BANG
Evelyn sung, spitting smoke and blood. Alas, her payload merely ricocheted off the oversized scorpion's bone plating.
It has been several days since the fall of Lower Cairn, and the Huntsmen the townsfolk called for has not yet arrived. From what he could gather, Grimm were not a regional phenomena, but a worldwide one. It only made sense then, that these Huntsmen were spread thin, and a settlement as far out of the way as Lower Cairn was not important in any scheme of things.
As such, he had raided the now beast-infected town for any weapons, bringing back to the refugees several firearms. With them, the older men took it upon themselves to hunt for food, while the Lost Hunter guarded them from the beasts.
All of them knew what they were getting into, but none seemed to expect a beast such as this 'deathstalker' as they called it to appear here. One of the townsfolk had ran into while searching the nearby caves, and the scorpion had already offed two more townsfolk before the hunter arrived.
And now he was faced with a problem - it was armoured. The Lost Hunter had never fought an armoured foe before, at least not one as heavily armoured at the deathstalker. Perhaps if he had with him a kirkhammer to smash open its bone plates, but alas all he had was his saw cleaver. Not that the saw cleaver wasn't useful, it was indeed the premiere hunter's tool - heavy serrated steel, perfect for rending the flesh of many a beast, but simply not meant to pierce armour.
After all, there was a reason why the Executioners employed heavy weapons such as the likes of kirkhammers and church picks to combat the vaunted Knights of Cainhurst.
The beast snapped at him again with its massive pincers, leading him to backtrack, keeping a keen eye on the great stinger raised high above all the while. It seems this beast was quite aged, for it was as wary of him as he was of it - an unfortunate situation for the both of them, or the foolhardy and reckless always made the easiest quarry.
The hunter suddenly jerked to the right, for the deathstalker to respond with its left pincer. He didn't slow down, instead gripping the saw cleaver with two hands and sliding under the pincer's swing. With the momentum behind him, in a single motion he extended the saw cleaver and swung it into the scorpion's unarmoured limb above him. The cleaver's serrated edge bit deep, and with both hands the hunter wrenched it forwards with all his might, shearing off the arm entirely.
As he raised himself from the dirt, the hunter heard a great screech of pain - or anger. Then, a displacement of air, and he realised he made a mistake. With no time to dodge, the hunter hastily spun around, retracting the saw cleaver and bracing one arm against the blade - turning it into a haphazard shield.
Just then, the deathstalker's other claw smashed into it, and the hunter was sent flying. With inhuman agility, he twisted his body around midair like a feline, and landed in a near perfect roll.
"Tch, broke an arm there." He muttered.
Indeed, his left forearm, the one used to brace his saw cleaver, was snapped clean in half, hanging limply connected by flesh and torn muscles. He took out a blood vial - a wolf's blood solution that he made himself. Not as effective as beast blood, but it will have to do. He stabbed it into his right thigh, and his arm began to mend itself, albeit slowly.
Thankfully, his fingers were still unscathed, and as the beast's stinger jabbed at him he drenched the Old Hunter's Bone in blood and quickened away. Until his arm was fixed, the hunter will have to stall for time. And so he did, playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the one-armed scorpion. Alas, weariness was beginning to set into his bones - he had been running around the valley for the better part of the day, clearing the hunting grounds of Grimm. He'd have to end this soon, lest he made a fatal mistake.
Said fatal mistake occurred when he quickened into a tree he did not notice. And as the Lost Hunter regained his bearings, he looked up to see the deathstalker's gold stinger lurching down at him- only for it to explode in a ball of fire, sending the rest of the tail reeling back.
Immediately, the hunter went on the offensive. Using the tree as a springboard, he leapt onto the armoured back of the deathstalker - now turned into a blindspot due to its newfound lack of a stinger. Dropping the Bone, he retracted his saw cleaver and gripped the handle with both hands, raising it high above the beast's neck.
With the force of a guillotine, the hunter brought down the killing edge with all his might.
CRACK
With the first strike, the armour of bone fractured under the force - along with his still injured arm. Unrelenting, the Lost Hunter raised the saw cleaver, and brought it down again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
With the fourth strike, the saw cleaver tasted beastly flesh, and black blood spurted forth like a fountain, covering the hunter in tar. The beast was writhing violently now, desperately trying to throw him off, screeching in pain and fury.
