Victor shrugged and sighed. It was to be expected for Adelicia to be naive with regards to things like this – though for her to claim that the giant was anything like them was outstandingly stupid – but he was a bit disappointed that even a grizzled veteran and former murderer from the Harrow would opt for misplaced mercy. Still, Victor did not care too much either way, and they had places to be and probably wanted to get there as soon as possible, so he saw no point in discussing it. He did consider killing the giant anyway just to spite them, but figured that they – especially Adelicia – would probably get angry and make a fuss about it.
“Fine,” he drawled, quickly checking both of the others' eyes before turning to take the last couple of steps into the elevator. “Just remember this decision when we come back and find that the brute woke up and murdered some random Yharnamite walking by.” He gestured to the others to follow. “Last person in steps on the button. Let's go.”

Joseph’s head tilted down, eyes dropping to the ground as he digested the man words. No doctors, no clerics, just the dead and dying men and women in the cots that filled the room; people like him, lost and confused with no one around to provide answers or explain what was going on.

The other man tapped the door with the tip of a sword and Joseph’s head snapped up at the noise; he hadn’t noticed that the man was armed until now and the sight of the weapon sent a chill racing up his spine, his body feeling alert and energised in a way that he had never experienced before in the face of a potential threat. The man, Joseph still didn’t have a name for the stranger, walked over to a barrel full of weapons and picked out one at random; he inspected it for a moment, before turning back to him and tossing the weapon lightly through the air.

Joseph started at the action, jumping as the sharp implement was thrown his way unexpectedly, body reacting in a haphazard and uncoordinated way. He reached out to grab the weapon on reflex, when under normal circumstances he would have moved to dodge, and was surprised to see his hand deftly snatch it out of the air by the handle, his arm moving almost with a mind of its own. No, it was more like he’d imagined grabbing the axe and his body moved exactly as he needed it to with more precision and coordination than he had ever displayed before.

It was an alien feeling. In fact his whole body felt alien, different from what he remembered. Maybe part of that was due to the illness he had been suffering from; if he had I fact been cured then his body would feel healthier than it had, but it felt like more than that. He had been weak in the moments after he had gotten up from the cot only for his strength to quickly return, but it hadn’t stopped at just that. He felt stronger, lighter and more alert than ever before.

Was this what it felt like to be a Hunter? Had he been changed? The man before him and all of the people laying on cots around the room, they were all Hunters?

Why so many?

The stranger was preparing to open the door, to leave the room and find answers. Before Joseph could decide if he was going to follow him, if he was ready to follow him, a chilling, blood curdling cry sounded out. Though muffled by the walls and distance, not nearly enough distance, any Yharnamite would be able to recognise a cry like that.

In the long seconds following that cry the only movement in the room was that of the small creatures as they dispersed. Even they were terrified by that noise it would seem as at least half of them disappeared somewhere. The only thing to break the silence was a single crow’s cawing.

“Is tonight a Hunt? Are there Beasts and Hunters roaming the streets again?”

@Habibi359

Man seemed more capable than Marcus had given thought. The grip was strong, as if suddenly axe was immobilized by a hand of stone. There was slight uncertainty in his eyes as Marcus had thrown the axe, so the sudden movement of the hand took Marcus by surprise. The man’s reaction was also confusing, he was amazed at the feat he had just performed. Whatever illness he had had, there was not even the slightest of it visible to Marcus.

Marcus didn’t wonder this too long. A howl came from behind the door. Roar that would freeze blood, tense muscles, rise one’s hair up, a cry from one’s nightmares. It was no animal, but that of a beast. The air was like a solid block in which nobody could move, expect the small creatures which started to disappear from the room like rats, when a predator was nearby. Marcus felt terror which he hadn’t had since five years ago, when the night of the hunt had driven him and his sister to sewers and cottages. The reaction was the same. At first, one freezes, as if to become a statue made of solid stone, like thinking that beast would mistake him to be one. And then...

What happened next surprised Marcus. This cry was suddenly not something to be afraid of, to escape, find cover and run as far as one could. In his ears it was a challenging roar, perhaps not intended as one but it felt like that. Marcus’s blood boiled and his grip from his sword tightened. He didn’t even think about escaping or barricading the door.

“Is tonight a Hunt? Are there Beasts and Hunters roaming the streets again?” he heard from the man. Marcus started to take steps towards the door, like in trance. “No… It can’t be... Just a lone beast…” Marcus said, though he couldn’t give a thought or reason to his answer. He was mesmerized, he felt… A thrill like never before. In some corner of the Marcus’s mind reason tried to get through. Don’t go, armed with only a sword. Only time we fought them and survived was with bottles of oil and fire and with superior numbers! But Marcus couldn’t heed such a call. He took steps towards the door, wanting to fight the beast, slay it, feast on it's blood… “No, not a beast… A prey…” He said as he reached the door with his free hand, sword in the other, wishing to open it, disregarding everyone’s safety inside.

