It took Quincy an embarrassingly long time to figure out what to do next. It soon became abundantly clear that the next step, after slaying the frozen guardian of the castle, was that the crown was to be placed on his own head.
The moment the weight of the crown landed on his head, the wind kicked up once more. After a storm of flurries, a new part of the castle became visible. Lacking any gates or doors, a new set of stairs yawned before Quincy. He took a step forward, under the watchful eyes of statues of soldiers mounted on horseback.
Up the flight of stairs, Quincy entered a room packed full of the statues that had littered the courtyard. The same statues of round faced kings, sweet looking women cradling children, repeated over and over, spread out like gossiping party guests. Quincy's boots scuffed on the aged red carpet that wound a path through the clustered statues, pulling up ancient wax that had melted into the weave.
At the very end of the room stood two thrones, only one of them occupied by an elegant woman, seated properly on her throne in a simple white dress, unadorned save for some lace and ruffles. Hardly the garb of a Queen, but the woman wore it regally. The moonlight that streamed in from the window above her glinted off the faceless mask and white hair like gems on a crown.
It was more like a knight's helmet than a mask, covered with engraved filigree, muffling her voice. "Visitor… I claim no subjects, but here lieth Our throne. Kneel afore us…or get thee gone."
Quincy stopped, unsure of what to say. This was the wicked Vileblood queen? She looked frail in the pale moonlight, a lonely Queen of a haunted, dead castle.
The Queen leaned back on her chair.
"Do not dawdle thus. We have waited five years. We can wait longer for loyal subjects."
Averting his gaze shyly, Quincy caught sight of a letter on a forgotten side table.
"I'm just passing through, ma'am." Quincy said, picking up the envelope and examining it. No address. Was this what Alfred was looking for?
"Then get thee gone." She said icily. Quincy tipped his hat, finally spotting one of the most welcome sights on this miserable night-one of the Hunter's Lanterns. He had to find Alfred. He also had to process everything he had seen.
-some time ago-
Alfred lay on a medical table, feeling his blood spilling from the open wound in his chest. The dark room had no ceiling, opening up to the cold stars above, glittering like wet eyes. The Choir clustered around the table, a flock of white vultures, gawking at him. One by one they would dip their ladles into his wound, and greedily drank his blood.
Alfred snapped awake and gasped, clawing at his chest and shoulder, only to find intact skin-lacking even a scar. He fell back, staring up at the wooden canopy of the poster bed, illuminated by the soft glow of dawn, feeling the nightmare slip away. His heart lurched once he realized that he was not in the Hunter's barracks, but instead in the Cathedral, laying in one of several beds that had been lined up where the pews once were. Each one was occupied, probably by fellow hunters. Had they been injured in fighting the monster? Were so many wounded they needed more space for beds?
If only he had reacted sooner. Or brought blood-would the blood have even helped Arabelle? Was she already too far gone when he found her?
"Oh! How are you feeling?" Alfred flinched back in surprise as a white robed nun approached him-for a second believing Arabelle had come back for another taste. She held out a cup of tea.
"I'm well." He managed out, taking it. It smelled strongly-probably well over-steeped.
"We were really worried about you. The Vicar herself ministered your blood, what with all the damage." Her eyes flicked to his bare chest. "It did a wonderful job, I see."
"Ah, well-thank you." Alfred shyly pulled up the sheets.
"The Choir was interested in your case, as well." She added as an afterthought. "Something about the blood healing more rapidly then expected."
Alfred felt his stomach drop. His childhood bogeymen returning had been a possibility when he came back to Cathedral Ward, but he was certain he would do nothing to attract the Choir's attention. How could he find a way to escape their clutches without revealing the true reason why he did not want to be exclaimed by the choir.
"I see. Er, I was carrying some books, were they perhaps recovered?"
"No, I think the Hunters that came were too busy trying to keep you alive to worry about books." She said, pursing her lips.
"When can I leave?" He asked curtly.
"Oh, well, first we have to let the Choir check in on you before you go, to see if you are fit to leave." She said, completely unaware of his increasing fear.
Alfred lay back on the bed dejectedly as the Nun bustled off. His missing books were the furthest worry from his mind at the moment. He had to think on how to evade the Choir.
Once again, his hands strayed to his chest and shoulder. Blood ministration was nothing short of miraculous. He had been torn open by fangs and teeth, and here he was, whole and healthy once more, but the horrible memories of the attack remained. Alfred idly wondered if his blood had once performed such wonders for his fellows-healing their bodies but leaving the scars on their minds.
