Chapter Ten | The Pipes, the Pipes Are Calling

Thin sheets and the impassive face of the Doll were what met Catherine upon opening her eyes, nausea gripping her throat with slippery fingers as she realized she was back in Yharnam.

"No, no," she muttered, closing her eyes and wishing it to all just go away. "Please, god, tell me I'm not back."

"You were gone but a moment, Catherine. Whatever do you speak of?"

Catherine threw the sheets away, having been garbed in her armour between the blink of an eye and the next. "I went back home, I thought… I hoped-"

"You returned? Back to your strange home?" The Doll tilted her head pensively.

"Yes. Back to my strange home. I just-" Catherine patted herself down, checking for her weapons and the various tools that she'd picked up the last time she was here. "Wait."

Her wand.

Awe creeping into her veins, Catherine's hand trembled as she drew the wand from her breast pocket, for the first time in weeks feeling some level of poisonous hope building up inside her.

"Is that-?"

"My wand."

The Doll, for all her glassy skin, looked even paler in that moment. "Oh."

"Are you afraid?"

She shook her head. "I cannot feel fear. I cannot feel much, if anything. Only my love for you hunters."

Catherine froze, recalling the last time they had spoken. "Love?" she whispered. "I remember."

"I would certainly hope so," the Doll remarked with an unearthly smile on her face. "I... have heard many things from the hunters who have walked this Dream. They have told me of the Church, of their love for the gods. But, would the gods love their own creations?" She smoothed out her skirt, the two of them locking eyes. "Humans created me. Would you ever think to love me? The love I hold for you, is that not how you made me?"

"I don't- no. I don't think I could."

Her stomach swam at the thought of it, regarding this… thing as some sort of companion. Some sort of friend.

"Oh."

"I don't- I really don't want to make friends here. I don't want to make anything. I just want to figure a way out of this nightmare and stay home."

"That is… understandable."

"It's nothing against you," she deflected, and could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth, comforting some sort of magical construct. "I've seen this world, seen it for what it is, and there's nothing good for me here. The sooner I can be done with it all, the better."

"Then I imagine that will be all," the Doll said, offering her a short bow. "I will be off."

Catherine sat and watched as she left, fingers trembling as she stopped herself from waving goodbye. She had never been good at hurting others, not with words.

A punch, a slap… those were easy, but cutting remarks were something she held for people who thought only to attack her.

Draco, Snape, Umbridge, Voldemort. For some reason she felt comfortable running her mouth in front of them, even if it meant imminent punishment. But to those who did nothing to deserve her words?

It killed her inside, no matter how necessary they were.

"What frightening behaviour. Though, I imagine that creature deserves no less."

"Gehrman," Catherine uttered, glancing in his direction.

He wheeled towards her, gnarled hands skipping across the worn treads. "No hello? How do you do? I must not have made an apt impression when we last spoke. Though, judging by the garb you now wear you've taken to Yharnam quite comfortably."

"Not comfortably, but I always adapt. It's kept me alive so far."

"Adapt, she says, as if this were the wilderness." He leaned forward, hands resting on his cane. "Will you then be off to the forest? Romping about with a tent and fire, a rabbit twirling on the spit?"

Ignoring him, Catherine rummaged through her pockets, drawing out one of the many strange, bloody stones she had happened across in the city. "I've been meaning to ask. What are these?"

Glaring at her, his lip curled. "Bloodstone. Very useful, very strong, and frightfully difficult to work with. Why, your weapons were made with the very same stuff. Just a touch, mind you, but enough to work."

"So… what do I do with it then?"

"Forge it into your weapon, you twit."

"How."

He pointed at the workbench at the side of the room. "A personal trick. Here, I'll show you."

Not one to refuse help, Catherine stood up and followed him to the table. He kicked at a pedal behind his ankles, the seat of his chair rising on hidden pistons.

"Can't reach the damned top otherwise," he groused, meeting her stare. "Here, hand me your spear."

Slipping the weapon off her back, Catherine gave it to the man, dropping the few shards of bloodstone she had on the table.

She watched as he took a bottle of what looked like molten silver, pouring the substance into a short glass before dropping the shards into it. In an instant they began to melt, mingling with the liquid and staining it a deep red.

Gehrman moved the spear - quite handily Catherine thought, for a man so frail - fixing it to a vice. "This part must come quickly, before the quicksilver and the bloodstone fuses entirely," he stated, pouring the mix over the length of the blade. Quickly, he loosened the vice and turned the spear over, evenly coating the other side of the blade.

