Chapter Twenty-Four | Alföðr
Amelia's shrieks bounced off the walls only to do nothing but offer Catherine a dull ache, her eardrums damaged as they were - popped like blisters and trickling down her chin.
The tinny whine that echoed around in her skull and skull alone instead drove her forward, spear cleaving through Amelia's outstretched hand and nearly carving it in two. The fingers splayed out like tentacles, tendons flapping uselessly next to bone that dripped a glistening red.
Another shriek, and Catherine grinned, ducking beneath a hurried swipe as Amelia launched herself backwards, reaching up with both hands clasped and smashing them against the ground, knocking Catherine over from the shockwave.
She spat dirt, rolling to avoid another heavy crash of hands the size of her torso, only the faintest bit of Amelia's unending scream finding its way into her head.
Fire sprayed from her wand, something she'd found effective against damn near every beast she'd come across in this city.
And work it did, Amelia raising one clawed hand to shield herself from the spitting flames, wicked teeth glinting as she shuffled back as far away as she could get, her flank pressing to the walls.
Still, though, she clutched that pendant to her chest, some remnant of who she was locked deep inside her beastly mind and clinging to the faith that once drove her to…
What?
Catherine knew nothing about the woman, sans the knowledge that she was the Vicar. The head of state, leader of the Church of Blood Healing and the most powerful person in the entirety of Yharnam.
Yet, she was left in solace to worship her gods, away from any protectors Catherine imagined she may have had.
Why?
Snarling, she sprinted beneath the hulking beast, sliding across the floor and skimming below Amelia's legs, dragging her spear across her belly.
She felt the scream that burst from Amelia reverberate through the floor and shake her very spine, Catherine's teeth buzzing from the sensation of it and the aftershock tickling her nose.
But the blood that poured over her spoke of a wound to be proud of, something that hopefully crippled the beast that-
A heavy kick struck her in the hip, shooting Catherine across the room. She gasped loudly as she crashed against the far wall, feeling her ribs break and the back of her skull crack apart from the impact - a sickening crunch that pounded behind her eyes and throat, her tongue feeling heavy, the world spinning before her and making her gut churn.
Struggling, she scrambled at her side for a vial and drank it clumsily, most of it spilling across her chin and down her chest, mingling with the blood that already stained her armour.
But the fog cleared as she felt her mind begin to return, the sudden concussion fading away and her hearing returning with a vengeance.
Except there was a strange wobble to her vision that remained, the floor looking up at her through a hazy blur so strong it was almost unrecognizable.
The floor?
Catherine drew her hand up and cringed as she palmed at her hanging eye, the thing stuck between her cheekbone and glasses, sickness swirling in her gut as she prodded at it and tried to blink against the sensation, only to feel her left eyelid shut around a thin rope of nerves.
Heaving, she yanked on it, shouting in pain as she tore the useless appendage off. Her jaw set into a grimace as tears poured down one side of her face, the world before her suddenly becoming flat.
Her depth perception shot, Catherine considered running her own blade across her throat and making the trek back, before she told herself she'd better try to end things here, and try to cram her eye back in once all was said and done.
Tucking the organ into her pocket, Catherine fired off a random barrage of spells, bombarding Amelia with explosions, invisible knives, and a few fireballs that clung to her fur and burned viciously.
She turned out the pained shrieks, high pitched and stricken with terror as Amelia batted at her own body in an attempt to put out the flames.
Catherine was quick as she closed the distance, disappearing in a flicker of dust and appearing at Amelia's side, her spear dragging through flesh and bone as she tore through the beastwomans thigh.
That she could do, up so close that she could feel the heat pouring off the massive creature, unable to miss even if she tried.
Amelia tried to kick her again, Catherine twirling away and hissing as her rear paw caught at her jacket, spinning her even faster and making her gut whirl with nausea. Spitting bile, she plunged her spear into the meaty flesh near Amelia's spine and used it to anchor herself, holding on tight as the massive beast attempted to buck her off.
Fur wrapped around her wrist, Catherine hoisted herself onto Amelia's back, using her spear like an ice pick to climb upward. Wand held between her teeth, she grinned, reveling with each shriek that poured from Amelia's maw, how it rattled her skull clung to the beast like this.
