Quince the Beast

"The only way we can survive beasts is if we become beasts ourselves." These are the words of the man who was named Quince.

The blood slid down his throat and the silver haired man gestured for another. "By the Gods, that is your fifth shot! You sure love these, don't you?" The bar tender reached below his counter and, clasping the green tinted bottle with pudgy fingers, brought up the red liquid and poured it into a cocktail glass. The silver haired man instantly looked up and wrapped both hands around the small glass, bringing it to his crusty lips. He gulped the red liquid down, before gesturing for yet another shot. The bar tender regarded this man with concern. "I think you've had enough…" The bar keeper reached for the small flask, only for his hand to be swatted away, followed by a snarl from the man. He recoiled at the strike, rubbing his hand. A hot sting soon made itself known. Blood was upon the skin, flooding onto the back of his hand, along with four swiftly cut claw marks. The silver-haired man quickly drew his hand back, not allowing the barman to see his fingers. The barman's eyes widened as the man who had appeared to have made this injury sharply rose and made to leave.

"Hey! You haven't paid for your drinks! That's good blood, y'know!" The bartender reached under the serving counter, but instead of drawing out more cocktails, it was a steel crafted blunderbuss. However, upon bringing it to his shoulder and aiming towards the fleeing man, a black gloved hand shot out from the shadows and gripped onto the gun barrel. The bar tender turned to face this intruder with annoyance, only to be presented with copper coins that the strange new comer presented to him in his other hand. The man who stood before the (rather ruffled) bar tender was a peculiar gentleman, wearing neat attire, even adorning a top hat. He was very tall, but the aristocratic hat and his rather slim body really did add to his height. He had receding, blond hair and warm, brown eyes that did not hide behind his small, circular glasses that rested upon his nose. Strapped to his coat was a dark hued cane with a barbed end, and holstered to his belt was a pistol that looked rather menacing with the peculiar, church symbols engraved upon the barrel. Releasing the gun when the man was sure the irrational bar tender was calm, he used his hand to grab the bar keep's fist, bring it forward to the shining coins, drop the trinkets into his opened palm and closing the pub owner's fingers, finishing it with a pat on his knuckle.

"I do believe this is enough?" the well-spoken man finally addressed the alarmed bar keeper.

"M-more than enough, sir!" He stuttered, expecting the value of the coins which was more than what was required from the scruffy, intoxicated man.

"As expected; keep the rest for yourself." With a sharp turn, the posh squire looking chap paced up to the sneering man (who had halted his escape to watch the situation unfold) and offered him a seat by the door. The rather old looking man regarded this noble with a brutal glare and a grimace upon his lips.

"Artemis Grimm." The man, revealed to be Artemis stuck out a hand in greeting. The other did not meet half way with his own, but surprisingly offered his name.

"Quince…" He simply mumbled, not giving his second name. Quince was a man that appeared the age of fifty. He had sunken skin, yellow eyes and ruffled, grey/silver locks. His sideburns were also grey and overgrown. His voice was raspy, as if he desired some form of beverage. His nose was sharp and every so often, he would run his tongue over his lips and cast his eyes upon the bar to his right. Noticing this, Artemis tried to avert the conversation away from drinks.

"So, what's an old timer like yourself doing h-" Quince cut him off.

"I'm thirty-five…" He shuffled in his chair. Artemis beheld him with a perplexed gaze. Artemis himself was around the age of forty or forty-five, so upon hearing this, his brow did quirk. After an awkward silence, Artemis changed the topic yet again.

"I saw what you did to that bar keeper. My, what sharp nails you have." He pointed at Quince's claws who withdrew his hands below the table, eyes shifting to staring down at the birch table's surface.

"What do you care for them anyway? Why does someone of your status care for me?" Quince raised his gaze, shooting daggers at Artemis. At this, he gave a soft chuckle.

"My status? My fellow, I am no lord or count." He exhaled. Quince looked him up and down.

"Your attire suggests otherwise…" Quince's gaze returned to the floor.

"My attire was not bought, Quince." Artemis gave a crude smile. Quince perked and let loose a Cheshire grin, which surprised Artemis.

"Stole it, did you? My, my…"

"Not at all. It was supplied to me by my work place…" Artemis frowned at the sudden change in Quince's personality.

The crude man snorted at this "Tch, what kind of work place gives you expensive gear and weapons?" Quince sneered, boring into Artemis with his golden gaze.

