enough to make a woman sick. Dawn splashed water on its face and put alcohol under its nose. As it awoke, she stabbed through its eyes slowly. She watched as all the fight for existence left the other. It quit moving. She dropped the scythe and blades on the floor. Silence. All silent. All gone. All all gone.

She stumbled through the clinic. Arianna. Arianna could still be alive. 

“Areeanna?” She called. Her voice was hoarse. The vowels did not enunciate correctly.

She found another room, its door ajar. Sitting in a chair holding a swelling womb was another blue creature. It was the same size as Arianna. Wisps of blond hair remained despite the transformation. It gave no recognition to her, either. Nothing. No thing. Nothing for the no thing. 

“I am so sorry.” Dawn knelt beside her. She took Arianna's neck in her hands. She gripped down and snapped it. She fell to the floor, still. She walked through the doorway again. Broken bottles crunched under her feet. She just kept moving. To the outside. Moonlight. Red lights. Red light district. Arianna. Cainhurst. Massacre. No water. Thirsty. Cold. Need blood. The hunters. Their workshop to fight the beasts. She found the abandoned building they had made the old weapons in long ago. She couldn’t remember that. Or anything. She knew weapons were made here by someone. It all felt so familiar. Flowerbeds full of dead Easter lilies lay derelict. On the floor of the workshop was a mannequin in doll’s clothes. Gray hair. Someone had made her look like someone they lost. Who was it? Who was it? Who are they? What is this thing on the floor?

It held its hands up to the red moonlight streaming in. Fingernails elongated. Claws. Hope. Blonde hair, a red dress. Important. Little girl. Ribbon. White hair. Castle spires. A notebook in its hands full of faces they knew but didn’t know. 

It screamed into the night. Anger and despair and rage. The shredded sounds of a human voice cracked. The bell on its side erupted and shattered. Pieces fell to the ground. One last ring of a woman’s cry. Across the dead flowers something once recognized as human turned to the screech of some beastly creature of the night as a body now twisted with claws, fell to the ground.

Chapter Text

Marnie ran across the rooftops patrolling Yharnam. The city was barely scraping by. Groups of Yharnamites were clustered at all major intersections in the city as well as the outer walls. Few true hunters were among them. Most were everyday people. They carried pitchforks, kitchen knives, dull hatchets, and clubs. She could see Henrietts and later, Henryk, helping them. Those groups would last, at the very least. But she needed more aid. She continued to find groups that had been slaughtered by only a few small beasts. 

Aeris had told the truth, at least in so much as the notes. Marnie had indeed found the gruff hunter that had attacked her. He was engaged in a fight with the scholar at Byrgenwerth. Had she not shown up, his condition was to be fatal. It was the same with Arianna; a woman that Marnie had grown up hearing whispers and mocking tones about. Yet another thing added to the pile of lies and judgements from Yharnam. It was rotten to its core. The beasts were but one small part of the problems here. As for the witch Karla she had met, none of the regular versions of the Dreaming Hunters she had met looked like them. Whoever they were was a mystery. It made her uneasy.

Looking over the burning fires of the city, and the shouts mixing with the haze in the cold air, she saw how flimsy this existence was. When the hunt frenzied, none of these people would survive. They needed help, from any source possible. She looked beyond Yharnam proper and Cathedral Ward, and towards Old Yharnam. The tower Djura sat on was still there. To even consider it, she had to make changes here. Perhaps she could even find Dawn, reason with her. Though the woman hated the church, the little girl Mirabel meant a great deal to her. A girl Marnie had personally escorted to Oedon Chapel and left with Arianna. A friend of a friend is an ally. Hopefully.

She could feel in the pouch on her side the papers given by Aeris. A ray of hope that had given energy for her own plan. 

She changed direction, and headed straight for Old Yharnam. It did not take her as long to navigate the streets. To get to the abandoned city. She followed the same route across the rooftops and up the hidden ladder to the tower Djura stood guarding the city. She crested over the rungs of the ladder and saw a hand reach out to help her to her feet. 

“Good to see you kid. Been a long time since I saw that,” he gestured to the reiterpallasch on her side. 

She nodded, “I listened to what you told me. I went to Castle Cainhurst. And I learned a lot of things about the nature of this world. I know a lot of what the church did.”

“And what do you think?” 

“Djura, do you remember your Dreaming hunt?”

He shook his head, “No. No I don’t. Seems when you wake, it all becomes a fuzzy and distant memory. Neither myself or anyone else who ever went there remembers much of it.”

“Then do you remember the headaches?”

He stared at her, a curious confusion. “Yes.”

“Then I cannot tell you everything, because you may well die from one of them. But I have a plan. I am going to overturn this rotten church. I am the Candleighter Marnie. I grew up here. The people know me. They will listen to me.”

He looked defeated, tired. “That is quite ambitious, but I told you before, hunters tried and failed. I mentioned Brador? He killed a beast that was once a Cleric, then tried to expose their corruption. They killed him. I do not want to see this town destroy any more of you.” 

Marnie held the pages up, the pale moonlight’s glow highlighted the blood and grime creasing the pages. “This is a plan written by another Dreaming Hunter, to save the rest of us. But it does not list everyone. The Yharnamites are sparsely mentioned here. I intend to save them.”

The scream of a man echoed from Yharnam. Marnie shuddered. 

Djura turned to face her fully, “let’s say these pages are accurate then. How do you plan to keep the bulk of the citizen hunters alive tonight?”

“I am going to teach them how to defend themselves. Then I am going to unite the hunters of other worlds to fight together to keep Yharnam alive.” She paused, breathing in. Her hands were clammy. She had to readjust the pistol in her hand. “But that alone will not be enough. I need veteran hunters to fight alongside them against this scourge.”

“You are asking me to kill beasts.”

“I am.”

“You understand that you are asking me to go back on my very morals.”

“I do.”

He said nothing.

She continued, “I will not lie to you. Once someone has gone blood drunk, they cannot be saved. Antal told me as much. Not even a Dreaming Hunter. These people,” she gestured out towards Old Yharnam, “died long ago. If it were me, I would want to die, and not be like this.”

“But they aren’t you.” He snapped. His eyes were focused, his posture tightened. He put his back to her and looked out over the roaming beasts. His cloak was thick, many claw marks and patched shred lines were obvious. “There’s no way they’ll all reason their way out of a position they terrified themselves into.”

She found her voice raised, “to get here and not be shot by you, I had to hop the rooftops. I found the beaten in skull of a child, killed by its own mother. These people are gone. But we are not.” The words tumbled out with a venom. A hate towards those who had caused this despair to begin with.

He looked crestfallen. He tightened his grip on the mechanism of the gatling gun. “Who else have you recruited?”

“Henriet said she would help. As did Henryk.” She held up the booklet Aeris had given her once again, “I can verify that these pages are accurate. The separate hunts can be saved. We can stop this madness in the light of the morning.”

He stood for some time, silent. Not even the cold breeze caused him to shift from its icy sharpness. Marnie stood, trembling. Her heart was racing. What was she saying? She was not capable of doing this. But she had committed. She had to continue. For Elias. For her parents. For Dawn. Aeris. And everyone else.

He pressed a small gun into her hands. It had a large barrel, impractical for bullets. She was confused. “Should you get the people of Yharnam to help you, fire this flare. I will come.”

“Thank you Djura.”

~~~

She ran towards one of the biggest intersections in Yharnam. A cobbled roadway used to bring in supplies from out of the city. Two large iron gates sat at one end. A group of them gathered around a fire in the roadway, cheering as they burned the corpse of a werewolf. She sat on the rooftop watching their antics. 

A young man named Sam reached for a bottle of alcohol, an older woman named Isabella pulled it from his hand, “Stop it ya git, it’s not tha’ time for drinkin’.

“C’mon Izzy, it took all of us ta’ kill this beast. Let us celebrate!”

“You can drink yourself to sleep when tha’ sun comes up. Shit for brains.” She smacked him playfully on his shoulder before moving on. Isabella, a fisherman in the warm months. The man she smacked was a boy she and her husband had looked after after his parents died from the sickness the church claimed to have a cure for. She had lost her own daughter a long time ago.

Marnie shook her head. People here were not stupid. But they had been conditioned to see the world a certain way. And unlike her, they did not have infinite chances to break it. She sat, waiting. There needed to be an easy narrative to get behind. Something they could latch onto as she rallied them.

After some time, the group moved down the cobbled street to patrol others. They easily dispatched an overgrown carrion crow. But rounding a corner, they encountered a hulking beast of a man. Or, what was a man. Marnie did not recognize him in this state, but he appeared to be one of the farmers; shredded overalls and a snapped pitchfork in his hand told her as much. His arms had long, spiky hair growth. And his jaw has at an angle, blood dripping out of it. Spatters of blood that were not his stained the shirt.

The group circled up, putting the three men with pitchforks at the front, those with knives and clubs at the side, and the gunner behind them. Marnie could see them trembling. They could not win this fight.

He let out a loud growling moan and charged at them. Marnie raised the reiterpallasch and fired. The bullet impacted his left leg and he stumbled. She fired again and took out his other knee. She slid down a gutter and fired one more round from her pistol into his head. Unceremoniously, he went limp on the ground.

“Is that one of those mad hunters?” A man wearing a gray wide-brimmed hat yelled. He pulled the rifle and pointed it at Marnie. 

She put her hands up, “Dimitri, it is me!” She shouted.

“Wait, Marnie, is that you?” He lowered the weapon. “By the Gods, it is.” 

Isabelle stepped forward, “Come down here girl, before ya hurt yer’self.”

Marnie climbed down as requested and met the group. Up close, she recognized everyone. Neighbors. Family of friends. Some had been there for her christening. 

“You always had talent with a gun, but I didn’t know you were this good.” Dimitri smiled. He rested his hand on her shoulder, nearly a foot taller than she was. An outsider. He had come here curious about the blood, and stayed. He taught mathematics and literature at the primary school.

His face changed dramatically. He looked concerned. “Marnie, why do your eyes look like a soldier’s?”

Isabelle gasped, “Don’t tell me, are your folks-”

“My family is alive and well.” The words tumbled out alongside tears. She wiped them away. Why was she crying again? There was no reason to. Dimitri knelt down to be closer to her level. He gently grabbed her arm. “Are you alright?”

Another man, a nearby neighbor to her family spoke up, “We heard about a beast attacking the candelighters from the church. Been worried about all of ye’.”

The tears streamed down her neck and dampened her hunter’s garb. 

“I just- I do not- I-”

Dimitri embraced her. “What happened?”

If she pushed them too far, they would not believe her. If she did not tell them enough, they might damn themselves with the blood. She needed them to learn efficiently, so they could hold their own terror when the blood moon rained down upon the city. 

“A lot has happened tonight. Listen, I value you all as my neighbors, family, and friends. I need to talk to you about something. Something you all have a right to know. The blood of the church was never meant to be used by people. It can heal us, but it turns us into beasts.”

Another man from the city spoke up, “Marnie, tha’s not a joke you should be makin’ right now.”

“I wish it were a joke. A gag meant to make sickening light of this hunt. But it is not. Elias, and Alice, and Jeremiah, and Maura and Elizabeth and Samuel and…” She began weeping again. She shook her head violently. That would not help right now. “I am not lying. I wish I was. I want my friends back. I want my simple future back. But the things I have seen tonight are proof enough that we have been lied to. All of us! The church knew what was happening, and did nothing!”

The honesty of her words shocked even herself.

Mumbles of disbelief and anger rose up from the crowd. 

“We’ve all had blood. Are we gon’ be sick?” Sam asked Izzy. She looked worried. Wordlessly shifting her gaze back and forth between Yharnam, the group of hunters, and Marnie.

“Do you have some form of proof?” Dimitri asked. “That is a hefty accusation.” 

Marnie nodded, and pulled the Vicar’s pendant from her pocket. It was tarnished with blood. Whose it was now, Marnie could not say. “I ran back to the Cathedral and saw Vicar Amelia’s body burst into a terrifying creature. It was no longer human.”

“Since ya have the pendant, did you kill her?” Izzy asked.

All eyes stared upon Marnie. She wanted to shrink into the cobblestones of the street. Hide as a puddle of blood. “I did. And I had help. The so-called murderer of Yharnam came to my aid. She saved my life. Twice.”

“The murderer?” A man yelled from the back.

“She is not a murderer. She has been protecting Yharnam every hunt, despite what happened to her.”

“An’ what happened to her?” Izzy asked.

“Wait- does tha’ mean she was uh’ vampire whore from Cainhurst?” A man cried out.

Marnie nodded, “yes, but the church killed her family and destroyed her home. She still protected us!”

Whispers. Anger. Distress. She had said too much. Her face burned; the rising heat and sweat made her glasses fog up. The world seemed to shimmer at the corners. This was her last chance. She ruined it. Every one of them would be dead. Her step faltered. Their concerned faces spoke to her and one another. She did not hear anything. She moved her foot back. She could just patrol the city constantly after the blood moon. But she would have to find the way to wake up and stop this to begin with… The guns felt heavy on her sides. She felt her bell shudder under the weight of their distress. Her head burned with the sound of a small crack. She felt like a frightened dog. The bell’s luster had faded as well. She held it, hands shaking. What did this mean? And what could she do to-

Dimitri shook her shoulder, “y- yes?” She asked.

He pointed at the crowd, where Izzy was staring her down, rage in her face. “Les’ say this is true. Then what would tha’ church gain from’it?” 

Marnie met her anger head on. “They wanted to become a world power. Create trade and make the city prosperous. They wanted wealth and power. Nothing more. As I said, I wish it was not true.”

Dmitri squeezed her shoulder. “I know I am an outsider. My word has little value. But please listen. I came here from France because I scoffed at the idea of this drug. And I found it to be true. There is no miracle that is free. And I should have listened then to what-”

Scoffs and angry laughter from the crowd silenced him.

“Miss Marnie speaks the truth.” A gruff voice came from an alley. Out stepped a man in wolflike garb. A large gun slung over his shoulder. Though it was much smaller than the one on the tower. He continued, “she is right. The church knew the blood caused this. And they killed anyone who stood in their way. That’s why the Hunter’s Guild was disbanded, leaving you all to fight this by yourselves. And if a hunter got too strong, they were recruited by the church, or killed.”

Djura!

“Who’re you?” Sam asked.

Izzy stepped forward cautiously. “Djura, tha’ you? I thought you’d gone mad. You tellin’ me that our Marnie is telling the truth? And I have your word?” 

Marnie looked between the two of them. Izzy’s eyes were hard, but a certain respect flowed through them. What had happened between the two of them? Still, the distrustful gazes seemed to soften at both herself, and Djura corroborating. 

Only his mouth moved. A clear and concise answer, without emotion. “Yes.”

Izzy’s expression dropped all emotion. It was blank. Marnie tensed. 

“Tell me then, what happened to my daughter? I know you know. I knew all this time.”

Djura spoke carefully. “Pearl was a great student of Mensis. She found a way to utilize rudimentary electricity and operate research equipment. Like any other beast, she had far too much blood, and became as such.”

Sam walked up to Izzy and squeezed her hand, “Mum, I’m sorry.”

“Is there a way to bring her back?” Izzy asked. Her hand squeezed back.

Djura and Marnie shook their heads at the same time.

Marnie continued, ignoring the pit in her chest. “Once someone has succumbed to blood drunkenness, there is nothing that can be done. But those teetering on the edge of darkness, in twilight, may still have a chance. If we can survive this night together, then we can search for a solution in the morrow.”

The group looked between her and Djura, and waited for Izzy to speak. The woman was quiet for some time. Her movements to every far off beast jumpy, and erratic. Marnie mouthed a silent thank you to Djura. Even without the flare, he must have followed her. For some reason, he believed in her.

Izzy’s face was still blank. “Yer tellin’ me I sent my daughter to her death tryin’ to get her an education and good life?”

Djura’s voice was somber, “you didn’t know, Isabella.”

Sam was distressed. He looked between his adoptive mother, Marnie, and the city. His hands pulled out the blood vials. They shook. The salvation they were all sold was a farce.

Marnie was speechless. This was not even the church. This was the scholars that worked with the church, but handled their own experiments. Their city, Yahar'gul, had been forbidden due to heresy. She wondered now just what had happened in that long barred place. Here stood a testament of the lives ripped apart with no care. Her jaw tightened. She would slaughter and destroy these beasts, and burn the church with them. Dash their corruption on the steps of the cathedral for all to see.

The group of civilians huddled together, speaking away from Djura and Marnie.

“Why did you come?” She asked.

“The last time a hunter rallied the people together was in Charnel Lane. They were labeled as heretics, and many were killed. Then illness was unleashed on them. I’d be damned if I watched that happen a third time.”

Marnie smiled at him, and then hugged him. He seemed taken aback at first, then embraced her. “I’m sorry that our older generation failed you.”

“Do not be. You are fighting for us all.” She felt a warm reassurance in her head. Things would be alright. At least here and now.

Finally, the grouping stopped their discussions and Izzy spoke.

“There’s somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ us about this hunt. What is it? And how can we prepare?”

“You mean, you will work with me?” Marnie asked.

Her voice was sharp, but not unkind. “Did I stutter Marnie? Explain to me what’s going on.” No, not unkind; terrified.

“I am not sure why, but something about this hunt is going to make the beasts even more aggressive than any night before. We need to prepare. Henryk and Henriet have already agreed to help defend the city. As has Djura. I will be here too. We need to come up with plans so we can fight these beasts off.”

“We can work to find out what’s true and not when we all live ta’ see tomorrow. What’ll we do?” Izzy looked at Marnie expectantly. As did Dimitri, Sam, and her other neighbors. Friends. Some were there when she was christened as an infant. And she would be damned if they and their lives burned.

She and Djura began the process of helping build barricades. They broke into the cathedral, many civilians from all around the city seeing the carnage of what had become of the Vicar and the corrupt scholar. They armed the Yharnamites with weapons from the church and showed them how to use the weapons. Stockpiled bullets. They killed a beast turned prisoner in the depths of the cells below the church. Marnie grew more enraged the more she saw. Djura set up a gun battalion. Henriet instructed those with short range weapons how to best attack and not be struck. As she helped reinforce their strategic stronghold, she heard it far off. A resonating bell. No. She listened closer. It resonated off key. It was ominous. It was the same chiming that Karla had been emanating. Cold washed over her. What if Karla burned the Yharnamites like they did her? She ran about Yharnam. Nothing. 

She passed out incense from the plentiful stock at Oedon Chapel. Then set up individual sticks to be in unlit pyres throughout the city. All the while hunting for the source of the chime. When the blood moon rose over the city, every pyre was to be lit. They would make the streets a nuisance to beasts, and funnel them to the battalion, in the courtyard where her friends had been slaughtered only hours prior.

Many helped her bring their bodies, or what was left of their bodies, into the Grand Cathedral. They would burn their dead in the light of day. As the last body was laid gently on the circled stonework of the Cathedral, the chiming abruptly stopped. She listened closely. Nothing. Silence. Save for the sounds of the hunt, and fear. She shook her head, and continued working. The here and now mattered. Whatever now actually meant. She stood overlooking Yharnam's horizon. The darkness of the hunt had fallen. And soon, so too would the red moon. 

Djura walked up to her as she prepared to go to Byrgenwerth. “Marnie, I’m putting my bets on you. I said that when a Dreaming Hunter wakes from their dream, they forget nearly all of it. I will be your memory, as best I can. If you think there’s a way around all this, I will do what I can from here.”

She gripped his hand in her own. “Thank you, my friend. May the morning sun guide your way.”

He smiled at her, dropped her wrist, and nodded towards Byrgenwerth. “You won’t be a Dreaming hunter forever. Make the most of it while you can.”

~~~

Outside the looming building of Byrgenwerth Marnie pushed the large wooden doors open. She stepped inside, pistol at the ready. Waiting for the figure in white Aeris had warned her of. A flash of light lit the room and the world shattered. Fragments of wood and dust obscured her vision. She rolled, listening for the sound of footsteps. She fired her pistol and sword at the same time. The sound of bullets hitting wood told her what she needed to know. She fired with one, while jumping onto a table for a vantage point. A spray of tentacles just missed her as a second round pierced the shoulder of the scholar, Yuri. The metal chained whip of the cane lashed out to her. She parried it out of the way with her sword and fired yet again. This time the pistol hit the woman's chest. She screamed.

"Stupid meddling hunters!" The woman shouted.

As Marnie prepped to fire again, a figure moved from the shadows of the rom. A blade slashed across Yuri's back. A scream. The person moved fast, almost as fast as Aeris. Two silvered blades reflected the moonlight as she slashed the scholar. Marnie jumped from the table and ran directly at Yuri. She caught the woman off guard as she put the pistol directly under her chin and fired upward. A spout of blood misted into the air and the woman slumped over. Marnie stared, her hands shaking. That was not a beast. She knew it was coming. But that was no beast. That was a human. A person. She felt ill. A figure joined her side. She expected it to be Djura, or one of the many people she had helped prepare. Instead, it was someone clad in a cloak of feathers. A plague mask over their face. Her voice still trembled from the human blood on her, "Are you... Eileen the Crow by chance?"

"I am." The sound of an elderly woman. No one knew who was actually behind the mask of the Crow. A terrifying force against the beasts. "But I have another title. One that you should be aware of," Eileen gestured at Marnie's bell. "I once dreamed as well. I started as a hunter, but became the Hunter of Hunters."

"Of hunters? I do not quite understand. Are you saying you hunt us?" Marnie took a step back.

The woman let out a small comforting laugh. "That's good. Without fear in your heart, you'd little different from the beasts themselves. I took on the mantle of hunting those hunters who had gone blood drunk. The church had their hands full handling the ordinary hunts."

"You helped them cover it up?"

"An unfortunate byproduct. A blood drunk hunter will do far more damage than an addled dog. I did what needed to be done."

Marnie did not say anything. She had the fortune to do something about her life path. Djura and Eileen and so many others never had the chance to make the right or ethical choice. Even now, she could not be certain that her's was. They chose what they could according to their circumstances and morals. Were it not for the bells, she would have turned out much different, too. Assuming she did not die alongside Elias. Already she had made one choice, to kill a human. Did Aeris have to do something unethical to learn what she had? Marnie shook the thoughts off. No time for those now.

Eileen spoke again. "I have heard what you are trying to do from Djura. It's a noble cause. And the first time I have heard of the other bell hunters working together. But I am warning you, these hunts twist the world around you. It makes the best of people go mad. And I-"

"I have seen the hell of this hunt, and I am prepared for what comes next."

"Marnie." Eileen's voice was suddenly commanding. "There will be hunters who lose themselves tonight. Keep your hands clean. Leave the hunting of other hunters to me. I will protect Yharnam as well. Here you did what needed to be done, but leave this to me from now on."

Her voice cracked in spite of herself, "Eileen. Thank you."

Eileen laughed and pushed Marnie forward, "What are you still doing here? Enough stalling in your boots. A hunter must hunt."

There is no way to save Eileen the Crow. Those words were written so blatantly in the notes Aeris left behind. But with everyone together, maybe there was a chance. 

~~~

A mirrored lake reached further than the expanse of her horizon. She felt the energy of the people of Yharnam behind her. Djura. Eileen. Antal. Henriet. Aeris. Dawn. She pulled the repeating pistol and reiterpallasch, and began an assault of gunpowder and explosions. They reflected in the liquid opal of the water, creating a dazzling flurry of diamonds and fire. For the first time, she found herself able to stand on her own two feet against the terrors of the night. As the body dissipated into sparkling dust and the red moon rose into the sky, Marnie felt a breath of air release. She had expected to die. And try again and again. But here she stood, the remainder of the hunt and beasts extending in front of her. And she would meet them with defiance. 

Chapter Text

Even without Elias on her back, Aeris’ footfalls seemed to grow heavier with each step. They watched as she once again passed the piles of what were once humans and ascended the stone steps. As the many times before the large stone door opened, revealing the Astral Clocktower’s bell room. The resonance of the invading bell gifted by ᚱᛟᛗ ᚦᛖ ᚢᚨᚲᚢᛟᚢᛊ echoed the silent room. Occasionally, it almost seemed to resonate off of the many brass bells hanging above. 

Ahead, a woman sat in an ornate chair. She seemed so familiar to ᚨᚷᛁᛖᛚ. Silvered hair and a brooch of emerald. Where had they seen such a thing before?

“Hm... A visitor? How unexpected... I am Lady Maria.”

“I know.” Aeris said. She continued moving forward, the blades of her weapon drawn.

“Then the secrets of the church have been laid bare. Good Hunter, lost in the nightmare. How long do you intend to be a lonely dog of war?”

Aeris stopped, her head tilting in confusion. ᚨᚷᛁᛖᛚ was perplexed. Good Hunter was a special moniker.

Maria spoke again, “Nightmares and secrets... They will only get you so far. How long can you continue to scrape at the edges of this darkness?”

Could this human woman’s soul be aware of the multiverse?

“Shut up! I am trying to save you! To save everyone!” Aeris screamed, her facade of perseverance cracked. A scared young girl stood trembling, holding her blades. They wanted to reach out and embrace her, shield her mind from that which would harm her.

“That glint in your eyes is the same as so many others. Every one of them fell to beasthood, to their own vices. Lone wolves are a myth.”

“Shut up!” Aeris pulled her pistol and fired at the woman. The two began their battle across the room. Blood and the bullets of mankind created a medley with the bells above and below. They tolled for both women. Aeris hacked at Maria’s body until blood painted the floor in all directions. Aeris’ hands shook. ᚨᚷᛁᛖᛚ watched as the woman put the bloodied hands to her mouth and sucked the redness from between her fingers. Her eyes glazed over, as if she were in ecstasy. As quickly as it began, it ended. With a mania they had never seen, Aeris pulled a flask of water from her bag and began scrubbing her hands. She dumped alcohol in her mouth and spit. Her mouth was twisted in disgust and fear. The reflection of the mirrored water prevented them from reaching through to wipe the blood from her face. 

Aeris raised a special firearm into the air and fired. ᚨᚷᛁᛖᛚ watched the world shatter as Aeris returned to her world. They sat quietly on a short stone fence in thought, the now still waters of the birdbath beside them reflected the gentle lighting in the garden. 

“My dear Hunter, please come home soon.”

Chapter Text

Antal passed the corpse of the beast that had once been the Vicar and a pile of corpses he had made. The scent of incense had all but faded, leaving only that of the hunt in its place. Once the red moon had risen over Yharnam, the beasts seemed to swarm and frenzy even further than before. The corrupted cavalcade of former church members behind him was proof enough of that. Red moonlight streamed in, blanketing the altar ahead in a foreboding bloody light. It featured the propaganda of a beautiful Great One puring her blessings from a jug onto the outstretched hands of humanity. Iconography always featured elements of the interpreting culture. A beautiful woman, water, jugs, a kind face like that of the Virgin Mary. A lie. He walked on the platform and felt underneath the altar’s table for the hand crank. Upstairs was for the sleeping quarters and upper echelons of church research. He didn’t need their research. He pushed the crank forward. He needed their secrets. A shuddering as the altar began to descend. He was quickly enveloped in darkness. He closed his eyes and held his flamesprayer at the ready. No worries to him if he burned this entire farce to the ground. He would live. 

The lift halted with an awful screech. His body swayed with the jolt. He steadied himself and lit a torch on his back, illuminating the room in the below. He stood on the threshold of an open room, with stairs leading down. Weapon racks lined the walls. Tables sat about, filled with the mechanizations to create flamesprayers, bullets, and other parts to fight the scourge. The room was in chaos. The church’s version of the hunter’s workshop once the hunter’s guild had been disbanded. Weapons knocked to the floor and left without a care to pick them up. A cart with stray damaged weaponry sat near the elevator, discarded. Ahead, he saw the eviscerated remains of a church hunter. Walking forward and changing his perspective revealed bloodied beast prints on the floor. 

The scourge had made it even down here then. He continued forward, ready to slaughter any creature that came near. Curiously, he found himself at the threshold of a small staircase of stone. It continued down into darkness. The scent of smoke was still in the air. Burned down candles lined the wall in small lamps. As he descended he could hear the sound of ripping flesh from somewhere. With how far down this was, it was entirely possible he was now below the sewers of Yharnam. He found himself in a long hallway. Barred cell doors lined the entire hall. 

From a cell came the sound of skittering. He was confused. No one should be down here. All church arrests had already been executed, or sent to the Mensis scholars. He walked through the rows of emptied cells. Many Old Hunters had met their fates down here, swallowed up by the darkness. Movement in a cell at the end of the hallway caught his eyes. He peered through the bars. A face slammed into them. A man with an angled jaw. He wore a tattered brown overcoat, and worker’s pants. His arm reached through the bars, a sniveling and guttural sound of desperation. Fingernails elongated into claws. Teeth had begun to pierce through his lips. The slow process of transforming into a beast.

It couldn’t be. 

“Hello there old friend, it’s a fine mess you’ve gotten into here.” He leaned against the door, just out of reach of the desperately flailing hand. 

It had been over a year since he had seen Yamamura. He had always kept to himself. Even more so after an assignment over a decade ago. Whatever had happened in that Hamlet was a mystery. Murderous fools, all of them. 

No stranger to outliving friends, he shook his head and looked at the feral man in the cage. “This whole time you were down here? Sorry I didn’t come for you sooner.” He stood in front of the door, staring at the empty pupils. Blood drunkenness was the one thing that equalized him with everyone else. No bells or bargaining would save someone from this. And for someone not dream tied, Yamamura never stood a chance. 

The doors were well kept. The hinges strong. No rust or damage was evident. Why jail him now, after all this time? He pulled the pick and jammed it into the mechanism of the door. He violently turned it about, warping the metal. Something snapped. He beat his weight against the door. His body smashed Yamamura’s hand, snapping some of the fingers. The snarling from the beast that was once his friend grew louder. Down the hall he could hear more scurrying. Large rats no doubt. With one last thrust the door broke open from its hinge. Yamamura snaked forward like a rabid animal. Saliva drooled down his face. Through some sick echo of the person he once was, Yamamura reached for a weapon that was no longer there. Grasping at air, he charged at Antal. He stood waiting for him to claw at his face. In a swift movement he cut the head from his body.

It fell to the ground. The hands seized for a moment, the legs twitched. But the face showed nothing. Blank and empty. Asleep at last. When this hunt was over- if it ended. He would burn him somewhere quiet. He deserved far better than to be left in this pigsty.

He followed the hallway and down to yet another set of stairs. This time, the stonework gave way to dirt and rock, as if a tunnel had been dug deep below Yharnam. He stepped into a clearing and gasped. Something in the center of the room made him look anywhere else. The ceilings reached high above him, easily over the height of the Grand Cathedral. The room was old. Ancient etchings carved into the walls. His eyes kept flicking, almost involuntarily, over whatever was in the center. He could tell it was large. Tentacles similar to the bodies of centipedes hung to the sides of its body, like a pair of gruesome angelic wings. Beside it was a large altar made of crystal and stone. Some sort of bulbous white plant grew around it, the tendrils wrapping themselves around a carcass. He peered closer, ignoring the creature sitting aside it. It was the carcass of a large spider; fleshy stubs existed where the legs should be, and a head made of stone sat lifeless. Hundreds of eyes were closed, their stone gloss reflecting the red light filtering in from some cracks in the stone ceiling. He was perplexed. The spider he had killed in Byrgenwerth was here?

Around the room was blood ministration equipment. Distilleries. And medical tables with twisted corpses strapped down. Some died human, others did not.

He found his heart racing, breath quickening. Whatever that thing in the center of the room was- it was terrifying. His hands shook on his weapons. He forced his head to face it, closed eyes obscuring it still. He pried them open and stepped back instinctively. It was huge, larger than any beast he had seen, even the creature in Yahar'gul. The wing-like tentacles moved gently. Its body almost looked like a kneeling woman in prayer, but where the torso and head should be, was an abyss of stars surrounded by the skeletal shape of a venus flytrap. It seemed to whisper at first, a low cacophony of sound and emotion. His head burned.

Then he realized it was crying. 

It was leaned over the body on the altar, quite sobs of agony filtering through the still air. For a moment he almost considered leaving. A mother should grieve her child in peace.

No.

How could he know that was what was happening?

A mother should grieve her child in peace.

A̷ ̷m̵o̸t̸h̷e̷r̶ ̴s̶h̶o̸u̸l̸d̷ ̶g̵r̸i̵e̶v̶e̸ ̷h̶e̷r̶ ̵c̸h̶i̶l̴d̶ ̵i̶n̸ ̸p̴e̶a̶c̸e̴.̴

A̷̘̞̎́ ̵͎͘m̸̝̥̌̀ö̶̼̜́ţ̶̲͊̆h̷̥̾̾ĕ̴̲̫͊r̵̨̽ ̷̥̓̓s̴͇̿̕h̷̪͓́̕o̸̱̔͠ū̷̗̖̀l̸̙̰͘d̵̢͋͒ ̸̘̦̀̒g̷̜̈r̸̙̃̾i̸̳̞̅é̶̯̻̄v̵̞̭͌e̸̼͊͐ ̶̪̄h̸͓̖̓̏e̴̠͌͌r̷̜̆ ̷͓͙̈̽c̶͍͔̽h̶͙̘̀͐ȋ̴̫l̴̥̖̀͋d̸͍̓ ̶̛̃ͅi̷͇͒̓ṅ̷̛̮̣ ̶̘͚̀́p̶̦͑e̴͈̯̾a̵͕̕ͅc̸̙͉͘e̶̮͙̊̎.̸̦͘

Ą̸̢̼̦̗̮̠̲̦̻͍͙̗̙̣͖̳͉̯̺̯̪̮̖͈̏̍̃́ ̴̉̊̊ͅm̸̛̦̒͛̔̐̋͆͋̇͐̒̊̈́́̿̽̈́̽̉̓̅̿̕͝͠ǫ̶̭̤͔̗̳̦͙̲̜̘̙̺̫̬͖̳̖̬̺̎͌̂́̍̊̉͂͆͋̇͌̑͒̿͌̃̔̓́̆͘͘͜ͅͅͅt̸̨̢̙͕̪͕̟̱͖̏̏̽͒̄̿̉̈́̈́̋̀͐̚̕͜͝͠͝ͅḩ̵̛̞̲͎͍̭͉̮̤̭̰̗̠͎̑̃̀̀̌͌̇͛̌̿̾̓͂̒͑̽͆̈̇̕͘̕͝͝ė̸̻̞̯̘͓͙̼̗̟̍̉͆̂̆̀̓̄͋̽̿̔̌̋͊̋̈́̇͝͝r̵̩̫̤̺̦̖͓̝̙̱̤̣̓̽̊̊̌̊͑̓̕̚ͅͅ ̷̢̛̗̲͚̩̣̞̺̤̻̹̌̑̊̔̀̊̒̎̎̆̑͂͊́́͛͗̽̑̓͊̓̀̔͝ͅș̶̨̛̛̛̹̰͉̻̙͂̿̓̂̅͗̀̉͊͒́̈̀͊̾̾̒̋́̕͜͝ͅh̸̢͈̼̰̠̼͖̩͂̈̓͊̅̋͆͑̕͜͠͠ó̶̧̢̪̫̭̰͖͎̯̻̠͎̮̩͓͕̽́ͅū̴͖͓̭͖͚̣͕͖̪͍̝̬̘͔̮̞̯̿͊̂̓̈͝ͅl̵̨̧̡̡̛̮̤̪̫͈̹̞̟̤̜̯̥͕̱͕̥̮̗̈̉̊̎̃̓̐̓̍͋̂̐͌͋̉̑̽̓̚͜d̴̛͍̬̭̳̙̱̩̖̫̰͓̖̳̲̱͈̜̖͆̄͆̄͂̎̓͋̀̋͗́̏̽͒͌̔͊̓̑̈́͝ ̴̧̧̡̧̡̢̢̛̛̫͉͚̘̻̰͉̘̰̘̫̲̭͉̲̳̎̈́̋͒͒̋̆̈́́̑̾͊̓͑̉̏̅̅̂̈́̅͒̕ģ̶̢̞̞̗̯̮͕͉͕̫͕̗͙̦̦̜͇́̓̌͌̈́̉̆̃͛̐͆̀̔͒͗̈̂̒͘̚ͅͅr̷̢̡̢̛̛̻̥̤͓̬͖͈͓̘̤͚͍̤͇̹̘̬͓͆́͂̅͊̅̍́̇̀́̒̀͌͗͐͊͒̓̚͠͠ͅͅȋ̴̧̩͒̇͆̀̉̓͝e̷̡̞̻̫̜̜͓̹̳̣̮̰̟̹͕̿̐͋͂͐͂̐̎̉̇̋̊̕͜͝͝ͅͅv̸̜̤̙̬̲̰̰̈́̊͌̋̀̔̿̅͐e̷͈͍͙̬̲̮̯͚̝̻̼̮̙̝̱̼̰̪̦͎͙͊͗̓̂̈̓͒̃̇͋͂̀́̅̚ ̵̢̨̧̡̣̥͓̹̭̱̣̗̹̙̮͈̬̰̩̬͈̪̗̰̻̯̊͊̋͂̌̆̆́̏̒͂͋̾͊̓͝͝͠h̷͕̼̀̑̿͛̆̀̈́̀̆̇̈́͝e̷̛̬̲̝̩͗̈́͆̈́̄̔̃́͋̓̋͆̾̽̔̃̎̊̈́͊̄͠r̴̯̪̙̤͑ ̴̨̢͙̯͖̬̜̫̙̱̫̺̩͌̀̌̏̆̄̇̄̽͊̕̕c̴̨̲̥̯̪̣̺̣̈́̔̾̊͗̇̿́̉̕̕͝h̸̡̧̧̖̼̦̱̗̰̮͖͍̗̗̟̦̃͆͑̓̔͘͜i̵̞̗͎̺̥͙̬̖͍̬̠͑̂͝ͅl̶̢̃́̈̐́̈́̀̋́̽̚d̵͎̀͌̈́͒̅́̓̒̀̓͊͋̏̿̕͘̚͝ ̸̘̊̅̈̾͒̒͋̔̒͛̉̓̈́͆̏͘͠i̷̡̨̞̞̮͙̲̤͕͕͉̤̣͖̱̻̜͇̰̪̞͎̺̹͚̯̍̓͒͘n̴̢̨̹̤͈̰̱͖̤̮̥͎͔̮̣̩̻̗̯̗̘̦̪̐͜ ̴̡̧̢̨͎̭̺̫̰̝̤̣͍͉̖̳̩̫̲̙̞͙̩͗̆͐͂́̉͊̍̇̀͂̄̂̇̒̿̊̿̇̇͊̚͘̕͝͠ͅp̷̧̛̛̭̻̣͇̯̖͍̘͎͎̘̜̙̽̍͒͋̊̂̊̑̇̑͗̋́̚͠͝é̴̡̢̡̡̛̛͖̙͈̤̰͍̩̩͚̘̞̩̯̌́͐̒̑̕͝ą̴̧̺̟͓̰̖̗͇̥̩̻͕̜̞̞͖̺̬̠̲̑̎̋́͒͗̾͆̏͛̀̎̓̄̂̈́̈́̀̉͑̒̐̕ͅͅͅc̴̡͍̺͈̗͇̩̙̼͔͍̝͎̞̋̓͋̏ě̸̡̛̩͔̪͕̼̙͉̣͙̺͚̝̱͙̯̭͈̤̟͕̒̀͆̉̄̾̉́́̀͆͂̂̓͒̾̀̊̚͝.̸̢̛̛̹̦̥̲̤̘͙̟̱̬̙͎̜̮̺̿̉̀͌́̐̋̔̀̒̊̅̕͝ͅ

His head swelled in agony. He fell to one knee, the clattering sound of his weapon stirring the creature. It did not move, only stared at him through two emerald gemlike eyes in the abyss of its torso. He faltered, staring at her. For a time, neither moved. A Great One, in the flesh. Not created by humans, but an actual Great One. There are things that should never be trifled with. Interacting with them was something that should never have happened.

A hush of whispers clouded the room with a calming lullaby. He felt as if he was home again during the holiday season. His parents counted every penny to give them a dinner of roasted duck, rather than hard tack and gravy. Songs were sung by their fireplace, the cold whistling in through the damaged windows. Home. 

He felt himself lifted by a wing, and set gently on his mother’s lap. The room felt off. The fireplace was a little too far to the left. The door had no hinges. The plates for their food were metal, not cracked porcelain. His mother’s face was obscured. Her gentle touch rested on the flamesprayer on his side. He screamed. The world seemed to shatter. He was sitting in the caressing embrace of the tentacled wing.

His mother’s voice teased from the back of his mind. It was hollow, like an off-key resonation. “ᚲᛟᛗᛖ ᚺᛖᚱᛖ, ᚨᚾᛏᚨᛚ. ᛊᛏᚨᛁ ᚹᛁᚦ ᛗᛖ.”

The words themselves burned, but also made his thoughts still, settle quietly like a stone on an ocean floor. He wanted to lean into it. No, needed to. His eyes began shutting. Involuntary sleep. Rom had been a student and became one of these things. Was it this peaceful for her? Was that why she did not attack in that mirrored world? His arm settled on the warm silt. He could see images and memories. They ran over his mind like a current. He could see other entities draped in shadows. The edges of their bodies becoming visible caused flashes of pain. Beyond the essence of Ebrietas, he could see three others. A creature with tentacles on its face. It hovered over the Dream itself. It seemed restless, flitting around. It was as if it wanted to land, but could not. Then there was something in the Dream itself. Some being he couldn’t parse. It sang a melody, and he realized it was that very melody that kept the other from finding perch. Finally, there was one that seemed to stretch as a shadow beyond the abyss of the hunt. It was huge. Menacing. His mind seemed to splinter into a shockwave. His eyes danced with blood. It felt as if his pupils themselves were bursting. The pain disappeared quickly as he felt a hand brush them from his mind, gently. Like a mother. He could see just how many children they had lost. Much like the kind woman holding him, they just wanted a surrogate. 

“ᚲᛟᛗᛖ ᚺᛖᚱᛖ, ᚨᚾᛏᚨᛚ. ᛊᛏᚨᛁ ᚹᛁᚦ ᛗᛖ.”

“҉ᚲ҉ᛟ҉ᛗ҉ᛖ҉ ҉ᚺ҉ᛖ҉ᚱ҉ᛖ҉,҉ ҉ᚨ҉ᚾ҉ᛏ҉ᚨ҉ᛚ҉.҉ ҉ᛊ҉ᛏ҉ᚨ҉ᛁ҉ ҉ᚹ҉ᛁ҉ᚦ҉ ҉ᛗ҉ᛖ҉.҉”҉

“҉ᚲ҉ᛟ҉m̶e̸ ҉ᚺ҉ᛖ҉ᚱ҉ᛖ҉,҉ A̶n̶ᛏ҉ᚨ҉ᛚ҉.҉ ҉ᛊ҉ᛏ҉a̶y̴ ̷w̴ᛁ҉ᚦ҉ ҉m̵e̷.̶.҉”҉

“҉"̶C̷o̵m̶e̸ ҉ᚺ҉e̵r̵ᛖ҉,҉ A̶n̶t̷a̸l̵.҉ ҉ᛊ҉ᛏ҉a̶y̴ ̷w̴i̵t̸h̴ ҉m̵e̷.̶.҉”҉

"̴̦̗̆̄C̸͖̆ó̸̘́m̷̯̈́̕͜ȩ̴̻̀͐ ̷̛̜́h̷̢̯̋e̶̦̜̾̂r̷̢̗̄é̴̹̞͠,̵̮́ ̸̪̥͒͌Ả̷͍͜n̴͚͗t̵̛͕͋a̷̡̬͌l̸̳̆͝.̸̡̀̕ ̷͇͌̎S̵̜̠̎͗t̴͙͐̃a̷̖͉͑̀y̶̺̩̆ ̸̥̻̉͝w̶̝̳͌̚ị̸͂̽t̶̹̫̂̓h̴͓͗̽ ̸̱̼̋͌m̸̡̌ě̶̹̞.̵̝̲̄"̶̱͇̀̀

His eyes snapped open. His body flipped on instinct, tumbling from her arms into the tumultuous ocean. He remembered. There were things mankind should not trifle with. These entities, whatever they were, did not belong here. He pulled the flamesprayer and unleashed a plume of fire into the swirling ocean. Steam surrounded him. He did not measure its blasts. The water seemed to evaporate in an instant, the room becoming cold once again. He was in the large underground space. He used the cover of fire to run in and began stabbing into her body with the pick. She let out a scream that pulsed his mind like the flames around him. His vision hazed. He screamed. He felt blood running from his ear. Tentacles lashed out toward him, one pierced through his arm, the other his knee. He collapsed. She was looming over him, those whispered cries continuing. Every one caused a new wave of pain to overtake his body.

“I am not your child! You do not belong in this world!” He snarled at her. He pushed the pick through her body, the feeling of blood ran down his arms. It was white, not quite translucent. He shook. 

The Doll bled the same color. 

The entity in the Dream that sang.

Fuck.

Flashes of light lit the room as the ground below him exploded. He was flung against a wall. The wind knocked from his lungs. He could barely move. His blood seemed to flow continuously. White hot fire caused him to shriek as the white blood mixed into his wounds. For a moment the room stretched. He could see everything that had ever happened there in an instant. Scholars and researchers finding the body. Her mutilation. The blood given to the Saints to imbue their bodies with, then harvest. A young woman in a scholar’s robe becoming close to the Great One. Lovingly calling her Ebrietas. Carryl was there, transcribing the language of the creature into sigils on paper. He saw for the first time, the disdain in Carryl’s eyes. Normally she had been so blank faced about everything. A hate which found its way through the paper, holes where she had held the pencil with too much force. The creature cried out as the young scholar’s body burst into the spider of Byrgenwerth. Inhuman screams filled the chasm. The church succeeded where the Mensis Scholars had failed. Bastards. He saw the twisted bodies of Saints as they became beasts in the very room they called their salvation. Then he saw another Great One. No. He couldn’t see it. He saw its visage. It seemed to permeate the whole room, coming from nowhere and everywhere. The world flipped in on itself. A mirrored lake reflected the moonlight as Rom sat peacefully on its surface. It was as if it was a world separating two worlds. One filled with nightmarish beasts, and the other with things his mind refused to look at. He felt his bell rattle and crack. Then a flash of light severed the world and his vision turned a brilliant blue.

The dirt in his mouth tasted like stagnant dust. He opened his eyes. He was behind a fallen boulder. Alive. But his flamesprayer was in pieces. He sat up slowly, feeling for broken bones. There were a lot of them. His nose was bleeding. So were his eyes and ears. He held his bell in his hands. It was dingy; a layer of grime that could never be removed shadowed over the luster of the bronze. A singular crack ran along part of its edge. He would need to be careful. He wouldn’t let his bell shatter in a palace like this. Bastards didn’t deserve his corpse or beastly form.

He injected a few blood vials, and his body quickly returned to normal. Ebrietas sat, pitiful. The church had kept her here for experimentation. Continued using this blood as the world around them fell apart. He pulled the pick and prepared a pistol he had not used in some time. It felt foreign in his hands. No matter.

He ran at her. She raised her torso, letting out another scream. He took care not to look directly into the abyss of her chest. The whispers danced around him, but their influence did not shake his cre as before. He began striking into her side. Every thrust brought out white blood. A tentacle snatched at him. He fired the pistol. The tentacle severed in a spray of screams and blood. She raised her abyss upwards and he saw what had caused the explosion last time. A bolt of light, smelling of sulfur, lit the room up. He barely dodged it, and a boulder behind him erupted into pieces. He rolled to the side as several smaller pinpoints of light lashed the room in a frenzy. It seared the walls, destroyed the long etched messages. From afar, he heard the haunting off key resonance of an Invasion Bell. He frantically searched the room for its owner.

She lunged forward. He barely dodged as she beat into the ground. A piece of his black garb brushed against her void. The portion of fabric disappeared, as if it was never there. He ran behind her. Her kneeling form had a slimy trail leaving blackened ooze around the room. He hadn’t noticed it prior. He grabbed oil jars from his bag and began dumping them with one arm as he struck using the pick at her. Around the room he dodged and jumped. The scent of oil was filling the small space- her body had splashed it in a thin layer across the stone flooring. He ran to the doorway where he had come from and lit the oil alight. 

He had never seen fire burn that way before. In an instant the room was engulfed in an inferno. It seared his face, burned his throat. He clamped his mouth shut, feeling the heat leave blisters across his face. His hands bubbled and charred. The sounds of the creature’s death rattles made his ears bleed. He was on the ground. He could not tell if the screams in the room were himself or Ebrietas. It was fast. The room was quiet once again. A large charred mound lay over the top of Rom, its corpse having shielded the spider from much of the flame. It was still. The white blood had been flash burned. It sat in piles of rot scented goo around the room. It steamed. The scent curdled with the ever present sound of off key chiming. 

He could not stand. His leg was twisted, the skin and fabric melted together. The pain was unimaginable. He tried to open his mouth, get the dirt out of it. He could not. As if his body was betraying him, it would not move. His hands, their nerves nearly destroyed, could find no opening. He pulled a blood vial and injected it.

Nothing.

There had to be an artery reachable for him to inject it into. He jammed the needle into his face. 

Still nothing.

He snatched the ell from his side. The metal was only slightly more tarnished than before. Two cracks now ran around the length of its edge. His weapon was nowhere to be found. He sighed, the very movement causing agony. He could not even die quickly to go back to the Dream, and that damn Doll. Perhaps whatever invader had joined his world would put him out of his misery. But just who among them would invade at a time like this? Not that it mattered. He crawled forward, only his arms working properly. 

After some time, he found the pooling blood of his friend. There were many things he did not know about this world. But the things he was certain of were as follows.

The church succeeded in creating a Great One.

Rom was a seal that kept the influence of three Great Ones from harming Yharnam.

Once a hunter had gone blood drunk, there was nothing that could be done to save them. Not unless they were saved enough times in the worlds of other hunters.

Aeris knew more about the nature of this world than she was telling anyone. No one could make a guide that comprehensive and not be aware of exactly what was going on.

The Doll was a Great One.

He could no longer lift his arms. The remainder of his weight buckled and dropped his upper body onto the stonework, the blood of Yamamura pooled his face. He didn’t hurt anymore.  Regardless, if these damned fools would quit fucking with Great Ones, the world would be better for it. He faded into sparkling dust, and chime ceased its resonation.

The cool cobblestones of the Dream felt refreshing on his arms and face. He sat up, the Doll stood near him, looking down with hollow concern.

“Welcome home Good Hunter, what is it you desire?”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I am a Doll, here in this Dream to look after you. I am want of nothing.”

He grabbed her brown shawl and dragged her close. Her face did not break from the motherly worry. “Are you protecting us from that thing,” he gestured to the sky, “so that you can slaughter us later?”

She did not answer him. Only looked at him with a blank, ceramic face.

“Are you going to keep me here? Is that why I cannot die? Did you create the Bell system?”

For the first time he saw her face become serious. Determined. “Good Hunter, I am not the reason you have been bestowed a bell. That was Rosemary’s doing. She wanted there to be hunters who could protect Yharnam. I merely keep this garden to look after you.” Despite his mask, she stared directly into his soul. It did not feel threatening, but he felt in his body tense into a deep rooted danger. “You are not my child. I will only look after you until you awake from this hunt, and this Dream.”

He was speechless. Finally, in a small voice, like a child’s, he managed to speak, “How many are there of you?”

“My good Hunter, there are far more of us than humanity will ever realize.”

He felt his mind splinter again. As if the whispers of the earth were dragging him down. He fell to one knee. He heard the sound of a mechanized wheel. From the door of the stone house in the Dream wheeled Gehrman. Gehrman. The first of the hunter’s guild. He had died long ago during the hunts orchestrated by the church. Yet here he sat, missing a leg, but alive. Antal looked around. Well, alive in some sense. Gehrman sat, staring at the two of them. The Doll seemed torn between helping him up, or making sure Gehrman did not injure himself.

The man spoke. A deep voice he had not heard in many years. It jolted his senses. “Soon, this night and Dream will end. You will not be kept here for much longer, Antal.”

“You should be dead. What is going on here?” He demanded.

“The sins of the Old Hunters were not so easily forgiven. Now that you have become moon scented, you are seeing things as they are. You seem to be in a fine haze. I will explain it simply. Countless hunters have come here, fought the hunt, and been freed from it. You will fight and then wake up in the morning, with no memory of what this world was like. This is not a fight for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You believe that no one should have dealt with the Great Ones. You should pay your own ideals some mind, and stop this foolish errand.”

Gehrman turned and wheeled back into the house. Antal ran up the steps and into the doorway. He was gone. Not even the wheelchair remained. He turned angrily to the Doll, but she was gone as well. An Easter lily in a fine vase remained where she had stood. 

He had grasped so much of the world, and yet more questions than answers came his way. Damn the church and the scholars and anyone else who refused to answer the questions of this world. He knelt by a gravestone and brought the image of Yahar'gul to mind. He imagined the streets covered in a layer of some form of chemical. The corpses and skulls. The abandoned school. Empty courtyard. He smelled it first, the scent of bromide and sulfur. Ahead stretched the long abandoned city. Calcified corpses lined the walls, showing the last moments of a culture desperate to survive. Not that it mattered. But with a bell on his side, perhaps he could find what the scholars knew in order to finally eradicate the Great Ones from the face of the earth.

Chapter Text

Antal’s chime waltzed with the ringing from the hip of the church girl, Marnie. She stood with a nervous look on her face. Beside her, was the Dreaming version of Henriet. An independent hunter from Cathedral Ward.

He stared at her, “You want to protect this city? These are the same people who support the Healing Church.” She and Aeris were both naive, delusional. 

“Yes, I do. I am going to overthrow the church. But to do that I need the people to rally behind me. And they have to be alive for that. I get to protect my home and family, and you get to fight the harm they have caused.”

“You and Aeris, I swear. And how do you know they won’t just execute you?”

“I’d like to see them try,” she smiled, tapping a small cannon on her back and the reiterpallasch from Cainhurst. “But even if they do, I have to try.”

He sighed. Against his better nature. “What must I do?”

“Prepare the people of Yharnam for the frenzy. We will help in the battle against them once you kill Rom. It will build memories across worlds of our actions. Periodically, other Dreaming hunters will come to help throughout the night. If we can slip past a Great One, we can also fight their scourge. We will do this in everyone’s world.”

