Bloodborne: Something Wicked
Chapter One
"New Faces"
"Please, sir, please! Spare me!"
Boots clacked against concrete as Jack circled his newest victim, who he had tied to a support beam.
"I-I'll give ya anythin' ya want! Money?! Armor?! Ammo?! I gots lotsa anythin'!"
Jack pushed his hat up, away from his blood-red eyes. An arm came up, his second hand tightening his glove as he wriggled his fingers into a more comfortable fit.
"Please don' hurt me misteh Jack! Please!"
The hunter rolled his head as he fixed how his bandana sat between his neck and his collar. Stepping up to a table, Jack took hold of a makeshift weapon consisting of a crooked, wooden handle and a rusty saw.
His victim, an overly hairy man with pale eyes and a crooked face, writhed against his restraints, "No! No, please! You can't do this to me! This is crazy, this is..."
He was interrupted by his own screams of agony as Jack drove his saw into the man's stomach. Blood burst from his abdomen as shreds of digestive organs caught on his jagged blade. Organic matter took hold of the rusting metal as he slid the tool back through the skin, swiping at the air to clean the saw of loose shreds. The man screamed and thrashed, blood gurgling in his throat as his crooked jaw gasped for air.
Moving back to the table, Jack set his tool back down to take a flask. Holding the glass jar up to the man's mouth, he forcefully took hold of his victim's neck, shaking the man until he spit blood into the jar. Jack rammed his fist into the man's open abdomen, forcing more blood up, through the man's esophagus and, by extension, into the flask.
The Gothic hunter continued this process until the small jar was nearly full, at which point he sealed the flask and set it back on his table. Grasping his saw once more, he returned to the man, who, through bloody gurgles and gasps for air, managed to utter, "Please..."
Jack took hold of the man's face, digging his fingers into the victim's eye sockets. Only a muffled cry sounded as he tilted the peasant's head back, against the support beam. Flipping a metal switch toward the handle of his weapon, he folded it to make a smaller, more forceful saw. With rhythmic motions, Jack sawed his way into the dying man's throat and through his vertebrae. A simple pull was enough to tear the remaining tendons, severing the victim's head entirely.
Examining the man's jaw as he stalked back to his table, Jack tucked his blade under his arm and wrenched the head's largest tooth out of its mouth. Jack dropped the tooth into a clay jar before tossing the head aside, into a bin that Jack had long since gone nose-blind to.
With an old cloth, the hunter wiped blood and shreds of guts off his blade. Using the same cloth to clean his gloves, Jack set his tool down.
The sound of bone crumbling between grindstone sounded as an ominous voice spoke, "Thirty minutes to sun rise, Jack."
"Good 'morrow to you, too, Charles," Jack greeted his companion, stuffing the cloth into his breast pocket. "I assume Mr. Morgann has requested an audience with me?"
"You are the cripple's only regular," the otherworldly messenger reminded him. "We received a scroll with your name on it."
Jack turned, eying the skeleton, who half-way through some sort of portal in the floor. The scroll was old, practically falling apart.
Chuckling to himself as he fixed how the cuff of his sleeve rested over his glove, Jack shook his head, amused, "Another admirer begging for my assistance, no doubt. I'm on a tight schedule, Charles. Would you kindly decline the offer for me?"
"She said it was urgent," the skeleton insisted, holding the the scroll out to Jack.
"'She'?" he echoed, his curiosity caught once more. After a moment of deep thought, Jack chuckled, "My, my, I had no idea it was that type of admirer. Leave it with the others, if you would be so kind, Charles. I shall tend to it on the 'morrow."
"As you wish," the messenger sighed, crawling his way to a rat-infested corner. Disgruntled, he set the scroll atop seven or eight others.
Jack shoved his latest flask into a sack containing many others with similar contents. Taking it and his weapon, he headed for an old door. With a glance back at the skeleton, he nodded, "Well, 'til dusk, Charles."
With that, he left.
