It was an immense relief that Adelicia regained consciousness quickly, allowing Victor to relax and breathe more easily as his bloodthirst receded and his right hand returned to its human form. Her normal human weakness was by far preferable to her being totally defenseless, presenting an irresistibly tempting target to the monster living in his heart.
Smiling grimly to himself, Victor privately wondered how Adelicia would react if she knew what had happened after she fainted; how he had nearly ripped her guts out with his bare hands, but stopped himself at the last second. Would she be grateful that he had managed to stop himself, or grow even more fearful of him knowing how close he had been to losing control? Probably the latter, he figured. Almost certainly the latter. Yeah, she would definitely be terrified. Best not to tell her.

But now this? Memory loss? He had both heard of and witnessed such things befalling people who had gone through traumatic experiences; some of the soldiers he had fought alongside before becoming a Hunter would later realize that they forgot certain parts of the battle they had participated in, often times when they had been injured or something particularly gruesome was happening. Even Victor had experienced something like that, as he to this day could still not clearly remember the fateful moment when the beast had maimed his back, inflicting the wound that later necessitated that he became a Hunter... which also made him worry all the more. He knew both from himself and watching others that trauma like that almost always came back to haunt a person, just like he ever since then had been obsessed with keeping his back safe and deeply uncomfortable with anyone being directly behind him, while others would panic or go berserk upon experiencing some kind of trigger, be that a sight, sound or smell.
He did not know how this experience might affect Adelicia... but the fact that she could not remember was deeply concerning.

For now, he figured as he straightened his stance, fixing his clothes a bit while going to retrieve his sword from where he had dropped it, what he really needed to concern himself over was what to tell her about Raine, though. The untarnished truth would just make her panic all the more and probably make her do something stupid, but would lying to her be any better? She already did not trust Victor, that much was obvious, and if she ended up doubting his words in the least she might take it to mean that he was hiding something, and possibly blame him for Raine's disappearance. She was already afraid of him; if she thought he had actually turned against an ally, that fear would probably become dominant enough for her to attempt to run away. She would fail, obviously – there was no way she could outrun him, or practically any Hunter that was not also a cripple – but once he lost her trust, she would never trust him again. Who knew what she might try? How desperate she could get?
“Something took him,” he told her, making sure to sound even more regretful of that fact than he actually was. If at all possible he wanted her to think that losing Raine was breaking his heart rather than it just being a failure and inconvenience. Picking up his sword, Victor then turned to where Raine had been grabbed, wondering to himself if the invisible fiend was still there, waiting for some other hapless victim to stumble into its grasp.
“Something invisible grabbed him over there,” he continued after a moment, pointing with his sword, “and then he... disappeared. I don't know where. I tried to save him, but...” He shrugged. “It's invisible. I couldn't hit it in time.”

A loud crash could be heard inside the clinic, causing Victor to bite his lip impatiently. The fighting was clearly still ongoing inside, but he could not risk Adelicia by going in there, with or without her. He had to stay by her side.

In the time Victor hesitated, deliberating exactly how to phrase his response to the young Blood Saint, she had stared at him with a troubled brow and slowly receded. Why was he holding back? Was he hiding something? Making something up? Had he pushed his fellow hunter off the precarious cliff? She had no idea what happened during her fainting spell and, given her current impression of her guardian, she was willing to attribute almost any deed to him. When he finally did speak, she stopped in her tracks and froze up.

“Something invisible?” she repeated incredulously, wondering whether he had lost his mind, she had lost her mind, or if he actually was simply lying to her.

Adelicia startled upon hearing the sudden racket from the clinic, her eyes darting to the building with great concern. She wanted to worry about the ongoing situation, but could not bring herself to simply brush away Victor’s explanation – it seemed more urgent, in spite of it all.

“But… you mean, he did not go into the clinic? To help?” she added, sounding disoriented.

His story rung false to her and, in her mind, she still clung to the idea that their coin toss had resulted in Raine being chosen to venture forth into the building. Anything else just did not make any sense. Invisible things? Men disappearing without a trace? Yharnam was a strange city, to be sure, but these were the words of a madman – not that there was any shortage of those in this city of theirs.

But thinking a different way, perhaps, he was simply showing compassion to her. Maybe there was some empathy yet in his blackened heart, and he preferred to tell her a lie – an absurd one, but even so – rather than reveal a more horrible truth to her. She looked about, trying to find some clue as to what may have happened; blood stains, some piece of his equipment, anything really. And yet there was nothing at all that would give reason to doubt his words.

Entertaining the notion that there really was an invisible predator that had taken Raine and removed him from existence, a terrible realization formed thusly: what stopped this thing from taking Victor? Or her? It could be lurking behind any of them this very moment.

“We’re not safe here,” she gasped, clutching her staff and feeling cold panic build upon her forehead. Help me, was the plea that remained stuck in her tightening throat.

“Not in the clinic, no,” Victor confirmed grimly, staring distrustfully at the spot where he had just barely been able to sense the presence of the being that had taken Raine. The question he had asked himself, and which would probably also be on Adelicia's mind if she had not completely abandoned reason already, was whether the entity was still there. But no matter how invisible this thing was, Victor could not imagine that something that big would be able to move a lot without him noticing it. He would have heard it, or felt it, or smelled it... or something. A creature of that size had to make itself known when moving.
Or so he would have thought, had he not heard Raine's voice being silenced as he vanished into thin air. Who was to say that this thing did not have the ability to cancel sound as well as fade from sight? Or some manner of arcane movement that did not follow the rules of men and beasts?
He had to know...

Victor hung his blunderbuss from its place in his belt once again as he crouched down, before using his left hand to brush over the cobbled street, examining it with his fingers and prodding at the crevices between the stones.
“That's definitely a possibility,” he replied to Adelicia's realization that they were most likely in danger. “I can't fight this thing, whatever it is. Raine was completely helpless. We could try to run, but it could be anywhere. There could be more than one.” He clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath before looking over his shoulder at the woman. “But panicking doesn't help, it'll just get us killed.”