~~~~

That was several hours ago for him now. Bathed in red moonlight the road ahead lie sealed with a layer of acid. A barrier of which little life had dared try to grow. And yet, at the end of this languishing corner of the world, he could see the courtyard of Mensis. The stone wall which had been there prior was in crumbled ruins. Chunks of stone and cobble and bone had scattered to the street. A few church hunters and scholars milled about, frantically speaking to one another. In places, the impact of the stone had broken through the sealant that was killing the earth. 

In the courtyard sat a creature that made his blood burn with searing heat.

To say it was malformed would be a lie. It was an abomination. The skeletal and rotting remains of countless corpses made up a hulking body that moved like a flailing horse. It had no real limbs that could be called legs, just the jutting bones of the spines and arms of those forced into the experiment. A single skeleton rose from its back, like some form of deformed rider of death. It slanted to the side. Sloughs of flesh fell from its arms.

It looked the same as that night.

The Scholars had started as a research institute to understand why the blood worked. And quickly joined with the Healing Church. Once he had learned that they sought to create artificial Great Ones to create their own blood and otherworldly serums; it was too late. He was trapped. Nowhere to run. He could have fled the city, but they would have sent a church hunter even to France or Britain to kill him.

The creature let out a roaring cry. The sound rattled through the bone and flesh, creating a screeching whisper. It lumbered towards the church hunters. A spray of brown liquid came from the opened mouthed carcasses making up its body. One church hunter began screaming, covering her eyes. Quickly her clothes began to melt and she collapsed to the ground. The ritual in the courtyard was the sacrifice of many ordinary civilians, some from Old Yharnam before its burning. Some were outsiders no one would miss. Others were from Yahar'gul itself.

A scholar clad in white released a spray of tentacles from their arm while a hunter ran up behind the creature and slashed with a flaming greatsword. A gun fired from another in the corner. Red blood sprayed from the creature like a puss filled sore. The scholars had tried to create a Great One. Red blood confirmed that they had failed. All this death was for nothing. The creature flailed its body. One man was crushed, his body scooped up by the limbs and joining the rest of the creature’s form. The scholar’s leg was hit with the brown bile. They melted like a candle’s wax. He was screaming. His head was quickly crushed by the thrashing as the creature let loose one final cry. From the bodies near its leglike appendages spilled heaps of the brown bile. The church members were quickly obscured. The final hunter stood in the corner, frantically reloading a gun. Antal watched as he was severed in half. For a moment, he saw the man’s face. A boy. Not much older than Marnie.

Antal’s body shuddered as the courtyard ‘s lowest basin filled with the acidic bile. Around him, the frozen faces of the damned seemed to cry out once more. There was a lot of screaming that night. Parents threw their infants on rooftops, trying to save them. In actuality, they only prolonged their deaths as the acid pooled over the buildings and dissolved their small crying bodies. Those who managed to flee Yahar'gul were gunned down by the church. 

For the first time he sat, at a loss. He could charge in and keep trying to kill this thing over and over. Find a way to kill it, eventually. It would hasten the blood drunkenness that befall all hunters. He could leave. Take Gehrman’s advice. Perhaps ask the Doll if she had any ideas. He scoffed at himself. He held the beckoning bell in his hand. Perhaps the help of other hunters would aid him. He hesitantly shook the bell. The tiniest sound rang out and amplified in sound. It seemed to almost swirl with the pooling acid, bounced off the cracked sealant on the ground, and resonated with the earth.

The sparkling visage of a hunter appeared directly in the middle of the street. A hunter with their back to him. They wore a red Cainhurst outfit, and a hunter cap. But most curiously, the rakuyo was held in their hands, pulled apart as a dagger and sword. 

“What a fine red moon we’re having, aren’t we?” A woman’s voice. Aeris .

Of all people. Of course it would be her.

She spoke again, her lighthearted cadence was strangely forced. “Dawn, is this your world?”

He stood, walking towards her. “No Moron, this isn’t Dawn’s world.”

“Oh, hey there Antal. You haven’t seen Dawn have you?” She didn’t turn to face him. Just kept her eyes on the crime against nature wandering in its own bile.

“No. Why are you asking?” 

Her voice was solemn, “Just been a minute since I saw her.” Her voice lilted upwards, “seems you have a problem that needs help. Tell you the truth, I’ve had my poor face melted by this thing soooo many times. I really could use some information on how to beat it.” She turned to face him abruptly, her eyes seemed almost glazed over. “Since you used to work with the people who did this, maybe you could help.”

“You haven’t the faintest idea what is beyond this courtyard, do you?”

She smiled, that manic look remaining, “I have an inkling of the horrors ahead.” She screwed the dagger on the rakuyo and held out her hand, “But I’ve been unable to find a way to defeat this hurdle. With your help, we will forge a path ahead for all the other hunters. A way free from the influence of the Great Ones. And to put the souls tied to this monstrosity to rest.” Red moonlight backlit her outfit, no doubt covered in blood.

“I can tell you what I know. But before that,” he grabbed her left arm and dragged her close. She moved quickly, the rakuyo’s blade pointing at his throat even quicker than Lady Maria could move. He knew that grip. It was smoothe on one side to make twisting the dagger on and off faster. He hit her wrist with the handle of his pistol and launched the rakuyo’s dagger from her hand.

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You knew Lady Maria then?” She didn’t try to pry out of his grip, nor did she raise the sword’s blade to attack. 

“I did. I also followed your little instructional guide. How the hell did you learn so much about the hunts? How did you forge a path up to now?”

“I went hunting across worlds. I spoke with every one of us. I learned from the mistakes of others who got people killed. Such as how if you don’t go escort Mirabel, she leaves to find her parents and is killed in the sewers. Or how you were killed by the Scholar Yuri. Or-”

“There is a Great One helping you, isn’t there?”

Aeris’ eyes widened. She pulled away from him. He released her arm. As she righted herself he saw the bell on her side. It was dirty, cracks everywhere. One fine crack beginning up the center. He pointed to it, “You are pushing your mind too far.”

“You know that too, then.” Her eyes seemed to follow something he couldn’t see. 

“Explain. Now.” He commanded.

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you everything. It might kill you!” She shouted. “You said just said you understand the dangers, how our minds fracture alongside our bells!”

“I’m waiting. Tell me, and I will tell you.”

“I traded magic items from the church, the things that thrummed in my hands and had textures that made my brain happy! I traded them to someone named Karla. Who has a bell like us. But who doesn’t exist in the real world for any of the others, including mine. I talked with someone who also saw Karla and he said their name was Carryl.”

His mind stopped for a moment. Carryl. Runesmith Carryl? After all this time, she could still be alive. And what information did Aeris trade for? And she had a bell nor could she be found in other worlds…

“What did they look like?” He asked. 

“Well, they had brown hair and wore a witchy hat. And had a pretty nondescript outfit. Like those blood drunken women on Charnel Lane, and-”

“Stop. What do you mean they don’t exist in our worlds?”

“I mean just that. I have searched and searched and spoken to over a hundred people. None have ever seen anyone like them. They’ve only been seen by other hunters when they use the invading bell. No one has been summoned to their world or summoned them. I don’t understand it at all.”

“You said they had information on the hunts?”

Aeris shifted on her feet and fiddled with her bell. She seemed genuinely nervous. “They told me that there’s three Great Ones controlling all of this. That they caused the hunts and the not dying and the beasts to frenzy. And showed me a way to slip past the Great Ones. If we can all slip by them at the same time, and save each other, we can all wake up in the light of morning!” She looked at him, the childlike desire for approval splashed across her face.

“You have explained this before. None of this is new information. What did you learn from them that you’re not telling me?”

“Well… To tell you the truth, there is a technicality.”

Gods she was so frustrating. 

“Such as?” He asked.

“You have to be willing to let go of the Dream and the hunt. And die in the Dream once the Great Ones are distracted.”

“You’re asking all of us to die? Oh nothing major, just dying.”

“Well- yeah. You get it! Kinda. But don’t you want to wake up? To see the sunrise? We can get out of here without anyone dying!”

“Except the part where we all have to die.”

“Now you’re getting it!”

He sighed. “What do you mean we have to die?”

“Well, as of now, you can’t really leave this hunt unless you go blood drunk. Or a Great One shatters your bell. The Dream is what keeps all of us tied to this bell system. And once the Great Ones are distracted, we are able to choose to leave. But to leave the loop, you have to die.”

“If that’s the case, then how were we meant to leave the loop originally? And how do you know we won’t just stay dead once this loop is closed?”

“I’m not going to dance around it. I cannot tell you. The truth of it might just kill you. The Great Ones are not to be trifled with.”

Of course she wouldn’t. But he wasn’t going to follow a madwoman to certain death. Gods be damned. The madness of hope was enough to drive people to do unspeakable things. Push people to their own demise. He saw her eyes, how they flitted about quickly. Faster than before. Her bell dirtied. It coincided with what he had learned while killing Rom and Ebrietas. And the Doll. And Dawn. Something about Aeris’ face told him that things were dire. And Carryl potentially being alive. That hatred of the Great Ones that he saw in the vision was more than enough to give pause.

He adjusted the piping on his weapon, “I have seen these nightmares long before I became a Dreaming hunter. Your information isn’t going to harm me.”

“Fine then. Here goes. This was put in place by a Great One called the Moon Presence, sometimes called Flora. She’s trying to choose a hunter to be her child, and a successor to keep the hunts going. The end of the loop is to be controlled by a Great One. What happens to the other Dreaming Hunters is a complete mystery. So as you can see, a guarantee to stop everyone from being in the loop and having them wake up, is far better than the uncertainty of Flora getting what she wants.”

Blood ran from his nose. He could feel his head beginning to ache. The finality hit him. The Great Ones. The Hunts. The true reason all of this happened. He pitched forward, the revolting scent of chemicals making him vomit. He wiped his mouth, droplets of red and blackened blood fell into his palm. The corpses seemed to move around them. Running towards the beast in the square, screaming out the names of their loved ones. Then they were only screaming his name. Converging on him and Aeris. Their cries of disgust and hatred rumbled the ground. Cracks painted spirals around his feet as he began to sink into the acid.

Ebrietas. This Flora. The Doll. Were they all yearning for children? What became of a human who fell prey to their whims? All this death caused by them was for children. He remembered the tales of the Queen of Cainhurst seeking to create a child of blood, the reason for a rogue scholar to steal the purified blood found in the depths below Yharnam. That blood which now made the woman in front of him have vibrant purple eyes. Could she have ascended? He felt something hot leak from his ears, his vision turned to the sound of ocean waves crashing in the distance. He felt sick.

In his arm was a home remedy blood vial. He regained composure and stared into the pools of fuchsia.

“What the hell are you?” He sneered at her.

“I am a human. A hunter. Someone who wants everyone to go garden. Or own a shop. Or love someone. Maybe go sew or craft. Travel the world by boat. Live, and be free.”

“That’s childish nonsense.”

“Takes a pretty headstrong adult to keep to it. Which I have, in case you’ve not noticed.”

Moron. Insane . There’s no way she was a great one. But her name was not on the list in the written notes. What the hell was this woman? Who knew of Carryl and the Great Ones, who continued despite her bell’s condition. A Great One had no need of such a bell. And the future she spoke of, it never referenced the end of the gods. Only people.

He spit blood onto the ground at their feet, it pooled on the surface of the crystalline layer of bile, “I am here to kill Great Ones. They should not exist in our world, and we shouldn’t be fucking with them. You speak as if you have no intention of killing them.”

“Honestly? I don’t think we can. These three are not like Ebrietas or Rom. They’re powerful enough to maintain the whole bell system and the parallel words.”

The bells which had appeared one day without any explanation. The last gift from a naive scholar to protect humanity. “That doesn’t make any sense. Rosemary created the bell system. How do you know who is maintaining it?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

He stared her down. Secrets were nothing new. But he took great care to keep the secrets of the world from involving him. He scoffed to himself. His younger self would be ashamed. Wrapped up in the rambling terror of a madwoman and some false gods.

He finally spoke. “I want you to swear to me, on your mind itself, that you are telling the truth.” 

She held her a finger to her left eye, “As I have the ability to witness this world’s mysteries, I swear to you. I am. Not. Lying.”

She did not move. She only stared intently. She had dug far into things that would have made the average hunter go mad already. She continued despite the damage to her bell. It didn’t even seem to bother her. The morning sun was an enticing prospect. As was the blood of Great Ones no longer flowing through Yharnam. The Doll had even said there were more than humanity would ever know. But maybe, just maybe, Yharnam could finally be freed from their clutches.

He listened to his own thoughts, mocking their blind naivete and idiocy. Moron .

He laughed out loud, “Fine. Fine. Hunting alongside you will only help in my endeavors.” He strode past her and toward the creature crawling about. “Its body can create pools of acid that liquify human bodies. Avoid that. Also, that night, a lot of us hunters tried to kill it. Some of its limbs have broken blades in them. It's probably why it cut that church boy in half.” He pointed at a bisected corpse clad in white in the distance.

“You can hit harder than I can. I will be its distraction. That sound good?” Aeris asked.

He grunted in agreement. Her speed, even with a body on her back, was remarkable. With that corpse now gone it would have increased exponentially. 

They reached the edge of the courtyard, using the calcified bodies as cover. Aeris nodded to him, and dashed in immediately. He watched as she dragged the blades across stonework, letting sparks catch them alight. The amalgam of bone and body turned to look at her. The rider raised its one intact arm. The sound of a strained voice moaned out. It could almost be recognized as something once human. Almost. A spray of brown bile rained down upon Aeris. In a flash, he saw her disappear in a plume of smoke and strike at its side just out of trajectory. It roared. Its body flailed, small bones fell to the ground. The sound of flesh tearing made it shriek louder.

Ten hunters that night had not been enough to slow it down. Two was certainly not enough. 

Antal ran in. The columns of the courtyard once a proud gray white, now stood cracked and dingy. The cobble was broken, pools of acid everywhere. He ran past a scholar, its body smashed to unrecognition. The smell of the creature was revolting. Musted rot. Of the human kind. He drove the pick deep into the squelching mound of flesh on one side of the thing. A leglike limb cracked to his left. A snapped sword slashed his clothes, blood seeped from his arm. He gritted his teeth. It flailed again. He heard Aeris’ scream. Something large hit his chest and launched him to the ground. He rolled just in time for it to miss him. He lay at the base of the creature. All around him were bones and rot. He couldn’t see the courtyard. Slopping flesh pulsed around him, stretching and tearing with the movement. He was cradled in a mess of dried skin. Every movement sent a flurry of powered human remains into the air.

It had landed on top of him.

He could hear the laughing of Aeris running about the yard.

“Don’t die on me yet Antal!” She shouted. “I’ll get you out.”

More screaming. It rattled his bones and teeth. He felt one shift. The bones under him twisted and rocked. He was tossed about. A splat of flesh on his helmet made him wince. He pulled the mechanism and began spraying the sparkling mist. He coughed on its poisonous fumes at this enclosed space. The creature screeched. His body was shifted again. Bones and half broken jaws filled with teeth grabbed him. He was enveloped into the creature. Then pulled upwards. The sound of crying grew closer. He found himself in another small alcove. The scent of bile and chemicals was strong. He felt dizzy. His eyes watered. A linked strand of arms and legs circled the space. They were dark, the skin dried and leathered. 

In front of him the man crushed and absorbed was wrapped in tentacled flesh. Brown liquid seeped from his mouth. He was weeping. He reached out to Antal, only one eye intact. “Please- Man of Mensis…” 

The body pulsed and the eyes dissolved. That brown sludge erupted from his mouth. Around Antal, the room seemed to shrink. The limbs swelled. He could feel something coursing through them. The concoction sprayed from the man, Antal covered his face. He felt it dissolve his clothes. He screamed as he heard Aeris do so from outside. He injected vial after vial as the acid ate away at his body. 

“Let him go!” He heard her screech. 

His arms shook. But he was alive. He raised his hand. He saw the skin stitching back over bone. It squished and melded. He looked up and saw something glowing red and black above him. It was beating, like a heart.

“Aeris! I have an idea. Keep pissing it off!”

“You got it!” He heard her scream with glee.

The thrashing and movement continued. He used the limbs and broken hunter’s weapons to climb up. At the closest core, he could see it up close. It was small. The size of a child’s skull. He pulled his arm back as far as he could and stabbed into the swirling orb of energy.

He saw the screams of those who were forced into this creature. They were tied in a circle, terrified as the scholars surrounded them. They begged for their lives. The metal cages over the heads of each scholar seemed to create a fence. The screaming coalesced. Somewhere, he heard the hunters that tried to kill it. He heard a younger version of himself. Of all those who died because of these things, at least these people would get to rest.

It exploded into fragments of bone, shredding the black cloak covering his back. The bones around him fell apart. Blood sprayed in all directions. And so did the acid. It covered his vision in a rain shower. He tumbled to the ground. His legs in agony. At least it would be nice in the Dream when he woke up.

The pain burned through to his very heart. It felt as if all the blood in his body was replaced with acid. His face melted. He felt teeth swirl in his mouth. Blood. He stuck a finger through his cheek, pulling several rotting teeth out. Something dragged him. Knocked his head on stone. Cool liquid on his face. Then more agony. The skin regrew around shattered bone. He blinked. Above him stood Aeris with a home remedy blood vial. 

“You still with me, scholar?” Her mask was burned away. He saw her face for the first time. She was young. Pale, almost sickly looking. A scar was above her left eye. Certainly not someone who looked like they could perform the feats of this hunt.

“Thank you, Moron.” His voice cracked. It sounded weak and frail.

She gave him her hand. He sat up. His entire body ached. No normal blood vial should have been able to do that. She had used the same one earlier.

“How did you save me?”

“Arianna, the woman from Cathedral Ward, has very effective blood.”

“The prostitute?”

Aeris nodded and looked ahead. He joined her gaze. The decrepit doors of the Mensis Scholar’s lab sat beckoning. He had no idea what would be behind those doors. At one point he had been one of them. Defector Antal. The title had a ring to it. It was Dawn’s nickname for him, after all.

They walked forward, neither saying anything. Footsteps in unison. They both felt it. The answer to this hunt’s end was beyond the two large stone doors ahead. They were carved with sigils and the image of a tree. The Tree of Life from the Garden of Eden. A place cultivated by the Great Ones. One church scholar had told him Yharnam was to be the Garden of Gethsemane; showing that all the religions of the world had seeds of truth within them. 

He placed his hands on the door. It cracked open. Dirt and dust crumbled. Bits of wood broke from the frame as he forced it open. Aeris stood behind him, marveling. He ignored her and opened it just far enough to allow a small amount of light to filter in, and for them to pass.

Stepping into the dark room, their footsteps filled the room with an uncomfortable echo. Using the lantern to bring light to the unknown world, Aeris gasped. Dozens of people sat in chairs. Their bodies skeletal and decrepit, dried skin stretched over their arms. Some sat in anguish, others looking to the ceiling. A metal cage was over every one of their heads. The light cast shadows from the metal bars on the wall. A moving spider’s web of darkness and light. It just barely illuminated a ring of sigils on the floor, long obscured by grime and mildew. Antal walked forward, kicking a skull out of his way.

“What is this place?” Aeris asked nervously. 

“The place of the final experiment of Mensis. You’re probably wondering about the cages. The scholars believed they would protect you from the visage of a Great One. This is the beginning of the result we just slew. Obviously it didn’t save any of them.” 

He looked about. Other than the chairs, it was an empty room. The hallway which led to the research labs of Mensis was boarded up. Thick rungs of dust trailed down from where a vine had made its way into the long abandoned building. Life found a way after all.

“So there’s nothing here? It’s just a dead end?” Aeris asked.

Antal looked around the room. At the back was a skeleton in the men’s scholar uniform. For some reason, Antal could not stop looking at him. The body itself seemed to beckon him, as if it was ringing its own bell. He walked towards it, Aeris following. She said nothing. He could only hear her footsteps. He reached his hand out to touch the chair. It was thrumming, like the mystical tools of the church. 

The world shifted into blackened sparkles of dust. He felt Aeris grab his arm and latch to him. Though he couldn’t see her, he felt her hot and panicked breath. They both seemed to tumble upwards and then down a long spiral of darkness. Their bells continuously rang. The sound of roaring water and wind swirled them. His feet planted on something that sounded like tile. Light seemed to come from the open air itself. Antal’s brow furrowed. They were in one of the halls of the library deep within the School of Mensis. A light fog obscured the distant shelves of the walls he knew were ahead. 

A man’s voice came from the swirling fog, “Ah, Kos... Or some say, Kosm... Do you hear our prayers? Perhaps Rom or Flora… Oh, I have found two hunters.” From the shadows stepped a man clad in the robe of the Mensis Scholars, a cage still atop his head. He curtsied and looked up, “Ah, Antal, how nice it is to see you again.”

Chapter Text

Aeris watched the fog hovering in watery wisps. It was mesmerizing, the way it twisted and curled around the endless rows of shelves. Nightmares and secrets. Ahead, she watched the man finish his curtsy. He had called the Moon Presence by name. And he knew who Antal was. Atop his head was a metal cage like she had seen on all the corpses. It didn’t seem to bother his ability to move. His skin was off-color, almost a gray green. Sickly. His hair was short and brown, greasy.

He looked to Antal first, then assessed Aeris up and down. She squeezed the handle of her rakuyo. Vulnerable. He settled, looking into her eyes. Her grip faltered for a moment. 

The man smiled, a bit too wide. "And what a pretty thing you have brought me."

"She's not interested, Micolash." Antal said. He sounded disgusted. Aeris noticed him angle his foot in front of her.

"Pity. Those eyes of yours are quite something.” He walked closer. Antal’s foot moved forward. Micolash stopped, “Oh, it would be such a waste to leave you with him. Grant me those eyes.”

Aeris' stomach dropped. How long had he been here? Eyes were outdated, and not the truth of ascendance. And the way he looked at her, he was a beast in human form. No. He was human. That’s what humans were like. Desperate. 

Antal snapped, "I thought you were dead."

“Au contraire, correction, you hoped I was dead. Though I could say much the same for you. How we failed to make a Great One that night, but look at its success here. I have found limitless knowledge in this world!” He gestured to the rows of shelves. Beside one of them was a research table, the flayed body of a woman in Yharnam clothing sat, her blood running into a pan. Two eyes floated in a jar of liquid. Aeris felt sick. The room stretched further than the eye could see, it almost twisted and doubled back on itself. The fog obscured its true nature. It felt much like the Nightmare.

Antal walked forward, “what is this place, Micolash?”

“Your blood addling friend should be able to tell you,” he stared at Aeris. Her eyes widened. “Yes, girl, your assumption is correct.”

He made no moves to speak. Her mouth dried. The words got lost. If Antal were to find out the nature of this place, he would go too far looking to kill every Great One. Even the Great One’s child at the end of hell. Killing it would stop the nightmare. Stopping hunters from coming here.

And prevent them from having a place to be saved from should they go blood drunk.

“Oh, my my, you have not told him anything. Antal, this girl is lying to you!” He cackled at his own hand flourish as the room danced with light and fog. Aeris felt herself fall backwards. Somewhere far off she heard Antal fall against something. The fog flooded the library like a river's current. It twisted and pulled in different directions.

"Antal!" She called, her voice shaking.

Nothing responded in the silent halls. She couldn't hear any footsteps besides her own and the ever present low chime of her bell. Her boots hit the wood floor with urgency as she ran through the shelves. Ahead she found a spiraling staircase that descended into nothingness. She could hear the low murmuring of Antal’s voice from below. The fog obscured both where she was headed, and where she'd come from. Bookshelves lined the walls here as well. A tea table sat in the center of a clearing of the shelves. A fancy china plate and teapot sat on the table. Dead roses were in a vase. Sitting in a fancy chair was Micolash. He had a crazed smile on his face and held an ornate teacup in his hands.

"Hello there, forbidden eyed girl. Take a seat. I will treat you to tea." Freshly plucked eyes poured from the teapot into the cup. Clear viscous liquid seemed to revitalize the roses on the table. Brown eyes. Blue, Green. Even some amber. But no purple. 

She screamed and ran into another obscured hall and ducked into an alcove. His voice ever present around her. “The things you must have seen, I understand why you lied. No one can fight the hunts to the nightmare. But I can take care of you.”

She shook. The room was dark. Her eyes allowed her to see just enough to see a figure walk up. She was cornered. She pulled the dagger and prepared to strike. He knelt down to her and smiled in her face. “Found you!”

She screamed and struck out with the blade. She used the longer sword to stab into his chest and jumped over him. She climbed up a bookshelf and launched herself off of it. It was too dense to knock over, so she threw books at him. A copy of the Faerie Queene smashed into the cage, knocking him off balance. He stood, looking distraught. “Why won’t you just stay still?” He shouted at her.

She watched in horror as the skin fused itself back together. It seemed to radiate a sickly green color as the edges seared shut. His clothing itself stitched; the fibers entangling into intangible threadwork. She couldn’t even tell he had been injured. She bolted down the opposite hallway, she could hear his crying after her, “Please grant me the eyes to see. To line my brain, and cure me of my beastly idiocy!” He sounded like he was weeping. 

She knocked over a stack of books, a cover fell open showing a beautiful painting of Queen Yharnam covered in blood. The paint itself shifted. The Queen looked at her with malicious motherly eyes. Stay with me, forevermore. Aeris screamed. The pistol on her side clanged against the rakuyo’s sheath as she stumbled down another spiraling staircase. It looked identical to the one in Byrgenwerth. At the base of the stairs was another long hallway, she followed it. Skeletons adorned in Cainhurst dresses and Yharnam civilian clothing reached out to her. She struck blindly with the blade, sending scraps of tattered fabric to the floor. Ahead she saw Antal running.

“Antal, I’m here!” She shouted. He turned and ran towards her.

“Aeris, behind you! There’s… two of you?” He asked. She prepped to run straight into him, her legs would not slow down. Terror coursed the blood. Her head smacked something made of glass. His hands pressed against something. An  invisible wall. Antal looked at her and waved in her face, then banged on the same glass. He aimed at the glass, and then vanished. Looking wildly around, Aeris realized she was standing in front of a mirrored wall, the very edges were encrusted with dulled gemstones. Smoky fog billowed out around it, the wisps coalescing into an arcing wave. It beckoned. The swirls enveloped her ankles. Another Aeris stood on the other side of the mirror. White church robes and a saw cleaver in hand, a bright strand of light connected to her body and faded off into an ethereal darkness. Both of their eyes widened. Aeris looked at her hands and saw that same purple silhouette. It seemed lighter in color than she remembered the version she now looked at was seeing. Both of them marveled at the purple tint together, a perfect understanding. They would do nothing about it. There was no need. Her hand touched the glass at the same time as her other self and the surface fractured like a kaleidoscope. 

