Marcus stood by the door. He had been ready for the attack of the men but suddenly he heard a small thud from one of the cots.
He measured the woken man quickly. His measures were weird, arms and legs were shorter compared to an average man, but they were as thick as lumber. Indicated that he could hit anyone hard if it came to it. While he held hands as not to hurt anyone, Marcus was cautious. He had been most likely given the same treatment as he and his new companion. Who had already judged the man worthy and threw his own axe to him. He himself had taken a spear from the barrel.
“We’ll handle the first two, you stay back.” He said and Marcus was about to shush him, but it was too late. Someone on the other side had already heard him.
While cursing under his breath on the ruined element of surprise, there was a fourth man that gad woken up. This man looked sick, skinny and weak, with eyes blue as ice. Marcus had been focused too much on whatever was on the other side, taken steps backwards, that the sickly man had came. Despite his ill outlook, he stood proudly and walked with confidence to grab a saber and a spear. Marcus only hoped that he knew how to wield both of them. The wound over his other eye indicated that perhaps he had been in a fight or two. The ice in his eyes made Marcus shiver.
Marcus couldn’t make a comment. There was a yell from the other side. And then A Crash. Second one. Third one. The door couldn’t hold much longer, cracks started to be visible and wood was bent. Marcus felt his heart racing. The feeling of anxiety and fear soon started to make way to hunger of hunt… But this time Marcus gritted his teeth painfully together to focus. He would keep his head this time.
However such focus was lost when the fourth hit came and the arm of a beast came through. Claw meant for ripping men apart at the end of an arm full of strength to throw men away. And that was just a taste of what would be on the other side.
Marcus let out a yell: “Nail the bloody claw to the floor! Spears!”. He felt the fury and violence in back of his head and he let it take over. What he did next would have surprised him if he had seen himself from the outside. He threw his sword backwards and with an instinct only he made an attempt to grab the claw with both of his hands to pull the claw more inside, kicking the door to gain some more power to the pull and roar in anger while doing it.
Such a pull however would make him vulnerable and would certainly make wounds to Marcus’s arms.
Though the bestial creature on the other side of the door had clearly anticipated being attacked, swiftly stretching its fingers grasping blindly with its murderous claws for Marcus' arms, it seemed completely taken aback by the nature of the attack. Upon being pulled, the arm was drawn through the hole and toward the floor with surprisingly little resistance, accompanied by the sound of something heavy stumbling and falling into the door.
Arcturus made a point of using the few seconds he had attempting to read the three men he would likely be fighting with. They were all shorter than him, and all gave off very different impressions.
One man looked relatively ordinary compared to the other two. He seemed fit enough, however he had an air about him that reminded Arcturus of a recruit. The look of a man who had never killed before, never fought for his life, but who was faced with a situation where he may need to.
Another of the three men looked odd, for lack of a better word. As if there were something distinctly off about the way he looked. Perhaps it was the lean in his posture or the disproportionate length of his arms. Regardless, the compact man looked quite strong at a glance.
The third man had darker skin and charred clothes, the latter of which was an immediate indication of some kind of experience. A presumption only confirmed by the cautious look in the sharp faced man's eyes. If that wasn't the look of a veteran, it was at the very least the look of someone accustomed to danger.
Glances were the only thing Arcturus had time for, as the owner of the hoarse, unfamiliar voice seemed to grow impatient with them. All the while referring to them as hunters. He wondered briefly what it meant. Arcturus had gone deer hunting before, he'd been brought up as a noble after all, but he didn't consider himself a hunter by profession. Save for any poetic metaphor that more romantic minds might have attributed to him on the battlefield.
The question would have to wait, however, as a ferocious snarl heralded something heavy being rammed against the door. It was time to fight. That vicious, beastly sound had served to stoke his adrenaline, causing both the young man's heart and mind to race ever faster. It was a feeling Arcturus was all too familiar with, however something else accompanied it this time. Something similar to the blood lust of battle, but altogether different. More like a craving.
The door shuddered again as it suffered another impact.
Yet the sensation did not disturb him, feeling as much a part of him as all the other emotions racing through him. So he allowed it to bolster his confidence even while he steadied his breath and steeled his focus. Arcturus gripped his spear and fixed his icy blue gaze on the door. Waiting. Anticipating.
His muscles tensed as he the door was struck again, followed by something dragging along the wooden surface. The sound of wood being carved away struck Arcturus as oddly pleasant in spite of the situation. However that thought was quickly chased away as the door finally gave in, a nightmarish claw bursting through the tortured wood.
Even though he'd been prepared for the door to be breached, the sight of it still gave him pause, a brief flash of terror and surprise interrupting his focus. The sight of the darker skinned man taking action brought his mind back to the present, however. Only a moment was lost marveling at the other man's strength before he took action. Arcturus swiftly stepped forward, shifting his grip on his spear to provide more leverage, and attempted to forcibly drive his spear down into the creature's hand.
Arcturus' feet dug into the floor as he swung, his legs driving power into his core, then that driving yet more power into his arms. He knew very well how to generate lethal force in an attack. Yet at the same time he was surprised at his own movement, a muscle memory he didn't know he had guiding the weapon down towards his target. Yet there was no time to think on it.
The owner of the arm had been surprised when Marcus pulled it, but it recovered quickly and even after having barely been pulled down, it was clear that it was already getting back up, pulling back its arm with inhuman strength beyond even that of a Hunter, retracting slightly Marcus' grip. It was fortunate that Arcturus acted quickly, or the chance their unexpected method of attack had bought them might have been wasted. As it was, Arcturus managed to drive his spear through the beast's hand and into the floor below it in time, prompting the creature to let out an angry, pained grunt, which soon changed into a growl as it started pulling on its arm even more intently. Almost immediately the hand started moving despite the spear, its flesh ripping and tearing with a terrible sound as it demonstrated its willingness to destroy its own hand to regain its freedom.
In the meantime sound generally passed more easily into the room with the Hunters now that there was a hole through the door, allowing those within to hear the hoarse man produce an exasperated sigh, accompanied by two strong, clear chimes of the bell they had heard when he had first approached. The sound seemed to strike terror into the Messengers left in the room more intensely than anything else, and in an instant all the Messengers had vanished. Ding-ding...
Marcus had flown a small distance backwards. The pull with the beast’s arm in his hands had succeeded, he could almost see the beast’s armpit. But as he had hit the floor, a violent twitch made him lose the hold. It wasn’t long before the sickly man had noticed the opportunity. Spear went straight through the arm with a force great enough to pierce rib cages and it made a great “thud” as it hit the floor.
