The hunter in hell

With a swift cleave, Gehrman, first of the hunters separated the hunters head from her body. The pain hardly registered.

Finally, Yharnam greatest and last hunter awoke to a new dawn. And how beautiful it was! She had forgotten what the sun was. Or had she ever even known? There was no memory before the dream and soon, there would be no more memory at all.

The hunter walked the empty streets, until she found a spire that suited her. Once she sat atop the tower she looked directly at the sun, following its path with her eyes. It was the only movement she made, as she waited.

And so, the Hunter died after the seventh day from dehydration, a satisfied smile on her lips as the midday sun watched over her.

Even when I blink, I do not stop seeing. So, I could tell for certain that in the moment I died, I also awoke elsewhere. No, maybe half a moment later. Only someone as experienced as dying could even perceive a window this small, and it felt like I was falling during it.

Yet I could not delude myself with the belief that the tower I had been standing on collapsed during my last moments: My senses, honed and altered far beyond what mankind was capable off instantly perceived my new location. I seemed to be in an alleyway, covered in trash. I tasted the air. Most prominently the smell of waste and rot, chemicals, the like you would find in the laboratory of a natural philosopher, smoke, from opium dens and fires. The former meant I found myself no longer in Yharnam.

It seemed that godly ichor, however, diluted, would make mortal drugs pale in comparison. Opioids were only ever consumed with blood, the later overpowering the poppy extract.

Blood too I could taste in the air. And what blood it was. Mortal stuff, somehow infused with a greater immortality. Yet before I could investigate the scent, I felt the changes creep up on me, I willed them not to be so. Mine was a body forged in an endless hunt, countless echoes strengthening my once sickly spirit. If I could resist beasthood, then I damned well would resist whatever force sought to change me now.

I watched as my thin fingers resettled into their usual, spindly shape, the leather of my gloves no longer stretching from the tumorous growths within. To maintain my form, I needed to visualize my entire being constantly, proclaiming my truth into my flesh. Each contour of my lithe frame, each tip of my billowing white hair I kept in a long ponytail to even the slightly diffused edges of my iris.

This awareness alone would have been impossible for a mortal mind, lacking eyes with which to see inside. The constant attention too, was something a hunter like me could overcome. For it paled to the unrelenting discipline one needed to resist the call beyond.

Nonetheless, I must have spent a few hours in this alley focusing, until I believed myself ready for battle again. During my struggle I gained the insight that whatever was causing these alterations was inherent to this plane. Had I found myself within another Nightmare?

…Did I care?

Death within a dream was impossible, yet neither could I die when awake, as recent experience proved. Then had the Gods punished me for slaying their kin, like they had the old hunters? I certainly deserved punishment; a fate more terrible than a stinking street. As I looked at a heap of empty bottles, I felt this was rather inadequate. It added to the dissatisfaction in my heart, caused by the knowledge that if the great ones truly had conferred such a lot upon me, I would be beyond the judgement of my fellow man. They too had earned a right to recompense, as impossible as it was for a vicious killer like me to compensate for crimes that could not be compensated for in the first place.

Before I could decide on a course of action, now that proper death was stolen from me, the choice was mercifully taken from me: A lycanthrope had stumbled into the dimly lit street. Later, my mind might have provided justification; There was a beast before me, recently turned by the few pieces of clothing it still wore. It, he, was clutching its head, moans indicating its pain leaving its muzzle. It would have been my duty to put it out of its misery, to grant liberation from its pain and to protect the unturned from its bloodlust.

Yet it was not duty, empathy or protectiveness that moved my hand. I acted on a simpler, deeper truth when my hand pierced its ribcage: A hunter must hunt, and a beast had appeared.

Nothing else mattered, not its death scream that still contained words (though impolite ones, the beast must have been a dockworker before its transformation) nor the furious beating the heart I clutched in my hand. I had ripped out the organ, and as I had done so, hissing, warm, glorious blood had splattered over me. Some drops had landed on my face. As I had acted on instinct, I hadn't pulled up my scarf, the smell overcoming my mind without obstruction. The lively vigour was simply irresistible, my tongue lapping over my thin lips slurping up the blood, my will crushed by inviolable desire.

