The Lost Hunter blearily opened sand-crusted eyes to the brightness of day and the scorching heat of Summer's Sun.
Pale white sand was hot beneath his feet as he lifted himself up, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. He breathed in the pleasant breeze, feeling better than he had in many moons, despite being just spat ashore by the ocean. Indeed, compared to the ever present gloom and rain of the Singing Sea, the warmth of the Sun was a pleasant change.
He took his time to ensure all his effects were on his person, a hunter must not be lost on his tools, after all.
Reaching for his back, he felt his rough woolen cloak draped over him. Light and airy, once the colour of pale beige now darkened by blood and water. It had served him well in the vast deserts of Loran and it would continue to do so.
Of course, there was his fine silk tunic, duster and cravat. Though, it would be hard to tell their splendour now, stained and dirtied as they were. He had acquired these from Veildernam, a magnificent city built upon a great bay of water. By the time he left, all that was left of it were the manners of beasts and Pthumerians haunting its streets.
There was of course his trusted Evelyn by his side, the fine pistol in ever the perfect state, a testament to its fine construction. It appears the he has lost his sachet of quicksilver bullets, but it was of no issue, he could always create more. What was most important, however, was his stash of fine Vileblood Wine. Until he had the chance to create more blood vials, Cainhurst's famed red liquor would have to do.
The Lost Hunter patted the top of his head, to find it devoid of a hat. Panic rose inside him, and he swivelled around the long sandy shored in search of his missing belonging. There was nothing but the constant crashing of clear blue waves, and the calls of sea bird overhead. Of course, he lamented, he should've invested in a strap of some kind. Though, at least his bandana was still securely wrapped around his neck.
As he was in the midst of pondering the viability of wandering the beach in futile search of his hat, the crunching of sand at his feet drew his attention. Miraculously, he heard the familiar laughing of Messengers as the pale creatures broke through the ground. There were four of them, pale and thin, holding up his hunter's tricorne.
A smile broke across his face, "Thank you, little ones."
He gratefully accepted his missing effect, and took a once over, checking its condition. Three sides, as a tricorne should, the leather was peeling a tad, but it could be fixed. Most importantly, the crow feathers that adorned it were unscathed, to his relief. Of all his belongings, this tricorne was the last thing he had of the place where his journey began - the wretched city of Yharnam. The hunter brushed off the tricorne, and fitted it onto his head.
Sea spray shook him from his reverie. The Sun was setting, and he did not know what manner of beasts plagued this land. As the Lost Hunter made his way to the treeline south of the beach, he could tell from the direction of which the Sun sets, he did wonder on how he got to this land in the first place.
Last he recalled, he had walked into the gaping maw of a Chorus Whale back on the Cornucopia. Not the brightest decision, he could admit, but in his experience, when there was an eldritch whale with a mouth laden with eyes, where else would you go but inside? And now he was here, except, the Cornucopia, and the rest of the Healing Church's fleet, to that end, were in the middle of the vast Singing Sea.
There shouldn't be land for leagues around. Perhaps, by grace of the Songs of Fathomless Depths, the fleet was brought near to shore. The man shook his head, he was a hunter, hunting was his trade, and pondering the eldritch was not. Not when there were still beasts about.
And beasts they were, stalking him in the shade of emerald leaves. But he could see them, and he was sure they could smell him, steeped in sea salt and blood as he were. Strange, as it were, for the beasts he knew attacked him at mere sight, or left him alone completely. These creatures stalked him as if he were prey, and that belied some semblance of intellect.
A terrifying thought, beasts with intellect, Yharnam couldn't even handle the mindless, twice. Even in Loran, those blasted ixodida were not of any intelligence, instead relying on their queen to be their brains. A hive mind, he thought, but the ones here did not move like a hive. And most distinctively, they did not smell of blood.
He grasped the air at his waist, where a weapon usually was stowed. Alas, he had dropped his flensing shears before he entered the Chorus Whale, for they were too damaged to be of use anymore. He had Evelyn, aye, and he could scrounge up some blood bullets to substitute for quicksilver, but when did mere bullets stop a beast? You had to rip them apart, lest they keep clawing at you - for they knew no pain or exhaustion.
The call of Messengers came to his attention once again, and looking down he saw them offering a familiar tool.
"Ah… old faithful, how good it is to see you again," He gripped the saw cleaver, extending and retracting it in test, "It appears I am in your debt once again, little ones. I shall find you echoes, you have my word."
