"Remind you of anything?"

"That is so utterly inappr-! We don't have time for this!"

A woman's body arced through the air as she gagged, unable to scream as blood filled her lungs. As she fluttered through the air, the red of her blood was reflected in the red of a precious ruby brooch. The young hunter dashed forward as fast as his legs would carry. He lunged at the branches of a dead tree and swung up on top of the nearby mausoleum. Just as the woman's body ought have clattered on the hard shingles, he slid across, catching her.

With the last of her life pouring out of her, the foreign cleric touched the gaping wound in her torso. The golden light of healing was the same no matter the gods petitioned, but some were more generous in their answering. Torn viscera closed, shattered bone reassembled, and cut flesh knit itself together once more. The woman's pale body flushed as it produced new blood to replace what had been lost. It was her own blood; the blood of a human. This priest would not administer the tainted blood of the Healing Church.

After such an ordeal, the woman understandably fainted. That made things convenient. As the hunter rested her gently against the high wall behind the mausoleum, he glanced up to see his partner in action. The huntress was having a ball. Resigned as a foreign father and now resigned as a cleric of the Healing Church, the snarling man before her was one of the last hunters of the old Workshop.

Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, his eyes were bandaged, but that did nothing to impair his aim with axe or blunderbuss. The rugged, wild-haired man snarled. Sparks flew as he dragged his brutal axe across the paving stones before slashing up at the huntress. She laughed. It was not a mocking laugh, though she easily dodged the slow attack.

No, she was laughing for the mad joy of battle. Too long had she been denied a straightforward fight against a foe not utterly mindless. You could see the blood-colored madness in the eyes of the people of Yharnam. This huntress' eyes were indeed the color of blood, but they showed only the thrill of a sportsman. There was no bloodlust; only adrenaline high.

She snapped her curved saw forward, catching the rogue hunter's arm. He jumped away, but the shock caused him to drop his gun. The newcomer stepped forward and stepped on it. With a quick maneuver, she kicked it up into her free hand and slid it into one of the countless holsters on her armored skirt. The senior hunter only grunted and snapped his axe into its long-handled configuration.

"Ohh… what's that smell?" he exhaled. "Hah. The sweet blood, oh, it sings to me. It's enough to make a man sick."

He laughed madly as he swung the poleaxe overhead. The glint of the blade reflected in those red eyes. Father Gascoigne was one of the most successful hunters, at least in that he had outlived most of the others. Yet he was accustomed to the cunning of beasts and the brutality of the Yharnamites. He was not a hunter of hunters; he was not an executioner; and he wasn't a debauched nobleman who found his entertainment in bloody duels.

For one who had likely spent as much time fighting as the hunter had spent living, such a direct attack had no chance. The huntress sidestepped the blow. As rubble shot out about the point of impact, she took a second step and was inside the axe's swinging range. Gascoigne slammed the haft forward, trying to force her away, but she only whipped her body back. With the momentum of her evasion, she swept one of her armored feet out and knocked the father's feet out from under him.

He landed on all fours, growling. His body emitted a dull brown light, and his hair stood on end. There was a sudden explosion of sticky, tarlike matter and an inhuman shriek. The father's clothes were stretched and torn, only barely accommodating his new size. He had been tall before, in that peculiar Yharnam way, but he was nearly half again that size.

All his body rippled with bulging muscle beneath silver fur. His face had elongated slightly, but he had not yet fully become a beast. Still, he was just as ferocious as one, immediately twisting his body toward his foe. He lunged forward, swiping one direction, then the other. The huntress weaved backward before reaching the railing.

She casually flipped over without looking, landing daintily atop a tombstone and kicking off of it to put even more distance between the two of them. Furious, the half-beast charged straight over the iron spikes and stone. This only made it impossible to stop in time as the huntress swung up and into a tree. The monster plowed face-first into the rotten wood, knocking it over just as the woman jumped off. She made a swooping slash across his back, taking most of the flesh off. She landed on her free hand and flipped upright, making a second slash across the beast's Achilles' tendons.

"All too easy," she said, a little disappointed.

The beast tried to turn and fight but simply fell over without the tendons to stabilize it.

"He's all yours, dear!" the huntress called out pleasantly, the exercise making her forget she was angry with him.

The other hunter had been content to watch the fight, for all its brevity. Or rather, he had been content to ogle his partner's athletic form in motion. Now, he picked up the unconscious woman and hopped down from the mausoleum roof. He laid his charge against a tree and approached the beast. Though its legs were ruined, its arms were still powerful, and it lunged at him, teeth snapping.

"No! Bad dog!"

He took several steps backward and rubbed his chin. While he was thinking, his partner approached the beast and stomped hard on its back. It tried to rise, but she dug her heel deeper and deeper between its shoulderblades.

"Honestly, we rushed to get here and still almost didn't make it," the hunter said, shrugging. "Normally, we'd have a music box to make him remember who he is, but kind of skipped it."

"Do you remember the tune? I could easily hum something simple enough to be recorded like that."

"Kind of. I actually think it's the sound of the music box itself that's what's important. But I have a better idea."

He cleared his throat and held his hands together imploringly.

Gascoigne, you've got to pull yourself together.

Gosh it disturbs me to see you, Gascoigne

Looking so out of your head

Every guy here'd love to be you, Gascoigne

Even when eating your lead

There's no boss in town as well-written as you

You're everyone's favorite guy

Everyone booed when they couldn't save you

And it's not very hard to see why

No one's sad as Gascoigne

No one's bad as Gascoigne

No one's hat's as incredibly rad as Gascoigne's

For there's no beast in town half as beastly

Savage, so like Shao Kahn!

You can ask any Doll, Church, or Scholar

And they'll tell you whose badge they prefer to pin on

No one's-

"Wait!" the huntress said suddenly. "This isn't a spell! You're literally just serenading him!"

"Jealous?"

"Slightly. More importantly, you're an idiot. Someone's life is on the life."

"Not really? Worst case scenario, we could just have one of us hold him here while the other gets the music box. It's not dark enough for any of the really spoopy stuff to come out yet."

As he said this, the woman lying against the tree began to stir.

"Wh…? What happened? Dear…?"

She shot back in shock at seeing the beast sprawled out in front of her.

"Oh, my dear Gascoigne!"

She sniffled, and tears began to pour down her face. She looked to one hunter, then the other.

"You're hunters, I can tell. Please," she choked. "Make it quick."

"Right," the young man said. "Plan… was it B for Bed, C for Chaos, or D for Demon?"

"E for Error, because even considering this was a mistake. I'm never discussing plans with you behind closed doors ever again."

"So it's Plan F for fu-"

"Just take my damned blood!"

The huntress shoved a vial of slightly off-color blood into his hands. The blood of Yharnam was peculiar in that it stayed strangely fluid, strangely alive, even after it had cooled. This blood had done nothing of the sort, bubbling and radiating warmth. The glass was almost too hot to touch, and it even glowed faintly. The hunter circled around the beast and jabbed the needle into its thigh.

As the contents of the vial flooded its system, it shrank in size and shed much of its fur. After a few moments, all that remained was the father in what remained of his stretched and tattered clothing.

"Wh- what?" the woman squeaked.

"We'll explain along the way," the hunter said gently. "Your younger daughter is all alone right now."

He helped her to her feet and glanced to his partner.

"Can you carry Gascoigne?"

"You mean like I've been carrying you all this time?"