"…Why don't I show you?" Artemis stared right back, his stare becoming much more serious. "Then maybe we can fix those," he gestured to were his hands would be below the table "and your insatiable urge for the serum." Quince gave him a queer look. He pondered Artemis' words.

Quince knew that something was wrong with him. He had seen it before. Being homeless had its advantages. You see things. Hear things that those snuggled inside do not. Tall, human like creatures shuffling out from their houses when dark came, growling and snarling, followed by a sickly echo of flesh tearing and ripping but all would be drowned out by dying screeches, from monster and man alike. Some kind of beast in the city of Yharnam… Quince had no idea how, but he had contracted this illness that very few seemed to have noticed. Unusual that this was being hushed to such an extent that next to no one saw the signs. No one but Quince and yet… it appears this Artemis did. Upon thinking about the illness, Quince had concluded the baffling symptoms so far. At first, it was just a peculiar urge to consume more of the healing blood, a medical drink and form of social high crafted, manipulated and supplied by the church that disturbingly resembled blood; probably was. Next were the thoughts: Urges to pounce on the stray animals that wondered the Yharnam streets, kill and devouring them. Like any homeless man, Quince did this when he was starved (being homeless, one must get by), but his method and style in killing had changed drastically to being much more primal, pummelling and mauling his prey, when opposed to doing it silently with a tool, say a knife. Sure enough, after much consumption of the healing blood, Quince started developing animal like features. His hands ended in savage looking hooks; his eyes became ill and contracted, changing from their olive colour to a pale, golden like shade with sordid, red lines breaking up the whites in his eyes like some continent under siege from a powerful tremor. But the worst part of the change? Unlike the imprudent people of Yharnam who turned into these things while safely nestled in their homes, Quince knew what was coming. He had seen what he would soon become. He saw them stalk; heard them kill; his body rejected these thoughts. And this rejection soon turned to stress and even lunacy. He simply huddled in some obscure corner of Yharnam, waiting for this pandemic to corrupt him fully. The more he waited, the more his mind churned in turmoil and the more white hairs he developed. As one could imagine, Quince grew even further away from the world. His mind grew reserved. However, this desolate lifestyle brought forth a thought-

Why should I wait it out any longer?

His solution to this epiphany? Quince used the coin he collected from the streets to buy healing blood, hoping the tantalizing (yet corruptive) beverage will speed up his transformation into whatever ungodly beast the Gods had cursed him to be. An inscrutable thought that most would brush off as insanity, but if one would think profoundly about the poor fool's situation, why not just take the plunge than lull yourself in slowly? Surely, the latter was on tier with torture, no?

Quince rose, his jaw slightly ajar as he stared at this man with incredulity. "You play me for a fool?" Quince hissed. Artemis obliviously reached into his coat pocket and drew out a box with a peculiar grain like substance in it. He brought out a russet stained pipe, poured the content into the opening, whipped out a match and with a sharp drag down his sandpaper like coat, it caught alight. He then proceeded to smoke his pipe. All the while, Quince glared with next to no patience.

"Excuse me you bastard, answer me!" Quince roared, pounding the table with shocking force. The table quivered; the rather gnawed legs buckled and snapped, causing the entire stall to fall with an abrupt crash. Before the bar tender could even glare over at the culprit, Artemis had seized Quince's hand and dragged him out of the bar and into the street.

Once out of the clear, Quince buckled over in the alley, heaving hoarsely. Artemis was not even tired, to Quince's surprise. Once a fair distance away from the bar, Artemis pulled Quince into a darker corner of the street, turning to face him; he then answered his question.

"If I were playing you for a fool I would not have helped you." Artemis finally finished puffing on his pipe and unhooked his barbed cane to balance on it. Quince slouched down to crumble against the wall; those pale-yellow eyes fixed upon the deteriorating cobble of the Victorian styled Kosmaras Street.

"I didn't ask for your help; I couldn't give a shit about your work and I don't care for your beast plague!" Quince boiled with rage and fumbled for a rock. Clasping a broken bottle instead, he hurled it at Artemis. Artemis reacted immediately, raising his pistol and letting loose a gunpowder bullet that obliterated the bottle into grains of shining grit. An intense firearm, he did possess.

"Stop being such a brat… I'm trying to help!" Artemis looked upon Quince with a face much like a father scolding a child. Quince sneered in turn. "I don't want your help... I'm fine!" Quince reached into his coat pocket and brought out a small flask with that same pungent, red liquid inside: The Yharnam blood. With an impatient flick of his thumb, the lid to the vile popped off. However, as he raised the tantalizing blood to his needy lips, it crumbled to dust, watching the blood slip through his fingers and splash upon the cobble. Quince's eyes contracted; pupils vibrating in those sickly whites. The end of Artemis's gun smoked from the barrel, his eyes locked upon the hand that had held the bottle.