He straightened, his left hand loaded with more than a dozen loose pebbles picked from the road, and looked around with all the suspicion of a man who had been haunted by paranoia for years. Bending his knees slightly, readying himself to quickstep at the first sign of danger, he made a broad sweeping motion with his left hand in the direction of the door of the clinic, sending several pebbles flying in that direction... but much to his relief nothing strange happened; the pebbles just clattered against the wall and went through the open doorway.
“Whatever it was, it was huge,” he stated without looking at Adelicia, instead turning his attention back to the spot at the edge of the plateau where Raine had been snatched. “Much too big to fit inside this building. If we can get inside, we might be safe.” Presuming it doesn't just crush the building, of course... and that whoever is fighting inside isn't just as dangerous.
Holding his breath Victor swung his left hand again, this time toward the ledge, and threw the last of the pebbles he had collected. Just as he had suspected most of them just disappeared into the creeping gloom of the setting sun, but two pebbles toward the middle of the arc they had been thrown in seemed to simply stop mid-air, as if hitting a solid obstacle, before falling away.
“It hasn't moved,” he observed out loud, his voice as tense as his body as he remained prepared to dodge in case the entity decided to retaliate against him throwing things at it. Nothing seemed to happen, though, which probably made sense; a create that large probably would not even feel something as minor as a couple of pebbles being thrown at it. “I'll follow your lead and protect you, saint, but I suggest we go inside. I can fight beasts and men. We will have to get you to safety before we worry about Raine.”

In the final moment as the vicious creature turned its eyes up to face him, emitting the first note of its baleful screech, Arcturus gazed down into the scarlet orbs that gleamed amidst its murky hair. For that brief moment he stared back into its excited gaze, struck with an uncanny realization as his saber sank deep into its head. Perhaps it had merely been his imagination, a wild adrenaline fueled fancy, but he had seen in those eyes a strangely familiar emotion. An eagerness alike to that which had just now driven his curved blade into its skull.

Unsettling as it was, however, there was no time to dwell on the matter. Arcturus' attention snapped up to the door as the other man called it out, his arms moving to draw his sword from the inky flesh of their fallen foe. His muscles ached with fatigue from their unnatural exertion, his breathing heavy while his heart pumped furiously, but he couldn't stop moving. The threat behind their lines had been quickly dealt with, but every second they had spent killing it was a second lent to the enemy outside. Luckily it seemed the door had held, so they might be able to-

When the door bent inwards, the deafening crack of wood resounding through the room, Arcturus knew their barricade was not long for the world. Hurriedly he scrambled to the side in anticipation of what was surely about to breach their defenses, gesturing for the man in charred clothing to move in the other direction. While they had swiftly defeated the bell beckoned nightmare it had also inflicted a casualty. As far as he could tell their fighting capacity had been reduced to just two men, himself and the darker skinned man, which likely left them outnumbered. The only way they could maintain an advantage was if they forced the enemy to meet them one at a time, attacking at the doorway.

Of course that was a tactic meant for killing other men. Arcturus wasn't so confident about the vile thing he had witnessed at the beginning of the skirmish, when that gnarled hand had willfully torn itself free from his spear.

Suddenly a horrid, clawed foot jutted into the room, shattering the wooden barrier that had stood between them and the dangers outside. Arcturus flinched as an errant splinter struck his cheek, causing a small cut in his pale skin. However he kept his nerve, slowly bringing his breathing under control. His piercing blue eyes stared apprehensively as the stretched, beastly appendage was followed by its owner. A towering monstrosity that easily stood as tall as their previous quarry.

Reflexively he glanced down at its hand. He recognized that twisted, disgusting thing, its knobbly fingers and blood caked fur. The very hand that had tore itself open and knit itself back together before his very eyes. There was still a part of him that doubted if they could even harm something like that, let alone kill it. However Arcturus was feeling confident. Together they had struck down a being seemingly made of nothing more than shadow, a specter unnatural and terrifying by its very nature. Besides, what choice did they have? With the door gone they now needed to block that chokepoint with their steel! The only option left was to attack!

They had one more advantage, Arcturus noted, as he heard the voice from outside. The enemy wanted to capture them alive. This would likely restrict how the things attacked, he figured, which would only serve the two of them. He certainly didn't plan on being 'taken.' Raising his sword, the young man took an aggressive step towards the beast, swallowing his reservations as his heart beat ever faster. Once again he was trying to draw the main threat's attention, his boot stomping hard into the floor with a sharp thud. The young man had been given almost no time to rest and could still feel the fatigue. Yet still his piercing blue gaze glared sharply up at the monstrosity before him, intent on forcing himself to confront it. To draw its attention away in the hope that his ally might catch it unaware.

The beast grinned menacingly at Arcturus' posturing, baring its flesh-rending teeth while letting out a ragged, guttural sound that, with some imagination, sounded something like a dog trying to laugh like a man, kicking away the remnants of the door to step further into the room of sleeping Hunters with great lumbering strides.
Behind the large creature other forms were crowding the now-open doorway, though these were far from as intimidating as the Hunters' first two adversaries; in fact they just looked like men for most part, clad in normal citizens' clothes and, unlike the eager beasts the Hunters had already had to contend with, seemed hesitant to actually attack. One man looking in was armed with a pitchfork while the other brandished a hatchet. Both stayed just on the outside of the doorway, merely peeking in from either side.

“Are they really Hunters?” the one on the left remarked, looking over the room in disbelief. “They look so... normal.”
“Of course they are,” the other replied, seemingly taken aback by his companion's doubt. “Look, they even killed the echo.”

Ding-ding...

Barely had the rioting Yharnamite spoken the words before the bell from before rang again, the same two distinct tolls as the other times and with the same unnatural reverberation to the sound, as if it was not just one bell in one place, but countless bells being heard from worlds away. The beast stopped moving at the sound, its expression turning uncertain and almost fearful as it took a step backwards, slowly raising its weapons as if to shield itself from an unseen threat.
As the sound of the bell faded, another sound could be heard from the corpse of the Mad One; a sound like violently grinding bones. The sound lasted merely a second before its cause became clear: in an instant the Mad One's head seemed to seamlessly mend itself, with the red light returning to the creature's eyes and a ragged breath being drawn into its lungs. At the same time the leg it had lost reemerged; it would give the wrong impression to say that it grew back, because the process was so spontaneous and instant that it seemed more as though a fully formed leg was already within the Mad One, just waiting to explosively shoot out of its stump.

With a whine full of hatred and hunger, the Mad One stood back up.

Marcus had barely time to feel the cae in his hand – Moderate weight, well balanced – when the door crashed. In came something from the stories that the streets had. Not a hound, not a man, but something between dressed in clothes too small to it, seams ripped at shoulders. Formidable both in its size and strength, as it had kicked the door in. There was no cut any longer in it’s other arm where the spear had pierced it and cut it when it pulled itself together. The beast wielded Marcus’s sword and a meat cleaver. However bad it seemed, it was still Marcus and the sickly man next to him still standing. Also, the order “Hurt” suggested beast couldn’t go full against the both, which would give the two an edge.

