Attention all pimps, playahs, and pain-purveyors! It's your main homie, Avocado-sama!

Alright, haven't updated anything in a while and I decide to just throw out a new fic. Fucking hell, am I right?

Anyway, I decided to take a far more serious approach to this story than the usual crack affairs, and as I continued to write it, it quickly became my best piece of literature I've ever thrown onto a Google Doc!

Be sure to tell me what you think of this story, cause I'm super proud of this!

Chapter One: Even Death May Die

It was cold. Cold enough to see one's breath clearly, yet not enough to be considered a biting cold.

It was there in a rather odd place that two figures could be seen. A withered old man dressed in tattered Victorian clothing, and sitting in a wheelchair, he looked as if the slightest breeze would turn him to dust. His right foot was replaced with a pegleg, and in his hands was an old cane. The fatigue and solemness of his eyes made him seem far much older than he was.

But his current companion knew that was very much true. Those eyes held centuries worth of pain, anguish, and regret.

The old man's solemn gaze stared ahead, right into the eyes of his companion.

He was a tall, young man in his prime, early twenties at most, but the young man himself felt like he was much older. He wore a black, leather top hat, which normally hid the gaze of his sharp gray-blue eyes, but it was tipped up slightingly revealing his stare out of respect for the old man. His long, and messy, gray hair, which went down his back, made his features hard to distinguish. He never did bother cutting it, the style grew on him.

He wore a black, leather garb, with a cape made of crow feathers; a brown harness strapped to him to carry extra items and ammo if need be. For trousers, he wore a pair of gray hakama pants, with the ends stuffed into a pair of black, calf-high boots. He had bandages wrapped around his arms. Normally, they'd be used to prevent infection and stem bleeding, but with how the world worked, they were little more than a fashion statement.

Considering his previous occupation fashion wasn't something he often got to indulge in, not that he was one for it in the first place. But, when accounting the hardships of going from a researcher to a hardened killer, he took his entertainment where he could.

On his left side was an ornate, flintlock pistol with a long muzzle, the Evelyn. It was a sidearm that had never let him down, when all else failed, aim between the eyes and make sure you time it right.

On his right hip was a sheathed blade, a mix of European and Eastern design. It was, in all accounts, a katana. Stereotypes about his place of birth aside, it was his preferred tool of murder. The bodies he had cut down with this blade were too numerous to count. But, he was oh so fond of it, the Chikage. While the name's meaning, A Thousand Views, was a bit too poetic and hit rather close to home for what he had done to himself, but the weapon he had gained from becoming a Vileblood had become one of his most trusted companions in this everlasting nightmare.

"Good Hunter, you've done well. The night is near its end." The old man's voice was hoarse, with a slight rumble, as usual. He spoke in English, it's a good thing the young man's studies made him barely competent in a few languages other than Japanese. "Now, I will show you mercy."

The cold winter breeze blew through the field of white, otherworldly flowers they were in.

It was an odd place, a copy too from the "real world". A sizable rock suspended by god knows what eldritch abomination made this place. Cobblestone paths, black fences, greenery, and numerous tombstones that littered the strange place known as the Hunter's Dream. A small cozy workshop with a small set of stairs leading to it, he had spent much time there, working, crying, coping, it was essentially his home. Unfortunately, said home was burning to the ground and there wasn't really much he could do about that.

It had a gothic and solemn feel to it, then again, everything in this nightmare was either solemn or horrifying beyond mortal minds, no in-between. The giant moon in the distance overlooking looking him at every turn hammered in just how insignificant he was.

It was an odd place, and odd people resided there.

"You will die, forget the dream, and awake under the morning sun." The old man stated. "You will be freed… from his terrible hunter's dream..."

Instinctively, the young man's hand tightened around the handle of his blade, but the old man saw this action as no offense. It was, in fact, a logical response. But, the words had finally sunk in.

His hand hadn't left the blade, but it was much less tense.

