A/N: The scene in the lecture hall takes inspiration from Lovecraft's 'From Beyond.' I will be attempting to homage other works of his throughout the story, and am excited to see how you think they match up. Please leave any feedback you may have, and thank you!
Chapter Three: Communion
"Master Willem?"
Laurence looked out across Willem's study. At first, he could not see any sign of the Byrgenwerth master, but a sudden movement - a creak and tilt of a bookcase, drew his attention.
"Laurence," Willem replied, turning to face Laurence. The scholar recoiled slightly at the sight of the blindfold across his master's eyes, but soon enough, his initial terror at the alien vision turned to confusion.
"Master, what is the meaning of this?"
Willem frowned. "Of what, my dear boy? Oh, of this?"
The collegemaster gestured to his blindfold and chuckled.
"I have taken to wearing it during my meditations. The silent darkness is comforting; rather like sleep, if more productive... I find that there is much more enlightenment to be found where there is no light to be found."
Laurence did not attempt to conceal his dismay.
"What is the point of owning all of these books if you prefer blindness, Master?" he asked, more mocking than concerned.
Willem's reply did not echo his student's jeering; in fact, it's tone was remorseful, if anything. "Oh, Laurence. I had quite forgotten how you have been caught up in your own vision. Your own blindness, should I say? Only yours is permanent. A black tunnel with no openings."
"My vision goes far beyond yours, Master," Laurence retorted. "If we all followed you, Byrgenwerth would remain a nothing - a place of no value. I can create a legacy for this place, and the men and the women who have contributed to our greatness."
Willem continued to rock forward and back. When he spoke again, it was quiet - almost disconnected, like it was aimed in no particular direction.
"We must pay our respect to such an awful natural power," he began. "The Old Blood is just that. Something to be feared, not embraced."
"Maybe one day you will see the truth, Master," Laurence sighed, staring at the blindfold on his master's head. "But I doubt it."
Willem heard the creak of the door as Laurence left, and smiled sadly. Laurence's last words stung, but not because of how pointed they were.
"I could say the very same of yourself, my child," he whispered.
Only the white shimmer of the moon received him.
Gehrman was alone.
He was waist-deep in an enormous, bloated puddle of water - a tide that churned and swayed like a maelstrom, threatening to tug him down.
Only, the body was not water, but a tide of crimson red. Blood. The sickly sweet smell of decay had the scholar doubled over and gagging.
The smell was ripe and pungent - not even the overflowing sewers of Yharnam's poorer districts was as nauseating as this.
Gehrman felt the pull of the blood trying to drag him down. It was like a quicksand, but with tiny little hands clinging to his legs and waist. He tried to pull up, but only sank a little deeper.
"Panicking only drags you down quicker, my friend," said a gentle voice. Maria.
Of course she would be an expert on quicksand. Was there anything she didn't know?
Only, the tug of the swirling blood was now but a distant memory in Gehrman's ailing mind. Something new was present, pulling his attention.
He saw it first in the corner of his vision. A ripple on the surface of the puddle - but at that point, he saw nothing. Only when the waters parted, and a long, emaciated claw drove itself up through the vortex did the scholar take true notice.
The claw was followed by a long, contorted arm. Blood trickled down the limb as it surfaced, not simply dripping off but actually falling away.
Whatever this thing was, it did not slumber in blood - it was made of it.
Gehrman tried to struggle away, but by now he was waist-deep, and the movement made no avail to his perilous situation.
The blood tide parted once more, and another demonic claw rose from its surface, followed by a long, furry snout. Long, sabre-like fangs glinted in the darkness as the creature's jaws opened, blood dripping out of the gaps in its mouth.
As the creature pulled its whole upper body from the waters, Gehrman started to tremble. It started in his arms, and quickly spread to his shoulders and head. It was a sickening, paralysing fear, accompanied by nausea and inertia. Such feelings were only intensified as the wolf-like sapient opened a pair of bright yellow eyes and fixed them sternly on Gehrman's ailing form.
The creature's gaze was like a plume of fire. Gehrman felt his skin singe as the creature gazed at him with a feral anger and, more frighteningly, a hunger.
The monster started to crawl forward. Sickeningly slow in its movements, which was all the worse. It knew it had all the time in the world to prey upon this trapped form.
The blood-beast closed the distance within a minute. Gehrman swallowed hard as he saw the creature's terrible jaws tear open right in front of his eyes. The acid taste of bile flooded his mouth as a long, sodden tongue stretched from the creature's mouth, flickering towards him.
At this point, the scholar woke up.
He was lying on his back in bed, the covers cold and damp beneath him. As he sat up, panting and near-feverish with fright, fresh beads trickled down his flesh.
"Just a dream, just a dream," he whispered to himself, taking a swig from a glass of water beside his bed.
