Who would think that this coming chapter could take so long? I'm writing this in a car on the way back to university, I decided to visit home for a change and maybe get some work done. Currently I'm working to be a recovering slacker. Probably will fail, though that means I fail my courses, so that's off the table. Anyway, here's the story.
The now emboldened Hunter ascended the great stairs to the grand Cathedral, carefully scanning the outcroppings for any danger. There was none, though the dried blood covering the statues of the old ones suggested a struggle long gone. He swiped a thumb over one of the stone idols, and found that whatever had spilled the blood had long since left the viscera to dry. Perhaps the church servants had taken the corpses away. He continued walking the steps. Soon enough, he heard the murmurs of a singular voice in the darkness, and drew a torch from his coat. He took the covering off the head, and lit the resin, allowing the flame to illuminate the entrance arch of the room. It was a vast temple hall, ornate stone carvings adorning the walls, and long since rusted candle holders sitting haphazardly as far as the torch would illuminate. The windows were covered by massive tapestries, which he attempted to move. A massive cloud of dust obscured his vision and coated his cloak. He left the wall hangings instead, and lit any candles left in the holders.
It was then that he heard the murmur become a sentence. Then a sob. Then another murmur. He began to move towards the noise, and saw the slouched silhouette of what appeared to be a nun. The Hunter drew his blade, and walked towards the woman. He moved his torch forward to see her form, but instead he looked upon a small woman, on her knees in veneration to the church alter, with a dusty white-grey robe. Whenever she had come to the church, she had not left in days.
Then she noticed the light. For a second she paused her mutterings, and looked behind her shoulder. A single jaundiced eye, glassed over with tears met his gaze, then she began to gag. Her arms opened wide, and a golden locket hung in hand. She began to twitch and he drew his pistol, throwing the torch aside. The woman, who was now beginning to violently convulse in her place, he identified as the old vicar Amelia, who's work was known all over the city. Her arm dislocated, and he fired a shot. It landed squarely in her shoulder, where her heart should be. The vicar's body slumped over and collapsed in a heap. It continued to convulse however, her skin crawling under the surface, and her arms and legs breaking into distorted shapes. Then she exploded. A massive eruption of stinking blood coated the walls of the church in ichor, and the Hunter leaped into the shadows.
The cloud dissipated, and in the darkness of the great Cathedral the Hunter hid while something massive lumbered around the room. He would peak from his spot, but only see brief glimpses of fur and claw and horn in the candle light before it pushed the debris out of the way. The Hunter peered into the darkness once more, and threw a stone to the far corner of the building. The beast stopped entirely for a moment, let loose a piercing shriek, then sent hundreds of candle holders flying as it swiped at the wall, tearing the curtains from the window as it attacked.
He saw it then in full. The former vicar was slouched over in a dog like mound of white fur matted with stains of blood. Her canines protruded from the dog like snout, and a pair of antlers sat atop her head like a macabre crown. The moonlight now illuminated the room, and the beast now could see the Hunter in clear sight. It screamed once more, and leaped into the air.
Gehrman sat in his garden, rhythmically moving inches forward and back in his old chair. He thought about the Hunter's progress. "The lad's a prodigy" he said to no one in particular, thinking of how fluidly the boy moved. He had a moment of pride before he sighed and slowly reached for his cane. He thought for a moment of Laurence, and then looked to the tombstones that were erected before the great tree. This was his life as the sole sentinel of the Hunter's Dream, the linchpin of Hunter society. He listened intently as the voices radiated down from the moon in hushed low tones, making promises and telling stories he only half understood. The old man listened, though thought of Laurence, and how he ended up here with that automaton. He knew something in the world shifted when the Doll began to speak.
He remembered how the beasts tore apart the city, mile by mile they overran the hunters. He remembered the old city being sealed away and set on fire, the church locking its facilities and forsaking the people, and he remembered first how the last of the Yharnamite hunters were torn apart by the beasts and each other. Though little by little the workshop changed around him. One day the Doll simply began to speak to him, almost as if it had been all his life. The Doll walked to him with a cup of tea, he thanked it and she walked away. He thought to himself of the moon, and the Hunter, and the workshop. A whisper reverberated about the dream "He'll kill you".
The Doll knelt before the tombstone of an unnamed hunter. She prayed softly for the safety of the Hunter, and for his salvation. She thought of the heat that rose in her chest when he would return, and channeled that warmth into venerable prayer. Perhaps the old gods would aid him. She stood, and went about her chores. She organized the papers in the workshop, swept the dirt and dust from the floor, and washed the pots and pans over the hearth. She went to the desk where the Hunter would tinker with his tools, and began reorganizing the papers that he laid strewn about the surface. She glanced twice at a small leather notebook and pencil that she had never seen before. She opened it to see the content, and was taken aback by a small pencil sketch of a beautiful woman. There were elegant lines and curves under a red and white gown, and from what she could tell, a pale face. The Doll flipped through the content and found diagrams of weapon mechanisms, traps, sketches, and notes all in the Hunter's familiar script. She turned to a note and noted the heading "My Doll".
