A/N: This story is my attempt to do for Bloodborne what The Army of Four did for Dark Souls. That is, a character-driven, lore-ridden take on the world before we knew it in the original game. Please give any fredback on how to improve the next chapters, and, most importantly, enjoy. For the Sky and Cosmos are one.

"Sometimes I believe that this less material life is our truer life, and that our vain presence on the terraqueous globe is itself the secondary or merely virtual phenomenon." - H.P. Lovecraft, "Beyond the Wall of Sleep"

Chapter One: Blood

The torchlight illuminated the door in front of them. Tainted with the constricting grasp of ancient greenery and encrusted with white, powdery tomb mould, the old stone arch appeared to be in less than stable condition.

There was next to no guarantee that opening it would not cause a landslide.

The man at the head of the party, a scholarly-like man with thin bones, an aged, wizened face and dazzling blue irises, pointed at the peculiar symbol which marked the door.

"Look at the rune," Caryll whispered, gesturing to the mysterious symbol carved upon the stone surface. "I've never seen this one before."

The woman who stood next to him, a noble girl with faded dull blonde hair, nodded in agreement with her colleague.

"Perhaps it is a warning," Maria replied. "Come now, we have already trodden far enough today. The gods may not be best pleased with our actions."

The party's leader, a tall, scholarly-type wearing a long trench-coat and fedora, snorted, making his indigence very clear.

"The gods have no say now... They are all deceased, after all. Open the door."

Maria frowned. "Laurence, is that entirely wi-"

"I said do it," Laurence snapped. "We haven't trudged through miles of catacombs just to turn back at a foreboding symbol. Open it!"

Caryll, the party's scholar and runesmith, rolled his eyes as he set down his torch and unfurled a scroll written on a silken parchment. His eyes bobbed up and down rapidly as he scanned the words on the page, inhaling their worth and exhaling their meanings.

"And so, the One who birthed the cosmos and the kin of its population breathed deep at last, for all was complete."

Laurence sighed. How many times had he heard this same passage? It was the only one that Caryll had thus far translated perfectly.

"But fearing... I can't get this one... The One whose heart beats with the moon did... uh... something it's child of the cosmos... That's all I've got, sorry."

"Did I ask for a runic lecture?" Laurence growled. "I said get this door open!"

"I was merely checking for hidden malices," Caryll smiled, as he put a single hand on the surface in front of him. "This door is unlocked. And I want to find out why."

The old stone door swung inwards at the light touch, white dust clouds cascading from each and every crevice. Shafts of a peculiar pale light pierced through these openings as the door slowly moved apart from its rest, causing Caryll to frown.

"Is that light? We're several hundred feet under the earth! What could possibly be casting it?"

Before the Runesmith could pontificate further on the matter, he was hit in the face with a blast of ancient odor. It was a deep, pungent rot, peeling away at the insides of his nostrils like a razor.

"Oh dear," he wheezed, using his cloak to cover his nose and mouth. "Doesn't smell too fresh to me."

As he gained his composure, he peered out into the room that the door had revealed. It seemed to represent more of a cavern than any of the previous sections, appearing much more natural in structure. The walls were overrun with strange white flowers, each paler than a corpse, yet larger than a human head, with petals that each stretched out the same length as a hand. The floor shimmered slightly in the light of the room, indicating its dampness.

And, at the very back, cast in shadow and practically motionless, was an enormous, malformed shape.

Laurence shouldered into the room, his eyes twinkling as he took in the extraordinary vision. He was followed shortly by Maria, and behind her, her travelling companion, a thin young man wearing a brown jacket and matching hat.

"Master Willem will want to hear about this," Laurence whispered. "Actually, all of Yharnam will."

"How could it flower down here?" Maria asked, tentatively brushing her fingers against one of the unearthly flora on the wall.

"Adaptive biology," Laurence replied. "They have grown used to the dark, and have flourished by some other means. Without extensive study, I could not tell you."

"They appear to be glowing," Caryll added. "In fact, I believe they are casting the light in this room."

