The church streets were dark this time of night, the flickering lamplight hardly illuminating a few feet.

Gyomei's eyes fluttered, the urge to open them and see almost overpowering. He could see the raised flagstone that threatened his footing, the belltower that chimed midnight off to his right, the deep breathing of some large being up ahead, the chime of steel on stone. It would be so easy.

His heart of stone trembled under his firm will.

Gyomei Himejima allowed none of his internal turbulence to show. Eyes shut, he moved slowly, weapon lowered and arms at his side. He had more ways to see than eyes. It would do. Gods help him, it would have to.

The kiss of wind revealed the scent of dogs in the bushes, the gentle rumbling underfoot informing him that they had raised the gates.

Reinforcements?

Nay, a raiding party.

"The Church does not 'raid', boy." Gascoigne would growl, mixed longing and disgust on his face. "This is their land to arbitrate. Jury of armed peers and a judge to oversee with his blessed hammer, so does the church's 'court' rove the streets. Careful you give them no cause to do so."

Gyomei rolled a bead between his fingers, the scent of incense buoying his spirits. At least, it was the only one he found less than offensive to his senses. Misery was the scent of waste and garbage on the breeze, rank mildew and fetid gore seeping into his pores. He felt it, even when he woke once more. Clinging to him.

This place had a way with such things. Clinging. It clung to everything, even what little he saw a hash of historical edifice and ameliorated construction. The past was not so far here, a sentiment he understood deeply.

The frustration. The search. Why hadn't they left what they knew behind? What had they sought?

What had they found?

He walked, feeling the way forwards in the breeze and his instincts. They screamed, as they had since he had appeared in this land. Something beyond him lay ahead. High above, it watched.

He felt stairs underfoot, and began to climb.

They wound and twisted, curved and bent, the railing wrecked. He let it go wistfully, continuing onwards without their support. Some of the steps were slick, others crumbling. There was a weight here, to this path. The center was worn. People had traversed these steps often.

But only in one direction.

"Halt."

He felt their attention, a frisson across his skin as they sized him up. These churchmen, they stood above him. Even through his shut lids, he could feel the heat of their lamps.

Rightfully, they ascertained the threat he posed, as he did the same.

"I wish to deal in information."

"Very well." The voice ahead spoke, slightly muffled. "Speak." He ignored the urge to look, trusting the reflexive analysis his own practiced senses provided.

"Just kill them all." Henryk would advise. "They're more trouble than they're worth. Trust me, I know."

Muffled voice, sterile smell, a heavy rasp of clothing. Mask, gloves, heavy robes.

Fear. Dirt. Waste and filth. Moonlight and embalming fluid.

Beneath it all, antiseptic and acid.

"What have you quarantined?"

A slight catch in breath. Gyomei allowed the fear to sink into his bones. Henryk was wrong this time.

"Step no further, Gyomei-sama."

Gyomei paused on the threshold, the warm currents from beyond it buffeting him. It eased his bones, relaxed his muscles.

"To tread further is to step into God's land." The stern voice called. The shiver to it belied his age.

"Forgive me." Gyomei murmured, lowering his head. "But I must pass."

"You and your kind are not permitted to step into God's land. Your work must be done elsewhere. No blood may be shed, not now."

"Not now that your God has finally step foot on his domain?" Gyomei questioned mildly. The voice caught.

Wood rattled, the inner sanctum trembled. It likely could not hear, but it questioned.

"There is no Kami in this shrine." Gyomei whispered, man unknown leaning over him from the top of the steps, but a few feet away. "Only a demon that took it's form. If one existed here, it is long gone. God's land is sacrosanct no more."

A long silence. High overhead, the torii creaked.

"I know."

The chill air was being blown away, replaced by something homely.

"But the people may not doubt. Now of all times, the Kami of the shrine must be seen as holy."

The warm air grew thick, overpowering. And yet, it was pleasant. Gyomei had grown familiar with this feeling, the syrupy feeling of a soporific trawling his veins. His gorge turned to mud.

"I chased it for 3 miles, sir." Gyomei muttered, shifting his weight. "It is weak. Vulnerable. Please, it will take but a moment. No one will see. Turn away, and it will be done."

"I will not. Not while believers continue to visit."

