Chapter 6. I'll have more notes below. Happy holidays, please enjoy.
Graveyards, even after all he'd witnessed, made him wary in a way even the back alley streets of Yharnam ever could. Being surrounded by the marked stones of the dead, knowing their bodies were worm-infected flesh or already decayed to the bone, never failed to send a shiver down his spine.
It was with great trepidation that he continued his way down this wayward path. He wasn't even sure what he was truly doing here. All he knew was that, when his foot had met the stone on the final step down from the Grand Cathedral, where Kagura had disappeared after their slaying of the great, beastly Vicar, he'd looked to his right and felt an urge to go. And what was a hunter without his instincts to guide him?
Trusting the feeling in his gut, he'd made off, following the path for sometime before the cackle of fire urged him to slow and sparked the inferno that was his cautious approach to most things. It was an open space, relatively speaking, somewhat mirroring a valley thanks to the hills that jutted up on each side of the clearing like the maw of some great aquatic beast. Trees sprouted up here and there, surrounded by piles of gravestones, marking those who had been laid to rest here.
The fire which he'd heard cackling was off to his right; he could see the shadows cast the silhouettes of men, and a quiet glance showed three villagers- undoubtedly crazed- stumbling around the fire, their mutterings so soft even he couldn't make it out. He could see rifles in their hands, the loud firearms held tightly. His eyes narrowed as he gazed around the clearing, attempting to find any other crazed villagers. A fresher, more naïve hunter may have approached those by the fire, eager to eliminate those with a means of attacking him from afar.
But he was no fresh-nosed hunter, his senses not tinted in blood and madness. He knew the peculiar madness of Yharnam like the back of his own palm at this point. The villagers, their minds splintered and fractured, were clever in their own way. Traps laid by discrepant minds were equally deadly as the best made plans of wise men, should one stumble into it. He made the decision to creep along the edge of the clearing, his eyes peeled for anything. And, eventually, he found it; the soft gleam of moonlight off the steel of a long barrel, reflection as illuminating as a torch to his keen eye. He found a villager, leaning against the dirt wall, not particularly paying attention.
A perfect target. Prowling forward, boots making not a peep, he waited until he was a hair breath away to lunge suddenly; the tip of his saw cleaver met the man's neck, and his free, gloved hand met the man's mouth before he could give out a gasp or any other cumbersome noise to give away his presence.
His feeble struggles stilled after a moment, and Vasyl caught his rifle before it slammed into the ground with his boot, lowering it more softly to the dirt as he propped the man up against the dirt wall he'd been leaning against. He took a long glimpse at the rifle on the ground, debating the merits of a more… direct approach.
As he was pondering the merits of his next move, a soft growl caught his attention. A glimpse down the main road he'd been on, prior to his diverging path to the crazed gentleman now dead against the dirt wall, showed two hounds and a villager. They were hard to make out in the darkness, but the moon lit them up well enough for him to see that this one too carried a rifle. Damnation.
With that information, his stealthy approach was no longer feasible. The dogs would sniff him out far too quickly, given his outfit stunk of blood. Very well, then he would simply cause as much chaos as he could and pick off the scoundrels in the panic. He looked towards the fire on the far side of the clearing before reaching into his coat. He always kept a few things in the pouches of his coat, secured firmly so as to avoid spilling. First and foremost being a harness of quicksilver bullets, numbering around twenty. A Molotov cocktail- nothing more than an alcoholic beverage and a cloth stuffed into its top, capable of being lit on fire and thrown as a long-range inferno. He also kept a blood-cocktail in his coat as well, though he, unfortunately, did not have one on him due to his prior actions in saving Kagura.
He did not regret that, though. Not even for a moment.
A blood cocktail would have been useful, sure; he imagined he could have thrown it at the rifleman intermingled with the dogs, and the beasts, in their state, would turn their aggression to their so-called master. Alas, such was not an option. Nor was using his Molotov in his exact position an option; he had nothing to ignite it.
It was decided, then. Vasyl briefly leaned down to grab the rifle of the villager he'd just killed before backtracking towards the main road he was on, moving with a bit more speed than he had previously. His track diverted as he crossed across the main road, crouching around the trees as he neared the three villagers by the lit fire. He set his saw cleaver down right next to him, if only for a moment, before bringing the rifle in his freehand up to his shoulder and taking hold with both hands.
Aiming down the iron sights, he fiddled with the grip until it was comfortably snug against his right shoulder. It was only a moment or two longer until he had his target in his sights; the rifleman surrounded by the dogs, trudging along slowly behind them. Confident in his aim, Vasyl's finger twitched and an incredibly loud bang alerted everyone to his presence. He did not wait to see if his target fell, though he knew his aim had been on-point.
Rather, he freed his right hand from holstering the rifle and grabbed his cleaver off the ground, dashing towards the riflemen around the fire. Two were turning around to face him, though their rifles weren't up to bare yet. The third was already bringing his rifle up, and Vasyl wasted no time in flinging the rifle he'd just fired, still grasped in his left hand, like a tomahawk at the villager bringing his rifle to bare. It slammed into his forehead, leaving him falling onto his behind and his grip on his rifle loosened enough to send it onto the dirt.
Vasyl pulled the lever on his saw cleaver, extending it, and in two rapid slashes cut across the throats of the other two riflemen. He dashed around the fire quickly, lunging and bringing his blade overhead to dig into the chest of the rifleman who he'd sent to the ground with his makeshift tomahawk.
Calmly reaching into his coat, he pulled off the Molotov cocktail, holding it by the bottle and over the fire in front of him. The white cloth lit after a moment, and his eyes found the two dogs rushing at him rapidly. Heaving the cocktail, it exploded as it hit the dirt between and just in front of the two malformed, flesh-flayed hounds.
Their pace, rapid as it was, gave them no time to divert course and had them rushing through the flames. Their growls gave ways to cries, before their cries gave way to the silence of the night. Vasyl regarded the death around him, taking a deep breath from his mouth and exhaling through his nose.
Graveyards. He hated them.
With a disinterested look towards the bodies around him, he moved forward and around the burning hounds and corpses, finding himself back on the main road after a few seconds of walking. While he'd handled the situation well enough, it just felt more… empty.
