Author's Note: I know that many of you were expecting another one-shot to finish off the trilogy, but trust me when I say I have good reason to make this a chapter fic. Please refer to the author note at the end of this chapter for more information.
Chapter 1: From Soil and Stone
Lost and forgotten beneath Yharnam's towering gothic walls and spires, the abandoned workshop of the Old Hunters languished in silent obscurity for many moons. Like the rock of mountains and cliffs, the great city of the Healing Church rose up in layers, each era of Yharnam resting upon the bones of its predecessor. As with all relics of Yharnam's past, the workshop was a victim of the city's most devastating disease: a short memory. True, the Scourge of Beasts, Ashen Blood, corrupted ministrations, and Yharnam's myriad of other afflictions were terrible, but each spread like rot from the common source of cultural forgetfulness.
Pthumeru, Isz and it's labyrinthine catacombs, Loran, the charred remains of Old Yharnam, and all the other civilizations laid low by the unending cycle of repeating history still haunted the soil and stone from which Yharnam grew. Those who trod the cobblestone streets and hallowed halls, living in ignorance of the corpses interred below, were but unripe bones waiting to form the foundation upon which their unfortunate successors would build. Those who remembered enough to thirst for the lost power of bygone ages failed to recall how the same thirst, once slaked, destroyed their forebears.
Yet, one last cruel touch perfected the cycle of damnation which held the great city in thrall. The lure of truth and the promise of rebirth fed Yharnam's ravening appetite for deceit and death. However, these curses, for curses they were, did have their uses. After all, when the spread of fire threatens the village, one sets a fire of their own to consume all the fuel and starve the other.
A soul is like a fire is it not? It burns, kindled by passion and sentiment, building when fed and waning when starved. It will just as likely warm away a chill as burn the hand which strays too close. Like the glow of a lantern, a soul will light the darkness and draw in the cold and lost. A soul burning too hot might snuff the wicks of others too weak to survive the contention. It might succumb to gluttony, feeding until nothing remains and the flame gutters out, or it may reach too far and set the house ablaze. In the end both fire and souls burn down to ashes, dying embers fading into an endless field of shadow beyond the reach of their light. However, one must take care; should a wisp of smoke coil from the fading sparks, a gentle breeze might coax the flame back to life.
A breath of wind ghosted through the workshop's yard, creeping like a thief through the overgrown grass and lumenflowers. It stirred the dust and ash gathered along the disheveled stone pathways. Silence as thick as the layers of dust smothering the abandoned workshop ruled over the forgotten domain for longer than memory deigned to serve. Then, all at once, its reign came to an end. The smoldering remains of a soul rekindled with a ragged, gasping breath.
"Garvan?"
*oOo*
Outside the dilapidated structure of the abandoned old Hunter's Workshop, a figure clad in a faded and tattered royal blue overcoat stood atop the long-settled dirt of her own grave. Her lungs burned as if having nearly been drowned, and every beat of her heart sent a thudding pain through her ribs. The fibers of her muscles creaked and groaned to protest their use. She hadn't been alive to use them in gods only knew how long. Restored though her body may be, Maria needed to break in her new flesh like stiff leather.
Pale blue eyes, wild with disorientation, darted all around the old workshop's yard. Maria scrabbled around in her head for a hold on the last thing she could remember. There were arms cradling her, warm against the encroaching chill of death. There was a face looming above her, a face twisted by heartbreak and helplessness. Then, nothing. She'd died. She'd been set free from the Nightmare by Garvan.
"Garvan?" Maria called into the darkness, uncertain if he had done something to call her back from the grave. Her voice echoed off the stone surrounding her, the only answer to return. The scent of smoke and blood filtered down from somewhere above, and Maria knew with sudden certainty that she returned to Yharnam on the night of the Hunt. Instinct took hold and a new sense of purpose eclipsed her need for answers. The city would be dangerous, so Maria would first need to arm herself.
For the first time she recognized where she stood; there could be no mistaking Gehrman's Hunter Workshop. It looked so pitiful in its state of decay, overgrown and hidden away from the light of day, that Maria struggled to reconcile the abandoned workshop with the one she knew. When the "hows" and whys" started bubbling up to the surface, the hunter pushed them back down. Questions would not change the state of things, she needed a weapon.
The door nearest Lady Maria lay flat on the floor having rotted from its hinges and collapsed inward. Like dried bones, the door's desiccated wood crackled underfoot as she made her way inside the workshop. Though abandoned, she noted that the various tools and materials remained remarkably intact. No looters or squatters had ransacked the former refuge for Yharnam's first hunters by the look of it. Apart from the dust and scattered parchments littering the floor it all appeared as she remembered it.
