Hey, guys! This is the edited fixed, not grammar nazi inducing - as much - version of chapter One, have fun!

Chapter One: Borne of Blood

The boy knew that, in his small, fragmented mind, he should be drowned in sorrow now. He lost everything, his home, his family, even his own name. But now, he couldn't be bothered to care. What he could care about was finding somewhere safe, somewhere where the heat wasn't as intense, somewhere to rest.

Even as he heard screams and cries for help from every direction, he walked. He knew he couldn't help them. He couldn't even find the drive to try.

Soon enough he came across a building that was surprisingly intact.

Luck was on his side it seemed. Of course one can only be so lucky in a city that's on fire.

He stumbled his way into the building, it was slightly cooler than outside, but not anywhere close enough to give any comfort. So, he continued on his way up the building, going to the roof.

Hot air rises, not that he knew that.

Once he reached the middle of the roof he collapsed, his breathing was heavy, he could barely move an inch, every breath hurt. Maybe because of how long he had been walking, maybe his injuries, or maybe the smoke that poured into his lungs with each and every breath.

He didn't know, nor did he care. He just wanted to rest. His skin might get a bit burnt but at least he was safe.

He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there, but he could still hear the screams for help echoing in his ears.

Unknown to him, a black, vile, sludge began to flood the area he was in. It corrupted and eroded the foundation of the building the boy was on.

It started as a single crack. Then a couple more. A few more. They sounded close by, almost under him. He understood what was happening.

The boy, despite the situation, deadpanned at the sky.

He had the strangest feeling that the world had it out for him.

The roof underneath him collapsed, the all too familiar feeling of falling encompassed him. He zoned out, he was barely conscious. The boy didn't really hear any of the carnage around him. All he knew or cared about is that it would be over soon. He hit the ground, but his entire body was too numb to feel it. The rest of the building fell down on top of him and in only a few seconds he was buried.

The boy coughed. He tasted copper in his mouth. He spat out the blood and looked up. In the darkness, he could just make out a metal rod on his chest. It took half a second to realize that it was actually going through him - he'd been impaled on a piece of the foundation. Unfortunately for him, the boy started to feel again, just in time to notice that the rod was white-hot.

He joined the chorus of screams. It wasn't long before the pain made him throw up and pass out.

Just in time for the sludge to seep through the rubble, drowning him in its vile substance.

Ah. You've found yourself a Hunter.

BGM: Bloodborne OST - Moonlit Melody

The boy's eyes snapped open as he awakened.

Almost immediately he noticed the lack of pain, the lack of heat.

Was he safe?

He sure as hell hoped so. Once his mind cleared, he finally began to make sense of his surroundings.

It was a garden of sorts. White, unearthly flowers covered the field, with gravestones scattered about here and there. The entire field was covered with a thin layer of mist.

He spotted a figure in the mist, it motioned from him to come closer.

Once he got closer, he could make out what the figure actually was.

It, he didn't know if the thing before him had a gender or not, it was almost bleached white, smaller than even his own five-year-old self. Its body was the definition of skin and bones, it was heavily deformed, it's lower half consumed by mist. Calling it humanoid would be a stretch.

The boy was compelled to follow it, so he did. It led him to some kind of cabin, a workshop on closer inspection. Books filled the shelves, most scattered in large piles everywhere on the wooden floor. Desks and tables ran up the walls with various tools scattered across them, each one with the sole purpose of killing. Cabinets held various vias and glasses, none of which he knew what they did. And at the far end was a strange altar.

Sitting in the center of it all was a withered old man dressed in tattered Victorian clothing in a wheelchair, he looked like the slightest breeze would turn him to dust. His right foot was replaced with a pegleg, and in his hands was an old cane.

He looked at the boy as if someone had told him the absolute worst joke in the world.

The old man gave a long frustrated sigh. "Flora, you've tasked me with training countless Hunters, and you send me a child."

He looked at the child in front of him with a scrutinizing gaze. "Red hair? Don't see that too often nowadays. What's your name, boy?"

"My name?" The boy thought.

What was his name? After a few seconds, it came to him.

"Shirou." the boy finally said.

The old man gave a bitter, but approving smile. "Hmm, Shirou. A strange name, but a good one nonetheless."

He looked at Shirou with eyes that held such tiredness, that the natural human mind wouldn't be able to comprehend.

