The flames licked at the side of the burning workshop under the dark sky, clouds surrounded a pale moon of blood as the hunter watched the flames trail up and down the walls, yet it remained unburned. He reached into the flame with his ashen white leather glove, only to find no feeling of heat or warmth, just a tingling feeling of cold and movement dancing upon the skin of the leather atop his hand. He reached where he could only guess where the flames emerged from to find not soot or ashes, just a more concentrated chill that seeped into the bones of his body, almost akin to that of fear.

He walked away and over to the workbench decorated in weapons of Hunters long gone, some to the nightmare of the bloodthirst, and some to some unknow place. He removed the large, archaic sword off of his back, the carefully engraved patterns and shapes on the surface of the silver blade were mostly covered by the darkened, bloody bandages that covered the surface. He worked at the blade with rocks of coagulate blood, the surface was blackened and hard and yet, with the tools at his disposal, he could break it apart and add it to the weapon, improving upon its capabilities.

As the bandages were removed, a milky white covered the blade, before the colour blue embraced it tightly and forcing the white to form a pattern in the centre of the blade's true form. He began to fuse the rocks and blade together, gently working at the weapon as his hands were steady and focused at the task at hand. The luminescent blade seemed to brighten as the old blood was added onto it, the gentle hum increasing as if it was a small purring like a cat.

He wiped any left-over stone dust from the surface, before moving onto the moonlight edge, the sharp surface cut his finger the moment it was touched. Placing the sanguine covered tip into his mouth, he licked the blood off of the appendage as to not waste the iron flavoured liquid. The Blade was rewrapped and placed on his back before moving onto the second item he wished to upgrade.

A flintlock pistol was placed on the bench, the handle was leather bound and crated a secure grip. The long barrel was silver with a pinkish tint, as was common with the Cainhurst line of weaponry. The tip was covered in another layer of metal plating, but it was engraved with various patterns, most resembling different arcs, the feature was no doubt decorative, just like the red blood gem at the top of the curved handle. He began to repeat the same process with the gun, as he did with the sword. The motion was common and secondary nature to him with how long he had spent repairing and upgrading weapons.

Whatever his life was before was, it must have been more peaceful and safer than the hell he was in. The city, the woodlands, the nightmares and the crypts were all hellish and unrelenting, forcing a person far beyond their sanity and into madness. It had happened to him various amounts of time, the feeling of losing himself was a creeping cancer through his body, and yet he had returned from far beyond the brink many times, thanks to his mistakes.

Fighting his way out of his thoughts, he retuned to finishing of the repairs to his gun. Once done, the weapon found way to his hip as he pulled out another weapon.

It was a twin blade sword, with one end resembling a katana and the other a Wakizashi, both with engravings along the almost perfect blades. A single guard covered the outside of the hilt as a way to reduce or stop handed that may result in the hand being unable to handle to wield either forms of the weapon. He twisted it in a clockwise fashion before placing it on the table, as to see if the weight had remained the same. The process from before repeated for a final time before placing the weapon on his hip.

The white and blue cloak that decorated his shoulder moved slightly as he walked away and over to some of the bookshelves that decorated the building. He opened up the various tombs as he red through them, only a few 'words' were legible. The books were filled with knowledge and such, however, the writing was incoherent and most definitively of eldritch origin. It was only then he remember three items that were similar to each other.

Opening the small bag at his hip, he removed three carefully wrapped objects before opening the soft, linen cloth they were wrapped in. three separate black, mummified spirals were within the soft covering. The ends were cut, seemingly from the same origin. He crushed each one in his grip as insight into the inner workings of the world flooded his mind, only furthering as he continued onwards. Once the final fragment was done, he wiped a small dribble of blood running down his face from his nose away using the back of his hand, before he returned to reading the books only to find that he could understand each and every one fluently.

He began to memorise each and every page, finding them to be related to the arcane and mystical, as well as other forms of skills that would no doubt be useful. Placing the final book back he began to channel arcane energy to the top of his hand, resulting in a slight blue light appearing. Quickly dispelling it he headed out of the building and back onto the stone slab pathway that winded around the entire place. walking past small patches of railed off plant life, he eventually made his way to a filled of moonlit, luminous flowers.

A long wall of overlapping grey gravestones lined the left side wall from the gate, with a single tree near the graves. Underneath the pearlescent leaves was the hunter Gehrman sat in his old, black steel wheelchair as his wooden leg began to move slightly, making a rustling sound from his near ancient trousers. His withered voice reached over the moonlit field as he began to move, seemingly readying himself.

