It was a soft, wet, and ravenous self-hatred that gnawed at Jaune's heart. Only made that much worse by knowing it was going to happen. That he had knowingly and willingly pushed her into death's waiting arms.
The thundering echo of Mortem firing heralding her death.
"At least it was quick." Jaune mumbled under his breath, wondering when he had become so cynical. Wishing his apprentice, daughter, charge, a quick death instead of having stood his ground and said no.
"When did they take my morals." The words, soft as they were, bounced through the ruined street. Drowned out by the scratching of a thousand chittering birds. Blue electricity dancing over the twisted skeleton. Half man, half beast, a full monster. It's long serpentine neck grinning down at him, bolts of lightning bouncing down and scorching the street, as it hanged onto roofs and balconies.
"Is what they take first?" Jaune asked, scratching at his neck. Crocea Mors already in hand. "Blood echoes are not you gaining strength, just giving away parts of yourself. Kill some beast's and lose your distaste for murder, it becomes normal. Kill some more, and you lose that little voice in the back of your head that says this is wrong. Until you don't see anything wrong, until you have nothing to hold yourself back. Until you don't recognise yourself in the mirror."
Thumbing a small glass ball containing a surging and churning mercury mist, he looked back at the monster of thunder and lightning.
Planting his foot solidly against the cobbled stone, he threw the glass ball with all his might. Frowning ever so slowly as it dipped at the height of its arc earlier than he had expected. Not that the subpar throw did anything.
With a flash of lighting, the boom of thunder, and the darkbeast was upon him. Crocea Mors coming up to block, sidestepping and moving his blade as thunder boomed again, and pushing the claws crashing towards his back.
Not a grunt leaving him as the darkbeast flashed away. Lose and old tile falling from the roof and cracking against the cobbled stone floor as the darkbeast retreated up. Empty eyes staring down at him, a scream closer to arcing electricity that human or beast escaped it. Large skeletal libs tearing at the old roofs. Sending a hail of tile and rubble crashing down towards him.
Jaune tsked, fishing out two other glass vials of numbing mist. The mercury kept in a triple point state where it was gas, liquid and solid at the same time.
One of the vials flew out his hand's, seemingly suspended in the air forever right before the darkbeast's face. A pebble trailing behind, hitting it squarely in the side. A crack didn't even manage to form, a large cloud of white silverly mist floated in the air. Arcs of electricity leapt from the darkbeast as it scattered, leaving Jaune cursing as he picked up the pace. Not wanting to be under the cloud of electrified mercury when it crashed down.
Eyes darting around wildly, he barged into a boarded-up house. Splinter's flying around him, cutting down a pair of beasts that threw themselves at him with contemptuous ease. Barely getting a moment to reflect on what just had flown through him, barging up the stairs. Jumping over missing steps.
Coming up to the second floor, only to feel the hair on his neck stand on end. Throwing himself to the side, he rolled and sprang forward into a dive. Barely dodging a deceptively long bone arm clad in lighting spearing through the roof with the fury of a scorned god.
Throwing himself into a mad sprint, with each step Jaune felt his heart hammer in his ears, with each step splinter's rained down onto him as the darkbeast tried spearing him again.
Never in his life had he ever imagined that lighting could sound bestial. With each failed attempt the sound of a thousand chirping birds grew wilder. Crashing against tiles and wooden beams.
Bracing, he crashed through a window. Throwing his left hand up, multiple golden chains shooting out of his hand as he rotated ever so slightly through the air. A sharp grin on his lips when the golden chains wrapped around the side of the darkbeast's head. His smile died quickly when he was flung straight up through the air. The monster shaking it's head like a dog would.
'I should have worked on my falling techniques.' The thought raced through his mind, faster than lighting. Crashing onto another roof, he rolled to the side, kicking his feet under himself. Feeling arcs of electricity jump from the clawed arm and onto his back. Only for a punch to rock into him. Sending him flying over the rooftops. Rolling and fishing out one of the enhanced vails of numbing mist.
Instantly the lightning died, drowned out by the silvery mist they both found themselves in. His fist crashed into the side of the skeleton beast's head, rocking it to the side as Crocea Mors slammed into the bones. A loud hollow smack ringing out as he hit it with the flat of the blade. Cracks spread out, falling like Jaune's brows. Mind working overtime.
Bracing, a punch rocketed into his stomach. Slamming into his aura. Shattering it and sending him flying. Catching himself, he rolled and shot back up, crashing into the beast. Only to be sent flying back through the air.