"You may call me, Gehrman." the old man, now addressed as Gehrman said. "I'm a friend to you Hunters. I'm sure you're in a fine haze. But don't think too much about it. I'll get you up to stuff before too long."

"Follow me," he commanded as his wheelchair moved without his input by some unearthly force. "There is much work to be done."

Shirou followed without hesitation.

Stumbling forth, just like he did in the fire.

Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good.

Twelve-year-old Shirou swung the saw cleaver down as hard as his small body could steal ripped through flesh as the head of the beast came off at long last.

He had finally killed his first beast.

It had taken a few tries. A few deaths to get it right. But he had finally done it.

"Grandpa Gehrman was right," he said to himself. "The first few deaths are the best, it gets easier after that."

He shook his head as he headed back upstairs to the lamp. His Hunter attire was shredded in multiple places, he was covered in blood, couldn't tell which was his or the beast.

His hand hovered above the mist covered lamp post as the mist consumed him, sending back to the Hunter's Dream.

As Shirou awakened back into the Dream, he followed the stone path into the garden. The red-headed boy started running as soon as he spotted Gehrman at the top of the hill.

"Grandpa Gehrman!" Shirou shouted excitedly. "I finally killed my first beast!"

The man in question gave the young boy a kind, warm smile. Shirou had grown on Gehrman quite a bit, he was like a son to The First Hunter. He knew it wouldn't last, but god help him if this optimistic little boy wasn't the only thing keeping him sane.

"Great work, Shirou." Gehrman gave Shirou the once over. "Looks like it got you good too."

The redhead rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah, I died a few times, but I got it in the end."

If Gehrman was surprised, he didn't show it. A boy, no older than twelve, made light of being killed. Multiple times in fact.

He had trained the boy for seven years, but no amount of training would prepare Shirou for the horrors of the Hunt, for the beast and inhuman monstrosities that lurked around every corner.

Honestly, he expected a traumatized, sobbing wreck when Shirou experienced his first death.

Maybe Shirou was made of stronger stuff?

Gehrman sighed. "Go to the workshop, the Doll prepared some Blood Vials for you, fix yourself up and come back."

Shirou nodded as head walked back to the workshop.

The First Hunter looked at the young boy as he walked away, he his head solemnly.

"No, he's not strong." Gehrman corrected. "The weak ones always hide their true feelings."

In two minutes time, Shirou came back, his clothes repaired, and wounds healed.

Gehrman gave an approving nod.

The old hunter took in a long breath. "What is your dream, Shirou?"

It was a pointless question, he knew it. Once you were a Hunter, there is no other path for you.

Shirou thought about it for a while, he thought about it long and hard.

And finally, he came to his conclusion.

"My dream is to be a hero and save people. Just like Ludwig did!" Shirou declared with determination.

Gehrman was stunned. Shirou's answer was completely blunt and straight to the point.

The part that stunned him the most was how utterly naive his surrogate grandson was.

To show such naivety in Yharnam of all places, during the Hunt no less.

The First Hunter started laughing uncontrollably. It wasn't a laugh filled with joy, it was the maddening cackles of a man thrown into complete despair.

He just couldn't help but laugh at it all.

Yharnam was going to completely and utterly break his grandson, far beyond what the fires that took his previous life away did. The Hunt would shatter every worldly view he had, and leave him a shell of his former self. That was if there was even a trace of his former self there once everything was said and done.

The Moon Presence, Flora, had given him what he considered his grandson. Only to take that away from him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Was it not enough that the old man had to kill the boy in the end.

So he laughed. He laughed in the pure, hilarious despair of it all.

Even as tears of sorrow fell from his eyes, he laughed.

Even as Shirou, tried to find out what was wrong with him, he laughed.

Even as the Doll took him back to the workshop as Shirou finally went out and started exploring the now beast ridden Yharnam, he laughed.

What else could he do? But watch as his grandson stumbled forth, just like he did in the fire all those years ago.

Days later.

"Shirou," Gehrman called out.

The redhead in question was in front of the old man almost immediately.

"Yes, Grandpa Gehrman?" Shirou asked.

The First Hunter sighed inwardly, he had to talk some sense into the boy. If he couldn't get through to him now then what hope was there for both of them?

"Shirou, you said your wish was to become a hero, correct?" he asked the boy.

