Marcus’s fled in terror as the being came after him relentlessly. He didn’t care about the cots and hunters on them. The Being had only Marcus in its aims. Everything else was obstacles and barely inconveniences at that. Marcus pushed one cot after another against it as he fled, but “the Echo” always chose the path over them, fell them on it’s way and the comatose, screaming patients had no effect on the Being. It walked relentlessly towards Marcus, who couldn’t properly get to his cane.

Marcus lost precious time with each push. He could sprint to next cot and push it to the being, but it did not stop its movements. Soon there were two cots between them. And Marcus paused for a second to look at the impending doom in front of him: Eyes red as the blood moon had once been, inhuman being walking towards him as death incarnate. A Cot in front of him fell on the floor; then there was only one sleeping resident between Marcus and the being. Horror felt Marcus. He gripped the cot and with strength still unnatural to him, he pushed the cot against the being hard. Cot slammed like it had hit an impenetrable wall and fell down, but the patient flew against the being. Perhaps a nightmare had made it grab the being’s head or the limp body had flown on it’s shoulders, but the effect was immident. Horrendous screams the being started to attack the sleeper.

Marcus watched the bloodbath for a second. Being took hold of the patient and threw it to the ground hard. Then the being was above the patient and attacked, slashed the stomach again and again. Whatever the patient was seeing in his nightmares, Marcus dared to make no quess whether it was more pleasant being among horrors of the dreams or awake with the dark terror clawing the guts out.

Marcus ran, now not stopping against any cots as the being was occupied. He made it back to the cane. And grabbed it. There was little time before carnage behind him would find it’s end and then he would be once again a target, so he had to help the Warrior against the Beast.

Expect this wasn’t the case. Another sleeper had woken up. And by sheer bravery, idiocity or something else entirely, he was holding the beast from behind. Beast’s eye had been pierced by assailants thumb and beast was roaring in pain and frustration. The warrior fell down on the floor hard as the beast in it’s struggling swept the feet under him with a swift kick. And then the man tried to make a kill. Arms underneath the chin, feet against the back, he pulled and pulled hard. The beast was going to lose it’s consciousness, but then started to move backwards against the wall. Such a slam could have made the man lose his grip and put it in danger.

So Marcus ran towards the beast. Marcus's bestial instincts had awoken and decided to leap in order to strike at the beast's head. But in the air the beast would have an opportunity to attack Marcus with its weapons.

Victor took a deep breath in his final moment of physical and mental preparation for what he was about to do, eyes shifting even faster than usual as he struggled to find the perfect emotional state between frenzy and focus, working himself up in enough of a rage to stop himself from holding back, but staying enough in control of himself to remember that he had an objective, even in the midst of combat. This was not a simple skirmish in which the only goal was to take down everyone else; attacking the huntsmen could very well be a waste of energy as long as the Pthumerian was ringing his bell, so stopping that was going to be the highest priority. That guy had to die.

Exhaling his breath, Victor had to resist the impulse to quickstep forward, covering the few steps in a normal run to conserve his strength for attacks, and approached the right flank of the line of Yharnamites, the one furthest from the wall that was most likely to allow him to simply bypass as many enemies without fighting them as possible. His heartbeat quickened and he started sweating profusely as he felt his muscles swell, his veins feeling as though they were filled with ice and fire, alternatingly, rather than blood. He leveraged the giant blade of his transformed weapon on his shoulder by pulling down with both hands, swinging the sword with all of his strength at his target – the pitchfork-wielding huntsman that still bore the cut and bloodstain in his clothes from when Victor had last slashed him – diagonally from right to left and downward.
The huntsman, sneering fearlessly as he glared at the Hunter with his unnatural red eyes, moved to counterattack, but the way he gripped his pitchfork – as a farmer would, halfway up the handle – meant that Victor's holy blade had longer range. Before the Yharnamite's improvised weapon could find Victor's flesh, Ludwig's Holy Blade came down full-force onto his left clavicle with a sickening wet, crunching noise, causing him to forget all about taking offensive action. Victor pressed on, forcing the blade almost halfway into the unfortunate fellow's rib cage, actually cutting through the ribs on the way as well as rending the vital organs within. Just before it would have cut all the way to the sternum the blade seemed to get stuck on something, likely having lost too much momentum from cleaving through bones and muscle... but then Victor took another step forward, flicking the sword – still embedded in the man's chest – to the left, effectively flinging the Yharnamite off the blade and sending him stumbling into his fellows.
Victor actually had to take another second to compose himself at this, struggling to resist the wet spray of blood from the wound he had inflicted and stop himself from assaulting the injured opponent. With a barely audible whimper the Hunter turned away from the huntsmen, fixing his gaze – no longer shifting, but keenly focused – on the bell-ringing bastard in the corner.
Die, he thought, his heartbeat getting to be painfully hard and fast, his restraint falling away as he felt the bloodthirsty rage consume him now that the way to his prey was unobstructed. Die, die, die, die, die, DIE, DIE!

He rushed forward with the holy blade at his left hip, his body still bulging obscenely from his supernaturally rippling muscles
-ding-
which, as the ringing of the bell grew closer and seemingly much louder than it logically should have been, felt... pretty strange? It felt as though every fiber in his body was vibrating softly, charged with an energy he did not understand. He ran a step ahead
-ding-
and the vibration seemed to get stronger, faster, as the bell got almost deafeningly loud to Victor's ears, even as its actual volume remained unchanged. A hatchet was swung by one of the Yharnamites at Victor's back, but missed and went unnoticed by the Hunter. He itched all over, and as his foot came down in another stride
-ding-
he suddenly got the distinct impression that something was moving under his skin. His mind turned inward, even as his eyes remained trained on the Pthumerian, and with a strange mix of fear and fascination he thought of all the horrid beasts he had encountered, of the invisible thing that had taken Raine, of the one that had crippled him... and felt this knowledge spread through his body like an electric current, both painful and pleasurable, a sense of strength and vulnerability. He kicked off against the ground with his front foot
-DING-
when a toll of the bell hit him, causing his eyes to go wide as he felt everything inside of him clench – muscles, tendons, bones, even his teeth – and then, all at once, shift to a hundred different forms than the one they were meant to have, changing so quickly that it would probably not even be perceivable to the naked eye. With a feeling that was a mix of torment and euphoria, his body seemingly spontaneously self-destructed, his skin cracking and splitting in countless wounds in a cascade in what seemed like an entirely excessive amount of blood.

His vision fading and his thoughts growing foggier by the second, Victor knew with grim certainly that this damage, whatever had caused it, was more than his regeneration could handle. Yet he did not even consider using his final blood vial; even now, as he was essentially flying through an explosion of his own blood, he felt his blazing fury carry him forward, a feral growl rising to his throat as the blurry visage of the Pthumerian swiftly came closer.
He had neither the ability nor the inclination to exercise finesse in this situation. As he landed right in front of the Pthumerian – trying desperately to back away, but being unable to do so from having cornered himself – Victor swung the holy blade, putting every last shred of stamina left in his body into that singular strike.
The sword cut through the bell-ringer's midsection with surprising ease, practically ripping off the entire top half of his body and sending it sprawling across the floor toward the center of the room, both the bell and the cane falling from his hands and clattering to the floor, as the Pthumerian's legs remained standing for another couple of seconds before they went limp, collapsing in the corner.