The hunt was lonely once more, it seemed. He sighed, pausing in the street and taking a look at the moon above-
A loud boom echoed throughout the clearing, the unmistakable cry of a firearm being discharged.
His pistol had already fired before he even registered what had made him do so. In a fluid motion, he'd unholstered his firearm of choice and fired. A moment later, he realized he'd heard the click of a rifle being cocked back to fire, but the only gun to be fired had been his own. Gaze finally following his aim, he watched as a villager fell backwards towards the ground, decidedly dead, a chunk of his head missing.
Breathing softly, he reached into his coat and removed a quicksilver bullet from his harness, reloading it into his gun without a sound.
...Perhaps it would be best to not give into his wayward thoughts. He had growth too used to having a partner far too quickly. And beyond that, Kagura had disappeared from him, though he doubted she was truly at fault for that. It had been far too abrupt for him to blame her. Still, he had gotten too comfortable with her by his side, brief as it had been.
A comfortable hunter was a dead hunter, as the saying went. He would have to harden himself once more in preparation for the nightmares of the night. It would make it all the more worthwhile, when they reunited.
Clearing his wayward thoughts, he moved forward down the road, keeping his eyes peeled for anything particularly suspicious. It was only a few minutes of walking before he came across a metal gate, its iron rusted and one door jarred open only just. He dipped through it, eyes spotting a lantern to his right. Perfect, a means to get back to the dream, then.
Still, his ears picked up the insane mutterings, the sort that only came from the splintered, paranoid mind of Yharnamites. He was atop a small hill, and so he moved towards the edge, staring with narrowed eyes at the small plaza below. A fire was burning at its center, yes, but its stench was rancid. A closer look showed what was burning to be bagged corpses.
It certainly explained the smell. Still, burning bodies was no great sin in his eyes. Rather, the only thing truly out of place with the scene below was the women dressed in gowns, pitchforks in their hands, dancing around merrily to an unheard music. Truly, this opera house of madness needed his… special touch.
Giving a glance at the lantern to his right, he decided against restocking his supplies. There was too much to be done. Flicking his saw cleaver open, he eyed the madwomen as he stalked down the hill towards their abode. It was a short trek down the incline, and he found himself at the entrance to the plaza. It only took a few moments for one of the dancing mad women to notice him.
"Oho! Another guest, yes, yes!" She cried, her voice seeped with disgustingly pure joy, "And such… beautiful eyes! Oh, yes! You're the one, the one!" Cheers sounded out around the plaza, six of the dancing women, by his count, singing their mad tunes of happiness.
Worst of all, if he had to say, was that the women were not particularly beastly or ugly. They were right beauties, but he would do what he must. Still… perhaps if there was a sliver of sanity left in them, blood could go unshed.
"I do not know what you want with me, but it is best to leave one such as myself well alone. Otherwise, I will have to harm you." The woman- the first one who'd spoken to him- tilted her head, practically frozen in place as his words finally seemed to register as something more than static.
Her eyes narrowed. "Y-You! You're just like the rest of them!" She spat, brandishing her pitchfork. Another one of the young women moved forward, a cleaver in her hand. "Fine then, I'll pluck out your damn eyes myself!" She charged forward, bringing her pitchfork forward in a sloppy thrust. Vasyl sighed, stepping around it and flicking his arm forward and out, his serrated cleaver digging halfway into her neck before flicking backwards with a spray of blood.
She fell, dead, and most of the other women looked at him in anger. Two of them looked at him with a much wiser emotion: fear. He would have to kill them all now. How sad, yet it was the just thing to do. To liberate them of their wild insanity.
"M-Monster!" One of them called him, and he bobbed his head back in-forth in consideration of the accusation.
"Perhaps I am."
Surging forward, he brought his cleaver down upon the crease of the closest woman's neck. She died before she could even stumble back in surprise. The four leftover women took a step back, and he took another one forward.
"Gahhh!" One more of them cried, rushing at him in a frenzy. He easily parried her sloppy blow, following up with a backhand slash into her side, ripping out flesh and tearing the thin cloth of her, admittedly rather pretty, gown. She slumped over, then, bleeding out onto the dirt with soundless groans.
Three left to slaughter. They huddled together, brandishing their makeshifts weapon as a rather poor defense against him. An overhead swing of his saw cleaver directed a pitchfork into the dirt, knocking it out of the poor woman's hands. He brought his blade upwards thereafter, catching her beneath the chin and tearing upwards through her jaw. Shock overtook her, and she would be dead within a few minutes, he imagined.
Another stumbled forward, swinging at him with her cleaver. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand, twisting and hearing the crack of bone before kicking out with his right foot, catching her in the stomach and sending her flying backwards… and impaling her on the pitchfork of the last woman, whose hands were shaking.
The woman who was now impaled pulled herself off the farm-tool, but it did little to save her agony or life, as she fell forward onto the dirt and writhed.
"P-Please," she cried, huddling back. Vasyl regarded her for a few moments. She was remarkably young, barely a real adult.
"Leave this place, young miss. Rid yourself of your madness, or I will be forced to deal with you." She nodded feverishly, and Vasyl turned his back on her. He even dared to hope, if only for a moment. He sighed in disappointment as he heard the prattle of her footsteps on the dirt.
"Die monster!" She screamed, thrusting with her pitchfork. He stepped aside, allowing the blade to pass him by, and twisted his body. His saw cleaver came around in a swift moment, catching the young miss on the back of her neck. The paltry flesh did little to stop his serrated steel, and her head fell onto the dirt with a soft thud, followed by a louder echo as her body followed.
"...How disappointing," he muttered, giving a look at the disconnected skull, seeing the crazed look in the woman's eyes. He regarded the rest of the corpses surrounding him, ensuring they were in fact dead, before huffing slightly.
Madness. He tightened his grip on the handle of his saw cleaver. He would cleanse this city's madness, lest the night carry on forever. Perhaps then he could do as the doll always told him. Perhaps, when Yharnam was naught but a nightmare of the past, could he find his worth in the waking world.