The door was locked, of course, preventing Marcus from opening it however much he tried. Its thick wooden frame was heavy and strong, and there was no keyhole on the inside; it had been locked from outside and would take effort to break through.
A single Messenger emerged from the floor in front of it, leaning its tiny body against the woodwork and hitting weakly, soundlessly and desperately with its little fists. It let out a small, pathetic whimper.

Adelicia withheld a sigh of relief when Provostus, after menacingly drawing his weapon of choice, agreed with her after all. It was good to see some humanity remain in one whose appearance promised so little of it. Short lived, however, was her glimmer of hope – Victor wasted no time in reminding the both of them that the giant may end up slaying innocents in due time. Perhaps it would – the young Blood Saint knew little of the giants or their motivations, and tonight would be a strange night to be sure. Nothing could truly be discarded as impossible but she would not let that daunt her or her wardens. Their duty was to the defense of the city and, until proven otherwise, the sleeping giant was a part of it. If Victor thought that preemptive slaughter were an adequate form of protection for the innocent, she thought, then perhaps he ought to look in the mirror once in a while and consider himself. How safe would the citizens be with him about, unsupervised? Certainly, the giant may be the lesser evil after all.

Following in the footsteps of the man she began to revile, Adelicia was the second person to step into the elevator, her shallow heels and metal staff causing a series of unpleasant clanging noises until she settled in the corner farthest from Victor. Hopefully the ride would be a short one; while undoubtedly useful, she had no love for Yharnam’s elevators. They made her queasy every time, especially on the downward, and instilled little confidence in their robustness. She’d never heard of an elevator accident but she found it easy to imagine one. And besides, so she figured, her time amidst the peoples of Yharnam had been a short one due to her extended isolation. No doubt she missed many a tragedy with these murder cages as their cause.

“Hey!” Rushing forward, Joseph moved through the narrow alley between cots to where the other man stood, one hand on the door as he sought to open it, and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. He tried to pull the stranger back, away from the door before he could throw it open and let whatever was outside come inside, dooming both them and the dozens of other people in the room. “Are you mad? One beast is still enough to kill all of us!”

The cry had been some distance away, not close enough to be an imminent threat, but Joseph didn’t trust the assumption that it was merely a lone beast; something was drastically wrong with the current situation, which was as big an understatement as Joseph could ever make, and something in the air told him Yharnam was rife with all manner of beasts tonight.

At the foot of the door, one of the tiny creatures wailed pitifully against the barrier as if trying to break it down, trying to open it as the stranger had like a child miming an adult. The… things, whatever they were, unnerved him, but something told him they weren’t a threat somehow; they had made no move against them and they would have had ample opportunity to while they were asleep, but it was instinct rather than logic that told him they were safe to be around.

“Gather your senses. I’m sure there’s a hunt on tonight, I can feel it in the air. We need to stay here, stay safe until this is over. They wouldn’t leave all of us here without incense, help me find it so we can ward off whatever made that cry.”

@Habibi359

Marcus had multiple imaginations that had never filled his mind before. He imagined the sword piercing the beast, cuts slashing through one’s stomach, the blood that would flow from it’s wounds and all this filled Marcus with satisfaction like no other. He was excited to fight… His hand was already on the handle, but he felt disappointment as it couldn’t move anywhere. Locked, no matter how hard he gave force.

Marcus had heard a faint “Hey!” but never gave attention to him. A sudden grip hit his shoulder and it pulled Marcus backwards so hard that he fell on the floor. His grip from the handle, his balance had been bit off. Marcus’s sword flung away, under a clot. The man had a furious look on him. “Are you mad? One beast is still enough to kill all of us!”

Marcus was completely confused now. He had felt invincible a moment ago. A thought of dying had not came to his mind in middle of his endless hunger for blood. The bloodlust creature that he was a second ago had taken a step back and left Marcus with feeling of unfamiliarity. His own body and mind felt alien to him, the feeling that he had not been in control of his body filled him with dread.

Marcus rose up from the floor. Shaken, visibly. “Damned hell… That was...” He said before his stomach reacted to the shock and Marcus felt ready to throw up. He had to focus hard to control himself. He took hold of the wall and the with other hand he covered his face, as trying to think hard. The other man had had no such impulses and was already on control of the situation. "They wouldn’t leave all of us here without incense, help me find it so we can ward off whatever made that cry.”

