Chapter Twelve: The Wood Through the Trees
"I felt myself on the edge of the world; peering over the rim into a fathomless chaos of eternal night."
― H.P. Lovecraft, Dagon
Caryll sat very still, trying in vain to calm the writhing hysteria that was snaking its oily-black tendrils through his body. His blood crept through his veins sluggishly, like sand, but with a vapid, icy abundance of care. He felt like the whole world was slipping away – and in a way, it was.
His whole world. Everything he knew.
Gone in an instant.
Willem was not best pleased by the reaction of his pupil. He had hoped for quite an opposite display – after all, this was his legacy; the legacy that he wished for Caryll to take up and continue with fervour.
But the Runesmith felt nothing but despair at Willem's revelations. The cellar which he had been led into contained some of the most horrific things Caryll had ever seen – denizens of dark nightmares, some of which he was plagued by himself.
Multi-eyed monstrosities with hairy, bony wings and slobbering mandibles chained to the walls.
Luminous white slugs, slithering up down and around their containers, eyes fixed upon Caryll at every slithery turn.
And, perhaps worst of all, was them. The three black-cloaked figures, faces obscured in the dim light by their phantasmal hoods, that were stood rigidly still in the corner – not as prisoners but as sentinels; guardians of Willem's work. Every so often when the rushing of blood in Caryll's ears died down enough, he could hear soft hisses coming from their direction, and even caught sight of a forked tongue poking out from under one of their shadow-garbed hoods.
Finally, Caryll found the strength and the conviction that would allow him to respond. But, instead of words, all that came out from his quivering lips was a soft, low moan – terror, despair and incredulity inflecting its sonorous tone.
Willem saw the change in Caryll and tentatively reached out for his pupil, but the Runesmith was already wheeling himself away, taking no time or care for the direction which he was headed. Several times he found his wheels ramming helplessly into one of the bookshelves, and broke free with brute force alone, energy he had thought he had long lost along with his ability to walk returning to him as his body propelled itself away from the danger it was certain it was in.
Willem started to follow, but Caryll reached for his coat, producing a tiny flintlock pistol that he had concealed there. The old Byrgenwerth master, for all of his supposed insight, was taken aback as the firearm was shakily levelled at his head.
"Truly a most astonishing pupil," Willem sighed. "You always find new ways to surprise me."
Caryll shook his head, sweat dribbling down his forehead as he held his aim steady. "I won't kill you, Master. Not if you stay right there. But I'm going, and you can't do a thing to stop me."
Willem shook his head disparagingly. "Look at the fates of those who have abandoned Byrgenwerth. Ruination has always followed in their wake. You, I know, share my vision of a world where we humans may stand alongside the Great Ones not as ants, but as equals."
Caryll swallowed, his mouth drying up like the soil around an extinguished bonfire. "Of course…. But this isn't what I envisioned. This… this is madness…."
Willem's gaze hardened. "Then you are just as blind as Laurence after all."
Caryll bit his lip. "Forgive me, master, but I feel that you would see more clearly if you pulled your head out of your arsehole."
The Byrgenwerth master recoiled from the exclamation, and Caryll used the time to wheel himself back up the ramp and into the main foyer of the lecture hall. At the top, and sat on his podium as always, the prophet observed him closely, black eyes like great pitfalls which one could fall into if they drew close enough.
Caryll stared straight back at the Byrgenwerth spider, daring it to intervene with an intensity and passion he simply hadn't known that he had. The prophet held his gaze for some time, but Caryll could see that the spider was shaken, and it's inquisitive, malevolent aura slowly started to retreat away.
Caryll smiled in spite of himself.
"Emissary to the Gods, indeed," he remarked, before heading to his quarters to fetch his satchel. To his surprise, Willem did not follow him out of the basement laboratory, and he found the path to the outside completely unobstructed.
The night air was crisp and cool on his skin, and he took a deep breath, inhaling the purity of nature.