His hands moved rapidly as he snatched up a copper blowtorch, muttering something under his breath as he pulled the handle shut. Flames spurted from the end, vibrant blue and hissing wildly as they danced over the spear.

Flinching, Catherine stared down at the torch, confused when she didn't find herself blinded by the fire.

"That's hotter than a welders torch."

"A welder?" Gehrman asked, not looking up from his work.

"Type of metalworker. Neighbour is a builder, welder, talks with my Uncle about it all the time."

"And what do these welders do, exactly?"

"I don't know. Weld? They do something to fuse metal together."

"Excellent, that means you understand the basis of this. Now shut up and watch."

And so she did, eyes keen as Gehrman expertly coated the blade in flames, even strokes working across the metal as if a painter's brush - each dash clean and confident, the mixture sparking before being absorbed into the steel itself.

"Fascinating."

"Quiet," he barked, though his words, for once, held no venom.

How long had it been since he'd last had a visitor in the Dream, she wondered? Someone or something besides the Doll herself?

Catherine knew Eileen had been a dreamer, once upon a time, but the woman - by the sound of her voice, thick with gravel - was old, much older than any Hunter had the right to be. Even Gascoigne, a man seemingly thirty years of age bore hair white as snow, something she was learning to be quite common in a city wherein stress was the least troublesome of emotions.

Did people long before agriculture, or upon the inception of such, look as pallid and broken as Yharnam's inhabitants? She couldn't imagine the wear that settled heavy on their minds, unable to feel safe walking the streets let alone rest within their own homes.

But the night seemed different here. Indefinite. Something strange and withered that left her unsettled and feeling as though she had been trapped in a waking nightmare.

Because no night could be as dark or long as this one, a sentient terror that sank its awful and unfeeling claws into the city. No night could bring with it such a terrible sense of danger when held clean between walls that, by all means, were that of a fortress.

Perhaps it was because the city was anything but, instead a prison fashioned by its own inmates, forced into it by dire need of a medicine that they knew (because of course, they must know) would turn them into the very beasts that stalked their bloodied streets.

So Catherine watched as Gehrman forged anew her crooked blade, the teeth lining its edge appearing to be that much sharper - be it from a trick of the light or the melted stone that it had drank as greedily as she would one of those many foggy vials.

"How does it form? The bloodstone. Can it be mined?"

"Mined?" He chuckled, flicking off the torch and stowing it back atop the workbench. "I'm sure the process is a touch similar."

"How?"

Rapping his fist against his chest, Gherman grinned. "From here. Yharnam blood, crystallized within the veins. It can be found in the heart, if one is willing to reach for it. Oh, but you're a hunter, I've heard that's now a common trick among you types."

"You mean… I have to-"

"Yes, most easily found when their heart still beats within their chest. You must reach in and grasp it." His voice raised in pitch, whispering on high like wind across reeds. "But not too tight! Do not crush it, lest you instead wish to work with the powdered dregs that remain. Bloodstone is a delicate substance, and terribly valuable. There's many beasts that roam Yharnam that may offer you quite a bit of trouble if you find your blade catching on their flesh."

"What on earth could possibly walk away from getting cut by that?" she asked, gesturing to the blade with a horrified expression. "There can't be anymore of that… thing that I saw on the bridge."

Gehrman simply tapped the side of his nose, before offering the spear to her. "Strange, horrible, wonderful creatures. You'll know soon enough, although, you act as if you've seen one already."

"His- he used to be- it's blood fell in my mouth when I was fighting it. I… saw things, what it used to be. A Cleric, but he had been transformed into something even more awful than the werewolves in the city."

"A former Cleric you say? Why, that's a special kind of blood. Quite fitting that the man would have been turned into something even more wretched than the common-folk."

"Special blood? Even compared to this?" she asked, tapping at one of the vials fastened to her waist.

"Very much so. Blood Saints, Vicars, Hunters.. each one a touch different, but some greater than others. Not all blood is one and the same, why, look to Cainhurst. Vilebloods, they called them, and they embraced it."

"Cainhurst? I remember the Doll mentioning it."

"That she would. It was a kingdom, off west, far beyond the naked sea and nestled within the mountains." Gehrman glanced through the window toward the unearthly pillars ringing the workshop, hoary peaks matted by fog. "The only ones to ever truly threaten the Church. Of course, they killed them for it. Every last one."

"So they committed genocide."