'Am I losing my edge?' Acting on instinct, he slammed his left hand into the roof, anchoring a golden spike as he fell over the edge. Angling himself to crash through a window. Throwing himself down the stairs as the fire dust boosted molotov he had left behind exploded.
"Did I become weaker?" The words left him as he jumped, landing in a slid. Dodging under the darkbeast wreathed in flame and arcing lighting. Bracing his legs, he shot up, turning in a swift motion. Twisting his butt, activating his core, and sending a sharp cut right into one of the beast's hind legs. A rough divert appearing as some bone splinter's shot out.
Already he felt some lactic acid weigh down his legs. It didn't burn to breath, but he felt it.
"Oh you sneaky bitch." Jaune hissed out through clenched teeth. Looking down at his blade. Swearing when for but a moment he saw a regal and graceful woman look back, burning amber eyes with a head of white snow. "I'll find you."
Sheathing his blade, he unbuckled his sword as he ran. Only to abruptly stop, winding up and throwing it like a spear towards the charging darkbeast. Hitting nothing as it sped away.
Sniffing the air, Jaune took off like a bloodhound. Sending pebbles flying over his shoulder, they wouldn't too much, yet if they could give him even half an instant, he counted it as a win. Cutting into an alley, he used his chains as a grappling hook. Pulling himself up and sailing over what would otherwise be a dead end. Coming crashing into a wolf.
"Sorry about this." The words left him, his hand shooting down and grabbing the beast's jaws. Instantly willing one of his spells into existence. A self-made twin to his False Sacrifice spell. Just instead of moving wounds, it moved curses.
Instantly a coldness gripped him. A unique cold burning that almost couldn't be put into words yet was all too familiar. Clarity returned to his thoughts. The lethargic slump he had fallen in loosing its hold on him. Drawing out the False Sacrifice spell, he moved the necrosis onto the beast. The struggling beast growing weaker while he stronger, his strength returning to him.
His muscles bulged, a roar escaped him, and the jaw of the wolf was torn of. Jaune burying his fist into the wolf's throat and pulling with all his might. Downing a blood vial, the burgeoning warmth he felt from the curse and necrosis disappearing bloomed into warmth.
Breathing heavily, Jaune looked around for a shard of broken glass. A sharp smile splitting his lips.
Strength: 24(6)
It wasn't by much, but it made it clear that he had overcome whatever curse the Queen had woven over him. 'For now at least.'
Heralded by the sound of a thousand screeching birds, Jaune threw himself to the side. Reaching behind himself and pulling out a harsh and ugly looking axe from the back of his coat.
"Now, without any meddling queens. Round two."
{-ooo-}
'I got greedy.' The single truth of the matter shot through the Queen. Carefully she had weaved her curses. Throwing them at him when he was weak, tired, and exhausted. Masking them to feel normal. As if nothing was wrong. She had thought she could take advantage of his deteriorating state of mind to slip in what could be seen as mistakes.
'I underestimated him.' Shame and anger burned her inside out. Yet paradoxically enough, for one instant she was glad that whatever cruel magicks he had cast on her didn't allow her to feel. She could see the world around her, her it, even sense in when the blade touched something. But she coulndt feel her stomach churn, or nausea set in.
What mercy had seen her spared such a fate didn't wash away what she felt for the vicar. She coulndt sleep, no matter how much she wanted. She didn't feel hungry. Coulndt leave, wasn't allowed a moment to herself, chained in unlife as a prisoner. Living, yet not. Dead, yet not.
Whit a sharp, crisp, clatter, her prison smacked into a stone wall. Leaving the blade to thud sharply against paved stoned. Already in motion, she threw out the magicks she had been channelling. Free to do as she pleased, now that the spirit that saw itself as her warden was chained and sealed away.
She coulndt kill the spirit, not if she wanted for her prison to break away into dust and rust. Maybe if she had been the violent sort, she would have taken her chances. But Annalise was old, having long since recognised that the shortest path wasn't always the best.
A beast, a hairy little runt wrapped entirely in fur. With too many teeth, to many fingers, and smelling worse than death, came stumbling towards her prison. Beady eyes obscured by clouds as it bent down. The instant it's claws touched her prison; she moved. Her spirit invading it's body, ripping it's simple mind to shred's.
In an instant, she felt warmth. A heart beat in her chest, pumping warmth through her freezing spirit. A thousand smells assaulted her nose, the sounds of the old city, the sights of cobbled stone's, rundown houses and boarded up windows filled her vision. A far cry from the vague senses she had been forced to observe the world with. It felt like she had been drowning and just broke the surface. Muted sounds and sensations became real, no longer a figment of her imagination.
Lost in the sea of sensations she had missed, a haunting noise flittered into her ears. The sound of a thousand screeching birds.
