Steel cried as it cut through air. The crisp crack of gunfire echoed across the meadow. Flesh was torn like paper. Blood spilled like water.
Gehrman wielded his scythe with a deadly efficiency. Each movement cultivated through countless years of practice. The blade of his weapon carried decades of experience, which Gehrman made evident with every swing. The edge of his weapon gleamed in the pale moonlight, rending leather and flesh alike with his supernatural strength.
Ah, but his opponent was no charlatan either. Attacks that were not outright dodged barely even fazed the hunter, who powered on with an almost maniacal recklessness. The hunter wielded a sword, many sizes greater than he, each missed blow carving great chunks of earth from the meadow. The much smaller sliver sword allowing for a greater range of movement and attacking.
At first glance, they were evenly matched. A trained eye would tell a different story. Gehrman had his opponent on the ropes. A narrowly avoided strike had him off-balance, the soles of his boots slipping against the dew of the grass in his haste. Gehrman's eyes gleamed - it was over.
His opponent gasped as the blade sunk deep into his chest. Blood burst from him like a fat leech, before he expired with a sigh; his body fading to glittering light before disappearing completely. Gehrman lowered his weapons, allowing a few labored breaths through his nostrils. The power granted to him by the moon fled from his body.
What had once been clumsy strikes were now swift and deadly, with each attempt the hunter came closer to besting him. For now, he could rest...but only for a moment. How long had it been since he'd been challenged so thoroughly? The years were lost to the old caretaker. Buried under years of hunters that had come and gone through the dream.
His opponent fazed through the fog minutes later.
"Will you give it a rest, hunter?" Gehrman called. "You've done your part. You can put all of this behind you. Why won't you see reason?"
Pale-blue eyes glared back at him. Gehrman could just remembered a time where those eyes had been so afraid. When his shoulders had quivered like a frail leaf in the wind. Each step taken as if his very shadow would lash out at him. His eyes were a darker blue then.
Now his eyes were like iron. Powerful and broad shoulders accentuated his natural height well. His stance was relaxed, but firm and coiled; ready to move at a moments notice. The boy had been thrown to the fire, hammered like steel, and was all the stronger to show for it. The boy had grown to suit the hunters attire well. Gehrman felt bitter pride rolling through his chest.
"You've come far," Gehrman remarked softly. "I can scarcely recall when you were just a scared boy, barley able to look me in the eye."
The steel in the hunter's eyes softened, but never moved from Gehrman – they both knew his head would be swiftly removed if he dared. Either hunter could start the fight anew in but a moment. A flick of his wrist and his blade would slice him in twain. The same could be said for the man across from him. While Gehrman was far more skilled, his adversary made up for it with raw strength. A single blow could send him flying with shattered ribs if Gehrman was careless. Blades gleaming, muscles tensed, the two prepared for the fight to began. The pause would not last.
Yet, neither moved to attack.
"Why do you persist?" Gehrman asked. "Have you not had enough killing? Don't you want for it all to end?"
No words came in response. The veil over the hunter's mouth concealed his expression, if he had any. His eyes said enough to Gehrman, though. The wizened hunter could see all of the emotions flickering across his eyes, he was quite the honest soul. Determination. Resolve. Nothing like the hunters whose sanity had been ripped away by the hunt.
...Perhaps he wasn't as mad as Gehrman first thought?
No. No, he had to be mad. To desire anything but the waking world was...inconceivable.
"...I heard you," the hunter said at last, voice but a soft whisper. Gehrman felt the blood in his veins freeze.
"When you slept," he elaborated. "I heard you."
For a very long moment Gehrman held his breath, letting it out in a drawn out sigh – finally understanding why.
The fool.
"That's it then, is it? You want to relieve me, of my duty?" Gehrman snorted, his eyes crinkling in mock humor. "It isn't madness that grips you then. You're in your right mind, it's a shame you're still so stupid."
The hunter did not reply. Gehrman sighed.
"You are too kind for your own good."
"I owe you everything," he replied. "Let me do this thing for you. Awaken from this nightmare. I will take your place."
Gehrman chuckled, sweat dripping from his brow. "Our roles have reversed."
"I'm serious, Gehrman. I wa-"
In one swift movement, Gehrman lunged forward. The hunter had expected more talk, so his step came out far too late to avoid the fist that smacked against his stomach with a horrible crack. This stunned him, leaving him unable to react as his weapons were batted out of his hands. A swift but powerful kick sent the hunter tumbling onto his back.
"I know you're serious," Gehrman whispered. "That's why I must do this."
