FATE/Blood
Fate/Stay Night x Bloodborne Crossover.
Some replies to some reviews:
Apparently someone did not read the first chapter… they asked why Shirou knows Kanshou and Bakuya, if you remember he witnessed Lancer AND Archer fighting. Archer had one of the 2 swords, but because of their history he filled in the gap, as to why he doesn't exit Yarharm? He can't, the city is blocked and it's the night of the hunt. He also had to find a way back to his own world and was told he may be able to find it here.
Also Shirou doesn't NEED to synchronize with Archer cause he can also SEE the history of the blades. True it would be dangerous but he now can take the risk due to his ability to "dream" or rather being connected to "the dream".
Before posting reviews PLEASE make sure to read.
Chapter 4: The Trials of Redemption: Light Amidst the Darkness
Salvation demands a price. What you wish to save and what you can save are often as different as night and day.
In the land of Yharnam, where blood runs like rivers, there is no room for hope, valor, piety, or faith. All is crushed beneath the weight of this longest night of the hunt.
Shirou continued to explore the city, hearing now and again the faint, haunting cries of a baby. Instinct urged him to seek it out, to find and rescue it. Yet his feet hesitated, and he took an involuntary step back.
The cry was no ordinary baby's wail. His sixth sense warned him—there was something profoundly wrong about it. Something is off... he thought, even as the human part of him fought to move forward.
But his body refused to obey, locking him in place. He clenched his teeth, muscles trembling, but then relaxed.
He understood why.
The enemies were growing stronger. He had stopped going back to the Hunter's Dream, and though his technique and tactics had sharpened, his physical strength and arcane capacity had not. His makeshift methods—using his nerves as pseudo-pathways for magical energy—were unsustainable and dangerous. He had nearly died more than once attempting to push beyond his limits.
"I need help." He sighed, feeling the weight of his own limitations. There was no one here who knew of magecraft, no one to guide him in the way of magic. But he had to try something.
Spotting one of the special lamps, Shirou approached it, and the messengers emerged from the ground. Their small, gnarled hands reached out toward him.
"You wouldn't happen to have any books on... beginner's magecraft, would you?" he asked, feeling foolish even as he spoke.
To his surprise, they produced a strange book. Its title was written in English, but his time with Taiga had forced him to master the language.
"Something to thank her for when I get back," he mused, a small smile on his lips as he took the book. But the messengers gestured for payment in blood echoes.
He nodded. "Fair enough," he muttered, handing over the echoes. It was costly, but the potential boon made it worthwhile.
Sitting by the lamppost, Shirou opened the book and began to read. It contained information he wasn't privy to before, shedding light on the basics of magecraft—specifically, on the structure of magic circuits. The author discouraged the use of nerves as pseudo-pathways, calling it "the height of stupidity" and noting, "there are easier ways to kill oneself if death is the goal."
He couldn't help but feel a little grumpy. Even in another world, people were calling him an idiot. But the author was right, and Shirou had no retort.
The book detailed how to properly awaken one's magic circuits, using potions or alchemical reactions to ease the process. But Shirou opted for the quick and dirty way, relying on his experience with pseudo-circuits.
He would do it alone, without any safety nets.
He was wrong—very wrong.
"AAAAAAH!" Shirou screamed, the sound echoing through the deserted streets of Yharnam. Creatures nearby turned at the noise but quickly lost interest.
It was not just physical pain. It tore at him from the inside, like fire and lightning coursing through his veins, burning and freezing at the same time. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.
"I won't make it…" He gritted his teeth, then forced his hand to stab a blood vial into his thigh, the red liquid seeping into his veins, keeping him conscious. He felt his life being drained away as his circuits opened one by one.
Slowly, agonizingly, the pain dulled. His body no longer felt like it was being torn apart. The circuits were open, the energy flowing through them much more efficiently. Where his pseudo-circuits could manage a trickle, his real circuits could now generate ten times more.
He gasped, his entire body trembling, drained from the process. He needed rest. Leaning on the lamppost, he activated it, letting the familiar warmth of the light envelop him as he returned to the Hunter's Dream.
Shirou emerged from the mist, stumbling slightly as he entered the quiet garden. The Doll approached, her serene expression softening at the sight of his weariness.
"Welcome back, good hunter. Do you require my services?" she asked.
He nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes. Please enhance my reflexes, arcane, and strength."
She extended her hand, her gaze gentle and unwavering. "Listen for the sound of the blood," she instructed, "and will it to do as you wish."