'I need to move.' Fear gripped her heart. Followed by a spike of adrenaline as the world turned clearer. Allowing her to see clearer than ever before. Her gut screaming at her that she would die if she stayed where she was.
Hobbling forward, fear turned to anger. 'I refuse to be bound again.' Her multiple sets of teeth grinded together at the indignity. Humiliating didn't even begin to describe it. Sealed, trapped, in her own throne room in nothing but her negligee, guarded over by a rotting mummified corpse that had brought death and destruction to her people. The moment when she was freed by her loyal knight, was the moment she was moved from one prison to another.
The vicar so consumed by his own martyr complex that he didn't see how he was the biggest hypocrite to ever walk Yharnam's street. Lying to himself and saying he is doing it for 'them', when in reality he is doing it for himself. Laying people to rest making him feel good. Letting him pretend he was someone else than the shambling madman he is.
Turning to hobble down an alley, instinct's not her own screamed at her. Fiery pain exploded from her back. A snarl bouncing of the walls. A set of sharp teeth clamped down around her neck, pain and adrenaline exploding through her body as her throat was ripped away. The sword just barely managed to touch the largest best, and again she flew through the sword, possessing the larger beast and ripping it's cruel cunning to bits.
The taste of blood whetted her appetite, her stomach growling. Walking past her previous incantation's dying form she picked up the pace. Longer and better developed leg's allowing her to walk and run, instead of hobbling forward. Already she had a destination in mind. A safe place where she could have a moment for herself.
'Not that it's ever going to be safe.' Annalise just knew. She felt dirty letting the slight go. Anger gnawed at her. There was one thing she loathed and despised more than letting someone who wronged her go, and no one had wronged her more than Jaune Arc. Knowing in her bones that he was the same.
He was everything wrong with Yharnam, a living embodiment of its sickness. Of the perversion of man in an attempt to reach the divine.
It was a hatred that went both ways. No matter how he deluded himself, Jaune Arc was a petty man. He may say he is doing it for her daughter's to pass over, yet they both knew he was only doing it for himself.
Drawing on the beast's jumbled memories, she crawled through a hole in the wall. Smelling the stench before she saw it. Without hesitating she climbed down into the sewer.
Dust fell from the ceiling. Doing her best not to breath, she let her eyes look at the trio of scourge hounds that lumbered through the sewer. The stench helping her hide. The moment they were gone, she pushed on. Hastily climbing up a creaky and thoroughly rusted ladder.
Coming out of the sewer, her heart fell. The sound of a thousand screeching birds gone. Leaving only a hollow silence in its wake. A silence that promised that she would be next.
Steps bounced off the walls, out from the alley's. She could her whimpering, desperate growling coming from the sewer's followed by a stench of blood.
Annalise didn't stop. Pushing forward. She knew Old Yharnam. She had walked the street's when they were newly laid. And if her memories were true, she would find her salvation there.
Darting into an alley, she spotted a hole in the wall. Throwing herself into the old apartment complex without a doubt. Darting up a staircase, through another hole in the wall, and through another hole in the wall, she felt memories click into place. No matter how the outlay changed, some buildings would never be torn down. Just walled in. Crawling through one last hole in the wall, the smell of dusty old incense and blood crashed into her.
Eyes instantly zeroing in on an ornate chalice standing on a marble pillar. Some rays of coloured moonlight peeking through gaps in the boarded-up windows. Without thinking, she threw the sword forward with all her might. Feeling herself be pulled out from the beast, darting through the air as the sword hit the large beast with the side of its scabbard.
The first thing she really thought about when in her newest body, was the large white cloth covering her like a veil. With her furred body it offered only the barest comfort of decency, yet she relished in it. Every so carefully pulling the white cloth tighter around herself, she looked around the old, downtrodden, but familiar cathedral. Piles of discarded rags laid in large piles, the white marble floor was tarnished with dust and old blood stains.
Drawing the sword, she let a nail race down the flat of the blade. Vindictive glee in her heart. 'How do you feel being the instrument of my resurrection?' Sending her thoughts into the blade, she felt the spirit scream and rage against its chains. Paying it no mind, she brought the blade up, the tip biting into where her heart should be. Ignoring the pain, she carved the symbol of her vilebloods into her chest. The multiple winged candles stacked on top another.
Sickly pungent half rotten and ravenous blood seeped from the wound. The pain bringing with it a surge of clarity. Without an ounce of hesitation, she brough the sword through her heart. A sickening sound echoed through the cathedral, followed by a loud crack, and then another.
