Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Where am I? Why is my bed so cold? And why are my clothes on?

I open my eyes, finding myself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Gone are the plaster walls of my room, replaced by crumbling wood and metal shelves full of strange vials and instruments. Was I kidnapped by organ harvesters or something?

As the haze of sleep finally leaves me, the utter panic sets in as I comprehend my situation. I try to sit up, it doesn’t work. Move my fingers, nothing. I can’t fucking move!

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I try to thrash about, do anything at all, but nothing happens. All I manage to do is hyperventilate, breathing through my nose as my mouth refuses to open. My eyes flicker around the room, searching my peripheral vision for something, anything that can help me.

I don’t see anything until I hear a wooden creaking off to my side. It is one of the most painful times of my life as I wait, desperate and afraid, for whoever's making that noise to enter my vision.

What appears at my side is an old man, dressed in Victorian clothing and bandaged eyes. He leans towards me in his wheelchair, the fog of his breath in the air accentuating how cold the room is. It is the moment I see him that this whole situation becomes horribly, terribly familiar…

“Oh, yes… Paleblood…”

No… no, no, no…

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

No, please no…

“Yharnam is the home of blood ministration.”

No! Fuck this! Whoever put me here, send me the fuck back!

“You need only unravel its mystery.”

This isn’t fair! I didn’t ask for this! You can’t do this to me!

“But, where’s an outsider like yourself to begin?”

Please….

“Easy, with a bit of Yharnam blood of your own…”

…

“But first, you’ll need a contract…”

The world fades away, darkness filling my vision as unshed tears well in my eyes. The blood minister simply smiles down at me as I slip into darkness, either ignorant or uncaring of my sorrow and fear.

I sit in the darkness for who knows how long, waiting for something to happen. I don’t bother trying to yell, or scream, or curse whoever did this to me. I don’t even know if someone did do this to me, perhaps my situation is just some horribly cosmic coincidence.

Eventually, an interface fades into view before me, utterly familiar. It’s the bloodborne character creator. I remember when I saw it for the first time, years ago. It was my first Soulsborne, and I was certainly not prepared. Little me got so scared of the first few enemies I dropped the game and didn’t pick it up again till I was in my late teens. It’s unfortunate such good memories are now tainted by the reality of my situation.

I waited for a while, no clue how long, sort of vaguely hoping that maybe all this would go away if I just stayed put. Maybe it would have, if I had waited long enough, but I was never good at doing nothing, and boredom drove us to do the stupidest things sometimes.

And so, I began to fill out the contract. There was no room for Origin, I suppose that made sense. Besides, I didn’t want some random person's memories shoved into my head, which seemed likely if I chose to alter my entire past.

Name: Aurelia
Gender: Female
Age: 19

That settled, now I guess I can move on to my appearance. Honestly, that's maybe the one upside of this whole shitshow. I mean, I got to remake my whole body from scratch, that's like every trans girl's dream, right?

That’s right, look on the bright side! New name, new body, new start!

…this is not worth it.

Anyway, I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself! Maybe all those hours spent replaying character creators were worth it!

I had long, raven black hair tied up in a tight bun, no getting grabbed for me. My eyes have changed to a bright, deep blue, contrasting nicely against the dark shadows around them. I do wonder if it's makeup, or actually a part of my skin, I suppose I’ll find out soon. My face is soft and delicate, accented by a hint of aristocratic sharpness. My new body is close to mine, somewhat broad shouldered and sturdy, with a faint swell at the chest. I admit, I thought about making them bigger for a bit, but ultimately, I was perfectly okay with a smaller chest. My butt and thighs were where most of my curves were, and I was happy enough with that.

In the end, I looked quite similar to my first body, just with different hair and eyes, and I guess my face was a touch more feminine. The body was still a good bit thinner, and my limbs seemed longer than they should be, giving me a spindly appearance. Nothing I could do about that, guess all hunters get the weird body as part of the package.

Unfortunately, the joy of a magical transition is not enough to make me forget the cost. Ahh, well there’s no use waiting. I finalize the contract, and my vision fades back, revealing the same room I was in before.

“Good. All signed and sealed. Now, let’s begin the transfusion.”

The man leans over me, and I feel a faint prick on my arm. I manage to spot the IV he had just stuck into my arm, feeling a warmth flood through my body as the blood scours its way through my veins.

“Oh, don’t you worry. Whatever happens… you may think it all a mere bad dream…”

A haze warms my mind, tiredness seeping deep into my bones. I cannot fight it as my eyes grow heavier and eventually shut entirely.

When I return to consciousness, my head is turned fully to the left, staring straight at a slowly growing pool of blood on the floor. I know what happens next, so I’m entirely unsurprised when a furry, clawed hand bursts from the puddle.

Even though I know I’ll be safe, it's still absolutely terrifying to see an emaciated werewolf crawl out of a pool of what's probably your blood.

As it stalks closer, my surety in my safety starts to fade. It feels like hours pass as the massive creature moves to loom over me. I feel it's hot, wet breath on my face, mixing with the sweat that had begun coating my body.

A spindly, clawed hand reaches out, gently caressing my face. I silently pray for someone, anyone to help me.

*FWOOOSH!*

My eyes snap shut at the sudden light, the sweat on my face damn near evaporating as a wave of heat washes over me. The sound of the roaring flame is only matched by the feral screeching of the burning monster in front of me.

I manage to open my eyes ever so slightly, just in time to watch the flailing beast trip backwards into the puddle of blood, falling into it like stone tossed in a well.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I suck in air through my nose, mouth still unmoving, trying to take deep, deliberate breaths to calm my pounding heart.