It was almost midday when the Choir showed up. Forbidden to leave by the Nun and still lacking proper clothing, Alfred had finished his now cold tea, tried to nap in vain, unable to keep his thoughts from racing. Finally, one of the members showed up, a sinister smile under the blindfolded cap.
"I do not wish to be examined by the Choir." Alfred said sharply upon his approach-far sharper then intended. "If I need to be evaluated physically, I would rather have a brother of the Healing Church do so."
The Choir member tilted his head at this, smiling. "Oh, no, Alfred, we have already examined you."
"How on Earth could you already have done so?" Alfred hissed.
"The Hunters that heard your calls for help reported that even without blood, your wounds had already started to heal somewhat after the Beast was no longer tearing into you." The Choir member tapped his smiling lips as he continued. "When given blood ministration, you responded better than average to its properties. Once you were stable, we took a closer look. It seems your own blood has healing properties of its own, similar to healing blood. It's interesting, more and more hunters have been showing these traits...but yours is especially potent. We would-"
"Is there anything wrong with me at the moment that requires me to stay here?" Alfred interjected, glaring daggers.
"Well, physically, no, but-"
"Then I am leaving." Alfred said firmly. "May I have some clothes to leave decently?"
"You can have those after I finish."
"Then you leave me no choice." The Hunter's barracks were not far, but he would have to sacrifice some dignity.
"What are you doing?" The Choir member stepped back as the counterpane hit the floor. "You cannot leave in this...state."
"I can and will." Alfred had wrapped himself up in the sheets as best as he could-somewhat like the style of the most ancient Pthumerian art, men and women in draped cloth. Besides, he was technically totally decently covered, the edge of the sheet well past his ankles. Despite that comforting thought, his face felt hot, and his ears were no doubt pink.
"The hell you will! You will come with me to the upper ward!" The Choir member had gone from shock to frustration.
"Then stop me!" Alfred snapped, walking past the flustered Choir member, terribly aware of how the entire room's eyes were on him, from the Nuns tending to the patients to his fellow wounded hunters. He steeled himself and continued walking, hoping the sheets would not catch.
"Alfred, what on Earth are you doing?" Philip had appeared behind the Choir member's shoulder, looking more bemused than shocked.
"Attempting to leave, but this Gentleman-" Alfred spoke the word with venom. "-Refuses to be civil and let me go."
Philip took off his coat, putting it over Alfred's shoulders, smiling almost apologetically at the Choir member. "Well, he wants to go. Sorry. Take it up with the Vicar, because the Choir doesn't have authority over Hunters." The Choir member scowled and withdrew.
"Even if Vicar Amelia didn't like you, there's no way they'd go to her." Philip whispered on the way out. "Everyone knows the Choir is on thin ice with her."
"I do not think I am part of 'everyone'. I have never heard of this." Alfred whispered back. The sudden sunlight as the two left the Cathedral blinded him for an instant, making him squint and shake his head..
"It's all part of the church's decline-let's just concentrate on getting back to the barracks."
"You caused quite the stir." Philip remarked.
"I was trapped otherwise. What would you have done?" Alfred did not bother uncovering his eyes from where he lay on his bed in an embarrassed haze.
"Alright, alright, the Choir gives me the creeps too." He felt the mattress sink as Philip sat on the side of the bed. "I'm just glad I was able to save you."
"Thank you. But I could have saved myself."
"We're hunting partners. We look after each other." Philip replied. "You'd do the same for me-but anyway, What happened to you last night? We were all called out to deal with this new beast rampaging around central Yharnam. Did you find it first?"
"Well...yes."
"There's rumors that it was a Blood Saint that turned." Philip said somberly. "One of them wandered off after a blood letting."
"I know. I saw her turn, Philip." Alfred uncovered his eyes, now seeing Philip's shocked face.
"Gods, did you?! What happened?"
"I tried to escort her home, and she suddenly attacked me." Alfred remembered the teeth digging into his flesh. He put a hand on the spot, only to find smooth, unmarred skin. The Blood might have healed the wound perfectly, but the wounds were still fresh in his mind. "She-Arabelle- wanted my blood."
"Was it because you are-were- a Blood Saint?"
"No." Alfred lied. "She was looking for any kind of blood."