There was something strange about guiding around an animated corpse that seemed so sure he was alive. So sure, in fact, that he didn't even know he'd ever died. It made her feel some sort of way, though she didn't spend much time reflecting on how he was making her feel.
"T-Thank you again, Kagura. I just, um, don't know why I can't remember anything." She rolled her eyes at his stuttering words, giving him a side glance. He wasn't a particularly tall kid, though probably about average for his age. Not that she knew so for sure; she wasn't so bored she'd gone around and estimated how tall humans should be per their age. He just seemed about average.
He was decently in shape, probably thanks to that demon-slaying training he went through. None of which he remembered, though. He was a blank slate, no memories to speak of. She was honestly curious if this personality was true or not. Soft-spoken and gentle didn't sound like a demon slayer to her, but she'd seen weirder things. Far weirder things.
"Don't worry about it." And, really, he shouldn't. She was manipulating him, however unknowingly. Not that it was exactly her choice, but it didn't change what she was doing. Guiding him to either kill his sister, from what little Kagura had been made to understand, or to be killed by said sister.
"O-Okay." He quieted down, following at her heels like some sort of lost puppy. She was dressed in the thick leathers of Yharnam, and this time had even furnished a mask around her face. A part of her had debated the merits, wondering if Naraku would be spying on her, but she figured he was busy enough with whatever scheme he had going on parallel to hers to bother monitoring her.
Thus, she'd figured it was best if the kid never saw her face, nor whatever villagers she delivered him to either. She could probably explain it off like that, too, if Naraku asked what she'd been caught wearing. She didn't have the stake driver on her, so it wasn't as if it was impossible for the leathers to exist. They were just strange. Extremely strange but still explainable.
Its strangeness had advantages though. All the villagers were giving her a wide berth, as well as some suspicious mutterings. She'd overheard a few, and honestly, her favorite had to be that she was a 'demon slayer from the west'. The irony was thick.
Oh, they'd also offered her some free sake… for some reason. Humans, she decided, were strange. Thus, here she was, resting at a table and waiting for the server to return with a drink. She shouldn't be here any longer, honestly, but Kohaku, the little rat, had practically begged her to stick around for just a bit longer.
"Um. Kagura?" Kohaku spoke, his voice cutting through the mutters she'd been straining her ears to listen to.
"Yes?"
"Everyone's staring at us…" He said, visibly shifting in nervousness. She sighed, giving another lazy glance around the sleezy sluthouse. Go figure the villagers had directed her here; they were probably trying to get her to spend all the money she didn't have. Did they not realize she was a woman? The leathers she wore, admittedly, were pretty thick. It was possible they didn't realize she was a woman.
It's not like she'd spoken to practically anyone outside of Kohaku. They'd just herded her here like some sort of cattle, promising her booze and more. It seemed that 'more' was human women flashing cleavage at her and fluttering their eyelashes.
Who knows, it might have been effective if she hadn't been a woman. Should she have been insulted? She wasn't particularly endowed- frankly, she might have been concerned if she was. Mostly because she was created by Naraku, and the idea of him being any more creepy than he was made her shiver in fear.
Kagura decided it didn't matter. The moment she lowered her mask to have a sip of some free sake, they'd realize she was a woman and hopefully leave her alone. And, finally, it was arriving. The woman approaching was a beauty by human standards- probably approaching her thirties, but still pretty youthful looking. Her kimono was cut low, giving Kagura an ample glimpse of cleavage, and she seemed to be perpetually leaning forward to maximize that view.
Whores. Gods, she hated them.
The human finally made it to their table, lowering herself to the floor in a fluid motion, presenting a tray with a bottle of sake and two cups that she quickly began pouring into. "Here you are, sir~" the slut practically swooned, and Kagura decided this charade was up. She lowered her mask, revealing her feminine features. It was enough to cause the slut to freeze briefly before swiftly recovering.
"Thanks," Kagura said as she finished pouring the cup, taking a quick sip. The woman began to rise, and Kagura raised a brow. "What? Not going to pour him any?"
"W-What? But Kagura, I'm-" Kohaku started to protest, pure soul he was.
"Quiet down and have a drink."
Kohaku opened his mouth to protest but took her advice and quieted quickly enough. The slut took her time in pouring him a glass, showing ample cleavage, before departing from the two of them with a quick bow. Kagura shook her head.
"I feel weird," Kohaku muttered, a bit of red staining his cheeks as he stared at the cup in front of him. Kagura couldn't help it- she snorted in a rather unladylike manner, chuckles spilling from her lips a moment later.
"W-What?!" Kohaku exclaimed, his cheeks lighting up even more red. It took a few moments for her chuckles to calm down, leaving her with nothing but a wry grin as she took a sip of her sake.
"Don't worry about it," she said, deciding it was best not to tease the brat too much. He was just… hormonal.
Kagura burst out laughing again, and Kohaku clenched the cloth of his pants and closed his eyes. His face was as red as a tomato. Kagura took a sip of her sake, savoring the taste for a few seconds as her grin receded. Her eyes drifted towards the back of this whorehouse, spotting the woman who'd served their sake whispering to an older woman, her hair white and face wrinkled.
They snuck a glance her way, and Kagura did raised a brow in response.
"Hey Kagura," Kohaku began, and her attention shifted from the two whores in the back to the child by her side, "What do you think they want with us?"
She nearly scoffed at his use of the word 'us', but held her tongue. "Figured out that they're not just doing this out of goodwill, huh?" Kohaku crossed his arms in protest at her words.
"I may not remember much, but I'm not dumb. I can hear them calling you a 'demon slayer.'" His face scrunched up at those two words together, brows furrowing in thought. Maybe Naraku's mind-wipe wasn't as surefire as he thought it was, but it was clear the kid didn't clearly remember everything. All the more the shame. If he did, maybe he woulda killed himself before he went and hurt that sister of his.
Oh well.
"Fair enough, kid. Well, I don't actually know what they want with me. But it's either a bandit issue or a demon issue, if I had to guess." It was honestly a bit boring. These humans were going to beg her to help them, and for what? What purpose? To give them a few months of safety before another demon or bandit group moved in to torment them?