Was I right to lie?

It shimmered into brilliant black starlight. The Aeris in the mirror turned around and began screaming. She clutched her head and fell into a viscous black ocean. Aeris strained to see what she could not. A being of shadow and shape floated closer in the mirror. She could see appendages made of rolling flesh. It seemed to squelch as it stared at her. She forced her eyes forward. Blood spurted from her vision and one eye cut out. She clutched her remaining eye, the sensation of gelatinous pieces of her smashed eye ran down her face in a bloody goop. Her vision hazed. The pain in her head mixed with the fog and rolled over her in relentless high tide waves. She rolled on the ground, grasping for her weapon.

Her hand felt a boot. Antal!

“Well, well, well. What a folly you have been chasing.”

“Get away from me!” She couldn’t feel her hands any longer. Even if the rakuyo was in her palm, she would be unable to tell. She thought again of the rolling flesh, trying to force the image she saw to process. Her ear seemed to explode. She could feel warm liquid leaking out of it. “You bastard, why can't I see you?” She forced it again. For a split second she felt on the cusp of seeing it. Like she had forgotten a word but it hung just on the tip of her memory. A scream from far off. She felt the blood in her left arm explode from the veins.

Something warm was in her mouth, the familiar taste of copper blood fell to the back of her throat. She swallowed, and the world seemed to focus a bit on its edges. Cold. It was cold. She found herself blinking slowly. She was on her back staring up at a library’s ceiling. Intricately carved stars played a game of hide and seek in its plaster. She felt weak. Beside her sat Micolash. He held a latch-lidded cup in his hand that seemed to have some sort of filter on top. 

A cool cloth was on her neck. 

He stroked her hair, “All of us see things in a mirror we would rather not. Still, it would be a shame for it to be the reason to waste such beautiful eyes. However did  you get such fine specimens?” His finger pulled the skin under her eyelid. She did not break eye contact with him.

She wanted to stab him. She could. She was a bell hunter. Essentially immortal, except for Sandra. But she needed to know more. Anything was worth that price. 

Her voice sounded much weaker than she intended. “Fine then. I have a gambit, a deal for you. Not only will I tell you exactly what happened to cause this, you may also pluck out one of my eyes, I won’t stop you. But in return I want a question answered.”

“Now you are speaking a language I can understand. You will tell me about your eyes first as a downpayment. And once I tell you everything you want to know, I get to have this pretty little thing.” The touch of his ungloved hand to her face made her want to murder him. 

She could only barter for two things. How she wanted to ask more. A litany of questions threatened to erupt from her mouth. How did he know about her? Who or what is Runesmith Carryl? What was that creature she could never see? What happened to hunters when they woke up from the hunt? And on and on. She composed herself.

“We have a deal,” she shook his hand. He held it a moment too long, the excitement shaking his fingers. He waved his hand and a bookshelf slid sideways, revealing an operating room similar to what she had seen in the Nightmare. She sat on a table while he pulled a spoon-like instrument with a long handle from a drawer, then poured some form of liquid into a clear glass beaker.

She began, “there was a special kind of blood pulled from Ebrietas. None of the other blood from her was like it. It was brought here for study and then stolen, this much you know. But what you don’t know is that a Cainhurst Knight stole it and gave it to Annalise. She took it and became the closest thing humanity has gotten to ascension. She is immortal and has the ability to heal, but did not transform into a beast, nor did she lose that little thing that makes us all human. I found a small sample that had not been stolen, and injected it into my eyes. I was able to see the world beyond Rom’s seal, without having to break it.”

“By the gods, you are so close to ascension. You can see the world as it is? That must be why you can tap into the visages of the cosmos! Flawed really, you would die just the same. But your eyes can see it, because you’ve lined yourself with eyes, you have partially ascended.” He excitedly grabbed her shoulders and stared deep into her eyes. She refused to allow herself to blink. His eyes were hollow. As if he had never been able to sleep again. “Oh, bell hunter, you’re dying aren’t you? You’re succumbing to the blood just like all the rest. I will be sure to take these from you, before you destroy them permanently.”

She felt a rosebush in her mind get ripped to shreds. The roses on the ground were smashed by some hulking creature. 

J̶u̶s̶t̴ ̴g̶i̸v̷e̶ ̵h̴i̶m̵ ̷w̷h̶a̷t̴ ̷h̷e̸ ̶w̴a̸n̷t̷s̸.̵ ̶Y̶o̴u̵ ̶d̵o̸n̷'̸t̶ ̵h̸a̵v̷e̴ ̴t̵o̶ ̸f̴i̵g̸h̵t̶ ̴a̴n̷y̷m̴o̶r̶e̴.̸

It was almost enticing. Her body was tired. Beaten down. She threw up a brick wall in her mind, separating herself from Sandra once more. Her face was sweating. How did he know so much? She wiped her forehead with her hand. Breathing heavily. She could do this. No, no. She had to do this. Karla had sought to stop her any chance they got. Yet they knew so much about the world. Why?

She was almost breathless, “what happens to a Dreaming Hunter if they wake from the Dream and the Hunts?” 

“You are the second foolhardy Hunter to ask such a thing. You truly think you can defy the Great Ones? Poor thing. You are delusional.” He stirred a droplet of blue serum into the beaker, “You are asking about Hunters that are freed from the hunts. Those that do not close the loop and ascend to be a Great One, or are undone by the blood. Those hunters awake to the sunrise with no memories of what had happened the night before. They forget everything!” He was manic, almost fearful while setting tools down on a table.

Gehrman.

He looked into her eyes again, the giddy excitement of a child reflecting his greed and stupor. “What was your second question, Hunter Aeris?”

“Tell me what you know about Runesmith Carryl.”

“Ooh, now that’s an interesting subject.” He tapped her neck and temple and grabbed a book from a shelf. 

“That one is old. Older than any human present, and even some of the Great Ones. They’ve been walking this rotten earth long enough to have a history with everything you can think of. The Beings of Chaos. Tarnished ones. Children of Flames. Hollowed. Whatever name the Gods and their benefactors go by, Carryl has been a part of it. They transcribed their language into tangible form, giving us access to such wondrous abilities. Access to the knowledge that connects to the eyes and ascendance. It was odd, really. Carryl had no obligation to the Great Ones, and even seemed uninterested, but one hunt a bell appeared on their side. And unlike all you other Dreaming Hunters, theirs never went away. Odd really. None of the Great Ones or their power ever frightened Carryl. But there’s a Great One that even Carryl was afraid of. Formless Oedon. It has no body, but exists in omnipresence. You have tried and failed to peer into its form, did you not? It has been arguing with the one known as Flora for some time. Humans exist between them, lucky recipients of their judgment. Tools given to find their power. Like these eyes!”

Her mind reeled. Karla had been part of this for only a short time of their life. And yet they were intent to stop Aeris from combining the hunts. And a bell that never vanished. She needed to talk to Karla. Once she found Dawn, maybe Dawn would know what to do. Dawn was always so insightful. And that Great One… one she could not see, even with her eyes, and one that even Karla was scared of. If it was a pissing contest of Gods, how did Carryl fit in? Now she had more questions than answers. Wait.  He had told her about Carryl and Formless Oedon.

“You gave me three pieces of information.”

“Consider it an advance payment, Dear.” He snapped a strap as quickly as she began striking against his throat. He fell backwards, and Aeris saw her legs get clamped down. She grabbed her rakuyo to strike at him. Even with her legs restrained, she could strike him from here. She struck, knowing a table of vials to the ground. He laughed at her, unfazed. He reached his arm out as she struck once again. A spray of tentacles came from his arm. It pierced her arm. It went slack and the rakuyo fell to the floor. She pulled her pistol and fired with her other hand, it struck his face. The bullet embedded, but instead of blood, brown mucus dribbled out. Slowly the bullet pushed from the skin. It dropped and he caught it in his palm. “You hunters are always so quick to violence.” More tentacles embedded in her limbs, forcing her body down. She screamed and writhed. Another leather strap was latched across her. Her hands restrained. He pulled the tentacles out, and drained blood into her mouth. She spat it out. She would die here before she let him take more than she had consented to.

“Oh, the Gods have blessed me with the perfect specimen of a Great One. You will be such a wonderful vessel!” 

Aeris yanked against the restraints. “I’ll kill you!” She screamed. He snatched the bell on her side and held it up into the light. “Ooh! Majestic! A hunter is a hunter, even in a dream. But, alas, not too fast! You are quite far gone, I am glad I will be removing these eyes before they would be destroyed. Perhaps you have been too corrupted to be my vessel. No matter.”

He held her bell firmly, and cupped her face with his other. His touch was sharp. She felt her bell’s resonation falter. She coughed up blood. Her body felt faint. Her leg felt as if it was severing. “You have been busy, girl.” He thoughtfully stared into her bell, “Oh I see, you have been Dream hopping. Your actions have been quite remarkable.” 

She wildly looked around the room for anything she could use to strike back. Escape. Kill him.

He pulled her chin to face him, “Oh, you kindred spirit, look into my eyes. No, no, look harder.” She felt her consciousness slip. Her mind felt as if it was bisected from her body. It didn’ connect. Her feelings were off. The bell’s resonation continued to devolve. She felt herself looking into his eyes, in spite of herself. They were a beautiful vibrant blue. Were they always so blue?

“What are you?” She asked weakly.

“Shhh, look into my eyes. Deep into my eyes.”

He continued to hold her bell in his hand and picked up the instrument. He placed it at the edge of her lower eye. “Good, Aeris, good.” Her eyes were already hazy. It felt as if any moment the delicate resonance dancing in their room of fog would shatter. Take her mind with it. Pain. Immeasurable pain. Her vision in one eye clouded, stretched. The room warped. Blurry. Agony. She saw for a moment something against her vision. Then half went dark. She heard screaming. It was a woman’s scream. She was in agony. Somewhere far off. She was in agony. Tears poured down her face with blood. She writhed against the table. Her one working eye was pulsing with the pain that overtook her body. Oh, The woman screaming was her. She looked towards Micolash and saw on the table a bloodied purple eye in a beaker. She panicked. The restraint stopped her arm from striking him. She pulled an arm up. It wouldn’t move. She blinked. One eyelid blinked over blood. The room felt as if it had a heartbeat. Her heartbeat.

“That was only your first eye. I thought you told me you would not struggle?” He sounded hurt. Then angry, “I thought you told me you would not struggle!” He struck the table with his palm.

He paced the room for a moment, continuing to hold her bell. “No, no. I understand even without you saying it. You have prayed for the safety of others. A desire to change these hunts. You are a magnificent hunter… Your desire to beat these hunts is stronger than your word. But no one will win. I was chosen, do you not see? This is the only way to survive. I was better than all of them!”

“How can you do that to my bell?” Her voice cracked. Her body knotted itself. Panic. Fear. She could barely move. Her mind itself was heavy. 

He clenched her bell in his hands, it sent a reverberation of pain in time with the resonation through her bones. She whimpered. He held it firm, “I was chosen, do you not understand? When we created that creature it took everyone, but not me. I was chosen by Formless Oedon himself to be the Host of this Nightmare for any who wander in it or come seeking knowledge. Your resonance is otherworldly, as now am I. I was granted so much, but not the eyes to see!”

He leaned down and put the metal spoon to her eye. She pulled her head away and he yanked her neck back into place. It was cold against the skin. She shuddered. She looked around the room, to imprint it into memory. There was no fire or true light. Just a dull glow of a form of moonlight. She was crying.

D̵o̶n̶'̴t̷ ̷l̵e̸a̴v̴e̵ ̵m̸e̷ ̶i̸n̴ ̴t̶h̷e̷ ̸d̴a̶r̵k̷ ̷I̵ ̸c̷a̵n̷'̴t̸ ̶b̵e̶ ̶i̸n̶ ̷t̸h̵e̶ ̵d̵a̸r̷k̷.̷ ̶P̷l̴e̸a̵s̴e̶!̸

A church pick flew through the air and impaled him. Micolash shouted and dropped the spoon, but not her bell. He stared at the form of Antal standing in the doorway. 

Micolash attached her bell to his side and grabbed the beaker with her floating eye and held it. Like before, his body and clothing repaired themselves, almost as if a blood vial was being used. 

“This one’s not the real one either.” Antal fumed. He ran in. Used a shelf to dodge the tentacles that sprayed from Micolash. Then he grabbed the scholar by the throat and slammed him against another mirror on the wall. Micolash giggled, never dropping the bell or beaker.

Strangely, Micolash wasn’t sputtering or struggling when he fell to the floor. He just sat there, laughing. 

“What I told you is true, you should ask Aeris!”

Antal opened the mechanism on his rosmarinus. That same almost haunting melody played as sparkles of acidic light enveloped the man. His skin seemed to fray at the seams. It dissolved into the air. Along with him went her bell and the beaker. 

“Antal! He has my bell!”Cracks seemed to frame where the the scholar’s body had been like a smattering of stars. For a moment Aeris saw Formless Oedon in the reflection. It stood in the distance watching. Its form shifted several times, but it almost morphed into a fleshy creature with wings of sparkling shadow. The very visage made her scream again. But she held that image in her mind. 

Damn you, I will see you for what you are.

Its body faced her. For a moment its entire existence was made clear. A tree with roots connected throughout the world. Not as a part of an ecosystem, but grafted on. Its wings could envelop the whole of moonlight. But not quite. Its body twisted and turned. Sometimes a mouth full of eyes, and sometimes eyes full of teeth. Her head burned. Her eye screamed. She could feel veins popping through her body.

It spoke. Its voice was a frigid searing whisper that resonated outwards from her chest and mind. 

“ᚷᛁᚱᛚ ᛟᚠ ᚺᛟᛚᛚᛟᚹ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛏᚨᚱᚾᛁᛊᚺ. ᛞᛁᛖ.”

She almost felt the hunts shift. Somewhere she heard an inhuman scream. It was garbled. Full of pain and suffering. It came from somewhere far away. Whose scream was it? Who sounded so anguished, beastly, but once yet human? Her mind was at the cusp of fracturing. Her harmonizing sputtered. As if her bell was about to shatter. 

Sharp pain across her face. Another. Antal over her. His hand connecting to her face. Empty blood vials in his hand. She looked down, there was no bell on her side. 

“Where is my bell?” She meant to shout, but it came out as a crackled whisper.

“Micolash still has it. I can hear its resonance. Listen.”

She stopped. From her chest she still felt it echoing out, but it was hollow, almost bisected. But it was her chime. He helped her sit up and placed the rakuyo in her lap. Antal peered into her eyes and looked confused.

“He did a number on you. Didn’t know your original eyes were green.”

“What!?” She jumped up, her aching body screaming at her. She ran to the mirror and stared, open mouthed. One purple eye. One green. But the blood should have restored her. It should have fixed them like so many before. She traced the green eye. How could he? How did he? She put her hand to the glass where it had splintered. A shard cut her finger. As the droplet ran down, she heard the scream again, from far off. But it was almost being played backwards. What started as a beast slowly morphed into that of a human woman. That voice. Dawn!

“You said you haven’t seen Dawn?” Aeris whipped around. “Where is she? I have to find her! This place is the Nightmare, right Antal?” She found her words unraveling as her mind quickened. “What the hell is he? How could he do this? Everything I’ve done and fought for, does it mean nothing? He’s going to kill me before I even get the chance to-” She moved to run to the doorway. She needed her bell. With that, she could get Antal out. And go find Dawn. And she needed to check in on Cyril again. And talk with Karla. There was also Henryk and the other hunters who were faring poorly. She had to go and-

Antal blocked her path. 

“Antal, we need to move!”

“No. Not until you tell me what this place is. What are you lying about?”

“I don’t have time for this!”

“Micolash is a conniving bastard. But he confirmed what I already suspected, you’re keeping something big from us. From all the Dreaming Hunters. I will ask you again, what are you lying about?”

Aeris fumbled with the rakuyo. Not now. Not now. She had to save him. Save Dawn. Stop the hunters from damning themselves. She was the only one who could do it. 

“Fine. I gave you a chance. You will tell me what the nightmare is, right now.” He grabbed her arm and pinned her to the mirror’s surface. Aeris panicked. Dawn. Antal. Micolash had her bell.

“Are you trying to kill me?” She screamed in his face. “He has my bell, if he could take it off me, he can break it. Quit killing me!”

“You don’t actually care about that. If you did, you wouldn’t so carelessly damage your bell. You would have written your name in the guidebook. What is this place?” He slammed her back into the glass and shook her. 

“It will hurt you!”

“Talk!”

“This place… Is called the Nightmare. I’ve been here before. It was created when the Old Hunters killed a Great One in the abandoned fishing hamlet. She cursed them. This is hell for blood drunk hunters, and whatever Micolash has become.”

His nose started bleeding, “Why would you keep it from me? Some of the more inexperienced hunters like that church girl, sure. Why would you keep it from me? What aren’t you telling us?”

“Please. I need my bell.”

“Aeris!” He wiped the blood from his face.

“Fine! At the end of this hell is the child of the Great One keeping this place going. If you kill that Great One, the Nightmare goes away!”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

“Because if you destroy the Nightmare, you destroy any chance of saving a blood drunk hunter.”

He released her, “Saving… a blood drunk hunter?”

“Ye- yes. If a blood drunk hunter’s body isn’t destroyed, and you kill the blood drunken beast version of them in the Nightmare… they are able to be saved.”

“How long have you known about this?”

She was silent. He finally spoke when she did not. His tone wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It was quiet, emotionless. “Are you telling me I murdered my best friend?”

Aeris’ stomach dropped. She stumbled forward, catching herself. “Who was your best friend?”

“His name was Yamamura.”

She put her hand to her mouth and fell to her knees. Bile on the floor. No. No. No. The hunter’s way is always to be late to understanding. That’s what he’d told her. Or something like it. She looked up at Antal, hot tears drained down her face. Agonized breaths of guilt tightened her throat. She moved her mouth, but nothing came out. He killed Yamamura before she could save him. She wasn’t going fast enough. No. She lied. This Yamamura couldn’t be saved. What if it happened too many times? But if she told them, the truth of the world would kill so many of the hunters. Others would question too far and go insane. But not telling them…

N̵o̷.̴ ̴T̴h̷e̴y̵'̷r̴e̶ ̴a̷l̵l̵ ̵g̵o̷i̵n̵g̵ ̵t̷o̸ ̴d̷i̷e̷.̴ ̷I̸t̵ ̵w̵a̶s̷ ̴a̷l̷l̴ ̷f̷o̴r̷ ̵n̴o̴t̷h̸i̴n̴g̵.̶

He jammed the church pick into the worn wooden floor and stared at her.

She shook, trying to stand. “Antal, please, I was trying to protect you!”

“And he’s dead for it. How many others are dead because you couldn’t be bothered to- No.” He stopped himself. She watched in horror as he paced the room. “I know why you didn’t say anything.” He looked at his hand and the fresh blood from his nose. “I know why… Is there more?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She limply followed his direction. He started walking out of the laboratory and down the hall. “We’re getting your bell. And then you will tell me everything. Understood?”

“Yes. I’m sor-”

“Save your apologies.”

She nodded and followed him as silently as possible. The random bottles and bags of gunpowder shifted against one another in her bag. 

She moved the bottles around in her back, her fingers lingering on a blood vial, she spoke quietly, “who exactly was Micolash before all of this?”

“He’s always been a creep, and smart. But that’s about it. He was just some guy.”

“So why’d he say you wanted him dead?”

“He had a habit of looking down the shirts of female scholars. And was a pompous ass in the research hall. I have no idea how he got here.” He began walking down a hallway with books littering the floor, as if someone knocked them over in a hurry.

“From what he told me, he got lucky and happened to not die. Now he’s a willing steward of Formless Oedon’s will.”

He looked at her incredulously, “what the hell did you two talk about?”

“The Great Ones, and his strange obsession with my eyes. That’s outdated information, right?”

“Correct. Sometime after the experiment in Yahar'gul it was discovered that eyes have absolutely nothing to do with ascension.”

“Well, yeah, always seemed like a metaphor to me.” Her cadence lifted slightly, for a moment she felt as if she could reach her self again. One look at Antal silenced her. He looked as if he wanted to smack her. They continued on in silence. Occasionally, the sound of pattering and feet and hushed whispers swirled with the fog. She was convinced that the bookshelves themselves were changing layout; a never ending maze. She pulled a coin from her bag and dropped it on the ground. It caught the dim lighting and glittered.

It felt like nearly an hour of walking in circles when a voice cried out from the mists, “A grand lake of mud... Hidden now from sight…”

They looked at each other and moved forward, doing their best to follow the sound of his deranged screaming. 

“The cosmos, of course! Let us sit about, and speak, feverishly. Chatting into the wee hours of... new ideas of the higher plan. Hmmm, these eyes. As if prayers of ascendence themselves can be heard.”

They rounded a corner and found themselves in a clearing with walls made of mirrors, a lone shining coin next to a bookshelf gleamed. Aeris saw visages and vague shapes of Great Ones and humans alike. She shook Antal’s arm, “don’t look into them. It’s the visages of-”

“I can see them just fine. I was a researcher, Aeris. You are not the only source of knowledge.” 

Micolash sat at a research table with beakers of eyes surrounding him. Blood boiled in bunsen burners. Graphs of human bodies scattered the floor. On the table was a mechanical body that looked almost humanoid. It had articulated hands and a face. A head of silver hair. Maria. The Doll.

“Welcome! Ah-hah, welcome to our dream.” He laughed, holding Aeris’ eye in one hand, and his own green eye in the other. Veins dragged out of his socket. He drenched her eye in a clear liquid and connected it to the nerve endings hanging down his cheek. He then grabbed the boiling blood and poured it on his face. Incomprehensible screaming as he rolled on the floor.

“Let us sit about and speak feverishly, chatting into the wee hours... OF MY WONDERFUL NIGHTMARE!!! AGHHHHHHH! AGHHHHHHH!” The beakers and burners were knocked to the floor. Oil caught alight. It glowed in the swirlings mists and fog. Aeris reached her hand out. It looked so beautiful. Like the sunrise over a misty mountain. She pulled her hand back as he sat up, smiling too wide.

One green eye and one purple looked at her. An asymmetrical mirror to her own body.

“Ah-hah, welcome to our dream. But we do not need anyone, not any more! The sacred rite nears completion. The dream will be real! We will be granted eyes! In this dream of dreams!”

“What the hell is that thing?” Aeris pointed at the lifesize Doll on the table.

“The prototype made for Gehrman. So much fuss over a woman, I say. He just could not let her go. Then he made a deal with a Great One to inhabit it. Give him some company in his Dream. That is the path you want to walk, is it not, Aeris?”

He stood and curtsied once again. A chain fell from his arm and her bell swung back and forth. Its resonance seemed to tie them together. For a moment she saw the resonance of her soul harmonize with Antal, and Micolash, and somewhere in a mirror, a Great One reached out to her. 

Antal let loose a sparkling array of gas from the rosmarinus. He ran at Antal and Aeris used the blaze spreading the room to catch the oil on her rakuyo alight. Antal pushed the church pick into Micolash’s abdomen. As he pulled back to thrust again, she struck with her blades in a flurry across his legs. He fell to one knee.

Laughing, he put his palms together and a bright light erupted from his hands. It dazzled like shining fragmented diamonds in all directions. An explosion of white starlight caused several small star explosions around the room. The floor itself seemed to explode outward. In the mirrors, the reflection of another Antal dying to this exact same nebula danced around the room. 

Her arm was twisted the wrong direction. As she drank a blood vial she saw Antal jump on top of Micolash and began beating him with his fists. Strike after strike bloodied the face of the madly laughing scholar. 

“I see everything!” Micolash cried. “You are all going to die!” His laughter pushed through Aeris ears. Somewhere far off, she felt a creature in her mind shift and come for her. She ran for her bell and tried to grab it, but a deafening screech like that of a beast threw her and Antal backwards. An oil urn in her bag cracked, covering her in fuel. A black cube of swirling energy exploded above Micolash, sending blackened shards of glass through her and Antal. 

She sparked a flint and steel on her own clothes and ran at Micolash. She tackled him, cracking another oil urn onto his body. He began screaming in her ear. She wouldn’t let go. Her muscles tightened against bone. She felt her leg break. Then the other. She screamed as she stabbed his purple eye with her dagger. She watched the retina split, dilate, and go lifeless. 

The other eye began to glaze and shift, he looked at her in distress, “Now I'm waking up, I'll forget everything…”

Agonizing pain overtook her and she fell on her side. She could barely see. She reached, searching in desperation for her bell. She felt its cold metal exterior be placed in her hand. She looked up. In the haze she saw Antal. His mask was askew. He was an ordinary man in his fifties. An old burn mark changed the shape of his left cheek. His eyes were a clear brown. No blood drunkenness anywhere. Beyond him, the fog dissipated and a path to a bridge and the terraces beyond Yahar'gul loomed. Beside them was the same corpse they had inspected to end up here. It wore the same robes as Micolash. Freed from the nightmare, without a body to go back to anymore.

She felt relieved.

“Antal, Yamamura is a Dreaming hunter. He’s alive. I met him. We can still save him.”

He sat next to her and shook his head, “don’t give me hope. I’ve had enough to ruin a man for a lifetime.”

She didn’t say anything. He injected a vial into her arm, but nothing happened. Her veins were fried.

“Aeris, you need to tell everyone what is happening. You will not lie anymore. You’ve done enough damage.”

“Okay.”

She gritted her teeth. The burns hurt. Bone and flesh seared beyond recognition. She was used to dying quickly. This was hell. She looked at him, pleading. “It hurts.”

“I know.” He stood and grabbed her pistol, “when you wake up, do right by us, Moron. You put me into a position of having to rely on others. And I hate you for it.”

She heard the gunshot and found herself lying in the dirt of Yahar'gul. Ahead the creature milled about in the courtyard, incoherently roaring. Beyond it was Micolash, and the path forward to the convergence point of the Great Ones. She needed to find Dawn. Speak with the others. Make good on her promise. The night’s end was close. She would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Cyril stood in Central Yharnam breathing in the smoke and scent of the oil slicked streets. A red blood moon hazed the world in a soft blanket of vermillion. The creatures crawling from its fibers were entirely different. Some beasts seemed to have twisted, grown larger. The blood drunken Yharnamites outside the city that he hadn’t managed to save were only recognizable for being bipedal. Shouts echoed across the city as groups of hunters defended their fortified barriers. They were louder. Both the fear from the people, and the beasts everywhere. A stone’s throw of sound would send them frenzying. Like the swarms of flies off a disturbed corpse.

Marnie and Aeris had both been right. The hunts could be manipulated by the combined efforts of everyone. Both of them were insane. But right. Time would tell if their ambition would remembered as triumph, or folly. He strode towards the barrier at the main road. A group of Yharnamites now armed with saw cleavers instead of pitchforks stared at him. The icy look given to outsiders.

Nevertheless, one of the men handed him a flare gun and spoke, “you remember what yer’ s’posed to do?”

He nodded, holding the small gun in his hand. All of them had judged his wiry frame, but gave pause to the sword on his back. Any older than thirty knew that blade. A weapon to fight the scourge. Only Marnie had convinced them he was no grave robber. The Dreaming version of her, masquerading as this world’s innocent church girl. He smirked, a bit of indulgent amusement. It was better than the reality that another child had become a soldier.

He stuck the torch on his back and walked quietly down the road. He could hear the beasts scurrying around him. Still he kept on down the main road of Yharnam. Corpses lay in random heaps down its length, some beast and some still human. In the alleys, stairwells, and smaller roads surrounding this area of the city groups of young Yharnamites had moved at a consistent pace. Two armed with weapons, while a third always carried a censer. The scent of cheap incense wafted up into the air mixing with the haze of red and smells of death and blood. 

Marnie was a learned girl he had discovered. The idea to have a rudimentary circumvallation was entirely her creation. To create a hazy wall of repellent to prevent the beasts from escaping, and lead them to slaughter at the erected wall at the end of Yharnam’s main road. The work of a soldier. He stopped towards the end of the road, behind him he could see the Yharnamites on the roofs preparing to assault. He held the gun high above his head, and fired. A screaming cry emitted from the sparkling white flare that rose into the sky. A plume of white smoke dissipated into the air. And around him, the screeching of beasts began. 

They converged from alleyways and swarmed towards him. He turned on his heel and began sprinting back towards the barrier. He could hear them bounding close. He passed a balcony on his left. The Dreaming Marnie stood, another flare in hand. As he crossed a pool of oil that spanned the width of the road, he heard the beasts slosh in it. Everyone held their rifles up waiting. He jumped a spread of razor wire and clamored up a ladder. He finally looked behind him. Werewolves, crows, blood drunken civilians, dogs, rats, and members of the church all snarled forward. Black spit and coagulated drool drained down their faces. The sound was nearly overwhelming, even for him. The man from earlier helped him to his feet. Cyril saw them beginning to falter. The screams of the beasts sending a fearful madness through everyone. He felt it too. The call of despair. The sounds of their neighbors twisted into that of an inhuman cry of bloodlust.

They pushed against the barrier. Wood splintered. The people stepped backwards. Cyril pushed through them. Stood on the precipice of the barrier. 

“Yharnam, your people need you! Hold your ground!” The bravado of hero worship. Another invention by Marnie.

He watched as she waited until the last beast crossed the threshold of oil, and fired the flare gun downwards. It bounced through the oil, sending a blaze two meters high. The others took it as the signal. A row of Yharnamites fired bullets into the mound of frenzying beasts. They stepped back to reload, and another group followed suit. Two werewolves clawed to the edge of the barrier. Saliva dripped onto the boots of one of the men. Cyril grabbed the handle of his sword. Blue light reflected in the empty eyes of the beasts. One werewolf shrieked in agony as its face was scorched by the radiant aquamarine light. Marnie ran the length of the rooftop and slid down. She grabbed a portable cannon from the piles of ammunition. She focused. Fired. Her body shook from the recoil. The werewolf fell backwards. Crushed a rat. The oozing yellow pus of their decomposing bodies erupted. It smelled. Death. Rot. 

Staring at the writhing pile of dying beasts and listening to the cries of fearful hunters reminded him of stories from the warfront. The trenches made mass graves of rotting flesh. The incense meant for beasts and addled humans erupted from a censer in the hand of a younger hunter. It plumed over them in a yellow haze. He was a man of education. Spared from needing to heed the horrors of war. Running for a foreign city and the tales of creatures at night, rather than see the world for what it was.

His stomach twisted. Would Anais be ashamed of him? He gritted his teeth as the brilliant blue light glowed in the yellow haze. A beast fell to a crisp on the ground. She had run first. Left him behind. His eyes watered from the incense. He heard it, the sound of scratching from far off. It came from…

“Above you!” He screamed as a crow landed atop a man and punctured his face. Cyril bashed the crow with the sword as more crows landed. A still burning corpse of a woman who’d gone mad crawled as if on instinct. She bit into the ankle of a boy about Marnie’s age. The beasts overwhelmed the platform. They crawled up the corpses. The spattering and squelching of decay and death overwhelmed them. Several Yharnamites held the line, beating some back with saw cleavers. Others turned and ran. They were picked off by addled dogs and rats. He saw a flash of a crow’s garb and the shout of an elderly woman. 

Cyril called the strength from within himself and sent off flare after flare of aquamarine light. He could hear bullets cracking around him, moving quickly. Marnie. She would stagger a beast to his front, and the greatsword would cleave through it effortlessly. They continued their dance. The Yharnamites joined them. A cluster honing in on the death around them, silencing it in a macabre Maraîchine. The beasts were aggressive. Some of them still had an almost human hatred to their eyes, watering with lust for the lives of all on the platform. They began to overtake it. The wood below him splintered and he fell through to the ground. He sat in foul smelling sewage, ten feet down. The scrambling carcasses of countless civilians converged. The almost human cries of hunger made his grip falter. The water was putrid, thick with congealed fecal matter. But it was a stone culvert. It ran the full length of the converging beasts.

“Marnie, throw oil down here. Move everyone! I will be a distraction!” He couldn’t believe his own words. Insane just like them. 

“Will do!” Came the cry from the young girl.

He cracked a smile, looking at the beasts writing towards him. Bile leaked from their mouths. It sizzled in the water. There was barely clearance to stand. The culvert continued into darkness, where the roof had not been shattered. He began screaming, running down its length. He could hear the twisted cracked bodies scream and follow. It was dark. It smelled awful. The sound of breaking pots behind him. He heard the sound of another’s chime join alongside him and Marnie. Good. Someone to replace him. He pulled the blade and lit the world with the vibrant light of the sword. The walls were covered in grime and moss. Bugs crawled up the stonework. Ahead, some ten creatures were coming to him. The power welled from within him and the blade and the bell. An explosion of blue starlight. It threw the beasts back, cooking some to death. He ran forward back into the torchlit night just as a flare fired into the smell of oil. It swelled into a wall of flames. He felt his mouth scorch. He was screaming. His body went airborne and he saw the night sky above him. It was breathtaking. A dark blue canvas covered in glimmering constellations. Leo Minor. Ursa Major. Delta Leonis.

Beautiful.

His body collided into the wall. Bones broke. Shattered. The pain was unbearable. A werewolf snarled above him. Hopefully it was quick. His vision hazed. A slash of blades blurred around him. There was another beastly shriek. The sound of a woman’s quick breath. He opened his eyes and saw a blood soaked hunter standing above him, breathing heavily. Her white hair was covered in grime.

“Hey Cyril! I got one of those special blood vials, you want to live, or want me to mercy kill ya so you can wake up on some calming rocks?” He could see a vial grasped in her hand.

“You insane-” He stopped when he saw her bell. Cracks ran down to its sound bow like rivulets of silvered water, browned with pollution. And then he met her gaze. Even through the haze, he could see that its color had changed. Heterochromia? “Aeris… what happened to your eyes?”

“Oh, you like them? I lost an eye to a beast and my replacement is so drab and dreary!”

Her eye had reverted to its original color. But why? What could have caused that? No amount of damage or destruction could undo that. Or rather, it shouldn’t be able to. 

She dumped alcohol onto his arm and injected the blood vial. He gritted his teeth as the world focused, just enough for him to feel his body reconstructing itself. A bone pulled out of his lower intestine. It was painful, but not agonizing as before. He hated how used to this insanity he was getting. Soon he would sound like her. She held a hand and hoisted him up. He found himself standing in knee deep water. It rippled around him, the dying bodies of beasts caught up in its small waves. It was putrid. The taste of rotted clumps in his mouth. He spat as much as he could, and used a flask of alcohol to wash his mouth and hands.

He cracked a smile, “I’d rather you let me die, to be honest.” 

“Well I couldn’t very well let that happen. Besides,” she gestured to Marnie who stood on the remaining platform firing a gun, “I have got to talk to you both!”

Marnie’s shots rang true to each target. She nodded to Cyril as she loaded another round. The sword sat glowing dully in the putrid water. He took a breath and plunged his hand into the sewer waters. He ignored the clumps that brushed his hand as he pulled the gleaming sword from the depths. For what felt like no time at all the three of them fought side by side. Aeris launched herself into the remaining horde and sliced their advance to a crawl. Marnie fired round after round, pulling from a pile of loaded weapons. And Cyril let loose bursts of arcane energy. It dazzled into the whispers of smoke alongside the fire from Aers’ blades, and the flashes of Marnie’s guns. 

A layer of corpses covered the streets, seeping blood into the gutters and cobble of the side streets. Yharnamites cheered. From balconies and doors they celebrated a win over the beasts. He saw their gazes always fall back to Marnie. A hero of the people. Leading the charge against the night sky.

The villagers began to burn the corpses and resume patrols. This would be the first of many battles this night. 

Aeris, Marnie, and Cyril stood together. Aeris spoke first, “wow, this is impressive! I’ve seen some of the handiwork in other worlds and it never stops being absolutely exhilarating!” Her voice dropped to a more serious tone, “you did good, Marnie.”

A quiet smile dipped across Marnie’s face. “Thank you. Our goal is to overthrow the church when the sun rises.”

Cyril stood openmouthed. Marnie. The young girl who had been so supportive of the church and its tenants. Here she stood, a rifle taller than she, brandished against the worst of the hunt; the organization which benefited from it. 

“When the sun rises… you intend to overthrow the church?” Aeris seemed lost in thought. 

Marnie’s tone flattened, “Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

“Not at all. I think it’s wonderful. Fight for the future of Yharnam, for that warm morning sunlight. Let it shine light on the dark corners that caused all this absolute nonsense.” Her cadence was almost a song. Definitely not her own words. Perhaps a hymnal from the Cathedral?

Cyril spoke, staring at the church girl, “Marnie, I am not trying to trounce on your plans or discourage you. But you have to understand, you’re fighting the scourge, a concept greater than all of us. With a systemic destruction of any who attempt to stand in its way. You understand that?”

“I have considered that Cyril. Make no mistake, I know my goal rests on the edge of a blade. But there are three things to know. The first is that the church harnessed the power of a Great One for all this, which means they can be controlled. And if they can be controlled, they can be killed.”

He saw Aeris’ eyes widen with shock at Marnie’s words. He was sure his own expression matched it.

“Second, the people of Yharnam are my family. I have grown up here. I love them, and them me. They will listen to what I have to say. I have become the hero of the people, while the church hunters run and cower, or disappeared entirely.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Aeris spoke first, “What you’ve said is certainly true. But Ludwig tried to do the same as you are now. What makes you think you’ll end up any different than him?”

Marnie turned from Aeris and walked up to Cyril. He stood over her, but he could smell the stench of gunpowder and incense. She touched his blade, warmly. “I do not know how you got this. Any other time I would be angry, but you have used it to help us. And that is the difference. We know more now than Ludwig ever did, and we are not fighting alone.”

Aeris laughed, “good answer!” She walked up to them both. “I will fight with you both to the end of this godforsaken hunt.”

Marnie looked to Aeris, smiling. “To that end we have set up perimeters around the city and cleared all major chokepoints. We armed the people with weapons from every cache we could find, even the church basement.”

Cyril watched Aeris’ head droop and her body stiffen. The madness of concern set her jaw forward. “Did you… clear the basement?”

“Yes, why? If you are concerned about danger, we killed everything in there.”

She started walking in circles, her hands dancing with one another in nervousness. She was practically whispering. “No. No. No no no no no. No.”

“What’s wrong? Aeris?” Cyril walked up to her and she whipped her head up and met his gaze. The corners of her eyes were wetting. “Aeris?”

“Was there a man in a cell down there?”

“You mean the turned beast attempting to break from a cell? Yes. I put him out of his misery.”

Aeris was silent. Her back rigid. Marnie grabbed her shoulder and shook her. Cyril stood at a loss. She was acting just as she had in the chambers of Queen Yharnam. She looked terrified. As if she wanted to run away.

Around them, Yharnamites watched fearful, their eyes fixed on Marnie and the white haired woman that had fought alongside her. Cyril looked at them both, “we need to move out of the public eye. They don’t need to see this.”

Marnie gritted her teeth and nodded, dragging Aeris by the shoulder to one of the small chapels. Stone sculptures of humanity reaching to the heavens dotted the corners. A few benches faced a pulpit. The visage made the hair on Cyril’s neck stand up. How many times had he heard his father scream out against the evils of the world? Even using his sermons to inflict hate on his own mother. Aeris collapsed in a pew like so many parishioners of his past. She was shaking, tears beginning to stream.

“What is wrong? Aeris?” Marnie touched her shoulder and Aeris began.

Her voice was directionless. “Blood drunkenness can be reversed for anyone. It can be stopped. We can put a stop to this madness. But knowing harms people. Even you two!” She stared directly at them both. That same mania as before. Her eyes seemed to see right through him to the little boy in the pew. Just like the gaze of the Queen. “Antal told me to tell everyone. I was just doing what was right, you see? I’ve fought for so long. I can’t find Dawn. But… if you kill someone whose gone blood drunk, they can’t be saved. But if you go to the hell created by a Great One for hunters, and kill their blood drunken phantom self, they can be spared. No one has to suffer!”

Cyril’s nose bled. He felt his arms grow heavy. His head ached. Marnie had blood leaking from her ear. He looked at Marnie, and she him. A headache shared. 

“Aeris, what do you mean that there’s a hell?” Cyril asked. It would have been preposterous a day ago. Her shaking hands and the blood running from his nose told another story now.