Gehrman's scythe pierced through the padded and hardened leather of the hunters attire with ease. Carving through flesh and sinew, before exiting through his lower back into the earth. The hunter gasped in pain, gripping the pole of the scythe and pushing hard against him. Gehrman planted his boot against the head, the probing metal cutting deeper into his abdomen. Blood spilled from the wound, gushing and slipping down his sides. With pained grunts he tried to rise, to strike against Gehrman with his fists, but a protest came in the form of wicked sharp metal cutting deeper; sending lances of agony through him.
"Go, hunter." Gehrman chided to him. "To the light. To the sunrise."
Blood rose up from his throat, the coppery bite lingered on his tongue. "N-No! I refuse!"
Another sad sigh worked itself up from Gehrman's lips. His boot came down again, pushing the scythe down into the hunter to the hilt. A low cry of pain sounded as Gehrman stomped once again, effectively pinning the hunter to the floor; before settling beside him - outside of arms reach, in a seated position.
"Then we will wait here until you change your mind."
"I w-will not," the hunter gasped. Darkness was encroaching from the edge of his vision, now. The sensation of cold metal fading away. Even the pale light of the moon was fading away. Another moment and the dream would take him. Just a few seconds more and he wou-
Then, something pierced his leg and the sensations began anew. A fresh scream ripped from his throat, before his bewildered eyes looked towards his legs – where the piercing occurred.
An empty blood vial dropped from Gehrman's hand.
"You will," Gehrman whispered, taking another vial from the hunters pouch. Their eyes met, and the hunter saw a great deal within his mentors stare. His eyes were crinkled, with wrinkles enclosing each socket. In them he saw something he'd never seen from the old man. Resolve. Determination. Yet, there was such sorrow in them. The resolve was bitter. The determination was desperate. Emotions the hunter had never seen on the old man's face.
A cycle began. The blade digging into his stomach would teeter him to the edge of death, and before it's icy embrace could take him – Gehrman would drag him back with a blood vial. It was painful, of course; but compared to the hazardous poison birthed from the starved beast? How his ribs cracked and shattered when the cleric beast smashed him against stone? Gnashing teeth and claws rending his flesh apart like wet paper? The cacophony of voices the winter lanterns imbued to his mind?
This, he could endure.
"So you'll just grit your teeth and bow your head, then?" Gehrman scoffed. "Of course you will. That's how you've always been."
The hunter felt a hand reach into his pouch, grasping at the contents within.
"Someone like you would need a bit more...convincing."
A thick smelly substance was poured onto him, soaking deep into his clothes. It's scent was familiar to the hunter.
"This is your last chance. Surrender yourself to the waking."
He struggled feebly against the blade in response. Gehrman let his head hang low. Muttering something unintelligible to the hunter.
The sound was crisp, instant. The hunter recognized the sound at once – he'd used the tool many times, himself.
Fire paper.
"Daytime comes, hunter. As it has for so many others, let the light guide you."
Gehrman let the paper fall from his hands.
For the first few seconds, the hunter would liken it to the heat of a campfire. A distant warmth that made him feel safe, protected.
Then it spread to his skin.
It wasn't the first time he'd been set on fire, he'd even died to the flame before. In those times, he was able to put himself out, or darkness came and took him back to the dream rather quickly. Here, each movement sent even more pain coursing along his veins. Yet he had to move, his primal mind begged him to roll about and tend to the flames licking at his skin.
A wretched scream loosed from the hunters lips, as the fire scorched skin and bone. The agony was ceaseless, each nerve screaming at him – each one yelling the same message.
Pain. Indescribable, inescapable pain.
After what felt like an eternity, the fire burnt away his nerves. The hunter could feel the fire charring him, but it was dull and muted. The dream called to him, gathering him up in it's embrace. Ready to whisk him away from this.
Then something struck him in the leg, and fresh pain wracked his form. Patches of flesh that had blackened and burned were renewed. Nerves that had singed shut connected, the flames embracing them at once. The sweltering heat charring it just as easily. Any sense of rational thought disappeared behind a veil of agony.
Gehrman dropped an empty blood vial. His hands sporting similar burns, teeth grit in pain.
"Do you see it now!?" Gehrman declared. The hunter could no longer see. His eyelids had been burnt shut. "Daytime comes, hunter! Embrace it! Succumb!"
Another blood vial. Renewed agony.
"Are you some kind of masochist!? Do you enjoy this!?"
Gehrman cracked another oil jar over him. The flame covering him swelled. Another scream rolled from his lips as the heat boiled his blood.
"Go to it! It calls for you!"
Two blood vials this time.
His body convulsed, Gehrman's scythe tearing into him with each fitful movement.
Another vial.
"Damn you," Gehrman hissed. "I chose this. You understand? I am here because I wanted to be here."
Another vial.