Shirou nodded. "Yes, more than anything."

Gehrman looked him right in the eyes. "Hunters can't be heroes, Shirou. All we do is kill."

Shirou looked as if he'd been slapped in the face. "B-But I can help people! I'm a Hunter, Ludwig did the same, why wouldn't I be able to?"

"Shirou, look what happened when you found those blood crazed town folk." Shirou grimaced at the reminder. "If you can't protect yourself, how can you protect anyone else?"

"I don't need to protect myself, I don't die when I'm killed!" Shirou exclaimed, not knowing how stupid he sounded.

Gehrman shook his head as head remembered. "You have good intentions my boy." his eyes turned colder ice. "But the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

"Then I'll walk the road safely." Shirou declared stubbornly.

Gehrman sighed, there wasn't any hope for Shirou, the only way for him to learn was to finish his Hunt.

"The fates that heroes meet in the end are the cruelest of them all, Shirou."

God help the poor fool.

Gehrman looked on somberly as his grandson stumbled forth, just like in the fire all those years ago.

Take my word, and turn back before it's too late. Unless I suppose, you've taken an interest in nightmares?

This wasn't a dream to Shirou anymore. It was a dark, bloody, perverse, twisted nightmare beyond any sense of the word. Hunters roamed the streets, killing anything and everything in their path.

The irony of what he was was doing wasn't lost on him. Fighting blood crazed hunters in order to save beast.

And the deeper Shirou went, the worse things got.

He was fourteen now, and today was the day that he met the person that inspired him to be a hero, Ludwig.

Well, the monster that Ludwig had become.

The fight with the beast that had once been the First Church Hunter was the most brutal, grueling fight Shirou had ever been put through. Ludwig pushed him to his limits and then some, but in the end, Shirou won.

It was a single decisive blow that decided the victor. A quick draw slash with his Chikage, he had gotten from becoming a Vileblood, to Ludwig's sword hand. That one precise slash sent Ludwig's sword flying into the air.

Shirou dropped his Chikage and caught the massive Holy Moonlight Sword, thanks to years of being constantly infused with Blood Echos he could lift the giant blade. And Shirou swung the massive, glowing blade as hard as he could.

The beast had been decapitated.

Shirou collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily as Ludwig's severed head began to ramble to him.

"Good Hunter," the said began. "Have you seen the thread of life? Just a hair. A fleeting thing! Yet I clung to it, steeped as I was in the stench of blood and beast. I never wanted to know what it really was. Really, I didn't..."

Shirou didn't have anything to say. His mind was in utter turmoil.

Here he was! Ludwig, the man that inspired him to be a hero. Is this the kind of thing that happens to heroes in the end?

He thought his Hunt was for a noble cause. He thought the Church had been a source of good in the ruined city. But, to find the hero he looked up to be the beast Shirou brought down. He thought he was going to help people, that he was helping people.

He thought he was going to be a hero.

Ludwig kept rambling until his words became maddened screams and crazed laughter.

Shirou picked up his Chikage and brought it down on Ludwig's head, ending the poor man's suffering.

Crack!

It was a sound that could only be heard by Shirou, but even then he didn't react. He couldn't be bothered to.

He grabbed the Holy Moon Sword, the blade shrunk in his to be of use to its new master, and he made his way to the Research Hall.

Even still, he didn't acknowledge the sound.

After all, how does one react to an ideal beginning to breaking apart?

So he stumbled forth, just like in the fire all those years ago.

Dear oh dear, what was it? The blood, the hunt, or the horrible dream?

BGM: Bloodborne OST - The First Hunter

Shirou once again laid down in the garden of the Hunter's Dream.

He changed so much so much ever since he had come to the Dream. He had turned sixteen now, and thanks to the dream sustaining him, he grew to a respectable six foot one. After all, the dream wanted strong Hunters, and it would make them if it had to. His rust-red hair turned blood red with a few streaks of black running through it, his hair grew down to his upper back, mostly due to negligence. His dull eyes which used to be amber turned gray, they stared up at the moon, calling them lifeless wouldn't be too far from the truth.

His form was caked in blood, and his Hunter Attire was in tatters, most of the coat and clothes on his upper body were mare rages that didn't cover up much. Many of the wounds that littered his body were considered certain death, especially the gaping, fist-sized hole in his chest. Usually, this would be the sign of a fruitful hunt for the redhead, not today at least.