Where he would go from here was unimportant. All that mattered is that he did.
Ludwig peered over the edge of the wall. In the darkness, he could only make out the outline of the winding streets below, but the pungent smell in the air – congealed blood, phlegm and other bodily excretions that are best left unmentioned – was enough to give him a semi-accurate vision of what awaited him below.
Steeling himself, shoulders wedged in against his sides, he exhaled slowly, feeling a calm still wash over him. Then, he turned to face his party.
"I doubt I need to explain to you why we are here tonight," he announced, before doing so anyway. "Old Yharnam has become so corrupted by the plague that it is now a threat to the rest of the city that surrounds it. We are the last line of defence in this peril. The last hope for the survivors rests with us."
One of his hunters folded his arms and shot Ludwig with a scornful frown. "Why do you think there are any survivors?"
Ludwig sighed. "Because every hell in this world has a dark corner to hide in, if you know where to look. And if your will to live is strong enough."
Nobody in the party had a scathing response for that. Ludwig sensed that, for perhaps the first time, the Church Hunters had put aside their petty discriminations and were willing to work with him for a better cause. Or maybe they just thought it easier to navigate a nightmare with a strong lantern at their front. Either way, their silent obedience was a joy to the Holy Blade, so much so that he had almost forgotten about the terrible thing he had done in an attempt to get it.
The gatekeeper gave the party a nervous smile as he pushed open the tall wooden barriers, which creaked and came apart so slowly that the tension in the air, circling the hunters like mosquitoes waiting to feed, was palpable.
As Ludwig shone his wick into the great black beyond the gate, he caught his first glimpse of the ravaged township.
There were corpses everywhere. Most of them were still recognisable as a human form, but some were so steeped in blood, both red and a sickly green, that they seemed to forgo any semblance of humanity. Faces hung agape in eternal, silent screams of pain and terror, some facing straight upwards at the stars, as though partaking of one final prayer to the Great Ones.
The scent of death and squalor was so intense that the first row of hunters all felt their eyes welling up. One woman even doubled over and splattered the cobbles with her distaste.
"Be strong," Ludwig ordered, taking his first step into the hellish landscape.
A small, ornate bridge was the first major piece of scenery that he could make out in the torchlight, and he approached it quietly, every bristle on his neck standing up rigidly as he anticipated an attack from any and all directions.
A light evening fog had rolled in, evoking memories of Old Yharnam from months before, when the 'pea soups' were such a natural and predictable thing that many children took to playing outside in them, completely safe from any danger. Now though, the wispy white strands inspired naught but unease, and as the hunters made their way across the bridge, many of them were shocked by what appeared to be figures dancing through the fog, tendrils weaving out at them as though to strike.
But there was no imminent danger. Every human they encountered was dead, and many were well on their way to becoming dust. It seemed that the ashen blood, combined with the beastly scourge, led to extremely-fast decomposition. Even the skeletal remains that the party encountered were broken down – worn away and coated in green pus that seemed to eat the marrow ravenously.
Before long, the party reached a courtyard. Ludwig, whose nauseous terror had slowly softened into a light unease, suddenly stopped, his insides churning like a rough sea, as the sound of a light footfall rushed at him from out of the fog.
With shaking hands, he unsheathed his moonlight blade, and raised it aloft, hoping to catch sight of whatever had caused the ruckus.
A wet splash from his right turned his head, and he finally saw it.
A body was dragging itself along the tiles towards them. To describe it as a person would be inaccurate – it was but a hollowed husk, bloodied, shrivelled, and lacking any flesh from the waist down.
Ludwig had to clamp his mouth shut to stop himself from retching. The other members of his party were not so restrained, unfortunately, and their chorus of disgust echoed all around the narrow walls.