Fur fell from her form, hanging momentarily in the air and transforming before the filled chalice. Taking the form of an elegant evening dress fit for a woman of her station. Filled with golden and bloody accents.
Bones cracked, muscles tore, and joints popped in a macabre symphony of flesh.
Sharp and jagged teeth fell from her mouth, the bones in her jaw snapping in two and knitting themselves back again. A perfect set of pearly white's behind two soft lips. Claws were pushed out of her finger's, giving space to pristine black nails and delicate hands. The white cloth transformed into a shawl. Her back snapped, forcing itself straight. Bones poked out from the side of her head as her skull forced itself back into proper shape.
A shiver, not of fear, but of cold shot up her spine as soft feet touched unforgiving tarnished marble. The cold as soothing as it was jarring.
Grabbing the hilt of the blade, she pulled it out of her chest. Not a single drop of blood coating the blade or falling from the wound.
A loud screech of protesting rusty hinges tore through the cathedral. White silvery light casting a large and baleful shadow on the once pristine royal purple carpet.
Running a gentle finger over the rim of the chalice, she didn't need to look behind her to know who had come. Not when a breath of malice filtered into the cathedral.
"Never in my long life, did I ever think Lawrance's dreadful delusions be close to fulfilment by such a hollow, empty, man." Annalise's voice bounced through the cathedral. Rich and clear without the iron mask to distort it. The blood in the chalice was plaid and reflective, like a mirror she saw two burning amber eyes staring back at her.
"Every man, woman, and child in Old Yharnam, nothing but victims of a madman's delusions." An honest little smile split her lips in the first time in what felt like an eternity. The irony tantalising on her tongue.
"You speak as if your ambition won't see Yharnam turned to cinders." The vicar's voice was a harsh breathy whisper.
"And you speak as if you care for Yharnam and her people." Annalise snipped back, scorn lacing her voice. Dipping her fingers into the blood, channelling power and spirituality into the communion chalice. "As if you care to live past this long night." Her words were dripped with poison, hitting and the doubt she had sensed in him time and time again. "Does your daughter know? You stole her from her kin. You filled her head and heart with love and dreams of grandeur. Does she know that your love is nothing but a delusion? That she is nothing but a tool for you to pretend to be someone you are not."
With a flick of her finger's, she splashed a few drops of blood out of the chalice. Knowing her words had well and fully incensed him. One became two, two became four, and for an instant a myriad drops of blood hung through the run-down cathedral.
Turning to look over her shoulder, burning amber eyes met apathic blues filled with malice. A ravenous bloodthirst just barely shining through the coldness. The myriad blood drops hurled themselves towards him, turning into sharp nails and knives in the air.
Snapping his fingers, he took a step forward. The surprise in his eyes a delight.
"Honestly my dear, do you truly think so little of me?" She taunted motherly, running a dainty black nail over her the flat of her prison. A monstrous wail tore through the cathedral. "Even when you were the one to teach me, us, how to negate Negation magicks?"
With another step forward, a gentle and rich voice echoed through the cathedral. A soft and melodical voice she never thought such a butcher of men capable off.
"Moonlight weaves a tranquil spell, casting shadows where stories dwell."
"A symphony of silence soft and sweet. Nights tranquillity, a melody complete."
Mere moments before her blood barrage slammed into him; a large dome appeared with the vicar in the centre. From which an unnatural silence forced itself over the cathedral. Drowning out colour, noise, even hope, as the blood did nothing more than splatter against him harmlessly.
Already her nail raced over her palm, a drop of royal purple squeezed out of her palm, silently falling through the air. The unmistakable sound of shattering glass echoed through the cathedral. Ever so gently the drop of purple broke through the surface. Filling the communion chalice with thrumming power.
The air whistled, screaming at her that something was approaching her. Yet it didn't matter.
She had never been a fighter. A witch, a ruler, a courtier, she dwelled alongside the nobles and highborn. Step by step weaving her vision into reality. A promise of power in one ear, a gentle nudge to make stubborn men see things her way, poison to remove undesirables. Never in her long life had she ever as much set foot on a battlefield. Not even when her township burned, her castle besieged, and herself sealed away on her throne in nothing but negligee.
The sword burned in her hand, yet she didn't release her grip. Twice she had been shackled, neve again. And as a large axe came racing towards her neck. Annalise breached the void.
An invisible pulse of power shot through the cathedral. The air shifted; invisible power's forced the axe to barely pass over her head. The hunter falling face fist onto the unforgiving marble. His axe forced from his grip, crashing against the dusty marble floor. Sliding away out from his grip.