"Good Hunter, you've done well, the night is near its end. Now I will show you mercy. You will die, forget the dream, and awake under the morning sun. You will be freed from this terrible Hunter's Dream."

For a small while the young hunter stood still as the dreamed wind blew pas his face in a calm glance whilst his eyes were closed, finally opening once he exhaled as his tired, bloodshot eyes opened, a slight madness appearing in the blue orbs as the pupil turned into thin, black slits, before retuning to the regular circle in the centre of the organ. The moment his mouth opened, a cracked and weathered voice left his dry throat, the voice sounding wrong to him due to miss use as every word sounded as if he was swallowing sandpaper.

"No."

The old man began to stand with a creak with the movement as he spoke, the wood of the ancient wheelchair moulding and bending from the action.

"Dear, oh dear. What was it? The Hunt? The Blood? Or the horrible dream? Oh, it doesn't matter... It always comes down to the Hunter's helper to clean up after these sorts of messes."

He stood to his full height easily, as he moved the curved blade around his right side, he slammed it into a metal frame that unfurled, revealing the metal shaft of the scythe, placed firmly in his hands as it had more than a hundred times before, the tally of hunters dead was etched into the blade. The man spoke once more as he charged into the fray, attempting to do as he did a thousand times before.

"Tonight, Gehrman joins the hunt..."

The Good Hunter was sent flying backwards as the powerful slash cut across his chest, dying the flowers beneath him as he moved, until his feet held strong. The old hunter dashed forwards as his scythe was held high with the moon light glinting over the scarred surface. The weapon only cut the sanguine flowers as the hunter dodged in a could of blue mist, the art of quickening aiding him to move faster and away from the trapped hunter, only to be surprised as the old hunter appeared behind him, preparing to bisect him.

The gunshot of Evelyn rang through the field as Gehrman fell backwards and onto his knees, the Burial Blade separated from his grasp and stuck into the dreamed ground not too far from the two fighting hunters. A partial transformation int his bestial form occurred, changing his arm into that of a large clawed hand, the four digits tipped with lacerating claws and covered in a fine layer of golden fur and hair, rather than that of the standardised transformation.

The hand plunged into the first hunter's side, smashing through the thick layer of clothing and through the wrinkled flesh as the ribs shattered under the force and a visceral amount of blood coming through the opened wound, before the beast-like hand was wrenched from the body with a sickening squelch and slurp as the flesh tried to stop it from leaving.

A hard thud sounded through the area as the old body fell to the ground, before a sharp kick to the stomach forced the white-clad hunter back, before he had to dodge a hail of bullets from the man's gun, as he began to levitate into the air, before he launched at a rapid pace towards the good hunter as the speed of his descent brought up dirt and flowers, only for them to be soon joined by the deep crimson colour of blood as the scythe pierced through his back, barely missing the spine and vertebrae, but cutting through the stomach as the acid and blood poured out of the wound rapidly, before he fell down onto the scarlet stained flowers.

A loud roar ripped from the hunters course throat as it forced the blood through the course oesophagus as it forced the man back away from him and disturbing the flowers around him as claws emerged from his hands. He leapt forward as his elongated canine teeth came together in frustration, as they began to grind against each other. A roll backwards allowed him to keep his head as the large curved scythe almost took of his head in an easy swing.

The first hunter received a slash against his torso as the knife-like claws dug into his skin and clothes, erupting into a flow of blood as a large burst of energy came from the old man, practically sending him to the other side of the field in a hard movement as he began to tumble and roll. He stood up, only to fall back as the curved sword form of the Burial Blade made its way through his chest and was ripped out in a visceral display of carmine liquid.

Using Quickstep, the good hunter was able to make a large enough distance between both him and Gehrman, before injecting a vial of blood into his veins as the wounds began to sew back together at a rapid pace with an uncomfortable amount of heat and pain that had become a common feeling. He withdrew Maria's Rakuyo, before separating both blades and held them at his sides, ready to attack. Both opponents rushed at each other, before commencing to attack each other furiously.

The blades met each other occasionally, causing a ringing sound from each hit and sparks as the blades grinded against each other, before returning to the usual combat. Both worked through the pain the felt to finish the other off in a single, finale attempt to be the victor, both to save the other from the dream, before the hunter walked past the other, who had fallen to his knees whilst blood rushed from his gut. He handed the scythe to the living hunter in a painful attempt.