Undeterred, the Lost Hunter locked the joints of his legs and raised the trick weapon turned guillotine once more.
And brought it down.
"Splendid aim, young miss." The hunter greeted his saviour.
"Thank you, mister!" Phoebe grinned at him.
That was twice now the little twit of a girl had saved his life. While a little embarrassing, he had learned long ago that useful allies could exist in the most unexpected of places. Aye, the Unseen Hunters of the Lady Caryll's Nightmare Settlement were of such manner, the gruesome predators even more monstrous than the quarries they preyed on.
In any case, after the refugees had settled down, he had offered to train little Phoebe in the art of firearms. While her mother Lady Rhea was hesitant, her father saw no reason to disagree. He was grateful indeed, for the hunter soon found the girl to be a natural.
"Though," the girl continued, "I'm runnin' outta Fire Dust bullets."
Dust, oh aye, the hunter has heard of that more than once. Many of the townsfolk he had armed with firearms had spoken of it while discussing ammunition, to which he listened closely so as to not seem ignorant at a later date. From what he could gather, 'Dust' was the lifeblood of this Dream, and it powered everything from lamps to stoves to armament.
Indeed, the hunter mentally compared the founding of Dust to the advent of fire. All the more reason to believe a Great One was at the heart of this Dream, for who- what else would wish to confine humanity to the dependency of a single substance so? Alas, humanity, always so drawn to easy power, even ones too good to be without a cost - Yharnam paid the price twice, and he was certain that here, in this land called Remnant, it would be much the same.
That was a tad hypocritical, wasn't it? The Lost Hunter discarded the thought from his mind. He already knew that his fate would be a gruesome one, but until he stopped dreaming as Eileen, Gascoigne, and Djura had, he would still fight to the end. The fate of all hunters was to be the hunted, he could only hope to have the dignity of being his own hunter.
Alas, he couldn't speak his mind without playing the fool, thus he kept it to himself.
"Well, it shan't be much more time before aid comes," He reassured her, "How far do the Huntsmen hail from?"
"Vale!"
Well, he could tell it must be quite the important location from the emphasis she put into the word, but not much else.
"Vale… aye. Could you remind me how far Vale is from here?"
The young lady opened her mouth hesitantly, evidently unsure, "I dunno…? But it's way in the north…west! I've been there once, it's right next to the sea!"
Northwest, and on the seaside. The hunter could hedge his bets on Vale being some city or the other. In any case, no matter how far away it was, taking several days to respond to a distress signal was unacceptable. In fact, he'd even dare to say that if it weren't for his person to be fortunately nearby, all the survivors alive now would already be dead.
Just then, a loud roar swept through the valley, startling them. It was unlike any he had ever heard, like a prolonged growl. So prolonged, in fact, that the roar hasn't even subsided yet… nay, it was growing louder by the moment - and coming from the sky, too. He had faced flying beasts before, even here in this Dream, large avians known as nevermores. But even as he prepared for another battle, Phoebe seemed to be oddly relaxed.
Nay, even some of the hunters in the area emerged from hiding, looking up expectantly at the clouds. The hunter allowed himself to relax a tad, and continued to nurse his broken left arm. Just then, several flying objects emerged from the clouds high above, four of them - each with a pair of wings but clearly artificial. But wings alone do not allow flight, one must have a form of propulsion, and he couldn't identify any on these metal birds.
Oh aye, he was quite surprised but hid it well. It was not a new concept to him, artificial flight, he had heard of flying ships before - mostly from caravans hailing from the Orient, where kind traders told him of great balloons lifting entire vessels into the sky.
As the contraptions descended, they became much clearer to view. And indeed, they must be the Huntsmen, for the townsfolk around him broke into a raucous cheer, waving frantically at the flying crafts.
As the four crafts landed, the two ellipsoid tubes on the end of each wing turned to face downwards, kicking up dust, dirt and leaves. It was clear to him then, that they were some form of engine - Dust-powered propulsion, if he were to guess. It was also clear to him that they were the source of that incessant roaring noise, which thankfully quietened down as the crafts laid to rest.
Metal sliding doors were opened, and dozens of personnel poured out, with them stretchers and other medical equipment. They may be dreadfully late, but at least they came prepared.
"Look!" Little Phoebe cried, pointed in delight, "That's the Huntsmen!"