Marcus rose to his knees and reached for his sword. Now that the beast was pinned to the place, they could wound beast through the hole. Expect then Marcus heard a crack and ripping of tissue. In front of his eyes the arm of the beast, skin, muscle and joints stretched, then ripped into pieces. The claw twitched it’s last movements and blood filled the wooden floor underneath it.
Marcus quickly grabbed the sword and took few steps backwards. He pointed the sword towards the door. No doubt the beast was about to charge through, but he’d be ready for the wounded monster. He took breaths in and felt the heartbeat in his chest. He let out a grin. He’d gladly kill that beast...
On the other side of the door, through the hole he heard the bells. An ominous sound that sent shivers in his arm and hair on his skin started to rise. He noticed the gray things were afraid and started to disappeared like rodents in sight of a predator. Something was coming. The grin in his face faded and he took another step or two backwards.
“Careful now...” Marcus said while keeping the tip of his sword towards the door.
Undisturbed by the Hunters beyond the door the beast kept pulling on its arm, growling in rage and agony as its hand tore and the spear migrated from the center of the hand toward its fingers, flesh tearing to accommodate the movement and knitting itself back together once the object had gone past. Within moments the spear finally made it to the space between the beast's index- and middle-fingers, freeing the creature from its impairing influence and allowing it to retreat back through the hole. Heavy footfalls could be heard as the beast removed itself from the door, breathing heavily just several feet beyond it. Once the beast had moved someone else immediately moved to occupy the hole in the door, and suddenly the tip of the barrel of a hunting rifle poked through. The weapon took just a second to home in on the one closest to the hole – Arcturus – after which a gunshot shook the room and a single lead bullet darted straight at Arcturus' chest.
Past the sound of the gunshot was another noise, however, as the bell chimed another two times. It was exactly the same sound as the first time, only now for some reason it seemed closer and less directional, as if it came from everywhere around them. Inexplicably, the Hunters' room seemed to get a little darker. Ding-ding...
Arcturus watched in fascinated horror while the beast willfully tore its own hand open to free itself. Flesh ripping apart against his weapon, only for the wound to heal almost as soon as it opened. How was one to kill something with such an ability? Worse still was the chilling sound that reached his ears shortly afterwards. The ringing of a small bell that chased away the tiny creatures, as if the bell heralded something that terrified even them.
Were they truly real after all? The bell certainly seemed to be, as it seemed he wasn't the only one to hear it. Arcturus glanced briefly at the darker skinned man, concern possessing his expression. That sound made him feel cornered in a way even the beast couldn't. What did the bell mean? Had the enemy called for reinforcements? All of a sudden he no longer felt confident in their ability to hold that door against whoever, or whatever, they were facing.
Soon enough the beast tore itself free of his spear, retreating through the hole it had made. Before Arcturus could even think about his next course of action he found himself staring at the barrel of a rifle. Adrenaline fueled reflex took control of his body, and he dove out of the way mere moments before the thundering discharge of the weapon reached his ears. Leaving the spear behind and leading into a roll.
That roll brought him into a kneel, whereupon he glared back at the muzzle poking through the hole in the door. It frustrated him that their only defensive structure had merely given the enemy cover to fire through. All the more so as the repeating chime of the bell sent a chill running down his spine. He wanted to attack.
Instead, however, he sprung back to his feet and rushed over to his own sword. Sprinting across the rifle's field of fire to snatch the saber before halting right next to the darker skinned man. "We can't hold here forever." He insisted in a firm whisper, his foreign accent lacing every word as he finally spoke.
Ishin watches the scene unfold in a shocked state. As he watched the two men strike the arm that crashed through the door and a flash of a memory comes to him. A flash of him watching as a door comes breaking down, blood spilling out, and screaming of women. As his eyes begin to fills with blood and he starts to shake as his vision comes back to the waking world where he sees the large bestial hand that came crashing through the door. The hand tore itself out of the pinned area with the spears as it does it spilled blood everywhere. And something made Ishin step back almost as if it was running from something he didn't see.
Ishin's hand subconsciously gripped onto his axe and took a back step away from the front of the door as his axe is now positioned in a way to do an upward chop. His mind is completely clouded as he watches blood spill and his mind replays that little scene in his head over and over. Something is keeping him from concentrating, it's like his mind is telling him to run away, yet it's like his body is telling him to fight. Yet the moment the gun shot rings out Ishin snaps back to the waking world as he finds himself away from where he remembered and that he is now watching Arcturus dive away from the gun fire. Ishin brings himself back into the waking world as he lifts his head and focuses, as his mind tries to blank he stays focused and keeps himself in the present. Dreams need to stay out of his mind right now, they had a fight on their hands and that there is now a barrel staring them down.
The room seemed to darken, what is going on? Maybe he is focusing too deeply and he is losing his peripherals? That doesn't matter as Ishin heard Arcturus speaks up, he makes a good point. They couldn't hold here forever, or even long for that matter. They need to either run or fight their way out. Yet, that is a difficult order to ask as the beast they have on that side has to be tough. Maybe they can find some way to get away, yet that ringing is so strange. What is achieved from it?
'Stop thinking about that damn bell', Ishin lets out in a sigh "We have no real way out". He begins to shift his way over to the side of the door, trying to keep out of the watchful eye of the gunman and thinks for a moment, should I really try this? To hell with it all! As he goes to grab the tip of the gun and put his foot against the wall and launch himself away to try and yank the gun from the mans hands. Hell maybe he can take the gun and they can use the shots in it, but the hopes is to take the gun away from the man using it. That gives them a fighting chance again.
While the Hunters briefly discussed their current circumstances and Ishin moved to approach the door from a safer angle, the shooter beyond the door had plenty of time to reload his rifle. Ishin made his move to seize the barrel of the gun through the hole in the wall, managing to grab the weapon – the abrupt yanking on which made the gunman fire the loaded shot at nothing in particular in surprise – but seemed to work nonetheless, as the Yharnamite holding the rifle was clearly nowhere near as strong as a Hunter. This success lasted only for a little less than two seconds, however, as the large, hairy, clawed hand of the creature that had just punched the hole in the wall grasped the other end of the rifle and pulled in the opposite direction. Unless Ishin let go of the rifle he would be pulled with it and slam front-first into the door by the strength of this brawny beast. The beast had clearly anticipated that they would try something like that, given that they had just done nearly the exact same thing to it moments prior.
About at the same time as Ishin went for the barrel of the rifle the bell chimed for the third time, sounding several times louder than the last. A deep rumble seemed to emanate from somewhere under the Hunters' feet, and on the floor just several feet inside the door separating them from freedom and enemies alike, shadows seemed to pool in a pitch-black, circular blotch on the ground, about 1.2 meters (four feet) across. The mark seemed almost alive, as if the darkness within was churning with a life and will of its own. Ding-ding...