Marcus took a few deep breaths in and nodded man. “Yes… That’s wise.”. Of course incense would be safest bet in this situation. They had used some of it back in the gang times. Marcus walked to collect his sword, though he hesitated for a moment to get close to a crying patient now after the previous experience. For a second he could hear all the cries and wailing in the hall and a familiar dread, alien man in alien situation filled his mind. Marcus knew now that he, like the men on clots, were both locked up in their nightmares.

“The door was locked, I tried the handle. And I couldn’t see a keyhole. We’re locked up in here until we get out.” Marcus said to the man, as he knelt and grabbed the sword. “That is, if there is anyone to open that door after the hunt is over.” He said and started to go towards medical table. He tried to find incense and alcohol. Latter was for molotov's. Just in case.

As if on queue, Marcus' final word was punctuated by the muffled sound of a door slamming somewhere beyond the door blocking their path, followed by the voices of several men, their words mostly unintelligible but some sounding angry, and all of it bizarrely accompanied by the gentle, steady sound of a small bell being rhythmically jostled; a sound any Yharnamite would naturally associate with afflicted church servants.
The voices grew louder and closer – at least five different voices could be identified – and within seconds a loud noise of shattering glass could be heard, followed by the sound of something wooden being smashed and small pieces of metal, like cutlery, clattering on a wooden surface. Every sound in the next room seemed overtly violent and aggressive, and judging by the noise, someone was in the process of destroying anything breakable in there.
“...teach the damn church!” a man growled just before the sound of something particularly big and heavy crashed into the ground.
“...Harold, and his plague-ridden...”
“...some blood somewhere...”

The voices were getting closer to the door as the destruction continued unabated, but throughout it all the ringing of the solitary bell continued calmly, getting steadily closer to the door and the room with the Hunters. When it was almost there they could actually hear footfalls: two sets of them, one somewhat normal-sounding, the other unusually heavy and producing little clicking noises with each step as the feet hit the floor. There was also loud, grunting breathing. The bell fell silent.
The door handle rattled a little, wiggling up and down several times as if someone was trying to open the door.
“Open door,” someone demanded from right on the other side of the door, their voice hoarse and dry, and it sounded as though the speaker had difficulty speaking. The quick, grunting breath did not pause on the words. “Open door.”

An uncomfortable silence seemed to establish itself immediately after Victor's last word, as neither of his companions deigned to speak as much as a syllable while shuffling their way into the elevator, eventually triggering the button in the floor and causing the entire thing to begin its rattling ascension. Victor, for what it was worth, did not like elevators either, least of all closed-off ones like this ones. He had no problem with heights, but closed spaces tended to make him a little anxious, and his anxiety was only made worse when he looked upward, expecting to see the sky far above but – obviously, in hindsight – being met by the roof of the elevator shaft instead, limiting his entire word to the inside of the elevator for the time being.
He looked at the two others, glancing first briefly at Raine's eyes just to compulsively confirm their normalcy, before letting his gaze linger at Adelicia. Such pretty eyes. It was such a shame that those eyes would one day be marred by the scourge of beasts, but at least there was some small comfort in the thought that he would probably not live to see that day. Even if he was not killed, chances were that he would become a beast long before she did; blood saints were known to be unusually resistant to the scourge, to the point where he actually could not think of a single such case. Relative to that, he, a mere Hunter, probably only had a few years left in him before turning. It was harsh, living with that knowledge... and even harsher for comparatively “normal” people, like Adelicia – people who deluded themselves to think that they were still human – who did not even understand the grim reality of the scourge. Who suffered from the intoxicating, debilitating madness known as “hope”.
Hunters, at least, knew: they were all going to be beasts sooner or later. All they could do was to kill as many of them as they could before turning.

“Beasts kill people,” he muttered over the hum and rattle of the elevator, about as it reached the halfway point to the top. For some reason he felt as though he had to explain himself, as if he was somehow in the wrong. Annoying girl. “And the longer they're allowed to live, the stronger they get. Trying to 'save' beasts is hopeless. All we can do is try to protect the sane.”
He paused, going tense and raising his sword and blunderbuss as the elevator reached the top, folding doors – now on the opposite side from where they entered – slid open, revealing a surprisingly clean stretch of street with a row of single-floor, pristine houses lined up on the far side of the area. Many of these houses were made of wood rather than stone, and all were recent additions to the city, built from scratch after the Night of the Blood Moon. Nearly all of them were still empty, and not a single one of the ones in sight had light inside or a censer outside, in all likelihood marking them as unoccupied. This area was probably the safest in all of Yharnam, short of the upper Cathedral Ward itself. Maybe they could leave Adelicia and the fresh Hunters in one of those houses? Surely they would be fine here for the night.
He quickly scanned the area from right to left, then relaxed once he had ascertained that it was safe. As had been their formation from the beginning he left the elevator first, taking the lead.
“And killing beasts is all we ca-eurgh!”