As the pitiful thing drew closer, Ludwig could hear it whispering feverishly. Words like 'beast' and 'flood' pricked up his ears, but the dialogue was mostly incomprehensible, and likely morbid to the extreme. The Holy Blade barely paused for thought, as the figure drew closer to his party. With one swift arc, he sent a blade of shimmering green coursing through the air, splitting the shuffling corpse into two distinctly-dead halves.
Sensing the glances of fear and terror that were landing on him, Ludwig turned to address his group.
"There's no other way," he professed. "And we have hunted worse things in these ghastly nights than that poor fellow."
As if to chime in on Ludwig's point, a chilling screech sounded from several streets away. One of the hunters, a slight man with a rifle, recoiled at the sound, his pupils seared with glacial-white petrification.
The Holy Blade cocked his own firearm, checking for the comforting clank of bullets sitting inside of their chambers.
"Deal with… that…" he ordered, calmly indicating the ruptured corpse.
Several hunters bearing only primitive flamesprayers came forth, dousing the body in brown oil, before turning their barrels on it, sparking a flame that soon spread across the whole of the corpse. As the smell of barbecued flesh caused several one of the fainter hunters to cover their mouths, Ludwig turned back to the road ahead – the darkness that reached out for him with coiled fingers.
"Onward."
Maria leapt forwards, both of her blades outstretched and directed at her opponent. The Cainhurst Knight anticipated her trajectory, stepping to the side and aiming a swipe of his own at Maria, who was too caught up in her own momentum to dodge with any effectiveness. The edge of the sword caught her in the rib, and she yelped as her blood was splattered across the wall, her fabric-weaved battle armour torn open under the strength of the blow.
The former hunter hobbled away, expecting her opponent to rush in and finish the job, just as she had seen Victyr do to all of his opponents. However, the knight stood still – respectful, even – allowing her to regain her composure before raising his blade antagonistically again.
From her throne, Annalise watched the battle. Her bony fingers curled tighter around each other with every connecting blow, her smile widening with every drop of Cainhurst blood that stained the tiled floor.
"Again," she said, eyeing Maria.
Maria sighed, hands tightening around the hilts of her Rakuyo blades as she again attempted to visualise the attack pattern of her opponent.
The Cainhurst Knight struck first this time, leaping forwards and swiping three times with his straightsword, aiming for a different part of Maria's anatomy each time. This time, the old hunter was ready, and she ducked and weaved around all three swipes, before countering with the side of her right blade, smashing the knight in the jaw with the pommel. As the Cainhurst warrior fell away, Maria saw him drooling red, and several cracked molars clattered onto the ground.
Annalise's smile grew into a fully-formed grin. As though aware of her aunt's approval even without glancing over, Maria was revitalised, bring her left blade around to strike the knight again. Before he could recover, Maria was on them, slashing with both blades and tearing open his chestplate, leaving bare flesh exposed to the sting of the paired blades.
The knight fell to his knees, head bowed before Maria. Excited and enthralled by her hard-fought victory, the old hunter looked to Annalise, who reciprocated her joy in spades, rising out of her gilded chair to fill the cavernous hall with riotous applause.
"Only one thing left to do now," the Queen of Cainhurst said, before nodding towards Maria's bested opponent.
The old hunter raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I've won, haven't I?"
"Indeed," Annalise replied. "You must now make his power your own. Take him. Take him from this life."
Maria felt her insides turn to wet clay.
"What? Kill him? After he had all of those chances to kill me, and didn't take them? Where's the honour in that?"
Annalise's face lit up with something darker, all the joy of her smile twisting apart and reforming with an odious malice.
"Let me tell you a little secret, girl. There's no honour in losing. Especially not if you're of pure Cainhurst descent."
Maria looked at the fallen knight, who had removed his helmet completely, and was looking blankly at her, only his eyes betraying the terror that must have been seizing him at that moment.
"I can't," Maria whispered, and she let her blades fall to the ground with a dull metal bang.