The beast surged forward, black and unnaturally fast - pure darkness given form and malevolent intent. The moment its ebon muscles began to twitch, Adelicia closed her eyes, lids tightly shut and squeezing out another pair of tears. She held her censer in front of her like a shield, the rod straight as a candle, for what good it would do. With quivering lips, she began to mumble something to herself, barely audible over the clangour of battle.
“Beware the frailty of men,” she whispered in a ghastly monotone, “Their wills are weak, minds young.”
Raine’s own voice was soon absent again as the ickor shape of the creature lunged at him with an open hand, and an equally black blade. The sight of the grasp of a deformed beast was, as one could likely guess, a common subject of the nightmares of Yharnamites. Long digits seeking for purchase upon the soft hide of those left unspoiled by the scourge - claws akin to straight-sickles that you could feel pierce your skin before they even got close. Perhaps the worst aspect of the image being the long, lanky arm it was backed by that led to something far more sickening than the visage of just the hand. Just the vision of such a thing could paralyze a man with fear.
However, Raine was hardly what you could call a man. He was a hunter. His eyes were quick to react, the action familiar to him - a grapple and a strike. A little more tricky than the usual simple slashes of beast-folk, but he could recognize the more dangerous part of the attack. If he were grabbed, it would not be good.
The beast was upon him quickly with a shriek, but Raine was equally as fast to move to the side and back, his shoes gritting lightly against the cobble as he performed a slash in the same step as his maneuver. The length of his trident-like weapon reaching out and arcing horizontally at the beast’s hand, the blade on the outward edge of one of the prongs aiming to cut across the outstretched hand of his foe - while the hunter kept in mind to use his weapon’s length to stay outside of the saber’s range.
The slash was enough to make the monster withdraw its hand, but far from enough to deter it from its attack; if anything, the creature seemed even more eager to attack than before. Screaming madly it merely altered its course to intercept Raine’s movements, bounding forward as it brought its saber low to its side, performing a wide swing from right to left at waist-level.
The hunter’s eyes moved quickly to follow the beast’s movements - allowing himself the inner recognition that it could withdraw itself from attacks - it wasn’t as incoherent as some of the other creatures his kind fought. He did not have much time to think beyond that though as his foe rebounded quickly and advanced again with a wide horizontal attack. Raine saw the maneuver coming; although the beast-scourged are fast, so are an experienced hunter’s eyes, and beasts don’t pay mind to telegraphing their movements.
The hunter, instead of retreating backwards, shifted forward, using a couple quick, well-placed steps to move into the base of the saber’s attack arc. In the same movement, his weapon moved up his arm, the end of the staff section at his shoulder and his arm resting along its length, his hand gripping the staff under the base of the prongs - which he moved to intercept the saber’s blade while the sound of shifting metal sounded the extension of the longest middle prong. This maneuver would aim to put Raine well within the creature’s range - and would catch the blade within his trident. Were the blade to be captured, he would twist his weapon inward in an attempt to disarm the beast, pulling the ickor instrument away from the strength of its other clawed digits and into the thumb. This maneuver being a well-practiced and surprisingly quick one, he could afford to perform it with just the one arm, as the other struck out in an attempt to grasp the beast’s bicep, due to their now very close proximity.
The creature, meanwhile, seemed anything but intimidated by Raine’s efforts. As the Hunter’s weapon caught his opponent’s saber and started twisting it, the beast did not even attempt to retain its grip on the handle, but simply allowed it to be wrung from its grasp without resistance. Instead it used its now entirely unburdened right hand to grasp at the left side of Raine’s chest, just as its left hand - the wound across its palm nearly fully healed already - mirrored the move on Raine’s right side. Raine holding on to its forearm did nothing to stop it, as they were more than close enough for the creature not to need anywhere near the full length of its appendages. It would sink its claws into his flesh while simultaneously using their combined momentum, and its own much heavier frame, to slam into him and most likely knock him sufficiently off balance to be able to pick him up in a two-handed grip with ease.
The hunter felt the expected leeway as the beast’s black blade was torn from its grasp, sending it clattering to the cobble below. However, its appendages were weapons in their own right - and as expected, would come after the disarm. The sound of shifting metal could be heard even as the creature’s lanky appendage immediately moved to grasp Raine by the torso, its claws digging into his flesh. The hunter maneuvered the weapon with one hand and grasped it now by the much shorter hilt - the weapon looking now much akin to a Sai - just as he felt a second set of claws dig into him from the opposite side. He gritted his teeth, letting a slight growl escape his lips. This was where the hunter’s inexperience with this particular beast showed. His grip on the creature’s bicep did little more than slightly hinder its forward momentum - but its armlength was impressive, and allowed it purchase onto him.
The creature used their accrued momentum to slam into the hunter, jostling him with its weight to throw his balance before lifting him in the grasp of its lengthy fingers. However, the hunter gripped his weapon with determination to keep from losing it. He thrust it upwards, being unable to move the top half of his arm, but his forearm shifting upwards with force in order to impale the creature’s own right forearm with the middle prong of the weapon. If successful, he would attempt to wretch the imbedded blade to the side to cut through the beast’s muscles, in order to weaken its hold.
Hunter Provostus didn’t feel as though he needed it at the moment - which might seem a little arrogant to some, considering his current position - but he was waiting for the moment his ally found the strength to stand and attack the beast from behind.