And what blood it was! Moments after I tasted the ichor, I brought the still papillating heart to my mouth to squeeze it like a pomegranate, greedily gulping up the blood. How different it was from the flavours I knew! Mortal stuff, not infused but still transformed into a timeless substance. Not by touching Greatness, but by bringing forth something inherent. It did not carry echos but was an echo in full. Had I been still of sound mind, I might have realized that I was slurping up the creature's immortal soul.

But I was not, could not, for the hunt had begun anew. A hunter was not to hesitate, could not afford it when out on the hunt. Distractions were death, and so it came as no surprise that I did not even glance at the corpse I had created, completely absorbed by the sight beyond the ally. Before me was an entire street full of prey. Some were lycanthropes, others red of skin and horned, others still had other shapes some entirely unique such as the fourhanded slug at one of the intersections.

It mattered not. Neither did I care that I was missing my weapons, a thought that only faintly registered. They were a hunter's tools, nothing more.

I hunted without them.

I do not know how long my hunt lasted. The sky was an unchanging crimson, as red as the haze that surrounded my mind. Nonetheless, the toll of a bell pierced through the fog. Had the hunt ended? Most streets were still overflowing with beasts, though they fled at my approach. Infuriating. Worse was that they reclaimed territory I left, preventing me from truly clearing the city. Frankly, I struggled to keep the district I had appeared in empty.

As I walked the empty streets, I reconsidered if I had made the right choice without blood clouding my mind. I had wished to create a beast-free haven for human survivors to gather, though this seemed a foolish hope now that my high was no longer feeding my delusions. There seemed to be no humans left, as even initially normal-looking people had antlers or piranha teeth.

A readjustment in strategy was in order, and the glowing portals that had suddenly opened seemed like a good place to begin.

Once, I had crept through the evening streets of Yharnahm in fear, killing the occasional beast from ambush. Despite the power I had gained since then, stealth remained an essential skill in my arsenal. There were certain creatures out there, Winter Lanterns foremost amongst them, that could break the mind with a simple stare. Avoiding roaming eyes was but a simple matter for a hunter such as I. Even eyes as frantic as the beasts', who seemed to have entered a state of higher alertness when the tears in reality appeared.

Their panic seemed to overwrite the usual intelligence that gleamed within. Their intelligence… they were not simple creatures, often employing complicated tactics with specific timings. Far more complex and demanding than the simple ambushes I had grown used to from Yharnahm. I felt close to a terrible revelation. After the twenty-second time or so you develop an instinct for that sort of thing.

For now, I emptied my mind. I had to focus on the task at hand, especially since winged creatures had emerged from the portal. That set the grounded beasts of, most running in every which direction, while the rest ineffectually tried to hide or broke down in shivers. It was how I imagined humans to react…
No matter, their behaviour was similar to how most beasts had reacted in the most recent of my bloodstained memories.

Were the winged beings hunters? I watched as they went into a dive, impaling beasts with spears and sword. Not quite hunter tools, but their movements were similarly aggressive. They attacked quickly, unafraid of injury like a good hunter should, fearlessly going for the kill.

As I got closer to a fairly isolated squad that was exterminating some cornered creatures, I started feeling more confident in my theory. Besides the wings they showed no signs of beasthood. What I had initially believed to be their faces seemed to be flat masks in truth, their horns artificial. Having broken hundreds of the later during my recent hunt I was confident that they were decorations made of the same substance as the masks.

Yet, this was all my inhumanly keen eyes could gleam from the recent arrivals. Annoying. A moment later my frustration disappeared, replaced by a realization accompanied by a dark chuckle. If they were truly hunters, still in possession of their minds, I could simply ask. As the hunt had carried on, opportunities for conversation had all but disappeared. A state of affairs I was responsible for, guilt whispered.

Ignoring the familiar feeling, I focused on the task at hand. I grabbed a steel beam that was poking out of the rubble I was hiding behind. Just by gripping it tightly the metal deformed, and breaking of a few pieces of was no more difficult than snapping a twig.

My arms blurred as I compendiously threw my improvised spears, killing two scores of fleeing beasts within moments. Normally I wouldn't interfere with someone else's hunt, but I couldn't well ask someone to engage in conversation when hostiles were still present.

