Tales from the Last Hunt
#1: The Last Hunters
1
Brenden could hear it, loud and clear. It wasn't one of the usual grunts and screams expected during a night of the hunt. It was a beast. A giant one. Probably someone from the Church. And the indisputable clicks and clangs of a hunter's weapon.
He crawled towards the window, taking a peak through the heavy curtains. A looming figure staggered aimlessly through the street. Was it Lupus? He sure had seemed too far gone last they talked. Did it even matter anymore?
Brenden noticed a few other eyes peeping through darkened windows along the street. So he wasn't the only one hearing the battle. Who could it be? It was surely coming from the Grand Cathedral. How many hunters actually remained in the hunt? And who was being hunted?
A grotesque, beastly screech pierced through the night. After years of living through this horror, he was sure what such a sound meant. Someone high up the Church's rank had succumbed to the scourge, and was duly being hunted by a hunter who still retained both will and sanity. He couldn't think of someone who fit that profile. Unless…
"The foreigner!" He couldn't help uttering under his breath.
Who else could it be? Henryk hadn't been the same since Gascoigne was lost to the scourge. Simon was past caring by that point. All he talked about now was the fabled hunters' nightmare, and the truth it concealed. Alfred would surely avoid fighting someone from the Church. And the Crow hardly ever dealt with beasts. Maybe the stories about a new hunter did hold some truth. Brenden needed to be sure.
Although he had no plans to join the hunt, he would be an utter fool to leave the house with no protection. His once trusted companion, the hunter's axe Gascoigne had made for him years ago, was going to see another night in the blood crazed streets of Yharnam. And of course, his blunderbuss. Opening the dusty chest, he could see them sitting at the bottom; waiting, biding their time, desperate to get back to the job they were made to do. Brenden dreaded the possibility of letting them do so.
Dressed in his worn and patched hunter's garb, with the axe in his hand and the gun in its holster, Brenden was ready to walk the streets again. He cracked his door open, making sure the route was clear. The thing that probably used to be Lupus had passed. The street was empty again. The sounds of the battle had subsided, but something told Brenden that he would hear them again soon.
"A new hunter will reawaken a fair amount of times. There's no shame in that." He could still hear Gascoigne, schooling him as a boy. The words seemed empty now. None of his friends reawakened anymore. Neither would Father Gascoigne the next time he slept…
Brenden began the journey he hadn't made in years. The five hundred yards from his home to the Grand Cathedral.
2
Brenden ran down the stairs, determined to avoid the horrors of the night. A Church doctor stood near the Chapel, his eyes as empty as his dark lamp. There was no way Brenden was going to risk getting in a scuffle with him. Luckily for Brenden, their bodies were as slow as their minds used to be when they were still human. Almost out of breath with all the running, he dodged past the swinging stick and ran into the Chapel, hoping with his dear life that the incense was still burning. It was.
Expecting to find no one but the sad little dweller, he was surprised to see a new face in the Chapel. An old lady sat on a chair by the other door. She opened her eyes to look at him sourly, then closed them again, as if drifting back to sleep.
In spite of the dry welcome, Brenden was glad to see another sane human after weeks. The only interactions he had had were through closed doors. Sparing words with neighbors across the street, and the boy who delivered the rations. His last visit had been five days ago. Had the scourge got him too? He had to ask the dweller about securing some food.
Brenden approached the old woman. "Hello there,"
"Get away from me, you vile hunter." She snapped back.
Brenden wasn't surprised by the rebuke. She was well within her rights to hate the hunters, whoever she was. He would do the same if he himself hadn't been one. He decided to let her be.
"Is that master Brenden?" The curt conversation with the woman had grabbed the dweller's attention.
Brenden approached the blind creature, keeping a distance from the lamp in the middle of the Chapel. "How are you doing?"
"Always happy to learn of old friends being alive and well." The dweller chimed back.
"Have you seen Simon around here lately?"
"Oh yes. Master Simon was just here. I am sure he's right outside, near the well. He spends a lot of his time standing there. I wonder why…"
"Thank you. I'll see you around."
Brenden walked out again, his heart screaming for him to stay in the incense filled Chapel. But Simon was right there, and hopefully he was still capable of taking out a threat before it approached.