"Such shameful behaviour. And from a vicar of all things." She chided calmly. "This is a cathedral. A house of the divine. Tarnished it might be, their presence and power still remains. Even when forgotten by men and time, their power remains. Have you become so lost in your bloodlust that you have forgotten how to properly behave?"
The Vicar, the Hunter, the boy in a man's shoes, stood and looked at her with a burning glare. Yet he didn't move. Coulndt. Neither could she. Having to force herself to sheath the blade, an invisible pressure all but choking her. The instant she thought of lunging forward, using his own blade against him, her body betrayed her. Leaving her rooted on the spot. The taboo enforced over the cathedral making it impossible to break the unwritten rules of conduct.
"Truthfully, I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you." Annalise said with an as innocent smile she could muster. The way his brow twitched as he climbed up balm for her troubled soul. It would never satisfy the burning inside her. Arc might not be an executioner; he might not be a member of Lawrance's inner cabal. Yet he bore the medallion. Bore the symbol that had caused her and her people untold degradations. "You have a talent for teaching. Little Violet is lucky to have you."
"Thank you, that means much coming from a woman of your standing." Jaune's reply was silky smooth. Thick with barely supressed anger. His brow dancing as he did his best to keep his composure. Having caught on quickly. "Your daughter's are just overflowing with praises when you come up in conversation."
"They are quite the beautiful girls, are they not?" A soft, gentle, smile graced her lips, every syllable filled with sincere motherly love. For she did speak from the bottom of her heart. Elizabeth, Henrietta, Victoria, Issabelle, Annalise, she had born her girls for night moth's, raised them for years. She loved them from the bottom of her heart. It didn't stop her from doing what was necessary to see her ambition born into the world. "Of all my girl's, Elizabeth takes after me the most. Ruthlessly sharp, yet also so filled with love. Even if her love is the jealous kind."
"You speak as if you love them." The vicar's words were sharp. Matching the look in his eyes perfectly. His top had carried in the nook of his elbow. Walking towards her with calm and measured steps. Looking every bit the gentleman. The blood coating him doing nothing to hide the remnants of nobility flowing in his blood. "As if it is not their blood on your hands."
"I'm afraid that some sacrifices have to be made for the greater good." The words had their intended effect. Like any man, the Vicar was nothing but a miserable little pile of secrets. Constantly contradicting himself, be it through word or deed. Constantly going out of his way to help those that coulndt help themselves, be they living or dead, to the point of his own demerit. Yet setting inside the moment other's spoke of doing the same. The only thing larger than his martyr complex was his hypocrisy.
"You speak of the greater good as if there will be anyone to live it when your ambition is realised." The Vicar countered sharply. Following her with a pair of sharp eyes. A myriad of emotions eating him inside out.
"Yet here you speak as if you know what it is." Annalise countered sharply, keeping her rising temper in check.
For she had already won. With the taboo cast, it didn't matter if he destroyed or tarnished over the communion chalice. The taboo would persist until it had completely run its course. The unspoken laws and costumes of conduct inside a church unbreakable. She had to adhere to them, so did he.
She knew of the invisible clock that hung over him. She had all the time in the world, he hadn't. There would come a moment where he would wake up in his Remnant. How much time that would buy her was still something left up in the air. Only knowing that it would be enough to set up a proper ritual, using his soul and blood, to serve as sacrifice for her ambition.
"Then please." He bowed mockingly. "Enlighten me." Taking of his glove, he held his hand over the chalice. "However, do allow me to pay tithe. This is a house of worship is it not? Such shame tragedy has befallen it."
Running a nail over his palm, a drop of pale pink blood came seeping out. Thich like sludge, overflowing with vitality. As the drop of coagulated blood landed in the chalice, he snapped his finger's. Using the chalice's swirling power to strengthen the magic.
Annalise felt as the taboo grow. Feasting on the power in his blood. Transforming, changing, growing harsher, realer, more present, taking on an almost half sentient quality.
An invisible wave of magic boomed silently through the cathedral. Wherever it passed, time seemed to turn backwards. Stone chips appeared out from nothing, slotting themselves back into place. Destroyed stained-glass windows shattered, the ringing of glass echoing as glass shards appeared out from nothing, repairing the windows. Restoring the honour and dignity of the chapel. A giant altar rose up from where it laid toppled, decorations of gold lost their tarnish. Multiple large chandeliers hung from the roof, now free of holes.
In one moment the chapel was destitute, torn down and given to the passages of time. In the next it was beautiful, a red carpet on white marble. Multiple chalices around for communion.
"Your Tithe honour us." She spoke through gritted teeth. Feeling for a moment the control she had over the situation slip through her fingers. Internally chiding herself for letting it slip that the vicar wielded conversation with the same grace he swung his sword. None at all.