"Yes. Slaughtered every last one of them. It's told that only Logarius' executioners still roam the Castle Cainhurst, cursed in the final moments of that broken civilization."

"Good." Catherine's lip curled at the revelation, her distaste for the Church rapidly shifting to outright hatred. "They deserve to be cursed."

"I'm sure you wouldn't say such a thing if you had happened across one of their knights, or the hedonistic terrors they called nobility. The chosen few of Cainhurst made a habit of taking slaves and bloodstock for their own amusement." Gehrmans face twisted into a scowl. "Vampires, every last one," he spat, rapping his cane against the floor for good measure.

"But to commit genocide. Kill the nobles, yes, bring out the guillotines. The people of my world have done that plenty enough, but I don't think these executioners stopped at the nobles, did they?"

Gehrman waved his hand, scoffing. "The whole lot of them were rotten. Vilebloods through and through." He locked eyes with Catherine, sharp gray seeming to bore into her very mind. "The knights and nobles from that damnable kingdom were far more terrifying monsters than anything you would encounter within Yharnam."

"To kill them all is still reprehensible."

"Maybe in your world, girl, but here? You're one of us now, a Yharnamite - outsider you may be - that blood still runs through your veins. Perhaps where you come from one can hold to such paltry notions of sympathy, but you shall find no one here waiting to coddle you and your incessant nattering."

"You know, for a moment there, I thought we were actually getting along," she sniped.

"Ha!" Gehrman clapped his hands, a sharp laugh leaping from his throat. "If you wish for friends, find a whore willing to offer you their time and ear."

Jaw clenched, Catherine stood up and walked past the madman, ignoring the Doll as she set her hand upon the headstone and allowed its magic to carry her away.

-::-

Yharnam.

Blood and sweat and terrible things that lurked in the dark.

A bridge housing the rotting corpse of a beast too large to exist, something that could not carry its own weight without an ungodly strength and the nightmares that bred in this place fueling its every step.

Catherine returned to it all with fear in her heart, anger clawing at her spine.

Immortality, she felt, was a curse so horrible that she would not wish it upon her greatest enemy. Forced to drag herself through stinking alleys and scrape the blood off her pale form, meat clinging to her blade and the dying keens of a beast she felt too tired - too spiteful to end - clawing at the dirt behind her.

Not for the first time she played with the idea of death, a sweet embrace waiting just beyond the fold, yet something she knew now she could never lay hands on.

Oh, if only for a glimpse here, a torn chest there, or perhaps her foot - or what remained of it - pumping ragged jets of blood from the frayed stump where it used to be as her eyes slowly fluttered shut. No, Catherine could only look upon death with envy, gaze down at the bodies at her feet covered in mange and marred with sores, wishing she could enjoy such simple release.

When she was at Hogwarts, some part of her hoped that perhaps it was all a terrible dream. That she would finally find herself asleep and wake to find that no, there were not two hideous, unearthly blades locked away in her trunk. That there wasn't blood, poured into a vial and sweet upon her tongue every time she left an office so thick with pink, she thought it a feverish hallucination from the mind of a broken childrens author.

When she was at Hogwarts, she didn't dream of death as though it were the only cure to her horrid existence.

Searching for a new way to gain entry to the vaunted Cathedral Ward had continued to destroy her, inside and out.

Catherine had walked the sewers and their every dripping corner. She had climbed towers, screaming as she fell below to be impaled upon a spiked fence. She had tried to cut through the bars at the end of the bridge, falling into hysterics as her blade skipped off the metal and buried itself in her thigh.

Eileen was nowhere to be found, nor Gascoigne - the two hunters the only inkling of possible help that could come to mind.

So she wandered back to Iosefka's Clinic, only to find that something horrible had happened.

The windows were shuttered, the doors locked, and she could only vaguely see the outline of a knife held in the hands of whatever had come for the woman in the night. It was not Iosefka that hid behind those walls, not any longer.

For a moment, Catherine had thought of unlocking the door. It would have been simple, easy with her wand now in hand, but she felt too tired to do such a thing. Too exhausted to bother even raising her arm and blasting the door down, destroying whatever creature now spoke in her voice.

It, whatever it was, had been cheery to see her - its tone so unlike the fear that laced the Iosefka's words upon their first, and only real encounter.

"Splendid," she had said, the light sound of clapping behind the door echoing out from the thin seam below it. "You're soon off to hunt, yes? Then, if you find any survivors, tell them to come here and seek my clinic."