Victor had managed to stand a little while ago, soon after his trying to do so, and had been staggering toward the clash between Raine and the beast for most of the fight, trying to move as fast as he could in his less than ideal condition. Several times he tried to set into a light jog, at least, but found himself stumbling with every step as his stamina drained in an instant. His strength had diminished to a point where he could barely function as a human being, let alone use the Old Blood in his veins to elevate his power to the levels of a Hunter, which took a considerable amount of energy. About at the time Raine and the creature started fighting properly, with the veteran Hunter delivering a gracing strike to its left hand to deter it, Victor noticed that the pain in his back and chest stopped fading. He quickly hung his blunderbuss – unloaded for the moment, he reminded himself – from his belt and moved his sword to his left hand, after which he swiftly retrieved one of three blood vials he kept in a pouch on his right hip, popped off the protective cap with his thumb and immediately thrust the syringe at his right thigh, injecting the treated blood directly into his bloodstream. Normally he preferred to take a moment to unscrew the second cap with the needle, as well, and drink the blood rather than injecting it, but the situation seemed very suited for the quicker delivery method of the two just now. He felt the pain start to abate again as his regenerative potential was restored, allowing his wounds to keep healing. Another second or two and his body was going to be fully mended. He still could not breathe properly, though, which was a problem. Every exhalation brought with it another mouthful of foamy blood, each inhalation felt like he was trying to breathe underwater, and he kept feeling an intense coughing fit building in his chest. He could not allow himself to cough; if he did it even once, he suspected that he would not be able to stop again, and it would debilitate him even further than he already was. He looked on in helpless rage as Raine and their obsidian assailant fought, feeling somewhat taken aback by how the fight unfolded. The monster, as could be expected by a beast, never let up its offensive; their kind had regenerative powers beyond those of even Hunters, and practically anything Raine did to it was going to mend itself in an instant until the damage exceeded its regenerative potential. What was shocking was the fact that Raine seemed to be doing a bizarre mix of extremely defensive and offensive tactics all at once, despite these maneuvers not seeming to complement each other very well. Slashing the creature's hand was a smart move of course, momentarily preventing it from capturing him in its deadly grasp, but next he decided to not only disarm the creature – something that, on its own, might have been a clever move – but also step in close while the monster was still rushing in his direction. You damn idiot, Victor thought in disbelief as the creature unsurprisingly allowed its means of long-range offense to be wrested from its hand, only to successfully accomplish what it had been trying to from the start: capturing him in his grasp, now with both hands rather than just one. Using its weight and momentum, the creature easily knocked back Raine and picked him off the ground, not unlike how it had picked up Victor just moments prior. As Raine kept fighting relentlessly, managing to attack and cripple the creature's right arm, the monster turned around with him still in its grasp, still capable of carrying him in just its left hand, and faced the space just next to the elevator... the edge of the plateau. Victor remembered how the creature had effortlessly hurled him through the air before with that very same left hand, and felt his heart sink. That was a nasty fall, likely to be fatal.
Gritting his teeth, Victor did not break his stride in approaching the creature as quickly as he could, but even with his fear burned away by rage and his humanity suppressed by the beasthood within, he still recognized that, in his current condition, he did not really have much of a viable means of attack. He could reload his blunderbuss and fire it in a second, but even if he was now merely two meters from the creature's back and thus within range of his firearm, it would still serve very little purpose. Not only was the blunderbuss liable to hit Raine with a stray projectile or two due to the monster's slender form, but Victor's bloodtinge was far from corrosive enough for the bullets to be particularly harmful. Unless he managed to fire it at point blank range into the creature's head, or he managed to time the shot perfectly and stun it, the quicksilver pellets would barely annoy it. He was still a little too far to attack with his sword, and even if he could, what use would that be? With his breathing crippled as it was he could not quick-step or boost his strength to superhuman levels; in fact he suspected that he might currently be even weaker than a normal human. Whether he slashed or stabbed, the small silver sword was unlikely to cut very deep. At best he might distract the monster and get maimed or killed himself, and at worst it would just ignore him. Using the large blade-scabbard on his back was out of the question without superhuman strength... With his strength drained as it was, he could not do much in time. If only he had a molotov cocktail, or some other means of attack the effectiveness of which did not rely on his strength or stamina...
Victor blinked, then took one final step forward. His sword still in his left hand he reached down with his right one, turned the lantern at his belt to its brightest, unhooked it from its place there and immediately and desperately hurled it at the monster's back, hitting it on its right shoulder. Though the brass frame of the lantern was too sturdy to break at impact the glass did shatter, and as it turned upside down the oil from within spilled, only to be instantly ignited by the light that had already burned within. Within an instant the creature's shoulders, back and head were all ablaze, and the panicking beast let out a shrill cry, releasing Raine back onto the ground as it tried to beat out the flames with its hands, one healthy and one nerveless, while stumbling back away from Raine and toward Victor.
Raine felt his weight shift at just about the same time the elongated digits of the beast’s singular grip on him lifted, allowing him to fall to the cobble below, his shoes hitting the stone deftly as a splurge of beast blood poured from the black creature’s arm - the hunter having kept a tight grasp on his weapon. He fell into a crouch, watching as his foe now flayed its hands at the sudden source of searing flame sprouting from the flesh of its back and shoulders. The hunter allowed his weapon to extend once again, the sound of the steel telescoping outwards as he wasted no time in recovering from the wounds dug into him by the beast’s grasp. He stepped towards the creature that stumbled backwards in its panick, swinging his bladed trident in a heavy chopping arc towards the side of the weighty beast’s knee. He couldn’t deny his companion’s good timing.
What are you doing? Stop toying with it and just kill the damn thing! Victor thought, inwardly cursing the fact that he could not seem to summon the strength to fight himself as he watched Raine chop at the monster’s knee, causing that leg to fold under it and briefly hampering its mobility. It was not that Victor could not see what Raine was doing; he was trying to keep the creature crippled, limiting its prowess every chance he got while slowly chipping away at its regenerative potential, but trying to cripple a beast was a hopeless venture. Even the severe wound Raine had inflicted upon his opponent’s right arm was already visibly mending itself, and the fingers of the right hand had already started twitching again as the tendons reconnected. Until a beast’s regenerative potential had been depleted, anything short of actually severing a limb was unlikely to hinder it for more than a few seconds. And severing a limb? With how dense the bones of beasts were, cutting off a limb would be impossible without absolutely herculean strength. It would be much wiser to either go for as large swathes sof skin as possible, bleeding it as much as he could, or to target vital organs. Gods, if he was lucky and managed to get a good stab to the brain he might even stun the creature long enough to finish it off entirely… if this being had a brain in the first place, of course. Victor knew very little of these monsters aside from what he had heard from some of the older Hunters; that Yharnamites referred to them as “Mad Ones,” and were once simultaneously the scourge and guardians of Hemwick. That they were bloodwraiths, creatures formed from the blood echoes of the dead. And that they did not show up unless called.
As Victor inhaled, intending to voice his displeasure with Raine taking too long with the fight, he got a lungful of air befouled with the smell and taste of burning flesh and hair, which proved too much for his tattered lungs. Willing or not Victor immediately doubled over and started coughing, heaving and retching, loudly and deeply. Once when he had been in his teens Victor had nearly died from pneumonia, yet even back then he did not recall having coughed as intensely as he did now. It also sounded wrong, a nasty wet sound to it, and soon he was expelling what seemed like obscene amounts of foamy blood onto the ground. He fell to his hands and knees, unable to stop coughing.
The creature, meanwhile, seemed reminded of the danger Raine still posed to it by his attack. While it kept beating the crown of flames enveloping its head with its rapidly recovering right hand, it swatted at Raine with its left, intending to knock him away, likely in the direction of the edge of the plateau.