“A Great One cursed the Old Hunters like Ludwig and Maria and Laurence and so many others. Now all hunters never stop their hunts. They continue when they die, forever. It never stops. If they die or go blood drunk, that’s where they end up. But not permanently! We can save them! If you kill a hunter in the nightmare and there’s a body to go back to, they wake up! We can save them! But that man… Yamamura…”

The faces of fellow hunters being slain due to their insanity played through his mind. What would Eileen, the Hunter of Hunters, think? It would likely transform her into some form of horrifying crow monster.

“Could the humanly beasts we slew tonight have been saved?” Marnie’s voice was cold.

“Only those who haven’t fully transformed can be spared. So the man in the cell… could be. And so can some hunters that haven’t fully turned into something unrecognizable.”

Before he could process, Marnie’s hand flew into the air. She grabbed Aeris by the collar and shook her. He could see clearly the fear and trepidation in the eyes of both women.

“What did you do?” She snapped. “What did you do!” Her scream rang across the outside yard. 

“I- I was trying to help you. To help everyone. I’m sorry. 

“How many people are dead because of your inaction? This is my family, my home. How many of them have you condemned to death because of your arrogance? Ludwig learned the hard way- you cannot fight the abyss of the hunt!”

“But we all found a way to-”

“No. I found a way to save my family. We worked together to do this. In spite of you.”

“But the hunter in the basement, he was a bell hunter- we can still save him!”

“That is great for us hunters. What about everyone else?” Marnie gestured to the city with her free hand. “You do not care about the people of Yharnam. All you wanted was to play the hero in your little story. None of them even crossed your damn mind!”

Aeris sobbed on the bench. She looked down and away from both Cyril and Marnie. She had lied. With that information, maybe he could have found a way to help them. That prostitute’s blood didn’t cause people to turn. Research. Talking to other hunters. Anything. How many Bell Hunters were damned? How many Yharnamites could have been saved? He had yet to find any of his Journalier colleagues. How many of them were gone now? 

“Is that everything you have to tell us?” Cyril asked.

She shook her head. The blood and tears reminded him of the strays in Perpignan. A shamed animal caught where it wasn’t supposed to be. His stomach clenched. 

“I told you there was a way out at the end of this hell.” She coughed, blood spattered her hand. “The end comes when you’ve caused enough chaos in this hunt to distract the Great Ones orchestrating all this. If you accept your death in the Dream, you can wake up and see sunrise.” 

Cyril stared at her. “As far as I’m aware, as long as we have the will to go on, the only thing that can stop us is the phenomenon of blood drunkenness. You are telling us to accept our deaths? Are you mad? How do you know that will work?”

“A Great One and Old Scholar told me.”

A thud from across the room caused them all to jump. A stray piece of stone rolled to the ground as a Yharnamite woman stumbled forward. She held the handle of her axe and looked between all of them, confused. “Miss Marnie, I came ta’ find yeh. What was all that?” She was pale. She moved towards them, but her steps were unfocused. Weak. She stumbled.

“Izzy!” Marnie cried. She ran to the woman and helped her sit up. She took a cloth from her bag and wiped the woman’s face.

“What was all tha’ talk about dreams and death? Why’d someone mention our Lady Maria?” Her voice was strained. “I feel ill.” She looked more aged than when she had fallen over.

This was the price of the Hunts and knowledge on the average person. Cyril watched in fascinated horror as her body laxed.

Aeris moved to get up from the pew. “Here, let me help-”

Marnie’s icy stare snapped to her. “You will sit the hell down and stay there.”

“Izzy, I am so sor-”

The woman known as Izzy slumped fully to the ground. Marnie’s body whipped back to Aeris. She pulled the gun mid stride and put it between Aeris’ eyes. “Did you ever care about any of us?” She snarled. Cyril ran to Izzy, pulling the woman close. He used his index and middle finger to search for a pulse. It was regular. Her forehead was warm. He held a standard blood vial in his hand and stared at it. It would be so easy to fix this. But blood was how this began. He dumped water on a handkerchief and put it on her forehead. His hands shook as he tried to lay her on her side, using her arms to elevate her head and prepare for a nosebleed or worse. He checked her mouth and nose, and nothing. She was a normal person, why did the information not harm her? 

He looked up, "Marnie-" He stopped. Marnie held a gun to Aeris' face. It all crashed back to him. He tried to keep his voice level. "Marnie, what are you doing?" 

Marnie’s finger flinched on the trigger. She used her other arm to bring the gun down slowly. “No. I will not become like them.” She looked at Aeris, a piercing hatred in her jaw.

Aeris’ voice was barely a fragment of a whisper, “I’m sorry to have made you get close.” Her arm moved quickly. She pulled a pistol from her holster and put it to her head. Marnie pulled the gun away and reached for the one Aeris held.

CRACK

The world seemed to slow down. A burst of blood splattered like raindrops into the air. White hair reflected the torchlight. And the unmistakable crack of a pistol and bell struck through the sounds of the hunt. Glitters of light danced in the silhouette of Aeris. 

Izzy sat up, “Marnie, I’m sorry. I felt sick for a moment there. Can you explain what all that was about?”

No blood drained from the woman. Cyril watched her movements. They were sluggish, but that was it.

“Just the ideas of a madwoman trying to make sense of this hunt. I have sent her out to calm down. Can you stand?” Izzy nodded and took her hand. 

Cyril stared at the space Aeris had stood. That crack was unmistakable. Her bell was near shattering. He followed Marnie through the streets of Yharnam to get Izzy to their medical triage tent. After they dropped her off, both headed towards the Grand Cathedral to see the death toll and stock up on supplies.

“Cyril, I am afraid I am not accustomed to this. I do not know what to do. What she said was true. That much is certain. I do not know how I can lead these people, knowing that I may have killed so many already.” She held her hands out, they were shaking. She had picked at her fingernails.

He saw her for what he did not want to acknowledge; a young girl forced to become a soldier. She was looking for any adult she could confide in. A girl trying to make sense of a world with no good solutions. He sweated. He didn’t know what to do. How did one find the nightmare hell Aeris talked of? And Dawn was apparently missing. Izzy did not react as a hunter would. Furthermore… that crack.

“Marnie, did you hear the crack when Aeris disappeared?” He asked.

“Yes, I was going to ask about that. It was not part of a gunshot, even her strange pistol has a more tinny sound than that. What was it?”

“Brace yourself.” He handed her a tissue, “Our bells are a reflection of how close we are to death. The more broken a hunter’s bell, the closer they are to beasthood. That was her bell cracking down the center.”

Marnie put her hands to her mouth. Distraught. She examined her own bell, small scratches across it, but little damage. She looked sickeningly relieved. He would help alleviate that burden. He could not in conscience put that all on her. She wiped a small amount of blood from her nose with the handkerchief. 

“Aeris said that man could still be saved, even though he was killed. I imagine it has to do with the ratio survival rate she explained to us. If we continue as we have, and tell other Dreaming hunters, it may still save him.”

“I should have let her explain.”

“You were angry about the lives of your family. I don’t blame you for yelling. But understand this is dangerous for all of us. Aeris included. We all have to watch how we talk. It may kill someone.”

She nodded slowly, looking off into the red moon’s face. 

“I should get back to my hunt.” Cyril said. “Will you come help with this stage? Now that we know how they frenzy, we should be able to stop them without a third hutner’s aid.”

She nodded, “I will see you in your world.”

Cyril pulled the silencing blank and fired it into the air. As the world swirled around him, he expected to see the streets of Yharnam covered in beasts. Instead, it was the calming melody of Anne. The easter lilies still reflecetd a pale moonlight, not the searing red of the world.

She stood from the garden wall, and bowed.

“Hello my Good Hunter, I apologize for interrupting your transition between worlds.”

He walked up to her gently, “It is just fine, Miss Anne. Is something the matter?”

She nodded. Her face wooden and expressionless, her voice equally ambiguous. “One of my hunters has not come home in a long while. You just spoke with her. Will you please try to find her? I am worried.”

“You mean Aeris, right?”

She nodded again.

“I can try to find her. Do you know where she is?”

“She hops worlds so frequently that I cannot keep track of her. But you may find information you need at the epicenter of the calamity of Yahar'gul. Please, my Hunter, please find my Good Hunter.” Anne disappeared into sparkles of twilight just like Aeris had, yet her singing remained. An Aria of calm, shielding him from the horrors of the hunt.

Aeris was running out of time. He needed answers. First Yharnam, to help the people survive the first phase of the beastly frenzy. Then to this Yahar'gul. He brandished his sword and appeared on the precipice of the barrier on Yharnam’s main road. He rang the bell, and soon Marnie appeared. And they repeated their onslaught against the terrors of the hunt.

Chapter Text

Cyril had never seen so many corpses before. The room was filled. Alcove upon alcove of skeletons, time having frozen and eroded their bodies. Each sat in a sturdy wooden chair with a metal cage on its head, perfectly postured, as if they had slipped from this world before knowing it. His step faltered for a moment. Beasts were one thing. Beasts that were once human were unpleasant, but his own desire would be euthanasia in that circumstance. But here. This was a room of death. His spine chilled. This looked like a ritual suicide. 

The statues outside that he had discovered were once people was bad enough. But for some reason… the rotting scholarly robes they all bore made it all the more real. His bell felt heavy at his side. Were it not for the bell, his life would be just as forfeit as any other in this hellish place. He wanted to avert his gaze, walk out, but he knew, somehow deep within the recesses of his mind, that this was the only way forward. He had avoided the war. Wealth and education made it to where he could avoid it. He didn’t have to see the trenches, the chemical burns, the unrecognizable faces of shellshock. 

His foot hesitated forward. These weren’t nameless civilians. Nor hunters who knew the risk. These were scholars, just like himself. At the back of the room a skeleton sat crooked in the chair. As if for a moment whoever it had been felt some sort of pain before dying. His bell thrummed with an anticipation and need to move forward. This room was walled off. Perhaps the body had a key, or information of how to look through the halls of this barred research facility. Maybe he could find what happened here.

Hand outstretched, he felt the dried sinew holding the bone together fall apart. The skull fell to the floor. Ripples of watery smoke chimed through the room. It was the sound of a bell. But not quite. Like raindrops on a tin roof. He felt his body drag into darkness. He grabbed the handle of his sword and lit the aquamarine blade. Around him was textured liquid. He reached a hand out and it passed through, like a hand through steam. His bell began to chime outward and resonated. It felt as if it was warding something off. It strained in his chest, making the air in his lungs shallow and labored. 

Just like with Queen Yharnam.

The liquid twirled around like a cup shaken by a child. His body began to find purchase as the liquid began to form. Within it he could see a hallway. No . A large room filled with books. A library? His feet settled onto aged wood. The invigorating scent of mothballs and old parchment blanketed him with a feeling of calm. Mist swirled the floor like gentle water. 

He took stock of the room. It was a multi floored library. Much of it was obscured by a fog that swirled upwards from the gently misted floor. A library was an incredible find. But much like those who felt they could get an education by reading books off a shelf without direction, it would be useless without knowledge of where to start. And whatever had brought him here might be an unreliable narrator. He grabbed a book off the shelf. The pages were blank, but if he focused enough, it was as if thin writings attempted to appear. They swirled like the obfuscation around him. He held his bell up to call Anne to him, perhaps she had insight.

Nothing.

The seat on his forehead increased. What could be stopping her from coming? She wanted to see Aeris again, she would logically respond to any question he had. And yet… He continued down the rows of shelves. Every book had the same issue as the ones prior. Nothing was written, and yet everything at the same time. He rounded a corner and found a clearing. 

A man with a cage atop his head sat at a small tea table. A lantern and dead flowers sat on its surface. His clothes. They were the same robes as the scholars in the room. The man was staring at the floor near another row of shelves. A coin sat on the ground, glittering in the lantern’s light. It was tinted blue from the light of the sword. He turned to look at Cyril.

A blue and purple eye stared back at him.

“Who are you?” He asked, the confidence of his words surprising even himself.

“Oh my, another hunter has come to visit. Tell me, just how bad is this hunt that you all keep running to me? First Antal, and then that strange dying girl. And now you.” He stood, his arms sweeping into a bow, “but I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Micolash, and I have become the Host of this Nightmare.”

The Nightmare. The hell for hunters that Aeris had spoken of. Was this the same place? It was certainly a far cry from any hell he could imagine. And Aeris now only had one purple eyes. She said she had lost it to a beast. This must be the beast, then.

“I am Cyril Gauthier. I am a Dreaming Hunter. I have come here for information.”

“Oh I am quite aware of what you are. All of you have such a strong scent about you.” The man stepped forward, a smile too wide and eyes looking about. Hysteria would only be one of many diagnoses for this madman. Cyril wondered if he, too, would be certified as insane.

“Is this my hunt? Or a world like the Dream that exists outside the timeline for each of us?”

The man cocked his head to the side, curiosity and interest danced like children in his eyes. “You are straight to the point. All of you Dreaming Hunters that get this far are. But you do not have anything I need or want, now do you?”

Cyril was quiet. He had nothing to trade. He didn’t move his gaze from Micolash, but gripped his sword tightly in his hand. The blade. It required some form of attunement with his very being to function. And it had belonged to an Old Hunter. Most importantly, it came from another hunter’s world, and yet still worked in this one. Then there was this Nightmare. If this was indeed hell, then this must be a form of hell for Micolash. A prison, perhaps? 

“This is called the Holy Moonlight Sword. It came from the world of another hunter. And yet I can harmonize to its chime and utilize its power. Perhaps my ability to do this can help you leave this place.”

Micolash’s face twisted into rage, “do you not understand? I was chosen by Formless Oedon to be here! This is my divine grace, my reward for the knowledge we all sacrificed for! I have no need of escape,” he disappeared and reappeared behind Cyril, “I have no need of your tricks, either.”

Cyril’s body skipped a heartbeat. Then another. And another. Feet stumbled forward and his face fell towards the floor. The blue light vanished as the sword transformed back into its beaten up form. His body shook. His bell was out of his grasp. Micolash held it up to the light. “What a remarkable specimen. It is unfortunate you are a man. You could be quite the host for an infant Great One.”

Cyril doubled over in pain. His chest burned. The bell was screaming in pain. His pain. His head was splitting, blood ran from his nose. He grabbed the sword. “So you can manipulate the resonance like Queen Yharnam did. ”

Micolash stopped and stared intently at Cyril, “An outsider knows of the Queen, the blessed mother who guided the steps of humanity?” He got up close to Cyril’s face. 

Cyril attempted to keep his tone level. This man had been a scholar. What happened to him? “I do. Her attendants performed a forced abortion to attempt to appease the Gods and the blood scourge.”

Micolash jumped up and danced in a circle, clapping. “Oh wonderful! Perhaps perhaps perhaps… Oh yes. But that would set such a precedent, and I still need more. But this hunter has not yet lost his way...” He held Cyril’s bell up to the light from the lantern on the table. “Such a perfect bell! A mind gifted by the intuition of mankind!”

Micolash sat on a stool at the table and gestured at the apparition of another. Slowly, the smoke melded together and an old iron chair beckoned Cyril forward. He sat. Micolash set the bell on the table. Cyril felt his breath catch as Micolash’s finger left the metal exterior. It was as if he could breathe clearly again. Cyril looked at Micolash, confused. His eyes looked exhausted, as if the world’s knowledge had refused him sleep.

“It has been so long since I had a visitor who understood this world! I will make you a bargain. Talk with me. I want to learn what your eyes have seen.” Micolash leaned close. Cyril could smell the unmistakable scent of bromine. He resisted every desire to shove Micolash away. “Do that, and you can have your bell back.” He placed a single finger on its top point. Cyril felt his chest thud. His breath exhaled sharply. “ And if you think of using that blade, do not. It took two of you Dream hunters to defeat another version of me. I almost killed them both. My prize should be proof enough of their folly,” Micolash pointed at the purple eye.

Cyril shuddered. It was her eye then. Aeris had troubles, even with another hunter helping. No Dream hunter was a pushover, either. “What do you want to talk about?” Cyril asked.

Micolash slammed his hand on the table, “No! That is not how this goes! We are both scholars. You will show me your mind. If you cannot, then I will tangle you into this hell just like the others! I was chosen, you were not. You will be destroyed just like they were!”

Cyril faltered. Micolash’s hand hovered just above the bell, its chain that held to Cyril’s belt wrapped around the bony wrist of the mad scholar, as if a noose around his neck.

Cyril began talking, hoping his mind would concoct a point as the words tumbled, “Below the streets of Yharnam I found a hidden network of tunnels. After descending, I found a locked atrium. A throne room. In it was the Queen of Yharnam from long ago. It was there that I learned of the cyclical nature of these hunts. That all of us are but pawns at best to the Great Ones. But you, you have ascended outside of it. It’s remarkable.”

Oh thank the bloody Gods.

Micolash nodded his head in agreement and laughed, “It did not matter how hard humans fought against these great creatures of the cosmos! The Queen found out, as did the Queen of Cainhurst, all the hunters that came since… Maria, Gehrman, those misguided church scholars thinking they could control these wonderful Gods! Even those attendants, misguided though they were, thought to sacrifice the child of the Queen. How could they think to barter with a child that already belonged to a Great One?”

“Was Queen Yharnam a Great One?” Cyril was confused.

“Of course not! She was the vessel for Formless Oedon! Formless Oedon cannot reach their child because it is being cared for by the Wet Nurse, who is being shielded by Kos and Flora. Do you understand!” Micolash’s eyes sparkled with hope and ambition. It made Cyril uncomfortable. 

What should he say? What could he say? The chain on his bell rattled as a lever on a hanging stand. A madman. The exit Aeris talked about, a way to slip past the Great Ones while distracted. How could she know when that was? How could she see the future?

Cyril fumbled with his words, “We- we are but pawns to them at most. And yet… Here at the end of all hunts, we still stand, embroiled in the insanity of human folly.”

For the first time, a glimmer of understandable human emotion flitted across the insane scholar’s face. Sadness. “Cyril I can't sleep, not ever. So I sit here, very, very quietly. A sort of sleepless sleep. I watch these meaningless events unfold. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge holds worth, so much worth. But without action, it bears no value to me.”

The purple and blue eye each seemed to dance in opposite directions. One was the crazed insanity of thirst for knowledge, and the other was the terror of the reality of knowledge. They doubled back on one another, connecting for just a moment; two different languages finding the same vowel simultaneously, before twisting apart.

He understood Aeris a bit more now.

“What action would make value of this world?” Cyril asked.

“I want to see human ambition realized. I want Flora to succeed! To make enlightenment out of the corpses stacked through time. I want you to ascend to be a Great One!”

Cyril stared at him. Every Great One had a hand in the calamities of Yharnam. Rom, with the bell system. Formless Oedon with the death of Queen Yharnam and the fight with Flora- the city as their battleground. Ebrietas and the blood scourge. Kos and the curse on the Hunters to spend eternity in hell. Were there more? And who was Flora, exactly? He didn’t know.

The scholar wanted a scholar to ascend. 

“Can you tell me about Flora?”

“Ah, of course! Flora is the Great One who created the Dreaming Hunters to begin with! Rom may have made the bell system by which you can help one another, but she created a reality where ordinary humans can fight and see this world as it is! Had that girl Aeris been a scholar, perhaps I would have asked her the same- but she is a foolish hunter, like all of them are!” He shouted angrily into the rows of shelves.

Cyril’s nose bled. He stared at the droplets on his hands.

“Why did Flora create the Dream? Why create people who would try to kill her?”

“Because Flora and Formless Oedon are fighting over territory! Flora is not strong. She can only set traps, so she made spartans to be her army! All of you spend your hours toiling through this hunt, killing the creatures spawned from Ebrietas, Kos, and Rom. So distracted by meaningless events, but it makes hunters who can stand on their own. But all of them are stupid. Ignorant. Only you have been good enough! How I had faith in Antal and Aeris, but was let down by their human folly. They cannot fight the will of such perfect beings!” 

He stood, gesturing wildly. His eyes were crazed, stars and smoke drifting in their insanity. “Oedon is a great being, wondrous and beautiful! Flora wants to create a new Great One to be her child, a new entry in this battle. How I want to see it all. But I cannot affect the world outside my library. Oh noble scholar, please, grant this ascendence unto humanity.” Micolash dropped to his knees, weeping. 

Cyril’s head splintered at the edges. The robes Micolash wore left races in the air, smudges of movement and light. He coughed, blood dribbled with saliva. The Great Ones. the fight Aeris spoke of. They would converge. The end goal of creating a Great One. It was all true. 

His eyes were looking at the wooden slats of the floor, the room sideways in his vision. A hand was on his back, helping him sit up. The world spun. Aeris . Had she known all along? She said to escape they merely needed to accept their deaths and awaken from the Dream. Is this what the outcome would be if they stayed?

He needed to know more.

Blood trickled into his mouth. It was disgusting. Slowly, his body repaired itself. He lay staring at Micolash, the scholar held a teacup of blood in his hands. 

“You gave me tainted blood!”

“Not so, Cyril. I gave you blood from Formless Oedon’s mercy. It will not turn human into beast. I would never harm such a perfect mind.” He helped Cyril sit up, surprisingly gentle with his touch. “I can sense those ancient echoes, they course the veins of all hunters and yet…” Micolash peered into the bronze of the bell, perplexed. 

“I’ve never had tainted blood. I only ever used the curated vials from the clinic, that of the Cainhurst line, or I’ve died.”

“Ah, I suppose a Hunter is a Hunter, even in a dream. Even with all of your knowledge you still fall into the same folly as the rest. You, Antal, Aeris… Ah, yes. Sometimes the sensibilities of one can assist the other. You have not gone mad from the knowledge of the Gods! Perhaps this will make you the perfect candidate for ascendence. What say you?”

Cyril’s mouth felt slicked with oil. A tingling sensation of anticipation. He could feel the joints in his fingers long to grasp outward, take the veil of the night and pull it back, shine light upon the mysteries of the changing worlds.

“I want to witness this world’s knowledge, both God and human alike. I will become the next infant Great One.”

Micolash clapped, dancing in a circle and laughing. His arms lifted up to the stars carved into the wooden sky above. “Ah Cyril, I will teach you as much as I can! Please, ask your questions! I will answer everything my mind is able, and then, I will teach you the resonances of these worlds!” He leaned down into a curtsy, the bell’s chain dropping towards Cyril’s hand. In an instant, he had his own noose in hand, untied and put back to use.

Each Great One affected the world. Rom created the bell system to help. Flora the Dream. Formless Oedon the chaos and violence of Old Yharnam. Ebrietas the blood scourge. The bell system was created to help. So why…

“You said the bell system was made to help, why is there an invasion bell?”

“Oooh, majestic! That was the work of a scholar like you and I, Runesmith Caryll. Caryll can speak the language of the Great Ones, something even I cannot do! She has been around for a millenia, you see. Caryll created the invasion bell. The hunts themselves all twist on each other. Your friend Aeris learned so much about it. But what she has yet to figure out is where they originate and end. Caryll fought against Flora and Formless Oedon, and like you hunters, she has been cursed. Her hunt is the original! Your actions will all show their true nature in her world! Would you like to see? That glint in your eye, I know it well, Scholar Cyril Gauthier! What say you?”

His head throbbed. The hunts. Everything was just a pissing contest, as Aeris said. His mind felt like it was going to shut down, switch off. He could barely breathe. This was it then. The truth of the death around him. The hunters were nothing but sacrifices, humans meant to scrape at the edges of the dark. Human folly.

And yet…

“You will show me the nature of the hunts themselves?”

“Oh yes. And if you can keep your mind, you may yet see glimpses of the future of other worlds. Time does not work the same. Now could be later, or earlier to the others. Do you understand? None of your logic works here- of course you do!” Micolash gestured to a mirror encrusted in gold and gemstones. It felt beckoning. Looking into it, Cyril gasped.

A man stood before him. A hunter’s garb and overcoat. Determined eyes. A sword on his back. The same jawline, but held differently.

Was that truly how he looked now?

“Look harder!” Micolash smacked his head into the glass. Cyril yelped, a small line of blood running down the glass pane. “You are able to use Ludwig’s sword. Concentrate on the glass the same way you do on the activation of the arcana of the blade.”

Cyril closed his eyes and reached for the innate energy within him. That resonance that seemed to emanate from his very core. He felt the glass against his head, the cool surface was uncaring. It had nothing to it. He touched the glass with his hands. He imagined his bell calling out to the resonance of Aeris. He listened. From far off he felt a chime, fragile as a crystal, yet sturdy as diamond. It sparkled like the morning sun. He could see Aeris wandering Yharnam. No. A twisted version of Yharnam. The stonework swirled into an amalgam of faces. Corpses of hunters lay everywhere. 

She climbed up a hill onto a rooftop, the shingles derelict with the grime of blood. Behind her, a large hunter with a threaded whip advanced. He tried to call out, but his mouth only moved. No sound could warn her. The chain extended. She ducked out of its way and rolled into the stonework. A scream as stone impaled her spine. She continued the momentum, the flash of a silvered blade was lit up by the orange burning sky. The chain whizzed by her head, she ran in, ducking as it came back just above her hair. She jumped from the roof onto the hunter’s head. A blade through his neck, and another severed the hand that attacked her. He crumped to the ground. 

Cyril stood next to Aeris. She was breathing heavily. Her hands shook. His stomach churned. The hulking hunter’s face was sunken in, maggots writhed in its jaw. Eyes shifted with parasites. No blood pooled the ground. She placed a coin on his chest and folded his arms. 

“I don’t know who you were, but be at peace.”

She stood, wiping the blades of her rakuyo on a cloth. Now standing atop the hill, he could see beasts wandering a courtyard, not unlike where some versions of Marnie had met her end. He looked closer and realized it was the courtyard. No greenery or polished cobble, but instead the grime of death and war. In the center, a lone hunter danced in a flurry of slashes. A scythe arcing up and out, dashing beasts into the stone.

An inhuman scream came from the hunter. It was almost recognizable as human. When once group of beasts were killed, another wave crawled from the ditches and alleyways around. The alleyways went nowhere. Just false walls. The hunter was standing in one spot, never letting any beast near it. A lump on the ground beside her. What was it?

He followed Aeris down the hill. As he got closer, he felt sick. On the ground was the marred corpse of a little girl. In her hand was a blood soaked ribbon. A threadbare blanket had been placed over her, but even from here, he could see the blood seeping into the ground.

“Dawn.” They said it at the same time. Cyril looked at Aeris and saw tears. There were a lot of those lately.

She ran down the hill in a dead sprint. Some of the beasts noticed her, and advanced. Dripping maws of viscous yellow fluid were sliced apart as she stepped around them effortlessly in plumes of smoke. It was dazzling. Watching her fight with such ferocity. Her chime rang out, it still sounded like sunrise. The Sunlit Hunter.

Another wave of beasts were destroyed. Aeris ran towards Dawn, “Dawn, please, it’s me, Aeris!”

The scythe extended, the blade pointed at Aeris’ neck. “Oh, the little traitor who joined the church? Have you come here to mock me?”

“Dawn- what do you mean? I’m not with the-”

Dawn’s blade pulled forward. Blood dripped onto the cobble as Aeris fell to the side. A gash in her neck oozed. She held her own neck in place as a blood vial fused the sinew back together. Cyril cringed.

“I can save Mirabel if you church whores just die!” She screamed. The scythe danced around Aeris. Aeris used the bone to dodge each strike. Her footwork became more and more tangled. She fell to the ground in front of Dawn.

“Dawn, where’s your body? Where did you turn?”

“Who knows. There’s nothing left now. Just this endless night.” Dawn’s head tilted up, the headdress falling to the ground. She had blue eyes. They glazed over with beasthood.

“Dawn, please! What about Cainhurst?”

The scythe impaled in the ground where Aeris had been. She lay beside it, panting. Tears. Fear in her eyes.

“You all succeeded. The Cainhurst line is dead! Iosefka is dead!” Another slam into the ground. Cyril ran at Dawn, drawing his sword. The scythe passed through him, carving into the stonework. “Arianna is dead! Are you all satisifed now?” She kicked Aeris, and then slammed her boot onto her shin. Aeris screamed in pain as a bone snapped.

“At least Mirabel is…” Her head turned to the mound on the ground. The little girl got to her feet, smiling. Blood and brackish ooze fell from her mouth. Her hair fell to the ground in bloodied strands. She began humming a children’s tune, walking towards Dawn. Sharpened teeth and clawed finger moved to strike. Dawn screamed. It was no longer human. She slashed Mirabel’s visage in half. The blood stained her garb. She turned with a fiery rage to Aeris and charged. A blood vial crunched in Aeris’ mouth and she ran in.

What Dawn had in reach and power, Aeris made up in speed. They danced an enraged waltz across the courtyard. Beasts were diced to pieces in their wake. For every few strikes Aeris landed, Dawn landed one that would knock her to the ground. He stood, shaking his head. He didn’t want to look. But he had to.

The eviscerated corpse that had been Mirabel stirred. A little girl coated in blood sat up, crying. “Dawn, please, help me!” A werewolf lunged at her mussed hair. She cried. Dawn turned on her heel and ran to her. The beast’s jaws closed around the girl’s head as Dawn brought the scythe around.

A crunch echoed around the courtyard. The little girl fell headless to the ground. Dawn screamed, grabbing her head. The scythe clattered to the ground. The werewolf stared at her as it chewed, the sound of crunching and sinew being broken apart in its mouth. She pulled the pistol and fired over and over again into the creature. She continued until all the bullets were spent. 

Aeris stood, helplessly watching.

Dawn picked up the scythe, looking at the stain that was once Mirabel and the beast. The girl’s corpse stirred again, her head back in place. She was crying, holding onto Dawn’s leg. Her legs gushing blood. Another horde of beasts unleashed upon Dawn. She sliced and beat them back, as Mirabel whimpered about the cold and her parents and Arianna. 

This was the Nightmare. This was the hell awaiting all hunters. He wanted to vomit, but found he couldn’t open his mouth any further. 

“Please Dawn. Just tell me where your body is. Please.”

Dawn leapt at her like a rabid animal, her teeth gnashing. The entrails of a beast chewed in her mouth. “You will all die!”

She slashed Aeris’ chest. Aeris screamed and fell backwards. Tears streamed down her face. She stumbled to her feet as Dawn struck again. Her leg snapped the wrong direction. Aeris threw a molotov, the explosion made Dawn scream. As Aeris injected herself with vial after vial, snapping her own leg into place using the blade of her rakuyo, Dawn backed away from the fire, screaming and crying. 

Cyril tried to shake Aeris’ shoulders. Tell her to run. He phased through her.

Her voice was a pained whisper, “please don’t make me kill my friend.”

Dawn fell to the ground as Mirabel quit moving and sobbed. More beasts came from the false alleyways of Yharnam. She picked up her scythe and began again. Aeris stood, her jaw tight. Eyes focused. She strode forward, blade in hand. As Dawn whirled the scythe through two more werewolves, Aeris jumped into the back of the downward strike. Dawn’s back was completely open. She drove the rakuyo’s dagger into the back of Dawn’s neck, and the sword into her lower spine.

Dawn screamed. Cyril felt his own bell rattle. His chest heavy. He fell to his knees. Her desperation rang out across the Nightmare. It morphed. Her voice sounded more and more human. She lay in Aeris’ arms, the beast frozen in place.

“Oh, Aeris. It’s good to see you,” she touched Aeris’ face, “do be careful about taking too much blood. It can make you sick.” She smiled and fell limp. Aeris screamed. Dawn’s body glittered for a moment, before dissolving into sparkling dust. Aeris grabbed at it as it disappeared in the burning orange light. She began screaming, beating the ground with her fists. The beasts stood stationary as the world itself began to dissolve. Aeris sat, blades cast aside, crying. 

Cyril was standing on the wooden floor of the library. A tear ran down his own face.

“Ah, we all see things in the mirror we would rather not. Still, did you learn something useful?”

“Do you know where Aeris is?”

“Why do you care about something so insignificant as that?”

He stared at Micolash. Genuine confusion across his face. Cyril wanted nothing more than to beat him to death like those beasts. “Because I am human still.”

“Ah, yes, the folly of man. Gehrman was the same way about that Cainhurst woman, Maria. She will be in her world. Do not lose your way Cyril, human emotion only leads to ruin. You saw them, did you not? The other skeletons in the atrium of our experiment? I abandoned such useless things, and here I stand. Both of those hunters were undone by emotion. And Great Ones are even less caring- only worried about the lives of their children!”

“I have to go.”

“Before you do Cyril, remember this and commit it to memory. You intervened in the resonance of another without a bell’s aid. That will assist you in your quest to gain ascendance. And defending yourself.”

He held the sword in his hand. Such a banged up metal piece could be transformed. He could see into the world of another hunter. The resonance of the world. He turned to leave, focusing on the harmonics of his blade. It lit the room in aquamarine light. He imagined the resonance of Aeris, that sunlit chime. It was faint, but he found it. Somewhere cold. The spires of Cainhurst loomed over the horizon. As he stepped through, he heard Micolash speak behind him,

“Even if you find that girl, she has gained the attention of Flora and Formless Oedon. None can help her. Even with the help of Agiel.”

He couldn’t stop to ask what Micolash meant. He found himself standing in the snowy courtyard of Cainhurst Castle. Even with the snow, he could see the corpses of Church Executioners and Knights alike. He listened for the chime. Somewhere in the castle he could hear her sunlight. He walked forward into the bitter cold. Praying to the nebulous concept of hope that he wasn’t too late.

Chapter Text

On any normal day, Cyril would have stood in awe of a dead culture’s castle. It took everything he had to push open the heavy front doors. They were easily triple his own height, wooden accenting hid the fact that they were made of stone. There was just enough space for him to slip through into the grand atrium of the castle. Red carpets with what he assumed was the crest of Cainhurst led to a grand staircase of marble. Around him was the sound of crying. The sounds of women in anguish. The source was intelligible. It came from every crevice of the room, above and below. He walked forward, listening for her chime amongst the tears. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. An ethereal dress of shadow and light. He whipped around. A woman, no, a teenaged girl in a noble dress stood. Her hands were bound and throat slit. He could see the far wall’s cracking stonework through her. He stumbled back. 

On a normal day, he would not have believed his eyes.

Her eyes had no pupils. She walked towards him, sobbing. “They’re all gone.” 

He pulled his sword and let the blue light reach the corners of the room. She backed away from him, terror on her face. He swung, the blue bisecting ehr small frame. She let out a cry and fell silent. No body hit the ground. The genocide of Cainhurst. He continued forward, towards the sound of the chime. He steeled his hand as he swung on the hapless noble women and girls that cried in the entrance. The Executioners left their mark across generations. How much of the world was permanently altered because these lives were snuffed out? Some of them carried daggers of the church, stolen as they tried to fight. Some were headless, holding what remained of their humanity in their arms, as if a child cradled. How many German soldiers and civilians did France alter the history of?

At the top of the grand staircase, her bell’s song was louder than ever. He walked forward, towards an open entryway. On a normal day, this would be breathtaking. Her chime echoed off the golden tableware scattered on large tables. Statues and paintings haphazardly decorated the room. What stopped him in his tracks were the murals. On any spare wall space were detailed charcoal drawings of… hunters. He stopped, staring. The wide eyed Marnie looked back at him from one, in another was the profile of Henryk. Twenty-three hunters. The same number as was in her notes. A mirror sat against the wall. A pistol and her rakuyo beneath it. The glass had been shattered. 

From a corner, behind the statues, came the sound of sniffling. He rounded the bust of a man and sitting on the floor in the corner was that identifiable white hair. She shivered. He noticed chains locked around her wrists and legs. They were tangled around the bodies and through the arms of the statues. Iron locks on each one. Her face was haggard. The bell on her side was barely recognizable. Her eyes were wide, staring at a circle of charcoal on the floor. The room was frigid, cold air blowing in from the broken balcony doors.

“What mess have you gotten yourself into? Eh, Aeris?”

She looked up at her name. Her lips were bleeding. She shifted, on the floor were carved out teeth; sharp, like an animal’s. Her voice was a cracked whisper of itself, “You should leave.”

“Aeris-”

“I killed Dawn. She was suffering so much. I searched and searched and searched. I couldn’t find her body anywhere. Her headdress was in central Yharnam, a smashed corpse next to it. I couldn’t even recognize it as anything but a stain! I killed her. I killed her. I killed her…” She sat staring at her hands. He could see claws beginning, tearing her cuticles and flesh.

What could he say?

“Was it not enough? I was willing to give up everything. My life was nothing. All I wanted was for everyone to see the morning sun. Why couldn’t I… have even that?”

“Crazy, don’t give up on me.”

She looked at him, eyes focusing like she didn’t realize he was there, “Cyril, please leave. I don’t want you to see this.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m indebted to you,” he held up the papers she wrote.

“Please. I don’t want to crack your bell!”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“I just…” She cried into her hands. Her mouth opened a few times to speak, but she closed it. Her arms tensed and she leaned forward in agony. He could see the claws grow larger. “I wanted to make sure that I was the only hunter who was alone. That’s all I really wanted.”

“What do you mea-”

She screamed, clutching her head, “No! I said no, not yet!”

Cyril ran to her side and held her shaking hands. She looked terrified. Her eyes shifted back and forth with confusion and fear. He held them firm, his own beginning to shake. Her eyes began to lose focus, wandering the room. She shook under him, doubling over. Blood leaked from her mouth. He watched in horror as cracks ran up the side of her bell. They twisted. Intersected with the others. He heard it. Deep within himself. His own chime rattled with hers.

CRACK

Chapter Text

The sound of crying. It echoed the halls of the castle. Her first trip through here had not put all the ghosts of Cainhurst to rest. She gritted her teeth in regret. They protruded too far, slicing her gums. She ignored it to finish the accent on Dawn’s headdress. She’d painstakingly detailed every piece of the headdress. Staring back at her was Dawn’s form in charcoal. Around her, the twenty-three hunters stood. Each carried their chosen weapons and attire. Much as it pained her, she couldn’t convey the colors they all wore. A fang jammed through her lip. A shock of pain split her mind for a moment. In that corner, she saw its beastly form as it was. Rakuyo blade in hand she carved it out of her face. Blood and bone fell to the floor. She cried in agony. The rakuyo blade landed beside her pistol against the far wall. 

The crying of Cainhurst intensified. Her own voice lost in the rolling tide of pain. She could hear something walking about downstairs. She dropped the charcoal on the ground, grinding it under her boot. Tears dampened the powder. She pulled another chain through the marbled statues. She snapped the iron lock into place, and threw its key out the broken window. It glinted in the harsh red light, before vanishing over the balcony’s edge. She sat in the corner. Each arm and leg chained.

The crying of the ghosts ceased. The hunters stood around her, as if a choir exposing her sins. She huddled in on herself, shivering. The cold wind blew in, bringing snow.  White hair blending into the soft blanket of sleep. Maybe it could hide her body from the world. She stared at the bell on the ground beside her. Cracked and dirtied, shining with the mockery of blood. She stared at the charcoal on the floor. Pushing it with her fingers she made a small circle, surrounding her bell. Dawn…

“What mess have you gotten yourself into? Eh, Aeris?”

She looked up at her name. Cyril. Of all people, of course it would be Cyril. Her cracked voice whispered through blood and empty sockets, “You should leave.” But why? Who was he to her? Who was she?

“Aeris-” 

The name lit a fire in her chest. Aeris . Her name was Aeris!

She looked at her hands, the nails enlarging, cutting into her skin. Did Aeris deserve a name? So much blood on her hands. “I killed Dawn. She was suffering so much. I searched and searched and searched. I couldn’t find her body anywhere. Her headdress was in central Yharnam, a smashed corpse next to it. I couldn’t even recognize it as anything but a stain! I killed her. I killed her. I killed her…”

Whispers of thoughts and emotions she couldn’t conjure flitted by so quickly that she had no time to identity them. She didn’t have to live. She never would. It was okay. But this wasn’t okay.

“Was it not enough? I was willing to give up everything. My life was nothing. All I wanted was for everyone to see the morning sun. Why couldn’t I… have even that?”

A man’s voice. Or was it a man’s voice again? “Crazy, don’t give up on me.”

She looked at him, eyes focusing on the man standing a couple meters from her. He was familiar. Who? She looked around the room and found his image on the wall. 