Of course, my respite is almost instantly cut short as loll back into facing the ceiling. For a moment, I think I can move, but no such luck.

“Uuargh…”

Despite the reality of the situation, I can’t help but feel a little jolt of happiness as the little pale creature crawls up my arm, groaning all the while. I always did like the Messengers, adorable little fellows that they were.

The groaning gets louder, morphing into a chorus of soft moans as more and more Messengers join their adventurous brother. I can’t suppress the internal shudder that runs through my body. One pair of small hands becomes two, then three, four, nine, fifteen, until my entire body seems to be covered in tiny, grasping hands.

I shut my eyes tight as those same hands come down onto my face, joined by their attached bodies and wobbly heads. The last thing I feel is a faint, falling sensation, and everything goes dark.

“Ahh, you’ve found yourself a Hunter…”

—------

I wake up with a gasp, my body shooting upright. Evidently, that was a bad move, as I almost immediately fell off the metal table and onto the hard, wood ground, my face nearly landing in a pile of broken glass.

“Shit…” I mutter in a voice that isn’t mine, carefully pushing myself to my feet.

Steadying myself, I finally get a good look at my surroundings. Wooden walls backed in stone, lined with metal shelves carrying dozens of old books and glass containers, all sitting atop a floor of deteriorating wooden planks.

I just now noticed the strange clothes covering my body. A button up shirt and vest, suit pants, dress shoes, and some sort of half cloak. An ensemble I would never wear, if only due to how infuriating the materials felt on my skin even now.

Maybe it's stupid, after the shit I’ve already seen, that the texture of clothes is what finally broke me. But it was. It was then that this entire situation hit me all at once.

I’m not scared to admit I cried. Probably for a long time, too. Who knows how long I spent there, curled up on the floor, hiding under a metal table, crying myself sick. But it's what I did. I cried. I cried for my family, who I would almost certainly never see again. I cried for my friends, who would never know why I stopped talking to them. I cried for my bed, my room, the toys I still kept. I cried for everything, everything I might never see again, cause I was going to die in this shithole, or lose myself to Beasthood, not even allowed to keep my own mind.

And yet, in the end, after I cried myself out, I still got up. I don’t know why, I mean, this whole situation was hopeless, I had no skills, no Insight, nothing that would save me from the Scourge. Yet still, I did it. I guess even a Waste of Skin like me had to have some redeeming qualities.

I pushed myself back up off the floor, resolved to at least get myself out of this disgusting hospital before I chose to give up. First, I checked the door to the right and was entirely unsurprised to find it locked. Of course, no avoiding getting mauled by a werewolf for me, I guess…

Still, I explore the room for a little bit, idly noting my utter lack of fatigue despite crying for what must have been over an hour. I took in the books, most to decrepit to even try to read, but some with interesting titles, like A Treatise on Early Blood Ministration, Early Stages of Beasthood: A Guide to the Foreign Illness, and even Basic Anatomy: Vol 1. I’ll probably come back to grab some of these.

If I live that long…

The most interesting thing was, of course, the note. A simple piece of parchment, with the words ‘Seek Paleblood to transcend the hunt.’ written in my own, messy scrawl.

Well… it was good to have a goal, I guess…

With a weary sigh, I realize I’ve dithered enough. So, with great reluctance, I pushed open the heavy wooden doors on the left side of the room, revealing an odd staircase with a chandelier above it. I quickly make my way down it and through a second room before I freeze.

There, at the only exit of this gods forsaken hospital, is a werewolf. Worse, there, beneath its massive, all too human body, is a corpse. Organs are spilled across the wood, a humanly impossible amount of blood somehow still spreading over the floor.

I try to control my breathing, pushing down the nausea in my stomach at the grisly sight. I can’t stop now, I still have to get out of here…

I crouch down, making myself as small as possible and begin to sneak across the right side of the room. Thankfully, it seems the beast is too enthralled by its… meal to notice me. I manage to make it more than halfway across the room, now no more than a short sprint away from the door, when the beast suddenly stops, and I am made painfully aware of just how close I am to it.

It raises its head in the air, slavering mouth dripping blood. Its nose twitches, sniffing the air for prey, for me…

My breathing stops and I go still, hoping it can’t actually smell me. Still, I begin to move again, trying to get as close to the empty doorway as possible. I’m barely ten, maybe fifteen feet from the door when the monster turns, baleful glowing white eyes locking onto me as it lunges.

I dodge around it, slamming into the wall in my bid to get away. I stumble towards the door, ignoring the feeling of claws splitting the air just behind my back.

My blood pumps in my ears as I make through the doorway, the stairs to my freedom right in front of me! I sprint across the room, covering the distance in a-

Pain. Blinding, burning pain like I’d never felt before rips through my body. Four tears in my back throw me to the ground, my nose hitting the wood with a disgusting crunch. Before this fresh pain even gets a chance to register, a weight slams into my back, claws piercing my flesh, tearing meat accompanied by the all-encompassing *crack* of breaking bones.

A scream rips from my throat, wretched and pained as my vision goes white for an instant. I only stop when my breath runs out, lungs desperately filling with air. Before another shout can leave me, I feel massive, blunt teeth joined by fangs wrap around my neck, hot saliva and blood drenching my hair, almost immediately joined by my own blood and spinal fluid as the beast severs my head with its jaws.

—--------------

My eyes snap open for what must be the seventh goddam time today (tonight?) I find myself lying face down on a cobbled path. I take a moment to relish the feel of cold stone, a welcome contrast to the burning pain I’d just experienced. Couldn’t stay here forever, though.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself up onto my feet. I almost fell, still unused to my new body's height, but in the end, I get my legs beneath me and look around.