Shirou grasped her hand, feeling the power of the blood within him, guiding it, willing it to change. His circuits, once rusty and clogged, now felt clean—pristine, with prana flowing smoothly and abundantly.
When the process was complete, he let go of her hand, breathing heavily. "Thank you," he said earnestly.
The Doll bowed her head. "It is no problem, good hunter. It is my duty to assist you."
A pang of sadness struck Shirou. Her warmth was more real than the cold indifference of Yharnam, yet she was bound here, alone, to serve hunters like him. He turned away, suppressing the unease in his chest, and made his way to the old workshop, where Gehrman was waiting in his chair.
"Oh? Still kicking, kid?" Gehrman greeted with a wry grin. "What do you need?"
"I need to learn how to fight better," Shirou said, standing before the old hunter. "My way of fighting has gotten me this far, but it won't be enough. I lack the fundamentals of being a hunter. I think you might have some wisdom to share."
Gehrman coughed, the sound harsh and grating, then broke into laughter. "You think this old fossil has anything left to teach?" He eyed Shirou, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes.
"If you had nothing left, why haven't you hung up your weapon yet?" Shirou countered.
Gehrman paused, then chuckled, shaking his head. "There might be something. An old technique we hunters used. Nowadays, people use a crude imitation—a crutch, if you will. But I could show you the original. We called it the Art of Quickening."
He rose from his chair, leaning heavily on a threaded cane. "It puts a lot of strain on the body," he warned, "which is why the newer hunters opted for the easier version. But my way is better—more distance, more effect."
They made their way to the field. Gehrman motioned for Shirou to ready his weapon.
"Come at me," he said, his voice carrying an edge of authority. "Attack with intent to kill."
Shirou readied his saw cleaver, rushing forward with all his strength. He swung, putting every ounce of his power into the strike.
But his blade found nothing but mist. The very air seemed to warp in his wake, and before he could react, he felt the cold touch of Gehrman's cane against his neck.
There had been no movement, no displacement, just silence—and then Gehrman materialized from nowhere.
Gehrman had another coughing fit, and Shirou rushed to support him, helping him back to his chair.
"Thank you, lad," Gehrman said, his voice rasping. "It's not easy to learn. You might be better off with the bastardized version—using hunter tools to emulate it. But if you insist..."
Shirou nodded, determination in his eyes. He traced the threaded cane, the weapon forming in his hand, its shape familiar and its power resonating within him. He moved, attempting the quickening technique.
For an instant, he succeeded, the world blurring around him. But pain shot through his body, his muscles screaming in protest, and he stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet.
Gehrman watched, a mixture of surprise and concern in his eyes. "You really are something else," he murmured. "Even my best student... no, never mind. You have the technique, but your body isn't ready. You'll need to increase your vitality and endurance before you can truly master it."
Shirou nodded again, understanding. He had a long way to go, but he had taken the first step. He would keep using the traced cane, practicing until he had ingrained every nuance of the technique into himself.
The journey ahead was long, but he would not stop. Not until he had the strength to protect—to save what he could, even in this twisted world of nightmares.
He decided to keep practicing the usage of his circuits, knowing that in this unforgiving world, every advantage mattered. He needed to choose his mental trigger—something quick, decisive, and fitting for combat.
A switch to turn on a light? Too mundane. A drop of blood into a goblet? Too slow.
No, he needed something that captured the urgency of this place.
The hammer of a gun.
With that single thought, his magical circuits flared to life, glowing with a neon azure hue beneath his skin, radiating warmth that spread through his entire body. He focused on exploring the limits of his circuits before throwing himself into combat again.
He noticed that the delay between his activation of reinforcement and its effects had shortened, each second shaved off making a critical difference in a fight. The power of his reinforcement felt stronger now, likely due to the effects of the blood echoes enhancing his body. It was as if his circuits had expanded, more receptive to the flow of prana and capable of greater strength.
He couldn't afford to be weak in this place. Every improvement, however small, could be the difference between life and death. He had a promise to keep, and he wouldn't fail because he wasn't prepared.
Shirou stood near the lamp in the Hunter's Dream, surrounded by the serene and haunting landscape of the dream realm. He focused intently on practicing the use of his circuits, his mind fixed on mastering his reinforcement and tracing abilities. He had been working on activating his circuits faster, using the mental image of a gun's hammer snapping into place. The neon azure glow beneath his skin brightened with each repetition, and his body began to heat up with the flow of magical energy.