That fleshless, warped skull coming closer to his neck as he desperately tried to force it back. The acidic blood leaking down on his hands and arms. Alfred examined his palms and fingers-not a sign of the damage they had taken last night showing.
Philip sighed.
"I'm grateful the Hunters found you in time."
"Did you see the beast yourself?" Alfred asked.
"We did." Philip grimaced. "My group chased the monster to the canals. Henryk had the idea of setting the sewers alight and chasing the beast in. Turns out it's even weaker to fire than the usual beasts. It burned alive in the sewers-unfortunately, the fire is still being contained."
Alfred wrinkled his nose, remembering his own experience in Yharnam sewage canals. Arabelle met a miserable end.
"It could have happened to you." Philip said softly.
"Master Logarius would have never taken so much blood from me." Alfred said firmly.
Philip stayed silent.
The days continued to pass, and the brutal hunts continued. Humid nights reeked with blood and gunpowder. Alfred sometimes wondered if he had lost more blood during his time as a blood Saint, or now as a Hunter.
"The Hunters are gathering in the pub tonight. Just something to keep the morale up. You should come along. There's no hunting tonight, so we'll be able to get some sunlight." Philip said.
"I do not think that is a very good idea." Alfred shut his book and rolled over on the bunk, wincing as he went over his bandaged wounds. A beast had clawed him badly on the side the night before, and with the Blood being rationed since the Blood Starved Beast's rampage, he could only get enough to half way heal the gashes. "I'm not very good at parties."
"Just come with me, alright?" Philip persuaded. "You don't even need to socialize. You can make friends other than me."
"Much easier said than done."
"Come on, it's a party, not the end of the world."
"It might be easier to make friends at the end of the world." Alfred shut his book. "Very well. I will come along."
"Oh, no." Alfred ducked down towards the bar top as a lady hunter passed. passed. Philip saw the look on her face-she obviously saw him, and was quite unimpressed by Alfred's attempt to hide.
"I tried to court her, I'm afraid." Alfred said rapidly after coming back up, ears pink. "It was stupid of me. I obviously had no chance-."
"It doesn't matter, Alfred, let's just have a nice night." Philip said, patting his shoulder.
Despite Philip's suggestion, Alfred spent most of the gathering staring down at the bar, or his mug while Philip socialized. He did attempt to get Alfred into the conversation, but he would trip over his words or go on tangents the other hunters did not appreciate. Without fail, he would go back to staring down at his mug. He missed Valtr-even his brief conversations with Henryk were easier than this.
So, he watched and waited, counting down the minutes until he and Philip could leave.
Alfred looked away, trying to ignore the sounds of Philip vomiting in the bushes. The blood cocktails had given him a heady buzz, but Philip had not reacted well to the new brew at all.
Philip got up wearily, groaning. "Should have known you'd have a higher tolerance."
"You did not eat anything." Alfred chided, helping him up. "Anything like that on an empty stomach will not react well."
"Haha, and I'm supposed to be the responsible one…" Philip let Alfred lead him to a nearby bench. Here, Yharnam dropped into a steep valley below, the lower level of the city invisible in the dark. The streetlamps and guardrails were enough to keep the unwise from wandering in and falling on the lower level of the city, thankfully.
Both men gazed at the abyss below them in silence for a time.
"Where do you go during the day?" Philip asked.
"I'm not getting in any trouble, if that is what you are thinking." Alfred replied, not breaking his gaze from the view below.
"I don't think that, Alfred. Just tell me."
"...If you must know...I often just wander. I rarely feel like I have anywhere to go, so I just keep walking. I desperately wanted to see the city when I was younger, but I was quite unable to do so. Now that I can, well, it is like watching Yharnam die in front of me."
Philip leaned in. Alfred never talked about his life before the Executioners.
"The city was beautiful back then. I never saw much of it up close, but…" He trailed off. "...Well, I wish I could have seen much more of it in its heyday."
"Instead of being out in the woods, away from all this?"
"No, not at all. I would not have traded any of the time I spent with the Executioners for anything. Alfred rested his chin on his hands. "I think about the Workshop, often. I want to see it again."
"The Church probably had it demolished."
"That would be a tragic crime, to destroy such a building."
"You really miss it, don't you."
"Not as much as I miss...belonging." Alfred stared up at the sky. "With the other Executioners, I had a family. Here...it is just you and me. Against everyone else for much of the time, it seems."