The Hunter’s Dream is… beautiful. Rustic cobble paths carve veins of stone through an estate maybe three or four times larger than in game, each lined with nearly glowing white flowers. To my left I saw a birdbath with a single messenger inside, resting below an upward path lined with tombstones. A similar path was right in front of me, leading to a pair of double wooden doors, another line of tombstones backed with a small graveyard on its right. The biggest change I noticed was the workshop itself. It was significantly larger, even having a second floor, only seeming to enhance its image of an odd mix between cathedral and tomb.

I stood there for a while, taking in the sight of the too large moon and strange pillars reaching into the sky. I took that moment to just… breathe, to process my first, violent death. I say first, as I am under no illusion it will be my last, not here, not in Yharnam.

Taking one last, steadying breath, I made my way towards the steps, idly noting the unmoving doll sitting on her little outcropping. Even lifeless as she was, her beauty and craftsmanship was still astounding, made all the clearer now that I could see it in person.

But now wasn’t the time for that. Instead, I pulled my attention to the little, groaning messengers floating in pools of ethereal fog. As I approached the nearest group, they moaned softly in unison, holding out a selection of weapons for my perusal. The Threaded Cane, the Saw Cleaver, and the Hunter’s Axe.

They all had their specialties, ranging from finesse and skill to raw power with the Cane and Axe respectively, the Cleaver holding a solid middle ground.

I looked them all over, considering which would be best. It really didn’t take all that long, as there was only one I had ever used in game, and thus the one I was most familiar with using, even if only mentally.

I reach down, fingers curling firmly around the Axe handle, the Messenger eagerly pushing it into my grip, seeming to gloat at its pouting companions. The moment it's in my grasp, it feels right, like it was the only choice I could have made. It fits perfectly in my hand, feeling balanced no matter how I hold it, as though the axe itself is reluctant to be let go of.

Relishing the security a weapon in hand brings, I walk up another few steps to the next group of Messengers. This is a similarly easy choice, as I pick up the pistol, briefly letting the Messenger play with my finger before I stand. Hopefully, it’ll shoot as quickly as it does in the game, and not actually need to be reloaded like a real flintlock. Or break action, I guess, now that I look at it…

Jesus Christ, how big are Quicksilver bullets, this chamber was nearly an inch wide! I mean, I guess I should have known, the gun was nearly as wide as my palm. I hoped there was some sort of magic going on with it or that I already had some Hunter enhancements, otherwise I’d shatter every bone in my arm the second I fired this thing. I don’t know shit about guns, but even I know this is some bullshit.

And beasts eat these for breakfast… I’m so fucked…

Before I can lose myself in yet another spiral, I move on to the last group of Messengers, these ones holding a worn notebook.

I stoop down, gently pulling the worn leather and faintly yellowed parchment from their hands. Before I can stand back up, however, one of them grabs my finger with surprising strength, keeping me at their level. It only takes a moment for me to see the reason, as a different Messenger holds up a black feather, its tip stained the dark red brown of dried blood. A quill.

I take it, waiting another moment to see if they’ll hand me an inkwell, but as I suspected, I’m given nothing. Looking at the quill again, I sigh. Of course. Of course I need to use my own blood to write, because why would I think anything else?

But now, where am I supposed to store this? The gun and axe fit neatly onto my belt, too neatly to be coincidence, but I didn’t really have any pockets big enough for a whole journal and quill.

Not really knowing what else to do, I kneel down.

“Ahh, hey? Little guys? Are you still around?” I ask, feeling a little silly talking to the floor.

A white fog wells up before me, accompanied by quiet groans. The little ones quickly pull themselves up out of the fog, fragile arms reaching up to me in greeting.

“Hey, little dudes. Would you, uhh, mind holding onto these for me? I don’t really have anywhere else to put them?”

In response I get a chorus of eager sounding groans and a sea of grasping hands. Unable to keep a smile off my face, I hand them the notebook and quill, taking a moment to pet each of their little heads before they vanish back into the mist.

Sighing, I stand back up and try the door to the workshop. Naturally, it doesn’t open, because why would it. Whatever.

I make my way over to the nearby tombstones, namely the only one with a lamp in front of it, coming out of that same white mist the Messengers seem to live in. I touch it and in my mind I can feel a single connection. Taking a guess that this was, probably, how I fast traveled, I pulled on the mental string.

The fog surged, and it took all my frayed wits to not jump back as my body was consumed by the cold mist. I felt a strange, almost falling sensation, like being underwater just deep enough that the air in your lungs couldn’t pull you up against the weight of the water above you, the liquid weighing in on all sides, yet something else was pulling me outwards in an equal force, cancelling the pressure out.

I gasped heavily as the all-encompassing white fog faded from my vision, and I found myself kneeling on the hospital's wooden floor. Standing on shaky legs, I gave myself a few moments to breathe.

“Alright, cool, cool, cool. Fuck, that was weird.” I mutter.

Okay, I’ll have to get used to that. Later though, right now I have to go kill some coked out dog.

Taking one last deep breath, I begin to jog my way through the hospital, taking note of how light I feel. I guess I was too scared to notice it before, but my whole body moved way smoother and easier than it ever had before. Which was a weird feeling, since I’d never registered any difficulty before, but I guess I wouldn’t know with nothing to compare to.

Still, it was a good thing, I doubt I’d have been able to swing a giant axe made of solid metal if I was my old self. It also somewhat assuaged my worries of having my arm blown off by my gun.