"The demon already has found a way to hunt." Gyomei's hand cut through the heavy air. "Your visitors are at risk!"

The empty-air sound of lips peeling apart. The elderly man before him was smiling.

"That is not the demon's doing."

Ah, Gyomei thought. Perhaps this man was already prepared for this.

"I will see you tonight, then, sir." He said.

"Tonight." The elderly priest agreed.

Gyomei grimly stalked back to the chapel, thoughts swirling through his head. An odd scraping caught his attention however. An odd clinking and scraping. Overcome with curiosity, he reluctantly opened his eyes.

The moonlight was blessedly gentle on his vision, but it still took a few moments to resolve his visual input into actual shapes.

Henryk was kicking aside some everpresent plants, dragging the body of a church hunter into the chapel. The scruffy greyish-green weeds sprung stubbornly back, barbed leaves catching his clothing and making him trip. The sack he'd been carrying behind him resolved itself when an arm flopped free.

"Bring it here" came the call from deeper in. Gyomei gingerly stepped around Henryk and his luggage. The body bore a pale white mask and long robes.

"These churchmen are a right pain and a half." Henryk grunted in an undertone, kicking away at some of the raised flagstones, casting his eyes about cautiously. Gyomei eyed the body with new eyes; so this was what he'd been speaking to? They seemed a great deal more intimidating now, the massive body corded with muscle and shot through with scars. Gyomei respectfully clapped his hands together.

"Why did you kill him." He murmured after a moment. Henryk grunted. "I'll tell you once we get away from-"

Further down, a caw. A crow poked its head around the corner, looking at their exposed flesh greedily.

"-from scavengers." He muttered with a curse. He kicked the corpse's hand back onto it's chest, and hefted its leg again, dragging it forwards. "Inside."

Gyomei nodded, turning and moving inside backwards, keeping a wary eye out for shadows before he ducked back inside to the warm hall. He felt some indiscernible wariness ease as he took in the scent of foreign incense wafting around him. Eileen was up on the upper platform, re-lighting the burners that had gone out from the chill breeze. Gascoigne sat behind her, in the center of the platform. The scent of blood grew strong once more, a slumped mass laid at his crossed feet. The lights about him cast a ghoulish glare on him, as he sat with dripping cleaver upraised.

With a swift stroke, he severed something from the bloody pulped mass, stripping it away with a violent tug. He hefted it once, twice, and tossed it at Henryk, who dropped the limb he'd been carrying and caught it.

It was a jawbone, shredded jaw muscles flapping a little.

"Strip the teeth." Gascoigne grunted absently. "We need to replace some tines on the shredding tools."

Gyomei allowed none of his internal disgust and unease to show. A tug at his sleeve revealed the owner of the chapel at his side, where he'd been seated on a nice cushion they'd rustled up for the poor man. He tugged again, and Gyomei leaned down, allowing the man to speak in a gentle undertone.

"Don't be afeared, Mr. Hunter." He spoke. "Been at it for an hour now, they have. They mentioned you're new to the area, yeah?"

"I am indeed."

The dweller chuckled nervously. "Then I wager you've never seen the like. They mention that, the visitors."

"They say the like because they've never fought the Hunt." Eileen said sharply. Gascoigne grunted in agreement.

Sharp ears, Gyomei noted.

The dweller fidgeted. He'd evidently not expected to have been overheard. "Tell me more." Gyomei spoke gently. The dweller relaxed a little.

What a terribly lonely man. How lonely they all were.

"Old hunter trick, I hear."

Henryk pulled out a saw spear. "Look here." He ran a finger down the edge of the blade, and then up the flat, until his fingers found a seam, a vein of red running the length. "See that?"

"What is that?" Gyomei had seen it before, of course. He'd never asked because...

It pulsed. The vein quivered, expanding and contracting, like a heartbeat.

"Bloodstone." Henryk flicked the steel of the blade, and it rang like a bell. "Probably the most valuable commodity this side of Coldblood or a very nice cocktail."

"More." Gascoigne grunted. "Hard to come by. Strengthens steel."

Strengthens steel? "How."

"It's..." Gascoigne was briefly lost for words.

"It's parasitic." Eileen cut in, shooting Gasoigne a withering look of contempt. "Some churchman."