Looking over his shoulder, Victor watched indifferently as four of the huntsmen approached him, preparing to strike, while a fifth took aim with his rifle – the sixth being the one that had been in the Hunter's way, and who was still dealing with the damage he had suffered – and knew that there was nothing he could do to defend himself. His muscles would not move. His wounds were not healing. He had literally spent the last bit of strength he had left in him.
But then, as Victor kept staring vacantly, a red mist seemed to abruptly burst from all six Yharnamites at once and they all fell to their knees, clutching at their chests and faces while crying out in pain. His gaze shifting, Victor noticed that their eyes were no longer red. He smiled.
Then his vision faded to black, the sword fell from his hands, and Victor fell sideways to the ground.

~~~

The bestial huntsman struggled against the surprisingly forceful pressure clutching its throat, blocking its air pipe and forcing it to clench the muscles of his neck to prevent the nuisance on its back from forcing it backward, potentially breaking its neck. As it moved toward the wall, however, its red, dimly glowing eyes, of which the wounded right one had already regenerated, found Marcus, clearly moving to attack while the echo was distracted with a random sleeping – and now dead – body.
The creature grinned, confident despite its circumstances, as it held out its left hand in Marcus' direction, pointing the tip of its sword toward him as it kept backing up toward the wall, seemingly content to simply let the Hunter impale himself as he tried to attack it.
Its right hand discarded its meat cleaver and went to its throat, digging its claws deep into the arms that were choking it.

And then the bell stopped.

The cane in Marcus' hands abruptly vaporized, leaving him unarmed, as the Mad One behind him suddenly unraveled, collapsing onto itself, turning to dust until nothing remained.
Another second later, and a red mist suddenly burst forth from the beast's body... and suddenly its head snapped back with an audible crack, its neck breaking and its spine being severed by the sheer amount of force applied by the unknown Hunter. With a final spasm of its limbs it dropped its weapon before falling backward, landing with a loud crash on top of the man who had been strangling it.

The life was flashing before Marcus as he lept. The insticts had led him to his doom, the beast had understood that Marcus was coming. To retailate it had risen it’s sword, tip looking prepared to penetrate Marcus’s stomach or chest. As the sword came closer and Marcus couldn’t stop his leap, the only thing he could do was to try striking the sword away with his cane. But the most unusual thing happened and it vanished from his hands. Turned to dust, vaporized to air. Now defenseless and advancing towards his doom, the world started to move around slowly.

Marcus saw the beast in all it’s glory. The red mist that left it’s chest. And the beast’s strength, whatever there had been, vanished. Suddenly it’s head flew backwards and Marcus heard a loud snap. The tip of the sword lowered as beast lost it’s grip and the arm couldn’t hold itself straight. Marcus flew against the edge of blade, his chest hitting against it. But without power behind the sword there was nothing but a shallow cut on his clothes that never went even through. The beast fell backwards, on top of the man that had been behind the beast breaking the neck. Marcus fell almost over the beast from the power of his leap, but made a final push with his hands and flew on the beast’s left side.

He rose quickly and full of instict and adrealine he reached for the sword that the beast was holding. A quick look made him notice that the being, “Echo”, wasn’t there. Another quick look outside the door revealed no sudden danger. “Is anyone alive here?” Marcus yelled. Holding a grip from his sword. He looked at the Warrior that had went against the beast, but he didn't seem to be in urgent danger. So he turned to the beast and the man underneath. He tried to push the beast off to get a better sight to this hunter.

“Aye, I'm alive,*” the newly awakened Hunter groaned from underneath the heavy form of the bestial creature he had just somehow managed to break the neck of. Not only did he speak with a pronounced dialect, which on its own could make him a little hard to understand, but also suffered from a speech impediment that muddled his words even more. Hearing himself speak immediately saddened him as he felt his hopes that becoming a Hunter would restore that old injury – a broken jaw that had healed badly – fall apart. He did not remember how he had broken his jaw, and generally remembered very little about his life before tonight, but he did recall signing the contract and receiving the blood treatment.
Pushing against the back of the beast on top of him with arms and legs, he and the other Hunter who had come to help him managed to roll the nerveless body off him. He let out a sigh of relief, standing back up and looking around at the devastation that had befallen the room. He automatically tried to angle himself so that his crooked jaw and the scar he knew he had on his right cheek would not be too visible to the others, self-conscious about how unflattering it made him look.

“Thanks. I'm Torquil. Was that all of them?**”

(What Torquil actually sounded like:
*“Ahye, ah'm 'lahve.”
**“Thanks. Ah'm Torquil. Wahsh tha' ahl ah thahm?”)

Moving at what would be considered a brisk walking pace for normal humans was to Stefan, as it would be to any Hunter, a frustrating exercise in patience. Humans were slow and frail, Yharnamites only slightly less so, and the ones Stefan had gathered and was escorting were no exception; even their current pace would probably tire these civilians eventually, while he could comfortably have doubled the speed and still not be able to comfortably keep pace almost indefinitely. Still, this trial was one he would happily endure to serve his master.
Ordinarily Stefan would only have moved this slow to minimize the sound he made, and could indeed make his traversal almost perfectly silent if he so desired, but even that effort he recognized would be pointless in his current circumstances. Though he could keep this pace and move silently, the rattle of clothing and pointless belongings, and the labored breaths coming from the civilians would alert any nearby beasts regardless of how quiet Stefan personally was.
This was an uncomfortable task, as it would have been for any Hunter; to have to use his skills in reverse, avoiding beasts rather than seeking them out, and to preserve life rather than end it went against the instincts of a Hunter... but it was manageable. Stefan, unlike some of the other Hunters, retained his self-control and restraint and, though he did feel the draw of blood, was no slave of it nor the violence associated with it. He hunted and killed not for sport or satiation, but with conviction and fervor; any word from Vicar Harold's lips was law, and Stefan took great pleasure in knowing that he was the instrument of their exalted leader's will. This task, though frustrating in its own way, was as grand a purpose as participating in the hunt simply because it was a purpose bestowed by the vicar.

For a second Stefan tore his gaze from the area in front of the group, where he had been vigilantly keeping watch for approaching beasts, to look behind him at the motley crowd trailing behind him, making a quick tally of their number and estimating that no one had been stealthily snatched from the group. His task had been simple: head to the southeastern part of the city and then start heading north, picking up any civilians along the way that did not have a safe place to spend this Night of the Hunt, and bring them to a designated shelter where they would be in relative safety. On nights like this incense was the single most important resource in the city, as it was practically the only defense civilians had against the scourge. The white church had built these shelters for any civilian that failed to build up a store of incense themselves, or who found themselves far from home at nightfall; there would be plenty of incense at the shelter.
This particular group of civilians was remarkable to Stefan, even though most of the dozen or so people in it were the fearful, pathetic and defenseless folk that made up the vast majority of the population of the city. The ones that were remarkable, however, were the few that were not panicking, who did not try carry all their worldly possessions with them on this life-or-death journey across the city, and who seemed to have the presence of mind to have actually armed themselves. “Discount Hunters”, some in the church called them; huntsmen. Yharnamites who were willing to risk life, health and sanity to aid in the hunt.
Or, as Stefan grimly estimated their worth: beast fodder.
One of these huntsmen was actually someone Stefan recognized, however: Draco Russ, a blacksmith that had occasionally been employed by the church for weapon maintenance for the Hunters. He had heard rumors that this man was one of the few to have survived the Night of the Blood Moon five years ago, and that he used to have been a huntsman, but tonight he saw those rumors proven as the guy seemed to have armed himself with a highly irregular... weapon? Stefan was unsure how to classify the monstrosity Draco was carrying with him. It looked somewhat like a pitchfork of sorts, but modified in a way that would make it useless as a tool. It had clearly been redesigned for use as a weapon, though the Hunter struggled to figure out what advantage this weaponized pitchfork offered over the much simpler spear.
He shrugged and turned his attention back to the street in front of them, forging ahead.

The particular street they had been moving down had been a relatively safe one, practically as far toward the outskirts of Yharnam as they could get while still being in the city proper. To their right the group was flanked by a sixty-five feet tall sheer stone wall that would make it incredibly difficult for beasts to approach from that direction. To their left was a row of residences beyond which lay the rest of central Yharnam, along with – far to the west – the Cathedral Ward, where the headquarters of the church resided. Most of the windows here were dark, with but a few occasionally shining light through drawn curtains, all of which Stefan checked to confirm that they had lit censers to keep them safe through the night. He also had to keep an eye on the rooftops, of course, since scourge beasts were quite capable of scaling buildings such as these and leaping from rooftop to rooftop.