Marcus glanced to his right. His ally stomped surely on the ground, echoing that he was ready for battle. Marcus nodded and prepared to fight. He prepared to lunge. He felt the thrill… a challenge… A prey in front of him... A thought alien to him, once again the mysterious urge was trying to control him. Marcus flinched back realizing the loss of control and focused. This cost him time which they didn’t have at the moment and the distraction that his ally had given to him.

His ears sharpened. He heard the bell ring once again. Suddenly the being underneath him, ‘Echo’ as he had someone call it, flashed again red. Marcus glanced down- The leg was whole, so was it’s head, and as quickly as it had healed itself, it had risen. A sudden realization came to him. They were not safe as long as…

“The Bell! We have to get there!” He said to his ally, hoping he had his wits still with him. He swang his arm to right side quickly, changed the grip so that his hand was just underneath the handle, and swung to being’s head with cane's other end. Once, or three times if he had the time. They had to deal the Echo before the beast would be upon them.

Marcus' blow landed on the creature's head with a sickening noise, its head – and the skull underneath it, the breaking of which was likely the cause of the sound – deforming under the impact, sending a splattering of blood at the Hunter's legs and causing the Mad One's right glowing eye to once again go dark, even as the cracks in its skin from the damage started giving off its own ominous light. The blow was not enough to kill it, however, and just as it had seemed quite unconcerned with being stabbed and losing its leg earlier, even this grievous wound only appeared to enrage it further.
Before Marcus had the chance to wind up for a second or third intended strike the monster lashed out, backhanding Marcus in the chest hard enough to send him crashing into the cots behind him.

The Mad One swayed in place unsteadily, but still pursued Marcus clumsily after a second, its sense of balance evidently impaired by its wound.

Adelicia stood still, stiff as a candle, and quietly observed Victor’s methodic approach to finding the unseen creature – whatever it may be. If fear hadn’t taken her voice, she might have retorted how insulting it was to be told that panicking would not help them; what did he know of fear, after all? What, was she supposed to just will her beating heart to slow down? To turn down her leaping thoughts, eager to jump to horrible conclusions? She could not even say that he was wrong, for surely, he was not. But it was not fair that she should be judged for something she had no control over. More than anything, her feelings at this very moment proved to her that she, at least, was still human in some measure. The same could not be said for the thing in human skin that stood before her.

Yet, in the end, it was all the same. If she did not put herself at his mercy, she was instead at the mercy of whatever nameless and unseen terrors made this city their home. Perhaps her life had never been in her own hands, not once since the day she was born. It had simply not occurred to her to look at it this way. In some measure, she could almost understand the desire to become a hunter. Although nominally servants of the church – like herself – it was nonetheless an act of liberation and a promotion of personal agency. Victor had no need to feel fear, for he was in control of his own fate. The only thing holding him down was her frailty, not any flaw of his own. How much did he hate her, she had to wonder?

“Take me inside, or wherever you will,” Adelicia quivered with bated breath, “My fate is yours to decide no matter where we go.”

Resigning herself to the inevitable, she approached him without hesitation anymore, for it was useless to escape him, or the dark things observing them. What will be, will be – and so she reached out her hand to him and prayed that he was, after all, the lesser evil.

I swear, Victor thought, making a concerted effort not to groan at Adelicia's words, she is trying to make me angry. She must have a death wish of some kind.
He was not sure what kind of a past the saint had, what training – if any – she had gone through, or whether the church had intentionally raised her without even a shred of independence. It might not be entirely her fault – he would not put it past the Healing Church to intentionally render their Blood Saints useless – but it still enraged him to a dangerous degree, perhaps even more so because her unwillingness to make decisions for herself put his own lack of expertise on display. He told her that he would follow her lead, and she reacts by saying that she would follow his? As if he was much better suited for the responsibility than her? As if he was not terrified by what was going on?
The way she had said it was concerning, too; it reminded Victor far too much of how she had reacted after their fight with the Mad One back at the elevator. How she had offered up her life and well-being out of fear that Raine might kill her, as if she had been entirely at his mercy... only, this felt even worse. This was not a plea for “anything but death”, but rather “you are my only chance at survival”. She gave herself over to him completely out of belief that she could not possibly survive on her own, and that any choice she made was going to get her killed.
Now, he was the last person who would argue that Adelicia had the prowess to defend herself from... practically anything, really, but that kind of helplessness rubbed him the wrong way. Made him angry at her and for her, for being so weak. Made his teeth itch.

“Inside it is, then,” he grumbled more tartly than he had intended, gesturing for her to follow him and quickly walking to the doorway, eager to get away from the invisible thing that had taken Raine. But when he crossed the threshold of the clinic, he was rooted in place by what he saw.
The room inside seemed like it had been a typical treatment area of a Yharnam blood ministration clinic, furnished with beds and chairs for patients and doctors, numerous cabinets for various medicaments, most of which were blood-based, and the various tools for examining and operating on the ill and injured. Most of this furniture had been destroyed, however; mostly solid objects seemed to have been smashed against the ground and, if that had not been sufficiently effective, subsequently chopped to pieces. Cabinets had been toppled, their contents shattered and scattered on the floor. Vials, jars and beakers had been thrown against the walls and floor, showering the area with broken glass and vile liquids.
And past the devastation left in their wake, at the opposite end of the room, maybe ten meters (thirty-three feet) away, was another door that had been forcibly opened, and by the doorway was the cause of this mindless destruction. A group of six mostly human-looking men stood over there, two of them glancing through the far doorway at whatever was on the other side, while the other four stood off to the right, looking in his direction.
Victor had expected Yharnamite rioters, but they were not alone. Among the group to the right was a seventh figure, who was decidedly not a normal Yharnamite. Clad in a dusty brown hooded monk's robe and carrying a cane in his right hand and a bell in the other – both, Victor realized confusedly, items that had been missing from the dead church servant they had found earlier – this man, if one could call it that, had sickly gray, almost white skin and was unnaturally gaunt, with bony limbs and a face so sunken that it seemed to stick directly to the skull, and eyes that were either missing or sat so deep in their sockets that they were lost in shadow. He looked almost like a mummified corpse more than a man. Though he had never encountered one before, Victor knew that this had to be a Pthumerian from the labyrinth.

Though surprising and worrying, none of this was what brought Victor to a halt, however. One of the four Yharnamites crowding around the Pthumerian had a rifle already aimed at the door he had just entered through – and thus at him – at chest-level, clearly expecting someone to come. They had probably heard the commotion before, when Raine had been taken by the entity.

