A/N: Surprise!
Yeah, okay, so if you were one of the ones who read the original Chapter 13, you'll probably recall what a complete and utter shitshow it was. My pal, the talented Leider Hosen (Faded Embers: READ IT) once again stepped in to haul my ass from the wreckage, recommending many changes to the content. The most major of these, is that I have decided to cut the thing into two, less bulky chapters, which meant realigning my blueprints for the later chapters. Hopefully, with more room to breathe, Cainhurst will flourish in the way it was meant to the first time around.


Chapter Thirteen: Schism

"If religion were true, its followers would not try to bludgeon their young into an artificial conformity; but would merely insist on their unbending quest for truth, irrespective of artificial backgrounds or practical consequences."

- H.P. Lovecraft, The Infidels


The umbilical cord was strangely heavy in Micolash's hands. No longer than a foot, and only a fraction of the full thing, the slimy pink mass seemed to exert an enormous amount of energy.

It was certainly alien enough. Rather than resembling a human umbilical cord, this one was covered in strange holes, which some of the Ya'Hargul researchers had suggested was allowing the cord to breathe. Even whilst it sat completely still in the palm of his hand, Micolash could sense the life flourishing beneath its smooth flesh, desperate to escape and bloom into something more.

The leader of the School of Mensis briefly entertained the idea of cutting it open, but shuffled the thought to the back of his head, and returned the cord to its place inside the glass container.

"Greatness has no expiration date," he assured himself.

Unfortunately, he had been unable to obtain the second fragment that Gehrman had promised him. Although he had not been lying about the segment inside of the coffin in Oedon Chapel, there was no truth to his claim surrounding the old Hunter's Workshop. There was nothing there but dusted weapons racks and wilted grass – the forgotten dreams of a blood-drunk murderer.

This meant that the old hunter had lied to him – as such, his punishment would be severe.

Collecting two of his black iron-clad warriors, Micolash began the trek across Ya'Hargul's labyrinthine streets to the tower in which Gehrman was being held. The seething anger which had risen up inside of him upon learning of the deception had quickly cooled and dissipated, replaced by a cold determination. Arguably, there was nothing pretty about physical torture, but in this case, it was perfectly warranted. After all, there was no place in the new world for deceivers or sceptics – both of which Gehrman was guilty of.

The trio burst into the tower, ascended the spiralling stairs, and entered the holding cells. Micolash froze, the contents of his stomach hardening into solid bile as he saw the empty cell, and the corpses of two of his guards – as well as his head interrogator, scattered over the floor.

"How did this happen?" one of the accompanying warriors exclaimed. "That cell was heavily guarded!"

Micolash shook his head and tiredly pressed two fingers to his forehead.

"I know I shouldn't expect perfection from any of you," he whispered. "Not while you are still human. But this… this is incompetence, pure and simple. It cannot go unpunished."

Maintaining his calm composure, Micolash pivoted on the spot, his right hand turning into a churning blue light. In seconds, a group of tentacle limbs burst from the centre of the pulsing energy, snaring the first warrior's head, and crushing it into pulp in an instant. The iron-clad's blood soaked the wall, and his headless torso crashed onto the ground with a metallic boom. The second warrior, alarmed, drew his Tonitrus, but Micolash put out a warning hand, and shushed the iron-clad with a patronising gesture.

"Hush," he said calmly. "We have no need of the second segment. The first should suffice. As such, only one of you need die."

The warrior's gaze shifted between the corpse of his fallen comrade, and the blood-soaked leader of his organisation.

Eventually, he spoke in a shaky voice.

"Should we send men after him?"

Micolash dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. Instinctively, the warrior stepped away, frightened that he too may be slaughtered by a plethora of cosmic limbs.

"There is no time for petty grudges. The new world awaits. We must make preparations."

The warrior nodded. "Should I send for the council?"

Micolash nodded. "All of them. It's time to assemble the Brain Trust one last time."


Gehrman looked back at the receding shape of Ya'Hargul. The nightmarish town looked even more ominous in the shade of the fading afternoon light, the gothic spires jutting upwards to pierce the last remnants of the sunlight. Remembering the horrifying creature that had been suspended just above his cell, Gehrman shuddered, before turning back to face his companion.

"You still haven't explained why you came for me."

The figure continued to stare up at the looming Cathedral silently, seemingly caught up in deep consideration. From the slumped shape of his shoulders, Gehrman could sense his wavering – his defeat. There was a melancholy in every movement that he had made – even his killing of the guards had been mindless and unconsidered. He was but a shadow of the man Gehrman remembered from mere weeks ago.