To be freed from this horror…

That was all he ever wanted when he first arrived. Then he began to learn and gain insight, he became enthralled in this world of blood and otherworldly horrors. It became an obsession that threatened to consume him, and led him down the same path as the fools of Byrgenwerth, Mensis, and the Healing Church. If it wasn't a thirst for knowledge that led him down a dark path, it was his thirst for blood, as unavoidable as it was. A Hunter hunts flesh-hungry beasts knowing there is a risk of becoming one themselves.

But, even in the depths of the atrocities he had committed, there was one line he would never cross, one promise he could never bring himself to break. It was a promise to himself, that he would come back, and no matter what happened, he'd come back as himself.

But what was a promise in the face of the truth?

He had found the truth himself. He had found the way to ascend into godhood, like Byrgenwerth, and the Healing Church so desperately chased after. The things he learned in the Research Hall, the experiments he had performed. Hell, he was even already unwittingly on the path to ascending before his crusade for the truth began.

The gathering of the One Third of Umbilical Cords, also known as the Cord of the Eye. The artifacts were used to commune with beings known as Great Ones. Those things practically leaped from the pages of certain writer's peculiar mythos. They were beings that had achieved what could only be called godhood, and everyone in Yharnam wanted a piece of the pie, and in their mad dash, they destroyed themselves.

But him? No, no, no, not him. He took his time. He already had much experience in similar fields, after all, he'd studied otherworldly beings before ending up in the Hunter's Dream. He learned so much in his time here, about the Old Blood, about the Beast Plague, about Fishing Hamlet, about the Pthumerian civilization. Every single dirty secret, every skeleton in every pathetic closet, he knew it.

Hell, he knew more about the Great Ones than even the Choir, who had a god damned Great One camping out in their basement!

He'd already consumed the cords throughout his journey, each one elevating his mind to a new level. He had done what others could not, he lined his mind with eyes. There was only one step left…

Usurp the Hunter's Dream from the Great One controlling it, and take its power for himself. The only thing left standing in his way to becoming a god… was the old man in front of him. The old man who was one of the only two constant companions through this Hell. Him, and the sentient, animated doll he named Evetta.

His heartbeat began to increase, his pupils shrunk as manic bloodlust began to take over.

Just one more body… just one more… one more and he would become God!

Before he could pull his blade from its sheath, a memory flashed through his mind.

A woman, someone very dear to him.

Her beautiful, purple, silky hair flowing in the wind, her brown eyes looking at him with nothing but love and admiration. The woman he married, the one he loved, and still loves with all his heart.

All movement stopped, he froze. Bloodlust gone. Breath still.

She was the only thing that kept his fractured and broken mind together. Even after all the deaths he had to endure because this place would not let him die until his purpose was fulfilled. After all the innocent lives he failed to save, or mind-shattering revelations, the memory of her would keep him together. As long as he had that, he could push forward.

Then the young man realized it. This was a crossroads. The line he drew for himself was right in front of him. If he ascended… no, if he killed his closest friend, then the last piece that made him who he was would disappear. The man he promised himself he'd come back as would truly die… forever.

In that moment, he felt more pain and anguish than in any of the gruesome deaths he had experienced. The thought of leaving the woman he loved above all else alone was something that he could not bare.

BGM: Ib OST - Tabidachi (Departure)

As a tear fell from his eye, the young man let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

With his decision made, he turned around, and kneeled.

He heard movement behind him, the old man getting up, his seemingly decrepit state having no effect on his person.

With a soft clank of metal, the blade of a large scythe was next to his head. The Burial Blade, the very first Trick Weapon ever made. But the blade...it was shaking, almost as if…

"Why are you hesitating, old man?" He asked.

For a few seconds, the old man was silent.

"Out of all the hunters that have visited this dream… you were my most cherished." He said.

The young man was stunned. "Gehrman… thank you, for everything."

