Act I
What is a hunt you may ask? Oh, 'tis but a common occurrence in our fair city of Yharnam. Men become beasts, try to kill each other, and so forth. It's a truly tiring phenomenon and I for one am not particularly fond of such a disease. I'm not affiliated with any of the main packs of hunters around these parts, I am an independent hunter, if you will. The Healing Church is just too focused on healing for me. You may also ask what a hunter is. A hunter is but a mere man, armed with blade in one hand and firearm in the other. Nothing special, just a person who kills people. I'm not from around these parts, so the locals get a bit antsy when I walk near their homes.
You see, Yharnamites love blood. Blood-this! Blood-that! Always with their goddamn blood. That's why everyone thinks they're crazy, because they go around drinking blood all the time. What a bunch of filthy degenerates. Unfortunately, I caught the plague some time ago, now I have to kill beasts alongside these disgusting villagers in order to cleanse my blood of their filth.
"Vile plague-spreader.", I mutter as the poor, diseased fool's head rolls down the cobblestone street. I brush as much of the horrific spray of viscera off my clothes as possible. Some of it is caked on in big dry splotches. What a foul sight. The decapitated head thuds as it rolls into the gutter. My nice new leather coat and steel breastplate are all muddled up now.
"It's fucking Yharnam, I should have expected blood.", I say to myself, or at the head. Who knows? I've gone insane at some point, but it's been such a long time that I forgot when. I barely remember what my wife's face looks like. At least she made me this trick-weapon to remember her by. I could never remember the weapon's name. Adalheidis was carved into the grip of the blade. The edge was a bit long for a rapier, but that meant extra stabbing distance. It could even be used as an improvised shortsword. The fun part happens, though, when you sheathe and unsheathe it.
The Adalheidis is quite the weapon when used appropriately. You see the sheath of the blade had heating coils built into it. I could sheathe my weapon and unsheathe for a rapier that chars flesh on contact. I could also lock my sheath to the blade itself, and turn it into a handy, and super-heated, mace. Good for crushing skulls and burning some garbage.
Ca-chunk. I lock the heated coils to rapier blade and get ready for the fight ahead of me. A group of a dozen or so Yharnamites charge towards me, probably because I killed their friend. Some of them have shields, some pitchforks, some cutlasses. This battle will have to take strategy and precision. I listen to the heated coils crackle and fizz in anticipation of the skirmish ahead. I stand still and watch the approaching wave of scum grow ever closer.
The wretched half-man half-beasts rush towards me in an uncoordinated, child-like fashion. A quick pound of the mace easily snaps one shield and crepitates against the soft flesh. A black burn mark stains the slender arms of the man. He clutches his arm, shocked at the new mark on his skin. One quick slap of my mace to the skull snaps his neck and kills him instantly. "Hah, what a pathet-"
I feel a pain in my side. My ego got a hold of my again and weighed me down during battle. The creature had penetrated a weak point in the rift between my breastplate and backplate. I could feel the wound gushing blood. It wasn't long before I realized he was up to his hilt in my lung. I fall to the ground clutching the gash where a rib or two used to be.
My satchel chatters open as I desperately clamor for a a blood vial. My bloodstained fingers wrap around a familiar glass tube. I evacuate my hand and the contents as fast as possible. A blood vial, filled to the brim with coppery goodness. The fragile glass shatters against my upper thigh after I whip it down on me. The energy courses through my veins as I stand and re-adjust myself. A pitchfork seems to materialize in front of me. The man behind it yells something that I don't have time to make out. My mace slots itself between 2 of the twisted prongs. I'm able to wrench the fork from his hand and throw it into a nearby alleyway. His head makes a cracking noise as it makes contact with the coils.
As the mace collides with the head of a foe, I slip the coils down into the leather bag that I keep them in. The metal snaps into place as I unlatch the rapier from the heated iron. I slash upwards as I remove the weapon. The hot sword cuts deep in another pitchfork wielding foe. He stumbles backwards and dies of blood loss on the street.
With iron still hot, I pierce through another adversary and slice the blade out horizontally, massacring his liver. As the blade swipes out from where it was lodged, I manage to strike another local in the ribs with the edge of my sword. His lungs fill up with blood most likely and he stays done for good. I disembowel the man anyways as he tumbles. I take the now warm rapier and stab through the next villager's eye. He dies upon receiving his new lobotomy. 7 more of the militia it seems.
I take out the rapier and slash it against one of their throats' a few times. After the 4th time his head comes clean off and bobs down its merry way. A cutlass comes whizzing down at me. Before it strikes, I'm able to pull the trigger of my pistol and knock him down for a second. I wrestle my hand clean through his chest cavity and take him down. I slash the next two villager's throats with a couple of clean swipes. I become increasingly tired with every slice and stab. I give in and shoot the rest of them on the legs and toss my last molotov cocktail on the pile of writhing bodies.
"Good riddance.", I say now that my cockiness has room to breathe. The fact that I had to use a dirty vial of blood sickened me, although the blood does taste decadent. The wound in my right lung had made nearly a full recovery. The chip on my shoulder was neatly represented by a bit of skull that had found a home next to my neck. I wiped it off felt the adrenaline leave my system as I staggered down the now empty road.