Cyan streaked across the sky, disappearing almost as quickly as it materialised behind the far gate of Old Yharnam. The clamour, however, persisted as grunts and growls intermingled in the cold air, accompanying the clatter of steel against bone. It wasn't long before a tortured, final scream could be heard, dying into a gentle buzz that was soon lost within the din of Old Yharnam's beasts.
That was the third time I'd heard such a scream now, and undoubtedly wouldn't be the last. This Hunter of the Dream may be skilled, but in a crude way, taught only by the brutality of the Hunt. I was at least fortunate enough to have been trained by Gehrman himself before branching off with the Powder Kegs.
I can't say I pity them anymore - not much else can be advised after both written and verbal warnings. Five times they've died at my hand yet hubris continues to spur them on. Besides, for a Hunter of the Dream, death is a mercy. Not many are given the privilege to reconsider their fatal errors in a soothing plane of existence, distant but somehow familiar.
Perhaps I'm the one spurred on by arrogance. I was once no different from them, brazen and eager for blood, wildly desperate in my search for an end to the Hunt. It took the burning of Old Yharnam and Paarl's transformation for me to see how nonsensical it all is.
Paarl - still, her name has a hold over me after all these years. Had I not learnt anything from her own cautionary tale? A tragedy of unrequited love entangled in the dangers of ambition, mixed with several doses of the 'Healing' blood. Yet I exist as part of the whole affair and separating myself from the narrative would only serve as a lie.
A series of shrieks already arose from beyond the distant gate - this Hunter wastes no time between deaths. The noise ceased almost as quickly as it came, and with the returned silence, I knew Paarl would be feasting well tonight.
"If only I tried harder to save you all those years ago," I whispered. "Perhaps this Night would be less lonely with you by my side."
After casting a brief glance where the faint crackles beyond Old Yharnam could be made out, I sifted through the journals of all parties involved. This Hunt is far longer than those before it, so I may as well make use of the time collating the parts relevant to Paarl's story. After all, a few more deaths and the Hunter would predict every attack she threw at them, putting her to rest once more.
"Do you still feel fear?" I called out. "Can you comprehend what death is?"
The answers lay within my hands, though I'd been unwilling to read the entries until now. We are strange creatures, incapable of appreciating the value of something or someone until we know we could lose them. Paarl's true self was lost long ago, but some remnant of her memory would surely be found amongst the ink and parchment.
"This is for you," I said, my hand trembling as I opened the first page. "Everything was always for you."