Chapter 1- The beginning of the end
The woods. The city of Yharnam. The Cathedral. Those gods forsaken ruins! Nearly everywhere the young Hunter has traveled has been a never ending nightmare! The constant death and pain, the bloodshed, the inability to pass on to the afterlife. The whispering is near constant, telling him hidden truths and maddening secrets. Sights that should not be witnessed by mortal eyes. He can never forget the things he has seen.
How long has he been in this nightmare? That is a question he does not know but he feels like he is reaching the end of this warped dream. Every step he takes through the blood-drenched streets, for every monster and beast he slays, for every death he suffers, he feels closer to the end of it all. Just a few more steps forward and he'll be free.
This never-ending hunt has brought something out in him. Something wicked, cruel and mad. Something that has grown from the constant strain on his strained psyche as it is constantly being twisted, pulled, and squeezed like taffy. It waits to be let out in the darkest corner of his mind, just waiting patiently for the hunter to succumb to the hunt. Succumb to the hunt, to the constant slaughter and death that he has brought to man, beast, and monster alike making him hunger for it. The prospect of jumping into a hoard of hoard of mad things sent a pleasant tingle up his spine, making him salivate from the blood he will let. It whetted a appetite that he never had till he came her. Not till after all the death and pain he has trudge through so far. It hasn't completely consumed him so far, so he's glad that he still has somewhat control over himself. He isn't sure if he should be thankful or scared of this new aspect of himself.
At times he feels things scrambling and scratching at the back of his skull, as if rats were trying to break free with their tiny claws and pointy teeth. He hears babies wail into the never-ending night. They grow louder whenever he walks pass the empty strollers, stained dark red, almost black. It doesn't take a genius to imagine the young infant's fate. Laughter echo off alleyway walls and emanate from boarded up houses and buildings. He has seen a few giant, monstrous creatures and things better left unseen. His mind has broke and shattered many times yet he still manages to pick up the pieces and rebuild it; bent, twisted, and warped as it may be. Causing him to lose track of his goal, forgetting at times. He forgot a lot about his home, his friends. He even lost track of his name till he started to write it down somewhere. Where? He doesn't remember, but it should be somewhere obvious enough. He remembers, the fog in his mind slowly lifting, reveling his name and title. His name is Finn Mertens, Hero of the land called Oooo. The land he remembers is something taken from a child's storybook, sometimes making him think that he doesn't remember the actual place.
He'll just keep trudgning through the putrid river of blood and corpses to complete his quest, slaying beast's of man and monster till he gets home. Till he can return to his friends and family. Till he can leave this nightmarish place to rot and fester in its own decay, rotting till this whole damn place collapses.
Finn the Human, called the good hunter by those who reside in this dream. Only two people remain that still call him that. The brave and Gallant hunter, the heroic hunter, the fearless hunt! Finn has seen so much that has numb his sense of fear except for one thing. He fears that he is losing his previous identity. He's scared that it's already been lost. An immeasurable amount of time has passed yet his body is unaffected by time. Each minute, or was it every hour, his mind would become more and more clouded of his old life. As of now he remembers people. He clings to these memories, the only link he has to his old life. A yellow dog that acts like putty, a pink lady that smell of something sweet, a floating women who plays a string instrument and finally, and a green lady who has the clean scent of uncorrupted nature, free of rancid blood. He remembers more of the green lady than the other three. He remembers wooden antlers and green, predatory eyes that glowed green. A huntress. A huntress that always kept her eyes forward. The memory of this huntress helped keep him from falling completely to edge of insanity. Her voice rings in his head. A faint feeling on his lips that made his heart aches in pain.
Tough meat don't get eat. I know that you love me.
He pulled his own heart out multiple times to stop the pain, but it was futile. He kept awakening at the small glowing lamps with their ethereal white light that is scattered around the nightmare. He called them checkpoints. The ache never left him only be numbed when he focused on getting home.
The hunt makes him lose himself to a more bestial instinct. it pounds at his heart and rages to be let out. Let it loose upon the prey in front of him. Sometimes, he does and let it feed upon the blood, absorbing it's very essence, the echos of it's whole life, is absorbed, nothing wasted. It makes him feel good, makes him feel stronger. It makes him drunk and frenzied, the taste growing addicting that makes him desire to hunt. To RIP! To TEAR the flesh from bone, sink his fangs into their veins to let loose a stream of crimson.
Our good Hunter now stands before an opened iron gate, the same gate that has been closed to him from the very beginning. A roaring blaze behind him, burning the plants and foliage that covered the graveyard of the Hunter's Workshop. The sky was filled with black smoke with only the bright glowing moon peeking through it. It was once a place that allowed him to enhance his weaponry and to decorate his body in archaic runes and symbols. It was the only place where he could rest his beaten and scar covered body without fear of being harmed, killed, burned, maimed, electrocuted, or crushed. His one and only refuge, now up in flames, burning to nothing more than cinders.