Victor's lecture turned into a surprised garbled noise as something, visible to the others as four unnaturally long, clawed black fingers, reached down from above, over the lip of the roof of the elevator, and deftly grabbed the back of Victor's hood, and proceeded to swiftly yank him off the ground and into the air. Victor reflexively pulled the trigger of his gun, unleashing a torrent of quicksilver pellets onto the cobbled street in front of them with a thunderous bang. Within a second he was already above the top of the elevator, out of sight of his fellow servants of the church.
He started inhaling sharply, meaning to shout instructions to his comrades even now, but was promptly silenced by the feeling of something sharp pressing into his back, followed by pain and what Victor could only think to describe as wrongness, filling him with a desperation unlike anything he had ever felt before. He could hear metal scraping against bone, feel the vibrations resonating throughout his entire skeleton, feel it in his teeth. When he looked down, he saw a black, red-stained blade sticking out of the right side of his chest. His breath caught in his throat.
And then, less than three seconds after having been snatched off the ground, Victor was suddenly flying through the air, completely out of control of where he was facing or where he was going; he had just been grabbed, stabbed and thrown away, and it had all happened so fast... he was still reeling when he hit the ground with his left shoulder first, about nine meters (thirty feet) in front of the elevator. His assailant had wasted no time, but had jumped off the roof of the elevator as soon as it had finished with Victor, turning to face the other passengers even before Victor had hit the ground.

The creature was tall, thin and long-limbed, like most afflicted by the scourge of beasts, but was also completely black from head to toe, clad in black rags and seemed, in spite of everything, relatively human in shape. Its head was obscured by a mess of black tendrils that seemed more like seaweed than hair, and though Victor could not see it from his current angle, the others would see its big white, glowing eyes behind the hair. It was armed with a saber, as black as it was except the stains of Victor's blood left on it. It let out an inhuman hiss.

With eyes tightly shut and her form awkwardly hunched, Adelicia held on to her staff for dear life as the elevator ascended. Her soft knees threatened to buckle under her whilst a tingling feeling developed in her stomach. It took every ounce of her will not to sit down and curl up until the ride was over and it was perhaps only the, for once, welcome distraction of Victor’s mumbling that helped her ignore her fears – if only by virtue of causing her aggravation. Maybe the hunter was right, maybe beasts were beyond salvation. But to consider murder the only solution to the problem… did he not stop to think what it was that created beasts in the first place? Had they no choice but to become slaves to the blood, cursed to repeat the same cycle of tragedy over and over? The church had taught her to think this way but doubt gnawed at her like a swarm of rats nibbled at a corpse. If she had not been feeling so queasy, she might have even given him a reply. Instead, all she could utter was a sigh of relief when the elevator came to a halt and its iron doors slid open.

She opened her slightly moist eyes and peered out into the street, where a row of quaint wooden houses perched upon each other. She was told the wooden buildings were mostly new, built to replace the ruins of the older homes that were destroyed in the last hunt. Just as she recalled that nugget of information, it dawned on her what horrible implications it promised for this night. A night of the hunt resulted in the ruin of entire buildings, even streets. She could hardly fathom such devastation, or being exposed to the forces that cause it. Yharnam was doomed, she thought, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by a pang of nihilism, and the city had only itself to blame. Just then, Victor took the lead and resumed his train of thought, no doubt trying to further justify the mindless slaughter of thousands but then – then he was gone. Not having properly seen what it was that yanked Victor out of sight, it was his gunshot that made her flinch and let out a shrill scream. Mouth agape, she stared at the empty space where the hunter had stood, feeling completely dumb struck for the few seconds of uncertainty that he was gone. When next she saw him he was hurtling forward, seemingly lifeless, onto the dusty cobble stones of the street.

But it was not the sight of the fallen hunter that made her heart sink – it was the sight of it. Feeling completely petrified, her fingers stiffened as if under rigor mortis around the grip of her censer. She had screamed moments before, but now all voice remained stuck in her throat. Staring at the thing, it was not the abhorrent, pitch-black coloration that made her hairs rise to a point, or its ghastly, blood-stained saber, or even its damnably glowing eyes. Something far worse clawed at her mind, digging itself up from the grave it had been consigned to for many years. It was the knowledge that she had seen this monstrous face before.

