Cainhurst's challenges were nothing. The flea-like bloodlickers squealed and shrieked under his wheel. The sobbing, pathetic spirits in the reception hall faded away at his approach, and the wizened, wicked little servants that seemed to spring from the very woodwork were quickly crushed into the carpet. Alfred did not see the sumptuous interior, the richly decorated chandeliers that hung overhead. The Ardeo blocked out the decedent corruption of Cainhurst, and so Alfred continued forward, with one singular purpose.
A shrieking man-bat descended on him-Alfred seized it by it's frail neck and slammed the creature's wizened head face first into the stone parapet before callously flinging it into the lake below, not even bothering to shake the brains and viscera off his gauntlets. One of its fellows met the brunt of his Logarius Wheel, another was flung to follow the first into the lake, shrieking. Nothing here could stop him.
The only thing that gave him any pause was once he reached the roof. There lay the shattered remains of a stone throne, once fit for a giant, and the tell-tale signs of a mortal struggle in the snow. Vast sprays of dark blood marred the white snow, as well as the familiar boot prints of Quincy.
"Oh, Quincy…I forgive you, despite what you have done. Such evils needed to be committed, so Master may be martyred." He said softly, kneeling before the destroyed throne.
Oh, if only he had been there to free Logarious himself. So his last moments would have been with one of his old students, instead of a stranger.
After a few minutes before the shattered throne, Alfred rose to his feet dusting the show off from his shoulders. His quest's conclusion lay ahead.
Up the statue lined stairs, into the eerie, revoltingly lavish room, filled with the statues of the Vilebloods. His footsteps rang out, drawing the attention of the woman who sat upon the throne.
"Thou art five years late, Hound of the Church." The Queen did not rise from her throne or even move. She sat still, leaning casually against the throne, staring him down behind her mask.
Despite having waited, anticipated, prayed for this moment, Alfred found himself at a loss for words. He continued his slow approach.
"At last, thou have come to finish the grudge. Why? Out of the two of us, you could have walked away." The Queen continued, her voice firm. "Thoust were not imprisoned. Thou was not confined to a mask, alone in a cold castle, with nothing but ghosts and an old wretch for company.
"I am here to avenge my master! To avenge my family!" Alfred snarled, his voice echoing around the high ceiling. The queen laughed coldly.
"Thine band of murderers? They killed women, children, and babes in their cradles. Our mother, our father, Thine master had them crushed and mutilated before our own eyes." The Queen leaned forward.
"Who is under that Ardeo? An old man, unable to let the past be? A wild fanatic, desperate to prove thyself to the wraith of your Master? Either way, thou art a fool."
"Wretched Siren. I am here to finish the work my Dearest Master started!"
"Thou have undone his work." She replied coldly. "He wished to entomb us. Your Hunter, his hand freed us."
"Lies!" Alfred hissed, brandishing the Logarius Wheel. Bloodied, smoke-like spirits began to seep from the rims as it transformed, whispering and roaring in his ears. Alfred gritted his teeth as he felt his life itself begin to feed the hungry ghosts that lurked within the wheel. Their strength was now his. The sacrifice was necessary.
The Queen drew back from the sight of the spirits, righteous anger shaking her voice.
"Defiler! Thou approach us with the wraiths of our own people!"
Under his ardeo, Alfred grinned madly. The spirits gibbered, echoing in his ears, rattling in his skull.
Master, do you see this? I am your true Protege! I promise, I'll free you!
"You will soon join these vile monsters!" His voice shook with excitement. "The world shall be free of your evil at last!"
"We are undying. There is nothing thou can do to stop us forever." The Queen hissed, composing herself.
He had finally made it to the throne now, standing before his life's goal, watched by the stone eyes of statues, and of course, His Most Beloved Master.
How many times had he imagined this? Of course, the Queen was not what he had expected. She seemed almost his age, not the wretched hag as he had imagined. Clad only in a dress decades out of style, kept bound by the iron helmet-another ingenious invention from his master, undoubtedly-she seened fragile, weak.
Tragic.
She must have been alone for as long as he had, without her own family. He had met Philip again, he had found Quincy, but she had no one, trapped in this throne room, watched by the cold eyes of statues-
What was he thinking?! This was the evil of Cainhurst, working on his mind. Their darkness could not dim his radiance!
He would not falter. Evil took many guises.
"Being the last of one's kind is truly lonely." The Queen looked up at him defiantly. "We are the same. The last relics of a feud started by our predecessors, not ourselves"
"Lying wretch!" Alfred roared. The Queen gave another hollow laugh.
"We smell the moon scent upon you, tis faint. Even the dream has forsaken thee, Hunter. Along with your Master, along with the Church. Soon, your companion will leave you, too. Thou art a wretch, utterly rejected."
The world went red. Alfred brought down the Logarius Wheel.
