On the Night Of The Hunt

Dear Master, please show me the path. I am but a man, alone without companions, left in the dark without your guidance. I seek to do what is right. Please, show me the way on this holy mission-
For the last month, Alfred had kept to the same routine. Every twilight, before the night came and the hunt began, he would kneel and pray before the Shrine to Logarious.
Though the Shrine was dedicated to his dear master, it did not depict him, as his Master would never allow such vanity. Instead, it was the form of the ideal Executioner, standing tall and resolute against the evils of the world, their head covered by the radiant ardeo.
Every day, as the sun began to set, he would pray before it, until the moon fully rose.
He had repeated his verses several times over, and yet the sun still rested upon the horizon, and the only star to shine was the evening Herald. Why was this night different? How many times had he repeated his homemade verse? He dared not pause his prayer, but it seemed that time was not passing as it should.

Dear Master, please show me the path, I am but a man, alone without companions-
There was a commotion in the streets below. Someone's hounds bayed as the voice of a hunter cried out. It was far too soon for the hunt to start. The work of eager, blood drunk citizens no doubt. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
Bestow upon me the strength of my departed brothers and sisters, may their spirits find peace-
Gunshots sounded. Was the holy sanctum of Cathedral Ward now another hunting ground? Perhaps he ought to break prayer early. Surely Master Logarious would forgive him if he cut his prayer short to give aid to-
"Damnit!" A voice cried out. Profanity so near his Master's Holy Shrine? Alfred resolved to not let secular matters concern him so.
Allow me to take on the radiance of my lost comrades, so I may carry out our sacred purpose-
"The Outsider!"
"You are not wanted here!"
"Please, god!"
So I may carry out our sacred purpose-
"This town's finished!" A voice screamed, finally interrupting Alfred's righteous prayer.
"Oh, for heaven's sakes." Alfred whispered, standing up and carefully dusting off his robes. A man couldn't even pray in this damned city anymore. He stepped to the edge of the balcony and peered over the crumbling stone railing at the chaos below.
A trio of hunters-more of a Yharnumite mob of blood drunk citizens then proper Hunters like they should have been- were pursuing a man below. Their clothing hung in disrepair, blood and dirt already spattering their coats. Disgusting, but once he joined the hunt, he would surely end up in a similar state. He made a mental note to bathe in the cleansing waters with the dawn as per usual.
One of their dogs snarled and lunged. The hound was larger than any hunting dog he'd seen. Alfred leaned forward, baffled. He had seen beastly dogs before, but they never survived the night. Their masters, good hunters, always sadly put them to rest before they could turn into the very creatures they hunted. Why had this dog been allowed to go so long? With it's ragged coat, slavering jaws and monstrous proportions?
The answer soon became apparent. The monstrous dogs were not hunting besides men at all. The average Yharnum citizen was never easy on the eyes with their often lopsided features, but these men had warped well past poor breeding. Their hair, matted and filthy, extended past their neck and into the collar of their clothing. Alfred looked down upon them with horrified curiosity. Their limbs extended far past what a human's limits should have been, and they began to corner the outsider.

The outsider himself was still clearly human. His odd leather clothing, his lack of a long cloak, opting for a brown duster instead, his strange wide brimmed hat- there was no way someone so obviously foreign could have been in the hunt long enough to contract the scourge. But that didn't matter to the townsfolk. One of them looked up towards Alfred- perhaps he had gasped in his horror. Their faces, too, had been distended by the scourge, but in their moment of distraction, the foreigner took his chance as the beast snarled and bared filthy yellow teeth at Alfred.

The hunter, the proper and foreign hunter, brought his axe down upon the nearest of his pursuers. It cleaved through the man-beast beautifully and cleanly, and in the same arc the man drove the axe through one of the hounds. Blood sprayed as the man seemed to desperately dance through their confusion and rage. Foot down. Axe to follow. Lean, spin, upper cut, pull the trigger on his pistol, gouge through the flinching hound's side.

