Beta by Bellum Gerere

Time breaks everything, the most beautiful maiden becomes a disgusting hag, the most precious blood becomes the most tainted, a zealot becomes a skeptic and a hunter becomes no different from what it hunts…..(SantyKingr, Mortality a hidden gift? Yharnam,)

Rose Born in Blood

He wanted to rest. The only thing that propelled him now was duty, but he'd been here for so long that perhaps he'd already died. In the end what was left of him? Just a corpse, a puppet, no will of it's own. No friends, family, beloved... Not so different from a beast, even being one would be a better the his current situation.

In the middle of a field of flowers two figures were locked in place, the two waiting for the movement of the other, a hunter at a left side and the first of the hunters at the right side, a young man and old one, so many titles. It all stopped mattering when the hunter dodged to the left, anxious to end this quickly. The other shot, more of instinct, the bullet right the target making it's target stumble. The shooter prepared a charge attack, even his weapon being a scythe, a farming tool, didn't mean that wouldn't be deadly. The young man recovered and injected a blood vial, the wound of the shot started to close. The old man released the attack and it caught his opponent by surprise, making a small smile appear on the mouth of the first of the hunters at the despair in his enemy's face. There was no time to dodge; even though he wanted to lose, the old man still enjoyed the fight, sometimes he wondered for how long. His enemy had been cut and fell to the ground, crushing flowers. The hunter got up quickly. Still young, still energetic. He passed a fire paper over his weapon, a threaded cane and transformed it into a whip. A good tactic against others, but not against the old man. As such he returned his scythe to a curved sword and pressed forward, unleashing a succession of slashes that the young man dodged, responding with an attack from the whip.

The pain was great, but the old man ignored it as he always did and always would. Pain was temporary. Death wasn't. Thankfully, the young man hadn't expected, for his opponent to not be affect by an attack and even more to the response, a quick the shot to the chest. He stumbled again, the distance closed quickly by his enemy that had already sheathed the gun and now was using his weapon back to two hands The young man tried to deliver an attack to fend off the incoming danger. It would work for other hunters, but against the first hunter, it was useless. He was quicker, slashing the young man's chest and followed with another strike. His enemy has already fallen, already weaker. Unexpected. Considering what had passed, the first hunter expected more. But the young man was on the ground; the perfect opportunity to finish him once more.

But he didn't stay down for long. Good, the old man wanted him continue to fighting. A more sincere smile appeared on the first hunter. He wanted this to end, and this young man… this hunter, could end it. Almost agreeing with his thoughts, He got up and attacked. A step back and a missed attack, but the young man still managed to recover some health from the attacks if only a chance to breath, to give some distance between the two. Unfortunately for him, his foe didn't move back for fear of his attack, or the damage that would do. He was close to the old man, tired from getting up and attacking. He had no stamina to move back, and his foe? Well, that was his plan all along: let his enemy overextend.

Before the young hunter could follow-up with another attack or recuperate, the old hunter shot as his foe, not giving a moment he jumped closer to deliver one more attack. Desperate, the young man started to inject another blood vial, hoping his opponent wouldn't reach him. In a moment, the distance closed and a slash delivered. Blood spilled from the young man's chest. Another slash and shot followed, and another…The bleeding young man jumped to the side, dodging the shot. He had more stamina than the old man thought, and still a bit of strength for the damage he was now sustaining. He didn't only jump once but manage to retreat a fair distance from the first hunter. By now, the young hunter had noticed the range of the attacks of its foe, and expected that this distance was enough for a safe heal.

Again he was wrong, because his foe could transform his weapon back to a scythe and simply prepare a charging attack. The first hunter prepared his legs and jumped forward. The young man could dodge. This was not the first time he'd died by this attack, and the old man expect it wouldn't manage to hit him. The old man had to kill him, but this was his duty, not his will. His will was to die. In just one moment, as if by magic, he was in front of the young man, the scythe ready to cut his head. No, thought the old man…NO. The young man jumped backwards in a desperate attempt. The first hunter tried to not complete the attack, but his body continued; the range of the scythe reached him….. and a head rolled in the flowers on the ground.

He started to fade away, and the old man enjoyed the peace while the dream healed his wounds and lamented another lost chance to escape his suffering. As always, he put his weapon back in its blade mode. How many times had he done this? Too many.

A few moments later, the young hunter reentered the garden one more time. One more chance to free the first hunter, but….No. NO. He had his hands up in surrender, and as he spoke, the old man knew what he would say the same as hundreds had told him before.

"Gehrman, I give up. I submit my life to you.'' He dropped to his knees as the words left his mouth, placing his cane and a plank shield in front of him. The old man reformed its blade into a scythe, preparing to do the deed. How many times had he done it? Seven hundred? Two hundred? He stopped to try to account for the numbers, but it was best to not remember lost chances at freedom. As he slashed, the body of the young man fell to the ground, but not decapitated—there was no head or body. The killing was symbolic, but for what or why? Long had he stopped caring. Just another symbol of his failure, and continuation of his nightmare. He could feel the power of the dream leaving his old body; the joints started to hurt again, the arms felt weak once more, and his energy faded away. The wheelchair appeared next to him, his prison. He sat down as the blunderbuss and scythe disappeared and a cane appeared in his lap, the weapons only to return if he needed to face another hunter, unarmed until she decided to grant him the weapons again.

