I looked down at my sword with a sneer. The Pthumerian Elder was dead, and I walked back to his chambers. The resonant bell still ringing as I walked through the corridor. If no one wanted my services then I would be gone.

My slight disappointment was hypocritical as I put up with that useless prospector; Olek was it? Dithering fool did naught but cower in fear against the fire creature. I even had to drag him to the elder. Despicable hunter indeed.

I walked until I found myself at the lantern, the Kirkhammer resting on my back pleasantly. Odd since such a heavy weight as that would have had me struggling to budge it an inch before I found myself in this body. I suppose the entire situation was odd.

A lady dressed in black church garbs in a graveyard? With that gigantic block on her back? With high heels? Madness.

I held out my hand to the lantern and vanished. Disappearing from the labyrinthine graveyard of grotesque half humans. Before being in this game and while I was in it I hated the Pthumerians. Now I met them face to face? I was sad my Kirkhammer didn't obliterate their frail and anemic limbs in just a swing. Feeling the teeth of a werewolf in my neck was better than even looking at the supposed superhumans.

I hadn't always had this strength, and the cost of getting it due to my changed body shook me. But it was far better than becoming one of them.

I hated Yharnam most of all. It wasn't the crazed idiots who tried to kill me, the corpses or the unreasonable populace who were still sane. It was the silence that got to me. So I kept singing to ward off the constant silence.

As I approached the standing doll I still sang, even when I heard the instruments of the dream. "A shave and a rinse, just for her high society, she brought her high society..." I calmed down a little. Still shivering. It wasn't an emotion. I don't think so anyway.

I raised a hand in greeting to the standing doll, to which she responded with a slow tilt of her head. She'd get it soon enough. For now I approached her and did my usual.

The transaction of blood. Using divine if heretical blood I bolstered myself. More strength. Improving my body through the spilt blood and broken bodies of my victims of euthanasia and genocide. It was a miracle, this power and its capabilities. The blood of the gods. In my body. In my veins, in my mind. Enough to kill the Gods themselves.

I grinned maliciously at that thought. But I shook my head and started talking to the doll of this dream, discussing this and that till we arrived at an important part of our conversation. "Hunters have told me of the church. Of the Gods and their love. But, do the Gods love their creations? I am a doll created by you humans, would you ever think to love me? Of course, I do love you, isn't that how you've made me?"

I figured out how cracking a joke with her would go. Poorly. But still I figured I'd make an attempt this time. But then I reconsidered. Yharnam got to me, stuff like this I wasn't good at anymore. My shaking got a little worse. It was more like I was vibrating. The sort of shaking you got when you were cold, but constantly, everywhere, small and insignificant. So small it didn't effect my swings but I could still feel it. I was robbed of my words and voice by Yharnam.

Against the crippling madness and violence I lost a part of myself. I couldn't smoothly interact with anyone anymore. I knew what to do but it'd come off awkwardly. I stood silent, looking straight at her in silence. That was fine. Both of us were inept, we knew some things without being told about it. Like my apathy to her subject.

We knew when the conversation ended, once it did I made my up the stairs to the cottage on the hill. I could feel her turn her head to watch me go up, even though she wasn't in my line of sight anymore. "Ah, right, I forgot to thank you." I turned to her and curtsied. "Thank you very much." She returned the gesture and I left once it ended. Going up the steps till I saw him. Gehrman. I wasn't really in a mood to talk to him but I'd do it if I had to.

Ascend to Oedon chapel. That was all I gathered from our conversation. I wasn't really in the mood to listen to anything else. I went through the other door and took a right, careful to not trample the flowers and went forward.

I found a nice patch of dirt and laid down. My ultimate comfort. Since starting this I've never had the chance to lay down. Always stood up and fighting monsters and beasts. I sat back and slowed down. Feeling the shakes subside and thinking dull slightly.

It had been a long time since I realised what the shaking did. Before the blood starved beast I think. It was ascending a staircase only to be shot at. I walked out the way of it since the two dogs up ahead were more of a threat. As I pulverized his body did I only piece together everything.

The shaking was just me moving quickly. Musket or not it was still a gun. Then I outpaced Djura's Gatling gun. Then I discovered the next improvement on my body.

Quickening. A "lost" hunter art. It was lost alright, but only to a certain extent. Quick dashing into Djura as he fired his church gun I realised what I had done once I reached him. Quickened miniscule parts of myself to let the bullets pass through me.

I still had enough mental capacity left to push him off the roof.

Faster body, faster thinking, turning bullet sized parts of myself into mist, a finger strong enough to pierce the skin, meat and bone of anyone without the Godly blood coursing through their veins. My body was a machine. I was never left gasping for breath, was never hungry nor thirsty.

Except for the metaphysical hunger within me. I had intended to wear the church garb to better display my hypocritical nature. To wear it as I ripped apart an insane denizen with the Beast Claws. Now I had an unending thirst for blood and victory. I wanted to conquer with bloodshed.

I stood back up and both shelved and embraced my wants, shunting my bloodlust for later. Who was next? Go deeper within the graveyard of alien freaks or rip apart another creature in Yharnam? The eye of a blood drunk hunter also lay within my left palm, rolling around and spreading some liquid on my palm.

It must be time. I could feel it, Amygdala was within my grasp. But was it worth it right now? Perhaps.

I rolled the eye around some more before I started playing with it in the mud. Red hair obscured my vision a little. I played with it some more. I was always obsessed with texture. The right amount of fluid to squeeze out while being delightfully firm.

I got on my knees and kept playing. Dragging it through the dirt was fun. You got to fill in parts of it with dirt and mud and soil. The best part was that there was always fluid for it to give. And if you did it just right it was like it was crying.

I began to nibble at it with my molars. Left right? Who cares. I started biting down on it from all sides. Like an encircling army drawing something in deeper. It was completely inside my mouth now. Getting chewed by all the teeth. I swallowed.