Ahead and behind lay the open street, cobbled paths lit by widely spaced lampposts as the sun slowly made its way below the western horizon, casting the city in growing shadow. Aside from the sound of the civilians moving and occasionally talking in hushed voices, the silence was also occasionally broken by distant howls and gunshots, all of which Stefan noted to plan their course accordingly. Once the characteristic wail of a cleric beast had resounded from somewhere to the distant west, prompting Stefan to momentarily close his eyes and offer a silent prayer to Oedon for the weak soul from the Healing Church that had succumbed to the scourge. It was much too far to be a threat to him or his charges, though, and could thus be safely ignored for the moment. Other Hunters would deal with that; Stefan had a task of his own.

A short while after that, however, Stefan signaled the civilians to halt, squinting down the street uncomfortably. Initially he had merely felt some faint tremors in the ground, like heavy impacts, and heard some barely audible crashing sounds, but now he could actually make out two notable things ahead of them: one was an elevator shaft, stretching all the way from the street to the top of the eastern wall, and the other was the colossal form of a church giant lumbering about at the foot of it, seemingly in the process of smashing several much smaller figures with its massive axe. They were still some three hundred meters (or a thousand feet) away, making it too difficult to identify the smaller figures, but it was enough to tell Stefan that it was probably best to avoid the area.
“There's danger ahead,” he remarked to the people behind him, quickly trying to mentally map the area they were in to find an alternative path. He also unconsciously clutched his church pick, currently in sword-form, a little more tightly than usual. “We should go back south a little and find a street west, further into the city, so we can avoid the battle ahead. It'll mean taking a pretty significant detour, but it's probably safer that way.”

Draco would have sighed softly to himself, but the situation required silence... or at least as much silence as could be claimed when one was traveling with a pack of idiotic civilians who did not seem to grasp the concept that they were in a dangerous situation... or at the very least, didn't understand that they themselves were in direct danger. Talking far to loudly, carrying personal belongings that only served to slow them down further... Truth be told, he suspected the presence of Stefan was causing some of them not to take the situation as seriously as they really should have been.

Then again, it was his own fault that he was in this situation. He should have been back at the apartment that he shared with his father and sister, but he had been halfway through a delicate piece of metal work for one of the simpler trick weapons employed by hunters and had he abandoned it just because the sun was starting to set it would have been ruined and thus, he would have needed to start the process from scratch again. Delays may have been a fact of life, but the Hunters and the Healing Church tended to start getting snippy if you let the good metal go to waste.

So instead of going home in a timely manner to settle in for an incense scented, somewhat restless night he had stayed at the forge and gotten the job done. He would still need to finish the weapon proper the following day, but the hard part was over with and he wouldn't need to redo it. Of course, the payment for his diligence was even more work as he found himself wielding his pitchfork at the back of a traveling group of civilians, helping to shepherd them and make sure no one got lost or fell behind as the Hunter guiding the group walked at the front to find the safest path he could.

The group could only move as fast as its slowest person and so Draco, one of the few in the group with any combat experience and had the presence of mind to actually be armed, had naturally taken up a rear guard position. His job, as he justified to himself, was a combination of making sure no one got lost or fell behind while also keeping an eye behind the group to make sure they didn't have anything tagging along, trying to sneak up on them. His senses and ability to detect threats likely weren't up to the same levels as Stefan's likely were, but having a second pair of eyes and ears who actually knew what to look out for as far as something trying to sneak up or approach with haste never hurt.

Couldn't trust the Civilians to do it properly. They flinched and nervously started murmuring among themselves at every little thing; Sure, the animistic howl of what was likely a giant, terrifying creature somewhere in the distance was a noise that should inspire some degree of caution, but it was clearly a loud, public and far away noise and thus wasn't their concern. It was the local, quiet sounds nearby, such as that of stealth betrayed, that were likely to be their problem.

Of course, they soon came to a stop. As much as Draco would have liked to have gone to the front of the group to get a look at whatever danger was ahead, experience told him that now was the time to keep on high alert since the group had come to a complete stop and if anything was planning to leap out, now would be the time. When it failed to manifest, he simply answered softly "Lead the way. I'll continue keeping a rear guard."

Aside from some scattered fearful whimpers, hushed mumbling and several curious glances past Stefan at the danger he spoke of – it was light enough still to see something as huge as a church giant from this distance, particularly with the lampposts casting their flickering light in the streets – Draco was the only one who really reacted to the announcement, prompting the Hunter to turn his attention to him. He cocked his head to right, blinking for a second as his left hand habitually went to the tip of his nose before moving up the bridge of it in a smooth motion, pushing a pair of spectacles that were not there back in place out of habit.
Keeping the rear guard? Stefan had not been aware that the huntsman had been doing such a thing; he had been working under the presumption that he was literally the only thing standing between these civilians and inevitable oblivion. Not that he had been entirely mistaken, considering what a minor inconvenience Draco's resistance would probably be against a scourge beast if one showed up, but still, he could appreciate the sentiment. While some Hunters would doubtlessly have been callous, arrogant or disillusioned enough to point this out to Draco, however, Stefan felt no need to rub the man's powerlessness in his face. He was trying, which was more than could be said for most people. Besides, weak or not, an extra pair of eyes and ears could not hurt. It might buy Stefan an extra second or two if Draco managed to spot a threat before he could, which might save lives out of this bunch of noncombatants.
Part of him was a little disappointed that no one had protested against the prospect of adding another half hour or so before they would arrive at the shelter, though. He had really hoped that someone would give him an excuse to not do what he was supposed to do in this situation, and risk the civilians to approach what was going on over there. Church giants usually served the Healing Church, shepherded by the similarly afflicted but less mentally degraded church servants, but they were exceptionally weak of mind and essentially little more than beasts, even if their appearance was somewhat more human than most. One fighting something over there could mean that it was facing someone it had orders to eliminate, like intruders or beasts, which meant that its opponents were enemies of the church. Or it could mean that the church giant was out of control and was attacking anyone in sight, as they were wont to do. Either way the situation over there could probably have benefited from the presence of a church Hunter. Stefan was not about to violate his orders and put the civilians in danger for the sake of the thrill... but he had hoped that they would give him an excuse.

“All right,” he nodded his head briskly, moving to head back they way they had just come, when his eyes caught a fleeting motion in that direction as well, maybe fifty meters (165 feet) away. It was too quick and brief for him to identify the motion, but less than a second later he heard the echoing sound of a door being slammed shut.
He relaxed. Whoever he had seen had passed through the incense outside a house, had opened a door and closed it behind them; it had been a person, not a beast. Probably just some frightened soul returning late to their home despite the tolling of the bells, fleeing the chaos that would descend upon the city once night fell. It was probably –
Stefan felt his stomach knot as a muffled, terrified cry filled the air, immediately followed by a much more intense, but also much briefer, scream of pain that was abruptly cut short. More screams. Voices of women and children, the echoes of which mixed with the whimpering of the civilians behind him. Sounds that Stefan was all too familiar with; the symphony of human slaughter.

Having shifted a little in order to allow people to have walked past him so when the group got moving again, he could step into his position as rearguard, Draco finally got a glimpse of the giant ahead and the fact that it clearly seemed to be in combat of some kind, through against who or what exactly couldn't be seen from this distance. The look on Draco's face at the sight suggested a degree of uncertain distrust; Even after over four years of living in Yharnam proper, there was something about the Church Giants that was unnerving to him. They were monstrous things... and while the Church claimed that they were tame, one couldn't help but doubt.

It was as Stefan moved to lead the group towards its detour that things went horribly wrong. Unlike before, when the howls and screams were far enough away that they were background noise (and far enough away that even if they were inclined towards trying to help their fellow man, they would arrive far to late anyway), the sudden outcry of screaming, sudden silence and then more screaming that rose up was far to close to walk pass in good conscience. The screaming of children in particular made it even more distressing.

Draco wasn't a fool; Unlike some, he was painfully aware of the difference in strength between himself and those who had fully been consumed by the scourge of the Beast. If his brothers had been alive and with him, he might have been more inclined towards rushing towards the screaming himself, but the sad truth was that the only person there who had a hope in hell of changing the outcome of whatever was happening was Stefan... and with a gulp Draco barked in a no nonsense manner to the Hunter "Get going! We'll stay here, but right now those people need you. I'll keep watch here. Go!"