The hit that Marcus received came out of nowhere. He had been careless. He thought that this being would have faltered or cried out pain, like those he used to rob year ago. First blow bringing them down in pain, crying, begging him to stop. Not this being. It didn’t care, didn’t feel pain, only got more angry. So when his second hit was to come down, the hand had came surprisingly fast – and hard. Like a sledge hammer, he thought, before his back hit the cots. It fell along with a screaming patient on the floor and Marcus was next to them on the floor

Pain didn’t bother him too much. He wondered if he was about to die. Bones broken in his chest and his body was numbing down the feeling, preparing to die. Then he thought that it was the being that had done this. And he felt the urge. The being was fighting back, but it was wounded, crippled, unbalanced. He’d slaughter him.

Marcus stood up, gritted his teeth. The fellow sickly man - no, a warrior- was safe from being’s wrath. “I have this! Get the beast!” He yelled. If the beast was to surprise them, they would be in trouble.

Marcus ran towards the being, cane tightly in his right hand. At the end he made a swing from left to right, aimed at the being’s right arm or side, whichever it’d hit.

Staring down the barrel of the huntsman's rifle was quite possibly one of the most awkward experiences in Victor's life, most of all because both of them – him and the marksman – obviously knew that time was of the essence and that the first to react would seize the advantage, yet they both just stood there staring at each other for reasons Victor did not understand. His first instinct was to immediately dodge to the side, and indeed he could feel the Hunter's blood in his veins already burning with power to be released in a quickstep; both his body and mind told him that quickstepping to the side, adhering to the adage of “dodge the gun, not the bullet”, was the best course of action... yet he did not move. And the huntsman? He had had his rifle trained on the doorway before Victor even entered, clearly anticipating an enemy approaching. Logically he should have fired the instant Victor showed himself, yet he, too, hesitated.

In an instant that felt far longer than it was due to the surge of fight-or-flight induced adrenaline, Victor stared at the huntsman, taking a moment to figure out what about this guy was bothering him. Then it hit him: the huntsman's arms were normally proportioned to his body, he was no more hairy than was common for Yharnam citizens, and his eyes, peeking out from under the shade of a ragged hat, were not ruined by the scourge. Victor's habitual obsessive checking for signs of the scourge told him that this man was not afflicted with the scourge of beasts! Mad or not, this man was still a normal Yharnamite, which probably meant that he still possessed some semblance of sanity, yet considering the destruction wrought on the room around them he was clearly hostile toward the Healing Church... so again, why did he not shoot a Hunter of the church?
Then he turned his thoughts to himself, and realized that his identity as a church Hunter might not be immediately obvious just now. With how battered and bloodstained his garb was after the encounter with the Mad One, his clothes could conceivably be hard to recognize as a uniform from the church. On top of that the small sword of the holy blade could easily be mistaken for something normal rather than a Hunter's trick-weapon unless one noticed the massive blade-scabbard on his back. It was likely, he figured, that the Yharnamite hesitated simply because he was not sure that Victor was an enemy.
What about himself, then? Why did he hesitate? He bore no such doubts, of this he was certain...

His eyes widened and heartbeat quickened even more than it already had when he heard Adelicia's voice behind him, a heavy realization dawning upon him: if he moved and the huntsman missed, he might hit Adelicia with the pretty eyes. He did not have time to look behind himself to ascertain whether she was in the doorway or not – and taking his eyes off the huntsman would likely prompt him to fire – , but he knew from the sound of her voice that she was close. Quickstepping to the side would probably be the best tactical choice; the sudden movement would probably cause the huntsman to fire, but miss due to the inherent speed of quickstepping, forcing him to reload his weapon before he could shoot again, allowing Victor to close the distance and eliminate him. He could get through this without a scratch, at least until he had to deal with the five other huntsmen and their Pthumerian.
But if he did, Adelicia might die. She was so feeble, so fragile... a shot like this might actually kill her. Him, though? He was a Hunter, and one whose strongest parameter was his capacity for regeneration at that; granted that he had already depleted some of that capacity from the last bit of healing his lungs and to mend his hand after punching the lamppost, but he still thought he could probably regenerate a normal gunshot. Even if he happened to be using quicksilver bullets, the guy was still just a Yharnamite; quicksilver gained its power from the blood of its user, and Yharnamite blood would be very weak.
Victor could take it. Worst case he still had two vials of blood, but regardless he had to take the shot. His mission was to protect Adelicia... with all of his power, including the fact that he was hard to kill.

Bracing himself mentally for what was to come Victor took a sudden, aggressive step forward, turning himself fully toward the rifleman to present as big a target as possible. As expected the abrupt move prompted the other to pull the trigger, and with a flash and boom of gunfire something punched Victor in the lower left side of his chest, causing him to wince in discomfort, but also grin victoriously: it had gone as planned. The rifle was unloaded. He could move.
Ignoring the warm blossom of blood where he had been shot, trusting that the wound would close momentarily, he immediately accelerated to a mad sprint, ignoring the crunch of glass and wood under his feet, disregarding the six other enemies in the room, focusing entirely on the desperately reloading marksman. He was there in a second, maybe two, and attacked without hesitation, slashing diagonally across the man's torso, showering himself with delicious, invigorating blood as the Yharnamite stumbled backward with a shocked yelp, his weapon falling from his hands.

