OH MA GOOGOO IT DINT CUN OWT ON TIM U R BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTARD!
Well, yeah, I thought up this concept around May, but due to life complications, It has sat in the recesses of my mind, never to be seen, until now! *Dun Dun Dun!*
You can thank ASouffléToServeTwo for its completion… eventually. This will be released in four parts, as this is a long one for a one shot, so sit back, get some Christmas music up in this bitch, and relax with a nice mug of hot cocoa.
The man clutched his coat tighter, his face reddened as the tears slipping down continued to freeze, the scarf scratchy against his neck, chocking him as the layers of trenchcoat layered over him continued to weigh him down. He hated winter, squinting his dried, bloodshot eyes to check the horizon, watching the sun intently.
The spires of Yharnum towered ominous and foreboding, silhouetted against the pale, clear blue sky, the great healing church dominating the skyline as the sun started to tilt precariously over the edge of the horizon. It wasn't reddening yet, but night would fall fast and deep, he had at most a few hours before he had to be indoors. The streets were already dead silent, as the time of year dictated, Robert glancing side to side, hoping he wouldn't find one of the many deviants taking advantage of the "holiday". But, he was alone for now, every door closed and bolted, the shutters on the windows drawn and nailed down, everything of value off the street and secured inside, Robert feeling the eyes on him as he passed their homes. He couldn't blame them, no-one came out on the Red Holiday, no-one save for dire miscreants and perverted deviants. Over the years, as far back and his great grandfather, maybe further, they had developed all manner of ways to stay safe. Causalities went down every year, but there was always that chance, one could never be too prepared.
By nightfall, on the longest night of the year, a locked door didn't count for very much.
He shifted the bag on his shoulder, filled with the foodstuffs and various things he felt necessary. They'd spent the past month preparing as it was, but the extra supplies couldn't hurt. He found a shop still open, letting himself in, the golden bells greeting him with an ironically cheerful tinny as a cold dust blew in behind him, snow scattering over the floor, his breath still foggy as he shouldered the door closed behind him, pushing back the heavy drifts accumulating all around, this winter being especially chilly and wet, snow falling since the tail end of October.
The girl behind the counter, a little on the heavier side, turned around, stepping to the register and giving him a nervous smile. They knew eachother well enough, but everyone was tense as the sun continued to set.
"What can I get ye' Robert?" She greeted, the older man nodding as he caught his breath, the hot air soothing his frostbitten face for a moment, a hot draft radiating from the iron furnace at the corner of the storeroom, the coals quietly smoldering to themselves.
"I was told you had a shipment sweets around this time," He said, "Received a few extra shillings from the mill, a pittance for us hard workers," he added, Helga smiling,
"A lil' somethin' for yer boy?"
"He still believes in the Red Holiday," he sighed, "I told him we couldn't visit the relatives tonight, but he was very insistent we try and celebrate, so I thought getting him a few treats would calm him down for the evening."
"Aww," she cooed, going around to the side and riffling through some crates, the stout woman grunting a little as she muscled the crates around, getting a prybar and pulling a crate open, drawing various aluminum canisters and glass jars with colorful labels, talking as she laid her stock out, "It's always the children who get warmed up this time of year, all the old fairy tales and what-not." She remarked, slowing down with a slight frown, "We were all that way, once." She said, before picking herself up again, Robert transferring what he wanted to the scale to be measured.
"He's just a boy. The brightest and most hopeful of em'," Robert nodded, "He still believes those stories, you know. Every last one."
"How old is he?"
"Nine."
"Nine, he's practically a man!" She nodded, her fingers tapping the smooth, round buttons of the register, erratic clicking filling the room. She gave the register a hard crank, the gears of the finely molded copper contraption grinding and sputtering, before spitting out the shelf, Robert giving her a few silver coins, the faces of Willem and Lawrence staring at him from the counter, before they were placed with their siblings and the door was pushed closed, clicking into place, "Have a fine day, may the good blood watch over yer' family."
"Yers too," Robert nodded, tipping his hat as he put the bagged sweets in with the rest of his supplies. He stepped back out, pushing the door open against the wind, a hail of icy snow and dry wind blowing into his face, blinding him as he stepped into the ally, facing himself to the road as he progressed into a more open square, heading home. The sun was setting further, its rays shining over the layers of ice accumulated in the trees, dancing over the crust of the deep snow all around, the paths dusty with the stuff as the city did its best to keep the roads clear for walking, though no-one was out at this time.
The sky was cloudless, not even the faintest wisps, meaning the starry night sky, and the full moon, would be in clear view, the night turning into a dreamscape of black and white. This Red Holiday would be especially violent, they always flocked to the full moon. The Healing Church would have to send its best men to keep the peace the moment the sun slipped below the horizon, but even then, the struggle between the good blood and the vile blood would never be resolved, not in his time.