As he stayed there he had to ask: why did the young hunter give up? He was so successful, his hunt one of the hardest anyone had seen, and he had lived through hundreds of deaths. According to the False, he had gained more blood echoes than even Eileen from beasts and fallen hunters. He had manage to make his weapon a deadly threat by adding the strongest stones and gems. He had somehow retrieved the armor of a Cainhurst Knight and he had the strength to fight with one without getting slow down by her, and he was stocked with enough blood vials and quicksilver bullets to last him several lifetimes, as well as fire and bolt papers, which he was more careful to keep. Being so curious about the dream, it was no surprise that he would not simply accept being killed, and demanded answers. When they began to fight, the old man would finally have release. This hunter would do it, he would free him; but it was only so long before he gave up.

It wasn't the old man's fault that he fought without hesitation. She and the dream demanded it. In the beginning, he tried to simply let himself be killed, but his body moved regardless of his intentions, as a puppet is controlled by its master. If he didn't want to fight, she would make him fight, and since it was best to have some kind of control of his actions, he eventually gave in and accepted the fight. At least in those small moments he was free. She had already taken too much.

When the fight began, the dream gave him power, the agility and strength of his golden years where she was there….so beautiful. He became so fast and strong that it was almost impossible for his enemies to land even one blow on him. But it was horrible. He simply couldn't be defeated, even by the other hunters whose chances were infinite, who would learn his patterns of attack after so many tries, but….. They always gave up. Always. And he continued to suffer….

But this time, everything was perfect. He would finally be released. Again, he was wrong. This hunter had failed, had given up. Now he would have to wait, and that was the worst part. The nothing. The wait. Eventually another hunter would come, but for now, he could only sit on his chair, cage, doing nothing, incapable of resting, only to suffer.

"Come here, False," he called. "This hunter has submitted." And she appeared, her visage an affront to her memory, the same skin, the same hair, the same face. But her clothes. The constant reminder of the first hunter's failures. A large cape covered her shoulders, a brown one with a lot of frills and strange designs. She would never wear that cape; she preferred things simple. Then a corset she would never allow herself to be constrained by. She always talked about how she hated to wear them during her times at the castle. Just the False wearing it was an affront. Of course, it wasn't the only affront. Her legs were covered by a large skirt, one that would restrict her movements, something that a hunter knew was a death sentence. That was why she didn't wear them, but not the False. It needed to mock him, to look like his love, but it was only a lie, a reminder of his lost one.

Normally, he would have shot her. In this nightmare, he was always allowed a pistol. When he'd first discovered it, he tried to end this (a coward's way, but he was desperate), but it didn't shoot. Another mockery. But after the fight, he was too tired.

She wheeled him out of the garden, which had been destroyed during the fight. Many of the flowers were crushed and some of the tombstones surrounding the wide-open space were destroyed. As they left, it began to reform itself, the flowers bursting out of the ground and the crucifixes reforming before his eyes. A great vision but after so much time it meant only another failure. When they had reached the entrance of the workshop, the door back into the garden closed. It would only open again at the end of a hunt, when the first hunter would offer a choice to another and pray that he fought, his only chance of escape. He could see the clearing in the middle, the place where it all began, and those memories suffocated him.

The sun was bright, and the hunt the day before had been a uneventful, despite a conflict with the Healing Church's hunters. They had demanded the cemetery on the outskirts of Yharnam that they had been clearing was property of the Church and they would clean it not his workshop. After much heated debate, he'd decided it was best to just let them have it, and sent his hunters to patrol the streets instead, where they eventually cleared out an infected clinic. Hunt after hunt this Church Hunter were claiming more exclusive place where only the could clean of beasts. Why this fight the beast were enemies of everyone? Of course the Church was making its move to take the hunt of the hand of his workshop to theirs, greedy bastards, always wanting more power.

Now it wasn't time to get angry, she always said that anger made him ugly, now it was the time to repair and clean the weapons the sun had appeared, the hunters had left his weapons in the workshop and gone home she too. Carrying hunters' weapons was prohibited—the Council didn't want ordinary people seeing them, as it might tear the stability of the city. But the Church hunters would be allowed. He could see the Church slowly infecting the Council with its corrupted influence by too trying to take control of the hunt, but he let it alone. His job was to hunt beasts, not get mixed up in politics and more he didn't have any power technically she could had power she was a member of the Cainhurst they still had a lot of power in the city and if he asked she would do it…..but she said that she didn't want any more contact with them and he would never impose anything on her, never.

