Chapter Text
Singed edges of my coat smolder away as I attempt to brush off the last of the embers. I would be lying if I said I expected the giant boulder of fire that bowled its way over the bridge on my path here.
After rounding the corner towards the stairs, I hear my prey before I see them. The gravel-snarled told me there was at least one poor soul who was too far gone. Carefully, I crept up the stairs and saw two lost souls to my right. Creeping up behind, saw-blade in hand, I reached my desired location before silently rewinding and thrusting my transformed hand forward and into the spine of the creature. As hand tore through muscle and bone, the creature recoiled, howling, alerting his friend. The uninjured wolf man turned on a heel and slashed just as my blade swung down to finish his companion. The blood spraying us both as I push back to dodge the claws raking the area I was in moments ago.
Turning, I lower my head, tucking it between my shoulders as I push forward at just the right moment. My hand once again slips between his flesh, ribs pull upwards in a serated motion before he falters forward, collapsing in a growing pool of blood. Before long his body will begin to turn to ash.
The new layer of blood begins to soak into my already tarnished clothing. No point in cleaning up. There will always be more blood spilled over them. However, I do wipe my eyes to clear them of the splatter. Flicking it to the side, I step over the warm bodies to continue on my path.
There is one final set of stairs leading to the small cemetery housing the Tomb of Oedon and a final climb to the cathedral. A cold wind blows against my face, pushing against my body as I climb slowly. I can see the architecture of the church as I look up. Metal spires scraping at the clouds, daring to taunt the gods with their reach. Fools. Without all their meddling, there would be no need for me. For other hunters. No one to risk their lives to clean up the mess left behind by the members of the healing church. The two dead men behind me would happily be at home with loving families. Not trying to rip any living thing they found to pieces.
The sound of meat splitting breaks my thoughts. I slow and eventually stop at the entrance to the cemetery.
Standing before me is a very familiar man. His long coat and scarf billow in the wind as his huge form hunches over the source of the sound. His axe has firmly found its place in wet flesh far too mangled to identify. A Yarnamite? A turned? I can't tell at this distance. I step forward, towards the hunter as his axe rises and falls once more into the mass. Blood sprays to the side in a cascade of red. After thoroughly mutilating the corpse, he sighs, breathing heavily. I give him a moment to catch his breath. I recognize the man. It's... uncharacteristic for him to pant like a dog from a simple kill. He stands
"Beasts all over the shop..." his voice is smooth. As if he wasn't just struggling for breath. It causes me to pause my gait. "You'll become one of them... sooner or later". He speaks to himself, back to me. As he turns to face me heart drops into the pit of my stomach. His teeth have grown, taken a sharp point at the ends. Dried blood covers him as he readies his axe. He's close to transforming. He is one of the oldest of us hunters, and the weight of that has slowly worn him down over the years. But why tonight? Tonight of all nights, when I could use his aid the most.
"Stop! Wait! I'm not transformed! But you might if you continue to fight." I hook my blade to my hip and approach with empty hands. "Please stop and think." My words are met with a nasty snarl.
"Shut up. Prey doesn't speak." He raises his axe and charges me.
I have a choice to make. Kill the man who built the foundations for all hunters and taught me to fight. Or maybe die trying to regain his humanity. Old quotes from Henryk cloud my judgment and twist my decisions as an axe blade swings down towards my shoulder. I quickly jump back, but not soon enough to avoid the gaping wound over my sternum. I hiss at the pain. Gascoigne laughs dryly.
"Such a sweet smell..." I recoil at the tone he chose. The words drip with bloodlust and thirst. He's bigger than me, but I'm hoping I'm still faster. I duck to the side and sweep around him, planting a foot to his back, which causes him to tumble forward.
"Stop and think of what you're doing! We are not enemies! Stop before this goes too far." My plea stops him for but a moment before he stands and turns with a swipe of his axe. I roll to avoid. He gives no reply and continues his onslaught of attacks. I duck and roll and do my best to wear him out, but it seems all I've done is piss him off.
"Draw your weapon, hunter! Fight and die like you should." The sly tone is gone. Replaced by gravel and glass. A wheeze escapes his throat. I comply, and a grimace frames his face. "There we go. Just like we taught you." The missing Henryk once again flickers to mind, but I shove it away this time.
"I won't fight you." My gun falls into my off-hand.
"Then you will die." He signs my death promise with a flurry of truly powerful blows. His weapon circles to my left, reaching its full length before colliding with my thigh. Blood sprays as metal tears through flesh and bone. Never one for theatrics, I silently retaliate with an attack of my own. My blade saws into his neck, and as the blood sprays over me, I feel some of the flesh in my leg and torso pulling back together. A rush fills my blood as ours mix with that of the old ones. We both pull back and take but a moment to recover before sparks and blood fly once more.
A step backwards. A mistake, as I realize I'm pinned between a rock and a hard place. His axe swings down, and I'm forced to try and block with my saw. An excited smile flashes me as he closes the distance, pressing my back into the cold stone grave. He refuses to yield as he steps into my space, leg finding its hold between mine. He leans forward, pressing his body to mine and inhaling, his face inches from mine. Only metal creates distance.