He made his way around the empty roads, to his humble tenant at the intersection, creeping the door open and feeling the wind at his back, stepping through and carefully slipping his bag off his shoulder, closing the door behind him. He slid the bolts firmly into place, each one locking with a resolute snap, Robert drawing his master key and securing the deadbolt, butting his shoulder on the door and jimmying the lock to test it, the thick wood solid as freshly milled iron. Red Holiday or not, no depraved hunter would disturb his family tonight.
He hung up his hat and coat, grateful to be inside, the home warm and inviting as he came into the living room. His son jumping up to greet him,
"Papa!" He called, Glenn smirking from her chair while Howell hugged Robert's leg,
His wife came in from the kitchen, holding a glass and giving him a warm smile,
"Welcome home, did you get everything you wanted? Are we alright now?"
"Yes, I left it by my coat." He said, going back out and lifting his bag, taking it to the kitchen with Howell close by, always curious. He took it to the kitchen, setting everything out on the counter, including the various sweets.
"Is that for me?" Howell exclaimed, Robert patting him on the back, "Merry…"
"Christmas, father!"
"Right, right." He nodded, the traditional name escaping him as Howell got into his sweets, about to stuff a fistful of jellybeans in his mouth. Robert slapped him in the back of the head, "I didn't raise a pig in this household." He tutted, Howell putting them down and settling for a few at once, smiling greatly at the sweet sugar, "I know the Red Holiday means a lot to you, even if… well we're not children anymore, but so long as you believe, I won't judge you."
"Why is a time of giving so childish?" He asked, Robert steadying himself for Howell's armor piercing questions, "Christmas is a time of joy and giving, I don't understand why we have to lock the world out every year. I get so many presents!"
"We all do," Robert nodded, the two returning to the parlor while his wife knitted and Glenn just watched. She was a young woman already, her hair reddened with time. She had many admirers, and it seemed likely she would marry in a few years' time, but her heart was full of venom. She'd grown old enough to lose people close to her heart, on the Red Holidays and to the Scourge. Now, she cast a stone at any joy to be seen. It worried Robert greatly, considering the time it was, "but it has a terrible cost." Robert continued, Howell rekindling the argument they'd had since the boy could speak, "You know of the Hunters, the Vilebloods, all of these outsiders that threaten us. They are mad, stealing our good blood, and on this night, they are more active than any other time there is. It's the Winter Solstice, the longest night, afterall."
"They just want to bring Christmas back to Yharnum!" Howell pleaded, "They hang all the traditional decorations, and bring gifts to help us remember! We should be out with them…"
"They are dangerous, son." Robert said, "they are willing to set aside some of their differences in the spirit of good will, yes. But, you know what happens to those who don't follow their imagined rules. They're mad."
"Yeah," Glenn added, "You wouldn't be so keen to play with them, if you met The Krampus." The name sent a chill through the house, but Howell just glared at her, his little fists balling.
"Krampus only comes after naughty children, and I try my best to be nice, I do!" He said, Glenn rolling her eyes.
"Grow up, no-one cares about peace and good will. Sure, they play nice for tonight, but in the end they just want your blood."
"That's not true! Christmas is the happiest time of the year. Everyone gets what they deserve, for one day everyone stops hating eachother and celebrates the good in people, and getting rid of the bad ones."
"Alright," Robert said, stepping between the two. "We have a warm home, plenty of food to eat, and plenty of water to drink. Howell, if you want to celebrate peace in the world, maybe start with this house."
He stared at the floor,
"I wanted to see grampa."
"I know." Robert said, sitting back in his chair, "In another time, we could have celebrated the holiday like you wanted to. But nowadays, well, people just don't have a lot of good in them anymore."
"Robert…" Mary, his wife said in shock,
"Our son knows better," He nodded, turning back to Howell, "I wish the world was the way you wanted it to be, I really do."
Howell slunk down, standing back up and slipping away, opening a door, riffling through several things, and coming back with something cradled in his arms.
Robert went rigid, Glenn and Mary just staring as Howell dispensed the item on the table. It was a potted baby pine, no more than a few feet high and wreathed with colorful bands and ribbons, hung with a few small things, pieces of jewelry, tin cups, spare glass, even quartz stone. At the top, a small, plain star.
Robert's hands grasped the arms of his chair so tightly they creaked as he stood.
"Where did you get that?" he asked, his face white as Howell crossed his arms,
"I made it myself, I've been putting to together all year. You said I shouldn't let anyone tell me what I can't do, didn't you?"
'Son, you can't have that in here." He said, moving towards it, his son stepping in front of him, "Howell," Robert said firmly, "I'm not asking. If the Healing Church finds that in our home, we will be a lot of trouble."
"I don't care!" he snapped, "I don't care what the church says."