"You, though? This isn't what you chose. You didn't contract yourself to this. You've fulfilled your end of the bargain. The hunt is over for you. So just wake up already!" Gehrman's fist cracked against the hunters cheek. Gehrman hissed as the flames kissed his knuckles.
The flames began to fade, as was the nature of fire paper. Even with his body as fuel it would not last forever. The hunter strained, the flesh of his eyelids protesting as he forced them open. The heat had not spared his vision as darkness greeted him even when he was certain he'd torn his eyes free. It wasn't important. Once he died his vision would be restored. His body protested as he attempted to rise, the scythe buried in his gut reminding him he was still very pinned.
Gehrman had run out of blood vials. Death would come for him, soon. Just a little longer...
The hunter sagged in exhaustion. The fire had faded to cinders, leaving his nerves too singed to feel what was, without a doubt, excruciating pain.
"Still kicking, then?" Gehrman asked. His tone was more subdued, less frantic. The hunter moved his head in the direction of the noise. The hunter didn't – couldn't reply. His lips had seared shut. A silence persisted between the two. The hunter was waiting to die, he would soon as Gehrman had no more blood vials. Gehrman himself was at a loss. Even fire hadn't been enough to send the hunter to the waking. If this sort of suffering would not do, what possibly could?
A treacherous thought sparked in the mind of the first hunter. The boy was a slave to his emotions. They tethered him even now, dragging him through pain like a cockroach.
They would set him free.
"Would Eileen have wanted this for you?" Gehrman asked. The hunter's gasping breaths stopped, but not because he had perished.
"Eileen woke from the dream, and for good reason. She saw that the night has no end, otherwise. Why won't you?" Gehrman wracked his head for the many names the boy had shared with him. They were plentiful. "Your woman of the night? Arianna, was it? She certainly cared enough about you, to give you her blood. Would she look kindly upon what you seek? Iosefka? That woman from the clinic, if I remember right. She cared for you, as well. Was this the fate she envisioned for her noble hunter?"
Gehrman paused, muttering a silent apology to the boy.
"What of Gascoigne's girls?"
"S-Stop," The hunter croaked, tearing his lips apart to speak.
"Stop?" Gehrman echoed. "Oh, no. It doesn't stop. It never stops. Don't you see? You don't even know what you're getting into, do you?"
Gehrman laughed, then. A crazed, unhinged laugh that shook his tall frame.
"Let me tell you a story."
His laughter died to chuckles. "It is paradise, at first. The peace of residing among the leaves of the garden. The sweet, gentle scent of the flowers blooming. The view is astounding - inspiring. The moon gleams so beautifully against the night sky. Many hunters will come and go; relying on your guidance to see them through the night. Your insight will prove invaluable. The hunter will succeed in their hunt, and choose to awaken - one way or another. For a many glorious years, you'll happily call this place your home." Gehrman's voice crept uncomfortably close to the hunters ear. "It is a gradual change. One day you go from loving the crinkling of the leaves, to only liking them. Wait long enough, and wait you will, and the noise will be like the grinding of rusty gears. The sweet smell of flowers will cause bile to rise from your throat."
"You'll vacate the gardens. All but barricade yourself in the workshop. Immerse yourself in the plethora of books that have been collected over the years. Some written in dialects long lost to us; taking your time to dissect languages you've not the faintest idea of. Perhaps you'll even sit down and write a book or two of your own. You'll take to your illustrations though, won't you? Hone your skills, whatever skill that is, to even greater heights. Anything to alleviate the maddening monotony."
Gehrman laughed giddily, softly this time. As if he were sharing an intimate secret. His breath passed along the hunters charred ear. "Even this, is not the worst of it. No. At last you'll think of your friends, your family. Their faces so clear and vivid in your mind. Their voices can still be formed in your thoughts with startling clarity. Their laughter still ringing in your ears. Jokes and quips, moments that bring a smile to your face."
"Then, one day, you forget." Gehrman's voice broke, his throat not accustom to such a lengthy speech. His eyes gazed through the clouds at the moon.
"You forget them one day at a time, not even realizing they are being buried under the endless leaves and book pages. You'll realize that you cannot recall the lines of their faces. The color of their eyes - their hair, all of it will be lost to you. With terrifying haste you'll construct a visage of their person, in a desperate attempt to remember what they look like. A drawing." Gehrman cast his gaze to the workshop. "A doll. You will scream into the wind until your throat bleeds. Beg and plead to be freed, if only to see their faces once more. When no one responds, you'll call for them. Soon enough you will realize that no one is coming, for you have been left behind long ago."
"The moon is no longer so beautiful, then."
Silence persisted between the two, until the hunter felt Gehrman take his charred cheeks into his hands.
"Please," Gehrman pleaded. "Do not tread my path. This dream is a curse; my curse - not yours. You don't want this."