My train of thought is quickly derailed by the sound of snapping bone and tearing flesh. Creeping around the corner, my eyes fall on the werewolf, still gnawing at the mutilated body beneath it.

“Fucking Beast…” I snarl under my breath, the fear and pain of its claws still fresh in my memory.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room, pistol aimed at the mindless animal before me. I was going to kill this bastard, even if it was the last thing I’d ever do.

*CRACK!*

The air snaps in anger as a bullet of my own blood rips from the barrel, the projectile willed into place almost on instinct. I ignore the momentary pain of blood loss, instead relishing the sound of flesh splitting as the Beast stumbles back from the blow.

Before it can recover, another three shots ring out, two going wide even as the third slams into the creature’s hind leg. I save my final bullet, stowing my gun on my belt and flicking my axe. The metal shaft extends, snapping into place as the already large axe extends to be nearly a foot taller than I am.

Just in time too, as the Beast was now a scarce 10 feet away from me, it's all too human arms extended as it lunges at me.

Moving with a speed and grace I knew I didn’t possess, I plant my feet on the solid wood and swing. My whole-body twists with the axe’s momentum, nearly throwing me off my feet as the over two-foot-long blade crashes through the monster’s arm, severing it and continuing onward to nestle into its chest.

The Beast howls in agony, leaping toward me before I can regain my balance. Its remaining arm slams into my left side, and I feel something snap as I’m sent stumbling into a metal medical bed.

I take a moment to shorten my axe, ignoring the throbbing pain in my left arm as the Beast advances on me again, stumbling forward on its three remaining limbs.

We circle each other, watching for any sign of weakness in the other. It’s clear the Beast is barely holding on, already injured before our fight even began. I wait, keeping a healthy distance, for the creature to move.

The seconds tick by with agonizing slowness until… there! The Beast reels back onto its hind legs, towering over me as it prepares to strike me down. I take its momentary pause and lunge forward, axe whistling over my head and biting into the Beast’s neck with a sickening *thwack!*

The thoughtless fury leaves the creature's eyes, even as its remaining right arm swings down in a mockery of a hug. Its claws cut burning lines over my ribs in its last, spiteful act before it collapses to the ground, lifeless.

I stumble out of the way of its fall, pain momentarily ignored as a familiar white mist flies from the Beast’s corpse and into me. I feel an odd, pleasant weight settle into my chest as the last wisps fade beneath my skin and I can only assume I’ve just gained some Blood Echoes.

Pushing it out of my mind, I stumble my way into the next room, quickly finding and looting a body of its blood vials. Acting mostly on semi-delirious instinct and hoping they worked like in the game, I pressed the needle on the end of one vial into my thigh.

The faint prick of the needle is almost instantly washed away by a pleasant cold that sweeps through my body. I feel my cuts close and my bones set, put back in place by the power of the blood.

Standing over the lantern in the middle of the room, I wonder what I’m actually supposed to do with it. Deciding to try the first thing that comes to mind, I simply snap at it, willing it to light.

To my surprise, that actually works, and the room is filled with a soft, pale light.

Now certain I had a way back to the dream, without dying, I made my way to the hospital doors and pushed the heavy wood open. They suddenly swing outward, causing me to stumble forward into the small graveyard in front of the hospital, weeping statues looming over me.

I take a deep breath, sucking in the cool, fresh air. I stare up at the immense moon, taking in the massive gothic city as I do so, listening to the distant sounds of groaning and screams.

I may have survived my first real fight, but the Night was far from over.

Chapter Text

“It’s all your fau-!”

*Schlik!*

Blood splattered on my clothes as I pulled my axe out of another crazy Yharnamites corpse, the warm red liquid blending into my already drenched attire. I relax slightly as the Echoes flow into me, warming my blood.

I crack my neck, releasing the built up tension as I break the sudden silence. “Okay, all clear. Alright little guys, looting time!”

All around the small circle of mangled corpses and pooling blood, a thick, white mist formed. The distant screams and howls of Yharnam are joined by a quieter chorus of groans, Messengers pulling themselves out of the mist to begin searching the bodies. I smiled to myself as I watched them, they were the only company I had.

As it turns out, Yharnam, is fucking massive. Like, several dozen times bigger than in the game. Everything from the game existed, sure, it was just a matter of scale. Like, say, the courtyard with the bonfire. That spot was absolutely massive, and the gathered crowd was nearly a hundred rather than the maybe 20 guys it was in the game.

Needless to say, I had NOT made my way through there just yet.

Unfortunately, that also meant I hadn’t met any other Hunters just yet. God, I want to meet Eileen so fucking bad! She’s just the coolest, and her outfit is sick! I can’t wait to see what it looks like in person…

So, yeah, I was stuck down here. Wandering the alleys of bloody Yharnam, killing blood drunk lunatics. Fortunately for me, there were a lot of alleys, and a lot of blood drunk lunatics. Yippeee!

…

…god, I’m so tired…

As the little ones finished cleaning up, I traced my steps back through the twisting alleyways of Yharnam, occasionally stepping around a corpse or broken cart. The uneven brick was dyed red with blood, the sweet, heady scent filling my nose. The path back was practically flooded, deep puddles of crimson lining the street, sometimes covering it in its entirety. I wish I felt sick seeing it, I wish the river of blood and offal made me feel bad, but it didn’t. All I felt was curiosity, curiosity and a deep, growling hunger.

No, no, no… I’m fine, it's fine. I don’t need it, I don’t.