"This isn't a game Howell!" Robert yelled under his breath, Howell taking it up in both hands and scurrying backward, "The hunters in Black Robes would call it heresy to celebrate a Vileblood holiday, we could be put to death! I've tried to respect you as my son, but you can't blasphemy the Church, they provide everything for us."
"It's not a Vileblood holiday!" He said, "Christmas is a holiday for everyone!"
Robert caught movement at the corner of his eye, Howell turning as Glenn thrust her hand down.
The sound of shattered porcelain echoed through the house, the pot breaking apart, the sapling falling to the side with the flow of black soil. The ornaments cracked and popped as his elder sister stomped the young tree, the small limbs cracking and breaking off, Robert's youngest just watching in stunned silence as the tree was broken apart and flattened. Glenn took her foot off the mangled sapling, grinding her shoes into the wood to get the scraps off her shoes,
"There, I got rid of the stupid thing." She scowled, watching smugly as Howell burst into tears, crying loudly, "Quit being such a baby!" Glenn snapped, Howell shielding his face a moment, before he lunged forward, pushing the larger woman back a step and shouting,
"I hope Krampus gets you! I do! I swear it by the old blood I hope he takes you away!" He yelled, his voice cracking. Glenn slapped him over the face,
Robert grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling Glenn off her feet,
"Enough!" He roared through his teeth, throwing her over his knee in one hand and drawing the belt off his waist in the other, Glenn looking back, wide eyed at the thick, Iron buckle,
"You can't do that to me!"
"Vile blood I can't!" He snapped, ripping her skirt down, "you want to act like a child, you'll be punished like a child!" Glenn squinted her eyes as he belted her, wincing with each crack. He belted her until she was good and red, throwing her back on her feet and letting her pull her pants up, Glenn gritting her teeth to do so, "Go to your room!" He snapped, pointing, "I don't want to see your face until morning, or your arse will be so red it will start to glow!"
Glenn shuffled away, looking back over her shoulder to curse him,
"You always love him best!" She barked, "I'm the only adult here!" She disappeared around the corner, slamming her door.
Robert turned to see Howell, but he was gone, Robert hearing a second slam a moment later. He went to his chair and sat down heavily, covering his face with his hands, while his wife shakily went back to knitting.
High in the mountains, in a land of endless snow and winter, stands a castle so desolate and far removed from civilization one could believe it existed in another world entirely. Snow fell over the ramparts, the high, ancient stone walls cold and grim, hung with uncountable numbers of icicles, overlooking a courtyard filled with old, brazen statues of old nobility, everything from kings to concubines, the land cold and barren.
In the main hall, ghosts of the past roamed the red carpeted floor, among the marble columns, everything in remarkable condition for the age, as though no time had passed since the executioners killed every living thing. One of them stepped forward and moaned, stepping back and stepping forward and moaning, the moan cancelled midway as she stepped back, then forward, her figure blurring as she stepped forward, stepped back and moaned in one motion, freezing in a blob. An audible beep was heard as she turned a distinct blue with white lettering.
"Oi George, there's a blue screen agin."
"Goddammit, just hit the projector again!"
"Okay, Im hittin' it." A large bang echoed through the chamber, the spoopy ghost going back to patrolling, before it froze again. "It dint work George."
"Hit it harder!"
A second bang was heard, the projection still frozen.
"It steel dint work."
"Harder! Use the big wrench!" a truly momentous bang echoed through the chamber, the projector flickering, and even moving a little, before all of the ghosts went still.
"Oi, I tink dat made it worse."
"Haaaaaaaaaarder!" Several earthshaking booms were heard, dust coming down from the ceiling, before an explosion echoed from the attic, great plumes of black smoke radiating across the ceiling, triggering multiple sirens and torrents of water streaming down the walls, the ghosts shorting out and flying in all conceivable directions, wadding up on the walls and bouncing down the stairs. "You idiot!"
"George… I don't think we fixed it."
"What!? I can't hear you over all the fucking sirens!"
"I said I don think we fixed it…"
"Really!? Are you sure!"
"Yea George, Im praey sure!"
"YOU'RE A FUCKING IDIOT!"
"Sorry George."
Deep beneath Castle Cainhurst, built into the very foundation of the grounds, was a little known network of caverns, and in these caverns, safe haven for all the Vilebloods that survived the purge performed by the Executioners.
In one hall was a long set of tables, where an entire year of hard work was reaching its climax. One of the Vileblood Knights took his spot by the table, the hall filled with the sounds of activity as the Vileblood knights went about their work, putting the final touches on the numerous gifts that had to be given, everything imaginable. Tin cups were polished and ground down to a peerless finish, fine engravings and designs splashed over the sides. Parts smaller than thumbnails were moved around with delicate tools and tweezers, locking into place as clocks and pocket watches whirred to life for the first time. Pipes were hewn down from solid hunks of wood by hand, baked to a perfect finish thanks to exhaust ports from the boiler that warmed the heart of Castle Cainhurst. He got out a little spice rack he was working on, running his hand over the side and feeling pride swell within him at its excellent… roundness.