It had been late dusk in the charnel lane and young Adelicia had snuck out of the orphanage after dinner. With tears streaming down her unwashed face, she was desperately grasping for a filthy doll that had been placed some height from the ground in the leafless, gnarled branches of a tree. The girl clumsily climbed up the trunk, fell and tried again to the sound of a wild dog barking somewhere downhill, in the shadow drenched valleys. She could feel cuts and bruises on her arms and feet. After many minutes of agonized effort she was almost about to reach the doll when the sound of the dog’s surprised, painful yelp being cut short made her startle and fall, tearing off a branch. Slowly pulling herself up, Hemwick was suddenly very quiet – not even a single crow cawed in the distance. Fear compelled her to run, but fear also compelled her to stay. The doll was all she had, her ward against the nightmares and the cruelty of man. Undecided, she simply stood there, still as a candle, awaiting her coming fate. And then it crawled over the lip of the hill where she stood. Black as night, long and reedy like the tree she had climbed and with burning white eyes, like distant stars framed by the cold darkness of the cosmos. Perhaps she had fainted, or perhaps she had simply lost her mind. Falling over, bawling her eyes out, Adelicia had no idea what happened after that; save that she was still alive and that, when she had opened her eyes after an indeterminate amount of time, the creature was gone, the sun had set and her doll… was placed right in front of her.

Infantile memories resurfaced in her and, when she felt her back pressing against the rearmost wall of the elevator, could no longer contain her tears. If only she could tell whether they were tears mourning a wasted childhood, or lamenting her fated reunion with the demon of Hemwick.

Marcus Stopped everything as he heard movement outside. He turned slowly towards the door. Whoever there were outside sounded quite angry. He slowly looked at the man he’d have an honor to share this situation with and slowly rose his index finger over his lips, as he tried to move slowly and silently closer to the door.

Grunting outside the locked door was angry. Men sounded like enemies of the church. He heard something heavy hit the floor. Whatever it was, it was most probably painful. A weird contrast was a bell which rang as it came closer to the door. Marcus tried to estimate whether there were 4 or 5 of them. Marcus rose five of his fingers. He listened as they came closer to the door. There was something weird about the footsteps, but he couldn't figure out what. One of the invaders tried to open the locked door. Rattled the handle. Started to yell for someone inside to open the door.

Marcus held a tight grip from his sword. Whoever was outside didn’t sound too friendly. Marcus felt like back in the gang days when they’d meet another rival gang and they’d have to fight or lose all their valuables. When it was against other Yharmanites, they were more or less even, and thus sometimes even victorious. When it had been the Fire Dancers, they had made a short work out of the gang expect for the few that had realized to run. Like Marcus.

They couldn’t run now. Or they could, but most probably 5 men could catch them and maim them. They were outnumbered, but in Marcus's mind they had the element of surprise on their side. He looked straight at the other man and made a silent suggestion. With his free hand, he pointed at himself, then pulled the thumb over his throat, then raised the hand over his head to indicate height.

Bigger.

Marcus then pointed the other man, then made the same over the throat cutting emote. And then put his hand over the chest.

Smaller.

@King Cosmos

Ishin

Ishin comes out of his slumber like a silent beast, rage seemed to be in him as he wanted to yell out, but something told him he should not scream, lest he wakes...wait who is he worried about waking? He can't remember who he was trying to let sleep. Maybe the people near him? Who knows? He didn't even know where he was, let alone who was near him. He began to scan the room he noticed the many people laying either in a sound rest with these strange corpse creatures laying on them, or men and women seeming to be in immense pain.

Ishin thinks where he is yet with little avail other than his understanding that he was healed. By what and what for was not known to him. What he does know is that he is in a room with people he doesn't know and..."What in the hell is that?", He says in a quiet but fearful voice as he sees multiple little hands crawl up and bulbous heads look at him and seemed to silently cheer. As he nearly threw a punch at one of the little creatures, until he realizes they mean him no harm. They just stared at him, even though it freaked him out, if they had some crazy power or can be hostile, he didn't want to find out.

Ishin was about to say something to them as he heard people outside of the only door here. He looked over to find two people with weapons standing near the door. A thought came to mind, to roll off his cot quietly and let them handle their fighting as he hid. To fight right now is stupid, he has no weapons and didn't know if the two on his side are friend or foe. Yet something told him he was not going to sit by as people fought and was in control of his own life. So with a quick wave of the hand, he shoo-ed the small creatures away and rolled off of his cot. As he quietly cleared his throat and stood up as he slowly walked over towards the door as he raised his hands to show he was of no harm.

Ishin slowly made a motion for one of them to toss him a weapon so he can defend himself, if all else failed he would have to go with using his fists. Even if he felt confident with fighting with his fists. He was going up against two men, with each of them holding weapons and with men beyond the door. Ishin knew he needed to try with the people on this side of the door, because he could tell from the sound of the grunting and thuds on the other side of the door, that those men aren't quite here to pick him up from his doctor's appointment.