"Y-You… I'll…" Quince cupped his hands to his face, fingers clasping his hoary hair. "Quince… Calm down. It was for the b-" Artemis could not finish his dialogue, for Quince had lunged for him, followed by a rapacious snarl. The gent's movement was flawless; easily dwarfing the inept attacking of Quince. Quince could hardly compare to this strange man's speed and endurance, but his anger forced him to instinctively pursue his fleeing prey. Artemis, who had been keeping the fight confined to the ally, suddenly bolted down the street and towards the main network of streets, with the rabid and enraged Quince following behind him. Artemis turned to the left and around the corner. Quince blindly followed and scurried around, casting his eyes at the fleeing Artemis. He did not see Artemis. Instead, he saw a swinging rod of steel; then darkness.

It's dark, but visible. Why am I strapped to this clinic bed like a freak test subject? Like an animal. A beast.

The world he was within was incredibly peculiar. It was a dark, medium sized hospice room with empty beds and a pipe running into his arm. The plastic thread came from a peculiar bag that was empty of liquid, but the outline was stained with red. As if to only increase his growing terror, he heard a noise above him.

All thoughts from Quince where interrupted as a pair of yellow eyes radiated down at his petrified body. The thing lurched from the dark corner of the ceiling and landed upon the bed, nails gripping the bedstead as it landed; that elongated muzzle growling and snapping at his face.

By the Gods! What the hell is that!?

But those words did not leave his mouth. He could not move; could not talk; he could not even perceive correctly. The monster, however, did not attack. It simply stared, lips rippling as primal growls rumbled from its mangy, heaving chest. A hooked paw unlatched from the bedside and reached out to Quince. As one would in this situation, Quince recoiled from its touch. The beast tilted its hand… confused by his repulse? It appeared to mean him no harm. Quince simply stared at the opened talon for a minute that seemed like hours. The beast just stared and panted, rather patient with Quince.

Does it . . . expect me to take that claw?

Quince pondered this.

. . . Fuck it.

He took the plunge.

He reached out towards the extended arm of the beast but could not quite reach it. At the position he was in, one would guess he could, but the further he reached, the further away it seemed to be. Suddenly, the beast reeled forward and both parties gripped each other's wrists. The feeling was overpowering. Quince felt a rush as he grinned, his breath irregular and vigorous; the beast howling and roaring in triumph as they locked wrists.

The line has been blurred

The two did this for roughly a minute before a pale glow caught their attention. The beast turned, and upon doing so, recoiled, a ravenous roar of fear whistling through its clenched teeth. A hissing white steam covered the beast. There was the pungent smell of mercury in the air as it yowled and roared, but its grip was still strong, the arm that held onto Quince's still clasped around his own wrist.

No, don't die! I need to help you! How can I-

The words failed to leave his lips. The beast cast its fetid eyes down at Quince, its body bubbling with blisters. It yowled, flesh decaying as it corroded away into a diseased lump. Glancing at its arm that was gripped to Quince's, it used its free arm to clasp onto the shoulder joint, dig its claws into the decaying flesh and tear the arm from its own body. Despite the arm being separated from the monster's body, the grip was still tight on Quince's wrist. With a gurgled howl, it staggered away from the vapour blast and scurried off into the dark, howling in agony, but alive. The corroding steam soon died down.

The arm remained untouched.

Then he awoke.

"Hold him down!"

"What did he see?"

"Just hold him down, by the Gods man!"

"He bit me! He fucking bit me!"

"Lock his arms to the bed! Something's wrong…"

"Are you calm now? Thank goodness… I heard from my colleagues that you really gave them trouble…" Artemis was sitting at the foot of Quince's bed, peering at him from behind his glasses with a bemused expression. Quince could not remember his dream; only that it made him infuriated. The room however, was the same as the dream: it was lit by candlelight and positioned in the exact same way, but other patients rested upon the various other beds. Quince could not see this, for a white curtain had been drawn around his chambers. However, he could smell them. In fact, he even saw the shaded outline of a man whimpering a few meters away from the curtain, dabbing his arm while muttering inarticulately. Artemis caught his line of sight. "Yes, you bit him… But I'm glad you are alright. I thought you had given into the beast…" This snapped Quince out of his daze.