A cascade of harrowing sounds and revolting stenches assaulted Adelicia’s senses as she cowered in the elevator – trapped and afraid like an animal stuck in a snare. Having since sunk into a defeated sitting position, face buried in the knees of her skirt, she dared not look at the inhuman battle that played out before her. She hated every second of it. She hated the beasts. She hated the violence. She hated the intense feeling of dread that oppressed her utterly. She hated that all she could do was cower whilst others fought over the right to claim her blood. It was terrible to be helpless. “Were it not for fear, death would go unlamented,” she whispered to herself, a stranger’s words emanating from her lips – recited without understanding. Trying her best to ignore the frightful noise beyond her cage, she continued reciting the prayer that was taught to her. The words conjured memories of a different, if not happier time. The sanatorium had not been a kind place and she did not miss its impenetrable, prison-like walls. But, sitting here like a lamb before the butcher, she could not deny that it had been safe. Safe from beasts, at the very least. She repeated verse for verse in her mind until a particular line gave her pause, suddenly struck by an epiphany. “Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears,” she echoed her thoughts, implying some gravity to those words. All her life, she had never felt a great appetite for blood – and had never felt quite free from the grasp of fear. The meaning of these words had eluded her until now. Eyes moistly glistening, she peeked out from under her knees and beheld a vista painted from a nightmare: the black beast, terrible in its blighted majesty, stood in flames and screamed savage vengeance at its assailants. Behind it, Victor was on all fours, seemingly puking his lungs out. And Raine fought like a lion, his body drenched in blood whose origins she did not care to speculate on. Strangely, all the hate she felt seconds ago seemed as if blown away by the wind. Now, she felt pity and almost wanted to weep. It was afraid, just like she was. It feared hunters, as men feared beasts and it feared starvation as men did. That’s what the prayer implied – that it seeks the blood to satiate itself, to soothe its fears. And why wouldn’t it? Beasts had been men, after all. They were the same thing, in the end. Good gods, they were murdering one another out of fear. Over the years, decades – centuries? – men had been slaughtering men in Yharnam’s streets for the basest of reasons: Fear and hunger. How could they have gone so wrong? How had nobody seen what terrible turn humanity had taken? How could everybody turn a blind eye to the simple truth that beasts were not abhorrent, inhuman monsters – but that they were men like the rest of us? Bursting into hot tears with an anguished wail, Adelicia’s face sunk into her knees again where she cried into the cloth of her dress. And there was nothing she could do to end the cycle. Naught but pray that something might change – or pray that it was all simply a bad dream, and that some day soon she would awaken.
Meanwhile Hunter Provostus brought his weapon up again, rearing for another strike that was planned for the creature’s other leg, as he heard Victor fall into a fit of wet coughing. It sounded like he’d taken quite a wound to his lungs, the hunter noted. Before Raine could follow through with his second attack though, his eyes jumped to one of the beast’s arms as it began a motion to strike out at him in retaliation. The hunter’s feet and weight shifted quickly as he moved swiftly to the creature’s right side, positioning himself close to the beast but away from the swat, as his own elongated right hand disappeared behind him.
He took this opportunity to move into another attack, gripping his trident tightly while the sky-facing prongs leveled as he moved and, with the hunter’s momentum and enhanced strength, jabbed through the air in an attempt to pierce the beast’s chest. Such an attack was especially dangerous from the weapon the veteran hunter chose, as the multiple bladed prongs threatened to puncture several of the many organs in that area - the heart, lungs, and other viscera among them. Were he to find his attack successful, Raine would intend to tear his weapon free and draw his opposite hand out from behind him - now gripping a short-barreled handgun of darkwood and steel - which he would fire into the beast’s bloodied leg, the bloodtinged bullet aiming to rip through its knee as his blade had moments before.
The Mad One still seemed dazed and panicked from the fire and completely failed to react to Raine’s quick change of position, barely even seeming to realize that its questing hand had met nothing but air, focusing instead on beating out the last embers in its hair. The Hunter’s stab was thusly a critical success: piercing through the creature’s ribcage, rending through flesh and organs, causing severe enough damage for the Mad One to realize that it posed a genuine threat. Desperate to get away from Raine the beast started to rise onto its mostly regenerated leg, only for the quicksilver bullet from Raine’s gun to disable the knee mid-move, causing the monster to fall to its hands and elbows, bleeding profusely and its back still in flames. Its regeneration had clearly slowed by now, and it would not be hard for anyone experienced with fast-healing individuals to realize that it was nearing the limits of what its lifeforce could sustain it through.
Pushing off mightily with both hands the Mad One flung itself onto its back, using its weight and arms to propel it into a clumsy backwards somersault as it tried to get away from Raine. In doing so it accomplished another two things, though: it managed to put out its burning back, and it knocked over Victor, interrupting his coughing and knocking him prone. Without hesitation the Mad One seized Victor from the ground with its right hand, grasping him by the front of his chest, and raised the Hunter between itself and Raine as a human shield while it used its left hand to try to drag itself away from there.
Only… Victor was not coughing anymore. Three coughs ago the deluge he had unleashed had seemed to abate somewhat, followed by a cough that expelled only a few drops of blood and finally a dry one. While knocked to the ground, being grabbed and being raised from the ground, Victor had been breathing deeply and slowly, drinking deep of the delicious, magnificent oxygen that filled his lungs and revelling in the strength he felt flowing back into his body. The Mad One was odd… Victor had never seen a beast act like this before, trying to back out of a fight just because it was wounded. Beasts knew only to attack, and they knew that their wounds would only heal if they killed and fed; retreating from battle was entirely counterproductive toward them staying alive. Yet this creature seemed afraid now that its regenerative potential was nearing depletion? Held before the creature as he was, Victor found himself face to face with the monster, looking into the bright white circles of its staring eyes. He could see its parted teeth, hear its labored breath… he could smell its desire to kill and live. Its fear and rage. He sympathized. The silver sword shifted from Victor’s left hand to the right one swiftly, and without a second thought he buried as much of its blade into the creature’s left eye as he could fit.
Letting out a mindless, desperate howl the Mad One immediately threw Victor aside, scrambling backward while flailing wildly with its arms in an effort to ward off the Hunters. This time Victor landed on his feet, though, and kept his distance only to avoid the flailing arms. He bared his own teeth in a snarl, growling deep in his throat as he clutched his sword tightly. “Let’s end this.”
Raine hesitated attacking further as the creature made a maneuver to use his companion as a human shield - an action that perplexed him. It’s behavior was not as similar to beasts he had fought before - it seemed self aware. However, it appeared his companion had recovered from his wounds enough to free himself.
Rain nodded at Victor’s words, and quickly maneuvered a couple yards to the opposite side of the beast, so that they stood in a triangle. He would watch as the beast flailed its ickor appendages in an attempt to ward them off, and wait until just after its swing had reached its peak.