Her killing whatever their issue was, was like giving someone a fish, not teaching them how to. It'd save these people for a few months, maybe even a year. But, eventually, someone else would show up to torment them. They'd be right back where they started- begging for some random traveler to solve their woes. They were helpless, and that more than anything disgusted her.
"We're going to help them, right?' Kohaku asked, and Kagura turned to face him fully.
"Now, why the hell would we do that?"
"Because it's the right thing to do!"
She rolled her eyes. "The 'right thing to do'," she mocked, giving him a half-lidded stare. "What the hell do I have to give these people? What if I try to go kill that demon, and I die? Was it the right thing to do, then?"
He quieted down, but she could see he still thought he was right. "And how about this- say I take care of whatever little maggot bandits or demons are terrorizing this town. They'll be fine for a bit, but more bandits or demons will fill their space. That's the thing about vermin, kid.
"That's why the only thing that really matters is freedom, and the only way to have real freedom is to be strong. Strong enough to stop anyone from telling you what to do."
Kohaku was mulling over her words, and she was content with that for now. A part of her felt bad- he'd learn firsthand how hopeless the 'right thing to do' could be soon enough. Probably when his sister cracked his neck or he did it to her. Naraku would probably just kill him, then. Decide he'd been useful enough and cut the cords to his life.
Grimacing, Kagura took another sip of her sake and spotted the older human woman from the back, the one who'd been talking to the whore who'd served them sake, approaching their table. Kagura stayed lax, watching with a whimsical eye as she approached. As she got to their table, the woman lowered herself down in a controlled manner, legs bending behind her easily.
"Greetings. I am Matron Hatomi, and I welcome you to our humble abode." She inclined her head just a bit, enough to be respectful with groveling. Kagura just tilted her head softly.
"The hell do you want, exactly?"
Her head raised, and she stared at Kagura for a few seconds before nodding to herself. "One of those types, are you? Very well. As I'm sure you're aware, I've approached to ask for your assistance in something, stranger."
"And why should I help you?"
"Is it not your intention to leave this boy here?" She gestured to Kohaku, and Kagura admitted she hadn't really thought of that detail.
Still, she wasn't going to get bossed into doing something by some human granny. "So, maybe it was. Nothing stopping me from taking him to the next village, maybe drop him off in some small farming town or something safer."
Hatomi inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Yes, I suppose you could do that. But what's to say the next village will be without trouble? We live in trying times."
"Then maybe I'll decide some poor farming village is worth helping a bit more than a village that tried to bribe me with some whore's tits," Kagura sneered, unable nor caring enough to stop the words from spilling out of her mouth.
"Kagura!" Kohaku hissed, and she gave him a glance. "I… we should help this village! A-And if you don't, then I will." She laughed, not kindly.
"Really? You? You don't remember anything, kid. Sure, you had that scythe and sickle on you, but who the hell knows if you can even use it to fight whatever it is these people want us to fight. For all we know, you used it for plowing fields."
Of course, she knew better. He'd used that chain and sickle for slaying demons, but it didn't change the fact that he remembered shit-all about it.
"It doesn't matter," Kohaku continued, leaning forward. "It's never wrong to do the right thing, Kagura! Even if I die, at least it'll be for something worth trying!"
Unbelievable. She'd have to stop this stupid kid from getting himself fucking killed, because if she didn't, then Naraku would kill her.
Kagura narrowed her eyes at the brat before scoffing, turning back to the old woman. "Fine. I'll take care of whatever stupid problem you can't handle, but in return you're going to make sure the kid here doesn't starve and has a roof over his head." Wouldn't exactly do for the bastard to starve before Naraku got to use him.
"It would be our pleasure," Hatomi replied before continuing on, "Now, allow me to explain the situation. Some of our villagers have begun to go missing, and I believe a demon is to blame." Shocking. Kagura almost yawned at the information but held back.
"We sent a few men out to search for them; one or two wives had gone missing, and the men had been among those to volunteer. I wish I could say I believe most of them to be alive, but we found the remains of one, wrapped in silk and his… innards eaten." So, a spider demon of some sort, killing villagers indiscriminately. Excellent.
"And I'm guessing you want me," Kagura began, "to go find the demon and kill it." Hatomi nodded after a few moments.
"Indeed, we do." Hatomi shifted, speaking further, "To my knowledge, someone from our village traveled west to enlist a priestess's assistance, but I've my doubts on what some pure maiden will be able to do against a real demonic threat."
"Have some sake for me when I get back," Kagura informed, rising to her feet. Kohaku started to rise again, and Kagura rose a brow. "You're staying here," she informed him.
"But Kagura, I can help-"
"No. You can't. We don't know what you can do, and I'm not gonna be the one responsible for you dying. If you really feel like offing yourself, go jump off a bridge like a normal kid."
Kohaku began to sputter a protest, so Kagura felt the need to shut this down completely. She turned to the old woman. "You keep him in this whorehouse until I get back."
He protested, but Kagura didn't much care, making her way out of the building at a steady pace. She needed to find this spider demon and kill it before going on her way. She dusted off her coat as she left the whorehouse, feeling the imprint of the beckoning bell Vasyl had given her. Maybe she'd give it a ring. Maybe.
Vasyl dug his saw cleaver free from the spine of a flayed dog, giving a look around the courtyard he'd found himself in as he did so. A large, stone grave marker stood in the middle, covered in moss and vines. He'd slain more than a handful of foes on his way here. He'd also encountered a few things that made his mind spin in thought.
Chief among them was an eyeball, kept in a glass jar filled with a liquid that he was inclined to think was water, but something was telling him it was more than that. Not that he'd felt particularly inclined to investigate it further. No, he'd left it on the desk he'd found it on. Still, it helped put things in a bit more context. He recalled that first woman he'd encountered commenting on his eyes, then threatening to pluck them out herself. He doubted it would be a pleasant experience, frankly, so was rather glad to have killed her.
Was it a bit too much to ask for at least some degree of normality? In this city, it seemed so.
