Well I've been putting this off. Not really. University has brought back some bad habits, and really has been a massive shift in the tone of my life. Though it is more or less easy, I seem to have less and less time to actually do things as fulfilling as writing stories or maintaining myself as a person. Oh well, let's see what I can do.
Seven
The Cathedral Ward outside the great temple of the formless Oedon was silent. The Hunter would often wander the grounds in silence searching for beasts to hunt, but there were none. Such an area was truly terrifying to him, there was always the looming feeling that he was being watched by something, not like the messengers that littered the floor, but something malicious. He was being watched by something dangerous. Every corner of the ward seemed to have an air of danger that refused to be confrontational. That was until he managed to walk the main roads. The brave, though cunning hunter took a page from Eileen, in he never was out in the open, for the open was an invitation to be gunned down, mauled, eviscerated, and slaughtered by anything hidden in the shadows. Better to be the one laying the traps than the idiot caught in them.
He decided that if he was to find and get to old Yharnam as he was told, he would have to eventually cross a main road. He searched the shadows meticulously. Sweeping the alleyways and gutters, cutting down an occasional infected crow or hound, before the chillingly nice realisation that there were no considerable beasts hiding in the shadows. That in mind he went back to the cathedral for evening tea.
It was a foreign concept that the Hunter began to really enjoy, being on the job but not actively hunted by any murderous infected. He would tuck into his tea and talk with the Chapel Keeper.
"The incense we burn keeps the beasts out" it would say proudly, toying with a candle and a stick of incense. "Though does it extend into the streets?" he asked, for want of the knowledge that there actually was a safe place in the city. "I wouldn't know myself, I stay in the church and keep the incense lit". Strange. The Hunter stood up, thanking the being, and then walking out into the ward. He took a note to himself reminding him to tell the young girl, and the bitter old woman that the chapel was safe. He would clear the way, and then tell them to hurry. Later though. Now he would go and scout the main roads.
The stones that paved the Cathedral ward were covered with a thin sheen of dust and grime, but of the blood there was none. The streets themselves were quiet, and nothing save the footsteps of the Hunter himself were heard. The balconies and the rooftops that loomed over the main roads were clear of anything constituting a threat. He had read that the church deployed inhuman ghouls to fight off the hordes of plague ridden Yharnamites that would overpower the church novice hunters. Though all he saw were statue-like creatures sitting and standing about the main roads, brandishing lanterns and walking sticks, occasionally with a gun or a large blade. They stood still at first in the main areas around the church, occasionally doing rounds to make sure nothing had showed up. The Hunter jumped down from a balcony to get a closer look.
They stood about eight feet in height, with no skin shown due to the church garb, their sturdy wooden sticks more strongly suggested they were to be used as clubs. The thing that worried him though were their faces. They seemed to have white alabaster masks, portraying no emotion with pitch black holes where eyes would be, mouths agape as if just about to start a sentence. The vast forms would move without any specific haste, rather with a bulky waddle off into a distance. The Hunter followed one down into the lower wards where a group of three of the brutes were occupied beating down a mass of confused infected Yharnamites with their clubs, the largest of the three firing off some form of pistol.
He rolled down the stairs and quickly ran the blade of his cane through the neck of the fourth church abomination before searching for supplies on the corpse. The other three paid no heed as the Hunter took to the shadows. So this is why there are no Yharnamites in the streets, he thought as he watched one of the brutes swipe his staff across two skulls, the resulting mess splattering in the courtyard.
He began to ascend back to the church, making sure to scavenge the main road for any useful materials. He scanned the crates and the stores boarded up, finding nothing but old church propaganda and scorched wooden structures. He thought this strange until a swath of flame arced over the Hunter's head. One of the hulking beasts stood with a strange cannister, spewing fire in planes attempting to incinerate the Hunter. It stood there with its mouth emitting a dry rasping roar as it swung its club down, catching the Hunter in the foot with a sickening pop. The Hunter tumbled into a heap, his foot hanging off the joint like a side thought. The creature began hobbling after the Hunter with its club raised high. The wooden head connected with the pavement, a millisecond after the Hunter pivoted on his good foot to leap to the left, into the wall, where he propped himself up into a swordsman's stance. The hulking brute lunged forward with its club, and it was instead impaled on the cane, this did not stop the flamesprayer from setting the Hunter's leg ablaze.