He cleaned the weapons, counted his bullets and blood vials, to prepare for the next hunt and see which supplies are going to be replenished. It was his job, and he took it seriously the master of the workshop such a pompous title for basically an account of the supplies according to her. Took some time to clean everything and adjust everything he could leave, but before he could prepare to leave, he saw that in the intrance the workshop, a man. Not any time of man of course as he wasn't dressed as one of the common folk of Yharnam his robes were blue and white as the colors of the sky and the clouds, and there was a strange pattern on there back not so strange as what this man studied. He carried a staff shaped like a tree why in that shape? As Gehrman had learned a long time ago with this man it was better to not ask and he wore a tall hat with a visor that covered his eyes. It was Provost Willem, the head of Byrgenwerth School one of the last persons that he expected to met this day especially in his workshop

"Gehrman. Lovely to see you. A beautiful day, don't you think?"

"Of course, Master Willem. Perhaps you would want to talk somewhere more comfortable? We have much to discuss."

"Of course. Lead the way." He led him into the house, where he brought a couple of chairs to a clearing outside the house in the garden a very comfy place where he had wonderful talks with she he didn't want to desecrate this place with so many memories with her with this man. Unfortunately it was the only place in the workshop that was adequate for Willem position. As the head of the most important school in Yharnam, Gehrman couldn't treat him bad as talk to him in the middle of an old and dirty workshop, a man respected as Willem must have a good treatment. If he didn't do that and the word get around that Gehrman showed disrespect to Master Willem, his workshop would lose a lot of his backers and support on the council and in the present moment that would be risky….he hated politics.

Well, he isn't here to discuss the weather and he had already passed the social protocol he hadn't any important business to discuss with Willem, he just wanted him gone. Let's hear what he wants. He sat down in his chair, and Willem followed suit.

"Now, Master Willem, what business have you here?"

"I cannot come simply to visit an old friend?"

"You would have me believe that you left Byrgenwerth and crossed the forest, a dangerous enough place, simply to say hello? What do you really want?"

"Ah, Gehrman. Always straight to the point. A rare quality in a man these days. I came because I have a proposal for you. Tell me, what do you know about the Old Ones?"

His brow furrowed in confusion, but he answered without hesitation. "They are ancient beings, and sought out by Byrgenwerth and the Healing Church. I don't know why, and frankly, I don't care, since they do not interfere with the hunt. But I did hear some rumors that the Church had managed to speak to one of them. A being called Ebrietas of course just rumors that in the end are true I don't care, it don't affect the hunt as such not affect me."

"Apparently the security Laurence put there was not as good as he claimed. They are more than ancient, they are far more evolved than us. They can create entire worlds and transport themselves between them. We can speak to them, but cannot comprehend their responses."

"Very beautiful, but what does this have to do with anything? You didn't come here simply to discuss the concept."

"Apologies. I do tend to lose myself when I think of these incredible beings. I apologize for the questions, but again I must beg your knowledge. The fishing hamlet, what do you know of it?"

"I've never heard of it. I suppose it would be a fishing village."

"Always the sarcastic type. It's a small village located about three days' journey from Yharnam, only a hundred eighty-seven inhabitants. Two months ago, something fell from the sky near this village. An amateur astronomer named Jon Cruz was it, and believed it was a meteorite until he was able to look at it."

"Le me guess it wasn't a meteorite?"

"Yes but at first glance, he didn't know. He sent a letter to Byrgenwerth asking for guidance, in response we send one of our scholars whose name now it isn't important, what is important is that when it was examined it concluded that it was a living creature that, after landing in the ocean, had been dragged back to the beach. When our scholar examined it, he noted there were small creatures living off the carcass, and he extracted one of them and sent it to us, saying he preferred not to examine it closer until he had the proper equipment one of our rules to always try to keep the sample intact, for fear of destroying or damaging it. Strangely for one of our scholar he too sent to a piece of the carcass that as he said in a his letter was separated from the main body so it wasn't going to damage the specimen. He should have waited and follow the procedures but in the end it helped us greatly and it didn't damage the specimen. He too sent us some drawings of the carcass and the other small creatures to see how this small creatures were in their natural habitat. When we received them, we were surprised to find it had not originated from this planet, but another place as it was to strange to be of this world and the components that wasn't made of carbon but of….. I see that I bore you in the end it wasn't from this planet. After searching the old tomes and doing more research, the conclusion was that Carcass was an Old One, Kos and the things feasting on them were parasites, such an amazing discovery parasites of Old Ones."

"But the Old Ones are immortal. How did it die? And parasites of them?"

"Yes, we thought so as well, so we sent an expedition to uncover the secrets of these beings. Somehow, Laurence and the Church found out about it, and the Church claims it as their find. We've been forced to include their members on our expeditions and any scientific findings are going to be ''split'' as Laurence himself said or shared of a better term."

"How could you just accept this?" You've said thousands of times that Laurence and the Church are a band of children that don't have a clue what they are doing. The entire city knows the divergences of you two, by the good blood even the beasts know that"

"I maintain that place, but it was either this or full-on battle over the remains that could damage them and our fight would throw the city into chaos as we both control parts of the council."