"Still alive?" he heard an old and pained voice next to him say.

Shirou turned his head to see Gehrman, his surrogate grandfather in much of the same state as him.

The white flowers across the field were splattered with blood, shattered tombstones and broken Trick Weapons were scattered here and there. Didn't take a genius the figure out what happened between the two.

"Barely," he replied. "You?"

Gehrman coughed up some blood. "Much of the same. You're as stubborn as me."

Shirou gave a pained grin. "Learned from the best."

"I know," Gehrman stated blandly. "And I'm regretting it, truly I am."

The two laughed a bit despite the pain. After a few seconds of silence, Shirou spoke up.

"You were right," he said. "Right about everything, the road to Hell truly is paved with good intentions."

Gehrman snorted. "And when were you suddenly blessed with such insight?"

"When I found the Hunter's Nightmare," Shirou stated.

"Oh," Gehrman said. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Don't be, like I said, you were right all along." Shirou took out his Hunter Pistol. One bullet was left.

Shirou pressed the barrel of the pistol to the side of Gehrman's head.

"Goodbye, Grandpa Gehrman." Shirou solemnly said.

"The night and the dream were long..." Gehrman said as he closed his eyes.

Bang!

BGM END

Tears escaped Shirou's eyes as the last person close to him faded away from the dream, leave only his trick weapon and Hunter Badge behind.

He took the badge, it was more like a necklace, it was in the shape of a small scythe blade with a few runes on it, a hole at the "tang" of the blade was made so that string could go through it. Shirou dragged himself to the tree where Gehrman left his wheelchair and rested his injured body against it and put the necklace-like badge around his neck.

That was it. Done.

His grandfather was finally released from the hell known as the Hunter's Dream.

What now? He was still trapped in the accursed place.

Suddenly, red light bathed the field. Shirou looked up, and his blood boiled.

The blasphemous thing that floated down could hardly be described with words. It was something that needed to be experienced to truly understand. That is if the experience didn't drive a normal human being insane.

Its whole body was practically made of rotted flesh. Its torso was just a spine and ribcage lightly laced with rotted flesh. Its boney limbs were covered in dry blood. Three tail-like appendages were on its backside. The thing's head couldn't even be called a head, more like a mass of tentacles the all converge at one point connecting to the body.

Shirou grit his teeth and scowled at the thing before him.

This was a Great One, a Lovecraftian, mind-shattering god beyond all human imagining.

The Good Hunter was angry at the Great One before him, he was angry at himself, angry at the world. He was angry at a lot of things.

But Shirou just couldn't help but feel pure and utter hate for the thing in front of him.

This was the thing that trapped Gehrman in the dream and made him train countless Hunters for its purpose. Only to make Gehrman kill them when usefulness came to an end.

This was the thing that ripped Shirou from his world and trapped him in this hell.

This was the true founder of the Hunt.

"Flora." he spat.

Shirou glared at Flora with eyes colder than any worldly ice. He grabbed the two closest blades near him. His grandfather's Burial Blade, and the Holy Moonlight Sword.

He moved forth, but this time, he didn't stumble.

He refused to stumble.

He refused to be used any longer.

He refused to go down without a final stand.

BGM: God Eater Burst OST - Time of Decision

With blades, a solemn, tired heart, and broken ideals. He didn't stumble, he walked with purpose.

He wasn't a sword made to save. He was a blade born to kill.

I am the blade of slaughter.

The words came from Shirou's mouth only, but it sounded like the voices of thousands.

The words were an aria, but for what, neither Shirou nor Flora knew. But they were Shirou's words and words of truth.

He gripped his grandfather's scythe harder and slung it over his shoulder with his right arm.

Cursed is my blood, and dark is my heart.

The Holy Moonlight Sword glowed it's green arcane energy, brimming with enough energy to match even the mightiest of Noble Phantasms.

I have ended countless lives

Each step Shirou took brought agonizing pain, but he had been much, much worse than this. He kept moving forward as his eye color turned red.

No longer will I be constrained by mortal limitations.

The Little Ones and the Doll watched in awe at the bright and brilliant light of truth that emanated from the gardens.

Nor will I falter should my body turn to something blasphemous.