They appeared to be satisfied at the promise, and left with cheer in their warped calls. It would be of no issue to him, either, for there were beasts about, and that meant blood.
Finding a suitable clearing, he raised his head to see a sky painted in red hues, the Sun was about to dip under. The first hunt was always the hardest, for you would be inexperienced in the ways of the land and the manner of beasts. The Lost Hunter tensed, spinning slowly, searching the treeline, watching the shadows darts from shade to shade.
He cut himself on his cleaver, managing to hastily form five blood bullets. The sound of fauna halted, there was no more the call of birds or chirping of critters, only the swaying of branches and brush. He loaded the first bullet into Evelyn, and cocked it.
A breeze washed over him, and the hairs on his neck stood on end. The hunter snapped around, Evelyn outstretched.
BANG
The beast staggered back as the blood bullet impacted its torso. In a swift, practiced motion, the hunter plunged his right arm into its ribs, gloved hands reaching for any organs or innards, to find none. Grasping nonetheless, he tore his arm free and kicked the beast away.
His arm was drenched in smoking black tar, evaporating at an astonishing rate. The beast itself too, lay unmoving, but its corpus was already smoking - evaporating. Soon enough, there would be nothing left, he imagined. The Lost Hunter swallowed, this was… new. Does that entail that these creatures were simply the native fauna?
He looked at the corpse once more. Indeed it was a bipedal wolf, perhaps near twice as tall as he on its hind legs. A lycanthrope, and lycanthropy was a common symptom of the Beast Scourge, yet this creature was clearly not infected. For the Scourge infects the blood, and it had none.
What kind of cursed land had savage, bloodless beasts for its native fauna? That was just… cruel.
Howls overcame the dusk, and more and more beasts stalked out of the treeline. Most were lycanthropes, others took the form of boars. All were black as night, adorned with white bone and gleaming red eyes. Boars… that resurfaced a terrible memory, of brooches, lullabies and man-eating pigs.
Beasts ought to be put down, the hunter thought with a snarl. He raised his bandana to cover his mouth and nose, inhaling the blood of beasts was a quick path to madness. Another bullet was loaded, and he extended his saw cleaver. Time to hunt.
The Lost Hunter stood alone, awash in a sea of tar. The smoke was thick and choking, rising into the air in black clouds.
A grand benefit, he though dryly, was that he would no longer have to wash his attire of blood after every hunt. Truly, it was a great pain to do so, perhaps the most tedious part of being a hunter.
He stabbed a vial of Cainhurst wine into his right thigh, and felt his fractured ribs begin mending themselves. Using the now empty vial, he scooped up some black tar and hastily recapped it. He hadn't been able to acquire any Blood Echoes, but who knows if these beasts' black blood could be turned into healing blood vials.
The hunter also pried off white bone from the corpses. Some were like ribs, others armour-like plates, but all the beasts had a skull - a mask of bone. A strange form of evolution, he thought, for bones to grow on the outside rather than the inside. Indeed, these beasts had nothing on the inside except tar, no bones, no organs, no blood. He knew not of how that worked, but he didn't need to.
It was well and truly night, now. The Sun was long gone, and shafts of moonlight broke through canopy to illuminate the forest floor. Stuck in a forest in who knows where, in a foreign land filled with hostile fauna, it was truly a terrible situation. That was, if it weren't for the fact that he could no longer sense any of those beasts around him. Either, he had killed all of them in the region, or their miniscule intelligence led them to believe he was a threat they could not face.
Either or, both situations were boons he would not take for granted.
If he could ignore the bloated corpses, it would indeed be a pleasant night. The sounds of the forest had returned, and he felt more at peace than ever. The Lost Hunter began searching for a suitable tree branch to rest for the night, and in midst of doing so caught sight of the Moon.
Or, more accurately, what was the Moon.
"What in Oedon's name…?" He murmured.
For the Moon was fractured into countless pieces, as if someone had took a hammer and smashed it. Oh, the hunter thought, he was no longer in the Old Hinterlands anymore.
How cruel indeed, the beasts of this land must be the sick joke of some Great One or another. Vicious, savage, with no meat for food and no skin for clothes, their sole purpose was to hunt down humans…
If there were humans here, that is.
For it was clear to the Lost Hunter now, that he was stranded in the realm of a Great One.
"Now, the only question is - am I in a Dream, a Nightmare, or a Reverie?"
Author's Note:
This work is inspired by the many great works featured in VaatiVidya's Bloodborne 2 art competition. So credit goes to all those great artists and authors, I highly recommend you watch it if you haven't already.