He raised his arm and focused, attempting to trace a weapon he knew well—Kanshou and Bakuya. The twin swords took form in his hands, but they appeared brittle and hollow, nothing like the solid blades he had conjured during the battle with Father Gascoigne. He swung them experimentally, only for one of the blades to crumble after a single strike against a nearby tree. He clenched his teeth, feeling the flaw in his projection, and pushed himself harder.
Again, he focused on tracing the swords. His body heat rose further, sweat forming on his brow as the energy pulsed through his circuits. The azure glow intensified, and he forced more prana into his circuits, determined to overcome the hollowness of his projections. He repeated the process, swinging each traced sword, but each time they shattered after a single strike. His frustration built, but he kept at it, single-minded in his pursuit of perfection.
The Doll watched from a distance, her serene expression slowly giving way to concern. She could feel the heat radiating from Shirou, and it only grew stronger with each attempt. She approached him cautiously, her gaze fixed on the way his body glowed, almost as if he was burning from within. She could see how focused he was, his eyes locked on the task at hand, unaware of the toll it was taking on him.
"Good hunter..." she called softly, but Shirou didn't respond. He was lost in his training, his focus unbroken even as the heat became almost unbearable.
"Good hunter," she said again, more urgently this time, as she reached out and placed her hand on his arm.
Shirou flinched at the contact, his concentration breaking. The glow of his circuits flickered and then faded as he turned to look at the Doll. He hadn't even realized how hot his body had become until her cool touch brought him back to reality.
"You're overheating," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Please, rest for a moment. You are pushing yourself too hard."
Shirou blinked, breathing heavily as he tried to process her words. He looked down at his hands, noticing the faint burns on his skin where the glow had been strongest. He had been so focused on his training that he hadn't noticed the damage he was doing to himself.
"I... didn't realize," he admitted, his voice strained.
The Doll gave him a sympathetic smile, her eyes filled with a softness that seemed almost human. "You must take care of yourself, good hunter. The hunt is long, and your strength will be needed. Do not let your determination consume you."
Shirou nodded, finally allowing himself to take a step back. He sat down on the grass, taking a deep breath as he let his body cool down. The Doll knelt beside him, her presence calming as she watched over him.
"I need to be stronger... but not at the cost of my own life," he thought, realizing how close he had come to losing control. "I can't afford to be reckless. I have a promise to keep, and I can't keep it if I burn myself out."
He looked at the Doll, her gentle smile a reminder of the humanity he was fighting to protect, even in this nightmarish world. He had to be smarter, more careful. There was still so much he needed to learn, and he couldn't afford to let his single-mindedness become his downfall.
"Thank you," he said quietly, and the Doll nodded, her smile never wavering.
"Rest, good hunter. There is still much for you to do, but for now, take solace in the dream."
Shirou leaned back against the trunk of a tree, taking a moment to rest as the Doll's words echoed in his mind. Recklessness wouldn't help him. He needed to grow stronger, but it had to be done with caution and precision. He glanced at the brittle remains of Kanshou and Bakuya on the ground beside him, frustration welling up at their fragility.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the steps of tracing, searching for what he was missing. There were several key components necessary for a successful projection—parts he had yet to fully grasp.
"Judging the concept of creation." He visualized Kanshou and Bakuya, trying to understand their essence. These swords were not merely weapons—they were symbols, bound by a shared existence, imbued with anti-monster properties, forged out of sacrifice. He needed to comprehend this core truth if he wanted to faithfully recreate them.
"Hypothesizing the basic structure." He pictured the swords' forms: the elegant curves, the balance, the weight. He felt as though he knew them instinctively, but truly recreating them required breaking down every tiny detail. He needed to understand every inch of their structure as if it were part of his own being.
"Duplicating the composition material." The materials used to forge Kanshou and Bakuya were beyond him—meteoric iron, further processed by the blacksmiths who made them, and infused with the essence of sacrifice. The wife had thrown herself into the furnace so her husband could fulfill the emperor's demand. He attempted to replicate these materials with his prana, but the hollowness remained. Something fundamental eluded him—something essential about the very nature of the materials or due to hai own inexperience, he was not sure.
"Imitating the skill of its making." He envisioned the blacksmith at work, each hammer strike shaping the metal with purpose. He could see it in his mind, yet there was a disconnect, as if he were observing from a distance. He lacked the blacksmith's experience, the generational knowledge that had brought these swords into being.