"That's not true. You just got off on the wrong foot with the other Hunters. Do you ever think about the future?" Philip asked, trying to change the subject.
"Sometimes I truly wonder if there is a future."
"We can't hunt beasts forever. Surely there will be an end to this. I want to go back to New Loran. Maybe open up a shop somewhere and settle down. I could run a general store, be the backbone of a small town somewhere."
"That sounds very lovely."
"I've had enough misery for a lifetime. I don't want any more adventures." Philip smiled. "A nice, simple life somewhere appeals to me the most. What about you?"
Alfred pursed his lips in thought."I...do not know." Philip realized that the man must have never thought about this before at all. "I suppose I will keep hunting for now, then once it is over, I will think of something. I do not want to go back to Butchery, that is certain."
That night, Alfred soon found himself lying awake once more, staring at the ceiling, terrified of falling back asleep. The nightmares had gone from once in a while to nearly nightly-or daily, as the fractured sleep schedule of a Hunter would have it. The latest terror, something that was slipping away from his memory with every passing second, only leaving behind the heart pounding fear, had been unlike anything he had dreamed yet.
Alfred's subconscious finally, mercifully, snapped him awake.
He could not scream or cry out-he could not awaken his fellow hard working hunters, happy to finally be sleeping during the night for once. Alfred fumbled in the dark for his belongings, his fingers brushing against the welcoming clay bottle of lead elixir.
With its help, he soon sank into a dark, dreamless sleep.
Nothing could have prepared Alfred for the sheer monotony that beast hunting had become. It was a holy practice. A sacred practice. The cleansing of beasts and protection of those still human, and yet it had come to remind him of his time as a butcher. Blood, gore, a quick cut this way, a clean cut that way. Sever a ligament here, gouge an artery there. The only difference was that the beasts fought back where the butcher only dealt with corpses.
But he could not let himself give into the monotony, for the moment it became too routine, he put his life on the line. Not every beast was the same, and if he treated them as though they were- if he forgot for a second that they were just as capable of killing a person as any wild animal, he paid for it. How many wounds had he received in the endless days? As the warmth of summer faded into the cool of autumn?
He had two sources of comfort in his life: his books and Philip. That was enough to keep him going, and the knowledge that he did, indeed, have a purpose. It was not the radiant, shining purpose he had when he was part of the Executioners. It was not the miserable, yet holy purpose he had as a Blood Saint. But it was a purpose, no matter how blood stained and foul it was.
An unexpected break in the monotony showed up on an unlikely day.
The morning after a hunt, Alfred staggered back to his cot in a fog. Drying patches of beast blood missed during his rapid shower prickled on his skin uncomfortably, but his deep exhaustion left him unable to care. However, something stopped him before he pulled back the worn blankets.
A note written in an elegant hand had been left on his sheets.
"Come to the Chapel at 5 o'clock. -A"
"Amelia." He whispered, his heart lightening.
Not expecting any further meetings with Amelia, Alfred was ecstatic. He was certain their last meeting was the end of their old friendship. Cryptic note aside, his heart was light as he strolled through the Cathedral Ward, feeling well rested. Who knew that sleep was easier after good news?
In contrast with his lightened mood, It was a gloomy day in Yharnam. The Cathedral Ward was not the bright, new place it had been when he was a boy, staring down from the Choir's high perch. Like Yharnam, it too had suffered, growing dirty and worn. The old fountain that had once stood at the center of the square was gone-replaced by a large memorial circle of tombstones around a group of statues of people praying, one man in the center reaching up to the heavens in supplication. He has seen it many times during hunts, but had never had the time to investigate it further. Alfred drew close to read the inscription, the dead weeds sprouting from the cracks in the cobbles crunching under his boots.
"In memory of those who perished in Old Yharnam, to save us all from the Scourge of Beasts"
The tombstones read above a list of names engraved on the stone. Allfred nodded solemnly. He remembered the story of Vicar Laurence's betrayal, of the ghastly news of Old Yharnam's burning. As someone who had never seen Old Yharnam, it was all a tragic, but distant sad event. There was no time or money to upkeep anything, leading to Yharnam's increasingly deteriorating state. Amelia had to pour any money or resources left in Yharnam to defeat the Scourge of Beasts, but to let an entire part of the city perish without even a monument to remember them by was unthinkable.
Looking up at the massive clocktower to assure himself he was not running late, Alfred continued on his way to the Chapel. The sun was already low, just peeking over the pointy Yharnam skyline, thick clouds threatening to cause a premature nightfall. Thankfully, it was not a hunting night-no need to return to the barracks early.