A hand swung around, batting at her and trying to pry her off, and Catherine snarled at it, ignoring how it crashed against her side and broke her ribs, her hips aching and heels dug firmly into leathery flesh.
She reached Amelia's long neck, planting her spear deep in her shoulder so she could snatch her wand from between her teeth, conjuring spikes on the bottom of her boots that she dug into muscle and bone, another shot of magic tweaking them so that they formed into hooks.
The only way she was getting taken off this things back was if she got torn in half, and Catherine found herself curious for a moment, wondering how that would feel.
Putting her macabre interest aside, she yanked her blade out of Amelia's shoulder and placed it firmly against the side of her neck, a vicious smirk across her face as she began working it back and forth, sawing through the thick muscle like a tree trunk.
Her whole body moved with the spear, pulling back and forth, drenching herself in blood as steel met artery, the stuff spraying out like water from a fire hydrant every few seconds, thick bursts that ribboned through the air and splattered against stone and glass.
Amelia screamed, wrenching herself side to side and trying desperately to pull Catherine off, her hand scrabbling uselessly at the leather duster that armored her, only serving to scratch Catherine and leave her bleeding freely down her back, dripping and mingling with the crimson that already stained Amelia's fur.
Furiously, Catherine propped the spear handle above her shoulder and started hacking through bone. Suddenly, Amelia fell, wailing as her spinal cord was severed, a mighty crash echoing through the Cathedral.
Catherine panted, yanking the spear out of the crevice it had chipped through in Amelia's spine. Again, she plucked her wand from between her teeth, letting the spikes on her boots disappear so she could clamber off the massive body, hitting the ground with a thud, before shuffling around Amelia's massive snout to face her.
Blood still poured from her neck, throaty whines trickling out from between jagged teeth. She pushed up the remnants of Amelia's dress that still covered her eyes, revealing that same startling green. It made her jaw clench, to see something so familiar, but Catherine ignored it, holding the butt of her spear against her waist and running forward, plunging it into Amelia's eye and into her brain, killing the beast in an instant.
Exhausted, Catherine let herself lean against the weapon and sigh heavily, chin on her knuckles and her palms on the hilt of her blade. She snatched a vial from her waist, drinking from it slowly, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
She laughed, far too much blood on her to simply wipe off, looking down to see her hand already dripping. She shrugged her shoulders, feeling her body soaked from head to toe - a few flecks of it trickling into her eyes - the sticky warmth of her hair clinging to the back of her neck making her shiver.
"Where the hell did I…" she pawed at her jacket, plucking her eye from its cozy little pocket.
Catherine stared at it for a second, before shrugging and attempting to cram it back into her head.
Taking off her blood spattered glasses, she shuddered at the sensation of prying open an empty eyelid, pulling at the meaty string of optic nerve and pinching it awkwardly at the spot where it once connected to its neighbour.
Another blood vial, and she felt the flesh begin to knit back together, lightning bolts traveling from her eye to her spine and making her shudder in equal parts pain and completely alien discomfort.
Tentatively, she pressed the eye back into her skull, cursing softly as it refused to return to its old home.
"Fuck it." Catherine pushed, grunting as the organ was forced back inside, pulling her eyelids in with it and trapping them against the walls of her skull. "Motherfucker."
She pulled her eyelids back out, blinking and blinking and blinking - god dammit could that pinch go away? Wet fingers fumbled at her glasses, putting them back on to reveal a world that wasn't flat, but wasn't… quite the same as before.
Catherine rubbed at her eyes, blinking a few more times only to find that her left eye was now thoroughly buggered.
A trickle of fear ran through her.
Would it scar? Did she just permanently damage her eyesight, even here in Yharnam?
She still didn't know what exactly caused some scars to stick, and others to not, though she was thankful that none of them had left her crippled so far. Catherine could find herself dead, her skull crushed and mind scattered across dirty stone, and wake up in the Dream without a single mark upon her head - or she could have a wolf tear through her spine and find thick marks, the gnash and gnarl of sharp teeth, painted over her back.
Fuck.
Subconsciously, she crossed her fingers, hoping that whatever this was didn't stick.