Taking responsibility for the civilians was not in his job description, but leaving innocent women and children to be torn apart by beasts was something Draco couldn't do. While unable to go and help himself, he grimly pulled out a torch and slid it into the holster on his weapon, not lighting it just yet as he reached back into his pack for the second one. Turning towards the scared civilians, he tried to keep a professional, commanding air to him as he said "If anyone has anything on them that can be used as a weapon, now is the time to bring it out."

Without really needing Draco's urging, Stefan had already taken the first several steps toward the screams, though he did so haltingly, jaw clenched, as he frantically tried to determine what he was supposed to do in this situation. There were civilians in danger in there, yes, but there were also civilians out here that could easily be in danger as well. There were most likely more civilians out here than inside, and given that, judging by the sound, the ones inside were already in the process of being killed, the ones outside had both numbers and the greater likelihood of successful survival. Part of Stefan wanted to argue that he had to at least try to save the people inside because it was the “right” thing to do, but a more pragmatic part of him – one that had seen the light of day much more frequently since he became a Hunter – knew that the situation was not so simple. The screams were coming from inside a normal house; a two-storey building fit for a handful of people at most, likely to be relatively cramped and cluttered with furniture on the inside. Conditions in there would be highly disadvantageous for Hunters, who relied primarily on evasion to stay alive against physically superior adversaries. His mobility would be greatly hindered, lowering his chance of winning a fight against whoever was in there. And if he died? Then the intruder would kill the people inside anyway, after which they could just meander outside and kill everyone else as well.
What was the alternative? If he stayed with the civilians he was escorting the ones inside would surely die, while his group... what? They could head back down the street where they had come from, but the street was unobstructed and well-illuminated, and the next intersection in that direction was a ways off. The intruder would finish their business inside, come outside and could then easily spot Stefan and the group to start pursuing them. Stefan would have much better chances outside... or rather, he would have if he had been alone. In that scenario he would have to fight while simultaneously protecting the civilians, once again putting him at a disadvantage both because he had to divide his attention between his opponent and his charges, and because he could not allow himself to move very far from them.
The other way would lead into the church giant and whatever skirmish was going on over there... but also to the elevator. If the civilians could get on the elevator and ride it to the top of the plateau, they would at least be temporarily safe. There was the giant and whatever he was fighting, yes, but for as long as that fight lasted, everyone over there would hopefully be distracted by each other. They still had to deal with the intruder, however... unless...

“Go over there!” he shouted back, still half-running sideways toward the screams as he looked back at Draco and the others. He pointed up the street at the giant and elevator. “Ride the elevator to the top if you can! If anything notices you, run back here!”

With that Stefan turned fully toward the house and set into a full sprint, a speed that would carry him to his destination in but a couple of seconds. He would go and take face the intruder, hopefully saving the screaming people inside, while the civilians tried removing themselves from danger. Most optimal solution, he thought; highest possible chance of saving as many lives as he could.
He came to a skidding halt in front of the door, the screams much louder now this close, holding his right hand and weapon to the aside as he reached for the door-handle with his left hand, bracing himself mentally for tearing the door open and throwing himself in harms way.
As he turned the handle, it occurred to Stefan that it was odd that none of the screaming people in there had been silenced during his approach. The first victim had sounded as though he had gotten killed immediately, whereas these other voices had been crying out for at around a dozen seconds by now... and their screams implied fear and grief rather than physical pain. Almost as if the intruder was content to simply let them scream, which was odd...
Stefan pulled the door open, saw a flash of movement – of something reaching out through the doorway – as something hit him in his abdomen hard, hard enough that he could feel various pops and cracks inside himself of organs and bones breaking from the impact. He looked down and saw an absurdly large hand clenched into a fist pressing into his body; the hand itself would probably be as large as Stefan's entire torso unclenched, each finger tipped with a huge claw, the back of the hand covered in long, blackish fur.
There's a lit censer next to me, he thought incredulously, the disgusting smell of incense filling his nostrils even as he felt the air being knocked out of him. Then: Beasts don't make fists.
All of this happened in but a split second, as the punch struck deep, and the attacker followed through with it. Stefan felt the fist keep pushing, the brute strength behind it leaving him in awe, as his feet were lifted off the cobblestone, air started whooshing past his ears, and the doorway – and the foe in it – suddenly started removing itself from him. Stefan was thrown back into the street, flying about ten meters (33 feet) through the air before landing on his back, rolling several times before finally coming to a stop.

Marcus took a closer look at the Hunter underneath the beast. He spoke, but seemed that his jaw was not working properly and this made his speech hard. Torquil, he called himself. He didn’t look anything too special, but Marcus remembered how he just had grabbed the beast and broke it’s neck with bare hands. Quite a trick, though Marcus made a guess that it was thanks to the treatment they all had been receiving. Not any sane man in their right mind would try such a thing.

He made a quick look to his surroundings. Beast was down, the Echo had vanished. He didn’t know what had happened outside the clinic, but so far he couldn’t hear anything. Someone had taken care of the men outside the clinic. There had been quite a many, so whoever was there was good. Dangerously good. Marcus was thinking about the Firedancers and how two of them made short work of his gang in blink of an eye. Whether it was friend or foe, he couldn’t tell yet, but Marcus was more inclined to believe that it wasn’t against them. Yet.

He focused back to the man with a wrong jawline. “I’m Marcus myself. As for if it’s over, it seems so. Stay on your guard though.” He said. He pointed with his left hand towards a weapon barrel. His right hand fingered the sword he had acquired a moment ago. “And arm yourself. Trick you just pulled might not work another time.” He said. He then turned to the clinic door and started walking. He grabbed the sword with two hands and cautiously approached the door, waiting for whatever was waiting over there. And whatever was left of the mob that had just been outside.

A faint pain had shot up Arcturus' arm when his saber had come to an abrupt and unexpected halt against the beast man's shin. It felt as if he'd just tried to strike a tree! It was not the creature's unnaturally tough bones that had caught him by surprise, however. No, it was what had followed the ringing of that accursed bell, as his grotesque foe was seemingly possessed by an otherworldly rage. Again he leapt into action as it let out an ear rending roar, wrenching his weapon from its leg in order to defend himself, but he had not anticipated the speed of its furious strike. Not reacting quickly enough to evade, Arcturus had reflexively swept his sword into the path of the oncoming strike, muscle memory taking over as his body tried to prevent a serious blow.

However his hasty attempt to parry had never met the oncoming blades. The beast's fearsome strike had been interrupted by another man, jumping into the fray just in time. Not that Arcturus had much time to appreciate his new ally. In place of blades the frenzied beast had instead sent its foot, impacting him squarely in the stomach and launching him backwards. He felt his breath knocked from his lungs as a sharp pain shot through his abdomen, followed shortly by the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of crashing into the cots behind him. He landed on one cot in particular, sending both him and its occupant tumbling to the floor as the force of his impact overturned it.

Arcturus was no stranger to having his breath knocked from him. He had fallen from a horse more than once in the line of duty, made to choke on gunsmoke amidst the fire and carnage of the battlefield. After but a few moments taken to regain his bearings, glancing back in the direction of the fighting to make sure the beast wasn't trying to press its advantage, the young man had pushed himself back up into a kneeling position. Taking a deep breath as he did so.

Almost immediately he felt a sharp pain above his stomach, causing him to exhale that air in a grunt of pain. Taking shallower breaths, he had knelt there between the cots, clutching his abdomen with his left hand and gripping the hilt of his sword hard with his right. It was then that he had noticed something odd about the other person whose bed he had overturned. Something unnatural, something sickly. The patient was a woman, her pale skin laced with an unnerving web of blackened veins. Arcturus had never seen anything like it.

Any thoughts of the pain in his torso faded as his unsettled mind briefly wondered what had happened to her. What sort of disease could have caused such a condition. Unless...