Amelia stood in the chapel-just as pale and ghostly as ever, but bundled up in a white coat against the biting chill. She smiled warmly at him-while the ever present Henriett, lurking by one of the Chapel pillars, gave Alfred a stern stare.
"I know we should not speak-"
"You are the Vicar, Amelia. You can do what you wish." Henriett interrupted gently. "No one will object to the Vicar meeting an old friend."
"I am unpopular with the citizens of Yharnam." Amelia said plainly, stepping daintily towards the exit. She turned back, making sure that Alfred and Henriett were following. "'Death to the Minister' has become a popular phrase for graffiti in the lower wards. Alfred is an Outsider, and a Hunter. Being seen as a favorite of mine could make things even harder for him."
"I am quite experienced in the ire of Yharnam's natives." Alfred responded, grimacing. "But you have been a fair ruler of Yharnam, well, from what I am aware of. Why would they hate you?"
"The citizens of Yharnam have long memories. They cannot forget what Laurence did to Old Yharnam. They cannot forgive the church, but they cannot abandon the Blood. Laurence made it so."
"You inherited a dreadful mess of things." Alfred said, wrinkling his nose as they passed under a massive incense brazier, the stone archway it was chained to groaning under its weight.
"They may hate me, but I will make the Healing Church a force for good in this world. Dismantling the old evils has proven...difficult."
Henriett made a small sound of agreement, and Alfred stayed silent. He wondered what Amelia had seen and experienced in the time since they were children. Nothing that a simple Hunter like himself would know
Past a small group of dying trees, down another winding set of stairs, through an elegant yet abandoned Church building, lay a sight that took Alfred's breath away.
There, nestled on a small balcony, was a memorial altar quite different from the monument in the square. Between four pillars was a statue of an Executioner in full holy garb, looming above the three.
The dying rays of the setting sun made the stone Ardeo glow gold, bringing Alfred to his knees before it. Every detail about it was perfect to the holy robes, the mantle, every detail.
"The families of the fallen Executioners petitioned for a monument." Amelia said. "We erected one here, by old Yharnam."
"It's beautiful." He breathed, clasping his hands tightly.
Philip would have enjoyed walking through the Cathedral Ward any other time. The luxury of any sense of normalcy was hard to come by, and a stroll through Cathedral Ward before it was sealed off to all but those involved in the Church and Hunters was a Yharnam tradition. However, he was searching for Alfred.
Philp continued, his path taking him towards the residential areas of the Ward, the rain highlighting the grim transformation of Yharnam. More and more statues were appearing, clustering in alleyways, lining the streets and rooftops. They were figures with their arms raised heavenwards, beseeching the gods for mercy. Gargoyles to ward off the evil that stalked the city at night crouched on railings and stairways. Above his head, Forgotten laundry hung in the air, stained by soot and rain, the cloth's owners having either died or turned. Yharnam was slowly turning into a city of the dead and damned.
Alfred mysteriously vanishing during any non-hunting days was common. They both had their own lives, but his friend being late to- or even more strangely-or not showing up in the canteen at all for dinner was extremely abnormal. It was a miserable evening, a weak rainstorm starting up just after sundown-just enough rain to make one slowly get soaked the longer they spent in it, but not enough water to wash away the blood and grime from Yahrnam's streets. Alfred would not miss dinner in even the best conditions, certainly not ones like this.
Philip was almost sure he would know where to find him, as he approached the Old Yharnam Chapel. Once just a street leading to the older part of the city, Vicar Amelia had the road sealed off by moving one of the Church's outbuildings over the spot, leaving a set of heavy gates under a secret entrance. Old Yharnam, now a destroyed place roamed by beasts, was off limits.
But that was not the only secret the Chapel held, and there was Alfred before it, statue still, coat and hat soaked with the rain. The only sign of life from his kneeling form was the periodic puff of frozen breath from his lips. The Logarius's shrine had been erected to assuage the families of the dead Executioners, but the group was unpopular even among the mistrusted church. Logarius's refusal to help retake Yhar'Gul, news announced after the Executioners were defeated in Cainhurst, was seen as betrayal by Yharnam, so the monument was placed out of sight, where no one but the grieving families of the lost Executioners would dare go.
Philip had avoided it, until now.