As Maria scanned the dim interior of the old workshop she stopped cold upon catching sight of the life-size doll sitting propped up in the corner. A pit opened in her stomach and it felt as if her insides were sliding down into the abyss. Maria might as well have been staring at her twin. Hesitating, she stooped and reached out to take the doll's hand. Maria lifted it close to her face studying the intricate craftsmanship of the doll's joints. Only one hunter she knew of could accomplish such delicate work.
Where was Gehrman? Maria looked back over her shoulder as if she would find him there, tucked away in a corner just like the doll. The elderly hunter had been like a father to her, but she left him behind the day she slit her wrists. Did her loss inspire in him some manner of mania? Had he crafted the doll because he missed her? To replace her? None of the possibilities painted a pleasant picture of Gehrman's twilight years.
"I'm sorry," Maria whispered, placing the doll's hand back in her lap. "His was not your burden to suffer. That is why he abandoned you here, isn't it?" She felt certain that it was. Throughout her time in the Healing Church's research hall Maria had seen what isolation, loss, and loneliness could do to a mind-especially one that had already glimpsed behind the veil.
Rising to her feet, Lady Maria gave the doll one last look before turning back to the rest of the workshop. She looked to a wall rack above the workbench and spotted a weapon slotted into the highest rungs. Approaching the bench, Maria leaned over the edge and reached up for the weapon's haft. Her fingertips brushed along the leather-wrapped grip, but she wasn't tall enough to get a hold of it. Hiking one leg up onto the workbench, she clambered atop the flat surface before trying again. She reached the weapon with ease.
Maria hopped down from the workbench and studied the weapon in her hands. It reminded her of the Beasthunter Saifs of her time, though a more refined version of them. A serrated blade lined the outside of the weapon when folded into its compact form. A trigger on the haft allowed the spring-loaded blade to snap upward into a more sword or axe-like configuration. In its longer form, the weapon employed the cleaver edge lining the inside of the blade.
Armed with a trick weapon, Maria felt ready to move forward. Above all else, she wanted to find Garvan. Figuring out where to start looking for him would be the next obstacle to overcome. Unlike Garvan, she could not "dream"-which Maria came to understand as a sort of limbo to which bound hunters would return upon death. Similar to the Hunter's Nightmare she thought, but a hub from which to stage their hunts instead of a cursed hellscape. Without being able to look for Garvan in the Dream, she would need to try and find him in Yharnam.
Thinking over what she knew about Garvan's goals, Maria considered where the Hunter of Hunters would need to frequent. Given his desire to interfere with the Healing Church and the Church's likely connection to the state of Yharnam, Maria figured starting in the districts surrounding the Grand Cathedral would be a safe bet.
With a general direction in mind, Maria descended the overgrown path of the abandoned workshop towards a door in the towering stone structure built into the mountainside. Pressing her hand to the door and pushed. The heavy door sagged on its hinges, squalling in defiance as it resisted her attempts to open it. She managed to move it little more than the width of her fist before it caught and refused to open any further.
A sneer worthy of her Cainhurst lineage curled her lip at this trivial, yet no less annoying, impediment. Taking a step back, Maria lifted her leg and kicked the stubborn door dead center. The hinges screamed before the embrittled metal issued a sharp snap. The door tore free from its mountings and sailed into the dark expanse below. A heavy crash reported from far below as the door splintered against the floor followed by a furious inhuman roar.
Stepping up to the edge of the door, Lady Maria leaned out over the edge of the platform and peered down into the gloom. The howl following the door's impact betrayed the presence of something lurking below, but she couldn't make out anything but vague shapes and motes of dust. Maria turned her gaze upward, but a similar darkness occluded everything beyond ten meters. If there had been any stairs or lifts they must have collapsed. Given that there did not appear to be any means of ascending the spire, Maria started looking for a way down.
The hunter's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered her options. Moving back out onto the platform, Maria snapped the Saw Cleaver into its collapsed form and clipped it to her belt with a leather strap and buckle, a setup many hunters used to carry weapons and equipment. She let the weapon settle against her hip and shifted around to get a feel for how it affected her center of gravity.
Satisfied that she could move freely enough to serve her purposes, Lady Maria moved to the edge of the platform and looked below for the best way down. A long beam jutted out from beneath the platform on which she stood. It ran along the wall before coming to an abrupt end where it had been snapped off. Below that, the remains of some floorboards and supports along the wall formed another platform. A rail ran the circumference of the spire just beneath the lower platform.
Maria felt confident that if she could reach that rail, she could make it to the bottom of the spire. Edging out onto the narrow beam sticking out from her platform, the wood uttered a dangerous creak. She felt the beam sink a little beneath her weight as she made her way farther out on the limb. About halfway to the end of the beam a sharp crack sent a shudder through the wood under Maria's feet.