Footsteps around him. Angry shouting. Rustle of weapons.
Victor's grin widened, a pleasant shiver going through his body. Finally. Time to hunt.

~~~

Inside the back room Marcus moved to attack the staggering Mad One, and just as had previously been the case the being seemed to make no effort to defend itself, simply allowing the blow to hit it on its upper right arm. It yielded pliably with a crunch of breaking bone, everything past the being's right elbow going limp, but once again the creature seemed entirely unconcerned with the damage it had suffered.
It reached for Marcus' right shoulder with its intact left hand, intending to sink its claws into him; it also opened its lipless, salivating mouth wide, intending to pounce and bite into his throat if it managed to catch him.

The lupine man-beast, meanwhile, seemed somewhat emboldened by the Mad One and Marcus occupying each other, lowering its guard and turning to Arcturus, starting to boldly walk toward him.
Outside the room a gunshot could be heard, from just past the door, quickly followed by commotion as if a fight had begun out there.

Again the bell tolled. A shiver ran down Arcturus' spine just as before, that unnatural sound provoking an instinctual sense of dread within him. He looked on with dismay as the shadowy nightmare, the men at the door had called it an 'echo', simply stood back up. Gone were the wounds they had inflicted upon it in the heat of the moment, not unlike the way that the beast's hand had gruesomely stitched itself back together.

The bell. His yet unnamed ally was right. So long as the bell could chime, wherever it was, their hateful assailant would not cease in its efforts to kill them. The young officer's icy blue eyes shifted away from the echo to glance at those in the door. Beast and man alike stood uncertain, hesitant at the sight of the reincarnated horror. These foes of theirs seemed undisciplined. Literally just townsfolk with a cobbled together arsenal, resembling an unruly mob more than any organized adversary.

His mind working quickly, Arcturus turned his gaze back to the inky foe standing between him and his comrade. He figured it to be the biggest threat, and he wanted to kill it before the beast could regain its nerve... Just as he was thinking that, beginning to move towards the echo in order to attack it from behind, the man in charred clothing was suddenly sent flying across the room. Just as it had done to their other comrade not a half-minute earlier. The sight at once both made his heart sink and steeled his aggressive conviction. However he had not taken two steps towards the shadowy being when the reassuring words of the other man reached his ears.

Arcturus was hesitant to leave the other man alone against the vicious echo, but as he turned to face the beast he realized that he didn't have a choice. The heinous monstrosity had more of a spine than he'd judged it to. Flourishing his saber, the young man stood his ground, letting the beast do the work of closing the distance while he tried to steady his breathing. Truth be told it was an intimidating sight.

Yet he wondered whether he was the only one who felt that way. The men outside the door had repeatedly referred to him and his ally by that strange title. 'Hunter.' It was a moniker that seemed to instill some apprehension in them, and the way they looked at him... Arcturus still did not know what they meant, but perhaps he could take advantage of it? Perhaps he could break their ranks and run them down like sheep.

The thundering sound of a gunshot, the familiar discharge of a rifle, caused his muscles to tense momentarily. A reflex born of having been under fire many a time. This time the room was not filled with the scent of gunsmoke, however, as the unseen gunman did not appear to be firing on them. This realization caused Arcturus' lips to curl up into a smirk. Whatever was going on out there, their enemies were now fighting on two flanks.

There was no better time to attack. Arcturus suddenly rushed forward, ducking down once he was in range to more easily strike at its legs. He didn't have preference for either leg, targeting whichever one was furthest forward. It was a forceful strike, intended to bring the thing to its knee. For his piercing, predatory eyes were not fixed on the beast's legs at which he struck, but instead upon its disfigured face. He knew it would simply regenerate from any injury it gave it, but he wondered...

Could it regrow its head?

Marcus made contact with the cane to echo’s right arm. Something broke into pieces. If being had anything similar to humans inside its skins, Marcus had shattered creature’s humerus. A feat that he couldn’t done typically, especially with one hand. Strength he possessed was terrifying if Marcus was to give thought to it. To no longer be human but a hunter.

Was it a shred of thought that he gave to the being, the gunshot ringing through the air or sudden noise made from warrior companion’s rush, but Marcus had not payed attention. The echo had once again moved without giving a thought to it’s broken arm. The left claw came suddenly and grabbed Marcus’s shoulder. Grip was tight and his right arm couldn’t move to make a proper strike. He made an effort as a reflex, but his elbow couldn't muster the strength to strike strongly against the being with the cane.

Before he could make any further attacks, Marcus saw the being’s mouth. Inhuman gaping hole full of saliva and nasty set of teeth attached to its gums. Marcus had once, with his gang, fought against a beast, but then there were ten of them. Spears and fire bombs they had used, and still Marcus remembered as it’s jaws snapped in front of him before several spears made it pissed and it aimed it’s deadly row of teeth to others. Back then Marcus’s reaction had been to pull back few feet and strike the beast with his spear. Now the situation was much more dire. Marcus felt a pull in his shoulder. It's going to eat me, Marcus heard himself think.

Thought left Marcus’s mind as something else took control of him. Something that didn’t fear death but snarled at the face of it. Marcus’s left arm still held the rifle he had acquired previously. Though there were no bullets, it had proven it's worth once against the echo. He threw the rifle sideways into the being's mouth, between the teeth, and pushed himself away with left arm. Barrel was not that thick and stock was made of wood, possibly not hard enough against the being’s maw. Marcus’s left hand was at the mercy of the being’s teeth.

But the being’s arm was stuck to his shoulder, other arm limp and its mouth at bay. And the stomach was bare and ripe for taking. What it would be to pull right arm completely free and take it’s guts, stomach or liver! Something said in Marcus's mind. His arm released the cane and acted like on it's own, reaching for the echo's guts...

Though innately the property about Victor that improved the fastest with his growing power, his regenerative ability was not the primary reason he had managed to survive as a Hunter. Even as a human mercenary without superhuman durability or powers of healing Victor had still been a force to be reckoned with, despite not being particularly skilled at swordsmanship and plenty of soldiers being stronger and faster than him. His ancestral armor had helped his human self the same as his hardiness did now, keeping him alive, but that only helped him last longer, not win. It was an advantage, but not the true weapon that carried him to victory.
Victor's greatest strength was his bottomless, all-consuming and relentless rage.

Now in the midst of battle Victor was done thinking, done worrying, done planning; his vision went red, his heartbeat quickened, his pupils dilated... as with a wordless roar he swung the small sword in his hand, not with precision or skill, but seeped with every drop of malice flowing from him. He slashed to his right without looking, catching one of the huntsmen – one armed with a pitchfork – by surprise, aside the improvised weapon and carving a horizontal gash across his chest.
He immediately turned with the strike, turning around fully, before jumping at a huntsman that had tried to flank him from behind. The huntsman let out a yelp of surprise and pain, reflexively pushing his own weapon – a large hunting knife – into Victor's abdomen, while Victor vindictively stabbed the other in the chest with his much longer blade, running him through fully, as both of them tumbled to the ground with a crash.
A third huntsman – fourth if one counted the rifleman – rushed Victor from his right, from the direction of the door to the cot room, and performed a downward smash on the Hunter's right shoulder with a woodcutters hatchet, but Victor barely felt the pain anymore. The attack only made his left hand dart up from his side, in front of his mostly outstretched right arm, and instinctively aimed at center of mass of his assailant with his blunderbuss before pulling the trigger. With a blast of gunfire the hatchet-wielding huntsman staggered away, the entire front of his body bloody and torn from the barrage of quicksilver pellets.

While the two last huntsmen – one armed with another pitchfork and the other with what appeared to be a broken-off table leg – tried to find a way to attack the murderous Hunter without hitting or getting in the way of their four comrades, the Pthumerian retreated to the corner of the room to the far right of the door into the cot room. With gritted teeth the only somewhat humanoid creature raised his left hand, holding his bell aloft, and started swinging it quickly and rhythmically from side to side, producing a haunting, continuous and somehow desperate-seeming sound:
Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding

~~~

Inside the cot room Arcturus and Marcus each engaged their own monstrous opponents. Marcus, having misjudged the Mad One's sense of self-preservation, failed to evade its seizing hand, allowing its long, sharp nails to dig into his flesh as it clutched him tightly. As the creature went to bite him, however, something in Marcus seemed to react to his adversary's badly weakened, badly injured state; allowing his instincts to take over he did not even realize that his right hand changed on its own, growing larger and forming claws before plunging into the monster's abdomen, ripping through the malleable organs within before gripping them and viciously tearing out as much of it as he could, covering the lower half of his own body in viscera as a deluge of blood poured from the creature's shredded middle.
The Mad One's body jerked from the force of Marcus' visceral attack, its head slowing its movement toward the Hunter's neck before stopping entirely about ten centimeters (four inches) from its target. It seemed to pause for a second, its grip on Marcus' shoulder getting looser, before its jaw went slack and the light in its eyes literally extinguished.