Gascoigne's cheeks ruddied with temper. "I was no prancing choirman." He snapped slowly. "I didn't care what treatments they offered so long as it allowed us to clean the streets."

She snorted. "Excuses. You simply failed to pay attention."

Henryk chuckled lowly, but Gascoigne had no answer, striking instead at the pulped body he was...harvesting...with more force than strictly necessary. Eileen turned back to Gyomei with some satisfaction.

"The bloodstones are parasitic to some degree." She explained slowly. "They're embedded in steel. Good bloodstone is hard to come by."

With a loud grunt, Gascoigne wrested something from the stump of the corpse's head, holding up something that glinted wet in the faint light.

"It forms in the blood." He said with grim satisfaction. "Only in the strong ones. This one fed well."

Henryk snickered a little. He smacked the head of his churchman a bit, sending the jowls swinging. "You've been a great help." He spoke to the empty eyes intently.

"What is the rest for?" Gyomei spoke, disapproving of their cavalierness.

"Tools." Eileen held up a whetstone, and what looked like a sharpened hoop of bone.

"All hunter's weapons are tools." Henryk offered his spear by way of explanation. "Good for tissue."

Gascoigne waggled his saw without looking up. "Bone." He slowly stood up from the body, stretching. He was covered in blood. "Limbs. Connective tissue and suchlike."

Eileen's knives gleamed in the candlelight. "Shaped for skin, once upon a time." She said coldly. "Skin and hide. We had to adapt what we had. Eventually they got more specialized. Better at doing the job."

Henryk chortled. "Some were more successful than others. Those crazy bastards over in the Otto Workshop adapted mining tools."

Both Gascoigne and Eileen paused to grimace.

"Messy." Gyomei observed.

Henryk nodded cheerily. "Very."

"But those." Gyomei clicked his fingers, pointing towards the long-handled blade that lay discarded to the side. "Church weapon, no?"

"The church." Gascoigne said with thin lips. "Has no need to perform such tasks. They have people for that." He turned and delivered a swift kick to the pulped body at his feet. It burst with a wet sound, spraying some blood and bits of organ.

They stared at the body, where it lay. Looping claws adorned it's paws, and tufts of storm-blue hair still dotted its purpling flesh. It's bones were yellow, but thick, dense and sturdy. Ordinary weapons would not do. He could not judge these Hunters for their desperation, no matter how repugnant their methods.

But that cold pragmatism settled like a weight in his belly. His hands tightened on his own weapons. He could not judge them. But he could choose. And he would choose not to partake. The offer was implicit in their explanation, the offer to make his weapons better. Stronger.

But he would never forget that even these beasts were victims. He would never stoop to desecrating their bodies. His own Nichirin Blade was made to be something more than a tool. It was symbolic, in a way that perhaps only these churchmen would understand. He eyed their decorated weapons, and in them recognized a hope, a prayer. One he was familiar with.

Damnnation. Who could he truly call responsible, when everyone here seemed to be a victim?

Gyomei cast his eyes about awkwardly, until they caught on the long, darkly polished polearm that Gascoigne began hefting off the floor. "What about that?"

It was elegant. Fitted together tightly, with fine rivets and a plated barrel. Gascoigne's beloved axe.

"Trees." Gascoigne said simply.

Gyomei eyed the massive axe doubtfully. "Trees?"

Henryk aped a two handed grip, walking over to Gascoigne and swinging into his legs. Gascoigne mimed falling, clawing at his 'severed' knee, while Henryk wound up a second swing to his thighs.

"Trees." Eileen said drily.

Gascoigne and Henryk chuckled darkly.

Gyomei, despite his misgivings, felt a smile cross his lips. "There's one you didn't mention, however."

"Oh?" "What's that boya?"

Gyomei pointed to an innocuous long-handled ivory cane with a truly vicious looped blade fitted at the tip.

Henryk coughed. "Don't mind that one. Product of a...of another time."

Gyomei looked at it. The hidden razors glinted a bit. Gascoigne was pointedly not looking at it, but he'd not be able to pry the story from them this night. He gave up, amused. "What now?"

"Now." Eileen slowly eased herself to the floor, expression hidden. "Now, we rest. Then, the churchman."