He had to be a hunter. But with his hat pulled down and his collar pulled high, Alfred couldn't possibly recognize him, especially as he was not dressed as a Black or White Church Hunter Not that he often fraternized with the church hunters any more. It was still more likely that the foreigner was a church hunter than a stranger caught in the midst of it all. And yet the man hunted alone- or perhaps his partner had abandoned him already. The Church's protocol had been Hunters should hunt in pairs-one of the reasons why Alfred had left. Then, what was this man doing by himself?
Alfred wished to help, but with how the chapel was constructed, by the time he would have retrieved his Kirkhammer and Rifle and excited the chapel, the fight would be over. The man would either be dead, and Alfred would be walking into a pit of beasts, or he would arrive and have done nothing of value. He clutched the railing, anxiously watching.
There was no time between the man's desperate attempt to save himself and the last of the mob's retaliation. He hardly had a moment to breathe before the last huntsman took aim and fired. The hunter flinched back, unintentionally allowing the beastly citizen to strike at him with the butt of his rifle. The citizen surely wasn't human any longer. Alfred had no doubts. No clear headed human would fire a gun just to beat someone with the butt of it. The strange Hunter collected himself, retaliating with a surprisingly graceful if desperate swing of his axe. The rifleman took aim as the blade came down and pulled on the trigger, firing one last shot, before his head dropped to the concrete, shortly joined by the rest of his body.
The stranger pulled out a blood vial, noticeably breathing hard. Alfred should have returned to prayer, now that he knew what had happened, and that Good, True Humanity won over Wicked Beasts, but his interest was piqued. Heavens, the Yharnum mob was turning into beasts now? Well, perhaps he ought to finish his prayers and join the hunt, assuming there were any Hunters left that were still human.
He glanced up at the sky, dismayed to find it still sunset, well, he ought to return to prayer. If he stopped early, something terrible may befall him. Especially on such a strange night.
Where was he? Perhaps he would make a new verse.
Dear Master, please preserve sense and reason on this night...No, that was not right…
Dear Master, please guide my hand...No, that's not right either-
Dear Master-
Footsteps. Strange sounding footsteps, with a hollow wooden heel, almost like a dancer. Well, it seemed fate was conspiring to prevent him from his pious activities. He made no move to rise.
"Anyone here? Well, anyone not fixing to kill me, that is." A voice called. The clicking footsteps came closer.
Alfred rose, turning to see his visitor. As expected, it was the stranger from before. Up close, the man was obviously an outsider to Yharnum. His skin was deeply tanned, his cheeks were dusted with freckles. His wide brimmed, curving hat shielded his honeyed eyes from the weak light of the sunset. His accent was strange, not one that Alfred had heard before, but he had never had any need to leave Yharnum.
The man was splattered with blood. He must have fought through all manner of beasts to reach the chapel, even before his encounter below.
"Howdy there." The man grinned at him with a confidence he would not have expected from a man who he saw practically get mauled. He must not have noticed that Alfred had been watching. He tipped his broad brimmed hat.
"You're a beast hunter aren't you-" Alfred started, only to be interrupted by the stranger. Ah well. Manners were hard to come by, on a night like this.
"Ah, sort of. Got caught in this whole mess. Was just looking for treatment, and ended up. Well, here." The stranger shrugged. 'Who are you?"
"Oh, beg pardon," How rude of him, already bombarding the man with words before introducing himself! No wonder he cut him short!
"You may call me, Alfred. Protege of Master Logarius - Hunter of Vilebloods!" Alfred performed a perfect church bow. Nevermind the fact that an outsider would probably have no idea what the meaning of that was, especially since the man looked confused at the addition of 'Vilebloods'.
Oh dear. This really was an Outsider. He'd have to Educate him later.
"Quincy Jones." Quincy made a move to shake his hand, but after glancing at his own gore soaked glove, decided better of it. Alfred could not help but smile at the gesture.
We will both end up bloodsoaked before this night is over. No sense in trying to keep clean.
"Suppose you can tell I'm not from around here. Hell of a night I've been having, and the suns' not even set yet." The Hunter, no, Quincy removed a glove, once again offering it to him to shake.
"Might as well introduce myself proper. I've ran into precious few humans tonight." Alfred accepted his hand, shaking it firmly. Well, Quincy seemed a decently skilled hunter, as well as polite. Hunting alone was dangerous, and he had been alone for quite some time...
"You seem a competent hunter. Would you perhaps like to cooperate, and discuss what we learn?" Alfred asked. Possibly a bit too forward of him, but after hunting on his own for months, well, he would take anyone who could wield a weapon and shoot a firearm.
He realized he was still holding on to the man's hand, and let go quickly. Had he forgotten his manners in isolation?
Thankfully, Quincy did not seem to mind the intrusion. "Sounds good to me! You look awful strong yourself, and if that handshake was any indication, you have quite the grip."
"Terrific! Good hunting!" Alfred clasped the Hunter's hand again, despite himself. Quincy smiled.
"To the both of us." He added, returning the smile. "Good hunting! To the both of us."