"Sympathizing with the experience of its growth." Kanshou and Bakuya carried a history. They had been wielded in countless battles, sharpened and reforged, their surfaces worn from the hands of past wielders. He reached out to feel that history, but it slipped through his fingers. He couldn't quite grasp the experiences that had shaped them, however he felt some sort of annoyance that he couldn't understand where it came from.
"Reproducing the accumulated years." This was the most elusive part of all. Kanshou and Bakuya had existed for centuries, their power and connection growing over the years. It wasn't just about their initial creation—it was about everything they had been through, every moment that had added to their strength. He needed to recreate that history, those accumulated years, but how could he? How could someone just starting to understand his circuits hope to replicate something so ancient, so storied?
I̱ ͬa̟m͖̄ͬ ̶̓̒t͖͗͞h́͠e̴͖ ̻̊̇b̐o͕n͂͐e ͗̈́o̮͒f̷ͅ ͚ͭm̴ͮͦỵ̐ ̨̯s̆͏ẅ̭́or͕ͤ̀d
Shirou opened his eyes and looked at the shattered remnants of his failed projections. He had only reached this far, and each step of the process seemed insurmountable. There was so much he still didn't understand—so much more he needed to learn. Yet, despite his frustration, a flicker of hope remained. He was making progress, however slow. He had managed to open his circuits, to produce a trace, even if it was imperfect. It was a start.
The Doll watched him quietly, her calm presence a steadying force as he grappled with his thoughts.
"I have to keep trying," Shirou thought, his determination settling in his chest. "One step at a time. I'll get there eventually."
He took a deep breath, the exhaustion setting in, weighing on his bones. For now, he would rest, recover his strength, and then continue his training. The road ahead was long, but he had resolved not to stop. He couldn't afford to.
Shirou stood in the Hunter's Dream, his gaze fixed on the pale, ever-present moon that hung overhead. The Doll stood beside him, her expression filled with a quiet concern that she didn't voice. He gave her a reassuring nod before turning toward one of the headstones, his means to return to Yharnam.
"Take care, Good Hunter," she said softly, her words a blend of warmth and worry. He offered a faint smile, a silent promise that he would be back.
In a flash, the Hunter's Dream faded, replaced by the grim, suffocating streets of Yharnam. The rancid stench of blood and decay permeated the air, the cries of the suffering echoing through the darkened alleys. Shirou adjusted his grip on his saw cleaver, the familiar weight of the weapon comforting in this nightmare.
He made his way through the winding streets, his senses heightened, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. His footsteps were careful, deliberate, his ears tuned to the distant growls and guttural snarls that echoed through the darkness.
Suddenly, a twisted abomination stumbled into view—a beast once human, now covered in matted fur, its eyes wide with a frenzied madness. Shirou wasted no time; he leapt forward, the saw cleaver unfolding with a metallic snap, the serrated edge slicing through the air. He swung it with precision, cleaving into the creature's neck. It fell with a gurgling snarl, its blood splattering across the cobblestone.
Another beast emerged from the shadows, rushing at him with claws outstretched. Shirou sidestepped the attack, pivoting on his heel to bring the cleaver down in a heavy arc. The blade bit into the creature's spine, severing its twisted form. He pulled the weapon free, its jagged teeth dripping with gore.
He continued down the street, cutting down every beast that dared cross his path, his movements fluid and precise. This was not a fight for honor or glory; it was survival, pure and simple. The longer he stayed, the more he realized just how much this world demanded that he leave behind hesitation, doubt, and even kindness.
He approached a door, knocking gently against the worn wood, hearing the faint rustling from within. "Please, I'm here to help," he called, keeping his voice calm. "I want to make sure you're safe."
For a moment, there was silence, then a voice, dripping with suspicion and disdain. "A Hunter? You're no different from the beasts! Get lost, outsider!"
Shirou exhaled, stepping back. He couldn't blame them. In a world like this, the line between hunter and hunted had blurred long ago. He moved on, pressing further into the labyrinthine streets.
At another house, he saw a flicker of candlelight through a cracked window. Hope sparked in his chest, and he knocked, his voice earnest. "Please, let me help you. I can get you somewhere safe."
"Safe? There's no safe place left!" The voice from within was bitter, tinged with fear. "We don't need your help! Just leave us alone!"
The door remained closed, and Shirou was forced to move on, the rejection weighing heavily on his shoulders. He knew he couldn't make them trust him, but it was still frustrating. He had to try. He had to find someone who would let him help.
