Chapter Six: Midnight

The pain in Laurence's chest had flared up again.

Awakening in his bed, eyes streaming from the agony, he quickly unscrewed the cap of the vial that lay on his bedside table and pressed the rim to his lips. The elixir swilled down his throat, leaving a faintly-warm trace of energy in its wake.

Gehrman's spear had left its mark all those years ago, and surviving a mortal wound of such a calibre had left him with scars. The blood that had once healed him had left him with its kiss of death, however, and he had soon discovered that taking more was the only way to numb the pain that would, in all likeness, linger for the rest of his life.

Almost instantly, the pain subsided. But, being awake now as he was, Laurence decided against going back to sleep, and rose from the covers, tugging his gown off of its stand and tugging it on.

Outside of his window, the moon hung low over Yharnam's city spires, bathing it in a soft white glow. From the positioning of the Healing Church's base of operations, he could see almost the entire surrounding district in clear view. Locals had started to refer to this area as the Cathedral Ward, considering how strong the influence of the Church was in this sector, and the large population of church officials who resided in the blocks.

Gazing out over the tops of the rooves, past the smoking chimney stacks and grated metal balconies, Laurence felt bigger than ever before in his life. The Church may not have been as successful in convincing certain parts of Yharnam to buy into its miracle healing insurance, but their power was not inconsiderable. Not by a long shot.

"The work we have done far surpasses anything we could ever have achieved at Byrgenwerth," Laurence thought, as his eyes caught the distant treeline where his old home resided. "Willem thinks me blind. But here, everybody can see how important I have become."

His memoirs were lain out on his desk, where he had left them the previous evening. With such grand thoughts, he seized his inkpot and quill and sat down to amend a few passages. By the light of the moon, he quickly added further detail to the work that he had begun at Byrgenwerth.

The discovery of the meteorite shards in the forest, and subsequent investigations, led entirely by himself.

The move to get Yharnam's old catacombs reopened for the research – put forward by himself after extensive research.

Laurence only stopped writing when he heard the knock on his door. When he looked up from his feverish scrawling, a wild glint in his eyes, he saw that nearly two hours had ticked past, and the first shards of morning sunlight were peeking through his blinds.

"Yes?" Laurence called.

Ludwig entered his quarters, and Laurence saw the flush of his face. Sensing his companion's distress, he quickly bottled his ink and bolted upright to attention.

"Could this not have waited until morning?" he barked.

Ludwig recoiled slightly, a bemused hurt in his eyes. "But, it is morning, sire…"

Laurence did not reply, and simply stared at Ludwig, awaiting the man's business. After a few awkward seconds, Ludwig seemed to catch on, and, adjusting his collar, began his speech.

"The congregation is growing restless," he explained. "Last night, on of our priests was stabbed multiple times with a shard of broken glass just outside his home."

Laurence's eyebrows briefly floated upward. "Anyone I know?"

Ludwig swallowed. "Vicar Grayson. I believe he survived the attack, but… he is refusing to take blood, sire."

Laurence felt his fingers curling, and he forced them to lie still. "Why?"

"There's concern growing amongst the people, sire," Ludwig continued. "Borderline restlessness. About the blood healing. There's talk all around of people turning into monsters. They need answers, sire. The Choir is calling for you to address this, before it gets out of hand."

"The Choir don't call me," Laurence snapped. "I call them. They work for me!"

"Not for much longer, I fear," Ludwig responded, softer than a mouse and just as quiet. "There are… whispers… of division, sire. More and more turning to Mensis for answers."

"Mensis is my responsibility," Laurence growled. "Micolash knows that. But that bastard's been calling for civil war for a long time now. You're not telling me anything I don't already know, Ludwig!"

Ludwig's gaze dropped, and so did Laurence's fist, crashing hard onto the desk and scattering his inkpot across the floor.

"There's more, isn't there?" Laurence asked, breathing growing heavier by the second. He could already feel a new tingling in his chest, coming much faster than ever before.

Ludwig nodded. "It's Gehrman, sire. He's addressing the people."


Gehrman looked out over the crowd.

There were nearly three hundred people in the courtyard alone. Some held pitchforks and firearms, and the aura of the assembly – a fierce, but fright-fuelled anger – was near-overpowering.

He was about to step down from his podium when he saw Maria near the front of the crowd. Despite the growing aggression of the crowd, she had a faint smile on her lips, and she was looking with awe upon Gehrman.