"The night, and the dream, were long..."

The old man spoke in gasps as his life was leaving him, his cape falling off of his person, the clothing's rags moving onto the good hunters feet as he placed it around him, the old fabric sitting safely on his neck and shoulders as he shook his outfit to remove most of the blood off of him in one easy go. Gehrman collapsed as his blood pooled beneath him as it saturated the earth, before his body disappeared into a pale blue mist.

He was drawn from the evaporating body from a loud scream, he felt a few drops of blood leave his ear cannel in response to the sound, what really caught his eye, however, was the moon. The colouration had turned to a rose pink, the whole circle which he had become accustom too had seemed to warp slightly as a large, slender black figure began to float over to where he stood.

It landed with a heavy thud as the petals took to the air. He could heat the writhing tentacles and the exposed bones of ribs clatter into each other as if they were some form of macabre symphony. It stalked forwards, before jetting the bony, thin arms forward, grabbing the hunter within the almost fleshless fingers before dragging it forwards towards the black, malformed face with a large gap at the centre of the face, before being forced to drop the hunter due to pain.

A large burst of pale arcane energy bursted open the twisted joints of the creature, blood poured from the opened wounds in grand doses . The near ear bursting noise roared from the single gaping hole as it rushed at him with thin appendages ready to claw at his soft malleable flesh below the hardened leather. Moving out of the way of the Great One's strike with a quick dodge towards the main body, he began to cut a the ankles of the creature in a fast succession, and at a far greater speed than before as the creatures blood doused his body and clothing.

It jumped upwards, before crashing back down on top of the hunter and resulting in him being crushed and breaking half of his ribs violently and piercing through his sides and his lungs, forcing crimson liquid through his broken wind pipe, before he injected another vial of blood which immediately began to heal damages. The Rakuyo went through the calf at the black skinned muscle before being fragged downwards and rendering the muscle unusable.

It gazed at the good hunter as the small hole in its warped face began to glow a bright red as it looked at him, before he felt his bod rip and tear as blood violently left his body through his mouth, eyes and ears, all whilst pain filled his body. He fell forwards as he pulled down the leather collar around his mouth, before spitting out the coppery, yet sweet, liquid and wiping away blood marks on his face. He grabbed the Burial blade from off of his back as he began to run back as the large beast, driving the transformed scythe into the gap in the forearm, before pulling it towards him and cutting the hand in two.

A wailing filled the dream as the Great One screamed in pain from the action, before it received the blade across the lumpy flesh that could barely be called a face. The pressurised blood squirted over the hunters body as the creature reeled back before swinging randomly as an attempt to kill him, in desperation. He threw the scythe with all his might as what appeared to be blue strings covered the dull silver shaft as it landed, before being pulled back towards the hunter.

The blood drenched scythe came back to him at a rapid pace as he ran towards the Great One, before grabbing the weapon and swinging it quickly, severing the left arm from the Moon Presence's body, the visceral gore covering the hunters beaten and partially broken body with a desperate breathe filled with a burning pain. The curved blade detached from the weapon in a fluid motion, cutting into the soft neck and drawing another large amount of blood, before switching to the holy sword of moonlight and severing the head of the beast, making it turn into a light blue mist.

The world around him began to fall apart, seemingly breaking into pale, white luminescent petals falling apart and flying into the sky as the world darkened around him, the moon shattered as the dream began to fade away into nothingness, being replaced by a slowly growing dark abyss approaching upon him. The hunter stood there as it grew closer, the hunter stood still as light, red stained tears fell down his cheeks as they began wash away the grime, blood and mud off of his face.

He sat down on the field as it grew even closer to him, letting the gentle feeling of the soft flowers under his fingers, the velvety feeling felt calming against the calloused hand of the hunter as he waited for the inevitable end of the dream. The calming feeling of the dark surrounded him as he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the enveloping dark, he accepted it as he closed his eyes, expecting it to be the final time that he would ever do so, only to be surprised when he felt a soft light atop of his face.

He opened his eyes as the sound of calm waves licked at the side of cement, only to find himself back to where his nightmare had begun, at the port of a city, one far different from that of Yharnam. One that he had missed and not filled with nightmares and the darkest things that could be found. He was back in the City of Vale.