Suddenly, a scream rang out, sharp and desperate, cutting through the darkness. Shirou's heart lurched, and he sprinted towards the sound, rounding a corner just in time to see a young woman, her back pressed against a wall, her eyes wide with terror. Before her stood two monstrous dogs, their eyes glowing with a feral light, teeth bared.
Without a second thought, Shirou lunged forward, his saw cleaver swinging in a brutal arc. The blade tore into the first dog, but before he could turn to the other, it lunged at the woman, knocking her to the ground.
"No!" Shirou shouted, rushing towards them, his cleaver cleaving into the beast's side. The dog fell, but the woman lay motionless on the ground, her face pale as her breathing grew faint.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear and anger. "This… is your fault," she rasped, her voice weak. "You… brought them here…"
Shirou knelt beside her, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his hands trembling as he reached out, but there was nothing he could do. Her breathing slowed until it stopped altogether.
He stayed there for a long moment, staring down at her, his chest tight with grief and frustration. He had failed. Despite everything, despite his efforts, he hadn't been able to save her.
Ą̷͝n̸͉̽ ̶̡͝i̴̢̚d̴̲̏e̷̺̐a̴͓̓l̵̼̑ ̴̜͠i̵͖͠s̶͔̀ ̴͖̓o̵̥͌ǹ̴̗l̶͊͜y̶̝̎ ̷̮͑a̸͙̍n̸̝͆ ̴̫͊i̴̘̿d̴͖̔ë̸͚ä̴̝l̸͎̄ ̶̙͊ȃ̸͔f̴̟̒t̴̗̚ë̴͇́r̵̬͊ ̷͍͝à̷̬l̴̥̀l̶͍̈.̷̀͜ ̷͔̆A̷̧̔s̶͝ͅ ̵̥͌ḷ̵͋o̶̳̒n̷͖̓g̶͔̎ ̵̭̿ȁ̸͙s̸͎̈ ̴̞̈́y̸̡̚o̸͓̒ǘ̷̱ ̷̝͌è̵͇m̸̘͐b̵̠̃r̴̝͋á̷̰č̴̬ẽ̵͍ ̶͇̏t̶̒ͅḫ̵̋a̸̻̓t̸̜̆ ̷̘͛i̸̞͠d̴͕̈́é̷̟a̷̫̓l̸̦̀,̵̯̅ ̷̖̐ţ̶̊h̷͔̽ȩ̷̑ ̶̠͂f̷͈͊r̶̻̈́i̸͋͜c̴̈́͜ẗ̵̙i̷̥̔o̸͕̎n̴̤͊ ̷͓̍ẃ̴̗i̶̲̓t̴͈̅h̵̩͋ ̴͓̕r̸͈͆ė̵̪ã̶̯l̴̨͗i̷̙̓t̷̪̕y̷̙͝ ̴̎ͅẅ̵̺́i̷͈͌l̴͉̕l̴͇͌ ̴͈̽ć̴̖o̶̗͂n̷̠̒t̸͘ͅi̴̪̇n̶̫̆ủ̵̙ë̵̠ ̸̫̒ţ̴̑o̵̞̓ ̴͉͊ī̷̬n̵͙͂ċ̶̹r̶̩͒ě̶͕ḁ̶̆ṡ̴̮e̷͍͊.̸̬̐ ̴̠͗S̶̭̉õ̶͓ ̷̘͐y̴̳̋o̸̬͆ư̸͍ ̸̯̈́w̷͔̚i̸̠͠l̷̯̿l̸̜̐ ̷̻͗ṣ̵̊ô̸̭m̶̗͛e̷̯̽d̷̝̿å̸̯y̷̻̓ ̷͘͜f̶͎̚a̵̼̿c̴̗̿ḛ̸͠ ̶̘̽ŕ̴̭e̶͖͋a̸͙͐l̶̩͠i̵̧̕ṱ̶͝y̸͙͗ ̵̲͝ạ̴͝ņ̶̌d̵̢̾ ̸̙͠w̵͍͊i̸͕͐l̵͈̅l̶͙̚ ̵̯̋h̶̲̔a̸̳͆v̷͍͂e̸̪̍ ̶͚̐t̷̻̎ö̶̭ ̴͈͐p̵̝̐a̵͔͠y̸̱̒ ̵̗̊t̴̲͂ḥ̵̃ȇ̸͜ ̴̹͘p̷̛̤r̵͕̅ỉ̶͈c̷͕̀ė̵̪ ̸̼͒f̷͕̑ò̸̬r̶͉̂ ̶͚͘y̷̜͌ò̴̟u̴͓͌r̶̛͉ ̴̻̄ĉ̶̣ó̸̢m̴̻̎ṕ̷̦r̴̟͑o̵̼̾m̴̼̈́i̶̡̊ś̴̺ȇ̶͈s̸̭̈́
He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the hilt of his saw cleaver. He had known this world was cruel, that it would take everything from him if it could, but it still hurt. The fear, the distrust, the hatred—it was all-consuming, and it left him feeling powerless.