My Dearest Doll,
A word of thanks for all that you do around the shop, and another word for your continued support and devotion to my Hunt. I hope that perhaps one day I may lay down my arms and stay in the workshop with you and be rid of this Hunt business. It bears on my mind always, and regardless of the blood or the steel or the violence, I know I can return home to a warm hearth and a kind face. I'll try and keep bringing gifts back for you.
He never finished the note, though rather there was another drawing of her sitting alone on the stone wall, clutching a small bell. He captured a small light reflecting from her porcelain features. The unfamiliar heat rose once more, and when she put the book down, she saw her reflection in a bit of metal. She feinted.
The Hunter watched as the massive frenzied beast took to the air with a shriek. Its claws bore down on him with speeds he hadn't seen since his battle on the bridge. With nowhere to roll in time, the Hunter drew his pistol and fired a single round towards the great beast. The shot (aimed at the left eye) hit the Vicar in one of her horns, the result being a pained tone to fill the air, and the creature reaching for the missing bone. She landed violently on the floor, and rolled right into the Hunter, who narrowly escaped being crushed by holding on to the hair of the Vicar's top side. The beast began to rise once more, and the Hunter quickly smashed a small jar over her back before leaping off to the side. The Vicar swiped with her free hand, and the Hunter rolled backwards, throwing another jar into the beast's torso. The Vicar was not deterred however. She stumbled forward, rushing the Hunter with claws and teeth.
The Hunter began to strafe arcs around his target, all the while waiting for an opening. It came when the Vicar charged once more, missing him by a small gap, and crashing into a wall. The Hunter seized the opportunity and loosed his whip, flaying the back legs of the Vicar, who in turn began to kick wildly in agony. The Hunter drew back for a moment to ready another strike, when one of the claws about her foot narrowly missed the Hunter, instead catching him in the shoulder and cutting deeply into his pistol hand. He grimaced, collapsed his cane, and slashed a deep arc into the leg while it was returning. He then began to back off, slowly walking back to the center of the church, his hand reaching behind him for a blood vial. He thought carefully of his training, and of his knowledge of large beasts. Injure claw. Disable leg. Exploit fear.
He ran forward with his whip readied to strike. The Vicar swept wide with her claw, the appendage sailing harmlessly under the Hunter, who threw another projectile at the Vicar's feet this time while lashing sideways with his whip. He stood and braced himself, his whip wrapped tightly into the arm of the beast. She recoiled and screamed desperately as the Hunter pulled the whip free, tearing deeply into her arm in the process. The blood from the wound flowed freely as she clutched at the afflicted appendage. She began to prop herself up on her hind legs, and assumed a stance of prayer. A feint glow began to emanate from her clutched hand, and the blood around her arm stopped flowing freely. The Hunter noticed this, and rushed forward to seize the pause in assault. He needed to end the fight now. His wound was too deep to heal with a quick blood vial. He ran around the Vicar's back, and slashed out both of her heels. It did not bother the praying form, the blood already coagulating. Then he threw one more urn, before using the whip to grab the wrist holding the locket. He pulled, and the blades freed the arm to her side. He drew his pistol and fired into her palm, the locket fell, and the healing stopped. Her wounds now bled freely.
The Vicar began to turn, but her legs would not follow, the tendons were flayed from their places. The great form stumbled a foot, then collapsed. The Hunter then struck the floor where he had thrown his last trap. The oil lit immediately, and the fire then caught in the oil soaked beast. Vicar Amelia twitched for a moment, then submitted to the immolation with a slouch of resignation, her hair and flesh creating a heap of burning viscera. The Hunter looked upon his terrible work, then looked to the altar. Amelia was praying for a long period to something, he was curious to see what inspired such veneration. He thought for a moment of fleeing the church, a great and terrible fear enveloped his bones, and faint whispers began to assail him. He longed to flee to the Dream, flee and sit in the company of the Doll and never return to the horrible abandoned cathedral. There upon the altar of the Grand Cathedral was a beastly skull about the size of a small dog. It's cracked cranium was glowing, and the Hunter, overcome with the voices assaulting his mind, absently reached for the altar.
The Doll was sitting underneath the shade of a massive tree. There was the smell of morning dew, and the warm scent of fire in the air, and the cool wind softly played at the leaves that hung what seemed like miles above their heads. Their. The Hunter rested his head in her lap, the weight softly easing on and off her covered thighs. She felt the burn in her cheeks as he looked up softly and removed his spectacles. She looked away and saw three pillars of stone in the garden, they were made from some black stone, and looking at them unsettled her, so she looked back down. He was closer this time, his head rising, and the skin of her palm molding to the pressure of another hand. She felt lips and hands and heat. She could not comprehend the situation, and in a moment of extended bliss she opened her eyes to see his face. He was no longer in front of her, but on the other side of the garden, staring up at a massive lunar face.
This took longer than I thought It would, though hey, I got it done. My writing has been sporadic as of late. Uni is kicking my ass, and I really need to get a feeling for good study habits, lest I fail before I reached my potential. Though I find solace from despair and life and chemistry in the writing that I do on this site. It's easy and fun. That and I love to hear you guy's criticism or reviews. It assures me that I'm not wasting my time with my writing. Until next chapter.