The beam dropped about a meter before catching again. Maria pitched to the side with the sudden stop. She crouched and threw her arms out in the opposite direction to correct her balance. Just when she thought she might tip past the point of no return, the hunter rocked back onto her feet. Another creak rumbled through the beam, but it held for the time being.
Cold rivulets of sweat popped out across Maria's forehead. She pursed her lips and looked back at the platform behind her, considering whether or not to go back and try getting down a different way. No, she'd passed the point of turning back. The beam would snap at any moment, and her only chance would be jumping for the platform below.
Taking a deep breath, Maria took two steps toward the end of the beam and leapt. Another sharp whip crack filled the air as the beam snapped under the force of the hunter's liftoff. The sound of her own rushing blood drowned out all other sounds. Three seconds of stomach-spinning freefall passed in slow motion. Then…
Crunch.
The whole platform shuddered beneath the impact, several of the supports giving way. Maria's left leg punched through one of the floorboards, and she crashed hard into the platform. Despite the rough landing enough of the supports remained to keep the platform from falling free. The hunter grunted in annoyance as she got up on her hands and right knee.
Luck had been on her side, but she didn't care to test the limits of her fortune. Not wanting to compromise what integrity the platform had left, Maria took great care in extracting her leg from the hole. Once free, she moved toward the wall and wasted no time in stepping out onto the rail. It proved far sturdier than the platform under her weight. Confident it would hold her, Maria lowered herself down to hang by her hands.
Looking down, she tried to judge the remaining distance from the bottoms of her boots to the floor below. Aside from the shattered remains of the door and other scattered detritus, the only prominent feature of the spire's ground floor was a stack of crates slightly off to her left. Thinking that it would be preferable to try dropping onto the iron-bracketed crates than risk a broken leg, Maria shimmied over half an arm's length at a time until positioned over the pile of boxes.
Lowering herself as far as possible, Maria let go of the rail and dropped down onto the pile of crates. She crashed on the edge of one of the upper crates which tipped forward and spilled her down the stack of boxes. Maria tucked her head and rumbled with the momentum. Her lower back struck one of the crates on the way down. The iron bracketed edge of the box sent a blooming rush of pain through her core, but she made it to the floor and rolled to her feet without further incident.
A low growl like the sound of tumbling gravel pushed any thought of pain to the back of Maria's mind; she was not alone at the base of the spire. But she already knew that. Maria knew before she set foot on the platform outside the abandoned workshop. It did not deter her then, and it would not deter her now.
From the dark alcove leading to the spire's only exit, a hunkering silhouette started towards Maria on all fours. Emerging into the dim yellow light filtering in through cracks in the wall, the massive creature rose up on its back legs and stood like a man. Mangy grayish brown fur, matted with dried blood and ribbons of ropey meat, covered the beast from the black spiral horns atop its wolfish head, to the clawed tips of its back paws. At full height It stood almost twice as tall as Maria, and its unnaturally long arms would drag on the floor if left to hang. The lips of its snarling face drew back to reveal long white fangs. Vermilion eyes burned with hate inside sunken sockets. Despite its gangly figure, the beast rippled with thick cords of muscle. It raised a hand, each claw-tipped finger as long as Maria's forearm, and a pyromantic blaze erupted from its palm. Throwing back its head, the monster bellowed a roar of challenge that shook dust from the stone walls around them.
The hunter reached down and unclipped the Saw Cleaver from her belt. Undaunted, she looked into its furious inhuman eyes and brandished her weapon.
"You stand in my way, beast," she said.
Baring its fangs at her defiance, the beast swiped at her with its pyromancy-charged claw and sent a fan of flames towards the hunter. Lady Maria sidestepped the fire with a liquid grace that made her evasion appear simple. Further vexed, the monstrosity gnashed its teeth. With each snap of its jaws the long fangs clicked together like chalk on slate. Lifting both spindle-fingered hands, the monster charged after the hunter.
Weapon raised, Maria rushed to meet it.
Author's Note: Okay, so here is the plain truth on why it has taken so long to get this started: there is too much story to tell for a one-shot. I tried several times to write the entirety of the remaining story in a one-shot format. Each time it felt rushed, and I loathed the end result. Finally, I decided to make the third act of The Last Crow of Yharnam a chapter fic and started all over again. Given the current state of the world with Coronavirus, remote work, and new stress of all kinds, it has been difficult to even get this far. So, I turn to my readers to ask for help. I need someone both willing and capable to beta/edit for me while serving as my accountability buddy (or "accountabilibuddy) if you like). I would prefer someone with writing experience of their own, and I may ask for a writing sample should you volunteer to help. Everyone who contacts me will be responded to. Please do not take it personally if you are not selected. Anyone who is interested can send me a private message.
As always, thanks for reading. Keep your eye out for "Chapter 2: Stars Beyond Reach".