How long had he been working? The Queen had cackled at first, laughing at him, then went silent. He continued pounding. All of the techniques he had learned, the art of using The Most Sacred Weapon had left him.
Erase Her.
Erase Her.
Destroy Her.
For His Master.
For His Master.
There was nothing but flesh and blood, the blood, it covered him, it coated him, soaking to his skin. The scent was maddening, foul like The Good Blood was sweet.
Somehow, her blood had entered his mouth, his eyes, his nose, splattered on his face under the Ardeo. He would never be clean. His Sainted blood-it had certainly gone rotten now. Rotten like the monster before him. Did Master Logarious see this? He was tainted now, surely. Would his own blood become vile? He continued to rain down blows.
Destroy Her.
Destroy Her.
Destroy Her.
Master, do you see me? Am I not truly radiant? Is this not what you wanted?
Even in the dead silent chamber, even with the heels of Quincy's shoes ringing on the stone steps, then muffled on the old carpet, Alfred did not hear Quincy approach. At other times, the approach of his new partner would have excited him, but now? No blood, no sedative, nothing had given him a greater sense of ecstasy then he felt now.
"Alfred...what have you done?" Quincy's shaking voice reached his ears.
"Quincy-look! I've done it!" Alfred rushed towards him-to embrace him, to celebrate with him. He wished to kiss Quincy once more. His life's work-finally finished.
Quincy jumped back as if he was a charging beast. He stared at him, wide eyed, in horror. Why? Had he and Quincy not slaughtered many a beast together? What made this different?
"Why-why would you do this? She was unarmed-oh, Gods! Alfred, is that her?!" He cried out in horror, pointing to the writhing mass of flesh on the cracked and splintered throne.
"Yes-I've destroyed her utterly! It's wonderful, is it not?" Alfred said joyfully. He took Quincy's hand in a blood soaked glove. "My Master can be canonized now! There is no greater honor!"
"By who, Alfred?!" Quincy yanked his hand away from Alfred's grasp. "Your church is gone! All of it! The Choir, the Vicar-the folks in the congregation-they've all fled or turned into monsters!"
Alfred faltered. The killing high was beginning to fade, leaving numb emptiness.
"To-To die honorably-to Martyr oneself-there is no greater honor..."
Quincy stared at him with-pity? How could he! Pity him at his greatest moment! An Outsider like him would never understand! He had finally done it! His Master was smiling upon him!
Quincy strod past him, boots squelching in the mess and mire left behind. He plunged his hand into the pile of flesh on the throne with no hesitation, removing a battered chunk.
"You wish to take a trophy? Of my Victory?!" Alfred shouted, shocked. Quincy glared at him.
"Take that damn stupid helmet off."
How dare he. Disparage one of his Master's works!
"I won't talk to you with that damn thing on!" Quincy snarled. Alfred almost stepped back in shock. Why would he be angry-no, he must be jealous, was he not? Jealous of his victory! He removed the helmet slowly.
"I don't want a trophy! I'm going to make things right! Dammit-why? Why did you do this? You were-you still are my friend! The only damn one I have left! This-this is just wicked! It's evil!" Quincy shouted, his eyes tearing up.
"You would not understand-"
"I don't! I don't know how a good, kind man could do such an evil thing!"
"Evil! Evil-I've destroyed evil! The Vilebloods are finished!" Alfred shouted.
"No, no you did not. You stormed in here, and killed an unarmed woman- all because the Church told you to?!"
"Not the Church-My Master!"
"A man who killed everyone here, man, women, and children, Alfred! All because they used the wrong blood!" Quincy pleaded.
Alfred drew back in horror. His friend, His...his friend, defending, having affinity for the Wicked Vilebloods? Philip's face danced before his blurring vision. He reached for the Wheel's handle to transform it with a shaking hand, and faltered. How could he be so weak, now of all times? His mission came first! Not friendship, not…
Not love.
"Then strike me down, if that's what you believe. I'll die a Martyr. I'll join my Master!" He hissed, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
Quincy lifted his axe before he dropped it on the blood covered floor, shaking.
"I can't do that." Quincy whispered.
Alfred should have laughed. Gloated. Called Quincy pathetic. Instead, he felt his guts twist painfully.
Was this right? No. Of course it was. It was what his master wanted. He looked back at the pile of gore like he was seeing it for the first time, breathing heavily.
Logarius had been guarding this place. He could have done this himself.
Why did he not? Why did he instead sit there, hiding the Castle with the Crown of Illusions? Why did he not end the Evil himself? His master was without flaw. Then-
Then why?
Then why?
Then why did he-?
The flesh writhed at his boots. Tendrils flailed and curled. Pulped meat pulsed around twisted shards of bone.
The Queen.
Was Undying.
Alfred clutched his head, falling to his knees. Quincy caught him from behind, trying to steady him.
"I've-I've ruined everything." He whispered. "Everything-Everything my master I wanted. I've spoiled it all. H-he'll never be Martyred. I've condemned him."