Quincy had been a valuable ally. Together, the two men had slaughtered many a fearsome beast, from the gibbering mobs of transformed Yharnumites to towering monstrosities like the creature that stalked the bridge, and the twisted, starving creature in the depths of the scorched and ruined Old Yharnum.
The Hunter was talented enough to be an Executioner. If their partnership progresses so, perhaps he would let Quincy know his Sacred Mission. Surely the man would understand its importance.
After such a fruitful partnership, Alfred would be a fool to refuse any further requests for aid. Also, he had found himself in a bit of a pickle by the gates of the Forbidden Forest. The locked gate was proving to be a difficult roadblock on the road to Byrgenwerth.
Quincy approached, looking sheepish.
"'Fraid I'm going to have to ask for your help again." Quincy said apologetically, holding his hat in his hands.
"No need to apologize, good Hunter. Hunters work best in pairs." Alfred gazed out over the forest, silently cursing the Church and their damned secrecy. That damned password still eluded him, but he'd get it right. Eventually.
All the knowledge hidden in Byrgenwerth…perhaps he would find what he was looking for.
"Yeah, but it's no beast this time. The woman at the clinic, she's not who I thought she was. She's turning people into monsters." Quincy replaced his hat and leaned on the railing. He seemed a bit tightly wound, but that was to be expected, on such a strange night.
"Into beasts?"
"No, these things are...different. I don't know what she did to the real Iosefka, but she looks just like her, but she's not her. Well, she's sent me packing to the dream a few times. I'd like backup, and time and time again, you've proven to be more than competent."
"You are quite skilled yourself!" Alfred beamed at the compliment.
Both men awkwardly averted eye contact for a moment.
Was that too forward? It's just mere friendliness. That's all.
"By the way, if you need to get through the gate, the Password is 'Fear the Old Blood'." Quincy said, thankfully breaking the silence.
"The Byrgenwerth adage?! Every member of the Healing church knows that phrase from initiation!" Alfred frowned sourly. "I tried the most obscure words and phrases!"
"Did you, now?" Quincy chuckled, a rather pleasant sound.
"Yes! Ancient church scripture, such as 'Un prae us nos honos Sanguine Sanctum, rem praeses!', 'Mater sanguine', even 'benedicite sol'!" Alfred recited each phrase from the heart.
"Were they attempting to find refuge in how obvious the phrase is, so that someone like myself would not be able to enter?" He crossed his arms, frustrated.
"No, I doubt they would have anticipated your level of overthinking." Quincy said, unable to stop smiling.