Joseph joined Marcus in searching for incense, scanning the shelves and cabinets lining the walls for anything that looked promising, but was soon distracted by the sounds coming from outside. That the door was locked and they trapped inside may have actually been a blessing in disguise as what appeared to be a group of people, men judging by the voices, began to tear apart the room beyond the portal. Joseph stopped and stared at the door, as if standing still and holding his breath would somehow prevent them from trying to enter, until the men began banging on the door and demanding entry.

As if they didn’t already have enough reason to be suspicious of those on the other side, the man who spoke sounded strange, his voice affected in some way that made Joseph think the worst. He heard enough snippets from them to know they were searching for blood and he could understand why they would come to a doctors clinic of all places if that’s what they wanted; he knew what excessive blood could do to people, the addiction and the changes in personality it brought with it. He knew it all too intimately and he knew that opening the door was the last thing they should do.

That, of course, didn’t mean they wouldn’t get in eventually anyway. Marcus seemed to agree as he took up position near the door so as to better ambush the men as they inevitably broke through. Simple hand gestures conveyed what the other man wanted; he would kill the larger of the two and Joseph would kill the smaller. The plan only extended to the first two to come through, but preparing for more than that when they didn’t know what to expect was impractical. Killing though… would Joseph be able to kill another human being if need be? His hand gripped the axe handle tighter, reminding himself of what he held. He wasn’t sure that he could if he gave himself time to think about it, if he had to look a man in the eye as he swung his axe at them he would falter; better just to swing and hope for the best, put the idea of killing out of his mind for now and just attack. Needs must and all that; he could deal with his conscience when they were both alive at the end of this to do so.

Motion in his peripheral drew his attention and Joseph raised the axe and turned to the side, expecting one of the men outside to have somehow circled around behind them and found another entrance and found instead a man climbing out of a cot and moving in their direction. Another patient, waking up and finding himself in the same position as them. He walked towards them with hands up to show that he was not a threat and then gestured towards the barrel of weapons. Joseph considered what to do, weighing the risks of arming this stranger against the benefit of another sword arm to help with the group outside.

In the end trusting this man was no more foolish than trusting Marcus and an uncertain ally was better than the men outside overpowering them because this stranger wasn’t armed. Joseph reached towards the barrel and pulled out a weapon at random, finding himself with a short spear in one hand and the axe in the other. He measured them both for a moment before deciding to keep the spear for himself, throwing the axe towards the other man with a little more care than Marcus had shown him.

“We’ll handle the first two, you stay back.”

@Th3King0fChaos@Habibi359

“Hear voice,” the hoarse speaker close to the door announced. “Hunter wake. Open door, Hunter.”

Arcturus awoke to the silver light of The Moon shining through his window. He was alive! His body flooded with a sense of joyous relief as he came to his senses, shaking off the groggy veil of sleep. The treatment, the blood, had worked!

Or had it?

As he scanned the dark room around him, his eyes beginning to focus, he felt his heart sink with a deep disappointment. The sight he was met with was nothing more than his very own room. The familiar wooden walls and flowered wallpaper he had known since he was a child. Had it all been a dream? Traveling to Yharnam, meeting that minister. It was difficult to believe. Yet there was the proof before him, the Moon staring down through his window as if to reprimand him for being so naive.

Of course it hadn't been real. Such rumors of panacea could never hold weight. Had he truly traveled to that city he most certainly would have died there. Perhaps, more likely, he might have even died along the way. Dejected, Arcturus let his eyes fall from the window, his attention shifting to the young woman sitting across from his bed.

Violet.

His sister looked worse than ever, her once bright and pretty visage marred by dark circles. The signs of stress showing clear on her face. She looked to have fallen asleep there, slumped over onto her arm. The fool girl. It seemed the only precaution she had taken against contracting his ailment was the scarce few feet of distance between them. Hardly enough, he thought, even if he appreciated the gesture.

Suddenly a noise disturbed his quiet thoughts, a noise that didn't come from Violet. From behind him, Arcturus heard the faint sound of knocking, like someone was banging on the front door. He faintly heard demands for entry from a hoarse, labored voice. The speaker's words colored by a thick foreign accent. Lacking the strength to lift himself from his bed, he felt a cold terror run down his spine, looking hurriedly to the door of his room before shifting his focus back to where Violet slept. If he could only summon the voice to wake her, to warn her of what was coming.

Arcturus drew in a sharp breath, only to freeze as his gaze fell upon a bone chilling sight. An open window. Curtains billowing in the oddly stuffy smelling breeze. A beast, more robust and fearsome than even the one which had given him his scar, stood hunched over the chair where his sister sat. It cast a dark shadow over her, concealing her form from sight. However its jagged maw dripped with a thick scarlet liquid...

****

The young man awoke again to a dark room, the chill of a cold sweat aiding his groggy mind as he took a few moments to come to terms with reality. He was alive. The treatment, the blood, really had worked! Relief flooded through his body, though he was denied the opportunity to revel in it.