Getting no response, Gehrman called out again. "Ludwig?"

The Holy Blade finally turned to look at Gehrman. His face was solemn and deathly – where he had once been lit up with energy comparable to the rays of the moon, he was now eclipsed by sorrow. He was pitiful even to look at.

"You want to know why I helped you escape?" he said, voice completely devoid of emotion. "I did it because it's my fault you were there."

Gehrman's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

Ludwig nodded. "I betrayed you. I needed you out of the way so I could earn the respect of my men. But now I see that was a doomed cause from the very start. How could anyone respect someone so morally-compromised? The Church Hunters are better off without me – perhaps they will become knights of their own accord."

His confession should have been enough to rile up Gehrman, but the old hunter felt nothing at seeing his old compatriot break down.

"We're all guilty of something, Ludwig," he sighed. "My sins will stay with me until I'm six feet under the earth."

Ludwig nodded tiredly. "If I do one good thing in my life, then this is it. But, I'm afraid that's not the only reason I need you back in Yharnam, Gehrman."

The Holy Blade looked Gehrman straight in the eyes. In that moment, his remorse was replaced by something much darker – a bright burning hatred, powerful and committed unlike any Gehrman had ever seen.

"I need you to do what I can't," he explained.

"I need you to kill him."


- Four Months Later –

The man left the brothel in a delirious state. He had drunk so much blood that night that he could barely remember his own name, let alone the names of his wife and child, or the street upon which he resided.

He made it about five yards before he collapsed, tripping over an overturned railing, and sprawling out across the cobbles. A stream of crimson had already started to trickle out from beneath his leg, which he had slashed as he fell.

Nobody saw him go down, and nobody hear his drunken plea for help a few minutes later, as his mouth was pressed against the stone by a heeled boot, and his throat was slit by an ornate dagger.

His killer stooped down low next to the man, and pressed their lips to the wound upon his neck. The man struggled weakly for a few seconds, but quickly fell still, his skin slowly draining of colour and turning pasty and cold.

When it was over, the figure stepped away from the shrivelled corpse, wiping their mouth with a gloved hand. They replaced the dagger on their belt, and swept their cloak over their face, hurrying away into the night.

They didn't stop running until they reached Hemwick, stopping to catch their breath on the top of a grassy copse. It was then that they lowered their cloak, and let their blonde hair fall away to the sides of their shoulders.

Maria tried her hardest not to be overtaken by the primal pleasure that had begun to flood her veins like lighter fuel, but her resistance was futile. The foreign blood coursed through her, warming every cell in her body, and invigorating her with a frightful, impatient aggression, which she quickly worked off, slashing apart a nearby lamppost with two well-aimed swipes from her Rakuyo.

In time, others joined. The other members of the Cainhurst party were similarly energetic, some of them even carrying small jars filled with dark red fluid for later consumption. Maria spotted Victyr in the crowd. The Bloody Crow had chosen his targets very particularly – he carried the blood of two slaughtered Church hunters, whom he had exsanguinated with a clean cut from his ever-sharpened Chikage. He grinned wildly as they made eye contact, holding one of the jars aloft so that Maria could see the tiny dregs of coldblood inside the glass squirming about. The image was sickening, but Maria grit her teeth and tried to conceal her distaste.

Within an hour, the whole party had assembled, and they were greeted by a convoy of carriages from Cainhurst, here to bring them and their offerings back to the castle. Maria was forced to share hers with Victyr, on account of being royalty – eerily, he never let up his gaze throughout the whole ride. In spite of this, Maria turned onto her side and attempted to sleep.

When they arrived at Cainhurst, Annalise herself was there to greet them, surrounded by nearly a dozen blood-starved Cainhurst knights. She beamed at Maria as he stepped off of the cart, Victyr swift on her heels.

"Good hunt?" she asked.

Maria smiled weakly.

"I feel revitalised," she admitted.

"I'm not surprised," Annalise chuckled. "That Cainhurst blood in your veins seems to run more pure every day now. I trust you all brought plenty of gifts for me?"

Maria nodded. "Now, are you going to fulfil your side of the bargain?"

Annalise walked forwards, her guards following in perfect step with their queen.

"Of course," she smiled. "Victyr, come here, dear."

The Bloody Crow fervently rushed forwards, knocking aside a couple of smaller knights as they accidentally crossed his path. He came to a stop at Annalise's feet, and fell to his knees in front of her, offering his Chikage out in front of him as a gesture of his love and loyalty.