Then he would dash forward to its left side, slashing at the creature’s arm to sever its muscles before aiming to deliver a chop to the beast’s temple with his trident.
Victor remained at the ready as Raine moved, prepared to add further damage to the beast in case his fellow Hunter’s strike proved insufficient, but it turned out to be unnecessary. As the trident pierced the Mad One’s skull its scream was instantly halted, its absence leaving them in deafening silence, and its limbs went limp without as much as a tremble. After but a heartbeat the creature seemed to collapse in on itself, rapidly disintegrating back into the dust from which it had come, only for nothing to remain a second later. A faint metallic clatter could be heard from where its saber had fallen as it, too, vanished along with its wielder.
And although it would be too far and too faint for Victor or Raine to hear, Adelicia’s location inside the elevator might have been close enough that she noticed the sound of ripping fabric from the corner of the cabin. Over there the old, worn hat that had been there when they embarked seemed to spontaneously suffer several tears; when the sound stopped after approximately three seconds, the hat had been so badly damaged that it could barely even considered a cohesive whole anymore.
There’s a gun pointed towards us, an actual beast on the other side of the door, there’s no way for any of us to get out and still the thing that worries me most is that accursed bell.
“Our only way out is through them.” Which was as good as saying there was no exit, what with the owner of that beastly arm waiting from them and at least one man armed with a gun. What chance of escape did they have when their weapons seemed to have little to no effect on the beast’s arm; if anything it had done more damage to itself than they had in tearing the weapon free. There was a reason Hunters used specially made weapons or fire to destroy the beasts, spears and swords and axes weren’t enough.
One of the newly awakened men jumped towards the gun poking through the door and tried to haul the man holding it through the door or at least take the weapon from him, only for the beast to reverse the situation and try to do the same to him. At this point Joseph wasn’t sure if the door helping or hindering them in this fight; it might have been the only thing stopping those outside from simply rushing in and slaughtering them but at the same time they could simply fire through and they couldn’t and the tight quartered made it hard for Joseph to even get close enough to help.
The bell chimed for a third time, the sound coming from all directions and ringing louder than ever in his ears, even seeming to shake the floor with its intensity. The darkness that had been encroaching on the edges of the room now seemed to gather together, coalescing into a single, dark pool a few feet from the door; a meter wide and churning like a living being, it occupied most of Joseph’s focus, even more than the fight over the gun between Ishin and the beast. “Get away from that!”
Marcus didn’t like that the situation had become more unfavorable to them. The beast had retracted his arm and in his sights healed back to full condition. And that cursed bell’s sound became more and more sinister. Marcus already felt the tension darkening his eyesight. He had to focus.
He had seen the gun’s end coming and taken a step back sideways, but the gun was not pointing at him. The sickly man had been keen on his eye and made an impressive roll to dodge a bullet that would have made an end out of him. Another daring rush to grab his saber before he arrived next to Marcus.
Meanwhile the Thick-armed man had took an action. Marcus wondered if the shock of events had gotten into him, but at least he sprung to the action. Weapon had been reloaded and as soon as the barrel came through the door, there was a large boom. Marcus heard a chunk of wood cracking as the bullet hit the wall behind them.
Marcus heard his companion’s yell, “Our only way out is through them.”, as a reply to the chit-chat in the room were having. He agreed to that. He sprang towards the door to help the man with thick arms. He would win a tug-of-war against a Yharnamite, but he saw through the hole that the beast was about to join that competition. He tried to ignore the chimes, however loud they sounded and focus on next action.
His left hand grabbed the middle of the sword’s blade. The Space was narrow between the door and the thick-armed man, but he guided the tip through the hole. When the sword went through, he made a ferocious motion trying to wound whoever tried to hold on the musket with the blade and tip of his sword.
Marcus heard his companion yell something. ““Get away from that!”. Marcus disagreed, thinking he meant the musket and the door. Completely oblivious to the dark danger appearing in the room.
Silence washed over the field of battle like a fog bank – sudden and unnerving. Whilst it should have calmed her, the uncertainty only increased Adelicia’s anxiety. Too terrified to look, too terrified at the prospect of raising her head and staring into those bright, milky eyes. She would rather die in ignorance of the thing that would take her. To see it and shed the last remains of her dignity before her inevitable demise – it was too much. Better to remain unknowing and fill her head with thoughts of green meadows, gentle sunlight, the scented summer breeze and –
Adelicia startled with a loud yelp as she instinctively withdrew from a sudden, unexpected sound from within the elevator cage. She stared at the innocuous hat being torn to shreds by invisible hands before her, thoughts unusually blank. All she could think of was that she did not want to die – and that she was not dead yet. The hat was already reduced to mere tatters before it dawned on her that she was not staring down the demon that haunted her childhood. The lump in her throat uncoiled, her muscles loosed up and she felt the distinct urge to cry again; out of relief, at least. Even so, she decided to show some decorum now that the hunters would no doubt return to check up on her, and swallowed her tears.
An embarrassing amount of time later, she wondered what it was that had her startled so. There had been some noise, abrupt and incredibly loud to her nerve-wracked brain. Like cloth being torn. And what was she even looking at? Just a filthy corner with some uncleaned scum in it. Hardly interesting, or so one would think, but she had been looking at it for entire seconds. Retracing these last moments, which felt to her now like a series of minutes, she remembered seeing an old, crumpled hat being torn apart by thin air. The absurdity! Was she losing her mind?
Pondering this, she gazed out of the elevator onto the dusk-lit street beyond with a pale face and blank stare. No sign of the beast remained and only the two hunters stood, triumphant over their prey. No doubt they felt invigorated by their victory; as for Adelicia, she felt no ounce of happiness.