"Alfred, it's been hours!" Philip stepped carefully through the accumulating puddles, not wanting to slip. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder, Alfred not moving in response to his touch.
"Alfred, you have to come inside. It's freezing."
"I cannot." Alfred said softly.
Philip looked up at the statue, blinking raindrops out of his eyes. His heart panged at the sight of the Executioner, remembering his old days. It was painful to come face to face with it again. He disagreed with the cause, but the memory of Bernice and his other old friends weighed heavily on him.
"I know they are gone, but you are still here and alive. Logarius would not want you to freeze to death outside."
"I should have gone along."
"Gods, Alfred, and have another life lost?" Philip pleaded.
"Did you even know this was here?" Alfred asked bitterly.
"Yes. I did. I have paid my respects-please, you have to come inside."
"You left us. What do you care?"
"Alfred, they were my family too. I loved them as you do" The rift that had opened between them by Philip leaving the Executioners was finally returning. It was a chasm that they had both been stepping around, but with the sight of the stone Executioner looming above them both, the crack had grown.
Wordlessly, Alfred shakily rose, Philip helping him to his feet.
"Let's get you inside."
Not a word was passed between them as they walked through the falling rain, down the stairs, or into the barracks. Philip made a few attempts at small talk, remarking on how it had been mere months since he had last escorted Alfred back to the barracks in this way, but finally gave up at his friend's stony silence. Alfred ignored the stares of the other hunters and made his way to the bathhouse to try to thrust some warmth back into his veins with the lukewarm water.
Still cold, now aware of his error in missing dinner, Alfred elected to crawl into bed instead out of emotional exhaustion. Had he prayed enough? It was a homemade thing, cobbled together from services at the Church held for lost and passed Hunters, but it was needed. The knowledge he was not the only mourner made him feel less terribly alone as warm tears-the only part of him that felt any heat-dripped onto his pillow. Surely rest would allow him a brief reprieve from grief, his sleep rendered dreamless with his nightly dose of lead elixir.
Wrapped tightly in the threadbare sheets for warmth, Alfred instead found himself getting colder as he drifted into sleep. The Hunter's barracks faded away into a white blur, and he realized that it was snowing heavily, the wind whipping the blizzard in such a frenzy that it was impossible to see anything. Thousands of snowflakes stung his face and hands as he struggled forwards, deafened and unseeing in the white haze. The ground below him was hard and sloped underfoot, nothing like the rough cobblestones that lined the Yharnam streets.
With every step in a certain direction, the one in which the ground came to an angled point between his feet, the blinding white snow faded, revealing the silhouette of a seated figure. A sick feeling of familiarity washed over him, giving way to deep sorrow. Master Logarius lay slumped on a throne-a desiccated, frozen corpse. Weak memories of an old nightmare stirred, but Alfred pushed them aside.
Alfred ran to his master, unable to make his voice heard over the snow. Pthumerians did not die easily, and there was a good chance that Logarius was merely in a torpor. He fell to his knees before the Pthumerian, the biting cold and wet of the snow soaking his breeches.
"Master! Master! You did it! You defeated the Vilebloods!" He pleaded, yet Logarius did not stir, the only movement coming from the remnants of his beard fluttered in the wind from his skeletal jaw. Tears stung in Alfred's eyes, but he wiped them away. The snow was clearing out further, allowing Alfred to see that they were on a rooftop, high above a grand lake. Castle Cainhurst.
"What is keeping you here? Some vile sorcery? Are you standing guard over my brother and sister's graves?" He asked. Perhaps Logarius's fingers twitched, or it was a trick of the snow and his tears? "I should have been here, Master. I know you forbade it. I know I was weak and young."
Alfred wiped at his tears, not hearing the cracks or the motion next to him. He gave out an undignified yelp as he felt something grab him by the collar. Logarius had risen from his seat, and had lifted him up in the air.
"Master, I don't understand! Please, put me down" He begged, as Logarius strode across the roof, and lowered Alfred down on an adjoining castle rooftop. The Pthmerian pointed, and Alfred turned, seeing the lights of Yharnam in the distance.
"Yes, that is where I am now, Master. This must be a dream-no, a vision! The Pthumerian gave a guttural rasp, dragging himself painfully back to his seat.
"I see now, you wish for me to come here! Master, I must free you!" He attempted to climb back onto Logarius's rooftop, only to be grabbed by the long Pthumerian arm again and placed back.