Vasyl reached up, scratching the back of his head. Well, it was no matter, really. He expected he was nearing the end of this venture. It had been of… some value, he supposed. This village's obsession with eyes made him rather suspicious of the words he'd heard in that adage. 'Our eyes have yet to open.'
He'd assumed it was more of a philosophical view, and quite likely it was. Still, it was worth making a small note of. Either these villagers were crazed enough to not understand that literal eyes were not what was meant, or there was more significance to the saying than he'd assumed. In fact, that adage had made him rather cautious in general. He wouldn't be using anymore blood vials if he could avoid it. Sure, they were rather remarkable, capable of accelerating the healing process to unheard of levels. Yet it seemed they were responsible for this beast plague too, and Vasyl had very little desire to grow fur.
Flicking some blood off his saw cleaver, he turned his eyes to the hill to his right, and began to make the trek towards it. And, nearly instantly, he saw a monstrous guard patrolling. A small grin tugged at his lips, and he quickened his pace.
Executioners, as he'd taken to calling them, were fearsome foes. Large, strong, and well armored. They hardly cared who they attacked- he'd seen them slay anything from beasts to villagers. And, in this case, as he eyed the Executioner, his body obscured by a large black cloak, he saw his free hand held the skull of a woman, crushed and malformed. The rest of the body of the woman was being dragged along the ground without care.
An enormous axe rested on the Executioner's shoulder. The large figure paused mid-step, and his hand released the crushed skull in his grip. His gaze met Vasyl's own, and the hunter did little more than stand still in waiting. It would make the first move.
With a roar of anger, the Executioner flipped its axe forward from off his shoulder and into its other waiting hand before rushing forward. Vasyl tensed in anticipation, and as the large, armored figure neared and swung its axe in a wide, sweeping motion, he leapt backwards to avoid the blow.
As the blade passed in front of him, he pressed forward. Vasyl leaned aside as the Executioner brought his axe back in a diagonal slice downwards, slamming into the dirt inches from him. As he stepped forward to slash with his cleaver, the Executioner flicked his elbow out, bringing the long, wooden shaft of his great axe towards Vasyl's skull. Leaning backwards, he managed to avoid the blow, and took the small opening to slam his saw cleaver into the armored plating on his opponent's abdomen.
Kicking out with its right foot, the Executioner caught Vasyl in the chest, sending him back due to its monstrous strength. He recovered swiftly, as the Executioner was already rushing at him again. It spun, swinging its blade around it in a wide fashion. An easy enough blow to avoid, truth be told, and as its attack ended, Vasyl closed the distance between the pair, dashing forward and behind the Executioner. He followed his movements with two quick slashes before creating more distance between the two of them.
It came running at him again, this time swinging its blade madly and without the more expert form from before. He ducked and weaved around the blows, striking out with his extended saw cleaver when a chance showed itself. Mere glancing blows, truthfully, but they were adding up. Really, he was waiting for a sloppy swing, and he would end this in an instant.
Three swings later, he found what he was looking for. A sweeping horizontal slash, roughly at chest level. Vasyl ducked beneath it, already swinging his saw cleaver as it passed over him. As the Executioner slowed his blade at the end of its fearsome swing, body slightly off balance from the force and weight of the blow, Vasyl brought his cleaver down upon the tip of his foe's extended axe, forcing it downwards and into the dirt.
The Executioner stumbled, and Vasyl brought his saw cleaver back and upwards, pulling the lever to transform his blade to its compact form. He dashed forward, straight into the Executioners chest, before swinging his blade upwards and shoving the serrated edge into the underside of the Executioner's neck. It wore a metal mask, but its neck was exposed, given the right angle.
It gargled, and it let go of its axe, trying to grab at him with its hands. He leapt out of range, the hands swiping at empty air, and watched as the Executioner moved its hands to its throat in a futile move to stop the bleeding. It died a few moments later, falling forward with a heavy clang.
Blood pooled out from its neck, and Vasyl saw a gleam in the small puddle of crimson. He moved forward, reaching into the blood and removing the blood shard. It was larger than the normal ones he'd found before now.
Pocketing it, he cracked his neck, looking up the hill the Executioner had come from and eyeing the house at its peak. It was a slow trek until he entered the building, noting it remarkably empty save for some hay piles, though stairs seemed to lead below. With nowhere else to go, it seemed prudent to investigate further.
Quiet steps led him to the basement of this hilltop farmhouse. He could hear some soft muttering as he finally made it down the final step, staring out at an almost entirely clear storage room of some sort. Emphasis on almost entirely clear, because he found the source of the crazed muttering rather quickly. Some hunched over figure, a robe obscuring most of the features from this distance. He squinted to make out whatever it was that seemed to be hanging off the woman's robes; something about them seemed odd.
He hesitated as he finally made them out. Eyes. Dozen of them, hanging off the robe like the most prized of jewelry. It was disturbing, and he couldn't help but squirm in disgust, reminded of those women he'd first encountered here, as well as the others he'd discovered. They'd all been the same; their sanity cracked. Perhaps they had been working for this person? Well, in any case, it would be best to end whatever madman's had the audacity to cover himself in eyeballs in such a manner.
As he approached, he noticed the figure doing something. It was hard to say what, given it was facing away from him, but he could practically feel the wrongness in the air. Keeping silent but moving forward, he stepped inside range to finally attack; his blade swung forward only to hit nothing but empty air. A strange glow had surrounded the figure, and by the time his swing finished, it had disappeared. He heard a mocking cackle, decidedly feminine. It echoed all around him.
Staring at the spot where his prey had been a moment before in confusion, he took a glance around-
A quick stumble to his right was the only reason he was still alive. A sickle sliced across his left arm, tearing through leather and running down from his shoulder to his elbow and leaving blood bloating up from the valley that was his new cut. Still, the damage was manageable. The attack had been meant for his neck, after all. Blinking, Vasyl took in whatever it was that had attacked him.
There wasn't much to take in. It was tall- extremely so. Tall and lanky, yet there were no real features beyond glowing, white eyes attached to the shadowy silhouette of a man, its skin so dirty and dark it was practically black. Tendrils of darkness masqueraded as hair flowing from its skull, long and untamed.
