Chapter 12

The Church bells tolled in the distance. This loud bellowing echoed down the corridor Adullam and Fredricx were passing through. Animals, mostly canines, were locked up in cages outside. Some of them were still themselves, looking particularly frightfully, which came out in loud barks and growling. Others had also changed. They resembled their previous form, but larger in every way, especially in frame and teeth. These roared maliciously at the pair. Some of the cages had been opened. The creatures had to be around somewhere.

"Hopefully, we won't encounter any of these beasts for your sake," Adullam chuckled, "They are far less predictable."

Soon, they found themselves on the main street of Yharham. "Where are we going, Adullam? This is away from Old Yharham," Fredricx hissed, stepping in line with the Hunter, who strolled the streets like a rich man. Instead of a top hat, he wore a jagged, worn tricorn hat, the symbol of the Hunters. Instead of a decorative cane, he wielded a thin bladed sword. However, the cockiness was the same for both Adullam and the rich man.

"Trust me. This is a short cut."

They were walking straight up to the gates of the Healing Church. This gate was always opened during the day, welcoming the sick and allowing for a smooth flow of traffic through the crowded city. However, it was firmly shut now. This gate was never opened during a hunt, the Healing Church assured. It was a way to limit mobility of the beasts, they said.

From the folds of his overcoat, Adullam produced, of all things, a handkerchief. It was pinned together with an ornate emblem. At once, without warning, the gate began to tremble and creak. The sound was horrendous as old metal scrapped the rust of even older metal. The gate began slide open. Adullam waltzed through, leaving Fredricx, confused, on the other side.

"How?" he asked, cautiously following Adullam through the gate into the courtyard of the Healing Church.

Adullam, this time, physically pulled the gate closed. The Hunter merely shrugged with an one side of the face smile. "It was given to me by another Hunter," he offered dismissively, "You're practically a Yharhamite. You know the stories, strange happenings when the moon is large and low."

Adullam slaughtered some additional beasts without much effort, using his weapons almost gracefully. It was like a dance, consisting of sword slashing and stabbing and ducking and rolling as opposed to an actual dance. It wasn't much like a dance. Fredricx watched from a small distance. Their mangled bodies were just as grotesque dead or alive. Blood was the only difference. Blood was always the difference.

XXXX

"How would Father Gascoigne know what would go on during the Hunt?" Fredricx inquired of Adullam, who was splattering blood from his blade, casting small red drops on the ground.

"Gascoigne is a Hunter," Adullam shrugged, swiping up a blood vile from the body of a deceased Yharhamite. "Here," he called, tossing Fredricx the vile.

"I don't take blood," Fredricx spat back, clutching the glass in his hands.

"You should. If a beast attacks you, you will need it."

Fredricx repeated his claim.

Adullam shrugged, "Then save it for that friend of yours, Luke, was it? If he is still himself by the time that we return."

"It's Luc-," Fredricx stopped. His mouth fell open as they rounded the outside of one of the Healing Church's many mausoleums. "Queen's grace," he swore, letting out a breath. The vile fell from his hand. The solid piece turned into thousands, reflecting the towering flames that were swallowing Old Yharnam.

Fredricx's heart leapt, going from his center to throat to the base of his stomach. He took off in a sprint, clutching the Hunter's pistol into his hand until it hurt and gripped tighter still. Sure, Fredricx could hear Adullam's calls for him to stop, reasoning that he had a plan. There wasn't time for stopping, reasoning, or plans. There was time for sprinting.

Fredricx tore through Old Yharham, shouting for her, crying out for her. His sprinting exacerbated the shouting. The shouting exacerbated the sprinting. "Ettie," he wheezed, sucking up dark smoke through his nose. The smoke twisted his innards and watered his eyes, sending tears to stripe the soot on his skin.

Emotional soldiers are not soldiers at all. They are soon to be corpses. Emotions cause mistakes. At once, Fredricx snapped his spine straight. He was a decorated veteran, specifically known for level headedness in combat. Right now, Ettie didn't need a husband, but she needed a soldier.

The nearby houses and gardens were engulfed in flames, so Fredericx decided to hustle along the main road. The fire was still spreading, but he could be faster. The flames cracked houses and windows, causing caustic shattering and clattering. The pounding in his ears quieted, so that he could hear the screaming and roars of hunters and beasts respectively. A particular pair from above caught his attention. They were struggling on the roof of one of the manors. The hunter wielded a torch in one fist and flamboyant weapon in the other, striking the creature to no avail. The beast shrieked, slamming the Hunter to the railing. Flailing did little for him, however, as the beast lifted him up and over the railing. There was a futile struggle. The beast released its grip, and the Hunter fell.