Stopping in my tracks, I let out a shuddering sigh. My hand twitches, and I… let it. It moves, spindly, unfamiliar fingers wrapping around a smooth, glass bottle. One of my refills, for the quartet of syringes on my right hip. My hands tremble slightly, bony appendages flexing as they squeeze the bottle.

I pop the cork, chest still as I hold my breath. I bring the cool glass to my lips, the sweet, sweet scent of blood flooding my senses. I tip it back, cool, thick blood filling my mouth.

Oh gods, that's so good… I can’t suppress a shudder of pleasure as the sweet, coppery taste spreads across my tongue. It slides down my throat, a wave of soothing not-quite warmth runs through my body, all the soreness, all the aches and pains combat, fading away.

And with it, the hunger abated, the growl quieting into a low, soft rumble.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t do for some actual food. Not that blood tasted bad, not anymore, anyway… But I want some real, solid food, with seasonings! And fruit! Besides, living solely off blood cannot be good for me.

“Gggraaauuugghhh….”

Oh! I’m here, great! I knock softly on the bars over an opaque window, the nearby censer emitting an odd, almost sour smell.

“Hey, Gilbert! How’s things?” I ask.

“Oh? Ah, Hunter, is that you? Certainly smells like it, though a bit bloodier than normal. Productive hunt, I wager?” Comes the soft, comforting voice of my only companion.

“Sure was! I think I’ll be able to make my way through the mob soon. Can’t fight them, but I think I can probably sneak around.” I reply, unable to keep a smile from my face.

“Still on the hunt for Paleblood, are you? Well, we- *cough, cough!* Ahem, we- we all have our goals, eh?” He mutters.

“Yeah, can’t give up on it just yet. Not when I’ve barely even started.”

He chuckles, “Heh, I suppose that’s true enough. Well, I wish you luck all the same, Hunter. And be careful out there, will you?”

“Will do, boss! See you around.” I said, walking over to the lamp and falling away into the mist.

Opening my eyes, I find myself in the Dream. I sigh. I wish the conversation had gone longer, but I didn’t begrudge him the shortness of it. The man was sick, incredibly so, and I was… I was probably gonna have to kill him, someday.

Pushing that unfortunate thought aside, I shuffle over to the Doll’s alcove. I hop up, leaning back against the stone right beside the immobile porcelain woman. She wasn’t ‘alive’ yet. I didn’t have enough insight for that, whatever that meant.

Even still, I enjoyed my time beside her. It was oddly relaxing, sitting next to the Doll, floral scent of the moon filling my nostrils. It felt… safe. Safe in a way even talking to Gilbert didn’t.

I try to relax into the stone, careful not to touch the Doll. I closed my eyes. How long has it been since I last slept? A few days, at least. Not that time really mattered, not on the Night of the Hunt.

Regardless of how long it had been, I felt tired. Not physically, my body never tired for more than a few moments now, but mentally. I felt like I’d done more in my short time here than I had in my entire life before. I’d never fought anyone, never gotten drunk, never really been in a city, and certainly never killed anyone. Now, though? I spent nearly all my time in bloody combat, I got hammered shortly after arriving, I’d explored the alleys of a nightmare metropolis, and I’d killed more people than I’d ever met.

Ugh, I need to stop thinking. I feel like I’ve just been wallowing in my own misery for the last hour. Fuck, get over yourself! Everyone else here is dealing with damn near the same thing, at least you’re fucking immortal. Can’t say the same for all the poor fucks you’ve killed.

I just need to go to sleep, just for a little bit. A short nap can’t hurt, right? Right.

So, I let myself drift off, falling into dreams of wolves and blood, a burning red moon hanging over it all.

—--------------

I stared up at the looming buildings, putting the syringe back on my hip as I did. I suppressed a shudder, instead simply noting that the gash across my chest had closed. It was a stupid mistake, getting caught by that fuckers cleaver. I knew better than to get greedy with my attacks, especially since they didn’t die like normal people would. I’ve put bullet holes in their skulls before, ones you could see straight through, and the fuckers kept moving! My best guess was their life was measured more by how much blood they still had in ‘em rather than any organs or anything. Would maybe explain why the infected seem to be able to bleed their own body weight before dying… they’re all stuffed past bursting with non-euclidian god blood.

Still, what happened, happened. Nothing I could do about it now, except mourn what was left of my top. I peel off the blood encrusted vest dress shit, handing them off to the little ones for safe keeping. Never know when I’d need some extra cloth, after all.

Unfortunately, this left me pretty exposed, my bare breast just hanging in the wind, the half cloak and hood all that covered my top half. Not that it mattered, no one was here to see me. No one with enough faculties to care, anyway. I looked down at my modest chest, now with a spattering of scars, a fresh one stretching from my left shoulder to just below my right boob. I didn’t really care, it wasn’t like it was the only one, I had plenty of healed cuts and scrapes strewn across my body now, the most noticeable still being the jagged, brutal bite mark around my neck.

Despite all that, I can’t help the smile that comes to my face at my distinctly feminine chest. Honestly, the euphoria I felt every time I saw my own body was probably one of the few things keeping me from having a breakdown every other hour!

Heh, get fully femmed out for the low, low price of being trapped in British vampire hell! Bottom surgery not included.

Gods, I’ve got to be the funniest bitch this side of Yharnam. Hmm… now that I think about it, maybe the bottom surgery is included? It’s not like I can ask any other trans hunters about it. Maybe it is, and I didn’t get it ‘cause I don’t really mind?

Wait, what was I doing? Oh, right, the buildings! I wonder if I can climb them? I should be able to, especially with how fucking built I am now, not even mentioning the vamp-wolf powers. Well, only one way to find out.