The only man brave enough to talk to the people.

The only one who knew exactly what they had to fear.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Healing Church!" he cried out, the authority that permeated his words so suddenly enough to completely silence the agitated masses for a moment. "I am here before you because there have been rumours of terrible things happening in this city. Men and women, preyed upon in their own homes, by savage beasts, transformed from human beings!"

This last line was instantly greeted with a Mexican wave of riled voices, which Gehrman silenced quickly with a shot from his pistol, straight into the air.

"Speculate no longer," he boomed. "I am here to tell you, that I have seen such a phenomenon. The rumours are true."

The crowd exploded with a menagerie of frightened whimpering, furious shouting and gentle weeping. Gehrman quickly fired his pistol again, and the crowd looked on expectantly.

"This is not the time for panic," Gehrman professed. "The Healing Church is aware of this issue, and resolves to put an end to it, once and for all."

"You people created this!" a random voice in the crowd retorted. "You need to keep the hell out of it!"

"The Healing Church was not responsible for this," Gehrman riposted. "We have conducted extensive research on the matter, and the true cause… is ashen blood!"

Name-dropping the contagion that had, only several years prior, ravaged the population of Yharnam's impoverished districts was enough to cause a loud collective gasp from the crowd.

"We believe that the strain that infected the Market District is no longer dormant," Gehrman continued. "It has resurfaced. Evolved. It lies within all of us now, throughout the city."

The masses were not in any way consoled by such revelations. Several young children started to cry, their fathers tightening their grasp on their weapon of choice.

"But you needn't fear!" Gehrman went on. "Because the Healing Church can cure any and all ailments. Distribution of blood will, from henceforth, be made available for all, as a token of goodwill! We will stamp this out, together!"

Slowly, it seemed that the crowd were starting to come round. The nauseating aura of violence that had struck Gehrman as he stood before the crowd was starting to dim, replaced by a calm still that was almost comforting to the scholar, as he stood atop the masses, as the herald of their salvation.

"But what of the monsters that stalk our city streets!" another dissenting voice cried out. "How can we be safe from them?"

"The Church has devised a solution to this issue, as well," Gehrman announced. "Among our ranks we possess a great number of enhanced fighters. Men who have been lifted from amongst you, and conditioned to be far greater than any other. Together with these men, we will organise a nightly hunt. A safeguard for our sleeping city. We will wipe this menace out, night upon night, until there is nothing left, and this city is ours again."

"But how do we know you can do that?" the audience member retaliated. "We have only your word!"

Gehrman smiled, picking the man out from the crowd, and lifting the sack that he had planted at his feet.

"Then you make take this too," he replied, inverting the sack and letting the severed head of the beast that he had slain with Gascoigne fall out onto the courtyard pave.

Seeing the monster in broad daylight had a polarising effect on the crowd. Some were horrified, trying to back away from the bloodied monster part. However, the effect on most was one of awe. Grown men let out cries of triumph at seeing the menace of their city cut down so brutally and efficiently. The atmosphere once again metamorphosed, from serenity, to celebration. Gehrman beamed as the masses cheered aloud, grins replacing the angst and fear on the faces of the assembled congregation.

Catching Maria's eye, he saw that she too appeared rapturous. A great grin, bigger and more enthused than any that had come before, told Gehrman everything that he needed to know.

"The hunts will begin this very night!" he declared, before stepping away from his podium to a flurry of applause.


Laurence was waiting by the front entrance to the Healing Church when Gehrman approached a few moments later. The expression on his face was livid, his eyes daring Gehrman to defend his actions, and immediately condemning them in the event that he tried to do so. The Church Scholar, now it's very first hunter, no longer felt as though he was walking atop a cloud – now, he was straight underneath one.

Laurence's first words were eerily calm. "What was that?"

Gehrman steeled himself for a hostile response, and answered. "Damage control. I took initiative – I thought that you would approve."

The first vicar did not retaliate. He simply repeated his question, only more pronounced this time. "What was that?"

"That was me saving all of our asses," Gehrman replied. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Laurence stared hard at Gehrman. The space between the two was colder and more frigid than an iceberg, and the tension that hung there seemed just as fragile and prone to breaking up.

"What you did was reckless. You had no authority to say those things. But… I believe you made the right call."

Gehrman froze, somewhat shaken by the vicar's praise. "I am glad you see it that way."