Arcturus almost missed the end of the fight, his attention swiftly returning to the beast as their newest comrade managed to snap the neck of the gnarled thing that had opened the encounter. An event that seemed to coincide with the silencing of that infernal bell. A sigh of relief slipped from the foreigner's mouth when that all encompassing din had finally ceased, peering over from his position among the cots to evaluate the aftermath. The man in charred clothing was still alive, the 'echo' was nowhere to be seen, and the beast man seemed to have finally fallen. Although there was now a mess of blood and viscera around one of the cots where he had heard the nightmarish shade rampaging around. A sight that brought a grimace to his pale expression.

Cautiously he turned his piercing blue eyes back to the now dead beast, watching as his savior rose from beneath its corpse and... Introduced himself? Presumably? Arcturus already had a little trouble parsing the Yharnam accent, but this man was downright unintelligible. Was it some sort of archaic local dialect? He overheard a name, T-... Torkill? Tourkil? Tourquill? Something like that.

Regardless, the beast didn't look like it was getting up. So there was a way to kill them. Satisfied that they were no longer in immediate danger, he turned his attention back to the body next to him, pressing two fingers against her throat to check for a pulse.

All the while Arcturus had failed to notice as the pain in his stomach slowly faded. Each breath easier than the last until it had completely vanished.

The marching orders given by Stefan to make a break for the elevator past the giant were somewhat hard to ignore for Draco... however, his 'job', such as it was, required that he took care of the various civilians to the best of his ability. If they were going to be making a mad dash to the elevator, a little bit of preparation was going to be required... and a humorless smile grew on Draco's cloth covered face because this had been something that had been bugging for a while now.

Taking a moment to light the torches hooked up to his weapon, he looked at the gathered crowd of people that he was now in charge of as he made a commandment of his own to go with the hunter's. "Right. Anything that you can't carry with you at a dead sprint, dump it over there. No bitching, the beasts don't give a shit about that kind of stuff and anyone crazy or desperate enough to roam the streets on a night like tonight has other things on their minds. Odds are it'll still be there in the morning, so the question is if you'll still be here to reclaim it."

There were protests and complaints of course, but Draco would have his way. When put in a situation in which ones life was actually on the line, the value of material goods in comparison tended to put things into proper perspective. Plus Draco was very much armed and clearly knew how to use his strange weapon of choice while they weren't, which as a diplomatic move was remarkably effective.

The process of dumping the junk and items that they could live without took precious time... and while Draco was keeping an eye out for more immediate threats to himself and his little group, he could see what was happening with Stefan in the distance. As much as he wanted to rush offer and try to help the hunter in his dire situation, two key facts made him stand his ground. The first was the humbling truth that by the time he actually managed to get even halfway to where the combat was, the fight was going to be long over one way or the other; His attempted involvement would not change the outcome for Stefan.

The second was worse in its own special way: Beasts tended to travel in packs. Just because there was one actively fighting a hunter didn't guarantee that there wasn't a second one lurking in the wings... or making their way towards Draco and the civilians, because who knew how the mind of a beast truly operated in relation to things like 'loyalty' and other such high ideals. Moving to add Stefan might give an unseen enemy the opening it desired to strike at a defenseless target.

So all Draco could do was watch and wait for the civilians to lose their baggage and start running before he could somewhat bravely follow at the end of the pack, prepared to try and slow down anything chasing after them.

While Draco spoke to the other civilians for about twenty seconds, a lot happened down the ways while many of the civilians were too preoccupied with this to listen with more than half an ear. Within a heartbeat of Stefan being launched away from the door a second figure emerged in a run that was quickly accelerating to a sprint, which was a strange sight indeed for the untrained eyes of the Yharnamite noncombatants. The creature moved on two legs like a person and was generally human-sized and -shaped, but had several features that contradicted the idea of it not being bestial in nature. For one thing its entire left forearm and hand was disproportionally huge and covered in long, coarse fur on the back. The index-, middle-, ring-finger and thumb were also all enormous, with the middle-finger being almost the length and width of a normal human arm, with each finger tipped with a wicked curved claw nearly as long as the fingers they were attached to. The attackers right hand seemed a lot more human than the left, at least from a distance – at least having the proportions of a normal human arm – but was also clad in fur, and was holding on to a strange weapon of some kind in the shape of two long, curved spikes as an extension of the arm.
At the same time it seemed to most of the civilians as though the creature's head was also covered in fur and that it had a number of mismatched tentacles on its back of various lengths, colors and textures. If Draco looked, however, he might realize even from afar that the fur-clad head was actually a hood with a furry exterior, and that what might seem like tentacles were actually numerous strips of fur and leather from different creatures, attached to its upper back and dangling from there like something akin to a frayed scarf.

Stefan barely had time to get back on his feet before the enemy had closed the distance and was upon him again, leaving him no time to use any of his blood vials. Stefan desperately dodge-rolled to the side just as the aggressors giant left hand came slashing through the air, its claws drawing blood from the Hunter's thigh before he could get out of the way completely. The enemy immediately followed up with a slash with the weapon in its right hand, forcing Stefan to shield his face and throat with his left arm as he received yet another wound, though he took this moment to thrust his sword into the abdomen of the assailant with his right hand, inflicting a wound of his own.
In the time it took for Stefan to withdraw his weapon from the other's guts, the left bestial hand had drawn back once again to deliver another fearsome strike, which Stefan this time managed to evade entirely by abruptly moving away from the other in a blur – a move Draco might or might not recognize as a Hunter's quickstep – only to stumble for a moment, reaching desperately into a pouch at his hip with his bloody left hand.
As Stefan produced a small glimmering object – too small to be identified from a distance – from the pouch, however, the enemy seemed to make the same move the Hunter had just made, swiftly closing the distance between them, before making a grasping motion with both arms, clawing with both hands at once. All Stefan could do was try to take a normal step backward, which served only to make the gashes he received across his torso a little shallower than they would otherwise have been. This did afford Stefan the opportunity to jab the object in his left hand into his left thigh – a motion that would not take much to recognize as injecting himself with a syringe – before pirouetting backward, putting distance between himself and his opponent while simultaneously bringing his sword a full revolution around himself before slashing, cutting a red gash across both of the other's biceps and chest.
Even wounded the murderous stranger did not relent on his offensive, however, and started slashing wildly with his hands, alternating between right hand left hand, swiftly drawing more and more blood from Stefan as it took all the Hunter had just to evade enough to make his injuries superficial rather than crippling.

By the time Draco finished addressing the other civilians Stefan quickstepped away a second time, both fighters bloodstained from the ordeal, but with the enemy clearly having the upper hand in the battle. As the civilians frantically dumped everything they could think to dump – with the ones that had listened more intently to Draco urging the rest to hurry disposing of as much burden as they could – the fur-clad figure quickstepped after Stefan once more, only to step straight into the Hunter's waiting blade, impaling itself through what seemed to be either the upper stomach or lower chest. Suffering this wound did not seem to dissuade the attacker either, though, and in that moment, with Stefan's weapon basically locked where it was buried in the other's flesh, the attacker punched with its right hand. With the two-pronged fist weapon, this punch meant that both of the thick, curved spikes plunged deep into the left side of Stefan's chest and shoulder, respectively.

As the last civilian finished unloading herself and they all turned to start running down the street, where the giant still seemed to be in a fight of its own, the attacker reached up with its huge left hand, grasped Stefan's right shoulder and practically pulled the man off the weapon in its right hand. It lifted his feet off the ground, apparently squeezing his shoulder hard enough to force him to relinquish his hold of the sword that still impaled the other, and tossed him just several feet away where Stefan stumbled to the ground, crippled and disarmed.

Over by the slain beast the recently awakened Torquil simply nodded at Marcus' introduction and recommendations, clearly reluctant to speak out loud now that he was conscious of his broken ability to speak and, with a final shove of his foot to the creature he had just killed – not vindictively, but more in a manner as if to assure himself that it was indeed dead – he went over to the corner with the barrels of weapons. He moved carefully through the room, looking around incredulously as he went at the unusual number of cots filling the room, more than half of which having been knocked over or tossed aside during the skirmish. A handful of the sleepers were visibly injured, having suffered significant cuts, bruises and broken bones, and at least two seemed to have suffered severe enough wounds that they were doubtlessly dead, with one having been literally disemboweled and another lay in a pool of blood from an open skull fracture.