"Touch his shoulder," Annalise told Maria. The former hunter looked quizzically at her queen, but Annalise offered her nothing more. Composing herself, she tentatively placed a gloved hand on Victyr's shoulder plate.

Instantaneously, the Bloody Crow's head shot up, his eyes piercing through the visor of his helmet. Shaken, Maria pulled away, but Annalise grabbed her hand and placed it firmly back on Victyr's shoulder, where it started to tremble.

"Give him an order," the queen said softly.

Maria bit down on her lip to try and stop her quivering. Even in the midst of the flurries of snowfall, she felt passionate, churning warmth inside of her that was impossible to place. It was like she had a cask of fiery brandy fermenting inside her veins – the heat was unrelenting, but it didn't feel hostile. It felt natural. Slowly, she let the sensation flow through her, the last of her resistance ebbing away.

"Take off your helmet," she ordered, staring Victyr dead in his eyes for the first time since she had met him. "Now."

The Bloody Crow obeyed without hesitation, whisking off the metal headpiece and dropping it onto the snow-blanketed pave at his side. Maria smiled, turning to look at Annalise, who returned the gesture immediately.

"You see," she whispered. "You are a lady of Cainhurst. Every man alive would die for your favour. Now you can make those zealots in Yharnam see your true potential. You could have it all."

Maria's grin grew even wider, her glistening white teeth sparkling against the snowflakes in whistling in the air.

"Why would I go back?" she laughed. "Everything I need is right here."

Annalise took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"That's my girl," she said. "Do you have any other requests for Victyr?"

Maria looked back at the Bloody Crow, still kneeling at her feet and gazing up at her earnestly. In that instant she recalled all the times she had crossed his path whilst walking the Cainhurst grounds – those awful, intense stares he had given her – and then reconciled those moments to the present, where he was sat doggedly at her feet, waiting for her every beck and call.

"Cut off your thumbs," she said coldly.

Victyr responded instantly, tearing off his gauntlets one by one and laying his hands flat on the icy ground. Without so much as a blink of hesitation, he took his Chikage and severed his left thumb, a fountain of crimson Cainhurst blood spooling over the frostbitten earth. Then he did the same to his right thumb, not even pausing to stem his wound. Both fingers now lying in a growing pool of blood at his feet, he gazed back up at Maria longingly, awaiting his next command.

Maria looked back to Annalise, who gave her an approving nod.

"It's been a long time since he did something impressive with those," she remarked. "He won't need them. Now, come. Let's feast."

"Indeed," Maria nodded, taking Annalise's hand and walking up the steps together.

Victyr gathered up his gauntlets and followed the duo into the castle grounds, leaving his blood-sodden fingers to be consumed by the rising tide of ice and sleet.


Gehrman peered out of the blinds.

Yharnam had been awoken with a bountiful sunrise, the dark streets lit up by a fierce yellow glow. The corpses of plague victims fallen in the night were left to bask in the morning sun until collection came around at noon, clearing the streets in time for the market stalls to be set up.

By all accounts, it was a fine day in Yharnam – or at least, as fine as anyone living there had come to expect at this point.

There was a ripe smell in the air. Stagnating blood is a scent that one does not soon forget, and even after weeks of imprisonment, Gehrman could still clearly recall the spoils of a nightly hunt.

Ludwig hadn't slept much. His eyes were lifeless – even more so than usual, and he didn't even bother to put on a fresh set of robes, instead coming to the table in the same crumpled set he had worn outside the previous day. He just nodded tiredly at Gehrman and sat opposite him at the table, setting down a plate of mouldy bread and a hardened lump of blue cheese.

"I had a thought about how we could draw him out," Gehrman explained. Ludwig looked up at him, only half-interested in what he had to say.

"Go on."

"Well, what if you pass a message up the chain of command that there are a group of League assassins coming to make an attempt on his life?" Gehrman continued. "You might not be close enough to him at this time to tell him yourself, but if you start a rumour of that calibre, you could start a panic amongst his whole infrastructure. He won't be able to just ignore it."

Ludwig took a sluggish bite from his bread. "And then what? You'll leap out from a corner and kill him whilst he's out in the open? Do you really think that'd work?"

Gehrman folded his arms. "I don't see why it wouldn't."

Ludwig shook his head. "Laurence is careless sometimes, but he's not stupid. If he thinks someone's out to take his life, he'll have every bloody hunter, giant and intelligentsia in Yharnam at his heel."