Just behind her eyes, a blackened mesh of light and shadow sat staring at her. She looked at him again. Oh , that was her friend. “Cyril, please leave. I don’t want you to see this.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m indebted to you,” he held up the papers she wrote. Their lies and deceit sang into the room a melody of mockery. It burned. Her own bell creaked. His was…

“Please. I don’t want to crack your bell!”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“I just…” She cried into her hands. Her mouth opened a few times to speak, but she closed it. Her arms tensed and she leaned forward in agony. The shadow gently laid a hand on her shoulder. She ignored it. “I wanted to make sure that I was the only hunter who was alone. That’s all I really wanted.”

“What do you mea-”

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She screamed, clutching her head. She used the newly formed claws to dig into her skull. “No! I said no, not yet!”

The man was at her side. Something in her hands. No. Something held her hands. The flesh of her body swirled. She looked at him. His face was panicked. She gripped his hands. She didn’t want to be alone. Not the dark. Glimmers of light and regret began to submerge her mind in oil. Blood spilled onto her hands. Where did it come from? Whose blood? Who was screaming?

Oh. It’s me.

Her mouth moved like an animal’s. A voice like hers, but so different, was talking. “I wanted that. I really did. But I also didn’t want to be alone. Thank you.”

The oil filled the world with a darkness that would not leave her. She closed her eyes and found it swallowing mind and body. She screamed. The sounds of a beast erupted around her. Appendages like arms flayed open. She could feel hot liquid run down her body. Screaming. 

S̵͕̳̦̪͉̥͕͇̞̩͎̟̱̖̮̩̞͚͔̪͎͇̫͝ơ̷̧̨͍͍̰̝͚̗̞̱͎̯̤̦̭̪̣̘͖̎̑̒̃̈́̊̅́̓̂͌͐̔͐̑̾͋̓͗͗͋͊̈́͘͘̕͜

M̷͚͉̄̀́̔̓́̍̂̒̈́͋̈̄̚ư̸̧͈̪̘̪̓͑͒̑̀͋͐̏̿͋̒̕̚c̴̯̭̝͎̹̲̹̣͗̅ͅͅḩ̵̡̤͎̱͕̞̪̞̰̩̦̆͆̂̃̃̆̍̅̃͒̐͂͑͐̄̑̍

S̸̨̢̨̧̛̥͇̰̜͕͉̝͓̟̝̰̗̾̈́̏̀͌͠c̴̼͙͖̼̼̟̜͍͓͚̠͌͑̉͂̈́̑̉̎̅̿͋r̸̯̦̻̫̘̞̝̖̰̒͒̋̍e̷̢̠̼̹̫̼̼̥̦͓͇̗̻̙͂̏̉̎̉͑͜͝ą̸̠̣͍̣̻̫̩̖̺͎̭͇̣̄̌͂͂͆̔͑m̷̪͇͉̩̠͔͉̌̆̃͋̍͌͠ͅï̶͖̣̂̀͗̐̍̐̚͝n̴̨̧͉̞̤͕̟̼͍͇͓̣̙̾̄̈́͋̀͜͝g̵̝͚̳̖̜͕̙̮̮͔̾̍͒͑̑͒̈́̑̍̌̿̚͝

Then it was silent. Calm. Her back was tense. She was sitting on some form of wooden chair. Her eyes blinked open. Her hands were the same, gloved. Pants were black hunter’s pants. Red and regal sleeves. An ornate sword across her lap, with a dagger that could twist off. She knew it was right, but couldn’t understand why.

In front of her was a looming room with bells above. Wooden floors, and candles along the two side walls. Behind her, was an illuminated clock tower face. Light streamed through its ornate glass. At her feet, was the marred corpse of a woman with silver hair and a tricorn hat. Her body had been eviscerated, throat slit and drained.

Footsteps. She looked up. Someone, face shrouded by a black metal helmet, walked forward. A pick and metal contraption in hand. She looked at him curiously, the words flowing before she could discern their meaning, 

“Hm… A visitor. How unexpected...”

Chapter Text

Across the resonances of the world, Karla heard a bell shatter. They held their bell up to the red moonlit night and focused. They drowned out the rallied cries of the Yharnamites and found the resonance that had fractured. They rang the sinister bell, and the world twisted onto itself. Boots now planted on the cold halls of Castle Cainhurst. They walked up the stairs and into one of the many rooms of the derelict ruins. Looking about, Karla realized this was the same room that they had first met the young hunter, Marnie. A different hunter now stood in the room, and a blood drunk one chained to the opposite wall. He wore a standard hunter set and no face covering. What their eyes stopped on was the blade and the bell. Ludwig’s sword was held loosely in his hand. That same beaten blade. It had been so long since they laid eyes on it. And the bell. They were a Dreaming Hunter. And yet… no harmonic resonance chimed outward from his body. Why was that? Another trick by the damned false gods, no doubt.

The beastly form of Aeris strained against four chains holding her to a cluster of statues. She snarled, eyes glazed with yellowed beasthood. Claws shredded her fingers. Bone protruded from her arm at an angle, stabbing into her side. A beast at last. 

Karla walked into the room, “do you know her?” 

The hunter whipped his body to face them, blade drawn. A man with a rounded face that had never known hunger, a very clear outsider. Karla wondered what his story was.

“Who are you?” He asked, not letting the blade drop.

“I am a hunter of hunters. Specifically, I hunt Dream Hunters that have gone mad.”

“Is that why you rang the invasion bell?”

“It is. A hunter that has gone mad cannot very well summon me.”

“I ask that you don’t harm her.” Aeris snarled louder, clawing at the stone only centimeters from him.

“Sentimentality won’t help you here. She is gone. Do you want her to be like this?”

“She can be saved. Prep yourself.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, but noticeably not lowering the sword. “There’s this place called the Nightmare where hunters are tormented after death. Like hell. But, if a hunter is killed in the nightmare and has a body to go back to, they can be spared. Aeris’ body hasn’t been destroyed by beasthood yet. We can still save her.”

So he knew. A man without a resonance in the world of another. Karla stepped towards Aeris. The man stared Karla down, holding the blade.

They conjured a blackened flame in their hand. It danced in a circle, twisting at their command. “For a hunter to have no resonance in this world, and know about the actions of Kos, just what are you?”

The scream of a beast and rattling of chains interrupted them both. Aeris was no longer a threat. With the body destroyed, there is nothing she could do any longer to imprison them.

The hunter’s voice was firm. “Leave.”

“Step aside, or I will hunt you too.”

The hunter gripped the sword. A brilliant cerulean light shone on the abandoned cutlery and paintings of the room. It lit up the dark corners of the past of Cainhurst. The once royal lineage thrown off the cliffs of the castle remained frozen in time on the walls. The blood drunken Aeris screamed, cowering from its holy light. Holy. How sick. So an outsider could wield the Holy Moonlight Greatsword. How amusing.

Karla flicked their left wrist. The obsidian flame shot forward as a bolt of light and pierced through his shoulder. Fire erupted from the other into a whip of searing orange threaded around the room. Like an ethereal river, it ran its course under the tables, through the arms of the mannequins, over the abandoned golden goblets and jewelry. It lightly touched a painting of a blonde child sitting with Annalise, causing flames to engulf its monotone beauty. The hunter ducked, using the sword as a shield for his head. Karla held their palm to the room; the whip stayed. A snaking reel of flame warming the room and contrasting the blue light of the hunter. They could see him sweating.

The man stood, breathing rapidly. “You will not touch her!”

Karla laughed, “You’re a fiendish little hunter, aren’t you?” They crossed their wrists in the air. The man’s eyes widened and he gripped the sword. He unleashed a burst of holy light as the fire surged the room. Paintings of nobles and murdered Cainhurst women burned on the walls. Karla laughed in its brilliant, destructive light. The red and orange flames overtook and decimated the blue light in a raging inferno. Karla heard him scream, alongside the cries of a beast.

“The old casters of miracles were sure to steer clear of me. I’m sure you’ll learn the same.”

The flash fire faded quickly. Smoldering crumbles lined the edges of the room. Metal cutlery and plates glowed with a superheated ember. Laying on the floor in a mound was the hunter. He shifted slowly. His voice trembled. Coughing. Beneath him, lay Aeris. She was largely unharmed. Ravenous eyes locked onto the hunter. She lunged, and her teeth clamped to his arm. He winced. Her sharp teeth undoubtedly tore through the leather into his flesh. 

Karla stood, “You’re fickle, and foolhardy, just like the rest of the Old Hunters.” 

He stood on shaking legs. His eyes held the determination of all hunters. That moronic, ignorant, and arrogant look that damned so many others. The burning of Charnel Lane. The genocide of Cainhurst. The blood scourge of Old Yharnam. And all while carrying weapons and banners of righteousness.

“Runesmith Caryll, I presume? What do you want?”

How did he know something like that? This outsider…

Karla kept their tone cold, clear, emotionless, “I have no quarrel with you. Step aside, and I will kill that beast. You may leave.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“Countless hunters have visited these hunts. The bells stand a testament to their foolhardiness. Do you know how many unmarked graves there are to all of you? How many have died because of the actions of hunters? You cannot fight the wills of the so called gods. Every time it will fail. Your sword was wielded by  a man who thought he could scrape at the darkness, He became a beast like the rest, and kill his allies. Yet all of you keep trying.”

“And yet you saw what the outcomes of our unified efforts have been. Your hunt is the original one! Why are you doing this? What do you want from this?”

Anger. That same sensation they felt while transcribing the words of Rom. Of Ebrietas. Formless Oedon. Kos. The Flame of Chaos. The Chaos Witch. Lord of Cinder. The Blade of Miquella. Queen Marika. Knight Artorias. The Lord of Cinder.*

The life’s ambition of one became the prison for so many others. Even those who could be quantified as good, foolishly dragged others into their ambitions, killing and destroying more than they gave.

Their hand glowed with a crackling white light. They grabbed the hunter’s jacket. A breathy whisper into his ear, “ᛁᚩᚢ ᚳᚾᚩᚹ ᚾᚩᚦᛁᛝ.”

The man screamed. Instinct made his hands cover his ears. It bled between his fingers. A small crack on his bell. Karla showed him the desolate lands between that held the nights of the hunts in a perpetual cycle. The prison of death all hunters and Yharnamites were forced into. The screaming of those who died. The slaughter of the hamlet village, the execution of the people of Cainhurst, the blood’s infection through time. The fall of the Pthumerians. A Queen chained to a bed as she screamed. Her attendants ripped a child from her womb and offered it to the gods. The transformation of the final Pthumerians into beasts as their loved ones tore them to pieces. The suffering brought by hunters across worlds. His hand grabbed their arm and a bell tolled. Their bell. Their teeth rattled. It felt like an involuntary muscle spasm. 

They tumbled through the memories they showed the hunter. They could see him running through Yharnam, a suit jacket in tatters. Aeris saving him. A journey through the tunnels beneath Yharnam and finding the long lost damned queen. His time in the library. His visions of what Aeris had done. The outcome of Karla’s actions on others. 

They found themself standing on the clear surface of Rom’s moonlit lake. The hunter stood in front of them, blue light reflected off the still water’s surface. It was strange. The lake was a seal meant to keep the great ones from destroying Yharnam. Yet it had only imprisoned them. One step closer to freedom, meant a step closer to their continued subjugation. This was all Aeris’ fault. And this resonance. This ordinary hunter had transported her to the broken seal. Had manipulated the resonance and harmonics of others. How?

“What are you?” They snarled.

“My name is Cyril Gauthier. I am a hunter and a scholar. And right now,” he held their bell in his palm, “I have your life in my hands. I will give it back under two conditions. You will leave Aeris alone. And you will tell me what you want.”

This hunter altered the harmonics of the bell system. Only the great ones could do such a thing. Was he like them? Karla could feel their heartbeat out of sync with reality. Like it was beating in another world, and calling across. The leg hurt their chest. They had no idea if a shattered bell would kill them. But Aeris couldn’t succeed. This scholar, perhaps he could help find an answer. They scoffed at themself. Always a servant to others. Always having to scrape the bottoms of barrels to survive. Begging like a child. All this power for naught. 

“How did you discover my hunt is the original?”

“I hopped worlds and Nightmares and found a library enshrouded in madness. Now answer my questions.”

Karla nodded, smiling in disgust, the words themselves felt like thorns tangling inside their throat. It would never end. “Very well. I've grown tired of imprisonment. The changes of the hunts reflect in my world. For this hunt to end, someone has to ascend to be a great one. Aeris is intending to keep the loop open, and not close it. I have been trapped here since the first hunts. If she does that, I will continue to be imprisoned here.”

His face twisted in a revelation of confusion. “How is Aeris intending to keep the loop open?”

“That’s not a question you asked. Are you going to go back on your word? Or should I assume you’re a liar, and kill us both permanently?”

He stared at them, a face of deliberation. He looked terrible. On any other day, Karla would snuff out his life instantly. But with the bell in his hands, there was little they could do. A slave yet again.

“Fine then. You will leave Aeris alone.”

Karla shifted on their feet. How they wished they could murder this scholar here and now. But they interfered with the harmonics of multiple worlds. Karla had no idea what they were capable of. “Fine. I will leave the dying woman be.”

Cyril relaxed his shoulders. He squeezed their bell. That same pulsing chaos of confusion overtook them both. The lands between and hunts flitted like dying stars before their eyes, before the bitter cold of Cainhurst held them both. A gunshot in the air cracked the sky like ice. Karla found themself back in Yharnam holding their bell. The onslaught against the hunt continued around them. For the first time in a long while, they found their hands shaking. A cold sweat on their brow. Fear.

Damn hunters.

They watched as a group of Yharnamites walked together towards the city center, the corpse of a werewolf behind them. Unity. For the first time, the Dreaming Hunters were unified under a common goal.

Aeris was still alive.

And that hunter, Cyril, had understood the nature of the hunts themselves and found a way to interfere with even their resonance. A world away, yet their hands still shook in the red light.

Chapter Text

Antal ascended the stone stairs in near silence. It was uncomfortably deafening. This version of Yharnam within the Nightmare was so much the same, yet different. The layouts twisted on themselves, recognizable, but off. His pick was slick with the congealed blood of what had remained of the experiments of the church. Despite not being hunters, their tortured cries and sentience told him that the church’s experiments had dragged them into hell regardless. Aeris had said this Nightmare contained a Great One at the end of it. Every world had something maintaining it. The Dream had the Doll, and while he couldn’t find a way to kill her, perhaps the thing at the end of this place would be more straightforward.

Which was why the silence was so uncomfortable. Nothing ahead stirred. No screams of anguish, or growls of beasts. Not even the sound of the Astral Clocktower’s gears. From this high up in the church in Yharnam, he could hear the gears turning. In this one, it was all too blanketed with nothing. At the top of the stairs was a large stone door, framed with rotting wood. He pushed it open, dirt and debris falling to the ground, sounding like crashing waves in the quiet. As it settled, he heard crackling, like that of a small dying fire. The scent of oil. Gunpowder. He readied his weapon. The long room of the Astral Clocktower came into view. It was lit by the small traces of orange fire, surviving on rotted wood and oil. Blood and scorch marks and empty blood vials left the echoes of a fight’s havoc across the room. In the center of the room was a corpse. He gasped. Fourteen years ago Lady Maria had poisoned herself in the clocktower overlooking Yharnam. Yet here she lay, looking the same as she did the last day he saw her. Her throat was slit. Blood soaked the floor around her. At the end of the room a woman with white hair sat in a chair.

She wore the regal crimson shirt of the Knights of Cainhurst. The hunter’s pants. A mask obscured her nose and mouth. She sat with her legs crossed, the sheathed rakuyo across her lap. A purple and green eye stared at him, curious recognition on her face. What made the hand on his pick tremble was that her body did not chime. There was no resonance.

“Hm... A visitor? How unexpected…” Her voice was soft, its normal candor gone.

Despite the eviscerated nature of Maria’s corpse, there was no blood trail to where Aeris sat. “What the hell did you get into, Moron?”

Her voice snapped back at him, a sharp hate he’d never heard from her before, “You were a scholar of Mensis and the Healing Church. Do you have any remorse for killing the ailing wards below?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Do you feel any remorse for your part in the church?”

“Of course. That’s why I left.”

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. A rage he’d never seen from her, “Then why didn’t you do anything?”

“I am one man. The best thing I could do was refuse to take part. I have no regrets for anything that happened after. Nor am I responsible.” 

“Tell me then, why do nothing about the church, yet you went ahead and started killing Great Ones?”

He stepped towards her. “Killing a lone monster is easier than fighting a systemic system. Every person who has risen against the church has been murdered or turned into an experiment. With immortality, the death of a Great One is possible. But overthrowing the church? I don’t even have high hopes for Marnie, and the people like her. You know as well as I do that it isn’t easy to change minds. That’s what your whole little experiment was. So tell me, what the hell did you do?” His steps were rapidly closing the gap between them.

“Do you really wish to tease some more from the depths of this nightmare? Even if it means my murder?” She asked.

“I do. Now answer my question. What did you do?”

“The hunt is long, and you won’t find your enemies here. Return to your hunt, Good Hunter.”

He stopped two meters from her. Just like the Doll. This wasn’t the Aeris he knew. Was she meant to torment him? No. This wasn’t a torment for him. Even the Great Ones would be intelligent enough to know at least that much. Then this was her torment. “Look what became of you. You had to try and fight the hunt itself. And this is what happened to you. Now you’re just a puppet.”

“I more than understand your desire to slay the Great Ones.” She stood. Rakuyo in hand. “But you must also understand my desire to let you see Yamamura again. Leave the remains of Kos and her orphaned child be. A corpse, should be left well alone. Let her child mourn its mother. Every Great One loses its child. This Great One overcame that rule. Why would you take it away?”

The joints of his fingers and back tensed to her words. He coiled in on himself. He could see the visions given to him by Ebrietas. The cries of a parent weeping over their child. It burned in his chest, like a conscience had caught up to him. The weeping parents were delivered the corpses of their sons after the hunts. The women of Charnel Lane having their children ripped away before the scourge was unleashed upon them. Those children were raised in the church to be hunters. Scholars. Candlelighters. Experiments of the church.

No. He was still not responsible. He had no immortal hunt then. He could not fight a religion that systemically culled dissenters, and created its servants and warriors. He would not let these… things take that from him. He put his hand on the rosmarinus. Aeris watched him intently.

“You, boy, are insufferable. I know very well, how those secrets of the Great Ones beckon so sweetly. Only an honest death will cure you now. Liberate you from your wild curiosity.”

His finger hit the trigger of the rosmarinus. She moved to the left, almost faster than his eyes could follow. A bone clattered to her side and then he saw her in the corner of his eye. The glint of metal. He raised the pick and clanged against her blade. It was already unsheathed. Centimeters from his face. He sprayed the rosmarinus once more. It enveloped the air around them both. He held his breath and jumped forward, striking backwards with the pick as he moved. Metal clanged again. She’d tried to strike his back. 

His foot planted, ready to strike towards where she had stood. A searing pain hit his back. Just between his shoulders, where the armor didn’t fully connect. He stumbled forward. Aeris was in front of him, the smoke of her bone obscuring his vision. He brought the pick down with full force. With the daggered hand, she stopped his strike mid air. Her arm cracked, giving under the force. Then it snapped back into place. He lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. Her back hit the chair. Splinters of wood rained onto the floor. The shredded cotton of the chair tumbled out. Small human bones littered the floor from its stuffing. Searing pain ran up his side. The dagger was pushed fully in and she twisted. The skin of her fingers tore like paper. He slammed her head into the woodwork. A jagged piece of the chair’s arm pushed through her eye. Aeris screamed. She yanked the blade out of his chest and held the sharp metal in her hand. Tendons severed and blood flowed down her arm. He smacked the blade from her hand and grabbed a palm in each hand. He pinned her to the ground. 

“Moron, why are you letting them puppeteer you?”

A smile too wide bloomed across her face. The wood in her empty socket almost like a carved decoration. She pushed against his hands. He held her firm. Her jaw clenched. He held her hands with a death grip and he felt his muscles begin to scream. His arms moved despite his strength. A crack came from her mouth. He could hear ripping in her arms. The sounds of muscle separating. She threw one arm to the side, releasing her grip from his. His hand moved to strike her face and disorient her. The handle of the dagger connected with his chest. When did she even grab it? The bells of the ceiling spun in his vision before he landed face down in a pool of oil. He looked up and she was sparking the oil on her blades alight. The room filled with bright light. It illuminated the sears on the walls. The blood spatters across the room. It glittered off the broken vials stuck in her boots. Dripping fire lengthened her blades. He prepared himself to parry, the rosmarinus mechanism already releasing sparkles into the air. The light from the flames glimmered off the dull bronze of the bells, the sharp edges of the glass, and the sparkles in the air.

She flew forward, her feet not touching the ground. An arcing flame of brilliant orange and deep blue snaked down his throat. He felt the metal of his armor heat. It burned. He was screaming. he skin of her hands were already fusing together as the blades came down. 

This Aeris was so much faster and stronger than she had ever been before.

He felt an agonizing pain in his neck. Then cool stones on his face as a haunting aria enveloped his sense. The scent of flowers and dirt replaced the oil and blood. He stormed over to the Doll. The grip of his fingers cracked her ceramic. Her face did not change.

“Which one of you did Aeris make a deal with? Which one, you bitch!”

The plain ceramic face of Maria’s image changed. He dropped her to the ground. For the first time an emotion that could be recognized as human took her face. None of the structure moved. But her eyes. They shifted into worry.

“Did you find my Good Hunter?” She asked. Her arm extended out, articulated hands grasping the hem of his black coat.

“What the hell is going on?” He asked.

“My Hunter heard the call of the hunt and answered. It has been so long since I saw her. She is ill. I can no longer find her. I thought I had lost her, but you said her name. Where is she?”

“She’s in the hell created by one of you vile things. She killed me in my own world. As if she was a part of it.”

“Oh my dearest hunter…” A lone tear ran down the porcelain skin. For a moment, Antal felt pity. He grabbed her bodice and lifted her up off the ground. Her eyes changed once again. Intensity. It made him afraid. This thing. It looked more human by the day. “You must help her! Please!” Her voice cried. The eyes matched.

“And why should I help you? You’re one of those things. If it would stick, I’d rip you apart right now.”

“You are a man of science, yes?” 

“Yes. Explain.”

“The reactions of the world are neither good nor bad. They are all events that create or cause disturbances to life. Life will always strive forward. Always seek to continue its own existence. Your lives damage the environment. Your buildings keep you safe, but take resources from others. Perhaps those materials are missed by whence they came, and perhaps not. Your kindness spent for one is then time not used giving kindness to another. Time is nonrenewable. You cannot get that back. Our time means less, but to the world around us, time is everything. So it means just the same, and yet nothing at all.”

He gripped tighter onto the bodice. The seams ripped. “Get to your point.”

“We are not so different than you. I want Aeris to survive. I need her to.”

“And why do you care so much about Aeris?”

“She is a human who has taken on the mantle of defying others like me. And succeeded so much that she is considered a threat. The one you all refer to as Formless Oedon has taken notice of her. As has Flora. For a mere human to garner the attention of a Great One-”

“You sound like those mad scholars and clergy, thinking they could control this shit. All of you should be eradicated like the vermin you are.”

“She garnered the attention of a Great One who is trying to stop her. Not kill her. Stop her actions entirely. She has proven humanity as a threat. You want us all to die. Aeris is the one who can cause that to happen.”

“She told me she didn’t think we could kill them. Why do you care so much about her?”

“Just because she is not aware of her actions, does not mean they could not be so.”

“I’m not taking action on hope. If you wanted that, you should’ve talked to a different hunter. I’m not gonna to waste time on her folly. She knew the risks. And if she has gone blood drunk, she can do it again. I’ll ask you again. Why the hell is Aeris in my world?”

The Doll’s face and eyes did not move. The response was mechanical. Devoid of emotion once again. “The powers we all hold are unique. I maintain this Dream, and am here to look after you. I have no power over the domains of others. I do not know where she is. The place you came from, it was created by the dying curse of a mother who lost her child. If the mothers in your world who lost their children to war had the power to act on their curses… what do you suppose would happen?”

“A parent can’t replace their child.”

“But never ending torment can perhaps manifest a droplet of pain that a mother feels losing her child.”

“Where are you going with this?” He dropped her on the ground and stood over her. 

“I cannot verify it as I cannot leave my domain. But it is possible that Flora or Formless Oedon has used that curse to trap Aeris within that pain. I will not let any of you die. But I cannot stop another’s powers outside of this Dream.” Another crystalline tear.

This thing…

“Aeris knew the risks. I don’t have time to help her. I’ll kill her in my Nightmare. That’s one step closer to her being free. Let the others sort it out, if they can."

“Please, Hunter Antal, please help my hunter! Even if you free her here, she must be freed from each world. Please!”

“Like I said, she knew the risks. I have my own hunt. I can’t worry about the moronic actions of some stupid girl.” The Doll made small weeping sounds. Ceramic grated on ceramic as she shook from crying.

“Transport me back to the Astral Clocktower. I have business to complete.” The Doll grasped his hand and the world shimmered for a moment at its edges before righting itself. A smoldering room lay ahead, flickers of orange light cast shadows on the lone woman standing in the room, flaming rakuyo in hand.

He prepared some poisoned knives, and molotov cocktails. No one, not even Aeris, would stop him from executing whatever fake God was at the end of this hell.

Chapter Text

This is an artwork I commissioned from the talented artist Art of Chinara.

You can find some of their other work on their instagram

Chapter Text

Marnie leaned against a side street wall. Short and sharp breaths turned to wispy bursts of frost. Manually, she forced her breathing to regulate. Slow down. If Aeris were not a Dreaming Hunter… Marnie did not watch Elias die. She had not watched anyone die tonight. She had heard their screams. But Aeris… 

She shook her head. She had read in history books about the tough decisions made by those in the Age of Revolutions. And the characters in stories, such as the choice the little mermaid had to make- to kill the one she loved, or turn into sea foam and fade away. Marnie always thought she would have a hard time making one of these choices. Life mattered. She had to protect it.

But some lives were more valuable in war than others.

She had made the choice to work with other Dreaming Hunters and prioritize saving the non-dreaming lives of Yharnamites first- then the outsiders could be saved. But Aeris. Aeris had not told them everything. And now one of them was dead in gods- no- in who knew how many worlds. Marnie had gone out of her way to save Aeris. Had made sure the clinic was safe, that she was being treated by Iosefka. 

No one should trust anyone fully. But Aeris had left out something so crucial. How could she? Marnie saw the silhouette of Aeris putting a gun to her own head. A bullet of sparkles destroyed her form. The reality of a cold stone wall against her forehead snapped her back in time to see a tear hit the dirty stone street. She yanked the glasses off her face and wiped them off, then struck the tears from her eyes. No. She had to keep it together. No matter what, the church would pay for all of this.

And Aeris… best not to think of her now. She did not have space to concern herself with so many others. Yharnam. Yharnam needed her.

She patrolled the streets. Hunters moved in groups, and were slowly expanding their perimeter of confirmed beast free zones. Soon all of Yharnam proper and Cathedral Ward would be cleared. For now at least, her version of Yharnam was stable. She waved at a few, and allowed them to pat her shoulder in comfort. She did her best to feign the scared and defiant church girl. It felt foreign. The words stuck to the roof of her mouth like cotton. She needed to clear her head.

To the outskirts of Yharnam she traveled. Beyond them were the next stages of her hunt. Aeris had said that everyone must complete the hunt in order. Who knew if she could trust that. What else could Aeris have lied about?

Atop the watchtower of Yharnam’s outermost wall, Djura sat. Not now. Please. Not now.

“Are you continuing the Dream hunt?” He asked. His clothing had the splattered remains of beasts on it. Of people. How many were hunters that could have been saved? And Eileen, the Hunter of Hunters… 

“Djura… I- I need time.”

He stared at her without showing emotion. Hunters were supposed to be good at that. No, Hunters are . She slouched in on herself and the grip on her reiterpallasch faltered.

“Marnie, if you cannot keep your head, you will go mad. You’ll become like the rest of them.” He adjusted the gun slung over his shoulder, lessening his stance. It was almost paternal, in a way. “one thing I do remember is Dreaming Hunters can still become beasts. Permanently.”

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak. The cotton spread to her throat. She could lie. It would keep Djura loyal. She needed experienced hunters to ride out this hell. An image of Aeris and the gun appeared in her mind. Then her own hand holding the gun to the woman’s head. No. She would not be like her. A fractured whisper escaped her lips, “Djura. Dreaming Hunters that turn to beasts can sometimes be saved.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then fury. “What?”

“That hunter, Aeris, she lied to us! To all of us! Dreaming Hunters who go blood drunk can be saved if you kill the drunk versions of themselves in a hell created by a Great One!”

He stomped down the stairs and faced Marnie down. His face was covered in rough stubble. He had improperly shaved. The faint scent of alcohol hissed from his breath.

“How do you know this?”

“I- when- I just…”

He shook her shoulder sharply, “Speak!”

“When we killed the beasts below the church, the one in the cell, that was a man named Yamamura! He went mad down there. I still do not know why he was there. Or even who he really was. Aeris said that they can be saved. Like we can. If a majority of the versions of him that exist in other hunts is saved then-”

She watched his body tense up. “Marnie. I need to know the truth. Did you know? Are you lying to me?” Her shoulder buzzed and started going numb. His fingers pressed into the small separation between bone and muscle. Even flexing her fingers was impossible. That look in his eyes. He would snap her neck. 

“Djura, I really did not know. She said she kept it from us, because the truth would hurt us.” His jaw lost tension, but his eyes did not falter from her face. “I do not-”

“Marnie, stop.” He continued to grip her arm and looked up at the moon. “What did she say about this hell?”

Marnie gulped, “that the Old Hunters were cursed by a Great One. That now all hunters are cursed to never stop hunting, even when they die.”

He continued to stare at the moon, “Kos, or some said Carryl’s translation of Kosm was correct… Kos was a Great One worshiped by a nearby village. A Great One said to have integrated with humanity. That integration turned the people to beasts. Those with the Hunter’s Guild and the Church were sent to slay them. I was part of another guild, so I was exempt. Whatever happened that day…” He stopped quietly. His arm tensed even tighter. Marnie felt her bone creak.  “shortly after everything changed. Simple, Brador, and Gehrman vanished. Maria killed herself. The guilds fell apart. Yamamura went quiet. But sometimes, I’d hear his prayer late into the night. He kept repeating the mantra of the church. He refused to talk about it. The night Old Yharnam burned, he was there beside me. We found a creature in one of the chapels, responsible for the sudden surge in instantaneous beasthood amongst those we killed. I recognized that face. That was a face of relief. He was relieved to see a common beast, and not something greater.”

“Do you think Kos is who cursed them?” Marnie asked.

“They slaughtered a village. As far as I’m aware, there was never any survivors. Even Cainhurst had survivors. Maria, Gehrman, Yamamura, and the others were good at their work. I’m not surprised. Forced to relive a hunt over and over again. That seems like the perfect way to torment them. Maria couldn’t live with it.” He was not looking at her. His tone was offhand, as if he was not even addressing her.

“So what does that mean for us now? I do not think there is anything I can do.”

He looked down the smoky streets of Yharnam. “Marnie, when we woke up, this hunt is like a dream we wouldn’t remember. I know that I fought the church during my hunt. Their terror of my actions kept them at bay from Old Yharnam all these years. But I don’t actually remember that. I’ve pieced it together from the stories and rumors about the madman of Old Yharnam. But Eileen… She hunted blooddrunk hunters during hers. Including Dreaming ones. That blade of hers will never let her forget.”

He looked at her and his arm, realization on his face. He released her arm, and kept one out for her to steady herself. She accepted. The reality of the hunts swirl around her. There was too much. She was just some girl from Yharnam. The gods and Great Ones and hunters and the Dreaming Hunters and her fellow Yharnamites and Aeris and the corpses that continued to stack and Eileen and Djura and the Old Hunters and the church and…

She was on the ground. Breath came and went quickly from her throat. It did not reach her lungs. She clawed on the dirt. She could not breathe. She grabbed Djura’s shirt. A smack to her back. A paper bag to her face. Air. Colors spun for a moment, before righting themselves on the frozen dirt.

A hand was on her back. Her weapons were neatly laid on the ground next to them. Djura sat next to her quietly.

“Marnie, if you want out, this is going to be the time to do so. You can still leave, and wake up tomorrow. None of us will fault you if you do.”

She shook under his hand. It was all too much. “Just give me some time. I need to think.”

He nodded and stood, beginning his climb back up the wall. “I want you to think on this. Just why did you trust Aeris?”

Indeed, why?