"Lies? In your house of god?" The hunter chided with a feigned smile of surprise on his lips. The crack of a whip rang through the chapel. A searing pain burning from her back. Drops of blood seeping into her dress.
"What a foul mouth you have, my dear." She chided motherly. Running a gentle caress down over his cheek. His skin scalding against hers. "Is that the tone you use to your mother." A whisper left her as another crack of a whip echoed out from the chapel. "Have you forgotten that I brought you into this world?"
The disgust and anger she felt at uttering those words only mirrored by the burning anger in his. His eyebrow twitched erratically, so did his finger's. Another crack of a whip ringing through the chapel. Gold momentarily shone from him, burning her finger's, yet unable to block the whip.
Divine law was usually a ritual that was as powerful as it was weak. All the ritual did was to create a taboo that coulndt be intentionally nor unintentionally broken. In her humble opinion, it was the 'truest' of all pinnacle rituals.
Through her blood, the power already residing in the communion chalice, the lingering power and presence of divinity in the cathedral, together with the tithe willingly given and the power of said tithe, the taboo had already transformed far beyond what she set. Seemingly able to enforce its rules by means of pain and magic.
"Mother?" The vicar spoke coldly. "What right do you have to claim motherhood when you have willingly stained your hand's with your own daughter's blood?"
"You speak as if you are the saint, and I the sinner." Annalise countered. Taking a step from him. Running a nail over her palm. Infusing the purple drop of blood with as much of her magic as possible. Drawing on some of the boons she had earned. Feeling the taboo gorge itself on the power as the blood was consumed by the chalice. "You are Vicar, are you not? Did not your people rape and burn my township into the ground in your name? Are you trying to abolish yourself of sin?"
"My sins are my own." He replied flatly. Following her with burning ravenous eyes filled with malice. "Numerous as they are, they are mine to bear and no one else's." Either ignorant or uncaring of the power that brewed in the cathedral he continued undaunted. "'Judge not the son for the sins of his father'. Is that not how the adage goes? And have I not spent many nights toiling thanklessly away for the people of your township? If the patron you serve, whose power you invoked to breach the void is unable to see my work for what it is, then such a divine is unworthy of love and worship."
"What does a butcher know of faith?" Her words were sharp and cutting. Her gaze burning.
"Enough." Arc hissed out through gritted teeth. "Man of faith I might not be, and probably never will be. However, if your faith sees you killing your daughter's to sate your ambition. See you sacrifice eighty-one infants in the name of a child." He breathed heavily, talking animatedly, spittle almost flowing from his mouth. Yet he didn't raise his voice at her. Instead filling it with passion, and a promise of her death. "Did you never stop to think about what you were doing? When did the line between doing your god's bidding and your own ambition become blurred?"
"Are you to lecture me on worship?" Raising an elegant brow she looked him over. Venom lacing her tongue. "When your own see you slaughter the innocent? Worship that alone will make you the grandest serial killer in Yharnam's long history? All for thirsting gods that want for nothing but blood and violence. And you have the gall to call me godless?"
Something flashed through his eyes. Leaving a spark of madness in it's wake. "Are you speaking on their behalf? Bit pretentious, one could almost call it sacrilegious." Letting his eyes wander around, the madness in his eyes only grew. "I can't help but notice that this cathedral feels a bit hollow." Pulling down his hunting cowl and giving her a smile filled with sharp teeth.
"Oh, the threat of horror, the hope of crimson cries."
Annalise felt her heart leap into her throat. Recognizing the chant. Who it spoke to. A dozen idea's stampeding through her mind. Shooting her hand forward, it froze. The taboo rooting her in place. Having taken the lunatic's side.
"One thing at least is certain – that this Life flies;"
His words were softer than a whisper on the wind. Gentler than a mother's lullaby. A soft breath of wind fluttered in through the cathedrals open doors. Filling the cathedral with a pungent stench, chocking out all other scents. Only for another gust of wind to come by. Bringing with it scents of incense and chrysanthemums. An invisible presence of finality settled inside the cathedral. One presence only matched by a ruthless, ravenous, want.
"Odeon. Father. Formless Master. Greatest of all. Your loyal worshiper pleads for you to bless your cathedral with your presence." Instantly a presence fell over the cathedral. Flames flickered; the very hair grew heavy. A spike of fear, of recognition, darted through the vicar's eyes. Yet he didn't stop his chanting.
Clenching his fists, crimson red light slipped through his fingers.
"One thing is for certain, and the rest is Lies."
Opening his palms, he murmured the last syllables of the chant.