Laurence shook his head. "Do not mistake me. You had no right to make that call. In this case, you have done the Church a service, but if you try something like this ever again, you will tempt more than my disapproval."

And with that parting gambit, the first vicar turned on his heels and went back inside the Church. Gehrman let out a long breath, briefly pondering the merit of disembowelling the vicar with the brunt of his siderite blade, before turning towards the Church entrance, and finding himself face-to-face with Maria.

"Some speech you gave," she said. The tone of her voice was unrecognisable to Gehrman, but it did not seem negative in nature.

Gehrman shrugged. "No doubt. Do you think it was the right thing to have done?"

Maria folded her arms. "What else could we have done? Let the mob break this place down? No, Gehrman, I think you were brave to address them like that. And with such boldness. Did you mean what you said about the hunts?"

"I did," Gehrman replied. "And I do. I… can't fight what's inside me anymore, Maria. The black void in my veins that only blood can fill. I've spent so many sleepless nights just staring at the ceiling, but all I know is, when I'm fighting… when I'm killing… I've never felt more alive…"

Maria's gaze softened as Gehrman tightened his fists and lowered his gaze to the ground, ashamed but strangely proud of what he had become.

"Can you show me?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. This isn't your burden to carry. You should go home."

And with that, he turned, ignoring the hurt on Maria's face, and walked the other way.


The green hue was gave away their presence first.

Archibald and Paarl had been hard at work for many hours, and day had turned timelessly into night without notice. They were both exhausted, their minds drifting from the racks of multi-coloured vials and leather dissection boards to the comforting embrace of their bed, but out of the corner of Paarl's eye, he saw the green glimmer in the darkness – the Verdigris that marked out the blade upon which it marked like a candle in the pitch black.

"Ludwig," Paarl announced. Archibald looked up from his notes as the brown-cloaked, wavy-haired Blade of the Church entered their laboratory, accompanied by his ever-scowling master.

"I hear you have made progress on the research, gentlemen," Laurence boomed.

Paarl shared a nervous glance with his research partner, before responding to the query.

"Our findings are conclusive, master Laurence."

The pause did little to temper Laurence's impatience. "And?"

"And.. I'm afraid all evidence shows that… the old blood is responsible for the transmutation."

Archibald cut in at this point, rather unwisely, to garnish the proclamation with further detail. "Curiously enough, sire, the framework for this beastly transformation exists in all of us. In our genes. I believe that treatment with the old blood is responsible for unlocking these forbidden strands of being. Almost like… opening our eyes, sire."

The association with Willem's old mantra was enough to complete evaporate Laurence's cool. The first vicar picked up a volume of 'Ivy: An Advanced Study' and threw it as hard as he could against the table where Archibald was standing. The doctor recoiled, yelping as the leather-clad book rebounded off of the wood and landed near his feet.

"Not what I wanted to hear," Laurence breathed, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

"Believe us sire, we have checked and checked again," Paarl responded. "We didn't want to believe it either. But, alas, it is fully true. We have to cease the blood transfusions immediately."

Laurence's gaze darkened. "We will do no such thing."

Ludwig, who up until this point had been standing idly by, fingers tracing the luminous edge of his beloved blade, now tightened his grip on said weapon, raising to shoulder-level, as though preparing to use it.

"You will destroy your research," Laurence ordered. "Every last paper. Every last scrawl. Nothing will remain. And you will do it now."

"No!" Archibald cried. "I refuse!"

Laurence whirled around, shooting icy-cold bullets at the doctor.

"You have no choice in the matter!" he snarled. "You will do as I say, or suffer with your lives!"

As if to demonstrate, Ludwig swung his blade through the air, the elongated, glimmering point whistling as it rushed through the air.

Archibald screwed up his face, balling a fist and smashing it on his lab table.

"I've spent the last five years of my life – my career! – on this work. I will not give it up for the wishes of a madman!"

Laurence's glower turned from menacing to lethal in a second, and he turned to Ludwig like a flash of lightning.

"Slaughter these fools," he snapped.

The Holy Blade smiled apologetically at the pair. "Apologies, gentlemen. I wish there was some other way to clear the Church's name."

"There is no hiding from the truth," Paarl shot back.

"There is no truth here," Ludwig replied, genuine regret inflecting his somber tone. "Only deceptions that would turn the people of Yharnam against us. And I will not allow that."