He grunted as his bad leg was worsened, and released the cane into its whip variation before leaping past the church beast. The cane at first caught its segments in the flesh of the monster, before the segmented bits tore entire sections of viscera from the now gaping wound of its mark. The creature staggered forward, and then collapsed in it's own mess of blood and loosened flesh. The Hunter quickly slid his leg through a damp puddle in the road, and injected two blood vials from his belt into the affected extremity. He savored the warming numbness as he attempted to pop his foot back into place. With his tattered hunter's garb hanging loosely from his leg and a limp quickly developing, he rethreaded his cane and began to stand again. He thought to himself that he would need to be careful in this area, the beasts were not as frail as the sick Yharnamites, and they were leagues more powerful. He heard the footsteps of more of the servants, perhaps to investigate the noise, he rolled into the shadows and began to try a new trick he read about.
The three church guardians ascended the stairs leading to the corpse. The Hunter began to brace himself for the assault. One. The first beast pointed in his direction and led the initial hobbling charge towards him, seeming to push straight past the first meter and the corpse. Two. Bottles seemed to fall from the higher tenements of the buildings, coating the floor and the charging beasts in foul smelling slime. It was poisonous, but not effective, the Hunter winced as his trigger finger itched. Three. The trio began to converge on the Hunter, who pulled his trigger. There was a combustion, but no bullet. A dud. Four. a thin stream of flame worked from the hammer of the Hunter's pistol to a thread caught around the arms of the beasts. All three of the creatures dropped to their knees as their robes burst into flames, the very floor about them burning a toxic mixture of poison, oil, and concentrated whiskey. Such a flame would burn for several minutes before going out. The Hunter limped away from the pungent mess of fire and burning remains before he would have to wash the stench from his clothes.
He returned not more than ten minutes after the Doll had finished afternoon tea, the boiling water set to simmer, and Gehrman seated before the hearth, a blanket covering his lap. The Hunter walked in, placing his coat on the hanger, loosed his suspenders, and sat down quietly upon a chair a few feet from the hearth. He had returned maybe thirty minutes prior, but he had waved to the doll, and gone to bathe in a large washtub he kept in the garden, next to a birdbath. He took the kettle, and poured himself and Gehrman a cup of tea, gently grasping the old man's shoulder to rouse him from his sleep. Gerhman woke with a start, his hand grasping for something under the sheet, but he quickly relaxed when he saw where he was. "The wire trick worked as you said it would" the Hunter said aloud. Gehrman laughed for a moment, before turning to him. "An old powder keg trick they used in the old city, they used to to contain large groups, or occasionally a beast too large to combat in open areas. Good to know the classics haven't lost use." He drank his tea, and pointed out another tome in the corner of the workbench, telling of it's old tricks that may still be useful. The Doll went to retrieve it, but her hand intersected the path of the Hunter's. They shared a glance, her's was mildly worried and a bit ashamed of the contact. His was horrified. She took her hand back for a moment, grasping the skin of her arm.
Skin.
She walked quickly off into the garden where she pulled up her sleeve to examine in abject horror, the heat rising dramatically in her face, chest, and eyes. Porcelain. She was relieved to find clean white porcelain under her dress. She turned around, and walked back to the workshop. Though not before running directly into the Hunter, who was standing behind her. Nose bouncing harmlessly off his torso as his arm caught her from falling. He looked quickly into her eyes, sensing the calm, and then, walked back into the shop. She swore she heard Gehrman mutter something about damn children. With all back to normal, she sat in the parlor with another newspaper, reading that about fifty years ago, the beast plague ravaged all of Loran, leaving a destroyed civilisation in ruin. She read reports of human population dropping as church hunters left in hundreds, and returning in tens in good years. The Hunter came and went, sometimes coming back after a few hours, sometimes not returning for weeks. All the time he would return with some new bandage covering some injury. More or often he would return flustered by defeat. In such a case he would read a bit, then practice rigorously in the garden for hours. Then he would return to the inside of the workshop, read, work, train, repeat.