"Ah… Brenden the Boogeyman." The old man held out his hand. Brenden frowned at his old nickname. But his irritation turned to concern on noticing old Simon's face. His eyes were covered in bandages.
"You too?" Brenden hesitated before shaking his hand.
"Not yet. Trust me, boy. I'll die before I turn. Not going to give the Church that satisfaction."
Brenden was at a loss for words. Simon was the only real friend he had left.
"We all stop dreaming one day, boy. There's no need to fear what's coming to us. We deserve it."
Brenden knew Simon was right about that. He always said it how it was. How he hated that in his younger days at the Church. But now, this very quality made him respect the old hunter even more.
A loud moan caught their attention. A couple of doctors lumbered towards the little plaza they stood in.
"Let's get inside," Brenden still had no plans of getting on their wrong side.
Simon couldn't help holding back a smile. "Ever so scared, Boogeyman. I thought you had grown a pair by now."
"Still not funny Simon."
3
"So what made you leave your hidey hole?" Simon finally sprang the question.
"Didn't you hear it? The new hunter?"
"Oh I heard it." Simon chuckled. "I have a good feeling about this."
"He… He got Amelia."
Simon grabbed him, surprised to hear the last Vicar's name. Brenden could smell blood and beasts. He almost gagged.
"Did you see it? Are you sure it was her?"
Brenden was getting uncomfortable. "I saw her fall. She's gone, Simon. Or whatever was left of her."
Simon smiled, taking a step back. "What did she look like in the end?"
"As grotesque as any of them. Maybe worse."
Simon laughed as he sat down on the floor. A dry, hollow sound that chilled Brenden's bones. "I hope the Gods give her their best in the hunt beyond. I hope she suffers like the rest of them."
Brenden didn't know what to say to that. He was sure Simon was losing it too. Who wasn't by now?
A few minutes passed by in silence. The dweller was humming to himself. The rude old woman drifted off in her chair. Having ignored them all this while, Brenden finally gave in to staring at the little messengers near the lamp. Moaning softly, almost cheerfully. Calling him back, like always.
"Did you see the foreigner too?" Simon broke the silence.
"I did. He's good. Only fell once to a beast that huge. Hardly anyone could do that in their early days."
Simon chuckled. "Surely not you, boy."
"Hey! Enough with that. And stop calling me 'boy', will you?"
"You'll always be a boy to me, Brenden."
Once again, Brenden didn't know what to say. He just knew he would miss the old hunter, whenever his time came.
"Do you miss it? Waking up in the dream?" Simon sounded emotional. Reminiscing.
Brenden looked at the lamp. Did he know his secret? But how could he? His hunt had ended a long time back.
"I don't miss dying, that's for sure."
"It's funny how long we survive once we know we'll never reawaken." With that, Simon stood up.
"Leaving already?"
"I need to get some things in order. You should get back to your hole too. The night is going to be long. Trust me." Simon said, offering his hand.
"See you soon, Simon."
4
On his way back, Brenden couldn't stop thinking. The Lamp. The messengers. They brought back a flood of memories.
Some good ones. The dream. The serene workshop nestled in the midst of an everlasting spring. An island in a sea of horrors.
The horrors. The beasts. The blood. The deaths. The Blood.
He was glad he didn't need to drink any more of that. He wished others had had the will to do so. But they had been too drunk to see clearly. Drunk on not just the blood, but on the thrill of the hunt. They laughed at his fear of the beasts and the blood. Too bad for them though. He was still walking, and they were all either dead or worse.
Well, most of them.
"Here here… If it's not the wimp."
He stopped in his tracks. Two figures loomed in front of him as he turned the corner. The beasts scared him, sure. But this was what he feared the most while venturing out. The hunters.
Or executioners, for a better word. Alfred and his protégé, Rubin. Dressed in their grey robes, with identical giant hammerheads hanging from their backs, they seemed ready to hunt whatever crossed their paths. Brenden gripped his axe harder.
Alfred addressed him again. "I thought you had died long time back, Boogeyman."
"I don't die anymore. And I wish to keep it that way. I don't see a reason why we all can't go on our own ways."
"Reason? Is there any reason left anymore?" Alfred tapped his protégé on the shoulder. Rubin drew back the sword he held, sheathing it in the hammerhead with a loud click.