Slowly, he stood, his eyes hardening. He couldn't let this break him. He had to keep moving, keep fighting. There were still others out there, others who might need him. He wouldn't stop, COULD NOT STOP, not until he had done everything he could. Even if they feared him, even if they blamed him, he would still try.
He turned away from the lifeless body, his steps heavy as he moved back into the darkness of Yharnam's streets. He would keep searching, keep fighting—for those who needed him, even if they didn't want him. It was his duty, and he would see it through, no matter the cost.
Shirou wandered through the twisted streets of Yharnam, his saw cleaver hanging by his side, the weight of his previous failures resting heavily on his shoulders. The cries of beasts echoed from nearby alleys, and the flickering light of a nearby lantern drew his attention. He approached cautiously, knocking on the worn wooden door beside it.
"What now?" a sharp, gruff voice called from inside. The tone held an edge of annoyance, mixed with the unmistakable exhaustion of someone who had seen too much.
Shirou cleared his throat, speaking gently. "I'm here to help. I can guide you to a safer place, away from all this."
There was a moment of silence before the door opened just a crack. An elderly woman peered through, her eyes narrow and suspicious. Her face was lined with the marks of a harsh life, her expression one of impatience and distrust.
"Help? From a hunter?" she spat, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You lot are all the same. You think your fight means a thing to the likes of us?" She looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on the bloodstains that marked his coat. "Bah. You're just as much a monster as the rest of them."
Shirou didn't flinch at her words. He knew she had every reason to distrust him, but he also knew he had to try. He had seen too many lives lost, too many people hurt because they didn't have anywhere to go.
"There's a chapel," he said, his tone steady. "A place where people are gathering, somewhere safe from the beasts. I can take you there, if you'll let me."
The old woman huffed, crossing her arms. "A chapel, you say? Safe, you say?" She looked at him again, her eyes searching his face. "You really expect me to believe that?"
He met her gaze, his expression earnest. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but it's true. There's a man there who's protecting people, keeping them safe. You don't have to stay here, alone."
She eyed him for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, she sighed, a weary sound that spoke of resignation. "Fine, hunter. I'll go. But if this so-called 'safe place' is just another death trap, I'll haunt you myself, you hear?"
Shirou nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Understood. I promise you, it's safe."
The old woman shook her head, stepping back from the door. "Just let me get my things, then. And don't think I'm thanking you for this. I don't owe you a thing, hunter."
Shirou watched as she disappeared inside, the door creaking shut behind her. He let out a slow breath, relief washing over him. Finally, someone was willing to trust him, even if only a little. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
When she reappeared, a small bag slung over her shoulder, she gave him a curt nod. "Lead the way, then, if you're so eager to be a hero."
He nodded, motioning for her to follow as they made their way down the cobbled streets. He kept his senses sharp, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. The woman followed behind him, muttering under her breath about the foolishness of hunters and their so-called "heroics."
They were nearing the chapel when the sound of growls reached Shirou's ears. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as two beasts emerged from the darkness, their twisted forms lunging towards them.
"Stay back!" he shouted, stepping in front of the old woman as he raised his saw cleaver. The beasts charged, their snarls echoing through the night. Shirou met them head-on, his blade swinging with brutal precision, cutting into their flesh.
The fight was swift, but vicious. Shirou moved with practiced ease, his body a blur of motion as he struck, his cleaver tearing through the beasts until they lay still at his feet. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, the blood of the creatures staining the ground around him.
The old woman stared at him, her eyes wide, her face pale. She took a step back, her voice trembling as she spoke. "You... you really are just a beast, aren't you?"
Shirou turned to her, his expression softening. "I'm not a beast. I'm trying to protect you."
She shook her head, her eyes filled with fear. "You're all the same. Hunters, beasts... there's no difference." She took another step back, her gaze never leaving his. "Stay away from me."