Before she could stammer out an answer, he was already on the wall again surveying the streets and firing into a rabid dog as it sprinted down another alleyway.

~~~~~

It was much easier jumping across the rocks in the bay than the first time. She was relieved that the frigid water would not greet her again. But a small part wondered if the water would help her come up with an answer. Before her, stood the forbidden Castle Cainhurst. A place no one in Yharnam was crazy enough to go. Besides the woman Karla that had killed her prior.

With everything that had happened, dying by a fire inside a forbidden ghost filled castle slipped her mind. Her lack of incredulousness stopped her feet in the snow. Should she go back to a version of herself where that would be her reaction? 

She walked through the now quiet halls. Red moonlight blazed through the cathedral sized windows. The only sounds were her own boots in the echoing rooms. She passed by the corpse of the Church Executioner and paused at the burned down incense stick. How could they? How could anyone have done this? She kicked the stick and with it, the skull of the Executioner went rolling. She felt nothing. The pit in her stomach at that realization stabbed at her conscience. Up the stairs, and into the room she had died in. The room was a mess. Fire seared and crumbling paintings were all that remained. The dress was no longer recognizable. 

Beyond the room, was the unknown. A row of columns stood where there had once been doorways. She walked out and stood on the firm marble of an ornate balcony. Far ahead and below, she could see the smoldering fires and lights of Yharnam and Cathedral Ward. So small and far away. The cold plunged her thoughts into the crystal cold.

Aeris lied to everyone.

The church knew what they had caused and did not stop.

The blood was tainted. Even if they survived, there was no guarantee that anything could be stopped. 

Kos rightfully cursed the hunters for their sins.

And those sins now meant she would pay for them, too. No one would survive. Even she was on borrowed time.

The image of her own gun against Aeris’ head snapped into view. The blowing snow mixed with the sparkling bullet Aeris fired.

Where was the church? Why was no one here to defend Yharnam?

The church hunters, nor the Researchers, nor the Executioners stood on these streets. But earlier in the hunt… Alfred.

She had met him in Cathedral Ward. The corpse of a beast at his feet. But when she gave him the summons from Cainhurst, his face had darkened. He seemed almost frantic. Not the gentle man she had known since she was a young girl.

Where was he now?

She looked about the castle. The balcony ran around the edge of the buttresses, before ending at a ladder. She dropped the pretense of quiet. Her boots slammed with each step as she headed towards it. Those summons, they were for this castle! Castles had throne rooms. So is that where Alfred had deserted Yharnam, to? The metal of the ladder burned her hands in the cold. She continued upwards. Up above, the winds blew cold shards of glass into her face. The shingles crumbled from the disrepair in the face of the elements. The English Channel brought in storms from the Atlantic Ocean, and they eventually ended here, at the Bay of Blood.

She could see Charnel Lane’s glow from here as well. In Yharnam, the Astral Clocktower loomed above, darkened. Somehow, despite it being shorter than the clocktower, the church loomed even more. She picked her way across the rooftop. From afar, she must look like some form of demon bathed in the red moon’s light. 

Ahead, the highest spire of the castle commanded the horizon. She took another step forward. The bell’s resonance chimed outwards as her foot made contact with the rooftop. The sky seemed to invert. The veil of darkness created by the waters on the horizon line crossed the boundary. For a moment she was floating. The bell sent echoes across the water’s depths. Marnie heard voices. Screams. Fire blazed in the depths of the waves. Sceams. Children. Women. Men. Crying.

“Nos hunc mundum sordibus tuis exstinguemus!”

“Pro honore Cainhurst.”

“Timeo. Mori nolo.”

“Timidi homines. Mulieres mittit ad te pugnandum.”

“Matrem meam ne occidas!”

“Ego sum hic.”

Her bell cracked.

The world continued to spin as she collapsed to her knees. Ahead were two open ornate doors leading to a staircase. Lit candles lined the sides of the stairs, leading beyond her vision. She stumbled forward, forcing her legs to function, even as the thoughts of her parents tried to pull her backwards. Like good parents should. She pushed them away and crossed the threshold of the doors. Whatever was beyond this, something or someone wanted her to see this narrative. Whether Karla or a God, she knew not. Nor did she care. She needed to know what lie at the end of this horizon line. The stairs continued up towards a large room the sound of a man’s murmuring wafted to her. Nude statues lined the walk. As if people frozen in time. She averted her eyes from the male statues, and continued. What sounded like murmuring became intelligible words, then telligible. Her breath stopped still as the statues filling the room. 

No.

“Look! I've done it, I've done it! I smashed and pounded and grounded this rotten siren into fleshy pink pulp!”

Alfred. The Executioner that joined Yharnam on its yearly hunts. A lone throne sat in the room covered in blood and organs. The flesh stretched across the back of the ornate chair moved, slowly writhing. She felt sick. The Queen of Cainhurst. So after all these years.. She had survived until now… The Vileblood were the sworn enemy of all that was good in the world. And yet… it was not them who destroyed Yharnam. It was not them who used the blood to experiment on the impoverished. 

“There, you filthy monstrosity! What good's your immortality now! Try stirring up trouble in this sorry state! All mangled and twisted, with every inside on the outside, for all the world to see!” He laughed and spun in a clearing of the statues, his weapon, the Logarius wagon wheel, glowed red with the whispers of the dead. The very weapon Karla had told her was used to steal the souls of its victims. Karla had said the blood itself even came from here. 

She stepped forward. Boots heavier than ever. “Alfred.”

He turned, that familiar smile she knew plastered across his face. Its gentle nature did not meet his eyes. “Oh, you, is it? Look at this! Thanks to you, I've done it! Well? Isn't it wonderful?”

The summon she had given him. Did that let him into this place? Her boots froze where they were planted, now faltering.

He did not react to her, “Beast hunting is a sacred practice. Our prey might differ, but we are hunters, the both of us. Why not cooperate, and discuss the things we've learned? This place,” he gestured wildly, “held so many secrets within its walls.”

“Alfred. Is it true the Healing Church’s blood came from here?”

He nodded emphatically, “the only good Vileblood realized this whore was corrupting the blood and using it to destroy the goodness of the world. He deserted Cainhurst and went to the Church. My predecessors welcomed him with open arms! He saved the blood from the army of filth that would have annihilated us all!”

“What were they doing that warranted a death sentence for everyone?”

He wiped blood from his hands, “Marnie, you’re still so inexperienced to the world. They killed hunters! They were conniving to destroy the church and so we fixed it. My predecessors came in when I was just a child, how I wish I could have joined them! They dashed these vile things into pulp! Crushed the skulls of their offspring so they couldn’t murder us! Slit the throats of the false nobles and money driven wenches! It was all so you,” he stepped towards her, extending an arm out, “so you children could grow up without knowing their disgusting ways.”

The sounds of a rage that could not be quantified burst through the room. She could not find its origin as the words, slicked with venom, filled the echoing air, “You justify the murder of children? Of an entire culture? For what? You abandoned Yharnam!” As she pushed the glasses back up the bridge of her nose, she realized they were shaking. So that anger came from her after all.

“You ungrateful brat, I have saved Yharnam! Without their Queen, they will never return!”

“Yharnam is dying! Her people are sick. The blood made us that way, do you not understand that?”

“No, no, no, you see, I understand you’re young. It’s alright young Marnie. The blood did make us that way. And killing this wench was the last step to stop all of this. You won’t have to hunt anymore, none of you hunters will! They’ve been eradicated!” He was smiling, stepping closer to her. His eyes were shadowed over. Like the blood addled Yharnamites she already had to put down. But what he was saying…

Her whole life she was taught how evil the Vilebloods were. About the inherent infallibility of the Church. Of its goodness to the word. That the rest of Europe could be saved by their message; even the war could end. She felt in her pockets for Vicar Amelia’s pendant. The woman had clutched it to her dying breath as a beast. A small thing that brought so much hope.

The chain fell between her fingers. It clattered to the floor. Teeth gritted with the images of her neighbors and friends. And Elias. The smashed pendant lay beneath her boot. She raised it, forcing the release of her rage. The hinge has been busted open and the side askew. One one side, was a picture of a younger Amelia. Beautiful brown hair in a braid. The other was a photo of a drawn bell. Its resemblance was identical to the Beckoning bell on Marnie’s own waist.

A hunter is never alone. Amelia believed that to the end. 

“Why just hunters, then?”

Alfred stood staring at her, the bloody smile still absentmindedly on his face. She raised her reiterpallasch towards his head and fired the mechanism.

He stumbled backwards, a yell from his lips. Hand pressed to shoulder, he looked at her with crazed eyes. She missed.

 “Just what is the meaning of this? Why turn your gun on me? You're just jealous, aren't you? I killed the slut instead!” His arm slammed the wheel onto the ground. It spun. The whispering cries of its victims fluorescing the room with a red glow.

“Marnie, you unclean wench! Has the blood gone to your head?” He stumbled forward, yelling in pain. He lifted the wheel once again. It slammed the ground, cracking the stonework of the throne room. 

Why did she miss? He was larger than her. The statues cluttering the room would make this a close-

She jumped to the side as the wheel slammed into the breasts of a statue behind her. She fired the reiterpallasch. It hit the stone hand of a man. Her back cracked against stone as she was flung against the wall. The guard of the sword snapped her wrist. She screamed in pain. Alfred picked her up with one arm and shook her.

He leaned in close and smelled her smoke saturated hair, “you- you sided with those scum. Pathetic.” He dropped her. The barrel of her pistol smashed the broken fingers. Her other hand scrambled for a blood vial. The wagon wheel crashed down. Her leg sat sixty degrees from where it should be. The pain hit. She shrieked. It hurt so much. Tears rolled down her face. 

She rolled on the floor. Fell against a statue. His foot connected with the stone knee. Two blood vials snapped her leg into place as she scrambled to her feet. She raised the reiterpallasch again. The wheel swung upwards from the floor and towards her. She stumbled backwards, the blood covered throne catching her fall. The wheel turned. The blade caught in the spokes. He grinned at her and spun it. For a moment the rotation was stopped by Cainhurst steel. It snapped. The blade fell in two pieces to the ground. He used the momentum to bring the wheel around again.

She was pinned. Her hand clasped the repeating pistol. Two shots. The first entered through his jaw and through his cheek. She could see teeth knock back to this throat. His tongue half severed. His eyes bulged from surprise. The second did not miss. The bullet pierced his skull. Blood sprayed from behind as his eyes floated. One stared at the cathedral ceiling above. The other at Marnie’s shaking hand. His body fell on hers. She was knocked to the ground. The taste of his blood entered her mouth. He was still. She began screaming, over and over again. Panic and fear. Alfred. The Executioner. The viscera of the queen lay around them in pulsing mounds. The bodies of people. Alfred’s blood pooled in her hands. Her breath caught in the closing of her throat. In the tightening panic of her fingers around the cool metal of her bell. 

“Please, Miss Doll, get me out of here. Anywhere but here.”

The blood and statues swirled. She closed her eyes tightly. The hand holding the pistol shook. A calming aria held her thoughts as the soft grass held her body. A cool hand made of ceramic stroked her hair. She did not open her eyes. 

“What nightmare did you see?” The Doll’s voice, calm and gentle as ever.

“I killed a person.”

The doll was silent for a moment, before her quiet lilt began again, “do you want to leave the hunt, Marnie?”

That offer again. Everyone kept giving it  to her. Even here, in the dark. “Why do you people keep trying to get me to leave? Do you think I would be such a coward to run from my own city?” She snarled, vision still shrouded in darkness.

“You have already told me what it is you are angry about. You need not be angry about something unrelated.”

“I am angry about both!”

“Hunters must make difficult decisions. What will yours be to this offer, Hunter Marnie?”

“I…” in the darkness of the song, she felt as if Alfred’s blood was still running through her fingers. He had been a Yharnamite just like she. That ferocity was not the blood. It was the vile nature of a person. Perhaps the church could not be overthrown. Waking up to the morning light sounded amazing. And yet…

“I cannot.”

The Doll shifted and stood. “Then you should speak with Gehrman. A Hunter with a broken blade cannot hunt.”

Marnie opened her eyes to the calming garden of Easter lilies, and followed the Doll. Gehrman sat in his wheelchair at a workbench, tinkering with a small dagger. He looked up at her and his gaze fell on the broken blade. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen this.” He gestured for her to give it to him. He examined both pieces and got to work using instruments she had never seen before.

“You have seen this sword before?”

He nodded. “I started the first Hunter’s Guild. One of my students was a young woman from Cainhurst. I learned their weapons well.” He sighed. “It always falls to the Hunters to clean up these sorts of messes.”

“Messes?”

“The Healing Church, and the Blood Ministers who belong to it...were once guardians of the hunters, in the times of the Hunters… Ludwig, Maria, and…” He looked out the window for a moment, staring into the void of clouds, “they worked, and forged weapons, in their unique workshop. We were all there. We were expected to clean up the blood addled masses left by their experiments. And now I remain here.” He cut off abruptly. Fire from a special mechanized torch began to fuse the blade back together. 

“Why are you here?” She asked.

He did not answer.

“Can you tell me why there is a Dreaming Hunt to begin with?”

His face showed no change from the concentration of the blade.

“Then can you tell me what the end of the hunt is?”

Silence.

“Is it true we have to accept our deaths at the end of this hunt to escape?”

He looked at her for the first time. “Dear, oh dear. Where did you end up hearing that?”

The Doll, standing in the doorway, looked worried. 

“Another Dreaming Hunter told me.”

“Who was it, then?” He asked, sharply.

“I will tell you if you answer a question I have.”

He grumbled for a moment, and then gestured for her to speak, “Where are the remaining members of the Healing Church?”

“They are in Yahar'gul attempting to create a Great One out of the remaining Yharnamites living immediately around the city.”

“What?” She stood quickly. These people were still, even now, clinging to the destruction they had caused as a solution? 

“I am almost finished with your blade. Who told you about the end of the hunt?”

Marnie looked at him, “Her name is Aeris. Hunter Aeris. She has purple eyes from forbidden blood. The blood that started the Cainhurst line.”

Gehrman stared at her. “Where is she now?”

Aeris’ desperate cry cracked Marnie’s mind back to the reality of the hunt. The death and destruction outside this harmonious place. She stumbled forwards, just stopping herself from hitting Gehrman’s wheelchair. A small crackle came from the edge of her bell. She held it in the firelight, a small crack along its edge. 

“Aeris… shot herself. She went back to her world.”

The Doll stepped forward, “have you seen her since? Have you seen my Hunter?”

Gehrman glared at the Doll, then rolled his eyes in frustration. He handed the blade to Marnie. “Get back to your hunt, girl. You have things to do. I’ll see you at the end of this hunt. Aeris was telling you the truth.” 

Marnie looked between them both. A tension she could not ascertain existed between them and Aeris. Lies and secrets all the way down. Could she not escape that, even with her allies?

She stepped forward. “Miss Doll, please take me back to Cathedral Ward. I have a hunt to finish.”

The Doll nodded and clasped her hands tightly. “If you see my Hunter, please ask her to come home. I’m so very worried, Hunter Marnie.” As the world swirled around them both and as the toe of Marnie’s boot began to plant upon the stonework of the perimeter wall, she saw a sparkling tear run down the Doll’s face.

Chapter Text

Marnie stood in Cathedral Ward with Djura, Eileen, and a mysterious fourth person. Like Eileen, he wore a cape of charred feathers. His outfit was worn, years of hunting under his belt. In one hand he held an identical pistol to one of Marnie’s and his face… it was completely obscured by a metal helmet.

Marnie looked at Eileen, “you said this man was with you, who is he?” 

Eileen gestured, “you can call him Crow. He was once…” she looked at him for a moment, her plague mask at odds with his helmet, “the person who would become the next Hunter of Hunters. Things changed.” She was quiet, waiting on him to speak.

His helmet faced Marnie straight on, “I was told you knew where the church members are. And what they're planning.”

Marnie nodded, “Eileen has vouched for you.” She took a breath, “the remaining church members are trying to create an artificial Great One in Yahar'gul. As a last ditch effort to stop the scourge.”

Crow stood still, “how do you know this?”

Marnie gestured at the bell hanging on her side. “Is this proof enough?”

He did not move, “The Hunt is still happening then.” It was not a question, nor did it feel like a statement or observation. It was as if the words existed without emotion or reason. Their hollowness made Marnie uneasy. Just who was this man? And why was he no longer the Hunter of Hunters?

“Yharnamite girl,” Crow commanded, “do you think you can succeed in stopping the church?”

Marnie shook her head, “not alone. I think we together can.”

“Then you are all fools.”

“Fools maybe, but it is better than sitting on our hands and waiting for death.”

“And what of after? When the hunt ends you are all still tainted with blood.” His voice was calm.

She faced him, “I do not know. But if we do not try to live now, we cannot hope to find a solution then.”

He did not respond, whatever the reason, her answer seemed to satisfy him. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

Marnie stopped him. “I am the only one of us that is immortal. I can have second chances. You three cannot. I will go alone.”

Eileen laughed, “Marnie, you’re a hunter aren’t ya? A hunter should hunt beasts. If it’s church members you’re fighting, then I will be coming along. Keep your hands clean.”

“I cannot accept, Eileen.”

“And you expect to tell an old crone what to do?”

Djura had been quiet during the exchange, observing everyone. He spoke, “I agree with Marnie. Yharnam needs protection. However, staying behind would go back on my pledge to your hunt.” He looked at her. Realization dawned on her. Whatever she learned in this final confrontation with the church before sunrise was crucial. 

He continued, “Myself and the Crow aren’t to be trusted by the normal populace. But while everyone is wary of Eileen, they know that whatever she does at night that makes hunters fear her, is necessary. You need witnesses. I noticed you didn’t invite Defector Antal, why?”

Marnie hesitated. Her hunt was one thing, but with the information of others and Crow being here, she was not sure. But were she to back down here, they may lose trust in her. “I will be calling Defector Antal, but not the one here,” she tapped the bell on her side. Djura’s eyes widened.

Eileen laughed, “irony of ironies. That one detests this hunt and all Great Ones. So he’s a bell ringing hunter, eh?”

Marnie sighed, exasperated, “You can all come. But I am to be the one to take point. If it becomes too precarious, run away. I cannot lose any of you.”

She rang the bell. The sound resonated out. Crow leaned in, as if to listen. Both Eileen and Djura looked at each other, puzzled. “What?” She asked.

Eileen spoke first, “I don’t remember much of my hunt, but I remember that bell. But yours, it didn’t chime.” Her voice was serious. Tired. Djura nodded along with her.

“But it did chime,” Marnie said. Could only Dreaming Hunters hear the tolling of the bells?

The harmonics resonated outwards across worlds. Marnie had no idea who would appear, while it hardly mattered, as anyone who was an immortal fighter would assist her in keeping the others alive, she would like to at least apologize to Aeris. Like Eileen said, she wanted to keep her hands clean. Sparkles materialized before her. She hoped stepping from the ethereal plane would be that familiar white hair. But it was not. A figure with almond brown hair walked forward. That familiar sword in hand, Cyril stepped onto the grounds of Yharnam.

“Hello Cyril.”

“Oh, hello Marnie.” He sounded almost disappointed to see her. He looked around, his shoulders dropped. “Have you seen Aeris?”

“No. To tell you the truth, I was hoping that you were her.”

“I see.” He faced her again, “what did you call me for?” He gestured to the others, “I assume it has something to do with all of them?”

Marnie nodded, “We are going to stop the church’s ritual in Yahar'gul. You have researched Yharnam, what do you know of it?”

Cyril leaned forward, “It’s called the Mensis Ritual. This ritual is the event that will cause the Great Ones to become distracted. It has to go on.”

“And what happens if it does? Will more Yharnamites die? Will the church members die?” She asked.

“Yes. To both.”

“Then you know what my answer will be. I will not compromise this. A lot of people compromised their morality, leading me to be able to stand here. If I give in now, I will not be able to be the one who carries it to the people.”

Cyril waved her off, “I know, I know. You have to be white as snow, so that you can save Yharnam. On that, I agree.” He ran his hand through his hair, “There is a way. We will have to start the ritual, but we don’t have to use people. We can use beasts,” he glanced at Djura, “I’m sorry. But this is the only way to keep people who are still themselves, alive.”

Djura nodded for him to continue.

“We need to cause a disturbance that makes the Great Ones still cast attention to the ritual. And then you, Marnie, have to go to the Dream. You know what awaits there.”

“The end of the Hunt.”

“Precisely.”

Crow spoke first, his voice had an icy point to it, “You are the man currently lying in Oedon Chapel with the others.”

Cyril looked at him, and pulled a bell from his suit coat. “Yes, I probably am. In my world, I am a Scholar and Hunter. In this one I am just a Scholar. A hapless civilian tied up in all this.”

Eileen’s voice was impatient, “What are we still doing here? Enough stalling in our boots. A hunter must hunt.” She began walking with a quickened purpose towards the forbidden ruins of Yahar'gul. Crow followed suit. And as Marnie started walking, Djura joined her side.

“Whatever happens to us, Ms. Marnie, know that I will be here to the end of Yharnam herself.”

“You called me Ms?”

He tipped his hat to her, “You’re not a young girl anymore.”

Marnie did not feel any different. She was still nervous and scared and indecisive. That same indecision that got Elias killed. But somehow, she was leading a small army’s worth of hunters into hell itself. When did this happen?

~~~~~

The walk towards Yahar'gul was filled with planning their confrontation with the church. As they were nearly to the rows of derelict buildings ahead, Cyril stopped her, “prepare yourself. You have never been here or seen these horrors.”

Her hand gripped the opposite arm and she nodded in nervous understanding. The closer they walked, the more prominent the smell became. No, it was more like one smell. Unlike Yharnam with its scent of oil and smoke, or the woods with a musty aroma of dirt and decaying leaves- even Cainhurst had the scent of rotting paper. No. This was striking in how it only smelled like tar. It overwhelmed the air around her. 

Once they crested the hill, Marnie gasped. Before her was a main road leading down towards the city square. Almost instantly the crumbling stonework of the once bustling street turned to a hardened brown bile. It looked as if the road became an unwavering stride of dirt. She stomped her boot, it was hollow. Below, she could see the crumbling remains of grass. The cracked ceramic of a child’s doll just barely visible beneath the glasslike layer of… something. Eileen gasped. Marnie followed the old woman’s gaze. Reaching out from an incomprehensible clump of stone was a little girl’s face frozen in fear. Her hand extended to where the doll had fallen. Marnie looked closer. The road was uneven. She ran to each one. Mummified bodies, often with their screams and hair still intact lay beneath the road.

“What… happened here?” She asked. 

It was Cyril who strode forward. “This is what happened the first time the scholars attempted the ritual of Mensis. This is why, where, and how Defector Antal got his name. He turned blade on both the scholars and the church the night this happened.”

Djura brushed some dirt from the child’s face. “Antal became an enemy of both the church and scholars. The Old Hunters were killed one by one for doing as the church ordered. Gehrman went missing,” he looked up at her, “this is what happens to those who defy the church and fail.”

For once, her foot did not hesitate. She stepped forward. “When the sun rises, we will lay flowers on every unfortunate grave here. We have to stop this from happening again. Yharnam will not survive another.”

The closer they walked, the more and more calcified corpses there were. Frozen in the moment they fled with their families from the center of town. It pained Marnie to see the women and children who had not been fortunate enough to have someone looking out for them. The boots of the men who climbed over their fallen bodies revealed the truth in its disgusting reality. 

At Cyril’s urging, the group moved to the buildings, traveling through them and using the crumbling walls as cover. At a distance Marnie saw movement in the town’s center. From here, they looked like dots of white flitting about. The white garb of the church. 

“This is your last chance,” she said to everyone, “you can run.”

“I was going to ask the same of you,” said Djura.

Marnie cracked a smile. “I have had far too many opportunities to run. Let us see this through to the end. “Cyril, just like we planned. We are counting on you.”

He smirked and nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He left through the buildings, towards the back of the square.  Marnie, Djura, Eileen, and Crow continued, being as quiet as possible. 

Chanting started in the courtyard. As they got closer, Marnie’s stomach fell. In the stone center were easily over a dozen church hunters, and countless high level clergy. Circles of sash networked to create a sort of tree. In each circle, sat a nun of the Healing Church, arms clasped in prayer. In the remaining few, were Yharnamites tied up. Crumbling columns with a broken upper floor surrounded the edges of the courtyard. It added an air of finality to the scene. The end of Yharnam.

An Executioner of the church stepped forward. “I am so sorry for the sacrifice we must yield tonight,” he gestured to the moon, “Those bloodthirsty monsters from Cainhurst still live among us! Yharnam has been left to defend herself against this scourge. We must act now, and call upon the Great Ones for strength. We shall complete the Ritual of Mensis once and for all and purge these foul streets!”

A member of the church walked to station themselves at each of the eleven circles, a ritual blade in their hands. In unison, the sixty or so members of the church began chanting,

“Remain wary of the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young.

Were it not for fear, death would go unlamented.

Seek the old blood.

Let us pray, let us wish to partake in communion.

Let us partake in communion and feast upon the old blood.

Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears.

Seek the old blood.

But beware the frailty of men. Their wills are weak, minds young.

The foul beasts will dangle nectar and lure the meek-”

Marnie stopped beyond the threshold of the clearing, ensuring that the needle of the vial was injected into her chest. She stood, legs shoulder length apart, and a hand resting on the hilt of her reiterpallasch. Her voice carried across the barren space. Fragile as a crystal, but clear as flowing water.

“Into the depths. 

Remain wary the frailty of man.”

A church hunter in black garb turned towards her. It was the same hunter that had been keeping a watchful eye on Amelia. Tonight felt so long ago.

“Marnie, what are you doing here?"

The air was tense. “You have but one chance to stop what you are doing here. Stop this madness!” She cried.

“Marnie, surely you understand. We must save Yharnam. Her people are dying and we must utilize the power of the Great Ones to save it!” She gestured broadly to the ritual set up. The terrified citizens looked back and forth between Marnie and the hunter.

“Every time the church has tried this before, it has failed. You know that to be true!”

“This time shall be different! Those foreign scholars were such an asset to us. They showed us the world tree, the connection of the life flow of the universe. Surely you can understand such a complex system of research takes time, and many trials and errors.”

“But you knew! You knew the blood caused us to be sick. You unleashed it on Old Yharnam before I was born. You know!”

The Yharnamites shifted in the hardened brown glass of the yard. They looked shocked, and stared at the hunter for explanation. 

“Marnie, we did not know what would happen. We thought we were helping heal the sick from the plague and-”

“No. You did not. The church unleashed the plague on Old Yharnam to begin with!” She looked to the people from Yharnam, the blades of the church clergy still raised above their heads. “I have read the official records written by Vicar Amelia herself. The church has known all along. And tonight, Yharnam has fended for herself! The church abandoned us for this nonsense, after knowing what the blood does to us!”

“That’s enough Marnie.” The hunter signaled, and more shrouded hunters surrounded her. “We will carry out this ritual. I apologize. You were such a sweet girl. I see now that has always been an act. You lying brat.” 

Marnie’s legs were kicked out from under her and she fell with a hard crack to the ground. She was surrounded. The reiterpallasch snatched from her side. The repeating pistol. The hunter's pistol. The blood vials from inside of her hunter’s coat. The group murmured over the weapons, eyes widening at the blade of Cainhurst. A cleric stepped forward staring at the bells on her waist. 

“You are a-”

A blue light shone from the opposite end of the courtyard. Standing in front of the sealed room where the ritual first took place in, was a hunter shrouded in black. The unmistakable glint of the Holy Moonlight Greatsword glowed. A distorted version of Cyril’s called across the gap of space and surrounded everyone in the center of the ritual.

“Shrouded by night but with steady stride.

Colored by blood, but never clear of mind.

Proud hunters of the Church

The church is a curse, and the curse is a shackle.

Only ye are the true blades of the damned.”

He walked forward, continuing to repeat the dreadful melody of a prayer turned curse. The church hunter in black grabbed Marnie by her hair and yanked her upward. She held a ritual knife to the girl’s throat.

“Who are you? One step closer you grave robbing thief, and I’ll kill this girl.”

Cyril stopped. “You, young hunter, what is your name?”

Marnie hoped the woman would not slit her throat so quickly. Her voice came out strained, the edges of the blade vibrated with both syllables, “Marnie.”

He nodded, “Good hunter Marnie, have you seen the thread of light? Just a hair, a fleeting thing, yet I clung to it, steeped as I was in the stench of blood and beasts. I never wanted to know, what it really was. Really, I didn't.” He paused, dramatically, a hand to his face, carrying the blade upright with just one arm, “Good Hunter, how I hoped my Church Hunters would be the honorable Spartans I imagined them as.”

The woman laughed, “how dare you sully Ludwig’s blade and ideals for such a thing?”

Cyril’s voice dropped. All pretense of emotional connection and question was gone. “Then why did the Church slay me as a common beast and slaughter all the innocents who saw me transform that night?”

The church members went silent. Marnie could see a few of the church members glance at the woman holding her for direction. The Yharnamites on the ground looked back and forth between the church members, Marnie, the woman, and the man they believed to be Ludwig.

Djura stepped from behind a column. He held his hands in the air, carrying no weapons in them directly. Marnie’s jaw tightened. He agreed to be armed. 

“It’s true. I was there that night. The church burned Old Yharnam to the ground. Killed women running away with their children, and then the children too. Burned Ludwig’s corpse like he was nothing.”

The woman’s grip shook against Marnie’s throat. Marnie spoke, “your lies have been revealed. You will answer for what you have done.”

The woman was silent. Marnie could hear echoes of the screams that reverberated the very ground the night this experiment was tried the first time. The cluster of Yharnamites were sitting in the open, like lambs in a corral for slaughter. It could not happen again.

“Well, then. As the true blades of the church, you are ordered to kill the Hunter Djura and attack this imposter Ludwig!” The woman slashed the blade across Marnie’s throat. She fell forward. Her vision blackened quickly. Sounds faded out. The pain shooting through her entire body was not new, but its flavor was. She wanted to scream, but the muscles to do so did not exist. She hit the ground and the pump of the blood vial injected into her side. The ringing in her ears continued as her throat closed itself. It felt so strange. It burned. First, sounds came from the gagging of her own blood. Then the sickening sounds of flesh slopping together.

She looked up. Flashes of light lit up the courtyard in short bursts. A strobing of light and sound. Cyril crossed blades with a cane that transformed into a whip. It curled around the blade. The light filtered out like diamonds falling as droplets of water. 

Djura was knocked into the column. A church cleric unleashed a bolt of blackened starlight. It burst into shimmers of screams. He fell to the ground. Cyril was throwing the blade’s weight around as if it was nothing. He slashed into a church member. With his other hand he turned on one fit and unleashed the same burst of starlight that had knocked Djura. Eileen ran from the shadows, her twin blades pulled. Quick silvers of light traced in the scarlet glow of the moon.

The woman in black garb ran to the Yharnamites sitting in the indented circle. She raised her blade. Marnie let out a scream. The reiterpallasch fired. The woman grabbed her shoulder and stared at Marnie as she grabbed a teenage girl from the group. Terrified blue eyes stared through the dirtied glasses. Blood sprayed from the girl. Marnie ran at the woman, the sword’s needled blade pointing at the blackened robes.

The woman threw the girl to the ground. An axe in hand, she swung at Marnie. The blade barely missed Marnie’s head as she stepped into stabbing radius. A shot rang out. Marnie fell backwards. Blood seeped out of her shirt. She tried to climb to her feet. Blood flowed too quickly. She reached for the confiscated blood vials. The Church Hunter kicked them out of reach. She stomped on Marnie’s hand and twisted.

Crow was at Eileen’s back. His sword slashed at the legs of those attacking them both. A hunter was on top of Djura. Blade poised. The reiterpallasch  raised and blood spurted from the Church Hunter’s hand. He dropped the blade. 

Marnie’s vision blurred at its edges. She held her hand over the blood pouring from her chest. 

Djura. Eileen. Crow. I am sorry.

The crackling of thunder resonated in a full circle around the clearing. The sounds of screaming mixed in. Marnie hung her head. It was over. The ritual was going to be completed. Everything she worked for… was for nothing. Yharnam was going to fall. She cried into the stonework and waited for the Doll’s aria.

Voices. Panicked. The church members!

“What is this?”

“Where is that coming from?

“Hurry up and kill the rest!”

Then another voice.

A woman's.

Angry with the rage of a parent protecting her children.

“You will do no such thing!”

The voice of Izzy boomed across the courtyard. Marnie looked up. The courtyard’s crumbling upper tresses were filled with the people of Yharnam. Izzy stood alongside Hunter Henriett. Izzy’s son, and Marnie’s neighbors, and her friends… They all held firearms. A cluster moved in from all the breaches in the courtyard’s walls and the entrance. Among them was more of those she called her family. Pitchforks. Torches. Tears poured down her face.

“We heard everythin’ Olivia.” Izzy stared the Church Hunter down. A rifle, too long for her body, was trained downwards.

How? How did they know to come?

Cyril took the opportunity to shove the hunter trying to attack him away. He ran to Marnie. Olivia moved her hand to stab him. The crack of a rifle splintered the stone in front of her feet.

“Not another step out of yeh,” Izzy snapped. She looked at Cyril, “Young man, please help our girl.”

He knelt next to Marnie and whispered, “this is one of the clinic vials. It won’t make you a beast.”

“I am already infected, Cyril.”

He smiled weakly, “I know.” He looked around nervously. Marnie followed his eyes. There were so many people here. Easily a hundred people from Yharnam. The wound fused together, only leaving a tattered hole in her clothes. 

Church members continued to hold Eileen, Crow, and Djura in a gridlock. None could move without being hurt, or hurting a church member.

Izzy called out, “We have no problems killin’ every last one of yeh. Let our friends, and those hunters go.”

Slowly, they backed away from each one of them. Eileen made quick work to cut the tied Yharnamites out of their restraints. Marnie walked over to the lifeless teenage girl. Her name was Opal. Marnie once went to school with her. The girl came from a poor family, and quit school to work. She closed the girl’s eyelids. 

She grabbed the reiterpallasch and turned to the church members. “Come morning, every one of you will be tried by Yharnam herself for your crimes. You will be escorted to the prison cells below the church. Where you left hunters who defied you to die.”

She looked to the crowd, “I do not know how you knew to come, but thank you. The church will answer for what they have done, after we survive the night.” Tears streamed from her face, snot from her nose. She started to sob, “thank you.”

“Of course Marnie, we’re family.” Izzy said. Several others echoed in unison, and cheered. A group of Yharnamites came and began tying the church members up.

“Do not let them spill blood in those circles!” Marnie called, “that is how they will complete their ritual.”

The members were quickly moved from the circles and tied. Eileen and Crow helped corral them and direct the Yharnamites to search each member for weapons. Led by ropes, and several guards per church member, they were led away. A man gently picked up Opal and carried her in his arms.

Izzy planted a kiss on her forehead, and Marnie took the time to ask. “How did you know?”

Izzy gestured at Henriett, “she’ll give ya all the info you need.” She squeezed Marnie’s hand before joining the last group to leave. 

Marnie, Djura, and Cyril were alone in the clearing as Henriett walked up. In the quiet, Marnie realized that Henreitt was resonating with her bell. So this was the Dreaming version of her.

Henriett waved emphatically and gave a tired smile. Before anyone could ask her what was happening, she held up her hand for them to wait. From a pocket inside her dress coat, she pulled a letter. It was crumpled from the pocket, but otherwise crisp. This was a newer letter. Henriett nodded and pointed at it. 

She signed to Marnie, this is very important . I brought it from my world.

“I understand,” Marnie began opening the letter.

Cyril seemed shocked, “in a religious town like this, sign language is taught?”

“Cyril, the church is full of bastards who want power. Not bastards who demonize basic linguistics.”

She opened the letter and gasped. The handwriting was…

Marnie,

I do not understand what is happening. I was frightened. The town has been loud all night with the sounds of beasts and screaming. I thought we were all going to perish. I went outside and I saw you fighting on the barrier. You were so powerful. I did not know I was capable of something like that.

From our balcony, I witnessed a man who overheard two church members speaking be killed. Then, from afar, I saw a large number of church members leave the city for Yahar'gul. Later, I saw you leave for Yahar'gul with a few hunters. Even that man from Old Yharnam. I was scared for you. I could not fathom how your group would manage to put a stop to what was happening. Elias is gone. And so are so many people we have loved over the years. Whatever is happening, I want you to succeed. Whatever is happening, I trust you with our family.

-Marnie

She stood and stared at the letter, hands shaking. The old version of herself was so kind. She looked at Djura, tears streaming down her face, “Djura, what will happen to the other versions of me when I remember this Dream?”

“I’m not sure for certain, but it’s likely the you that is right here will overwrite them.”

Marnie read the words again. Marnie was so kind. And in a way, Marnie was about to kill her. It hurt. She thought that the old her was not strong enough to protect Yharnam. But here was the truth. It took both.

“Thank you, Marnie.”

Henriett looked at her with a knowing expression. 

“Can I ask you one more favor, Henriett?”

The woman nodded.

Marnie folded the letter back up and handed it to her, “Will you make sure this is delivered in every world? And if you can, can you stop Opal from dying?”

Henriett nodded intently, signing I will do my best, Hunter Marnie . She pulled a glittering pistol and fired into the air. Her form disappeared into sparkling dust.

Marnie dried the tears from her eyes and turned to Djura and Cyril. She quickly explained the situation to them both. Cyril was lost in thought, while Djura put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

She leaned into the touch and looked at Cyril, “you said that we have to start the ritual in the square so that I can leave the hunt, right?”

“Correct.” He stared at the bell in his hands. Wherever his mind was, his eyes showed that it was not here.

Djura spoke first and moved over beside Cyril, “you doing alright, boy?”

He smiled, his shoulders drooped. “I haven’t been called that in a long time. Some of those church hunters were former colleagues of mine. It’s revolting… what those once proud men of science and ethics became.”

Djura said nothing, only looked concerned.

The new members the church had been so proud to recruit from neighboring cities and countries. Propped up on the pedestal of faith and temperance, she had thought them blessed by the Great Ones. Everyone had.

Cyril continued, “I’m fine. Just worried about another of us Dreaming hunters.”

“Aeris?” Marnie asked.

“Yes.” 

She tried to use a reassuring voice, “before the ritual begins, Cyril, I want to go back to Yharnam to check on everything. And before I end my hunt, I can Dream hop to find her. I want to apologize.” Instead, it came out like she was trying to bargain, plead with him to feel better.

“I have to help you with the ritual. With the church members in prison, there isn’t anyone else. Also, don’t trust them. In my world I’ve already fought here. Beyond it is some… unsightly things the scholars did.”

“Anything pertinent to saving Yharnam?”

He shook his head, “nothing you don’t already know.”

“Then it is settled. I will call for you here, Cyril. After I help look for Aeris.”

“Thank you. I know your feelings are complicated.”