Annalise was silent for a few moments. During the pause, Victyr rose out of his seat, his own Chikage blade flying into his hand as he charged for the knight. Maria stepped in front of the man, and Victyr stopped dead. His dark eyes fell on Maria, and she felt a great chasm tear its way out of the ground between them, stepping away slightly out of fear of being consumed by it. The King of Cainhurst rarely seemed to experience any other emotion than unbridled rage for every living thing except his Queen, but now he seemed to be thoughtful and considered, his shoulders slumping as the fight started to leave him like flour through a sieve.
"Sit down, Victyr," Annalise commanded. The Bloody Crow didn't give it a second thought, returning to his seat in a hurry.
Maria stared at the tiles to avoid the Queen's hypnotic glare, but she continued to feel its needle-like points digging into her flesh.
"My child, you have already brought us so much," Annalise cooed. "You betrayed your oldest friends to bring us a vial of the miracle blood. You took up your mother's old blades to fight for Cainhurst. But you won't kill for us. It seems a little… strange, don't you think?"
Maria shook her head fiercely. "That blood is only to be used for healing. That's what you promised. And I will only fight for you defensively. I won't kill this man in cold blood."
Annalise crossed her arms, before seeming to relent a little.
"No matter. This castle wasn't built in a day, and neither will you be."
The fallen knight rose to his feet shakily, eyebrows knotted high on his head, betraying the great relief that he felt. However, his joy was swiftly cut short when Victyr, encouraged by the patting hand of his queen, strode over to him in a matter of seconds, pulling out his Chikage and viciously stabbing the man repeatedly in-between his eyes.
Maria's gloved hand fell over her mouth to block the rising screech in her throat. The knight, still eyes still reflecting his ill-fated hope for life, crumpled, his blood already seeping across the ground like a surge of gelatinous water.
The Bloody Crow exchanged a further look with Maria, a dark smile crossing the Cainhurst King's lips as he processed the repulsion on her face. Then, Annalise fell into her chair again, and Victyr rushed back to her side zealously.
"There's always tomorrow," the vile Queen smirked.
The trail of mutilated corpses led the party of Hunters to a large, open building in the centre of the district, where high-pitched shrieking could be heard echoing incessantly around the antiquated walls. A vivid red streak ran along the rain-soaked cobbles and into the old halls, with the cold glass windows and the old Mensis banners that flapped in the wind – now just as important as a scrap of paper in a scrap pile. Above the threshold, a freshly-deceased corpse swayed in the night air. Ludwig could see from their discoloured robes that the deceased had been a member of the Black Church Clergy, a sect of the Healing Church that he had been all too keen to avoid. Laurence had once called them a 'backbone of the faith', but all he saw in them was their sickening inclination to inspiring fear in their congregation.
As the Holy Blade stood and ruminated on the state of affairs, a feverish wail from the shadows of the old building caused him to stir, his rifle honing in on the source of the cries. The figure, slight in form but horribly twisted in appearance, leapt from the darkness, white veil rippling in the wind as it rushed at Ludwig. The Holy Blade bit his tongue, tasting his own rusty blood as he peppered the oncoming creature with a round of quicksilver bullets.
The baneful beast fell, claws outstretched, only a few feet from Ludwig. However, the Holy Blade had very little time to recover, as a blur of motion in the corner of his vision indicated the presence of further creatures. His party of hunters drew their weapons out and stood firm, waiting for the attack to come. Their patience was rewarded with haste, as the darkness of the corner gave way to a flood of attacking beasts - all no taller than four feet, wearing a frightful white hood that obscured their faces.
The army of creatures swarmed around the hunters, their sharpened talons swiping across the leather-woven cloaks of their prey. Quickly, any remaining bravado amongst the group dissipated, and many of the party started to quiver and cry. Most of these hunters were volunteers with little experience of combat, drafted in on short notice to replace Ludwig's fallen brethren from previous hunts. As such, in the face of an unfamiliar enemy, they were unable to adapt, and although their flailing strikes were able to catch their opponents well enough, many fell before the entire swarm of creatures was slaughtered.