One hand held the black sickle that had just dug across his flesh, and it dripped with his fresh blood. The monster- for whatever this thing was, he would never dare to call it a creature or person- regarded him with cold, unemotional white eyes. It made no noise.
Vasyl chose that moment to move, dashing forward and swinging his compact saw cleaver across its dirty, darkened torso. His blade tore into the shadowy flesh yet no blood fell. What madness was this?
It stumbled slightly, enough to let him know that it did feel pain. And so, he would make it feel. Two follow up slashes tore into its chest, pushing it back further. The tip of his cleaver dug into its abdomen with a thrust, and it fell backwards to the ground, dead. It was hard to say if the ground enveloped it or not. If he were asked to describe it, he would say the creature simply… melted apart, some great maw to the hereafter forming on the ground and absorbing whatever nightmarish essence the creature's flesh was created from.
Vasyl took a deep breath, scanning around the room. And, unfortunately, he spotted two more pairs of white eyes staring at him… but more importantly, he spotted a strange, white light, floating idly by. The creatures of darkness approached him with slow, malingering steps, a crude imitation of man. They were not an immediate threat, and he was able to put two and two together and decided that the figure dawned in robes and covered in eyeballs was the source of them.
He chose to track the strange light, moving across the room at a steady, rushed pace. When he finally neared, he found those damnable eyes hanging from the mad woman's cloak staring at him, unblinking and not in their proper place inside a skull. The light was immolating from the cloaked figure. Clearly, it had to be responsible for the beckoning of these impossibly dark sprites..
Roaring, he swung his blade, enjoying the anguished noise that escaped the cloaked figure. Perhaps he ought to feel strange about hurting an old woman, but given she wore eyes like jewelry, he didn't feel too bad. Rather, he felt quite good. This wretched being would fall by his blade.
As he tried to swing again, his blade passed through the damn woman. He looked around the room to see where the light had moved to. He couldn't see it at a glance, but he did see multiple pairs of white eyes, more than the mere two pairs he'd seen earlier, slowly encroaching on his position.
Tightening the grip on his cleaver, he took a deep breath and relaxed before marching forward to meet the malingering, shrouded figures who made neither noise nor bled.
A sickle slashed at his right shoulder as one of the creations struck at him with impressive reach, its lanky arm doing it well. He leaned to the side, allowing the sickle to pass by just in front of his torso. He then twisted his hips, bringing his cleaver upwards at a diagonal angle so it dug into the side of the dark entity. He forced his blade all the way through, cutting its body into two separate halves.
They met the ground, only to disappear in their entirety without any proof they'd ever truly existed. His eyes slammed shut, and he shook his head to clear his wayward thoughts. It would be best not to think- simply to act.
Combat, he'd discovered, was a rhythm. The thump of his heart was the beat, rising and falling with every slash and thrust. Every action, every moment meant something, warranted some sort of reaction. And it was critical to understand which action was correct.
For example, the overhead swing of a sickle aiming at his right side. He was given a multitude of options, but only one felt right. Dashing forward, he allowed the blade to sail over his head, and promptly slammed his compact saw cleaver into the knee of his opponent before following it with a backhand slash across its skull as it stumbled forward, unbalanced.
He did not need to worry against these opponents. They were… unnatural. He always felt most at ease slaying these monsters of the night; it was when his blade turned against his fellow man, no matter their madness, that he couldn't help but frown. But, in moments like these, he could simply move.
A sickle came down at him pathetically slow; almost all the attacks these creations were using against him were overhead swings, mostly due to their impressive stature. Thus, it was easy to use their lumbering motions against them. They were not refined fighters. They put their all into every strike, leaving them woefully unprepared for his retaliation.
Stepping aside, Vasyl parried the sickle with ease, sending the shadow construct off balance. He dashed, slashing his saw cleaver across the back of its knee before stepping away, switching from its compact form to its extended blade and swinging backwards behind him; its head was removed before it could even register its death. If it could even register its death.
Vasyl scanned his surroundings, and he found the white light once more. He would slaughter this abomination, now. Sprinting across the room, as he neared, he saw the figure look over its shoulder at him, revealing an ugly, wrinkled and mad face.
Good. Reaching out with his left hand, he grabbed her by her thin, long neck, picking her up in a smooth motion and pinning her against the stone wall. Transforming his saw cleaver to its compact form, he snarled and slammed it into her torso, working his blade through her body slowly.
She writhed. She screamed. She spat at what little of his face was visible. He paid it no mind, instead making sure he was cutting all of her in half, blade digging through her body. Eventually, when the resistance ceased and he cut one last time, he heard the lower half of her body squash against the ground. He squeezed her neck, crushing her windpipe before finally letting go and taking a half step back.
He took a glance around the hall, satisfied that he could see no more of those shadow abominations. He glanced at the two halves of a person in front of him, humming lightly. The eyes still clung off her robe, but it seemed he'd crushed a good number of them when he'd pinned the monster to the wall.
Good. He turned to examine the wound on his left arm, eyeing the deep cut that ran down most of his arm. It certainly hurt, and his left arm didn't feel very good. Still, he'd made something of an executive decision to avoid using Yharnamite blood to accelerate the healing of his wounds until he determined the risk involved. He would simply live with the pain; it was nothing compared to his memories of actual death, after all.
Dusting off his coat, Vasyl scanned, finding one final doorway in this room. Well, his curiosity had led him this far. With some trepidation, he entered. The path led through a makeshift tunnel, ending in a small, enclosed room with one chair and a man buckled into it. Vasyl took slow steps around the long-made corpse, frowning as he recognized the wear of a hunter. Two empty eye sockets stood out, and he noted with disgust that the corpse's eyelids were pinned up with rusty nails. Vasyl took another look around the small room.
What a nightmare. He saw a black bag on a nearby workbench, approaching it with caution. He opened it after only a moment of hesitation, blinking at what was inside. Blank sheets of paper- no, not blank. Squinting, Vasyl tried to make out what he was looking at, exactly.