The sight that greeted the two men when they entered the Clinic was like something out of a nightmare. The moonlight illuminated an eerie scene: Two malformed, blue creatures squatted on the wooden floor, their massive, engorged craniums swaying back and forth. They paid the hunters no mind as they carefully approached. Instinctively, Alfred drew his sword, only for Quincy to grab his arm.
"Don't-they aren't aggressive. They were folks like us not too long ago."
"So were the beasts." Alfred tried to reason. Quincy gripped his arm tighter, his knuckles going white under his gloves.
"No, these aren't beasts. They are somethin' different. Somehow, Iosfeka, or whoever the hell she is, turned 'em into these things. I think she did the same thing to the real doctor."
Reluctantly, Alfred lowered his sword. Quincy let go of his arm, shaking his head. The blue creature gurgled to itself softly, attempting to touch the dust that floated in the window's moonlit beam.
"I told that old fool to head to the chapel, but he called me a liar. Now he's some kind of monster." Quincy sighed. "Well, she's through this door, up the stairs. Watch out, she's got some nasty tricks."
Alfred suspiciously glanced back at the two creatures before following Quincy. The things seemed to have no idea they were even there, content to stare at their own horrific, elongated fingers and the floorboards.
Such things shouldn't exist.
"She's up there." Quincy muttered, as they neared the staircase. "She's got a threaded cane, and this tentacle thing that can grab ya."
"We ought to go slowly, and quietly. With the element of surprise, surely we can overpower her and stop this." Alfred whispered. Quincy nodded, and took a step towards the stairwell-
Creeeeaaaaaak
"Shit." Quincy hissed, taking a quick step back. Alfred groaned at the loud tapping of Quincy's boots as he jumped backwards. There goes the element of surprise, lost to a squeaky floorboard and Quincy's insistence on wearing his strange forigen footwear.
"Hunter...I was sure you'd leave me well enough alone." Iosefka called. The woman confidently strode out from the room, and casually leaned on the stairway railing, taking the two men in. Her white Church Hunter attire made her stand out in the dark room, like a wicked ghost. Her smirk made Quincy step back with a shudder.
"Oh, how lovely, you brought a friend! Oh my, healing church as well. Not someone as illustrious as my own Choir, but my my, certainly a surprise. How wonderful. Of course, you can't possibly be an Executioner. Far too young, and they all died a decade ago." Iosefka rested her head on her palm, her smiling never fading. "Are you a fanatic, or a scavenger that found their attire? Either way, I am excited to have this chance to work on not one, but two hunters."
"Vile wench!" In one fluid motion, Alfred had locked his sword into the head of the Kirkhammer, brandishing the heavy weapon head first at Iosefka. Quincy glanced at him, shocked by the sudden outburst.
"I am a true Executioner, protege of Master Logarius himself!"
"Mm." Iosefka idly studied her nails. "Did you flee the Castle during the siege, or were you left behind, 'Protege'?"
Alfred snarled, Quincy staring in shock to see such rage on his usually friendly companion's features, and charged towards the steps.
"Alfred, no!" Quincy made to snatch the man's cape as it streamed past. Catlike, Iosefka reacted, firing her repeating pistol the moment Alfred began to bring down the Kirkhammer. Quincy winced at the perfect parry.
Surprised at the sudden pain, Alfred flinched. Iosfeka grinned widely, gripping his collar and pulling him close to her, raising her right hand. In the moonlight, it seemed to change. Wicked talons sprouted from gloved fingertips.
Quincy began to rush to Alfred's aid, but it seemed as if time had slowed, just like the unnaturally long night.
Iosefka plunged her twisted hand into Alfred's chest, splattering blood on his robes and her gloves. Her face was twisted in a mask of inhuman glee as she wrenched her claws out of the man's chest in a shower of blood, shoving him back down the stairs. Alfred kept his resolve, refusing to cry out from the pain.
"Ah, what's this? Sainted blood?" She breathed, pupils dilated. She ran her tongue down the bloodied glove obscenely, breathing hard. "Very interesting. I'll have lots of fun studying your corpse. The chance to work on a Hunter is rare, but a Blood Saint..."
"You won't get the chance!" Quincy lept forward, swinging his axe. Iosfeka dodged neatly out of the way, retaliating with a perfect lash of her threaded cane. Quincy fired his revolver, mistiming the shot. Iosefka did not even flinch when the bullet hit her side. She bared her teeth in a deranged smile.
"Oh, Hunter, don't you know? The Blood of the Church's Saints have such lovely effects, and what potent blood this is! I hardly feel pain at all!"
The gunshot wound on her shoulder was already healing. Quincy did some quick calculations. The fight was suddenly in the fake Iosefka's favor, but on Quincy's side, he did hear Alfred unsteadily standing up at the bottom of the stairs. The poor man had fallen the whole way down, after having such a traumatic injury! After the battle, Quincy would certainly share some blood vials, but in the meantime, he took a few steps back, holding his axe in a guarding position.
Iosefka lashed out with her cane, not even bothering to unsheathe the weapon as it slammed against Quincy's jaw. Quincy took advantage of her lack of guard and swung.
The axe hit true, but Iosefka cackled, unbothered by the axe cleaving her side. Quincy's eyes went wide as he saw the wound healing before his eyes, around the blade of his weapon before he yanked it free.
"Now this...this is very powerful blood indeed." Iosefka slowly raised her hand, holding it before Quincy's face.
"Would you like to see a glimpse of the Cosmos, Hunter?" She whispered sweetly. "This trick is called...The Augur of Ebrietas."
Quincy had no time to respond before a mass of slimy-somethings enveloped him in a flash of blue light. Purple stars exploded behind his eyes as he tried to cry out. He staggered back, trying to escape the clawing, squirming arms.
"No!" he heard Alfred shout from below.
The last thing that happened before he felt himself slip back into the Dream was a well timed bullet, and the final swipe of a threaded cane.