"So by the fear of mutual destruction we agreed on something, this expedition needs bodyguards capable of fighting. After the letters with our scholar, we lost contact with our envoy, but in the last letter he claimed strange beasts began to emerge, probably because of the Old One's remains affecting local wildlife. And your hunters are the best there are, more capable and experienced than mine or the Church's. And it's best that you don't take sides, to avoid backstabbing as an intermediary for both of our…..''schools''."

Willem said the last part with difficult as he would never consider the Church creation of his ex student a real school. Amazing story but…..

"Very beautiful, but you came with a proposition and are only showing me the task, not the reward. Why should I risk my hunters for something unrelated to the hunt?"

"Tell me truly. You are having conflict with the Church's hunters, are you not? They are insisting that some places are from theirs exclusivity to hunt. Piece by piece they are taking huge portions of the city in their control claiming is for procteting propriety. They tried that with us about the forbidden forest, we allow them to patrol the forest and clean from beasts the hunters they sent never returned and will never return. So that is what I propose, you say you only care about the hunt, but still you need free rein over your operations, not to mention money for blood vials and quicksilver bullets. I can offer all that and more than your backers can. Byrgenwerth has some quite generous backers and much in the way of spare funds. Plus Laurence gave his word that the Church will no longer interfere with your duties and I believe in him, he could be a mad person and a children in terms of scientific thought but in the end he still has word…..."

Gehrman remained silent for a time. Yes, they were having troubles that could be resolved by accepting this request, but something about it felt wrong deep in his bones.

Willem stood. "I will give you some time to consider this. If you accept, send a letter to the Church. We need all of your hunters. The expedition is quite large and the area very big, the entire city and beach we would need to contain a lot of space."

The false was still carried him until they passed the gate that led to nothing but a fall into the…... he tried once to throw himself out of this nightmare but he always ended back on the wheelchair and the workshop. But looking at that gate made the memories surface again before that gate lead to a door, a set of stairs, leading into the cathedral ward. The stairs always made him remember the thrill that he felt looking at them and waiting for her to come back the laughter and talks where he could hear voice as she came back for another hunt night, just the excitement of knowing that she would come back. It was there that he spoke to her for the last time where everything start to fall apart.

"Mashi, did you take the fire papers?" a small man carrying a chest and wearing standard hunter attire asked.

"Yes, but not the bolt papers. That was Jemiji's job, and I don't know where he is."

"He already is in the carriages, now hurry."

"Maria, wait. I need to speak with you."

Maria was wearing more traditional hunter's garb, though her clothes had been made in Cainhurst so that was show as the clothes were of better quality and better materials than the others hunters in his workshop and her cap was topped with a feather a gift of her mother to commemorate one her birthday. She was his definition of perfect—ivory skin, white hair, eyes the perfect shade of green the clothes beautiful by themselves just empathize more of her beauty.

"What is it, Gehrman? Worried about me again? By Odeon, you are not my father."

"Maria, take care on this mission. There is something wrong about it, I can feel it."

"Yes, the fact that instead of helping the population by killing beasts, we are doing the job of bodyguards to stop Byrgenwerth and the Healing Church from killing themselves. Yes, this is exactly why I became a hunter, to play politician."

"If I had not accepted, we would have no future. The Church is slowly taking control of the city. Soon they would try to disband us I need to do something, Maria. This was our only chance to survive."

"I know, but I don't like it, Gehrman. I understand, but promise me that you will not allow politics to disturb our job."

"For you, I would promise anything. I can't guarantee that, but I promise that I will do all I can to stop this from happening again. But please, take care."

"Of course I will. I always take care. Goodbye, 'Master.' We will return so quickly you will not even notice that we were gone."

"I notice every moment without you." He never saw any of them again but he would always remember her and the last thing that he saw of her was she walking up the stairs while looking at him such beautiful eyes they were so full of life the color of nature and smiling the most beautiful teeth in the planet plus a smile so majestic and perfect making her looking even more beautiful, then after she leave everything gone downhill.

The false continued to push. They were starting up the small hill that led to the workshop. They passed a tombstone—not mutable, like the others, but the one where his world ended with just one conservation everything ended, his dreams, his workshop and her just some words and it was over.

He didn't like to hunt alone, but duty is duty a hunt must hunt. Finally, this hunt had ended, recentely all hunts appeared longer without her. He had needed the help of some of the common folk to kill a Cleric Beast, they only distracted the giant beast he did the dirty work he was drenched in the blood of the beast.

