Bloodborne is the intellectual property of From Software. I do not own any of its characters/ideas, nor do I receive any profit from this work.

When the pale moon hung highest in the sky that night, strange creatures crept out from the shadows, from the place where the Hunter thought she would be safe. Lurking behind a tombstone, uncharacteristically silent compared to the other monsters, it had taken her by surprise. The shadowy Gaoler snatched her away in a sack, took her to a place inaccessible by any mortal means.

The prison was damp. Far below the ground, she figured. Murky, discolored water dripped from cracks in the ceiling. This place did not smell of blood and feral beast like the rest of the town, but of old bones, decaying flesh, despair.

The other prisoners had given up long before the flesh and muscle rotted off their bones and they continued the haunting Chant in unison, each voice barely a murmur. When their bones disintegrated the voices of the broken spirits remained, echoing across the ancient stone walls for eternity.

Maledictus

Donum Libas

Inficimur

A fresh hint of cathedral incense remained beside her. A prisoner who had been here longer than her, but not so much longer. A young woman, very young. She had not yet joined the Chant. Her pale, soft face was unmarked by any scars or imperfections. Stray golden curls peeked from out of her hood. She spoke nothing at first, as did the hunter. Her white hooded robes indicated that of a Sister of the Healing Church. The blood running through the veins of a Healing Church nun were considered the purest, absolutely sacred. Men would kill each other to taste just one drop of her sanguinary perfection.

"Blood saint," the Hunter murmured to herself, her words muffled from the fold of fabric over her nose and mouth.

The crouching figure moved with a rustle of fabric, pale blue eyes peering out from her hood at the one who had addressed her.

"They have not yet hurt me. My blood remains pure. Pray, tell, you are from the Church, yes?"

Her pale blue eyes widened eagerly. The girl's voice was clear and lyrical.
The olive-skinned Hunter removed the piece of cloth so that she could speak clearly.

"No." she answered bluntly, though understood the girl's confusion, for her bloody garb had been taken from one of their Fathers. How long ago had that been? It was tonight, was it not? It seemed like an eternity.

"I am Sister Nuria. Who are you, if not one of the Healing Church?"

"I..." the Hunter searched her memories. "Lost my name in a dream. I am a Hunter, one who purges this land of corruption."

Nuria furrowed her brow.

"Then you are the same as the beasts outside! Oh, will there be no end to my trials?"

The Hunter did not respond. She pulled a fearsome blunderbuss the size of her forearm out from her cloak and carefully cleaned and loaded it as best she could from the light of the small lantern on her belt. She pulled back the safety and pointed it at the ancient lock on the iron bars of the cell, one eye closed to perfect her aim.

"You may wish to cover your ears, Sister."

Nuria clapped her hands over her ears as the Hunter squeezed the trigger. Her shot took far more than the lock; it blew an enormous hole through the corroded metal bars of the cell. Buckshot sprayed in all directions and the nun cowered.

Their ears were ringing from the gunpowder blast, but the Hunter stood up, sliding the weapon back into her bloody cloak. She turned around to the nun still sitting among the muck and grime on the tiles, offering a hand clad in leather to help her to her feet. The nun did not make any movements indicating an inclination to leave yet. She looked at the outstretched hand, and the hand at her side holding a horrible saw-like weapon, beast hair still caught in its serrated edge.

"You wear the garb of one of us, still wet with his blood. How could I trust a Beast?"

The nun's crystalline voice cut worse than a knife. The Hunter clipped the small lantern off her belt and held it up to the girl's face. She was just in her teens, not even a woman. She had only known the indoctrination of the Healing Church, accepted her duty as a Blood Saint with absolute fervor.

The Hunter clipped the lantern back to her belt and extended her free hand once more.

"Come with me, Sister. I have a safe place – "

"Clearly it was not safe enough for you!" the nun retorted.

"We have incense to keep them out of the Cathedral Ward. I will hunt the creatures of the dark outside and keep you safe."

But what the desperate look in the Hunter's eyes meant was "I don't want to be alone." There were so few left in Yharnam still with their wits about them. So few who had not yet succumbed to the beast inside.

The girl dressed in her virginal white stared up at the Hunter's face. Nuria felt the hurt, the loneliness, the horros this Hunter had faced, would still have to face, for the nightmare was not yet over. She lowered her hood, magnificent and well-kept curls of blonde hair springing out, and leaned forwards slowly, closing her eyes. A sweet smile graced the nun's pinkish lips and she kissed the extended hand of the Hunter.

"I will wait. My faith will bring my Brothers and Sisters to me." Nuria said, her soft voice filled with absolute conviction. "May the good blood guide you."

The Hunter felt as though something were obstructing her throat, felt mist in her eyes, but she blinked several times and retracted her hand, shoving it in the pocket of Gasciogne's bloodied cloak. She and the nun gazed upon each other for a long moment, until the Hunter finally crawled through the hole she had blasted through to the hallway outside the cell. She straightened her posture and began a quick stride, fearless. A cloaked Gaoler writhed silently out from behind a column, its corpselike hands ready to grab her from behind. The Hunter saw its shadow looming over her and turned on her heel, and with a flick of her wrist the saw weapon in her hand extended into a jagged cleaver, its serrated edge resembling the teeth of a corrupted hound.

Her weapon plunged into the tall Gaoler once, twice, three times for good measure. The dark, cloaked figure crumpled. Its blood was dark and foul-smelling, like oil. The hunter flicked her wrist once more and the cleaver retracted back into a saw.

Without turning back to look at young Sister Nuria all clad in white, the steady footsteps of the Hunter never faltered, though the echoes grew quieter across the labyrinthine halls of the Hypogean Gaol.

Nuria waited. She prayed, calling out to her Brothers and Sisters and Mothers and Fathers, calling out to Master Laurence, to Ludwig, to the Old Blood, to the Cosmos. Though she could have easily walked out of her cell long ago, she waited for a member of the Church to save her. Her golden hairs turned silver and her lips cracked and bloody as she began to join the murmurs.

Maledictus

Pater do si donas.

Inficimur

Argentum aquae in tenebris.

Finally a doctor visited the nun with a blood ministration. Not from the church, but it did not matter to her anymore. She gave her arm willingly and the syringe pierced her papery flesh.

The purest blood of a Healing Church nun should never mingle with the foul blood of a Beast, lest an abomination be created.

The lost souls residing in the Hypogean Gaol had a new Warden to fear, and her name was Nuria. Her porcelain neck grew long and swan-like to carry her head which was nothing more than a hideous beak lined with layers of sharp teeth. In one clawed hand she clutched a mace, the other a lantern. Translucent feathers have sprouted where there once was skin. Her feminine form still moved quick and silent with the grace of a ballet dancer, her legs elongated and nimble, partly covered by the lower half of the gown of a nun of the healing church. One only heard the rustle of fabric as she approached. Her haunting voice as she led the Chant was either resplendent or wretched depending on the madness of the listener, but it only incited the prisoners to wail even louder.

Maledictus bestia.