Ludwig felt his breath catch in his throat as he realised that he had remained completely still as several of his group were cut down – something that had not gone unnoticed. As his party turned angrily toward him, he tried desperately to turn their attentions away.
"Fine work, my Spartans," he declared, clapping spuriously. "You make the Church proud."
One of the surviving women clambered forwards, thrusting her saw-bladed spear in front of the Holy Blade's face.
"What the fuck was that?" she hissed, panting heavily. "You let those people die!"
Ludwig shook his head. "No. Those people were not worthy of their charge. It is you, who stand before me alive and well, who have earned the right to serve the Church with blade in-hand."
"Shut up," the woman retorted, drawing the serrated edge of the spear closer to Ludwig's jugular. "Men like you are filth. This is sport to you. Why, you'd have let those horrible creatures kill every last one of us."
"Etta, there's no need for this," one of the other hunters exclaimed. "We can fight for ourselves, we don't need him."
"Quiet, Jorge," the woman snapped back. "When Gehrman led these hunts, they fought as one. No man or woman left behind. You're a disgrace."
Ludwig stared daggers at the woman, willing her to crumble into ash and scatter. The man whom she had addressed as Jorge was kneeling by one of the fallen creatures, examining it closely.
"Wait, these look like the robes they used to sell on the streets down here on weekend days," he proclaimed, eyes narrowing. "Oh my… They've become… fused with their skin. What manner of bestial transformation is this?"
"We can take samples for analysis at a later time," Ludwig interjected, keen to reassume control.
The woman's head snapped back at him, and she pursed her lips tightly.
"You'll do no such thing. These were people once, until the damned Church came along and poisoned them."
Ludwig's nostrils flared. "You dare blaspheme in front of me?"
The woman stepped closer, her saw spear now only inches from the veins of Ludwig's neck.
"One more word out of you and I'll gut you like a pig. Now, who says it's about time we-"
In a flash of movement so sudden it seemed to blink itself into existence, the woman was snatched by a pair of elongated, bony arms, and pulled away. Ludwig caught sight of a gigantic beast, near seven feet in length, galloping along the side of the wall like a spider, before it was swallowed by the shadows from which it had struck. Jorge, who was late to process the attack, leapt to his feet, panic seizing his body.
"Etta! Ebrietas above, help her!"
Ludwig watched the space where the creature had disappeared, barely taking note of anything Jorge was wailing. Deep inside of him, beneath all the many layers of optimism and good faith that he cloaked himself with, he felt animalistic sadism passionately burning. If there was ever such a thing as a righteous death, he had just been witness to it.
Jorge turned to Ludwig, frantically spluttering cries for help with increasing feebleness. The Holy Blade stoked his vengeful flames for a second more, before snapping into action.
"That creature is a serious threat not only to all of us but to the rest of the city as well. If it were to scale the wall around Old Yharnam, then it may slaughter your loved ones in their beds. Bring ruin to our town. Are you just going to stand around and let that happen, or will you join me in raining down just retribution?"
The gathering of hunters did not appear particularly enthusiastic about the idea, but several brandished their weapons and started to load up the chambers of their guns in anticipation, which seemed like answer enough to Ludwig.
"Very well," he declared. "Let us give chase."
The banshee-like screams of the creature made it reasonably easy to track, and before long, the group arrived at the source. The Church of the Good Chalice, once a noble shrine to the Pthumerian labyrinth, source of the Old Blood and of the Church itself, was now but a shadow of such former glory. Several of the stain glass front windows – beacons of faith and fortune to followers of the Healing Church – were shattered, and the stone walls were steeped in blood and mucus. The clusters of gravestones that adorned the winding path to the Church's front entrance were severely damaged, broken apart by powerful limbs and rendered into rubble on the wet grass.