Black lines, crossing over a center line and each other diagonally, only to cut back inwards and across. At the very top was a sort of… upside down triangle? For some reason, he felt as if he'd seen this rune before. What did it mean, though? Vasyl reached down, intent on flipping over the page and seeing what-
The stars themselves split, giving way to a blinding light that sung the echoes of creation. A burning inferno of heat, overwhelming him so much that he didn't dare to breathe or exist. The blinding light faded, the heat lessened. His ears registered noises, but more than that, they tasted, they felt. To call what he was doing listening would be a grave insult; it was to compare man to fleas. No, it was worse than that.
He cried, falling forward and looking up. Something came through the light; its head split like an egg, framed by coral all around. Two bright, green eyes looked through him. Falling forward with a deep breath, he gave one last look up. Something gently pressed against his head, and he finally understood.
Heir.
Vasyl gasped, falling forward against the table he'd been leaning against. One hand reached up, pulling his mask down- he emptied his stomach onto the workbench, barely supporting his own weight. The world itself was spinning, and he tried to right himself best he could. It was proving difficult, but it was, indeed, better than his previous situation.
...Gods above, what had that been? He remembered seeing that creature, something more suited for the nightmares of the sea than the stars, yet that had been the death of a star he watched(how did he know that?). Vasyl slammed his eyes shut. It… hadn't felt dangerous. No, he didn't know how he felt about what he had just seen. It would be best to forget about it, he decided, lest these deranged thoughts plague him.
His eyes briefly glanced down at the toolbox. The formerly faded page now seemed far more visible. The same rune as before- crisscrossing lines running up a single horizontal one, a triangle at its top. Heir. That's what it meant.
He did not know how he knew. He did not know in what dead language it meant. He simply knew.
Vasyl gulped, taking a glance around the small room. Everything seemed normal… though, had the hunter's head always been facing his direction? No. It hadn't. Vasyl grabbed the toolbox, not taking his eyes off the corpse as he left the enclosed space, backing out of it slowly.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Vasyl flinched, swiping wildly with his saw cleaver behind him, a roar echoing around the enclosed space that he didn't realize came from his own throat. His cleaver met the stone tunnel wall, and he held it there for a moment, mind catching up with his instincts. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. His own damn heartbeat had set him off! He needed to relax, to calm down-
A hand laid itself on his shoulder, and he froze. Another hand reached forward, grabbing his chin and turning his head so he couldn't even look away. Empty eye-sockets gazed into him, framed by a dead, pale and rotting face, rusty nails holding up eyelids that still tried to twitch. 'Become one with the cosmos' echoed in his mind, and he screamed at the burning sensation that enveloped him. He could feel everything- every cell in his body, expanding and multiplying, dying and decaying. He could feel the blood flowing through his body, navigating the maze that was his veins. He could feel the tingle of the very neurons in his spine and the crazed language in which they spoke.
He could feel all's existence. All that should have, but hadn't; all that was, but should have never been.
A hairbreadth later, he heard all. The laughter of children, the screams of ravished women and men, the push and pull of the ocean's wake, but most overwhelming was the silence. Utter, complete silence, deafening as it mixed in with anguished screams and cries and joy and life.
It was empty. Impossibly empty empty empty empty- he slammed his head into the wall next to him, begging to feel anything-
Vasyl blinked, finding himself still staring at the bag on the workbench. He was still staring at that rune. Heir. What? Vasyl spun around, one hand grabbing the workbench behind him to support his weight as he nearly stumbled backwards, his knees like jelly. A shaking hand pointed his saw cleaver extended form at the dead hunter in the chair.
...His head was no longer turned wrongly. It was still slumped forward, facing his thighs. Vasyl breathed, panting.
He grabbed the bag and ran. He didn't stop, not when his legs shook with every step or his lungs ran out of air. He ran out of the strange house, rushing by the corpse of the executioner he'd slain. He ran until he reached the center of the courtyard he'd cleared out earlier, finally stumbling and setting his back against the large, stone grave marker covered in moss.
His gaze drifted towards that cursed house on the hill. He squinted, trying to see if… if anything was coming after him. It didn't seem so, at least. Slowly, the thumping of his heart slowed, and his muscles untensed. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the gravestone. Mercifully, he… he didn't feel whatever it was that he'd felt before.
His mind strained even thinking about it, but he very clearly remembered the sensation. The feeling of being everywhere, not just in a physical way, either. He remembered the blood in his veins being so overwhelmingly loud and warm. Shivering. Vasyl pulled his legs up to his chest, removing his head from the gravestone and resting his chin on his knees.
Was he delusional? Mad? It… there was no way he could explain to anyone what he'd just experienced. A corpse, coming to life? Saying those… those cursed, holy sounding words to him? What would Kagura think, if she knew of his decaying mind? Clearly, he was going mad, the hunt and deaths catching up to him. They had to be.
That… whatever that had been, couldn't have been real. Thus it must have been his mind at fault. Yes, it made quite a deal of sense. All the more reason to end this hunt promptly.
As the idea of getting up finally manifested in his thoughts, the repeated dings of a bell interrupted. He felt the soft pull of his spirit. Someone, somewhere, was beckoning him… and he only knew one who had the capability to do so.
Vasyl smiled.
Why was she doing this? Kagura sliced forward with her stake driver- Little One had delivered it to her, promptly, when she'd gotten out of everyone's sight- cutting through some spiderweb. In that whorehouse, it had seemed to make sense, but as she stomped through a forest, more or less wandering around blindly, she couldn't help but feel as if she got played.
That little brat. Kagura huffed, taking a glance at the trees around her. She squinted, seeing something just above the trees- ah. It was some human, wrapped in a cocoon, though the silk was bloodied red. Well, she was probably getting closer, then. With a flick of her wrist, Kagura shot out a small blade of wind, cutting the top string of silk that held the human body up.
It crashed to the ground with a thud, and she moved closer to examine it. Yes, the silk around his stomach had been removed, and his innards were cleaned out messily. Definitely eaten, probably alive. How bothersome.
Kagura took another glance upwards, eyeing where the human had been hanging from. It only took her a moment or two to find what she was looking for: some chipped wood on one of the branches, leading further into the forest. Giving not another glance at the corpse behind her, she moved deeper into the forest.