Screaming with arms waving wildly, this did nothing for him as the warm body made contact with the ground. The thud was sickening, sending a wave through Fredricx's body. There was no more screaming from the Hunter. There was nothing from him at all.

The beast paid no mind to Fredericx on the ground below, but disappeared beyond view further inside the manor. Fredricx watched for a moment, but it didn't return. Satisfied, he went over to the Hunter, who was mangled and conjoined in ways not typical of living humans. His weapon, a thin sliver whip, was laid out on the ground closest to Fredricx. The links were coated in blood and bits of flesh and fur. Fredricx picked up the handle, which fit in his hand like he imagined an aristocrat's cane would. This would keep some distance between himself and any beast. He turned to continue his trekk, but stopped and backpedalled to the deceased Hunter. Fredricx flipped over the body, unbuckled his overcoat, and jerked it from the corpse. The leather was well worn, creased with action lines and had seen far better days, being speckled with unknown blood. Fredricx lifted it on to his frame, pulling the sleeves down his arms. The hem fell to his knees. He buckled the coat in the center of his chest. This would work far better to protect him from the flames than his sea stained, button down shirt. Eyeing the Hunter's hat, he swooped it into his hands before gingerly snapping it above his brow. The hat was black with tattered edges. This would do well.

XXXX

The smoke was bitter and hot. The streets, luckily, were filled with too much smoke and not enough flames. The flames raged on either sides, having caught up in their race to find Ettie. The manors and estates looked nothing like their former selves. This familiar place was no longer so.

Fredricx coughed vigorously as he ducked under the falling gate into an estate garden. Ettie spent most of her time here.

"Ettie," he shouted above the fire, "It's Fredricx." No response was given. He pocketed the gun in an effort to navigate the space. Fredricx entered a little further, now ascending the steps of the manor house. It was pitch black inside except where fire was starting to eat away at the far wall. "Ettie," he called again, coughing into a coat sleeve.

"Help!" A shrill voice resounded, growing closer and closer with each cry. This wasn't Ettie. At once, the body of this voice collided with him, sending the body backwards.

Fredricx caught the arm and pulled the body up. "Julie?" He remembered, surprised.

She screamed again, yanking free of his grasp, "Good Hunter, I'm so sorry. Please let me pass."

Fredricx shook his head and pulled off the hat, "Julie, it's me, Fredricx, Ettie's husband."

The fire crackled around them, wood creaked and threatened to topple the adjacent wall.

"Fredricx," she screeched, "Upstairs. She's trapped."

He didn't bother with allowing her to finish. Instead of caution, he leapt over the fire, raced up the stairs, and shouted. A scream was his reply. There were two figures, one small and huddled, doing the screaming. The other was large, resembling a man, but not one. The beast turned. Its face was morphed into an animal-like creature, but it still stood like a man. It brainished a club.

Fredricx choose the whip. Dropping the chain links from his fingers, he gripped the handle tightly. The beast turned, and Fredricx cracked his wrist, sending the shards flying. They connected with the creature. Fredricx jerked the chain links free and sent the whip to kiss the beast's torso. This time, the creature retaliated, lunging with its club. It made contact with Fredricx's abdomen. He groaned, jumping backwards and fighting the urge to vomit. Instead of pleasing his body, he forced himself straight, slashing the whip again. It tore through the beast's flesh. Fredricx yanked it free, which came with much resistance. For once, this resistance was to his advantage. The club was brought down again, but Fredricx was able to evade it.

Now between Ettie and the beast, he pulled free the pistol from the overcoat. Luckily, it was already loaded. Pulling back the hammer, he leveled the shot. The beast was less than a meter away, so the bullet easily penetrated its target, sending Fredricx's ears ringing and the beast to the ground.

He whipped around. Ettie was cowering on the floor. "Ettie," Fredricx spoke softly, scooping her onto her feet, "Can you walk? Let's go."

"Fredricx?" she shook underneath his grasp.

"It's me."

They made their way down the stairs and through the entry way. The garden was not of greenery but of red. The fire had spread as the gateway had toppled into flames. The moon was equally red, casting seemingly red shadows below.

Ettie was gripping his arm tightly, coughing and sputtering from the smoke. He tensed. His luck had run out.