Sylvester Morgann's homestead was not unlike Jack's dungeon, old and rat-infested. The door, however, was much heftier, clearly in need of some oil. Truly, it would take a demon to tear down the door, the way Morgann left it latched all the time. Jack preferred to enter the homestead via the catacombs, which had a secret entrance in Morgann's basement.
"Jack!" Morgann called out as soon as the hunter stepped in the door. "Come here, boy!"
Jack did as instructed, quickly ascending a flight of stairs. The old man, forever attached to his wheelchair, was at his desk, working on a letter of some sort.
Moving forward, Jack set the sack of flasks down on the old man's desk, beside his paper and ink jar. "Courtesy of the Hounds."
"Those beasts still givin' you trouble?" Morgann chuckled, pillaging through the sack eagerly.
"Wounded one around midnight," Jack reported, crossing his arms as he leaned against a wall and eyed Morgann's letter. "Sasha, t'was. Nasty girl, you know. She left me a trail. Got caught in a web along the way. Nothing I couldn't handle, of course, but I lost her scent."
"And that's news?" Morgann inquired, frustrated.
"'Course 'tis," Jack nodded. "Her den's toward the gardens. On the Eastern side of Yarnham. Three nights will see the Hounds' hides are on your wall. And their blood on your desk."
"Good, that's good, Jack," Morgann nodded, taking the sack as he wheeled over to a cabinet, inside of which sat several more jars of blood. "Keep this up and we could be done by August."
Jack followed Morgann at a much slower pace, eying the letter once more. The cripple was only two sentences in, but Jack understood that it was to one of Morgann's allies in the North, likely an informative letter regarding the state of the old man's research. "And what happens in August?"
"You know I don't like discussing my work, Jack," the cripple grumbled, hastily setting the jars of blood next to the others. Replacing them with empty flasks, he returned the bag to Jack. Morgann closed the cabinet before returning to his letter.
"How're our Northern brethren faring these days?" Jack inquired harmlessly, peering over Morgann's shoulder.
"Mind your own business, Jack," the cripple sighed, dipping his quill into his ink jar.
"I see," the hunter nodded. Stepping toward a stairwell, Jack offered, "Send Holloway my regards."
"Goodnight, Jack," Morgann grumbled.
Tipping his hat courteously, Jack replied, "And good day to you, Mr. Morgann. 'Til dusk."
Without another word from either party, Jack moved up the stairs, disappearing into the dark confines of his personal chamber.
The sun had set by the time Jack reappeared, though he and Morgann made little more conversation than a simple greeting. The old cripple was hard at work on his incomprehensible experiments. Jack hardly offered a second glance before returning to the catacombs.
Ten minutes showed him to his dungeon, which was conveniently attached to the catacombs themselves.
As soon as his boot was through the door, Jack got to work. Yesterday's corpse was already beginning to smell, an odor that made the dogs in the back restless. Working silently and efficiently, Jack fed the pack of hounds before clearing his workspace, cleaning his weapon, loading his rifle, and counting the teeth in his jar. After adding the appropriate number of marks to his wall, Jack took his sack of flasks and headed for the door.
His heeled boots came to a halt as the stack of scrolls in the corner of the room caught his eye. The newest note was marked with a red ribbon, symbolizing its urgency. Jack glared at the scroll for a long moment before continuing out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
The night's usual mob had gathered in an old courtyard, where a gallon of Sasha's blood had been spilled out, onto the concrete. The crowd's murmurs quickly dissipated to nothing once Jack entered the courtyard, his makeshift sword in one hand, his primitive firearm in the other. Curious glances watched him as he knelt down beside the largest pool of blood, placing his hand against it. Indeed, it was Sasha's. He had the correct courtyard.
"Skeleton Jack?!"
The hunter turned his head to see that a hairy, bandaged man was approaching him slowly, a club in his hand.
"I've heard stories 'bout you!"
Jack slowly raised himself to his feet, watching the man with piercing, somehow demonic eyes.