The Lost Hunter's gaze swung to match hers, and saw… flamboyantly dressed children. Not the greatest first impression, but he was a mere child too when he first began hunting, so he laid off it. Still, they were ridiculously dressed, in his opinion, and two of them didn't even have any weapons he could see.
The apparent leading figure, a fashionably dressed female, even had a… hand purse? No… a trick weapon of some kind, he could see the belts of ammunition connected to it. The large young man dressed in green wielded a hooked greatsword, and the smaller man dressed in red wielded a pair of curved blades attached to his forearms. It was only the shortest girl dressed in very tight fitting clothing without a visible weapon.
She also had the ears of a hare extending from her scalp. A beastwoman, the hunter thought, one that seemed to have retained her sanity. Quite uncommon, but not unheard of - he had met many a beastman in the Nightmare Settlement, and Carmella's Greenhouse to that end, seeking treatment, all.
"Well well, what do we have here?" The leader of the Huntsmen sauntered up to them, "I like your style, mister."
She shot him a grin through her shaded eyepieces, and he could feel his blood boil at her carefree attitude. He breathed slowly to calm down, many a hunter made use of humour so as to not let their bloody trade get to their heads - he did too, sometimes.
"You are… terribly late." He told her, "I have slain… four score beasts the past few days, would the survivors have survived while you were taking your time, if I were not here?"
"Well, but you are here, yeah?" She pressed, unperturbed, "Thinking of what-if's ain't healthy, mister."
"...Let us bring you to the rest." He beckoned for them to follow, "263 people lived in this town, 62 made it through the first day, 27 are left. I'm afraid you brought three too many… aircraft."
There was no response, and a sombre mood took over the once joyous atmosphere. After a while, a different person hesitantly spoke up from behind, which if he were to guess, was the young beastwoman.
"We are… terribly sorry for the delay, sir." She paused, "...Vale is at most three days from here by Bullhead, but a sudden storm caught us off guard, and slowed us down."
"Unfortunate, but naught could be done for it." He pointed up the mountainside, "The survivors are hiding in those caves, the men here would lead you."
He nodded to the townsfolk with them, and they took off with the medics. Inexplicably, little Phoebe decided to stick with him, still holding onto her rifle. The hunter then turned to face the Huntsmen.
"I'm afraid the beasts 'round here have been culled, and you are out of a job."
He watched as they side-eyed each other, somehow conversing without speech. Admirable, the amount of understanding they have together as a team, he could admit.
"For the record…" The leader started, "I apologise for my attitude just now, I didn't realise the situation was so dire."
"It is not me you should apologise to, be the folks who live here - but I'll accept on their behalf regardless," the hunter smiled wryly, then, "You lot are still training, aren't you?"
"That's right. We are Team Coffee, second years at Beacon Academy." The leader introduced themselves, "Coco Adel, nice to meetcha. That's Velvet, Fox, and Yatsuhashi."
"Coffee…?" Little Phoebe murmured.
"Oh, sorry. C-F-V-Y, it stands for our names. CFVY for short."
She stared at him expectantly, waiting for his own introduction.
"This is Phoebe Gray, her father is taking care of the survivors. As for me, I'm afraid I am unable to give you a name."
"Got something to hide?"
"Many things, dear, but name wouldn't be one. I simply have none, don't need to when one's alone." He released a dry chuckle, "Before I stumbled upon here, I hadn't any human interaction for several moons. Sane human interaction, at the very least."
Indeed, there were no humans left on the Mission Fleet when he had rowed up to it. A mad cardinal, maybe, and even more witches. But it was hard to converse with said witches when they wanted to flay him alive and add his skin to their cloaks.
Nevertheless, it appeared his words had thrown the Huntsmen in for a loop, for they were back to sharing glances.
In the end, the beastwoman, Velvet, asked him a question, "Excuse me, may I take a picture of your weapon?"
Photography? How did she conceal such a large device on her - nay, from the looks of their aircraft, he must expect their technology to be beyond his. And indeed it was the case, for the young lady brought up a small handheld camera in anticipation. Well, he saw no reason to disagree.
"Evelyn, or my saw cleaver?
"Evelyn?" She asked.
In response, the hunter pushed back his desert cloak and unholstered Evelyn, bringing it up for her to see. Its silver barrel shone in the sunlight.
"That's a… beautiful gun." She told him.