"How extraordinary," Maria laughed. "They're... beautiful."

Her male companion laughed at this. "Imagine beauty flourishing in this damp sinkhole..."

Maria rolled her eyes. "And you would know so much about beauty, wouldn't you Gehrman?"

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly displeased at the challenge. "Forgive if my eyes do not light up at the glow of a puddle."

"What is that, there in the corner?" Laurence asked, pointing a inquisitive finger at the odd shape in the distance.

"I'm not sure," Caryll admitted. "We must get closer."

The party crossed the room, worn shoes slapping against the wet floor tiles. The peculiar shape in the distance grew larger, the group's proximity slowly revealing elongated, limb-like appendages and growths. The closer they got, the deeper the cold dread grew in each of them.

As Caryll took another step forward, straight at the head of his party, he stopped, one hand raised to his head as though injured.

"Ah!" he cried. "My head is pounding the closer I get. What is this?"

Looking about himself, he saw a similar reaction in all of his companions, some of which now had their fingers pressed to their foreheads.

"I... I can't think..." Laurence cried. "It's like... there's tiny insects... crawling all over my brain!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Caryll saw the monstrous shape in front of them slowly rearing up. A round, bloated skull with pinkish, anemone-like feelers was dragged up from the cave floor, long tentacles unfurling and pushing against the ground to help move the enormous creature around. Tiny green irises which could be assumed as eyes blinked erratically, as though awakening from a deep blanket of sleep.

The sound of blood roaring in Caryll's ears grew in tandem with the creature's sluggish, wet dragging movements, the sound of which gave the impression of a mollusc's slither, magnified several times to a terrifying pitch.

Within thirty seconds the unholy abomination had pulled itself completely around and was regarding the group with an icy, blank stare. The pulsating in the group's heads intensified as their eyes met with the creature's own.

For a long time, there was unearthly quiet. The explorers were rooted to the ground, incapable of moving away from the eldritch vision that slithered in front of them. Indeed, their brains felt fit to bursting with the creature's aura - the energy it seemed to emit from simple proximity.

Eventually, when silence was more than anyone else could take, Caryll gave a feeble 'Hello?'

The creature blinked twice, as though considering the sound, but did not make any attempt to communicate a response.

Encouraged by the lack of a vicious response, Caryll raised a tentative hand, as though to wave at the creature.

The thing's eyes tracked every twitch in his fingers, but still remained stationary and silent.

Just as Caryll was about to pose a question to his colleagues, a voice cut through his words like a sabre.

"Die, you unholy filth."

Caryll turned in time to see Maria's companion, the gruff rogue Gehrman, draw out a pick from his excavation tunic and throw it hard in the creature's direction.

The pick flew straight into the beast's side, its murky irises following the projectile until the moment of impact, upon which, it recoiled violently, tentacles flailing out and a deep, guttural sound emerging from its crevasse-like mouth.

"Gehrman, what are you doing?" Maria shrieked, angrily pushing at the man's shoulder.

"This thing is an abomination," Gehrman snarled, shaking off his coat as though it had been tarnished by dirt. "Are you seriously suggesting we just let it live?"

"It wasn't attacking us!" Caryll growled. "And, what's mor-"

The runemaster's sentence died unfinished as he was yanked off of his feet by an elongated tentacle, which proceeded to drag him several feet into the air, upside down, and coil around his ankles.

"Caryll!" Maria cried.

The beast started to convulse, the tentacle that snared Caryll swaying like a pendulum. Within a few moments, the pick that pierced its hide popped out like a cork, viscous crimson blood spewing out.

Within seconds of having his feet constricted, Caryll felt the bones in his legs snap like mere matchsticks, unimaginable and inconsolable agony shooting up straight from the pressure point to his waist.

The creature eventually relented its constriction - when there was no feeling left in Caryll's limbs but searing agony. With a gurgled, harrowed cry, it threw the scholar aside with ease, sending him flailing into the adjacent wall.