"I thought you said they were too frail," Catherine had replied thinly. "You couldn't let the plague inside these doors. You've even locked them up, shuttered all but the main door. Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes. Upon my oath, if they are yet human, I will look after them - perhaps even cure them. These beasts, the sickness, one must not fear it. And the night is so long, I may be trapped in here but I must do something to help, should I not? Why, I'll even offer a reward for your cooperation!"

She had left the clinic sick to her stomach, realizing that the one good person in this city, for a hunter could not be considered such, was now dead.

At least, she prayed she was, not tied up somewhere within the building.

The thought of killing the imposter, whoever she was, brought bile to her throat. Mad, undoubtedly so, but human all the same… she wasn't sure she had it in her to take her blade to that woman's throat.

No, she would leave her be, and pray that they never crossed paths.

So instead, she found herself wandering the city, attempting to find a way to that damnable bridge, not the large one that stunk of rot and was now plagued by hungry beasts all come to feast on the only creature stronger than them. Instead the one below it, littered with men and women brandishing torches, spears, and makeshift swords all clenched in hands that were beginning to morph and twist into something more built for tearing than grasping.

It seemed that Gascoigne's home, that tiny little apartment overlooking the sewers (and what a delightful view it was) and cloaked in incense was the only way there.

Hoping the man was in, Catherine walked up to the window and stuck her arm through the bars that extended past it, rapping her hand against the glass.

"Hello?" she called. "Is Gascoigne home, or is he out?"

A frightened gasp was what met her, the blinds being pulled back to reveal a young girl, perhaps nine or ten, her face streaked in tears. "Are- are you a hunter?"

Flinching, Catherine nodded. "Yes, I… I've hunted with your dad once, and I was wondering if he could help me find my way to Cathedral Ward. Are you okay?"

The girl shook her head, swallowing heavily. "No. My mum went looking for my daddy, and- he hadn't come back, and she hasn't either. I'm all alone… and… I- can you please look for her? Please? You're a hunter! You can find her and my daddy!"

Catherine bit her lip, heart thundering at the idea of this woman looking for her husband with the city like this.

For just a moment, her thoughts were taken away from herself. It made her feel human again.

"Yes. I- I can go look for her and your dad. Have they been gone for long?"

"Only an hour, I think. The bells have only chimed once since."

"Good. Do you know where I could find them? Somewhere your dad tends to go?"

"Really! Oh, oh thank you! They sometimes go to the chapel, across the little bridge… there's a tomb. I don't really know what for, a god I think, but mum and dad like the gardens there. Um- my mum wears a brooch, with a red jewel in it, it's big and beautiful and- you won't miss it!" The girl stammered, fiddling with a latch before yanking the window open. She disappeared, the sound of cupboards sliding open echoing out of the house, before sticking her head back out the window with a little box in hand. "Give her this. It plays one of daddy's favourite songs, and when he forgets us we play it for him so he remembers."

Taking the box, Catherine patted the girl's hand. "I'll find your parents, okay? I'll bring them right back," she said, the words like poison on her tongue.

There was something wrong with Gascoigne when she had first seen him, and his jovial nature when spattered in blood unnerved her to no end. Perhaps his demeanour was true of all hunters. Perhaps he was blood-drunk, or close to it.

Whatever the case, Catherine was worried for him, and luckily enough, he was exactly where she needed to go. At least, she hoped. To find him and his wife in this city in the midst of all these beasts was… unthinkable to her. Impossible.

Even with her new senses, nose sharpened to a hound-like point, Catherine could scarcely discern the filth from the blood that ran so pungent in Yharnam's streets.

"Really?"

"Really. And I'll be back as soon as I can. Is… is there anyone else there with you? To take care of you?"

"My sister, but she went out to meet a friend during the day. I don't know if she'll be back until morning."

"Then… lock the windows, don't open them for anyone but me, okay? Keep that incense burning, and just… be as safe as you can. I'll be back before you know it," Catherine stated, offering a short wave before running off toward the bridge.

She ducked past snarling dogs, sprinted away from roaring townsfolk as she pushed her way to the bridge.

It was down below, she knew, but getting there was the hard part.

For a city with so many ladders, she found it more than difficult to happen across one that actually took her somewhere she needed to go.

Until Catherine remembered the lift, across from a home near the main bridge.

Jaw set, she continued in her wild chase - determined to find Gascoigne and his wife and bring them back safely to their daughters. It had only been an hour, two at most. There was still a chance they were out there.

Because they were Yharnamites, weren't they? Far better accustomed to horror such as this than a witch from Britain.