"Aye, that it is. Forged by the best of Cainhurst's gunsmiths, it is the preferred weapon of Cainhurst's nobles." He agreed, "May I know what use it is to you?"
"Oh! My camera here - Anesidora, allows me to copy and create hard-light copies of weapons. With my photographic memory, it allows me to mimic any fighting style with the wielder's preferred weapon - given I watch them fight, of course."
What a terrifying ability that was. Even if he did not know how a camera is able to copy and reproduce weapons, nor did he know what hard-light is, he still understood the implications.
"My, you must be a formidable warrior. I am quite afraid, however, that Evelyn would be quite useless without the appropriate ammunition."
"O-oh. Well… could you then-"
"I could, aye. But I'd like something in return."
"Right! Yes, how can I help?"
"I want your blood."
Instantly, her teammates reached for their weapons - and his suspicions were confirmed when Lady Adel fingered the strap of her purse, it was indeed a trick weapon. In any case, he could admire the camaraderie, it appears Huntsmen took great value in teamwork - something hunters could learn from.
"Now now," he tried to placate them, "We are talking about Evelyn, are we not?"
"Oh yeah?" Lady Adel raised her voice, "And what's so special about that old flintlock?"
"The fact that it doesn't make any use of flint, of course, or gunpowder." He easily replied, "It doesn't even need to use Dust either."
Ah, now that caught their attention. And Lady Velvet was eyeing his pistol now more than ever.
"How much blood?"
The Lost Hunter brought out an empty blood vial, and the beastwoman flinched at the sight of it. The large young man, Yatsuhashi, stepped forwards.
"Must it be her blood? Velvet is small in stature, drawing that much may make her faint."
"I am afraid it must be the young miss."
"Why?" Oh dear, he could hear the wariness in the young man's voice. Quite protective indeed, was her beasthood, or something else?
"Well, that's because she is a beast."
Lady Velvet took a step back, and her teammates stepped forwards protectively. Were beastmen hunted, here?
"Mister," Phoebe whispered, and the Huntsmen's eyes were drawn to her, "You can't call her a beast, that's rude!"
Rude? Well he supposed it was quite derogatory without appropriate context, but there was appropriate context - she was a beastwoman, that was a fact.
"Then what do I call her, little one?"
"Uh… a faunus!"
Faunus… that may be a clue into the identity of the host of this Dream. While he was sure the term's similarity with Fauna was simply unfortunate coincidence, he couldn't help but think there was something more to it.
The hunter coughed into his fist, "Apologies for my rudeness… but I still do need faunus blood."
"Yeah- and why!?"
Well, that would be because he wanted to find out if he could distill it into healing blood. Wolf's blood did work, but it was too ineffective to be useful, and so even if faunus weren't exactly beasts, there still should be a close similarity. Alas, he doubted these children would take it well if he were to told them he was planning on injecting her blood into his veins.
"Ah- well, I doubt you would take the reason well…"
"We could imagine-"
"However," he raised a hand, "As proof of my no ill will, I shall hand over Evelyn's ammunition first."
The Huntsmen watched curiously as he reached into his bullet pouch, and that curiousity turned to abject horror when he revealed half a dozen blood bullets.
"What the fuck!?" Lady Adel shouted, "Who- who's blood is that?"
"Mine, of course."
"What-!?"
He nodded to her ammunition chain, "I see that you have stored your ammunition on your body, but mine is my body. Evelyn desires blood, and in response her songs grow ever more powerful. I assure you, with the right timing, Evelyn could bring down even the largest of beasts." He laughed, "Blood for blood, is it agreeable?"
"Well… okay."
"Velvet!"
"It's fine." She placated her teammates, before turning to him, "How do I do it?"
The hunter replaced the vial's cork with another one, specially made to extract rather than inject. He handed it to her.
"Stab this into your right thigh."
The girl eyed the blood vial's wickedly sharp needle attached to it, but proceeded nonetheless. Curiously, there was a strange pale brown light that flickered for a moment before dissipating. She closed her eyes and grit her teeth, then stabbed herself with it. As she held the vial to her thigh, blood began to fill the container readily, until it was full. With a grunt, she wrenched it out and shoved it towards him.
After eyeing the vial for a moment, and ascertaining it's quality, the hunter nodded in satisfaction and threw his entire pouch of blood bullets to the young lady.