There was a man in a red cloak and clothes, sitting in a wheel chair under a tree, surrounded by a field of white flowers. Finn knew who this man was. He wanted him and the Doll to leave this dream with him, leaving it all behind but knew it can't be a simple matter. On his travels he has come across arcane knowledge and a possibility to save them all from the dream. Even after nearly everyone has parished, he hunted the ingrediants down, doing things that he would've never done in his old life. He has done things that would make his old self sick and hate him with righteous fury. He hates himself at time too when he gets the rare clarity of mind to do so.
His only chance at freeing everyone was to trendsend to higher heights. He hope he doesn't loose last raiment's of his Humanity. Gods he hopes he hasn't.
He made his way towards him till he stood in front of the man in the Wheel chair, armed with flint lock and stone grey blade. The old man had a wooden peg leg and a belt wrapped tightly around his left leg, a superstition from Hunters of old . He held a cane in both hands with a neutral expression on his old features, eyes closed as grey hair gets swayed under his red hat under the occasional night breeze, the smell of smoke faint. His eyes opened as he felt the hunter's presence. He could see the changes since Finn's first arrival to the workshop. No longer did he wear that white hat on top his head, letting his hair grow wild and unkempt akin to a thick blonde wild mane, filthy from blood and soot. His face was no longer clear and clean, now his face has a fair amount of scars in multiple places, especially a nasty one that goes from his right temple, through his eye and down his cheek to his chin. A black fur cloak rested upon his shoulders over a black duster jacket and filthy blue button up shirt, occasionally crackling with blue electricity. His hands were wrapped in dirty, bloody bandages, completely covering up his arms and hands with only the tips of his fingers being seen. He wore black denim pants, an improvement from the blue shorts he wore. A large satchel rested on his hip, seemingly having a limitless amount of space that holds everything he has found from pebbles to large weaponry and clothes. A belt was wrapped around his left leg as well with a pair of black boots that seem to twitch and squirm as hair thin lines shifted around.
A locket made of ash wood resides in his pocket, being held by a leather string to his pants belt inside his pocket. This one locket was something that Finn awoke with in this nightmare. Was it gift? He can't seem to open it, driving him mad with curiosity as to what is inside. Even when he wanted to smash it to pieces to figure it out he won't, he was compelled by something to not destroy it. Only clue as to where it came from is a grand, decorated tree was carved on the front with two wolfs side by side together. It made his head hurt, the locket forcing a memory that won't come. He'd protected it without fail.
The sword rests in his left hand, grey and slightly wrapped in cloth. It the body of the blade shows carvings and etchings with eldritch origin that gently glowed a light green light. In his right hand resides an old and worn flint locke pistol, red tiny gems were placed into the wooden handle. Finn has had plenty of time and targets to get well acquainted with all the weapons and firearms he has found. Most weapons required a certain touch, a certain motion to be used properly. A sword can be sheathed into a gaint stone hammer, a large heavy blade could release a smaller and quicker blade, one large knife can turn into two smaller knives. This sword in his hand can be a plain sword or can be covered in ethereal green light, sending streams of energy at his foes with the power and knowledge of arcana. The weapons of a hunter are versatile, dangerous, and tricky to use. They are called trick weapons for a reason.
The old man spoke, the old man who help guided the younger hunter through the nightmare, who mentored him.
" Good hunter, your journey is near it's end. The hunt is about over and the dream is coming close to an end. The deal has been fulfill, a deal you weren't given a choice to make. I will kill you, freeing you from the dream and let you see the rising sunset once more. Once that is done and you move on, I want you to move past this endless night or blood and death and…." The old man stopped, looked at the hunters slouched head. The hunter was shaking his head, eyes covered by his unruly hair. The old man Sighed.
"I see you haven't given up on trying to free us all have you? I told you that won't be possible, no matter how you go about it. Sometimes a hero cannot save everyone, sometimes he can only save himself or is cursed to a fate most foul. You were once a hero, weren't you?" the Man asked. " I ask you again heroic hunter, will you allow me to free you from this place? Or do you wish to continue down this path that can lead you to a fate worse than my own?"
Finn lifted his head, hair parting to show dark, blood shot, sapphire eyes that have deep dark bags under his eyes. Sapphire met grey as he spoke.
" Gehrman" a dry raspy voice left his lips, "I told you a long time ago that I would find some way to get us all out of here. I am going to save all of us from this place. Even if the only way free to you…." He trailed off.
Gehrman sighed once he heard the boys choice. He stood up from his chair, towering Finn by a foot or two. "Nobel Hunter, It's is the Hunter's helper task is to guide the hunter, to send him home when the hunt is done and to clean up the mess behind. Now it is his job to stop the hunter from dooming himself to this bloody dream."
Gerhman slowly pulled a large curved blade from his hip, seemingly forming from mist, and attaching it to a foldable polerarm handled with a loud clang, sending a small amount of spark to fly before fully extending into a a scythe. He rested the scythe on his shoulder, silouteed by the moons light. He looked like the Reaper dressed in red.
" Its time for Gerhman to join the hunt."