Without this old man, Gehrman, he would've lost his mind completely. He taught him everything he knew about killing. From how to swing a blade to shooting firearms. To even be a willing ear to listen to his troubles.

"May you find your worth in the waking world...Takehito Asama."

Takehito's mind went back to the very first lesson Gehrman had taught him, it wasn't some special technique or anything fancy. It was words, words that gave him the resolve to do the things he did, to get to this point, to be freed.

Takehito spoke as he stared out into the field of graves and white flowers. "Clear your mind of all but for what it is you must do, and strike with nothing but mercy."

He smiled. He smiled the most heartfelt and elated smile he had ever done in his life. He would see her again, as himself. His wife, Miya.

And in that instant, the sound of the metal cutting through the air, his head left his body, his blood stained the pristine otherworldly flowers, and the man known as Takehito Asama died for the final time.

[-]

In Tokyo, now renamed Shinto Teito by the MBI, Mid Bio Informatics, an extremely powerful conglomerate that was founded by the insane genius Hiroto Minaka, was a large tower, MBI HQ. It was larger than any other building in the city, purposely made to stand out and show MBI's, and Hiroto's control over all. And in that building, at its bottom-most level, was a large chamber filled with futuristic looking caskets, that looked like healing pods from your typical sci-fi film, one-hundred and nine in total every single one of the numbered, all except for one.

It was a peculiar casket, the only one that currently had an occupant. This casket didn't have a number, instead, it was labeled, Dr. Asama.

The man inside had been in a death-like state for years. "Termination", they called it.

His fate would be to stay like this forever, dead to the world. But as his eyes stirred, it was clear that fate would be defied.

BGM: Ib OST - Dining Room

With a slight sound of discomfort, Takehito Asama opened his eyes. He blinked, then blinked again. His gray-blue eyes adjusted to the light as he raised his arm, and placed his hand against the cold glass of his casket… and then he pushed.

The glass opened with a hiss, an automatic process by the looks of it, white mist from the pod-like casket was released into the large chamber.

Takehito pushed himself to sit up, now noticing just how stiff and weak he felt.

"Ugh, what in the world happened?" He asked himself.

His eyes widened as the memories came rushing back.

"T-The Jinki! It went out of control… I had to save everyone… and I… I died." He spat out in a panic tone that slowly turned solemn.

"...I died." He repeated.

Suddenly, he was hit with a brain-scrambling migraine. "Aaarrrggg!"

He grabbed his head in effort to soothe the pain, but then the images and voices came.

"Oh, yes... Paleblood... Well, you've come to the right place."

An old man in a wheelchair looming over him in a dark room, bandages wrapped around his eyes.

"This town is cursed. Whatever your reasons might be, you should plan a swift exit. Whatever can be gained from this place, it will do more harm than good..."

A window, bared with a sturdy steel cage, a warm, deep, orange glow coming from it.

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

Another old man in a wheelchair, a… workshop of sorts, gravestones, flowers, and… a doll?

"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood... Fear the Old Blood."

The pain escalated to new heights, images flashed faster and faster before his eyes, but he saw each one clearly. Blood, beasts, inhuman monsters, eldritch abominations. Acts of merciless slaughter. Killing and being killed.

"Enough trembling in your boots. A hunter must hunt."

Over, and over, and over, and over, and over…

"Curse the fiends. Their children too. And their children, forever, true."

Over, and over, and over, and over, and over…

"Shut up… shut up!" Takehito cried out desperately.

"A corpse should be left well alone. Oh I know, how the secrets beckon so sweetly. Only an honest death will cure you now. Free you from your wild curiosity."

Over, and over, and over, and over, and over…

"Please, make it stop!" Tears fell from his eyes and the pain grew more intense.

"Visitor… Moon-scented hunter… I am Annalise, Queen of Castle Cainhurst."

Over, and over, and over, and over, and over…

"S-Someone, anyone… aaarrrggg… help!" He moaned pitifully.

"Now, I will show you mercy."