"That's twenty bullets in there, you load Evelyn like you would a flintlock - then cock it and pull the trigger, simple no?" He informed her, "Here, take a photograph."
With a snap, she did so, but it appeared the beastwoman wasn't done yet.
"Could I also use my blood to, uh, fuel Evelyn?"
"All beast blood could. You have perfect memory, aye? Watch me."
The Lost Hunter brought out his saw cleaver and ripped himself a wound using one of its teeth, the blood then gathered in his palm where it coagulated and he molded it into four bullets.
"You shan't get it right the first time, even with that memory of yours, but with enough practice you'll get the hang of it." He chuckled, "Flora knows how many times I cut myself uselessly."
"Hold on, you said those with 'beast blood' can create these… blood bullets. Does that mean you are-"
"'Fraid not, young miss. I am simply infected."
"Infected?"
"Aye that's right, from a horrible Scourge that wiped out my hometown. I survived, with the help of hunters, but there is no cure, the infection could only be delayed." He continued, "In time, I will grow fangs and claws, my sanity will retreat to the furthest corners of my mind, and I will become of the same beasts I swore to slay."
"Uh- so how is the infection spread, exactly?" Lady Adel slowly backed up, as if fearing catching the Scourge.
"If the beast blood enters your bloodstream, for the Scourge is an infection of the blood." He then addressed Lady Velvet, "Don't let those bullets near your mouth, or any flesh wound, aye?"
"Y-Yes, I understand, thank you."
"No, thank you, for you have done me a great service. See, for those infected like I, beast blood could also heal physical wounds."
Understanding dawned on them, then. But before anymore could be said, the sound of people approaching caught their attention, it appeared it was time to part ways.
"I've had a pleasant conversation with you all, young Huntsmen." He turned to Phoebe," Young miss, it's time for you to go."
"Huh, you're not coming with us?"
"I'll make my way to Vale in my own time, young miss." He told her, "If the stars align, we may meet again there."
"Uh, ok! Thanks for everything, mister!"
Just then, the rest of the survivors accompanied by the medics arrived at their position. Mister Gray approached him to thank for his help, and bode farewell when informed that he was not going with them. Gratitudes were spoken, as were goodbyes, and the survivors loaded themselves onto the airships.
"Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself? All the way from here to Vale is Grimm infested forest." Lady Adel asked him, concern colouring her voice.
"I made my way here from the ocean in the west, young miss, I am quite confident in my abilities as a hunter."
"Well, alright then." She shrugged, "Stay alive, old man. I'll see you in Vale!"
She left with that, and her teammates followed her - except for the young man in red, Mister Fox. The Huntsman stared at him through milky white eyes, and the hunter realised he was blind.
"How can I help you?"
"You spoke of hunters, and being a hunter… are you not a Huntsman?"
The Lost Hunter barked out a laugh, "I never said I was, child. Hark, you Huntsmen are not the only ones who hunt the wretched beasts. The world is vast, and larger than you might think."
He turned to leave, but not before throwing away one last line, "Learn to wake up, and see the world as it truly is. Then, you'll find the heart of it."
Author's Note:
I don't really like 'talking' chapters, but our Lost Hunter finally met some Huntsmen so I let this one slide.
Thanks for all the positive reviews, you guys. I didn't realise the Bloodborne X RWBY fandoms would overlap quite so much, perhaps it is because of the parallels between hunters, huntsmen, beasts and grimm. In any case, I am sort of winging this entire thing, see where it gets me - but I got an idea for where this story will go.
Two things to note: First, I have never played Bloodborne for a single day of my life, nor any other FromSoftware game - so forgive me, and inform me, when I get something wrong.
Second, I have not watched past Volume 3 of RWBY, I haven't even watched Vol. 3 fully, at that. It has also been like 3 years since I watched the show - so take that as you will. All my info comes straight from the wiki - so again, forgive me, and inform me, when I get something wrong. Also, while I do roughly know RWBY's characters' personalities, I don't know their manner of speech or the intricacies of such. So this chapter with Team CVFY was a test, tell me if I got it wrong. Next chapter will have an Ozpin POV, so I'll do my best to not butcher his character.
Lastly, if it wasn't clear enough already, our Lost Hunter is just that - lost. He is the 'protagonist' of only the two shared 1st place art pieces - the Healing Church Mission and Loran. As for the rest, he is merely just another side character, a traveller passing through, if you would.