Hearing that hoarse, foreign voice again, Arcturus slowly pushed himself up into an upright position. His icy blue eyes sweeping cautiously over his surroundings. There were already a few other people up and about in the massive room. Up, about, and armed. It seemed he was not the only one who perceived the strange voice as a threat.

It wasn't until he'd pushed himself up and began studying the room around him that he noticed those things. Small, glowing, almost skeletal looking creatures. The sight of them caused him to recoil, swiftly backing up against his bedpost and bracing to defend himself. However as his heart rate slowed and his thoughts caught up to what he was seeing, he gradually realized that they were anything but hostile. Not that it made their ghastly appearance any less unsettling. Was he hallucinating the things? Truly, he needed to read fine print more closely next time he signed a critical medical contract.

Now Arcturus knew very little about the situation he had woken up to, and less about the men he shared it with. What he did know, however, was that he had to make a decision on what to do. He had to make a decision and he had to make it quickly. So that's exactly what he did. Once he'd identified where the others got their weapons, his piercing gaze watching one of them return to the door with a spear, he gently pushed himself out of his cot.

With brief glances towards the other three men he wordlessly strode across the room, his posture confident, and set his eyes upon the barrels of weapons. Arcturus was appreciative of the supply, no doubt, but it was an odd juxtaposition against the clinical room he stood in. Who in their right mind stored weapons of such quantity in a medical ward? Not that he could complain, as he picked out both a saber and a spear before heading back towards the unnervingly fortified door. Again, what kind of doctors would barricade their patients in like that?

Stopping in front of the door and behind the other three men, Arcturus set his new saber down against the nearest cot before glancing down at the spear in his hands. Not a weapon he was familiar with, but it felt oddly comfortable in his grip. Perhaps the muscle memory of bayonet drills also aided in the handling of spears? Regardless he was satisfied with his own equipment, at least as satisfied as he could be given the selection, and so turned his piercing gaze to the other three. All men whom he'd had yet to address. He made a point of silently making eye contact with each of them in turn before leveling the point of his spear towards the door.

Hunters were resilient, that much was beyond question. Victor had seen Hunters recover from absolutely horrifying injuries in the past, and he knew they healed so fast and so effectively that he had never witnessed a wound bad enough to leave a scar. Likewise he had been wounded himself, as well, since he became a Hunter, and had never really been too bothered by it. Cuts and bruises mended themselves in an instant, broken bones reassembled in mere moments... as long as they had blood in their system, even if their regenerative powers were not as impressive as that of some beasts, they were borderline invincible in the eyes of a human.
Victor had been knocked down many times before and had never really had any trouble getting back up. He had even seen a Hunter get slashed by a giant's axe at one point, flinging the poor fellow through the air while leaving a bloody gash across his body, yet even that Hunter had only taken a second to get back on his feet. Bloody, beaten and broken, Hunters fought on.

Which was why it was so thoroughly aggravating to Victor that he could not seem to bounce back this time. In his head he ignored the pain, did a little forward somersault onto his feet and immediately rushed the damn beast that had done this to him... but his body would not move. He actually could not stand back up, no matter how he squirmed and struggled to get his arms and legs underneath himself. For a brief second he panicked, having flashbacks to the events that lead to him becoming a Hunter – his first encounter with a beast, and the subsequent damage to his spine – but a simple effort to try to move his limbs in small ways was all it took to assure himself that he was not paralyzed. He could move just fine, but somehow it felt as though he had no strength left...
It was not hard to figure out why that was, of course. The fall had knocked the air he had left out of him, and trying to breathe was excruciatingly painful, with every inhalation producing what felt like little bubbles in his chest and every exhalation filling his mouth with blood. There was little doubt that at least one of his lungs had been severely damaged.
Even lying there, coughing and struggling to try to get back up, Victor could feel the Old Blood working its magic, though. He felt his shoulder fixing itself back up, he felt the wounds on his back and chest – both of which had produced sizable blossoms of blood on the back and front of his clothes, respectively – closing at a rate that was unbelievable to a human.
Damn beast... these clothes were new, and now they're ruined.