Wait, that reminded him. Something of dire importance was missing…
He looked around, seeing he was missing his moral support!
"Veronica!" He yelled, "I need you!"
"I'd rather not."
"I am tired to death, do your duty!"
Veronica strode out, her red corset making her chest at least two sizes bigger, a Santa hat dangling over her face, while her skirt reached halfway to her knee, ankle-high moccasins adorning her otherwise bare, oiled legs. She walked over and sat on the table, his eyeballs running all up and down up down and up while she blew the cotton ball of her hat from her mouth, "did you remember my Hot Chocolate?"
The knight was met with a face full of the boiling liquid, the dissolved marshmallow sticky as it dripped down, "Now, now! No one want's a grumpy girl on Christmas!" He tutted,
The Knight narrowly evaded the porcelain cup once containing the delicious Christmas brew as it flew by his head.
"Why am I doing this?" Veronica sighed, unable to cross her legs tight enough to not feel like a denizen of Yharnum's Red Lamp district.
"Are you kidding? Do you know how hard it is to collect bloodsperm and prepare for Christmas at the same time? We have to finish double time, which takes motivation!" He yelled, twirling his pointer in the air, while Veronica polished her Evelyn.
"Blood sperm? You mean Blood dregs."
"No," he said, lifting a vial into the air and pointing at it, "What's this?"
"A blood dreg."
"It's blood, but what are all these little tadpole looking motherfuckers swimming around?"
"I- don't know."
"And what, my grumpy Christmas Grinch, is this used for!"
Veronica stared at him,
"To help Annalise conceive a child of blood." She put a hand to her head, "Goddammit."
He put the dreg down, getting back to work with extra vigor.
"Just be glad you get to protect Logarius on his Santa Claus rounds." He said, "It's the most honorabru and hallowed of all duties in this entire covenant." He whispered, "If only I could be so grossly holy. You should be thankful you joined when you did."
"Yeah, I guess." She said, "So I have to defend this… Christmas, from the church, but Logarius was part of the church, and he lead the Executioner's to destroy the Vilebloods. Clearly he didn't but… how does that work?"
"Ah," he said, "You see, he's a Martyr because no man adored Christmas, or enjoyed his time as Santa, like he did. When Logarius was sent to destroy us, he martyred his faith in Christmas to drive our order underground, secretly joining us and protecting Annalise… and getting horribly, horribly cursed in the process."
"How did that work out?"
There were a set of footsteps, everyone turning as the big man himself came down,
"Ho ho ho!" He bellowed, his red overcoat shaking with effort as the wind wheezed from the fleshy raisins of his lungs,
"What happened to your face?" Veronica shouted, cringing away from the blue, skeletal undead man. She'd heard Logarius lurked around, but this was the first time she'd ever seen him. Logarius paused, his head falling to the side, as his hollow eyes regarded her.
He looked down at his hands, flexing the skeletal digits, bursting into tears after a moment, ice cubes tumbling to the floor as they materialized from his hollow eye sockets.
"There, there Logarius," an attendant comforted, leading him away, "Let's go to the kitchen, the rice crispies should be getting out of the oven."
He left the chamber, everyone getting back to work, the Knight turning back to the sour Veronica.
"And now you made Santa cry!"
"At least I didn't make you dress like a hoe!"
"You have no soul." He murmured, continuing his work. "Just make sure you keep him safe out there."
"Don't get yer nickers in a twist over it," she retorted, "I joined to be a hunter anyway. Hopefully the action out there I better than in 'ere."
The great intellect Archibald, his white hair flowing back and frizzy, stared intently at the smoldering projector, it's exploded remains all around the room.
"Ja, I see ze problem!" He exclaimed, "You used ze large wrench, not ze medium hammer!"
"Yu see George, I knew it wasn't the right tool."
"I… will… literally murder you!"
"Don't worry yourselfs, For I, ze great Archibald shall repair it in a few days, go get some candy." The two left, Archibald dancing, waggling his great belly and singing as great vials of Darkbeast stuff at the back corner of the room continued to produce energy, all manner of brassy odds and ends dancing and shifting in place as the machinery whirred to life, brains floating in broiling pickling jars while electricity gapped across various wires and transistors. Only the Vilebloods understood the immeasurable depths of his genius, allowing him to continue his work, providing them with numerous arcane doo-dads and mind boggling thingamabobbles of intrigue! It was enough to mass produce goods for all of Yharnum within a single year.