She stepped away from her spear, leaving it planted in Amelia's skull like a celebratory flag, a candle on a birthday cake shining brilliantly atop the glimmering red icing that hid her prize.
Kneeling in the puddle of blood that still grew around the massive furry head of Amelia, thick gouts trickling from her fleshy throat, Catherine dipped her hands into the pool and brought them to her lips, searching for the memories she knew to be trapped within.
Flickers of Amelia's childhood rushed through her mind. Church towers and ringing bells, rooms candlelit and imperious that seemed so very tall, so very large in her tiny mind. She grew up among the Church, raised by them to be a figurehead.
Once a Blood Saint, whatever that seemed to be, almost chattel-like in her lifestyle. She was raised on… a pale blood, silver and milky - like liquid memory - and so very precious to her, to the faceless women that reared her who spoke only in hushed whispers about the substance, every drop precious and burning inside her only a scant moment after bringing it to her lips.
Annoyance brimmed inside her as the memories flew by, the slow realization passing over Catherine that Amelia was nothing but a figurehead. A puppet with a pretty face fashioned by the Church to be their representative. To walk through the streets of Yharnam and offer small kindnesses to those who approached her, pithy comments on the gods and the Good Blood, little bits of charity down at the Chapel.
She was useless. She knew nothing.
Catherine growled, trying to pry at the memories and bring what Amelia had spoken of to mind, how she had said she was blind. But nothing cropped up, only flashes of burning red and ashen clouds that made her eyes sting.
A roar left her body as she returned to her own mind, smashing her open palms against the pool of blood that she kneeled in and splashing herself with even more of the stuff, sticky and hot against her face and dripping quietly back down to the floor.
Was that Paleblood that she had seen? Something sacred, used to change the blood of a virgin woman into something far more precious or powerful than any common pint that one could find anywhere in the city.
And what did Amelia mean? 'Look to the skies,' she had told her. Blind, she had called her, looking upon Catherine as nothing but impetuous. Did they draw it from birds? From the crows that barked and snarled from dingy alleys? Did the skies rain blood? A smoky black tinged red at the edges and spitting it like fire from above?
Those crows did not bleed white, though, and Catherine knew how thick the tang of beasthood clung to their veins.
No. This had to come from somewhere deep within the Church. Somewhere hidden, somewhere safe, somewhere-
That bloody door.
Was that where she had to go? To find her way into wherever that path led?
"Damnit."
She'd have to find a way in, somehow. Even the memories of Amelia, her blood still so deliciously sweet and clinging to her lips, contained little to nothing about it other than the taste.
Ambrosia, it seemed to be, divine and terribly addicting, held in the highest regard by the Church.
Was that the Good Blood that they spoke of? Or was that just a common saying wrapped up in so much secrecy that it only seemed to be important, beyond the words themselves? Then what made the Vilebloods she had been told about earn their name? Was this blood truly Good? Was theirs so terrible as to be aptly named Vile?
Catherine could hear the reverence when those of the Church spoke of the blood, holding it almost to the same standard as their gods, the two going hand in hand.
"Damnit."
She shook her head, more confused than anything. Every single new piece of information that she gleaned from this horrid place only served to make her feel even more lost, chipping away at the iceberg simply to realize that it sunk far deeper into the ocean than she had ever thought.
But, one thing stood out. Amelia's worship not of the blood, but of the beast-skull that stood upon the altar swathed in what might be the Churches very own Shroud of Turin.
Knees creaking, she got to her feet, shirking around Amelia's massive corpse and walking slowly over to the skull.
It was a simple thing. The face cracked and bearing gaping holes where the eye-sockets should be, not quite broken but pushed outward, as if something had exploded from within. Perhaps, whoever this once was, their eyes had grown far too large far too quickly, the body rushing to accommodate.
Maybe this was just what the blood did.
The teeth were more that of fangs, drawn forward into a snout and shaggy black hair hung off the back of the skull, still clinging to the few scraps of mummified flesh that remained.
Something about it glowed.
Catherine could not see a light, but somehow she could feel it, not power but the inkling of something… something that reminded her of a ghost, still trapped within the bones that lay before her.
So she reached out and touched it.