Victor had a lot of things he did not want to think about right that moment, even as those unbidden thoughts kept coming to him. Thoughts of what would have happened if, after his helpless hurtle through the air, he had landed on his head instead of his shoulder? Doubts of whether a Hunter was even capable of regenerating vital organs in the first place, or if his lungs were permanently ruined now? Even if his lungs healed, what about the blood filling them? Would he not just drown in that? Would he regenerate fast enough to stop him from suffocating? Did he even have a high enough regenerative potential to get out of this situation?
His instincts told him to run away, put some distance between himself and his enemy and buy enough time for his body to hopefully recuperate from his injuries. Between fight and flight, his lizard-brain was definitely opting for flight. But Adelicia and Raine were still over there, with the creature. He had no time.
Pushing back against the inclination to flee, Victor instead delved deep into the innate craving, nay, the need to hunt that was so integral to being a Hunter. He turned his head and looked directly at the monster – whatever it was – and willed himself to concentrate on his desire to kill. Thoughts of blood and violence, pain and death. The things this creature would do if left to its own devices, and the things he would do to it. He let the rage consume him, letting the flames of fury burn away this accursed weakness, letting it blind him to his pain. He bared his teeth in a bestial scowl, pinkish, foamy blood dripping from his mouth as he breathed angrily through his wounds.
He got his feet underneath himself and, albeit much less quickly than he wanted, started to stand back up.

Over by the elevator, the creature's attention seemed divided, on one hand being distracted by Adelicia's scream and the other seemingly recognizing Raine as the real threat out of the two. It seemed undetermined until Raine spoke, upon which its blank white eyes fixed on him. Its teeth, bared in a permanent scowl from the creature not having any lips, parted in a hoarse exhalation, its entire body turning to keep facing the Hunter, content to ignore the panicking woman for now.
Taking a quick step closer to the elevator, the monster then let out a short, high-pitched cry before rushing straight at Raine, reaching out to grab him with its empty clawed left hand, while the right one raised above its head with its saber, intending to bring it down upon Raine in a cleaving strike as soon as he was in range.

Ishin

Ishin grabs the axe from the air as he feels the weight and focuses on it. Perfect they trust me enough to give me a weapon so we can fight whoever is there. Ishin takes a step back and now waits for the door to be opened. He'll let the two in front of him make their move as he will support them as he will use his axe to try and crack and break what ever comes his way. As Ishin lifts his axe and weighed the force he can make and he felt it as if it was natural, a little too natural. Well whatever that is it doesn't matter, what matters is him making a safer place for himself, he'll figure everything out later.

As he prepared to fight he saw a man move past him. Ishin kept watch of him as he moved to the weapons and grabbed a spear and joined them in their defensive line. Well it is good to have more people it will make their life easier as he doesn't know how many people will be coming through, but if they have enough people here, even a beast coming through would be hard pressed to take them all down. So With the new people it will be good to have some more power on their side. Just hoping that the man with the raspy voice is the only person there to fight them.

'Good lord', was all that ran through his head as he heard his heart beat in his ears as he was in the mist of a life and death situation, and it is kill or be killed. This was an adrenaline rush just waiting for the door to open. Are we gonna wait for them to try and open it or will we open it? Ishin just prepared to fight as he was set facing the door from the front as if they come charging in they will meet the spears then he will try and end them with a swift and heavy blow of the axe to the head. He hopes that when they bust down the door that they don't have firearms and just blast the door into him. He would be unable to dodge the shot if it hit him.

His mind is running every possibility, yet they all seem so negative, he couldn't waver, he felt an urge to fight, a need for it. This must have been his fight or flight response kicking in. He must be readying himself to fight and take down what ever is behind there, yet he felt his blood start to boil in anticipation. Like something was swelling and ready to burst, all it needed was a trigger to let it rip.

@DrabberRogue@Habibi359@King Cosmos

“No speak? No open door?” the voice asked on the other side, a tinge of annoyance and impatience detectable under his troubled speech. “We open door. If Hunter no fight, no hurt. If Hunter fight... very hurt.”
There was a short pause before the hoarse man spoke again in a louder, more commanding manner: “Come! Hunters past door! Take Hunters!”
The sound of the room past the door being vandalized ceased, and many footsteps could be heard approaching the door. It was almost eerily quiet on the other side now that the sound of breaking furniture and apparatus no longer filled the air.
“Break door.”

Something next to the hoarse man, right on the other side of the door to their room full of cots, let out a furious, inhuman snarl just a second before something slammed into the door with tremendous force, shaking it visibly in its frame, but failing to break it.
A voice that sounded more canine than human let out a guttural roar as something struck the door a second time; far from as hard as the first blow, but accompanied by the sound of cracking wood and followed by a terrible sound of wood being continuously rent by something sharp, moving from top to bottom of the door. It repeated another time: a strike followed by something raking down the other side of the door, ripping the wooden obstacle apart. There was a faint sound of small pieces of wood hitting the floorboards on the other side. The canine voice growled.

The fourth blow striking the door proved more than it could handle, and suddenly a left hand – easily three times as large as a human hand should be, with long fingers each tipped by a black two-inch claw and the back of the hand clad in thick gray hair – penetrated the door all the way through, palm downturned. It curled up its fingers, preparing to sink its claws into the wood of the door immediately below the hand, clearly intending to rip a hole straight through it.