Retreating back to Cathedral Ward felt wrong after two victories together, but what was there to do? The fake Iosefka had the advantage, and there were more pressing matters at hand. Besides, he would make her pay for this humiliation, perhaps come morning.
If it ever came.
Quincy stood by the Chapel of Cathedral Ward, looking glum. Despite The Hunter explaining about his connection to "The Dream" and how it would send him back each time he passed in the waking world, Alfred was sure he would never get used to seeing his companion fall, only to rise again somewhere else.
Strange, how did Alfred get to Cathedral Ward? One moment he had been in the clinic, trying to retaliate for Quincy's defeat, the next he had been entering the Chapel. The andrenline must have made him lose focus, that's all. Damn this long night! The unnatural stretching of time was making him lose his wits!
"Well, she sent us packing." Quincy grumbled, kicking a pebble. "That was a real nasty trick she pulled."
"You said you sent an old man there, but there were two creatures. Who was the other one?" Alfred asked. The scent of incense was overpowering, as they stood close to the safety of Oedon Chapel. There was movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over to see small, white arms sprouting from the ground to grab at the abandoned pebble, pulling it into the ground with them.
Just a trick of the light, possibly a hallucination from blood loss. Nothing to concern himself about.
Quincy smiled at Alfred guiltily. "After she sent me back to the dream a few times, I thought I'd hit two bird with one stone. I found a man...feeding on corpses," Quincy shuddered at the memory. The sound of a pebble hitting stone bricks echoed off the walls.
"He was obviously a beast waiting to happen, and had the gall to ask for shelter after I saw what he did. So I sent him to her, hoping that at least one problem would be taken care of."
"Oh, Dear Hunter!" Alfred exclaimed, covering his mouth in surprise. "How very wicked!"
"Well, yeah…" Quincy looked down at his boots. "I'm not proud of it. Well, he's not going to hurt anyone now, at least." he scratched his short beard nervously. It was a thing more like stubble, unlike Alfed's own quite Fashionable and very Reasonable Mutton chops, even if they were getting a bit overgrown. Well, all the barbers in town had surely already turned into beasts, and he had lost his scissors, so there was truly nothing for it.
"Alfred, what did she mean, 'Sainted Blood'?" Quincy asked.
Alfred went silent. He should have seen that question coming.
"You are familiar with Blood Ministration?" He asked, trying to deflect.
"That's how I ended up as a 'hunter', Pal." Quincy leaded on the dirty stone wall casually. "That girl Adella is a Blood Saint, does it have something to do with that?"
"Yes...Yes it does…" Alfred fiddled with the hem of his robe, not meeting Quincy's gaze. Damn that woman! Everything was going so well! How could she tell, it was so long ago!
"You alright? It's not like you to suddenly clam up." Quincy asked, gently touching his shoulder. Despite himself, Alfred could not help but lean in to the touch.
"My good Hunter, must we discuss such things? It's unimportant! What matters, truly, is here and now!" Alfred exclaimed, desperate to escape the line of questioning.
"Alright, alright. I won't ask." Quincy took his hand away, leaving an uncomfortable absence. "I was just curious. Didn't mean to upset you."
"No, no, it is quite alright." Alfred lied. "It is merely, well, I do not wish to speak of it. Let us continue our partnership, and cleanse these foul streets."
"Of course." Quincy said, unsure.
Both men looked down, neither speaking.
A pebble skipped past their boots before two tiny, emaciated arms pulled it back into the earth, a small contented groan sounding. The messenger liked this new game.

-Many years ago-
"That's a whole family dead, all due to your miscalculation, Vicar."
"Not a whole family, the son still lives. We still have a chance for our plan to work."
"This was supposed to be a story of a rich family suddenly afflicted with a hideous disease, only to be fully delivered and cured through the intervention of the Church's Sacred Blood. Now we have only a dying child, and the ire of the people if they find out that we could not save anyone from the dreaded Ashen Blood. Why the hell did you set the poison's dose so high?"
"Never mind that, what's done is done. We will have to lower the dose if we are to do this again. We need the blood to be legitimized."
"What about the boy?"
"Do everything you can to save him. We can still spin this in our favor. Imagine, the orphaned child of a noble household, saved from the scourge! Douse him in blood. Try everything."
"If he lives?"
"The Church gets the family's holdings, and we have living proof of the Blood's power-If he lives, that is."