How many pathetic humans would she find strung up in these woods? That old whore hadn't given exact numbers on how many villagers had disappeared, but so far she'd found two hanging in cocoons.
Hmm. She needed to finish with this, so she could tell Kohaku to shove it up his ass and be on her way. Stupid kid, talking about 'the right thing to do' like it mattered. She'd see how he was feeling when he killed that sister of his. Maybe he'd realize it then.
A shadow shifted in front of her, and Kagura moved, dashing forward as something slammed down on the ground she'd been walking on a moment earlier. It was… well, it was what she was looking for. A monstrous, demonic spider, brown in color with spikes over its many legs. Sharp, long fangs dug themselves out of the dirt. She stared into the many eyes on its face, frowning.
"A fellow demon." The spider spoke, voice somewhat masculine behind the coarse sounding words, "Why have you come here?" Actual curiosity was in his words, so Kagura decided to oblige before killing him.
"To kill you. The villagers aren't happy about you kidnapping people." The demon chittered, body shaking as it did so. It was definitely mocking her. She curled her left hand into a tight fist, narrowing her eyes.
"How curious. A demon, helping humans. Why?"
Like hell she was going to answer this oversized pest. "I don't get why you care." The spider chittered once more, a strange, laughing sound. Kagura decided she was going to kill this bastard.
"You're right. I don't." With those words, he lunged at her. A decently quick speed yet she had no issues dodging aside as he slammed those fangs of his at the open air where she'd been standing. Its many legs kept him moving forward, even in spite of his miss.
He had size on her, sure, but somehow he didn't seem as intimidating as that giant wolf. One of its many legs slammed overhead at her side, missing by a foot or so, and she finally decided to attack.
She slashed at the extended limb. Her blade dug in a bit, but not enough to actually cripple his mobility. Fangs came forward to penetrate her flesh, and she gave a wide sweep with her stake driver as she stepped aside, forcing the demon back a step. She took the small opportunity to prime her stake driver, pulling the lever that would retract the blade some.
The demon rushed her again, practically lunging at her. She dashed to her left, avoiding him. He kicked out with one of his back legs, attempting to catch her by surprise. She was more prepared for that, these days. She leaned aside, avoiding the blow.
As the spider leg was dug into the ground in front of her, Kagura thrust her stake driver, digging it into the extended limb and, with a pull of a lever, her stake penetrated all the way through the hard, thick leg. The demon screamed, swiping at her with ones of his other limbs.
She ducked, avoiding the blow, before moving backwards. As the demon accidentally put weight on his bad leg, he folded forward, the leg snapping from the pressure. He compensated quickly, using his other many legs to stabilize, but he was definitely unfocused now.
"You! I will enjoy devouring you! You. Will. Suffer!" Kagura rolled her eyes, priming her stake once more. She took aim as the demon took off towards her, firing off a wind-stake directly at his head. Her aim was true- naturally- and the demon reared backwards in pain. Kagura got ready to follow up, only for an arrow to streak forward, swirling in spiritual energy, and tear the demon apart in a blinding light.
Kagura looked to her right, finding a fair-skinned woman dressed in the traditional white and red robes of a priestess. Long, black hair, overwhelming spiritual power, and she used a bow and arrow to purify that demon.… Kagura grimaced. It had to be her.
"I can sense Naraku within you, demon" the priestess, Kikyō, said before Kagura had much of a chance to greet her. Shit. Kagura was strong, sure, but she was pretty sure if Naraku couldn't even deal with Kikyō, she didn't have a chance.
"Not exactly by choice," Kagura responded, mind racing to come up with an idea that might let her survive. Her wind would be useless; Kikyō wasn't that Kagome girl. She was good with a bow. She wouldn't miss, and the purifying energy would cut right through her own demonic powers.
"It's possible, but that does not excuse your existence." Shit, shit, shit. Kagura wracked her mind. What would Vasyl do- Vasyl. She slowly opened her coat, reaching inside and grabbing the bell he'd given her. Kikyō narrowed her eyes as she did so.
"A bell? I don't know what trickery you think you can pull over me, spawn of Naraku, but I will make this quick." Kikyō notched an arrow, and Kagura rang the bell.
The arrow was launched at her damn near the moment she heard the first ding. Kagura tried to scramble aside, but she had her doubts if she'd actually make it. She wasn't sure if she was quick enough.
Something wrapped around her, covering her body completely, and she felt herself airborne as she was tackled aside.
As the terrifying spiritual energy passed by her right- she couldn't see it, but she could feel it- Kagura took in the familiar scent. Blood, leather, a bit of oil, and sweat. Slowly, the arms cradling her released, and the figure who had tackled her aside stood up fully.
He looked at the devastation the arrow had caused, a few trees having been torn apart and a bit of dirt upturned. He turned to stare at the priestess responsible; the grip on his saw cleaver tightened. Vasyl looked over his shoulder- Kagura couldn't help but notice the tear on his left arm, the leather torn and what pale skin that was visible showing a deep, bloody cut. He stared down at her, his brows lowering in that way she knew meant he was smiling softly beneath that mask of his. Finally, he spoke, "It is a relief to see you again, Kagura. And I truly, truly mean that."
Kagura breathed, and then she met his smile with one of her own.
Hello again. I appreciate all the kind reviews; I'm glad y'all are finding this worth reading so far, even if it is a bit off the wall. I do want y'all to know I read all my reviews. I don't really like responding to individual reviews in the author's note I do, as it feels like it artificially increases length and that's just kinda scummy I think. Anyways: with holiday season rolling around, it can be both a good time and a bad time. Short days, lots of grey clouds, maybe you can't see your family(or maybe your family sucks) thanks to covid or being far away. Maybe financially you're not doing well and it makes you feel like a shitbag(HINT: you're not). I say all this 'cause I've had a shitty winter before and, well, it sucks. If anyone's struggling, please shoot me a message, I'd link you my discord or something and we can talk a bit more personally.
Everyone stay well, have a happy holiday season, wear your masks, and, if it tickles your fancy, leave a review. If not, just glad you hopefully enjoyed the chapter!