It took a disappointingly long time until they found me, despite me leaving cover. At least that meant I had enough time to remember my forgotten courtesies. I pulled off my hunter's cap to reveal my human features, giving a hunter's bow.

"Are you hunters/a sinner?" We asked at the same time. I was confused by her question, electing not to answer before I got a response to my own query.

As I waited, I did so in total stillness. Not the stillness mortals assumed, with breath and the tiniest of nerve twitches – but rather true stasticity. I feared that even the tiniest reaction might break the tension and cause them to attack.

After a few tense moments, one of them finally answered. I was glad of "You could say that. What is it to you?"

She seemed nervous, all of them instinctually moving closer together. Seeking protection in the pack?

"I too, am a hunter. I seem to have fallen into this plane after my deat-"

"Then you too are a sinner." One of them triumphantly interrupted: "You and the rest of your miserable kind brought this upon yourself, making the choices that brought you here! All you humans using your free will to land yourself in Hell. Even here you get to keep that poison despite your body distorting to reveal your true forms! After all, it was your yourself that brought this upon you! You and the rest of the sinner-"

I missed the rest of her rant (something about a Lucifer?), the enormity of that revelation bringing me to my knees. They, the beasts I killed, had been in possession of their mind. Terrible indeed. I looked down on my blood-soaked gloves. "I didn't know, I didn't-" my voice was breaking. I cried out in agony: "I must killed thousands of them, hundreds of thousands…"

"Then thank you for making our job that much easier!" Their masks flickered, their grins growing even wider, their earlier nervousness forgotten. "It won't safe you from our blade though."

And with that, they attacked. They seemed certain that they would kill me, permanently, and in truth I would have welcomed that release. With no hunt I had no duty for which I needed to cling to life, eternal rest beckoning oh so sweetly.

And yet. If I accepted this death, it would have meant that I was vanquished in combat. The last student of Gehrman, the last living hunter of Yharnam, the one who had laid the Old Hunters to rest… defeated. I didn't care for my honour, my actions having long since banished whatever scraps I had left. But the honour of those whose legacies I carried? Whose Echos I had imbibed?

Had I not proven myself the stronger, they would not have fallen to my blade. How then could I fall to the weaker? Doing so would disrespect their struggle, disrespect the victories they won, disrespect their strength. My personal wish was nothing compared to this. How could I fall in battle when I hadn't fallen to them?

As the silver spear neared my sternum, I deflected with one of the weapons I had scavaged. The sinner, the fully aware human soul, had used it as a sword. In my hands, it looked more like a dagger, but it would be enough to protect myself.

Or at least it should have been. My enemies spear cleaved trough the dagger like butter!

Still. I was a hunter that had killed Gods. My other hand came up even as I dropped low, the force of my blow more than sufficient to shatter even proper armour, never mind the cloth tunic my adversaries were wearing.

It came as a surprise then when my blow did apparently nothing at all, besides killing my opponent's inertia. Fine then. If one blow was insufficient, I would hit her a hundred times. If that was insufficient, I would hit her a thousand times. It would hardly be the first time I encountered an enemy of such vitality.

Gripping her by her arm, I slammed her into the ground with enough force to crack the street. Once, twice, thrice I kicked her with all my strength, burring her almost half a meter deep.

By now, the other 'hunters' had gotten of their ass. They had stood back to let the talkative one kill me alone, and were seemingly to shocked by her failure to react until now. Two of them charged me at the same time, angeling their approach to swoop at me from opposite sides. The last one remained in the air, firing arrows at me.

Their coordination though, was pathetically bad. While the bowman at least didn't hit her fellows, it was childsplay for me to doge at the right time. I had hoped they would crash against one another, getting stuck in a tangle of limbs. But my expectations were exceeded: The spear of one of them cleaved a gold bleeding furrow through the side of the other.

Ah, so that was the trick. Blindingly fast I picked up the spear of the buried one, launching it at the bowman. I wouldn't allow a runner.

The other weren't even quick enough to react to the death of their comrade before I was upon them. For satisfaction's sake, I hammered both of them into the ground, pinning them with their own weapons. The last one, who still hadn't managed to free herself from the rubble, I stabbed through the throat with one of the arrows.