The grand wooden doors stood wide open, beckoning Ludwig toward them. The Holy Blade tore his disdainful gaze away from the wanton destruction inflicted upon the church grounds towards them, feeling his determination falter as another shriek, louder due to its proximity, echoed over the glade.
"This is it," Ludwig announced. "Be ready."
The party ventured through the open doors cautiously – each member of the group passing through individually, and with their weapon readied. When everyone was inside, Ludwig turned to face the end of the long, pillared hallway, and froze.
At the altar of the church was their beast. And it was like nothing that anyone had ever seen.
More humanoid in form than any of the lycanthropic beasts or horned cleric abominations that he had hunted, this beast was gangly, supporting its frail form on four spindly legs. Its back, arched so rigidly that its bones were visible through its flesh, was gooey-wet and pinkish, and noticeably scarred in many places. As a gasp of revulsion swept through the hunters in turn, the creature stirred, leaping around to lay its sights on the group.
Even from nearly twenty metres away, Ludwig could see that its vaguely-humanoid face was skeletal, although any more distinguished features were nigh-on invisible beneath the pair of ears that hung across it.
The creature wailed like a banshee, and took a couple of swift, staggered steps forwards. In one of its claws was the limp form of Etta, stained from head-to-toe in blood. As the beast crept forward, it dragged her across the tiles like a child with a teddy bear, an image reinforced by the ragdoll-like weightlessness of her body.
Suddenly, the creature let out an ear-piercing screech, and grabbed Etta's body with both hands, before tearing into her manically, flesh, blood and bone exploding out of her as she was shredded like sawdust. The beast stooped down, lapping up the spillage hungrily.
Ludwig fell onto his knees, vision spinning as he tried to burn the fresh memory from his mind. Unfortunately, the gore, almost comic in its hyperbole, was branded into his vision, and no amount of blinking or retching could dislodge it. Beside him, Jorge was shaking with fury, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. With a roar of anger, he extended his wrist-mounted stake driver, and started to charge at the beast.
Sensing the threat, the beast finished its meal, and reared up. Ludwig felt another cascade of ice fall through his guts as he realised that the flaps of skin that he had thought were the creature's ears were actually torn from across its back, as though it had been flayed with a whip.
Jorge reached the beast and swung out furiously, aiming for the creature's bony head. The beast was far too agile however, simply leaping away and onto the wall, whereupon it launched itself with frightening speed back at Jorge for a counter-attack. The hunter had no time to react, and was swept up in the creature's claws, disappearing in a fountain of blood as it clamped its teeth around his head and curled up tightly to devour him.
By now, the beast's petrifying visage was no longer enough to keep the other hunters from joining the fray, and the group rushed forwards, firearms exploding in a haze of smoke and oily gunpowder. Even Ludwig, who was numbed from head-to-toe by the display of gore he had witnessed, was ambling towards the fight, driven by the sheer will he had left that he would not be shown up in front of his brigade again.
The bloodied beast giggled as it saw the army of hunters rushing towards it. With a feral cry, it leapt onto the side of one of the pillars, before pouncing down on the pair of hunters at the front of the charge, caving in their heads instantaneously under the brute strength of its claws. However, before it could evade again, the closest hunter swung out at the beast with his serrated cane-whip, succeeding in slicing open its emaciated hide and prompting it to whimper in agony, before he too was yanked off of his feet and torn apart. Wounded now, the beast hobbled away, its movement speed rendered more sluggish by the energetic flow of blood from its open wound.
Several more hunters lay into the beast, one driving his axe through its shoulder blade and splintering its left arm in two. This loss caused the creature to topple onto its side, whereupon several more blades were thrust into its body, piercing its flesh in multiple places.
"They're doing this," Ludwig thought, a smile spreading across his face. "They're actually doing it!"