The sickening thud of flesh upon stone stirred Gehrman up. He was already drawing another pick from the sheath on his waist as the creature rounded on the remaining three, eyes blazing with a cool fury unlike anything seen in the waking world.

Laurence and Maria started to back up as the creature put two tentacles upon the earth and started to push itself towards them. Gehrman leapt into action, pick in his right hand and blazing torch in his other. The beast's eyes sparkled in the torchlight, blinking as though captivated by this peculiar human invention of mobile illumination.

As Gehrman got within striking distance of the beast, it suddenly reared back, two tentacled arms swinging out to strike the excavator.

At such a distance, he had no choice but to take the hits. The creature's arms slammed into his stomach, instantly doubling him over and knocking him limply to the ground. The pick in his hands clattered away across the ground, the torch splint hitting a puddle at a sideways angle and hissing as it was extinguished upon the dampened floor.

As Gehrman lay groaning upon the ground, the beast drew close to the fallen torch, eyelids still fluttering as though in disbelief. The sizzling splint, flat out on the ground, let out whispers of smoke that curled and rose upwards. Mesmerised by these, the creature let out another unearthly cry - this time, not one of pain or of anger, but of awe.

"Laurence, what is this being?" Maria asked her companion, as the pair of them continued to retreat away.

Laurence mulled the answer over for a few moments. "I have no idea - but I thoroughly intend to find out."

Gehrman spat hard on the wet pave as he slowly prised himself off of its gravelly plateau and drew up to full height. There were very few parts of him that did not ache, but the pain only served to sharpen his mind; bring his desire for retaliation to the boil.

Finding his pick a few feet away, Gehrman cast a cautious glance at the creature - still distracted by its eerie fascination - before making a sweep for his weapon. The mining tool was chipped, but nevertheless, battle-ready, and he gripped it tightly in his hand as he turned toward the monster.

Across the room, Caryll stirred from unconsciousness. The pain in his lower body had been extreme - it had caused him to slip under.

Of course, when his eyes flickered open and he remembered where he was, he wished he'd stayed under a little longer.

'Could this be?' he pondered. '...one of the beings that the Pthumerians spoke of? The Gods that walked among them?'

As he lay he observed the creature that had broken him, limbs flailing, angelic butterfly wings flitting, anemone pulsating...

'Well, these Gods are far from our classical expectations...'

But now, he saw Gehrman approach the creature stealthily, stabbing it hard in the back with his cave pick, the beast exploding with another banshee shriek as it manically swept around, tentacles writhing in search of something to squeeze like a lemon.

Gehrman leapt up and over the attacks, wary now of the creature's movements and unwilling to let himself be fooled by them again. He withdrew his pick, tip now coated with red, and raised it over his head, this time aiming higher.

The creature's head pivoted, fixing Gehrman with a glare that send convulsions through his core. But, he didn't let up, stabbing the beast straight through the left side of its fleshy pink face.

This time, the creature's cries could be heard from the surface.

Gehrman dropped lightly to the ground, unscathed by the barrage of wild swipes that were directed at him. Writhing in pain from the cavity that now formed half of its features, the beast stooped its head and started to shudder - awful brown slime trickled out in splatters from each convulsion.

Satisfied with the damage that he had inflicted, Gehrman drew out his last pick, preparing to end it.

Suddenly, the creature reared back up, letting out a screech that nearly haemorrhaged the group's ears. Gehrman, who was the closest in proximity to the beast by a good few metres, dropped to his knees as his body lit up with agony, his very flesh rippling with frightening energy as though he were rigged to explode. The beast, eyes lit up by murderous fury, started to slither closer.

When it was within touching distance, it reached up with one of its grotesque tentacular limbs and plucked the projectile lodged in its skull straight out, twirling it in its grip a few times to shake off the blood.

Still gripping the pick hard, the creature drew its arm back.

From a safe distance, Laurence felt a strange admiration for this creature.

'It's going to throw that at him,' he thought. 'Just like Gehrman did. It's learning from us!'

A subtle smile crept onto the scholar's lips.