With a final nod of respect, the Holy Blade leapt forwards, blade arcing forwards.

Paarl ducked back as the sword cut through the table he had just stood at, decapitating a microscope and sending a cupful of assorted jagged instruments to scatter across the floor in all directions. As Ludwig drew around for another swing, Paarl seized a nearby metal stand – upon which a bag full of beastly blood was attached, and hefted it up to block the blade's killing sweep. The clash of metal sent the doctor flying to the ground, the metal wrought in half, and the contents of the blood-filled sack exploding across the floor.

Across the room, Archibald had seized a pair of scissors. With a cry of outrage, he leapt at Ludwig. The stab that he aimed at the Blade's chest never hit its target, as Ludwig quickly swung his blade round, severing both of Archibald's hands at the stump. Bleeding heavily, the doctor let out a short and pitiful scream, before dropping softly to the ground.

Ludwig's ordinarily-dull, sympathetic eyes lit up with a feral rush at the sight of the fountains of blood. He broke out in a Cheshire grin, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

"May the moonlight guide you to salvation," he chuckled. "As it has for myself."

As Ludwig raised his sword over his head to deliver what would surely be the killing blow, he suddenly fell forwards, agony searing his face. As Archibald and Laurence watched, astonished, blue sparks travelled all the way down his body, searing him with burns wherever his flesh was exposed.

Groaning limply, he his sword fell from his hands, impacting upon the floor just to the left of Archibald's head. Seconds later, he joined it on the ground.

Paarl was stood behind him. In his quivering hand, he held a small amulet of sorts, embedded with a blueish stone. From the remnants of blue lightning that coursed down his arm and rippled around the amulet, it was clear where the elemental attack had originated.

Archibald, despite being nearly unconscious and in a state of heavy deliria, let out a cry of joy.

"It works!" he giggled. "It really works!"

Paarl, still shaking from head-to-toe, prodded Ludwig's fallen body with his foot, prompting a short intake of air.

"He's still breathing," he said. "Dr. Archibald, we have to go."

"I might need a hand, my dear boy!" Archibald boomed, shrieking with laughter at his hysterical joke.

"Come on," Paarl said, bundling the man's wounds inside of his jacket and tightening it to stem any further blood loss. By this point, Archibald was fully unconscious, and Paarl hefted him onto his shoulder in order to move him.

Laurence briefly attempted to step in and prevent the pair's escape, but all it took to dissuade him was a threatening jab from Paarl, amulet still clutched tightly in-hand.

"I'll find you," the first vicar spat. "There is no escaping me in this town."

"We'll see about that," Paarl retorted, before shutting the door in the face of his boss for the last time.


Night fell, the dark creeping in from all directions and plunging Yharnam's dim streets into total shadow. It was nearly midnight.

Beneath the gentle sway of a wooden distillery signboard, Gehrman stood, waiting patiently with his blade tucked into a sheath on his back. His face, lit up by the creaky oil lantern that lay by his side, betrayed both his anxiety and his restlessness. He knew what he had gotten himself into, but at the time, it had simply seemed like the right thing to do. Now, standing in the cold with the smell of sewage creeping up his nostrils, he knew better.

In his waking moments he had agreed to face his nightmares.

His 'hunting party' showed up within the next half an hour. Most of them looked similarly troubled – wishing for the entire world that they could be locked away safely inside their homes, warmed by the coals of their fireplaces, rather than standing in the chilling night air, about to face the darkest hells imaginable. Some, however, seemed ominously cheerful, apparently relishing the idea of spilling beastly blood about the cobbles. One man, a church squire that Gehrman had seen maybe once or twice before in his life, wielded a makeshift halberd, constructed with a large wooden pole and an old, rusting sawblade. The hungry smile that he flashed at Gehrman as he arrived sent chills all the way through the scholar's guts.

To his surprise, there were also a few women present. None of them were Church nobles by any means, although the clothing they wore did not give the impression of poverty. One woman, a tall brunette with a wild glint in her eyes, caught Gehrman watching her, and slyly gestured to a silver glint tucked in her overall – a flintlock pistol belonging to a City Guard.

Before long, Gehrman picked out a figure in the crowd that distressed him even more. She stood with her back to him for a while, but he caught a glimpse of her hair as she turned to look at one of the men, practicing his shooting against one of the distillery's discoloured stone walls.