They must be. The woman's husband was a hunter, after all. She had to have picked up a trick or two.

Steps quiet, Catherine slunk past two wolves, bickering over a bloodied torso. She crept across the bridge and into the home, palms clammy as they wrapped around her wand and blade, blinking against the darkness.

With a shout, she ducked out of the way as a man came screaming out of the shadows, practically impaling himself on her spear as he rushed toward her.

Grimacing, she kicked him off the blade, whirling around to dodge the swing of another beast who had been hiding behind the door, his face contorted in agony as her wand let off a massive bang, blowing a hole in his chest and throwing him across the room.

There was the hammering of feet across steps, and Catherine swung her spear just as a woman came sprinting up them, cleanly slicing through her throat.

She stepped over her, leaving the woman to gasp wetly at the blood pouring from her throat.

Breath hardly laboured, she crept down the stairs, glancing around the corner to see a man in a wheelchair with a pistol pointed at her head.

Gasping, she ducked as the shot went off, cursing loudly as the bullet clipped her ear.

With a growl on her lips, Catherine stomped over to the man as he frantically attempted to reload his pistol, aged fingers slipping across the polished steel. He let out a cry as she buried the spear in his chest, batting away the pistol as he tried to point it at her with twitching arms.

She turned away from the dead man, stepping out of the home to see two giants grappling in a short courtyard, the bridge easily visible from her point on the stairs.

Good.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she crept up behind them, halting only briefly when one roared, only for it to throw its companion over the ledge, sending it screaming to its death.

Quietly thankful for saving her the trouble, Catherine crept closer and closer until-

Now.

Hand reared back, she thrust her blade through the creatures back and out its front, the sudden stink pouring from its belly screaming of the viscera it must have feasted on earlier.

Remembering Gehrman's words, Catherine formed her hand into a point as the giant dropped to its knees, staring down at the blade in shock.

Roaring, Catherine plunged her hand through its shoulder, ripping through muscle and cracking bone as she grasped at its heart from the inside. Sick tickling at her throat, she pushed down a retch as she pulled her hand back out, arteries snapping as she tore the things heart from its back.

It fell forward, letting out a weak groan, but all Catherine was focused on was the still beating heart that she held in her hand.

Nauseous cloying grasp ghosting at her belly, she ignored the feeling as she tucked her wand into her pocket and pried the organ apart, a shimmering chunk of bloodstone falling from it and clattering across the ground.

She gasped, tossing the heart away as she bent down to pick up the stone, sighing in relief to find it had hardly been chipped in its travels.

It was small, hardly as thick as a twig, but with the ease in which her blade had cut through beasts with but a few of these, she was more than happy to have it in hand.

Placing it in one of the many pockets lining her coat, Catherine wrenched her spear out of the giant's body before taking her wand from her pocket, marching to the lift with horrifying confidence.

"Really?" she asked aloud, finding it barred by a collapsing grate that would not budge no matter how hard she pulled at it. Frustrated, she raised her arm, the flames that poured from her wand a torrid red as they worked their way across the metal, slowly but surely melting it down.

With that, she pulled the lever to her side and waited for the lift, confused for a moment when she stepped into it to find no buttons nor machinery of any sort, except for what looked to be a large button in the middle of the platform.

Pressing on it with her foot, she flinched as the lift rattled, carrying her swiftly down to the bottom level.

"What kind of insane engineers live in this city?" she wondered, staring at the contraption with some level of worry, fearing that it may up and explode beneath her, judging by how maddening the very concept of it was.

At least it worked without an attendant.

Stepping off the lift as quickly as she could, Catherine was more than happy to not add another 'falling to my death' notch to her mental list.

But now it seemed more likely that she would once more be chopped to bits trying to cross this bridge.

It looked as if every townsperson from the courtyard execution of - what she now realized was another cleric - had suddenly come back to life and gathered here along the only path she knew to get to Gascoigne.

You have dealt with far worse than these beasts.

Yeah? she snarked back. Not this many. Not without being out of my mind.

The creature that spoke to her seemed to sigh, though there was no sound to accompany it, but a lengthy pause instead. Then drink of my peoples blood and slay these creatures as you did their brethren.

Hand twitching, Catherine for once agreed with its notions. Snatching a vial off her belt, she tore off the cap and raised it to her lips, downing it in one swift movement.

As long as it stopped her from looking into their eyes, as long as it stopped her from feeling too much, it was worth it. She shook her head as the blood hummed from inside her, knees flexing as she prepared herself for the coming slaughter.