Gehrman watched as the beast attempted to judge the throwing distance, eyes bobbing about ineffectually. As its tentacle came thrusting forwards, the tomb prospector was already halfway across the floor away from it.

The projectile soared through the air that Gehrman had vacated, sailing onwards with vicious linearity.

Laurence did not have time to react. A hollowed fear flashed in his eyes, but his body remained rigid as the pick punched through his chest. A gasp escaped his lips, followed by a trickle of blood.

Then, his legs caved inwards and he dropped to the floor, back sliding down the wall.

"Laurence?!" Maria shrieked. "Oh, gods!"

Caryll shut his eyes, trying to blot out the image of his compatriot's mangled form.

Gehrman grit his teeth, twirling his last pick angrily between his fingers. The creature turned to look at Gehrman, something wicked - arrogance, or glee - lighting up its malformed features.

"You'll pay for that," Gehrman whispered.

The dissipated torchwick still lay a few feet away on the ground. His invisible lightbulb - an unsung evolution that all humans carry over their heads - flashed on, and he made a brief gaze at his target, still a few feet out of range, and darted for it.

The creature, as though sensing the newfound courage in its opponent, bowed its head, and started to drag itself along the floor at a frightening speed - faster than it appeared possible for such a lumbering beast to move.

Gehrman reached the shaft of wood about five seconds before collision. Tearing it from the ground and holding it in front of him with his left hand, he seized the pick in his right hand, and with a heavy push and a grunt, slid one into the other.

Turning, he saw the blue and pink blur rushing at him, and, reacting on very little but reflex alone, spun his new makeshift blade in its direction.

The beast recoiled, multicoloured blood streaming from the wound in the centre of its head. Gehrman's spear stuck fast in its pink flesh, quivering under the strains of the creature's agony throes, but holding fast.

With a fading cry so feeble it could have been made of smoke, the creature fell away against the cave wall, and sat there, shivering and convulsing.

Gehrman drew a breath. The floor was stained with a miniature inlet of red, but the creature did not appear to be within the clutches of death.

'I'll finish it later,' Gehrman thought. 'For the time, let it huddle in the corner.'

The prospector grinned as his gaze was met by Maria across the way, who seemed completely unharmed.

Alas, the same could not be said of Laurence, who had gone still at her side.

Caryll was crawling across the ground towards Laurence when Gehrman reached him, lowering a hand for the scholar to grasp.

"Is it bad?" Caryll asked, gazing at the hand but not reaching out for it.

Gehrman shook his head. "You'll walk. Just take my hand."

Caryll smiled wistfully. "I know when you are lying, my friend. My legs are gone."

Gehrman hesitated, then nodded.

"Aye, but you've still got your winning personality."

An explosive splutter turned the pair's heads.

"Laurence?" Gehrman asked, astonished. "You're still alive?"

The scholar, who still had the brunt of an excavation tool jutting from his torso, nodded feverishly.

"It's astonishing..." he gasped. "My wounds are all but fatal... but look at me!"

As demonstration, the scholar stood upright, revealing his unbroken spine.

"But how?" Caryll whispered. "How?"

Gehrman eyed the floor, seeing the trail of viscous red that led from the wall where Laurence had landed, to where he now stood. The scholar's clothes were drenched in the blood, far too coarse and widespread to be his own.

"Laurence?" Gehrman said, as calmly as he could manage. "Let me see your wound."

The scholar raised his shirt to reveal a small scarring around the entry wound. Aside from that, there was no other damage to speak of.

"But... that's..."

Laurence laughed. "Impossible? Improbable? It may well just be one of those ventures... I mean, where did you learn to fight like that?"

Gehrman looked down at his own blood-sodden clothes. The hood and gloves were torn in places, but the jacket was nearly unscathed, save for the peculiar bloodstains.

"I have no idea," he said. "It just... came out of me, I suppose."

Laurence nodded, as if something had been confirmed for him.

"Indeed, it seems there are unholy miracles at work. This creature, whatever it is, is key to it all."

The tentacled beast continued to writhe against the wall, blood slowly seeping from its wounds.