She would read. Read and read and read about everything. Loran, blood ministration, the study of the mind, and that which she found most interesting, fiction. The Doll had developed a fond routine of sitting outside whilst the Hunter trained, and reading the fiction he would bring her from the city. She simply was fascinated by all the sensations the writers were able to fit into characters. She would wonder if Gehrman ever simply wrote her into existence, and simply fit a personality into her. The idea frightened her. Perhaps there was a story scribbled on a sheet of paper somewhere in the shop that gave her life. If she could simply fade away if Gehrman ever suffered a stroke, would she fade out of existence? He was to her as a god was. Before she existed, there was Gehrman. She found it all unsettling, but fascinating.
Gehrman would often roll himself forward into the Garden most afternoons after the Hunter would retire from his training to sleep. He would take with him a blanket to lay across his lap, and beneath the watchful eye of the moon he would eventually slip into a calm sleep. The Hunter would slash with his cane, jabbing in precise points, then slash once more in wide arcs. The old man would watch him with a hawk's focus, calling out "You're not brandishing a cleaver. You wield a killing edge, not a greatsword!". The Doll found it endearing that the bittered old man would lighten up and mentor her dear Hunter. He even began to treat the Doll without malice.
The Hunter eventually walked down into the lower wards, though backtracking first to tell any survivors of the plague about the church haven. The Dweller there was immeasurably grateful, and would be found speaking in hushed whispers with the old man. They seemed to get along well enough. The lower wards were mostly beast infested, with the infected residents lurking around every corner, with weapons brandished. He made short work of them all the way down to the lowest parts of the ward, where the road to the old city was laid bare for travelers. He found the entrance to the lower city was hardly guarded, signs of some great violence evident by bloodstains and the pummeled and crushed remains of beasts. Not as clean as the church guardians handiwork. This was done with something much larger than a walking stick. The Hunter never found what did it, so he continued lower into the city. The door to the old city was sealed by a notice telling the Hunter to keep out of the old city. He pushed through the doors, but found they were bound with both large chains, and a great iron lock no smaller than his torso. He tried to slash the chains in two, but they were thick and sturdily built. He turned back and went to the old church to ask if anyone knew about the locks to the old city.
"It was long said that the old Hunter Djura of the powder kegs retired in the old city. He locked the doors from the inside to assure that no beasts would escape before he quit his occupation and set himself up as a hermit" spoke Eileen standing outside the haven. She sat at a bench, sharpening her blades with an old stone. She had been recovering since the fight with Heynrik, sitting in the library beneath the church, dressing her wounds and sleeping her injuries away. They sat on the bench and talked about work. Apparently a young girl was searching for her lost sister in the city, Eileen passed a bloodied dress in the sewers. She never found the culprit, but her wounds suggested that a sharpened blade had done her in. The Hunter felt a pang in the back of his head as he considered that this may be the same girl he told to come to the church, but quickly put this thought in the back of his head, for the implication caused him great distress. Eileen handed him some blood vials, telling him to stay safe, before she began a climb onto a nearby balcony.
The Hunter began a search in the upper ward, slowly surveying the alleyways where there were no real threats. The church guardians walked up and down the streets with no real purpose, every so often one would begin to rush down to the lower wards, the Hunter assumed it was to help keep the lower wards in check. He descended a balcony to the main road, for the curious hunter heard the sound of heavy footsteps and chains rattling down the street. He stuck to the shadows as he ascended a large open stairwell leading to the main cathedral, creeping silently towards the sound of jangling chains.
The great gate had originally been off limits to the Hunter, who lacked the badge-key that opened the way. Though when he went to the birdbath by the workshop, the messengers one day offered him a white badge that fit the lock. The massive iron gate opened in recognition of the badge's presence, and the Hunter for the second time, crossed its threshold. A massive courtyard stood before another series of gates in the distance. The implication being that it was a forward area to the main church headquarters. The Hunter left the shadows to investigate where he last heard the sound of chains. There were statues among the large tombstone-like structures in the courtyard, some were laid bare in their towering height, though some were covered in equally massive white cloaks.