He raised a pistol into the air, and much like Henriett, his body disappeared into sparkling dust. 

~~~~~

Marnie and Djura walked back in silence. Exhaustion caused both their shoulders to sag. Marnie carried her pistol lower than usual. And Djura did not carry his chest with as much zeal. They approached the city limits and were waved in by a patrol of Yharnamites. They began visiting each checkpoint of the city. 

It felt to Marnie like an hour had gone by, but no one else seemed phased. What does time feel like to them? She could ask Djura, but feared the headache and bell cracking if she tried. Screaming started up ahead. Marnie and Djura both ran towards it. A boy Marnie’s age, she could not remember his name, collided with her.

He was out of breath, panicking. Sweat and dirt ran down his face. He clutched the pistol in his “Oh Marnie, I’m glad I found yeh. It’s Eileen and that man with her! He went crazy! Everyone in the Cathedral, they’re- they’re dead!”

“What?” She exclaimed.

“That man attacked everyone. Eileen is there and fightin’ please hurry!”

Both Marnie and Djura sprinted towards the cathedral. The closer they got, the louder the screaming became. The grand stone steps to the cathedral had people fleeing down them; many were injured.

“Djura, triage the victims. I will handle whatever is happening up there!”

She continued forward, not waiting for his response. She bounded up the steps, pistol in hand. She crested the threshold of the church and came to the entrance. The cathedral was where they had taken the bodies of Yharnamites that had not survived the night. But there were so many more now. Twisted bodies lying in puddles of blood. Faces twisted in the desperation with which they clung to life. In the center, blood dripping from his sword, was Crow. At his feet was Eileen. She was gasping for breath.

Crow looked at Marnie and pulled his own pistol. Blade in the other hand, he stepped over Eileen’s shaking body. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” Marnie screamed.

He took another step forward, “We can survive this hunt and see sunrise. But we’ll all turn to beasts in the end. That goes for you, me, and everyone in this town.”

He raised his gun and fired. Two shots. The same as hers.

Chapter Text

Cyril stood in the quiet abandoned halls of the School of Mensis. In this real version, the air was stagnant and hard to breathe in. At the depths of it was a basement. Cyril had explored the long forgotten piles of crumbling books, but quickly found himself back in the Dream. It was ironic to him that he had experienced a death by what he assumed to be carbon monoxide in the basement of a defunct university, and not in the tunnels below Yharnam. He didn’t have a cage or two canaries to accompany him, so he remained on the upper floors, and more specifically in the library.

It was quiet here. And it allowed him to think. Alain and Alexandre had been among the church hunters. Whatever would become of them in the morning was up to Marnie now. He strangely felt more pity than anything else. Academics who gave into madness, and bore the mantle of their zealous overlords. It would be poetic if it didn't lead to so much death. And Marnie... Given that she had received a letter from herself after the fight in another world had already happened in Yahar'gul, his heartbeat had slowed. Time was imperative, but not so imperative that stopping to think would damn everything. Nothing happened in other worlds till he saw it happen. That was the hypothesis. And given both the letter and what he had seen by looking across worlds, he determined it to be true enough that he could breathe.

Still, he needed to find Aeris. He held the resonant bell in his hands. Ringing it and waiting to be called to help others would take too much time. And since he had heard about the outcomes of events in a hunt that wasn’t his nor Marnie’s, it meant that the longer he took to world hop, the more events would be set in stone because he heard about them.

He held the third bell. It almost shimmered with a red gleam despite being a deep cobalt silver. The bell used to invade the worlds of others against their will. He assumed this was created by Rosemary to aid the Hunter of Hunters in killing blood addled Dreaming hunters. He wondered how many Eileens had learned the truth.

He ran his hand across a row of books on a shelf. Where his fingers touched, bursts of powder dissipated into the air. In these halls of books, there may be another answer. But he knew for certain that he didn’t have time for that. He knocked a book to the floor with his hands. As it tumbled, its red cover seemed to match the ring of his bell. The golden embossed image of a girl holding a pig was centered on it. It hit the floor with a thud, a cloud of dusted pages erupted into the air.

He stepped forward and walked straightword from the library and into the abandoned courtyard of Yahar'gul. The song resonating from him felt as if an ever increasing crescendo of low tones, never reaching its peak. Each footfall coincided with another round of melodies. Another step onto the bromide laden storework. And another. The world shifted a bit at its edges, and then he found himself standing in the same courtyard. The moon was full above, blazing a burning red. Things were slightly different here than where he had come from.

An amalgam of bones and bodies imitating a rider and horse trolled the courtyard, the fruits of a completed ritual. At his feet was the severed body of the Church Hunter Olivia. Blood filled circles forming the Kabbalah World Tree were scorched. Curiously, there were fewer bodies than there should be considered how many converged in Marnie’s world. Regardless, the hunter of this world did not stop the ritual. 

I wonder whose world I’ve just wandered into. It definitely isn’t the one Aeris is from.

He left the courtyard, discreetly. Making his way up the streets of Yahar'gul, he found several bodies of church executioners and church hunters. They had been methodically sliced to pieces with some sort of large curved weapon. Similar to a scythe. In fact, he looked about, all of the city seemed to be clear of beasts besides the one below.

He continued forward and headed back towards Yharnam proper, more specifically Cathedral Ward. As he approached, the city was in chaos. Beasts roamed everywhere. He made his way carefully through the streets, killing them as quietly and efficiently as possible. With this many, a swarm would kill him. As he made his way to the Grand Cathedral, he searched for any evidence of hunters or Yharnamites outside. Besides the occasional corpse of one, he found none. However, on the ground of the Cathedral's courtyard, was an antlered headdress lying in a smear of blood and gore. He stared at it. He couldn't be. There was no way he was in her world.

He made his way into the cathedral. The rotting body of an oversized dog languished on the floor. Maggots writhed in its eye sockets. This beast, too, had the wide slashes of some sort of scythe. He descended into the basement. One way to find out if Aeris had been here. He examined the long row of cells in the basement. At the far end, was a man recently turned beast. The Yamamura of this world. 

So Aeris hadn’t even been here. Whose world could this be?

He returned to the front of the cathedral. Beasts milled about, tearing one another apart. The cold, smoky air was offset by the sheer amount of teeth gnashing and screeches of monsters once human. He turned towards the Forbidden Woods, and followed the cobble path when he noticed an even smaller path off the stonework. It was dirt, covered in dead leaves and overgrown brush. A thicket of trees shrouded it. 

His eyes narrowed and eyebrow raised. An old garden of the church’s, perhaps? He used the sword like it was a machete, slicing through dead overgrowth. The cold dirt was pock marked by broken and bent bolts. He lifted his leg over a dead fern. His leg whacked against something metal.

“Fuck!” He shouted. He clutched the sword and whipped around. No beasts, that he could see. He knelt down and found a black iron fence post. He ran his hand along it and found an entire fence shrouded by the thicket. It was about one and a half metres high. It blended so perfectly he couldn’t even see all of it, despite knowing what he was looking for. It was shaped metal, with small smithed shapes near the points. Diamonds, birds, and other geometric shapes. His hands found a latch, rusted over itself, it screeched as he attempted to open it.

He looked around nervously, before trying to go slowly. Another ungodly shriek. Like a changed bandage, he decided to rip it back in one motion. It creaked, and made the loudest noise. The metal warped as he yanked it. The latch snapped off, and so did the gate on its hinge. The growl of a beast came from somewhere nearby. Ahead was more brambles. He moved quickly, tearing through the brush. Hoping to get distance between himself and whatever felt the call of bloodlust to rip him apart.

He couldn’t believe it.

He stood in a clearing. Winding cobble paths almost seemed to glow un the red moon. A dilapidated and crumbling house sat on a small hill just a dozen yards away. Beds willed with what he assumed were dead flowers dotted the terraced garden.

It looked just like the Dream.

It was quiet. Somberly so. But it wasn’t unsettling, but he felt as if he shouldn’t be there. As if he’d wandered into a forgotten grave. Not an abandoned garden so close to the city. He could see clearly now the Grand Cathedral. This was directly centered at the back of it. What was this place? He walked up the steps and to the building. Curiously, the door was ajar with freshly disturbed dirt.

“Hello?” He called.

No answer.

He pushed the door open. Or, he tried to. The frame scraped the stone and dug into the small layer of dirt coating the floor. He peered inside. Turned over tables and random saws, rusted firearms, and broken knives peppered the shop. He threw his body into the door. The sound of scraping as he forced its hinges to open properly. A popping. Then tearing. He tumbled forward onto the dirt. The door hung sideways, only one hinge now connected.

He half expected Gehrman to greet him from the wheelchair next to the fireplace. Instead, a chair covered in dust sat next to it. The fireplace was filled with dust and long charred logs. On the floor, curled in a ball, was a woman with short brown hair. She was covered in grease, sweat, and blood. Her body rose and fell, barely, but it rose nonetheless. There was still oxygen in those lungs. He moved closer and noticed that she was clutching her side.

He tried to keep his voice quiet, “Miss Dawn.”

She barely stirred.

He knelt down beside her. Her face was pale, eyes shut tightly in pain. Lips mangled, as if something had punctured through them. “Dawn, you haven’t met me, but I’m a friend of Aeris.”

She swallowed, the very movement sending a grimace across her face. She didn’t open her eyes. But she spoke, her voice a hushed and raspy whisper, “is she alive?”

What a simple question. He had no idea where she even was. Whatever answer he gave, may make the difference in this hunt ceasing to exist or not.

“She’s still fighting,” he finally said.

“I’m so very glad.” She blinked her eyes open. “What’s your name?” She asked.

“I’m Cyril, Cyril Gauthier. I was a journalier, but now I’m a hunter.”

“I’m Dawn. I’m- I was a Knight of Cainhurst.”

So that’s why Dawn called Aeris a traitor and why they argued about Cainhurst.

“Does that mean you’re a hunter?” He had to keep her talking. As she spoke, he saw bits of dried blood from her she was clutching her chest.

“I was. I don’t know what I am anymore.” She released her side. Droplets of blood hit the dirt. She raised her hand. Her fingernails were elongated, and so were her fingers. Not quite to inhuman levels, but enough that it looked… off. 

Proof of Aeris telling the truth. Aeris had saved Dawn, killing her in the Nightmare before her body had given fully to beasthood. If only she could know.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” Dawn asked him.

Her body was battered beyond measure. She looked awful. He pulled his last clinic blood vial and held it up, “with your consent, I can try to treat you with a blood vial made by Iosefka.”

She nodded. No tears fell from her eyes. Just exhaustion.

He took alcohol and wiped a patch of skin clean on her arm, then administered the blood through a syringe. She moaned in pain, but her arms cracked. The mangle skin on her face fused back together. And while not entirely gone, the paleness was pushed back some by a pinkness in her skin. She continued to take shallow breaths.

Her hunt was ruined. Yharnam was overrun. Whatever he had seen happen to her in the Nightmare was likely a mirror of the things that occurred before she turned. He could only imagine the hell that pushed her to this. The ritual was completed. The Great Ones, no doubt, were amused or at least interested in the creature now presiding over Yahar’gul. 

He looked at her again, there was no way she could move in this state.

“Dawn, I’m not in the habit of lying. I don’t know how this night will end. But your world has been destroyed by hte blood addled nightmares. There’s few if anyone left.” her head lowered back to the floor, “however, it’s not like that in most of the hunts. There is a chance we can right things in our worlds. I don’t know what happened to you, or why you’re a former Knight of Cainhurst, but this could be your chance to walk away from Yharnam. Start a new life and-”

The far off roar of a beast interrupted him. He gripped the sword’s handle, before continuing, nervously, “I sound like a child reading a fairytale. Not a man of reason. But I saw what could happen. In one of the worlds, the church has already been overthrown. I don’t know if we’ll succeed, and maybe this is all a naive folly, but if your hunt ends here, your sunrise may be a future yet.”

He waited, holding his breath. Maybe she’d scoff. He was so afraid that she would give up. She’d already lost everything. He wouldn’t blame her at all.

“Let’s say this works, where would I even go?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know. But I know Aeris has been searching for you. She wants you to be safe, and happy.”

She started to cry, “I failed.”

“I know.”

“Even if the world is fixed, I can’t face any of them again.”

“And you don’t have to. They will be alive. And whoever you failed will be looked after by Marnie. The church girl has come a long way.”

“Putting faith in others is the height of stupidity.”

He sighed, “I agree. But where you’re at right now, Dawn, it’s either stupidity, or nothing.”

She tried to lift herself off the ground, but did not even have the strength to move her legs. “Fine. This world wants to ruin me. I might as well accept it. But where is Aeris?” Her blue eyes ignited with energy.

“She’s currently fighting, I don’t know where. I’m sorry.”

“Will you pass her a message for me?” Dawn asked.

“Absolutely.” 

She whispered the words quietly. Cyril nodded. “It’s short enough, that I can even give it to her word for word.”

“Thank you,” Dawn said.

Cyril held his bell. The resonant bell. The one meant to help others. He touched Dawn’s beckoning bell. “Miss Anne, I don’t know if this will work, but please. Come help us.”

Above them appeared the Doll in a haze of wispy sparkles. She stood regally, hands clasped across her front. “Oh my dear hunters…” she kneeled, ensuring that her skirts did not touch Dawn or Cyril.

“Anne, what is this place?” Cyril asked.

“It is the Old Hunter’s Workshop, where Gehrman first fashioned weapons to train hunters to fight on the nights of the hunt. It is abandoned now. But this,” she gestured at the garden outside the broken door, “is the real version of the workshop. Not the imitation you see in the Dream.”

If being made aware of another’s hunt made those events real for him, then…

“Can you allow Dawn to leave the hunt, and awaken in the sunrise?”

Anne stared at him and tilted her head to the side, “you understand what asking me that question entails, do you not?”

“I do.”

Anne looked at Dawn, “Dear hunter lost in the nightmare, do you want to awake from what you saw? I can release you from this endless Dream.”

Dawn cried. She reached her hand up, “please. I want… to live.”

The Doll nodded. She held Dawn and carried her outside. Cyril followed. The horizon was obscured by trees. The red moon seared down on them. Dawn winced. “Over time, countless hunters have visited the Dream. The graves there stand in their memory... it all seems, so long ago now. Many awoke. As for you, Hunter Dawn, may you find refuge in a new life.” She held her hand to the red sky. For a moment, it almost seemed to meld into a calming deep blue, a sea of stars appeared.

“May you find your worth in the waking world.” 

Dawn’s body shimmered for a moment. Her blood glowed a calming sunrise red. Her hair glittered like starlight. The world seemed to shift inwards on itself, contorting, like a gentle warm bath. An array of sparkles burst from her body, taking it to the stars above and below. 

Reality snapped backwards and both Cyril, and Anne, stood alone in the derelict garden. Cyril fell forward into the dirt. Did I do the right thing? Is there a dawn worth her waking to? Did I just send a woman to her death?

The Doll sat beside him and held his hand in hers. “Cyril, I cannot tell you why the Dream exists. But as your resonance has shown you…” she looked him square in the eyes, “there is a dawn.”

His heart thudded. Relief. Agony. Regret. Pain. Sorrow. Joy. Despair. Guilt. Happiness. Love. Compassion. It welled up. He found tears flowing down his cheeks.

She squeezed his hand before releasing, “I have been in the real world for too long. I must be going. But, Cyril, just because a dawn awaits, doesn’t mean it awaits for everyone yet. Please find my hunter.”

Before he could say anything, her body faded from this reality.

Morning was a certainty.

But it wasn’t a certainty for Aeris.

He had to find her.

Dawn had put her shattered faith in people.

He wouldn’t let her down.

Chapter Text

Vibrant light shone across the clear blue sky. It was chilly in the winter air. Yet, she didn’t feel stiff or cold. Just incredibly… relieved. Somehow, Dawn felt like she could continue walking forward, away from Yharnam. She owed no loyalty to the Queen. And in some way, felt in her chest that Arianna and Mirabel would be safe.

A tear ran down her face. She felt she had lost someone important. But try as she might, the memories of the prior night were gone.

She stepped forward, into a dawn with Yharnam behind her.

Chapter Text

He spared no time to settle his thoughts. With Dawn gone, a permanent shift had happened on the hunts. Aeris may now be on limited time. Cyril rang the invading bell again. The harmonics of the world shifted. He reached his hands into the shifting sparkles of dust. He called to the void beyond the bells. Here, it was twilight. He held fast to it. Hand outstretched into the strands of reality. He called for Aeris. Searched for her chime. Her voice. The matching eye to the one Micolash had stolen. 

Nothing.

He focused hard on the tingling lives of the chimes surrounding each reality. A disintegrating tether stretched from his body into the astral abyss. The line from him to Marnie. He listened closely, the sounds of that tether breaking were like cracks in fine, thin glass. He listened beyond it. For the faintest moment, he heard the trace of a heartbeat. Was it his own? No. Couldn’t be. This one was too slow. His was frantic, much like his thoughts. A frightened bird would be more accurate. He shook off the thought. This wasn’t a poetry class. He held the bell and tried to focus on the heartbeat. Call to across worlds and horizons.

Nothing, still.

With his empty hand, he grabbed the hilt of the sword. In the darkened swirling ocean of the cosmos, a dark blue light shone in the darkness. For a moment, the horizon lines connected in a three dimensional circle. He saw the ways in which the hunters crossed over. How there was one less world now that Dawn had found the morning. But something was off. There was another world missing. As if ripped and rethreaded through the worldlines of reality. The swimming particles of darkness and light resumed their chaotic dance. He lost sight of the weave. In a void that swallowed nearly all light, the sword appeared more indigo blue, the blackness swallowing up its shine. He placed his ear to it. Like a conch with the sounds of the ocean, it was as if this was a connection to the far off beating heart. Somehow, he felt that she was on the other end. Somewhere. Space time was a concept he thought only existed in science fiction, and to a lesser academic degree, fantasy. H.G. Wells had touched on such things. Perhaps the creativity of humankind was like a bacteria to an alien invader? And the blade he wielded. Perhaps some noble sword of the chosen one?

“Well, now… sword.” He looked around, hoping no one was seeing this childish display, “Aeris gave you to me. Lead me to her. Be a guiding light for me.”

Liquid cerulean light pooled off the blade’s edge and fell horizontally at a forty-five degree angle to his left. He turned his body and the light gleamed head on. 

“Sure, why not this too.” He laughed at the insanity of trusting the trope of a silly fantasy. Just a few centimeters of hope, but it was enough. He followed it. His feet slipped on the slicked ethereal shadow. It reminded him of the slippery cliffs near the forbidden woods. He rounded an outcropping of jagged obsidian energy. Before him was a chasm of crackling thunder. Traces of the hunts converged on it. Despite the sword’s light now directing him towards another shifting reality, he focused on the small galaxy before him. It was mesmerizing. It contained the sky and cosmos; small planets circling a burning sphere of white light. 

He peered closer. Mercury. Venus. Earth. Mars. Jupiter. Saturn. Uranus. Neptune. Around each was their respective moons. Science had come far, even in his lifetime. Even Phoebe was circling Saturn. He walked about the model. It stretched the length of the average sports field. Curiously, there was another planetoid even further than Neptune. It was small, with five moons orbiting it. An undiscovered planet by chance?

He reached out his hand. The call of the void’s knowledge beckoned him. A jungle appeared before him. People, their skin darker than any he’d seen in person, ran through the trees. They looked sickly, faces deranged. Children fled from them. He watched a man rip a little girl apart. Another little boy tried to save her, and his head was dashed into a tree. The eyes of the murder looked like the blood drunk daze he’d come to know so well. He didn’t want to be seeing this. But he couldn’t stop himself. Then, the scene shifted to a land of dying fire. And there was Caryll, wearing a witch’s hat. She spoke with a knight in armor. A glass wall appeared before him. He pressed his hands against it. In a room, Caryll sat with several people, writing down notes. Runes of the Great Ones. Her clothes were a scholar’s robe. Similar to what he now wore. He ran his hand along the glass and it changed once again, like an old reel. Caryll stood in the Hunter’s Dream, looking down towards him, but not at him. With the angle, he realized it was the bird bath. She looked exhausted. She made eye contact with him and held it. He trembled. Her hand brushed the water’s edge, and plunged in. 

She gripped the hand which clutched his bell. “You shouldn’t be meddling where you don’t belong, Hunter.” The words took physical form, shattering the water like glass. He looked above. A creature… or monster… or thing. Its skin shifted like oozing sludge, a corporeal form of something that almost looked human. But not quite. The chiming of his bell seemed to waver in the very presence of this thing. A tentacle of mangled flesh reached out to him. The resonance emanating outwards stopped directly at its outstretched fingers. 

“ᛁᛟᚢ ᛁᚾᛊᛟᛚᛖᚾᛏ ᚺᚢᛗᚨᚾ. ᛟᛒᛚᛁᛏᛖᚱᚨᛏᛖ ᛁᛟᚢᚱᛊᛖᛚᚠ.”

It was as a cold whisper behind his shoulder on an isolated winter’s night. His bell cracked up the middle. The skin of his chest tore outwards. Blood coughed from his throat. He fell over.

Caryll’s voice screamed once again, “ᛒᛖᚷᛟᚾᛖ, ᚠᛟᚱᛗᛚᛖᛊᛊ ᛟᛖᛞᛟᚾ!”

Her words warped, cycled, became louder and incomprehensible. Till it was a rumbling thunder of shrieking. Silver rain sprinkled from below him and fell upwards. The thing backed away, tears in the fabric of space dripped an icy blue liquid. He fell forward, leaning on the sword.

Sweat coated his forehead. He felt sick. His hands shook. 

What… was that? Did Caryll just save me? Why?

He clutched the sword, trembling in fear. The things they called Great Ones. The things Aeris had so carelessly laughed in the face of. Just what were they? Perhaps to facilitate the creation of… he looked around wildly. The realization of the true nature of reality was around him. The undiscovered marvels of science, displayed so flagrantly before him. Casually thrown out like water droplets on a window. He followed the light of the sword like a schoolboy scared of the dark. Something rumbled behind him. It was made of whispers. He turned to face it, ready to strike. It was there again, that thing. The squelching skin of its body slithered through the sparkles of reality. He screamed and ran faster. The sword brought him to a spinning vortex of light. Another world. He reached out his hand to it. The twilight void dissipated. He was standing in the sewers of Yharnam. They were filled with blood, running downstream like some sort of nightmarish river. It reeked, like the manmade sewers in the catacombs of Paris. Unregulated, filled with the excrement of the people shunned by money.

He’d scoffed at them once.

Around him, the buildings of Yharnam were there, but they twisted on themselves. Creatures reminiscent of leeches and ticks, but the size of dogs, crawled through the coagulating blood. This wasn’t Yharnam. This was hell. 

So then, was this the hell Aeris spoke of?

Something hit him from behind. He fell into the blood of the river. He was coughing on the foul, sludge like taste of copper in his mouth. It pooled just around his nose. The scent made him nauseous. A foot planted his torso firmly. He looked up and saw Antal.

“Antal, you-”

“Why are you in my world?” Antal’s voice was gruff, angry. “Spit it out, or I’ll drown you.” He pushed Cyril down further. The blood came all the way to the corners of his mouth. He could feel chunks of coagulated blood and rotting flesh tickling the edge of his jaw. He resisted the urge to vomit.

“I was looking for Aeris. I have information on the hunts.”

“Aeris, huh? And why did you use that bell?” Antal gestured to the red chiming on Cyril’s hip.

“Because I’m trying to find her, please.” Antal sighed, and lessened the pressure of his boot. It gave Cyril a precious few centimeters of breathing room from the blood.

“Talk,” Antal barked.

“Aeris turned into a beast and Miss Ann- the Doll, said she was trapped by the Great Ones. I’ve been searching for her hunt. Also, knowledge of other hunts sets them in stone and makes them a reality.”

Antal removed his boot and gave Cyril a hand up. “I already knew about that. And Aeris…” His voice drizzled into exhaustion. “I found her.”

Cyril stopped. The way Antal said it. His shoulders slumped. “How?”

“You know what this place is? Antal asked.

“It’s the hell Aeris described.”

Antal nodded, “it’s a hell for hunters. Every hunter. When we or anyone else loses their marbles, they end up here. A private torment for each of us. And Aeris found hers.”

“And what is it?” Cyril’s voice hesitated.

Part of him didn’t want to know the answer. How cowardly.

“Lady Maria ended up here. She guarded the Astral Clocktower, so no one would see the abomination the last generation of hunters left behind. That was her punishment. Conveniently, killing the Great One at the end of the Nightmare ends the Nightmare and sets that hunt’s version of people free. To actually free someone, you have to kill them in each. Much like Moron’s chicken scratch writings said to do to save everyone.”

“What does this have to do with Lady Maria?”

“I’m getting there. God, I hate scholars. Impatient shits.” He shook his head, “Aeris has been tied to every Nightmare. She now guards the end of it. So not only are you fighting the exaggerated skills of Aeris, but some fucked up version of her is still in there because she’s stopping hunters from ending the only way to save them if they go blood drunk. Ingenious, really. Terrifying that these things have figured out human behavior enough to realize that about her.”

“My God. We’re actually fighting her .”

Aeris was fast. Terrifying in battle. With no concern for her own safety. Being a beast in this place… her speed, strength, and endurance was likely tripled, if not more. 

Cyril spoke again, “did you fight her?”

Antal’s voice was bitter, “Yes, I did. And she’s killed me every time.”

“You said the Great One who caused this Nightmare is behind the clocktower?”

“Yes, Cyril.” Antal was exasperated. He shouldered his weapon and began walking down the river of blood, towards the entrance of the Grand Cathedral.

“Then will you help me save her?”

He laughed, “in this world, sure. Not elsewhere. That girl knew what she was up to and I’m not risking becoming one of these.” His pick sliced into the bloody water. A screaming corpse flailed from the surface for a moment, before plunging back in, lifeless. 

“You want to kill this Great One, don’t you?”

Antal turned to him, “Cyril, get to your point. Whinging about a woman who made a stupid decision is not becoming of a scholar.”

His colleagues had come here in search of knowledge. Alain wanted to be a doctor. To participate in the church’s actions was tantamount to violating what would have been a hippocratic oath. Abandoning their humanity to join some rank for power and knowledge.

“So you’re just going to abandon your humanity? Leave her to die then?”

Antal grabbed Cyril’s jacket and and shook. “You listen here, you silver spooned prat. Not all of us had the luxury to sit there and think all day long about ethics and live perfect little lives. Let me guess, you’re from an aristocratic family and avoided having to go to war. What do you know about the decisions we’ve had to make? You get a spoonful of what it’s been like here, and suddenly you’re preaching to me like I’m an idiot follower of the Healing Church.”

Cyril said nothing. Antal was right, of course. Eerily so. He had never sullied his hands in any capacity until tonight. Despite leaving home, he inherited his father’s money. Not his sister. He was able to choose to not battle at the German border. And in the void of the bells, he hadn’t even thought of finding the war’s end. Only pursued loftier sciences. And with Antal being this far into the Nightmare, he, too, had likely gone through what Aeris had in killing Dawn. Yamamura was in the basement of the Cathedral, after all. He was nothing but an uppity school boy with his hands dirtied with mud, thinking he understood the life of a tradesman.

Antal left Cyril behind and trudged through the thickened blood. The gap widened as the screams of hell surrounded them.

“Are you coming?” Antal asked.

Cyril climbed to his feet. Entitled or not, he would get Antal to help him. He followed the man who knew the path quite well. They walked past a creature that appeared to be some sort of large disfigured dog or horse. The flesh of it was rotting, maggots writhed in a grouping of eye sockets in its mouth. He felt sick.

“That creature’s name was Ludwig.”

“Ludwig… as in-” he looked down at the glowing blue blade. The very same?

“Aeris gave you that after killing him in her own Nightmare. He was a bitch to kill. I imagine she had trouble, too.”

He stared at the corpse. “So this is what becomes of hunters who are punished?” In theory, he knew it. But the reality… A man so respected and loved, now laying in a rotting heap of maggots. Unrecognizable as the pious leader he once was. 

“What was he like?” Cyril asked.

Antal huffed, annoyance in his tone, “he was a good man. In a different place, he would have been a war hero. In ours, he was a war criminal.”

“I see.”

The two continued in silence till they came to a large spiral staircase. It extended upwards, towards the clock face of the tower. Abandoned gurneys and pulleys lay everywhere. Rooms labeled as Operating Room 1, 2, and so on were along a wall. And corpses. Stacks upon stacks of corpses. In the distance above, was the sound of pained moaning.

 Cyril ran his hand along the dusted bannister. “What happened here?”

“This is the truth behind the church. You heard of the Blood Saints?” Antal waited for Cyril’s nod before continuing. “Blood Saint is just a fancy way to describe people who survived having three pints of blood from a Great One administered each day. That’s the secret. Where the blood in the vials comes from. The church figured it would be a good way to purify the beastly effects of blood- by filtering it through a person before giving it to more people. It kept the amount they had to cull, down. Or so they thought.”

That was worse. So much worse. They not only knew, but maliciously and arrogantly thought they could get around it? 

“So what about blood that doesn’t hurt people? Like Iosefka?”

“Iosefka was descended from the line of Cainhurst. Her blood doesn’t have any negative properties. Her willingness to work with the church is the only reason she wasn’t culled until this hunt.”

He felt sick. This is the structure that had torn so many people to bits under its wheel. Why Antal was so cold. Why everyone thought it a fool’s errand what Aeris, Marnie, and he believed in. A boy with mud on his hands, indeed.

Antal continued, “You need to know. There’s patients up there begging for death. They’re not actually real. Like the other regular beasts in this Nightmare, they’re only here to torment people. Kill them if the screaming bothers you, otherwise, don’t bother. Also,” Antal hesitated, “things changed here. The patients all used to call for Lady Maria.”

“Now they don’t?”

“You’ll understand. Let’s go.”

They crested to the first landing of the stairs. Down a hall, came a screaming. As they ascended, each and every one had the same sounds of anguish. The same wailing. He put the sword on his back and moved to cover his ears. No. He lowered them. I can’t look away.

“I have failed. Please, Miss Aeris…”

“Ahh, someone...help me…”

“I am guilty, I know. But I won't do it again, I promise. I’ll do better. Please, I can still be a Saint!”

“The damp darkness...it, it frightens me… And what rises from its very depths…”

As they crossed the final landing, what was once a woman was hunched over. She had a writhing bulbous lump of flesh covering her head. She was weeping at a door ahead. In her hands, were a set of antlers. Her voice was so familiar, it made Cyril freeze mid stride. 

“Aeris, please, take my hand, please. Help me... don't let me drown…”

It sounded… just like Dawn. He held his blade aloft and shook.. This woman wasn’t Dawn. She wasn’t real. But the way her hands held her head. The way her legs shook with her body. The skin, tattered black dress, and those antlers… 

Antal struck the sack of skin with his pick. It burst, puss and blood pooling on the floor as her body wilted. A corpse to join the stack. Cyril leaned against the door, the small amount of air pushing through smelled like dirt. A grave. Antal grabbed his shoulder and pulled him through. They were in a dried out courtyard. Large flowers and beds decorated the gardens. The first was covered in hundreds- no thousands- of human remains. Small bones from hands, jaws, legs. A skull in the distance was too small to be an adult. Cyril stumbled into the dirt. A child’s ischium snapped under his hands. Bile came from his throat. He frantically wiped it off of any bones. There were too many here to be part of one or two, or even four different people. Dawn was free, but it sounded like her. Is this what became of those who failed? Would he and Antal be nothing but abandoned skulls in the dirt? What would the church do to Marnie? Would they violate her before tossing her aside like some sort of-

Antal smacked his back, “Get a hold of yourself. That wasn’t Dawn.”

“I know. But it felt like her. And all these people…” Cyril gestured at the garden’s dirt. The closer he looked, the more it seemed as if they tried to use human beings as fertilizer. 

“Get yourself together. We can’t do shit about them. These people, assuming these were real ones, have been dead for over twenty years. There’s nothing you can do.”

Cyril looked at the masked face. Twenty years. How long had Antal seen these horrors?

Cyril spoke, his voice cracking, “Antal, how did you avoid selective service? The call went out a year ago.”

For the first time Antal crouched to Cyril’s level. He pulled the helmet up and off his head. A man in his fifties stared back at Cyril. His black hair was fading into gray, and eyes carried the exhaustion of a lifetime. A scar extended across the left side of his face. “I was part of the church when my notice was sent. I was given an exception due to my position. I wish I’d gone to war instead.”

Cyril didn’t know what to say. War was hell. As was this. But at least one was painfully only human. He looked across the forgotten graveyard to a door at the other side. It was huge, intricately carved wood doors covered in remnants of dirt. It was slightly ajar. Just enough for Antal to squeeze through. 

“She’s in there, isn’t she?” Cyril finally asked.

“Yes.”

“Anything I should know?”

“She uses fire. And a lot of it.” He stood, waiting for Cyril to join him.

They walked towards the door together. The closer they got, the bigger the door’s scale came into focus. It dwarfed them by multiplicatives. Easily a six meter tall door. 

He took  a breath and stepped through, while Antal squeezed through. A set of stone steps led into a large bell room. Bronze bells hung above. Sitting in a chair was that all familiar white hair. A rakuyo across her lap.

Cyril looked behind her. The clockface’s backing was made of a thick, opaque glass. Sunlight streamed in. Around the clock, were runes of the Great Ones. He could translate most… but a few were new. How he wanted to reach his hands out, etch them into the dirt. Observe them, so he could utilize them. But that wasn’t important right now. What was important, was Aeris.

Antal’s heavy footfalls and Cyril’s deliberate steps creaked on the wood of the massive room. Lit with candles, it had an almost liminal feeling. Aeris looked up. A green and purple eye each narrowed at their approach.

“Antal, you know a corpse should be left well alone. But you…” She stood and addressed Cyril, “You just can’t help yourself. The secrets of this hunt beckon so sweetly to you. Leave. You will not get another chance.”

Cyril grabbed the hilt of the sword, igniting the deep blue light. It mixed with the warm glow of the candles, creating a harmonic light with the chimes of his bell. The ones gleaming above stayed silent. 

“Well then, only an honest death will cure you now. Liberate you from your wild curiosity.”

She moved in quickly. Closing the ten meter gap in a matter of moments. Cyril lifted his sword to block her strike. Her sword collided with his. Sparks of blue chilled into the air. A glint of silver in his peripheral. She pierced his face. Knocked off balance, he staggered. She raised her sword to strike again. In her eyes was desperation. Like an animal locked in a cage. A cloud of sparkles hit them both. Cyril held his breath, Aeris started coughing. Antal bodied her to the ground, stuck the pick through her arm, and pinned it to the floor. She screamed. Cyril clutched the sword and moved to stab into her chest. The dagger of the rakuyo was in her left hand. A spark of fire roared a blaze around them both. It seared her arms and face. Both Antal and Cyril had to move distance. 

The roar that came from Aeris’ throat sounded like an animal. She yanked her left arm up and tore her own flesh against his pick. Cyril heard a bone crunch and snap. She yanked her arm backwards. The blade’s edge ripped through the entire arm. It was impossible to tell where the shredded red fabric ended and her flesh began. Her hand was split through, fingers dangling.

Antal got up and ran for his pick.

She started laughing, holding her bones and ripped flesh to the light of the clocktower’s face. “Nightmares and secrets will only get you so far! Don’t you see? The hunt will make monsters of us all!”

Antal approached at a rapid pace, spraying the rosmarinus. He held his own breath. She arced her boot and kicked the handle of the pick. Then jumped backwards. Just as he was about to make impact with where she had been, the pick pierced straight through his knee. A burst of blue light hit her square in the chest. She fell to her knees, dazed. Cyril ran towards her at full speed, blade drawn. She looked up at him. Rakuyo already in hand, a burst of fire engulfed Cyril. He screamed. His hunter’s gear melted into his skin. He shut his eyes and mouth, but the heat seared through his ears. They rang. He could barely hear anything else. Aeris stood over Antal and stabbed dowards with the blade. Cyril heard footsteps. 

She raised the blade to Cyril’s head, faintly, he heard the words tumble from her mouth alongside her tears, “Don’t come here again. I hate to hurt anyone.”

Cyril was laying face first on the streets of Yharnam. His ears still rang. They stung from the heat of the flames. He knew it was psychosomatic, but it was his current reality. He held the invasion bell and focused. Calling across the cosmos he rang for Antal. The world spun, and then shifted into the Nightmare again.

Antal looked at him and shook his head. “She’s a monster.”

Chapter Text

Even with Cyril’s help, Aeris continued to shred through them both like paper.

One humiliating defeat allowed Antal to feel his own decapitation. No matter how many times he died, the sickening feeling of his own spine and throat being severed would continue to make his skin crawl.

He stood next to Cyril at the foot of the stairs. Across the room, she stood defiantly. Blades clasped in hand. Neither of them were fast enough to stop her strikes. And neither were a good enough shot to pierce her skull before she would close distance.

He sighed. No wall created was impenetrable. Whether by false god or humanity. The joints in his wrists were sore. The church pick was heavy. His age was beginning to wear on him. He glanced at Cyril. The scholar’s eyes were calculated. 

Glowing sword in hand, the words tumbled from the man’s mouth, “there’s no wall in existence that can’t be torn down in time.”

Scholars were insufferable.

“You figure that out yourself?” Antal asked.

“You too?”

Antal huffed in annoyance. “Her strikes are too fast for us to-”

“...do enough damage to stop her.”

Fucking scholars.

“She freely hurts herself to kill us. Carryover from the real Aeris and not just the puppet.”

Cyril’s voice quieted, “it shows how much she cares.”

“It shows how moronic she is.” He adjusted the helmet. At least the scorching from her flames didn’t carry over when he woke up. He’d hate to have to clean the damn thing every time.

Cyril's mouth formed an ‘o,’ but he shook his head, before starting with a different vowel, “As you probably concluded as well, no wall is impossible to destroy.” He looked at his sword, lost in thought.

Antal gestured to Cyril’s blade, “those flashes of light aren’t fast enough to-”

“...consistently hit her, I know.”

Another hunter could assist. But Antal did not want to involve anyone else in this madness. It was bad enough that the uppity schoolboy was trying to lecture everyone on morality, and asking questions. Of the others that could withstand the truth, he didn’t trust any of them. Moron was an idiot- and he could only trust the inquisitive nature of Cyril so far. False gods could be killed. And whatever Moron was trying to hide beyond the tower… Yamamura’s face came to mind. They had meddled with the blood too much. And even if the great ones were like a rabid dog, unaware of their destruction, their existence would be exterminated. 

Cyril leaned against the wall. The one thing they’d learned is that if they did not approach Aeris and her hidden door or whatever, she wouldn’t attack. Cyril’s hand ran through his sweat soaked hair, “We can’t just bring another hunter here to help. They might not withstand the truth of the hunt, even if we did.”

Antal sighed in annoyance, “we’re missing something.”

Cyril nodded and stood. “Then, this fight isn’t about winning. It’s-”

“...about learning.” 

The man’s eyebrow raised and he smiled. “Antal, was that a joke?”

Antal couldn’t help but feel the corners of his mouth raise slightly. Scholars could be amusing. “Don’t get used to it, boy. You’ll get too soft and then die easier.”

Antal stepped forward. “I will try to draw her ire. You observe her, and protect my back.”

Antal rushed forward, pick pointed forward like a joust. He curled in on his body, overlapping his armor at as many critical points as possible. She moved fast. He almost couldn’t track her. She jumped forward in bursts of smoke and fog. The rakuyo was in its full sword form, a gun in her other hand. He risked taking a hand off the pick. Grabbed his pistol. She was on his left. He aimed beyond her. The bullet splintered wood in the distance. She appeared in front of him as both hands grasped the pick. She moved further right. The pick barely punctured her side mid plume of smoke.

Blood glided down the length of the blade, coating his hand. It was acrid. Thick. She kicked his stomach. She was not strong enough to move him. But his foot hesitated backwards at the sudden slew of movement. A blade hit his shoulder and he screamed. An apologetic Cyril collided with him. Antal stumbled, the pick falling from his slippery hands. The blood pouring from his shoulder mixed with hers.

He looked up from the floor to see Cyril desperately blocking her strikes one after the other. His head was bleeding. On the ground ahead of them was her pistol, the stock coated in a deep blackish red. With every strike Cyril parried, his movements got sloppier. He was stumbling over himself. Aeris was backlit by the rows of candles. Without the fire she seemed almost graceful in her frenzied madness. Like a ballerina teaching children how to dance. 

Where did she learn such a thing?

Cyril fell to the ground, breathing heavily. For a moment the room was still. She looked back and forth between him and Antal. 

“Still being a puppet, eh Moron?” Antal goaded her.

What were they missing?

Without breaking her focus, she struck a flint and steel. It ignited her weapons. A blaze outlining the room in hues of red and black flickered. It mixed with the sunlight streaming in. The light enveloping her obscured her features, turning her into a fiery silhouette. Her hunter’s hat. The garb of Cainhurst. The rakuyo blades. The bells on her waist. The short hair.

The bells.

She still had her bells.

If she were now part of the hunt, then why-

“Cyril! She still has her bells!”

~~~

Cyril looked up and tilted his head. His body stiffened. There they were. Plain as the night sky. How had he never noticed?

Her eyes widened. She darted towards him. She crossed the blades across one another, oozing blood and fire catching the creaking wooden floor alight. Cyril threw an oil urn at her. It burst, and she was engulfed. He scrambled to his feet, sword drawn. He blinked. She was out of his vision. A blade came from a plume of fire to his left. He couldn’t change trajectory in time.

Metal on metal rang across the room. He whipped to his side as his feet scrambled together. Antal was at his side, breathing heavily. The church pick stuck through the handguard of one of her rakuyo blades. The pick pierced her wrist entirely. She yanked at her hand. The pick and guard kept it stationary. Skin shredded. Her screams were feral.

She grabbed the shorter dagger and stabbed it between the separation of Antal’s armor. Cyril saw blood leak from Antal’s neck. He lunged at Aeris, knocking her off balance and into Antal. Inhuman noises of desperation gargled from her mouth as she was pulled down. She slashed again at Antal’s side. It cut open his cloak. Inside, blood vials hung from a belt.

She laughed gleefully and jumped on top of Antal and simultaneously stabbed the dagger into Cyril’s hand. He screamed, dropping his sword. She bit into Antal’s flesh and the vial. Glass crunched. Antal screamed from the exposure of fire to his bare skin. He rolled, trying to get her off. Cyril reached his working hand towards her to try and drag her away. 

She giggled in his face, using Antal’s own grip on the pick as a guard. She stabbed outwards with her sword. Antal’s arm snapped. He screamed again. His body rolled on the wooden floor like an animal in its death throes. Aeris yanked the pick out of her arm and threw it behind her. She slashed the blade forward, slicing Cyril’s leg. He fell to the floor. His sword out of reach. He sat like a child, hands behind him to catch his fall.

She stood over him. Her eyes blazed like a frenzied flame. They refused to die or back down.

“Aeris, please. Let us help you.” She blinked. A moment of recognition behind the destructive fires. 

The dagger led her body forward. The glint flashed in his eyes. He could see them reflected, obscured by the blood and burning room. He braced for the stones of the Dream. Eyes closed.

Aeris screamed. The sounds of choking. In that moment, he saw his mother being held down by his father. Her eyes had watered then. His opened, and so were Aeris’. Antal dragged her to the floor. She was clawing, retching. Eyes bugging out. A belt was around her throat. Antal held both ends. 

“N… No. You can’t…” She was crying. 

Even if they intended to kill her. This felt… somehow wrong.

“Antal, stop!” Cyril shouted. “This isn’t-”

Antal grunted, “Then kill her.”

Cyril stood shakily. Aeris was crying, screaming. Barely able to breathe. He picked up his sword. The bells on her waist made a small tinging sound. He listened to it make the smallest sounds of a ringing bell. Like the bell of a schoolyard. Of a hunter. His sword glowed blue. 

He stared at her. Focused on the bell. On the smallest sounds it dared to make, even here. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed. He let his body relax. His mind open. He focused on hte harmonics of his own bell. Of Antal’s. Of the small cries of both Aeris, and her chime. Somewhere… The blackened void was before him. He gripped the sword. The words tumbled his mind, rattling the metal edge of its beveled edge.

Y̷̡̡̨̛̛̮̭̝̖͙̪̞̦͉̪͈̜̖̳̼͙͚̬̞͚͚͇͖̲̥̗̦̞̦͎̞͉̲̱͔̯͎̳̭͚͕͔͕͋̌̽̌̒̊͂͌̈́͊̔̃͊̄͛̈́̏̄̔̽̿̽̑̐́͋̕͠͝ͅͅǫ̴̡̨̥͓̣̣̥̯͍̥̖͎͎̬̯̱̱̲̘͕̺̣͈͍̥̫̬̏̑͐͌̉͗͑͒̍́̽̅̔̀̈́̆͐̋̎̒̍̾͗̓̍͋̈́͂́̂̐̕͠͝ͅư̵̧̡̢̞̯̥̠͇̯̼̱͙̹̹̦͍̘̥͖͍̭͖̳̠͚̖̦̫͓̩̱͕͙̭̰͔̝͍̺͎̼̱̲̳̳͕͛͑̓̎̉̍̒́͌̌́͌̃̓͆̋̀̋̊́̀̆̔͂̇̉́̀̊̑́͘͘͝ͅ ̶̧̧̡̨̡̡̼̮̹̜̺̲̠̝͓̰̙̭͓̝̗͙͔͍͖̈́͐̇̓̆͌̆̐̅͂͊͂͘̚͝͠ẅ̶̧̧̢̧̢̢̞̰̝̫̪̠̜̹͉͎͖͕̺̗̖͖̭̺̣͕̤̝̝͔̰̗̬̻̖̻̟̝͕̤̺̮̗͇̗́͐̏͒̉̐̈͌͐̅͋̄̄̄͂̂͛̉͊́͂̈́͂̓̀̽̽́͂̀̌͌̐̍̌̃̑̈͐́̐̊͒͊́͊͆̓͘̚͘͝ͅĭ̵̡͍̩̦͍̜̰̘̬͔̗̟̬̣̺̲̱̆̇͌̊͑̄̉̿̓̿̒͋̓̅̐͆͗͒̚͜͝͝ͅḽ̸̨̧̨̨̡̛̙͖̯̦̳͍͕̥̤̠̥̺̥̩͍͎̠͈̘̳̻̱̘̼͗͆̀̄̂̀͗̄̈́̓̽͐͐̿͜͝ͅͅl̴̢̙̖͎̖̹̹͌̅̒́̍̉͗̅́̊̾͂́̾̏̊̊̇́̃̏͒̐̿̇̂̃͌́̀̀̍́̚̕͝͝͝ ̴̢̢̧̨̨̡̛̠̲̯̮͎͉̗̳͉͇͎̝͔͇̳̝͕̠̟̞̦̩̺̭̖̗̣̫̠͕̦̗͚͎̖̟̬͙̣̹͖̠̳̬̯͇̞̤̹̏̓̓͑̎̂̌̆̉́̇̅́̽̑̑͑́̉̽̃̐̋̿̉́̿̂̈́͛̂͋̎͊͋̿̅̔́͌̆́̏̔̃̿̕̚͘͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅs̴̢̢̡̧̛̬̮̣͎͙̝̹̫̫̠̙̖͔̹̥͇͎̝͚̪̬͓̮̟̹͕̟̹̤̜̟͓̼̮̹͓̼̰̮͙̫̏́̂́̑̓͋̐͒͗̔̌̽̑̈̆̋̾̂̈́̈́̚̕͝͝͠ͅͅḩ̵̧͖͇̳̦̩̰͓̝͚̟̖̗͇͎̬̲̪̘̘̱̣̗̳̺͇̠̫̪̗̻̗͚̩̥̠̻͛͐̒̑͘ͅơ̴̡̢͕̟̼̦̤̞̩̣̩̰̘͖͖̩̝̖̠̭̲͉͔̭͈̜̲͙͊͂̅́̒̉̈́̽̏̆͛͊̓́̏͒͗̈́̐̅̋̅̍̋̕͘͘͜͝ͅẅ̸̧̨͙̯͚̰̩̙̗̰̥͈͕̄̾̒͑͆̎̅̈́̄̊͐̔̃͋̃̿̑̅͐͋̊̒͐̾̒͆̂̈͛͐͋̄̊͑̌̈̓̓̅̄̅̀́̀̃̔̓̍̐̎͊̂̋̃̕̚͘ ̵̡̧̢̢̨̡̜̦̣̞̠̗̠̯̗̤̼̦̻̦̙̰̯̬̫̤͓͇̞̱̝͕̰̲͚͍̣̦̻̜͔̞͋̏͜ͅm̵̨̧̡̡͔̥̝̣̺̫̭̱̯̖̘̱̬̺̖̺̼̹̻͖̮̫͔̫̻̯͇̰̪̹͖̪̈́̍̇̌̉͒͐̉̽̉̈́̀̃͜͝ͅę̸̢̢͚̫̟̜͉͙̤͇̙̯̗̤͈̣̩̙̪͇̱̹͙̲̪̹̤͔̭͓̼̼͖̯͙̹̭̮̪̤̘̘̒̽̒͐̄̈́̓̾̔̓̃̓̃́̎̇̓̉͑͐̀͋̄͑́̇͋̐͒̾̋͋̅͛͊͒͂̀̽͊̎̉̌̓̇̓̽̏̓̌͒̊̋̀̇̑̀̈̕̚͝ ̸̡̧̡̛͈̳̗̦͖̺̰̪̖̣̲̻͙̙̺̼͓̗͚̱̱͔̮̣͔̥̻̣͎̞̗͇̺̝̦̪̻̗͔̬͖̰͛̆̅́́͑̅̾͋̾̋̃̆͌̆̈̓̀̀̃́͘͘̕͝͠w̵̨̧̨̧̧̳̩̳̟̟̟̞͚͈̥͔̩̲̤̼̳̗̘͚͖̤̣̱̻͕̤͚̦̤̲̠̤̙̰̙̻̯̙̩̺̯̺̦̙̹̫̳̪͆͑̀͒̊̾̌̈́̏͗̃̅͒͑̑̉̃̾̌̅̍̕͜͜͜ͅĥ̵̨̨̧̬̣̟̯͈̘̹̝͓̰̫͓̙͕̺̥͇̰͔̳͚͇̭̠̬̠̳̣̖̞̱̰͚̣̭̲͎̘̭͖͉̱̱̪̹̪̺̙̖̼͖͓̯̯̰͖̊̈̃́͊̂̉̈́̊̿̍́͗̍̑͒̎̉̅̊̔̆̅͌́͂͗̽̀̈́͊͗̌̀̿͂̓̿̐̀̄͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅe̷̢̨̧̨̨̛̛̛̛̛̹̬̜̦̩̫̠̫̲͍̺̙͙̥̘̥͚̥̱͉̩̝̩̖̭̞̾͗͗̆̏̎͗̒̈́͌̆̏̑̋̂̐̈́́̏͛̏̎̾̿̿̏̓̓̏̃͒̈́̍̃̌̊̈̀̄̈̕͘̕͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅŕ̶̢̡͍̗̙͈̰̙̫̭̦͎̝̓̌́̐̚e̸̛̬̖̺̜̲͇̞̜͗̔͋͒̒͑̑̈́̓̈́̓̍̋̓́͆̾̊͐͛̊̎̆̽̌̉͑̔͊̔̍͑͑̌̎͘̚͘͝ ̷̨̧̢̢̢̧̻̟̥͙͍͉͕͎̳̝̪͕̞̯̖̮͙̠͉̖͎̫̙͍͓͈͓̤̣̳̠̯̫̞̣͓̱̳͓͋͋̓̀̆̌̔̃̃̑̎̈̈́̄̽̀̌̇̉̋͌̈͑͂̊̐̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅs̶̨̢̢̢̧̨͎̺͈̞̣̟͚͙̳̟̙̞͚̘̻͎̖̞͇̱̺̥̹̤̜͓͕̤̜͙͕̖̯̝̾̏̈͊̐̆̐͑̊͌̀̾̀̋͑͂̌́̇͆͒̈̆̂̚̕͘͜h̸̨̢̢̡̘̦̳͕̤̺̜̝̣̳̯̖͈̱̣͕̫͕͎̭̤̼̖̪̩̬̻̩̱̟͕̗͍̙͇͇̥̭̳̤̬̗̖̖͉̳͇̟̗͇̞̲̬͖̠̩̓͆̈́̂́̄̐̌̈̇͊͛̀́̂͌͊̅̎̆͑͝͠͠͝ͅę̶̨̢̢̧̨̡̛̛̱̲̹̫̜̗̩̲̦̗̦̯̪̖͔̹̝͙̱̯͖̭̟̮̘̤͇̯̭̗̭̜̩̘̮̠̺͚̣̯̲̗͕͇̞̤̺̼̭̥̙͖̀̎̋͋͌͆̊͛̐͆̌͗̐̇͌̉̀͒͋̇̋͊̉̔̃̑͌̈́͊͘͜͜͜͝ͅ ̸̡̛̖͔͙̯̜̘͖̟̦͓͕̬̥͇̘̫̣̖̦̖̮̘͖̰̯̪̮̻̤̺̀͐̏͂̈́͌͒̔̽͋̈̍̊̀̋̽͆͆̉̂͆̉̿͊͆͑̄͠͠͝į̵̨̨̧̛̛̪̞͎̞͚̦̲̯̗͕͈͓͉̘̼̳͓͍̹̰̬̬̙̹̪͓͍̰̟̳̤͙̲̩͉̳̬̱̙̩̗̜̖̹̻͉̗̯̆̈̏̾͐̉̅̀͂̽̅̈́̈́̽̎͛̿̈́͛̇̌̉̓͆́̇͆̉͗̈́̏̈́́̉͗̉̑̄̍͊͆̀̀͊̾̒̿́̚̚͠͠͠ͅͅş̵̡̧̛̹͓̯̳͖͖̙̩͈̘͇͚̜͉̩̤̹͎͙̻͉͈͕̰͖̩̯̳̯̓̇̒͗̅̅́̾͗̓̌̋̈́́͗̇̅͋̄̊̊̾̈́͘͘̚̚͝͝ͅͅ!̸̧̧̢̨̢̢̨̡̨̛̘̦̟̘̪̫͓͔̫̩̤̻̳͎̱̣̭̹̟͍̦͔̤͈̳͎̭͚̘̝̗̘̠͉͖̞͖̳̺̩͓̯̮̩̥̪̰̟̭̝̭̦̋̅̈̒̾̿͊́̂̈́̈̓̀̃͋͐̚͜͝ͅ

The light burst from his sword like rain. The cerulean glow overtook the red embers of the fire. It consumed the void around him and Aeris. Like phosphorescent water, it engulfed them both. Her eyes widened. For a moment, he saw thread after thread stretching far beyond the reaches of his concept of time. They spun through the hunts. Highlighted by the static of the cyan water, he could just barely see one wrapped around the Aeris before him. Antal released her and grabbed the small thread. It cut into his hands.