These self-professed hunters were not such, and I wouldn't allow them the honour of sky burial.

As I stood over the four fresh corpses, I didn't know what to do. Should, could, I kill myself now? My mind seemed unable to form coherent thoughts, unable to even plan action. I only felt that I could not face the world right now. Slowly, I trudged into the darkness of the nearest building. Well, the nearest that had a roof at least.

Moxxy screamed like a banshee, which honestly wasn't that unusual. Had he stepped on some leftover pins? Blitz thought he had removed all of them after pranking Moxxie that one time. He worried that his fat ass might accidentally spread them on the floor instead of sitting on them like he should. And his Loony had sensitive footpads, and the floor carpeting was a bitch to clean out.

Which made it worse when the entire rest of I.M.P dropped their coffee, when they saw what Moxxie did. There, on of their worse office chair slumped the dread of the district. The very reason they hadn't been able to work out their office for ages, the reason they had basically become street peddlers, the monster no one had seen since the Extermination. The extermination even the sinners had celebrated this time, because everyone assumed that the Angels had gotten rid of it.

At least she didn't seem to notice them, staring vacantly in the air.

That was until she suddenly sniffed the air, her attention upon them. Or specifically Blitz, as she stared upon him with pinpoint accuracy and eyes that saw too much.

"Why do you carry the scent of the moon? You must tell me." Her voice was surprisingly normal, like that of any young human female, only with a rolling accent he had never heard before.

"Are you making threats lady?" asked Blitz. If he was going down it wasn't as a coward.

"I apologize, but I insist." The creature pulled herself from the chair to loom over even Loony. By almost six heads. At least she hadn't closed the distance.

Fuck my life, he thought as he was staring down the motherfucking grim Reaper that had just appeared in his office. Business hasn't been going well partially because of the aforementioned Reaper, who had decided to turn the entire district into her personal butchery. And wasn't she a surprise: that she was a her in the 1st place was merely speculation by Katie Killjoy and her studio. Nobody had seen then the new overlord, only ever hearing occasional roars. Vox Network only had ever captured glimpses, an overcoat fluttering in a few frames, nothing more. That there had not been a single eyewitness boded fairly badly for his chances.

Maybe if he let Moxxie take the heat he could escape with Luna out of the window. Milli could guard her husband where he got his shot - and then they would both be buried in the same coffin. Fuck.

But hey, at least that way he wouldn't have to pay life insurance to the family. No, never mind, Millie had her Higgs family back in wrath. He wouldn't even get to dodge out on paying their final salary. Double fuck.

"What is it to you? Can't a man smell like he wants in his own office that you invaded? In the first place, you're way too ugly for me to allow you to go around sniffing me."
And wasn't the fact that hell's newest brutalest (he had dropped out of college) was a hottie a surprise? She looked like one of these flesh bags upstairs, only actually dangerous. Something was off about her, but it certainly wasn't her tits. Not that the rest of her was flawed in any way. In fact, it was disconcerting how little mortal imperfection seemed to be present in her. Her face, the only exposed skin she showed, was entirely symmetrical and entirely without scars. Almost porcelain-like in appearance, created by someone who thought of dolls when thinking of humans. For an Imp, a species where each scar healed over in white, visibly contrasting from their red skin, this pore-less facade was extra eerie.

"I am sorry, for both intrusions. I simply cannot help but notice. Even where I to breathe through my mouth, I would still taste the scent on my tongue." The creature seemed genuinely apologetic, but seemingly still couldn't be bothered to actually fake an expression on its creepy ass face.

"Yet my query remains unanswered. Please, I truly must insist."

"What? You're gonna murder us like the rest of this district if we don't?" Blitz and his big fucking mouth. "Well bitch, you won't find us easy picki-"

The woman, overlord, whatever queen killer murder hobos liked to call themselves, interrupted: "Certainly not, good sir. It is to my eternal regret that circumstances and my own failings have given me such a deserved reputation once again. Please be assured that I mean you no harm." Her voice trembled in the middle, though her face remained the same blank unemotive mask. "I think it's best for both of us if you were to share how you acquired this queer scent. If you do, I shall exit your establishment at once."