It stopped.

Just as suddenly as it began, everything stopped. No more pain… no more horrible images.

Takehito let out a shaky breath as he wiped away the tears. "What… what the hell was that…?"

Shaking his head, the former MBI researcher climbed out of the casket. Surprisingly, he was still steady on his feet after whatever the hell just happened to him.

He took one step… then another… then another… then another…

Good, he could walk on his own two feet without any trouble.

"Only one exit…?" He said as he spied the door ahead of him "It'd have to do."

As he walked, the cold air made him finally notice his lack of clothing. His reaction to this was very different from how he would've reacted usually to such a circumstance.

Instead of getting heavily embarrassed, and probably causing a scene about it, he paid it no mind. It was simply a problem he'd fix on the way out.

The automatic doors opened as he approached and left the chamber that was his residence for who knows how long.

As Takehito made his way through the dark halls, he noticed many odd things about himself.

How his eyes would scan everywhere, not missing a single detail. How he stuck to the corners and shadows, avoiding the gazes of the security cameras perfectly. How his footsteps were completely silent as he stalked through the facility.

He himself knew he wasn't the stealthy sort. Hell, when he was a child, he always got caught first when he played hide and seek.

So, when did this become like second nature to him?

He froze as he saw the beam of a flashlight around the corner. Everything was still, his breathing stopped, his heartbeat softened, he made not even the slightest twitch.

The sound of footsteps grew closer.

"Yeah, Hirano-san called out, and I got stuck with shitty night guard duty." The guard complained. Their voice was obviously male, by his estimate, they were probably in their late thirties or early forties. "Just glad I'm almost done with this crap."

[No shit, eh?] Another voice, static laced it, a walkie talkie? [That sucks, man. But get home soon Takashi-san, we're going out drinking all night tonight, remember.]

"Remember?" The guard, now named Takashi, snorted. "How could I forget? It's all you've been rambling on about for the past few days. Anyway, I gotta go."

[Alright, alright, you better make it though. Later!]

The guard's footsteps grew right around the corner, then the receiver gave a loud click, signaling the radio's connection was cut.

Takehito didn't even think about it, nor did he hesitate. As if his body moved on its own, he spun around the corner, and delivered a punch to the guard's temple.

With a pained grunt, he went down like a house of cards.

Takehito blinked when finally noticed what he'd done. "Christ… how did I do that?"

He'd never been a fighter in his life. Seo was the one getting into fights back in their college days… but Takehito didn't even know how to throw a punch to save his life.

Deciding that he had more pressing matters to attend to, Takehito grabbed the night guard by his legs and dragged him to the closest men's bathroom. He stripped the guard of his uniform, standard black outfit, with a military flat cap, and a pair of boots, black in color.

Everything aside from the boots was a size or two too big, but beggars can't be choosers. This would work for now.

Before he put the button-up top on, he was his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

BGM: Ib OST - Inquiry

"Holy shit..." He breathed.

The first thing he noticed was how malnourished he looked, sunken cheeks, thin arms, even his ribs were poking out of his skin. He should've been far too weak to knock out that guard, who, mind you, was built like a brick shithouse. His messy, gray hair had grown down to his back.

...But the most alarming difference of all was his eyes.

They… looked so cold. Not empty, or dead… just cold. As if they held nothing but contempt.

He leaned closer to get a clearer look. His eyes seemed to grow colder.

"What are you doing?" The reflection's lips moved.

What in the…

"Come on," His reflection voice took on an annoyed tone. "Stop standing there and get moving, you've got a wife you've kept waiting for far too long."

Takehito blinked, and took a few steps back. He waited a bit as he kept his alarmed stare at the mirror.

"Okay..." He let out a shaky breath. "First, whatever the hell happened in the termination chamber, and now my reflection starts talking to me. Takehito, you've officially gone bonkers."

But regardless, his hallucination had a point. He had to get out of here as fast as possible, he had to get to Miya.