Wiping his hand underneath his nose, Gehrman slowly rose from his covers, but froze as he caught sight of the back of his hand.
His fingers immediately felt for his nostrils, coming away similarly-stained in murky red.
The scholar quickly pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep breath.
"What is happening to me?" he whimpered.
When Maria arrived in Byrgenwerth's Lecture Hall it was already nearly full. Quiet, fearful students sat rigid in their seats, watching their master and teacher, Laurence, as he paced back and forth at the front of the room, choosing to stare at his feet rather than make any acknowledgements to the assembly that was sat patiently in front of him. Something crossed his features and he suddenly looked over at Maria. Upon seeing her concerned look, he gave a feeble smile, and gestured to one of the few vacant seats in the hall, apparently now ready to begin his address. Seeing Gehrman sat with Paarl and Archibald on the end of the nearest row, she quickly took a seat with them, just as Laurence pulled down the blackboard at the front of the hall. Chalk in hand, he began to etch.
"As you are all well aware, our excavations of the catacombs beneath Yharnam recently led to a magnificent discovery," he began. "We found a creature – a being - known only in legend; folk lore. Real. And living beneath us all along."
As should have been expected, this line raised excited murmurs amongst the crowd. Laurence waited for them to peter out before continuing.
"The discovery of siderite ore was just the beginning, it appears, of Byrgenwerth's voyage into the unknown. We are embarking upon a journey of discovery, taking us to the heavens above our moonlit skies. Truly, I believe we are on the verge of discovering humanity's final evolution. And it all stem,s from this."
Laurence held aloft a vial so the crowd could see it. Its contents were a familiar murky red, but with a peculiar glimmer that was untypical. Still, it was unmistakably, blood.
"This heavenly blood can accelerate medical science beyond the scope of our meek visions," Laurence continued, swilling the contents of his vial. "With the aid of quicksilver solution, dissolved in an Erlenmeyer flask, this blood can be taken by humans as a cure for any ailment."
The crowd launched into another wave of discussion. Caryll, who was sat in his wheelchair just off to the side, noticeably leant back in his chair, which creaked quietly.
"The discovery of the Old Blood is a landmark in Byrgenwerth history," Laurence assured the crowd. "The Great Ones have dipped their toes in our waters, daring us to follow them to the stars. To their plane. And we must answer their call."
"But if these beings are akin to Gods, then how can we ever hope to match them?" a random student called.
Laurence pointed to the board, where he had drawn a strange symbol. "Communion! This is how we will meet with our Gods. We will talk to them."
The same voice replied almost immediately. "How?"
Laurence smiled for the first time in his address. "We are already on the brink of successful communication. One of our own, the faithful Rom, has been subject to various experiments with the blood. We believe he has gained a certain insight into his donors, the Great Ones."
On cue, Rom stepped in front of the crowd. Laurence looked to him, gesturing with his arms.
"Tell them, Rom. Tell them what you have seen!"
Rom closed his eyes, raising his arms to a peculiar position reminiscent of a clock. One arm remained rigid, firmly above his head, whilst another remained level with his shoulders. The crowd started to mumble.
"Reserve your scepticism, please!" Laurence called, silencing the masses. "We are still but children of the cosmos, but every step we have taken has been to great avail. Have faith in your scholarship. Have faith in Byrgenwerth."
With the crowd gone silent, Rom's previously inaudible mutterings spread through the hall. At first, they were nearly incomprehensible, but suddenly, as though a switch had been thrown, it all changed, and Rom opened his eyes like a flash of lighting.
The audience gasped as they saw his dilated, round black eyes, but were silenced once more as he began to speak.
"The sky and the cosmos are one," he said. Looking out over the audience with a glassy, vacant gaze, as though looking beyond. "Tonight, we pay tribute to a special guest. He is all around us. He is next to that chair, right now!"
A startled audience member followed Rom's pointed finger to the empty space beside him. Laurence, seeing Rom rile up the audience, chimed in. "Of whom do you speak, insightful Rom?"
Rom answered quickly. "Formless Oedon. He watches you with curiosity – he sees that I see. He wants to make himself known."
The scholar at the centre of Rom's attention yelped as his chair was suddenly rocked from behind by an unseen force akin to a great wind, sending him flailing to the ground. Another audience member was quick to retort. "Tis all smoke and mirrors! Like a séance, or a magic show. Sire Laurence, what is the meaning of this pantomime?"
Hearing the man's cries, Rom looked in his direction, eyes still firmly planted beyond the man's form. "Your doubt is misplaced. You remain blind, with little cause. I will permit you to see."
The sceptical man recoiled slightly at the tone of Rom's voice, and opened his mouth to reply once more. Only, the words never came, as a shriek of terror erupted from his mouth.