Just as she thought that, one of them noticed her, howling as he raised his torch and pointing in her direction.

Holding her breath, she held her spear tight, fingers shifting over her wand as she stared down the horde.

"You can do this," she told herself, neck flexing of its own accord as the blood worked its way through her. "You've got this."

With a roar, they began charging towards her, a hollering mass of deformed anger bolting down the bridge. Their blades scraped against the stone, shrieking horribly and casting sparks against the dark of night, the light dancing across their bloodied forms.

Catherine fired off an explosive hex as she rushed to meet them, the head of a woman at the front bursting open, the force knocking over a few near her now slumped corpse while the rest behind it slipped on the blood, losing their hold on their weapons.

Her spear clicked as she flicked it to the side, extended fully as she brought it up into a swipe, carving through one of the beasts thighs and severing it from his body.

Rolling, Catherine let off another explosion, blowing off the feet of the few nearest townsfolk as she jumped to her feet, stabbing another through the heart before whirling to catch another in the gut, her spear leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

She pushed clumsily through the crowd, hissing at every scrape and gash that tore through her armour, heart thumping with each body she added to the growing pile.

Her vision burst white as what felt like a hammer crashed against her jaw, staggering backwards and falling over a body. Catherine laughed through her broken jaw, teeth rolling beneath her tongue at the sight of pulped flesh atop a stump neck, realizing she'd sabotaged herself.

And with that, she died her first death, jaw torn from her body and a pitchfork ripping through her throat.

She laughed even louder when she returned to see them trying to dump their dead off the bridge, some crying and murmuring unintelligibly over the cooling bodies.

That time, they feared her, truly feared her, some stumbling backwards at the sight of her ghost and screaming in broken voices for mercy.

They found none at her hand, and Catherine saw only minor relief upon their faces as a boulder set ablaze came roaring down the path, crushing her beneath its weight and leaving her body smeared across the cobblestone.

The next time she returned, they seemed almost resigned to their deaths, many having fled while only the beastial remained, bodies distended and bones pushing their skin into horrid shapes as they tread further and further into their corruption.

Catherine slew them without effort, body fresh but mind haggard, wretched sobs ebbing from her throat as she stumbled toward the two that remained, hiding atop the stairs - another giant next to a frail little thing, holding a bit of plyboard against his chest and whimpering as she got closer.

"Was that your boulder?" she asked, glancing up at the torch. "Very clever. Must have taken a lot to get it set up."

The man began to sob, hardly affected by the scourge. His face was clean, but his hands were matted with fur. "Please, I don't- just, begone beast! Begone!" The giant next to him simply growled, hands held out and body hunched as it prepared to leap at her, apparently waiting for a signal from the softly sobbing man beside it.

"Beast?" Catherine asked, glancing left and right. "You mean them?" She jabbed her thumb over her back. "You mean you? That thing next to you?"

She eyed the giant, reaching down to snatch a vial off one of the many corpses and putting it to her lips. Drinking it slowly, she let out a sigh as the last drop fell across her tongue, tossing it aside and finding some horrid amusement as the man winced, eyes trailing the path of the vial as it shattered against the ground.

"You can walk away from this. You seem sane enough to realize that." Catherine stepped to the side, pointing past the pile of corpses toward the city. "Go."

Nodding hurriedly, the man dropped his shield, barely glancing at her as he sprinted away. She stood and watched as he stumbled over the bodies, hands scraping at the pavement and legs shaking as he carried himself to safety.

Turning back to the giant, she smiled, stepping back and taking another vial, sipping at it before putting the cap back on and fastening it to her waist. "I don't think you're all that sane, are you?"

The creature huffed, spit flying from its mouth.

Catherine sprinted up the steps, pulling beneath the beasts swinging arms as she clipped its tendons, blade raking across its ankles and sending it screaming to the ground, fists bashing against the stone.

With a single swing she beheaded it, stepping on top of its body and once more reaching into the silent corpse, pulling the warm heart from its chest.

Her throat bobbed and she turned to vomit, spitting once as she pried the heart apart to reveal the treasure inside - or, lack of.

She chuckled quietly, a broken sound that was hardly discernible over the distant sounds of wailing and, if she wasn't mistaken, the crying of a baby.

Looking out across the chaos she had wrought, Catherine walked back down the steps and began to work on harvesting the bloodstone from each and every body she had left to rot.

To do otherwise, she thought, would be more than disrespectful.