Some of the ones that were most likely only injured and not dead seemed to be visibly regenerating, interestingly, but at varying rates and none of them as quickly as would be expected of a Hunter. With some there was practically no visible recovery, whereas others were regenerating at a rate that promised them back to full health in less than a minute. Everyone here had clearly been given the blood treatment to become Hunters, but seemed to be in different stages of metamorphosis, lending them more or less of the natural vitality of a Hunter.

Meanwhile Arcturus, now that things had seemingly calmed down and the pain of his internal injuries had somewhat abated, checked the pulse of the visibly diseased individual that lay sprawled next to him, only to find the skin cold to the touch and no pulse to be felt. Whichever ailment had claimed this woman was one that none of the people currently in the clinic was familiar with, and with no other visible injuries upon her body it would only be natural to assume that it had been the cause of her death.
Were one to survey the rest of the room they would find another four bodies with similar complexion and markings as the woman, cold and dead as she was.

About at this time movement started occurring across the room, however, as the Messengers abruptly started emerging from the floor anew, seemingly burrowing through reality itself and dragging their upper bodies from wherever they hailed to the clinic. Five of these little ghoulish creatures emerged immediately surrounding Arcturus, moaning softly and unintelligibly as they gently reached for him with their small, long-fingered hands, almost as if concerned for him. Another six appeared in front of Marcus, eagerly beckoning him toward the door.
Torquil, meanwhile, let out a surprised yelp as he, too, was suddenly crowded by Messengers, only this was his first encounter with them. Letting out a string of garbled swears and curses he hastened toward the barrels, clearly disturbed by the spontaneous appearance of the tiny creatures.

As Stefan's situation grew ever more grim and dire, Draco honestly did consider rushing over to try and aid the hunter. After all, watching a man fighting a monster inspire instincts to go to his aid but experience tempered the desire to rush into the fray. All jumping into the fight against such a monster one on one could do was result in a pointless death.

While reluctant to do so, Draco turned to follow the fleeing civilians, abandoning the hunter to his death. Despite the justifications that the hunter would be dead before he had even had the chance to close into combat distance with the monstrous foe, or that even if he did all he would have been doing was getting himself killed, regret haunted his thoughts regardless.

That said, Draco wasn't making the same blind dash as the civilians he was protecting. Part of that was him sacrificing speed in favor of carrying his weapon safely, being tripping over while carrying what was effectively a pitchfork with fire was generally a awkward experience at best, but it was mostly so he could pay attention to his surroundings. If the monster that was killing Stefan decided to pursue the group, it would reach Draco first... and even if it would only end one way, he fully intended to inflict as much damage as possible to stall it and slow it down to let others escape from it.

Not a beast. Worse. Far worse. A Hunter's worst nightmare. Unaffected by incense, could walk among humans, Yharnamites and Hunters unnoticed if so desired. Much more versatile, unpredictable and intelligent than a beast. Able to match every power and skill Stefan had move by move, and with the same endless potential as himself.
It had taken Stefan only a single glance at the man he had been fighting to realize what he was fighting: another Hunter.
The realization had flustered and confused him, his mind trying to come up with an explanation for these dire circumstances he suddenly found himself in even as he was desperately trying to defend himself. It had been a trap. This Hunter, whoever he was, had most likely been following them in the shadows for a while, only to seize the opportunity when they paused their walk and were distracted to make a ruckus.
For a moment he wondered about the why of it, until the other Hunter was upon him and he felt once again the other's brute strength and ferocity, his power. Hunters and beasts grew their power from their victims, with more and stronger prey growing their prowess to ever greater heights, and this other Hunter was evidently significantly stronger and more durable than Stefan. This man had obviously done a great deal of killing to gain this strength. He could have a purpose in killing church Hunters specifically, but it was most likely also a simple matter of Stefan – a relatively veteran Hunter – representing strong prey. Killing Stefan would make this man even stronger.

Though robbed of his church pick and badly wounded, Stefan still forced himself to roll from his prone position into a sitting one, reaching both hands to his left hip as he looked around frantically. The civilians were running, at least, though they had not gotten as far as Stefan had hoped. He winced. If this savage Hunter killed him now, there was little doubt that he could easily catch up to Draco and the others before they reached the elevator. Stefan had wounded the other Hunter pretty bad, he knew, and must have depleted his regenerative potential quite a bit, but the dutiful servant of the Healing Church still had his doubts that a few huntsmen would stand much of a chance even against a weakened Hunter of this caliber. Stefan had to persevere at least a little longer... or those people were doomed.
He jabbed the syringe of another blood vial into his left thigh – three left, he reminded himself – and immediately felt his wounds accelerate their mending, his own regenerative potential restored. He was going to need all of his strength for this fight. With his right hand he unclasped the torch hanging from his belt, wielding it as a mace. His left hand discarded the now-empty blood vial, grabbed a small flintlock and used it to strike a spark to ignite the torch.
The other Hunter, meanwhile, took a moment to pull out the sword that he was still impaled upon, producing another gout of blood as his wounds came unplugged, before grasping the weapon with both hands and, with a moment's strain on his inhuman arms, snapped the blade on the middle before discarding the broken weapon in the street before turning his attention to Stefan once again.
The weapon wielded by the hostile Hunter was known to Stefan only by reputation, though he knew enough of it to recognize it at sight: it was a so-called beast claw, a profane armament crafted from the still-living bones of a darkbeast. The artifact itself was actually the fist weapon in his right hand, which was what caused the bestial transformation of his arms. A weapon made to allow Hunters to fight like beasts do... a truly abominable thing and, worryingly, a trophy taken from the strongest of beasts.

When the enemy rushed in to renew his attack once more Stefan reacted with a quickstep of his own, darting past the other so that they both ended up just behind each other, only for Stefan to immediately spin around, winding up his right arm as he went, and quickly slammed his lit torch into the other's side. He watched with some satisfaction as the bestial Hunter withdrew a little and staggered, clearly fazed by the fiery attack, but had to duck into a crouch but a second later when his left great claw came scything toward Stefan's head.
Against his better judgment Stefan went in closer, almost placing the two men chest-to-chest, before unleashing a barrage of strikes with his torch upon the other, swinging the fiery weapon as fast and hard as he could. The other seemed to momentarily panic and tried to retreat once more, as Stefan had hoped, only to leave an opening for Stefan to strike a clean blow against his opponent's head, sending him stumbling, the pelts that made up his primitive clothing smoldering.
How am I doing better with a bloody torch than with my trick weapon? he thought incredulously, idly twirling the improvised weapon in his hand as he put some distance between himself and his adversary, who was now glaring at him with eyes emanating rage and hatred. Of course, he had a pretty good idea why, since he had intentionally changed his tactics to achieve it: the simple act of Stefan taking the initiative and working to attack rather than defend himself was throwing off the extremely aggressive Hunter.
Stefan smiled at the other with newfound confidence. If that was really all it took, maybe he could win this fight after all.
The murderous Hunter stepped forward once again, drawing back his right arm and obviously winding up a slash or punch with all of his strength, prompting Stefan to quickstep to the man's right, now-vulnerable side outside the range of the prepared attack to land a blow of his own. He swung his torch at the other's head...
Something hit Stefan's jaw on the left side, momentarily just leaving him confused and dizzy, barely even realizing that he was stumbling to his knees. It took him a couple of seconds to understand that his opponent had changed his attack in the last instant as a reaction to Stefan moving; instead of slashing or punching, he had used the stored energy in his right arm to elbow Stefan in the head, which he had been in an almost ideal position for. A second later the pain hit, as did the halfway sad and halfway fascinated realization that he had several knocked-out teeth rattling around in his mouth now. The left hinge of his jaw felt like it had been shattered.

Stefan tried desperately to stagger back to his feet, coughing out a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. He could not think. Could barely even see clearly, struggling against the vertigo that assailed him. He just needed time. Just a moment. If he could just regenerate a little he could go on. Just a moment... just...
There was a blur, and Stefan felt something big, sharp and very, very bad plunge into his abdomen. Claws. Beast claws. The bestial Hunter had visceral attacked him with his beast-hand, burying the entire giant hand in Stefan's guts.
“You church Hunters,” the other hissed wickedly, his voice dripping with disgust and amusement. “So predictable. So arrogant. So bloody stupid!”
Movement below, sudden and violent. Pain. Unimaginable pain. Emptiness. The other was holding up his inhuman left hand, but there was something dangling from it. Stefan squinted, but could not see. Then he realized: he was holding Stefan's guts.
He could not make out the other's face anymore, but he could hear the smile in his voice. “It's going to be a good hunt tonight.”