But there was one last thing he needed to know. "...How long have I been gone for?"

Fishing through his now stolen pockets, he pulled out the first thing he felt.

"This… is not a flip-phone." His astute observation of the rectangular device in his hands notwithstanding, he began trying to get the unknown device to work. "Is this a PDA or something, the hell is a nightguard doing with a PDA?"

He began fiddling with the device. "Goddammit, no buttons on the front? How am I supposed to… oh, buttons on the side. Now, which one turns it on… there!"

Once on, the device displayed text on the bottom, "Swipe to screen to open.", doing as instructed, Takehito accessed the home screen.

Now, how long had he been out? Three months? Five?

Date: December 25, 2019, 5:23 a.m. Christmas Morning

The device fell from his hand as he stared at where it once was with shock.

"...Sixteen years." He bit his lip. "Sixteen fucking years!?"

He left Miya alone for sixteen years… might as well bump the number up to seventeen, New Year's was right around the goddamned corner!

Takehito slammed his fists against the bathroom counter and let out a string of curses directed at himself. He looked himself in the mirror once more, his eyes narrowed.

"I need to get home… now."

He quickly put on the rest of the uniform, taking off the guard's name tag. He didn't need anyone asking questions, and like hell he was going to make such an easy mistake.

After putting the hat on, making sure the bill concealed his eyes, he left the men's bathroom and walked at a brisk pace towards where ever he felt would be the nearest exit.

Luckily, his chosen path directed him to an elevator. Perfect.

It didn't take long for the elevator to come down, and once he stepped in, he pressed the button for the first floor.

"Got to get to Miya… got to get to Miya..." He repeated.

Nothing made sense. The images and voices, these new skills, his reflection talking to him.

"What is on? What is… going… on?" He trailed off as he noticed something.

He was speaking English, perfect, fluent English.

That… couldn't be right. Sure, he knew enough to get around, but foreign languages were his worst subject back in school. When the hell did he learn perfect English!?

He decided to stop thinking before he went into a panic attack. The more questions he asked, the less sense things made. Once he got to Miya, everything would be fine.

The elevator's doors opened, and Takehito stepped out onto the first floor. Seeing a few guards, he made sure to slow down his pace, lest he drew attention to himself.

His hand was just on the double doors outside when…

"Hey, where are you going?" One of the guards asked.

Shit…

"Uh, left my phone out in my car, I'll be back in a minute." He lied on the spot.

The guard nodded. "Ah, you be careful out there then, it's cold as hell."

"Noted."

And with that, Takehito pushed open the doors of MBI headquarters, and made his way onto the streets of Shinto Teito.

The first thing that greeted him was the biting cold, then the heavy snowfall, then he noticed the Christmas decorations everywhere.

Oddly enough he wasn't bothered by the cold like he was in the past. He didn't question it though, he had already learned well enough what those questions led to. So, he walked, and even in the early morning of Christmas, the city was still bustling.

Even though it felt like yesterday that he walked these streets, the city felt alien to him. As if this wasn't right. Too much noise, too much movement.

He made sure to keep his head down as he walked through the crowds, never making eye contact with anyone. It'd take an hour or two to get to the Izumo Inn on foot, and he didn't have a car at the moment, no money for a taxi. A few yen coins from the guard's wallet, but that was all he had.

He noticed a vending machine to his right, seeing it made just how parched his throat was just that much more noticeable. Walking over to the vending machine, he put in all the coins and purchased a bottle of sweet tea. Gulped it down like a man dying of thirst, not even bothering to savor the first drink he had in almost seventeen years.

He wiped his mouth dry and tossed the empty bottle in a nearby trash can, and made his way through a dark alley. Dumb idea, sure, but considering what he pulled in the facility, he could handle a petty mugger with a knife.

"Hey! You, cough up all the money you got and no one gets hurt!" Someone shouted behind him.

Takehito let out a long sigh. He just had to jinx himself.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" The mugger shouted at him again.