I walk up to the abandoned building, a coffin maker's shop, judging by the sign. Looking at it, it should be easy enough to climb, the gothic design giving me plenty of foot and handholds. Figuring this’ll be easier with a good grip, I kick off my shoes and pull off my socks, revealing a pair of spindly, slightly long toed feet.

With a small huff, I lift my leg and step up onto the balusters on the left side of the steps. Now slightly higher up, it is fairly easy to grab onto my next handhold, the flat top of a sort of faux pillar on the side of the door. Balancing my foot on another pillar nearby, I kick off with surprising ease, almost missing my next handhold with how high I go. It’s like I don't weigh anything at all! Almost like one of those VR climbing games, where you can just sorta fling yourself around.

With new confidence that this might actually work, I begin pulling myself further up, nearly gliding past the old stone and blacked out windows. It remains that easy even as I climb past the nearby footbridge and pull myself into an empty space at the top, just across from Gilbert's house.

The place was weird, like a bell tower with no bell, and no stairs or trapdoor leading up to it… The only detail besides the flat stone, was an iron lamp hanging from the ceiling by a chain. Well, guess it's just another reminder that Yharnam was both designed by lunatics who drank god blood for fun and was currently half-nightmare.

Amidst my thoughts, I jump down from the odd tower, landing firmly at the top of the stairs near Gilbert's house.

Wait a second… As I approach the lantern, my eyes fall upon the gate on the left side of Gilbert’s house.

Can I just jump over that?

No… no, surely not? Right? No fucking way, I can just…

Placing my hands between the spiked fence on either side of the gate, I push myself up and hop over, landing solidly on the other side.

…Are you fucking shitting me right now? I’ve been wandering around these alleys, learning how to be all sneaky and shit, when I could have just jumped this stupid fucking fence the entire time?!

“Away! Awa- *CRACK!*”

A gunshot rips through the air and the unfortunate Yharnamite’s skull, stunning them long enough for the heavy blade of my axe to come crashing down onto their shoulder, nearly splitting them in two in a shower of blood and gore.

I coulda just done this the whole time?! “FUCK!”

Ugh… whatever. I step around the cooling corpse and over to where one of the Messengers is waving. I loot the slumped body, pulling out a shard of solid, light red stone. No point thinking about could-have-beens, best to just keep on trucking. Still pissed about it, though…

Pushing through my bad mood, I unbolt the gate and open it, clearing my path. That done, I head down the stairs, looking for the building I know leads up to the great bridge.

Finding it, I push open the wooden door, steeping into the unlit room.

“AGHHH!” A howl spills from the dark.

I leap back, dodging the initial swipe of the blade, but misjudge my position and end up slamming myself into the door.

*Schlick!*

Pain burns out from around my gut, where I see a rusty iron blade lodged in my flesh. I let out a hissing growl of pain as the cold metal is dragged jerkily from my stomach, small pieces of flesh and other tissue clinging to the jagged blade.

As soon as it's removed, I lunge forward, my own, much larger blade swinging in from the side and severing the madman's left arm and drawing a bloody line across his side. His blood sprays across my bare chest, invigorating me as my wound scabs over, the sizzling, stinging pain fading slightly.

He goes to swing again, distended arm pulling up for a downward slash, but I’m faster. My axe comes back up, drawing itself across the man's chest, ribs snapping and splitting under the force. Another spray of blood soaks my body, fully healing the hole in my gut.

I step forward, kicking him in his chest wound as he stumbles back, pushing him fully off his feet. I stalk swiftly towards him, kneeling slightly to slam the solid head of my axe once more into his chest, finally ending his struggles.

I sigh, fuck. I got distracted by my own annoyance. Another stupid mistake today. It was fortunate I managed to split the bastard open enough to heal, otherwise I’d have to waste another vial on this dumb shit. Mmph, sucks that they’re blood doesn’t feel or work as good as the vials. Tastes better, though, considering the handful of times it sprayed into my mouth.

With that out of the way, I cleared out the rest of the building, thankfully without any more mistakes. Though I did feel kinda bad about decapitating that old man in the wheelchair. Not too bad, though, he definitely woulda shot me if he got the chance. And getting shot fucking sucks!

I kinda wanted to look around for any more interesting books, but it was way too dark for that. I did consider looting the corpse of the dude on the ground for his sweet jacket, but I could tell just by looking at him it wouldn’t fit me. I had to be at least a full foot taller than him! That was one short man. Or maybe he wasn’t? How tall even am I anymore? I felt shorter, but all I had to compare to where the Yharnamites, all of whom were tall as shit on account of the Scourge.

Hmm… Y’know what? Fuck it. I’m taking this dude's jacket. Even if it doesn’t fit, maybe I can use it to patch up my other clothes if I find a needle. I still remember how to sew well enough, it should work! And it's also kinda the only cloth- wait, no, that's leather. The only… material? That isn't soaked through with nasty ass beast sweat. Or is it?

*Sniff*

Yup, it's good. Honestly it's kinda weird how clean it smells considering it's on a corpse. But then again, it seems like half the time a Yharnamite just straight up won’t decompose, given all the weirdly intact bodies lying around. An effect of the blood maybe?

As I think, I make my way to the top of the building and onto the stairs to the bridge, stepping over a still cooling corpse on the way. Halfway up, I lean over the wrought iron railing, looking down into the wide street I had been so reticent to pass through.

There, I got a better look at the mob, yowling and jeering at the slowly burning corpse of a Cleric Beast, crucified over a bonfire. There were a lot of them, perhaps fifty, gathered around it in a circle, a few groups of ten or so coming and going from the surrounding alleys.