It was as if she had been pulled into a pensieve, the world falling away beneath her feet and her mind dragged kicking and screaming into an inky black.
Shuddering, she tried to pull away from whatever magic drew at her, but it was far too strong, dim candlelight coming to her eyes and Catherine looking fuzzily through the vision of someone else. Someone much taller, that she knew, the world below eerily far away as she dimly felt the body of whomever's memory she was trapped within move forward.
"Master Willem, I've come to bid you farewell."
The voice was distant, yet she felt it spoken with her own lips, the scratch of something beneath her nose that she realized to be a beard. That name, though, was one she knew, told to her upon her arrival by Gehrman.
Byrgenwerth, this must be.
Through the fog, she could see the back of a rocking chair, grand and opulent, the arms of a man cloaked in finery laid upon the rests and gripping a large, golden staff.
"I know. You seek to betray me."
His voice was wizened, reminding her of a reedier, whispering Dumbledore - as if it came from a version of the Headmaster that was fragile, far more a scholar than the fighter she knew him to be.
"No… but you will never listen." The man she occupied sighed. "I tell you, I will not forget our adage."
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood." The old man's voice took on a whimsical note, almost worshipful. "Our eyes are yet to open."
"Fear the old blood," the two spoke in unison, their voices mingling into a distant harmony.
Her shoulders rolled, chin raising as she was forced to look down onto the softly rocking chair, never setting sight on the face of the man who rested on it. "I must take my leave." She felt herself carried away, footsteps echoing on wood, and not stone - something almost unfamiliar to her after so many weeks spent running through the streets, only to return to a castle in her own world.
"Fear it Laurence. By the gods, fear it."
Catherine was suddenly thrown back into her body, stumbling over her feet and landing on her tailbone, blinking rapidly against the torchlight of the Cathedral.
"What the hell," she whispered. "What was that?"
Laurence, the founder of this very Church, and his old Master - Provost Willem.
"That was… the man who built this city?"
In a fashion. He taught his people not to fear the blood, but to embrace it.
"So he went back on his word."
And it birthed Yharnam. Glorious, is it not? But a few drops, and this world glimmers so beautifully.
"You call this beautiful?"
Do your people not take the image of war and lay it upon a canvas? There is a quiet beauty in destruction, in the shine of fire on bubbling flesh, or the rich and tender scream of a dying man wishing once more for the comfort of his mother.
Catherine's lip curled, and she blocked the Voice out, turning around and striding over to her spear, her boots loudly splashing in the pool of blood that had finally stopped growing, finally beginning to turn cold in the brisk Yharnam air.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled the blade out of Amelia's skull as if King Arthur himself, shaking off the bits of viscera that clung to the teeth and eyeing the blade curiously.
Her vision still wavered, and Catherine prayed that as she lifted the thing up and pressed it against her throat, she would wake to find the world clear.
She hardly even sputtered as she tore her flesh open, only a quiet cough, wet with blood, slipping from her lips as she fell forward, choking quietly as the world faded away before her eyes.
-::-
With bleary eyes, Catherine gazed out upon the Dream.
Bleary eye, at least.
Whatever she had done, she'd damaged it irreparably, not even the blood able to fix up the string of nerves now that they'd been scarred so thoroughly.
And scarred they were, Catherine having torn out her eye once more to see the optic nerve discoloured, swollen in patches, and the iris itself cloudy and distended, marked clearly by a strong cataract.
Well, shit.
She was used to having bad vision, dependent on glasses her whole life and feeling almost useless without them.
Not even magic could heal eyes. Oh, new ones could be grown if the nerve wasn't damaged, or something like Moody's prosthetic fitted and slapped into your skull, but most settled on a simple glass eye solely because of the effort it all took.
The constant drain to support the magic of an enchanted eye was exhausting, according to Moody himself after Catherine had happened across him in the halls of Grimmauld Place, the man scowling at a portrait as if trying to spy out its secrets.
She'd blurted out her question, wondering if it was a good idea to just get her own replaced with ones that actually work, and he barked a laugh at her for even daring to ask him such a thing.
But he answered all the same, telling her it wasn't so simple as just popping an enchanted marble into her head. It took effort, conscious effort, and he'd earned his name for being the "only son of a bitch mad enough to keep the damn thing in all day."