He got a call, turning his phonograph off and going to the flickering, mirrorlike plate, turning some various knobs and seeing the Moonlit Lake of Byrgenwerth materialize before him, Archibald Coils sparking and sending electromagnetic energy back and forth to secure visualization of a place that was not right in front of him!
Archibald breathed in that sweet, ionized smell that could only come from heating inferior metals with excesses of electricity.
"Ja, hello?"
"We have successfully attached the electrodes to Vacuous Rom, as you can see on this graph:" the scholar said, motioning to a whiteboard sitting in the gently rolling neon waters, the many-eyed Rom standing in the background, drool slowly trailing from her round, toothy maw, multiple shock pads across her rocky skull, "The spirit of Christmas has caused a significant stimulation of the joy and merriment gland, and could possibly stir comprehensible thought!"
"How comprehensible?"
"We may have to change her name from the Vacuous Spider, to the Woefully Retarded but Capable of Thought Spider!"
"Such exquisite comprehension!"
At no time since coitus with Paarl had he created an idea of such transcendent brilliance.
The electrodes were fired, the screen devolving into static. He tried all the knobs, jimmying the adaptor cable, slapping the side of the TV with the small wrench, until finally it came into view, the first thoughts of Rom:
"I love you," A hunter said, suddenly shoving the girl away, "But we can never be together, I am a hunter, and you are not!" he staggered back into the light in the forbidden wood, throwing his coat off and erupting into sparkles, "Look at me, I'm an abomination!"
"No!" The girl squealed, slapping her hands to her face,
"Don't look upon me, I'm too abominable!"
"So abominable, but I still love you!"
The scene devolved back into meaningless static as the electrodes silently burst into flames,
Archibald reached a hand to his chin, nodding at what he'd just witnessed, before drawing a blunderbuss and exploding the 2000ccs of his enriched grey matter across the room.
A moment later, the bonfire (That was an actual typo, FML) the Lamp spat him back out, the scientist looking around, and hanging his cranium.
"Zis truly is a Nightmare Parallel of the omniverse."
Old Yharnum was cold and gloomy, as it usually was, new Yharnum looming over it, with faint trails of smoke emanating from the peak of the great healing church, the old, decaying city nestled along the wall of a great canyon, numerous dark, gnarled trees spaced around. Yet, despite it being largely devoid of human presence, the lamps dead for years, there was life all over the historical epicenter of the Ashen Blood.
Djura leaned heavily against the side of an old tree, the snow blown down from Yharnum occasionally descending in a misty fog, a few icy particles bouncing off his old ashen grey coat, worn thin with age, though the chill didn't bother him too much anymore as his tricorn hat sat tilted against the wind, the cold kept away from his eyes by the bandages he wore out of old custom. He watched as the Homeless Werewolves frolicked about, their furry, singed naked bodies bouncing around on their reverse-joint legs as they ran up and down the roads, their paws scattering the snow by the strip where the soup kitchen would go into service.
It was one of the very few times he descended from his belltower, confident the impoverished denizens of the old town were safe from the hunters for a few precious days, several volunteers arriving to cook and provide entertainment.
Even the Power Kegs managed to arrive, at least most of them each year. There were always troublemakers, but most of the evening would be spent drinking fine wine and reminiscing over the old days, back when they blew things up, only they got paid for it rather than being fined for "disturbing the peace" and "destruction of property" and "exploding some guy into a tree". Bah, Humbug.
"Djura!" Someone called, the old hunter ceasing his reminiscing to go meet the cook for the evening, who was clearly struggling with the stew recipe. He took the ladle from her, setting everything out and stepping her through,
"Now, all you need is a few pinches of salt, some pepper and onions, a few diced potatoes," he said, the ingredients sitting at the bottom of the cauldron as he crouched down, heaving with effort as he drew a positively massive keg from below, "And a… liberal… amount… of warm blood." He gasped, overturning the keg and pouring multiple gallons of blood, the warm fluid steaming in the chill air, Djura immediately setting a small fire. "Just stir it for a li'l bit, and serve warm. Now, you'll need a lot of stew, so ingredients will arrive periodically, be hasty now, these fine people will be really hungry."
"Where do you get so much blood?"
"Naughty children," Djura shrugged, "Not like there's anything they're doing with it anyhow. Krampus, bless his twisted, blackened bundle of nettles heart, works so swiftly this time of year. The blood of naughty children has 100% you're daily value of vitamins and minerals, for stronger bones and a healthier heart." He explained, setting the keg on the ground, the Kellogg's logo visible on the side.
"Okay…" The cook shifted nervously, "Anything else I should be aware of?"
"Yes," He said, "Remember, these are people too. Make sure to treat them with respect and dignity. They have suffered the madness of this world long enough."
"Didn't the Oto workshop perpetrate those atrocities in the first place?"