He descended the stairs to his workshop now clean his weapon and just wait for the next hunt and for any news of them it was lonely in the workshop with every one gone and without her. He finally reached the end of the stairs and there was something strange in the workshop there was light coming from the house, he prepared himself how could be? Scavengers or raiders? Beasts didn't emit light…... He approached the house carefully, but not before surreptitiously preparing the blunderbuss and burial blade in case of conflict it was still drenched in blood his weapon and would if need drench again. As he neared, he saw there were three of this invaders upon seeing them he relaxed it was easy to know who had come. Two dressed in a set, black and white to show conflict inside man according to the creator of the garb and to show respect for Master Willem, though they did not follow his teachings anymore as the man who had created this garb for the Choir. The same man who had created the clothes aesthetic was the creator of their entire organization the Healing Church of the Choir was only a part. The ones dressed this way were women, and the other wore a students' uniform. One of the most powerful man in Yharnam wearing just normal student clothes one that had his sticky hands everything in the city. His prints where everywhere the clothes of his followers, in the city council in the university of Yharnam, everything that he could touch and grab in his grasp he would. The most disgusting and powerful person in Yharnam with the power to destroy anyone in the city was here and Gehrman would show the respect that a man of his caliber deserve it "Hello, Laurence," Gehrman said. "What brings you to my workshop?"

"Gehrman. How have you been?" Why do I feel as if I've already had this conversation? Laurence spoke in such a similar way to Master Willem that he couldn't help but be surprised.

"Dismiss your guards. I could hurt you if I want but I am had not gone crazy by the blood yet.

"Of course. The idea never even crossed my mind. You know how people are these days, always holding on to their old ideas. Stay at the door. He will not harm me. I trust him to be a sane person and not a suicidal one." The choir members bowed quickly and left, obedient laps dogs as his hunter and her would ever done something like that.

"I come as the bearer of news about the fishing hamlet and the state of the expedition." Gehrman took a step towards Laurence, intrigued.

"Where are they? It has been four months without news and any kinda of letters. And my….Maria, where is she? Tell me Laurence if not….." Four months without her. Calm. Everything in its time his hunters were important too but her… she was his ray of light. Most of them were in the fishing hamlet and Maria supposedly was on the Astral Clock Tower tending the patients according to the last letter received from her. He took another step, fixing his gaze on Laurence and raised a bit his weapons to give a bit more emphasize. "Where are they now?"

"Let us start from the beginning. When they arrived, they began to study the fallen Old One, but the data was...lacking. We need to know how it affects the population, or if they could somehow be responsible for this. We studied them: where they ate, how they lives, their beliefs, if anything changed when they were dead or alive."

The most problematic thing of Laurence is that he hadn't any emotions on transmitting what had happen on the town. He wasn't mad or happy he was maintaining his normal tone of voice as he wasn't talking of killing people for scientific purpose but of the weather or about dogs.

"By Odeon, you are sick, Laurence. You take one hundred people and open them up to see how they work?"

"We are not monsters! For the first time Laurence raised his voice but maybe noticing this return to the same normal tone of voice

''We only treat the weakest like this. The rest we carried to the clock tower to test some theories. Your love made sure to follow up on them. So melodramatic, that one. After that small test on the population, she became ill, and threw—what was the name of the weapon? Of course, yes, Rakuyo, on a—well, how she even became a hunter with such a weak stomach is beyond me. She claimed what we were doing is wrong, but anything can be deemed necessary to advance humanity. And where would she get that idea? Maybe the master of the workshop that she affiliated with, the one that is completely obsessed with her."

"Stop. Where is she now?"

"I don't know."

"He grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pressed him against the wall. "Where is she?!''

He would give him the answer, then Gehrman would move everything in his way to find her not muttering the cost and the things in his way. Laurence would give the answer wanting or not, fuck the city council and the Church he would kill everyone for her.

The choir members ran inside, having heard the commotion, and immediately got into a fighting stance, weak stances full of openings that was the élite of the Church he would them easily. "Girls, My friend and I here were just talking. Everything is fine here." Gehrman didn't know what was worst the calm of Laurence or the mocking tone that he was using. They bowed and left, what good dogs that Laurence had and he continued with the same mocking tone. "Now, where were we? Of course! In the Astral Clock Tower. We assigned some high-profile individuals—do you remember Saint Adeline?—to the project, and in the beginning everything went swimmingly. The villagers had some simply wonderful reactions and we recorded so much data, even Adeline had good results. We were so close to our goal, though of course, there were some failures. And then suddenly—" he gestured widely as he said this "—everything was gone. The clock tower was empty and the fishing hamlet disappeared. The data remain intact, but that is all we have." She was gone, then? A life without her—was it even possible? Not that wasn't possible he would find a way he must be lying she couldn't be missing...she couldn't.

He released Laurence, his grip slacking in grief. "Calm, Gehrman, all is not lost. We may know where she is. It's a bit complicated, but let me explain. Your love and your hunters are in a nightmare. Not the type you have when you go to sleep. This nightmare was created by the Old Ones. It is a world strongly connected to a living thing. In this case, it was born from our violence and blood lust, when we razed—that's too strong a word—researched a bit closer to the village, and the cries of the population punish the

hunters responsible. The Old One responded by trapping all the hunters in a nightmare. And that's where she may be, though she killed herself before everyone vanished—"

"She killed herself? You're lying! She would never do something like that!" He advanced and landed a punch right on Laurence's stomach, the blunderbuss pressed to his head. "Give me a reason not to kill you," Gehrman prayed that he didn't gave him a reason so that he could shoot Laurence and them…..