He reached forward to the cloth, to see what hid beneath. He grasped the material and gave it a tug. It would not budge, he did however see a large set of spindly legs before some force sent him flying into the iron fence. Before the now dazed and battered hunter stood a colossal man, almost the size of an elephant, and with limbs like tree branches. It stood hunched over, with a white mask indicating it's church affiliation. A small brass bell hung about its thick torso, and a massive axe was in it's hand. The Hunter had nary a second before a deafening bellow was emitted by the creature, and the axe was sent crashing into the pavement. The Hunter stood again, as the creature unlodged its axe from the earth with ease and roared once more, readying for another strike. The Hunter lunged forward and readied his whip, the sword was like a toothpick to this abomination. The axe swung in a vertical arc, missing the Hunter completely as the whip wrapped around the beast's wrist, and then tore away a portion of paper thin flesh. The blood and tissue began to fall from the wound, though the Hunter in his concentration paid it no attention as he again wrapped the whip around the beast's monstrous ankles.
The Giant stepped forward, though the Hunter did not follow, instead braced himself and allowed the creature to do the whip's work for him. The blades tore deep into the tendons of the Giant, and the great creature severed it's own achilles tendon as it tumbled to a knee. The Hunter took initiative and charged forward with his pistol trained and his cane now collapsed into a blade. He ran the blade across the throat of the giant, and as he strode past it, slashed backwards across the hamstring that was unharmed. The Behemoth fell face first, gurgling in its own viscera. The Hunter quickly fled the scene, realising that the cloaked statues began to shift about him, and the servants must have heard the commotion. He leaped forward towards a wall, and climbed to the rooftops to gain a vantage point, bullets from the leading servants ricocheting off the wall next to him.
Safety found, he began to survey the area. The Giants seemed to gather in the courtyard where they could fit them, otherwise one or two of them would patrol the larger roads, while dozens of the smaller church servants would patrol in groups. The main roads were few, and all of them led to the grand cathedral, though the alleyways were mostly filled with an occasional Yharnamite and a few infected animals too confused or afraid to enter the main road. He opted to take the rooftops to the grand cathedral. On his way he would ambush some of the lesser church guards and open up some of the outlying gates to allow him better mobility. Along the way he found a small shop where an assortment of rifles and guns were on display. Not quite hunter tools, but it seemed to have traces of the Powder Keg's influence. He rummaged about for bullets, finding quite a few untouched, but long ago this store was stripped. He took what he needed, and on his way out took a small trinket, a fiction about a great woman duelist. He thought maybe the Doll would appreciate it.
Arriving at the cathedral, the Hunter found two sentries brandishing large poles bearing runes. He threw a pebble at one before diving from a buttress atop its head, his cane piercing the creatures skull and sending it to the floor, death instantaneous. The Hunter was about to begin his assault on the second sentry when he had a deep feeling of nausea crawl up his leg and to his head. The feeling was as if his body was being liquefied, a slow rage began to build as he kicked the sentry's weapon off of his leg, and recklessly charged the beast head on. The guardian swung its pole directly into the shoulder of the hunter, batting him aside, though the great man rolled back into an upright posture before flailing his whip violently, aiming for the eyes and leg. The Beast was blinded for a moment, and then it was dead. The Hunter had no further targets, but now his senses were numbing. Blood began to drip from opening wounds that the Hunter had opened in his fury. He Distanced himself from the corpses inside the church, and quickly injected himself with blood vials aplenty. His focus immediately returning along with the feeling of gravity.
An hour later, he walked the steps of the church wordlessly, trying to get the drop whatever beast commanded the sentries. They could be a church official, or even just a great beast that he had not encountered. Perhaps it was nothing. He would be proven wrong.
The Doll had just walked back into the workshop to begin reading again. She sat for a moment and looked down her sleeves to make sure there was no skin. Porcelain as usual. She sighed and picked up a book before thinking about the weight in her chest. She paused for a moment and focused her mind on her Hunter. Perhaps the blood would permit her to see where he was, his power was after all connected to her consciousness. He was in trouble.
She lifted her hands to wipe the sweat from her brow. Wait….
Well this took a while, but I actually enjoyed writing this chapter. Uni has been interesting, though kind of boring. I finished this mostly in a laundry room between my classes. I managed to put another lit reference if anyone cares to find it and leave it in the reviews. Anyway I'll probably comb over it and flush out any grammar mistakes or bits I don't like. You guys leave reviews as always, I love getting feedback. Until next time.