"Sweet blood... enough to drive a man sick." His voice is slick. More human than before.
"Please," I hate begging, but I'm running out of options. "Please look at me." He does. Not like he has any other options in this position. "I'm not a monster."
I do see a flicker of hesitation in his body. He shifts backwards for just a moment before shaking his head like he is forcing a thought from his mind. "Get out of my head." The axe begins to tremble as he finally starts fighting the blood in his veins. Distracted, I can push a bit more room between us for a moment before he quickly turns back to me and slams his weight upon me once again. I'm forced back onto the stone, a corner of which digs into my spine. I can't stop the whine of pain that sneaks out due to the crushing pressure. "I like that sound... do it again." He presses more weight down until I feel the stone begin to rip into my skin. The pain of the tear isn't stifling, but the pressure of being crushed by him begins to unravel my mind. I resist as long as I can, keep emotions devoid on my face. Eventually, human nature overtakes training, and a long-winded whine rasps from my body. He laughs dryly, but he's not satisfied. "What other delightful noises does it make?" He's lost somewhere between man and beast, and that sentence is the scariest thing I've heard him say.
Much less focused on the axe in his hands, he goes from pressing with his weapon to trying to crush me. Any distance remaining is closed as he uses his weight to press me between the grave and his torso. His body hunches forward and down, pinning me in place long enough for him to drop a hand from the axe and grab my shoulder. The split second of ground I make is shattered away as he lifts and slams me into the sharp stone. The air in my lungs is forced out in a croaked groan of pain. He chuckles and repeats the process of picking me up and slamming down on the stone grave behind.
With or without realizing, when he feels finished, I slump down, limpness gripping me. Through broken ribs, I let out a wet rasp. Trembling, I nearly fumble and a vial of blood from my pocket. I cough up a splattering of blood on the front of his coat as I inject the red liquid into my thigh. He lets me... Watching. I'm far more focused on myself than on him as I attempt to push him away from me. The blade, once in my hands, had long clattered to the cobblestone. Now with both hands free, I pushed against his chest, desperate for breathing room. He gives me no such luxury as his blood-soaked hand wraps around my neck and pulls me into the air.
Panic fills my mind as my lungs slowly begin to burn. I attempt to calm and reserve my energy to escape his grasp. Weaponless, I have few options, and I shove my hand into the bag on my hip. He walks with long strides as I offer little resistance. I can feel my crushed lungs inflate as the blood vial does its work. By the time he is satisfied with our location, my air-starved lungs are mostly intact yet throbbing. I wrap my hands around the smooth glass bottle in my pocket. I know this will hurt me. But it'll hurt him more...
As he throws me back onto the stone of the large statue platform, I rip my hand from my side bag and hurl the molotov directly into his face. The fuel splatters and explodes over the two of us. He howls in pain, rearing back in a moment of panic. The flame sticks and licks up my legs, burning the cloth to flesh. Blood vials will help with the pain. But the burn will remain for some time on both of us.
He thrashes around the area before me, and I finally find a moment to catch my breath. I gulp in the air to soothe my lungs and scramble for my weapons, legs burning. With each metal instrument in hand, I aim to put out the fire I caused. By the time I have finished Gasgonige has also recomposed himself. Standing hunched, hands spread like claws, embers still threatening to jump to life. He looks feral and I fear he is slipping further and further from humanity the longer we fight. What am I supposed to do to help him? Talking doesn't seem to work, fighting will get one of us killed. There does not appear to be any happy outcomes to this fight.
There's a break in action as the two of us circle each other. I can't tell what he is thinking, but his face is twisted and altering like the wind. I can see the fight in him. The desire to shake off the blood-lust, but it's an overpowering embrace. All hunters are familiar with its siren song. The stronger it becomes, the closer you are to loosing yourself and ending up on the Blade of a Crow. The wound I clawed into his neck has healed only a bit, leaving blood pouring from the gash and covering his front. The silver chain which normally keeps his jacket in place has broken causing one sleeve to drop beyond his shoulder, ripped to hell. His colar bone and shoulder are exposed and bloody. I look no better. The cloth over my back is shredded from the rocks. A large portion of my left pant is hanging loosely. The small leather cloak once held in place is missing completely and two belts on My front have been hacked apart. Tired of analyzing I break the silence.
"Are you done being difficult? This is getting very old." I try not to sound like I'm scolding a child but fail. I'm frustrated and it shows.
"I'm just having a bit of fun. The city is crawling. It's only a matter of time now." He's criptic and I don't know what he entirely means. This just irritates me further.
I mutter a few curses under my breath and charge again. Focusing, I try to strike under joints. In soft, non lethal spots. Slowly bleeding him out. I succeed for about a minute, dodging and weaving nearly all his attacks. I try and use my riffle as sparingly as possible, he however, does not.
The shot rings out as pain rips my torso into holes. I stager and fall to a knee; he's on me in an instant. Axe raised high above his head, I look up at him, fear glimmering in my eyes for just a moment. I know this won't be the end. But it will hurt like a bitch.
My world turns 180 degrees as my head is parted from my neck. A dull thump.
The ground is cold.
My body is kicked over. I don't feel it.
A foot is placed over my ear.
Darkness.