"If you kill me, you'll never save her. Only the Healing Church has the capacity and the power to breach this nightmare. If you join us, all these resources will be available to you."

"After everything that was taken from me—my hunters, the woman I l…..—you come to offer me a job as a hunter?"

"Well, everything is an opportunity for you now. You don't have any more hunters, so it would be easy to substitute you, but I, in my infinite gratitude, offered you a chance. You have talents, and you're better than Ludwig—there's something strange about him and that sword, anyway—and by working with us, you will be able to access the nightmare. So what do you say?"

Gehrman looked around his workshop everything that he had built and achieve, the memories of this place and the hunters his ''apprentices'' and her, he would sacrifice all of this to try to save her and maybe them? The answer was simple. "Get out of my workshop or I will kill you all." He would find a way as he always find one, he would continue loyal to his workshop until the end.

Laurence got up and dusted off his robes, and left the workshop with an air of disappointment. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me. As a grateful man, I will make sure the Church does not bother you anymore. You have complete control in the hunt." He laughed as he left, and Gehrman couldn't do anything but stand there, looking at the door. After a while, he noticed his face was wet. He had been crying for her. For his hunters. For the talks he wouldn't have with her and the others to the end of the commemorations of the hard hunts and more much more…...unfortunate it wasn't the end… I was just the beginning of the end for Gehrman.

When the false arrived, the workshop was in flames, a signal that the hunt was at its end another symbolism to the hunter to make him fight him in the garden. As the fire died out and the workshop reconstructed itself, she delivered him inside, curtsied and left. He wheeled his chair over to the sides, equipped with weapons and shelves for hunter utilities. At the end of the house was an altar. It was first used to imprint Runes a gift from a strange being a rune smith as he called himself Caryll, but to him, it was a monument to his own stupidity and his failures again the memories take hold of him and once more he remembered his past.

In Byrgenwerth, everything was normal. It was raining, and all the students were talking about the data from the fishing hamlet—old data, surely, but still so rich. They spoke of it often, or another finding in the chalice dungeons. But today was different. Today, they heard a knock on one of the doors. How had someone come so far just to see them, and why? One of them opened the door as the others gripped their weapons behind their backs—to be a student at Byrgenwerth, one had to know how to fight, and to be prepared. Slowly, the door swung open.

Tired. That was the first word someone would use to describe the man in the doorway. He was dressed in a wrinkled brown overcoat, which showed signs of frequent use, red pants in an even worse state, and a scarf so dirty it left marks on his neck. His wrinkled face betrayed an air of drowsiness and fatigue, and a crumpled hat sat on top of his Grey hair. The clothes old and well used combined perfectly to the man appearance and looked like the two of them where the same being.

"I wish to speak to Master Willem. Tell him that Gehrman is here to see him." One of the students ran up the stairs to talk to his Master while the others watched this strange visitor. He was armed with a blunderbuss, and a curved sword that would have been enough to cut the tension hanging thick in the air.

"Master Willem will see you, Sir," the student said as he returned. Gehrman ascended the stairs as the students looked on, until he reached a large door at the end of the hallway. "He is behind this door. I'll leave you both alone." He inclined his head and retreated.

When Gehrman opened the door, he was surprised to find not a room, but a terrace that overlooked the lake of Yharnam. Sitting to the right, sheltered from the rain, was Master Willem, wearing the same clothes as the last time Gehrman had saw him. "It's a lovely view, isn't it?" Willem said as he approached. "The lake is beautiful when it rains, and when the moon is high it almost appears to be in the lake itself." His voice was low, and betrayed fatigue in every word, like speaking was a monumental task.

"What do you know about nightmares?"

"Still straight to the point, I see. Well, let's not beat around the bush. I assume you're referring to the fishing hamlet?"

"How do I access it?"

"Gehrman, even if you managed to access the nightmare, you would be unable to rescue anyone. Have you heard of the Mensis School? They're quite the experts in dreams, a bit more inconsequential than the church. We exchanged information with them, and leaned it is possible to take someone from the nightmares, but only if you have their body—if they are alive. If not, what is dead will stay dead, and all of the hunters…well, I'm sorry, Gehrman." He looked down at the stone floor of the terrace, shame on his face.

"I have heard that is possible for the Old Ones to return people from the dead. That some ritual exists, and no one knows rituals better than Byrgenwerth."

Master Willem remained silent for a moment. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "To do this, you must call a being we refer to as the Moon Presence. She is extremely powerful, and the ingredients for the ritual you speak of are extremely difficult to find. You would need the umbilical cord of an Old One. They're incredibly rare, and few posses one."

"If you have one, Willem, I implore you. You owe me. All my hunters are dead because of your proposition."

Willem sighed. "That point could be debated, but yes, I will provide you one. That's not all you'll need, however. You require an object that is important to the one you want returned, in a place important to them."