"I don't want to filthy my hammer with a traitor's blood. But Rubin here has no such misgivings." Saying that, Alfred started backing away. "Now I won't get in the middle of you too. I have some other matters to attend to. See you never!"
Alfred was barely out of sight when Rubin brought down his huge hammer where Brenden stood. Stone crashed against stone with a bang as Brenden dodged out of the way, his axe transformed and ready.
"We don't need to do this, kid."
"Shut up!" Another swing of the hammer. Another crash. Brenden barely dodged that. There was no other way out of it.
Nudged by muscle memory and survival instinct, Brenden spun his axe towards the young hunter, who stepped back gracefully. He took another lunge with the hefty weapon, tiring out. Rubin struck the axe away with his hammer with a loud clang.
The pair danced around each other, their heavy weapons booming and banging on the streets. Brenden knew he couldn't keep it up for long. He was too out of shape.
As if to prove his point, the hammer finally met its mark. Brenden's right knee, which gave away without much effort. Rubin brought down his hammer for a final blow, but Brenden blocked it with his axe in the nick of time. Another blow, but blocked again. Brenden was a survivor, and he had no intentions of changing that now.
Frustrated, Rubin transformed his weapon with a swift move, crashing the hammer head on his opponent's axe one last time, and stabbing him with the sword which had been hiding for the whole fight. It was the first time Brenden had been stabbed in months. Maybe years.
Screaming in pain, Brenden felt the rush of adrenaline in his blood. As if by reflex, he drew his blunderbuss and shot.
Giant crows fluttered at the sound of the bang. Rubin stepped back, staggered. Falling down to his knees, he looked at the wound in his chest.
With a blood curling scream, Brenden pounced at the kid. He shoved his hand in the fallen executioner's chest and pulled out his innards. The kid fell back, vanquished.
Brenden dropped to his knees, the beast inside him retreating as quickly as it had surfaced. He could feel Rubin's dying will rushing through his blood as he fell to the floor. He was in pain, but he felt something else too. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. The rush of the echoes and the loss of blood was making his eyes heavy. He felt himself curling up on the ground, uttering a single word.
"Blood…"
5
He heard the rustling of feathers before her voice.
"Wake up, brave hunter." She said in her peculiar accent. The Crow. The Hunter of Hunters.
Brenden opened his eyes. A wooden crow mask stared back at him. He could smell the incense mixed with the stench of the blood. He was back in the chapel.
"I… didn't… die?" His whole body hurt. He tried to move, but a sharp pain in his side stopped him. His knee throbbed. He was a mess.
"Here… drink some more blood." The Crow offered him a vial. He opened his mouth obediently. To hell with his vows. He needed to stay alive. He needed his strength back.
"What happened?" He asked after gulping down the sweet nectar.
"You went berserk on the kid who did this to you. And you're lucky enough that I was around to hear all that ruckus. Or you would have joined him in the everlasting dream."
"He's dead?"
"Dead seems like an understatement, but yes." She said, helping him sit up. "I never thought you had it in you. You always seemed like a…"
"A wimp. I know. They didn't name me Boogeyman because I was scary."
"I didn't mean that," She offered him a piece of bread. He bit at it eagerly. The blood was doing its job. "And I know the origin of your name. Everyone does."
Brenden's laugh was broken by the pain in his side.
"Did you save me to pull my leg?" He uttered through a fit of cough.
"Easy there, hunter." She said, handing him another piece of bread. "Regain your strength. And stay here."
She walked to the dweller. "Make sure he's fine. I will come back soon, if I survive."
"Of course, miss Eileen." The dweller chirped.
"Where're you off too?" Brenden didn't want her to go out into the night. He had a bad feeling about it.
"A hunter has to hunt, and I have my work cut out for me. Poor Henryk has not taken well to his old friend's death."
Brenden took some time to put together what was being said.
"Gascoigne… is gone?" He could feel unexpected tears building up behind his eyes.
"A better fate than what had happened to him. Gods bless the foreigner for putting him out of his misery." The Crow seemed to mean what she said.
Why did Brenden care? He was one of them. Even before his beast hood, Brenden had hated that man. So what was he feeling now?
The Crow seemed to read his thoughts.
"We feel what we feel, dear hunter. Don't be ashamed of that. It means you're still human. And that's saying a lot these days."
And with that, the Crow left, climbing down the Chapel stairs.
Brenden let the tears fall.
END