"We don't talk about that." Djura corrected sternly, "We make good and sure to be good to these poor creatures." They heard a scuffling, Djura looking over at a hunter wrestling with a homeless werewolf, the poor dog person mouthing at him,
"Hey, get off me!" he snapped,
"Oh come now, he doesn't know any better." Djura said gently, his breath catching as the homeless werewolf was thrown on the ground, rolling in the cold snow.
A deep growl escaped Djura's mouth, an ominous Latin chorus coming up as the hapless hunter dusted himself off,
"Hey, I was just-"
Djura pulled a battleship cannon from his left pocket, slapping some ashes into the top, the iron maw glowing brightly as the word's "-BASS CANNON-" glowed along the side.
"Oh Shi-"
A few men, clad all in white, strode across the highest echelon of the healing church, stopping as the entire sky was enveloped by a blinding flash, the priests watching the clouds part around the great mushroom cloud explosion in the distance, one of them hearing… was that dubstep? And a deep voice growling "FIRE" as the earth shook and the force wave shattering the air resonated in their chests.
"Nothing to see here! Pay no attention to the heretics!" One of them shouted, shooing the rest along. They passed the numerous kin of the cosmos skittering around, their fetus-y bodies scattering around them as they passed the looming iron gates of the Choir orphanage.
"Now men!" The head guy growled, his entire body shaking as he lead them along, "Tonight is the heretical, Winter Solstice, the night will be overflowing with heresy, from all the heretics running around, and in their veins will be heresy… and heretical blood! Fueling their heresy. Not on my watch! We will take to the streets, and make sure the heresy does not give birth to more heretics, like a Heretically Transmitted Disease, or Infection! Are there any questions?"
"Yes, I was just wondering-" He was cut off by getting choke slammed to the ground, the head of the Church guard Francis the Pure drawing his Kirkhammer and smashing him between words-
"OF. ALL. MY. GUARDS. WHY. CAN. YOU. NOT. EVEN. REMEMBER MY FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS FOR. ONE. FUCKING. MINUTE." He pulled out a Rosmarinus and unleashed a torrent of holy aria, and highly acidic magic mist on the pulp. "Now, come with me!" He said to the remaining one, drawing him deep into the cathedral, into the upper levels, to an elevator overseen by a few moonie men absently wandering around.
"Now then," He said as they descended, "I have a special task in mind for you, Phillip."
"Yes?" He said, gulping.
"Now, I know everyone said you were a useless failure who couldn't even serve the tea without spilling it all over the floor, so instead of sending you on the hunt, I am having you guard our most priceless possession."
"The tithes of the citizens?"
"Did you just heresy the church with your heretical claim of tithes being heresy more important than the good blood?"
"No, not at all!" Phillip said quickly,
"You will be guarding," He said, the two reaching the bottom, leading the church hunter to a barred iron gate, "Her."
Said stared back at them curiously with her small, shiny emerald eyes, resting within the forest of anemone over her head, parted down the center by a rift of soft flesh, long, shiny white tentacles tipped with darker blues replacing human arms and legs, her coral wings resting by her sides.
"She's pretty."
"Oi! Did you just heresy entertain heretical thoughts about the Daughter of the Cosmos!"
"No, of course not!"
"HERETIC, HOW DARE YOU NOT SEE EBRIETAS AS ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AND MAJESTIC CREATURES IN THE COSMOS, HERETIC!" He shouted, pulling out his Kirkhammer.
"She's pretty in a not heretical way, sir!" Philip corrected quickly, Francis returning his Kirkhammer to his… pocket?
"All you have to do is check up on her every so often to make sure she doesn't wander around outside. The Alter of Despair is a big room, so you may not see her right away, just do what I do," He said, walking up to the gate, "Pull up on this bolt, push it to the side, and pull the door open." He demonstrated, Ebrietas leaning in, only for the door to get shut in her face, "Then, pull it closed, slide the bolt into place, and SECURLY lock it." He said, pushing the bolt down, then driving it all the way, "It's really sticky. Now you try."
Phillip pulled the bolt up, heaving until it broke free and flew upward, the bolt getting drawn to the side, letting him open the gate, before he pulled the door back, slid the bolt closed, and pressed into place, falling into the gate when it suddenly popped downward.
"Okay, you know what to do now. I will be out with my brothers purging the heretics. Don't fail me!"
"Never sir!" Phillip said, breathing a sigh of relief as they left the chamber, leaving the daughter alone again.
Light filtered in through the nodes on the back wall, the interior of the Astral Clocktower gloomy, with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs from disuse, the floors and walls a plain wood, slowly eroding away with age. The thick, great brass doors concealing the gateway between dimensions slowly rolled open, a deformed denizen of the research hall striding in from the luminescent garden with a tray of charismas chocolates, approaching a chair near the very back of the room.