Hmm, seems my initial estimate wasn’t super accurate. Or maybe I just caught them at a busier time, when a number of the roving bands had all arrived at once.

Even with their numbers, I had no clue how they managed to kill a Cleric Beast. Damn things were over twenty feet tall! My best guess would be that they didn’t actually kill one, a Hunter did, and they just strung up the corpse. It would make way more sense than a bunch of shambling madmen managing to take out a two story tall deer demon, at least.

Content with my observation, I finish climbing the stairs and step out onto the bridge, suppressing a shiver as the wind raked across my still bare chest. I look around, finding a pair of Scourge Beasts to my right, and a massive, bloated man surrounded by crows to my left.

Well, I was going left anyway, no reason to fight a pair of drugged up werewolves, is there? Even if I was almost certainly going to die painfully anyway, I might as well get something out of it.

I make my way over, taking care to step around the rotting horse carcass, and take in my opponents.

The man is more akin to an ogre than a human being, easily ten feet tall and half as broad. He’s already partway through his transformation, matted grey fur bursting through the bandages covering his body and peaking through the tears in his clothes. His face is blunt and pinched, like someone took the most monstrous depiction of a bat they could find and slammed it together with a slowly starving man in as painful a way as possible. The fangs and black claws he had did nothing to help his monstrous visage. In his hand was a large, stone brick half the size of my torso. He looked every part the vicious, beastly ogre he was.

Joining him was a trio of crows. Not normal crows, because of course not, but monstrous crows the size of a large dog, all flopped haphazardly on the cobble. Their feathers where longer than they had any right to be, looking more like strands of greasy hair, and their wings were kinked and broken looking, bending at odd and uncomfortable angles. The worst of it, though, were their mouths. It looked like the tissue inside their beaks had started to melt, dripping down and out of their beaks like molten plastic before turning solid to form disgusting, fleshy strings between their top and bottom jaws.

Gods, I do not want to fight these fucking things… Maybe I should just leave? Come back later, when I’m more skilled? Was I really planning to fight through these things just so I could get crushed by some priest that drank too much of the eldritch Kool-Aid?

Fuck, I am, arent I?

With an annoyed growl at my own stupidity, I lunge forward, holstering my pistol as my right hand slides up the shaft of my axe. My left joins the right, grasping firmly at the butt of the weapon even as I extend, telescoping outward into a massive halberd taller than I am.

The blade swings down, the air howling in protest as it splits under the force, paving the way for my axe to bisect one of the crows.

The animal dies before it can make a sound, and my axe is already back up and swinging home into its next target, the ogre's stomach. I danced back, even as blood spilled from the open wound, barely dodging a screeching crow’s talons.

Before I can even finish my retreat, the ogre recovers, the pounding of his feet alerting me to the coming danger. I roll out of the way, a pale brick whistling through the air where I used to be. I can’t counter attack yet though, as the ogre continues his onslaught, moving with disturbing speed as he unleashes a flurry of blows.

I continue to move back, using the wide road to my advantage as I let it tire itself out. My own blade flashes out even as I move, swiping another crow from the air as it leaps towards me.

I sidestep an overhead swing, crashing into the ground and shaking the street. The stone chips and shatters under the force, shards of rock flying everywhere as a portion of the road is turned to powder.

It feels… almost wrong for this massive, malformed creature to be the fastest thing I’ve fought so far. The way he moved, the way its bulky form blurred with speed, tied a heavy, sickening knot in my stomach.

No being that large should move that fast…

And yet he did, rapidly covering the ground toward me even as its organs began to spill from the gash in its stomach.

I shift my axe to a one handed grip, slamming the butt on the ground to shift it back to its one handed configuration and sliding it into my holster. My left hand goes to my hip, thin fingers wrapping around the wooden grip of my immense pistol.

The hand swings up, the large barrel now pointed squarely at the beast’s chest. I single, errant flex of my will had the chamber loaded with a bullet of impossibly solid quicksilver. The beast approached, its large, clawed hand swinging up and back, brick poised to pulp my skull.

*BOOM!*

The bullet screams from the chamber, flying the cant few feet to the beast's chest. It loses its balance, tripping over its own feet. It barely manages to catch itself with solid stomp, ensuring it only fell to a knee rather than a total collapse.

It wouldn’t matter.

My blood boils in my veins as my right hand swings forward, fingers splayed like claws. I feel the hunger rear its head, the soft, ever present rumble turning to a bloodthirsty growl.

I feel my flesh warp and shift as the hunger reaches through me, a single clawed finger stretching from its cage. Black fur sprouts from my hand, fingers distending as nails grow and sharpen.

In an instant, my once-human hand has shifted into the hungry, savage paw of a beast. A paw that plunges deep into the already weeping wound of the ogre, soft intestines and powerful sinew torn to shreds as my claw continues its inexorable journey.

Sweet, wet, warmth envelops my arm as it nestles itself firmly in the beast's stomach. I twist and bend the appendage, turning it upright and driving my claws black behind the abomination ribcage. I feel a rapid, pulsing vibration as my open hand draws upwards, the meat shifting slightly with each thump of what must be the beast’s heart.

It is not long before I reach my prize, spindly claws wrapping firmly around the pulsing core. With a savage yank, I rip the organ from its place, the heart still frantically beating even as its connecting arteries pull taut and snap.

My fingers flex, pulping the organ even as I toss it behind me in one, smooth motion, bloodstained fur and savage claws fading back into soft flesh all the while.

Blood sprays across my already soaked chest, hot and slick. Some falls into my snarling mouth, sweet, metallic liquid gracing my tongue.