Shirou watched as she turned and fled, her footsteps echoing down the street. He stood there, his saw cleaver still in hand, his heart sinking. He had saved her, but in the end, it hadn't mattered. The fear, the distrust—it was too strong.
He lowered his weapon, the weight of the night settling heavily on his shoulders. He had tried. He had done everything he could, but it hadn't been enough.
He turned back towards the chapel, his steps slow, the echoes of her words still ringing in his ears. He couldn't stop, not now. There were still others who needed help, others who might be willing to trust him. He would keep moving forward, no matter how many times he was rejected.
He would keep fighting, not for himself, but for those who couldn't fight for themselves. Because that was who he was—a protector, even in a world that didn't want him.
Shirou moved cautiously through the winding streets of Yharnam, his saw cleaver in hand, senses on high alert for any movement. The city was like a twisted labyrinth, its dark alleys winding endlessly in every direction, giving the impression of a place that shifted and changed with a will of its own. He couldn't help but think of the legend of the labyrinth of Minos, the maze that held the monstrous Minotaur. But unlike Theseus, he had no Ariadne to guide him—no thread to find his way back. Here, he was alone.
The air was thick with mist, and the cobblestones were slick beneath his boots as he made his way through another narrow street. The buildings loomed above, their windows empty and dark like soulless eyes watching his every move. He kept his focus, retracing his path from before, trying to find the house where the Daughter of Gascoigne waited. A promise had been made, and he had to make sure she was safe.
Sudden movement caught his eye, a flicker of a shadow just at the edge of his vision. He paused, tensing, his knuckles whitening around the handle of his cleaver. The sound of low growls reached his ears, and he turned to see two hunched figures approaching, their eyes gleaming in the dim light. The creatures looked almost human, but their bodies were twisted, their forms bearing no resemblance to anything sane.
Without hesitation, Shirou lunged forward, swinging his saw cleaver in a wide arc. The blade connected with the first creature, cutting into its flesh. The creature let out a distorted wail, but Shirou didn't give it a chance to recover. He followed through with another strike, the edge of his weapon biting deep, finishing it.
The second creature snarled and lunged at him, its claws swiping wildly. Shirou dodged, his body moving on instinct, his heightened reflexes guiding him as he countered with a swift upward slash. The saw cleaver tore through the creature's torso, and it crumpled to the ground with a final, guttural snarl.
Breathing heavily, Shirou took a moment to steady himself, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The alley was silent once more, the creatures lying still at his feet. He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing up at the darkened buildings. Somewhere in this maze, the girl was waiting. He couldn't fail her—not like the others.
He moved forward again, his steps purposeful despite the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. The streets twisted and turned, disorienting him with their seemingly endless pathways. He tried to remember the landmarks he had passed before, but everything seemed to blur together, every corner and alley looking identical. It felt as if Yharnam itself wanted to trap him in its unending depths.
He rounded a corner and stopped, his gaze falling on a familiar sight. A small window, a faint light flickering behind it—the house of Gascoigne's daughter. Relief flooded through him as he approached, knocking gently on the doorframe.
There was a shuffling sound from inside, and a small voice called out, "Hello? Is someone there?"
Shirou leaned closer, his voice soft. "It's me. I came back, just like I promised. Are you still alright?"
The window opened a crack, and the girl's face appeared, her eyes wide and fearful. "You... you're the hunter from before."
Shirou nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. "Yes. I've come to help you. I found a place where it's safe—a chapel where others are gathering. You don't have to stay here alone anymore."
The girl hesitated, her eyes darting nervously. "But... what about my mother and father? And my sister?"
Shirou's heart sank. He had found Gascoigne, but there had been nothing he could do, the mother met a cruel fate as well. The man had lost himself, consumed by the madness that had taken so many in Yharnam. Telling her the truth would be painful, but she deserved to know.
"I..." He struggled to find the right words, his voice heavy with regret. "I found your father. He... wasn't himself anymore. I'm so sorry."
The girl's eyes widened, tears welling up as she shook her head. "No... no, that can't be. He promised... he promised he'd come back." Her voice broke, a sob escaping her as she clung to the windowsill.
Shirou reached out, his hand resting gently on the ledge beneath her. "I know it's hard, and I wish I could have done more. But right now, you need to be safe. Please, come with me to the chapel. There are people there who can protect you."