Sadly, such joyous thoughts were long-lived, as the Holy Blade gazed back over his shoulder, eyes widening as the blurred pattering of footfalls in his peripheral grew more intense.
Ludwig was sent sprawling to the ground, the second and third blood-starved beasts thundering into the church and screeching in fury at the sight of their fallen brother, which was now breathing its last on the cold tiled floor. The hunters that were continuing to attack it could not shrug off their frenzied bloodlust in time to take any kind of defensive posture, and as such, they were torn apart instantly by the vengeful beasts, their blood-stained weapons clattering onto the floor by their feet. The remaining fighters hurried away from the two monsters as they gorged on the blood of the fallen, ripping them apart with absolutely no consideration or restraint.
Dazed but still in fighting form, Ludwig rose to his feet, and swung out with his luminous blade. The ensuing pulse of green magic exploded violently through the back of one of the feeding beasts, killing it instantly. The other reacted violently to this, furiously leaping onto the wall and running Ludwig down. The Blade had only a tiny window of opportunity to react, but he didn't waste it, bringing the pulsating shaft of his sword back around and allowing the charging beast to impale itself, its skeletal maw ploughing right into the tip of the blade.
After prising the dead beast from his sword, Ludwig took a deep breath and raised his mighty blade into the air above his head, attempting to rally his troops.
"Old Yharnam has fallen," he declared. "The beasts have it now. There's no choice left. Burn it all."
A few of the hunters looked divided about the orders but most could see the sense in it, and there was a small, yet significant moment of respect for Ludwig amongst their number, with few of his critics able to deny that he had been a powerful force during the battle against the pack of blood-starved beasts.
There wasn't too much resistance on their way back through the town. They were briefly besieged by a horde of the veiled creatures from earlier, supported from the shadows by one of the blood-starved beasts, but the conflict didn't last long. Ludwig's hunters seemed to have picked up a bit of their leader's fighting style, allowing some of their smaller enemies to use their own momentum against them to lead them to a swift death. Upon killing the blood-starved beast, two of the party, spurred on by bloodlust, crucified the creature, hanging it from the ceiling of the old building they had passed through earlier as a sing of their dominance over it. Although Ludwig didn't exactly approve of his Church Hunters boasting about a kill, he was so pleased at the sight of camaraderie in his number that the distaste in his mouth didn't last long.
Along the way, Ludwig discovered another dead Black Church acolyte. This one had seemingly blown out his own brains, judging from the pistol by his limp right hand and the spattering of blood against the wall. The Holy Blade scrutinised the man's belongings briefly, discovering a set of unopened glass vials which he took for later examination. He had little time to dwell on his findings however, as his group was set upon my more enraged beasts.
The hunters unleashed their flamesprayers upon every wooden structure they could see. Much like the hamlet years before, Old Yharnam cindered over the course of the night, flames licking at every square inch of the plague-stricken town. Great black clouds of billowing smoke rose up high into the night as nearly ninety-percent of the city's infrastructure fell overnight, and the last vestiges of the human population it had once held were burnt away to nothing.
Throughout the district, the agonised screams of more blood-starved beasts broke through the vacuous silence. From the top of the wall surrounding Old Yharnam, Ludwig could practically see the hordes of beasts meeting their fiery demise, and the thought brought a faint, and somewhat unbecoming, smile to his lips.
As the great doors were closed and bound tightly, this time for good, Ludwig bade a sombre farewell to Old Yharnam.
Current population: zero.
- One Week Later -
Laurence looked up from his papers. By the frail light of his lamp, he could see Ludwig walking towards him from across the room. On instinct, he withdrew his hands from the desk, concealing them underneath.
"Ludwig," he acknowledged, somewhat perturbed by the arrival of his underling. "What are you doing here at this late hour?"
The Holy Blade's face was invisible in the darkness, but Laurence could sense his agitation from several feet away. "I needed to see you. Now."
The coarse tone of his inferior was enough to rile Laurence. The Vicar angrily shifted in his seat, back arching against the hard wood.