"Maria had a doll, from when she lived in Cainhurst Castle. It was made specifically for her, and she took great care of it." He looked out at the horizon for a moment, unwilling to make eye contact. "And the place would be my workshop. An important place for all of my hunters, and for her. With that, will the ritual be possible?"

"Yes, but communicating with this being is dangerous without great insight. Done improperly, it can lead to your death.''

"I don't care about death."

"So be it but remember, they always offer exactly what you ask. Rom, bring me the Umbilical Cord and the ritual of the Moon Presence." A woman with bushy hair and brown eyes, dressed in students' robes, entered the doors behind him. She carried a jar with something inside that resembled a snake, but with far more eyes than a snake should have. "This is Rom, one of my best students. She know all kinds of rituals and will dictate the process to you."

Gehrman nodded. "Goodbye, Willem."

Yes, Master Willem was right. It provided everything that he asked for. His workshop was brought back to its former glory for all eternity and resigned in a dream where he led. His ''hunters'' as they weren't his old companions but new ones that suddenly pop in the ''dream'' it was more of a nightmare to him. This new hunter could come and go as they pleased to the hunt zones, for what is the purpose of a hunter without the hunt? But there was a catch. The leader of the workshop could only quit when one of his hunters killed him in a duel so he was now eternally leader of this nightmare until someone kill him and that wasn't even worst. Maria had ''returned to life'', having been brought back in the form of her doll by the Moon Presence, but it had only restored her body, and not her soul. She was wrong. It was wrong. So wrong an animated doll that looked like her but it wasn't, just a piece of porcelain and the testimony of his mistakes. It had twisted his words to make him a servant from the beginning. He had thought at first that he could actually make a difference, but it wasn't long before he realized that he was just her puppet, serving only her own needs.

The hunter that he removed from the dream was to find and kill a strange creature. A child born of an Old One. His tormentor was determined to kill all of its own kind, and he did not understand why.

He tried everything, and this hunt was the apogee. If this hunter could not even kill him, after all of his preparing who could? Well, a voice in his head whispered, there was something that he could do. The key to the nightmare was the unborn child of Kos he had received this a long time ago and had forgotten but now, now he remembered it. He could use this to bargain, but it would convict all his hunters and her throw any chance of saving them. He wouldn't have done it if he had any hope left, but there was none. He just wanted freedom, time destroy everything even hope he would never meet her again neither save her. All of them were already lost he had to accept it and he would.

"False, come here."

She was leaning against a wall at the bottom of the main staircase to the workshop. To someone without the sight, it would appear to be just a doll wearing a brown dress, a deep red scarf wrapped its, neck a shawl covering its shoulders and a bonnet. The perfect dress material for a children doll and a mockery to her False rose and bowed to Gehrman as she addressed him.

"What you want, master?"

Just looking at her, thinking that she never would bow, she would never talk like that, filled him with so much hatred that he simply took the pistol he carried in his coat and shot in his head without even sparing a glance.

The ceramic face broke broken into thousands of pieces as she tumbled like a marionette with its strings cut.

As he looked at what he had done, he took a deep breath. Now he would have to wait a while for her to return. He heard the sound of approaching footsteps: the False had risen again. She curtsied to him and said "What do you want, master?" She was already accustomed to these sudden explosions from him. Another problem, she never accepted this from him and always reprimand him from his bursts to others, but this piece of porcelain just accepted.

"Take me to the garden."

She pushed the wheelchair down the hill and to the garden on the other side of the workshop, comprised of thousands of white roses and a giant tree planted on one side, surrounded by scattered crosses and tombstones it had already reconstructed. When he arrived, he sent the False away, for he wanted to speak with Her alone. He didn't need to speak with Moon Presence in the garden as it was everywhere in the dream or it need to make the false go away as the presence of it wouldn't change anything but he didn't want a reminder of her looking at him or anything that make him remember her around. The False withdrew, and Gehrman called:

"I come to you to make an exchange."

Nothing moved—not that she needed it too; she was everywhere in the dream. Finally, a light wind touched his tired face. A signal to communication the only way to communicate without becoming mad.

"I would like to relinquish my duties to grant me eternal rest Have I not served you for to long? The night is long and unending I had already take my share and I want a release. I propose you take someone from the waking world and train them. Someone fresh and new, raise anything to replace me. You will get a better servant that will make your wishes reality and offer me the release of this place.

A strong wind blew in his face.

"Of course I would something in exchange for this desire. What I offer to achieve my desire is a chance to kill the unborn child of Kos trapped in the Hunter's Nightmare. I have a way of accessing it."

The silence fell again, and the breeze slowed, now he had to offer some opportunities to make this offer more attractive for his jailer.

"I suggest someone who has a lineage of strong blood, able to endure the difficulties of the night. I can be too a survivor one that have fought to stay alive in the worst situation, the desire to live and persist is a requirement to a good hunter. A scholar the curiosity of the hunt and the dream could make him persist and continue the hunt until the end. Even wastes of skin are good hunters they have a desire to prove themselves to others to show that they are alive.

