AUTHOR NOTE

Let's get to the credits first before I get sued.

Bloodborne is a Action-Role Playing game developed by FromSoftware and published by Sony Computer Entertainment. I do not own the game, aside a copy of it and I love this game!

RWBY is a American 3D Web Series, created by Monty Oum, bless his soul and may he rest in peace. He developed the series for Rooster Teeth, so nothing of it belongs to me.

There are some OC's and own ideas within this story, all of them are mine in some regard.

Without further due, enjoy the story!

Episode 1

A friend laid to rest

-Ting-a-ling-

….

-Ting-a-ling-

….

-Ting-a-ling-

Slow footsteps echoed alongside the sound of the little chime in the hunter's hand, signalizing his path through the darkest corner of Yharnam's streets.

Unlike the bells strapped around the church giants, giant creations of the healing church used to assist the hunt, this bell had a very high and clear ring sounding through the streets. It wasn't loud or intimidating, but upon it's sound, all windows within his range dimmed down and the curtains quickly closed. The inhabitants of the city were accustomed to hunters stalking the nightmares at the hunt, but THIS one was different, far more different.

This hunter was the outsider. The detested outsider.

It wasn't just him. The town naturally despised the world outside their borders, cutting all ties with it and refused any form of interaction with it. Anything that originates from there was treated with the same manner, hunter or not.

But not only did they despised this outsider, but also feared him. The sight of him was truly menacing, whenever it's day or night, his hunter jacket stained scarlet by the countless hunts, the iron pads on his upper body decorated by slashes of his prey and the charred black long overcoat, giving him truly the appearance of a being of the night. One you didn't want to meet alone.

His face was hidden behind a high collar and a tricorn hat with a pair of large feathers hid almost everything around him, only his piercing eyes glancing beneath them.

Eyes of cold steel and perhaps something more vile inside than the beasts skulking the night.

Eyes which have seen horrors of which many men wish to forget. Horrors, which made even the strongest willed crumble and reduce them to a crying infant.

Oh, how much they hated him. How much they'd wanted to see him dead, body disemboweled and fed to the vile beasts in the streets. But nobody dared, all too knowing what happens when this beast was challenged. So they settled themselves by calling him names, avoiding him like the plague and hating, hating and even hating him more.

The outsider didn't care about the opinion of the citizen, as he knew his position as a hunter.

His task was to hunt within the shadows, there which nobody would stare for too long. The beasts within them were his prey.

And so he did.

Then he heard a faint sound in the distance, followed by a rather sweet smell, penetrating his nostrils within the collar and upon pulling it down, he took a deep whiff of the scent in the air.

It was the scent of prey nearby. Feeding on an unfortunate victim, being at the wrong place and wrong time, judging by the guttural sounds and the ripping of flesh.

The hunter placed his collar up again and creeped slowly to the source, his footsteps carefully placed. The trail led him down a dark side-alley, a typical place for predators to wait for unsuspecting prey to show up and then proceed to devour it in peace.

The sounds came closer, as did he, hands slowly moving towards his armament, a large, back serrated knife with a retractable blade, his fingers ready to pull the small lever attached at the guard.

As he turned around the corner, he came to a rather nauseous sight, something he's never accustomed to despite being in this line of work for some time.

The sight of human devouring another, especially one that was still flailing and trying to shake off the attacker, who's jaws were firmly planted into the side of his neck. The hunter mustered the man, tattered noble coat and a bottle of wine smashed on the ground. A drunk who forgot time and didn't go home when the warning bell tolled.

His mistake.

The victim, struggling for sheer survival, spotted the hunter and attempted to call out to him, but was brutally interrupted by his assailant, biting a chunk from his throat, causing the blood within to splatter throughout the air, springing forth like a fountain. His hand, still tried to reach out for the hunter, who remained still and just watched. A flicker of fury and despair light within the man, before his body fell limb and the flicker within the eye turned into darkness.

The assailant kept tearing through the flesh, drinking greedily the blood which gushed out and biting off big chunks of meat. Now the hunter took a better look upon the cannibal, recognizing a familiar wrap of cloth around the head and a set of tattered robes. And it was then, when the assailant turned towards the hunter, one eye revealed through the bandages around his blood-stained face.

"Good evening, Gilbert." The hunter said calmly, tilting his hat as a greeting, ignoring the corpse next to his acquaintance.

As if waking from a dream, Gilbert shook his head and stared in horror at the human he just killed. "N-no! This cannot be! It happened again…" he sobbed, covering his face in shame and dropping onto his knees, weeping at the loss of his humanity, all while in the presence of the hunter.

Gilbert Goldberg, one of the very few citizen who didn't treat the hunter with the same hatred as the other townsfolk. Being a former outsider himself, Gilbert came to this place years ago to cure his ailment, something which bought him time. Giving him hope a little longer.