~~~


The civilians ran as best they could under Draco's guidance, some of the less athletically inclined citizens having to be urged on several times when they started slowing down. The distance was not too great, however, and soon they managed to reach the foot of the elevator... only to find that the elevator itself was currently at the top of the shaft, not the bottom. There was a lever in the ground next to the shaft, which one of the civilians at the front of the group went to pull. The mechanism was activated with a loud “snap”, and with a faint rattle of chains the platform above started descending toward its waiting passengers.

In the street in front of the elevator, about twenty meters (65 feet) from the elevator itself, the church giant was still engaged in its own battle. Now that Draco and the others were much closer than before, it became evident that the giant – wearing several deep, bloody lacerations upon its colossal frame – was in the process of fighting off a pack of three scourge beasts, with another two lying dead in the street, smashed to bits by the giant's axe. The large, wolf-like monsters were similarly distracted with fighting the giant, running around to evade its devastating blows while occasionally leaping at it, raking their claws against his skin or burying their teeth in his flesh. A little further off was also the corpse of a church servant, though there did not appear to be any more of their kind around.

While the civilians crowded at the bottom of the elevator shaft, panting, sobbing, whimpering and complaining about how long it took for the elevator to descend, Stefan, back where they had come from, having bought them all the time he could, drew his last breath. The beast-armed killer then turned, looking in their direction, and started sprinting toward them at inhuman speeds.

As he impatiently waited for the elevator to hurry up and come down, Draco couldn't help but feel in his soul that he had made a mistake by not trying to aid Stefan. This wasn't the first time he had contended with guilt before, but that didn't change the fact that he had likely ensured a man's death by abandoning him to fight alone even if there wasn't much a relatively normal human could have done to turn the tides.

Only really paying attention to the fight between the giant and the beasts to make sure that none of those taking part turned their attention away from it towards himself or the civilians he was protecting, Draco's attention was focused on the way they had come. Granted, if any of the three scourge beasts decided to leave the Giant alone in order to come after them they would likely be a very dangerous threat... but despite how deadly they could be, right now the real concern was the thing that Stefan had been fighting...