Eastern Yharnam, relatively near the Hunter's clinic, at the top of the elevator
Watching the Mad One disintegrate, finally succumbing to the damage it had sustained and relinquishing its unnaturally tight grip on its own life force, Victor wanted to let out a sigh of relief, as was proper for such a situation. The damn thing had been troublesome, after all, and dispatching it had removed an obstacle that was preventing them from completing their mission, and which was a significant threat to their charge. Its death was relieving, they could relax now... yet for some reason there was a tightness in his chest that would not let up, and his hands kept shaking. Raising his hands in front of himself Victor stared at them with detached fascination, somehow feeling as though he was watching those hands as a spectator rather than being the one lifting them. He examined they way they shook, the way the now-bloodied sword trembled, and furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out why he felt like this. He felt a drop of sweat run down the back of his neck First a light pull on the shoulders, as his garb gathered behind his head in its grip. He felt the tips of its claws graze his skin on the back of his neck, so sharp. The arm was so strong, picking him up like it was nothing, strong enough to break him like a twig... and felt his stomach turn as he blinked confusedly. He lowered his hands and looked down himself at his ruined clothes The sword was inside him, going into his back and out of his chest. It was not as painful as it was just cold and bad. He saw his blood, knew that it was his blood, which was supposed to be inside him, and he could not breathe. He wanted to breathe, he needed air, he was desperate... and stumbled a couple of steps backwards, feeling oddly dizzy. He could hear someone laughing – a hysterical, desperate, joyless chuckle – and it was not until he felt a tear being caught in a crease on his cheek that he realized that the laughter was coming from himself. He heard his sword clatter against the street at his feet as his hands came up to his face, clutching it with his fingers as he giggled He was in the air, utterly helpless, with a wound that would have been certain death for a normal human. Flying so fast, his body limp and out of his control as he hurtled towards the ground, so fast, so hard, that if his head hit first his skull would burst open... and then suddenly he turned, walked the six long steps that separated himself from the nearest lamppost, and punched the iron pole as hard as he could, leaving a small dent. He laughed louder, eyes wide and tears flowing freely while he waited for the broken bones in his right hand to reassemble themselves.
Finally Victor turned to the others, his laughter dying on his lips as he stared at them in disbelief. Then he unceremoniously bent over and puked on the ground in front of him.
As Ishin pulls he braces himself as he hears the gun fire. And with a strength he could only muster in a prayer. He pulls with his arms and legs with the force of pistons. He then had a moment of hope as he felt his body start to move backwards until he sees the beast's hand come through and grip onto the gun he was trying to take. As multiple thoughts ran through his head as his body told him to pull even harder and try to over power the beast.
Yet, as he hears someone yell, “Get away from that!” Ishin finds himself moving on its own more and more often. As Ishin's hands opened on their own as he let the gun slip through his hands. His tensed muscles finally released as he throws himself off the wall. As he finds his leg strength is incredible as he threw himself a good few feet as he starts a roll.
As Ishin recovered from his roll he lands in a crouch as he holds his left hand down to balance himself. As he looks onward towards the door, missing the mark underneath him, as he waits to see what comes through. He processes what he just did, that wasn't a natural launch he did. It felt as if his muscles expanded and bulged for a moment to give him greater strength. Maybe it is that fight or flight thing. Where when you are met with a life threatening situation your body can push beyond its normal means. Whatever the case is Ishin knows that whatever happens next, it's gonna be a real pain if they can't take down that big beast.
The musket's second discharge caused the pale young man's muscles to tense, his piercing gaze fixing on the door before shifting to search for where the bullet had impacted. Making sure it hadn't hit anyone. However that moment didn't last long, as the rapidly changing situation shifted further. While two of the other men addressed the threat of the enemy's range, the chiming of the bell intensified further, heralding a black splotch that seemed to form from the very shadows of the dark lit room.
The worst part? He wasn't the only one who saw it. It was real. Arcturus felt a shiver run up his spine, the sight and sound of this new threat inflicting a dread that even the thunderous crack of a rifle could not. Firearms were familiar, after all, to the point that their shocking presence had become somewhat of a guilty pleasure for him. Of all the things assaulting his senses in that moment, the taste of gunsmoke was perhaps the most comforting. That chime however... Not only did it seem to suffuse the room around them, but it now invoked a rumbling in the floor beneath his feet. A sensation his veteran mind couldn't help but equate with the thundering of hooves.
'Getting away' sounded like good advice in the moment. He had no clue what shape the intrusion would take, only that it needed to be dealt with. Somehow. However the confused situation wouldn't allow him to be so methodical. Another of the men, the strong looking one, suddenly rolled backwards from the door and right onto the shadowy mark. There was no time to communicate, and Arcturus wasn't about to let one of his few allies take the brunt of an unknown foe.
Sucking in a breath of acrid tasting, smoke tinted air, he shifted his saber to hold the base of the blade with his left hand. Using his offhand as a sheathe before springing forward. Lowering his center of gravity and driving his weight with his legs, he then attempted to tackle the stout man out of the way, aiming to get both of them clear from the roiling nightmare on the floor. Should he succeed, he would then roll to the side, coming to a stop in a kneel and looking back to see if anything came of the imposing darkness.
Raine lowered his weapon as the skull of the beast it had just pierced faded away into dust. His breathing was normal - not even a sigh of relief could be heard from him. He watched as the last particles of the creature floated down and vanished from sight. He looked around him, eyeing the visible rooftops before turning his gaze to his ally.
He was acting odd. Inspecting his hands, for some reason - which admittedly were visible trembling. Was it the adrenaline? Raine watched further as Victor stumbled backwards and- began to...laugh. It wasn’t a normal laugh - it did not sound like one derived from joy or happiness. It was one of those laughs that made Raine want to keep a sharp eye on the producer. It didn’t make him worry, per se. But it made him cautious; he always was around people who laughed like that. Laughter in itself was rare in Yharnam. Raine retightened the grip on his weapon.
The other hunter then displayed some sort of sign of insanity, approaching and then crashing his fist into a lamppost. Usually a sign of anger - but Provostus had no clue why he’d be angry after having defeated the beast. Soon enough though, his maniacal laughter died, and he turned back to face the direction of his allies - before vomiting.
Raine slowly stepped a few times to his left before turning away from the spot where the beast perished, and began approaching the elevator, weapon still in hand. They’d need to retrieve Adelicia and move fast.
How naïve of her to feel safe, now that the beast was gone. Stricken with hideous laughter, Victor dropped his weapon on the ground and wandered, delirious, across the street. Although he was relatively far from the elevator, Adelicia flinched when he punched the lamp post and could not help imagining what it would feel like if that had been her body in stead of the steel pole. She did not like the way he turned around to look at her then and a cold shiver, whether from fright or disgust – or both – washed over her spine as she averted her gaze from his suddenly retching form.
Adelicia picked up her staff from the ground where it lay at her feet and used it as aid in standing up again, slowly raising herself from the little pile of misery she had been moments before. She had not been involved in the fighting, yet she felt exhaustion weigh more heavily upon her shoulders than on any of the hunters, it seemed. She leaned entirely on her censer staff, head resting against the iron shaft, when Raine approached her, arms in hand. His demeanor did not appear threatening, but appearances were deceiving in Yharnam. Maybe it wasn’t the overtly mad Victor that would be her death, but the quiet and brooding Raine Provostus. To be killed by a fellow member of the church, one of her assigned guardians no less – for shame.