"The Flower that once has bloomed forever dies."
And the veil Byrgenwerth had cast over the moon and Yharnam was torn apart.
Gentle red light bathed over them. The sword burned in her hand, the handle twisting, spikes digging into her arm. Forcing her to discard the sword. A thick black and red miasma exploded from the blade. Surging out, filling the cathedral with burning spat curses, screams of the damned. Misty claws reached out from the miasma towards the Vicar. Clawing towards him as they miasma was swallowed by the communion chalice.
Ever so gently lifting the sword, a singular tear slid down his check as he fastened her to his belt. "It's good to see you clean again friend." He mumbled, gently grabbing the hilt. His eyes darting over to her. A long exhale leaving him.
The cathedral brimmed with power. The ground thrummed; the stained-glass windows shivered. A figure with too many eyes, too many ribs, and too many fingers darted through the stained-glass windows. A mirage sat by the closest pew. One moment it was an old crone, then a young girl, a woman in the middle of her life. Always flickering, constantly changing.
"This is a blessed night." Annalise mumbled in reverence. Feeling the presence on not one, not two, but three Great One's suffuse the cathedral. Her blood writhed in her body. Her spirit soared.
"You are right." The hunter replied gently, drawing his blade. 'Impossible.' Her mind screamed. With the taboo in place, drawing weapons should be impossible. "I never thought it would happen like this. But it's fitting don't you think?"
"Have the last thread of sanity in your mind finally snapped?" She taunted. The wonder and awe in her heart, only mirrored by the gnawing uncertainty. Letting her eyes wander, she found the source of her uneasiness. The communion chalice unrecognisable, and so was the blood.
When she had ran her finger's through it, it had been small. The gold had been tarnished, and while there had been decorations on it's form. They had been small and of old design. Now she could barely recognise it. It's mouth had grown wide, red gems like rubies, only burning scarlet, lined it's side. Winged arms raised up over it. The tarnished gold had changed, turning into something that was not silver, not gold, and not bone. A sinister dark mist clung to the mouth of the chalice. The miasma dancing, reaching.
"Let's both not pretend to be something we are not." The biggest hypocrite of hypocrites said flatly. Standing tall, he brushed away the tear. Instead turning to give her a look. Not one of victory, of triumph. Neither was it a look that bore that ravenous spark of madness. It was a soft look. One that filled her with more rage than anything before.
Pain, she could bear. Anger, she could bear. Countless degradation she has born for her people, and countless more she would bear to see her ambition realised. Pity, she would not. Not from that man above all else. Lawrance was a delusional dreamer. His executioner's mad zealots. Yet the Vicar, Arc, he she detested. The living embodiment of everything wrong with Yharnam coalesced into one living abomination.
"You don't see them?" The vicar whispered, the madman from just moments ago nowhere to be seen as he looked out at the empty cathedrals. The many empty pews the only thing there. "Your procession is waiting for you. It's time to go."
"What are you-" Her voice died in her throat as she moved her head. The once empty pews filled with faces. Some familiar, some not. Some faces lacked eyes, macabre remembrances of how they suffered before death took them. Bones poked out of flesh, guts spilled like sausages from cut open wounds, heart's and entire ribcages were torn or cut open. Yet, paradoxically enough, not a single drop of blood stained the paw's. Not a single drop on the marble floor.
"So this is what your madness was to mask" Annalise hissed out, glaring at him with all the hatred she could muster. Of course she knew of the ritual. It was something that had consumed him worse than Lawrance was consumed by his delusions.
"If you can use lingering power to breach the void, who am to say I can't?" The replied in such a brazenly cocksure way she was sure he had popped a blood vessel in his head.
"Then you have truly lost your mind."
"We both have." He said sincerely, laying the blade over the chalice. Chains shooting out from his hand. Lifting the sword and leaving it suspended over the chalice. It's tip pointed down.
Annalise looked at him, drawing on her boons. Only for the taboo she had set making its presence known. The charms, domination, and other spells born of malice crushed under its uncaring jurisdiction. For there was no malice in the vicar's heart. Or if it were, he was able to mask it. The sword drawn not out of malice; the chains created not of malice. His actions giving them weight, tricking the taboo to allow them to exist.
Leaving her trapped between a rock and a hard place. She could leave the cathedral, nothing bound her here. Yet, if she did she would be cut down the second she was outside the taboo's protection. However if she stayed, all her sweat, blood, and tears would be for naught. Her grand dream ending.
A spark lit up in her mind. A dangerous idea. A plan that would see her ambition come true in the future. Sacrificing this moment and incarnation, for the ability to come back stronger, and in a better position than the one she found herself in now.