As Blitzo tried to phrase some of her fancy ass words, Moxxie whispered in his ear: "She's saying that she won't leave our office until we tell her."

"Again, I apologize. But I simply cannot in good conscience leave you be. It is for your own good." Fucking creepy how good her hearing was, but not even on the list off top five weirdest things about her. Far higher on the list, was the fact that she had stopped breathing since "smelling" him. Or even moving in any way at all since standing up.

Still, he had quite enough of telling people what was good for him. He wouldn't take the good, easy option of becoming Stolas's fuck toy nor would an independent imp like him be intimidated by a new overlord into g…

You know what? Fuck it. He was out of options.

He could get hurt - a memory flashed through his mind, tail feathers on the carrier. Stolas might be better equipped for dealing with this monster, but he wasn't invulnerable. But fuck what was he supposed to do? Not tell the creepy mass murderer where Stolas was hiding out? Bitch could probably sniff it out anyway. (Never mind the fact that adopting a hellhound for a daughter had dispelled most of his superstitions about the mythical super noses. Loona couldn't track shit out in city, the smells overpowering each other)

"Do you also happen to smell owl feathers and day-old imp jizz?" It was a rhetorical question, but a monster in his office answered anyway.

"There's also a stronger scent of Starlight and foreign suns."

"What does Starlight even smell like," asked Loona absently.

"Old, glimmering and pure."

Nobody really knew what to do with this information, but after a second Blitzo got back into his groove: "You're probably smelling Stolas, the owl I am fucking. He has a stick about whole stellar movement and cosmic prophecy shit."

"Boss!" Moxie angrily but still quietly hissed. What was Blitz supposed to do, let the super mega killer (coming from a super killer this was quite a compliment, but one had to acknowledge the harsh realities in the assassin business) gain interest in his daughter? What if the bitch tried to teach her to 'smell starlight'.

"Please tell me how I can get to him immediately. Far more than his life might be in danger."

No surprises there, after all, he was sending one of the top butchers of hell in his direction. The Butcher, in fact, the one who gained the title within a measly two weeks. The old claimant was outperformed within the first two days.

"Loona, get a map from the file cabinet." In the moment he didn't even care the compromising pictures of her that she might see. And he couldn't afford to turn his back on the creature in his office. Distantly, he's aware that hundreds, no thousands, of Imps must have had a similar thought.

As soon as this beautiful baby girl pushed the map into his hands, he pulled out a crayon and frantically started marking a path. At the same time, he kept his dominant eye on danger tits, while the other one was still looking at the map. An old circus trick.

He threw the finished product at her, and she plucked it out of the air as one would grab a familiar bottle from the shelf. The way she moved… it gave Blitz's lizard brain shivers, and considering most of his brain was mostly a lizard's brain that said quite a lot.

"Thank you." She bowed, finally taking her eyes of them. Eyes that seemed to see to much.

"Sir, at least you should call His Majesty, if nothing else!" Moxie demanded the moment the monster had left. For once, their poor wall was intact as she had simply opened a window. "He might really need the warning this time," added Millie.

"And tell him we sent her to his house because we were too afraid to keep our mouths shut?" He practically screamed at them. "Wasn't us who told her where to find His Highness," mumbled Millie, but she was quiet enough that Blitz could just ignore her.

"Sir, that doesn't change the fact that he still needs to know-"

"You don't get it Moxxie! His royal horniness wants to be raw dogged by a badass peasant, not some pussyshit that sells him out to protect himself!"

There was silence at that, but before anybody could say anything else, especially anything pitying or snarky, Blitz continued: "If we tell him we are probably gonna lose the grimoire."

That would hopefully be the end of this discussion. This was hell after all, where self-interest reigned supreme. And they were demons.

I traversed the map the man had provided me with (and wasn't it an embarrassment that I had forgotten my manners so much that I had not even asked his name) without much difficulty. It seemed cheap, despite the quality of it's paper, with the red crayon the helpful citizen (erring on caution, I deemed demon an offensive term) had this instructions with, smudging the ink. Still, for someone who had navigated Pultherian catacombs, it wasn't a hard task to find my way to the mansion. And what a mansion it was! Almost castle-like in appearance, it was far more colourful than anything I had ever seen in Yharnahm.