"You must want me to come outside of this vision, then. I promise I will, Master, I promise! I will find a way!"
Master Logarius merely pointed again, towards the end of the castle. Revealed by the dissipating snow, Alfred could see lights in the windows, illuminating a throne room full of statues. Racing along the parallel wing, Alfred could see it-a figure sitting on it's own throne-a living Vileblood.
One of the wretched fiends who had done this to his family and Master was still alive. This injustice would not stand. The wind picked up again, once again blinding him with snow.
"Master, I will come back! I promise!" He shouted, as the dream faded away. He never saw Logarius pointing firmly towards Yharnam once more.
"Hello Philip, I'm Marnie." Philip looked up from the whetstone to see a new hunter standing before him. "I'm your new partner."
"New Partner? My hunting Partner is Alfred." Philip said, standing up, confused.
"That's not what Henriett said." Marnie shrugged, and took Philip's place at the whetstone, sharpening her Holy Blade.
Something had changed since that rainy night. Alfred had become distant since, and had vanished from Cathedral Ward more and more during the day, perhaps wandering the city, as he had told Philip back at the party. Philip had hoped things would go back to normal once the hunt started again, but as the full moon came closer, Alfred remained stubbornly unresponsive. Descending from the workshop, Philip ran into Constance with an armful of swords.
"You got reassigned, huh?" She asked, adjusting her bundle.
"I don't get it. Alfred didn't say anything about it to me."
"Well, if things with Marnie don't work out, I'd be happy to take her on. Eric is a real bother of a partner. She's awfully cute, too."
"This is about Alfred, not you putting the moves on my new hunting partner."
"Who cares? You led the horse to water. It's not your fault he won't drink." Constance shifted the sheathed blades.
"Who is his new partner?" Philip asked.
"Some new hunter. Local. He almost ended up with Vera, but she was still upset about him trying to give her flowers that one time, so Henriett just put him with the new guy. Look, I can't just stand here juggling these swords all day, can I go?"
Philip stood aside, and Constance went past without another word, leaving him alone to think.
Smoke curled over the Yharnam skyline. Philip idly wondered what the cause was. He had seen Hunters crucify larger beasts and set them alight, a scare tactic against an enemy without enough presence of mind or self preservation instincts to be afraid. It was more a condemnation.
"What a terrible Night it is!" Philip grit his teeth. He had agreed to take Eric on as his new partner, letting Constance team up with Marnie. However, Constance was not being prickly-Eric was a real bother of a partner. The man had not stopped complaining since they had started.
Philip did not mind chatter, Alfred loved talking even on dangerous occasions like the hunt-but Alfred would speak on the weather, theories about the beasts, discussing the history of certain buildings that he had read about-but all Eric wanted to do was complain.
Alfred must still be upset since that night a week ago, not talking to him and outright avoiding him. Surely Alfred would get over this moody phase soon, and they could handle this like adults.
"Can't tell if that's the smell of blood, beasts, or sewage. It's getting stronger, don't you think?"
Lost in his thoughts, Philip was unready for what happened next. Something shoved him to the cobbles, a vast maw ripping into his back. Philip screamed, his cries mingling with Eric's own exclamations of fear and surprise. He swung his weapon back, stabbing at the beast that had ambushed him. A shot from Eric was enough to get the beast off of him-a huge, snarling wolf-man-allowing him to painfully make it to his feet and slam a syringe of Blood into his thigh.
The Monster turned its attention on Eric, lunging forward. The man shrieked, jumping back. Philip, experienced in the routine of the hunts, expected for Eric to follow up in the monster's brief moment of confusion having caught nothing in it's claw's but air-now was the perfect time to retaliate, to strike the monster's lowered head-but Eric continued to retreat.
"Eric! Get back here!" Philip yelled as the man turned and ran down one of Yharnam's many twisting alleys. This was a mistake-not only did the man not turn around, the beast lashed out at Philip once more.
This time, Philip was prepared, striking at the monster-just as its claws ripped into him. Man and beast both fell to the cobbles.
Out of vials and abandoned, Philip lay there in a fog, listening to his cowardly partner's retreating footsteps and the death rattle of the beast next to him. What an ignoble way to die, another fallen hunter, bleeding out on the cobbles.
On the ground, everything was becoming clear. The cycle of the hunts was only perpetuating the Scourge, a vicious cycle that only continued to tear through the ranks of the Hunters and the city.
