Balyn didn't understand why they called it a "rifle spear." Usually, hunter weapons seemed to have fairly accurate names. His saw cleaver was a giant cleaver that folded up into a saw. It made perfect sense. And the rifle spear, to give its Powder Keg creators credit, was definitely a spear. A six-foot pole with a spike on the end. Which was, unfortunately, not enough to deter the maddened beast he was facing from charging straight at him.

He pulled the trigger, and the integrated gun pumped a spread of a half-dozen or so shards of blood-laced quicksilver into the beast's vaguely canine muzzle. Balyn's timing was off, though, and instead of staggering the beast he was forced to roll aside as its talons ripped through the space where he'd been standing.

"You see?" he protested aloud. "That was definitely a shotgun blast. So why don't they call it a 'blunderbuss spear' or 'scattergun spear' or something like that? I hear the word 'rifle' and I'm thinking of a single powerful shot with a long, accurate range. Maybe even capable of piercing through multiple targets if they're lined up right. Now that would be a rifle."

The Blood-Starved Beast did not seem impressed by Balyn's complaints over firearms nomenclature. It shook its upper body, half-flayed skin flapping around it like a cloak, then reared up on its hind legs and roared. A wave of greenish-gray ichor, a kind of ashen blood, exploded into the air around it, a toxic atmosphere that splashed against Balyn's skin and clothes, filled his lungs as he tried to breathe. The hunter staggered, choking, overcome by the poison, and the beast lashed out at him, claws ripping through cape, vest, and the leather belts strapped across his chest to bite into the flesh beneath.

The impact of the blow sent him sprawling, wounded, into the base of one of the pillars that had once held up the now-shattered roof of the ruined church. It opened up distance between them, but the beast was on the attack at once, bounding towards Balyn in a savagely cruel parody of a friendly dog coming to greet its master. Foaming spittle and poisonous blood sprayed from its snapping fangs as it reared up over the hunter.

In desperation, Balyn flung his rifle spear up, sending it spinning over the beast's head. The horror spun, eyes tracking the spear's flight and biting out at it, teeth closing on the haft to catch it out of the air.

With the last of his strength, the hunter pushed himself upright as he snatched the saw cleaver from his belt. With all the force he could muster he drove the serrated edge down into the beast's exposed back once, then again. The second strike carved through the creature's spine and it collapsed onto the flagstones with a rattling, guttural shriek. Balyn swayed on his feet as he felt the echoing memories of the beast's blood flow into his spirit, and then even that was too much and he, too collapsed as the last of his vitality was consumed by the poison and the blackness of death swallowed him.

~X X X~

"Welcome home, good hunter."

"Hi, there," Balyn greeted the animated Doll that apparently served as the hostess of the Hunter's Dream. He grinned cheerily at her and swept her a bow, which she politely returned before she spoke again.

"You seem to be in high spirits, good hunter."

"I am! Thanks for noticing."

"This is somewhat unusual. Generally when you awaken here after dying, you are quite displeased, often prone to a raised voice and considerable profane language. May I ask what is different?"

"That Holy Chalice that Gehrman told me about? Well, I found it, and I beat the beast that was guarding it. Oh, it was tough, but I put it down right before the poison got me, and since it doesn't carry the Hunter's Mark, it's not going to be coming back. And I did it on the first try, without having to have my head bitten off or guts torn open a half-dozen times first."

"That does sound impressive, good hunter. How did you do it?"

"Well, I'd been distracting it with pungent blood cocktails. It'd get one whiff of one and be after it in a flash, letting me get in a couple of clean shots. But I'd run out, and it had me exactly where it wanted me. Only at the last second I flung my rifle spear—which is still a lousy name—and it went chasing that, giving me the opening I needed to finish it off."

"But how did you know it would chase your spear? It surely had no special bloodsmell to act as a distraction."

"Yeah, but…it's not all that hard to get a giant dog to fetch a stick."

~X X X~

A/N: Balyn's victory over the Blood-Starved Beast is actually reminiscent of my very first time fighting it. At the end, I had zero blood vials and zero antidotes left, and the poison ticked off the last of my health while "PREY SLAUGHTERED" was still on the screen.