I wish I had a house like that. A moment later I was frozen to the spot. I wanted something other than release? How passing strange.

I knew not how long I was contemplating this strangeness, that I had a desire unrelated to the blood or the hunt. Even when I had gazed upon the sun, it was not only warmth I felt but also relief form the knowledge that the hunt had ended.

"Hey you. You are blocking my gate."

A voice saved me from my spiral, bring me back to the present. Oh, how Gehrman would have scolded me for loosing focus like this! It was an anthropomorphic owl(?) who had snuck up upon me; she looked like a young woman. Then again, the scourge had granted beasts far stranger appendages than a pair of mammillae.

And then there was herhis smell… That of stars and fire but not quite either, mixed with avian musk. Faintly, there were also traces of the moon. Bowing in the hunter's way, I spoke: "I apologize, you found me in a moment of deep thought. Am I speaking to Sir Stolas?"

"Prince Stolas is my dad." He she corrected.

She sounded bored, though I seemed to detect the faintest hint of curiosity beneath. Well, her snappishness' was quite deserved. Could the little red one not have told me that I was meeting royalty?

I dropped to my knees, stretching out my right arm, my left on my heart, and bowed: "I apologise profusely your Highness, I was unaware of your Prince father's rank."

"What kind of bow is that?" She asked and I chanced a look. She appeared confused which I saw as a good sign. Royalty was a prickly lot, and this was probably better than the alternatives.

"This is the gesture with which Cainhurst knights show their submission to their queen. It is the only curtesy I know appropriate for royalty, your Highness."

"It looks pretty dumb, don't you think?" she stated bluntly.

Unbeholden, a soft chuckle escaped my lips. "The Vilebloods valued appearance and elegance above all else. Foreign royalty dismissing their practices… a tragedy that Queen Annalise's face remains locked beneath its iron cage."

A grin broke out on the princess' face, and I reflected if I had ever brought a simple smile to another. Not since Alfred and Iosefka at least, and theirs had always been tinged by mania, a front for worse things.

"So, you are not a knight then?"

"I… in a moment of stark loneliness I swore myself to the Queen. Technically, I am the last knight of her court, though I never fulfilled my oath."

"Which was?" She looked expectant, and as unhappy as I was with this line of inquiry it was better than dwelling on even more painful betrayals.

"I was to bring her blood dregs, harvested from the few Hunters still sane." I sighed. "I could not harm my compatriots in such a way, even for a companion death could not separate."

Maybe she noticed the pain in my voice, kindly focusing on another tit-bit. Or maybe she simply had detected a larger piece of the puzzle that was the stranger appearing before her home. She looked at me like a scholar of Bergenwyrth or choir would look at a mystery, though there was still humanity in her pink pupils, which did much to calm me.

"So, you were a Hunter first, lady knight? Wouldn't have taken you for a woodsman, especially with all that blood on you."

Her voice was unafraid, which laid to rest any hopes I had of her simply misinterpreting the dark strains on my garb. It was a bit surprising, her non-reaction, but frankly I was happy about it. Maybe she realised that I meant her no harm, or anybody else for that matter?

"I am a hunter of beasts, that which threatens mankind." At her suddenly closed off expression I belatedly corrected: "Those sound of mind I mean. From what I have seen, the residents of Hell are no different from humanity."

There was that smile again, elation once again nesting in my chest and chasing away the last whisps of my past regrets.
"Oh wow. Luckily, I can see my mother's face just fine. Shame she didn't bring me today."

Well, if she was in a good mood… How to pick up fair maidens recommended making requests at such a time.

"It is indeed so, your Highness. And I might need to insist on meeting her face to face anyway, though for darker reasons. At least if she has the same scent as yourself."