The bestial huntsman, meanwhile, was not as suicidal as his otherworldly fellow and reacted to Arcturus' attack by stopping its approach and even taking a step backward, shielding itself as best it could with the sword it had taken from Marcus while keeping its cleaver poised to attack. Stepping back only switched which leg Arcturus aimed for, however, and the newly transformed Hunter chopped at the creature's shin just below the knee, drawing blood. Unfortunately that seemed to the the only effect the attack had; the beast proved much more durable than the unexpectedly fragile Mad One, and the bone seemed to completely stop the blade before it could cause any more seriously crippling damage.

Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding

A rapid, continuous ringing of the ominous bell from beyond the door punctuated the sounds of an intense fight outside, a different kind of ringing than before that somehow conveyed desperation, sounding very much like a last resort of someone expecting defeat. Though this might give the Hunters hope and hint to them that the skirmish had started to turn in their favor, it might also invoke instinctual wariness just from the fact that an opponent was never more dangerous than when its back was against the wall.
As the bell rang and kept ringing, Marcus would feel the grip of the Mad One's right hand on his shoulder suddenly tighten once again, driving its nails deep into him with newfound, bone-wrenching strength as its eyes reignited with even greater intensity than before. A crunching noise accompanied its skull seeming to right the indentation on its own, and the crushed bones in its left arm spontaneously snapped back in place, causing the limb to spring back to life as a hungry hiss left its throat. Below, though Marcus likely could not see it from his vantage point, its stomach regrew in an instant.
The Mad One proceeded to actually pick up Marcus by his shoulder, lifting him off the ground with one arm.

Over at Arcturus' part of the room the bell seemed to have an effect on the beast, too, this time, as its eyes seemed to suddenly glaze over with red, dimly glowing mist. Letting out a thunderous roar with all the fury the scourge of beasts could muster, the bestial huntsman threw up both of its arms over its head, ignoring the noise of its blades grinding against the wooden ceiling, before slamming both weapons down upon Arcturus with what would obviously be terrifying strength.

“What is it?” Adelicia delicately asked, unable to see past his broad shoulders beyond the narrow doorframe. She did not like the way he had suddenly halted without warning, nor did she like that it meant they were stuck outside of the house – and thus in dangerous reach of the invisible thing. Feeling a nervous tingle descend her spine, she cast an uneasy glance backward across the dusk-lit street, observing nothing save boarded-up houses and dusty cobblestones. “Why are-“ she began, turning her head back towards the clinic only to realize that he was gone. Left little time to process the proceeding turn of events, the young saint shrieked with terror when a gunshot roared from inside the clinic and dived for cover next to the door frame.

Heart racing, she clutched her chest in a futile attempt to calm it. “Gods above,” she whispered to herself with labored breath, “What do I do? What do I do?” From within, a symphony of violence assaulted her ears: sounds of rent flesh and spilt blood, of clashing steel and broken bone – and, worst of all, bestial screams made by human vocal cords. It was easy to sit in a lecture hall and say ‘this is a beast, and this is a man’ but out here, away from the safety of locked doors, warding incense and a private army, the difference between the two felt very blurry. She began to wonder what would happen to her if she were found, by maddened Yharnamites or a bloodfrenzied Victor. A beast, she believed, was frightening but also predictable in its desires. It would tear her apart, to drink her blood and eat her flesh. But a human? Men, she felt, were capable of so much worse than mere slaughter. Shivering, she almost wished that the great, unseen thing that had taken Raine would take her too, out of mercy or pity. Save her from the cruelty of man. Save her from her own human fears.

But no merciful hand came and plucked her from above. She remained where she was, terrified and alone outside the clinic doors, hoping that nothing at all came out to find her. That was when the singularly striking and curious chime of a bell resounded from inside, again and again, frantic if one fancied so. To the uneducated, ringing a bell in the midst of conflict might appear as an act of madness or religious mania, but Adelicia knew better than to dismiss the repetitive sound that made her feel more and more uneasy with every reverberation. Ancient bells had been found in the place where the holy medium was brought up from and they were not mere trinkets; they were tools used by our forebears to communicate with other places or even travel there. Or, indeed, to bring things out of it. She felt her heart sink and a cold shiver of dread wash over her when she realized that this must be the origin of the black creature her companions had fought near the elevator, for it had not been a normal beast, or even a thing of this world at all. It had come from nowhere and returned to nowhere. Beckoned by the bell, or perhaps made by it. And where one came from, surely there were more…!

Swallowing her fear, she gingerly placed her hand on the door frame and peeked inside. The first thing that presented itself was the bloody skirmish Victor had embroiled himself in. Although he appeared to be handily beating an entire throng of crudely-armed Yharnamites, his posture, way of movement and sheer facial expression left little doubt in her mind as to his true nature, and that of hunters in general. In her heart of hearts, she knew now that hunters were nothing more than beasts themselves, the only difference being the leash around their neck. A leash they sooner or later will snap. But this was not what she was looking for and so she continued surveying the demolished clinic, laying her eyes on the ruined beds and cabinets, smashed bottles and broken chairs, as well as the last, remaining pair of citizens who were surely breathing their final breaths as they approached the crazed hunter. In the end, however – leaning further into the doorway – she finally spotted the object of her attention: the sullen-faced, corpse-like Pthumerian, although Adelicia would not know to call it that. Armed with the implements of a church servant – whose countenance was not dissimilar to this creature, she realized – it shook the bell in what could almost be described as a frenzy.

She remembered how badly a single shadow-borne creature had injured her companions, two on one. If this thing could summon more of them, surely Victor was doomed, even if she offered her blood to him. Uncertain whether he, a mere hunter, realized the threat this arcane implemented posed for him – and thus also her – she felt the need to do something. She thought of throwing something at the bell-ringer, or to pick up one of the fallen Yharnamites’ weapons, but discarded these options as barbaric and futile – she would likely not even be capable of hurting this bizarre humanoid and would only make a target of herself. But Victor, he could do it. He had to.