“Please don’t kill me,” she mumbled when he arrived, raising her palm in a gesture to halt him. “I yield my blood willingly, if you give me mercy.” All the while, her innocent blue eyes remained focused not on his face, but on the blood-drenched weapon in his hands. She could not explain why looking at something so abhorrent fascinated – or at least, compelled – her so.
Whatever chance the Hunters had to win a contest of strength against the beast beyond the door evaporated when Ishin relinquished his hold on the rifle, leaving Marcus alone against two opponents, one of which had already clearly demonstrated its inhuman power. Hopeless though a pure test of might would have been, Marcus saw fit to merely immobilize the gun with one hand and use the other to bring his sword through the hole to deter his adversaries, causing the Yharnamite to let out a pained yelp and let go as his hand was cut by the Hunter's blade. The beast was not as easily frightened as its comparatively sane compatriot, however, though Marcus' actions did undeniably yield results in the vein of what he had wanted. As the Yharnamite huntsman fled like a beaten dog, the ironically more canine creature let out a vicious growl before letting go of the rifle – allowing Marcus to pull the weapon through the hole in the door – but then swiftly moving to grab the other end of his blade instead, closing its hairy claws tightly around the blade. At the same time as the beast seized the other end of Marcus' sword, a loud, hard thud sounded from the door just to the left and slightly above the hole, hard enough to cause its surface to briefly bulge inward toward the room with the Hunters. This was followed by the sound of creaking and cracking wood, unmistakably the sound of something hard lodged in wood being pulled free.
Behind Marcus, meanwhile, the retreating Ishin was moved away from the obsidian blotch on the ground by Arcturus, only for the bell to chime a fourth time even as the selfless Hunter moved to roll away. Luckily he was in time, if only barely. Ding-ding... There was a faint crackling noise, like flesh roasting in an unseen fire, and the blackness seemed to break into ribbons, floating and fluttering in a shaft of crimson light shining from below the floor, red tendrils of ephemeral smoke writhing madly along its edge. First one large, long-fingered and clawed hand rose from the hellish depths, grabbing hold of the floor at the edge of the hole through reality while casting nightmarish shadows on the room. Leveraging that hand another immediately emerged, this one holding what appeared to be an unexpectedly well-crafted cane, which likewise seized a hold on the floor, before a black shape pulled itself from whichever terrible realm it had resided in and into the clinic room, unleashing a high-pitched, inhuman scream as it ascended. White round, glowing eyes, clumpy black hair like seaweed, a mouth full of rotting teeth agape in mad rage, none of the newly transformed Hunters were likely to recognize the creature as a Mad One, but surely none of them could doubt the threat it posed to them all. Its form dripping with inky fluid, like condensed darkness, the monster screamed at them as it stood, throwing its long, slender arms to the sides in challenge, plainly showing them its mutilated body, bearing many terrible scars from blades, teeth and what appeared to be stab-wounds cased by a pitchfork. Its crazed rage and bloodthirst was almost palpable. At least the shadowy portal, now that its passenger had emerged, faded, whatever good that would do the Hunters.
Eastern Yharnam, relatively near the Hunter's clinic, at the top of the elevator
“What...” Victor muttered groggily, staring uncomprehendingly at the disgusting puddle of the bile he could still taste. He was still shaking, but at least the tremors seemed to be receding quickly, now, as his mind caught up with all the things that had happened, all the thoughts and emotions he had now allowed himself to feel in the moment, forcing him to disregard his own likely death for the sake of helping Raine kill the beast. It was a strange insight to suddenly gain, because Victor had never considered himself to be a heroic person in the slightest... yet he had been willing to accept his own death in defense of the others. Even drowning in his own blood he had resisted the urge to cough, merely enduring the agony as he hastened to assist however he could. Several times over just a few seconds, Victor had been certain that he was going to die, helplessly and uselessly, only to risk that mercifully spared life for the sake of another. He shook his head briskly, deeply unnerved by this discovery. It was not that it was not an admirable trait he had discovered, but rather than it seemed so unlike him... like he had not merely discovered a new aspect of himself, but changed to acquire this trait. The concern would probably never have occurred to a normal human, but then again, normal humans did not possess the same capacity for change as Hunters did. And a Hunter changing was not usually a good sign.
Straightening back up, Victor shook off the rest of his shock before turning his attention back to the others, his gaze falling on their feet rather than their faces. For some reason, he found, the thought of looking the others' in the eye disturbed him now. “I'm sorr-” he began to apologize, until he heard Adelicia pleading for her life, causing the words to die on his lips. For a second his heart quickened and he felt his muscles grow tense in anticipation of another fight... before he realized that the Blood Saint was not begging the mercy of some strange enemy, but of them; Raine and Victor. Maybe even just Raine, by the looks of it. Victor felt physically ill, and not just because he had just thrown up or had mere moments earlier been suffering from at least one perforated lung. Adelicia with the pretty eyes was afraid of them. The thought was repulsive... yet at the same time, he reveled in her fear.
“That won't be necessary,” he called to her sullenly in response to her offer of blood, moving to retrieve his sword from where he had dropped it while carefully and subconsciously averting his gaze from his companions. “You won't be harmed, Saint Adelicia. We're here to ensure that, remember?”
Raine continued his next few steps toward the elevator as the other two members of the trio tried to bring themselves to their senses. At least until he drew closer and stopped, at Adelicia’s behest. He mentally paused - she thought he was going to hurt her. It was not a new feeling for him; his reputation as ex-Harrow preceded him, even if he didn’t talk much about it - but in the moment it has caused him to pause. He’d just saved her, but-
The words repeated themselves in his head.
“Please don’t kill me.”
It’d been a while since he’d felt a chill run up his spine. His cold eyes moved to hers - but, noticing her gaze was elsewhere, he followed it to the equally-as-cold weapon in his hand, held down to his side. The dark crimson lifeblood slowly dripping from it and quietly spattering onto the cobble below. His grip shifted slightly and the sound of metal shifting against metal could be heard in the silence after his companions’ words - a heavy drop of beast blood now flicking up to spatter on his shirt.
His gaze rose again as his other hand moved to his lower back, tucking in his firearm somewhere behind him. “I’m not going to kill you.” He said as he turned back his right shoulder and faced away from the lift again. “As Hunter Victor said -- we are protecting you.”
He began walking away, deliberate steps in the direction they’d previously been headed. He supposed he couldn’t blame Adelicia. He was a Hunter - a killer. A beast prone to bloodthirst. She was naturally desirable - and vulnerable - to such a beast. The truth was, he couldn’t smell the scent of the Saint as he walked away.
When he found himself a couple dozen feet away, he let out a weary breath, allowing his lungs to fill with air once again.
“We’ll have to expedite our movement. Beasts will have heard the gunshots.”