I was surprised by the deep, terrible groan coming from her beak. I almost feared her injured, if not for her next words: "Of course. I should known better than to think that there is a single sinner in Hell who isn't a pervert. Stop smelling me, stop asking me for sex with me or mom and Stop. Blocking. My. Fucking. Gate." (AN4)

"A what now?" I stumbled out, taken aback by her sudden anger. Luckily, my confusion seemed to take away some of her anger, and I used the chance to hastily clarify: "Your highness I apologise profusely. My senses are too sharp for me not to smell when breathing, and I will of course vacate the premises as soon as possible, and I mean no harm, I was just trying to find out why you smelled of the moon and make sure that the dream had not returned or claimed another-"

I was mumbling, I realised. The first positive connection I had made (in what must have been subjective years) turning suddenly sour had left me fumbling for words. Taking a deep breath, I collected myself and started from the beginning: "A few minutes ago I came across one of the red and white skinned citizens with a heart tattoo on his forehead and black and white horns. He was carrying the scent of the moon, though only because it had rubbed off of him, I think. As a formerly moon-scented hunter I felt compelled to find whoever was suffering under the moons yoke and offer whatever aid I can."

There. Simple, and without mentioning my faint hope that master Gehrman was here too or the name of the Being that caused the scent. I thought it best to not invoke Their names, to avoid unwanted attention.

"And I, what, smell of the moon?" The princess's early anger seemed gone, replaced by worry and suspicion. More of the latter, admittedly, but I still felt guilty. It was worry I had brought to her doorstep, but maybe, just maybe I could lift it again. Already, I was missing her smile.

"Faintly, yes. Your Highness mostly smells of star fire(?)." I breathed in deeply. "It's quite the wonderous scent in truth." Her odour made me heady, as I focused on parsing it in detail. "The moon clings to you, but in a lesser way. I think… I think it is intrinsic, but not fully realised?" I sought to sparse it with my knowledge, with my insight. "Not yet inherited, maybe?"

That seemingly was were all the wrong things to say. Her face contorted in anger that was no match for her earlier fury. Oh no! I had forgotten her earlier command not to smell her anymore. Before I could apologise for yet another violation, she demanded, her accent thick: "You will tell me right this instant how you know that name. Is this some plan you and the red dickhead came up with? Some kind of scam?"

"What name?" the fear in my voice obvious. No, no, no. Why did I only ever make things worse?! "Please, I am not trying to gain anything-" I begged, but it was hopeless. The princess answered with a screech, purple flames erupting from her fingertips.

Danger. My body acted on instinct, dodging the fire with ease, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. Only moments before my hand pierced her ribcage did I manage to stop myself.

"I am sorry. I am so sorry." I dropped to my knees, lowering my head, my desperation. "I didn't mean to attack you, I just reacted on instinct and-"

"Stop it. You are obviously too pathetic and insane to plan some complicated mysticism bullshit scam."

That was good? I jumped back ten feet, to stand in front of the gate once again. Her expression was unreadable, though the flames flickering on her fingertips had disappeared.

I was afraid of saying the wrong thing again, but she just looked at me in silence. It stretched on. This was a singularly unpleasant experience. And I had been devoured alive more than once. In that moment, I wished to return to their stomachs, as long as I could escape these judging pink eyes.

"Ah Octavia, there you are. I have been waiting for you, my owlet." A happy voice called out from behind me. Now I really really hoped that the moon scent was not connected to the Hunters Dream, not least at all because Master Gehrman would probably kill me again for allowing two people to sneak up on me on the same day.
"And I take it we have a guest?"

AN: I am sorry for sounding like an edgy emo kid in the hunter pov when talking about blood, but you have to understand that the woman is desperately addicted to it + a Yharnamit, if only because her only memories are form this city. She, has adopted and adjusted to its culture, holding their beliefs, adopted to the knowledge she gained.

AN: did anybody notice that blitz sold 8 stole us before really thinking about the danger present to his daughter. He isn't an irredeemable bastard, but he is a fucking bastard still. There's been very little character development on his path at the time of writing (season 2 episode 7)

AN: Unlike my other fics I don't really have a plan for this one, but I just really wanted to read a good helluva boss/hazbin/bloodborne crossover. We will see where the muse takes me. Comments (negative ones to) would be ample sacrifice and help motivate me and help give some inspiration.

AN4: Sry if that appeared to come out of left field, but I asked myself: How would a resident of hell react to someone commenting on their scent