What did they do to me?

Quince sneered and lunged, but his body jolted back down and hissed, followed by the sound of rattling chains. They had chained him. Like a monster.

"Release me you piece of shit!" Quince roared, rattling the chains and making the hospice room fall silent, people clearly listening.

"I'm afraid I can't do that; not until I explain."
"Explain what?! That you knocked me out, chained me to the bedside to do God knows what to me?" Artemis gave a cruel chuckle. "We are Hunters… not rapists…" Quince sneered in disgust. "You certainly implied it…" Artemis enjoyed teasing the irritated man who was regarding him with stern, cold eyes. "Tell me what you did!" Artemis recoiled as a chain groaned under the intense struggling. "Alright, just please… calm down…" Quince did as Artemis requested, to his surprise. "…You are currently in the Cathedral Ward…" Quince was baffled at those words!

The Cathedral ward?!

The Cathedral Ward: A holy ground home to the healing church; the creators of the blood. Around the time the people of Yharnam started turning into monsters, they blocked off from the rest of Yharnam. Quince had never been in the Cathedral Ward grounds before, let alone inside it, even when it was mere meters from the city.

"Don't look so incredulous. You'll be seeing more of these walls now." Those words shattered Quince out of his stupor. "Come again?" Quince's eye twitched as Artemis shuffled further down the bed and away from Quince. "We treated your beasthood…" Artemis kept his gaze stern. Quince cocked his head. "I caught onto that…" He scowled. "Oh right, why you will be staying here…" Quince was starting to grow aggravated. He hated Artemis's type. Those pompous suit wearers that speak in slow, cryptic and dulcet tones; drawing out their dialogue as a form of torture to the listener.

Oh, this piece of trash loves the attention! Bag of meat…

"You are now a hunter… I noticed your predicament and offered you a contract and in return, we treated your beasthood…" Quince's mouth was agape.

Me, a hunter? I assume these 'hunters' hunt the monsters…

"Before you retort allow me to explain. There is another reason why I scouted you." Quince closed his jaws, leering at Artemis. "Well? Spit it out!" The disconcerted man hissed. "Of course, of course… We sought you in particular for two reasons…" "Cut the exposition and big words and tell me you pretentious piece of trash!" Artemis recoiled slightly. "I… did not mean to offend… I understand that this is a stressful time for you, b-" "Please… just… tell me…" Quince dragged his hands along his forehead, an agitated whistle like hiss slithered through his clenched teeth. "Yes… The first reason is because of your position… You have seen these things; watched them; studied them even. You know more about the beasts than even I, my good man…"

"You damned snob! Drawing me in with sweet, honey roasted words and compliments. I know the damn games you play… So what if I have seen these beasts you speak of? You imply I'm going to help you . . ." Quince turned to face the left wall, pretending to be conveying an interest in the patterns and architecture of the clinic room. "And the last reason is… I think this would be a wonderful stress reliever for you…" Artemis gave a coy smile at those words. Quince glanced over, a frown painted upon his face. "Congrats… You have my attention… What does this hunting involve?" Artemis stood up and ruffled his garb. "I'm glad you asked. Each night, once the last Yharnamites have gone into their abodes, we as independent squads of hunters sneak into the city and cleanse the streets of the abomination that stalk the boulevards with silent and efficient methods…" "Pah! You don't do a very good job! The screams and roars I hear at night are enough to wake a drunkard from his kip!" Artemis squinted at Quince, puffing up his chest. "I will assure you, it was not my work." His tone was dangerously stern. Quince rolled his eyes, but shuffled in his bed while casting a narrow eye to Artemis's gun holster, it making him slightly nervous. He quickly changed the topic. "So you go out and… kill things?" "If you say it like that it doesn't really sound so righteous, does it? But yes, if we are going to simplify it. We go out and kill things." "And you expect me to sign up just like that?" He spat in the hunter's direction. "Don't you want to give your enhanced abilities a test?" Artemis turned, laying his trump card upon the table. Quince perked, blinking several times "Abilities?"

"No Quince! Put more curve into your wrist or the force will dislocate the bone!" Artemis was standing along the side of a square courtyard, watching Quince test out the weapons. Earlier, the clinic doctor had scrutinized over Quince and had confirmed his main strength that the blood had given him was his strength and endurance; so he was sent straight down to the courtyard to test the weapons.