Alfred brought his hands to his face, shaking.
"I destroyed everything he built, with my own hands!" He howled.
The stench, the gore, the flesh writhing in his coat pocket. The scene was enough to make Quincy sick.
However, how could he leave Alfred, dear, foolish, wonderful, horrible, misguided, kind, wicked, murderous Alfred. The blood soaked both him and his companion as Alfred sobbed brokenly in his arms.
What he had done was evil, indefensible, but knowing the secret of the Altar of Despair softened the blow.
Past the violence, the blood, the atrocity, it all painted a very sad, pathetic picture. This was what the Healing Church did to those it touched. But the fact...the fact that Alfred could do this, had planned this, all in cold blood…
It must have taken hours to reduce the Queen to this state. Conflicting emotions, pity, love, revulsion seathed through the Hunter.
Honestly, he wished the night could go back to slaying beasts. Not facing the looming, wicked gods that had started this mess, not holding the broken form of a man who he loved, a man who had committed unspeakable evil. The fool had not even realized the true reason why what he did was wrong.
Even if the Queen could be revived, he had still committed cold blooded, viscious murder against an unarmed woman, the last of her kind.
"Quincy." Quincy looked down. Alfred's eyes were maddened, bloodshot. He pushed Quincy away, gently.
"Leave me be." Alfred said hoarsely, rising. He stepped towards the stairs, his steps muffled by the thick carpet underfoot.
"Where are you going?!" Quincy asked, a note of desperation in his voice.
' What is that maniac going to do next?' A cruel, inner voice whispered.
Alfred said nothing as he descended the stairs. As he reached the door frame, he looked back, caught in the reddened moonlit. Quincy could see his profile- aquiline nose, long lashes, weak chin, illuminated for a second before he turned and continued out the doorway, seeming to vanish into the blizzard outside.
Quincy ran after him, the cold eyes of the statues watched him as he passed.
Gods, please. Please. He prayed, but for what, he was unsure.
The powdery snow flew around his boots. The snowfall had already covered up the footprints and marks from his fight with Logarius, and Alfred's boot prints were nowhere to be found.
Quincy touched his twitching pocket, feeling what remained of the Queen.
"Master."
How had he ended up back here, before the Shrine? He clutched the crown in a shaking, bloodstained fist. His journey back was a haze. He had walked into the snow, his vision going white, then black, his head swimming in nothingness.
The Blood, What He Had Done, Quincy, the stinging, biting cold of the blizzard, the glint of the crown of illusions, and now, here he was, soaked through with melted snow, blood, and viscera before the shrine.
Alfred fell to his knees, placing the crown on the altar, smearing blood upon it and the cloth laid out under the cooled candle stubs. He had lost the Logarius wheel along the journey, only left with the Kirkhammer's sword in his limp hands.
"Master. I did it." He rasped, staring up at it's helmeted face.
"Tell me, did I do the right thing? Surely, I must have. These doubts, they cannot be true? Did I destroy our holy mission?"
Silence.
"They were monsters. The blood was evil, corrupt...then why? The sobbing woman, they were no beasts. The Queen, she was not...she was no beast! By the gods!" Alfred threw the bloodstained Ardeo to the ground with a loud clatter. He stared up at the statue, his eyes bloodshot.
"Why don't you answer me?! Tell me, tell me I did the right thing!"
Instead of the warm, holy presence he had always felt near the Shrine, all Alfred felt was cold, emptiness.
"She must have been-she must have been my age! Did you kill her, too? To find she was undying? Was she also still a child, when you killed her for the first time, only to see her knit herself back together?
Alfred dragged his bloodstained hands down his face, breathing hard.
"Please, Master, I beg you, tell me she was lying. Tell me we did not kill children! Tell me we did the right thing!"
Only deafening silence remained.
"You can never be Martyred now...It's only a matter of time before the Queen pulls her mangled self together, no matter how many years it may take. I freed her."
Alfred let out a choking sob.
"I murdered an unarmed woman. I freed the Vileblood Queen. I destroyed your prospects for Martyrdom. My blood, my sainted blood-it's gone rotten in my veins! From any angle, I am truly destroyed, fully ruined."
Cold silence.
Alfred held up the sword of the Kirkhammer, turning it over in the light. The blade gleamed in the red moonlight, the shrine of Logarius reflecting on the blade. He turned it, seeing his own maddened eyes and blood soaked face.
"I see now, the only way to atone myself." He whispered. Alfred carefully angled the blade, the point touching his chest, just below the Hunter's rune on his robes, made invisible by the splattered gore.
He looked upwards at the statue one last time. Quincy's face flashed before his vision for a moment. Another person he had failed. Would Quincy weep when he found him? Would he still care for him, after what he had seen?
There was no purpose to him carrying on, not after so many failures. "Forgive me." Alfred whispered, but to whom, he was unsure.