“Cyril, cut it!”

He dragged the Holy Moonlight Greatsword’s blade across it. He felt the sorrow of its former wielder. A man of piety, reduced to sobbing fear as he died. The Aeris before him cried. Shaking as the water snapped. The red line disappeared. She went limp, her head sideways. She fell forward. He caught her, as her body turned to ash and slipped through his fingers. The rushing light crested into a wave. It crashed against the glass of the clocktower, and the wall of candles. Extinguished, the smoke curled into the air. For a moment, the blue light mixed with the beautiful daylight streaming it. Then, like a firefly, the blue glow extinguished. The water gone. On the damaged wood floor before them was a set of crumpled Cainhurst Knight clothes. The rakuyo and gun were nowhere to be seen.

“What the hell did you do?” Antal grabbed Cyril’s lapels.

“I think… we just won a victory against Flora.” He touched the clothes. They were still warm from a body being in them. Singed, covered in blood- they smelled of sweat.

He looked to the glass of the clock face. Aeris, Guardian of Hell. Would there be nine circles as Dante wrote? Amused, he stood and went to the glass. He could see the hands of the clock. Unmoving in this frozen bit of time. 

Antal walked up beside him, adjusting his armor back into place. “That was only one Aeris.”

“And this,” Cyril brought the sword against the glass. It splintered and shattered like a spider’s web. The scent of rain, decaying flesh, and rot assailed their nostrils, “is just one circle of the secrets here.”

Antal scoffed, “fucking scholars.”

They stepped through the glass and found themselves standing on a short ledge overlooking a flooded town. Stacks of wood leaned against the waterlogged buildings. Even from here, the aroma of death swirled in the air. It seemed to float in the shallow waters below. Skulls and bones protruded from the silt. Both men looked at one another.

Antal adjusted his helmet, “they say the Old Hunters slaughtered a cult. I never asked Yamamura… but…” 

Cyril stared at the man. His voice had cracked. And now he stood silent, just staring. Antal stepped down, offering a hand to Cyril. Now in the water, the two sloshed their way forward. As they approached, Antal stopped.

“Cyril. You have a chance to turn around. This isn’t a sight anyone should see.”

Cyril’s brow furrowed and he looked around the man. The logs… weren’t logs. They were piles of bones. He stepped closer. Beneath his feet were countless clavicles and ribs far too small to belong to any adult. He stumbled. The skulls atop the piles had harsh carved lines in the sockets. Any skin that had managed to weather instead of rotting away, was burned to a crisp. Corpses hung from the exposed rafters- a child’s skeleton cowered in a corner, its skull severed feet from it. 

It was silent except for the waterlogged sounds of wood straining against itself.

“Why?” Was all Cyril could ask.

A voice came from behind them both. Alluring. Slightly feminine. “Because they broke from what the church wanted.”

They both turned, weapons drawn. Standing in the shin high water was Caryll. She no longer wore a witch’s hat. In fact, her entire outfit was strangely modern. A buttoned black overcoat, pants, and boots. Her hair was braided into two neat small buns. Bells hung on her waist, but none of them chimed. There was an almost calming aura about her. Like the Dream’s aria. It made him nervous.

She put her hands up, “I’m not here to fight.”

Cyril snarled, “if you killed Aeris while I was away, I’ll-”

“Currently it is December twenty-eighth. You didn’t even try to reach out to your sister this year. She misses you.”

Cyril’s jaw tightened. For a moment he saw Elise. She stood in the hallway as he left for the last time. She didn’t even wave. She had only cried. His teeth creaked. He raised the blade, igniting the blue sparks, “how dare you? How did you learn that?” He was screaming.

Antal grabbed Cyril’s shoulder, “Wait.” Antal looked at Caryll with what Cyril could only assume was a piercing stare. “Enough time has passed that is should be December-”

“Twenty-eighth. You should know by now time doesn’t work the same. The day hasn’t rolled over for anyone but me, and Dawn.”

“Talk.” Cyril commanded. 

“You killed but one of many copies of Aeris. They share memories. You won’t be able to kill her the same way twice. And by the numbers, you have more than twenty tries to go. You need other hunters.”

Cyril snorted, “why are you helping?”

Her voice was crisp, cold, “Because a little hunter saw daylight.”

“Dawn?” Antal asked.

“The one and same.” She stepped towards them, her boots expertly avoiding each bone lying in the silt. “Neither of you is strong or creative enough to kill her that many different ways.”

“I’m not killing her again.” Antal said. He turned from her, to wade deeper into the village. “If you’re gonna do something, Caryll, then do it.”

Caryll looked at Cyril knowingly. He couldn’t parse just what she was trying to say. Was this truly the same woman who tried to kill Aeris? That he fought in the moonlit lake? Antal’s heavy footfalls sent huge ripples through the water. Disturbed silt obscured the bones below. 

Pockets of bugs wriggled in the collapsing wood. The buildings here were once homes. Crumbled bed frames, children’s toys, and ceramic dining sets lay in knee deep water. Time was taking its toll. Another slaughter. The water was cold. He’d heard of the bone chill from his countrymen who fought in the Battle of the Somme. The November weather made the cold water seep into their very core. Or at least- he’d read as much in his world away in Paris. 

He registered that the bones of children should anger him. That he should feel despair. But real or not- all he could feel is an ingrained need to do something. He turned to where she stood. “What’s at the end of this hell?”

Caryll was gone. Where she had stood, was a bell quickly sinking into the water. He darted to grab it. Broken pieces of a bell cut a small gash in his fingers. He examined it.

The invasion bell.

What…?

“Hmph. So she vanished.” Antal called over his shoulder. “Don’t believe everything you see here. For all we know, that wasn’t a real version of her.”

Cyril held up his hand, “but her bell was left-” he glanced down. Chunks of mud sat in his palm. His eyes darted the water around him, in a panic. Nothing. No trace at all. He washed the blood from his hands with the stinging salt water. He stared.

A small cut still crossed his palm.

He spun in a circle, blade drawn. Nothing. Silence. The only movement was the strangely gentle lapping of the waves against wood. Was he going insane? Losing his mind to the blood? Would he get sick now, too?

No. He had to keep his head. He couldn’t be losing his mind. He’d never even used the blood.

He followed after Antal. The hamlet was eerie. The further in the two men walked, the more hacked corpses they came across. It seemed they would never end. They passed a well. The rope, though frayed, still held the rotted bucket. Beyond it, was a pond. Before the hamlet was underwater, Cyril could imagine this being a place for families to spend their leisure. Now it was murky, weeds on the edges. Fish carcasses floating. 

He and Antal followed the edge of the water around. A path ahead disappeared behind a hill. 

“You said Yamamura came here?” Cyril asked.

Antal nodded. “I wasn’t a hunter when this happened. Yamamura was. He was deployed to the hamlet village. He never was the same after. None of the Old Hunters were.”

Cyril stopped at a corpse. It wore the undeniable trousers of a hunter. Scorch marks covered its bones. Its legs were blown off at the knee. A rusted saw cleaver sat, halfway covered in mud. “I see why you doubted Marnie.”

His voice was factual, “Every uprising against the church has ended in genocide.”

“Do you think hers will?”

Antal paused, “I don’t know. For that girl’s sake, I hope it doesn’t. She has parents in Cathedral Ward. They’d be the first to die.”

“How has this all been kept secret for so long? Surely in such a refined age-”

“Cyril.” Antal’s voice was annoyed, edging into anger. “I already told you. Or is that silver spoon so far up your arse that it’s obscuring your eyes?”

“That was uncalled for.”

Antal stopped and faced Cyril. At this distance, Cyril was painfully aware how much larger Antal was than him. Antal’s voice took on a childish tone, like he was teaching a schoolboy how to tie his laces, “the church has paid off interested parties. Or in the case of your little journaliste friends, they were offered the chance to research and learn without ethics. They were given power. People will sell their own children for power. That’s why Marnie has done well so far. She sold people a narrative of resistance and power. That’s why anything in this world happens. Power and money. Understand?”

Cyril’s response was quiet, “yes.”

The water of the pond rippled. Both men shot their attentions to its surface. The red silhouette of a man appeared. Antlers decorated his head. The same headdress as Dawn’s. In his hand was a crude weapon. A wooden club with spikes. They seemed to drip venom.

“Well now, Antal, I didn’t expect you to bother coming out to this wretched place.” The voice was cynical. Mocking.

Antal sounded confused, “Brador?”

“What’s left.” He walked atop the water’s surface. His footsteps left small ripples that traveled three waves, then abruptly stopped. He was almost transparent. A bell clanged on his side. The invasion bell. As he came closer, his direction shifted to stand directly in front of Cyril.

The man gestured to Cyril's own invasion bell. “You’ve been usin’ this one.”

“I have. What are you? You don’t interact with this world like a normal invader.”

The man laughed, a crack in his voice slipped into a maddening sneer. “Do you hear the toll of the bell?”

Cyril’s head tilted slightly. “I am the bell’s toll. So who are you?”

Brador looked at Antal, “If you’re here, then Maria and Ludwig are dead. Tell me, whose bell reeks of Paleblood?”

“Paleblood?” Cyril asked.

“The Great Ones. Beasts that hunters thought they could bloody their hands with. Do you want to know, Antal, about how we thought washing our hands with their blood was a noble cause?” Brador gestured at the hamlet. He took another step towards Antal, “Some places are better-”

Antal cut him off. “better left untouched, secrets better left alone. Only a fool would so brazenly roam. You’ve become a mighty fine mouthpiece of the church.” Antal slammed his pick forward, missing Brador’s chest as the man struck the spikes between the pick and his breast.

Cyril watched the two fight. It was surreal. Brador’s strength matched Antal’s, but he was so much more violent. He threw his weight around, trying to slash and crush Antal. He felt strangely small next to them. But he watched closely. Antal’s boots sank into the mud of the pond. His armor sloshed. But Brador… it was as if he was light enough to never break the surface tension of the water or muck. Things were never what they appeared.

So what was this?

Antal fell into the water. The pick disappeared beneath the surface. His firearm was waterlogged. He grunted, using the armor of his arm to block one of the spikes. Brador beat into the man. It pierced between the gap of Antal’s shoulder and chest.

Brador was yelling, “Are you going to kill me? After all you've done, kill me, as if to right your wrongs?”

Cyril focused on the man’s bell. He listened to the resonation. It was almost as if it wasn’t a bell’s chime. Like someone clinking a glass in a play to mimic the sound of bells. Of a baritone trying to capture the deep chimes of Notre Dame. 

Cyril ran at the man. Brador’s arm was raised, foot half moved. Cyril threw his entire weight into the man. They both tumbled into the water. He reached for the bell, and his hand passed through the bell into air. Both submerged. The water was foul. The salt stung his eyes. He opened them. The face of a person desperate to kill him, like a caged animal, clawed at his robes. Cyril focused on his own bell, he imagined the harmonics of the worlds. Forced the threads of reality to show themselves. Brador’s very existence formed a zagging circle. No hunt chained itself to him. Rather, the cycle of hell. In every world he stalked and killed the hunters who visited this palce. Whtever person he was before ending up here, it was long gone in the cackling madness.

He dove deeper, holding his breath. A younger and clean shaven man was thrown into a cell. A headdress of antlers caused scorn on the face of the clergy.

“You have committed a grave sin against Yharnam herself.”

He screamed, “I did as commanded! I protected this city!”

“Only a fool would strike a hand to clergy, no matter their form.”

He fell to his knees. Time seemed to meld. He lay on the floor, barely moving. The cell was even dirtier. Clergy walked by with trays of food, ignoring him. A woman wept from another cell.

“We didn’t mean anythin’ by it! We was just doin’ what ya told us. Why are you keepin’ us here?” She screamed.

Brador shifted on a bed made of straw. He was gaunt. Limbs articulated his bones. 

Another shift. In the dark, another man wept. Reciting a prayer of the church. Cyril could just make out a mound on the floor. He touched it, hand shaking. He put his hands to his mouth. A skull with the bite marks of rats. A headdress tumbled into the dust of the cell.

Then he was surrounded by screams. A woman punched creatures converging from the pond. The hunter beside her, a man in  a headdress, used a spiked wooden club to beat them. Yet still, another man carved the eyes out of a crying young woman. 

Then he saw a great beast. It burned his eyes. They bled. For a moment he was in the pond again, a precious bubble of air escaping his shocked lips. He held his breath. On the beach a beautiful white creature unlike any he had seen rose from the depths. Ships splintered. Hunters ran at it, launching fire. Gunfire crackled. He watched them eviscerate it. He saw its cries. For a moment, he could understand them,

Ļ̴̛̛͓͙͇̈͒̍͂̽̀͑͛̃̒̅́̓͒̆̅̄̏͊̒̓̒͋͆̉͋̇̎͒̎́̆̃͐̈́͊̿́̈́͋̍̽̊̍͐͐̽̅̇̓̍̆̐̂͌̃̽̊̚̕̚̕̕͠͝͝͝͝͝ȩ̶̨̧̧̡̨̡̧̨̨̡̢͎̮̹̪̼̲͕̙͉͇̲̖̻̥̯̪͔͙̙̫̩̝͚̞͓͍͉͓̱̝̻̖̙̟̻͎̲̞̥̗͉̘̬̗̬̞̜͎͔̖̥̩̻͔̦̣͍̫̲̦͚̖̙͚̪͚͉̻̙̹̦̺̳̠̯̺̰̜͙͚̻̞̙̹̗̝̪̯̘͈̣̞̫̻̮͔̭̼͇͓̬̣̟̒̈́͂͊̓͌̑̌͂̌͆͑́̿̋̔̆͗́̐̽̂͌̉̿͛͊́̋̊͂͆́̈̑̓̀̉́̽̓̓͒̂̍̉̀͒̂̋̈́͊́̄͂́͆́̈́́̓͘̕͜͜͜͜͝͠a̴̧̧̨̧̨̡̢̢̢̨̛̛̛̮̝̤͚͉̞̙̳̞̯̱̬͔̞̦͚̼̫̠̱͕̟̘̟̰͔̭͖̩͙̝͍͍͖̙̞̭̲͈̱͖͓̳̫̞͕̱̩̱̣̩̺̲̳̥͕̻̙̜̯͓̩̲̻͓͕̻̲̰͚̰̹̰̖̟̹̱̬̙͈̭̫̫̯͇̯̘̰͈͇̜̖̟͛̈́̈́̊́̄̊̇̎̊̏͑́̀̿͗̍̾̄̅̇̈́͒̈́͌̌̔̉̍͊̇͗͒̔͒̀̒͂͗͂͊͒̇͆̐̓̑͂̐̈́̾͆̒̀̓̐̌͐̋͊͗͐̆͊̒̆̈́͑̈́̈̈́̃͋͌͗́́̀̀̓̍̀͒̈́͋͊̄́̊́̈́͛͘͘̚͘̕͜͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅv̴̢̢̧̨̧̢̢̨̢̡̡̧̨̻̞̗̭̤̗̹̪͔̙͚͙̪͓̯͔͕̤̜̼̬̰͖͚̣̖̣̝̱̦̞̯̟̘͓͚̖̙͉̪̮͇̘̻̦̥̮͓̞̞͔͇͙̣͔͉̯͓̩̭͇̱̻̼͚̖̹̱͎̝̩̞͇̫̦͈̹̙͙̥̘̱̼̤̮̫̦̪̱̫̙̭̥̱̱̗͚̣̫̱̺̤̽̄̒̎̓͌̈́̂̔̇̃̑̀̀̎͋̇̍̌̅̍̌̌̈̐̇̄́̈̽̃͛̃̈́͌̂͑̈́̊͆̈̉͑̾̈́̈͒̔̽̾̄̈́͆̈́̍̀͆́̽̀̇̉̉͊͑̽̒̈́̌̈́̋̾̍̏̒̃́͂̃͒̒͑͗̍͑̆̈͋̇̋̐̎̓͋̈̒́̈̋̂̔͐̌̐̒̑̆̓̿̈́̏̾̒́̒̇̂́̔͑̈́̽̐̏̾̽̎̊̓́̋̈͐̕̕̕͘̚̕͘͘̕͘̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅe̵̡̢̧̧̛̛̛̛̞̳͖̩̲̯̬̼̻̦͗̎͒͐̍͋̿͗̔́̋͗͋̿̈́̔̇̈́̇́͛̑̔̑͋͆̈́̄̿͐͌̓̓͆̒̇̈́͛͊̂͐͆͗̂̊̀͛̄̓̀̊̓̆̂̔̓̄̐̌́̽̇̇̅̆͑͋̓̃͋͆̂̋͐͂̾̀̿̓͗͐̑̐͗͛̌̌͘̕̕̚̚̕͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠ ̷̡̡̢̛̛̻̜̘̲̙̬̰̺̘̪͉̩̰̻̱͇͕̩͉̻̮̥̱̼͉̿͛͑̄̉͋̌̔͒̈́̐̄͂͆̀͌͐͋̍̃̐̋̔̀͑̍̃̀̅͆̓̓̒̄̎̋͐̉͊̎̾̎͒͑̒͂̈́͒͒̀̀̄̈͗́̽̋̍̔̓̀̆̅̎́̄̓͆̽̊͑̔̈̿̾͐̓̍̒͋̌̾̚̕͘̕̚̚̚͜͝͝͠͝͝ͅm̶̢̢̧̡̢̢̧̡̡̢̡̧͎͔̺͙̮̯͓̻̮̥͇̫̹̘̮̯̯͈̫̞̭̱̮̟̩̰͍̠̣̟͔̠̲̤̦͖̱͔͉̟̘̟̯̗͓̹̞̯̞͇̮͈̞͔̩͍̩͚͕͔̹̳̞̪̲͉̻̣̗͉̗̟̟͚͔̮͈̭̺̩͓̰͉̰̯̟̞̤̲̩̝̙̥̲̆̅̉̒͛̅̒̓͌̾͆̀̀͆͋̂͆͑͊͛͆̾̉̄͆̃̐̍̃̃́̃͛͊̈͒̈́͆͑̄̌̃̑͋̅͌̀͆̈́͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅy̴̧̡̢̧̧̨̡̧̨̨̧̡̯͇͚͇̳̥̘̬͇͖̰͎͍̥͖̠̳͕̗̳̥͚̯̣͚͎̭͙̦̻͇̩̺̝̝͔̞̼̹̼̬̰͈̞̟͙̣͕̲̠͔̜̲̘̳̩͖̻̬͙̘̯̯̤̣̩̪̙̳̯̤̠͔̰̳͚̞̝͓̟̝̠̺͕͓̖͚͍͈̤̩̦̠͈͔̬̖͍̦͚̼̩̫̙͔̲͔̩̘̝͇͙͎̖͔̺͙͖̝͙͋͌͊̽̒̉͒̾̐̒͐̈̋́̊̓̆̓̌͛̀̊͌̃̅̿̎̋̒̽̃̉͊̈́͛̋̾͌͗̿̈́̇̔̉͌̌̈́̑̍͗̊̑̿́̊͊͛͌̓̂̈́̽̈̍͊̈́͛̓͐̃̒̑͋̏͒̂̍̌̈́̒̍̑̉̀̍͋͛͌͊̾̈́͑̀̑̒̓̄́̀̔̏̏́̄́͐̍̈́̇͌̽̚͘̕̕̚̕͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅͅ ̸̧̢̧̨̨̨̨̢̧̢̛̛̛͖̻̯̫̮͖͉͕̳̼̥̗̝͎̞͔̥̟̥̱͉̻͚̫͙͍̙̤̞͉͚̺̘͔̫̹̜̻̳̖̰̭̟̬̻͔͇͔̝̲̩͙͎̤̲͇̜̗͈̜̲̦͇͉̻̟̤̲͇̘͎͇͙̱̬̭̜̦̪͕̩̹̫̟̞̉̈̈́̌͌͂̀̿͐́͐̋͐̑͋̆̾̏̉̍̈́́̈́̎͌͒̐̈̈́̉̍̉̀͋̐̈́̀̒͛̉̀̃͛̎̐̃̍̋̀̋̃̈́͗̋̾̅̉̈͛̀͒̏͋̒̀̌̌͑̋͒͋̊͋̆͆̈́̽̊̍̉̈̌̎͆̂̽̑̾̍͗̄̉̆͆͆͗́͆̚̕͘̕͘̚͘͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅç̵̢̨̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̣͈̥̬̖̥͙̳͉͉̗̳̳͕͙̫̬̼̼̲̹̖͚̲̲̯̞̹̖̳̭̩̘͇̥̼̝͓̙̗̟̝̟͍̥͈̥̟̪̩̝̘̯̭̯͉̦͚͎̳͈̻̣̩̣̘̫̭̬̣̠͖̻͇̥̄́̍͐̽͐͑͛̽́̆̿́͌̌̀̄̽̂́̇̔̑̏͋̐̋̌́̎́̈́͗̅̈́͗̔̉͂̋̀͒͂̾͌̾̐̈͒͌̇̉̐̒̆̌͑̌̎͐̏͒̏̈́̄̃̈̀͒͐̋͛̅̋̓̃̎̉͂͂͂͂͐̈́̒̾̅͐͘̚̚̕̕̕̕̕͘͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅh̴̡̡̧̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̩̖̱̭̻͕̟̟̻͇͖̺̜̱̪͉̤͓̠̙̰̪̳̠̮̻̭̻͙͔̠̦̠̱̞̬͔̟͊́͛̓͌̑̀̈́͂͂̄̎̂̿̾́͛̈́͐͋͌̈̊͊̐́̓̓̇̽̍͒̓̔̃̌̄̆̃͗̈͊̅̌̌͐̏̌̐̍͆̂̇͑̐̔̔͐̈́̾̏͐̾̂̑͐̄͗͑̑̌̏̽͐́̿̿̋̑͌͗́͘̕̕̚̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅí̴̡̧̢̡̧̨̢̧̢̢̛̬̦̲͎͍̗̫͓͖̯̘̝̳͓͕͈̙̩̜͎̻̜͖͇̠̩̹͕̦̗̹̫̣͖̖̥̠̞̬̱̳͓͙͇͉̤̳̘͇͍͕̫̘̖̖̥̹̳̤̠̣̳͎͈̼̙̤̼̪̩̹̭̭̮̙̘̺͇̪̹͖̟̪̤̱͈͎̱͎̮̞̝̗̞͙̗̻̜̼͍̗̰̪̳̥̦͉͔̯͖̝͕̳̘͕̗̪͍͙̠̹͙̪̼̠͓̟̗̜͚͓̩̟̰̼̺͔̝̼̾̽̓̈́̂̍̍͐̂̆͆͂̆̍̆́̍̓͆͐̉͌̊̐̈́͆͆̏̈́̽̆͗̃̓̇̑͆̽͒̽͛͌̽̆̈́̀̅͑̇͆̆̎͂̿̈̑́̇̀̅̀̋̽͐͐̎̂̿̌͋̅̓̏̃̈́͌̂̀̆͗̏̈͒̀̌̆̚͘̕̕͘͘͝͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅl̶̢̨̡̨̡̨̢̡̛͖͚̫͇̗̠̲͖͖̲̫̞̜̻̳͙̻̳̠̥̝͍̞̩͇̟̭̮̘̺̥͖̜͂̈̂̂̉̓̌̑́̀̄̈́́̔͐̃̉̓̊̿̌̋́̏͑̈́͌̑̉̐̐̔̔͑̔̒̈́̊͆͒̿͊̈́̓̎̔̐̿͗͑̓̄́̈́̇͂̽̎́͋͗͐̽̄̂͑̂͐̄͛͆̽͊̒͑̎̑͋̐̃́̀̏̉̅͂̎͋̎͊̇̎̒̋̒̋̑͋̋̈́̀̽̇͂̌̀̾̿̀̇͂̋̅̋͑͂̂̾̋̿̿̄͑̄̈̒͐̕̚̚̕̚͘͝͝͠͠͠͠͝ͅͅd̸̛̛͍͐͋͂̎̾͋́̓͐͒̈͌͑͗́͆́́̿͛͂̈́͌͌̃̇͛̏̈̔̇̏̈͐̈̆̄̇͆͑̌́͊̂̔͌̍̆̎̈́̾͆̃͗̄̈́̂̅̈͐̃̈̿̀̓̈̏̅̅͌̃̋͑̌̍̄̔̑̈́́̈́̆̾̓͒́͌̊͒̄͌͑͗͂̌̅̒͌͊͊̐̈́̃͊̈́̌̄̌̔̀͊̓́̽̍̀̀̏́̚̚̚̚͘̚͝͝͝͝ṛ̵̡̡̡̨̡̨̢̧̡̢̡̨̨̧̛̖̳̯͉̺̳̯͓̮͓͚̝̙̬̖̹͚̰̼͕͓̹͖̦̣̬̣̠͙̮͇̹̖̫̯̹̤͙̖̟̘̣̘̺͎̺̘̦̠̜̻̘͙͍̲̮̬̲̤̘̭̪̯̭̼̟͕̙̳̲̩͎͖͚͔̗̺̥̻̳̪͙̬̫̭͔̫̹̗͈̮͔̗͙̪̮̮̣̭̠͔̤͔͈̲̭̪̤̬͈̮͓͖̙̖̯̻̺̱̹͎̳͌́̀̃̑̎͒͊̐̚̕͜͜͠ͅͅͅͅͅę̷̡̡̢̢̧̢̨̧̡̢̢̛̛̛̛̰̺̠̬͉̰̱̗̞̘̖͈̝̦̲̪̖̜̖̬̦̮̻̫̳̠̤̼̰͚̺̙̗̳̠͙̥̟̤͇̝̬͖̻͖̣̭͖͇̤̠̼̰̟͕̫̮̬̜̺̮̬̣͇͈̰͖̆̆͗͆̃̒͋́̃̓̈́̅̔̀̉̓̍͒́͊̎̓̽́̐̽͂̓̀̏̈͗͂͐̄̍͌̅̓̍̽͒͂̋̈͗̈́̌̓͂̇̀̑͛͛͊̔́̀̾͂́́̾̌͐̿̇͒̇̀̈́̑͊̓̓̈́̈́̀͘̕͘̚͘͘͘̕̕͘͘͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅǹ̵̨̧̛̖̘̜̙͖̗̳͓̖̼͉͈̤̹̮̱̩̭̤͖̹͙̺̱̭̪̫̪͓͉̠͉̦̣̻͉͔͕͛͆̐́̈́̊̇̔́͐́́̆͒͑́̇̾͆̇͗̅̑̄̀͐͒̀̑̽̔̑̀͒̃͋͊̉̈͆̅̇̉̅̂̏͂̑͐̐̽͌̾͊̌͆͒̽̅̒̿́͛͐̓̈́̈́͊͛́̆̈̓̎͊̌͂̅͒̅̑͋͗͐̈̉́͘̕͘̕̕͝͝͠͠͝͝͝ ̷̢̨̧̛̙̳̳̖͉̝̳̟̭̥̬̳̗̃̇̔͒̂͑̃̿̂̊̎̈́͆̇̈́͊́͌̋̿̈́̈̅͛͗̾́̊̔̋̓̈́̐͗̂̌̈́̓̊̑̋͒͑̅̉̈́̄͊̾͗͒̽̃͒̌̇̾̔̍͆͋͌̎̃̽̀̓́͑̐̕̕͘̕͘̕̚͠͠ͅa̷̡̢̡̧̛̪͎̙̩̞̙͈̟̲͈̰̻̠̘͙͖̰̦̬̱͍͎͚͕͈̜̘̦̤̯̳̗͚̙̝̟̱̟̣̓͐͆̇̊̑͗̑̀͒́͂̾̈́́̌̐͌͆̈́̈́̈́̇͂̉͂̓̿̔̆́̉̿̐̒̑͑̆͘͘̚͘̚̕͘̕͜͜͠͠ļ̸̡̢̧̧̛̼̫͉̝̙̻̙͈͚̹̟͍͕̳͈̖̦͎̜̦͙̤̳̳̹͖̟̫͖͓͇͉̦̬̻̲̜̯̪̟̦̲̳͚̤͖̭̤̹̝̜͎̼̗͎͛̿͗̄̄̈́̄͛̆͊͒̄̃͋̆̒̀̓̍͆̈́̎̊͒̏͐̾̈̎̉̆̎̓́̀͘͘͜͠͠͠ͅͅơ̷̢̢̡̨̢̡̹̹͙͍̳̲̙̣̼̳͕̙̞̗̥̤̩̝̙̪̟̩̝̜̖̟̼̜̙̪̙͎̺̖̤̠͚̰̜͖͇̻̘̤̪͍̬̲̝̥̺̠͙̭͇̺͉̳̙̤̩͓̭̲͖͙̖̙̤̯̙͕̜̥̯̠͙̮̪̖̖̼̪̮̖̫̞̦̖̰̜̞̭̫̗̞̲̻͈̠̫̪̹̮͉̯͎̯̻͓̠̻̞̱̫̺̪̘̅̀̈́͐̂̓̓́̾͊́͌̏͐̊͗̑͂̏̌͆̊́͐̈͒͌͊̐̽̑͐̋̾̋̈́̌̈́͛̊̓͂̊̅̂̽̓͗́̈́̒́̌͋́̏́̈́́͒͛̇̃̅̓͒̄̄͋͐͐͆͊͗͐͒̋͑̂̈́̈̍͗̓̒̿̑͌̽̔̎͌̇͊͐̾͐̒͌̏̔͂͊̄̄̚͘̚̚͘͘̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅņ̸̢̧̡̡͇̘̤̼̲̪̲͚͕̜̺͙̗̼̤̳͎͎̹̬͔̹̯͖̭̖͚̦͈̤̥̯̤̩͎̠͚̹̦̜͓̙̘͇̭̭̯̖̈̈̍͒̓͜͜ͅę̸̧̡̢̨̛̬̤̣͙̗̼̞͙͈̜͈͍͉͔̦̪̣̝̳̣͇̯̘͈̞̦̫̖̤͙̪̤͓̠̗̣̻̞̲̮̩͉̜̥̗͇̱͉͉̳̯͖̗̪̰̟̣̻̮̫͇͓̜̹̺̱̘̖̒̀͆̈́̽̆̐̊̈̊̽̿̔͌̾͌̊̇́̏̎̎͌͛͑̑̇̃̆̓̂͊̑͐̌̂͒̈́̑́̌̈̈́̎̉͆̊̒͂͛̔̉͐́͗̌͋̓͛̒͂̏̉̉͒̋͌̀̔͑͛͊̍͌̈͐͒̊̂̎͆̎̍̃̈̊̒̍͑̄̏̌̈̓̾̓͛̓̊́̽̽̆͋̇͑̀̿̑̓͋̾̑̆̀̈́̓̿̉̋̕͘͘̚̕͘̕͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝ͅͅ!̷̨̡̢̢̢̨̧̧̧̡̢̬̳̘̟̯̼̝͇̫̳͓͉̹̖͓̦͖͍͙̦̰̮̻̟̺̯̟̙̦̺͔̙̜͇̼̥͙̹̜͓̟̤͚͙̞͇͙̭͚̖̜͚̯̲͉̟̳͕͉̙̹͉͚͍̲͖̥̤̝̣̝̩̭̥̭̯̺̹̻̲̓̐̏͑̀̂̒̔̐̈̋̎́̿̍̔̂͋͑̆̕̕͜͜͜͝͠ͅ

The people of the village tried to protect it. A young girl, no older than Marnie, ran at them. She has fish scales embedded in her skin. She aimed a spear at a hunter’s face. Her head was cut from her body mid scream. A man stabbed in the back as he tried to run to aid the creature. Hunters cut them down, carved out their eyes. Removed the scales from the still screaming woman.

He pleaded for them to stop. 

The screams of the people dying. Of the beasts. Of the woman in the cell. Of Brador. Of so many, converged. They burned Cyril’s hands. His ears rung. He reached out for The resonance again. He caught a string. Brador grabbed his wrist, twisting it.

“Only a fool would so brazenly roam, boy.”

“What happened was wrong! I will end this!” He shouted.

He grabbed his bell. For a moment, its power warped in his hands. He saw the woman that would become Rom making a wish. The essence of ehr power coated the bell. It touched his hands. They glowed with celestial starlight. He grabbed Brador’s head and yanked at the resonance. He would shatter it, like glass. Brador screamed. The voices of the hamlet screamed. Of the Great One.

“A bottomless curse, a bottomless sea. Source of all greatness, all things that be. A call to the bloodless, wherever they be. Fix your ears to hear our calls; Kos, we have beckoned and Kos is dead. Forgive us and curse upon the fiends.”

“Scales are suffering, the grief of Kos. Do you hear it, a sealess void? The Lair of Beasts, where the Blood-mad roam.”

“Curse the fiends true, curse their Children and their Children's Children forever more.”

Brador’s voice warped, as if the words were no longer his own, “Curse the Fiends, their Children too... And their Children, forever true…”

Cyril surfaced, his heart pounding. His hands shook. Breath panicked. Antal was shaking him. It was uncomfortable. A skull floated to the water’s surface. The glow of his hands disappeared like fireflies dwindling in light. The skull seemed to resonate on its own. He grabbed it. He felt his harmonics falter. The curses called from it in a  hateful spiral. The despair of an unjust death.

“The Old Hunters.. They…”

“What the hell was that?” Antal asked. His voice softened and he awkwardly patted Cyril’s back. Cyril smirked. Bedside manner wasn’t Antal’s strong suit. He stared at the skull.

“Brador’s punishment was… to kill all hunters as an act of revenge for this. The people here… they worshiped the Great One. And she cared about them.”

“That’s impossible. None of these things is capable of humanity. Except Rom. But she’s an outlier.”

“Is it humanity? Or something else?” Cyril asked. 

The hunters. Every hunter. Was cursed to be here as penance for a genocide. My god. How could he fight against this now? Saving Aeris seemed so small to the death laid out before him. Did hunters have a right to fight back? These people… everything, even their memory, was taken from them. 

He fell onto his hands and knees in the freezing water. His body shook. He had no right to live. It wasn’t his fault that he was a hunter. But it wasn’t their fault that he died. How could anyone look in the face of such just death, and say no?

“Antal, do we have the right to live?” Cyril asked.

Antal was silent. The hamlet was silent. Only the silence answered him. He wept like a schoolboy. Is this what Antal had dealt with all these years? No wonder Aeris lost her mind. Marnie was going to fail. Dawn may have woken up… but did she deserve to? What if Ms. Anne was lying? How could he trust anything? He cradled the skull. It had innumerable scratches and indentations. Knife carvings. The remnants of a violated fishing village. The curses seemed to warm his heart. He fell face first into the water. The curses… it was warm. He could just shut his eyes. He felt his body panic from lack of air. But his brain was quiet. Save for the buzzing of hatred.

“None of you deserve to live.”

“Were our families worth it?”

“I didn’t want to die!”

“You are vile dredges to humanity.”

“Curse the Fiends, their Children too... And their Children, forever true.”

He was pulled out of the water. His body limp. Mind overrun. He was laid on land somewhere. Something soft under his head.

Another’s bell’s resonance. He opened his eyes. As if a world of time was between him and the hamlet- it all seemed so far away. A man, Asian, stood holding a sword. A bell rang gently, soothingly. It almost drowned out the sound of despair.

The man looked from him, to Antal, and knelt down beside Cyril. He placed his hands on the skull. His voice was sad, regretful. “No wonder the skull became stewed in curses. They who offer baneful chants. Weep with them, as one in trance.”