Artemis furrowed his brow. "No, no, no… Your swings need to be more long ranged! Hold it at the hilt, not the base or you will never make use of the sword transformation!" Artemis watched with mild annoyance as Quince swung the kirk hammer (A robust hammer like weapon) in complete disarray, missing the moving dummies entirely. "Stop swiping the hammer you fool! Make use of the pounding capabilities! Swiping it to the side will just make you stumble!" Quince hissed as all attempts to use the mass of concrete failed. "By the Gods… We have tried the Holy Blade, the kirk Hammer… even the wheel; still nothing works for you…" Artemis cocked his head in confusion, studying Quince (who had practically lost all patience with the mechanical dummy on the remote track; tackled it and had started punching and kicking the iron surface while yelling incoherently) and what he could possibly use. Suddenly it dawned on the old hunter.

A weapon that utilizes the close combat aspect of fighting… No… Only the creator was able to unlock its powers… Still, better to have a weapon than none.

"Quince, I have an idea… Follow me." Quince reluctantly got up, stalking to the weapon holsters to put away the frustrating kirk.

In truth, Quince thought the Cathedral Ward to be a majestic maze of ivory and silver. However, he soon realised that these towers and rooms where like any gothic structure in Yharnam, just occupied with hunters and church dwellers alike. By the dozens they paced and swarmed, inside and out of the holy grounds, going about their holy or purification duties while under the cover of night. Everyone working was naturally nocturnal. With the amount of workers in the large Ward, the noise would be too much to ignore in the day, for many Yharnamites would notice the churches activity during the sun hours. As to why the church separated itself from Yharnam? Quince had been told very sternly by Artemis (after accusing the church for abandoning Yharnam) that the reason was to keep the plague a secret and to not cause mass hysteria and panic.

Upon entering into a large, spiralling tower, adorned with silver patterns and stone statues, Artemis halted.

"Quince. Listen to me. Once we ascend this tower, I urge you . . . Do not speak with anyone. Do not question this. Wait outside the large doors and on no circumstances are you allowed to follow me through. Do I make myself clear?" Quince withdrew. For the first time since he had known Artemis, his tone was deadly. Quince agreed, nodding his head leisurely and proceeded to follow Artemis, not making eye contact with anyone, his gaze fixed on the back of his mentor's head.

Mentor? When did that happen?

It would appear Quince had grown accustomed to this man. Not that he would admit it. No, he was far to dogged for that. Quince was not one to be intimidated, but the people that dwelled on every floor of this place disturbed him. In the corner of his eye, he saw them staring; watching. Dropping whatever books, scrolls or tomes they had been reading to scrutinize his very existence… He knew he was over reacted… They had possibly never seen hunters in this part of the grounds before… It was not their job to study the beasts: only purge them from the streets.

For what seemed like hours, they finally reached the top. Both men had a high endurance, so being tired was not the main problem, it was just that the location was incredibly high, not that Quince knew this, being inside and all, but it was not hard to guess that their altitude was great . . .

The door in question was a large one, adorned with vine like patterns engraved upon a bronze surface.

"I will warn you again Quince. Don't follow me, look, speak o-"

"Or talk to anymore. Yes, I got it." Quince narrowed his gaze, doing his best to ignore the piercing stares of the studying church dwellers behind him.

"Not just that Quince… No matter how long I take, don't read anything." Artemis took out a small note and funnelled it through a gap in the door. And then he waited… "This place really is messed up, huh?" Quince gave a bemused look at Artemis, who was still facing the door. "Keep your voice down!" He urgently whispered. The doors opened enough to allow human passage, but not enough to give the area a clear view. Quince did however see someone let him in, a man with long, white locks and a feminine face. For a split second he eyed Quince, looking at him much like a child would with a toy. It unnerved Quince, to say the least. Luckily he didn't have to feel like this for long, because as fast as they opened the doors closed with a radiating shudder that jittered right through Quince, Artemis and the mystery man out of sight.
Now he just needed to wait. . . . . and wait . . . . . . and-

By the Gods, do these creatures never stop staring?

The area grew thick with tension. Quince was becoming paranoid. He could feel eyes upon him; thousands. He knew it was ludicrous, but he could sense many pairs ogling, when only five or six people appeared to be present in the room.

Crazy bags of meat.

A line from an old poem crossed into his mind, and lifted the tautness from his shoulders. He always liked that poem.

Insane in the membrane . . . Eyes on the inside.

Name: Jack Gray||Word count: 4,477||Date upon finishing this draft: 15/08/2015|| Genre: Horror/adventure||Subject: Creative writing||Exam: Coursework