Gehrman sighed. "So, what? You were the one who told me that this needed to happen. And yet, every idea I come up with, you shoot it down instantly!"

Ludwig dropped his crust on the plate, and pushed it away, apparently no longer interesting in satiating his appetite. "Listen, and take heed; I know Laurence better than anyone. The man is a paranoid lunatic. And that was before he locked himself inside of his chambers day and night."

"How much damage can he realistically do from in there?" Gehrman asked. "Believe me, I agree that Laurence should die for his past actions alone, but he is of little threat to anyone now. He's dethroned, and he knows it. His whole religion of blood is falling apart. I mean, look at how he locked up the Cathedral Ward. He knows that there'll be people out for his life every day. Survivors of Old Yharnam – disillusioned clergy…His days are numbered if he puts a foot outside of his chambers."

"That may be so," Ludwig said, now staring out of the window absently. "But whilst he lives my sins can never be washed away. Do you know why I cannot do the deed myself? It's because I still believe in him, Gehrman. I still believe in what the Church can do. And yet, I see all the evil it has committed. I can't destroy it because it has made me a man – and yet I must, for it has made a monster of that man."

The Holy Blade looked at Gehrman, and the old hunter saw there were tears brimming in his eyes. "I am accursed, Gehrman."

Before either one of them could speak again, there was a knock on the door. Instantly, both men's gazes fell on their respective weapons, laid to rest by the fireplace.

"They've found us," Gehrman said.

Ludwig shook his head. "They already know I've been living here for months. Don't get worried just yet."

The Holy Blade rose wearily from his chair and crossed the room towards the door. Pulling it open, Gehrman saw several shafts of morning sunlight shoot across the floor, before a familiar voice spoke.

Gehrman got up immediately. "Logarius?"

Ludwig quickly shut the door behind the old hunter, gesturing him to come through. As his old battle compatriot entered the living room, Gehrman embraced him, wrapping his arms around the older man's tattered jacket.

"It's good to see you, Gehrman," Logarius said. "When I heard the rumours of your return, I grew very hopeful indeed. I thought that perhaps this town may yet be saved."

"I don't know about that," Gehrman said, smiling sadly. "What brings you here?"

Logarius' gaze fell, and Gehrman felt his sorrow emanate across the room like a pulse of energy.

"Are you okay?" Gehrman asked.

Logarius shook his head. "It's… John…"

"Your son?" Gehrman said, distantly remembering long-forgotten conversations with his fellow hunters, forever archived to the back of his mind.

"Not just him," Logarius went on. "His wife, and their two sons, too. Killed in the night."

Gehrman put his hand on the older man's shoulder. Ludwig, who had been watching the two quietly, spoke up. "By a beast?"

Logarius let out a tearful breath. "No. By men. Men from Cainhurst."

Gehrman's breath caught in his throat. "Cainhurst? The kingdom from beyond the mountains?"

"Why would they travel out so far from home?" Ludwig asked, now at least somewhat curious about the direction of the conversation.

"The rumours about those sick purebloods are all true," Logarius whispered softly. "They have stolen old blood from Cathedral Ward, and have used it to transform themselves into hideous creatures - hunters of men."

"How do you know this?" Ludwig asked. Gehrman shot him a look, which went completely ignored.

"Because I found the bodies of my family," Logarius replied. "They were drained of blood, shrivelled up like leaves. And I saw them fleeing the scene. Men and women bearing the symbol of Cainhurst Castle."

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, old friend," Gehrman said. "But, if you don't mind me asking, how does this concern me or Ludwig?"

Logarius slowly raised his head, eyes landing ponderously on the duo.

"I have assembled a group of old colleagues. Hunters, retired from the line of duty but still eager to do the right thing. I want you to accompany me, old friend. I need you to stop me from going over the edge."

"With all due respect, I think you're justified in going over the edge," Ludwig cut in.

Logarius nodded. "That may be so. Let me tell you something that shall remain true to the last. Acts of goodness are not always wise, and acts of evil are not always foolish. And yet, we strive to be good. This isn't about revenge. It's about preventing anything like this from ever happening again. Which I fear it will, if we don't put a stop to it."

"Why not involve the Church?" Gehrman asked. "I'm sure Laurence would be displeased if he heard about how his precious blood was being used."

"I have cut all ties with them," Logarius said. "They have lost their way, blinded by Laurence's ambition and greed. I can see that you agree."