And which had started to pursue them at inhuman speed, covering a lot of ground very quickly.

Draco could see his death approaching and knew what it was. Even if the battle with Stefan had wounded the human like beast badly, a part of him suspected that it hadn't been quiet enough to tip the scales in his favor... or at least balance the field of battle. So he prepared himself, shifting into a stance that would allow him to use his pitchfork to the best of his ability... all while holding out for the ever decreasing hope that the stupid damn elevator showed up so that he could get inside and close the door behind him rather then die stalling this thing as long as he could.

As prepared for combat as he was going to be, even if he didn't like his odds of being alive at the end of it, Draco decided to try a tactic that might buy a few moments without costing him anything but words. He honestly doubted it would get results, but if he was really lucky there was still enough human left in the bastard to want to lord his power. "You've already killed the hunter! I doubt you'll get whatever thrill you're after killing us after that!"

Please, whatever powers that might be, let there be enough human left in this monster to gloat! To savor the fact that both of them knew that he had the power to kill them all the moment he desired to!

The elevator had made it about two-thirds of the way to the bottom when the beast-armed man arrived – panting from the exertion of pushing his body past its physical limitations – and stopped a mere couple of meters from where Draco and the civilians were waiting anxiously for their way out. Now that this half-man creature was closer, it was entirely evident to everyone who cared to glance at him that it was, in fact, only his arms that were bestial. The ribbons of fur and leather hanging off his body appeared to be either entire pelts of various smaller creatures, like rabbits and foxes, or cut-out strips of larger ones that were harder to identify. The leathers were likewise difficult to determine an origin of, and while some of it looked like ordinary leather from cattle or the like, but some of it looked unusual, pale and untreated compared to the rest.
It looked almost like strips of flayed human skin.
It was also quite evident that he had taken some hits in the fight against Stefan, him having several bloody cuts in his clothes and some burned spots here and there, including a side of burn hair on his hood. It was difficult to tell how much those wounds affected him due to his inhuman nature, of course; closer inspection would reveal that all of his wounds had regenerated, and there was no way to tell how much regenerative potential he had left.

Hearing Draco's declaration seemed to be what brought the stranger to pause, causing him to skid to a stop. His eyes narrowed confusedly as he stared at Draco intently, then at the weapon in his hands, then at Draco again. He sniffed loudly several times in Draco's direction before frowning at him deeply.
“Disappointing,” he sighed, seemingly no longer interested in the civilians as he started turning to the giant and scourge beasts still locked in combat.
As the elevator came to a clanking stop at the bottom of its shaft the beast-armed man rushed off toward the battle, viciously grabbing the closest of the three scourge beasts by the scruff of its neck with his bestial left hand before flinging it onto its back. As the civilians hurriedly piled onto the waiting platform – luckily avoiding the pressure plate in the middle of the floor that would cause the elevator to ascend – the murderer jumped on top of the toppled beast and started tearing into its chest with both hands.
When the two remaining scourge beasts and the giant all turned their attention on this violent stranger, it became pretty clear that he was not going to pursue the civilians for the moment. The rest of the group crowded tightly near the edges of the platform, seemingly content to leave stepping on the button to Draco.

Having already abandoned the Hunter Stefan to his death already (through the guilt and regret of that action would no doubt linger for some time), Draco had absolutely zero issue with leaving the insane hunter with a pack of scourge beasts and a wounded church giant. Some people might have been insulted by the idea of being to pathetic to kill; Yharnamites tended to call those idiots outsiders for a reason. Anyone in Yharnam with that kind of suicidal arrogance had died a long time ago.

Without hesitation, Draco smacked the pressure plate on the floor to get the elevator to rise. As far as he was concerned they had just been granted a stay of execution and he had no intention of hanging around for whatever divine good will that he had just received to dry up. Draco had enough resolve not to show fear because the civilians he was escorting needed a leadership figure right now to guide them to safety and with the death of Stefan, he was the next best thing, but the memory of that hunter charging right at him... the moment they were in relative safety and he could be alone he was going to have to work his way through that horrible memory if he wanted to have a chance of sleeping anytime soon.

Taking a deep breath as the elevator rose, he carefully moved himself through the crowd so that when it reached its destination, he could be the first one out. Someone had to lead the way after all... "Alright. The shelter shouldn't be too far. We're going to move in an orderly fashion, but I want everyone be be as quiet as possible and keep an eye out for danger. We're not safe and sound just yet."

Hopefully there would be someone at the shelter they were heading to that Draco could inform about the fate of Stefan, alongside a description of the insane hunter that killed him. While he personally had never encountered a hunter who had lost their mind to the point that they were dangerous to everyone around them before, he wasn't naive enough to believe there wasn't some kind of system in place to deal with the occasional hunter lost their mind to the beast plague. Better they be made aware of the problem sooner rather then later.

Marcus took a look behind him and stopped on his tracks. His position was now more to stay on guard and wait until Torquil had aquired his weapons. To his surprise the warrior, or the sickly man, had also started moving. He was trying out a pulse on the coprse next to him. At least Marcus assumed it was a corpse, the skin was pale as milk. Further back Torquil had glanced at the carnage that the “Echo” had done. Marcus also looked at the sight now, first time properly since the fight ended.

He was reminded of the blood moon few years ago. When he and his sister had been running in sewers, hiding from the beasts. His parents had fell victim to them, his sister to a hunter who was supposed to slay such victims. Marcus thought to himself if he could do such a slaughter to innocent victims. When he was under the influence of the darkness, the hunter or what it was, there was no proper thought to his actions. Only the slaughter, fight to be won. Would it be impossible that he himself couldn’t control himself? Thought made him shudder. He quickly glanced back at the door.

Suddenly something appeared in front of him. The small, ghastly white men. The sight of them made Marcus take a quick step back and rise his sword, but then he remembered how a while back they had been of no harm. Not now, either. They were alien to him, but they acted as if they wanted to tell him something, the six of them. Beaconed him to come over. Marcus remembered how earlier they had tried to hold the door as there were beasts and others behind it. They were now asking him to come through.

Marcus had the weirdest feeling that he could trust these creatures. Behind him he heard cursing which made him turn again. Marcus noticed that he too had became aquinted to the otherworldly creatures. “Ignore the little men. They are of no harm, at least haven’t been so far.” He yelled. A quick glance to the warrior showed that he too was being surrounded by them. Marcus turned to see the door and took steps over the small white men to see what was over there.

The sight outside the door made stop. The room was silent, yet he could hear the screams of the people outside. A hunter had fell on the floor, with a mighty blade next to him. Several men – farmers, huntsmen with rifles – were around him, confused and horrified. At the end there was a… Marcus wanted to say man in two parts, but it looked like a corpse that had been moving until now as it was split in the middle. He noticed the bell on the floor as well as the cane. He made a guess that the bell was the cause of their problems some time ago.

And then he saw the woman. An innocent thing, almost as pale as a corpse and hair blonde underneath the black shawl. White garbs indicated she was a member of the church. The sight reminded Marcus about his sister, like she was reborn in front of him. Thought made him pause for a moment. Then he drew his attention back to the group. Took a tighter grip from his sword and made a stern look at them. He couldn't just trust that these men had lost their will to fight.