“The bell!” Adelicia yelped over the din of battle, hoping that the hunter would hear her – and have the sanity to process her words. “You have to stop the bell! It beckons monstrous things!”

When Marcus came back to his senses, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He had of course seen and known what happened, but now he had hard time to understand exactly what had happened. His hand had transformed into something inhuman, claws sharp and long and lethal. Without a hesitation whatsoever it had went to the being’s belly. Or was it his own bloodlust that had made Marcus grip the beast’s guts, stomach, liver or whatever there was inside the being that felt no pain, only hate. As he looked at his hand, it was transforming back to normal hand at quick pace. However the blood was still there along with pieces of organs that he had just ripped. Further down his trousers too were painted red with blood.

Marcus was distraught by the sight and the feeling of... Satisfaction that lingered somewhere deep. He had slaughtered a being, its eyes went dark and it made him feel good in inhuman way. The being, "echo" was still standing and hand was still having a dead man’s strength that held his shoulder, but slowly loosening its grip. The being had came close, four inches from his throat, despite his best efforts to push it back. His right palm had nasty bite marks. But the jaws lost it's strength and the head dropped limp. Marcus pulled the left hand and the rifle out of beings mouth.

Marcus made a quick look over the being’s shoulder. The Warrior had wounded the beast’s knee. Beast had brought a sword to seemingly block the most out of damage from his attack. Marcus saw the same transformation in his hand. He wondered if this man had already noticed what had happened to him? Did he already use this power, this urge to kill against the being? Behind him Marcus heard some scuffling outside the. Had there been help coming? A yell of pain and another gunshot. There was also a roar. That of a beast’s, Marcus thought. Third one they would have to fight?

Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding

Marcus was about to push the being off when he heard the familiar sound. His senses went sharp. This time it was not as calm and haunting, but more desperate, like signalling the whole town that there was a band of marauders coming and everyone should go to shelter expect those prepared to fight. He felt great pain in his shoulder as the claw twitched again and dig deep in his shoulder. He roared in surprise. Like a reflex, Marcus looked into the being’s eyes. The darkness vanished as they eyes ignited even more fiery than before, Marcus felt like he was looking inside shotgun barrels as someone pulled the trigger. Deep inside him he felt his heartbeat rise to abnormal height. Time seemed to slow down. Marcus saw the being’s skull reform once more and heard being’s bones in right arm snap in place.

And just like that, the being’s grip from his shoulder was extremely tight. By instinct alone, he gripped the hand. As Marcus felt a pull in his shoulder as being started to rise him, he heard the damnedest thing. Something Marcus hadn’t heard in years. His sister.

“The Bell” she said. Marcus’s every fibre of being went to hear that voice. “You have to stop the bell! It beckons monstrous things”

Marcus felt the fire burn his lungs. He had to save his sister. Get to her. And Marcus gritted his teeth with wrath. With the last touch of his feet on the ground, he kicked some momentum away from the creature. He swang forward until his feet hit the being’s chest. He released his left hand from the rifle and gripped the arm holding his shoulder. He pushed with his both hands so that claw would release it’s grip, and did the same with his feet and stomach. He tried his best to drop down from the creature’s grasp, grap the cane and smack the being’s leg with it.

It was likely that if this succeeded, Marcus would fall to his back and the creature’s claw would make deep, nasty marks to his right shoulder.

Though the incessant chiming of the Pthumerian's bell did somewhat annoy Victor, he was too far given to his rage – and too preoccupied with fighting a battle that, to his knowledge, was at least seven against one – to ponder or care whether there was any deeper significance to the sound. He whipped the now-unloaded blunderbuss down with his left hand, smashing the huntsman he was lying on top of across the face with the barrel of the gun... only to be shocked out of his blind fury by the sight of the cracked skin and broken cheekbones mending themselves at a speed that would put the regenerative powers of any Hunter to shame.
“The bell! You have to stop the bell! It beckons monstrous things!” Adelicia cried as Victor blinked the sweat out of his eyes, trying to understand what was going on.
The bell... he thought he remembered hearing about bells being used for strange things, something to do with the arcane. He knew that the Vicar had some kind of fancy bell that could heal people, but the Pthumerian was not using a “fancy” bell, but a completely normal one; they had stolen it off the corpse of a random church servant, for Kos' sake! How could it be used for arcane purposes?

Gritting his teeth against the pain that suddenly caught up to him, reminding him that he was still in the midst of combat, Victor threw himself into a forward tumble. He tucked his chin against his chest to land on his shoulders, rolling onto his back and finally all the way onto his feet, using the weight and forward motion of his body to pull his sword with him out of the huntsman's chest. Once back on his feet he retreated several steps, habitually reloading his blunderbuss with his left hand while preparing to face his enemy with his sword in his right.
Victor was more familiar with wounds and their severity than Adelicia, not to mention aware of the fact that he had intentionally fought without activating his enhanced strength thus far to conserve his stamina, so it was not surprising to him to find that both the rifleman and the pitchfork-wielder he had slashed to still be standing, and even less so that the hatchet-wielder he had blasted with the blunderbuss was still able to fight. What did surprise him was that all three of them seemed to have already healed their wounds and, looking at the huntsman he had just rolled off and had previously impaled was standing back up, his stab-wound already closed. He had expected the ones he slashed and shot to at least be briefly incapacitated, and the one he had impaled to be dying.
In contrast to that, he realized, the pain in his right shoulder and abdomen did not seem to be dissipating, meaning that he had already reached the limits of his own regenerative powers.
Well, that hardly seems fair.
Hanging the blunderbuss from his belt again he quickly used his left hand to pull out a blood vial to inject himself with, nervously reminding himself that he only had one vial left now and had to be extra careful.

As five of the six Yharnamite huntsmen assembled before him, creating a line of defense between himself and the bell-ringing Pthumerian, Victor – once again driven by paranoia to constantly examine others' eyes – spotted that these people's eyes had all changed. Every color in their eyes seemed to have taken on a red tint, as if a colored veil had been hung over their eyeballs.
He scowled at them, waiting a couple of seconds for his wounds to heal. The bell beckons monsters, is it? Not this time, it seems; it's just turning these guys into monsters.
Off to the side, still by wall bordering the room with the supposedly transforming Hunters but having moved further back towards the same corner the Pthumerian was hiding in, the rifleman had retrieved his firearm and was once again working on reloading it.
Adelicia is right, the Pthumerian has to be stopped, Victor thought, glaring at his assembled adversaries. But fighting these guys normally won't work. I have no idea how much that bell enhances their regeneration, and simply wearing them down would let them surround or shoot me, or let them target Adelicia while I'm occupied. I can't afford to fight conservatively... I have to give it all I've got, and pray that'll be enough to push through and get to the Pthumerian.