'If I survive this...if I live...I must leave. I must take Alfred with me. I can't leave him here. I'll-we'll go back over the mountains to New Loran. Forget this wretched city, all of it.'
Philip looked up at the full moon above, wondering if it would be the last sight he'd ever see. Fading in and out, Philip only noticed Alfred's appearance when the man's face blocked his view of the moon as he looked down on him.
"Alfred." The man said nothing, crouching next to his prone body, rummaging through his pockets to pull out a fresh syringe and a strip of cloth. He wrapped the cloth around his upper arm.
"Alfred, what are you doing?" Philip asked. Despite everything, his dire injuries, their falling out, Philip was still worried about him.
Alfred tightened the makeshift tourniquet with his teeth, and held his breath as he aligned the needle to a vein, ready to plunge it in. He had never done this to himself before.
"It's my blood, after all, and I choose what I do with it." He hissed as the syringe filled up with red. "Foolish as it may be."
"Acts of goodness are not always wise. Acts of evil are not always foolish." Philip replied softly.
"Regardless, we should always strive to be good." Alfred stuck the syringe into Philip's thigh as he finished the quote, the pain of the injection soon giving way to relief from the agony. "Hah, using the words of the man you turned against."
"It doesn't matter Alfred, it's over." Color was already returning to Philip's face. "Cainhurst and the Executioners."
Alfred said nothing, remaining good, yet foolish.
"I'll leave the city after this. I don't want to die for Yharnam." Philip propped himself up on the alley wall, feeling his strength return. "Please, forget this place. Come with me."
"No." Alfred's face was expressionless. "I cannot leave."
"You'll die here." Philip argued. "There's no way we can stop the plague this way."
"My purpose is here."
"Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn!" Years of brotherly understanding patience finally flaked away. "You don't even know what your purpose is, Alfred! Yharnam isn't dying, it's dead, and you will be too if you don't leave!"
"I do know what my purpose is! I'm an Executioner!" Alfred roared back.
Philip was taken aback by this declaration."The Vilebloods are dead, Alfred!" He pleaded.
"One remains! The Queen lives!" A manic light was blooming in Alfred's eyes. Was this the madness of the hunt? Was a Hunter of Hunters about to swoop down from the rooftop above and dispatch Alfred where he stood, perhaps?
No, this was something else.
"That's impossible-and how on Earth would you know that?"
"I know it to be true-call it a vision from Master Logarius, or the Great Ones-but I know it!" Alfred slammed the head of the Kirkhammer against the cobbles. "I cannot allow her to live as long as there is life in my body! I have to free Master Logarius!"
"You are talking nonsense, he's dead! They are both dead!" Philip shouted desperately.
"I shouldn't listen to you-You should leave Yharnam after all, for If I see you again, I will treat you as a traitor deserves. May Master Logarius forgive me for how foolish I've been in my desperation for companionship!" Alfred snarled as he turned, stalking down the alley. Philip considered chasing after him, begging him for an explanation, or perhaps making him leave the city by force.
Impossible. Alfred would be stubborn to the end, and there was no way he could shake him out of such a deep rooted delusion. There was no way he could overpower someone so forceful in both mind and spirit. Fully recovered with his once friend's blessed blood, Philip left the alley way from the other end, gazing past the ragged lines of landry that hung from the Yharnam rooftops, up towards the wicked moon.
"I'll be bidding this city goodbye forever. It, and the church-it takes everything from you. It devours your friends, twists family into strangers. Damn this miserable city." Philip spat.
After retrieving his belongings and following the canals towards the mountains, Philip would never set foot in the city again, and was all the happier for it.
- In the Present -
Alfred stayed in the corner of Oedon Chapel, doing his best to blend into the background, a difficult feat for someone over six feet. Thankfully, everyone else in the Chapel seemed preoccupied by their own shares of woes. The old woman slumped in her seat, clutching her head. Arrianna was still in terrible pain, letting out soft groans every once in a while. Eerily of all, the nun in the corner stared off into space, every once in a while giggling at nothing.
Nothing he could do but wait for Quincy to return. How long had it been? Minutes or hours? The clocks had all stopped at nine-what force could have caused this? He remembered Quincy's story about the monster on the lake, and the strange visions he had there. Could that have caused this, or was it a strange byproduct of the night?
He leaned against the pillar, closing his eyes. Might as well take a breather once more, so he would be ready to spring back into action when needed. Quincy will be back at some point. All he had to do was wait.