A very tall, fair woman with a head of snow-white hair lay splayed out, as if in death, adorned in lavish noble wear, a gleaming silver sword at her side as her chest slowly rose and fell.
"Merry Christmas Maria!" The blob-headed monstrosity greeted, the knight grabbing her by the face, her reddened eyes jumping open,
"Shhh shush shush!" She drawled, putting a shaky finger by her lips, "A corpse hic should be left well alone."
The patient pulled Maria's hand off with some effort, her exposed cranium sloshing as it regained its shape,
"Lady Maria?" She asked, looking to the end table and seeing an overflowing pile of empty wine bottles, "Oh my," She sighed, crouching down and seeing another giant pile of wine poorly concealed under her comfy chair, "Maria, we talked about this."
"I ain drunk- yur drunk!" Maria pointed, "And stop- floating around!"
Her attendant set the tray down, Maria instantly grabbing a fistful and scarfing them down loudly, the bloathead sighing.
"Please, I know you mean well- but for your sake, and the sake of everyone that loves you-" She was drowned out by more chewing, "You need to take more care of your body. I mean, yours is the only one that isn't hideously deformed around here."
"Hic You callin' me fat, you whore!" A wine bottle whizzed past the patient's head, the master huntress springing from her chair and strangling the patient in a bonecrushing hug, "Why won't Sempai love me!"
"Maria?"
The Vileblood took one arm off her victim, pulling out a locket and staring longingly at it. Inside was a picture of a young, handsome man in his lower 30s, his black hair finely combed and straightened, yet there was an unmistakable, sly glint in his eye, a cursive "G" etched on the inside of the lid.
"I was never sugoi enough for Sempai to notice me." She sighed longingly, putting the locket back while the patient desperately tried to pry the inebriated huntress off her,
"I'm sorry, but hey!" she added, "Today is a new day! You have all of us, you should-"
"Ya' know what!" Maria snapped, driving the patient back as she staggered forward, "I will make sempai notice me, I'm getting' outta this dump!" She ranted, staggering down the way, curtailing around to get another wine, downing it as she staggered across the clocktower,
"Are you sure that's a good idea!" The patient piped, "It's dangerous out there."
"Oh, oh!" Maria snapped, "Ya' tink I can do it? Well excuuuuuuuuuuuse me! I am hic the best huntress in evah!" The wood made a thud as Maria fell on her face, pushing herself back up and staggering out the door as she adjusted her hat, the bloathead clutching her chest,
"Oh Dear."
The underground corpse pile reeked of rot and death, thick coat of blood from decades of hunting leaking into the room, where the horrible, the accursed, the wretched, the foul-smelling, the unpleasant Ludwig was facing his greatest challenge yet.
"Too proud to show your true face eh," The priest grinned, reaching a gnarled hand across the red and black squares of the board, moving his bishop to knock out the knight who just took his rook, "But a sporting play that was."
The great monstrosity stared at the black robed figure, his grey scarf wrapped snuggly around his neck while his wide fedora kept his face hidden, though the once great hunter of the church could see his bandaged eyes and the toothy grin he was sporting.
Ludwig neighed, the mane twitching as he shook his head, displaying his positively horrid dental work which haunted Yharnum orthodontists in the night. His good eye widened,
"Ahh," He sighed in his sweet, sonorous voice. With great care, the arm on his back reached down, two of his claws gently taking his second rook and moving it to the side, "Check."
Gascoigne immediately made his play, moving his other pawn, clearing the way to Ludwig's King.
"This is checkmate." He laughed, Ludwig's freakish horse maw drawing to the side as he made his own play, his theme slowly creeping in, alerting Gascoigne to his doom.
"Good hunter, have you seen the light?"
"Hmm." Gascoigne reexamined the board, and realized, "What!?"
"This is checkmate." Ludwig said as he nudged his queen into position, "Better luck next time."
Gascoigne exploded into blood, shrieking as he resumed his monstrous form, smashing the board and all the pieces into fine sawdust.
"Don't worry, we can play again sometime, we only have… eternity."
Gascoigne ran out on all fours, Ludwig aware of another presence, a petite, red-faced young woman staggering along, recognizing her as Maria from the research hall.
"How do you do, Maria?" He asked, Maria staggering by,
"Outta muh way!" She shouted, staggering by, "I'm gunna win Senpai's heart!"
"Gehrman?" Ludwig queried, his toothy smile appearing, "It's been ages, it would fill me with great joy and amusement to come along." He neighed, trotting along behind her, Maria passing through the narrow corridor, Ludwig pushing himself through a ways behind her, before he got stuck.
Ludwig grunted, straining his neck forward,
"Mmm hnurrrr!" He heard his spine crunch. "Oh Dear."