“Look away, Adelicia,” he called without looking, taking a step forward as he reached his right over his right shoulder, aligning the sword in his hand so that its blade was parallel with but to the side of the scabbard on his back with practiced ease. Once there he inserted first the tip of the sword through the edge of the scabbard, finding a nook inside it that fit the tip of the sword and locked it into place. Once the tip was in place, all it took was to align the rest of the sword with the scabbard, sliding the entire blade through the open edge of it and into the core, where the two – blade and scabbard – locked with each other with a faint “click”, while the same mechanism simultaneously released the clasps attaching it to his back.
“This next part...” He reached over with his empty left hand, gripping the hilt with both hands and activating his Hunter's strength to enable himself to properly wield the now 30 kg (66 lb) weapon. “...won't be pretty.”

~~~

The Mad One did not seem to comprehend nor care about what was happening around it, much less about voices coming from the other room; its attention was by now entirely focused on Marcus. Caught in the bell-empowered grasp of the creature, Marcus yet again accidentally discovered one of the results of the metamorphosis he had undergone as he placed his feet against the so-called echo's chest. His muscles would feel suddenly rock-hard and expand until it felt like his taut skin might burst; his veins would stand out clearly, bulging on his skin with increased blood-pressure; his heart would pump so hard that his chest expanded visibly with each mighty beat.
With the Hunter's strength and the utilization of his entire body in the endeavor, Marcus successfully tore the monster's hand from his bloody shoulder while simultaneously launching himself several meters away.

Stumbling backward a step from the force of Marcus' pushing himself away, the Mad One let out a cry of frustration before recovering its balance, after which it allowed itself to fall forward onto its hands and knees and – moving in an almost beast-like manner on all fours – skittered more than crawled toward him, its limbs moving in a disconcertingly jerky but rapid manner. Once it got in range it would start lashing out at the Hunter with its hands alternatingly, first its right hand, then left, then right again and so forth, keeping up a relentless assault, trying to claw and – if possible – grab him again.

Marcus’s effort was more successful than he had expected. Though the claw’s grip was firm, Marcus roared, pushed hard and shoved with his feet even harder. His heart was like a row of muskets shooting one after another in his chest and as the being lost it’s grip, Marcus flew backwards several yards.

His fly through the room ended on a corner of a clot. Marcus bounced on the corridor and rolled a moment on the floor. There was a moment when he was on the floor as the clot fell over and it’s screaming patient fell with it, when Marcus was trying to figure out what had happened. Such a leap was not easy for Marcus, not even with a running start. But now the inhuman inside him had once again showed what Marcus could do. Monstrous strength. Beastial transformation. Wild instinct to hunt and attack. The body he had now felt more and more alien to him and he couldn’t promise that his mind was his either.

Truly, he had awaken from a nightmare into another one far more real and horrible. To a world where he was wrong and everything was trying to kill him. But his problem right now was the dark being, “Echo”. Instincts, whether his own or the sinister hunter inside him took over and he rose to face the assailant. It was roaring as it had almost fell backwards from Marcus’s kick, but it instead it fell forward and fell down on it’s all fours. And then like a beast, it ran on it’s four limbs and was coming to him.

Marcus’s problem was that he was now without a weapon to fight against the being. And with his bare hands against the beast’s lethal claws there was nothing else to do but to evade the being. The labyrinth of cots was already broken from it’s beautiful symmetry and it was likely that the being would run over some cots to get Marcus. Nevertheless, he started to sprint. Run as fast as he could, trying to evade the beast with one column of cots between him and the raging being, aiming to get back to the cane. And closer to the Warrior, who was fighting against the beast.

If it had not become clear already from the brutal nature of the echo's attacks, there could be no doubt anymore that it, at least, either did not understand or just did not care about the hoarse man's admonition not to kill the Hunters. As Marcus tried to cut past the Mad One by putting a row of cots between himself and it, the creature simply changed its trajectory to always move in the direction he was in, knocking over cots and trampling comatose Hunters-to-be as it went.

In a stroke of what could be viewed as luck in a very pragmatic way, something distracted the monster from its pursuit before it could reach him. The squirming body of one of the sleepers happened to get thrown onto its head and left shoulder as it knocked over his bed, resulting in the frenzied echo seeming to forget about Marcus for the time being, gripping the defenseless person with both hands instead, flinging him into the ground with a loud crash before plunging its hands into the man's abdomen, ripping out his entrails and scattering them around like the world's most gruesome garlands.

While Marcus struggled against the erratic and frenzied echo, the bestial huntsman was left with Arcturus, standing over him while moving to murderously smash him with both of its weapons.
Before the attack could be completed, however, there was a blur of movement behind the creature as one of the people on the cots abruptly sprung into motion, moving without hesitation and confusion to the point where it became clear that this man had only been pretending to be asleep for some time, at least. Clad in plain gray trousers, a short-sleeved white shirt – both of which were dirty, visibly worn and wore numerous patches – and a pair of cheap brown peasant's shoes, the man was a bit on the shorter side, but of a burly build with sun-touched and gnarly skin and short, ruffled black hair and beard.
Rather than run at the beast the unarmed man leaped from a couple of feet away, colliding with the creature's back where he gripped its fur with his hands to keep him there, seemingly distracting the beast for a second. A heartbeat later the man's feet hand found purchase on back of the beast's thighs, using his legs to boost himself all the way up its back, catching himself by gripping the side of its neck with his left hand before pulling himself up high enough to throw his right hand around its head, jabbing its thumb into the beast's right eye with a wet splat.

Howling in pain and frustration, the bestial huntsman kicked at Arcturus at its feet before staggering away, flailing its weapons around it wildly as it tried to get rid of the unexpected assailant on its back.
But while it tried and failed to do so, the new participant in the battle held on to its head with his right hand while he adjusted his left arm, hooking his left forearm under its chin, pressing it against its throat. Once he had his left arm in a secure position he withdrew his thumb from his opponent's eye to hook his right forearm under its chin as well, overlapping with his left forearm.
Letting himself hang from his arms for a moment he drew his knees up in front of him, planted the heels of his shoes into the creature's back... and then he pulled. The muscles of the already somewhat brawny man's arms, legs, shoulders and back clenched all at once, swelling unnaturally under the influence of Hunter blood, as he simultaneously pulled on his arms and pushed with his legs, turning the beast's angry growing into barely audible retching noise as it started choking, flailing its arms and weapons about even more desperately than before as it started staggering toward the nearest wall.