"They's told me ya killed one 'them beasts. Why, it ain't e'ery day I gets ta meet a legend!"
Hooking his rifle to his belt, Jack turned to get a better look at the others in the crowd. Five others were already approaching Jack, all from different angles. Many more were silently debating joining them.
"Now, heel like a good dog and I'll kill ya quick. Or you..."
Jack lashed an arm out, grabbing the man's fingers as he shortened his tool. Pulling the infected peasant close, he jammed his saw into the man's wrist. A snap sounded before the man squealed like a pig, his hand coming free of his arm as he stumbled backward, blood spurting from his stump. Jack tossed the hand aside, stalking toward the man, who was screaming on the top of his lungs. The man attempted to retreat but tripped, hitting the concrete with his back. Jack elongated his blade before forcing it through the peasant's ribcage, crushing bone and splattering blood. Using his boot for leverage, Jack pulled his blade down the man's body to his genitals, tearing through flesh and vital organs.
Ripping his saw free of the crying man, he swung at the air, tossing loose shreds into the crowd. Stepping up to the dying man's head, Jack forced the heel of his boot into the man's eye socket, carelessly crushing bone and, eventually, gray matter. Jack's would-be assailant let out one last scream before rolling his head and falling silent.
Taking hold of his rifle, Jack circled the body, looking about the horrified crowd as he spoke up, "Now then, has anyone seen Sasha? Large, hairy, you would never know she was a girl. Vicious bitch, she is. Likely roaming with a limp this time of night. Anyone?"
"One o' the beasts was seen near the Cathedral, misteh Jack," a man spoke quickly through crooked teeth.
"The Cathedral? Of Nightingale?" Jack inquired, glaring at the man as he stalked toward the exit. Once he was confident the peasant had told the truth, he tipped his hat to the crowd and spoke, "Appreciate your help."
He turned and moved for the door, clearly in no hurry. A tall, muscular infected with chains and armor stepped in front of him, dual battleaxes at the ready.
Jack sighed, "There's always one in a crowd, isn't there?"
Another man just as large stepped out behind him, an impossibly large greatsword resting on his shoulder. The second man readied his sword as Jack turned, firing a slug into the first's kneecap. He screeched as Jack moved to his side, jamming his blade into the back of the brute's neck. The vicious beast of a man thrashed, turning to slash at the hunter with one of his axes. Jack propelled himself over the blade, firing a second bullet into the man's other kneecap. Slamming his saw into the man's shoulder and tugging forced the brute onto his hands and knees. The second challenger's sword came down just as Jack withdrew his blade from the flesh and stepped to the side. The metal blade cracked the first brute's skull wide open, spilling gray matter onto the concrete.
The remaining man pulled his sword back to his body as Jack withdrew his rifle and took a second set of wooden handles out of a leather quiver on his back. Quickly attaching it to his weapon, he twisted the blade and contorted the handles to make a scythe just as tall as Jack himself.
Enraged, the challenger swung his sword horizontally, but Jack easily hopped the blade. He spun on his heels, using his scythe to force the man's feet out from under him. Bringing the blade back around, he cut a deep gash in the beast's face, just below his nostrils. The man screamed, holding his bleeding face in pain before swinging his sword a second time. Jack dropped, ducking underneath the metal before swinging his scythe upward, tearing a tendon in his opponent's arm. The limb went limp as Jack brought his scythe straight down, into the brute's side. The man cried and thrashed as Jack moved to stand on top of him, digging a heel into the newly formed gash. Slashing his weapon into the man's throat and leaving it lodged, Jack took a flask from his pouch before reaching down, into the man's body to find a swollen artery, a common symptom of the Plague. Once one was found, he carefully lifted it to use it as a hose, filling the flask with infected blood. As soon as the flask was full, he sealed it, slid it back into his bag, retrieved his scythe, and left the brute to bleed to death on the stone floor.