'Figure in the mirror.' Just thinking about the spell sent a chill racing down her back. She was familiar with the ritual, but she didn't like it. It was too vague. Creating a mind out of nothing was far to situational for her liking. 'Yet if I don't take the risk, there will be no future.'
Already she was drawing on all her boons. Feeling the unnaturalness of another nascent mind being born in her body. Nothing but a blank slate. Just what she wanted. Drawing on another boon, she filled the nascent mind with her memories, experiences, and everything that made her 'her'.
"For what it's worth. I'm sorry that it came to this." The vicar's voice was naught but a whisper. "If things had gone like I wanted, then this would have been done differently." Without hesitation, the vicar proved his earlier words to be nothing but lies. A soft and gentle chant bouncing of the walls.
"Requiem aeternam dona eis Domini,"
Like one, over thirty thousand voices boomed. Following the vicar as a congregation did.
"Et lux non luceat eis."
Power like never before perfused the cathedral. Cracks ran up the walls. The stained-glass windows exploded. The chandelier's flames writhed and flickered. Turning pale blue, crimson red, while some candle's died out entirely.
Even the crimson moonlight seemed to refuse to shine into the cathedral. Almost choking it in darkness.
"In tenebris ambulant, in tenebris iaceant."
Annalise waited, seeing through the darkness, waiting for when the perfect moment.
"Fiat salus in morte."
"NO!" The bellow escaped her as she noticed to late what he had planned. Ever so gently touching the side of the sword. The spiritual anchor her immortality relied on pushed out, taken from her daughter's. A thick churning drop of black blood ran down the blade. Leaving a long scar on the side of the blade. Before it fell through the air, landing in the communion chalice.
A pull came, tearing her out of her incarnation. Right into what felt like a million waiting arms. Eagerly clawing at her as she was carried towards the communion goblet. The blood transformed inside transformed into a black night sky.
She crashed back first into a sea of silence. Countless spirits pushing her deeper and deeper into the black nothing. Her daughter's leading the charge. Eyes once so filled with love and adoration now nothing but black empty pits writhing with filth.
{-ooo-}
'Where am I?' It thought to itself. Loss, confusion, together with a profound sense of anguish tore at it. It didn't know what it felt. Why it felt as it did. Everything was so cold.
It didn't like the cold. Neither did it like the dark.
No matter where it moved, it saw nothing but darkness. Blanketing it like a mist that refused to let go.
Then came light. From above, from before, from everywhere. Blinding, yet not. It was a warm light, a kind light. A light that twisted and turned, coalescing into a form right before it.
Broken. Cracks ran through her. Deep cracks filled with dark, with red, and lined with gold. She wore armour under a billowing cloak of faded yellow. Yet it had long lost any glimmer, dented, torn, and repaired again and again.
It faltered back. Scared. Pain racked it. Not from her, but from within. Anger not its own. Wrath and anguish it had not experienced.
She stretched out a hand with its ring finger missing. Cracks lined her skin. As if she could fall apart at any moment. Yet, warmth radiated from her. Steely eyes filled with hope and kindness looked at her gentler than it could ever imagine.
Ever so hesitantly it reached out, not wanting to feel the fear and anguish. Before it knew what happened, it was pulled into a warm embrace. Bringing up memories not it's own. Memories discarded and forgotten. Of children, of warmth.
{-ooo-}
Note: So in the last chapter I might have accidentally retconned some of Jaune's stat's. But don't to worry. There is an accidentally, but completely in lore reason for his momentarily stat decrease. It also answers the 'why' regarding why the great one's impregnated Arianna, instead when Annalise is/was willing. I was going somewhere, with the Queen's and Jaune's conflict. Then it devolved into a 'my dad', 'no my dad' sort of conflict. Even if I'm a bit uncertain if this is how I wanted for her to go, but she needed to go. And it feels like this way I showed of her strength and weaknesses. Because the Queen isn't a fighter, but a ruler/politician/witch. She would neve win a 1-v-1 against jaune. So I had to showcase her skills and strengths another way. After all, not every conflict is won by steel, some are won by words and knowing one's position.
Note: This is the translation for the chant.
"Grant them eternal rest, O Lord's,
And let no light shine upon them.
They walk in darkness, they lie in darkness,
Let salvation be found in death."
Note: This chapter have been troublesome to write. And I have been a bit all over the place. Looking for work. Having some original works lying around, together with a dozens or so other fic's i have pumped worked on in my spare time. Warcraft, Warhammer, naruto, hp, and more.
Note: And yes, Paarl is a constant chidori reference, because why not. It's fitting.