So Catherine put it out of mind, happy to rely on sticking and cleaning charms to make sure her glasses weren't a bother.
Until, in her undying wisdom, she decided to tear the fucking thing out and try and put it back in.
Catherine was sure that if she simply ignored it, let herself kill Amelia and then herself in short order, none of this would be an issue. But, again, she still didn't know why she scarred, or even how her very painful brand of immortality worked.
It must have meaning.
"What?" She asked aloud, sitting back on the dirt and staring up at the cloudy spires that reached skyward, disappearing into the ether.
Your fear, your feeling, the method to it all. There must be something more, something beyond the physical for tooth or nail to leave their mark.
Frowning, Catherine snatched up a flower and began tearing at the petals. "Explain."
Gascoigne branded you, and your heart. The wolf that hid beyond Iosefka's door was your very first death, your first taste of Yharnam's kindness. You plucked out your own eye and defiled hallowed ground with the blood of Her saint. Her martyr.
"So, what? This is some sort of cosmic keepsake?"
A reminder, each and every one, burned into your flesh and soul.
"Fucking… gods and fucking-" Catherine spat, crushing the flower and tossing it away. "Shit. Disgusting fucking city. I'll do a lot more than defile hallowed ground. I'll burn the whole goddamn place to the ground."
Do as you wish.
Cursing even more, Catherine dragged herself to her feet, thundering out of the garden and over to the tombstones that lay waiting to take her back to Yharnam.
She needed… no, wanted to find Hemwick. If only for Emilie.
"Ah, Catherine."
"Doll."
"How are you?"
"Fine. Just… absolutely chuffed. Eyes fucked, because apparently I can't just kill a puppet and walk away." She sighed loudly, ruffling her own hair. "Found this place in the real world though. Found you."
"You found… me?"
"Mmhm. And this," she said, taking the comb out of her pocket. "You wouldn't happen to know who this belonged to, would you?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
Catherine hummed with annoyance, more of a grunt than anything. "You can have it, then," she offered, studying the comb, then the Doll, realizing that if anything it would compliment her bonnet. "Not really my kind of look."
Tentatively, the Doll reached out and took the ornament, turning it over in her hand and studying the fine markets that dotted its surface. She made a quiet noise, almost a whimper, her expression softening as she held the comb with tender care.
"What is this?" the Doll wondered to herself, hand shaking as she took up the comb and removed her bonnet, revealing her hair to be tied into a neat bun at the back of her head. Softly, she placed the comb in her hair, brushing her fingers over it and smiling faintly. She looked up at Catherine, a glimmer in her eyes. "Do you know? Could you tell me? I… cannot remember, but- I feel something, something that I have never felt before. A yearning?"
She took Catherines hand in her own, squeezing it gently. "What's happening to me? Could this be-" and she grinned, so wide and so happy and so very very human that Catherine felt her heart skip a beat, realization coursing through her veins as she looked over the Doll and saw not an automaton, but a living breathing… person. Not human, by any means, but alive and capable of an emotion such as happiness. "Could this be joy?"
And she shared in that happiness, her bitter mood and the untempered anger she felt against the Church falling away for a moment at the sight of such childlike wonder. Had the Doll ever been treated with kindness, she wondered? Or simply used, abused by the Hunters that preceded her as Gehrman had so terribly implied upon their first meeting.
"I think so."
"Aah! How wonderful!" The Doll bit her lip, drawing a hand up to run it beneath her eye, revealing a shining pearl atop the tip of her finger. "I had never thought to feel such a thing, and here I find it! Thank you, Catherine, your kindness knows no bounds." She reached out, offering the pearl of her tear to Catherine. "Please."
So Catherine took it, a tiny precious thing that rested warmly against her palm, and she wondered if she could somehow wear it herself - a token of… friendship, perhaps, something she never believed would come about in a world so terribly violent, so stricken with blood. "Thank you."
"I will leave you to it, Lady Catherine, I must attend to Gehrman."
The Doll curtseyed and walked away, even the motion of her steps far less mechanical and now fluid with the tug and pull of muscle upon bone.
"Strange," Catherine whispered, watching as she turned the corner. "Very strange."