The final crow leaps towards me, but I simply backhand it off the bridge, the interruption nowhere near enough to draw me from my rapture.

My hood falls back as I gasp, staring up at the cloudy Yharnam sky, sucking in as much of the cold air as I can. A breeze washes over me, a pleasant contrast to the still hot blood soaking my bare chest and the street beneath me.

I collapse in on myself, falling to sit in the pool of blood beneath me.

“Ahn! Mmph~!”

…

I slap my hands over my mouth, dropping my gun. Oh my fucking god… I can’t believe I just did that! Why did it feel so good?! I just ripped a mans fucking organs out!

Tears well in my eyes and my breathing quickens, even as shivers of pleasure continue to wrack my body. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! My stomach churns and acidic bile burns its way up my throat. I rock on back and forth, vision blurring as the tears fall unabated, my chest hurts, I feel light headed, I can’ fucking breath!

so warm… so sweet…

I stifle a moan of pleasure as hot blood slides down my throat. I feel myself relax slightly, a pleasant warmth filling my body.

What…?

My eyes bulge and my panic returns as I realize I’ve just been licking the blood off my fingers!

In an instant, I’m flipped over onto my hands and knees, puking into the lake of blood and gore beneath me. Tears stream from my eyes in heavy sobs, the heaving only getting worse as I realize how sickeningly red, red, red! my vomit is.

Time blends into a thick syrup as I kneel there, heaving and sobbing in a slowly cooling pool of blood. It's here, in this horrible, wretched moment of disgust and self hatred that it all comes crashing down. It's here, that for the first time, I fully, truly comprehend everything that’s happened to me, and everything that I've done…

When there’s finally nothing left in my stomach, the last bit of foul acid falling from my lips, I crawl out of the disgusting puddle. My arms shake and tremble as I drag myself forward and up the strange, raised area on the sides of the bridge.

My body is sticky and cold, the blood having cooled as I knelt there, a constant reminder of what I was. A murderer. A killer. A monster.

A beast.

Joining my shame, guilt, and hate was the sorrow and pain. The fear, the terror. I’d died, more than once, and painfully every time. Before this, the worst gotten was a broken chin, or a burn while baking. But now? Here? My body was littered with scars, long, thin lines from axes and cleavers, coin sized spots from rusty pitchforks, warm patches of discolored skin from burning torches, jagged lines and uneven dots from claws and fangs.

In my short time here, my body had become a tapestry of pain, a record of everything I’d had to endure. A fleshy doll, broken and beaten over and over and over again, but never allowed to rest, always repaired by the spoiled, violent child dragging me around their yard. There were bands of jagged scar tissue on my limbs, reminders of where I was torn apart and haphazardly sewn back together.

I didn’t choose this… I didn’t want this… any of it…

I hate this place… I hate Yharnam, I hate the Moon Presence, I hate the beasts, I hate killing, I hate the pain, I hate the Scourge, I hate blood, I hate meat and the scars and my flesh and spindly bones and my easily broken bones and everything fucking else!

…

My thoughts sort of… meandered after all that. I was too tired to think any real thoughts, and my head hurt like a bitch. My eyes stung too, dry after wringing out all the tears I had.

I pushed myself to my feet, shuffling and stumbling my way back to the stairs. I walked in a daze, nothing seeming to register until I found myself standing in front of a softly glowing lantern. I don’t even remember getting here… Still, I reach for the dream and fall into the mist, landing unsteadily on my feet in the Hunter’s Dream.

Fuck… I’m still covered in blood. Now it's all dry and crusty, falling off in small, flaky showers. I shuffle my way up to the large building, forcing my heavy body up the stairs.

The doors closed. Because of course it still is.

“God- fucking-! GRAHH!” I shout, kicking the heavy wooden doors.

Nothing. Great.

Wait- right, the bath. The Messenger bath, it has water in it, right? I make my way over, but realize my socks are wet halfway over. I feel my jaw clench ever so slightly tighter.

Fuck it. I remove the rest of my clothes, stripping the blood soaked garments off my body and tossing them onto the steps. Not like anyone else is gonna see it, and at this point? I could care less if someone did.

I made it to the bath, the lone Messenger there shifting out of the way as I shoved my bloody hands in the water. I mutter an apology under my breath, and splash the cool, clear liquid over my face, rivulets of red streaming down and dripping off my chin. I scrubbed myself down, desperately trying to get the blood (the shame) off my body. My nose was clogged by the scent of iron, and my stomach growled even as I wiped the last flecks of viscera off my face.

I scrubbed the rest of my naked body down, the moss beneath me drinking deeply of the moisture. After I was… relatively clean, I pulled my hair out of its tight ponytail and bent over the basin. I let the blood encrusted strands sink into the water, briefly submerging my face in as well and beginning to scrub the dried liquid from my hair.

I was slightly startled when a small, delicate hand brushed against my hair. I was even more shocked as it was joined by more and more thin, delicate fingers. The Messengers pulled and brushed my hair, untangling knots and plucking off bits of meat. It wasn’t long before my hair was clean and straight, the little hands shifting to soft scratching and massages on my scalp, the gentle ministrations bleeding the tension from my body.

I barely noticed as I sank to my knees beside the bird bath, my body forced into relaxation by the kind, cool touch of the messengers. It was… it was the first time someone had touched me with kindness since I woke up here, the first time the touch wasn’t meant to hurt.

It was… nice. Pleasant. So much so, that when they finished, I just… leaned back. Let my body relax back into the little alcove behind the bath, resting on a bed of soft moss and flowers. I drifted away, into a sweet, dreamless sleep.