Letting instinct take over like with what happened with the guard, Takehito spun around, catching the hand of the would-be mugger.

"Ah, you fucker, let me go - aaarrrggg!" He was cut off by his own scream of pain as Takehito applied more pressure to his wrist, making him drop the knife.

The bastard was a young man in his mid-twenties with brown hair. He wore a pair of jeans and a green pullover. He had the face, voice, and general aura of a petty thug.

"Let me go! Let me-"

Crack!

"Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! My wrist, my fucking wrist!"

Takehito let go and watched the thug fall to the ground in pain, nursing his now broken wrist, with disinterest.

"I'll fucking kill you, asshole!" He threatened.

Takehito raised an eyebrow. Kill him? The thought was oddly amusing, that this petty little shit thought he could kill him.

He bent down, making sure the thug could see his eyes. "Kill who now?"

The thug froze at the sight of his cold gaze. He crawled away from Takehito as fast as he could.

"G-Get away from me!" He yelled as he got up and ran out of the alley. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Watching his felting form, Takehito sighed once again. "I have super strength, incredibly fast reflexes, and a stare scary enough to make people run for their lives. Good to know."

Deltarune OST - Don't Forget

Continuing his way, Takehito walked through the alleys of Shinto Teito unimpeded. This path only took a few minutes off the long way, but the faster he got to the Izumo Inn, the better.

The sun began to rise as he steadily closed the distance. The sight of the rising sun brought him far more comfort than it had any right to. The night, and darkness, in general, made him tense, not that he was scared of the dark, but more that he felt like a snake, coiled, and ready to strike at a moment's notice... and everything could be a threat.

The moment the inn came into his line of sight, he hastened his pace, it took everything he had not to make a mad dash, disregarding the numerous people in his way. It didn't even cross his mind that she wouldn't be there anymore after all these years.

He made his stride through the wooden fence around the classic two-level Japanese house, and knocked on the door.

It was around 8:00 a.m. he didn't know the current exact time, but someone had to be up.

Luckily, his wait wasn't long, someone opened the door.

"Oh, a guest?" His breath hitched at the sound of her voice. "I wasn't expecting someone so early, forgive my poor manners."

She got more beautiful every time he saw her. The very sight of her made the coldness of his eyes vanish.

Her brown eyes looked up at him with a slight sense of mirth. Her beautiful purple, waist-length hair, her bangs style in a hime cut, with white ribbon to partially hold her hair in place, flowed gracefully in the wind. Her figure was slender, yet shapely. She wore a purple hakama, a white haori, with a sash-like belt, and wooden sandals.

The woman blinked as she saw a tear roll down his face. "A-Are you okay, sir? Have I done anything to offend you?"

Takehito said nothing, but moved his arm towards his head, and slowly took off his hat, revealing his full face to her, smiling with as much warmth as he could.

Her hands covered her mouth as she gasped. "...T-Ta..Takehito…?"

Takehito shed a few more tears. "Yeah."

She raised her hand to the side of his face, feeling how cold he was. Takehito leaned into her touch as she wiped away his tears.

"I'm sorry I took so long, Miya." He apologized.

The moment the words left his mouth, she pulled him into a tight hug, crying into his chest.

"I missed you!" She sobbed. "I missed you so much!"

Takehito wrapped his arms around his wife for the first time in almost seventeen years.

"May you find your worth in the waking world."

Another image flashed through his mind, but no pain accompanied this one. A field of graves and white flowers. A solemn scene, an old man in a wheelchair sitting in front of a large tree. The sight of the old man gave him a sense of friendship far stronger than anything he had felt in his years with Seo. As if that old man had been with him through the toughest of times, and always helped him get back up no matter far he fell.

Takehito felt this old man would've been happy for him. For he found his worth in the waking world.

He held his wife, Miya, tighter, as her warmth soothed his cold body.

"I missed you too."

Chapter End