A few wet droplets stung the hunters face.
"Be freed from the night."
Then, the hunter finally expired with a sigh.
Gehrman felt his charges presence vacate the dream moments later. Tears fell from Gehrman's face, as he wept in equal parts joy and sorrow. What he'd done to the boy...he would hate him forever - or perhaps he wouldn't? He'd always been kinder than the average Yharnamite.
Gehrman wished he would. That he would spend the rest of his days spitting on his memory. If only to soften the guilt clutching his heart. He'd set the poor sod on fire.
His hunter had escaped the dream. The bumbling, clumsy fool had managed to escape the horrors of the night. He would be free from all of this. That was enough.
"Farewell, my keen hunter. Fear the blood."
Jaune Arc awoke with his back to a tree. His body felt stiff and sore. Even as his eyes blinked away the exhaustion, the lethargy persisted in his limbs. Blearily glancing down at his lap, Jaune was met with the comforting sight of his gun along with his sword and it's cumbersome 'sheathe'.
The calm did not last as he took in his surroundings. His heart began to race, panic surging through his veins. Where was he? What had happened? Gehrman -
Dark shadows with red eyes peaked from the shadows between the trees. Creatures startlingly familiar, yet stark differences poured from the dark. Some he recognized, the werewolves and pigs were largely the same - sans the ivory armor adorning their limbs.
His panic ceased while his hands steadied. This. This was familiar. Beasts were coming. Their stink lingered in the air, a putrid mix of blood and rot. Thick enough to drag the air itself down with their sickness. His body rose unceremoniously, fixing his blade in a languid grip. The small part of his mind that remarked on the greater size of the beasts was squashed and stuffed. Who cared how large they were?
They would die all the same.
The beasts charge was met with fluid strikes. Each slash tore through unearthly flesh. A spread of quicksilver buckshot sent a beast reeling, only for it's insides to splatter on the floor moments later. Claws tore through solid chunks of earth only narrowly missing their intended target. A brief surfaced as the horde lessened to a mere two beasts. More were coming, his ears heard their wails and howls.
A metallic click whispered through the air as Jaune slipped the large sheathe onto his back, the smaller sword detaching a beasts head a moment later. His blade struck much faster this way, allowing for him to dispatch singular foes with greater ease. Silver shone in the night, naught but a whistle as it rent the flesh of beasts. The horde thickened, and the sword was my made large once again. Limbs were severed. Beasts were slain. The hunt was a familiar thing, to Jaune. It's embrace was heady and greedy. Intoxicating. Each beast dead at his feet only took him higher into the ecstasy. Just a little more...a few more...
Then, as suddenly as it began, it ceased. No more shadowy beasts slinked from the dark. A score of corpses lay at his feet. Jaune watched with wild eyes as the beasts began to dissolve. The white armor ground to dust. Bodies fading to black specks. Even their pungent, shadowy blood faded from the cloth of his attire. Convenient. Now, to figure out where he wa-
Something shone from his peripheral vision. His eyes sought out the source.
Light peaked above the horizon of the forest. Slinking through the canopy, bathing Jaune in a warmth he had long forgotten. In all it's glory, dawn had finally come.
No tears came. Even as he felt the shine of the sun sting his eyes, Jaune could not tear his eyes away. Even as Gehrman's pained visage flashed in his minds eye. The painted face of the doll, serene expression etched in, with a single tear rolling down her cheek. How ironic that Jaune couldn't muster a single tear for them, couldn't even move his gaze from the glowing orb. Why should he? Gehrman had sacrificed who knows how many more years of suffering so he could see this.
In the face of all he had endured? Of what others had sacrificed?
Jaune found the glow lacking.
His head clunked against the tree as a tired sigh escaped his lips. A bitter feeling wormed it's way into his chest. One could not even escape beasts under the light of the morning sun. Jaune glared at the offending object, as if his spite would snuff it out. How useless. All of that fighting. All of that suffering - all for naught.
Ah, but he had known this, hadn't he? Eileen stopped dreaming long ago, and look at how things ended for her. The end to dreams meant nothing. There was no escape.
Jaune watched the sun rise until it gleamed from high in the sky, above the canopy and out of his vision. It must have been hours, even though it had only felt like minutes.
The sound of moving foliage drew his attention away from the sun. His despondent gaze fell to the source of the noise. More beasts? Jaune's hand moved for his weapons but stopped short, before retracting completely.
What was the point? There would always be more beasts.
Jaune had no answer. He closed his eyes.
A few moments passed. No claws tore at his side. No maw closed around his throat.
No. A voice called to him. Soft yet loud. Feminine.
"Hello?" Pyrrha Nikos hesitantly called. "I...I don't think this is the time or place for a nap."