She looked at him, her face streaked with tears, her small frame trembling. For a moment, she seemed unsure, but then she nodded slowly. "But... my sister. She's still out there. I can't leave without her."
Shirou's resolve hardened. "Then we'll find her together. I promise I won't leave without her."
The girl hesitated, then opened the door fully, stepping out into the street. She looked so small, so fragile in the harsh light of Yharnam's moon. Without another word, Shirou knelt down, offering her his back. "Climb on. I'll carry you, and we'll move faster."
The girl hesitated for a moment before nodding, climbing onto his back. Shirou adjusted his stance, reinforcing his legs and arms to bear her weight with ease. He could feel the prana flowing through him, strengthening his muscles, and the warmth of her small form settled against his back.
"Hold on tight," he said, his voice gentle, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clutching him tightly.
With the girl safely on his back, Shirou began to move through the streets once more, his eyes scanning for any sign of danger. The weight of her presence was barely noticeable with the reinforcement, and he moved with renewed determination. The city seemed even more hostile now, as if sensing that he carried something precious—something it wanted to take from him.
They navigated the labyrinthine streets, Shirou's mind focused on the task at hand.
Shirou's heart pounded as he caught sight of the older sister—she was fleeing, her face pale with fear, as a massive pig-like creature pursued her relentlessly. The beast's snorts echoed through the narrow streets, its bulk knocking aside anything in its path as it closed in on the terrified girl.
Without a second thought, Shirou focused his circuits, tracing a series of swords to form a makeshift cage—a temporary barrier to protect the girl from the creature. She stumbled backward, pressing herself against the barrier, her eyes wide with terror.
"Stay down!" Shirou called out, his attention immediately shifting to the threat. He traced Kanshou and Bakuya, the twin swords forming in his hands as he charged toward the monstrous creature.
The pig-like beast, momentarily confused by the sudden obstruction, turned its attention to Shirou. Letting out an enraged bellow, it lunged forward. Shirou braced himself, his body surging with Reinforcement as he sprinted toward the beast. He sidestepped its initial attack, striking out with Kanshou and Bakuya. The blades cut into the creature's hide, and it let out a pained squeal.
Seeing the creature's reaction, Shirou knew he had to end the fight quickly. He needed to protect both girls. Turning his gaze to the older sister, he traced another set of swords to create a second cage around her for additional safety.
With both sisters shielded, Shirou redirected his focus to the rampaging beast. He needed to lead it to a more confined area where it couldn't maneuver as easily. He darted to the side, luring the creature after him. It followed, blinded by fury.
As they approached a narrow passage, Shirou made his move. He pivoted sharply, darting away from the path. The creature, unable to stop in time, crashed into the corner, momentarily dazed. Shirou took the opportunity, leaping toward the creature with Kanshou and Bakuya raised. He brought the swords down with all his strength, targeting the back of its neck. The blades sank in deep, and the beast let out one final sound before collapsing.
Breathing heavily, Shirou stepped back, pulling the swords free as the creature fell silent. He turned, his eyes finding the two sisters. They were huddled together, the older one holding her younger sibling protectively as the cage of blades disintegrated now that he stopped feeding it prana.
Shirou approached them, his expression softening. "It's over now," he said gently. "You're both safe." he said as his body emanated red steam due to the blood evaporating due to the heat generated by the usage of his circuits in such a harsh way.
He didn't know how he got that idea to use swords as a makeshift cage… it came like a faint memory of sorts.
The older sister looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "Thank you... thank you for saving us."
Shirou offered her a small smile, wiping some of the sweat from his forehead. "Let's get out of here. I'll take you somewhere safe."
He lifted the younger sister onto his back once again, reinforcing his strength to carry her with ease. The older sister stayed close, gripping her sister's hand tightly.
Together, they moved away from the scene, Shirou leading the way through the maze-like streets of Yharnam. Despite the dangers lurking around every corner, Shirou remained determined, his senses alert. He knew that his task wasn't over yet—not while there were still those in need of help. And so on high alert he escorted the sibling pair to the old church. The old woman received them seeing the 2 children from Father Gaiscoigne in tow. She looked at Shirou who just shook his head. The old woman let herself collapse in the pew.
"To think even he was taken, truly this city is cursed… will we truly be able to last the night?" she said low enough to not be heard by most, however due to his enhanced senses he heard her.
And so Shirou ventured out once more to find survivors who would come with him, and to unravel the mysteries of this bloody god forsaken land.
Chapter end.