The blade that was once Ludwig's glowed with a brilliance that it matched Excalibur itself, but this sword was not one of promised victory; it was one of truth. It was a sword that showed people the way. It guided them.

Always alone atop a hill of corpses.

But the sword's true master couldn't be someone who followed others. Its master was one who would carve their own path.

Thus my hunt will never end.

The Great One, Flora, couldn't make sense out of Shirou's words, was he just describing himself, such petty human troubles. It didn't matter though, the Great One was God in this dream, nothing would be able to slay it, no matter what kind of weapon they used.

So as I pray.

The Burial Blade darkened as Shirou's blood coated the blade, the echoes of blood triggered something from within the very first Trick Weapon. Black and red energy wisped around the scythe as if flame, and it grew rapidly, matching the flow of power coming from the Holy Moonlight Sword with perfect balance.

Under a Paleblood Moon.

And with a burst of black and green flames, they were transported to a melancholy world of blades.

Are you cold...? Oh, Good Hunter.

The fire in the city raged on as Kiritsugu continued to search for someone, anyone who was still alive.

He couldn't believe that he was responsible for this destruction, but he was, and he knew it. But just after he found another corpse on the ground, something horrifying happened.

A half a mile away, an arm erupted from the mud of the Holy Grail. The arm was massive, it seemed to be made of sharp metal, black in color, they were arranged into what could only be described as segmented scales, connected to each other with red, bleeding flesh.

Whatever the thing was pulled itself out quickly, causing an eruption of mud, flame, and debris.

BGM: Shin Godzilla OST - Who Will Know (Tragedy)

It was made of blades.

Maddening whispers and blasphemous, unintelligible alien sounds assaulted his mind, making Kiritsugu grab his head pain, as he watched the thing pull itself out.

The thing's head was like a dragon's, it was black with warped burning red lighting bolts as its eyes, the horns on its head seemed almost like a crown. It had no lips exposing its red neck was long and looked flexible, despite being made of blades. The front of the neck showed exposed muscle fiber

Its arms and legs were metallic; black with fours fingers, each having a red wicked metal claw. The top half of the limbs were armored with blades while the bottom half was exposed showing muscle fiber. There were large blades on its elbow.

Its chest looked like blades and flesh fused together to form some kind of demented, exposed ribcage. It had a long blade like tail with serrated spikes. The tail whipped around, slicing a few buildings to pieces.

The metallic whoosh of blades swinging through the air was made as the thing unfurled its wings, but they weren't like normal feathered wings, the skeletal frame was black in color while four large black blades with red edges made up both wings.

The tangs of the blades were connected to what looked like muscle, and the blades themselves were wrapped in a black glossy substance in various places that connected the blades together, giving the appearance of something similar to black webs connecting the blades.

Despite its monstrous appearance, it stood on two legs like a human begin, reaching the size of large buildings.

Awe or horror, Kiritsugu didn't know what to feel as he looked at the draconic being made of flesh and blades.

Then it looked up to the moon...and it roared.

"RRROOOOAAAAAARRRGGGHHH!"

It was a deafening and horrid sound. Inhuman, and yet all too human.

Giant spires of blade erupted from the ground near the monster.

Somehow Kiritsugu just knew that this thing should have never existed in this world. It wasn't a dragon, even if it did look like one, wasn't a god, it most certainly wasn't a TYPE.

It was worse.

But just as soon as the monster appeared, it vanished. In a cloud of black smoke and red embers, disappeared as if it was never there to begin with.

Kiritsugu shook his head, with nothing left to lose, he marched on to where the creature was.

I wanted to be a hero.

Five-year-old Shirou dragged his broken body forwards with his right arm alone.

Most of his body crushed, his chest burned and stabbed through by a white-hot metal rod in the foundation the building he was in. But he kept on move forwards, after all, he'd through worse.

Even as the figure of a man sprinted to his downed form, he kept moving.

But the man stopped him. He put what appeared to be a golden scabbard inside of him by some mystical means. Whatever it was, it was beginning to heal him, kept his by from giving out on him.

As he saw the man before him cry tears of pure, absolute joy. His smile displayed complete and utter happiness.

"Could I ever be that happy?" Shirou squashed that thought down almost immediately.

He couldn't, he knew it.

What happiness was there for a blade born to kill?

Chapter End.