'So much for that hope', the hunter said in his mind, allowing Gilbert let his feelings burst free. The hunter pitied him, seeing how the once coughing and kind man, who invited him to a cup of tea from time to time, became this carnivorous thing, preying on former, fellow humans. He was surprised and impressed of Gilbert's will to stay human within his mind, despite being have warped by the beasthood.

Well, that was the case as long his hunger didn't surface.

And now it happened again. Another life lost to the beastly scourge and the hunter weight his options.

He was a hunter and before him stood a potential beast.

But he was also an old friend, the only one who gave him a place to stay outside the hunts. Perhaps he could help him?

The hunter discarded the thought and gripped his blade tighter.

No, once one falls to the beastly embrace, there was no turning back. There was only the depth of how far one will descend into the inner beast.

Gilber hasn't changed much appearance wise, his nails grew and turned into curved claws, small sprouts of fur covered his body and his pupils were splattered, colored in a sickly gold. If one were to cover those, perhaps he…

Again, the hunter discarded the thought. No matter how much he'd hide, he could wrap him in a ball of cloth, the hunger which Gilbert felt couldn't be hidden. The hunter had to accept the facts which lied before him and he was about to do his duty as a hunter.

"…I came to this city long time ago, thinking this 'healing blood' would allow me to die human…" Gilbert said, tears still rolling down his warped face and looked at his transformed hands. They tightened themselves to fists and he turned towards the hunter, actually towards the weapon he held. Glancing at the weapon, the hunter recognized fear within the collapsed iris, the same fear which most of his prey held when they saw the blade. And when fear gripped a beast, they tend to lash out in self-defense, just to survive a little longer.

The hunter was ready for an assault, but what he didn't expect for Gilbert bowing his head and laid his arms before him, giving the hunter an exaggerated bow.

"…friend. Will you release me from this horror? I just cannot stand the thought of harming another fellow human. The voices in my head, memories which are not my own, they just don't stop. So please, free me from this living-!"

Gilbert couldn't finish his sentence, as the hunter disappeared in a cloud of smoke before reappearing right before him and slashed his short sword downward, splitting his old friend's head clean in half. Beastly blood sprayed from the body, splattering onto the hunters cloak and face.

Then the rest of the body just fell limb, slumping to the ground with a hollow thud. The hunter slashed his sword aside, clearing the blade of Gilbert's blood and then glanced at the new corpse before him.

Pain, not unbearable, but overwhelming pain flashed through his mind, as the dying thoughts of his friend sounded one more time.

The massive gate of Yharnam, after a long-time travel, hoping to find a cure for "his" incurable illness, alongside the fellow wanderer "he" met on the way.

"His" initiation into the ranks of a Healing Church hunter, the fellow wanderer congratulating "him" with an extra-large tankard of ale. Oh, how drunk they wandered the roads, both bumping into several street lanterns before stopping at "his" house and parting ways.

A city in flames, screams echoing through the air, as "he" strengthened the flames "his" flame sprayer, before the gaping maws of a beast hurled itself out of the flames and buried it's venomous fangs into "his" shoulders, only for them to be broken off by the fellow wanderer, extending his hand towards "him" and pulling "him up to his feet" to continue the purge.

Coughing blood into "his" hand, as the Ashen blood takes it toll on "his" body, the fellow wanderer giving "him" antidotes to ease the pain. The fellow wanderer kept visiting "him", but the visits became less and more seldom.

A hunger plaguing "him", the hunger for the life essence within all living beings. It kept calling to "him", tempting with the sweet smell of it.

And then the sight of the fellow wanderer standing before "him", greeting calmly while "he" was ending the life of a human.

Then finally, the fellow wanderer delivered his blade towards "his" head, slicing it clean in half. Ending the torment "he" suffered for so long. Darkness quickly settled, coating "him" in a dark blanket, but two words escaped "his" dying breath.

"Thank you."

And that was when the images ended, so did the life of Gilbert Goldberg.

As the flood of images faded into the depths of his mind, the hunter stumbled backwards, his back hit the wall.

It was just the usual, new memories flooding into him after his slain victims, usually they are just simple thoughts, thinking pattern of an average animal, he paid them no mind.

Human memories however, that was an entire different cup of tea.

Their entire life flashes through their mind at the moment of their death, from starting to walk as a toddler to the very few moments before their deaths.

The hunter never got used to them, no matter how many times he obtains the echo of the fallen.

He felt something wet running down his cheek, perhaps a droplet of the blood must have splashed onto his face. His sight turned blurry and he feared that he was infected with the beastly blood.

But when he brushed his glove at his face, he found pure droplets of water instead and then he realized that he was crying.

Of course he'd be crying, after all, he just killed his best friend. They didn't stop dropping and he had to wipe several times to make them stop.

He just didn't feel the sadness or remorse of doing the deed. The tears just kept coming, showing his human side was still within. Yet his mind was steeled and adapted to the hunt, losses were common. Having a friend dying was a horrible thought, but one's duty as a hunter came first.