Removing the extra length he had added to his weapon for the fight, Jack took out his filthy cloth to clean his blade before tossing it aside. He ripped a white cotton bandage off of the chest of his first victim, stuffing it into his breast pocket as the remainder of the mob looked on.
Taking one last look at the crowd, Jack continued toward the Cathedral.
The alleyway before him was long and dark, but a hunter such as Jack was never afraid.
A woman, clearly a fellow hunter, stepped out, into the alleyway before him. One hand on her belt, the other hanging loosely in the air, she greeted Jack, "Mister Jack the Ripper, I presume? It's a pleasure to meet you. My name's Luna."
As he approached her, she held her hand out to him. Quickly, Jack raised his weapon and jabbed the blade at the hunter's face, the metal only millimeters from her nose.
She stared into his eyes, her expression unchanging as she spoke, "No need for alarm. I'm the one that gave the messenger the letter with your name on it. I trust he gave it to you?"
"Perhaps," was all Jack offered.
"Then you know of the plot against you?" Luna questioned.
"When you carry a name like mine, you get used to there being plots transpiring against you," Jack replied matter-of-factly.
"I could only imagine," Luna nodded, suddenly sympathetic. "But you must trust me, I'm here to help you."
They glared into each others' eyes for a long moment before Jack chuckled softly, lowering his weapon, "Whoever taught you taught you well. Your courage is unwavering. But your heart is pounding. I scare you, don't I? Come."
Jack moved around her, continuing down the path as Luna stood still, speechless. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she raced after him.
"I'm after a Hound named Sasha. I've word she's been spotted near the Cathedral. Care to join me in the hunt?" Jack inquired.
"The Cathedral?!" Luna gasped. Moving to stand in his way, she spoke quickly, "No! You mustn't go there!"
"Why not?" Jack wanted to know, glaring into her eyes. "Is that where the Hounds reside? Believe me, I can handle the pack."
"It's not you I'm worried about," Luna assured him.
Jack eyed her curiously, thinking his response through carefully.
Before he was able to breathe a word, a bullet came out of nowhere, striking Jack in the shoulder. Blood flew in the air as the force of the impact threw the hunter off balance.
"Jack!" Luna cried, but the hunter clutched his wound and looked past her, down the street.
Under the soft glow of a streetlight stood five figures of various shapes and sizes. One of them held a smoking rifle. The others consisted of a large, overly muscular man with a large axe; a tall, slim man in a full suit of armor; a shorter woman in an old robe; and an older man wearing a religious headdress and garb.
Quite the group, truly.
Jack attempted to ready his blade, but the wound was too severe to move his arm. Instead, he unhooked his rifle and, with a single arm, aimed it at the group, all of whom had begun toward him and Luna. To his surprise, Luna lowered his rifle with a hand.
Once their eyes met, Luna blinked slowly, speaking solemnly, "I'm sorry, Jack."
She shot a fist up at him, striking him in the nose and knocking him backward, allowing her to claim possession of his rifle. Turning it around, she fired, busting Jack's kneecap. The hunter clenched his teeth but refused to give her the satisfaction of a scream as he dropped to his good knee.
Luna moved to kneel down before him, "Don't take this personally, Jack, please. I have to do this."
Jack used his good arm to grasp her collar, pulling her close enough for their noses to touch, "I will find you, and I swear to whatever god you worship, I will bathe Yarnham in your blood."
As if terrified, Luna pushed herself away from him, taking a few steps back as she stared into his eyes. Swallowing hard and crossing her arms, Luna stepped aside as the knight moved up to Jack, dropping to a knee before him. "So this is the mighty Jack the Ripper? A huge disappointment, truly. And here I was expecting a challenge. Oh, well. I suppose people have a tendency to exaggerate their tales. Kill him."
The woman with the rifle stepped up to Jack, firing a slug into his thigh. Clenching the wound, Jack toppled onto his side. His assailant then forced the barrel of the rifle against his forehead.
Fearlessly, Jack stared up at them, his eyes glowing in the moonlight.
His assailant pulled the trigger, and he was dead.