"There's a hand upon your shoulder, sire!" he shrieked, pointing frantically at Rom. "It is unseen, and yet seen! How is this possible?"
"Oedon has sought communion with us tonight," Rom replied calmly. "He wishes to dissuade the non-believers. Humanity, like the Pthumerians before us, has earned the right to see."
Rom turned to Laurence, and said quietly. "That is all. For now." Following this remark, his eyes shut sharply. When they opened again, his pupils were returned to normal.
Laurence looked out over the crowd. He saw Gehrman and Maria, and the horrified looks on the faces. The horrified look mirrored by every man and woman in the crowd.
And he smiled.
"It is okay to be afraid. In fact, it is natural. I expect nothing less of any of you. But I hope you can also see what I see. What Rom sees. And what our master, Provost Willem, fails to see. Tonight, I have granted you all eyes, and I hope now they will never close. Thank you."
It took around half an hour for the auditorium to empty. Laurence fielded frantic and fearful questions from frightened scholars as best he could, but he soon found the reality of being such a knowledgeable figure to be overwhelming.
"For all that I have discovered already, there is still so much to learn," he said quietly, addressing nobody in particular but himself.
"Good speech – if a bit dramatic."
Laurence turned to see Caryll wheeling himself towards him, and braced himself for the ensuing argument.
"Thank you," he said uncertainly. "I expected that you would have much more resistance to my claims. Have I perhaps managed to sway your mind?"
Caryll smiled sombrely. "I'm afraid not, but you have done a fine job bringing around your students. They are frightened, but I don't think there are any who doubt you. Not after that display."
Laurence crossed his arms. "Forgive me, Caryll. I know that recent events have left their mark on you… But I must be certain – what is it about my research which spurns you so?"
"In truth?" Caryll replied, looking out over the empty hall. "It is not your research which concerns me. It's the breadth of your ambition. If this was all just research, then it would impressive. Perhaps the find of the century. But the way you spoke to those students tonight was not in a scholarly sense – I believe you were pitching a business."
Laurence sat down heavily in one of the vacant chairs facing Caryll. When his eyes met with those of his old colleague, they were remorseful, but edged by something powerful. For the lack of a better description, it seemed that his gaze was alight with sparks.
"I believe that Master Willem is right about one thing. We should be fearful of this power. But that does not mean we should not use it. In fact, I believe we'd be tantamount to fools if we hesitated. Where would we be if we hadn't discovered how burning wood could build a flame? Or how flame and oil could produce a spark? If infusions of blood can induce a longer, more fruitful life, then what justification can we have for ignoring it?"
Caryll put a hand on Laurence's shoulder, who tensed slightly at the surprising tenderness of the touch.
"My friend, nobody wants to live forever," he said. "Not really."
Laurence grunted. "Bah. Don't tell me you truly believe that? The goal of humanity has always been singular – self-preservation. This is no different."
"I won't stop you," Caryll said, starting to wheel away now. "But I will never join you. I wish you the best of luck."
Laurence listened to the sound of his chair as it wheeled away, before looking up at the etchings he had made on the blackboard. Phrases like 'EVOLUTION' and 'CURE ALL ILLS' sprang out at him, like promises that he had made. Huge, bombastic promises; nearly impossible to fulfil.
But only nearly.
"Master Willem, I've come to bid you farewell."
Willem continued to rock in his chair, pace unaffected by the startling sudden appearance of his student, or the resonance of his words.
"Oh. I know, I know," he replied, gentling tapping his cane in his hands. "You think now, to betray me."
"No," Laurence replied, somewhat taken aback by the severity of his master's accusation, but unflinching in his resolve. "But you will never listen. I tell you, I will not forget our adage."
Willem stayed quiet for a moment, just rocking gently. When he spoke again, it was clear he had lost the will to argue with Laurence.
"…We are born of the blood," he began. "…made men by the blood… undone by the blood…"
Laurence began to walk away, unwilling to listen to his master's protestations any longer. But he stopped as Willem spoke one last time.
"Our eyes are yet to open. Fear the Old Blood."
Laurence bit his lip.
"I will not be able to sway his mind," he thought. "It is a lost cause."
Pushing open the door to Willem's study, Laurence took one last look at his former master, and left a final parting remark.
"I must take my leave."
The sound of Laurence's retreating footsteps were like a metronome to the blindfolded Willem. Slowly, he continued to rock back and forth, ruminating on his student's final remarks. With the moonlight as his only companion once again, Willem spoke once more.
"By the Gods, fear it Laurence…"
Slowly... Rocking... Away...
The boy is reckless, arrogant, and ambitious beyond the scope of reason. Everything I had hoped he would be…
But he will fail. Such is the fate of the proud.