To hunt and slay the beast before it could get away. As long one hunter kills the beast, then every sacrifice is worth the prey.

The hunter almost became the next prey, as the large scourge beast lunged itself forward, teeth greedily aiming to sink themselves into his flesh. But his teeth met with smoke, as the hunter pushed himself forward, disappearing and leaving only a trail of smoke behind.

A silent curse slipped through his lips, as the hunter realized the scent of the two corpses must have lured it straight toward him. In this tight alley, fighting a scourge beast was nearly suicidal and the best choice of action would be to retreat into an open space.

His eyes briefly blinked at the body of Gilbert and he cursed himself again.

For being sentimental for someone he just killed.

"A hunter must hunt, just like you said. Ey, 'leen?" he muttered to himself.

The index finger moved toward the lever of his blade and upon pulling it, the once short blade extended into a spear-length sword. The scourge beast's eyes focused on the hunter and charged forward.

And the hunter did the same, sprinting forward, dragging the sword after him and readied himself for the impact of the beast.

The two collided, teeth sunk into flesh and steel drove itself through not only flesh, but bones, vital organs and exited from the beast's fur. And with an outward pull, the blade gruesomely cut its way out, covered in beast blood.

The scourge beast howled in agony and tried to pull away, realizing that this prey could kill it.

But the beast couldn't pull away, his head was locked in a iron grip of the hunter, teeth still embedded into the shoulder of the hunter.

By pulling the lever on his sword, the blade retracted into its smaller form and was placed at the belly of the beast. The hunter pulled the trigger again, allowing the sword to extend to it's full length, piercing right through the beast again.

And the hunter pulled the lever again. This time aiming for the leg.

And again.

This time through the throat. Fingers tightened around the lever.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Drenched in the foul blood, the hunter released the mutilated corpse and let it drop like a bag of potatoes. He glanced at his left shoulder, the cloth and armor was easily pierced and blood kept flowing from it. It would be rather dangerous to hunt with this wound, so he had to tend to it quickly.

His right hand reached for his belt, opening a pouch and pulled out a vial with a needle on its end. The content of the vial was a sickish red fluid, it's sight brought fear and relief at the same time to the hunter. Flipping it around, he drove the needle into his thigh, letting the content of the vial flood his system.

The pain in his shoulder subsided, as he felt how the flesh started to stich itself back together, nerve tissues reconnecting again and the by beast fang pierced clavicle, scapula and glenoid quickly regenerated within a blink of an eye. Then he tossed the vial aside, needing it no longer.

The hunter then gazed upon the corpse of Gilbert or what was left of him. Seeing how the blood had easily attracted a scourge beast, it was only a matter of time until new beasts would come to feast on this corpse. And that would have been a disgraceful way of treating the dead, the hunter thought.

Reaching for another pouch in his belt, he pulled out a urn made of clay, it's lid closed tightly until he popped it with a flick of his thumb, pouring it's black and sticky oil over Gilbert, it's stench filled the air, almost overpowering the aroma of blood. He then pulled a square shaped object from his pocket, flipping it open and ignited the flint stone, creating a small flame in his hand. The sight of the fire lighter gave the hunter memories of old, of a time before the hunts.

Before he ascended and degenerated at the same time.

Kneeling down, the hunter applied the flame to the oil and it's destructive warmth embraced Gilbert, illuminating the alley in a bright orange, the stench of burnt flesh quickly seeped through the air and stung into his nose.

The sight of the fire brought some comfort to the hunter, as it's heat warmed his body and offered temporally a sanctuary against any form of beasts. They feared the flame, more than anything else, not even their thirst for blood could get them anywhere near it's deadly touch. Next to the incense, the fire was the best thing to ward off the beasts, becoming a shield of the horrors of the night.

And it allowed the hunter to give a proper burial to his friend. One far better than the one's he gave in the past.

The bell tolled heavily, signalizing midnight and the moon laid high in the sky. Howls filled the night, accompanied by screams and gun shots and the hunter had to move. His duty as a hunter required his presence and his blade.

Turning one more time to the charred body of Gilbert, he gave a small bow and walked away.

"Please rest. I'll join you eventually, old friend. And dear Oum, please give him the rest he deserves." offering a small prayer, using the name of the one god outside this cursed place, the hunter then did what he did best.

He hunted.

Taking out his small bell from his pocket, he rung it several times while walking down the road. Perhaps some hunter would need his assistance, maybe not in this world.

After all, the night was just beginning and his blade thirsted for beast blood.

-Ting-a-ling-

….

-Ting-a-ling-

Author Note:

Hello dear reader, thank you for stopping by and reading this project of mine.

I'm a huge fan of the RWBY and Bloodborne franchise, so I decided to give it a go and write this.

I must warn you, I write at the pace of a dying slug, so if you have the patience, I would be delighted to see you in the next chapter.

Kind regards

Your author

KnighteyNighteyKnight