"Well?" he growled. "How can I help you."
Ludwig curled his fist, but remained composed.
"I need you to explain this to me. Everything."
"Explain what?" Laurence's saintly calm was quickly dissipating, a fiery indignation replacing it. "You're making little sense."
Ludwig stepped forward a little, and Laurence caught sight of his face in the half-light. The Holy Blade's face was contorted by a churning struggle of emotions – anger, fear and pure disgust were all present, and constantly fighting for dominance.
"Back in Old Yharnam I found a couple of dead Black acolytes," he began, voice quivering under the strain. "They had all committed suicide. At first I thought it had something to do with them being infected by the plague, but then I found one with a set of vials in his coat. Unopened, at that point. I ran tests on them."
Laurence remained silent as Ludwig spoke. His eyes shimmered in the glow of the lamp, but he betrayed no sense of anguish at what the Holy Blade was saying.
"I checked again. I triple-checked. I had two other doctors run their own tests. The vials contained the ashen affliction in its base form. Vials that belong to our labs."
Laurence's mouth fell agape as Ludwig raised his hunter's rifle, previously concealed behind his back, and levelled it at Laurence's head. His aim was unsteady, sabotaged by his own trembling hands, but from the look in his eyes – both deeply-upset and brimming with malice – he was clearly not bluffing.
"I tried so hard to come up with any kind of explanation that would make sense," Ludwig cried, tears brimming in his eyes. "Maybe they were just obtaining samples of the infection for study. But then I asked the Black Church's leader, Argus, about it. And he tried to have me killed at my home."
Laurence sat very still, not even daring to breath. Seeing Ludwig's finger curling around the trigger, he finally spoke. "You're a smart man, Ludwig. I can see there's little point in trying to dissuade you. But, if you kill me, this whole thing comes crashing down. Everything you worked for will burn to ashes."
"I don't care!" Ludwig shrieked. "I don't care about the Church, the old blood or you! You're a murderer – a stone cold fucking murderer! And I'm an accomplice to all of that! I wanted to be a hero, and you've made me into the worst kind of villain!"
"Sometimes good people have to do bad things for a good cause," Laurence explained. "Old Yharnam was going to destroy itself and the reputation of the Healing Church if I hadn't intervened."
"So you took it upon yourself to destroy it yourself?" Ludwig whispered. Hot tears fell down his smooth cheeks, his wavy hair tangling in duress.
"I had no idea that the ashen blood would lead to the beastly plague," Laurence replied. "You must believe me. I had only the best intentions."
"Oh, well that's okay then, is it?" Ludwig wailed, exerting so hard that he accidentally fired a shot off to Laurence's left, smashing an inkpot that had been resting on the shelf and sending a torrent of blue raining down over the pair. "You are cursed, Laurence; an evil, evil man."
"You aren't going to kill me, Ludwig," Laurence said coldly. "You still need me. You still need the Church. Think about all of the good we have done. The lives we have saved. Sacrifices must be made for the future. You must see that."
Ludwig's resolve seemed to falter for a second, his grip on his rifle loosening.
"I… I can't…" he whispered, sobbing.
"I thought you were an important man, Ludwig. A founding father of the Church, and it's most proud sentinel. Was I wrong?"
Ludwig didn't reply, just let out a muffled cry, his head bowing. The rifle fell from his hands.
"Go home, Ludwig," Laurence ordered. "We can forget this ever happened."
Ludwig started to back up, leaving his rifle behind on the wooden struts. Laurence gave a thin, icy smile as the Holy Blade backed out of the door, and closed it behind him. Once he was certain that Ludwig wouldn't come charging back in, Laurence lifted his hands out from underneath the table.
"You're right, Ludwig. I am cursed," he said softly, staring at the weathered skin at the tips of his fingers and the cracked nails that were starting to elongate and curl.
"But there's no going back now."