"Maria!" he cried, approaching her briskly. "What are you doing here?"

The Church scholar turned around to face him, her deepening expression exposing her irritation at his sharp greeting. "Hello, friend."

"I don't want you to be here," Gehrman said angrily. "Please, go."

Maria shook her head. "This is my choice, Gehrman. I want to stand with you. We're in this together, remember?"

Gehrman stamped his foot impatiently. "No! No, this is my nightmare, not yours!"

"Says who?" Maria snapped. "I may not have stabbed an alien with a spear or rolled about in its blood, but I've seen things I can ever take back! Things from beyond this world. Things straight from my darkest fears. This is not your nightmare. Neither is it mine. It is all of Yharnam's. And I choose to stand against it."

Gehrman opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn't come. Only a soft sigh, as the scholar realised the futility of further debate.

"Have you at least brought a weapon?" he asked.

Maria's frustration gave way almost immediately to a familiar smile, as she reached for her side, and produced a long sheathe.

"Family heirloom," she explained, as she whisked off the case and revealed a long, double-ended blade. Gehrman was stunned, his gaze caught by the fine craftsmanship on display.

"That's no Yharnam blade," an onlooker exclaimed.

"Maria," Gehrman whispered. "That's.. That's…"

"A Cainhurst weapon," Maria finished, replacing the blade before one of the watching group tried to get a closer look. "It was my mother's. She called it her "fallen leaf.""

"Beautiful…" Gehrman mouthed, catching a glimpse of engraving on the sword's sheen before it disappeared from view.

"Are you talking to me or the sword?" Maria asked, chuckling as Gehrman snapped back to his senses, and his gaze flew all over the place.

"I hope you know how to use it," he said sheepishly, before clearing his throat and turning to his party. "Alright, people. This isn't going to be like anything any of you have ever done before. At least… I hope it isn't."

Gehrman paused as he felt Maria's hand slip inside of his own. He felt slight warmth, a gentle tingle in his bones, and then it was gone, replaced by a bright fire that completely invigorated all of his senses.

"You may see things that frighten you," he professed. "Hell, you may never sleep again. But we are carrying out a duty for our city. We face our nightmares so our loved ones may sleep tight in their beds!"

Nodding heads amongst the assembly gave justification to Gehrman's confidence. He found himself raising his blade into the air above his head, the will of his entire party flowing through him.

"Let us hunt bad dreams," he cried, his voice raised and rallied across the night by his brigade.


- Twelve Weeks Later –

Laurence sat at the head of the table, a glass of fine red wine upon the surface in front of him. Ludwig was by his side, face as blank as a slate, but still reddened by the burns he had sustained months prior. He had been instructed to be vigilant – the content of this meeting could provoke violence, and in such an event, he had been tasked with retaliation. The Holy Blade held onto hope that such force would prove unnecessary.

As Gehrman looked about the faces of his fellow Church officials, he felt their fear welling up. The hunter could hardly blame them for feeling tense. He too felt tightness in his body, his gut churning with nerves – but he felt this way for altogether different reasons than the rest. Gazing at Maria beside him and the uncharacteristic silence which she held told him all he needed to know. She felt the same way.

Laurence broke the silence, although from the tone of his words, it clearly pained him to do so.

"Thank you all for coming. You are my most trusted council, and I know that you trust in me, as the head of this organisation. As your leader. But today, I face a task that is altogether too daunting, even for myself, to face alone."

This last sentence caused Willem to chuckle. "Ah, as dramatic as ever, Laurence. You have changed nearly naught at all; even though all of our circumstances have changed so much."

Laurence looked at his old master, the coldness carried across the gap between the pair akin to a winter wind. "I have changed, Willem. I have taken a responsibility for my research which you never could. Or ever would. If you have come to belittle me, then you have had a wasted trip, for I have no patience for your so-called wisdom."

Willem did not respond at first. He seemed content to sway gently in his creaking chair, much to the chagrin of Caryll, his only companion from Byrgenwerth, and one who seemed much less insouciant about the proceedings.

However, just when the carefree rocking was more than anyone at the table could take, the Byrgenwerth master spoke up once more.

"I wouldn't come if it wasn't important, my old pupil. I have important matters to discuss with you all."

Laurence leant forward, hands laid flat across the desk.

"Enlighten us."

Willem smiled at him.

"Have you ever heard of a place called Yearnsmouth?"