Sweet smells passed through the small, secluded cottage. Gehrman felt the warm fire crackling near him, the room glowing with Christmas lights and hung with various Yuletide baubles to set the mood, the old hunter listening to the hunters outside getting the festivities ready. It was one of the few thing's Gehrman could focus on to distract him from the eternal misery of being trapped in a limbo realm for all of time.
"Are you coming?" Someone asked, poking their head in, "Most of the guests will be arriving soon."
"I'll be right there." He nodded, slowly wheeling himself out the back door, gazing across the white, flowery fields. They were in full bloom, as they always seemed to be, pedals drifting over the gravestones and across the humble home. It almost made Gehrman forget about the lack of snow. The skyline was dominated by the baddest Christmas tree of all time, a hundred feet of alpine glory, the limbs shining with ornaments, statues, saw cleavers, blades of mercy, kirkhammers, and all manner of other whimsical novelties, the star positioned right on the moon, so it shined brightly, the tree's shadow cast over the rows of picnic tables overflowing with a feast for all the hunters. And of course, in several great stacks, all the presents Gehrman had gathered, with many more on the way as guests slowly filtered into the pocket realm to take a night off from the hunt… or at least most of them, the more hardcore of their number were already on the way out, anticipating the riots that always took place overnight.
It made Gehrman wonder where all the others were, at least the ones that weren't dead.
"Merry Christmas, Good Hunter." The voice was sweet and gentle, yet it filled Gehrman with sorrow.
"Yes Doll." He said simply, in his old, froggy voice. It was a poor, sad replacement for his true Waifu, the one who got away. Although he had a new Waifu, it just wasn't the same.
Said waifu crashed into the ground, the tentacled monstrosity leaning down by him, Gehrman patting it on the mask.
"I made myself sad."
"Cheer up, Good Hunter!" The Doll comforted in her flat, saccharine tone, "Be thankful for all the holidays give you."
"I wish I could visit Yahar'gul," Gehrman muttered, "They're party animals."
The Doll clasped him tighter, feeling a knot in her stomach, unable to break her master's melancholy. This Christmas, I will find Gehrman the best gift of all. The Doll thought to herself, "Then he will be happy again."
The Scholar of Mensis strode down the hall, eager to get back to Yahar'gul for the festivities, continued his descent, his fancy uniform coated with sweat, his black hair matted to his face, the lamps casting an eerie glow over the basement. Dust and cobwebs constantly clung to him as he clutched his hands close to himself.
He jumped at each metallic bang he heard, only to realize it was the giant bird cage glued to his melon hitting the pipes.
"Good lord, not even Amygdala is this scary." Micolash gulped, the air seeming to chill with each step. The deep groan of the main boiler got louder and louder, until he reached the end of the long corridor, into a giant, dark room, Micolash shaking as bad as the pipes as high pressure exhaust rumbled through them.
Rusty iron chains hung from the ceiling, creaking as they shifted in the gust of hot air shooting from the glowing maw of the furnace, the silhouette of a massive figure looming at Micolash from the darkness, his cloak concealing all but the sheer size of him. The shaft of light parting around the hunched man was speckled with the shadows of all the papers hanging from the ceiling, hundreds of parchments, each one filled with so many names they began to bleed into eachother and overlap, Micolash gulping as he walked past all the flittering papers.
Micolash could hear him humming a tune as his arm worked up and down, his voice so deep it sent chills down the scholar's spine more than Amygdala reciting 40 Hues of Hunter.
"Mr. Sandman," The deep, eerie voice sung, getting louder with every step, "Bring me a dream. Make him the cutest, that I've ever seen." He paused, stabbing the needle into the fabric, "Give him two lips, like roses and clover. And tell him that his lonesome nights are over. Mister Sandman…" He sung, cutting a thread with a pair of rusty scissors, "I'm so alone. Don't have nobody- to call my own. Mister Sandman… Bring me a dream…"
"M-m-Mi-" Micolash stuttered, "Mr. The Krampus, Sir-" The figure stood up, Micolash backing away, Krampus turning. His cloak concealed all but his face, and even that was hidden in darkness as he unfurled his creation:
A giant, hand-knitted red sack, covered with intricate murals of Santa Clause, Reindeer, Snow Flakes, Christmas trees, and other festive things.
"M-Majestic! A w-wonderful sack, Mr. The Krampus."
"I've made my list."
"I'm sure you checked it twice."
"I know who's been naughty or nice."
"And now you're going to town… right?"
Krampus nodded.
"I depart at Sunset. Say hello to Amygdala for me."
"Y-y- yes Sir Mr. The Krampus." Micolash gulped, "Break a leg."
The Krampus Sat back down, putting the finishing touches on his holiday sack, Micolash scurrying away.
To Be Not Continued At This Second But In A Little Bit…