The action was repeated. Was she thinking of who would be best suited for the job? It could not be the son of some Yharnam hunter—it was impossible for hunters to bear children, since the blood transfusions rendered them barren.

Then he saw blood welling up from the beds of roses and forming a wall in front of him. Images appeared in the blood wall, probably the hunter that she would want to replace him in the end. Then he saw it: a blonde girl with her hair done in a twin tails wearing a light brown suit and an orange scarf round her neck. She was pushing a red cart of a very strange material in which a girl of perhaps four years slept. She was dressed in a red cape that was bigger then the girl, a white blouse that unlike the cape was of her size, and a black skirt like the blouse it fit the girl perfectly, with short black hair, the cape probably was from somewhere else maybe a parent?.

"It seems we have some careless parents, leaving two children to walk the woods alone. The youth these days. In my times, if parents wanted to get rid of undesirable children, they would sell them to the sips or the orphanage, not leave them in the woods, where there would be a chance they might return."

A strong wind blew in his face

"But they are too well fed and clothed to be abandoned as only the cape of the smaller girl appear to not belong to her. Still, the two of them seem ideal."

Now an even stronger wind.

"Only one why…, okay then. The blonde girl has potential, if my eyes do not deceive me, well feed perfect teeth and good posture but her age is an obstacle."

By this point, the wind was approaching the strength of a tornado.

"The girl with the red cape?"

A light wind blew.

"She has potential, but is still far too old as the sister is too well feed and I can't see analyze but if it's your choice accept...'' I only care that she free me you can choose a Church member and I wouldn't care''She will remember the family she had and will refused to be trained. How to force her to become a hunter? You can use violence, but the possibility of rebellion will always be present."

A pause, then a sickeningly sweet scent hit him head on.

"So you take care of that, but even so, she does not seem to have as much potential as the other. If you already have the capacity to train the younger one, why not the older?"

Before he had even finished speaking, the cart hit a rock and the girl in the red cape quickly opened his eyes, her slumber interrupted by the impact. She fell back asleep in moments, but she had been alert long enough for Gehrman to catch a glimpse of her eyes: silver. He laughed.

"Even a god believes in the legend of hunters with silver eyes. It's almost as if I'm not even speaking with a god, just an ignorant peasant."

There was only silence in the garden. The legend was that silver-eyed hunters had the ability to control the beasts with their stare, and when they succumbed to the blood addiction, they would become even stronger and more dangerous beasts. That was one of the reasons why children born with silver eyes were killed or abandoned to the Healing Church's Orphanage. A fate worse than death, if the stories about the place were true.

"These eyes may cause more problems but a quick blood transfusion can solve that. How would you make sure her relatives don't seek her out?"

The image on the wall of blood changed focus, showing the path in front of the girls. He saw a barn, and red eyes inside of it, in the center of the darkness. The creatures were similar to Yharnam's werewolves, but completely black and covered with white plating, dotted with red markings. They walked on two legs, and even through the blood wall he could tell how sharp their claws were.

"That's another world, is it?"

A light wind moved the roses. The concept that there were other worlds beyond this one was a theory of the Byrgenwerth School to explain the Old Ones and how they existed. The theory was that they belonged to extremely ancient worlds that had advanced so much in the evolutionary scale that they ascended to godhood and achieved the capacity to move between worlds. They weren't advanced beings, monsters, thought Gehrman; they were no evolutionary future, but only living nightmares.

"So allow me to collect the girl; her family will assume that these beings killed her."

The vision changed to show a crow flying into the barn. To anyone else it would be only a crow, but Gehrman had seen to much of this world by the beast and his own jailer that he has what Scholar of Yharnam called ''insight ''so he know only see the truth not illusions, and he knew it was a man and by the direction that was going his objective was to rescue the girls.

"Delay him. If you don't, he will arrive in time to stop me from extracting the girl."

The scent returned, and at his side blood flowed from the ground, building the image of a being with long white hair, pale skin, a wrinkled face, and no eyes: only empty cavities. A dirty old skirt covered its legs, a beige-and-black piece of fabric its torso, and a cape as red as blood emerged from a wound, always fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. The Pthumerian being bowed to him, one who had occupied Yharnam before humans reached the place. It was said they were so advanced that they attempted to create an Old One using their queen by making her pregnant with their child.

"So the puppet will distract, but use this to cancel out the crow's transformation."

It was a glass jar with a transparent dust inside. The dust had been used by the nobles of Cainhurst to hunt other hunters. It prevented them from regenerating, basically nullifying their human essence if the legends where true of course. Certainly it would work on this man, forcing him to fight with the Pthumerian. With his pale corpse-like hands he picked up the pot, knelt again, and began to fade as he left to perform his part.

"Now it's my turn."

He, too, began to disappear. Soon he would have a successor and this nightmare would finally end. It would take several years, but what were years to an eternity?

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