"Then we must secure its capture," Maria interjected.

Gehrman stared at her, incredulously. "This thing? Live? After what it did to Caryll? To Lawrence?"

Maria met his fearsome gaze without fear. "You attacked first, Gehrman. Don't forget that."

Laurence, ignoring the bloodsoaked Gehrman, turned to Maria. "Send word to the surface. I want twenty men down here with ropes and launchers before sundown."

As if comprehending the fate that awaited it, the beast let out a strangled, pitiful cry.

(-)

"It's open."

Laurence's closed fist fell to his side, and he pushed open the ornate ebony door that led to his master's office.

Willem was sitting quietly in his round-backed chair, staring through the window at the college grounds. As Laurence walked in he cast a brief glance in his direction.

"The prodigal son returns," he said. "And with new findings, so I hear."

Laurence smiled, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over his chair.

"Not just new findings, Master. The finding of the century."

Willem's eyes fluttered ever-so-slightly. "Please, do tell. What of this peculiar blood that I have heard so much about?"

"Everything the Pthumerian Archive spoke of was true," Laurence began, lathering his speech with a dollop of the dramatic. "Great Ones, beings of immense power and intellect, are real. We have captured one."

"So I hear," Willem replied, allowing his chair to tilt back slightly as he mulled over Laurence's words. "Apparently you sustained some considerable losses on your expedition."

Laurence's eyes darkened. "Yes. Caryll has been hospitalised, but it is near certain he will never walk again. And... well, master, I nearly died myself. But I was brought back by the most peculiar of means-"

"Blood," Willem cut in. "But not your own. The blood of that creature."

Laurence nodded slowly, remembering. "The Pthumerians call her Ebrietas. It means 'Fallen Star' in their language. We believe this 'Ebrietas' is only a child - a daughter of the boundless cosmos - that has been left behind by her parents."

"Intriguing," Willem enthused. "And you believe Ebrietas' blood... is some kind of... I don't know... cosmic miracle?"

Laurence waited patiently for his master to finish. "A cure-all elixir, master. The final evolution of medicine."

Willem turned to look at Laurence fully for the first time in their conversation. "Bold words. Can you back them up?"

"Laboratory-run tests using droplets of the blood show a 96% healing factor on all subjects tested. This blood heals typhoid, cholera, cuts, bruises, broken bones... Even scurvy. The only affliction it seems unable to cure is blindness."

Willem remained silent as Laurence listed off his magic cures. Finally, he said "Extraordinary."

Laurence grinned. "Master, it goes further than that. Regenerative healing is just the baseline - all of our scientific trials purport that this elixir enhances the human body in incredible... impossible ways... Our senses, our physical strength... Apparently, we may even see an increase in our life... Doubling, or even tripling the human lifespan... Isn't that amazing?"

Willem slowly rocked forward in his chair. "And yet, no cure for Caryll's disabilities?"

Laurence shook his head. "He has refused to be treated with the blood. He is afraid of it, in spite of all we have seen of it's remarkable ability."

Willem smiled now. "A smart man, for certain."

Laurence snorted. "Or a fool without a speck of insight. Can you see what this can mean for us, Master. Byrgenwerth, the scholars who cracked immortality!"

Willem's smile faded, like steam on a window pane. "How grandiose. My boy, does this all not seem a little... hasty? This blood, what if it is not all that it appears?"

Laurence's mouth hung open. "But, master, there have been tests, I-"

"Inconclusive," Willem snapped. "You should draw back for now. Investigate this blood, and its source, more thoroughly, before you make bold decisions. At this rate, I fear that your hubris will be your undoing."

Laurence's surprise quickly turned into anger. "Master, forgive me, but I fear you are being short-sighted-"

"And I fear you are being blind!" Willem shot back. "Your research is promising, but for now, it is just that. Research. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, master," Laurence whispered, head bowed. He could practically feel steam rising off his shoulders.

Willem nodded. "Good. Continue the research, but pace yourself. The last thing we want is some horrific tragedy being pinpointed on Byrgenwerth..."