Gehrman nodded slowly, processing his words. Then, he stopped, and looked sombrely at Logarius. "I'm sorry, old friend, but I have pressing matters to attend to here in Yharnam. I wish you the best of luck, but I cannot help you."

Logarius smiled sadly, and started to make for the exit. "I understand."

Just before he reached the door, he stopped, looking back.

"However, I did hear something else about Cainhurst that might be of interest to you."

Gehrman's head rose.

"They are holding Lady Maria as a prisoner."


A cold grey dawn had settled.

The clouds that gathered around the piercing spires of the Southern Mountains were thundering, brimming with an onslaught of hail. The very air was bitterly-cold, the ground beneath the feet brittle and icy, splintering at the slightest pressure.

And, in the distance, the dark, looming silhouette of Cainhurst Castle stood silent and still.

"If there was ever a place dedicated to the worst kind of evil…" Logarius muttered.

Gehrman nodded. "…This is it."

The duo looked out over the frigid valley, the long, tendril-like bridge leading towards the castle snaking towards them like a beckoning finger. Surrounding them was around fifty or so heavily-armoured hunters, clad in strange golden helmets. Logarius had offered the briefest of explanations for their peculiar headgear – something about 'protecting the flesh from their monstrous feeding.' Gehrman recognised some of the men as his own, but few of them seemed to be pleased to see their old commander. Many of these men had served under Gehrman during the purge of the fishing hamlet. As such, there was melancholy in the air, as well as unease - a frightful certainty that history was about to repeat itself.

"These are vile creatures," Logarius boomed. "Truly amongst the foulest of beings. But that does not mean we should take any pleasure in their annihilation. We shall not sink to their depraved depths."

"What are we but executioners?" one of the men said, voice resonant from beneath his golden Ardeo.

Logarius smiled sorrowfully. "Even executioners have their place. They keep us safe from those who would do us harm. Don't forget why we are here. This isn't about revenge – it is about keeping our loved ones safe."

A single tear rolled down the old hunter's leathery cheek. "Even when there is nobody left to save…"

Gehrman thought of comforting Logarius, but decided against it. His thoughts were already scattered enough, and he needed to try and find some essence of focus.

The Executioners began their trek across the bridge, treading carefully in their boots so as to avoid becoming stuck in the deep, white blanket that lay upon it. When they reached the other side, they stopped, as a group of around ten men appeared in front of them, swords drawn.

"Halt, state your business!" one of them cried.

Logarius stepped forward. "You are denizens of Cainhurst, correct?"

"Yes," the speaker responded. "Are you here to pledge allegiance to us?"

"No," Logarius shot back. "We're here to rain holy retribution down upon your brethren."

An eerie cackle that started as a lone voice and spread out quickly into an entire choir sounded across the bridge. The knights of Cainhurst stepped forward, now producing firearms and aiming them at Logarius and his party.

"Then come," the voice taunted. "Come and meet your doom."

At this, the legion of knights started to swarm across the bridge, a cacophony of tapping filling the air as their metal heels clacked on the icy stone. Gehrman drew his blade, taking a combatant's stance as the plethora of Cainhurst warriors came rushing forward to meet him. Beside him, Logarius produced a curved blade and a tall, jagged scythe, swiping both through the air to demonstrate their razor edges.

The two armies met, metal clashing upon metal. The Cainhurst knights were formidable opponents, swiping at the Executioners with finely-honed and somewhat-elegant swordsmanship. Several of Logarius' brigade fell in only a few blows, unprepared for the fighting style of their foes. However, the sheer numbers that that the Executioners possessed meant that the Cainhurst legion was soon overrun, their kin falling swiftly and bloodily. Gehrman himself killed two of the knights, hacking one's head off with his blade and spilling another's guts onto the pave with a well-aimed blast from his pistol. To his left, Logarius pounded another knight into the ground, their ornate armour proving no match for his powerful reaper.

When the last Cainhurst knight lay dead in the snow, Logarius turned to face his men, and let out a war cry.

"The first of this vile blood has been spilt! For the good of Yharnam, let these ice cold veins run dry!"

His speech was received well, with triumphant cheers echoing over the tundra for miles. Gehrman, now loading another quicksilver round into his gun, nodded to Logarius, who reciprocated the gesture, before starting to walk on towards the castle grounds.

The old hunter looked up at the towering stone fortress, trying hard not to picture how many more of these 'vileblood's there could be holed up inside.

"For you, Maria," he whispered. "For you."